#or has it drafted

[whereisthesun]

I HATE MORAL OCD. well i shouldnt say hate thats a strong word. and i dont want to sound like i hate people WITH moral ocd because i dont of course. i just hate having it. but i shouldnt think that, i do like having morals, its just stressful to be thinking about them so constantly and scrutinizing every little thing i do or think. but really thats the least i could do so i should at least try, right? just because i suffer from— no, struggle with moral ocd doesn’t mean i should just stop thinking about things all together, thats not what im saying and i should make that clear, but i

[brightdeadthing]

love as recognition

anna gavalda / friedrich nietzsche / clarice lispector / jandy nelson / rebecca perry / mhairi mcfarlane

[emmeriex]

turnabout sisters is so insane in hindsight. you are miles edgeworth. mia fey, the first defense attorney you ever went against, has been murdered and you are prosecuting her little sister for the crime. not only are you intrinsically tied to her because of the circumstances surrounding your father’s death but you both watched a man kill himself your first time in court. you think this case could not be more emotionally charged. then you walk into court the day of the trial and who do you see on the defense? your fucking childhood best friend who you haven’t seen in 15 years.

[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.

[pookieace]

the difference between gojo and geto fucking you raw for the first time is gojo gets pussy drunk the second he pushes his tip into your cunt. "ooooh fuck." while he bottoms out, he can't stop blabbering on and on and on about how your pussy was made for him. just him. how you should only let him fuck you raw. how he's gonna cum so hard for you and your pretty pussy. probably just tries to spread your legs as wide as they can go while he fucks you like a rabbit because he's just so gone. doesn't even think about stopping till he's fucked his cum back into you at least twice. whines and pants and whimpers with the occasional deep grunt. all the skin slapping makes your juices coat everything, his thighs, your thighs, the little ring of cream around the base of his cock now coats his little whispy white pubic hairs. everything is messy with how hard and fast he's fucking you basically. epitome of pussy drunk.

whereas geto has a bit more control. he doesn't lose his sanity immediately like gojo does but he certainly is trying to hold himself back and it's evident. a hushed "shiiit.. you're even wetter like this… can feel you clench- fu-fuuuck.” as his fat cock slides right in, inch by inch. the grip he has on your waist is almost borderline painful but you're rendered speechless with how you can feel every vein. his eyebrows are furrowed as he bottoms out. starts the pace off slowly, pulling out his cock to the tip just as slowly as he pushes it all back in. really just loves how you clench and throb around his cock, how you ache and beg him for more. doesn't fuck like a rabbit, but it's a decent pace. one that allows him to just watch how you two meet, like a predator watching its prey, he savours every second of your raw pussy.

[theelvishfiddler]

so much time has passed since we were kids,

so many things have changed,

but it's still the same. isn't it?

There is an accidental trend in my tmnt fanart. Its almost as if... many of my fondest childhood memories were spent playing games with my siblings. The rise & 03 ones have been posted before, I just wanted them all together.

[purplecatghostposts]

Chat Noir: Hey, my lady? Quick question: why was Argos multitasking during patrol and trying to solve a cryptex? He said he got it from you.

Ladybug, casually: Oh, it’s from my latest treasure hunt I made for him.

Chat Noir: …You give him treasure hunts? Why?

Ladybug: I still don’t totally trust him not to pull another ‘Red Moon’ incident so I figured if I give him enrichment, he’s gonna be spending his time solving puzzles and figuring out clues that take him all over the city instead of potentially becoming a supervillain again.

Chat Noir, who watched Félix spend several hours to solving riddles last night: …Huh. Does he know..?

Ladybug: 90% sure, yes. I don’t think he cares that much, he’s pretty invested in it and I’m great at creating complex systems with clues to follow so— it works out. Plus usually there is something to find at the end of the trail. Usually Kagami.

[tesscourtes]

mwah

[lo-sulci]

oh hey spotify, what's th-*starts coughing violently*

[callisteios]

Hi, feel free to take my new uquiz to discover what kind of vampire you are!

[roppiepop]

Who’s coming to the cookout?

[postgleeworld]

worst feeling ever is when i agree with 99% of a post but then there's that 1% that makes me want to set fire to op's blog

[numbuh424]

misa misa 🫶

[fanaticalthings]

the muskification of twitter except it's lex luthor instead of elon lol

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[hermit-frog]

[ncutisgatwas]

SHREK (2001) dir. Andrew Adamson, Vicky Jenson