The Thunderchild

"That crazy son of a bitch may be the only sane one left." -Catch 22

"Playing with small children toys makes me realize how stupid little children are"
My little brother, Daniel
— 5 hours ago

-everdeen:

Breaking Bad Alternate Ending [x]

(via swashbuckler-joe)

— 7 hours ago with 136616 notes

merthurian-legend:

decibelsandpaperbacks:

This week on Tumblr:

It’s a metaphor. You’re a metaphor. I’m a metaphor. Your keybord is a metaphor. Everything is a metaphor. The universe is turning into one giant metaphor on a molecular scale. Run. It’s too late.

Hail hydra

(Source: little-blue-aeroplane, via trippingtribbles)

— 12 hours ago with 65499 notes
triangletoothedlockpick:

obsidian-order:

beckaford:

micahelizabeth:


“Eat” the damn Play-doh cookies.
Slurp the invisible soup.
Pretend that they’re not causing grievous bodily harm as they “brush” your hair.
Always be serious when asked what you’d like for dinner, and never say something silly like rabbit soup. Because they will go get their stuffed one off the bed, put it in your best pot, and fill said pot with water. Then place it on your desk.
Greet their make believe friends and ask how their day was.
Always kiss the teddy bear goodnight. It has feelings too.
Always pretend to die when they shoot you.
If you are having a fake war with them and you shoot them and they say they can’t die because they are invincible, you don’t shoot them again, because they are invincible.
Yes, their drawing does look like a butterfly, not a bunch of jumbled up lines.
Them pounding on the piano is the best thing you have ever heard.

THISTHISTHISTHIS

no but seriously it’s very important to a child’s development to not be shut down by parents and other caregivers

once when i was little i gave my mum a bowl full of buttons and she got really into pretending it was real food. when she asked me ‘is it soup?’, i turned around, and with the most disapproving glare just went ‘no. it’s buttons’.

That reminds me of how I was told that my uncle, as a child was sat in a box and my grandma asked him if he was in a car or a plane. He replied “No. It’s a box.”

triangletoothedlockpick:

obsidian-order:

beckaford:

micahelizabeth:

  • Eat” the damn Play-doh cookies.
  • Slurp the invisible soup.
  • Pretend that they’re not causing grievous bodily harm as they “brush” your hair.
  • Always be serious when asked what you’d like for dinner, and never say something silly like rabbit soup. Because they will go get their stuffed one off the bed, put it in your best pot, and fill said pot with water. Then place it on your desk.
  • Greet their make believe friends and ask how their day was.
  • Always kiss the teddy bear goodnight. It has feelings too.
  • Always pretend to die when they shoot you.
  • If you are having a fake war with them and you shoot them and they say they can’t die because they are invincible, you don’t shoot them again, because they are invincible.
  • Yes, their drawing does look like a butterfly, not a bunch of jumbled up lines.
  • Them pounding on the piano is the best thing you have ever heard.

THISTHISTHISTHIS

no but seriously it’s very important to a child’s development to not be shut down by parents and other caregivers

once when i was little i gave my mum a bowl full of buttons and she got really into pretending it was real food. when she asked me ‘is it soup?’, i turned around, and with the most disapproving glare just went ‘no. it’s buttons’.

That reminds me of how I was told that my uncle, as a child was sat in a box and my grandma asked him if he was in a car or a plane. He replied “No. It’s a box.”

(via north-remembers)

— 23 hours ago with 148977 notes

kisswithatear:

And Now For Something Completely Different… Man

— 3 days ago with 21853 notes
"

A FAT LITTLE GIRL
is eight years old, she’s got pink cheeks that her grandmother calls chubby. She wants a second cookie but her aunt says “you’ll get huge if you keep eating.” She wants a dress and the woman in the changing room says “she’ll probably need a large in that.” She wants to have dessert and her waiter says “After all that dinner you just had? You must be really hungry!” and her parents laugh.

A FAT LITTLE GIRL
is eleven and she is picked second-to-last in gym class. She watches a cartoon and sees that everyone who is annoying is drawn with a big wide body, all sweaty and panting. At night she dreams she is swelling like the ocean over seabeds. When she wakes up, she skips school.

