Yes I’m A Gay Man. Yes I Have No Interior Design Sense. Yes We Exist.

people saying shit like "oh confidence is hot as long as it doesn't tip into like, smugness or arrogance" is bizarre what is hotter than a smug woman. what on earth is hotter than a smug fucking grin as viewed from the perspective of the kneeling. you would ask the sun to stay humble just to dodge a minor burn you fucking rube

Tlt brainrot

Did I cry while I was making some of these?

Absolutely yes.🥲

Imagine being a reverse Superman where you're really weak and struggle to keep up with your peers for your whole life until you learn that you're actually just from a race of aliens with comparatively shit body strength. This is the premise of Tarzan

thinking about anastasia trusova paintings again

sat bolt upright in bed at 12:38am to deliver this extremely hot take.

I would like posit that Gideon has no fucking idea what a cow is, and that Jod, self-aware memelord that he is, decided to decorate his inner sanctum with engravings of cattle.

no te hagas ilusiones

Harrow the Ninth, chapters 48 and 49:

If Gideon had been there—no, if Gideon had been there, Harrow still couldn’t have hoped for a running commentary. Griddle didn’t know how to do running commentary. She would suck her breath through her teeth, or mutter in ecstasy words that meant nothing to anyone who wasn’t her, things like, “right foot,” in tones that suggested that if she died on the spot, that right foot would have somehow been the apex of her existence. Nor could she ever explain a fight after the fact in terms that Harrow could understand. But if her cavalier had been there, Harrow was fairly sure that she would have sucked her molars out of their sockets from sheer intensity of feeling.

~

It was your curt, aggravated handwriting, curter and more aggravated than ever, like you’d written it in a hurry. I’d gotten so many letters in that handwriting, calling me names or bossing me around. You’d touched that letter, and I—you know it was killing me twice that you weren’t there, right? You must know it was destroying me to be there in your body, trying to keep your thumbs on, and I couldn’t even hear your damn voice?

tonight’s breakdown theme: soft mutual yearning for small things about each other that no one else could appreciate

my favorite kind of character is the kind who deep in their soul is constantly screaming LOVE ME LOVE ME LOVE ME and outwardly expressing literally anything else

thank you lesbians that make strange & unmarketable art

Can’t believe hooty invented gay people