Little Reveries @littlereveries - Tumblr Blog

So I get that two nerdy dudes might be a bit uncomfortable with this idea but I'm sure many nerdfighters with boobs will agree that DFTBA sports bras/ sports crops would be awesome. Please make them a thing!

It does not make me uncomfortable, but:

I’m not sure of the demand

I’m not sure how to actually produce such a thing.

Reblog if this is something you’d buy!

Some quick poster-making practicing.

#tfios #hectic glow #dftba records

deactivated-blog

handa

firedfly-deactivated20140428

そのはねは　うつくしく　かるく

じょうぶで　みずをはじく

jerfreyy-deactivated20240211

What if you wake up some day, and you’re 65, or 75, and you never got your memoir or novel written; or you didn’t go swimming in warm pools and oceans all those years because your thighs were jiggly and you had a nice big comfortable tummy; or you were just so strung out on perfectionism and people-pleasing that you forgot to have a big juicy creative life, of imagination and radical silliness and staring off into space like when you were a kid? It’s going to break your heart. Don’t let this happen.

Anne Lamott (via makethemdream)

kari-shma

Long Exposure Photographs of Fireflies in the Forests of Nagoya City by Yume Cyan

kari-shma

Macro Photographs of Dew-Covered Insects by David Chambon

atlinja

#truedat

neil-gaiman

In the Universe where black cats rule, this was Take Your Human To Work Day.

myjetpack

photojojo

Thomas Jackson takes ordinary objects and suspends them in picturesque scenes!

‘Emergent Behavior’ - Not Your Average Levitation Photos

eudainoia-deactivated20190129

Writing isn’t about making money, getting famous, getting dated, getting laid, or making friends. In the end, it’s about enriching the lives of those who will read your work, and enriching your own life, as well. It’s about getting up, getting well, and getting over. Getting happy, okay? Getting happy.

Stephen King, ‘On Writing’ (via eudainoia)

fourcolorfanboy

Fantasy is silver and scarlet, indigo and azure, obsidian veined with gold and lapis lazuli. Reality is plywood and plastic, done up in mud brown and olive drab. Fantasy tastes of habaneros and honey, cinnamon and cloves, rare red meat and wines as sweet as summer. Reality is beans and tofu, and ashes at the end. Reality is the strip malls of Burbank, the smokestacks of Cleveland, a parking garage in Newark. Fantasy is the towers of Minas Tirith, the ancient stones of Gormenghast, the halls of Camelot. Fantasy flies on the wings of Icarus, reality on Southwest Airlines. Why do our dreams become so much smaller when they finally come true? We read fantasy to find the colors again, I think. To taste strong spices and hear the songs the sirens sang. There is something old and true in fantasy that speaks to something deep within us, to the child who dreamt that one day he would hunt the forests of the night, and feast beneath the hollow hills, and find a love to last forever somewhere south of Oz and north of Shangri-La. They can keep their heaven. When I die, I’d sooner go to Middle-Earth.

George R.R. Martin. (via samflynn)