For a little while I was making these dudes (I called them sneefters), but they kept breaking or falling over in the kiln. Maybe sometime I'll try some more that are sitting like the strawberry & crying ones.

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@luna-sheep
For a little while I was making these dudes (I called them sneefters), but they kept breaking or falling over in the kiln. Maybe sometime I'll try some more that are sitting like the strawberry & crying ones.

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2026-08-02
Our one and only babygirl, Shen Jiu
(source)

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āWhat are you afraid of?ā
bingliushen furries
What a beautiful family reunion in the pits š„°
Inspired in the great fic of @confuzing
hug ur shizun!
made some cucumao stickers haha: link to pack here

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i don't care if it's nazis, mormons, or a bunch of misguided autistic people. if anyone ever tries to tell you your soul is from another planet and you're actually part of the class of impressive people that secretly did everything cool in the world but is now extinct and lives on through your broken genome, you RUN. YOU WILL RUN AWAY. YOU WILL SPRINT FULL SPEED AWAY FROM THAT.
grabs you by the shoulders listen. listen to my words. i understand the urge to make fanfiction about yourself and to find a reality in which you're super awesome and great and everyone who hates you is wrong and dumb. i get it. you're better than that. you can love yourself without putting other people down, dehumanizing and generalizing, and retaliating against your oppressors.
there's no NPCs. there's no aliens coming to save us. we're not the next step in human evolution. our hyperconnected nervous systems give us terrible sensory overwhelm more often than they make us geniuses. neurotypical people are sentient, conscious, aware people who are capable of understanding you. we're more the same than we are different. we're more the same than we are different. we're more the same than we are different.
please please please listen. it's so easy to make an idol of your misanthropy, but you won't find an end to your pain by mentally separating yourself from the rest of humanity. your people are right here in front of you, not in space or in a cult.
Correcting the Historical Bias Against Domestic Materials
Archaeology has traditionally had a fundamental bias against fabric. Fabrics are after all highly perishable, withering away within months or years, and only rarely leaving traces behind for those coming millennia later to find. Archaeologistsāpredominantly maleāgave ancient ages names like āIronā and āBronze,ā rather than āPotteryā or āFlax.ā This implies that metal objects were the principal features of these times, when they are simply often the most visible and long-lasting remnants. Technologies using perishable materials, such as wood and textiles, may well have been more pivotal in the daily lives of the people who lived through them, but evidence of their existence has, for the most part, been absorbed back into the earth.
There are exceptions, of course, and traces can and do survive, usually thanks to an unusual climate: freezing, damp anaerobic conditions or extremely dry ones. The climate in Egypt, for example, is ideal for preserving all manner of usually perishable things and we subsequently know far more about ancient Egyptian textiles than those from most other regions. As archaeology has matured and diversified, scholars have increasingly looked forāand foundāevidence of fine, complex textiles stretching farther back than anyone would have guessed. Their beauty and the skill needed to make them suggest a very different image of our earliest forebears than the club-wielding, simpleminded thugs of popular imagination.
āThe first cultural device was probably a recipient⦠. Many theorizers feel that the earliest cultural inventions must have been a container to hold gathered products and some kind of sling or net carrier. So says Elizabeth Fisher in Womenās Creation (McGraw-Hill, 1975). But no, this cannot be . Where is that wonderful, big, long, hard thing, a bone, I believe, that the Ape Man first bashed somebody with in the movie and then, grunting with ecstasy at having achieved the first proper murder, flung up into the sky, and whirling there it became a space ship thrusting its way into the cosmos to fertilize it and produce at the end of the movie a lovely fetus, a boy of course, drifting around the Milky Way without (oddly enough) any womb, any matrix at all? I donāt know. I don āt even care. Iām not telling that story. Weāve heard it, weāve all heard all about all the sticks and spears and swords, the things to bash and poke and hit with, the long, hard things, but we have not heard about the thing to put things in, the container for the thing contained. That is a new story. That is news. And yet old. Beforeāonce you think about it, surely long beforeāthe weapon, a late, luxurious, superfluous tool; long before the useful knife and ax; right along with the indispensable whacker, grinder, and diggerāfor whatās the use of digging up a lot of potatoes if you have nothing to lug the ones you canāt eat home ināwith or before the tool that forces energy outward, we made the tool that brings energy home. It makes sense to me. I am an adherent of what Fisher calls the Carrier Bag Theory of human evolution. This theory not only explains large areas of theoretical obscurity and avoids large areas of theoretical nonsense (inhabited largely by tigers, foxes, and other highly territorial mammals); it also grounds me, personally, in human culture in a way I never felt grounded before. So long as culture was explained as originating from and elaborating upon the use of long, hard objects for sticking, bashing, and killing, I never thought that I had, or wanted, any particular share in it. ("What Freud mistook for her lack of civilization is womanās lack of loyalty to civilization,ā Lillian Smith observed.) The society, the civilization they were talking about, these theoreticians, was evidently theirs; they owned it, they liked it; they were human, fully human, bashing, sticking, thrusting, killing. Wanting to be human too, I sought for evidence that I was; but if thatās what it took, to make a weapon and kill with it, then evidently I was either extremely defective as a human being, or not human at all⦠. If it is a human thing to do to put something you want, because itās useful, edible, or beautiful, into a bag, or a basket, or a bit of rolled bark or leaf, or a net woven of your own hair, or what have you, and then take it home with you, home being another, larger kind of pouch or bag, a container for people, and then later on you take it out and eat it or share it or store it up for winter in a solider container or put it in the medicine bundle or the shrine or the museum, the holy place, the area that contains what is sacred, and then next day you probably do much the same againāif to do that is human, if thatās what it takes, then I am a human being after all. Fully, freely, gladly, for the first time.ā
āUrsula K. Le Guin, "The Carrier Bag Theory of Fictionā (1986)
Do it scared but please don't do it hungry. Please don't do it dehydrated. It's gonna make it so much scarier. Please.

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ive never been able to take "climb him like a tree" as a sexual innuendo seriously because i picture climbing a tree in my mind and then i picture a tall man in my mind and when i put those two things together im not seeing anything sexual. im seeing like. circus tricks.
When I say it I mean Iām gonna do this to them