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we're not kids anymore.
Product Placement
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2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
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Love Begins
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@only-the-brave24
I NEED SOMEONE TO RECREATE THIS WITH REMUS AND SIRIUS
US folks, please take literally 30 seconds to send an email to your reps demanding they immediately stop sending money to Israel.
Link here: https://act.jewishvoiceforpeace.org/a/no-more-weapons-israel-c2e
Also please use this tool (also takes literally 30 seconds) to demand your reps reinstate funding to UNWRA. UNWRA funding will run out in less than two weeks. This is SUPER SUPER URGENT!!!
On the same day the ICJ found South Africa's genocide case against Israel plausible, the Biden administration announced it was suspending fu
Link here: https://www.jewishvoiceforpeace.org/resource/tell-congress-demand-biden-reinstate-unrwa-funding/
Please also send these tools to 3 other people off of tumblr!
If you don't live in the US, please reblog anyways and share with anyone you know who does live in the US
Free Palestine 🇵🇸
i know we’re both just messing around pretending to be whole but look at me. if the train was coming would you move. if the ground was falling from under your feet would you even notice or would it just be another tuesday for you. if somebody stabbed you could it hurt worse than you already do. what i’m saying is that i love you but i think we both drive over the speed limit when it’s raining. what i’m saying is that i want to hold your hand and i understand about how you sometimes have to sit down in the shower. what i’m saying is that i’m here for you and if the train comes please move.
i wrote this 7 years ago, somehow. every day someone else finds it and whispers to me - oh, i understand this. something always turns in the wash of my stomach: i am so, so glad you feel seen. i wish you had no idea what this post was about.
i wrote this while working in a program for new writers. on wednesdays, two of the teachers would be contractually obligated to read our writing aloud to the group of 300+ teens. i had never read my work in public before. i had something like 6k poems and was panicking about it. none of them are good enough. sometimes the train is howling. it is hard, actually, sometimes, even as an adult.
and then i thought - what is one thing i wish i could tell all of them. each of these 300 kids. what did i need to hear, at 16?
i wanted to tell them about the day you wake up, and the sun feels warm finally. i wanted to tell them about carving a life out of soapstone, your hands turning bloody. i wanted to tell them that sometimes yes - it actually does feel easy. i wanted to tell them about weddings and cookie dough and long road trips. about albums of new music and old friends laughing and the sound of snow falling.
you will learn the pattern of the train. you will learn to close your eyes when you hear the engine rumbling. you will learn to let yourself have the grey days in their lily-soft numbness. sometimes it will feel like life is wet paint, and god has smeared your canvas across a sewer grate. sometimes it will be so boring it isn’t even pronounceable - the tenacious, soundless blankness. survival isn’t just ugly nights and wild mornings. it is also the steady, unimportant moments. it is just driving with your seatbelt on. it is calling a friend on the way home. it is burying your face into the fur of your dog.
when i had finished reading this poem aloud, the auditorium was silent for a solid minute. someone stood up to take a picture of where it had been projected onto a screen, and then three more people followed the action, and then - like a bad internet story, people remembered they were supposed to be clapping. kids came up to me after it - thank you for writing that. i think i hear a train coming.
i would write this differently now, i think, but it has been 7 years. i still live by the tracks. i also haven’t picked up a blade in over 10 years. the scars are still there, but these days i only pick up scissors to cut my hair. i know why you can’t tell your mom about it. i know how the numbness slips over everything, a restless horrible cotton. i know how when you dropped the dish, you weren’t crying about the broken glass. i know about feeling like all the roads have closed their exits, that you aren’t supposed to still-be-here - and yet.
i am still here, and still yours, and i haven’t forgotten. what i’m saying is if any hope is calling to you - i know it’s hard, but you have to listen. i’m saying keep driving, but slow down the car. sit down in the shower, i’m not judging you. we can stay in the dark with the good hot water and do nothing but stare. notice the stab wound. make it through another tuesday.
i know what it is like to miss yourself. do what you need to. come home to me. i am writing to you, my past self, from the future. i’ll be waiting for you.
and when the train is coming - please move.
