I found a cool photoshop feature in a book - “Blend If" under Blending Options under the layer FX menu. In the book the example given was you can make text slightly transparent so it looks like it’s a part of the wood image underneath. 

http://blogs.adobe.com/jkost/2013/02/blend-if-sliders-in-photoshop.html

Here I combined a stone texture and some clouds i found on google. the one at the top looks different bc I also added a gradient map to edit the colors

a game like world map

a game like world map

therandominmyhead:

Yes just me, a dog. Taking a walk. With my dogs. Who are my friends. But also dogs. And I am a dog.

therandominmyhead:

Yes just me, a dog. Taking a walk. With my dogs. Who are my friends. But also dogs. And I am a dog.

haggady:

leopards practicing for the dance

haggady:

leopards practicing for the dance

haggady:

in A flat.

haggady:

in A flat.

ask-pearl-girl:

titan-shifting:

artemispanthar:

pesticidepizza:

opalisagoddess:

It’s so beautiful.

STEVEN’S VOICE IN FRENCH IS SO ADORABLE OH MY GOD

It makes me absurdly happy to hear dubs of this show

THIS MAKES ME SUPER HAPPY

I CAN FINALLY WATCH THE SHOW IN FRENCH

AND THEIR VOICES OMW

I’M SORRY BUT AGAIN

MY LANGUAGE

haggady:

*puts finger on nose coyly* If Israel wasn’t more constrained by pesky morality than everyone else, weeellllll, a less reasonable country might respond to Hamas rockets by exterminating the whole country, everything from the buildings on down to the bugs in the dust. Now I’m not saying Israel WOULD or SHOULD do it, but, *wink wink, nudge nudge* 

- some people actually talk like this except in a normal tone of voice and it’s really scary

the sheer cognitive dissonance of “we’re the most moral army because we take every care to protect civilians” + “we should wipe em out!” (- joan rivers said something like that today.)

what this implies is that the IDF’s morality is paper thin, and, they bitterly resent every small step they take towards being moral.

awwww-cute:

Last night, my cat Merlin was on my husband’s side of he bed. He told me to take care of it, so I did

awwww-cute:

Last night, my cat Merlin was on my husband’s side of he bed. He told me to take care of it, so I did

imagine: a choose your own adventure book written for tumblr with each “page” as one post but the blog theme has the wrong number of posts per page and the reader instructions dont work

someone just vandalized a shul three blocks from here but the perps clearly dont know how to draw, the drooping spraypaint looks more like a failed game of pictionary than a menacing swastika. D- very poor effort

Family Guy doesnt exist you numbskulls it’s just Seth Mcfarlane playing live with paper cutouts for 20 sweaty minutes

john hancock: god this is gonna look so stupid if everybody else does their name really tiny
Truth.

humanityagainstassault:

My name is Magz.

In 2006, the second week of my freshman year at Goucher College, I was sexually assaulted by one of the co-creators of the popular independent card game Cards Against Humanity. He was my next-door neighbor. Someone I thought I could trust.

It has taken me eight years to be able to make that statement publicly.

Why did it take eight years? Why did I not report it? Why is he not in jail? Why can’t we find any of this on Google?

Because it took eight years for me to heal enough in order to tell my story. It took eight years for me to be more angry at my attacker than I was with myself for “putting myself” in the situation where I could be attacked by a relative stranger. It took eight years for me to stand up for the scared homesick kid that I was.

It took eight years and a shooting in Santa Barbara for #YesAllWomen to happen.

When that campaign started, I read many of the brave and heartbreaking stories that others had posted, including some from my closest friends. My immediate response was to say to myself “They are so brave. I could never say what happened to me.”

That was my wake up call. I got angry with myself, just one more time. Angry that I was buying into the bullshit that keeps so many survivors silent about what has happened to them.

Angry that I felt guilty about my attacker not listening, not hearing my refusal. Guilt about something that I tried to stop.

Anger is an underrated emotion. Anger can give you a voice.

It finally gave me mine.

I am not interested in pressing charges. I don’t think my attacker is a serial predator. I see my assault as an almost textbook example of a “crime of opportunity”. I have no interest in personal compensation, monetary or otherwise. I have no interest in his company or in stifling his intellectual or personal life. If I did, I would use my full name. I frankly have an infinite number of better, more positive things on which to focus my life and attentions.

What I have learned from all of this is that, for all of my fears of rejection, dismissal, and ridicule I have only received expressions of love, respect, and support. All of this anger and energy would be better focused on ensuring that every survivor should be able to speak out about their experiences secure in the knowledge that they are not alone, that they too are entitled to their own voice and their own life.

I am speaking out because it helps survivors of rape and sexual assault. It helps them know that they are not alone. It helps them find their own voice. It helps us own our stories.

I recommend that anyone who wants to make a positive difference look into supporting one or all of these excellent organizations:

RAINN - Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network: https://www.rainn.org/

The Joyful Heart Foundation: www.joyfulheartfoundation.org

Men Stopping Violence: www.menstoppingviolence.org

Not Alone: www.notalone.gov

 ————————————————————————————-

A draft of this statement was sent to my assailant in response to an email from him.

I received no reply.

This is a post about Max Temkin, and about sexual assault, and about nonverbal boundaries, and about how those don’t always work

scumsoft:

When I was 16, I was making out with a girl in my car. We started getting into it, I moved my hand slowly up her shirt (to make it pretty clear what I was going to do) and felt her breast. We kept making out for a bit more, but after a while she got up and said she needed to leave. I said okay, and she did. A few days later she texted me about she felt like I had taken advantage of her and her body. Of course I over-apologized and felt terrible and we never really talked for a few years. 

One day she messaged me again, saying that she apologized for reacting so harshly, and of course I said that I understood, and that it was okay, and of course my feelings weren’t as important as her boundaries. Obviously.

But still, at the end of the day, the “non-verbal” consent was there, but she consented to something that she wasn’t interested in. It still kind of breaks my heart that there are young girls out there experimenting with dudes and getting scared to say no for fear of feeling like a prude or uncool, or feeling like it’s unsafe to say no to a man. 

That’s sort of what this Max Temkin accusation reminds me of.

It’s totally possible that two people non-verbally consented to something that one of them didn’t want to do. 

I’ve consented to sex I’ve really didn’t want to have before, because I felt like I had to. It leaves a gross feeling in you. And it makes you angry afterwards. 

Non-verbal consent is a grey area. And sure, it’s probably sexier than saying “Okay yes you can touch this weiner”, but maybe we’ve got to push the conversation towards normalizing verbal consent in the same way that non-verbalized consent has been normalized.

Of course, this is all speculation, and at the end of the day whatever happened between Max and his accuser is between them, I’m just using it to talk about something that still sits uneasy with me. 

If Max Temkin really wants to walk the walk he should use this huge amount of attention to address the myriad of issues that are attached to conventions of consent rather than just say that he’s hurt. 

I was hurt when I was 16 and that girl told me that she felt taken advantage of, because as far as I knew, everything had been consensual. But it didn’t matter that I was hurt, because there was something far more insidious and hurtful in the fact that somebody felt they couldn’t verbalize their own boundaries.