#do you know what this thing needs?

[sanguine-tenshi]

Genuinely think that if you design a piece of technology that is user unfriendly you should be brought before a firing squad.

[artkaninchenbau]

A h-heartfelt reunion..?

Bonus

[ellierenae]

write unpublishable things. it's good for you.

[jupiter-suggestion]

consider the sperm whale and the squid. an ancient rivalry that dates back millions of years. we know the whales eat the squids. we know the squids do not make it easy for them. we know this because of the scars the whales carry, scars on the outside of their body, and on the inside as well. how badly must you want something to endure wounds inside your mouth? inside your gut?

consider the whale, who is harmed by what sustains her. consider the squid, whose flesh is soft and delicious but refuses to go down easy.

[inkskinned]

the thing about some men is that they want you to remember, at all times, that you are underneath them. that with one word or look or "joke", you will stay beneath them. that even "exceptions" to the rule are not true exceptions - the commonly cited statistic that one in eight men believe they could win against serena williams.

women's gymnastics is often not seen as real gymnastics. whatever the fuck non-euclidian horrors rhythmic gymnasts are capable of, it's often tamped down as being not a sport. some of the most dominant athletes in the world are women. nobody watches women's soccer. despite years of dancing and being built like a fucking brick, men always assume they're faster and stronger than i am. you wouldn't like what happens when they are incorrect. once while drunk at a guy's house i won a held-plank challenge by a solid minute. the party was over after that - he became exceedingly violent.

what i mean is that you can be perfect, and they still think you're ... lacking, somehow. i hope you understand i'm trying to express a neutral statement when i say: taylor swift was the possibly the most patriarchy-palatable, straight-down-the-line woman we could churn out. she is white, conventionally attractive, usually pretty mild in personality. say what you will about her (and you should, she's a billionaire, she can handle it), but a few things seem to be true about her: 1. she can write a damn catchy song, and 2. the eras tour truly was a massive commercial success and was also genuinely an impressive feat of human athleticism and performance.

i don't know if she deserves the title of "woman of the year," i'm not debating that in this post. what i am saying is that she was named Woman of The Year, and then an untalented man got onstage at the golden globes and made fun of her for attending her boyfriend's football games. what i am saying is that this woman altered local economies - and her dating life is still being made into a "harmless" punchline. the camera panned, greedy, over to her downing a full glass of champagne. congratulations taylor! you are woman of the year! but you are a woman. even her.

fuck, man. write better material.

a guy gets onstage at a college graduation and despite the fact like half the crowd is made up of women, he spends a significant proportion of it warning these people - who spent possibly hundreds of thousands of dollars on their education - that they were lied to. that the "real" meaning of femininity is motherhood. that they shouldn't rest on the laurels of that education-they-paid-for but instead throw it away to kneel at a man's heel. imagine that. sweating in your godawful polyester gown (that you also had to pay for!), fresh out of 4 years of pushing yourself ever-harder: and some guy you've never met - who knows nothing about you - he reminds you this "win" is a pyrrhic one at best. you really shouldn't consider yourself that extraordinary. you're still a woman, even after years of study.

god forbid you are not a pretty woman, but if you are pretty, you must be dumb. god forbid you are not ablebodied or white or cis or straight or good at swallowing. you must be beneath a man, or else they are not a man. the equation for masculinity seems to just be: that which is not a woman or womanly (god forbid). anything "feminine" is thereby anathema. to engage in "feminine" things such as therapy, getting a hug from a friend, or crying - it is giving up ones manhood. therefore women need to be put in their place to ensure that masculinity is protected.

this is something i have struggled to explain to terfs - they are not doing the work of feminism, but rather the patriarchy. by asserting that women and men must be (on some secret level) oppositional and in conflict, they also assume that being a woman is akin to being another species. but bigotry does not stem from observational truths or clarity - that is what makes it bigotry. there was nothing in my childhood that made me fundamentally different from my brother. we are treated differently nonetheless. to assert there is some biological drive that enforces my gender role is to assert that women have a gendered role. men do not see women as equal to them not because of biological reality - but instead because the core tenant of the patriarchy is that women aren't full, realized people.

