Statistics
We looked inside some of the posts by mui-core and here's what we found interesting.
Average Info
Notes Per Post
887K
Likes Per Post
478K
Reblog Per Post
407K
Reply Per Post
2K
Time Between Posts
3 days
Number of Posts By Type
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17
Last Seen Tumblr Blogs
Fun Fact
In 2020, 27% of US Tumblr users had an annual household income of over $100,000.
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oh and that gap in my resume is when i was digging my own grave
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kids deserve so much more respect and it turns out that saying that is a great way to locate the horrible people in any community <3
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been a while since i posted seb content :D
A chill runs through his veins as he approaches. The nerves at the tips of his dead fingers twitch with unease. Crawling on his knees, his legs grow numb, blood struggling to stir in long-stagnant channels. His heart stammers, each beat a jagged staccato. He claws at the bed for balance.
She beckons with a gentle hand. Warm, human-like skin brushes his stone-cold cheek. Her eyes, dark, deep, and brimming with desire, peer into his and see straight through him. He is young again, in France, teetering on the edge of death’s cold embrace, clinging to life. He remembers the warmth of a woman after an unbridled passion: the softness of her hair, the tenderness of her flesh, the sweet allure of her voice pulling him from reverie.
Then, he hears her again.
“Sebastian, don’t be afraid. Come to me.”
Her voice is as rich as honeyed wine, soft and lulling like a boat drifting on ocean waves.
He crawls forward, powerless to resist. She receives him with patience, leaning back and parting her legs to welcome him in. She is as kind as she is beautiful, and she stirs in him something long dormant. Her curved lips invite his kiss. He leans in.
“My love… It’s been years since I… forgive me.”
“No. Please... Just take me. I know you know how.”
She falls back, arms open, spine arched, yearning for his touch. She moans, a siren's call to a drowning sailor who would gladly dive in for her.
He gives in, fully enthralled. He collapses onto her, cupping her face as he kisses her deeply. Her body writhes beneath him in pleasure, their tongues dancing, tasting one another with abandon.
Her fingers tangle in his hair. She clutches the back of his loose shirt, refusing to let go, not until they’re finished.
The last of his defenses crumble. He is undone, hopelessly exposed. He knows now: surrendering to passion will be the end of him.
But she is a death he would welcome again and again.
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Marilyn Monroe at her Sutton Place apartment, New York, 1956
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college gothic
someone in your class mentions communism. they speak about it at length. you are in biology class.
you text your mother. she does not respond for 3 days. you text her again and then realize that it has only been 2 hours since your first text.
freshmen travel in packs. what are they afraid of.
your class is in room 153. the numbers start at 201. you cannot find the first floor.
someone is talking about communism. it is not the same person as last time. this is an english class.
your transcript says you have an A in philosophy 3310. you do not remember taking this class. what did you learn? what did you do?
you meet your elevator buddy. you do not speak. you never do. you ride in silence. one day, they are not there. you miss them.
your advisor refers you to the registrar. the registrar refers you to admissions. admissions refers you to both the registrar and your advisor. you have spoken to two people who do not exist and one who has been dead for ten years.
the boy who sits next to you wears the same clothes everyday. you think this is strange but when you mention it, he tells you that this is the first time he has worn this outfit. you realize that you have lived this day before.
you pass someone sleeping in the quad. he has always been there. stop looking at him.
someone answers, “communism.” it is not someone who has been previously mentioned. the question was, “what is an example of the art of ancient greece?”
you have a doppelganger on campus. you have never met them. they know all of your friends.
the seniors speak only to professors. their eyes are dead. they have given up the safety of the pack long ago.
the professor is talking about STD’s. your math class is very strange.
the powerpoint is in comic sans. you suspect that your economics professor is an extraterrestrial being after all.
“communism,” the man serving you lunch insists. wearily you nod. that’s what everyone says.
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౨ৎ‧₊˚ i would rather eat a brick than be forced to say hi to them
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I'm gonna make a post with all of the 'stick figure violence' adjacent images I have. if anyone knows any similar ones I'm missing PLEASE SEND ME THEM. I have an unhealthy obsession with them.
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fireflies lighting up a rural Pennsylvania field at dusk
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American Girls in my style!
Just a fun little fan art series purely for the nostalgia! Do you have a favorite?
Molly and Kit
Addy and Samantha
Kirsten and Kaya
Still working on a few more!
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