Shoutout to the maned wolf, which is technically neither wolf nor fox but has its own genus called Chrysocyon! Why -
why are your legs so long?
I mean, intellectually, I understand that it’s because you live in grasslands and have evolved to be able to see over the grass, but emotionally… why? Are they?? Like that??? Surely there was a way to make your body more cohesive and proportional-looking?
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something the women in my family are absolutely flabbergasted by every time it comes up is the fact that i don’t own a scale.
“how do you know how much you weigh??” they cry.
“i don’t.” i simply respond.
“you look thinner, have you lost weight?” they ask at christmas.
“i dunno.” i say as i check on the turkey.
“you look bigger, have you gained weight?” they probe, as if my weight rests on their shoulders.
“i’m not sure, but it’s fine if i have.” i respond with a casualness they cannot comprehend.
“don’t you want to know if you’ve lost or gained?” they inquire over cups of coffee and a plate of untouched cookies.
“i do.” i take a sip. “which is why i don’t need to know.”
“we don’t understand.” they say.
“i’ll drive myself mad if i know. it’s been a question i’ve been looking for the answer to since i was in the seventh grade and my weight was the topic of conversation for the first time; the stretch marks on my calves puberty brought being questioned and condemned. and so i started weighing myself once a day. then twice a day. i gained weight as i grew and was told to stop. i got depressed when i was 16 and the weight i gained was more concerning than the scars on my thighs. the critiques turned to compliments during my first year of college when i’d started skipping meals and my body had to feed itself because i wouldn’t. everyday i stepped on the scale and smiled as i watched that number get smaller and smaller. hunger felt like victory. i started doing drugs that took away my appetite and then my strength. and started feeling guilt when my stomach felt full. and suddenly every time i looked in the mirror i hated what i saw. the more weight i lost, the better i was supposed to feel. each remark on another part of my body lost felt like a slap to the face. i was told i looked good but i knew i wasn’t good enough. and so i tried harder. and then i started to get dizzy when i stood. and i ignored it like i’d learned to ignore my hunger. and then one day at work i dropped like the weight that was never enough after i bending at the waist to grab a milk cap from the floor. and when the darkness faded, i was surrounded by panic as an ambulance was called. and then i was tested and prodded and poked because they thought something was wrong with my heart. and the problem persisted but they never found out why. but i’d known all along. and then i left home and its scale behind. and moved into a new home that was mine. so i bought plates and sheets and art for the walls. but i didn’t buy a scale. then every time i walked down an aisle i’d see the them and pause. and i’d think about the hunger i now kept at bay. and even though i didn’t know how much i weighed, i didn’t notice my body had changed. and i’d think about how i hadn’t been dizzy for months. and how i hadn’t fainted for longer. and then i’d keep on walking. and now most days i like how i look.”
“but don’t you want to be skinny?” comes their quiet response.
“i want to be myself in whatever body i have.”
they stare in disbelief. so i shrug my shoulders, and grab a cookie. and i smile at them as i swallow the first bite.
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I feel a deep sense of anger and grief for Palestine. I’m angry at God, at the world powers donating to those who are killing civilians, angry at people looking away and encouraging you to worry about yourself when people can’t even walk down their streets without being attacked. I’m angry that my friend donated, only for it to be stolen and taken by the soldiers abusing Palestine. I’m angry that I can’t do much of anything but tell you to at least CARE about the people being bombed and slaughtered. Please, if you can’t do anything please just CARE about these people and listen to their stories. Hold them in your hearts at the very least. Don’t pretend they don’t exist or just brush it off as “its been going on for centuries, there’s no point in stopping it.” I want to do more, I want to make people care and love those who need it, rather than continue spreading anger and hate.
These are real people I’ve drawn. Keep the people of Palestine in your heart at the very least please.
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when stevebucky said “you’d be heaven for anyone but you’re especially heaven for a sinner like me” and “even when i had nothing i had bucky” and “no not without you” and “the god’s honest truth is that i ain’t ever gonna love again she’s your true north i know what that means because you’re mine” and “that little guy from brooklyn who was too dumb to run away from a fight. i’m following him. but you’re keeping the outfit right” and “no matter how many hail marys i recited in the dark with you laying next to me, it didn’t stop” and “but i knew him” and “then his wings melted all the way and he fell miles and miles into the ocean and brained himself on a rock that poor stupid asshole and i’ll tell you what i’m no better i’m no fucking better” and “thank you buck but i can get by on my own”/“the thing is you don’t have to i’m with you til the end of the line” and “i wont be in the history books that’s for you but i loved you first as long as they get that right i don’t care what they say” and “i’m not gonna fight you you’re my friend” and “bone of my bones were you taken from my rib?” and “you pulled me from the river” and “so how long have i loved you for? womb to tomb sweetheart. since before i was even here at all” and “i don’t know if i’m worth all this steve” and “i think we deserve a soft epilogue my love we are good people and we’ve suffered enough”
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Raphie teaching baby Raph how to knit! A request from Twitter which I’ve found super cute ❤️
Sorry if the colors look wonky, I honestly never know how to fully color sketches 😵💫
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“Oh, I’m sorry, baby. Want me to kiss it where it hurts?” Kirishima purrs up at you, his place between your thighs seemingly the closest thing he can get to ascension. His eyes are wide, his pupils blown out, any red swallowed up by the lust pooling in his eyes. he looks like the picture of adoration and worship, all faux worry and pure hunger as he bounces between your gaze and the pretty picture that twitches in front of his face. his eyes cross to watch the slick ooze from your hole, sighing.
“It’s the least you could do for me,” you pout to him, running your nails through his soft locks, tugging a little meanly at the root. “After using me like a toy on your cock for so long.” Your words are sighed wistfully, your eyes betraying just how much you want his mouth on you as he wants to taste you. Kiri moans at that, quiet and in the back of his throat, but you hear it none the less.
“I’m sorry, baby,” he repents, but it’s all for naught when his tongue laves over your sensitivity and doesn’t let up until you’re crying from the overstimulation once more. he’s so sorry—that you can only cum so many times before you tap out. he’s so sorry—that your thighs are more sore from tightening up around his head than his working jaw. he’s so sorry—that you’re so addicting, that he can lay between your legs until his last breath leaves him.
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