we are told from a very young age to excuse misbehavior as a single man's choice - not all men. it is not all men, just that one guy. all women are gold-digging bitches who belong in the kitchen - but if a man is mean, bigoted, or violent to you, it's just that particular guy, and that means nothing about men-as-a-whole. it is only one guy who got mad when you gently rejected him. it is only one guy who warns her this trophy is heavy, are you sure you can hold it? it is only one guy who smashes her face into the cake. it is only one guy talking into a mic about hating our bodily autonomy.

i have just found that they often wait until the moment we actually seem to be upstaging them. you sit in a meeting where you're presenting your own findings and he says get me a coffee? or you run to the end of the marathon and are about to finish first and he pushes your kids out in front of you. you win the chess game and they make some comment akin to well, you're ugly away. we can be the billionaire and get the dream life and finally fucking do it and yet! still! they have this strange, visceral urge to say well actually, if you think you're so great -

it's not one just one guy. it's one in eight.

[egophiliac]

he did it! 🐍 and it only took...uhhh...well, there probably could've been less punches, but why hold back!

PUNCHES FOR EVERYONE

[ancient-reverie]

a moment of silence for all us disabled ones who had to watch each of their friends move on with their lives without you and get jobs, go to school, have partners come and go, get engaged and move house etc.

shout out to my fellow struggling people who are still sitting in the same bedroom they grew up in. the ones who can't get a job, can't make new friends, can't find a partner or partners, can't move house and can't go to school.

I hope one day we can all find someone to at least sit with us in our rooms. I see you and I understand... and I'm sorry we can't be that person for each other

[futuristichedge]

Someone I am not

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Hello Madam. Sorry Madam.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[dozydawn]

Mayerling.

Melissa Hamilton and Rupert Pennefather.

Lauren Cuthbertson and Thiago Soares.

Natalia Osipova and Edward Watson.

Melissa Hamilton and Rupert Pennefather.

Natalia Osipova and Edward Watson.

Sarah Lamb and Steven McRae.

[moderndaypandora]

i recognize that simon and edwin meeting and parting in hell is narratively very good and provides closure for all. but imagine if simon had agreed to try and escape with edwin. and charles doesn't have time to really question it, because anybody who likes edwin is aces in his book and it's hell, they need to leave. (edwin, out of courtesy to their third companion, puts his plan to confess on hold until they've escaped.)

suddenly the edwin harem of "supernatural boys who all hate each other but are attracted to that negative rizz" gains another member, and at some point edwin is going to have to mention that simon was the boy who sacrificed him to hell.

the chaos. crystal's bitchy commentary. charles going from friendly smiling to clutching his cricket bat. niko's whispering "200k slow burn schoolboy rivals to lovers" with heart eyes. it'd be chef's kiss good. edwin fleeing to his books and praying that nobody, but especially not the cat king, finds him because there has been SO MUCH emotion already. hysterical.

[thedisablednaturalist]

I think when people think of mental illness and what helps, especially with things like anxiety and depression, the treatment involves pushing yourself. Pushing yourself to get out of bed, to exercise, to take a shower, to go out in public, to order your own food from the cashier, etc.

And because the mental health movement has grown so much, people think that's the default of ALL illnesses. That the only way someone will get better is if they push themselves. That practice makes perfect. That you'll become more comfortable or strong over time the more you do something.

But what people need to realize is, with physical disabilities and chronic illnesses, pushing yourself in most cases is DETRIMENTAL. Pushing yourself past your limits can lead to flare ups or further injury. That's why it's important to know your limits, how certain activities may affect your condition, and learn how to either adapt or get help to complete the activity in question.

Also, most of us are already pushing ourselves. Most of us don't have access to the help or equipment we need. Most of us live in places where we frequently encounter inaccessible obstacles. Most of us NEED to rest.

So please don't try to be our physical therapists or doctors. There are people specifically trained to help us navigate our own conditions and limitations. There are people trained to help us strengthen our body's resilience without causing flare-ups or injury. Do not tell us "it'll be good for you" or "you need the exercise" when we say something is too heavy or too far or when we say we need our mobility aid(s). Your friend with depression may need to be encouraged to get out of bed, but your friend with chronic illness definitely doesn't.

