Origami Around
ojovivo
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
NASA
Misplaced Lens Cap
No title available
tannertan36
will byers stan first human second
Love Begins
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
almost home
Mike Driver
titsay
Three Goblin Art
Monterey Bay Aquarium
oozey mess
Stranger Things
taylor price
Game of Thrones Daily
đŞź
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@stylish-tartan
Happy Disability Pride Month 2026! Itâs Disability Pride Month, and weâre celebrating with books that have queer disabled main characters! For more books with queer disabled MCs, or to look for specific conditions, check out ourâŚ... https://lgbtqreads.com/2026/07/01/happy-disability-pride-month-2026/
Olivia Jaimesâ Nancy continues to amaze and delight.
This really might be the finest 4th wall joke ever pulled off.
things in fic I'm used to people kind of faking their way through writing about:
the city of los angeles
the city of new york
sex
how drinking alcohol works
how getting high works
how a child of any age speaks
how nuclear physics work
how [my job] works
how debilitating being shot in the shoulder is
how hypothermia works
things I have never before seen someone fake their way through writing about, until today:
what french toast is
read through the notes on this one trust me
Here's some of the notes, starting with the things multiple people brought up:
SHRIMP COCKTAIL:
banahbanah: #flashback to that one fic where Peter Parker frets about drinking shrimp cocktail because of the alcohol
generaldeliciousness: adding: what a prawn/shrimp cocktail is
#why is your character turning it down because they're under 21 #do you think prawn cocktail is a cocktail #this lives in my brain rent-free constantly #the rest of the fic was so normal #and good enough that i'll still re-read it #but bro
And then many, MANY, people wondering if this was actually authour mistake, since Peter really would do this!
POMEGRANATES:
zhajhassa: #haha where's that post that was like someone describing someone eating a pomegranate but they ate it like an apple
thornhands: #once someone wrote persephone biting into a whole Pomegranate #had to stop and stare at a wall for a minute
sungsingsanguine: I once saw someone very confidently write about a character eating slices of pomegranate.
FRUIT TREES:
zagreuses-toast: #given a very endearing glimpse into a writers blindspots by seeing them describe someone sitting under a ''pineapple tree''
salatrash: I remember something about picking watermelons... OF A FUCKING TREE
baander: #cranberry trees
DOUGH/BATTER:
maycelium: #I'm a chef so I'm really used to people not accurately describing how to cook food #But I was surprisingly flabbergasted when someone was writing making a cake and was kneading it. Which uh #Not necessary for cake. It was interesting for sure but just bizarre
livebloggingmydescentintomadness: #the one that drove me nuts was when a character set aside a batch of PASTA DOUGH 'to rise' #pasta doesn't have yeast!! #it does need to REST but it will never RISE #you do not want an airy crumb on your noodles
lovesodeepandwideandwell: #THE ONE WHERE THEY MADE COOKIES BY LADLING BATTER INTO A TRAY
Some other topics:
IM CHUL-SOO AS AHN KI-SEOK IN VINCENZO (2021)
My artwork for the Legend of Korra concert!
Miriam Margolyes for British Vogueâs July 2023 pride themed issue: âI wouldnât want to be straight for anything.â
Photos by Tim Walker
some hyper famous artists like Van Gogh transcend overratedness and become underrated because they're so normalized. Like I'll look at a van Gogh and I'm like wait this really is amazing you guys don't get it
Shakespeare is like this
Every time I see a Van Gogh thatâs not one of his better known pieces it absolutely blows me away
Have you seen this shit my liege? smh unreal
anyway lets all hold hands and remember that lucy liu is the actor who has portrayed watson the most in film or tv <3
RK1K Summer Lovin' Day 1: Sappy Sunday Nap (submission by kise)
GOOD MORNING RK1K NATION it is currently 9 am as i post this! rise and grind đĽđĽ
here's my submission for day 1 @rk1k-summerlovin!! it's my first time ever joining an event like this, so i am very excited to post what i've been working on and to see other people's rk1k fanworks this week bc the world needs more of this underrated ship!!
