It’s downhill from here.

[helenish]

Last night I dreamt that Channing Tatum nervously presented me with a dress he’d knitted for me. He clenched his (big, work-roughened) hands in anxious fists while I unfolded it. 

“You don’t have to wear it,” he said, before I could say anything.

The dress was perfect. It was beautiful. It could turn into a skirt.

“You like it?” Channing Tatum said, smiling crookedly.

The dress had pockets.

[touchablyalive]

#if anyone ever asks me about female fantasy and some of the ways it differs from perceived female fantasy #i am just going to cite this post

[whitmerule]

I actually don’t know who Channing Tatum is, and I don’t need to know. All I know is that every time his name crops up on tumblr he is the epitome of everything a woman could desire (provided she’s into guys and possibly even if not).