#y’all do not know

[skoulsons]

oh, nothing. I am simply foaming at the mouth over the out of bounds view of joel and ellie’s winter hug

It’s the way she’s on both her knees but Joel is just on one knee and there’s that open space between them because of how he’s kneeling. And she just… is there. She’s right there. She just fits in that space and held so tightly against him.

[hamletthedane]

I was meeting a client at a famous museum’s lounge for lunch (fancy, I know) and had an hour to kill afterwards so I joined the first random docent tour I could find. The woman who took us around was a great-grandmother from the Bronx “back when that was nothing to brag about” and she was doing a talk on alternative mediums within art.

What I thought that meant: telling us about unique sculpture materials and paint mixtures.

What that actually meant: an 84yo woman gingerly holding a beautifully beaded and embroidered dress (apparently from Ukraine and at least 200 years old) and, with tears in her eyes, showing how each individual thread was spun by hand and weaved into place on a cottage floor loom, with bright blue silk embroidery thread and hand-blown beads intricately piercing the work of other labor for days upon days, as the labor of a dozen talented people came together to make something so beautiful for a village girl’s wedding day.

What it also meant: in 1948, a young girl lived in a cramped tenement-like third floor apartment in Manhattan, with a father who had just joined them after not having been allowed to escape through Poland with his pregnant wife nine years earlier. She sits in her father’s lap and watches with wide, quiet eyes as her mother’s deft hands fly across fabric with bright blue silk thread (echoing hands from over a century years earlier). Thread that her mother had salvaged from white embroidery scraps at the tailor’s shop where she worked and spent the last few days carefully dying in the kitchen sink and drying on the roof.

The dress is in the traditional Hungarian fashion and is folded across her mother’s lap: her mother doesn’t had a pattern, but she doesn’t need one to make her daughter’s dress for the fifth grade dance. The dress would end up differing significantly from the pure white, petticoated first communion dresses worn by her daughter’s majority-Catholic classmates, but the young girl would love it all the more for its uniqueness and bright blue thread.

And now, that same young girl (and maybe also the villager from 19th century Ukraine) stands in front of us, trying not to clutch the old fabric too hard as her voice shakes with the emotion of all the love and humanity that is poured into the labor of art. The village girl and the girl in the Bronx were very different people: different centuries, different religions, different ages, and different continents. But the love in the stitches and beads on their dresses was the same. And she tells us that when we look at the labor of art, we don’t just see the work to create that piece - we see the labor of our own creations and the creations of others for us, and the value in something so seemingly frivolous.

But, maybe more importantly, she says that we only admire this piece in a museum because it happened to survive the love of the wearer and those who owned it afterwards, but there have been quite literally billions of small, quiet works of art in billions of small, quiet homes all over the world, for millennia. That your grandmother’s quilt is used as a picnic blanket just as Van Gogh’s works hung in his poor friends’ hallways. That your father’s hand-painted model plane sets are displayed in your parents’ livingroom as Grecian vases are displayed in museums. That your older sister’s engineering drawings in a steady, fine-lined hand are akin to Da Vinci’s scribbles of flying machines.

I don’t think there’s any dramatic conclusions to be drawn from these thoughts - they’ve been echoed by thousands of other people across the centuries. However, if you ever feel bad for spending all of your time sewing, knitting, drawing, building lego sets, or whatever else - especially if you feel like you have to somehow monetize or show off your work online to justify your labor - please know that there’s an 84yo museum docent in the Bronx who would cry simply at the thought of you spending so much effort to quietly create something that’s beautiful to you.

[bluebeesknees]

They’re being obnoxious at work 💙

[will-of-dumpsterfire]

[greelin]

“actually the term you’re looking for is pansexual” actually i’m dying right now. i am dying right now before your very eyes and those are the last words i had to read before my soul vacates this plane of existence forever. Are you proud of yourself

[ohimsummer]

satoru would grow to be one of those old people who die of heartbreak after you pass away :< not even a full year after your death and he’s following you straight to the grave :<<<

the house is all empty and quiet, he doesn’t do much anymore (he wasn’t anyway with his older age, but even less so now that you’ve died). satoru wakes up in the morning and it takes him a minute to get up before he just sits, stiff and lonely on his side of the bed, staring at his feet and dreading the start of another day. he wishes he could do his morning routine with you again.

he gets something small to eat like cereal because usually you were the one making the pancakes and eggs and sausages (sometimes he would “help”. aka sneak tastes of breakfast until you chased him away with a wooden spoon). he is silent as he eats, staring at your empty chair across from him at the table.

satoru sits quietly in the living room trying to distract himself with movies and tv shows (that you used to watch together. some he will now have to finish without you) and he ends up wasting another day doing nothing but trying not to think of you. at night, he prepares for bed, wishing he could do his nightly routine with you again, too, and then he lays down in a cold bed with a heavy sigh. and satoru cries himself to sleep.

him visiting your grave

[super-firepaw119]

Update on KOSA 5/23/24:

KOSA has passed through the Energy & Commerce Committee, but it’s not the end!!