anyway, that's all i have for today! stay tuned for day 2 đđ
ok so this is another long shot but a few years ago there was a twitter post (in japanese i think?) that had measurememts for how to make this book stand thing out of cardboard that you could use to double up books and use up more space on shelves
back then i made a bunch of these but by now i lost the pic and dont know how to find the original post anymore
if it comes down to it i can just take one apart and get the measurements from there but i would be very grateful if anyone happens to have the original post or something similar??
don't mind how long it's been since i made this post, anyway i realized that i don't even need to take one apart to get the measurements when i can literally just unfold it and refold it /FACEPALM
so anyway here is the diagram for anyone else who is interested!!
this requires pretty big carboard pieces, if you have a really big box or something you can make it from one piece, but if you don't, you can also just make each of the pieces individually and then tape them together
and then in the end you put it together like this!!
and then when you make a bunch you can put them all next to each other and stack your books like crazy
EVERYONE START GETTING MORE USE OUT OF YOUR SPACE NOW!!!!
Oh thank you OP this would be an excellent use for the huge amount of spare cardboard currently cluttering my house. Brb making twenty.
Metahuman with super healing powers whose entire job is that once a week they go to a nearby hospital and are put into a medically induced coma for 24 hours while all their organs and blood are harvested, and kept there until they've healed up again.
They get paid a small stipend by the Heroes Council for this, and they live off that.
No crime fighting, no obvious heroics, and they only took a Super Identity because it's technically hero's council policy. Nobody's ever seen them in a cape.
Every so often the Heroes council will release an official report to the public, and there'll be another bunch of news articles wondering how some unknown super calling themselves 'Meat Factory' somehow consistently holds the record for most lives saved across the city.
It is essential to my vision that they are not at all sanctimonious about this.
Like, they regularly act like they're getting away with something. They joke about how they get to earn money in their sleep. They show up to their hospital visits in deliberately ridiculous disguises, on the excuse that they need to 'protect their identity'.
Part of their employment contract is that they get served the same post-operation vanilla ice cream that they normally hand out on the childrens' ward. Also a sticker. Their overnight bag is covered in stickers.
Okay, Meat Factory is awesome and hilarious, but if they're being harvested for and regenerating absolutely everything, may I suggest an alternative super name: Theseus.
These four are the pieces I made for the 2026 DBDA Reverse Bang, and they are companion pieces to @coraline-piange 's fanfiction, catch me (i'm falling) (9350 words) by purposefullyinlove
@deadbangdetectives
Hamlet adaptation where Hamlet is a vlogger and all his soliloquies are breakdowns he uploads to YouTube
⌠I am unironically here for this
this is the funniest thing Iâve ever seen in my life
This is - legitimately - my favourite delivery of Shakespeare I have EVER seen (and I have seen some good-ass productions yo, in the Globe Theatre itself even). Like seriously, even though the words are unchanged, heâs stripped away ALL of the archaic pretense and assumed grandeur of ~presenting the bard~ that makes even the most wildly talented of actors and innovative of productions inherently inaccessible to a modern audience. Like, theyâre still great, they can still communicate the message and (some) of the nuance, but theyâre still always a step removed from being identifiable to any viewerâs lived experience. Theyâre still always reciting 15th century poetry. But this guy? This guy is like, screw iambic pentameter, to hell with being precious about the material, HOW WOULD AN ACTUAL PERSON SAY THIS SHIT?
Like this. And itâs beautiful. Itâs beautiful to hear a soliloquy I loved so much already, and have it come to life in a way it never, ever, did before. I feel like I grasp his motivations, his twists and turns, no longer on an academic level but on a visceral, instinctive one. Because heâs presenting his mental and emotional journey in a way that speaks honestly, like a real person.
So yeah, this shit post? I love it. Deeply and sincerely.
