#failled

[sibmakesart]

yk what ? have a bbig zoro to start 2025

[hoboyherewego]

“STOOOOOOP FIGHTIIIIIIIING” :(

*the three of them get zapped anyways*

[lookingbackatfashionhistory]

• Day Dress.

Designer: James Galanos

Date : ca. 1956

Medium: Silk faille

[missowo]

how do I not traumatized a teenager for once.

[galactic-rhea]

y'know yknow i'm like,,,i have been clear about my opinions on the sequels, but some people are just so disgustingly mean about it, like chiillll, geez- Disney is not even listening, you're only hurting the people that liked them and you aren't winning anything by doing so besides being blocked, I 'uppose lmao

I'm so grateful I wasn't here when those movies came out, I shudder at thinking about it lol

[vhscorp]

La bienveillance, c’est admettre ses propres failles et faiblesses pour accueillir celles des autres et pouvoir les en soulager…

V. H. SCORP

[marcosrfotografia]

"Nuevas construcciones" abandonadas en La Rad (Salamanca). Como SIEMPRE la naturaleza empieza a recuperar lo que es suyo.

[dreamtydraw]

What if i explosed uh ? What if i explosed uh ? WHAT IF I EXPLOSE-

[just-an-enby-lemon]

I used to think that there could not be a better way to insult Wilde by not reading The Picture of Dorian Gray than the brazilian publishing company that decided to put a picture of Wilde as their cover (till there fine) except to inovate they framed Wilde's pic as the fucked up portrait... I stand corrected by Netflix deciding that it was time to remind people that just cause CW is dead it doesn't mean people that worked for CW are dead and hiring arrowverse ppl to ruin a great book.

[dubiousdisco]

what. he wants to save them? ok let him?

[artsy-book]

xb: *shoots a tnt minecart, making it explode*

hypno: WHy are you blowing up my stuff! you know how expensive those are!

[digitalfashionmuseum]

Light Pink Faille and Tulle Dress, ca. 1870, French.

Designed by Madame Depret.

New Canaan Museum and Historical Society.

[kandybarre]

a pocket kalendar

a poor lembick's distil in honor of TAYLOR SWIFT her birthday

in that cold time before the winter, before a snowy wind arose, nothing was sleeping, 'til nothing stirred, and from that stirring, ripples flowed.

january 1st

in time's first day, some say, a being made both light and ray, and others say, "outgrebed from happen-pop each point and weight, from an instantary unity that divided itself spontaneously." when comes again january's first, i discern not, for my head hurts.

february 1st

just tomorrow comes the hog, our future-smelling subprairie dog. his gait is thick, his blood is syrup, long self-warmed in cold cold dirt. he sleeps, he sleeps, among the clods, til they consult their tired god, and then he tells, and they all nod.

march 1st

march comes, the lion's son, frowning mars's starting gun. war begins! 'til war is won, far from home will lion run, with his bellow and his claws girt on, his headdress mane, the wind, now don'd; he is war, as sun is dawn.

april 1st

flow'ring fools are mazed within: they cannot calm internal din, and as a flower, out it bursts from dirt within, on april's first baptiz'd with rain, dew-fresh food for april's sheep, the new and rude, thus fools feed lambs, and beget rams.

may 1st

erected is the flag of day, may first's celebrated phallic ray. it calls, as rainbows and the moonrise call, as warms a gangster to his moll who thought himself cold-hearted, but now will not for life be parted from her -- she is his fleece recover'd.

june 1st

i delight in june's moon-light as i do in no other: in starry clothes, and inky mauve, the dusk is myrrh discover'd. i would myself vie equally: proudest in the june is me, of my fine fur and well-formed feet.

july 1st

he lived long, that julius, long enough to lose his guts. remember him on july first, not when he was at his worst, stuck and stabbed by that brutus. should bruly it truly be? he topped all crowns with caesars wreath.

august 1st

bridled phoebus blares his horn: night lays low, and is forlorn. the increas'd hours grow hot thorns, pressing questions press yet more: summer's peak is clear and blinding. no more thirst, and no more minding, please, you first of august shining.

september 1st

summer's heat is clipped with care, and worry turns back to one's share of work, one's duty digging in the dirt. if one chokes in winter's grip, is chanced to breathe a fatal nip, and one's grave is not pre-dug in warmer times, one sleeps rugged.

october 1st

blessed leaves at last are spent: calm cold breath of death is sent, and they are parched in ecastasie, those leaves that once here shaded me, that now have, in their retreat, let pure cold sun shine clear. if this is death, then death is sweet.

november 1st

this morn dawns a secret season. love at last is vext by reason, or constrained, for in this time the pumpkins must be counted, the apples weighed and pressed, and hams and kids for winter drest. much to pack for winter's rest.

december 1st

all is dross, yet this most bright: chrystall snow in black-cat night. chickadees, bleak winter's fellows, are sort of like alive marhmallows, ambassadors from candyland, peepenstern and chirpencrantz, skill'd in song & courting dance.

[chloecats7]

Foankdjzkdoandoz

IM ON MY PHONE CAUSE I NEED TO GO TO BED I CANT SEND YOU ONE BACK ARRRRGH

[ahtheprettythings]

Silk Faille Convertible Jumpsuit

[florallychaotic]

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