why is everyone so mean. how arenāt you tired
Why is everyone so nice. How aren't you tired
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
Sweet Seals For You, Always

pixel skylines
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
trying on a metaphor

PR's Tumblrdome
$LAYYYTER


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Claire Keane
occasionally subtle

#extradirty
Mike Driver
Keni
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
Aqua Utopiaļ½ęµ·ć®åŗć§čØę¶ćē“”ć

ā
I'd rather be in outer space šø
DEAR READER

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@territorialtoaster
why is everyone so mean. how arenāt you tired
Why is everyone so nice. How aren't you tired

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cockblocked š
The headlines are as golden as the medals heās previously won. But this one just had me in hysterics.
Switched to the next departure
But I'm already on the bus
Hurry or you'll be late
But I'm already on the bus
Aren't I?
made by mochimonki on tiktok but i canāt stop thinking about it
If I were in charge
The first thing I'd do, ya know after completely restructuring the government and employing startegies to increase quality of life for every marginalised community, the first thing I'd make illegal is window decals
So I can look out serenly into the world, pretending I'm looking at the trees when really I'm trying to get my brain to shut up as I ignore my body's cries for sleep. I already wear glasses, permanently the world is covrlered in a degree of muck I have to generalise and ignore, like my nose. Now a decal on a Window too? The world has gone too far.
But yeah, thats the first thing I'd ban, after all the other stuff.

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I feel like I'm running head first into a dead end.
oh boy
this is a Complex Web
me reading this: wow this is fun stuff sheryl sure is a bitch i canāt wait to see what happens when the husband finds ou-oh FUCK okay
āPeople have always been peopleā is my favourite part of anthropology
People graffitid your mum jokes on the walls of Pompeii
Junior monks wrote complaints into their copied manuscripts
The Aborigines passed down 10,000 year old oral histories in campfire stories
Children played with little rolling ox toys in Mughal India
Indigenous Americans hurled balls around courts in games like ones we still play
Bored Roman soldiers carved dicks on Hadrianās wall
Vikings climbed to very high places in distant countries just to carve their names there
Women in ancient Egypt sang songs making fun of their husbands while they worked
Victorian schoolgirls embroidered their hatred of stitching into their samplers
People have always been people, and it is my favourite thing
I feel like we should bring back the 1700s trend of names being just like... a virtuous word. Like hi, my name is Organization now. I'm manifesting that as a trait of mine
meet my twins Focus and Intent
and my firstborn, Righteous Indignation
I might have to change MY name to Righteous Indignation too because that's what I felt when I saw that your firstborn has a cooler name than me
is now a bad time to tell you that I am, in fact, your real father
Shaming me from birth with this accursed name and then deciding you did not want me, only to reappear now, this far into my life, to claim me when you see that I have grown powerful? No... you are no father of mine.
you DARE to reject your DESTINY, Righteous Indignation Horse Thief?
I do, father! I am going to return every horse you stole to its rightful owner, or if the horse is gone, I will pay them what it was worth! The means to do this, I claim as my inheritance from you - after that, I am your son no further
know that I am not too proud nor too feeble-hearted to sully the altar of our noble name with the stain of family blood! if you push me, your veins will be the wellspring from which I water the seeds of future generations.
Oh, I did not plan to take my inheritance with your blessing, father. I know what you think of me. Oh, how I watched as you showered Focus and Intent with your praise, and all the while I did not until this very day know of my birthright. Well, father, you have grown soft, accustomed to the stolen riches of your estate. But you must know that beyond these grounds, they call me Organization, and that is not for nothing. I may not be a horse thief, but I am no stranger to crime.
Even before I knew that all this was rightfully mine by blood, I had a false will forged for you, leaving all of your wealth and your horses to me. I had almost considered staying my hand when I learned the truth, but now I will have no remorse. So make your move against me; I will consider it your blessing to take what is mine, along with your life.
yet another family holiday RUINED by TREACHERY and AVARICE
Say what you will of me, but don't speak that way of Treachery and Avarice. Come on. They're right here
Your scheming uncles know what they did. If only Great Aunt Apathy could see us now... sheād have nothing to say, but still.
unmute for TIPPY TAPTAPTAP

