Jules of Nature
KIROKAZE
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No title available
Misplaced Lens Cap
if i look back, i am lost
tannertan36
d e v o n
wallacepolsom
No title available
YOU ARE THE REASON
Stranger Things
Peter Solarz
AnasAbdin
styofa doing anything
Discoholic 🪩
Three Goblin Art
Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
tumblr dot com
Keni
seen from Türkiye
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seen from United States
seen from Italy
seen from Singapore
seen from United Kingdom
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@silliest-citrus
I love owning big versions of things
Big fan of this
Don't worry I own small things too
Is this for accessibility reasons or comedic reasons?
Comedic reasons, though the big pens are surprisingly functional. I use the highlighter while annotating books and I've sketched out murals with the pencil
fuuuuck i just realized that the future idealized version of myself cant exist without current me being the catalyst for change and doing hard things. has anybody heard about this
being the last one to send a message before the chat falls into sudden silence always feels like u just made the worst faux pas of your life and you go sorry guys was that weird and they're all like no sorry I was just looking at a leaf on tbe ground leaf.jpg like oh ok
"learn to be bored" "being bored is good for you" "be at peace with yourself" NO! 4 SCREENS AT ONCE!!!!!!
The fact that animals that care for their young will sometimes adopt others' lost or orphaned young to raise along their own is just funny to me. I know that it's all hormonal and there's no conscious thought involved in it, but the internal logic of it is so funny.
"Baby = success. More baby = more success. I have one baby and I found four other baby. I have five baby. I am being so fucking successful right now."
Friend group chats are fun. Today one of my friends, who keeps pet crayfish, found babies in a tank that was supposed to be a males only. No choice but to empty out the whole tank to fish out the babies of unknowable origins. But lo and behold, there was a culprit: one teeny tiny little female had somehow escaped containment, evidently specifically going out of her way to break into this all male tank to get railed by like 15 males twice her size. Possibly completely different breed, too. Monsterfucker supreme.
So for a good solid hour or so, the whole group chat was focused on. slutshaming this one specific little crustacean. With like 300 babies.
i like the phrases "it's not for me," "it's not my thing," and "i'm not the target audience" because they're the most concise way to express "this thing that you enjoy has merits but idgaf about it" without being aggressive
Me, age 10, doing an essay on the pharaoh’s curse for school: huh. So this archeologist that died and everyone thought it was because he disturbed the pharaoh’s tomb actually died because he used a rusty razor to shave and it infected a mosquito bite. I can see how people could come to that conclusion, but it is a bit silly
Me, today, shaving my mosquito bite-ridden legs: I must tread carefully lest I incur the pharaoh’s wrath
"Jon," Tim says suddenly, puffs of grey still trailing from his lips, "Where do you keep your feelings?"
"My- feelings?" Jon echoes flatly, his own cigarette dangling between his fingers. The air is hazy with smoke, the stench of it curling lazily in his gut.
"You know," Tim gestures vaguely, "your emotions- feelings- even you must have them, I'm sure."
Jon steals a glance at his face, turning back at the slight quirk of his lips, an indication that Tim was joking. He takes another drag, whistling out the next exhale. Exasperated, he replies, "In my brain, I suppose? Isn't that where all emotions originate?"
"Well, yes," Tim says, "but you're going about it too literally."
"Was I not supposed to?"
"No. Not like that, at least. For example," Tim puts the cigarette between his lips, takes a drag, and holds his breath. His cheeks puff out from the effort. After a few seconds, he releases his breath, smoke rolling out of his mouth like a creek. "I keep my happiness here, in my cheeks. When I smile, I feel it pulling. When I'm happy, it almost hurts."
"Or--" Tim's hand lowers, lightly patting his abdomen. Jon eyes the still lit cigarette nervously. "--I feel fear here, in my stomach. Sometimes I get so nervous I want to puke."
He flicks his hand up again, staccato, stopping by the hollow of his throat. The tips of his fingers run over his adam's apple, lightly tracing the skin of his neck as he swallows. His voice is significantly softer when he says, "I feel grief in my throat. It almost feels like choking."
"And my anger," he says, turning his hand over, fingers spread out and reaching, "I feel it in my palms, my fingers." He closes it into a fist, hard enough that Jon can see his knuckles turn white. "Like lightning."
Jon stares at his own hand thoughtfully, brow slightly furrowed. He says, haltingly, "Well- I suppose my happiness is in my hands," lightly grazing his fingers over his palm, "they've their own mind sometimes."
