#- Oh oui

[reylokisses]

Thank you for the tags, @palettesofrenaissance !

https://picrew.me/share?cd=QBG3HMOnpc #Picrew #Heart_Hold_Character

I got “Running from Your Past” (fitting) from the fandom character quiz, and the last song I listened to was the French version of “Loser, Baby” from Hazbin Hotel. That never fails to cheer me up! 🥰

[ultimatebottom69]

Juste parfait. Je deteste le vert mes ce vert là peut rester.

the white-green gradient of a freshly chopped spring onion…. c'est magnifique

[dykespence]

Jayje and her comfort blanket against the world

[pyrosomatic-metamorphosis]

yea

[titfairy]

[hercarisntyours]

le chat!!!

[pastasilly]

maybe kissing frogs isn’t so bad..

[art-o-gant]

does anyone want to hear abuot my headcanons abt what the steampunk era dolls looked like btw

[arthursfuckinghat]

"Well ain't you just a tough as teak mountain man?"

[emosyzoth]

tumblr user magowolor posts magolor art (CHEERING AND CLAPPIN) yup yuup mhm thats right

[sanayeon]

MISAMOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

[ispyspookymansion]

white boy SHOCKS grocery store customer by responding to his apologetic greeting at the register in SEMI-FLUENT FRENCH

[coming-of-age-witch]

sometimes i'm me, but most times i am a converged soul of 2 poets in india 1930 living in the post-renessaince bengal in the zenith of political happenings, who write the most hauntingly dreadful and captivating poetry ,then start having grim illusionic dreams of being killed by the same murder , and then. one fateful day , in a bengali poet convocation, they finally come facing each other, only to be hit by a striking eerie atmosphere, almost like the time stopped and started clicking backwards, in a moment of frightening realization they become conscious that they're lives had been fore-written by their poems. the last poem being about the dream of meeting someone for the first time and the last time , at the same time. time unfolds into them being each other's murderers who used their eloquent poetry to send out warnings seeking for the other, but they failed to pierce through each other's hefty hearts. and, with the setting of the dusk , the parition of india coming through, one escapes to the then-east-pakistan. seasons pass by, the poets' age, that electrifying poetry gets crumbled and forgotten, time flows by and the rivalry of the pen seeps within the paper and gets trapped into it for all time due. however they kept looking for one another, their unnamed other half, perhaps who had more to say or show than what could be seen through the poem's tint.

[aromanticannibal]

I need to master spoken english so I can pretend to be a tourist in paris

[hercarisntyours]

transformers le commencement is way better than transformers one

[sanguinewolves]

might be having one of them “trauma response” thingys rn