"why did you write that"
my fetish
my friend's fetish
not my fetish but it fits in the story so i threw it in there as a treat. you're welcome.
4. the character's fetish and i'm committed to portraying them with absolute accuracy

No title available
occasionally subtle
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"

❣ Chile in a Photography ❣

titsay
d e v o n
Sade Olutola

shark vs the universe

oozey mess
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda

Product Placement
cherry valley forever
Sweet Seals For You, Always
will byers stan first human second
Cosmic Funnies
noise dept.

if i look back, i am lost
almost home
Today's Document
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@wonderbat1216
"why did you write that"
my fetish
my friend's fetish
not my fetish but it fits in the story so i threw it in there as a treat. you're welcome.
4. the character's fetish and i'm committed to portraying them with absolute accuracy
Random worldbuilding: there's a region in the country with a strong culture of offering homecooked dishes as gifts for all occasion. And over time, they have accumulated an entire category of dishware that aren't any particular individual's property - they are constantly in rotation, being gifted and re-gifted as the dish holding a pie, a casserole, loaf of bread, the list goes on. Once a gift dish is in your possession, you need to make something in it as a gift in return - not necessarily to the one you received it from, but to someone nonetheless.
They're called lovers' dishes, but not for any romantic reasons. The name was adopted after people started deeming the previous name, courtesan bowls, inappropriate. The term courtesan bowl was also a slightly more cleaned-up term replacing a previous one, as the dishware were originally known as slut cups. As they, you understand, they get around.
General rules to live by:
You gotta be tough if you're gonna be stupid. You can do stupid shit all you want but you're not going to avoid suffering consequences.
If you can't be tough, you gotta be nice. People can forgive a lot of stupidity if you're polite about it and pleasant to be around.
You can't tell whether you're stupid or not. There is literally no way to know in advance, for absolute certainty, whether the thing you're just about to do is genius or stupid before it either splendidly succeeds or blows up in your face.
i love being a yearner and a freak. like yes my heart aches and wants, but so does my cunt
the "gifted kid" to "likes being called stupid in a sexual way" pipeline
The "gifted kid" likes to be too dumb to form words anymore just happy lil whimpers
I’m only a lil horny on main.
This account is still mostly my basic nerd shit, but I’m grown now, I’m gonna reblog some spicy stuff from time to time :)
ultimately i just want to be an object that attract crows
"is this why you keep stealing people's gold fillings while they're asleep" no that's unrelated
Back when I was in forensic anthropology undergrad, one of my favorite units we did was on teeth. We received a mint tin full of teeth, and we had a plastic tray we taped a grid onto with a space for each tooth position, and then we had to use the wear patterns on the teeth and other factors to determine what position each tooth had held when it was in a person. I’ve always thought teeth were cool, when I was a kid and one of my silver-capped baby teeth fell out, I wore it around my neck as a pendant until I lost it somewhere, so I loved this unit.
At the time, I was also working at a pawn shop, and people would sometimes sell us teeth that had gold fillings, and one of the employees would remove the gold and then we were to dispose of the teeth, but I collected them in my own little tin at work to practice with(ethically-dubious, keeping people’s teeth without permission). One day, someone was at my desk and found my little tin of teeth and freaked out and threw them all away and I was very sad.
I also briefly worked as a dental assistant for a time, that was also fun, but I didn’t get to keep any teeth.
this website just feels like home
This reminds me of the time I found a bag of teeth in my glovebox!
On break one day, hiding in my car as per usual, I innocently attempted to shove a handful of loose tip money in my glove compartment, i.e. a Later Me problem. However, when the door fell open, a bag of absolutely wretchéd (human?) teeth shamelessly presented itself with a hearty CLUNK as the drawer slammed open from the weight.
I contemplated the bag of teeth as it settled, gently clacking, telling me... something.
First thought: Well, of course there's a bag of teeth in my glove box. Not a modicum of shock. It felt... inevitable. Oh yeah, here's the teeth. The teeth compartment. There they are. A mysterious bag of (extremely filthy? HUMAN??) teeth is confusing and potentially threatening to most, sure. But I know who I am.
More importantly, I know who I'm married to.
Gathering up the precarious bag of (fake human? yes??) teeth, I sent my spouse this image and the following question:
Why is there a bag of teeth in my car
see u just can't get this shit on twitter
@douche-canoe-regatta But what was your spouse's reply??
@black-crested-jaybird GOOD QUESTION FRIEND
So there I sit, baking in my hot car, a bag of Somebody Else's Teeth on my lap, awaiting a reply from my spouse like an urgent telegram. Against all sense and propriety I open said bag and start fishing through my treasure, holding them up to the light like a jeweler for inspection.
The teeth (pleasantly cool in my sweaty palms) are upsettingly - and unquestionably - human. Heavy as pearls, hard as hell, slick as bone china. The base of each tooth is coated in a sticky red substance, which I scrape off to properly examine. Somewhere, the Law and Order theme is playing. Ice T shakes his head at my folly.
The phone, and my spouse, remain silent.