Gary and Bonnie lead Marshall and Marcy away from their toxic parental figures. Both choosing the other over their responsibilities. One escaping said responsibilities by falling down, the other going up. Bubbline’s mutually-assured destruction, implied by Gumlee’s kiss. Queer obsession ending in death, and queer love, fulfilled, shown as two sides of the same coin. The implication that these two will be together, forever, no matter the universe.
Do you even get it. Do you even understand.
“you were a wonderful experience”
“you were… everything”
Why, out of GF, Amphibia, and TOH, only Luz didn't have to leave her new world behind:
I've seen people complain about Amphibia and to a lesser extent, Gravity Falls, for having their series end with a goodbye; the main characters having to leave their found families and this world they've grown to love and return to regular life. But the thing is, the three shows all have MASSIVELY different morals, that each fit in with how the goodbyes (or lack thereof) work into the finales.
Gravity Falls has a large theme of temporary goodbyes and reconciling. Stan and Ford being the primary example. But there are others: Soos and Melony, Wendy and Robbie, even Dipper and Mabel to an extent. The show builds upon this with Gravity Falls being a VACATION, they aren't trapped there, they could theoretically go home at any time. Episodes such as Summerween and Dipper and Mabel Vs. The Future also build on the tone, telling that it's okay to both grow up and move on, but you don't have to leave behind what you once loved in doing so.
The final conflicts (Wierdmaggedon) are caused because of characters not being able to let go. Stan couldn't let go of Ford, Mabel couldn't let go of Gravity Falls, Gideon couldn't let go of Mabel.
Gravity Falls teaches the viewer that even if you love something, you have to let it go, and eventually it will return. In the words of Bill Cipher: "We'l meet again. Don't know where, don't know when. I just knew we'll meet again, some sunny day."
Amphibia has a similar theme of Gravity Falls, but it takes it further. Amphibia tells you that if you don't let go, sometimes things will only get worse. The primary example for this is the show's catalyst event: Marcy getting Anne to steal the Music Box. Marcy chose to go to Amphibia, rather than move away, and she dragged her friends into it with her. Instead of having a long distance friendship with Sasha and Marcy, she took them to an alternate dimension in order to spend eternity on a massive adventure, and it got her killed. Marcy and Anne died and Sasha tried to kill herself.
And that's only Marcy. Sasha was a control freak that bordered on yandere at the height of her villain arc. Sasha couldn't accept that Anne was beginning to move on from the toxic friendship that the Calamity Trio had locked themselves into.
The trio were horrible to eachother, pre-character arcs, and they needed to focus on self improvement before they could even hope to be good friends. In the time between 'All In' and the epilog, the Calamity Trio would not have actually been able to be good for eachtoher. They say they forgive eachother, but that was forgiveness given during a WAR. Post show, the real feelings would start to bubble up. Anne's resentment for the betrayals, Marcy’s abandonment issues, Sasha's definite self hatred. The trio HAD to split up to have any semblance of a friendship.
Amphibia tells its audience that not all good things can last, and if you obsess and force it to stay, it can destroy you.
The Owl House has a completely opposite moral. It tells you to find your people, and fight for them.
Luz lived in the Human Realm, but it was never her home. Her home was with Camila and Manny, but when Manny died, Camila and Luz's relationship began to falter. That world wasn't her home. When Luz found the Boiling Isles, she was always supposed to be able to leave. This wasn't a summer trip she didn't want at first, or a one way portal. The Boiling Isles was HER choice.
Luz picked Bonesburrow. Luz picked Hexside. Luz picked The Owl House. Her home was always meant to be The Boiling Isles. She only started trying to find a way back to Earth because the choice was taken from her. Luz no longer had the choice to go back to the Human Realm. In fact, the only time Luz chose Humans over Isles was when she was PUNISHING herself for helping Belos.
