Misplaced Lens Cap
@theartofmadeline
Sweet Seals For You, Always
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NASA
Jules of Nature
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
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Stranger Things
Show & Tell
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
Keni
will byers stan first human second
taylor price
art blog(derogatory)
trying on a metaphor
pixel skylines
Cosmic Funnies
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seen from Austria
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@bluejay041806
Here’s 11/39 of my comfort characters (also yes i do headcanon Kel as trans ftm)
“Nice of the prince to invite us over for a picnic, eh Susie?”
the behind the scenes pictures for the pepe silvia scene have that cursed vibe to them
I can't believe staff deleted all of their initial @/postplus blog posts and just pretended that the survey and the encouragement-of-illegal-fanfic-monetization backlash never happened. As if they don't know how their own site works?? As if those now-deleted posts aren't still floating around in 100,000 different reblog chains and even more mocking screenshots?? As if we, the gremlin userbase of this hellsite would ever forget how they initially approached the whole mess???
They build castles in the sand and ask the sea to pay rent
this reply is so fucking raw
jesus christ
This is the superior “comic showing the events leading up to a popular gif” post.
Things Traditional Publishers Can Learn From Fanfiction
tagging systems are a big draw for readers. both for content/trigger warnings, and for genre information. knowing the tone of the story and whether the ending will be happy/sad/satisfying is a deciding factor for many readers.
word count: especially important as digital books become more common. books are more accessible when readers have a way to check both the total word count and the chapter word counts.
there is a big audience for short stories featuring characters from book series. It used to be more common for authors to release short stories or anthologies in between novels, with shared characters & settings. (Conan Doyle, Agatha Christie, P.G. Wodehouse, and the Rumpole series all did this.) Unfortunately this has fallen out of practice, but as fanfiction has shown, there is still a huge reader interest.
there is a demand for expanded universe content, particularly for content with a different format or atmosphere than the original canon. audiences like variety; e.g. fans of high-stakes/dramatic stories are also interested in seeing their favorite characters in low-stakes/humorous situations. these stories are not inauthentic nor do they pander to the audience; they simply allow audiences & creators to explore characters through a different lens.
similarly, there is a big interest in spin-off content featuring secondary characters. audiences see a great deal of potential in supporting characters, with most fandoms having clear “favorites”. short stories expanding on such characters have a great deal of marketing potential, and allow writers to explore expanded canons without any risk of altering primary characters/storylines.
Give audiences accessible, satisfying stories in a variety of formats.
ko-fi
hello tumblr for the bargain price of $6.66 i will present to you one of my Top 5 Most Embarrassing Childhood Misadventures
Ok so here’s the setup. When i was like 7, my parents moved us into a house where my sisters and I shared the upstairs, which was split into two bedrooms. I got a separate room bc I was the most territorial the eldest. Both bedrooms had these weird little attached attic…space…things that were essentially unfinished closets. they were padded to the brim with this stuff:
i later found out the company that sells it had an advertising deal w/ the pink panther cartoons. that detail is completely unrelated to this story.
fyi that pink stuff is fiberglass insulation. my mom, presumably, at some point, almost certainly told me not to touch it, and that it contained crushed glass, and that I absolutely should not touch it, listen to me [deadname], look at me: the pink stuff is dangerous so do not touch it.
i say presumably, bc i was unmedicated at the time and my hyperactive 7-year-old brain tended to filter out unnecessary information.
also, in my defense, that stuff is fluffy. like it may contain glass, but soda bottles contain glass, and they don’t hurt to touch. and neither did this stuff! it was pretty soft actually. i would occasionally pat it with my bare hands while hiding in the dark swaying back and forth pretending i had been kidnapped and was being held hostage in the belly of a pirate ship and it was fine. so after awhile my brain just sort of put the pink stuff in the category of “don’t eat it or anything and you’ll probably be fine.”
i would later wish, above all wishes, that i had heeded my mother’s warning.
ok that’s part one, i gotta go make breakfast
ok i had bantam bagels
PART 2
a pertinent detail about my bedroom attic: it had a crawl space. just a tiny little black tunnel that disappeared into the house beyond. i naturally, one day, became curious about where exactly it disappeared to. and how far.
my curiosity was compounded by the fact that the crawl space headed directly towards my sister’s bedroom. upon further reflection, it was very possible that the crawl space in fact connected both attics.
i should at this point discuss my sisters’ bedroom attic. while mine was mostly used for storage and for sitting alone in the dark listening to scary radio shows that gave me nightmares my sisters had rather brilliantly decided to repurpose theirs into a clubhouse/Stuffed Animal Storage Facility. from what i had seen, it was stuffed to bursting with goddamn stuffed animals. it also had, i believe, a little tea table. and they had drawn on the walls. all in all, very makeshift and cozy.
i say “from what i had seen” because generally speaking, i wasn’t allowed in the Stuffed Animal Storage Facility. it was Their space, and of course there is not more territorial group of people that children of the age group 12 and under. Also, i was the least popular member of the household, except possibly for one of the hamsters.
