sheepfilms
Keni
No title available
official daine visual archive
ojovivo
shark vs the universe
𓃗
Not today Justin
🩵 avery cochrane 🩵
KIROKAZE
Cosimo Galluzzi
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
Claire Keane
No title available
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
Game of Thrones Daily
EXPECTATIONS
Three Goblin Art
taylor price
$LAYYYTER
seen from Spain
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Denmark
seen from Malaysia
seen from Malaysia
seen from Bulgaria
seen from Singapore
seen from Germany
seen from Spain
seen from T1
seen from Libya
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
@apileofburningcabbage
Flavours of unreliable narrator:
Lying to the reader
Lying to themselves
Simply misinformed
Not paying attention
Has weird priorities
Assumed you knew
Hates you personally
Bad at communicating
Easily sidetracked
Will believe anything
Has weird prejudices
Just kind of dumb
WHERE is that poem about that person learning all about their partners hyperfixation before getting dumped the last line is like "love is a stack of books on my nightstand with a bookmark near the end" I need it to feel whole help me please
NYT Tiny Love Stories, 2/11/2020
A Bookmark Near the End
He loves history. He wanted to write a biography of John Quincy Adams. I, shamefully, knew almost nothing about John Quincy Adams, so I went online and bought every biography of him I could find. One day, he called me, claiming that we wouldn’t work out long term. He said he loved me but that we had different interests. “What does love mean to you?” I said. “That’s an impossible question,” he replied. I, however, find love to be quite simple. Love is the stack of biographies on my nightstand with a bookmark near the end. — Julia Nicole Camp
how am I supposed to stay sane after reading this smh
@justcakethanks
Paraguay implies the existence of Orthoguay
you mean to tell me you've never been to orthoguay?
steps out of the shower completely dry after parrying every drop of water with my bathroom greatsword
bro your loyal knight smells like shit
dont store a knife with the point facing down, it damages the blade. no, dont do that either. when you store it with the point facing up you might accidentally hurt yourself when you try to grab it. dont store a knife at all actually. your blade must never leave your hand, always ready, ruthless and waiting. you know deep down that ever since you learned the stench of blood you will never be able to cast it aside. or just get a sheath for it i guess.
Someone needs to write The Backrooms smut and title it The Backshots
Dandelion boy
just saw a "only one bed" fic with the major character death warning
#i guess that's one way to solve that problem
“This bed ain’t big enough for the both of us.”
I am so tired of short-attention-span, trim-the-fat culture. All writing advice these days is for how to write like Chuck Palahniuk. "Cut 'think', cut 'feel', cut 'wonder' - only action, only pushing forward, show and move and move and move." What if I could emulate this style, and still don't want to? What if I want to write like Henry James, with three paragraphs of introspective musings between each dialogue line? The music advice is, "make it shortform, make it Tik-Tok compatible, make it punchy, hit the refrain as soon as possible." What if I want that 10-minute prog rock piece? What if I want that symphony? What if I want it slow and luxurious and lazy? Movies. Series. Poetry. Bodies. Everything is "trimmed trimmed trimmed trimmed, stripped bare, you have three seconds to win me over, make it airport chic." I don't want to win you over, then, I guess. I want the fat left it. I want the pleasure and the indolence and the indulgence. Fuck this art-advice that's always "your art needs Ozempic."
she thought I was sucking the poison out her wounds for homoerotic purposes but Im really just trying to resell it on the secondhand market
A truthberry might make you tell the truth... But a lieberry? A lieberry will loan you books
Good Morning, I Am Not Going to Commit Suicide Today, by Kimmy Walters
Random worldbuilding: there's a region in the country with a strong culture of offering homecooked dishes as gifts for all occasion. And over time, they have accumulated an entire category of dishware that aren't any particular individual's property - they are constantly in rotation, being gifted and re-gifted as the dish holding a pie, a casserole, loaf of bread, the list goes on. Once a gift dish is in your possession, you need to make something in it as a gift in return - not necessarily to the one you received it from, but to someone nonetheless.
They're called lovers' dishes, but not for any romantic reasons. The name was adopted after people started deeming the previous name, courtesan bowls, inappropriate. The term courtesan bowl was also a slightly more cleaned-up term replacing a previous one, as the dishware were originally known as slut cups. As they, you understand, they get around.
AU where Kakashi gets obsessed with expanding his chakra reserves so he can keep the sharingan open for longer periods of time to show Obito more of the world/future. No tilted headband, he just closes the eye because if he sees anything even a little worth preserving he'll share that with Obito too. He'll give Obito the sight of anything and everything, from a stray alley cat under a dumpster to the sunset from the training grounds. Everything. Anything.