A FAT LITTLE GIRL
is thirteen and her friends are stick-thin ballerinas with valleys between their hipbones. She is instead developing the wide curves of her mother. She says she is thick but her friends argue that she’s “muscular” and for some reason this hurts worse than just admitting that she jiggles when she walks and she’ll never be a dancer. Eating seconds of anything feels like she’s breaking some unspoken rule. The word “indulgent” starts to go along with “food.”

A FAT LITTLE GIRL
is fourteen and she has stopped drinking soda and juice because they bloat you. She always takes the stairs. She fidgets when she has to sit still. Whenever she goes out for ice cream, she leaves half at the bottom - but someone else always leaves more and she feels like she’s falling. She pretends to like salad more than she does. She feels eyes burrowing through her body while she eats lunch. Kate Moss tells her nothing tastes as good as skinny feels, but she just feels like she is wilting.

A FAT LITTLE GIRL
is fifteen the first time her father says “you’re getting gaunt.” She rolls her eyes. She eats one meal a day but thinks she stays the same size. Every time she picks up a brownie she thinks of the people she sees on t.v. and every time she has cake, she thinks of the one million magazine articles on restricting calories. She used to have no idea a flat stomach was supposed to be beautiful until she saw advice on how to achieve it. She cuts back on everything. She controls. They tell her she’s getting too thin but she doesn’t believe it.

A FAT LITTLE GIRL
is sixteen and tearing herself into shreds in order for a thigh gap big enough to hush the screams in her head. She doesn’t “indulge,” ever. She can’t go out with friends, they expect her to eat. She damns her sweet tooth directly to hell. It’s coffee for breakfast and tea for lunch and if there’s dance that evening, two cups of water and then maybe an apple. She lies all the time until she thinks the words will rot her teeth. She dreams about food when she sleeps. Her aunt begs her to eat anything, even just a small cookie. They say, “One bite won’t make you fat, will it, darling?”

A FAT LITTLE GIRL
is seventeen and too sick to go to prom because she can’t stand up for very long. She thinks she wouldn’t look good in a dress anyway. Her nails are blue and not because they are painted. Her hair is too thin to do anything with. She’s tired all the time and always distracted. She once absently mentions the caloric value of grapes to the boy she is with and he looks at her like she’s gone insane and in that moment she realizes most people don’t have numbers constantly scrolling in their heads. She swallows hard and tries to figure out where it all went wrong, why more than a granola bar for a meal makes her feel sick, why she tastes disease and courts with death. She misses sleep. She misses being able to dream. She misses being herself instead of just being empty.

A FAT LITTLE GIRL
is twenty and writes poetry and is a healthy weight and still fights down the voices every single day. She puts food in her mouth and sometimes cries about it but more and more often feels good, feels balanced. Her cheeks are pink and they are chubby and soft and no longer growing slight fur. Her hair is long and it is beautiful. She still picks herself apart in the mirror, but she’s starting to get better about it. She wears the dress she likes even if it only fits her in a large and she doesn’t feel like a failure for it. She is falling in love with the fat on her hips.

She is eating out with friends and not worrying about finding the lowest calorie item on the menu when she hears a mother tell her four year old daughter “You can’t have ice cream, we just had dinner.
You don’t want to end up as a fat little girl.”

"
Why do we constantly do this to our children? /// r.i.d (via inkskinned)

(via north-remembers)

— 3 days ago with 199237 notes
mapsontheweb:

Tensions Grow in Eastern Ukraine

mapsontheweb:

Tensions Grow in Eastern Ukraine

(Source: The New York Times)

— 3 days ago with 79 notes

thekillernextdoor:

controversial-tabloid-story:

yousaynotorachetpussyjuicyjcant:

sirenknights:

Space, guys… SPACE!!!!

I kinda want all of these tattoo’d on me

fyi, these make really great phone wallpaper…

image

(via you-had-me-at-lesbian)

— 3 days ago with 242793 notes