Luz got to stay in the Boiling Isles because TOH tells its audience that where you start isn't where you should always stay. Find your place and find your people. And when you do, hold it dear and never let go. "Us weirdos have to stick together."
i wasn't supposed to write about roses or blood or silver, about hearts or wings or galaxies; my teacher used to press her hands, firmly, to the top of our poetry stacks and beg us - love different. she was bored of it. i'd go home and write something with each of her off-limits words, emboldened by spite.
for a stint of time, i was a reader for a poetry magazine, shifting through thousands of submitted writings, each hopefully printed onto my tiny laptop screen for next-submission-viewing. one editor had a pile where we would put all the poems with parsnips or cauliflower, one pile for long-thin emergency rants that devolved into a blank scream, one pile for mentions of belladonna and chartreuse - for a whole year, i'd go to bed hearing chartreuse and silver and cities playing in my head in calligraphy. every three months, the beautiful public eye would become just-fascinated by pretty things. unusual, beautiful monstrosities. one winter, all about daises. the next, a fascination with posies. i watched the world spin from catching love in language to the same five phrases - help, it's ending, i'm alone, help, it's dark here, come home, help -
later, as an english teacher, i saw patterns. every semester, one million essays about four specific things. it wasn't pretty enough to be a teachable moment: the content they wanted to discuss was all extremely violent; a broken anthem of climate change and constantly being videoed is destroying us. i would wake up shaking, worried their visions were prophetic, soon-to-be-true. selfish, i couldn't handle the constant semester-to-semester panic they scribbled into six paragraphs, MLA-formatted text. read the world is ending fifty times every month; sob to your therapist i'm not doing enough, tell your students: please, no more violence, i don't have the right stomach.
each one seemed the same poem: we're dying, and nobody is coming to save us.
there are very few celebration poems these days. i want to rest my hand on a stack of poems about love in big red wings. love in a jacket, standing under an open galaxy. love written on the bicep, in an anatomically correct heart, with an arrow shot through the center so you can see the pink viscera of surviving a wound - so you know that even permanent tattoos are permeable. blood on the snout of a newborn lamb. silver rings around the pink scales of a pigeon's leg, and love with her hand around the ribs of a bird. i want to read boring essays about lunch. about which video games run the best graphics. about carnivals. about love in big cliche terms: standing in a garden of parsnips, clutching daises to her chest, eating raw meat over the body of a rich man.
i want to open the poetry magazine and have pages of sonnets about bluebells. about survival. about a mundane, beautiful spring. about sitting with your dog on a front porch, writing without spite, happily toying with the idea of ice cream.
my student sends me an email. i know you said to write about what brings you joy. but nothing really makes me happy these days. i don't know what i'm doing.
when i wrote this 2 years ago, i put in the tags the other thing that was happening: right before covid, i had changed my tune. instead of telling my students here is what you can't write, i asked them to please choose something that brought them joy. choose something beautiful. in college, i am not looking for a specific topic, there is no "winning" the essay, i am just making sure that you know how to format an essay and accurately cite your sources.
the world is pretty bleak right now, and many of my 19 year old kids are full of anger. my brother and i are teachers at the same time, but he is a professor in engineering. our colleges are owned by the same person. he calls me, frustrated, because he just got a student out of crisis, and now the financial aid office has sent the student right back into hell again. we talk about the administration being useless. we talk about feeling useless. we both say: i wish there was more i could do, but -
the world is pretty bleak right now, and i asked my kids to write about joy, because i couldn't stomach what is unsaid in the above post: kids were writing too much about gun violence. they were writing about blood smeared across the hallways of their middle schools. i would get essays about how they huddled under a desk while the bell rang around them, this strange and eerie tune. one of the only times i told my siblings out loud i love you was while we had an active shooter. i was locked in a friend's room up in a dorm while we all huddled around unwashed pastel dollar-store bowls. we called our families and loved ones. what else was there to do.
i couldn't read any more of those accounts. how cowardly.
