pardyparderson

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What if oxygen is poisonous and it just takes 75-100 years to kill us?

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Take my soul

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Which path should he choose?

The path of the warrior, the path of the scholar, or the path of the artist?

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I'm obsessed with this movie

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They should invent a being a writer that doesn't come with being isolated and diminishing returns on what you are given back compared to how much you give

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HUNTR/X 💥

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my mum has a very normal office job that includes phone calls with clients. most of them are older and can't write emails.

today, she received a phone call from the son of a client, informing her the woman suddenly died. the son had one last unfinished business: reading my mum the last email she ever wrote but didn't live long enough to send. It was an email thanking my mum.

you see, one day my mum took the time out of her day to teach her how to send emails. she stayed on the line with her, encouraged her, and sent practice messages back and forth. she didn't have to do that. that's not part of her job description. but because of my mum's patience, this 80 year old woman was able to communicate with her wider family and friends, including some living abroad, more frequently.

kindness and patience are never wasted. we all can make a difference in someone's life.

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landoscar spiderman au

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Finally figured out how to permanently disable google assistant on phone

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Make sure you don't accidentally punish people for communicating their needs and boundaries. When someone cares enough to have the uncomfortable conversation, that's a compliment and a clear sign that they are invested in the relationship. Yes of course it's uncomfortable to hear that something you've been doing has been upsetting someone you care about when that was never your intention, but people generally only bother to have these conversations with the people they want to keep around - the people they trust to care. If they just didn't like you, they'd probably just try to avoid you. So make sure you don't make it into a more punishing experience than it has to be. Try to see the care and the trust behind the criticism, even when it triggers uncomfortable emotions. It's a good sign that they're there telling you.

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On one hand I understand not teaching cursive in school anymore, because it actually is slower than regular handwriting and almost everything is typed on a keyboard now anyways.

On the other hand, so much of our (even recent!) history was written in cursive, and having a whole generation of kids who can't read letters written by their grandparents, momentos saved by their great-grandparents, or even photo albums from theur immediate family seems like a dangerously quick way to detach us from previous generations.

And on the third, related but slightly malformed hand, I feel bad that yet another form of small, everyday art that brings joy in the middle of mundane tasks, which celebrates personality and individual style and self-expression, is about to fade into obscurity because it wasn't efficient enough for today's world to put up with.

Like... if we continue to whittle away the small arts out of every day life, what's going to be left except stark, ruthless pragmatism?

Maybe writing a grocery list is less mundane when you get to feel elegant for a moment. Maybe you're a little more proud of what you write when you see it flow together like a painting

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Nature + Fiddler

This month's (June) exclusive sticker club artwork. There are a few slots still open!

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Chris Hedges on America entering the “Trump Phase” of late capitalism

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Actually you CAN use the same word twice in the same paragraph. The same sentence even. If it's funny, if it's for emphasis, if it's harping on a theme, if you're sexy and you do whatever you want forever. Write on

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when they were 5, iwa hated carrots and oikawa hated fish.

at 10, iwa hated homework and oikawa hated grasshoppers.

at 15, iwa hated the cold and oikawa hated not being a talented genius.

at 20, iwa hates airport goodbyes, and so does oikawa.

it doesn’t matter that it’s been like this for just over a year. it doesn’t matter if it’s the airport in mendoza or the one in los angeles. the ache is the same, the pain doesn’t shrink.

and even though tooru’s always been the crybaby, hajime’s worse every time he has to say goodbye. he cries from somewhere deep, pulling tooru tight against him, like he’s trying to tuck him under his ribs, right next to his heart, so his tooru never has to let go.

he tells him, voice hoarse and wet, to be careful. to text when he lands. to not forget the tupperware in his suitcase. that he loves him. that he already misses him. that he is his pride. and tooru nods against his shoulder, trying not to fall apart, holding the tears until he’s boarded the plane.

oikawa tries to joke, even with a shaky voice and swollen lips from biting them too much under red eyes. iwaizumi snorts at every silly word, cheeks damp as he gently pinches oikawa’s pretty face.

they’re not built for distance, they know it. they’re a mess whenever they have to part, always have been. but they're fine. they weren’t built for nationals either, and yet here they are: one on the verge of the starting lineup in a big team, the other with a letter of recommendation in his pocket.

their lives have branched off like limbs of a tree, but they’re still rooted in the same trunk. and that’s how it’ll always be, they know the way back to each other and if one day they don’t, they’ll learn it and won’t forget.

because they’re tooru and hajime.

stubborn, obstinate.

...

iwaoi airport goodbyes is my weakness i swear

u can find me on my ao3, my carrd, bluesky and here my strawpage if u wanna ask me whatever 🍉