#origin: mother of learning

[incorrect-wormquotes]

As the Undersiders are approaching the bank:

Skitter: Are you sure this is legal?

Tattletale: When did I ever say anything about legality?

Skitter: You said people do this all the time!

Tattletale: Which is not the same thing!

[botslayer9000]

I've been itching to draw folk costumes for a while now so i figured i'd jump on the international Miku trend! These Mikus are from Ternopil, Ukraine; and Tula, Russia - one for each side of my family <3

Here are the sources I used for each costume:

TERNOPIL -

TULA:

[veinsfullofstars]

what happened with the ghost pepper fiasco???? 👀

—✨

Oh, you know. Just the Bad Decision Duo making some bad decisions in the name of one-upmanship. Like always.

One very brief pepper-eating contest later…

They end up bedridden for a whole week after that, and grounded by their horrified parents for even longer. Doesn't stop Bow from bragging about the win, though, even into the present day. Dedede tries his very best to pretend it never happened (and steers clear of ghost peppers from then on).

**Suffice to say, they are dummies, and children, and fictional characters. It should go without saying, of course, but please do not try this at home.**

Sketch started 06/29/24, finished 07/01/24.

[ratective]

pearl never owned a fun book in her life, let alone a childrens book so the babies make do with what they have 😔

[spacefarersage]

guilt

[yakny]

"NUNCA APRENDES, PLATITA."

[xvimism]

At the risk of dividing the fandom...

[saintsonnet]

CRIPPLED KID

It's poetry,

The way I limp across

The kitchen floor

To take my hot bag

Out of the microwave

For the sixth time today.

It's poetry,

My crinkled sheet of paper

With the stretches on it

That I always forget to do.

The click and tap

Of my cane and

Those boots with the special insoles

Is music.

A metronome keeping time

Along with my probably too-fast heartbeat.

Every action paints a picture

Of just another crippled kid

Trying to be normal.

I decorate my cane with stickers

And on the bad days I wish it were a wheelchair.

I use empty bottles of painkillers

As decorations.

Scattered here and there,

Ibuprofen,

Acetaminophen,

Aspirin,

Naproxen.

Maybe my liver is shot.

Watching, checking

How I crack my knuckles.

How I walk.

How my posture is.

How my arms are positioned

While I knit and crochet.

I am my own surveillance state

Keeping everything in line.

It's miserable, all this.

Watching, checking,

Empty bottles for decoration.

It's now time to limp

Across the kitchen floor

For a seventh time

To heat up my hot bag

Again.

Again.

[gigginox]

oh did i mention i beat metyr earlier. very cool boss and i know probably a thousand people have said this but VERY bloodborne

[nebulouscoffee]

Me, attending the latest in a ridiculous number of funerals this year in the place of a childhood friend who couldn't be there, watching the lifeless body of an old lady who used to make me snacks in the kitchen when I was a kid be carted away forever while my friend's mother cries and tells me she's grateful I could be there because it felt like having the support of her own daughter, hugging her and talking reassuringly and not processing a single one of these emotions: ... I am going to write soooo much fanfiction about this

[suffering-is-cute]

banishing the hours of the quiet night, i vigorously

shake my head, calling away the moments before daylight's momentum hits.

my mother whispered into the shell of my ear, brandishing a cup of honey water like proof of a quest accomplished -

"it's not that i don't love you, it's that you're so hard to love."

i wonder what she thinks she gains by teaching her beloved child that she is unworthy of what she has given - i only shy away further from all touch, now, instead of inviting closeness.

and i used to ask her what she was watching and plop down beside her, trying to share in the fun

but i don't know, today, i just mutely watch her from the doorway, transfixed on her drama, Alone, Alone, Alone,

and pass by the door, heading for my own room.

the car crash of those words had no crunch zone and i am the one who crumpled, draining the cup dry, offering futile honest words

"i know, i know, i know" you have done such a great job of teaching me this lesson, you never had to put it in words to get it through.

fruitlessly, helplessly, uselessly, difficulty, i have bated my breath and baited myself. i have bared my soul to this ceaseless thought of not being worth company.

i accepted it, but this sin surpasses all previous sins - if you don't love me, i beg of you, just never tell me that it's because i am me.

banishing the hours of the quiet night, i switch on the radio and go to sleep. i also know that you have your own issues, dearest mother of mine (i say this without bite), i know that your mother does not love you enough and so you do not know how to love.

i agree, finally, that i am allowed to be loved, I give assent to the me quarreling within for rights.