Respect our rest.

[bacchuschucklefuck]

doing chibi is a good design exercise bc it forces u to think on shapes n essential details, essentially thumbnailing ur designs. its also a terrible design exercise bc it ends up looking cute no matter what

[bunnieswithknives]

OK JUST A LITTLE THING BECAUSE IM INSANE @cubbihue

Song: Plastic by Cheekface

[imsilay]

SOAR pt.2

prev

NSFW +18 MDNI cw: smut, kidnapping, obsessive behavior, fem!reader, König is a fucking delusional, noncon, Stockholm Syndrome. (idk guys it’s more romantic? than i wanted it to be lmao) (and another warning that this chapter might feel different from the first chapter. just saying :> )

word count: 1.7k

summary: Your sweet captor König fucking you after coming back to home from a long mission.

art cr: yashk_pucyet on twt

König was a man of stamina. He made sure you knew it in the first months that he kidnapped you. And after he came back from deployments, he would make sure you knew he wasn’t a man to be satisfied with just one round. He was your husband after all. He should show his wife that he’s the only one that she needed, that was what he was thinking when he pulled you up by your calves and put them onto his shoulders as he pushed his thick cock into your perfect pussy. His perfect pussy. You were his wife so he had all the right to claim you as his. All of you. All of his. “Ich habe das so sehr vermisst.” (I missed this so much.) he grunted as his hips continued its overwhelming pace.

The way your eyes rolled back and walls clenched tightly around his shaft made him bite onto his lower lip so he wouldn’t let out the moan that was threatening to slip away from his lips. “So fucking cute, Maus.” he cooed when you let out the most beautiful moans and whimpers. The sound of your begging and pleading like ‘stop’, ’s too much’, ‘can’t take it’ fall on deaf ears. All he could hear was the lewd sounds of your dripping cunt. And the way your pussy milked him was enough to convince him to continue. But of course he was still sweet enough to draw tight circles on your clit when he felt you get closer to your orgasm. He brought one if his hands down between your thighs as the other kept your legs on his shoulders. “Let go f’me, Maus. It feels good isn’t it? As much as you try to deny it you missed this cock more than me. Did i made you addicted to this cock? Such a slutty wife. My slutty wife.” and of course he was mean. His degrading words went straight to your pussy. The pleasure, the way he stretched your poor pussy, the way his tip hit your most delicious spots were too overwhelming. You felt like the world’s spinning when he bit the soft skin of your calves. He quickly kissed and licked the new mark which found it’s place among the others. With one hard thrust his tip kissed your cervix and made your vision go white when you cum around his thick cock. Your thighs trembled and you let out a soft cry as you cum. “Scheiße.” He hissed. Pussy squeezing him so tight, milking and begging for his cum. Who he was to not give it to his sweet girl. His beautiful wife. “Gonna cum in you süßes Mädchen.” he purred as the movement of his hips became more desperate. The thought of cumming inside your greedy cunt, claiming you with his cum deep inside your cunt, brought him to the edge. So he finished deep inside you, painting your walls with his seeds. Just like how he did when you ride him. The relief and contentment he felt afterwards was something else. Something that made him feel like a caveman. A man who behaves primitive and rough. “I’m sorry, Maus.” he cooed when he finally noticed your tear stained face. He turned his head to side and closed his eyes when he pressed his lips onto the skin of your legs. “Are you mad at me?” he mumbled softly with all his innocence. He pulled his cock out and collapsed on top of you, so you couldn’t look away from him or try to leave his side. “Look at me, Maus. Du gehst nirgendwohin.” (You’re not going anywhere.) his lengthy and calloused fingers found your chin to make you look into his eyes. He hated when you got upset with him. His heart ached and anxiety engulfed his brain whenever you avoided him. It wasn’t like you could ever leave him. Oh he wouldn’t let you. He just needed you so much. His need and desperation for you never ended.

