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Hmmmm - Blog Posts
if you had to choose one pokemon to be your absolute favorite out of every pokemon which one would you choose. its okay to choose a "basic" one
now i’m thinking abt a jimmy/joel au based on arrietty…
I am scared and happy at the same time :)
Dafaa spoilers with no context, first edition. And yes, these are about the entire fic, so they could be about anything, lol. Have fun guessing and slowly understanding this!
In case you can't tell what these objects are:
A bandaged hand
Nail polish
Nintendo switch
The "custody of child" meme
A bow tying back hair in a low ponytail
"your honor I would like to plead oopsie-daisies"
A green bow
A sign that says "backstab zone"
A banana muffin
A stack of notebooks
A pride heart
A bowl of kimchi
Cat headband
"someone got tempted by Monokuma's motive of the week" "next week it's popsicles"
Fidget cube
Ballet slippers
what was your original clan like?
i was gonna post this tomorrow but i messed up one of the moons so now i have to switch this with the queue line
pick one. this is your new roommate
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okay like. supposedly being interested in m/m relationships, or even a specific m/m relationship because you like the specific dynamic depicted is fetishizing. because it’s only acceptable to take an interest in any m/m relationship if you’re a man who likes men, apparently. BUT then also m/f relationships are supposedly relatable and accessible to everybody???
or maybe.
just maybe.
that’s a bullshit argument used to shut down enthusiasm for anything that isn’t heteronormative as well as to shame a group of what is perceived to be young women and girls. because any time young women like anything at all, however harmless or even positive and uplifting, that thing is relentlessly mocked and derided as shallow and ridiculous.
The thing is—The thing is kin-slaying is a big thing.
Not a small big thing either—stealing from someone, marrying a rival, falling from social grace, even straight-up killing someone; all of that falls leagues beneath kin slaying.
It is the sort of thing that is abhorrent, never spoken about and yet understood. It is—well, there’s really no describing such visceral horror at the action.
It curdles the blood. Settles in the bones. It is something that is seen, known. There is no atonement for it. No repentance, no asking forgiveness. The doors of heaven—yours, mine, his, hers—are closed to you forevermore.
But the question is this. If kin-slaying—a crime that shifts the air, warps the world like it has been proven to do, forces you to bear the weight of Atlas (and then some); if this act is so monstrous, then why do I not feel an ounce of shame?
Why—do I look at the blood on my hands, the corpse at my feet, and feel nothing at all?
TRAINING WHEELS
pairing: step daddy!suna x fem!reader warnings: 18+, DARK FIC, age gap (reader is in college), dilf!suna, stepcest, dry humping, dirty fantasies, masturbation, oral sex, corruption kink. words: 1.8k notes: happy suna day!! <3 taglist: @babayaga67 @galagcica @hotwings0203 @kgojo @mangocrepe @minniberri @coldspoons @hawkspet @xxrwzy @seita #📂 𝗯𝗹𝗼𝗴 𝗴𝘂𝗶𝗱𝗲 #📂 𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁
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Suna watches you. He watches you a lot.
It’s like watching a curious puppy taking its first steps, you clumsily mix the chocolate milk, licking the spoon right after, bouncing on your feet at the sound of some pop song blasting on your headphones.
You wear one of his shirts, white cotton against your skin stopping at your mid-thighs. He notices your baby blue panties when you reach for the cereal on the shelf, the fabric hugging your butt so cutely he almost lets out a groan. He didn’t want to scare you, but you were almost falling out of the counter trying to grab the goddamn cereal box.