Proof:

It may have passed the Committee, but don’t panic—We still have time to stop it!!

Continue to call/email/fax your two Senators & House Representative; tell them to vote “NO” to KOSA!

Make some noise, let them know we don’t want this!!

Can’t find your Representatives? This handy site helps you look them up: https://www.congress.gov/members?q=%7B%26quot%3Bcongress%26quot%3B%3A118%7D

Don’t panic. We still have time to stop KOSA!! The reason it hasn’t passed yet is due to how vocal we’ve been in opposition. Keep making noise—let them know we’re not okay with this.

Please spread this around! Stay strong. Keep fighting!!

[aziraphalalala]

What if it’s 4am and you can’t stop thinking about two ageless eldritch horrors divorce-kissing? What then?

[theeminentlyimpractical]

[the-meme-monarch]

hey imagine the parallels with me of undertale asriel and chara and deltarune ralsei and (knight) chara

“there is not a chance in hell chara’s the knight” 🫵one be nice. ☝️two but imagine the parallels with me

also I’d like to link this post of mine bc it also pertains to said parallels

***if you ship any combination of the dreemurr kids (And This Counts frisk chara and ralsei) then like. get outta here. like for real

[pasukiyo]

the change from tess being killed by soldiers in the game to the mob of infected coming to the capitol building and her blowing the place up while simultaneously sacrificing herself… like yes she sacrificed herself in the game but her sacrifice in the show just seems so much more meaningful now. it may just be the second episode but the show has yet again proven just how much care and heart has been put into this series. this really is a love letter to the ones who played the game and have connected with the story for all these years like myself. i’m so in love and am just so in awe of this show, it’s like i’m playing the game again for the very first time.

[transmascissues]

local cis man makes a “joke” tiktok that excludes trans men from the phrase “trans people” and mocks the music we make based on a stereotype that’s already been mocked to death, then makes a follow up video directed at the trans men who told him it wasn’t a funny joke or just made them feel shitty where he just doubles down and says the joke was fine because it “wasn’t serious” and that the trans men who didn’t like it are “directing their energy in the wrong place”.

maybe one day cis people will learn that 1) most trans jokes simply are not for them to make, regardless of how funny they think the joke would be, and 2) it’s not for them to decide if the trans people they chose to joke about are allowed to be upset that the joke was made. i honestly wouldn’t have even bothered making a post about this if it was just the original video because a lot of trans people also make jokes like this (which i still don’t think are funny or fair) so he could be forgiven for thinking no one would be upset, but the doubling down really rubs me the wrong way.

like, if we can’t even trust cis people to listen to our feelings on something as silly as a joke tiktok about music, how can we trust them to listen to us when it really counts? you can say it’s not that serious all you want, but when it’s already been demonstrated that you don’t always know how something will actually affect trans men, can you really expect us to trust that you’ll know when it is that serious?

because the message that response sends is this: “i find you fun to laugh at, but i don’t think you’re worth the trouble of caring about your feelings. i would rather enjoy myself and entertain others at your expense.” and is that the kind of message you want to send to anyone, especially a group of people you seemingly interact with enough to be familiar with the jokes made about them in their community? even if it wasn’t anti-transmasculine, it would still just be mean, and it’s certainly not a message that will make us see you as trustworthy when shit gets bad.

[memray]

obnoxious meowing

my pinterest kept showing me men in shit like this so i had to draw gale…

[deadsetobsessions]

This is based off of that one tiktok from @sorruna where it’s the audio from Spider-Man: Into the Spider-verse.

——

Dick Grayson was a sneaky, intelligent little shit.

He was also dumb. These things are not mutually exclusive.

To this day, one of his best kept secrets- one of the many, many that he had now- was something he’d take to his grave.

Or to Jason’s grave, at least.

Dick sat down and began telling the story to ears that would never truly hear it.

——

Batman’s voice rumbled behind him as Dick, in his Robin suit, stood blankly on top of a roof.

“I know you snuck out last night, Robin.”

Dick froze, train of thought about his dinner derailed. Holy busted, Batman! Quick! Play dumb!

“Who’s Robin?” He asked, the years of performing in front of a large crowd coming to save his ass.

Not that dumb!

Batman sent him a dry look, reprimand already poised on his lips. Dick, however, was nothing but a good performer. Nay, a dedicated performer.

Quick! Do something out of character! He shouted at himself, panicking visibly. He stepped backwards, an idea appearing in his head. In his defense, it sounded like an amazing idea at the time. He had no idea it would blow up into a Justice League issue. If he had known… Dick would have lied better, probably. There was no way he was going to let B bench him for weeks!

“Who the fuck are you?!” He yelped. Dick apologized mentally to Alfred and his parents. Batman paused, stunned.

