John-murdoch - I Lost The Way To Shell Beach - Tumblr Blog

Do I Want to Eat Because I'm Hungry, or Am I Just Bored: a Novel, by me

I love him to bits, but I find Greg Davis' hands extremely triggering

She just. Reached out. And stroked my hair. It was 5 days ago. I haven't been able to stop thinking about it since.

When most say they want to be feminine the way men are feminine, they mean Timothée Chalamet or Lil Nas X. I want to be feminine the way Russell Crowe or Matt Berry are feminine

So touch starved atm that having a pt's arm resting on my knee for a 90 minute transfer so he wouldn't fuck up his IV is the most intimacy I've felt in months

Is it too much to ask for Alex Borstein to peg me into oblivion?

I wonder how much it would cost to get Clancy Brown to record himself reading smut out loud in his lowest register, cause I'd be on that shit like white on rice no problem

Ya wanna kno how I know there's no god? Cause if there was a kind and loving god in this wretched universe, I wouldn't be getting gender envy from fucking Russell fucking Crowe

The inside of my thighs are so soft, y'all.

Tall, fat men? Delicious. Tall, sporty women? Delectable. Short, serious nb folk? Scrumptious. Short, slight men? Succulent. Short, round women? Tasty. Tall, heavyset nb? Mouthwatering. People of any and all stripes in well tailored suits or well maintained suits of armor? Ambrosial.

I find I use this blog as a sort of therapy. I've never been able to be open to people. Even anonymously on the internet I tend to clam up, be cagey, or start to perform for others an exaggeration of myself. This blog I think is sort of my latest attempt to see how honest I can be. How intimate my thoughts can be. How much I can allow myself to say. So far, I've said more on here than I've ever said to anyone ever. Most of it is weird, gross, offputting, random, and a little disturbing, but that's ok. I'm writing for me. All these disjointed snippets by no means reflect the person I am as a whole, but they each of them have their own place in the time they were written and the ever shifting person they were written by. Nightmares, dreams, stresses, anxieties, joys, wants, observations, life events, and moods. All are strange and uncomfortable. I'm trying to be ok with that.

I keeping waiting for that one button on his vest to go. I want it to pop off completly. I want to hear it snap and bounce off his knee. I want to see his face as he feels it free it self, and I want to see him fluster and blush as it skitters away. I see it straining, threating to go as he twists and breathes and slouches and bounces, but it never does. What beautiful torture.

It would be the greatest joy, the most eager pleasure, and the highest honor to completely break Domhnall Gleeson. To utterly destroy him. To disassemble him down to his most base self and rebuild him as I see fit. I mean this both entirely sexually and completely nonsexually at the same time.

godDamn, Clancy Brown is hot as Hell. Fuck me running, that man can Get It.

It used to bother me that I can't connect to people. I'd see people just walking up to others and just chatting away, or someone being able to talk about something without being asked a direct question. I've tried, and I don't know why I can't. I can't pretend like that. Why doesn't my face move like that? Why doesn't my voice vary like that? Why does it feel like I have to perform an emotion for people to notice I'm having one? Why do I have to mimic others to express myself? Why don't people notice when I express myself in the way that comes naturally to me?

Yeah but when someone's upper lip is angled like Kim Possible or Emma Stone? That's the shit right there

Right! That's it! I'm going to Hollywood and making a Calamity Jane movie!

Necks. Necks necks necks necks necks. Necks necks necks necks necks necks necks necks necks necks necks. Necks necks necks necks necks necks necks necks necks necks necks necks necks necks necks necks necks necks necks necks necks necks necks necks necks necks. Necks.

Terry Jones was the King of Screaming into the Wind.

Wrestling is Drag for straight people.

Btw, lisps = super cute.

Whelp, I quit my job yesterday

There's not much I wouldn't give for a bear hug from Alfred Molina

*to the tune of she'll be comin round the mountain*

Oh leave me the fuck alone, she said

Oh leave me the fuck alone, she said

Oh leave me the fuck alone, leave me the fuck alone, leave me the fuck alone, she said