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I think dudes who say shit like “I couldn’t love a child that wasn’t mine” shouldn’t have kids

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👏Sometimes👏things 👏are👏not👏for👏you👏

Better to have basic rep than ZERO. They could have just had a cis kid and a non-disabled kid, but tried to make a palatable teaching moment and IT WORKED

You need the first stepping stones as much as the rest of the path 💯

I need to say something and I need y'all to be calm

if it isn't actively bad or harmful, no representation should be called "too simple" or "too surface level"

I have a whole argument for this about the barbie movie but today I wanna talk about a show called "the babysitters club" on Netflix

(obligatory disclaimer that I watched only two episodes of this show so if it's super problematic I'm sorry) (yes. I know it's based on a book, this is about the show)

this is a silly 8+ show that my 9 year old sister is watching and it manages to tackle so many complex topics in such an easy way. basic premise is these 13 year old girls have a babysitting agency.

in one episode, a girl babysits this transfem kid. the approach is super simple, with the kid saying stuff like "oh no, those are my old boy clothes, these are my girl clothes". they have to go to the doctor and everyone is calling the kid by her dead name and using he/him and this 13 year old snaps at like a group of doctors and they all listen to her. it's pure fantasy and any person versed in trans theory would point out a bunch of mistakes.

but after watching this episode, my little sister started switching to my name instead of my dead name and intercalating he/him pronouns when talking about me.

one of the 13 years old is a diabetic and sometimes her whole personality is taken over by that. but she has this episode where she pushes herself to her limit and passes out and talks about being in a coma for a while because of not recognizing the limits of her disability.

and this allowed my 9 year old sister to understand me better when I say "I really want to play with you but right now my body physically can't do that" (I'm disabled). she has even asked me why I'm pushing myself, why I'm not using my crutches when I complain about pain.

my mom is 50 years old and watching this show with my sister. she said the episode about the diabetic girl helped her understand me and my disability better. she grew up disabled as well, but she was taught to shut up and power through.

yes, silly simple representation can annoy you if you've read thousands of pages about queer liberation or disability radical thought, but sometimes things are not for you.

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i just think its messed up that couch sleepy never directly translates to bed sleepy

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Marian Ellis Rowan (1848-1922, Australian) ~ One hundred and fifty-eight medium- and small-sized moths, in seven columns. A wide range of families is represented, including the NOCTUIDAE, ARCTIIDAE, LASIOCAMPIDAE, LYMANTRIIDAE, GEOMETRIDAE, PYRALIDAE, SESIIDAE, etc. 

Watercolour with bodycolour on green paper

[Source: Christie’s]

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Okay, dis is fun as HELL

When ogres travel, they do so in human shape.

They hate doing this. They think it’s beneath them. But they do it anyway.

The Vicomte Graoul de Saucisson – and this is another thing about ogres. Ogres as a species are nobility. There is no such thing as a low-born ogre. There is always room in the ogrish peerage for another vicomte, another prince, another branch to tie to the rotted tree – strode up to the chateau in human shape. The roses in the garden shivered as he passed by. The huge, high doors opened by themselves and he walked through them without a shift in his stride.

When the doors slammed shut behind him, he moved to shrug the shape off his shoulders like a coat.

Then he saw the woman.

He froze. He stared. She stared back.

He slowly pulled the shape back on. “Who are you?” he asked.

She looked mildly appalled. “Who are you?” she asked. “What are you doing in my home?”

“Your home? This is–” He stopped. He reconsidered. “I am the Vicomte de Saucisson,” he said. “I’m looking for the Marquis de Pamplemousse. He is a… colleague of mine.”

“Oh,” she said. She could’ve looked more abashed. “I’m sorry, monsieur, he’s never mentioned you before. You must be here to share your congratulations, of course, I can fetch him right away.”

“He’s never mentioned you either,” the vicomte did not say. “Of course,” he said. “Congratulations. What about?”

She seemed surprised. “Have you not heard? Monsieur, the curse on my husband has been lifted.”

He stared. His lips started to form the words “What curse,” and then there was a sound like a horse falling down a set of stairs and a man he had never seen before wearing the marquis’s clothes came barrelling down the hall.

“Vicomte!” said the man with the marquis’s voice. “My human friend! The curse has been lifted, and I am a human once again!”

He was slightly out of breath when he reached the woman. He clasped her arm and grinned at him with manic desperation. “This is wonderful news! You must be here to share your congratulations!”

“Lie like hell,” said the man’s eyes.

The vicomte stared. “Oh!” he said. “My – human friend! Human once again! Words fail me. After all these–” (there was the slightest hesitation) “–years?”

The woman put her head at an angle and narrowed her eyes at him.

