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WhistElleP

ᴡʜɪꜱᴛ ᴇʟʟᴇ ᴘ.

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ɪ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ꜱᴜᴘᴘᴏʀᴛ:
ɪᴄᴇ,
ᴛʀᴜᴍᴘ,
ʀᴀᴄɪꜱᴛꜱ,
ꜱᴇxɪꜱᴛꜱ,
ᴛʀᴀɴꜱᴘʜᴏʙᴇꜱ,
ʜᴏᴍᴏᴘʜᴏʙᴇꜱ,
ᴘᴇᴅᴏᴘʜɪʟᴇꜱ,
ᴢᴏᴏᴘʜɪʟᴇꜱ,
ꜰᴀꜱᴄɪꜱᴛꜱ,
ɴᴀᴢɪꜱ,
& ᴀʟʟ ᴡʜᴏ ᴡɪꜱʜ ʜᴀʀᴍ ᴜᴘᴏɴ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀꜱ.


ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ ᴀʟꜱᴏ ꜰɪɴᴅ ᴍᴇ ᴏɴ...

ᴀᴏ3 - https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingWithPoesPen | ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢᴡɪᴛʜᴘᴏᴇꜱᴘᴇɴ
ᴀʀᴛ ꜰɪɢʜᴛ - https://artfight.net/~WritingWithPoesPen | ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢᴡɪᴛʜᴘᴏᴇꜱᴘᴇɴ



"ɪᴛ ɪꜱ ʙᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴏ ᴋᴇᴇᴘ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴍᴏᴜᴛʜ ᴄʟᴏꜱᴇᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ʟᴇᴛ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴀ ꜰᴏᴏʟ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴛᴏ ᴏᴘᴇɴ ɪᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇᴍᴏᴠᴇ ᴀʟʟ ᴅᴏᴜʙᴛ." - ᴍᴀʀᴋ ᴛᴡᴀɪɴ


I lingered round them, under that benign sky: watched the moths fluttering among the heath and harebells, listened to the soft wind breathing through the grass, and wondered how any one could ever imagine unquiet slumbers for the sleepers in that quiet earth.
— Emily Bronte, Wuthering Heights