Andulka
No title available
No title available
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
祝日 / Permanent Vacation
No title available
occasionally subtle
hello vonnie
Peter Solarz
$LAYYYTER
Janaina Medeiros
Cosmic Funnies
shark vs the universe
YOU ARE THE REASON
JBB: An Artblog!
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
No title available
taylor price
titsay
seen from Germany
seen from Germany
seen from Belgium
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Brazil
seen from United States
seen from Poland
seen from T1
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Maldives
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Netherlands
seen from T1
@letstheatermaker
Spin this wheel of ~300 AO3 tags three times.
Congratulations! The 4th dimension exists and you are their FAVORITE blorbo. The tags you got are from the most popular, most influential fanfic starring you. How are you feeling?
this is the best possible outcome for me
this is pretty good
this is fine. i guess.
this is terrible actually
they're assassinating my character
i'm suing the fourth dimension
Laura Wheeler Waring - Marian Anderson (1944)
Marian Anderson was an American contralto.
Painted by Harlem Renaissance painter Laure Wheeler Waring.
Lil garden ✨✨🍀🌱🍀✨✨✨
many worms on a string
quiet winter mornings in the countryside
The carved linoleum block from my last print, a sora with string/a worm coming out of its heart.
incredibly necessary context
Calabria, Italy (by alan)
Princess Leia Organa in Star Wars #6
Art by Danijela Antunović
The Gambler's Wife, 1897 by Margaret Deborah Cookesley (English, 1844–1927)
Hallstatt, Austria (by Nathalie)
Mary Bonner - Mrs. McNay's Dog and Pup (1930)
ELIE SAAB Couture Spring/Summer 2025 if you want to support this blog consider donating to: ko-fi.com/fashionrunways
Imaginative Scenes Vibrantly Expand in Shelley Aldrich’s Illustrated Tunnel Books
a few minutes ago, at exactly midnight, i heard soft distant honking and looked out the cracked window to see a group of trumpeter swans flying low over the fields, huge and white and unearthly, their shadows flung crisp-black onto glittering snow by the moonlight, and then they were gone and a moment later their voices were gone too and in the wake of them was a sort of loneliness that is hard to quite get words around