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Almost 200 people were murdered in Armenia in 3 days and y'all are still ignoring us.
This is not a war, this is a massacre Azerbaijan and Turkey are committing against the Armenian people.
Turkey's president literally admitted that he wants to finish what his ancestors started. He wants to commit another genocide, and this time he wants to kill us all.
Silence is violence
Update: it's been over a month. 2 thousand people were murdered so far. Please, I'm so scared, just reblog this. I'm not asking for a lot, if you can't donate that's fine, just share this.
If anyone knows where TO donate please interact?!
If you're willing to donate, here is the link:
Established in 1994 in Los Angeles, California, Armenia Fund, Inc. is a 501(c)(3) tax-exempt, non-governmental, non-political corporation.
@rock-and-roll-and-rats Thank you so much, I'm so grateful
sometimes a poem is just a poem and sometimes a poem is actually a confession and sometimes a poem is a person and sometimes a poem is a cardinal. sometimes art is just art and sometimes art is actually therapy and sometimes itās a pipe and sometimes itās also not a pipe at the same time. sometimes the text is āgot home safe!ā and sometimes the text is actually sayingĀ āi miss the way your hair feels in my handsā and sometimes the text is a warning. sometimes you are on the phone with your friend and youāre talking about curious monkeys but youāre also both talking about how lonely you are but youāre also both talking about how love can be a bicycle. sometimes you are in an argument about the dishes but none of the things you are mad about are about dishes, theyāre about the stuff around the dishes and the hands and the soap and how he smelled on sunday of another girl. sometimes the song isnāt a song sometimes the song is manipulation and sometimes the song is just bad and sometimes the song is stuck in my head from you singing it in bed and sometimes it isĀ āi listened to this so i could learn what you likeā and sometimes it isĀ āi showed you this because i want to also show you my palm lines and my heart and the inside of my head.ā sometimes you are dancing alone but you are not dancing alone because you are picturing seeing her in a green velvet dress across the room from you, and sometimes you are dancing with ghosts, and sometimes you are dancing with your motherās voice. and sometimes you sayĀ āoh, donāt forget to take a cookie when you goā and sometimes you mean that i should take a cookie and sometimes you mean - take me with you, also. sometimes it is just burning something and sometimes it is burning somethingĀ and sometimes it is burning a lot of other things first. sometimes it is just a shirt and sometimes itās what you wore when you kissed her and sometimes itās what you wore when you didnāt kiss her and sometimes itās what you wore to the movies on the last movie you saw. sometimes the poem is just a poem and sometimes the poem is my earring in your hand and sometimes the poem is your smell and sometimes the poem is calligraphy and sometimes the poem is good lord you are addicting and sometimes the poem is a poem and sometimes the poem is unfiltered yearning and sometimes the poem is an anvil and sometimes the poem is - can i write a home, can you crawl in, can we be like little ferns. all curled up in bed.
Youāre a daycare worker, watching over toddlers, when the imminent end of the world is announced. It becomes increasingly clear none of the kidsā parents are going to show up as the end inches nearer.
[Audio starts]
āMom has been texting me for the last twenty minutes. She wants me to come home. Itās a four hour drive, when the roads are clear, and from what I hear everybody is trying to get somewhere right now. Thereās no telling if Iād even-ā
āEverybody else has left. All the other kids were picked up, the other staff left. They gave me all the keys. I promised to stay and wait for as long as- well. Even if some of the parents show up, I guess some of them wonāt, so Iām just waiting. Until.ā
[Clears throat.]
āA couple of people came after everybody left. Peter, one of Aidanās fathers, gave me three hundred dollars for staying. What am I going to do with money? Itās- anyway. I kind of get it. He wanted to give me something.ā
[Audio ends]
[Audio starts]
āTheyāre all between 2 and 4.ā Sniff. āTheyāre so little. Too little to really- maybe if they were older, Iād have to tell them something. But um. Iām just- trying to stay calm and keep them happy and occupied. I think thatās the best thing, right now.ā
[Heaving breaths.]
āI normally use this recorder to help me remember stuff. Itās just, uh, habit to talk to it. I donāt know. Theyāre napping, right now. Iāve got the baby monitor, they know that if they talk into it, Iāll come, so-ā
[Sobbing.]
[Audio ends]
[Audio starts]
āMom keeps texting, so I blocked her. I sent her a text telling her goodbye, first, but. I do. But these kids need me.ā
[Sniff.]
āI tried calling their parents again, but I canāt get anybody. Itās just busy signals. I called the firefighter station, 911. I canāt get through to anybody.ā
[Shaky breath.]
āI went out into the yard. Um, I think they can play. Itās nice out, and you canāt really see it yet. Little bit of a glimmer, if they ask Iāll just tell them itās a plane, but itās nice out and weāve got hours before-ā
[Murmuring childās voice, indistinguishable.]
[Audio ends]
Keep reading
This month Iāve decided to participate in an event called āOctober,ā where for every day in October Iām going to experience a day in October.
Hereās the prompt list Iām using in case anyone wants to join me in this challenge:
Next month Iām thinking of trying out the āNo November Novemberā challenge, where Iāll refrain from experiencing November for the whole month of November.
Might do this if I have time.
I made a very short comic about Eunice Newton Foote, an American physicist and an inventor in the 19th century. She was educated in Troy Female Seminary, a boarding school for women, where they were able to attend a nearby science college. She and her husband were womenās right activists.
In the 1856 she published a paper on the effect of gasses on the warming effect of the sun. Her findings for the first time showed that CO2 had direct effect on warming and cooling of the climate or what we would now call the greenhouse effect. Her work was presented by a male professor in American Association for the Advancement of Science meeting, though women were in principle allowed to speak, but perhaps it would have been too much for the audience.
Three years after John Tyndall published similar findings about how various gasses trapped infernal heath radiation. In the paper he claimed that no one had done experiments on the issue and didnāt mention Eunice at all. For more than a century he was remembered as the first one to discover CO2ā²s effect on climate change, until very recently when Euniceās work was uncovered again. There has been debate weather John Tyndall presented Euniceās discovery as his own and didnāt name her or her work on purpose, or was is just a coincidence. Though he did publish a paper on color blindness on the same issue of the same journal where Euniceās work was first published⦠Weather it was intentional or not, I imagine Eunice being pissed of that he erased her for history of science for a century and half.
Tagging my art peeps. As always Iām happy to add you or remove you from the tag list!
@madmooninkā @siarvenā @ettawritesnstudiesā @kainablueā @mvcreatesā @papershield-artā