The man walked up, still grinning like a rictus chimpanzee, and clasped a hand on his shoulder. “Yes, of course! Darling, me and the vicomte are going to have a manly one-on-one conversation while he shares his congratulations, as we human men are wont to do.” And then with a strength that could only be ogrish, the marquis pulled the vicomte by the shoulder down the hall and into a drawing room.

When the bolt of the lock clicked into place behind them, the man wearing the marquis’s clothes visibly sagged.

“What the hell,” said the vicomte.

“You should’ve sent word ahead that you'd be coming today.”

“I never do.” He gesticulated and tried to conjure a single question out of the swarm buzzing in his brain. “What the hell is going on? Who was that? Why are you pretending to be human? What curse are we talking about?”

The marquis groaned and crumpled into a chair. As he did he shifted out of human shape, clothes magically tailoring themselves to contain his ogrish form, something like a moose and an orangutan.

“I had a moment of weakness.”

���Are you sure it wasn’t a stroke?”

“I got married.”

“And that’s another thing–”

“Graoul, please.” He sighed and put his face in his talons. “Last winter a merchant broke into my home. He stole one of my roses, and in exchange I asked him to send me one of his daughters to be my bride.”

The vicomte nodded. This at least was a sacred and recognizable ogrish custom, and he did like to see the old ways in practice.

“And it was fine! It was perfectly lovely. She’s a wonderful woman, but one night I decided to put on a human shape to change things up in the bedroom, and she lost her mind! Started talking about how I was clearly an enchanted prince and that her love for me must’ve broken some curse and turned me human again! I had no idea how to tell her otherwise, and now I’ve done it for too long to back out.”

The vicomte stared. “Sorry,” he said. “You decided to turn into a human to spice things up in the bedroom, and that was the face you chose?”

The marquis growled. “If I knew I was going to be wearing it for the rest of my life I would’ve gone with something better.”

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What happens to me and probably many artists

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“You Missed the Point by Idolizing Them” Starter Pack

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btw dating sucks as a concept.

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[on the verge of having a complete breakdown] i need to make some kind of list or perhaps sort things into categories

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The Minotaur

Everyone else is afraid of these old catacombs. “There’s a monster that lurks down there,” people say. “It will rend the flesh from your bones and use them to clean its teeth.” But you’ve never been the type to be afraid of a little adventure, and you doubt there’s any such beast.

Down in the depths, your torch lights the way past walls of white bone, pockmarked with eye sockets and broken teeth. Bugs crawl from open and missing jaws. You feel a little shiver, but it’s not fear—it’s anticipation.

When you reach the great door at the end, you hear a faint whuff coming from inside. Perhaps there is a creature down here after all. Your hand rests on the handle, and slowly, you pull.

He’s big—bigger than big. As the door creaks open, his shadow rises from its place on a set of great steps that lead up to an immense chalice. This is what he’s here for: To protect this long-lost treasure.

You hear a low growl as you raise your torch into the air, illuminating his shape. His horns curve up wide on each side of his massive head, casting the shadow of a demon. His muzzle is long and wide, with a wet, black nose. His chest is bare, and he’s covered in thick, rippling muscle. Fur travels down from his hips over great big haunches, ending at his onyx hooves. But your eyes are drawn to what lies at the crux of his legs: A heavy cock hanging down over a dark, furry sac.

His nostrils flare as you step into the room. You’re trembling, but not from terror. Never have you seen a creature as beautiful as this one.

“You have made a grievous mistake,” the minotaur says, taking a step towards you, so his hooves click against the stone floor. “This is your end.” He picks up his battle axe, ready to cleave you in two. But as he approaches, his nostrils flare. “You do not smell of fear,” he says, pausing in front of you. “No, that is… something else. Something sweeter.” His huge, cow-like eyes observe you carefully. Down at his waist, you find that sizable cock has started to move, the skin pulling back from the head, the shaft rising into the air.

“I wanted to know if you were real,” you say, and you can’t help but smile. “And you are.”

“I am,” he agrees. The minotaur takes another step closer, and another, until his chest is so close you can smell him. He carries the scent of death, of animal, of musk and leather. His axe lowers, and his other hand seizes your chin. Forcing your face upward, he looks into your eyes, and what he sees there takes him by surprise.

“So that’s why you’ve come.” His chuckle is deep and ominous. “It’s been centuries since anyone walked out of here alive. And you believe you’re so different?”

“I don’t.” You wouldn’t say you’re brave so much as foolish. “But you won’t know unless you try.”

He lowers his head until his hot breath is blowing into your hair. His lips peel back to reveal a wicked smile, and the axe falls to the floor with a clang! “Silly human,” he says, pressing his finger between your lips. You draw it into your mouth, sucking on it, lapping it with your tongue. His other hand travels down your side to your belly, and then lower still, until it reaches between your legs. Now, his face registers genuine surprise when he feels how warm and needy you are for him.