i wish i could say i was braver, that i heard the weight of what they were handling and was able to bear it, but it adds up. i had 50 to 100 students. every semester, at least 3 of them would have visceral memories of a school shooting. their friends and neighbors and loved ones. their hands shaking around their phone as they type out this message might be my last one. i couldn't read that and stay calm. i had to call my mom. sob to my therapist - how the fuck do i resolve that. how do i help them? we both still have to go to school in the morning - me and my students. how am i supposed to just read that and then go on and teach them about prepositions? i can't even promise they won't ever have to experience that again. i feel like we're just waiting for trauma and instead i'm showing them how to keep their commas in the right place. how the fuck do either of us navigate that space?
i forget it can be different. a few years ago, a series of roof tiles fell off our building and made a loud scattered popping noise when they met the ground. i remember the strange accidental culture shock: most of my students went quiet and flattened to the floor; i leapt up and & turned off the lights & shoved my desk against the door. there were three kids who hadn't been raised in america. i remember the look on their faces; shocked and confused, nervously laughing because they hadn't assumed a threat. the gentle hands of their american friends helping them get down; shushing in a way i can only describe as kind, sympathetic. one of my students whispered you get used to it.
how can i see how they are suffering and then still ask them such an incredibly selfish request: please just write something about love, about joy, about something that reminds you of passion.
i get novels in return. technically, i have a page limit, but i never enforce it. every semester, students are delighted by the prospect. i get essays about being a dog show judge and about the history of the throw rug and about how prismacolor chooses certain paints. about glitter controversies and about their favorite albums and their role models who helped them come out as gay. students came in with visuals and little movies they made. they would go above and beyond just to ask their heroes i have this assignment. will you tell me about what joy means to you? i have records of interviews from writers and tv producers and youtube stars. i hear stories about tracking down the recipe for their grandmother's soup and making bread with their uncle and learning about dance from other cultures. they put their whole heart into it.
i said: this is just for your freshman english class! you do not have to try this hard! i am just one teacher in a million!
my students looked up to me, coated in the viscera and insincerity of their lives; this harrowing space so slick with their own mortality, their childhoods never awarded to them. they do not have the same promise of future. they have never assumed they would live forever. love is not in an arrow-speared heart for them; it has always been too fleeting to tattoo. if they catch it, they release it back into the wild, horrified by how little territory it has left. they wish it well but do not keep it for long. they have always been aware of the cost of their own body.
and they said: it brings me joy, which means it's time well spent.
something about that. something about the fact they can find it anyway: i wish i could write each of them my own essay, and it will be full of all the words you're not supposed to use. ribs and teeth and middle fingers. i wish they related to that, that in their heart were only poems about falling asleep and soft blankets and galaxies. every rainbow peony cliche. i wish i could hold their hand and push the desk in front of the door and say: i got you now. it's gonna be okay.
Well this sure hit me like a ton of bricks
"Shame is not an effective treatment for an executive function disorder" i wish more people understood this :(
seen lots of articles and people saying that heartstopper was like "too clean" and that teenagers aren't that wholesome and they should be having sex and doing drugs and stuff and sure some teenagers definitely do have sex and party and do drugs but honestly a lot of teenagers DON'T and the idea in tv that all teenagers do that kind of thing can really fuck you up when you're like 16!!!! because you think you're behind your peers but mostly you AREN'T !!!!! we need boring teenager representation not everyone has a euphoria skins degrassi teenagehood some of us didn't drink or party or date some of us just did the kind of stuff they did in heartstopper like walk dogs and have sleepovers and skip prom to hang out at a friend's house and dance and have a good time and watch sitcoms!!! like heartstopper is good representation for people who just had regular uneventful teenage years!!!!
“I’m not going to do the thing because I don’t view it as important.” ← Conscious decision made of your own free will.
“I want to do the thing because I view it as important, but trying to get myself to do the thing creates the same reaction as trying to put my hand on a hot stove would.” ← Executive dysfunction, a physical health problem that doesn’t answer to your own free will.
