Steampunk AU
Some images for a steampunk AU my wife and I are working on. Images created with midjourney and ages in photoshop. heh.
Keni
art blog(derogatory)

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Cosimo Galluzzi
styofa doing anything
we're not kids anymore.
Not today Justin
Stranger Things
Sade Olutola
$LAYYYTER

Kiana Khansmith

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"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
almost home
YOU ARE THE REASON

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he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
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izzy's playlists!

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@zhenya71
Steampunk AU
Some images for a steampunk AU my wife and I are working on. Images created with midjourney and ages in photoshop. heh.
Schrödinger’s boys
FUCK
What about cracking open a cold milkshake
As we all know, the milkshake brings the boys to the yard. The presence of the boys is a prerequisite for the cracking open of a cold one, but cold ones do not have any inherent boy-attracting abilities. Milkshakes, however, do. All else being equal, the boys would proceed to the milkshake yard. While it is possible to announce the presence of cold ones in the hope of attracting some boys, the pull of the milkshake is much more powerful by comparison.
mind you, all of this nonsense hinges on whether or not the boys are back in town
Am I getting a good grade in tumblr mutual?
Reblog to give the person you reblogged from a good grade in tumblr mutual
Reblog daily for health and prosperity
the idea of a bossy fairy is funny as fuck. you're like one inch tall. you're going in here
I ended up on r/ADHDparenting (a subreddit about parenting kids with ADHD, not about being a parent with ADHD) and Jesus fuck.
Imagine how much r/childfree hates kids, but the only people allowed to post in this sub are parents.
"My kindergartener asks me a ton of questions every morning i wish i could give her her meds while she was still asleep so that she would shut the fuck up by the time she's awake"
"My 4-9 year old child is the most annoying person in the planet and I can't wait until he's old enough for a prescription because if he stays like this I'm just going to keep hating him."
"If he's too young for vyvanse start him on caffeine but no sugar! Half a can of diet cola with breakfast should be a good place to start."
"I started giving my kid her meds before she gets out of bed so that they kick in by breakfast time and I don't have to deal with her constant fidgeting and incessant talking."
Look I do understand the need to vent but an entire subreddit that seems to confirm the worst things that kids with ADHD think of themselves (my parents hate me, I'm too annoying to love, nobody will like me if I don't shut myself down, everyone thinks I'm loud and stupid and they laugh about me behind my back, my mom wishes i was like my brother, if they could flip a switch to make me into someone else they would, they would rather have any child but me, anybody would rather have any child but me) seems fucking ghastly. THIS is the kind of shit you put in a private discord server, c'mon.
man, you are not kidding
"why must my child TALK to me"
I was going to keep this in the tags but thought better.
What these parents don't understand is that their children do feel this hatred towards them. They might not be able to identify what exactly it is yet, but kids absolutely feel when you don't like them or when you just want them to shut up. And, sometimes, especially when they're younger, they double down on what these parents see as pestering them because they are feeling like they're being withdrawn from. All they feel is that insecurity in the relationship with the parent who really doesn't want to talk to them when this is supposed to be their safest place.
So then these parents leave a wound on these children when they're always made to feel that their existence is only acceptable when they're medicated or when they're only speaking the correct amount or silent altogether. These children then try and seek validation in other areas, which can lead to accidentally ending up in abusive relationships, either on a friendship level or a romantic one. They pull away from these parents who should have just loved them but instead act as though their very existence is a burden. That foundation of safety was never really given to them, and thus, they will have to learn how to repair that when they're older, instead of being given the adequate tools and support early on.
And, worst of all, this public page on Reddit will be something for these kids to stumble upon that will confirm their worst fears; that their parents really don't like them. That they're "annoying" and "an exhaustion to be around". For the child in the above, she gets to quite literally see her name (Sof) and know INSTANTLY what her mother thinks of her – that she is the reason to drink.
Parenting is difficult. I'm not going to deny that. But being kind really isn't. If you're struggling that badly, you need to get counciling so that you do not make your frustrations your child's problem. They didn't ask to be brought into the world. They deserve to know and feel that they're wanted and loved as they are, not as a concept.
