one of my favorite childhood artists. fafi [&] friends. miss van. 2005.
Peter Solarz
art blog(derogatory)
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH

tannertan36
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year

izzy's playlists!

Love Begins
Show & Tell
almost home
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸

Product Placement
sheepfilms

❣ Chile in a Photography ❣

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Cosimo Galluzzi
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titsay
todays bird

oozey mess
Not today Justin

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@crowsnestcottage
one of my favorite childhood artists. fafi [&] friends. miss van. 2005.
Black Velvet Cake
Tagged by @teacuprevelry for what I'm listening to.
Well, I just drove home from work and my last song on the iPod as I was parking was:
Just before that was some Fall Out Boy.
Tag!! You're it: @its-just-boo @amarantoo @animatedsentientmeat @try5t @onceknownfriend @a-ya-92 @sarawr-saurus @grumpy-gh0st @barillapasta @moss-wizard @mbrainspaz
The “Just One Bite” Trap
She says she doesn’t want dessert.
You order dessert.
Suddenly her fork is in your cake like a prison shank.
“Just one bite,” she says, removing a structural load-bearing section of the cheesecake.
That was not a bite.
That was a land seizure.
Now you’re sitting there smiling like diplomacy still exists while your plate has been colonized.
For pleasure nobody steals off your plate, get in here.
https://linktr.ee/ObeyMyCadence https://patreon.com/TheMostHumble
The Birthday Cake Office Ambush
Someone in the office had a birthday, which means everyone must gather around a sheet cake that tastes like frosted printer paper.
You don’t even know this person.
You’re clapping for Denise from Accounting while eating a corner piece with the emotional depth of a tax audit.
Then someone says, “Speech.”
Now the cake has become a hostage situation.
For celebration without fluorescent despair, join the transmission.
https://linktr.ee/ObeyMyCadence https://patreon.com/TheMostHumble
Red Wine Chocolate Cake
I hiked her skirt up and sat her on the marble. Her breath hitched as I parted her thighs. I told her I’ve been craving this all day and I was going to eat every single bit until she was clean.
The chocolate cake she hid behind the toaster didn't stand a chance against my fork.
https://linktr.ee/ObeyMyCadence
https://patreon.com/TheMostHumble
To the right person, you are the soft earth waiting for the relentless rhythm of the summer rain. https://linktr.ee/ObeyMyCadence https://patreon.com/TheMostHumble
mendezmendezart ~ creation
The Belvedere Torso. The practice of oil painting. 1919.
Internet Archive
We are all just statues waiting for the right person to break us back to life. https://linktr.ee/ObeyMyCadence https://patreon.com/TheMostHumble
2500 years old statue of Aphrodite
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FREE WRITING LESSON: THE CHARACTER DEPTH TRICK HOLLYWOOD KEEPS FORGETTING.
Let’s say your character sucks.
Not completely. Not hopelessly. Just spiritually laminated.
She’s flat. Predictable. “Strong” in that corporate-approved way that makes everybody clap but nobody feel anything.
Let’s call her Nicolle. Or Carol. Or whatever name the studio slapped on her before the focus group went to lunch.
She’s a superhero.
She’s got powers. She’s got sarcasm. She takes no shit. She leads the squad. Everybody respects her.
And somehow, nobody loves her.
You know this character.
The camera keeps telling you she matters. The dialogue keeps telling you she’s powerful. The marketing keeps telling you she’s iconic.
But your soul is sitting there like:
“Okay. And?”
Because power is not depth.
Flying through a spaceship does not make someone interesting. Punching a god in the mouth does not automatically create a personality. Being right in every argument is not character development.
That is just a press release wearing boots.
Now watch what happens when you give her one private truth she doesn’t announce to the room.
Nicolle has two sons.
She is raising them alone.
Not as accessories. Not as cute little emotional props. Not as some cheap scene where they run into her arms while inspirational strings beg you to feel something.
No.
They are the wound. They are the weight. They are the reason her hands shake when nobody is looking.
She is raising those boys to become men like her late father.
A man who sacrificed everything to raise her after her mother disappeared, broke, ran, collapsed, or simply failed.
A man who did not have a cape. Did not have cosmic powers. Did not get a franchise deal.
He just stayed.
That was his superpower.
And now Nicolle carries that standard like a curse with a heartbeat.
The world sees her as the apex of visual empowerment.
The suit. The stance. The glowing eyes. The jawline of destiny.
But the world does not see the actual war.
They do not see the arguments with her boys’ father about what being a real dad even means.
They do not see her swallowing rage because she refuses to let her sons inherit the ugliest parts of the adults who made them.
They do not see the prayers whispered in the dark over a fevered forehead.
They do not see her ghosting the only man she maybe wanted, not because she is cold, flaky, or emotionally unavailable, but because some broken part of her wonders if wanting love makes her a worse mother.