“Trying to get myself to do the thing creates the same reaction as trying to put my hand on a hot stove would. This must mean I don’t actually want to do the thing and I’m just tricking myself into thinking I do.” ← No, that’s still executive dysfunction, but you’re having brainworms about it.
because sometimes there are invisible tests and invisible rules and you're just supposed to ... know the rule. someone you thought of as a friend asks you for book recommendations, so you give her a list of like 30 books, each with a brief blurb and why you like it. later, you find out she screenshotted the list and send it out to a group chat with the note: what an absolute freak can you believe this. you saw the responses: emojis where people are rolling over laughing. too much and obsessive and actually kind of creepy in the comments. you thought you'd been doing the right thing. she'd asked, right? an invisible rule: this is what happens when you get too excited.
you aren't supposed to laugh at your own jokes, so you don't, but then you're too serious. you're not supposed to be too loud, but then people say you're too quiet. you aren't supposed to get passionate about things, but then you're shy, boring. you aren't supposed to talk too much, but then people are mad when you're not good at replying.
you fold yourself into a prettier paper crane. since you never know what is "selfish" and what is "charity," you give yourself over, fully. you'd rather be empty and over-generous - you'd rather eat your own boundaries than have even one person believe that you're mean. since you don't know what the thing is that will make them hate you, you simply scrub yourself clean of any form of roughness. if you are perfect and smiling and funny, they can love you. if you are always there for them and never admit what's happening and never mention your past and never make them uncomfortable - you can make up for it. you can earn it.
don't fuck up. they're all testing you, always. they're tolerating you. whatever secret club happened, over a summer somewhere - during some activity you didn't get to attend - everyone else just... figured it out. like they got some kind of award or examination that allowed them to know how-to-be-normal. how to fit. and for the rest of your life, you've been playing catch-up. you've been trying to prove that - haha! you get it! that the joke they're telling, the people they are, the manual they got- yeah, you've totally read it.
if you can just divide yourself in two - the lovable one, and the one that is you - you can do this. you can walk the line. they can laugh and accept you. if you are always-balanced, never burdensome, a delight to have in class, champagne and glittering and never gawky or florescent or god-forbid cringe: you can get away with it.
you stare at your therapist, whom you can make jokes with, and who laughs at your jokes, because you are so fucking good at people-pleasing. you smile at her, and she asks you how you're doing, and you automatically say i'm good, thanks, how are you? while the answer swims somewhere in your little lizard brain:
how long have you been doing this now? mastering the art of your body and mind like you're piloting a puppet. has it worked? what do you mean that all you feel is... just exhausted. pick yourself up, the tightrope has no net. after all, you're cheating, somehow, but nobody seems to know you actually flunked the test. it's working!
aren't you happy yet?
the princess in “princess and the pea” is autistic because how else are you gonna explain how she felt the tiny pea through 100 mattresses.
it’s not “princess skin” it’s called hypersensitivity.
i don’t know who needs this but i wish someone told me sooner
you are allowed to govern your own life
you are allowed to do things without waiting for someone else to show you that it’s possible to do
you have agency of your own life
even if you’re young and technically don’t yet, don’t let your environment convince you that you’re only meant for what you’ve always known
all my life i’ve just lived my life passively, but the past year i’ve realized that i can actually be an active participant in it??! crazy right??
i don’t eat well because i would usually just eat whatever my family is eating, started watching nutrition videos online and realized meal prepping is a thing i can do?! no one around me did it so i didn’t know it was an option.
i’ve been learning to cook?? which is insane for me because i always thought i can’t cook, but i can i just never realized i could learn it, i thought it was just an inherent skill.
my general health is okay but it could be better, and i’d like to take better care of my body but i don’t know anyone who goes to the gym so it didn’t seem like a thing that people actually did.
till i started watching fitness videos online and just like meal prepping i realized that i can actually sign up for a gym, no one’s going to tell me to do it. i have to do it myself.
i guess i’ve always had the idea that if there was anything worth doing someone would come and tell me to do it but that’s illogical and not how life works out.
i don’t know who needs this but i wish someone told me sooner
you are allowed to govern your own life
you are allowed to do things without waiting for someone else to show you that it’s possible to do
you have agency of your own life
even if you’re young and technically don’t yet, don’t let your environment convince you that you’re only meant for what you’ve always known
I needed this drag. Let’s change guys and not look back
working out your brain is a must!!