Oh, i can't stop loving and questioning and hoping for understanding. i hope you forgive me, mother, for not blindly believing you when you say that I'm hard to be loved -

there is someone who loved me regardless, so i know it can be done. on that day that i was love, i was handed the proof that i am alive and not merely a ghost, clutching at the documents printed with the signature and stamp of someone willing to be responsible for my life.

there is paperwork, so i can prove it.

one woman's trash is

another man's

treadmill, thread, treasure

i am fine with being your trash

as long as there is one person in this world who looks at me and sees the glorious tides swishing around buried treasure

i can stand up, straight, again. after everything. accidental compromises. vast misfortune. majority disbelieving.

i went back to sleep peacefully. the creamer in my coffee speaks an ancient prophecy - even if you mind, you will be loved - and this holds me steadfast like an anchor in a storm or an x in a treasure map.

staying sitting in this room, I won't fall because I am ready to be found and I am freed from wanting to be quiet like the surroundings of my hurt that I hadn't realised was there.

[thebookworm0001]

Hi hello queer southerner here:

The word y’all is already inclusive. if I see one of y’all using “y’xll” because you don’t want to associate with the south, I’m smacking you with my cast iron skillet.

You’re not better than us because you’re from a northern/blue state.

[imaginethathaikyuu]

chat is making fun of a dead woman and using the word fat as an insult “real feminism?”

mind you these were comments on a post about … building taylor swift in minecraft 😭😭😭

[1introvertedsage]

▪️Spirit Mother▪️

The more sensory information you gather, the stronger your connections with the world can be.

~The Pattern~

[wellthebardsdead]

Henwen: *went on a complete rampage after finding out who his real father was and what he did to his mother, now ripping apart his tomb with his bare hands after freeing Kodlak from Hircines grasp* YOU!!! *grabs hold of the giant stone coffin and rips it open grabbing Ysgramors Draugrfied corpse* YOU RAPED MY MOTHER!! YOU ENSLAVED AND SLAUGHTERED MY PEOPLE! YOU LEARNED HOW TO WRITE JUST TO DOCUMENT THE BEST WAY TO KILL ELVES!!! *screams making the tomb shake and rumble, threatening to collapse on all of them*

Aela: He’s? Ysgramors son?

Vilkas: Does that matter right now?! He’s going to bring the whole barrow down on our heads!

Farkas: IT DOES MATTER! *snarls at them* HES IN PAIN! THAT CUNT WE ALL FUCKING WORSHIPPED IS THE REASON FOR IT! YSGRAMOR IS NO HERO! HES A MONSTER!!! *looks over at Kaidan*

Kaidan: *nods*

Farkas and Kaidan: *both start slowly closing in ready to pounce on the enraged atmoran snow elf*

Henwen: *raising wuuthrad over his head, staring down at Ysgramors corpse as it’s eyes begin to glow blue, the Atmorans soul re-entering his body to fight* you. You don’t deserve to be remembered.

Ysgramor: *gargles with dried vocal cords as his body cracks and bends back to life in death* You- I remember your eyes.

Henwen: Good. They were my mothers. *moves to bring the axe down and freezes seeing two long swords stab into the draugr taking its head off in the process* what- I- *jumps a little as two strong bodies press against his, as Kaidan and farkas abandon their weapons to hold him* I…

Kaidan: shhhh. It’s okay now sweetheart… he can’t hurt you…

Farkas: *crying into his shoulder* I’m so sorry- I’m sorry for believing he was a hero, after what he did to you, to your mother, to your kin. I’m so sorry darling…

Henwen: *drops the axe letting it clang against the ancient stone floor, as he starts to openly sob* he raped her, he raped her and she made me, he killed her for giving me to Hross so I could be free, and he killed him too!! And now he gets to be remembered as a hero! It isn’t fair! IT ISNT FAIR!! *cries hugging onto them as they hold him tighter*

Aela: … *looks at them, then at Ysgramor… then at vilkas* …

Vilkas: … *walks over grabbing Ysgramors head* may you. And your ilk, be forever remembered for what you really are… *tosses the head into the fire Henwen used to free kodlak, letting it burn beside the charred skull of the hagraven as the snow prince’s cries fill the echoing void of the chamber*

[captainkurosolaire]

Rokeia Solaire