In the other hand, there you were, so sore from his harshness and endless desire for you. You felt like crying again as he softly let go of your chin, deciding that he was already too harsh on you today, and buried his head into your neck. He was heavy. God he was like 130 kilograms and he was crushing your poor delicate body into mattress. Not that he cared if you were uncomfortable. He just wanted to soothe you with the way he thought would work. His actions were confusing you, making you doubt yourself whenever he got so tender and soft with you. Like now. He was nuzzling and murmuring into your neck, kissing and licking the soft skin, breathing in your addictive scent and marking you by sucking bruises onto your throat… He was melted onto your body, like he didn’t fucked you senseless a minute ago. “Was i too rough again?” he finally spoke again, making you sob and nod quietly. All the overwhelming feelings finally getting to you. “Aww poor baby. That was why i wanted you to ride me.” Yeah, like you had had the energy for it after doing it once already. König knew he was hard in bed. Brutal even. He knew if he had his hands on you he would manhandle you into every position he wanted and he wouldn’t think if it hurt you. You see, he was a soldier, he didn’t knew how to be soft. He didn’t knew how to calm down people. When he had his cock in you and you weren’t on top of him -in control- he would only think the ways to go deeper inside your welcoming warmth. Like the caveman he felt. “I will make it up to you, Meine Königin. How about a hot bath?” he suggested as his fingers dug into your messy hair and started to caress it tenderly. Even if he was tired from the work he still wanted to keep his beautiful wife content and happy. You wanted to deny him, to push him of off your sore body and curse at him. Maybe you could hit him across the face if you had the energy. But all you could do was give him another tiny nod. “That’s my beautiful wife.” he smiled so brightly like you just gave him the world. Despite keeping you forcefully in his home, in his bed, in his arms, you couldn’t deny the trust he imbued into your mind.

His large arms wrapped around your body after he pressed a last lingering kiss on your neck. He gently lifted you up and made you wrap your legs around his waist. Once he was sure you were secured in his strong arms he got up from bed and carried you to the tub that he soon filled with warm water and some essences you like. Once everything was done he pulled your back against his chest and you couldn’t help but put your head back on his chest. “Enjoying yourself, Maus?” he chuckled lightly as you closed your eyes with a humm. The way his strong arms wrapped around you and his fingers massaged your sore muscles relaxed you further. “Feels good.” you mumbled, your voice just above whisper and he noted the way you sigh softly when his fingers brushed against the fresh marks on your thighs. You didn’t even wanted to open your eyes, you just wanted to enjoy how his fingers worked on your sore muscles and forget that it was your kidnapper who was holding you firmly against his body. Maybe, just maybe if you forgot that fact, living with him wouldn’t be that bad. And of course you had to bare with him claiming you as his wife and wanting you to call him your husband all the time. Yeah, that was annoying. But in total it wasn’t that bad. He wasn’t that bad. And maybe he was right when he told you that you didn’t needed anyone but him. He could provide for you, he could show affection and he wasn’t afraid to voice his love for you in every given chance. Unlike the men outside. Yeah, maybe if you just play with his rules you could be happier. He loved you after all. You were his little wife. And he was your husband. “What are you thinking?” he pressed a kiss on your temple when he saw your expression. What could you be thinking so hard? He had to know. He wanted to be inside your head constantly. When you didn’t answer, his mind starts to wonder. Why you weren’t answering him? Were you thinking of escaping again? Even after he fucked you this good and taking care of you? “Answer me.” his tone goes darker with the seconds you waste. His fingers squeezing your plush thighs unconsciously. “I- i was just thinking-“ a small cry left your lips when you flinched with the pain on your thighs. And of course he noticed. Like he noticed everything about you. So he let his grip loosen to let you speak. “I think i love you.” you said and felt his whole body tense behind your back. His whole body went stiff like he received a bullet into his chest. And it felt like it. He felt like his heart exploded and replaced with another one so it could beat this fast. You turned towards him to see his expression but what you saw got you more worried. His eyes were fixated on the wall of the bathroom and his mouth was agape. He looked like he was in a trance. “König?” you called his name but he just remained still. So you did the thing you wanted to do for a while and kissed him. He let out a small gasp but it short lived when he immediately grabbed you by the back of your neck and kept your head still so you couldn’t get away from his grip. Oh no, not anymore when he finally, truly got you. A low moan, more like a growl, left his lips when he finally had a taste of your delicious looking lips. Oh god it was like heaven. You were like heaven and now he couldn’t get enough of you. His hungry mouth captured yours with a desperate kiss. His used his free hand to press onto your chin to explore your mouth further. He was desperate for the new taste he got and he was determined to savor it until his last breath. You were his and he had to claim it with his kiss. There was no going back after giving him your delicious lips.