Suddenly he tears open the laces of your pants, ripping them off your body. That hand ventures deeper, testing you, seeking out how wet you’ve gotten. There’s a low rumble of pleasure, deep in his chest. “How you want, small thing,” he says, leaning forward to breathe into your ear. “I have never smelled something so delicious as your desire.”

Grabbing your hips with a rough urgency, he turns you around. “It’s been many decades since my cock was properly sated,” he murmurs, his hands squeezing the soft flesh of your ass. “You will make a fine vessel.”

He pushes you hard against a wall, and your torch tumbles to the ground. He’s going to mount you, and you’re dripping at the idea. His drooling cock runs all along your underside, smearing you with his come.

“Tell me,” he snarls. “Tell me how you much you want it.”

“Please,” you whisper back. “I need it all.”

Without warning, he shoves himself inside you. It’s big, far too big, and you cry out as he plunges in. Perhaps, you think, you’ll split in half. But gods above does he feel good, too—prying you apart, widening you for him, rearranging you so he can fit. He groans, finally seating himself deep inside, the crown of his cock settling right where it belongs.

“Yes, please,” you say, tears working free from your eyes. “Please.”

Your whimpers earn you a lusty growl. He pulls out, only to enter you again with even more force. You’re slick and soft and he’s hard and unyielding as he takes you, forcing himself so deep that his sac slaps your flesh. You find yourself moaning, too, as he explores all of you. His thrusts are faster now, and every stroke is winding you up until you’re clenching him hard.

“You’re so tight.” His hot breath tickles your neck. “I’m going to stuff you so full, you’ll have no choice but to carry my calves.”

“Yes.” Your head falls forward, your hands scraping on the stone. “Yes, so many of them.”

With a grunt of approval, he slams into you again, and you feel him thicken and grow inside you. Your voices commingle in the air as you reach your climax—oh, that heady, powerful thing. Your body is shaking, barely able to hold itself up, as he jams himself deep. When he bursts inside you, his hot seed fills up your small sheath, and as his thrusts finally slow you can hear it drip onto the floor.

Finally, your knees give out, but he catches you in his arms. Pleased, he hums against the back of your head, lipping your hair like a horse would. When his cock withdraws from you, you find liquid gushing down your thighs. He hefts you up into his arms and carries you to the cot in the corner, where he lies you down like a body to be interred.

“You took me so well,” he croons, climbing on top of you. His wet cock shines in the torchlight. “Perhaps this time, you’ll take me even better.”

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iloveyou *mwah*

🤣😭🫶💕

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Love them 😭💕

Cairn and Rosemary reference sheets ✨

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"the ghost of a doe in a pit of snakes" indeed

I know Snape was the only death eater that was able to produce a patrons and I’d just like to beg your pardon.

Snape conjured a patrons based on an obsession. What he had for Lily might have been love once but let be real, we’ve surpassed that phase. Now it’s just an obsession over her.

Other than Lily, his life was fucking miserable. His father was a prat and his mother was weird. He got bullied at school and he doesn’t really seem to enjoy his teaching life very much.

It’s also portrayed that his patronus is conjured from love and not happiness.

So excuse me if I feel like any other death eater has happier memories than Severus Snape.

Lucius Malfoy, he’s respected at the ministry and has a wife, a son that he at least cares about, a nice ass mansion. He’s wealthy and grew up in a famous, rich family, why can’t he conjure a patronus?

Bellatrix Lestrange, like the only death eater who really enjoys what she’s doing with Voldemort. She straight up laughs when killing Sirius. Why can’t she conjure a patronus?

Regulus Black, whose love for his god damn house elf got himself killed. Why can’t he conjure a patronus?

Narcissa Malfoy, who loves her son more than anything, so much that she straight up lied to Voldemort who can read minds just because there’s a chance her son is still alive. Why can’t she conjure a patronus?

Why can’t any of the death eaters conjure a patronus especially since Harry, at 13 years old, could do it based on a made up memory.

It’s a shit excuse to get people to like Snape more.

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I picked the A/C one because it made me cringe and shrink in my seat as a kid, the car crushing just made me sad... All these years later, I watch the clip and it makes my heart break

🎶 I just can't seem to get started... 🎶

🎶 YOURE WORTHLESS 🎶

(car zooms into the crusher itself instead of having the magnet Grim Reaper it)

🎶 there's nothing you can do about it! 🎶

HONORABLE MENTION: The B Movie song with the appliance version of body horror

In short, The Brave Little Toaster is a class of its own

please reblog this for more results, I am genuinely curious

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i can’t think of anything that comes close to this design of the beast

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"Please let this be what I think it is - "

YESSSSSS

OMG the backstory behind the whole boop thing is amazing.