— josé olivarez // natalie diaz
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let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
todays bird
trying on a metaphor
Not today Justin
Xuebing Du
d e v o n
Keni

Andulka
Sweet Seals For You, Always

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One Nice Bug Per Day

Product Placement

pixel skylines

blake kathryn

ellievsbear
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2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year

Kaledo Art

Discoholic 🪩
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@melistopheles
— josé olivarez // natalie diaz
I do miss the old names
30+ year old women are the backbone of this website
reblog if you're literally 30+
Will you reblog this and say in the tags what book you're currently reading, or which book you most recently read?
Yes
No
Not reading anything currently & don't remember the last book I read
My work here is done.
He's real.
I know you.
Finally got around to figuring out gifs from FCP. Gird your loins.
It's like a Pokemon evolution happened
The difference a translation makes
Nothing is different: thin snow beats Against the dining-room window-pane. I am totally unchanged, But a man came to see me.
I asked: "What do you want?" "To be with you in hell." I laughed, "Ah, there I can't Oblige you, you'd wish us ill."
His dry hand touched a petal With a light caress. "Tell me how they kiss you, Tell me how you kiss."
And his eyes, glinting dully, Never slid from my ring; Never a single muscle Moved under his snakeskin.
O, I know: his joy, his greed, Is to know intensely, eye to ete, There's nothing that he needs, Nothing I can deny.
THE GUEST, Anna Akhmatova Translated by D.M. Thomas
And so it was one morning, some weeks later, as she rested her forehead on the ground, knees tucked neatly beneath her chest as she breathed into the snug folds of her pose, that his voice took her by surprise.
“I know you have to go, soon, but if you have even a little extra time, I’d love for you to see the rest of the place.”
All the relaxation evaporated from her body and he must have seen it for he added:
“I’ve sensed that you’d rather keep your distance and if it’s me that worries you, any of your yogi companions here would happily take my place and show you around.”
This was a crux moment.
The trauma in her past simultaneously screamed in her head to run away from this man and to run towards him. His soft, rasping voice was all allure and pull. Running would be smartest, the survivor’s choice, but when did survival make way for living again? A tiny, tiny part of her brain whispered that she would have to be close to him to show him she was wise to it all, and so what if being close felt a little like safety and belonging? Then that was just a nice coincidence.
She lifted her gaze up and around to him to answer, and the words she should speak, “maybe another time,” hitched upon his bluest eyes and the soft, unchallenging gaze they bathed her with, and she acquiesced.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Tell me.
One never really recovered from being a card-carrying, true-believing, leave-it-all-behind-to-live-in-the-desert member of a cult. Entering society as a young adult who’d known only a rural, disconnected life had been enormously challenging. The years - her most formative years - of being fed an isolationist diet of fear and assurances that the outside world would taint and pollute by merely moving around in it, had left her ignorant, unsocialized, fearful and profoundly unable to trust. She’d been “rescued” at age 19, nearly 12 years ago now. The road to what was her normal, these days, had been rough, and she knew she would never, ever leave it all behind. It was part of the makeup of her being. She would carry the shape of it all her life, but in doing so would be incapable of being so duped ever again.
And then there was Arthur Harrow.
https://archiveofourown.org/works/63523522