Yes It Is - Tumblr Posts
Academically speaking, I still find the whole “anti-shipper” movement to be fascinating from a sociological perspective.
You have what amounts to a extremist purity cult whose beliefs align nearly precisely with those of Conservative American Christianity in terms of sexual purity politics (admittedly with some additional flourishes that I’ve watched develop in real time), but is mostly composed of minority members whose sexual-and-gender identities are opposed and oppressed by Conservative American Christianity. Additionally, their tactics also mirror religious pro-censorship groups (such as Warriors For Innocence), but their rhetoric is entirely secularized and derived from leftist theory.
Did they arrive at this structure via convergent evolution? Via socially dominant concepts in the greater socio-cultural space that they occupy? I doubt it was by direct emulation but the possibility does exist on some levels.
230329 - Calvin Klein on twitter and instagram
Pokémon Meme!
If your muse were a Pokémon, what type, ability, and moves would they have?
Roman Sionis: Dark Type Ability: Intimidate (Hidden Ability: Skill Link) Moves: Outrage, Pain Split, Lock-On, Barrage
Stolen fromTagged by: @ratwhsprs Tagging: Whoever would like to do this?
Every time i get to say "I'm not on tiktok" out loud to people irl the superiority i feel is indescribable
Literally no anime death will be dirtier than the death of Maes Hughes
Like, you set up this guy to be the comic relief–FIRST OFF, that is DIRTY as hell. You don’t KILL the comic relief, THE comic relief is supposed to LIVE (or die a very tragic death)
They set up Maes Hughes to be this family man AGAIN, DIRTY. AS. HELL.
It’s just as bad as that “2 days from retirement” bullshit except WE ACTUALLY SEE HIM doting about his family EVERY SINGLE CHANCE–
EVERY SINGLE CHANCE HE GETS HE TALKS ABOUT HOW WONDERFUL HIS FAMILY IS.
THE LAST THING HE SEES BEFORE HE DIES IS HIS WIFE’S FACE. WHAT THE FUCK. THAT IS SO BAD, LIKE WHY. WHY THE FUCK. FCKUING THAT IS SO DIRTY. LIKE LIKE–
AND THEN! AND THENNNNNN! NOT 5 MINUTES AFTER HIS DEATH
THEY BURY THE FUCKER
THEY BURY MAES HUGHES BECAUSE HE IS DEAD AND HE DIED AND HE IS no longer LIVING
AND the final NAIL on the coffin, HA-AHAHA_HAHAHA…………
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
HIs daughter is AT the funeral. AND SHE’S LIKE
WHY ARE THEY BURYING DADDY MOM
HE WONT BE ABLE TO DO ANY OF HIS WORK IF HES UNDERGROUND
FUCK THIS SHOW
FUCK IT
FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF UCK IT
“i won’t say i’m in love” is literally Zoya Nazyalensky trying to avoid confronting her feelings for nikolai 😘😘😘
GET THERAPY-INATOR 9000 - Doofenshmirtz
If this gets 10,000 notes, then I'll go to therapy.
I love Jason Todd so much but then he does some stupid shit that makes me just wanna
Senku: Xeno, I'm gay.
Xeno: I'm gayer.
Kohaku: (sigh) this is not a fucking competition.
*Side eyes my bin full of monster high dolls in my closet.*
Uh.
This morning while on my computer I heard noises behind me (it was my father messing around with cords and cables) so I turned around to go see what it was and-
Oh... Hello.
So basically when the people came to change our internet providers some stuff had to be moved around and he got moved to be staring directly at me while I use my computer. But it was whatever.
Later in the day I went to go play games with my friend and when I looked behind me-
He had been moved to an arguably worse position.
Never stop being crazy
It was not always easy, most of the time, it felt like peeling skin and reopening healing wounds. Most of the time, the stub of the missing limb would ache, as though another one would sprout at any second and pull the trigger over your head.
Some nights, you would wake up in cold sweat and start crying at the unbearable pain of twisting knives inside your ribs and an invisible force pushing at your sternum. Some nights, you would wish for Death to claim you already.
