#heart thoughts

[angelhearthb]

I love heart curses. like... oh no!! they're having a heart attack!! but they were always so healthy? :( could it be... the evil wizard?!

(Also the curse can just be cursed, and not leave long term damage. narratively convenient.)

(Not a role play invite. I'm just brainstorming. lol)

[aniah-who]

God. and only God.

It has to get to the point where you want God more than you do the sin.

It has to get to the point where your love for God becomes hate for sin.

It has to get to the point where God increases and the flesh decreases.

It has to get to the point where God is first and you are last.

It has to get to the point where all that you want is God, and only God.

[hearteyedkitty]

im so normal im a normal person i lead an average life i wake up and eat breakfast and then lunch and then dinner and then i sleep and (thinks about the kissing girls) *dies*

[luckypoppymilliemama]

Huge thank you to @kyra45 for bringing me to tumblr. I can basically say all my brain thoughts here and my heart thoughts and people can ignore me like they do in person.

My tags are fun today. Enjoy

[booksbyadesi]

I want to cry but I am out of tears right now and I am so tired I just wanna sleep but I fear that I will dream of what I am trying to run away from and then I won't be able to sleep again...

[problemnyatic]

can we talk about how being so pants-shittingly terrified of Doing A Racism you freeze up or Get Weird around anyone a shade darker than the sugar in your cupboard or with an accent is effectively the same as being scared of brown people and doesn't make you much better than Sandra Lilly Smith from the suburbs who clings her purse when a black guy gets on the elevator with her

[amomohthefairy]

Funny how she feels so much...😌🥹💜🌸

[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.

[chloesimaginationthings]

The moment FNAF movie Vanessa knew she fucked up

[angelhearthb]

I always like to imagine a supernatural creature (vampire, demon, werewolf, ect.), who feeds on human hearts, becoming bewitched by a human's heartbeat.

The beast hears a heartbeat from a distance. It grows louder and louder as they stalk closer, honing their sharpened senses. They become fully unaware of their surroundings, mind empty of all things, besides the sound of a virile, pumping life force.

Soon they get close enough that they can see it through the wall of the human's chest. Soft, red flesh constricting and relaxing, over and over, guarded by such fragile ribs, and nestled delicately between two pink, expanding lungs.

The beast's own wicked heart begins to hammer, and their breath grows heavy. Eyeing the precious bounty, they draw their long claws, and lunge forward, easily tearing through such flimsy protections.

����💕💕💕

[free-my-mindd]

Asking yourself “would someone who loves and care about me do that to me” and being very honest with yourself will save you from going back into the wrong hands.

[hearteyedkitty]

"this gender is a piece of work, i tell ya" i say to the officer who has pulled me over for having a 5ft. by 5ft. rainbow-colored anarchy decal plastered across my windshield

[anna-scribbles]

emma dupain cheng on the brain😽🎀

more:

[histhoughtslately]

When love finds you again, I wish for you that is kind, gentle, loving, peaceful and tranquil. May it make you smile again, laugh often, dance like no one’s watching, and support your true self without condition.

[egophiliac]

doylist explanation for why Gidel is only in Fellow's non-idle lesson animations: probably something about space constraints and making sure two sprites in one seat aren't covering anyone else when they're not in focus

watsonian explanation for why Gidel is only in Fellow's non-idle lesson animations: he snuck in and is hiding from the teachers, don't give him away 🤫

(I've reached my limit of unsuccessful attempts at pulling them before I need to save keys for Halloween, so I've been living vicariously through youtube videos...but the fact that Gidel just pops up from under the desk to wave his arms around happily is really testing my resolve. D: I'm gonna die when they finally get to do alchemy...)

[isatohlee]

He deserves to sleep comfortably in his mother’s arms after all he’s gone through