Heather, we need to be friends IRL. You're in my goddamn head and I don't (do) like it. Why are we all blithering morons squawking at eachother? Why must we KNOW we're blithering morons squawking at eachother? Oh, to be a dog, licking my own asshole all the time, not a care in the world, spending all my days with the people I love most and napping to my heart's content. That'd be sweet.
Reading Polly genuinely makes me a better person, more capable of loving myself and all the weirdos around me. But reading Molly like this makes my heart race. Like back of a motorcycle, can't see where we're going, holding tight, screaming inside. Very hot indeed.
Edited to add: I think that sounds creepy in a way I did not at all mean. But now that I'm trying to clarify, I can't figure out words. So, anyway, Molly's clarity fetish is very hot and this post is great in a way that saved my day already.
we are conjoined blabbering kings— pecking, projecting, petting our fragile egos. griping about bad weather, bad drivers, bad news and ugly pillows. i’m okay being a sad little monster at the end of the world eating cheetos—what’s the point of working on my waistline anymore when joggers are in? i’m here for straight up, out of pocket truth telling. carry on sister king, she-bro or what ever dumb phrases pathetic pariahs come up with when feeling threatened and small by your crown. carry on with your wild wily ways.
My favorite people are those who make clear that it's okay to be myself with them. Even though we'll not likely ever meet, that's what you do for me, Heather. I'm content with my parasocial relationship and will keep coming back. 🥰
Heather, we need to be friends IRL. You're in my goddamn head and I don't (do) like it. Why are we all blithering morons squawking at eachother? Why must we KNOW we're blithering morons squawking at eachother? Oh, to be a dog, licking my own asshole all the time, not a care in the world, spending all my days with the people I love most and napping to my heart's content. That'd be sweet.
I think that every time I read her!
Reading Polly genuinely makes me a better person, more capable of loving myself and all the weirdos around me. But reading Molly like this makes my heart race. Like back of a motorcycle, can't see where we're going, holding tight, screaming inside. Very hot indeed.
Edited to add: I think that sounds creepy in a way I did not at all mean. But now that I'm trying to clarify, I can't figure out words. So, anyway, Molly's clarity fetish is very hot and this post is great in a way that saved my day already.
we are conjoined blabbering kings— pecking, projecting, petting our fragile egos. griping about bad weather, bad drivers, bad news and ugly pillows. i’m okay being a sad little monster at the end of the world eating cheetos—what’s the point of working on my waistline anymore when joggers are in? i’m here for straight up, out of pocket truth telling. carry on sister king, she-bro or what ever dumb phrases pathetic pariahs come up with when feeling threatened and small by your crown. carry on with your wild wily ways.
Well, now I fully know that I read all books expecting that that author unconditionally loves me. It is me! I am that pussy! Also, listen to this at around 3 minutes. https://www.facebook.com/kittycrimes/videos/694134531442768/
!!!! The shed alone had me hooked.
Yes, mumsy!
My favorite people are those who make clear that it's okay to be myself with them. Even though we'll not likely ever meet, that's what you do for me, Heather. I'm content with my parasocial relationship and will keep coming back. 🥰
So impressed I’m speechless.
goddamnit, i just renewed my subscription.