Welcome to my Cave of Reblog @kuran2010 - Tumblr Blog

Posts

peachcookie

As the decade closes out, don’t forget to remember the heroes

blacktwitterfunny

thehomosocialistchurch

“If you are mean to me I will kill you. If you don’t completely submit to me, I will kill you.”

hook-line-and-anarchy

cops are terrorists in the worst possible way

butchdotgov

Millennial Sisyphus keeps entering all the information from his resume into the web form, only for it to delete everything when he tries to move to the next page. He just goes back and types it all up again, over and over again, forever, and he never gets a job.

crystalandrock

Millennial Tantalus has been promised that his unpaid internship will become a paid position as soon as the company has space for him. Every week he sees their new job posting. Every week he asks his boss if he can have a real job. The boss shrugs apologetically and says he’ll just have to make do with being paid in experience a little longer. He goes back and keeps working, over and over again, forever, and he never reaches the fruits of his labors.

fiftysevenacademics

Millennial Persephone can’t get a job without a degree, but because she had to take out loans to pay for college, she must spend 1/3 of her life working just to pay them off.

sci-fantasy

Millennial Cassandra’s title is Social Media Coordinator, she was hired to be the expert, but every time she tries to explain the problems in her company’s social media decisionmaking, the managers don’t listen…and end up hiring expensive PR flacks to repair the damage to their reputation when things blow up exactly as she predicted.

necrofuturism

Millennial Medusa uses multiple shades of primer and opaque foundation to cover the scars snaking across her face, hiding the bruises, aligning the asymmetry in her broken nose and jaw. Red matte on the lips, green shimmer on the lids. Flawless liner on the first try. She’s had lots and lots of practice. She films her transformation in secret for all to see and learn, and again, men are turned to anonymous stone faces screaming in horror. “Liar!” “Witch!” “Take her swimming on the first date!” These words do not discourage her. These words are a challenge. GlamGorgonXx posts another video.

mao-tenno

Millennial Prometheus uploads another PDF to his site. He’s lost track of the printing and edition of this textbook. He knows they just rearranged some of chapters then charge 150 dollars per copy, and the professor wrote the book himself. the ZIP fills uploads successfully, and he starts uploading the next one. He isn’t afraid of the potential lawsuit. knowledge shouldn’t held out of reach like this.

i-will-not-be-caged

Millennial Circe screenshots all the lewd messages she gets from men on online dating sites and posts them on her very popular Instagram along with their pictures and usernames. When people accuse her of attempting to destroy their reputations, she insists she’s just revealing them for the pigs they truly are.

jukeboxemcsa

Millennial Odysseus is starting to suspect there’s something wrong with his GPS…

as-warm-as-choco

A master post of Thomas Romain’s art tutorials.

There’s not enough space to post all of them, SO here’s links to everything he has posted (on twitter) so far : 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12.

Now that new semesters have started, I thought people might need these. Enjoy your lessons!

solarpunkopossum

Fleetwood Mac is the moon energy to ABBA’s sun energy.

williamblakesapprentice

Like the amount of sense that this makes and the depth of it are too powerful and cryptic. The fact that this wisdom can exist in such a stable form….it astounds me.

maneljavier

Me waiting for my joke to land:

kirbyfanneox

LITERALLY JUST

prokopetz

I know the Star Wars extended universe treats “spice” like it’s this big scary drug, but I kind of like to imagine that it’s basically just space weed, and the only reason Han got in trouble with the Imperials over Jabba’s cargo is that he was evading import tariffs.

alexanderrm

If we’re just looking at mentions in the original trilogy, is there evidence it’s even a drug and not something you put on bland food to make it taste like something? What if Han was just carrying a cargo of like cilantro, mint, etc, none of which grow on Tattooine and are thus highly expensive and heavily taxed commodities?

prokopetz

I am fully prepared to believe that the infamous Han Solo ended up in a life-or-death vendetta with the most notorious crime lord in the galaxy because somebody didn’t want to declare taxes on three thousand kilos of cilantro.

sign-seeker

Every who pays a certain amount of attention to Star Wars knows this story already, but I was lucky enough to hear it recounted first-hand last year, so I’m gonna give it yet another retelling.