So the scene has been set: I am a 7-year-old delinquent who just so happens to be obsessed w/ espionage and bank robberies and I have discovered a secret tunnel from my bedroom to my sisters’ Forbidden Clubhouse.
i consider myself a victim of circumstance. the events that followed really wrote themselves.
OF COURSE I WENT INTO THE CRAWL SPACE
what possible other ending could this story have? one sunday afternoon when i had nothing better to do, i decided to test my hypothesis that i was narrow enough to fit into the itty bitty tunnel.
and i WAS! an ancient and world-weary 8-year-old couldn’t have done it, but i was just stick-like enough to manage. i strapped a flashlight to my wrist and got on my hand and knees and crawled through that fucker! this, it transpired, was a colossal undertaking, as i was only technically small enough to fit into the wall. there was very little additional room to, for example, bend my knees and elbows. i ended up propelling myself forward mostly by inching along with my toes & wiggling like an eel. it was not very effective!
i got stuck several times. i tried to go back several times. it turns out there is no feasible way to turn around in a tunnel that is exactly as wide and as tall as the width of your shoulders. in one of my darker moments (i was stuck behind the bathroom wall, probably quite close to the toilet) it occurred to me that i had no actual proof there would be an opening on the other end. this presented certain concerns. it turns out it is rather difficult to drag yourself backwards by your toes.
i persevered! propelled by panic and (most of all) a lack of other options. 30 minutes and 10 yards later, i confirmed there was indeed an opening on the other end, which did indeed open into my sisters’ attic, because i was indeed a veritable genius.
it was at this point i discovered my sisters were not in their bedroom. they had, in fact, at some point decided to go downstairs. meaning i would not be able to burst out of the attic to the shock and astoundment of all bystanders.
i waited patiently for almost an entire minute. and then, observed only by the glossy plastic eyes of a hundred passionless plush toes, i tiptoed quietly away and hobbled back to my bedroom.
This was, naturally, the beginning of the most woeful, misery-filled fortnight of my short and sorry life.
FINAL PART
So i returned to my daily life, content in the knowledge that i had once again escaped the consequences of my actions, like the protagonist i so truly was.
Until.
The next day.
Monday evening. Oh, Monday evening. After a long, tedious day at school, I lay peacefully in bed, content in the expectation of a well-deserved rest. Set down your constant burden, human, and rest thy weary soul.
But then. A sensation of dread swept over me. It had begun.
The ITCHING.
Did I mention the crawl space was lined with fiberglass insulation?
As it turns out, dragging yourself against 30 feet of finely crushed glass does, in fact, beget consequences. Microscopic shards of glass DO NOT CARE if you were wearing clothing at the time. they go where they choose. and that miserable Sunday afternoon of my wretched folly, they had chosen to
EMBED THEMSELVES DIRECTLY INTO MY SKIN.
What words to describe the suffering of the next 2 weeks? Reader, I took so many showers. SO MANY. Hot showers first thing in the morning, directly after school, and again before dinner, and right before bed. There was never any hot water left. i SOAKED. i SCRUBBED. i WEPT like the PITILESS WRETCH i so truly was reduced to.
and the itching would. not. STOP. Everywhere, it was everywhere, arms and legs and torso and FACE. Oh my stars it was so bad. I rubbed up like a cat against brick walls and desks corners and furniture. i scratched. i prayed and discovered that the gods are either powerless or indifferent to our suffering or perhaps are merely moderately entertained. nothing helped.
two weeks. two weeks of ITCH, before my skin finally, finally expelled the invaders. It was misery. My sisters were unamused (and somewhat bored by the matter, and told me not to go in their room). My mom was unimpressed. And me? I was not excused from school (probably due to the fact that as an undiagnosed autistic kid in chronic discomfort, the adults around me were already in the habit of ignoring my constant complaints.)
(which how fucked up is that, that my base level of discomfort was so high that the adults around me didn’t believe i was in more pain than usual when 80% of my skin was literally embedded with glass???)
Anyway. long story long:
DO NOT TOUCH THE PINK STUFF.
ko-fi / paypal
ARE YOU FORKING KIDDING ME
the fact that they had time to set this all up without the cats absolutely decimating it is a feat in and of itself
These cats must have been trained which makes this even better, they are ARTISTS and PERFORMERS!!!!!!!
Finally, society managed to combine Morphology (linguistics) and Morphology (biology)
what is transgenders even about. vroom vroom car turns into robot
TRANSFORMERS
Everyone meet just a normal goose :)
Glad you guys like this totally normal goose!
@gooseberry-darling
My three girlfriends. And yes, they smoke weed.
do they smoke weed?
