Sweet Seals For You, Always
Claire Keane
Keni
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almost home
macklin celebrini has autism

oozey mess
h
Cosimo Galluzzi

Kiana Khansmith
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
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One Nice Bug Per Day
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official daine visual archive
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
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@foggyeyes

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There's this category of TTRPG where the seemingly only selling point besides maybe artwork is giving players permission to jerk off to their own moral purity as manifest from buying the TTRPG.
please. i need to see a nine on the jerk-off scale. rebel scum? old forge games? hyper pretentious osr? i need to see the horrors
Eat the Reich was actually what inspired this post, but Candela Obscura also comes to mind
@batmanisagatewaydrug @utracjuszka
Candela Obscura is the strawman put forward in this post, but it’s a game that actually exists:
"I guess I'm dead then."
WANDA (1970) dir. Barbara Loden
do you guys realize how insane it is that van is as good in a crisis as she is. because like. let’s think about this. she immediately asks tai to leave her after the wolf attack and has already resigned herself to death. She’s the last one out of the burning cabin because she’s too busy making sure others get out. in the adult timeline, she saves everyone’s lives in melissa’s house very quickly and with insane calmness. how many times as a child did she have to save her mom from an overdose? or a potential car crash? how many times did she have to patch up her own gushing wounds? how many times did she have to be the kid no one worried about? is she good in a crisis because she bottles up? because she keeps telling herself be good, be good, be good and waiting to cry it out later? we almost never see her have an emotional outburst in the show, despite going through 30 different hells. how many times is she willing to sacrifice herself and just get the job done and make sure no one worries about her? how many jokes does she have left to crack? what happens when a crisis happens and she doesn’t have the energy to be good?
the time we see her lose her cool the most in such a critical situation—that i can think of, anyway—is when jackie prevents shauna from trying to help her out of the plane. and in that situation, she's (nearly!) powerless to help herself or anyone else. that by itself must be frustrating and lonely, but there's also havong to see the captain, someone with some kind of authority and responsibility, fail to act in a scenario where she would have risked her life to help. and i wonder how much of that comes from the other side of her relationship with her mom, not just growing up needing to be the responsible one, but there not being someone else responsible when she herself needed it.
it walks the line of being self-sacrificial (as in the wolf attack example) but we also see how urgent survival becomes over time, to the point of rigging the cards against hannah. of course, there is the element that it protects everyone else, most notably tai, who in a lot of ways represents the future for van, a life of pretzels in a big city away from her irresponsible mother and the judgmental, stifling suburbs. and even, much later, after she's tried for years to purge the influence of the wilderness from herself, she briefly goes along with tai's "murder someone to cure cancer" plan as an adult—she's offered a path to the future that she'd given up on when tai left her and she retreated to nostalgia and isolation, as well as a more literal future of years that will be stolen by an early death from a seemingly unstoppable disease.
i do think this lends a lot of weight to her martyr-like death and makes it a more fitting ending, the idea that she drew from the sadness of her own story to save everyone, and then overcame that darker aspect and refused to kill melissa. it's reflected by the 90s timeline in that van rigged the cards, which didn't even succeed*, and then failed to really act to save mari. she didn't get that future, but she was able to experience it for a little while. as sad as it is, all this makes her death feel like something of a redemption.
*i could probably write another three paragraphs about how shauna feels about "the future" by this moment, and how much she believes any of them actually deserve to survive, but i'll restrain the urge.
many people don't know this, but in the late 2000s a band from new york or los angeles could get a review in maximum rocknroll, or possibly even on pitchfork dot com, simply for being named "alien alda" or "peyote ugly" or "snoozin b anthony" or "the berlin walmart." today, people use such clever coinages only for social media display names. heh. funny how things change...

