Reblog for a larger sample size, if possible.
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the infamous 'last sighting of a barbary lion in the wild' photo taken by marcelin flandrin (1925) haunts me to my core. there's something so achingly poetic about it.
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vibe check (kisses you on the lips)
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Tragedy! You set out to read a negative review of a piece of media you dislike, only to find that the critic is being completely unfair to it and making a bunch of bad, unsupportable arguments.
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My job on the commune is to trim each individual piece of grass with very tiny scissors.
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my father is the worst man alive and i am his favorite daughter
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fandom sucks now I never see PSAs for writers about what can and cannot be used as lube
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you need to get it out of your mind that psychosomatic illness is just “making up symptoms” when it’s actually much more like your body is being actively poisoned by chemicals released from your brain
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Even with the perfected flow of his movements, Xue Yang’s sharp smile detracts from his portrayal of Xiao Xingchen, but he just can’t help himself. He lifts Song Lan’s arm and twirls himself under it, his robes fanning out and lightly brushing against the other.
Song Lan initiates the second twirl, and holds out his other arm when it looks like Xue Yang might lose his balance.
He doesn’t, and simply laughs joyfully as he rights himself.
your hands and mine, a fic about xue yang and song lan’s time alone in yi city; the least silly fic i’ve written. introspective and uncomfortable, i really love how it turned out. if you like angst pertaining to either of these two, this is the fic for you! read the tags, though!
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