audacious idling

things. thoughts. thanks.

[iguanamouth]

did you know red snapper can live for over 100 years…. whatre they DOING down there

[gentlemanbones]

I hope this doesn’t work the same way for centaurs.

[mijukaze]

Thanks! I hate it

[ownerofdark]

Going fishing:

[memewhore]

[insufferablepirate]

Sound ON!!

[sighinastorm]

stuoidnmentlaheslth a all a tsuepid mental healthwalkbsrulidptbsbmenalhealthwalj stupid mental healfhsak stUPID MENTAL HEALTH WALK

[delilahmidnight]

[bluebandedagate-reblogs]

[tulipsbymybed]

I know I’ve been screaming this for days but-

WHEN WILL GOD GIVE ME A HIMBO

[cottoncandy-hedgehog]

Right there with you, babe

[cottoncandy-hedgehog]

So, I’ve been on this plane of existence for a couple of decades now and thanks to a LOT of mostly female relatives I was blessed with some fantastic body image issues. But - GOOD NEWS - for a couple of months now which in the grand scheme of things is round about nothing I’ve been getting better. And not hesitatingly but flamboyantly. I wore shorts in public. My cleavage is making regular appearances. And have you seen my legs? Taking care of myself became so much fun. Hair? Shiny. Teeth? White. Skin? Soft with an extra helping of glow. Doctors appointments? You bet their scheduled. Wanna know what changed? The way I talked to myself. I started talking to myself like I talk to my cat. Out loud and consistently. Look at those sparkly eyes! Aaawww - such a smart girl! Do you want a snacky? Who’s the cutest little me? That’s right. ME. Do the baby talk. Make it ridiculous. But everytime you look in the mirror admire and talk to yourself like you’re the grandest cat that ever catted. Or more precisely you that ever youed. Because, let’s face it, you are. And you really should compliment yourself on a job well done. Still in doubt? Get a cat and listen to yourself. That’s the voice! Such a good girl! Look at you, gorgeous! Doing so well!

[cyarsk52-20]

When Tina Turner left her first husband - who was also her boss, captor, and brutal tormentor - she snuck out of their Dallas hotel room with a single thought in her mind: "The way out is through the door." From there she fled across the midnight freeway, semi-trucks careening past her, with 36 cents and a Mobil gas card in her pocket. As soon as she decided to walk out that door, she owned nothing else. When she filed for divorce, she made an unusual request. She didn't want anything: not the song rights, not the cars, not the houses, not the money. All she wanted was the stage name he gave her - Tina - and her married name - Turner. This was the name by which the world had come to know her, and keeping it was her only chance to salvage her career. Things could have gone a lot of ways from there. She could have labored in obscurity for decades, maybe making records on small labels to be prized by vinyl connoisseurs in Portland. She could have stayed in Vegas, where she first went to get her chops back up, and worked as a nostalgia act. And, of course, given what she had been through, she might have … not made it. What happened instead is that Tina Turner became the biggest global rock star of the 80s. I'm old enough to barely remember this, but if you aren't, it was like this: The Rolling Stones would headline a stadium one day, and the next day it would be Tina Turner. A middle-aged Black woman - she became a rock star at 42! - sitting atop the 1980s like it was her throne. She managed this because of whatever rare stuff she was made of (this is a woman whose label gave her two weeks to record her solo debut, Private Dancer, which went five times platinum); because she decided to speak publicly about her abusive marriage and forge her own identity, and in doing so give hope and courage to countless women; and also because - in a perhaps unlikely twist for a girl from Nutbush, Tennessee - she had her practice of Soka Gakkai Nichiren Buddhism, to which she credited her survival. She remained devout until the end. Tina's second marriage - to her, her only marriage - was to Edwin Bach, a Swiss music executive 16 years her junior. Of him, she said, "Erwin, who is a force of nature in his own right, has never been the least bit intimidated by my career, my talents, or my fame." In 2016, after a barrage of health problems, Tina's kidneys began to fail. A Swiss citizen by then, she had started preparing for assisted suicide when her husband stepped in. According to Tina, he said, "He didn't want another woman, or another life." He gave her one of his kidneys, buying her the remainder of her time on this earth and perhaps closing a cycle which took her from a man who inflicted injury upon her to a man willing to inflict injury upon himself to save her from harm. Born into a share-cropping family as Anna Mae Bullock in 1939, she died Tina Turner in a palatial Swiss estate: the queen of rock 'n roll; a storm of a performer with a wildcat-fierce voice; a dancer of visceral, spine-tingling potency and ability; a beauty for the ages; a survivor of terrible abuse and an advocate for others in similar situations; an author and actress; a devout Buddhist; a wife and mother; a human being of rare talent and perseverance who, through her transcendent brilliance, became a legend.

Credit: Will Stenberg

[jadedaceofspades]

These look like the little soot things from that one Studio Ghibli movie.

[peacesmovingcabaret]

Soot sprites!!

