To the person reading this, I hope tonight treats you gently, and that tomorrow looks brighter.
Okuyasu’s ice cream need continues 🍦ft. Josuke
yeah im still thinking about the minotaur sorry but just . imagine youre born wrong. imagine your entire existence is a punishment from the gods. for something you had no control over. imagine your mother holds nothing but contempt for you. she wont even look at you, not really, & she keeps crying & you keep crying & reaching towards her with your little arms & someone drags you away from her. & they keep you hidden & alone & a stranger comes & builds an impenetrable prison around you so youre doomed to forever haunt these endless corridors & youve never known kindness or companionship or love. & when they call you a monster. well. you believe them
babe you reblogged orpheuslament minotaur post 23 times are you okay
Help girl I'm trying to surf back to Ithaca on these amphorae but the clap of my ass cheeks keep alerting Poseidon
i like sailing myths and superstitions because most of them can be boiled down to "if the ocean doesn't like you it will chew you up and spit out your bones. and if it really loves you it will swallow you whole and keep you forever. good luck 👍"
ALT
best use of the underwater filter on this app
The straight woman is unsatisfied with straight studio porn. She wants to get off to something in which the actors actually emote and show passion beyond canned moans from the women and, at best, vacant grunts from the men. She turns to gay porn. She knows it's not "for her," but neither was the straight porn, and at least the actors look like they're enjoying themselves. And for a short while she is satiated by Sean Cody et al, but she runs into the same problems she had to begin with. She was not looking at sex but a simulacrum of sex, trapped in Plato's cave. Unsatisfied, she turned to vintage gay porn, harkening to a time when most gay bars still had darkrooms and reliably smelled of piss and Amyl Nitrite. Here was the real thing, in all its animalistic passion. But she still couldn't immerse herself in the fantasy. She wanted the media to engage with her own imagination and meet her half-way, rather than having it spoonfed to her onscreen. She turned to yaoi, with its elongated figures reminiscent of mannerist portraiture, then bara, including hardcore BDSM scenes. But the tactile sensations depicted in the pages didn't do justice to their real life counterparts. She turned deeper into her own imagination, this time reading erotica. No, not the poolside paperbacks sold at Barnes and Noble. The good shit. Why then, was she still not satisfied? She dug deeper, searching for the true meaning of eroticism. She studied the psychoanalysis of Freud, the cultural criticism of Susan Sontag the feminist poetry of Audre Lorde. She took vacation time and flew to Europe, starting at the caves of Lascaux to explore the human urge to create, then traversed the Camino de Santiago on foot, along the way meeting a 56 year old carpenter from Burgos named Andrés, with whom she had an explosive affair. They both knew it couldn't last, which made them cherish each other's touch all the more. Upon flying home, she gave up. If her search for true eroticism never bore fruit this whole time, why would it now? It would take years before she stumbled upon the answer by pure happenstance: dubstep.
While taking a nap today I dreamt there was a hazard sign called "never found" which was used to indicate a location where people disappeared never to be seen again
ALTit looked like this
sabertoothwalrus