Futuristic Robot guys love playing as old timey detectives,
No one is yet to know why this happens.
YOU ARE THE REASON
ojovivo
Jules of Nature

titsay

★
RMH
occasionally subtle
Three Goblin Art
Cosmic Funnies
AnasAbdin

Product Placement
will byers stan first human second

@theartofmadeline

shark vs the universe
Show & Tell

izzy's playlists!
Monterey Bay Aquarium

blake kathryn

JBB: An Artblog!

❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
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@gothtimelord
Futuristic Robot guys love playing as old timey detectives,
No one is yet to know why this happens.
just learned that magnolias are so old that they’re pollinated by beetles because they existed before bees
They existed *before beetles*
Why is this sad? Why am I sad?
https://xkcd.com/1259/
Bee Orchid
This is how I feel about Joshua Trees. They and avocado trees produce fruit meant to be eaten and dispersed by giant ground sloths. Without them, the Joshua Trees' range has shrunk by 90%.
(my own photos)
Not only they, but the entire Mojave ecosystem is still struggling to adapt since the loss of ground sloth dung. their chief fertilizer.
Many, many trees and plants in the Americas have widely-spaced, extremely long thorns that do nothing to discourage deer eating their leaves, but would've penetrated the fur of ground sloths and mammoths. Likewise, if you've observed a tree that drops baseball or softball-sized fruit which lies on the ground and rots, like Osage Oranges, which were great for playing catch at my school, chances are they were ground sloth or mammoth chow.
You can read about various orphaned plants and trees missing their megafauna in this poignant post:
Trees that once depended on animals like the wooly mammoth for survival have managed to adapt and survive in the modern world.

went to the thrift store today there were so many textures there (affectionate)(derogatory)
me, touching a shirt: hee hee hoo hoo texture :D
me, touching a different shirt: OH NO A TEXTURE D:
REBLOG IF YOU HAVE STRETCHMARKS
This way people can see they’re not alone. I have them and this would help me see that.
even if billie joe was straight (he’s not) teenagers getting offended he used the word faggot in american idiot 16 years after the fact would still be some of the goofiest discourse i have yet to see on this website. if you were young and gay in 2004 that shit rocked your world bc we were living through one of the most powerful resurgences of blind american patriotism and anti-gay evangelical bullshit of the last three decades. i dont think most of yall understand how radical that song, that album, and green day’s overall anti-bush pro-gay stance was for the time. even though we were at the cusp of bush becoming unpopular by the time it was released, american idiot saw a fairly mainstream rock band condemning not just him, but the bigoted, ignorant american culture which created him. to remove all of this context from the song and act like green day was just throwing around homophobic slurs for the hell of it is exactly why people joke nobody has reading comprehension on this website lmao. he’s not weaponizing the term; he’s using it to identify with an alternative american society.
The lyric is:
Well maybe I'm the faggot America
I'm not a part of a redneck agenda
I don't know how to explain to kids these days what it was like to be young and queer in those days. People think I call myself queer because I've never lived in a small and homophobic town, never experienced violence or discrimination, don't know what it's like to have those words thrown at me with anger and hatred.
And it's hard to reach through the pain of those memories and say: there were no words for us that weren't slurs when I was your age.
I was 17 when this song came out. "Gay" was what the boys in my high school called anything they didn't like. "Pop quiz? That's so gay!" A (straight) girl in the drama club shaved her head for cancer and people started calling her a dyke. Her car got egged in the school parking lot and the eggs stayed there long enough to wreck the paint but somehow "nobody saw". The teachers and principal of my Catholic school didn't do anything about that, or about the abuse my gay friend put up with in the halls and every class except drama, because intervening would be "endorsing homosexuality." My gay friend got shipped off to conversion therapy by his family and I never saw him again. Conservative classmates tried to get the drama teacher fired, because she "wasn't supportive of Catholic values."
The only story I knew about gay people in a town like mine was The Laramie Project, about Matthew Sheppard's murder for being gay in a small town in Wyoming. That was the year I started but couldn't finish a play titled "The Lemon Tree" about two girls whose love for each other couldn't survive the homophobia of a town like mine, the same way a lemon tree planted there would be killed stone dead by its harsh winters. It was the year I decided to convert to Catholicism, because I had sincere faith and yes the Church was homophobic but having a real relationship with a woman was never going to be possible for me anyway so it wasn't like I was losing anything, right?