So The Husband and I were at Sci-fi Weekender (a British based annual Sci-fi and Fantasy convention) last year, and one of the guests that year was Kevin J Anderson, one of the very notable Star Wars Expanded Universe writers. During one of the events, a quiet little interview in a cafe on the event site, he fielded a question from an audience member about what it was like to write for a franchise like Star Wars which often had lots of cooks working on one broth, and he had the following to say (wording recounted as best as I can from memory):

“So in one of my stories, Han Solo, he, he travels to this asteroid planet called Kessel, which is where a lot of Spice comes from, these Spice Mines of Kessel, and I got to really describe the effects of this Spice, this terrible drug and the addiction and all this and before publication I get this call, I get this call from the lawyers, and they say “Kevin, you say in this story that Spice is a drug, you can’t say that, you can’t say that Spice is a drug”, and I say “What? What do you mean it’s not a drug, of course it’s a drug”, and they say “Han Solo used to smuggle Spice, and you cannot, let us be clear, you cannot imply that the Hero of Star Wars used to be a drug dealer”. And I just stood there, at a loss for words, and I eventually said “So what is it then?” and they said to me, very sternly, “It’s a food-additive”. Now, now obviously this is ridiculous, and I won’t back down, and they won’t back down, and none of us will back down, and the book is very close to getting pulled, which I don’t want because I worked hard on it and they don’t want because they already paid me the advance, and eventually, with this great air of superiority they say “OK Kevin, we’ll take this to the top. WE’LL TAKE THIS TO GEORGE”. And they go to all this trouble, this was a long while ago when such things were not so easy to arrange, they go to all this trouble to set up a conference call with all of them and me and with George Lucas and they say “George, Kevin is trying to say in his new book that Spice is a drug, it’s a food additive, tell him it’s not a drug, George”. And there’s this long silence on the other end of the line and eventually George says “It is a drug, though. It’s, it’s a drug, it’s a food-additive? What? Of course it a drug, it’s space heroin, what else would it be? What?” And that was then end of that.“

darkpuck

i love this story

sartorialadventure

fullymechanized-consoomer

At the annual Houston RenFest we’d always get one or two furries that walk around and every time the general reaction from the medieval roleplayers is akin to “BEASTS? BEASTS THAT WALK LIKE MAN? FOUL!”

Last time I went a furry volunteered for an impromptu conversion/exorcism and a guy dressed as a monk gathered a bunch of people and using a Gatorade bottle performed an entire catholic christening while reading off the instructions on his Ipad. When the furry was fully “converted” he removed the head of his costume and everyone in the crowd pretended to freak out and say shit like “GlORY BE HE IS SAVED” “CHRIST HAS BROKEN HIS CURSE”

patchoulism

grungegoths

catsi

Okay so I was at work and I had the hiccups and I was stocking an aisle and this lady in the aisle heard me hiccuping and said "oh have you got the hiccups?" and I said yeah and she said "...Do you want me to get rid of them?" and I thought she meant she was going to scare me so I was like "n-no thanks" and she was like "you want to keep your hiccups??" and I said "yeah please dont scare me" and then I wandered off

And then a couple minutes later I still had hiccups and she walked by on her way out and she said "I wasn't going to scare you you know" and I said "you weren't?" and she said "no -- I have a way I can cure hiccups" and I was like "well what is it?" she's like "theres something about me that when I talk to people their hiccups just go away. i just chat or maybe tell them a story and after a minute or so their hiccups are just gone" and I thought she was like definitely on some pseudoscience shit so i kind of laughed and joked like "you should expect a call from the X-Men soon then" and she said "no. For real. I bet your hiccups are gone now aren't they?" and sure enough my fucking hiccups were gone. They stopped while she was speaking to me and didn't come back all night

what the fuck kind of power did this woman have... was she a hiccup witch??? I have so many questions for her

theglowpt2-deactivated20200101

prophecyguy

size-nine-shoes

I just remembered that time that I woke up because I thought an alarm clock was going off but it was actually just the beeping from censoring Gordon Ramsay on Kitchen Nightmares and I found it so funny that I couldn’t even be mad about it waking me up.