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the groundhog reportedly saw "a blood red sun. in the foreground a massive wheel framing the sun in the sky. the wheel has ceased to turn". nobody is sure what this means but its probably fine
gods. it’s just been this thought i’ve had ever since i learned the bedrock was being moved down.
the bedrock is there, functionally, to protect you. the void is the only death you can’t cheat in some way, and the bedrock protects you from getting too close to the nothing. it protects you from the other side.
but now, the bedrock has been moved down, and it’s about to reveal the warden, and the deep dark cities
and i can’t help but to think — if the warden has been revealed by the bedrock,
what did the bedrock decide was more dangerous than that?
jason todd as my experience getting glasses:
Jason: *leans over to tim* what does that billboard say? tim: tim: damn, you blind as fuck jason: DID I ASK FOR THE SASS OR THE FUCKING BILLBOARD
jason: i can't find the paprika- alfred: it's right there, master jason stephanie: do you need your eyes checked? jason: i made an appointment seven months ago and it's still gonna be like five weeks from now stephL: i guess you're . . . . jason: don't you fucking say it, blondie steph: *whispers* blind as a bat jason: *running at her* im going to kill you
jason: what does that say? bruce: *frowns* you can't read that? jason: no i can im just asking---OBVIOUSLY FUCKING NOT
bruce: hey can you read that menu for damian, he's too short to see it jason: no i can't bruce: why not? tim: he's a blind old man jason: and people wonder why i tried to blow all y'all up
jason: i knew my years of obsessively reading no matter the light source or proximity to my face would simeday bite me in the ass. but i really thought it would be like, me walking off a building with my nose in a book or some shit. not having my eyeballs rebel against me. bruce: this is concerning on very many levels
jason: *goes to eye appointment* doctor: so when was your last visit to the eye doctor? jason: jason: um. never. doctor: . . . and, uh, regular doctor? do you have any paperwork from that at least? jason: *laughs* no. doctor: . . . birth certificate? jason: what do i look like, an adult? doctor: *staring up at the brick powerhouse in front of him* . . . yes? jason: *slaps knee* that's a good one. hang on, lemme call my brother. he can probably help seeing as when i was recently dead he was the one that filed all my paperwork and kept my birth certificate and all that shit. doctor: *having an aneurysm* recently dead-
jason: *reading letters off as doctor puts them on the screen* z . . . h . . . . p . . . q? . . . r . . . doctor: *winces* jason: you know i can still see your face right doctor: jason: why are we even doing this. im 100% sure i need the fucking glasses.
jason: *texting roy later* guess who's eyes worked just enough to see the supresssed winces on the doctors faces as they read off every other letter incorrectly roy: HAHAHHAHAHAHAHAH jason: your lack of sympathy is appalling
jason: *sends photo of himself in new glasses* roy: you're giving off . . . librarian in small town who knows everyone and their grandmother's grandmother but when asked not a single person in the town could tell your name jason: that was better than literally any other compliment anyone could have given me and i love you forever
jason: *walsk in wearing glasses* tim: ooooooooooo nerd jason: i hate this family
“ free thinkers” when they need a W.O.T.F.I or a new ark
The chef in the background is suppose to be markiplier btw
In a small patch of green space on Andry Street in New Orleans’ lower ninth ward, nine garden beds lie next to one another, each 6 feet by 9 feet, each the size of one standard solitary-confinement cell. Each garden bed grows a mix of herbs and flowers, among them pansies, stinging nettles, onions, mugwort. They are a mix of plants with medicinal properties and some that just bring pleasure to the eyes, and their growth is limited to the parts of the tiny space where a person would be free to move in a solitary cell, with space blocked off for where the furniture—nothing more than a bed and a toilet—would be. The plants in each garden are chosen by someone in solitary confinement and planted by a volunteer gardener on the outside.
The result is both symbolic and produces plants with tangible uses, says jackie sumell (who does not capitalize her name), who conceived the project; plants with healing properties will be redistributed to people who need them through what sumell calls a “prisoner’s apothecary.” The solitary beds are eventually overrun with plant life, a visual representation of a world without prisons, an idea that forms the project’s core mission.
Typically, a volunteer gardener on the outside will send a list of plants to an incarcerated gardener. The list provides plenty of options but is limited to what will thrive in the climate and season. They collaborate on a gardening plan and a calendar, often with a small floor plan filled in by the incarcerated gardener laying out the positioning of plants.
Blorbo: *is going through horrors beyond human comprehension*
Normal fans: oh no! Not my baby ;-;
Me, the no.1 fan and a freakos:
ppl who are shy at first but become obnoxious and loud once theyre comfortable around you r awesoem. hold on a sec wait pt this text ost on hold. theres pirate ship outside my window right now whath the