I didn't have access to the gay community or gay media, except through online slash fandom. A year later I found a second depiction of gay people in a town like mine: Brokeback Mountain, about two men whose love was smothered by society's homophobia until one of them was murdered for being gay.
(Now I know that kd lang and Tegan and Sara were openly gay in the 90s and come from my part of the world, although they all had to leave to be successful. Nobody mentioned kd lang's sexuality, and Tegan and Sara didn't get radio play here when I was young.)
And yes, "faggot" was worse than "gay". "Gay" just meant, you know, "bad", but "faggot" meant gay and soft and weak and about to get an ass-kicking.
So I remember those lines and when I first heard them all those years ago. I remember that I was cleaning my room and listening to the radio, and the DJ talked about Green Day's anger at cable news and the war in Iraq and played the song, and those two lines hit me, so hard I was incredulous and couldn't believe that for once somebody was on my side.
Green Day's image was tough and angry and loud, and it's an angry song—not unexpected, basically anyone left-leaning was angry about politics then—and them saying "maybe I'm the faggot" was them saying Come and get me. You can't scare me. This thing you throw out as an insult and a threat? Yeah, I'll own it, and I'll use it to lure you into punching range. You're wrong and I can fight you and win.
It was like a transmission from an alien planet. This was someone so much braver than I could ever imagine being. What that song said to me was that somebody was willing to stand up for me. I had viewed homophobia as an all-powerful cultural force I could either submit to or escape by hiding until I found a safe community, but pro-LGBT punk rock was what taught me that I also had the option to fight.
REBLOG OUR CONTENT. STOP SPAM LIKING.
Just “liking” a bunch of our posts does boost our numbers on those particular posts BUT IT DOES NOT HELP US FIND NEW CUSTOMERS
if you have no intention on buying our content, don’t you think the best way to show support would be to REBLOG our content so potential customers can find us??
THIS IS OUR LIVELIHOOD.
MANY OF US ARE SURVIVAL SW’S.
please reblog our content, please reblog content creator’s work so that we can potentially find someone that will be interested in purchasing what we have, what we all work so damn hard on
STOP SPAM LIKING OUR CONTENT
IT DOES NOT HELP US
REBLOGS ARE CRUCIAL!!
If you can’t afford to buy or even tip-
your next best bet is to aide us in pushing and promoting our content. please and thank you!💞
REBLOG OUR CONTENT. STOP SPAM LIKING.
Just “liking” a bunch of our posts does boost our numbers on those particular posts BUT IT DOES NOT HELP US FIND NEW CUSTOMERS
if you have no intention on buying our content, don’t you think the best way to show support would be to REBLOG our content so potential customers can find us??
THIS IS OUR LIVELIHOOD.
MANY OF US ARE SURVIVAL SW’S.
please reblog our content, please reblog content creator’s work so that we can potentially find someone that will be interested in purchasing what we have, what we all work so damn hard on
STOP SPAM LIKING OUR CONTENT
IT DOES NOT HELP US
REBLOGS ARE CRUCIAL!!
If you can’t afford to buy or even tip-
your next best bet is to aide us in pushing and promoting our content. please and thank you!💞
HEY TUMBLR WHAT’S WITH THIS HMMM
FUCK YOU I’M REBLOGGING THIS
Across the galaxy, every life bearing planet evolved cats and nobody has ever figured out why.
My designation is Vespir, Radiant Prime. My exalted war-frame currently holds a geosynchronous orbit with a small blue and green orb of a planet. I am 276 solar cycles in age, according to the standardized time measurement of our Empire. Said Empire is vast, encapsulating 713 sentient species, over 2,000 habitable worlds in 1328 systems, and hosting three trillion individual existences. We are beautiful in our expanse, and gracious in our sovereignty. All are equal under the banner of the Empire, and all opportunities are afforded to those that would prove their willingness to work. Societal strife is practically non-existent, and our recorded history notes this current time as being the most peaceful to exist, other than skirmishes with anti-Empire federations. By all accounts, I am pleased and honored to live and serve in such a beneficent stewardship.