frankpunisher

im screaming into my pillow

frankpunisher

YALL

vegalocity

Anyone else Remember Quest for Camelot?

I mean it featured a cute af protagonist rescuing Excalibur and saving Camelot, her name is Kayley and her father was once a Knight of the Round Table, before he was killed.

Her disabled hermit boyfriend Garrett who has survived in this enchanted/cursed forest for years bc he was sick of being treated like an invalid in Camelot (like, it’s 100% Ableism as to why he left, it’s overt as fuck)

Their comic relief side characters, Cornwall and Devon, who happen to be a two headed dragon (the Dudebro and the Thespian respectively), and they have this wonderful character arc about how they’re such shit dragons because they never get along.

And not to mention the most enjoyable Chaotic Evil villain ever, Ruber.

(Kayley’s Mother): You’re mad!

Ruber: So glad you noticed! *image below* I’ve been working on it for years!

And it’s like, half spoof, half serious too, so there’s a lot of pop culture references (mainly from Devon and Cornwall) it’s also self aware af, most of the characters comment at least once about bursting into song.

Why doesn’t anyone ever talk about Quest For Camelot

fdsfjdsfjkf93723679267-deactiva

i think its very sexy how millennials are very anti-ad. like. ads were invented to encourage us to buy stuff. but me and all my friends? if we see an ad for something it fills us with rage. a pure hatred. if you interrupt my twitch stream or my stupid TV show for you stupid product i will hate you product for the end of time. i will spit on it whenever i see it. your ad doesn’t work on me. it doesn’t make me want to buy your shitty thing. it makes me want to piss on your shitty thing. fuck you ad companies.

fdsfjdsfjkf93723679267-deactiva

ad companies: i know what we’ll do. we’ll make short video segments that show our product is a positive way so we live an invisible, subconscious imprint on the viewers mind that our product is Good, so that when they see it when they are out they’re more inclined to buy it

millennials: i dont drink monster, no. i was trying to watch an esports twitch stream and every 10 seconds monster got advertised to me. now everytime i see or think about monster, i am filled with a vile rage. i will never drink monster as long as i lie. i fucking hate monster so much

asdlflgkllggjkgjktl-deactivated

the spanking debate isn’t all that complicated. you’re either ok with hitting small kids who are completely defenseless and literally at your mercy, or you’re not. supporting the first option makes you a bad and dangerous person, and unfit to be a parent, and im sorry to say but there’s no way around this, no excuses or loopholes. it is what it is

transboyurameshi-blog

I’ve told this story before and my clam chowder is getting cold but fuck it.

A couple years ago while I was working for a care center during my ece training - we had a big thing about spankings. We went around and asked children who were spanked how they felt about it and what it told them or how it made them feel.

Then when the parents were over, we anonymously read everything that was said by the children on how they view spankings and unanimously it was found that the children never saw it as a growing experience.

It was “painful” “really scary” “I thought mommy hated me now” and we often found it never actually TAUGHT the kids what they did wrong. in fact it seemed to teach them that at any moment your mommy or daddy would just haul up and smack you until you cried and said it was for your own good.