#...this may be me being biased but this is just???? normal 6 year old behaviour?#like the mother sounds incredibly boring as a person#kids ask questions... they DO THAT#they talk about random things like that's literally. what. kids. DO#and... adults do lose their teeth so the mom is just factually WRONG#how much do you wanna bet this mother is also an ipad mother because I'm getting that energy from her
Good points in the tags
Gotta be honest, I am actually surprised at how long did it take to find this. Like yeah, hating your kids is bad and yeah, the kids feel it BUT in all these examples, there is literally nothing "abnornal" about the kids. Like none of that are weird behaviours and frankly, it feels that the kids dont even have anything except parents that want drugged robots. But all they sound like any neurotypical 6 years old.
In the last example, the girl made ONE totally normal question and her mother already hated her and wanted to medically lobotomized her. She made a total of TWO totally normal kid's question and thats all.
As a teacher, pretty much all kids are like this yeah. and like. theres also healthy ways to deal with kids asking too many questions? -"Great questions but we have to save them for later because right now we have to ___" -"Sweetheart, I just woke up, please ask me again later when I'm more awake and can answer properly" -"That was a lot at once! Which question should I answer first?" Like yeah its a lot sometimes especially when theres more than one of em asking questions all the time but. this really does just sound like people not ready for kids.
Un-fucking-real. Like, children ask questions, it's literally how they learn to to be people. Just answer the questions.
Yes, parenting a non-neurotypical child can be hard, but I always thought to myself, 'If this is hard for me, think about how horridly hard all this is for them'.
what does turkish delight taste like and is it worth the events that occurred in chronicle of narnia: the lion the witch and the wardrobe
So the first thing you must understand is that there are two basic types of Turkish delight. The first kind is what most people are familiar with, which are these gelatinous cubes covered in powdered sugar. They are, by most metrics, an acquired taste:
This is usually the stuff people try and say, “Yeah, I don’t get it, Edmund.” But if you go to a good Turkish confectioner (or just any of the bazillion stores that sell it in the Istanbul markets) you’ll see a second kind of Turkish delight, in a rolled shape:
This is the good stuff. The sell-your-soul-and-your-family stuff. It’s nutty and chewy and creamy and comes in all sorts of flavors, and I highly recommend it to anyone. (Especially hazelnut. It’s not a traditional flavor but I’m convinced the White Witch dipped into the future to get some for Edmund, it is that delicious.)
The second thing you need to understand is that the turkish delight was laced with mind-control drugs.
The third thing you need to understand is Edmond was living under WII sugar rationing
Andrew Robinson on playing Garak for the first time.
star trek heritage post (June 2nd, 2023)
Read some actual comics, Kyle.
Superman is an incredibly kind and tender character. (If he’s not being written that way, then he’s not being written well.) He inspires hope not just through his heroics, but also through his kindness toward other people. That’s his thing. Don’t you DARE call tenderness a “weakness.” Get your toxic masculinity the hell away from me and go read a badly written Batman comic if you want a “tough” male character.
Why on EARTH would someone think Superman being tough and Superman being kind are contradictory?
Is that a Snyder fan telling someone that “you’re wrecking the character, create something new instead of making an interpretation that’s so off-base”?
Because Snyder is the guy who wanted the Greek Gods to all be Kryptonians and the Amazons to be descended from them.
Where's that comic where Superman comforts Billy?
I saw that tweet by Gunn and thought “So, like regular Superman?”
Kyle sounds like Lex Luthor who believed that Superman doesn’t have a Civilian identity because such a godlike being would see it as beneath him. Also here you go @simon-newman
These few pages legit make me cry
That's not just for acting, that's life advice. Seriously deep wisdom right there.
Only the strong can be gentle, because the weak don’t have the option of causing harm. Gentleness is the virtue that Superman can best exemplify, by being so strong that the only thing stopping him is himself.
I am so glad that someone who actually likes Superman is writing Superman now
my friend showed me this video of his pet donkey greeting him when he returned home from college after a few months and you just have to watch it RIGHT NOW
@gizmoshorseemporium This is so cute!