However, one question has always burned in the core of my being since my earliest days, and it is for this reason that I have come to this far-off world. The question? That in and of itself is a small tale. I believe I was 15 cycles old at the time. Hah. How young. My psionic crystals had just grown in and my toxin sacs were constantly full. Such a time of adventure where every stray thought caught in my receptor was prized upon as a shining treasure. Alas.
We were on a science vessel for an educational trip, headed to a small biological preserve, and it was there that an interesting…quirk of the universe was revealed to us. A bored-looking Shalui grasped a small, mammalian animal in it’s numerous manipulator tendrils, stroking it’s short black fur with one while gently supporting it with the other six.
“This life-form is a warm blooded, fur-possessing, carbon based quadruped belonging to the genus Helyne. Though many species exist under the genus of Helyne, all species are capable of successful mating with one another, producing viable offspring. Furthermore…” the Shalui instructor droned on, but we had long ago stopped paying attentions. Kaits, as they were called in our language, were admittedly adorable, but they were also everywhere. Our family took care of three. Why were we being told about something as basic as this?
My question was soon answered, though I had not voiced it with vocal or psionic activity.
“Though a generally agreeable type of life, no one would call the Heylne line particularly noteworthy. Steadfast companions, to be sure, but utterly common in ability and makeup. However,” our instructor mused for a moment as one manipulator tendril splayed open to gently caress the fuzzy cheeks of the animal. Seemingly caught up in the affectionate motion, he hastily continued. “there’s one exceptional thing about the Heylne.”
Silence, other than the contented vocalizations from the kait in his hands.
“Across every star system we have reached, every world we have annexed, every regrettable war we have fought, one constant remains true. The genus Helyne. If you’re unaware of the significance of that…Vespir. Come here, if you would, young lord.” My features must have betrayed my rapt attention. I rose, not breaking sitting posture, enveloped in a blue shroud of psionic energy. Regarding me for a moment, the instructor whispered something into my mind and I nodded.
At the Shalui’s request, I unfurled my six slender legs, letting their scything tips gently click against the metal floor. It was considered rude for an Espiri to walk using their legs in spaces that were not their own and instead we moved with our psionic power once we were capable. Our legs were strong and slender, beautiful in a way, but had evolved as tools of fierce locomotion and terrifying weapons of predation. Not suitable for a civilized society.
I now stood directly next to the Shalui instructor. Our races had come into their own on the same planet, in the same biomes. We fought and killed for thousands of cycles, until we abandoned the hatreds of our past and formed the Empire some seventeen thousand cycles ago. I understood the point my instructor was trying to make then and there.
For living on the same planet, eating the same food, and adapting to the same circumstances, our races couldn’t be more physically different. Shalui were, to put it basically, a walking bundle of tentacles that had adapted to different tasks. That was a gross oversimplification, but enough to illustrate the point. Their faces were a gently pulsating mass of thin, gorgeous lines that fluctuated and reformed to make expressions. Espiri found them especially attractive when they were angry. On the other hand, an Espiri was a basic head-torso-limbs situation. Six legs, two arms, a slender build throughout. We possessed chiseled skulls, angular and almost geometric. As we aged, psionic nodes grew through our bodies, allowing us to manipulate our surroundings and communicate without talking.
So how had the kait, or rather, the Helyne spread all the way across our galaxy and remained so ubiquitous? Simply living in a different hemisphere provided interesting variations of life, not to mention the extreme changes regarding the long timelines and unique challenges facing evolutionary growth on entirely new planets.
From that day I knew. It was no accident, no random occurrence. Someone, or something, had seeded all worlds with this spark of life. Perhaps a great progenitor race, brilliant and wise in their infinite ages. For the next 250 cycles, I rose through the ranks of society, becoming Radiant Prime to Her Burning Will. Our light shone across the galaxy, illuminating the darkest corners, seeking answers lost to the scourges of war and time.
I found it. At the edges of the Empire, on the fringes of civilized society, I found it. That progenitor-world I dreamed of as a youth, and chased voraciously. I devoured every scrap of knowledge from every single sentient race we came across until I had the pieces in my hands, and could only follow them to their conclusion. We had no designated name for the planet, but radio wave blasts recorded millennia gave me a moniker. Earth. A curious planet. Holding orbit, I gathered data with my war-frame, perusing imagery of the surface. I glowered at the feeds. There was nothing here. Perhaps once, long ago, some 150,000 cycles ago, there was a spacefaring civilization. But it had gone, and all that remained was the peaceful husk of massive tower, gleaming near the equator. Faint traces of technology were visible in the scans, including what looked to be a data repository based on the banks of crystal lattices buried in the earth. The tip of the tower looked like it once contained a massive payload, presumably ejected long ago into starspace.
