head of the bus seat fan club

this is the correct way to feel about having a wasp's nest in your house.

oh fuck you were not kidding

a chart of what i mean for the visual learners in the audience

Wanna bet Ivanov's stinking up the console?

ok so we have a guy just in his thong floating on the bridge so who am I to complain abt Ivanov

rogy :]

i wonder how long carl knew before grace did

But there is nothing cold in the way he watches her. Every shared glance lingers too long. Every accidental touch burns. And as the storm-soaked nights close in around them, the marriage bargain between them begins to feel less like duty and more like temptation.

But there is nothing cold in the way he watches her. Every shared glance lingers too long. Every accidental touch burns. And as the storm-soaked nights close in around them, the marriage bargain between them begins to feel less like duty and more like temptation.

Got another one!

the way people punch down on her for this is disgusting. she's a woman on her own for the first time, textually struggling with alienation and substance issues, and yet you expect her to put herself in the distressing and unfamiliar situation of going to the grocery store for no reason. just to satisfy your pointless obsession with how much one banana costs. how does this materially impact your life? what makes it your business whether she keeps up with every price fluctuation for a single banana (a quantity she would never have any reason to buy anyway)? maybe she finds grocery stores overwhelming, it's well established that she often feels unsafe in public, you don't know her struggles and frankly I don't think the discourse about this has anything to do with bananas. it's just another excuse to pick on a vulnerable person's every move, to shame her into reducing herself and complying with cruel and unnecessary social expectations. this is a depiction of an isolated woman being bullied and gaslit, and yet, classic, it's played for laughs. shameful.

details of An Irish harp made by John Egan, from the 1800s.

But there is nothing cold in the way he watches her. Every shared glance lingers too long. Every accidental touch burns. And as the storm-soaked nights close in around them, the marriage bargain between them begins to feel less like duty and more like temptation.

But there is nothing cold in the way he watches her. Every shared glance lingers too long. Every accidental touch burns. And as the storm-soaked nights close in around them, the marriage bargain between them begins to feel less like duty and more like temptation.