[thestuffedalligator]

[doublism]

my instagram explore page loves showing me those like erotic dark romance novel tiktoks and i really have to wonder: why do all these straight women desperately want to fuck a mafia boss

[no-terfs-no-swerfs-no-fascists]

Okay, let's try and break this down.

Sexual fantasies are, by their very nature, transgressive. Yes, even the fluffy, romantic ones. As long as general culture remains negative about sex and sexuality in any form that isn't cishet procreative sex within the confines of matrimony with the woman not as an equal actor but an object sex is performed onto, this is going to remain true.

And the thing about fantasies is that our brains like to take the things we crave the most and mix them up with our fears, anxieties, pain, and trauma into a melange of, sometimes, truly epic levels of fuckery.

But here's the secret - things we fantasize about, from the most wholesome to the bizarre to seriously fucked up? They are very, very often NOT what we literally want.

Being into dubcon or noncon doesn't mean you actually want to be raped or rape. Being into monsters doesn't make you a zoophile. And fantasizing about violent, obsessive men doesn't mean you wouldn't run as far the fuck away from a man like that the second one of them set their sights on you.

If you're really interested in the subject, I recommend reading My Secret Garden by Nancy Friday, a compilation of anonymously submitted women's sexual fantasies. And, as it turns out, women fantasize about a lot of really violent, uncomfortable, and just plain screwed up stuff.

And, for most of them, even when they don't actively realize it, it's about reclamation. Of fear, of trauma, of loss of power. It's about THEMSELVES and how THEY feel. As weird as it's gonna sound, the men featured in those fantasies don't really matter, they're just a vessel, a manifestation of the extreme version of what you're dealing with and/or crave. A safe, cathartic way to experience something profoundly unsafe, unwise, and terrifying.

For women fantasizing about criminals, villains, monsters, and anti-heroes, it's very often about the idea that someone like that - intense, violent, with single-minded focus, and immense power - would love her, want her, always put her first, go against all his instincts/training for you without a second thought and be a clear and present danger to everyone but warmth and safety for her and only her, and burn the world itself down for hurting her in even the slightest of ways. It's a sexual version of the fantasy of having a pet tiger, one that would never, ever attack you or hurt you in any way.

And just like the people who want to boop the forbidden snoot, the women fantasizing about their fantasy Mafia Boss Lover are very well aware of the fact that 1) men like that don't actually exist, 2) the criminal world of their fantasy has all but nothing to do with reality, and 3) that the thing they're actually fantasizing about is being loved, wanted, and safe... just in a REALLY intense, exaggerated way. And, let's not mince words, there's also often a more or less strong D/s dynamics at play in the scenario, too.

Now, you can choose to be judgy bitches about it (goodness knows plenty of you in the replies, comments, and tags are), in which case I would suggest you examine why you're feeling such a profound need to shame women for enjoying themselves in their own little world, or you can apply the YKINMKATO mantra and understand that straight women, living in the constant state of preyhood, sometimes consciously or subconsciously reclaim power over that situation through transgressive sexual fantasies.

Also, fuck this idea that queer people only fantasize about healthy and wholesome relationships, romantic, sexual, or otherwise, as if at least half of Tumblr isn't simping for, oh, for example, Hannibal fucking Lecter. Do you have ANY idea how many Mafia and Thug BL content there is out there?! FFS, Tom of Finland, a WWII veteran who fought against Nazis, drew art of exaggeratedly masculine men in Nazi uniforms in pornographic situations as a way to dissociate himself from those traumas and fascists themselves as far back as the 1950s!

So yeah. Less judgement, and more taking some responsibility for curating your online experience if seeing someone's kink truly offends you this much.

[headspace-hotel]

"Booping the forbidden snoot" is a good way of putting it

[prosocialbehavior]

prev tags, text ver. below the cut

#humans#there's also something here about healing from repressive cultures and purity culture#by fantasizing outside of what's Allowed#fantasizing about a sweet small town hallmark movie guy who looks like he'd be good with kids is somewhat tainted#because that's what was expected of you. forced on you#purity culture is about conforming to what's allowed at the expense of actual desire and pleasure#the thing about a taboo fantasy is that it's YOUR fantasy#and like dubcon/noncon is about the desire thing as well#what if someone WANTED you#it's not about a one to one translation of the thing to real life—it's something that has meaning inside the context of your inner world#when you grow up with purity culture the conventional nice vanilla fantasies can FEEL gross and scary and coercive#in evangelical purity culture desire is BAD and you shouldn't pursue what you Want sexually#sex is about emulating a social norm whether you like it or not#so the tame and 'vanilla' fantasies often have this coercive feeling and it's very hard to explore desire and pleasure like that#therefore lots of people fantasize about being fucked by an alien or mafia boss or werewolf or vampire or something else safely imaginary#thats my read of the situation anyway#nazi mention

[othersystems]

[urbanpineapplefarmer]

It is really important to me that all of you learn about Al Bean, astronaut on Apollo 12 and the fourth man to walk on the moon, who after 20 years in the US Navy and 18 years with NASA during which he spent 69 days in space and more than 10 hours doing EVAs on the moon , retired to become a painter.

