#but seriously

[womenfeet12]

If the first thing that pops up when you tag “women are” is “baby factories” or “fl*eshlights”

It’s insane.

[snoopysvictoire]

which the pitt character is the most likely to have had a grunge/emo aesthetic tumblr and have it found by their coworkers and why is it lowkey trinity santos

[everything-else-official]

—————

Here’s something I found fascinating.

There is very little connecting this account to my main.

The only tell would be certain spikes of activity from one that correlates to the other.

Somehow, despite this, @anonmous-offical managed to leave a single like on a single post from my main.

They were one of only two people to do so.

The other was one of my mutuals.

How the heck did you find me.

—————

[gumbyisforlovers]

Just turned on the ESPYs. What has the PWHL done to me?

[rainynightart]

Decided to see a few fanarts these days and locked in. That's why you got 3 art posts from me in a row hehe. I'm actually starting to get the hang out of Infinite Painter.

[im-out-of-it]

oh, so you don’t feel high when you’re happy and dead when you’re depressed??? that must be nice. where can I sign in to trade for this subscription???

[masasinsanity]

“How long will you carry on?” he muses. “What is the point of dragging yourself through another day, when there is no reprieve?”

Questions she has asked herself in the dead of night, moments of weakness when winter sank its teeth into her skin, or hunger clawed against her bones, when a space was taken, a day’s work undone, a night’s peace lost, and she could not bear the thought of rising to do it all again. And yet, hearing the words parroted back like this, in his voice instead of hers, they lose a measure of their venom.

“Don’t you see?” he says, green eyes sharp as broken glass. “There is no end besides the one I offer. All you have to do is yiel—”

“I saw an elephant,” says Addie, and the words are like cold water on coals. The darkness stills beside her, and she continues, gaze fixed on the ramshackle house, and the broken roof, and the open sky above. “Two, in fact. They were in the palace grounds, as part of some display. I didn’t know animals could be so large. And there was a fiddler in the square the other day,” she presses on, her voice steady, “and his music made me cry. It was the prettiest song I’d ever heard. I had Champagne, drank it straight from the bottle, and watched the sun set over the Seine while the bells rang out from Notre-Dame, and none of it would have happened back in Villon.” She turns to look at him. “It has only been two years,” she says. “Think of all the time I have, and all the things I’ll see.”