Activating the anti-grav psions in the flux core, I descended on the “Earth.” I had built a communications cipher using their ancient radio blasts, capable of translating their Eyglishe and Khainese to our native tongue. The spire was wholly consumed with vegetation, but the structure was built to last. Perhaps a final monument to a species that encountered too many genetic flaws to continue. Perhaps a world grave, built by conquerors. Perhaps…simply an entertainment center. I had no way of knowing.
Granting the space due reverence, I left the metallic shell of my war-frame and glided across the verdant flora that covered every inch. Holding one arm out in front of me, a holographic display popped to life, and augmented my vision. The data told me “down”, and so I descended from daylight into darkness.
Time was nigh-meaningless on this star, but I felt the moments slip away from me. The holographic display indicated a passing of a thirty-sixth of a rotation before I reached the presumed data repository. It went without saying that there was no power, but our civilization was great in it’s foresight and technology, especially in regards to discovering secrets of the past. From a canister I produced an adaptive nanopolymer and a universal hardline connector to the solar power bays of my war-frame. After clearing off the console that was connected to the crystal lattices, I carefully poured the polymer over the console and watched it think for a fraction of a moment before shaping into a plug for the connector.
I was finally here. Ready to learn the secrets of the past. 250 cycles in the making for me, but how much longer for the brave spirits that undertook this before me? I, Vespir, Radiant Prime, stood on the precipice of fate and prepared to be illuminated.
The console flicked to life. A holographic display of an Earth native seemed to spin in place, surprised, before looking up at me. It appeared female, with a thick mane of black keratin descending from it’s round skull. It wore garments of black over it’s leggings and torso, accentuated with a coat of white. It’s skin was an attractive dark olive colouration - most likely a defense against the somewhat strong ultraviolet radiation. It’s two eyes - front facing, predatory and keen, decorated in lavish black frames - centered on me for a long moment.
It laughed, loudly. Audio boomed through the undisturbed halls. This was a vocalization of joy? Despair? Displeasure?
“Holy shit, you’re kinda fuckin’ ugly man.” The hologram said, adjusting the frames on it’s skull, as if to see me better. It was a hologram. It did not need to perform this action to see me better. The translation was instant, and I understood the words, but I could not help my disbelief. The Earth-form continued.
“Well, I say ugly, but that’s from my viewpoint. Biologically, god damn you’re fucking beautiful. Look at those legs! And you’re not even using ‘em! Wow. Those crystals? Is that some sort of psychic waveform generation? Jesus. Wish the actual me was around to meet you.” The hologram mused on as I regained my composure.
“I am Vespir, Earth-form. Radiant Prime of Her Burning Will. Who are you?” The earth-form tapped a digit to it’s lips before speaking.
“I’m Emma, uh, a human being. I’m the…brilliant…researcher of a super long dead civilization! Like, 180,000 years dead according to the data I’m getting just now and oh god that’s pretty depressing. I’m also a mind scan, so I’m really not even Emma. But hey, close enough, right big guy?” Sadness touched upon my mind, and I identified this feeling as my own. Waking up from an eternal slumber to find your existence to be unreal and your species gone.
“I apologize for this intrusion, and for disturbing your much deserved rest. However…” I trailed off “Emma-Uh, I must kno-” In my excitement, I realized I had descended and splayed my legs out on the ground, so that I was supporting my own weight. My psionic nodes pulsed an embarrassed blue, and I retracted my legs, floating once more.
“Cute.”
“I….?”
“You were so excited you had to actually stand.” She was uncanny in her intelligence, noting my apprehension at using my legs in this space. I admired it.
“It was…not a deliberate action, this much is true. Regardless. I’m afraid I really must ask a question of you, before I return you to your vigil.” Emma-Uh seemed to regard me for a moment before she shrugged.
“Shoot, but I’m gonna give you a condition if you want my answer to whatever it is you hauled your alien ass out here for.” Her stance seemed aggressive. A power play, for sure, but it could not be contested. She held the correct cards, and I was surely performing a disservice to her by practically waking the dead.