“That’s my question. Who are you?!” Bruce asked, immediately hostile. His son doesn’t curse. Well, not in any normal way anyways. Dick quickly backpedaled by yelling at him with a heavy Vlax dialect, missing his parents terribly as he screamed stranger danger in rudimentary Romany. After this, he was going to have to convince Bruce to get him a language tutor. He refused to forget one of the only ties he had left to his parents.

“Wait, wait- you’re my son.” Bruce replied back, in perfect Romany. He looked more convinced but still skeptical.

“My dad is a circus performer! Not a flying rat!” Dick screeched back. He couldn’t help but feel touched about Bruce seeing him like a son.

“Oy! Keep it down out there, you assholes! Some of us like our sleep, damn!” A random Gothamite screamed out of their window.

“Yo, shut the fuck up! The vigilantes are helping to keep the rent low, motherfucker!” Another Gothamite shouted back.

….

Needless to say, Bruce quickly brought Dick back to the cave- with precautions to make sure he didn’t figure out where the Cave was if Dick was actually someone else.

——

“You would have loved it, Little Wing. B was running around like a headless chicken. The memory loss protocol was actually made because of me, you know.” Dick chuckled, sniffling as he talked to the carved gravestone.

It did not reply.

——

The blood tests came back. Yeppers, Dick sarcastically thought, who woulda thought I’m me?

Reinforcements were called in.

Meaning, Batgirl.

“Watch him while I contact Justice League Dark.”

“You think it’s magic?” Barbara asked.

“Yes. There was no one else near our vicinity that could affect Dick like this. He has no head wounds.”

“Eesh. Okay, go. I’ll watch him.”

Bruce disappeared in his zeta tube, looking harried. So, to everyone that’s not a Bat, he looked absolutely terrifying.

“What did you get yourself into now, Boy Wonder?” Barbara sighed. Dick was careful to keep any signs of recognition out of his face.

“Stop calling me that! Where are my parents?!” He asked back. Barbara coughed and looked uncomfortably away.

That’s right, Babs. I’m pulling out the orphan card. Feel bad. Dick hid his feral grin.

“They’re… uh, busy.” Busy being dead, Barbara thought, immediately wincing at her own thoughts. Apparently, Dick thought the excuse was lame too, and he sent her an incredulous look.

“Would you like refreshments, Master Dick?”

“What?”

Alfred held out some cookies on a platter, giving Babs a quelling look as she tried to reach for his share.

“Oh, wow, these are really good!” Dick said as he shoveled cookies into his mouth. He tried to replicate the reaction he had when he tried these for the first time, and from Alfred’s satisfied look, Dick nailed it.

——

“Robin doesn’t remember who he is.” Batman rumbled as he all but dragged Zatanna and Constantine by the scuff of their jackets towards the zeta tubes.

“Hey, wait-”

“We have no time.” Batman snarled, tossing the two magic users into the zeta. He punched in the destination.

When they got there, he glared at the two magic users until they got into the cave.

“Damn, Bats. Really living up to your name, huh?”

“Not bad,” Zatanna said as she looked around.

“Robin,” Batman- Bruce- reminded them. He did a quick glance over to check on his kids, and found them satisfactorily uninjured. Though, Barbara was looking worse for wear. Bruce quickly found out why as she stalked to him.

“You deal with him.” She muttered. “I’m going home.”

Bruce blinked and nodded. “Get home safe.”

Zatanna and Constantine followed Batman as he walked towards Robin. It was odd to see the normally laughing child frown.

“It’s you! The kidnapper! Where are my parents?!”

Bruce winced which, for him, was akin to a full body flinch and recoil. No wonder Barbara was so tired.

“Fix it.”

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Batsy.” Constantine grumbled.

“Well help, Batman. Though… I’m not sure if he should be doing that.”

Bruce sharply turned his head back to where Dick was. Emphasis on was. Because now, he’s halfway up the giant dinosaur the Robin had insisted they keep.

“Robin, get down from there!”

“Stranger Danger!” Dick hollered back.

Batman- Bruce Wayne- sighed.

“That’s high level magic,” Zatanna hummed. “I can’t feel anything, but I know for sure that he won’t die. Magic like that either dissipates naturally or…”

“Lasts forever,” Constantine finished.

Bruce groaned, shooting off a grappling line and swooping upwards to catch Dick as he fell from the giant dinosaur.

——

“I pretended to get my memories back later,” Dick chuckled. “And pretended to forget the whole thing. Bruce was so relieved that I stopped knocking things over and trying to do cartwheels in high places that he totally forgot I snuck out.”

Dick patted the headstone.

“But between you and me? I’m pretty sure Alfred knew. I think B pissed him off that week.”

[pixiemage]

You can’t tell me I’m wrong

[ricky-mortis]

Curly haired Agent Curt Mega :D