"And," Jon taps his collarbone, expression still pinched in thought, "my sadness is in my lungs. Sometimes I can hardly breathe." He huffs a quiet laugh, "Though that might just be all the smoking."
His hand travels to his jaw, hovering before dropping to his side. "My anger is in my tongue, in my gritted teeth. The words fly out before I can reign them in."
Tim snorts. "I can attest to that."
Jon shoves a bony elbow into his side, pointedly ignoring the expletives that follow. His hand wavers in the air for a second, before he tucks it into himself, arms crossed and cigarette dangling from his fingertips. "I guess feel fear in my bones. They burrow into me, like- hm- a worm?"
"A worm." Tim echoes, teasing. "You've got fear worms in you?"
"You asked." Jon shoots back, face warm. "I've never tried to put it into words before. You know what I meant."
"I guess I do," Tim says, leaning back against the wall. His head knocks against the brick with a soft thump. He takes another drag of the cigarette and heaves out the smoke like putting out a fire.
Double-Sided SpringBonnie/Springtrap Acrylic Keychain — PREORDER — AVAILABLE ‘TIL AUGUST 1, 2025
There’s a middle ground eyeball size somewhere we just have to find it
silly little sketch of athena dealing with a young lovestruck odysseus
i dont normally repost instagram shit but the wording of this comment is killing me. like the armored carapace of a beetle. phenomenal
"Jon," Tim says suddenly, puffs of grey still trailing from his lips, "Where do you keep your feelings?"
"My- feelings?" Jon echoes flatly, his own cigarette dangling between his fingers. The air is hazy with smoke, the stench of it curling lazily in his gut.
"You know," Tim gestures vaguely, "your emotions- feelings- even you must have them, I'm sure."
Jon steals a glance at his face, turning back at the slight quirk of his lips, an indication that Tim was joking. He takes another drag, whistling out the next exhale. Exasperated, he replies, "In my brain, I suppose? Isn't that where all emotions originate?"
"Well, yes," Tim says, "but you're going about it too literally."
"Was I not supposed to?"
"No. Not like that, at least. For example," Tim puts the cigarette between his lips, takes a drag, and holds his breath. His cheeks puff out from the effort. After a few seconds, he releases his breath, smoke rolling out of his mouth like a creek. "I keep my happiness here, in my cheeks. When I smile, I feel it pulling. When I'm happy, it almost hurts."
"Or--" Tim's hand lowers, lightly patting his abdomen. Jon eyes the still lit cigarette nervously. "--I feel fear here, in my stomach. Sometimes I get so nervous I want to puke."
He flicks his hand up again, staccato, stopping by the hollow of his throat. The tips of his fingers run over his adam's apple, lightly tracing the skin of his neck as he swallows. His voice is significantly softer when he says, "I feel grief in my throat. It almost feels like choking."
"And my anger," he says, turning his hand over, fingers spread out and reaching, "I feel it in my palms, my fingers." He closes it into a fist, hard enough that Jon can see his knuckles turn white. "Like lightning."
Jon stares at his own hand thoughtfully, brow slightly furrowed. He says, haltingly, "Well- I suppose my happiness is in my hands," lightly grazing his fingers over his palm, "they've their own mind sometimes."
"And," Jon taps his collarbone, expression still pinched in thought, "my sadness is in my lungs. Sometimes I can hardly breathe." He huffs a quiet laugh, "Though that might just be all the smoking."
His hand travels to his jaw, hovering before dropping to his side. "My anger is in my tongue, in my gritted teeth. The words fly out before I can reign them in."
Tim snorts. "I can attest to that."
Jon shoves a bony elbow into his side, pointedly ignoring the expletives that follow. His hand wavers in the air for a second, before he tucks it into himself, arms crossed and cigarette dangling from his fingertips. "I guess feel fear in my bones. They burrow into me, like- hm- a worm?"
"A worm." Tim echoes, teasing. "You've got fear worms in you?"
"You asked." Jon shoots back, face warm. "I've never tried to put it into words before. You know what I meant."
"I guess I do," Tim says, leaning back against the wall. His head knocks against the brick with a soft thump. He takes another drag of the cigarette and heaves out the smoke like putting out a fire.
More EPIC the kusical designs! Part 3
i want to talk about my ocs but im literally this image. i got nothing