“Now that you kissed me, you can’t leave me anymore.”

a/n: please support me by reblogging, if you liked the content ofc <3 your comments also makes my day :* and i try to reply all of them :>

i just love this fic sm. i can’t get enough. a small chapter to thank you guys for:

THIS. ~(≧▽≦)/~ I WANT TO THANK YOU ALL FOR ALL THE LOVE AND SUPPORT YOU GUYS ARE MY DELULU BBGS <3

and can someone tell me why i love writing König while listening to Rammstein

[inkskinned]

at some point it's just like. do they even fucking like the thing they're asking AI to make? "oh we'll just use AI for all the scripts" "we'll just use AI for art" "no worries AI can write this book" "oh, AI could easily design this"

like... it's so clear they've never stood in the middle of an art museum and felt like crying, looking at a piece that somehow cuts into your marrow even though the artist and you are separated by space and time. they've never looked at a poem - once, twice, three times - just because the words feel like a fired gun, something too-close, clanging behind your eyes. they've never gotten to the end of the movie and had to arrive, blinking, back into their body, laughing a little because they were holding their breath without realizing.

"oh AI can mimic style" "AI can mimic emotion" "AI can mimic you and your job is almost gone, kid."

... how do i explain to you - you can make AI that does a perfect job of imitating me. you could disseminate it through the entire world and make so much money, using my works and my ideas and my everything.

and i'd still keep writing.

i don't know there's a word for it. in high school, we become aware that the way we feel about our artform is a cliche - it's like breathing. over and over, artists all feel the same thing. "i write because i need to" and "my music is how i speak" and "i make art because it's either that or i stop existing." it is such a common experience, the violence and immediacy we mean behind it is like breathing to me - comes out like a useless understatement. it's a cliche because we all feel it, not because the experience isn't actually persistent. so many of us have this ... fluttering urgency behind our ribs.

i'm not doing it for the money. for a star on the ground in some city i've never visited. i am doing it because when i was seven i started taking notebooks with me on walks. i am doing it because in second grade i wrote a poem and stood up in front of my whole class to read it out while i shook with nerves. i am doing it because i spent high school scribbling all my feelings down. i am doing it for the 16 year old me and the 18 year old me and the today-me, how we can never put the pen down. you can take me down to a subatomic layer, eviscerate me - and never find the source of it; it is of me. when i was 19 i named this blog inkskinned because i was dramatic and lonely and it felt like the only thing that was actually permanently-true about me was that this is what is inside of me, that the words come up over everything, coat everything, bloom their little twilight arias into every nook and corner and alley

"we're gonna replace you". that is okay. you think that i am writing to fill a space. that someone said JOB OPENING: Writer Needed, and i wrote to answer. you think one raindrop replaces another, and i think they're both just falling. you think art has a place, that is simply arrives on walls when it is needed, that is only ever on demand, perfect, easily requested. you see "audience spending" and "marketability" and "multi-line merch opportunity"

and i see a kid drowning. i am writing to make her a boat. i am writing because what used to be a river raft has long become a fully-rigged ship. i am writing because you can fucking rip this out of my cold dead clammy hands and i will still come back as a ghost and i will still be penning poems about it.

it isn't even love. the word we use the most i think is "passion". devotion, obsession, necessity. my favorite little fact about the magic of artists - "abracadabra" means i create as i speak. we make because it sluices out of us. because we look down and our hands are somehow already busy. because it was the first thing we knew and it is our backbone and heartbreak and everything. because we have given up well-paying jobs and a "real life" and the approval of our parents. we create because - the cliche again. it's like breathing. we create because we must.

you create because you're greedy.