Yes, actually.
you mean she isnt just smoking a cigarette? but a weed cigarette?
It’s called a bunt…. Not weed cigarette… And yes, it is a weed bunt. They all smoke weed bunts before we kiss. (They are my girlfriends,)
They don’t look like they smoke weed.
Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. I’m so angry you are so lucky my three weed smorking girlfriends are rubbing my shoulders to calm me down I’m so mad.
Your “weed smoking girlfriend” has a Hello Kitty tattoo on her belly. The one in the middle.
I printed out a photo of your avatar and taped it to my punching bag that I punch and I mutter your URL with every strong punch I punch you twerp…. Don’t ever Talk about Blaiz or the wicked Tat(tattoo) I drew on her ever again I Don’t wanna see you standing outside my home at 3 am holding your weird dripping brown bags ever again ok leave us alone this is the FINAL FUCKING WARNING
Well that escalated quickly……
What, was that? Hmm? Come again. *Blaiz grabs my shoulder* Come on Jory, they aren’t worth it, please. * I jerk my shoulder shaking her hand off* NO! NOOOOO!!! *starts to just pummel you with my big fucking fists. With each blow I let out a furious yell. The blows come quicker and harder and the yells get louder. I’m yelling so loud and now I’m crying. BREAKING POINT. The week was hard and I can’t take anymore. I’m opening sobbing at this point while you blood gurgle. All three of my girlfriends struggle to pull me off and they finally succeed and lead me away from the goo pile that is now your body*
haha oh my god
who even is this dude? someone needs some anger management classes.
love how he keeps reminding us that “I HAVE THREE GIRLFRIENDS”, “THEY ALL KISS ME”, and “THEY SMOKE WEED HURRP DURR”.
and let’s not forget the “Blaiz” and her “wicked tat”, or that he doesn’t “wanna see you standing outside [his] home at 3 am holding your weird dripping brown bags ever again”, and that this is “the FINAL FUCKING WARNING”.
“the goo pile that is now your body”
i’m dying over here, jesus
please, Jory, come challenge me to a bout of internet witticsisms; i promise, it’ll be fun.
*shoots you dead* Heh, idiot… *leaves with my three weed smorking girlfriends to go hold hands and kiss.*
this dude playin omg
Come again? *The bar falls silent. No one dares to make a sound, as you have just said a very poor choice of words at a very dangerous time. I remain slumped over the bar, not looking back to you. One hand limply holding an almost empty bottle, the other hand cradling my head. I repeat the question, this time louder.* Come again?! *You can hear me slur the words, the sentence sounds like a real struggle for me to get out. I’m clearly intoxicated. A bead of sweat rolls down your face as you realize you might have just fucked up in a very major way. Everyone else in the bar is pretending to not notice what is going on. The bartender idly washes a mug with a cloth. His eyes are closed and he’s muttering something to himself. A handful of people hurriedly leave. One person looks back at you, a look of sorrow on their face. They almost say something, but shake their head and cast their eyes down to the floor, and leave. But not you. You stand, petrified. A quick look at me reveals I’m still at the bar. You look to the exit, there’s still time. But there’s not, there’s not, there’s not. Your fate was sealed the moment you opened your mouth.* Mother fuck.. what did you say?! *I slowly rise from my stool and being to lumber over to you. I look a mess. My hair is unkempt, I haven’t shaved in what looks like months, there are dark heavy bags under my eyes, my shirt is stained and has holes in it, and I’m missing a shoe. But the main thing you notice is the gun tucked into my jeans, and my massive muscle arms that look like they were made for punching. You know that song about the boots that were made for walking? Yeah, it’s like that only instead of boots it’s my muscles and instead of walking it’s punching. As I drunkenly sway over to you, you think of your family… Will they mourn you, or will they try and forget this blotch of stupidity, that their child insulted the Jory publicly, ever happened to their family? Your thoughts are cut short as I now stand face to face with you. I grab your face and pull you even closer.* Playin?! There was nothing playing… no playing you fuck. No playing… it was real.. the realest thing I’ve ever know.. felt… Love. I loved them… Blaiz…. Chas-Chas… Funk… I loved all three of em… but they…*My face is wet with tears and I’m blinking constantly in vain to hold them back.* They left me… left… *Almost instantly the sadness leaves my face and is replaced with pure anger.* Playin? Playin?! *My hand leaves your face and starts to head to what you think is the gun. You close your eyes and see God looking at you, shrugging. ‘Pft, you brought this upon yourself dude.’ He says as he waves his hands at you dismissively. But instead of the gun, my hands grab yours. Your eyes jolt open and the anger is gone from my face. There is only sadness.* Left me… * I fall to the floor and sob.* Wow, grow up. *You say before you leave the bar but are hit almost immediately from a car and are killed upon impact.*
happy 4/20
Coming through. (via)