Needless to say I’m pretty sure we changed a lot of parents opinions on spanking and SHOCK OF SHOCKS actually TALKING to their children worked far better disiplinary

I even included my own story, pretending I was telling an outside story “well, I happened to know one person who’s mother only stopped spanking them cause they got tall and big real fast so they could fight back. so there’s a lot of intimidation and fear to your children.” and just - I’ll never forget the dawning look of realization on their faces

hobbit-feels

The most common argument I hear is, “Look, my parents spanked me and I turned out fine.” Stolen from elsewhere on the internet but now my defult response: “No you didn’t–you think it is okay to hit little kids.”

ladyantiheroine

This is a young adult novel, someone write it.

writeness

“Hey, can I, uh…hire you?”

I splayed my fingers over the notebook page in front of me. It was blank, save for a few doodles populating the margins. They weren’t good, but at least they were recognizable. Wonder Woman. Daphne from Scooby-Doo. A poorly rendered Katara.

I twisted in my seat, back cracking like a glow stick. Tyler stood behind me, hands stuffed into the pockets of his shorts. His grin was a little crooked in the way that I knew most girls at school liked. I guess it was pleasant enough, if you took the time to consider it.

“My going rate is five dollars,” I said, shifting my elbow on my desk so it covered my notebook. The barest suggestion of heat filled my cheeks at the mere thought of getting caught drawing Daphne in my notebook. I’d drawn little hearts around her head and everything.

Tyler pulled a crumpled up five dollar bill from his pocket, smoothing it out as best he could before extending it to me. It still retained most of its original crinkles, looking more like crumpled tissue paper than money.

Snatching it from his hands, I tugged on the bill, holding it up to the disgusting fluorescents that schools were so fond of. I didn’t know what I was looking for, exactly, but I’d seen my dad hold up $100 bills to lamps. And besides—it made me look official.

I folded the five in half and tucked it into the breast pocket of my old flannel shirt. “Who’s it for?”

I didn’t have to specify exactly what Tyler was hiring me for. All of the boys in school knew about my “service,” as it were: I wrote love poems for them to give to their girlfriends. They were never more than a few lines long, and rarely specific, unless the boys gave me something they wanted to say.

I got the feeling Tyler wasn’t going to give me any specifics, the way he kept aiming that stupid grin at me. I kept my expression impassive as I blinked at him, waiting for an answer.

“Keira Haggerty.”

It was truly a struggle to keep my expression tame. I’d written poem upon poem before, for dozens of boys about dozens of girls. But I’d never written one for someone like Keira before. Unlike Tyler, she wasn’t super popular, but she was super pretty. She had these brown eyes that somehow looked good in the bright hospital lighting of our middle school classrooms, and her curly hair was the color of cinnamon. And her lips—

I had to stop. My heart felt caught in my throat as I pushed my feelings down, down, down. “I didn’t know you two were dating,” I managed, casting a glance across the classroom where Keira sat bent over her notebook, scribbling away. Throughout the school, she was known for her art skills—she’d even gotten an award from the art department last year.

“We’re not,” Tyler said. He bit down on his lower lip quickly, tossing a look at Keira. “Yet,” he added, the word spat out faster than the others. “I hope this poem will be a good way to ask her out.”

“So you want me to write a poem asking her out?”

Tyler nodded, his floppy blond hair dropping over his eyes. He tossed his head almost violently to the side, clearing the strands from his face. It was a classic popular-guy move. Was it meant to show how nice their hair was? I don’t know. It wasn’t the same as when Keira twirled a curl around her pencil.

“Sure,” I said. “I’ll give it to you at lunch, ‘kay?”

Tyler nodded and spun on his heels, bouncing to his group in the back of the class. He fist bumped with one of his cronies and tossed himself into his chair with reckless abandon. The teacher began her lesson on the Civil War, but I wasn’t planning on listening to any of it.

I’d never admitted this to anyone, but I’ve had a crush on Keira since fifth grade. I didn’t even know it was a crush, at first—I’d admired her art, the way she colored the lips, the way the freckles dotted her portraits, how she knew exactly where the light was supposed to be. And I liked watching her get better over the years. She put my superhero doodles to shame.