He is my favorite astronaut for any number of reasons, but he’s also one of my favorite visual artists.

Like, look at this stuff????

It’s all so expressive and textured and colorful! He literally painted his own experience on the moon! And that's just really fucking cool to me!

Just look at this! This is one of my absolute favorite emotions of all time. Is Anyone Out There? is like the ultimate reaction image. Any time I have an existential crisis, this is how I picture myself.

And then there's this one:

The Fantasy

For all of the six Apollo missions to land on the moon, there was no spare time. Every second of their time on the surface was budgeted to perfection: sleeping, eating, putting on the suits, entering and exiting the LEM, rock collection, setting up longterm experiments to transmit data back to Earth, everything. These timetables usually got screwed over by something, but for the most part the astronauts stuck to them.

The crew of Apollo 12 (Pete Conrad, Al Bean, and Dick Gordon) had other plans. Conrad and Bean had snuck a small camera with a timer into the LEM to take a couple pictures together on the moon throughout the mission. They had hidden the key for the timer in one of the rock collection bags, with the idea being to grab the key soon after landing, take some fun photos here and there, and then sneak the camera back to Earth to develop them. They had practiced where they would hide the key and how to get it out from under the collected rocks back on Earth dozens of times.

But when they got to the moon, the key was nowhere to be found. Al Bean spent precious time digging through the collection bags before he called it off. The camera had been pushing their luck anyways, he couldn't afford to spend anymore time not on the mission objectives. Conrad and Bean continued the mission as per the NASA plan while Dick Gordon orbited overhead.

Fast forward to the very end of the mission. Bean and Conrad are doing last checks of the LEM before they enter for the last time and depart from the moon. As Bean is stowing one of the collection bags, the camera key falls out. The unofficially planned photo time has come and gone, and he tosses the key over his shoulder to rest forever on the surface of the moon.

This painting, The Fantasy, is that moment. There have never been three people on the moon at the same time, there was never an unofficial photo shoot on the moon, this picture could never have happened.

"The most experienced astronaut was designated commander, in charge of all aspects of the mission, including flying the lunar module. Prudent thinking suggested that the next-most-experienced crew member be assigned to take care of the command module, since it was our only way back home. Pete had flown two Gemini flights, the second with Dick as his crewmate. This left the least experienced - me - to accompany the commander on the lunar surface.

"I was the rookie. I had not flown at all; yet I got the prize assignment. But not once during the three years of training which preceded our mission did Dick say that it wasn't fair and that he wished he could walk on the moon, too. I do not have his unwavering discipline or strength of character.

"We often fantasized about Dick's joining us on the moon but we never found a way. In my paintings, though, I can have it my way. Now, at last, our best friend has come the last sixty miles." - Al Bean, about The Fantasy.

[futureevilscientist]

There’s also Alexei Leonov, writer and artist and first person to conduct a spacewalk!

This is his art.

[sevensmallgummies]

You can't forget this, the first art made in space.

March 1965, Alexei Leonov made this drawing only moments after narrowly surviving the very first space walk.

[adurot]

I have just learned that Mountain Goats are NOT, in fact, actual Goats.

[adurot]

I have never heard of this band. I AM in fact referring to the animal.

[adurot]

But wait, there’s more!

[elvensilk]

but you know what IS a goat? a musk ox

[whalesharkpasta]

WHAT

[poetry-siir]

[witchesversuspatriarchy]

no 👏 more 👏 toxic 👏 positivity 👏

[cottoncandy-hedgehog]

lick the bone lick the stone lick the ice cream and your phone satisfy your inner possum let the taradiddle blossom

[sosuperawesome]

apofissx on Instagram

[ragsy]

How's the quest for more weirdness going? Considering that a lot of people seem to be on it, maybe we could share successes?

It's interesting that you asked that, because I don't... feel any weirder? I know I have definitely increased my Weirdness Radiation by at least 50% in the year since I made that post (got a dinosaur tattoo, gained the reputation of Eels Guy, turned my entire music taste 180°, to name a few) but every addition just becomes my new baseline. Weird is the new normal, baby!!!

So "I have GOT to get weirder" has become less of a to-do list item and more of a mantra. I highly recommend.

[cottoncandy-hedgehog]

I love this answer. It makes the coveted state of "being weird" even more elusive than zen.

[chaumas-deactivated20240115]

I basically stopped writing narrative fiction entirely a couple years ago because I used too much on dialogue and couldn’t break the habit. why can’t a narrative be 90% talking and 10% description.

[cottoncandy-hedgehog]

Of course it can. Try Wolf Haas' "The Weather 15 Years Ago". It's a romance novel written as an interview between the author of a romance novel and the literature section of a newspaper and it's bloody fantastic.

[titsay]