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I heard about a deity of sorts at the local Cracker barrel. I drove the 20 minutes to get there in my shitty car, walked past the old crackers at the door smiling greedily at my young son… but what I saw inside took my breath away.
I am a changed woman, I feel insane right now, like I just truly found god or something, her beauty knows no bounds. Her grace is endless. She’s battery powered and can be taken on the go, I had to have her. As I write this long stupid ass post I see her glowing and sparkling next to my bed… and now you shall see her too…
Puppy dog cater pillarrrr
😇🕳🦜🧨📢👁😵💫🔜🍹💆🏏🔨 you can respond to pretty much anything with no more than these twelve extraordinarily powerful emojis
when you're reading a fanfic and it's pretty good but then you see
online zoomer slang used by offline middle aged women
therapy talk from characters that would rather die than go to therapy or rather any therapist would be driven crazy by them/jump off a cliff. they would not be communicating that well, that honestly.
"madame president," professor ryder gosling asserted, eyes burning into hers even as he toyed with a lock of his chestnut hair, "there's still a chance the fae invasion could improve your reelection chances." president marjorie lovell set her jaw and sighed. "don't gaslight me, professor," she replied, sweeping her silver hair behind her ears. "i've looked at all the angles, and no matter what we do, by morning the american people will know how cringe we really are. yup," she continued, popping the p at the end. "i'm afraid...i'm afraid i'm crisis-pilled. genuinely this has serious impeachment vibes." the silver-haired woman strode from the room, before pausing in the doorway. she turned her silver-haired head and locked her big brown eyes with the chestnut-haired professor's also big brown eyes. "i'll speak to you again before the briefing," she told him through the lump in her slender throat, "but for now i need to focus on self-care. please respect my boundaries, and let me approach you on my own terms. otherwise our dynamic may become codependent and low-key toxic." the sound of her heels clicking upon the marble floor echoed down the hallway, then faded into the night.
"The White Cat", from the classic French tale by Madame d’Aulnoy, first published in 1698.
Illustration by Jennie Harbour for My Favourite Book of Fairy Tales, 1921.
people will describe a character you've never heard of as "feral" or "a chaos gremlin" and if you look into it you discover it's jim from the office if he was freaking addicted to sugar. he's basically your best friend's older brother who isn't supposed to listen to secular music but totally keeps a couple of matchbox 20 cds stashed under his bed. and yeah, you guessed it, he even stays up past his bedtime >:)

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Watching Bound yesterday for our movie night group and thinking about the rise in what I can only broadly describe as obsessive fixations on prescriptive "correct" sexuality esp its depictions in art, and my partner and I started joking about someone watching a movie like this and going "You know what would make things better? If the entire film dragged to a screeching halt so that the two characters could outline which sex acts they consent to, a guide on how to use a dental dam, and a reminder to the audience on how to say No when they feel uncomfortable during a sexual encounter"
The idea that art needs to be anything is a total anathema to me, much less the idea that art needs to be instructive. Maybe I don't want my shit to cater solely to people who are so cut off from life that they need to approximate it through what they consume. I don't care if art like that exists, I just don't see why the stuff I like needs to be that way, too. Maybe I don't want an artist to create operating under the assumption that I can't do my own research or think "I sure would not like this irl" or that I'm some kind of raving animal who's gonna take in their art and go "Oh cool, this director/writer/artist is cool with me going out and molesting an animal!" Maybe I don't want art from cowards who are so terrified by the notion that some simpleton might get too vocal about drawing a belabored line between Them Consuming Art -> Them Becoming A Victim/Perpetrator that they neuter their own shit for fear of backlash. Maybe I do not want to be lumped in with people who blame the art they consume but cannot connect it to larger patterns of society/their own lives and think "I got groomed by Gravity Falls fanart" or "Fifty Shades conditioned me into becoming an abuser" is some kind of coherent statement about art and not a condemnation of the dogshit condition of their own lives. Maybe I am tired of that shit. I don't say that shit can't exist but somehow these people are always very insistent that my stuff shouldn't, just because some completely hypothetical buffoon who grew up in a bunker might get the wrong ideas from it. Why is your stance more valid than mine
wow this is just like that auden poem about the bruegel painting. big unconscious lady just slammed into the pier and this guy is simply fishing and whistling his little tune. and it's kinda like, okay, he may have heard the splash, the forsaken cry, but for him it was not an important failure. the sun shone how it had to, you know? just makes me think about how the dogs go on with their doggy life and the torturer's horse scratches its innocent behind on a tree.
Have you ever been to a celebrity's grave?
yes
no
Define celebrity however you'd like.
Viktor Lyapkalo Artwork: 'Blowing bubbles' & 'Evening' Painted 9 years apart.
Same woman
Yooo I went and looked up the Artist responsible for these masterpieces and holy shit did this guy love Big Women:
[nudity under the cut]
one time I went over to a friend's house and their housemate was making paper in the living room, and we saw this big tub full of water they were using to dissolve old scrap paper into a slurry, and everyone was immediately like "oh, you need scrap paper?" and started turning out their jacket pockets and producing expired coupons and bus tickets and crumpled receipts and old shopping lists and whatever else they'd been carrying round with them for no good reason, and passing it all to the paper-making housemate to make sure it was suitable before it got torn up and dropped into the tub, while people took turns stirring the slurry with a big wooden stick. it was strangely ritualistic, like presenting an offering to some kind of temple elder for inspection before placing it in a watery shrine to be devoured and reformed. pulp for the pulp god.

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The Sphinx challenges Oedipus on the road to Thebes. A pile of bones of previous victims underscore the severity of the task.
Children of the dawn : old tales of Greece. 1908. Illustrated by Franklin Paper.
Internet Archive
this time i’m really gonna do it