A post about this went round recently, and Iâm delighted to announce sheâs since come out as trans and goes by Jasmine đłď¸ââ§ď¸
Actor and Writer
Thereâs a whole series of the Hamlet videos on her YouTube, as well as a bunch of other films sheâs made
Because of Global Warming, Santa has had to move from the North Pole. You offer him a sofa to crash on.
He didnât think it would affect him, he said. He knew it was happening of course, knew that the ice caps were receding and the world was getting hotter, but he never thought that it would go that far north.
What bothered him, instead, were the polar bears. He liked polar bears. Apparently he used to see them, occasionally, round by the house. Theyâre desperate creatures polar bearsâ had to be, to survive in that kind of harsh environmentâ they used to say, if one started following you, youâd have to shoot it. That was the only way, because otherwise it would just keep following you until you died. He liked them. They never bothered him, or the elves, or the reindeer. Mrs Claus used to leave out gingerbread for them apparently, and sausages. She thought they were sweet.
And then, suddenly, they werenât there anymore. He didnât know what had happened to them. He used to sit sometimes, gazing out of the window, even though now he was thousands of miles away from the Arctic, as if waiting for a white furry shape to appear on the horizon.
You wondered about telling him the day the last polar bear died in captivity. âKissimiâ, they called him, after a character from a series of childrensâ books. Apparently it was supposed to mean: âaloneâ. You decided against it, but you sometimes wonder if he knows. He seems to have stopped looking out for them, anyway, if that was ever what he was doing.
The penguins went next.
âYou donât get penguins at the North Pole!â you protested.
He just shrugged. âThe children like penguins.â he said with a smile, âWe used to throw them fish scraps.â and then they were gone.
At least over there. The penguins were luckier than the polar bears. They were hardier, and they had bigger populations in captivity. You still have penguins, in the zoos, and of course some species prefered hot weather anyway. The penguins are still around, but not at the North Pole. Probably never again.
You were in bed when you heard the knock at the door. You pulled on your dressing gown, though really it was too hot to wear it, and came down the stairs, half ready to get annoyedâ because what kind of person knocks at this time of night?â half a bit scaredâ because what kind of person knocks at this time of night?
You couldnât believe it when you saw it was him. At first, you thought it was just one of your mates playing silly buggersâ letâs face it, fat old men in red suits arenât exactly rare as henâs teeth at that time of year, and you knew some people, Jake for example, whoâd think it a right laugh to pay one of them to knock on your door to see what youâd do. You didnât slam the door in his face though, even though by this point you were convinced that Jake or Chloe or someone was hiding behind a bush and filming you on their phone, you didnât slam the door and go back to bed because, for some reason, he seemed familiar.
So you just stood there staring at him, and he stared at you back and you probably both looked like a pair of twats, until finally he smiled a bit sheepishly, reached inside his coat and pulled out a letter. And that was when you stopped being weirded out and started being genuinely amazed, because, and hereâs the thing, you recognised the letter.
The paper had come from a stationery set you got for your eighth birthday. It was pale pink and had flower fairies on it, one in each corner, waving glittery wands and flapping glittery wings. The letter itself was written in pink sparkly gel pen, in big, careful, childâs handwriting. It must be decades old and yet, suddenly, unnacountably, you could remember exactly what it said:
âDear Santa. I have been very good this year. I ate all my vegtibles and let Tom have a go on my bike and didnât copy Chrissieâs answers on the speling test even thow sheâs a beter speler than me. So can I pleas pleas pleas have a kiten and a astran astroan astr space girl Barbie and som jellybeans and paints. Thank you and I hop you have a nice tim at Crismas. If you get tired off the North Pol you can hav a sleepover with me if you want. Thank you for the presents! Lov from Allie aged 6 ½â
A pause. âI know itâs a bit sudden.â he said, apologetically, âBut Iâve got nowhere else to go. Is the offer of a sleepover still open?â
So you invited him in. You didnât know what else to do.
