imanwithoutbowie-deactivated202
energy 😩
This is Black love. Dassit.
WHEW!!!
My twobats edit of Batman: The Adventures Continue Season Three (2023) #2. Bruce doesn't like a blabbermouth.
What if instead of abducting cows, aliens just picked cows up and got them over the fence to escape.
"Stop saying 15 year olds with weird interests are cringe, they're 15" this is true however you should also stop saying adults with weird interests are cringe because who gives a shit
To wit:
I want to share some wisdom from my high school art teacher.
In my AP Art class, there was a girl who was just starting to experiment with mixed media. At this point she was still playing around, trying to decide what direction she wanted to go with her portfolio. So one critique day, she brought in an abstract canvas with some rhinestone highlights and painted and real peacock feathers. She loved sparkles and peacock feathers so she thought she’d try introducing them a *little*. And after everyone had given some input, the teacher gave her his advice, VERY roughly paraphrased here:
“So here’s the thing… I do not like this style. These are just elements that do not speak to me personally, but I see that you like them, and you’re doing interesting things with them.
“My biggest critique is, I only merely *dislike* this piece. I want you to make me HATE it. Go crazy with the things that you like. Don’t hold back trying to make it palatable to people like me. Because I am NEVER going to like it. And if the audience does not like it, it should drive them crazy seeing how much YOU love it.”
Her portfolio was chock full of neon colors and glitter and rhinestones and splashes of peacock feathers and it was a delight. Our teacher despised every piece lol, but she got great marks and I think even won some awards. And more importantly, she was happy and proud of the results. Because she didn’t limit herself by trying to appeal to people who were never going to enjoy what she enjoyed.
Takeaway here: be as cringe as you want. Don’t limit yourself based on other ppl’s tastes. They’re not you, and you are incredible 💕
“an estranged relationship with pleasure” he would do numbers on here
HERE, IN THE MORNING LIGHT, IS WHERE WE’LL BARE OUR SOULS
pairing: ushijima wakatoshi x f!reader
words: 3.2k
excerpt: Really, how many times can you blame Ushijima for breaking your heart when you’re the one who can’t seem to stop handing it to him – on a silver fucking platter no less.
a/n: this is…a bit too similar to my bakugou drabble i’ll admit. but i could see a relationship with ushijima having some of the same problems. he’s not purposely cruel, but god, doesn’t that just make it so much worse?
tags: angst, mentions of alcohol, implied sex, reader is full of rage, ambiguous/open ending
You greet Toshi at the door, as you’ve made a habit of doing when he manages to come home before you’ve fallen asleep.
(Like a well-trained dog, you think, with only the most bitter sort of amusement.)
When you lift your hand up to cup his face, a sweet hello, love, how was your day? on your lips, he sweeps it aside (gently, of course. He’s always so sickeningly gentle when he brushes you aside. You think that might just make the hollow sting of his nonchalant rejection that much worse.)
“Have you made anything for dinner?” he asks, already walking away before you have a chance to pull him down for a kiss. Your arm falls unceremoniously at your side. A deadweight, swinging.
I think I might hate you, you want to say, so, so badly. The words are there, right on the tip of your tongue as you stand frozen in the darkened entryway, his shadow stretches, eclipsing you, as he walks further and further away.
But these moments of sweet burning-hot rage pass as quickly as they come and soon – too soon, maybe, or not soon enough – you find yourself turning on your heels and shining a too-bright smile, the one that shows too many teeth and leaves an ache in your cheeks.
“Not yet, love, but I can whip up something real quick.”
The words taste like lead in your mouth.
(Or maybe that’s just the blood from biting your tongue.)
Who knows, you muse, bitterly, bitingly. What does it matter anyway?
You make your way towards the kitchen.
HERE, IN THE MORNING LIGHT, IS WHERE WE’LL BARE OUR SOULS
pairing: ushijima wakatoshi x f!reader
words: 3.2k
excerpt: Really, how many times can you blame Ushijima for breaking your heart when you’re the one who can’t seem to stop handing it to him – on a silver fucking platter no less.
a/n: this is…a bit too similar to my bakugou drabble i’ll admit. but i could see a relationship with ushijima having some of the same problems. he’s not purposely cruel, but god, doesn’t that just make it so much worse?
tags: angst, mentions of alcohol, implied sex, reader is full of rage, ambiguous/open ending
You greet Toshi at the door, as you’ve made a habit of doing when he manages to come home before you’ve fallen asleep.
