heya

i like frögs, lifting, and cheese

[molluscappreciator-deactivated2]

[vexx-the-egg]

[dirtbrunch]

[skopostheorie]

Once I "made" a custom emoji for my mum by crudely drawing a hijab on it and now whenever she wants me to buy a coffee for her I get a text like this

[cnmcn]

absolutley enchanted by cobepee

[sexy-necromancing-bird]

Is the guy in the cuck chair supposed to stay quiet or is he allowed to clap and cheer

[foxgirlmindcrank]

he's supposed to take notes and make an intrigued hum when an interesting plot point occurs

[conspiracydeerist]

[blu3str1k3]

[thisarenotarealblog]

one is getting cucked by the bottom and the other is getting cucjed by the top. Subject matter experts discussing the sex like a sports panel

[morganoperandi]

One cuck always lies, the other always tells the truth. You have one question to determine who’s a top and who’s a bottom.

[tiktoks-i-enjoyed]

[importantcatpics]

[keepyourmouthshutandyourmindopen]

Need one more to unlock the door

[kosmogrl]

[zeepop]

[lakevida]

the menstrual cup and menstrual scepter

[lakevida]

your majesty what is upppp

[ravenfleesfire]

Couples shirts that say "I'm misery" and "I'm company"

[elphabruhhhh]

The Chicago Creaker 🐀🐀🐀 Why is she so lonk

[jimmyhoffathecat]

My turn

[vitariesocks]

just received the best text message I’ve ever had. from my mom

[vitariesocks]

2 pics. no caption

[lickingandsuckingchristmascoins]

[yandere-angela]

[draconym]

[draconym]

great work everyone hit the bathhouse

[dogpuppy]

[philcollinsenjoyer]

explained to an 8 year old that once a fruit is ripe you only have so much time until it rots so you have to eat it soon and she said so i'll never be able to keep it perfect like this forever? no and there are about a million pieces of art for you unrelatedly

[cheeseferg]

Seamus Heaney: Blackberry-Picking

Late August, given heavy rain and sun For a full week, the blackberries would ripen. At first, just one, a glossy purple clot Among others, red, green, hard as a knot. You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet Like thickened wine: summer's blood was in it Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust for Picking. Then red ones inked up and that hunger Sent us out with milk cans, pea tins, jam-pots Where briars scratched and wet grass bleached our boots. Round hayfields, cornfields and potato-drills We trekked and picked until the cans were full, Until the tinkling bottom had been covered With green ones, and on top big dark blobs burned Like a plate of eyes. Our hands were peppered With thorn pricks, our palms sticky as Bluebeard's.

We hoarded the fresh berries in the byre. But when the bath was filled we found a fur, A rat-grey fungus, glutting on our cache. The juice was stinking too. Once off the bush The fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour. I always felt like crying. It wasn't fair That all the lovely canfuls smelt of rot. Each year I hoped they'd keep, knew they would not.

[jewish-joy]

Last year, I befriended a Catholic seminarian. We've gotten to be pretty decent friends. Seeing as he was staying in town for the summer and I wasn't, I entrusted him with caring for my plant.

He did a wonderful job, but as he was returning my plant to my custody, he explained "I watered her every other day, I gave her new dirt, moved her into the sunshine, prayed the rosary-"

"What?"

He looked at me, confused. "Isn't she a plant you pray with?"

"No," I said slowly. "She's a prayer plant. That's the... colloquial name of the plant."

Upon seeing his stricken face, I realized something went wrong. Turns out, this entire time, he's been including my plant in on his prayers and leaving her near icons.

Listen, totally cool. My plant becoming Catholic is a great deal for her not dying over the summer. But now I must navigate this interfaith household. Keep me in your thoughts.