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I wore pink
He first time in 6 years
I wanted to throw up
But I don't know
If i wanted to be sick
Or
If i wanted to want to feel sick
Everytime a label feels right
It feels wrong
I have a very vivid memory of sitting in a first grade classroom (first grade was my first actual classroom because my mom homeschooled me for kindergarten) thinking āI am literally going to die, I canāt live one more minute without reading a story, but Iāve already gotten my book confiscated for peeking at it during class and I have no backup book and Iām going to dieā and then thinking in a burst of divine inspiration āWHAT IF I TELL MYSELF A STORY INSIDE MY HEAD.Ā THEY CANāT TAKE THAT AWAY FROM ME.Ā PHYSICALLY THEY CANNOT.ā
they could not
But then when I was in second grade (at a different school, because I told my mom I wished I could die so I didnāt have to go to school any more and it alarmed her so much she got me sent to a Montessori-influenced magnet school instead) we had spelling āpre testsā on Mondays where we were given (out loud) a big long list of words to write down, all on a theme (like say ātreesā) and ranging in difficulty from simple (āleafā) to complex (ādeciduousā), and depending on how many you spelled right, your spelling words to study for the week were either the simplest set, the medium set, or the most complex set.
Great system, right? Except that I was such an insufferable little bookworm I routinely got them ALL right, which resulted in me being excused from spelling most weeks and told to write a story instead, which is really how it all began, because until then I hadnāt written anything down.
Oppression may stimulate the imagination but nurture and encouragement are where itās AT
I feel like this story is important.