After a very thorough examination, I come to a comforting conclusion: these are, in fact, (almost) entirely fake human teeth, likely blanks to use as replacements for the unteethed. The red substance is apparently wax, possibly to sort and display said chompers. This does not at all explain why they are, again, in my fucking glove box.
The phone finally beeples, and I shove the handful of teeth in my jacket pocket: another Later Me problem. Right now, knowledge is paramount.
The first message is not enlightening.
Spouse: OH NOOOO YOU FOUND THEM
me: ????????????
Spouse: I'll explain when you get home
me: ??????!!!!!!!!
SPOILER ALERT: My spouse purchased the teeth at an estate sale for a dentist who'd recently passed. They happened to borrow my shitbox car that day and shoved the bag in the glove box to keep it hidden. A clear failure, as I don't know how you forget a bag of teeth in someone else's car, but that's not my mystery to solve.
It turns out my spouse had a plan for those teeth. And O! what a plan it was! You see, we'd recently purchased The Property: a strange house built by an unbelievably creepy (and now thankfully deceased) mechanic in the early 50s. Not fun creepy, like my bag of teeth. More "Why is there a hatch cut into your roof" or "What is that secret compartment for" and "Why are there printouts of police codes everywhere." This is important, because...
...The Spouse's plan was to take these teeth and hide them throughout The Property. The very large, multi-structure Property we'd barely explored. They swore up and down they would never have shared their provenance with me; it was intended I would find each tooth over the course of years, growing more frustrated and confused every time a molar showed up in the attic or garage or Hatch or any number of infinite hidey-holes we now possessed.
This was a great plan, for sure. 10/10. And it might have worked, if they could hold it together long enough to fool me (doubtful). But I don't think it would have, because after all:
They left a motherfucking bag of teeth in my car.
#plot didn't so much thicken as SOLIDIFY
From Snow White’s cherry-red lipstick to the balloon sleeves on Ariel’s wedding gown, every Disney princess reflects the trends of their debut era, even though many of them take place during some nebulous history period.
what you learn from hobbies:
consistent practice opens up whole worlds of skill that you couldn't imagine
making mistakes in the process of learning is not only natural, it is also essential
activities that you enjoy can give you more energy back than you spent on them
wow everything is so expensive
my hands hurt
in any given fictional situation, there is exactly one character who is At Fault and every other character involved is a passive victim. media literacy is when you correctly identify and condemn this character
Oh, you think it's "adorable" that I fell asleep on your lap? Well, it's a mark of my utter contempt. That's how little I fear you.
You guys do know you're supposed to reblog things, right
"well i like this post but i'm worried my followers might not" fuck your followers. The entire point of tumblr is to cause irreparable psychic damage to your followers. We are locked in mortal combat on the astral plane. You must win. You Must Win. You Must Destroy Them.
if they don't like it they can unfollow you
it’s december 1 where’s the christmas tail kitten bring him to me
i have to do EVERYTHING around here
no for real like sit over there and drink your little beverage and stay tf out of the way let me cook
as a kitchen dweller this is 100% my preferred configuration
big cooking sessions are a ven diagram that makes a circle of "Do Not Enter My Cooking Space" and "Please Hang Out and Talk with Me"
also, this is sort of similar to Shotgun Duties in a car - on a long kitchen trip Kitchen Chair should be in charge of music, and be available for such things as "can you hand me that towel?" and "oh thanks for refilling my drink" ... and of course watching out for cops
one of my parents houses had the *ideal* set up for this. The kitchen and living room had no wall between them, but an island obviously demarking kitchen from living room. So the chef could be watching whatever movie with the fam, or chatting, and be part of things, but with a very clear "do not cross" boundary to keep the littles from being underfoot. A+ i miss that kitchen more than almost anything
I am the cook of my family. You can sit at the island and yap with me, but unless I’ve specifically asked for your help, stay the fuck on *that* side of the island.
no for real like sit over there and drink your little beverage and stay tf out of the way let me cook
as a kitchen dweller this is 100% my preferred configuration
big cooking sessions are a ven diagram that makes a circle of "Do Not Enter My Cooking Space" and "Please Hang Out and Talk with Me"
also, this is sort of similar to Shotgun Duties in a car - on a long kitchen trip Kitchen Chair should be in charge of music, and be available for such things as "can you hand me that towel?" and "oh thanks for refilling my drink" ... and of course watching out for cops
one of my parents houses had the *ideal* set up for this. The kitchen and living room had no wall between them, but an island obviously demarking kitchen from living room. So the chef could be watching whatever movie with the fam, or chatting, and be part of things, but with a very clear "do not cross" boundary to keep the littles from being underfoot. A+ i miss that kitchen more than almost anything
tbh people don't give zuko enough credit like wtf are you supposed to say when someone hits you with "my girlfriend turned into the moon" like. damn. that is in fact rough buddy
Some day I want to see a show that does the “no filler episodes” thing from the opposite direction. Just a whole season worth of low-stakes character pieces that seem to move the overall story absolutely nowhere, then episode 26 pulls all the triggers at once and this massive Rube Goldberg machine of a plot the show’s been quietly setting up in the background the whole time hits you like a truck.
Incredible one-liners as always