/)w(\

No

[sweetestsecrets]

“I like to see people reunited, I like to see people run to each other, I like the kissing and the crying, I like the impatience, the stories that the mouth can’t tell fast enough, the ears that aren’t big enough, the eyes that can’t take in all of the change, I like the hugging, the bringing together, the end of missing someone.”

— Jonathan Safran Foer (via quotemadness)

[vczn]

[marzipanandminutiae]

high-waisted pants and skirts are just things that sit at most people’s natural waists and we’ve been somehow conned into believing that’s “high” send tweet

[dreaming-jaybird]

We are just recovering from the 90s

[brainless-moe-white-lotus]

I wanted my bearded dragon to have more role models so I've taped this postcard of Caravaggio's "Boy Bitten by a Lizard" to her tank

[bounemr]

i don’t think we acknowledge enough that when children want to be treated “like adults” what they really mean is “like people”

this is just my own observations of course but 90% of the time when a kid tries to get people to treat them like an adult, what they really want is the respect and acknowledgement that they associate with adulthood - because that’s what they must give the adults. they have to give that to the adults in their lives, but the adults never give that same respect back, and so they see that difference and decide that they want to be treated “like an adult”

and sometimes i see parents who are like fine you want to be treated like an adult then you can work and pay rent but that’s the exact OPPOSITE of what the kid is actually asking for. you’re just belittling them, clearly intending to punish them for daring ask for your respect, clearly intending for them to break down and beg to be “treated like a child” again because you purposefully twisted their wants. they ask for respect, and you give them abuse.

never, ever, ever, treat a child like a full grown adult. it’s our responsibility as adults NOT to, because they ARENT adults no matter how much they think they want to be, and it’s our job as adults to take care of them.

that said, ALWAYS treat children like people. because they ARE that. they’re real people with real agency acting as best as they know to with what knowledge they have

it’s not a matter of kids trying to grow up too fast, it’s a matter of kids wanting to be treated like people instead of objects or pets.

[saturn-no-sega]

When girls do the thing where they wear open button ups but tuck them in so that you can see just enough cleavage so that their whole titty isn't out, but you kinda wish it was.

Like this:

Good shit. Top tier shit. High quality shit.

[stuck-in-dreams]

THISSSSS is how i want to dresss plzlzz god

[suchacomfycloset]

[stuck-in-dreams]

fffUCK

[bi-any-chance]

Bi culture TikTok

[divineofficial]

[theawesomeadventurer]

[transxfiles]

the world was severely lacking weird little girl memes so i had to fill the void

[laurapetrie]

[incidentalcomics]

Morning Light

I have a couple new books coming out this Spring! You can pre-order signed copies of WHAT SOUND IS MORNING? and I WILL JUDGE YOU BY YOUR BOOKSHELF here: https://www.watermarkbooks.com/grant-snider-signed-copies

[futureghostie]

No offense i love it

(p.s. tattoo artist @/beanieseagull on instagram check him out!! don’t delete caption)

[stuck-in-dreams]

reposting thisss

[olive-sketches]

waiting for spring

ig: oliviajensen_art

[marianhalcombes]

Leaves | Lloyd Schwartz

[inkskinned]

once there was a witch who lived in the woods. she was ugly and mean and loud, as all witches are, and she never found love. the little girls of the village were warned of the witch, who was known to steal daughters. she would eat them, maybe, or destroy them in her experiments. they were not seen again in any case, so it was all true.

you learned of her by way of your mother, who had hair so beautifully blonde while yours was your father’s rusty brown. you learned of her because you had spilled the water coming back from the well. then you learned again of her when you talked back. then you learned again when you were caught with your fingers in a book, staring at the squiggles you did not understand. the witch, the witch, the witch.

your mother, it is known, was protecting you. she said she did not want you to be one of the girls that were stolen or hurt or eaten or all three. she said that girls like you are particularly likely, on account of being, she must admit, uncomely and unfortunately prone to curiosity. 

at seven you told your best friend Patience: i do not fear the witch, but i do wonder how she finds girls. just that year she took a girl named Charlotte, who was lovelier than you by far, so you might have been next, had you not learned to bite back your retorts and stop making snide comments and to only read in the dark, where people could not see you agonizing over teaching yourself.

at fourteen you told your best friend Patience: i do not fear the witch, but i wonder what she eats when it is not children. patience laughed and said - like you, she eats books.

at sixteen you told your best friend Patience: i do not fear the witch, but i would like to see her, to know what she is like. patience has long, shiny hair, and lips so pink they are a sin, and always smiles when she looks at you, even when you are uncomely (as your own mother has admitted). Patience is like a bath of milk, decadent. she holds your hand and says do not go see the witch, for i could not stand if you did not return. so you do not go.

at seventeen, you and Patience uncover a book in the back of charlotte’s farm. shaking, the two of you say a spell over a bowl of violet water in the light of a full moon. the spell is a secret, and i will not write it, but when you come home, you forget the words, thinking instead of how patience looked, wild and grinning, her hands locked in yours, her head thrown back and her eyes closed. wild, untamed. your mother would say uncomely. for the first time, you wonder if the word means - to unbecome.

at eighteen, you told your best friend patience: i would not mind, being a witch, but she is alone.  in a sob, Patience tells you: my father will marry me off next year. you both cry into each other’s arms. you have no marriage offers, for you are known to be too-much, a lady who is frightfully observant and clever, neither of which are appropriate behaviors. she sleeps in your bed this night, and smells of lavender. long after the moon rises, you watch her breathing. she wakes up from a nightmare and reaches out to hold you, tucking you against her so easily it is as if you have been displaced your whole life until now, and have only found home by the fitting of her limbs. 

for a year, you spend like this. playing with each other’s hair and sleeping in the same bed like little girls. sometimes, when it is late, she looks at you, dark eyes all full and wide, you think she is about to speak. she never does, only reaches out and holds your hand. 

on midnight the day before her wedding, she wakes you. i do not fear the witch, she says, for it is better to be eaten beside you.

you take her hand.

there are three witches who live in the woods. they are clever, and wicked, and ugly. they take girls and eat them - girls who would have been married, girls who would have been mothers, girls who like terrible things like asking questions and talking loudly and speaking back to their fathers. do not be fooled by the illusion they will help you - why, two girls from this very village ran off one night, and the witches disintegrated them. i myself found their clothes by the river, and when i turned i heard nothing but laughter, deep in the woods, followed by the scent of lavender.