They do not see her tuck her sons in, close the door softly, then collapse onto her bed and stare at the ceiling like the night owes her an answer.
Because she gave the world her strength.
And saved none of it for herself.
They do not see her sons crying after watching footage of their mother getting slammed through buildings on live television.
Held by the throat.
Dragged through concrete.
Left motionless on the pavement for three seconds too long.
Three seconds.
That is nothing to the audience.
That is a lifetime to a child watching his mother not move.
Then she rises.
Because of course she rises.
Not because she is fearless.
Because she has to.
That is the part weak writers keep missing.
They write “strong women” like fear is beneath them.
No.
Fear is inside them.
Fear is in the ribs. Fear is in the throat. Fear is in the split second before impact. Fear is in the quiet drive home after saving the world, when the adrenaline dies and the hands finally start trembling.
Nicolle feels fear every single time.
She is not fearless. She has never been fearless.
Fearless is for posters. Fearless is for trailers. Fearless is for idiots who have never had something precious enough to lose.
She feels all of it.
But fear is a luxury she does not get to obey.
That is the difference.
She is not powerful because she feels nothing.
She is powerful because she feels everything and still walks forward.
That is a character.
That is a soul.
That is the part where the audience finally shuts up and leans in.
Because now she is not just a woman in a suit blasting aliens out of the sky.
She is a mother. A daughter. A weapon. A warning. A woman carrying grief, duty, rage, tenderness, exhaustion, and cosmic violence in the same tired body.
So when demons invade, when tyrants rise, when monsters descend, when some grinning thing from the dark thinks it can threaten the world her boys have to grow up in —
she suits up.
Not for hashtags.
Not for applause.
Not for feminism.
Not for some dead-eyed corporate panel about representation.
She suits up because the idea of her sons growing up in a world she could have fought for and didn’t is more terrifying than death itself.
She suits up because her father stayed.
So now she stays.
She suits up because one day her boys will ask what she did when the sky opened.
And she refuses to give them an answer that sounds like cowardice.
She will not let the universe teach her sons that their mother bowed.
She will not let monsters become their weather.
She will not let evil become normal just because everybody else got tired.
And if something ancient, ugly, and arrogant crawls out of the void and mistakes her exhaustion for weakness?
God help it.
Because she may be tired.
She may be bleeding.
She may be one bad day away from screaming into a pillow in the laundry room.
But she is still their mother.
And there is no creature in heaven, hell, space, government, or Hollywood dumb enough to survive that math for long.
MY TRIFECTA THAT MAKES ANY SUPERHERO MATTER:
Intimacy. Contradiction. Duty.
Intimacy gives them a soul.
Something they protect more than their own body.
Contradiction gives them depth.
Because perfection is forgettable, but conflict leaves teeth marks.
Duty gives them immortality.
Because we remember the ones who bled for something bigger than applause.
Give a character that trifecta and suddenly everything changes.
She is not annoying.
She is haunting.
She is not fanfiction.
She is canon.
She is not shallow.
She is legend.
That is how you fix a weak character.
You do not soften her.
You do not nerf her.
You do not make her giggle awkwardly in act two so insecure viewers can finally unclench.
You do not make her “all the Jedi” because the writers ran out of character and started handing her franchise trophies like Oprah with lightsabers.
You do not make her lecture men about lessons life, war, fatherhood, loss, guilt, failure, and responsibility already beat into their bones before breakfast.
You do not give her a mouth and mistake it for a soul.
You do not give her attitude and mistake it for pain.
You do not give her plot armor and mistake it for greatness.
You give her something her fists cannot solve.
You give her something her speeches cannot fix.
You give her something power cannot protect perfectly.
You give her a wound with a name.
A duty with a face.
A love that makes victory expensive.
And suddenly?
She is not a girlboss.
She is the last myth your enemies tell themselves before they die.
https://linktr.ee/ObeyMyCadence
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The Elephant Men Are Trained To Swallow
I would rather a woman I love fall in love with another man than casually let him inside her.
Love hurts.
But at least love has a reason.
Casual sex says another man’s penis was allowed into the woman I loved for nothing.
No devotion.
No future.
No sacred storm.
Just access.
And modern culture tells men they are insecure for feeling that in their bones.
No.
That is not fragility.
That is a man recognizing the difference between heartbreak and desecration.
Stop gaslighting men into pretending “meaningless” makes it better.
Meaningless is exactly why it is worse.
https://linktr.ee/ObeyMyCadence
https://patreon.com/TheMostHumble