Seeing A Really Cool Post And Then Finding Out It’s From A Religious Person Is So Disappointing. I

does the “69” signify that you’re the 69th person to have fucked Nerevar? because I’m pretty sure the number is a lot higher.

i get on bluesky for the first time in a white and i am immediately taking Ls

Yeah so some of these couples are jokes and only "ships" in the fandom way. But you're wrong if you believe there wasn't any kind of special relationship between Robespierre and Saint-Just, Carnot and Prieur, Barère and... a lot of men. Yes, Carnot and Barère were married. Carnot loved his wife. Barère had several female lovers. Prieur had a long-term relationship with an older woman (who was married to someone else). But um... Did you forget bisexuality exists? Or homoromanticism? Or are you just de facto implying those aren't "real"? Have you internalized that they aren't real maybe? Because trust me some men love other men as much as women, as much as their wife, maybe more than their wife. David loved Drouais more than his wife - and no it wasn't "fatherly love". It was a teacher's/mentor's love with all of the ambiguity this involves when you remember they were artists and what the subjects they preferred to paint were. This culture offered a convenient pretext where you could blur the lines. And no, you'll likely never know the truth. You'll never know if they fucked other men, or how, or what positions they preferred, or if David actually fathered his own children. And honestly it's kinda creepy to take it beyond mere speculation and actually really want to know that far as if it was a fact you were owed to? You don't need to know those details. You can just know when there's obviously a loving relationship going on. That's just as true for living breathing beings you know btw. You'll never really know what kind of loving relationship they have unless they choose to tell you... or someone forcibly outs them, which is gross.

Maybe we should be happy they had the chance to live in a brief period where all loving relationships between men weren't automatically seen as "scandalous" and "depraved", that men were allowed to love each other without it being always perceived as "suspicious" and "illicit".

Barère's thoughts about Saint-Just aren't creepy because they're about another man - they're creepy because he clearly sounds jealous of Robespierre and, you know, the whole Thermidor thing and all the nasty things he said about both. But it's actually quite special that we get to read his obviously non-straight non-normative thoughts so openly. It's not "subtext" or our "fevered deranged imagination". It's just there. Your denial isn't my problem to deal with.

standing outside my friend’s apartment holding balloons waiting for him to come down. I’ve become a parody.

normalize being a yellowjackets fan who will never watch the show because it’s too scary

yeah I think. I think you need to confess that. that’s a sin.

oh no I don't have anything to confess to Father I just wanted to be in this little dark box with you :)

> be me

> Markarth guard

> kissing my husband in the middle of our shift

> stranger walks up

> husbands head snaps to them

> “I used to be an adventurer like you. Then I took an arrow to the knee”

> stranger walks away without speaking

Ummm am I interrupting something...?

I found this screenshot I took a while ago and i had to do something about it

as a child being told "the moon controls the tides" with no additional explanation was like. oh okay. you want me to believe in magic? you're talking about magic right now? okay. fine

this is adorable I love her :)

When I was 3 years old I went to a preschool that had this little green crocheted crocodile finger puppet that was my absolute favorite toy to play with of all time. I named her Chelsea, because Chelsea starts with C and crocodile starts with C and more often than not wild animals in fiction aimed at kids have names that start with the same first letter as their species. I played with Chelsea every day, because she was my favorite toy, and because the other kids weren't really interested in her, and also because I eventually started to hide her in a special secret spot in the room so no one else would find her before I did. She was so beloved by me that when I graduated from preschool, my teachers gave Chelsea to me permanently, because it was clear no one else would ever love that little crochet crocodile as much as me anyway (in part because I hid her). They waited a few weeks after I graduated before doing it, too, and sent Chelsea with some post cards as if the crocodile had been on a whirlwind "travel the world" vacation before deciding to come live with me.

And Chelsea remained my favorite toy all through my childhood. There were others I loved nearly as much, like my Imperial Godzilla and the big red T.rex from the first Jurassic Park toy line and my tiny knockoff plush Charmander, but Chelsea always held the place of honor in my heart. She was my absolute favorite toy.

I kept a lot of my favorite toys through adolescence, even if social pressure eventually got me to give away a lot of them (and some, y'know, broke). That's obviously not surprising to you if you've followed my blog, since I still collect toys into my adulthood. But it's important to note because while I know I made a conscious effort to never throw out Chelsea every time I pared down my collection... at some point, she went missing.

I became aware of it when I graduated from high school. I was feeling really emotional about leaving that stage of my life and, y'know, becoming an adult and shit, and in that state I decided to find Chelsea to reassure myself that I hadn't entirely left childhood behind. But Chelsea wasn't there. No matter how hard I looked, I could not find Chelsea anyway.

And that was, like, devastating, because the only explanation was that somehow, at some point, I had accidentally tossed her out with some other "childhood junk" while trying to grow up and be responsible in my teen years. I had literally thrown away my childhood in a careless attempt to be more grown up.

Of course I knew she was just a toy - nothing more than some yarn twisted together in the loose shape of a crocodile, lifeless and soul-less and more or less worthless in the objective light of day. But she was also Chelsea, my best friend since i was three, my stalwart little pal, a source of comfort for most of my life at that point, and I had just... tossed her out! Like garbage! What kind of person was I becoming if I could do that to my best friend?

I was very visibly distraught, and my mom noticed. Being very crafty, she tried to find the pattern for Chelsea so she could crochet me a new one. The problem is, she had no idea where to find said pattern. She checked all her books of crochet patterns, and when that failed she tried the internet, but no matter how hard she looked, she found nothing.

So my mom found the next best thing.

The original Chelsea was a tiny finger puppet, and I had "met" her when I was three. Well, I was eighteen now - shouldn't Chelsea have grown too? And as has been established, this crocodile was fond of whirlwind vacations. My mom found a pattern that looked as much like Chelsea as possible while also being a much bigger crocodile, and gifted her to me before I left for college - to show that while we can't stop the flow of time or how it changes us, that doesn't mean we have to leave it behind.

And yeah, I decided to believe it. That's Chelsea now. Yeah, I know that in reality it's a completely different set of yarn made by my mom rather than... whoever it was that crocheted the original Chelsea, but then, Chelsea was never really the yarn. She was the feelings I put into the yarn, you know? So that's Chelsea, all grown up, and still my most prized toy.

...

Flash forward... Jesus, eighteen years, holy shit. A few weeks ago I saw a post trying to identify a different crochet crocodile pattern, and thinking it was cute, I decided to try and look for it on ebay and etsy, just to see if maybe I could find it. I didn't, but do you know what I found instead?

A very familiar crochet crocodile finger puppet. An intensely familiar one, you might say. Of course I bought it. And of course I asked the seller if, perhaps, they might have the pattern for it or know where it came from (they did not, alas). And after a few days, she showed up at my house.

She's not Chelsea, obviously. For one thing, she's far too clean and fresh looking - Chelsea was very well loved, and looked the part, while this crocodile finger puppet has definitely not endured years upon years of a child's affection. And, more importantly, she's not Chelsea because we've already established that Chelsea grew up into a bigger crochet crocodile. This has to be Chelsea's younger sister, Cici.

And if I could find another of Chelsea's kind after all these years, then maybe, with a bit of luck, I might find the pattern for her, and be able to make more of them. Fill the world with Chelseas.

I want to empathize as a fellow transfem but I REALLY hate Olympic fencing and that overrides everything else. Olympic fencers deserve discrimination I think.