At some point—and I don’t know what point—I looked at Keira’s drawings less and looked at Keira more. I liked the way she had graphite smudged across her fingertips, or clay still stuck under her nails. I liked the brown of her skin, how it seemed warm no matter what season it was. I liked the sound of her laugh from across the library, and the giggles that followed after the librarian shushed her and her other art friends.

It was easy to write Tyler’s poem. I talked about her art, her callused hands, how she captured images of people so well and I wished she could capture me, too. Just…not on paper. I wanted her to capture me in her arms and hold me and kiss me and stroke my hair and dot paint on my nose.

When I finished, I smoothed my hands across my notebook sheet and carefully tore it on the perforated line, making sure the rip wasn’t perfect like a boy’s wouldn’t have been. It was a last ditch effort, because the poem was written in my handwriting. Usually I made some attempt to obscure my scrawl and make it more chaotic, harder to read, but I’d gotten…distracted. It was a common theme with me, I’d noticed. Always distracted, always thinking about life like it was dipped in rosewater and colored pink.

The tinny bell dismissing us to lunch rang throughout the classroom. The teacher clapped her hands together, thanking God that it was lunch because she was hungrier than “heck.” As if we’d never heard a swear before.

I stuffed my notebook into my backpack, slinging it over my shoulder as I watched Keira. She tossed her head back and gave one of her friends a glowing smile. The ticking of the clock even seemed slower, the world stopping to wait as she gathered her things. She tucked her sketchbook into her book bag and crossed it over her body, its canvas body slapping against her ink-stained jeans.

At lunch, Tyler was easy to find. He sat perched on top of the lunch table as one of the cafeteria monitors snapped at him to get down. One of his friends clapped his leg good-naturedly as he slipped down from his perch. I caught his eye and jerked my head at the water fountain.

I went myself to get a drink, leaving the folded-up piece of looseleaf on the back of it, safe from water splashes. After taking a quick drink, I walked away, my back turned as Tyler approached the fountain in my stead. Careful eyes might have caught him pocketing the note, but it went largely unnoticed. I kept my gaze on Keira, but she wasn’t even looking at Tyler. It’s like he wasn’t even on her radar.

I sat down at the corner of my little lunch table. I sat with my “friends,” but we were all bookworms. We just pulled out our latest novels to read while we ate. Some did homework. No one spoke. It was a bookclub of sorts, and none of us minded the lack of conversation.

I pulled my book from my bag as I settled into my seat, facing the rest of the student body so I could watch as it all went down. Tyler twiddled the note in his fingers, shaking it like it was burning. It was a sharp contrast to his confident stride as he walked right up to Keira and the rest of the art kids.

He handed her the note, his hand not even trembling, that irritating crooked smile on his face. Carefully, Keira took it from him. She pinched it between her paint-stained fingers as she unfolded it, brows furrowed.

I didn’t want to stay attached. It wasn’t very business-like; I was supposed to watch the girls, write the poetry, and clean my hands of it. And sometimes I did, even if I looked at the girl a little bit later. But I had already been looking at Keira, and the poem just gave me a chance to really say what I’d been dying to. Tyler hadn’t even read it—he’d just taken it with the confidence that I’d written something good. That feeling glowed in my chest.

Something wasn’t right, though. Usually, the girls would say something like, “Did you write this?” It looked like Keira was following the script—but Tyler wasn’t. Because he pointed at me.

I slammed my book shut in front of me. I hadn’t even been reading it, but it didn’t matter now. Nothing mattered now.

Stuffing it into my bag, I rose quickly from my table and ducked out into the hallway. I hadn’t heard any laughter, but it would only be a matter of time.

It was always just a matter of time.

I should have known better than to trust Tyler. The school’s so-called pretty boy, Mr. Popular, Mr. Perfect. Boys like him weren’t nice to girls like me; they were cruel. Every single movie I’d ever seen had told me that. Tyler lived up to expectations. Expectations I should have had.

