#none of the

[henrykudhirai]

pick some aesthetic stuff and ill diss you normally

(also it’s all jokes all of you are awesome <3)

[oliviamillss]

why do i know SO many people with mars in 10th? it rlly sucks cus i dont even understand the placement

[augujerdeer]

I wish we finished things for real. Like theres some stuff we read or are into that we cant finish because idk?? its like... it was announced these stuff is “going to end soon!” and the moment it COMES the brain is like ‘well guess ill NEVER FINISH IT

Its not even OUR projects or anything. Its us trying to finish any media or source other people make like a tv show or comic.... like its OVER and finished now but we need to hype up and FORCE our brain to finish what we were reading or watching that i swear we were and are genuinely interested in!! And it hasnt worked yet we have unfinished media still..........

Like whats up with that its really annoying and means were so behind on media/source info

[ilargeicontradictmiself]

The worst thing about going into recommended enemies/friends to lovers (or whatever other trope) books is I already know it happens. There's none of the suspecting, seeing glimpses of chemistry and wondering if there's something there.

[scottbcrowley2]

Grip on Sports: The Bloomsday run, the Run for the Roses, none of these are as easy as running down the Mariners' chances - Sun, 05 May 2019 PST

A GRIP ON SPORTS • As thousands of scantily clad folks prepare to make a 7.5-mile run through Spokane this morning, we sit down at our computer for our daily jog through all the Interweb has to offer. Seems about equal. Grip on Sports: The Bloomsday run, the Run for the Roses, none of these are as easy as running down the Mariners' chances - Sun, 05 May 2019 PST

[trixclibrarian]

because no one else will

women, with their shirt sleeves rolled up like nineteen fifties heartthrobs... if i ever feel sexy again i’m going to acquire a white shirt and wear it with the sleeves rolled up above the elbows. hope for a woman who might both appreciate and notice...

my grandmother, daughter of the poorest dead farmer, younger sister to nine brothers ranging up to twenty-two years older, married because she was pregnant to a man ten years older, anniversary sworn to secrecy, bore five boys in the next six point five years. 

my grandmother wanted a girl grandbaby so badly. 

my grandmother who washed, let’s count them, six times seven white shirts by hand in the basement crank machine means forty-two shirts in three basket loads up the steps and out to the yard where they hung dry outside on the line hot or cold. winter or summer, my grandmother who carried two buckets, first clean then dirty, suds then rinse, up and down the basement steps, changing the water after every fourth shirt. bleached dry hands on the metal bucket handle. 

then, my grandmother who carried the dry shirts back in again in three loads of baskets and then into the room behind the kitchen where she ironed them with an iron heated on the stove and then starched them, collars and cuffs totalling forty-two to eighty-four respectively. my grandmother who hung them on wooden hangers then, buttoning each at the neck and carrying them, in four loads now, up the steps and hanging them in their respective closets. 

before she went downstairs again to begin on their pants, there were only eighteen pairs of them. thank heaven they could not afford enough to wear clean trousers every day. 

my grandmother who spent every spare minute in the garden, canning, darning, cleaning, mending. my grandmother who lived with five boys underfeet constantly while my grandfather worked at the oil refinery. 

my grandmother, whose only relief came... imperceptibly, even to her. on saturdays, when my grandpa ran the LP gas service truck around the county for extra money... on saturday’s my grandfather would take one boy with him. 

“To lighten your load,” he said. “You’re a fortunate woman, Delores.” 

my grandmother who never had anyone come close to understanding her. my grandmother, who adored my mother for giving her the first sympathy she’d ever known. 

my grandmother who was my father’s mother. my grandmother who was bitter for infinite good reason. my grandmother who abused me. my grandmother, I know. 

[logarto]

wow isnt it amazing that lucio and junkrat are both trans