• hydrate it by drinking lots of water
• eat dark chocolate and blueberries and walnuts and salmon and other foods high in antioxidants!!
• play little brain games on your phone; I like wordconenct! anything that makes you think!
• read books. It’s simple but necessary. Even better - join a book club, or read with a friend, so you can have discussions after. This will improve your reading comprehension.
• do puzzles - it doesnt have to be sudoku, I love playing Beat Saber on the Oculus Rift because it makes my brain have to match colorful patterns to physical movements very quickly!
• learn a new dance - even a tik tok trendy dance. Learning new dance moves are proven to strengthen synapses!!
• go bird watching, or foraging, or anything outdoors that requires you to explore pattern recognition and visual searching
• watch a movie with the intent of analysis - this is best done with a cinephile friend!! talk about tropes and symbolism and character growth
• cross stitch, or sew, or do anything that requires matching nimble hand movements to patterns
• play or learn an instrument!
• develop a consistent sleep schedule (or as close to consistent as you can get!)
• when eating, try to identify the ingredients and flavors you’re perceiving!
I hope this helps :)
I like how this went from me feeling like “hm why is this attacking me 🤨” at first, but feeling grateful seeing an added guide on a genuine expansion on a “ how to” work out the brain. This genuinely helps a bunch. People find solace in doing activities that get them through life by doing said activities of phone/tv or if that’s all they’ve ever known in their life to get them through things + etc tho. However, this was very impt to point out. Slowly beginning incorporating things to work the brain in ones own time.
whoever said being conventionally attractive isn’t all that was definitely attractive all their life because coming from someone who had a “glow up” — THIS SHIT IS AMAZING
“Animation is just for kids!”
…Ok…Ok…Let’s take a look at some of that animation that’s “Just for kids,” shall we?
Adventure Time is a series that touches a lot on philosophical questions and theories, with one episode having one character ask “If just being born is the greatest act of creation then what are you supposed to do after that?”
Avatar: The Last Airbender dives deep into having characters question what is right and wrong when dealing with a horrible evil. Like, is it better to harm anybody, even the most innocent old man, just because their society is run by fascists? Should we torture those who tortured us? And should we really kill someone just because they are irredeemable? All hard questions, each with uneasy answers.
The Owl House has a powerful antagonist whose goal is to commit genocide on an entire race of innocent people due to being raced to believe that said people are evil, thus stating that the most dangerous people are the ones who are prejudiced and ignorant.
Centaurworld has a scene where a man tries to drown an elk. No, I’m not kidding. That happened. It was on screen and everything.
Encanto teaches a lesson on generational trauma, the pressures of living up to expectations, and stating that the best gift is being alive and having those around you.
And do I even have to say ANYTHING about Pixar?! The Incredibles, Ratatouille, Up, Inside Out, Soul, and even Toy Story all have themes and morals that can speak to adults while also being simple enough for kids to understand.
But that’s just animation for kids. Let’s talk about animation for ADULTS, shall we?
South Park takes a comedic view of our society, poking fun in the many ways it’s broken.
The Breadwinner is a tense movie of a young, Afghan girl disguising herself as a boy so she can go out and make money so her family can survive.
Invincible has some of the most brutal scenes I’ve seen from a superhero series, including this moment with a train (you’ll know it when you see it) that was so horrific that, when it cut to black for a second, I saw the look of pure shock and terror of my face reflected onto my laptop.
And Bojack Horseman is the best adult-animated series I’ve ever seen because it tackles issues made for adults. Things like opium addiction, depression, the struggles of being asexual in a sex-driven world, and telling one truth that most adults need to hear. The truth that, in this life, you can’t live happily ever after. You’re alive, always have another problem to deal with, and then you’re dead. There’s no point, in this plane of existence, when you’re happy forever and ever. Because life’s a show, and when everybody’s happy, then there can’t be a show anymore.
Animation. Is not. For kids.
Animation is a medium that is often geared towards kids. And the reason why people keep saying it’s for kids is because they focus on the kids stuff and refuse to look at how mature some animated movies and shows can be.