I pressed my back against the cinderblock wall, the painted white bricks only sort of rough through the fabric of my hoodie. Slowly, dramatically, I sank down until I was crouched in a little ball. Burning tears stung my eyes. No matter how quickly I wiped them away, more came.

The cafeteria door swung open. A flash of sound rose through the open door and cut off just as quickly. I didn’t look to see who it was. Hopefully they’d just go to the bathroom and not say anything.

“Hey.”

I froze.

It was Keira’s voice.

Crap. Crap. Crap. I wiped my eyes one final time, catching my nose on the sleeve of my sweatshirt as I turned to look up at her. The fluorescent was hidden behind her head, casting her unruly mane of hair in a halo of light. The note was held loosely between trembling fingers.

She squatted down, then thought better of her position and twisted until her back was pressed up against the wall, too. “You wrote this?”

It was the same old script I’d heard a hundred times. I sniffled, opening my mouth a bit to reply, but the words turned to dust on my tongue. I nodded instead.

“It’s, uh…it’s really good. Like, scary good.” Her words were tinted with a smile, and I blinked through the tears until I could see that she held no malice in her gaze. Just awe, and kindness. “I wish I could make something like this.”

I laughed. It was short, like a bark, and echoed down the cavernous school hallway. “What are you talking about? Did you even read the poem? Your art is insane! It’s the best I’ve ever seen. I mean it.” It was more words than I usually said to anyone. And they were quick, like a river, and just as energetic. Maybe not as smooth.

Keira grinned at me and set the note on the ground between us. “And you meant it all?”

I nodded again. I couldn’t have another river pouring out of my mouth. That was possibly even more embarrassing than being caught crying on the hallway floor.

There wasn’t even time to blink. Keira’s mouth pressed against mine. For the brief moment we touch, my lips burned. She’d caught them on fire—poured gasoline on me, lit a match, and I was ablaze.

I was alive.

It was over as quick as it had come, as though she was afraid someone would see. Shouldn’t I have been afraid, too? That’s why I’d come out here, after all. To hide from people who would hiss the words at me: Lesbian. Homo. Dyke.

But Keira didn’t say any of that stuff. She didn’t swear, or hiss, or spit. She’d kissed me. “You meant it all,” she repeated.

“I already said yes,” I replied.

There was a pause. It lingered on her lips. I thought lips were supposed to be ripe and red from kissing, but her’s weren’t. I guess a kiss has to last for more than a second to make them all pink and stuff. But I couldn’t stop looking at them.

“…Even the part about asking me out? You meant that?”

My gaze drifted from her lips up to her eyes, and it was clear that she was serious. I pinched the bottom of my hoodie. “I-I mean, I was asking for Tyler, but—”

“Tyler doesn’t want to ask me out, though,” she said. “Tyler wanted you to ask me out.”

“I—he did?”

Keira nodded. Her arm fell as she let her fingers drift across the folded up note, ripped poorly but penned in my hand. And I’m glad I hadn’t changed my handwriting. I’m glad it wasn’t perfect, but that it was mine.

“So what do you say?” Keira asked. “Will you go out with me?”

I could even answer. I just dipped my head in towards hers, quicker than anything, striking like an asp with my lips. This press lasted longer than the first, and my hand drifted up to brush one of her curls away like I’d seen in movies. I ended up losing my balance a bit and falling into her.

The kiss broke, and we both descended into laughter. It was bright, brighter than the school bells.

“Yes, Keira Haggerty. I’ll go out with you.”

kidsarentallwrite

Dare I say: god tier

fanofmostshtuff

Im-

I love this so much though. Like. All of it. Narrator’s jealousy, the fact that Tyler probably recognized Narrator’s pining and was like ‘no yeah im totally getting them together’, Keira being an absolute sweetheart, Narrator acting ‘professional’ holding the 5 dollar bill up to the ceiling light I just. Love this.

Tyler the ultimate wingman though. Someone make a sequel to this where Narrator and Keira help him out