“Agreed. What do you wish?”
“Take me with you.” She didn’t miss a beat. Bending down at the waist, she touched the non-existent ground and stood back up. “You’ve got some pretty amazing technology to interface with some old human junk this easily. You’ve obviously got a ship with some mode of faster-than-light travel if you’re here by yourself. You also have freakin’ psychic powers. I’m sure you can build me some kind of hot robot body in exchange for whatever priceless knowledge you want from little old me. Old, old, old me.”
To say I was floored would be an understatement. But I could not refuse. Brash and vulgar, but possessed of a keen intellect, Emma-Uh could be a fantastic asset to our Empire. There was also something else.
Empathy. Guilt. I woke her into a quiet and unmoving world where she was the last of her kind. In that moment, she was thrust into the future and found out she was the digital ghost of a long dead woman. To say I felt reprehensible would to understate the matter.
“Glowing spider dude, just let me see the stars, come on. I’ll tell you anything.” Her voice pierced my mired thoughts.
“…Agreed.”
“So what did you wanna know?”
I considered heavily for a moment, before I asked the question.
“What…are kaits? Helyne? Why are they on every habitable planet? Why are they such a constant?” The translator that met our words halfway formed these into the words she knew. Her eyes went wide and she laughed, laughed so hard she cried, falling down onto an invisible ground and rolling around.
“Cats? Oh dude, it worked? It fucking worked! Dude!” She yelled loudly, staring up at the forested ceiling. It was a long moment before she spoke, holographic eyes glazed over in remembrance.
“Well, our civilization was dying out, we never mastered faster than light travel on a scale big enough to move colony ships. Just tight-beam information blasts. Everyone else was gone, and I was here, alone. The real me, not this spooky Microsoft ghost. It was just me and Ike, my pet. And I was like, ‘gee, Emma, aren’t cats great?’ So I…well. I kinda took a sample of Ike and ran it through a profiler, and I made a million, million variations of that double helix, and…I blasted that information into the great void. I really just thought, ‘wouldn’t it be neat if everyone could have a cat, even when all the humans are gone?’ It’d be a shame if the best thing about Earth couldn’t be shared with the stars.”
Confusion and a strange joy welled in my core. It was a longer moment before I spoke, deploying a data-probe into the console as I did. It activated a prompt for Emma-Uh to respond to as I did. The prompt read, “Accept transfer?”
“So…you, blasted a genetic information wave to the entire galaxy, seeding countless stars with Helyne data, because you thought ‘cats’ were great?”
“Yeah, that’s basically it.” Emma-Uh nodded as she tapped the prompt, slowly transferring into the war-frame’s vast databanks. I spoke to the warm darkness ahead of me, unsure if Emma-Uh would hear my words. They needed to be said anyway.
“…You made a wonderful difference to the universe.”
::clutches this post tightly::
OH WELL JESUS.
awww @punishedlynx well done what a nice story
I’m not crying no you stop crying
Eddie and the Hot Rods. ‘Get out of Denver’. [Bob Seger cover live 1975/6].
i need to put a slice of moon in my mouth like a cold fruit
#it would be crunchy like biscotti
tell me in the tags what the moon tastes like
unpopular opinion but i think the film and tv industries should have better labor laws even if it makes it harder or impossible to depict certain things
i dont care if it makes it harder to produce game of thrones or whatever, acting should not leave women traumatized
Okay I know this is about acting and people are getting more traction about it (sexuality safety coordinators are a job! yell about them. demand your shows get them) but
Any person who has worked on a set for more than a few years has at least one person they know who died.
Not usually on set, but afterwards. Because we don’t have anyone shutting down production for unsafe practices when “unsafe” means 16 hour days. Or more. For weeks. Finishing a day before hour 12 (not including lunch) is considered an early leave.
I had teachers tell us not to, unless we absolutely had to, take music video gigs because they’ll work you for 24 hours and send you to drive home. And if we had to work that, pull over and nap in our car because multiple people per year fall asleep at the wheel and go over the canyons around LA.
I know you mean acting but please. Don’t forget the crew. We have a shockingly high rate of suicide because these working schedules leave us with no sleep, no time outside of work, and it destroys lives, relationships, and families. Burnout is high. Chronic illness and broken bodies are common. Cocaine use in order to get through a 20 hour day is rampant. Every single one of your reality shows is fueled by cocaine.
