Cosimo Galluzzi
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
will byers stan first human second

if i look back, i am lost
d e v o n
šŖ¼

blake kathryn
RMH

No title available
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pixel skylines
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
styofa doing anything
todays bird
Monterey Bay Aquarium
$LAYYYTER

ā
Keni
Sweet Seals For You, Always

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@labelleofbelfastcity
your dimension 20 fics on ao3 are some of my favorite ever, I love them so much
Thank you so so much!!!! Iām not really active on tumblr anymore but Iām glad my fics can still be a happy space for people
Cats with knives.
she gave me a rose
itās so sad i have to block these beautiful women sorry my dear but youāre not real
THEY ARE REAL. TO ME. you wouldn't get it i'm gonna go see my beautiful girlfriend diseasedribbon22
malware in. my body.
Women Often Mistaken For Men In Public Restrooms
Marchers in Pride parade on Capitol Hill, Seattle, June 27, 1993
This photo of the 1993 Pride parade shows a group of women, some wearing t-shirts printed with āIām not a BOY,ā carrying a banner reading āWomen often mistaken for men in public restrooms.ā
š·Ā MOHAI, Seattle Post-Intelligencer Photograph Collection,Ā 2000.107.19930627.4.5
continuing to indulge in scooby doo mystery inc fanart because i have no self control
shirt alts
I don't know who needs to hear this, but
YOU DO NOT NEED TO START A NEW HOBBY!
STEP AWAY FROM THE TEXTILES!
YOU DON'T NEED MORE YARN!
THAT FABRIC IS NOT CALLING TO YOU! LEAVE IT ALONE!
boy it's me the textiles speaking to you inside your head. you need the yarn. you need thread. your soul hungers to participate in the act of creation. you must feed it. you must buy so many beads.
i like sailing myths and superstitions because most of them can be boiled down to "if the ocean doesn't like you it will chew you up and spit out your bones. and if it really loves you it will swallow you whole and keep you forever. good luck š"
but you can't keep holding on like this.
Another lesbian with fairy/angel wings <3 becoming a fav of mine
Iāve taught you everything I know (nothing) it is time to let you into the world (you are mauled quickly)
skeletonin is the happiness chemical released when you see a ghoul or perhaps a ghost
[emerging from the hozier song covered in blood] anyway,
The Shofar Breaks Your Heart
by Dane Kuttler
When you give a girl a shofar āĀ no, not a proper instrument of G-d, but a rough-cut horn with no real mouthpiece her aunt brings back from a trip to Jerusalem, donāt make it easy.
Put it up on the shelf in the living room where its curled promise of a shout will tempt her until she can reach it on tiptoe.
Tell her no one has ever found its voice, that she will only make it grunt, bray and sputter like the animal it came from.
Then give her a few years.
Give her an empty garage and a neighborhood Jewish enough to understand what itās hearing so she can practice until tiny tekiot burst forth from the scrap of ram.
She will be the only one who can ever shape its sounds, can bend the call to tekiah, round off nine drops of tāruah wailing, fling the anguished cry of a shāvarim from its mouth.
Let her brag about this. Ā Remember that children are not humble creatures, that the simple act of being heard is their great triumph. Ā Let her be heard.
Bring her to Hebrew school. Teach her the story of the rabbi who told his students that he would put the words of Torah on their hearts; that the words would only find their way in when the studentsā hearts broke. Let her sit with that tale for as long as it takes for her own heart to shatter, for torah and poetry and forgivenessĀ find their way inside,
play her Leonard Cohen. Let him croon about the cracks in everything, thatās how the light gets in, let her begin searching for light, ask her where she thinks the cracks come from, give her Auschwitz, give her Torquemada, give her pogrom and quota and blacklist, the ashes of all her burnt bridges, give her avinu malkenu, ashamnu, ashamnu, ashamnu,Ā
watch her breakĀ her heart with her fist.
Give her the shofar. Ā Let the horn steal her breath, let her begin to understand that sheās not holding a dead piece of animal, but a living prayer.
Teach her: after every blast you can hear the echo of the still small voice.
If you listen for it, you can hear the calls for the wild cries they are; salute them with a straight back when they yank you from your amidah; and should you hear a shofar blower struggle and gasp and strain for each call, imagine yourself a trapped animal, desperate to be heard.
When itās over, Close your eyes.
Be. Broken. Here. Ā Before G-d and your people. Be. Cracked.
feel the light and the words come in.
i hope the beloved mutuals donāt think me unintellectual for this but i love romantic subplots i gobble them up delightedly with very few exceptions.Ā āoh fuck yes a little bowl of seeds for meā etcĀ
āhow are they finding time to fall in love when the worlds endingā and what are we all doing right now š¤Ø
the hot new trend is "guard posting"