Liam ”It‘s been. My honor.” Mairi
Monterey Bay Aquarium
will byers stan first human second
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
NASA

Kiana Khansmith
Keni
YOU ARE THE REASON
cherry valley forever
Stranger Things

pixel skylines
Claire Keane

oozey mess

⁂
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
hello vonnie
Cosimo Galluzzi
Xuebing Du
occasionally subtle
Cosmic Funnies

Kaledo Art
seen from United States

seen from T1
seen from United States

seen from Iraq
seen from Brazil

seen from Brazil
seen from Germany
seen from Brazil
seen from United States
seen from United States
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seen from United States
seen from United States
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seen from Malaysia

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@terrasensxfireheart
Liam ”It‘s been. My honor.” Mairi
"Hi, my name is Tairn. This is my scary wife, Sgaeyl, my idiot daughter, Andarna, and my other idiot daughter, Violet."
–Tairn for the entirety of Iron Flame, probably
It might be temporary, but I was here for as long as Ella would let me stay. Because somewhere between letter number one and letter number twenty-four, I'd fallen in love with her.
-Beckett Gentry
just look at these fluffy motherfuckers. i want ten of them
What's Love Got to Do with It? (2022)
This blog is my adult version of cutting pictures out of magazines and glueing them on to paper
Tonight all these lives converge here The mosaics of laughter and cocktails of tears Where fraternal souls sing identical things And it’s beautiful It’s rapturous. It is frightening. ____
I can’t tell you how proud I am to share this with you, an album that just feels so right. A forever thank you goes out to my mentors and friends Max and Shellback for helping me paint this self portrait.
If you thought the big show was wild, perhaps you should come and take a look behind the curtain…
The Life of a Showgirl is out now.
https://taylor.lnk.to/TSTheLifeofaShowgirl
Album Producers: Max Martin, Shellback and Taylor Swift
📸: Mert Alas & Marcus Piggott
Read the Room
"Read the room," they tell me
As if the room is my native language
"Read the room," they assume doing so
Is as easy as reading a picture book
But to me it feels like reading a thousand-page long instruction manual
To me, reading the room is like reading French
I never grew up knowing the language
And had to learn it in school
Even now, after years of studying,
I have to try my hardest, tilt my head,
Use Google Translate and hope no one will notice
But of course Google Translate isn't always accurate
"Read the room," but each room has its own language
Some rooms are made of incomprehensible runes and symbols
Other rooms are made of letters mushed together and mixed around
And still in other rooms I think I can understand what they say
But it turns out that everything was in code
And I was reading it wrong the entire time
At some point I think I have run out of room-languages
Yet I keep finding more I have to decipher,
More rooms to squint my eyes at, hold up to the light,
Fiddle around with and try to comprehend
"Read the room," well, if it's so easy for you,
Why don't you just tell me what the room is saying?
Yes, you, the expert cryptographer,
Who seems to know how to read every single room
No matter what language it's written in
"Read the room," and I'm trying, I'm really trying!
But the words are confusing and the ink is smudged
And the room won't tell me anything
And no one else will tell me anything
And I don't know if this is a language I even know
Or if it's one I'm supposed to know, just encrypted
Or maybe my eyes just aren't focussing properly
Or maybe I'm reading this upside down
And Google Translate isn't working, it's coming out all gibberish
And I don't know, I don't know, I don't know!
…
"For God's sake, stop making such a fuss!
Can't you read the room?"
I'm tired of these mood swings.
where it is quiet and safe.
a poem by Zine
somewhere there’s a grave for me in it lies a girl fresh faced at sixteen she was so tired so i buried her
in it lies a girl wrapped in fine things i bring her sweet treats memories and pictures of new friends and lovers she grins still remembering a time we didn’t fear those we called friends
fresh faced at sixteen but she only cares about old friends names i barely remember she asks why they don’t visit and i laugh she doesn’t have to worry
she was so tired but here swallowed by the forest shade she exists in a moment where we didn’t have to bury people we love
being raised by adults who were always angry at you means becoming an adult who’s always angry at yourself
sometimes i look in the mirror and don’t even recognize myself. like i’m trapped inside a stranger who just happens to have my face.
swinging rapidly from "maybe i'll be okay" to "it never gets better" every damn day
i can’t believe we’re all young professionals and academics and we’re still logging on to tumblr.com every single day to clown on ourselves. who let this happen