It had been happening for a long while now, he explained. The snow had been getting slushier, the sun warmer, the icicles around the door had started to drip. Theyâd ignored it. Put buckets under the drips, had a go at sunbathingâ in scarves and coats and hats, since back then it was still cold enough to need themâ joked that soon theyâd have to start handing out ice cream instead of chocolate bars. Pretended that the penguins and the polar bears were just hiding, or wandering farther afield.
Then, one day, heâd woken to find half the house gone. Cut right down the middle, as cleanly as if somebody had done it with a knife, the missing half leaving only a pool of tepid water, with the odd book or broken ornament floating in it. That was when he knew it was time to leave.
You gave him a glass of sherry and a mince pieâ âyou remember,â he said, sounding touched and a little whistful, âpeople never seem to remember, these days"â and listened quietly as he told his story.
You pretended not to notice the way his voice broke as he described how he went to the reindeer shed the day he left, intending to set them free, only to find their stalls empty. You didnât ask where he thinks they went, or what happened to Mrs Claus.
Heâs a quiet guest, and no trouble at all. He just sits in the corner and stares at the wallâ most of the time, you forget heâs even there, except when the bright red of his coat and his hat catch your eye. He wonât take them off, no matter how many times you suggest it, just sits there and sweats, even on the hottest days.
You decide to make an effort this Christmas, for a change. People donât, these daysâ donât seem to see the point. Thereâs an exchange of presents, perhaps a family meal, but thereâs no point going around sending glittery cards with snowmen on the cover anymore. Most younger kids donât even know what a snowman is, and youâd be hard pressed to find one who still believes in Father Christmas (though, of course, you donât tell him that).
You donât really have much to do with your family, and were planning on spending Christmas alone, but instead you go out and buy a chicken (a turkey is still a bit much for two of you), some potatoes and veggies and, on a sudden festive impulse, a Christmas pudding.
It doesnât really feel Christmassy when itâs 20°C outside, and youâve got fans going in every room, but he still tears up when you proudly show him the spread and present him with a new scarf, clumsily wrapped with some old birthday paper you found at the back of the cupboard. âThank you! Thank you!â he says, over and over, and you notice that his voice sounds weaker than it did before. He eats three helpings, and you realise that his bright red coatâ once barely stretched over his big round bellyâ is how hanging off him. And itâs not that bright a red now, either.
Heâs gone in the morning. You donât know where. Off to wherever the penguins and polar bears went. The reindeer and Mrs Claus and the North Pole and the snowmenâ leaving only his hat behind.
You keep it on a hook in the hall, until one day you look up and itâs also gone, and thereâs a small puddle beneath where it used to hang.
You said something in âSmithâ which I hope I grasped, and there was a feeling almost of recognition. An odd feeling of grief overcame me when I read it. I cannot explain my feelings any clearer. It was like hearing a piece of music from way back, except that it was nearer poetry by Gravesâ definition. Thank you very much for writing it.
Terry Pratchett, in a letter to J. R. R. Tolkien, 22 November 1967
Thank you very much for your letter. The first one that I have received with regard to Smith of Wootton Major. You evidently feel about the story very much as I do myself. I can hardly say more.
J. R. R. Tolkien, in reply to Pratchettâs letter, 24 November 1967
This is the first I've ever seen this and it makes me wonder if it's why Pratchett was always so conscientious about responding to letters from kids.
If you were wondering: in November 1967, Terry Pratchett was 19 years old.
And he did in fact say on at least one occasion that it was this that pushed him to always engage with his own fans in the same kind and conscientious manner.
The Enigma of Amigara Fault
This short story by Junji Ito is about a fault that appears in Amigara mountain after an earthquake. The earthquake exposes countless human-shaped holes in the mountain which seem to have been made about a thousand years ago. People, intrigued by these silhouettes, gather at the site and thatâs when things get creepy.
Itâs about a 15-20 min read, but if you havenât read this before, youâre in for a treat. Link above.
i mean itâs not like i can just NOT reblog amigara fault. what if one of my followers is one of the lucky ten thousand who HASNâT been unutturably altered for life by it yet? go read it! itâs creepy, but trust me, it was made for you.