You would be sitting in traffic amongst the crowd, staring out the window and enjoying the scenery then sudden loneliness would swarm you like a war troop, trampling you till you mingle with the soil.
You will be thinking of eyes, nose, lips, entangled fingers and limbs like bullets spinning in the barrel of your mind till they hit the target.
Bullseye; can’t miss with a revolver mind.
You cover your face, blocking the bleeding thoughts from spilling on the streets’ pavement. You drag the body everywhere as you send the emails, you clean the crime scene after every workday, you make up alibis for the sleepless nights and overflowing prescriptions.
Breathe through your nose, lie through your teeth, only cry at funerals, behind closed doors and suffocating pillows.
You embrace and hold hands, refusing to think of how it wrong it feels. You try not to think about the shape that’s molded over yours, not to think of the weight every smile bears on your face now that they’re gone.
You want to apologize to those standing by your side. You want to tell them to wait a little longer, unsure how long that would take, unsure whether there is such a time to come.
You get up on the wrong side of the bed, theirs. Somedays, you make the coffee and add milk to it, like they used to like it. Sometimes, you eat the overly sweet desserts that they used to crave so much.
You buy groceries and throw out the trash, you cook the meals and wash the dishes. You go to work and meet the people. You live with a ticking bomb in your core that resets every few years. You live with the constant haunting presence of a ghost in your blind spot.
The pretense has become easier, you could almost believe in this illusion of peace. You could almost believe that the freefall would land you in their arms again.
You look at the mirror and try to confess, you hang your head, ready for your sentence. You put your frail hands in front of you and think of how they have managed to strangle every beautiful moment.
You practise your smiles, focus your eyes and try to hold the sputtering light in them for a few hours, just long enough to fool the passer byes.
You twist and turn honeyed words around your tongue and pour them into eager ears. You bleed on paper for the starving beaks, put yourself on the altar and offer yourself as the scapegoat.
You watch as they dine over your body, compliment the tenderness of the meat. Watch as they wipe their lips in satisfaction and ask for seconds.
I can almost taste spring in this! they say, as they relish in the juice of your throbbing heart, awaiting evergreen happiness after endless misery.
And as they savor every parcel of your being, you lay there and pray that they eat away at the flooding spring of love that won’t stop oozing from you in generous gushes, draining you like a slaughtered sheep till you stop wiggling and struggling to grab for an unreachable hand.
And as you painstakingly stagger back up, drag your feet and protruding insides through the fields, you try and feel for the release and absence of the heavy curse named after a fantasized emotion. Every time, you trudge with dangling pockets full of hefty love that you will serve on silver platters for ravenous mouths.
And as you stumble on the bones of your predecessors, you clutch onto the featherlight belief that a home awaits your return from the battlefield,
you cradle the hope that this time, you can grab onto their face without it turning into foam. You run your hands through their hair without it turning into sharp blades.
You cling onto their arms without them crumbling into clods.
You hang in the deep lake of their eyes without drowning.
You latch onto their mouth without worry of snatching the very last breath out of their lungs.
And as you finally dare to whisper their name, you won’t be stricken by deafening silence.
And as you finally lean into the firm presence of their existence, you won’t turn into flames.
And as you finally pour all the love into its designed recipient, you will drink to your heart’s content and cease being the one feasted upon.
I have so many fictional characters that have ruined my sanity. Like I identify myself before and after them.
But, man oh man, the way geto and gojo are in my heart and soul haunting me, prolly until my every end, is NOT THE SAME.
I think about this one scene very often,which clearly, WONT BE LEAVING ME.
That scene where geto's hand swiftly grabbed kenjaku, grabbed him by his neck, singlehandedly, CUZ HE KNEW. CUZ SOME PART OF HIM, AT LEAST HIS MUSCLE MEMORY IS STILL THERE! AND EVEN IN THAT FORM HE WOULD FIGHT THE BIGGEST BATTLE HE CAN TO SAVE GOJO OR TO SAVE HIMSELF OR THEIR LOVE. that's the epitome of art for me, when parts of you linger even after death.
Ps. The veins tightening across his hands, spare me from this torment of details, please.
Congratulations. Oh, no. No, no.
SUCCESSION4x10 “With Open Eyes”