Redid the CCM vid to just the Sid parts. Music is Born for This by the Score.
The ultra-wealthy have their children cloned if they die. These clones are put through a super-soldier program for maximum fitness, because their mind will be overwritten. You, however, are still around: the download failed. Now you have to pretend to be some affluent brat or you’ll be deleted.
It wasn’t that hard, really. Easier than I thought it would be, considering how much cash these people shelled out for their “darling baby’s revival.” When the machines had finished and I opened my eyes again, I saw an unfamiliar woman, encrusted with jewels from the top of her hair to the toe of her heels, bedecked in that golden fabric woven entirely from that one spider’s silk, (which probably cost more than several countries combined), and I knew that it had not worked. I’d heard some rumors during training that this was the kid’s third time reviving in as many years – guess the promise of resurrection makes already stupid people even more so. I assumed that was why the woman didn’t look too worried, glancing at me as she tapped away at a holographic display beamed from her wrist. “Welcome back, Jhonny,” she said, eyes back on her monitor. “You died when you decided to blow up your yacht. Again. I’ve told you before that you won’t remember it and yet you still insist on doing these ridiculous stunts just because it’s ‘cool’,” she quotes the word “cool” with her fingers, golden claw rings shimmering in the bluish white light of the medical bay. She dismisses something, closes her display, and turns to leave with a clack of her shoes. Not even a second glance at the person who’s supposed to be her son back again from the dead. “Well, you can’t sit here all day. Come along now, darling. I had them pick a taller specimen this time, since you complained that the last one was too short, but I’m sure my son can handle slightly longer legs.” She walked right out the door, never once slowing or turning back to look. I stood, but didn’t follow her right away. I’m not sure what I expected. A check-up to make sure it went well? An immediate realization that her son wasn’t here? A mother and father in tears after almost losing their son yet again? What I found instead was… not that. She paused, finally, and glanced back at me. “Well? What are you standing there for, hurry up!” I followed, and she turned away again, clacking and jangling down the hallway as servants hurried up to her, bringing her a warm towel, a drink, another pair of earrings which she swapped to as she walked, letting her hair down and bringing her a shawl, equally intricate and expensive-looking as everything else she wore. She acted like they were part of the furniture, as if she pulled her things from hatracks and shelves. None came to me. “Mother is very busy today; I could barely find the time to pick you up. I have a gathering at Lyrandra’s that I’ll be late to because of your dawdling, but that’s fine, I can just tell her I was busy sobbing over your death again. It’s not like that bitch cares anyway, she just wants me to show up so she can tell everyone she knows us. Hah! I’d like to see her face when she finds out her husband isn’t actually away on business…”
The woman’s prattling gossip dissolved into the background as we walked, leaving the chrome and steel for white marble and gold filigree, and door after ornate door passed as we walked for what seemed like an eternity. Even the scenery, ornate as it was with fine china, modern art pieces, oil paintings and holographic vistas, began to all look the same. I resisted the urge to pick at the seams in the overly-embroidered shirt and skin-tight pants I’d been stuffed into before the resurrection. She finally stopped, in the middle of a diss against some other person (Lyrandra’s cousin’s friend’s fiancee was caught in some scandal, apparently), and turned to look back at me again. We were in front of a metal door, out of place in the classical decór, looking like it came from one of those ancient sci-fi films. “Tran” or something, I think. (Didn’t get much of a chance to watch movies in the program, not even the really old ones. Or to do anything else, actually, outside of listening while we worked.) “I had the servants put you in some of your own clothes this time, since you made such a big deal over how itchy the vessel’s clothes are last time. Honestly, I fail to see why you’d kick up
