#but for now it’s still

[everythingwasnormalhere]

pls rb if you think cuddling doesn't have to be s3xual

im tryna prove a point to my bf's mother help me out

[jenjen4280]

Taken in 2000 about a year into our relationship.

Taken in 2024 (last weekend). Didn’t quite get the pose or positioning right, but hey, we’re older and our memory ain’t what it used to be!

[varilien]

am i blanchin?

girl we blanchin!!

HI HIII happy birthday to everyone's favorite mystery twins!! how did they grow up so fast!!!!

Palestine: Funds | Action | eSims | Info Sudan Resources | Congo Resources

[tma-thoughts]

Alright everybody

[qrowpilled]

hate when you find a character whose so infuriatingly Your Type that its embarrassing like yeahg no one is gonna be surprised when i announce this is my new Guy Of The Month

[churroach]

Full of Desires

[nariarts]

Spent a ridiculous amount of time last night obsessively editing my hand written zines in Photoshop to take away any tiny blemishes so they were definitely readable.

Whatever. Understand or don't.

[froody]

cis people will say “I found out I’m having a baby girl at my anatomy scan and I’m experiencing gender disappointment” but be mad when you say “who knows? maybe you’ll end up with a son anyway”

[mybreadsmybutters]

when i was a kid i wanted to be a famous youtuber like dan and phil so that people would gay ship me with my irl best friend and we would be sooo weirded out by it and laugh and make videos joking about it but secretly it would make her realize her repressed gay crush on me and i'd help her through her gay crisis and then we would have a sickeningly sweet sappy romance and read fanfiction about ourselves together... anyways just found out she's married to a guy in the mafia now so i probably don't have a chance

[frownyalfred]

love the idea of the Batfamily getting stopped and searched in the family car on the way back to the Manor and everyone’s tense expecting Jason to be the one packing like twelve guns but it’s Alfred? Alfred is absolutely unbelievably strapped up to high heaven? And he somehow manages to talk to the cops out of arresting him or even giving him a ticket?

Bruce is just standing on the side of the road pinching the bridge of his nose. Jason is grinning so widely his face is about to rip. Alfred’s guns are all sitting on the hood of the car and there’s at least three there that Bruce remembers taking away and destroying. Dick is taking pictures on his phone to send to Barbara and trying not to laugh. Tim has Kon on speaker narrating it…

[aesthetic-uni]

It’s that time of the year again

[crustaceousfaggot]

No nuance allowed. Put your nuance in the tags, I just want a yes or no answer

[paintedcrows]

The Mystery Twins all grown up!! I love them so much. 13 forever, yet always older than me

[pangur-and-grim]

it's so nice to see Pangur getting over her fear and returning to normal. after months of nothing bad happening, she's finally had the brilliant thought of "huh.....perhaps nothing bad will happen???"

yes, pangur, you are living a life of decadence like none other. nothing bad will happen to you.

[hamletthedane]

I was meeting a client at a famous museum’s lounge for lunch (fancy, I know) and had an hour to kill afterwards so I joined the first random docent tour I could find. The woman who took us around was a great-grandmother from the Bronx “back when that was nothing to brag about” and she was doing a talk on alternative mediums within art.

What I thought that meant: telling us about unique sculpture materials and paint mixtures.

What that actually meant: an 84yo woman gingerly holding a beautifully beaded and embroidered dress (apparently from Ukraine and at least 200 years old) and, with tears in her eyes, showing how each individual thread was spun by hand and weaved into place on a cottage floor loom, with bright blue silk embroidery thread and hand-blown beads intricately piercing the work of other labor for days upon days, as the labor of a dozen talented people came together to make something so beautiful for a village girl’s wedding day.

What it also meant: in 1948, a young girl lived in a cramped tenement-like third floor apartment in Manhattan, with a father who had just joined them after not having been allowed to escape through Poland with his pregnant wife nine years earlier. She sits in her father’s lap and watches with wide, quiet eyes as her mother’s deft hands fly across fabric with bright blue silk thread (echoing hands from over a century years earlier). Thread that her mother had salvaged from white embroidery scraps at the tailor’s shop where she worked and spent the last few days carefully dying in the kitchen sink and drying on the roof.

The dress is in the traditional Hungarian fashion and is folded across her mother’s lap: her mother doesn’t had a pattern, but she doesn’t need one to make her daughter’s dress for the fifth grade dance. The dress would end up differing significantly from the pure white, petticoated first communion dresses worn by her daughter’s majority-Catholic classmates, but the young girl would love it all the more for its uniqueness and bright blue thread.

And now, that same young girl (and maybe also the villager from 19th century Ukraine) stands in front of us, trying not to clutch the old fabric too hard as her voice shakes with the emotion of all the love and humanity that is poured into the labor of art. The village girl and the girl in the Bronx were very different people: different centuries, different religions, different ages, and different continents. But the love in the stitches and beads on their dresses was the same. And she tells us that when we look at the labor of art, we don’t just see the work to create that piece - we see the labor of our own creations and the creations of others for us, and the value in something so seemingly frivolous.

But, maybe more importantly, she says that we only admire this piece in a museum because it happened to survive the love of the wearer and those who owned it afterwards, but there have been quite literally billions of small, quiet works of art in billions of small, quiet homes all over the world, for millennia. That your grandmother’s quilt is used as a picnic blanket just as Van Gogh’s works hung in his poor friends’ hallways. That your father’s hand-painted model plane sets are displayed in your parents’ livingroom as Grecian vases are displayed in museums. That your older sister’s engineering drawings in a steady, fine-lined hand are akin to Da Vinci’s scribbles of flying machines.

I don’t think there’s any dramatic conclusions to be drawn from these thoughts - they’ve been echoed by thousands of other people across the centuries. However, if you ever feel bad for spending all of your time sewing, knitting, drawing, building lego sets, or whatever else - especially if you feel like you have to somehow monetize or show off your work online to justify your labor - please know that there’s an 84yo museum docent in the Bronx who would cry simply at the thought of you spending so much effort to quietly create something that’s beautiful to you.

[crowkip]

yeehaw, baby!