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today is not my birthday

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reblog to give your headache to elon musk instead

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draw this :3 mycroft optional

they're acting like nothing happened what the hell

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STOP SCROLLING!

Oka, I plan on following everyone on tumblr

literally everyone

Please reblog so I can make this happen

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he thinks i’m sweet but he treats me kinda funny

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how meek do you have to be to inherit the earth because I’ve been doing all this groveling and absolutely zilch so far

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That’s how “Marvin at the Psychiatrist” went

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the thing is that childhood doesn't just end when you turn 18 or when you turn 21. it's going to end dozens of times over. your childhood pet will die. actors you loved in movies you watched as a kid will die. your grandparents will die, and then your parents will die. it's going to end dozens and dozens of times and all you can do is let it. all you can do is stand in the middle of the grocery store and stare at freezers full of microwave pizza because you've suddenly been seized by the memory of what it felt like to have a pizza party on the last day of school before summer break. which is another ending in and of itself

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I miss the world before AI image generation

Secondly, I also miss the world where AI image generation was just incoherent blobs and obvious fakes

Thirdly, I miss when I had a spark in my eye

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reblog & tag how old you were in 2006

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somewhere a 13 year old girl just had the thought "i wish i was born a boy" for the very first time

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I've only ever really used Tumblr to like and lurk, but with what happened this week, I feel I should make this post. I'm putting this here for me, but if anyone else should find comfort in it, it's here for you too.

Bill Finn.

Over the last several days, my phone has been full of friends sharing their memories—of his music, of his wisdom, of that one sweater. So, as enigmatic as he was, let me try to put into words something of a tiny sliver of who he was.

He took his craft seriously, but not himself. And at the same time, he was remarkably blasé about his own work. Any serious questions about meaning were brushed off—whether because Bill couldn’t remember or because he wanted you to create and lean in to your own interpretation and meaning of his work is anyone’s guess. Probably both. He was more interested in what you thought than what he thought. 

Bill wanted writers to push boundaries, create messes. A top-tier compliment from him was calling you “perverse.” He was crotchety sometimes, but always genuine, and full of joy. He was brutally honest and to-the-point; if he liked something, he told you, and if he didn’t like something (more often than not), he also told you. If he upset or offended you—well, that was a you problem. 

But through all his bluntness, he wanted the best for you. He would go to bat for you, would fight tooth and nail for you to get the opportunities and recognition you deserved. He launched so many careers, mentored so many writers. As so many people right now are sharing: “What would I do if you had not been my friend?”

We will all miss him terribly.

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BABE WAKE UP ANDREW RANNELLS SINGING THE GAMES I PLAY IN 2025

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reblog if you wear glasses. too many mutuals don't know they have glasses wearers in their midsts