honestly? im done with the lies. being little spoon fuckign sucks okay? it really does. its hot and sweaty and cramped and you better believe that arm wrapped around you is gunna go from “acceptable foreign weight” to “there is a literal blue whale colony collapsed atop you” in about 2 minutes flat. yall forreal want a FLESH BLANKET encasing you??? a goddamn slab prison of human skin and Person Tissue draped across your corporeal form??? find a God and grovel for redemption.
being big spoon though? divine. precious. it grants the sensation of being a benevolent egg white, swaddled loosely within your blanket shell as you in turn cradle the precious yolk within your grasp. you are a sublime deity of warmth and comfort, one who may bestow your blessing on any mortal you deem fit. an unparalleled joy to perform.
and you can grab a tit ty
can yall please stop reblogging this post i made after eating three entire packages of marshmallow peeps washed down with a near-deadly amount of nyquil
Getting closer to what you saw in your head, eh? Keep at it!
Your story when somebody else sees it:
hhhhhHHHHHHH
(⚪д⚪)
This is a lovely post. It goes to show that when we percieve our own work, most of us have some type of insecurities about our own talents.
Also possibly relevant is that probably when Van Gogh finished Starry Night, he jumped up and down in frustration for a while because it didn’t look as good as it had in his head.
Tolkien used to complain that he could never write anything as well as he could imagine it. So you know, ‘good enough’ is definitely a thing.
Beautifuldifferences 