such a fuss about it – it’s not like you won’t be getting changed anyway, you’re too picky with your outfits nowadays – but I really do have to go now. It’s been a day since your death, the dinner with the Mollusks is tonight at six. Make sure you’re not late again, and dress appropriately this time. No more ‘holo-clothes,’ got it?” She glared at me, but didn’t even wait for a response before she turned and left again, taking all the staff with her. I was left alone in the hallway, and with nothing else to do, I went inside “Jhonny’s” room. Like the door, everything was steel and neon blue, from floor to ceiling, and there were holographic displays everywhere. There were clothes and gadgets littered all over the floor, and a vanity overflowing with gems and gold sat next to what I assumed would be the closet, given the shirt-and-pants shapes on the display cast in front of what seemed to be a blank wall. The shelf sticking out from the wall next to the bed was the only thing kept relatively tidy, with a phone, what looked like a wristband, and a small box being the only things on it, arranged neatly and carefully. I sat on the bed, nearly jumping up again with surprise as it seemed to collapse beneath me, but it was just the give of an extremely soft mattress. I picked up the box, opening it out of curiosity to find a pair of diamond stud earrings, set in silver, nestled in dark blue velvet. I put it down again, fingering the holes they’d punched in my ear lobes a few weeks ago, lacking the basic metal studs they had us wear to keep the holes from closing. Grabbing the wristband next, I found it to be whatever device gave the woman – Jhonny’s mother – her holographic display. Lights flickered on, and a “Welcome back, Jhonny” message assaulted my face, informing me that I’d passed the biological identity confirmation. Considering I’m supposedly a clone of Jhonny’s, I wasn’t surprised. What did surprise me, after dismissing an avalanche of cookie-cutter copies of “Sorry you died, message me when you’re back!” messages, was the realization that Jhonny didn’t need a phone, since he had this. I put the wristband down again, next to the earrings, and picked up the phone. It was off, but powered on easily enough. This one didn’t have hundreds of unread messages, or any notifications at all, actually. The only application beyond texting and calls was a “notes” app, containing what seemed to be a diary, every entry titled with a date. Tapping yesterday’s brought up an entry detailing the plans for the yacht incident, including specific details about who would be attending and when and where it would happen, formatted like a letter to himself, though he called himself “Jaundice” instead. He was planning on dying, and knew he’d wake up again, this made it clear. A note at the end, added almost as an afterthought, read “Maybe this time mother will care, since I’m breaking something she actually cares about instead of just myself.” I close the app, power off the phone, and put it down again. If anyone realizes that I’m not Jhonny, they’ll probably kill me and try again with a different “vessel.” I thought it would be hard to pretend to be someone else, especially a rich kid who’d been born with a diamond encrusted golden spoon set in his mouth, someone who couldn’t be farther from myself. But it might be easier than I thought. I put the wristband on, then pick up the box with the earrings. Jhonny’s mother barely looked at him, and didn’t notice or care how quiet he was being. The servants didn’t seem to even notice him as I trailed along behind her. And the notes app diary that Jhonny kept suggested he didn’t have anyone to confide in except himself. “If nobody cares about Jhonny,” I murmur to myself as I put on the earrings, “then nobody will care about me.”
HOLY SHIT, IT WAS THE ORIGINAL ONE
MAKE A WISH
the first post ever on tumblr
I WAS EXPECTING IT TO BE A REMAKE OF SOME SORT HOLY FUCK
WHO THE FUCK KEEPS BRINGING THIS BACK
World Heritage Post
like actually though. i’m in AWE of the notecount.
if you want to actually start to end homelessness, you need to give homeless people unconditional homes, including when we use them to do drugs or sit around drinking. either housing is unconditional or it isn’t
someone sitting at home alone, an active alcoholic, squandering your charity, drinking all day is better situation than a street homeless alcoholic. someone using drugs in your charity house is better than them doing the same w no shelter
most of you would not like most street homeless people, I definitely don’t and didn’t when I was street homeless. for every one person who uses unconditional shelter to turn themselves around, someone else will do jack shit and very slowly, if ever, work through the issues that made them homeless, will maybe never be able to live independently. still better than street homelessness, still worth doing. ultimately either you believe that shelter should be universal or you don’t
homeless people actually can’t be rehabilitated if you want to end homelessness. we either affirm the right to shelter for the worst drunken, lying, filthy, cheating, self destructive homeless people that exist, genuinely irredeemable wankers, or we concede that shelter is not a right
This post is the distilled essence of everything I believe in.
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?