Yall With Your Ugly Celeb Man Crushes

oh to have nothing to your name but a rented apartment, and still be happy because you're with the one you love and you get to build a life with them.

[ID: two gifs of Mustafa and Sharjeena sitting in their new apartment. Mustafa is sitting against the wall with his knees pulled up, elbows resting on them as his hands clasp together loosely in the front. Sharjeena is sitting next to him, her cheek pillowed on Mustafa's arm as he watches her with a fond gaze. /end ID]

The existence of Ghost Hunt UK implies the existence of Ghost Hunt (insert country here). Everyone in America watches the UK version for Melanie.

Throwing Children by Ross Gay

No you don't get it, I'm a Good Person. You don't understand. I'm a Good Person which makes it okay for me to think violently about the Enemy, who is Bad Person. I'm commenting "you should be violently murdered" because I'm Good Person and you're Bad Person. You think saying that to someone is fucked up?? You should be violently murdered, you're probably Bad Person anyway

Everyone keeps talking about "the writer's barely disguised fetish". But I still haven't heard about "the writer's barely disguised huge ass pet peeve"

My 90yr old Irish Catholic grandpa doesn’t miss with my gender. He’s never gotten my name wrong, or my pronouns, never even faltered over it.

It’s all so natural too: son, big man, young man…

We’ve never talked about it. He’s the only one who hasn’t pushed for details. He just accepted it and carried on because it’s not a huge deal.

It’s so comforting.

STEVE BUSCEMI WAS THE INSPIRATION FOR SANJI I AM SCREAMING

Everyone in the archives is so damn pretty because beauty is in the eye of the beholding

i. angels must think that love is one sided. angels do not understand love like we do, their languages are too dissimilar from our own. how can something with so many eyes only see forward. i think they like that we try, though. i mean, we do send them little gifts. poems and prayers and lonely mornings. they send us back coffee and cupcakes and a little hope under our tongue. in this way, we are both parts of the universe, trying to care for each other.

ii. i tell my dad i think angels are probably made from flowers. there's an angel in charge of every petal. angels are in toast. angels are in gasoline; it's why they burn with holy fire and why motor oil smells so good.

iii. to my dog i am an angel. he tells me he loves me in the language we have both decided is our code - he presses his head against mine, and we both sigh. i cannot love like an animal, which would be better for me - the unname love, without speech.

iv. i think my angel is plucking her feathers from stress. it must be very hard, to love something that is intent on destroying itself.

v. sometimes it is enough to love something, i mean. pressing our fingers to the mirror and breathing our little lives into the fog. today is a hard one, though. maybe tomorrow you and i can be an angel for the bird outside, and watch it take flight. we'll both know we love it, in our own private language - and give our heart into it. i'll be the angel of daybreak. you can be the angel of dawn. we can both collect the spray of the world and spin it into yarn.

Captain Nemo

I drew this piece in 2019, and although I can see lots of mistakes and imperfections, it's still one of my favourite artworks