(Like a well-trained dog, you think, with only the most bitter sort of amusement.)
When you lift your hand up to cup his face, a sweet hello, love, how was your day? on your lips, he sweeps it aside (gently, of course. He’s always so sickeningly gentle when he brushes you aside. You think that might just make the hollow sting of his nonchalant rejection that much worse.)
“Have you made anything for dinner?” he asks, already walking away before you have a chance to pull him down for a kiss. Your arm falls unceremoniously at your side. A deadweight, swinging.
I think I might hate you, you want to say, so, so badly. The words are there, right on the tip of your tongue as you stand frozen in the darkened entryway, his shadow stretches, eclipsing you, as he walks further and further away.
But these moments of sweet burning-hot rage pass as quickly as they come and soon – too soon, maybe, or not soon enough – you find yourself turning on your heels and shining a too-bright smile, the one that shows too many teeth and leaves an ache in your cheeks.
“Not yet, love, but I can whip up something real quick.”
The words taste like lead in your mouth.
(Or maybe that’s just the blood from biting your tongue.)
Who knows, you muse, bitterly, bitingly. What does it matter anyway?
You make your way towards the kitchen.
rip teenaged gojo and geto-- you guys would have loved the flyana boss song
"me and my bestie are the same like a synonym." they would have ATE that
i am going to stay here until the heat death of this stupid platform and then i'm going to log off the internet forever
if you don't do anything else today,
Please have a moment of silence for the people who were killed instead of freed when news of emancipation finally reached the furthest corners of the american south.
have another moment for the ledgers, catalogs, and records that were burned and the homes that were destroyed to hide the presence of very much alive and still enslaved people on dozens of plantations and homesteads across the south for decades after emancipation.
and have a third moment for those who were hunted and killed while fleeing the south to find safety across the border, overseas, in the north and to the west.
black people. light a candle, write a note to those who have passed telling them what you have achieved in spite of the racist and intolerant conditions of this world, feel the warmth of the flame under your hand, say a prayer of rememberance if you are religious, place the note under the candle, and then blow it out.
if you have children, sit them down and tell them anything you know about the life of oldest black person you've ever met. it doesn't have to be your own family. tell them what you know about what life was like for us in the days, years, decades after emancipation. if you don't know much, look it up and learn about it together.
This is Juneteenth.
white people CAN interact with this post. share it, spread it.
can’t focus on work. can only think of that one lesbian poem about chivalry
oh god. oh fuck
“I am brushing her hair. There’s only the two of us, in her bedroom covered in posters and magazine cutouts, on her bed full of nail polish bottles, lip gloss, teddy bears and clothes. I am fourteen years old and I am brushing her hair and it is soft as rose petals, it smells like Herbal Essence shampoo. She smells like shampoo, like girl-deodorant, and like her perfume, something she got as a sample in a teen beauty magazine. Chemical smells, but on her they are warm, and human. Her hair falls through my fingers. The radio is playing, something summery, even though it’s autumn. She’s singing along. I can feel her voice thrum in her throat when my fingers brush the back of her neck. There is a feeling growing in the pit of my stomach with every note she sings. Because I have the perspective of God, I know that this feeling will lead to something I’ll have to examine, something that will cause me trouble and shame, cost me friends and family. But this one moment is the safest I have ever felt and will ever feel, my whole life.”
excerpt from mabel, a podcast by becca de la rosa & maybell marten
ok i understand now
HAS SOMEONE TOLD THE REDDITORS ABOUT THE TUMBLR HOLIDAYS???
NEIL BANGING OUT THE TUNES?
IDES OF MARCH?
OUT OF TOUCH THURSDAY???
THE ONE RANDOM DAY IN JULY WHEN WE ALL REBLOG THE NEW VERSION OF THE JACK SKELLINGTON "EXCITED ABOUT HALLOWEEN" POST???
