I Made These As A Way To Compile All The Geographical Vocabulary That I Thought Was Useful And Interesting

oh, that’s fluff. that’s fluff of my character that I think should get run over by a bus.

Illustrations commissioned by @leapness for @jerichos_kitchen

kind of obsessed with the idea of the rest of the gaang leaving Toph and Zuko to watch over some cooking food and when they come back its burned and Katara starts fuming but Toph and Zuko are like “we’ve never stepped inside a kitchen in our lives and only have one eye between us, if anything it’s your fault”

Is sorrow the true wild?

And if it is—and if we join them—your wild to mine—what’s that?

For joining, too, is a kind of annihilation. What if we joined our sorrows, I’m saying. I’m saying: What if that is joy?

The Book of Delights -- Ross Gay

graves grow no green that you can use.

gwendolyn brooks

Rites of Winter

We’d been feasting on the famous foods of winter: squash, potatoes, a steamed pot of dark greens. And after, we danced in Glenn’s living room above Crystal Creek, barefoot on the Persian rug, eating chocolate cake, and almost knocking over the candles. So when the frogs in the pond out front began to sing—a bass note followed by a high-pitched exclamation—we slid out the door and past the tall clusters of bamboo, over the wooden bridge, moving to the frenzied rhythm of the frogs, who—it seemed— grew louder and more intent the more we rocked to their cacophony. So it was frogs and moonlight and dancing under the bare bones of the trees, the creek suddenly swollen after six years of drought. And Glenn—one year older and nearing (though he didn’t yet know it) the end of his greatest love. And we were calling out to the frogs, who called back to us as we stumbled, nearly into the bracken water, and leapt up onto the pond-side boulders, hands in the air, a light mist falling on our arms, our upturned faces. And I couldn’t decide: was the world enamored with itself?— all this riotous back and forth? Or had we only invoked alarm, amphibian for get-back! get-back! I didn’t know. But how happy we were, for that hour, to believe we were one marvelous body, in our smooth and slippery skin. Even if the frogs did not want us. Even if our joint fates are written, already, in the tainted water, the dark and opulent mud.

Bonfire Opera : Poems. -- Danusha Laméris.

One of those goofy maid animes, except the viewpoint character isn't the hapless master or mistress of the house, but a regular-ass janitor who ended up on this crew due to a paperwork mixup at the temp agency and can't figure out what the fuck is wrong with her co-workers.