The number of days that are scheduled to shoot a feature has shrunk dramatically in the past two decades. Which means longer days.
Netflix shows are notorious for being poorly organized, understaffed, and long days.
There are labor laws but what they do is levy fines. Those fines are either factored into budget, people are bullied into not reporting actual hours, or crew members see them as incentive to take those jobs because more money and cost of living is high. (Also this industry has a crew culture of dick measuring by sticking your wang in a blender and boasting about how many 100 hour weeks you pulled.)
this can be applied for people working in animation as well. Like I know people who work at Pixar and they straight up work 12 hour days and go into work on weekends to meet their deadlines. The incredibles 2 made over a billion dollars and Pixar still cut jobs due to “budget”. The entertainment industry is a business at the end of the day. There here to make money and they are going to do it at the expense of workers because they know no one is going to do anything about it.
This is why I get pissy when people have a go about British TV shows only producing 10-12 episodes per season at most, instead of 24. Do you know why? Because the UK has fucking labour laws.
When I worked on BBC Causalty, as soon as it hit 5pm, everything stopped. The producer/director etc would have a quick meeting to decide if we’d go into overtime or schedule it in later in the week. And I got an extra payslip in the mail for every minute of overtime I did, even though I was paid a weekly rate.
I don’t care if it means producing less content. I don’t care if it means it costs twice as much - if treating your creatives and your crew like shit is needed to make your show, then your show doesn’t deserve to get made.
And that’s aside from the fact that actors are often exploited, neglected, coerced into doing scenes they’re uncomfortable with etc or outright abused by directors for the sake of ~performance.
No art is worth that.
Literally stop what you’re doing and please watch this short little animation about a black cat and a pitbull. I only cried a few times I swear. :’)
My new favorite short, not even joking I was crying - sobbing even - through most of this. Just way too good, and so very well done
I think you need a break
In case anyone needs this today.
How most people with invisible illnesses are treated by health care “professionals”
The Golden Girls didn’t fuck around
pls watch
honestly i really appreciated this scene when I first saw it bc it took me like two years to get a diagnosis for what’s wrong with me
Dorothy: Dr. Budd?
Dr. Budd: Yes?
Dorothy: You probably don’t remember me, but you told me I wasn’t sick. Do you remember? You told me I was just getting old.
Dr. Budd: I’m sorry, I really don’t–
Dorothy: Remember. Maybe you’re getting old. That’s a little joke. Well, I tell you, Dr. Budd, I really am sick. I have chronic fatigue syndrome. That is a real illness. You can check with the Center for Disease Control.
Dr. Budd: Huh. Well, I’m sorry about that.
Dorothy: Well, I’m glad! At least I know I have something.
Dr. Budd: I’m sure. Well, nice seeing you.
Dorothy: Not so fast. There are some things I have to say. There are a lot of things that I have to say. Words can’t express what I have to say. [tearing up] What I went through, what you put me through—I can’t do this in a restaurant.
Dr. Budd: Good!
Dorothy: But I will!
Dr. Budd’s date: Louis, who is this person?
Dr. Budd: Look, Miss–
Dorothy: Sit. I sat for you long enough. Dr. Budd, I came to you sick—sick and scared—and you dismissed me. You didn’t have the answer, and instead of saying “I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with you,” you made me feel crazy, like I had made it all up. You dismissed me! You made me feel like a child, a fool, a neurotic who was wasting your precious time. Is that your caring profession? Is that healing? No one deserves that kind of treatment, Dr. Budd, no one. I suspect had I been a man, I might have been taken a bit more seriously, and not told to go to a hairdresser.
Dr. Budd: Look, I am not going to sit here anymore–
Dr. Budd’s date: Shut up, Louis.
Dorothy: I don’t know where you doctors lose your humanity, but you lose it. You know, if all of you, at the beginning of your careers, could get very sick and very scared for a while, you’d probably learn more from that than anything else. You’d better start listening to your patients. They need to be heard. They need caring. They need compassion. They need attending to. You know, someday, Dr. Budd, you’re gonna be on the other side of the table, and as angry as I am, and as angry as I always will be, I still wish you a better doctor than you were to me.
you can tell a lot about someone based on their phone background. it shows what’s most important to them
Reblog this and put what your phone background in the tags
(insp)