beat the swine black & blue

Sep 25

When people meet me, I’m like

 But when they get to know me, I’m like

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(via runningawaywiththedoctor)


andthenisay:

She’s here. Of course she’s here. It’s why he came in the first place, why he drank his first drink too quickly and hasn’t been able to keep his hands still since he sat down. It takes no time at all for her to spot him. One glance around the room and her eyes are locked on his. He’s never been very good at hiding. Maybe he wanted to be found.

 
Mary makes no motion of invitation, no word or wave or smile. He stands anyway, takes one, two steps forward. His heart’s beating a riot in his chest. He blames it on the music.
 
There are a thousand things he’d say to her, if she’d listen. You kissed me last week. You kissed me last week against the door of your father’s office. You kissed me last week and I haven’t been able to think about anything else since. He can’t think about anything else now, not when she’s all smooth shoulders and hooded eyes, not when she’s looking at him like that.
 
He takes another step forward and something gives, something in her face closing off entirely. She looks away, finds someone nearby to latch on to. Matthew downs the rest of his drink in one and stands to leave, pushing past her on his way out the door. She reaches out and grabs her new friend’s beer, drains it in one fluid movement, and leans forward on her elbows, equal parts coy smile and vicious bite. “Tell me,” she says, eyes flicking up to Matthew’s for the smallest second, “what do you know about Greek mythology?”

Matthew’s hands clench into fists. He wonders what the pictures in tomorrow’s paper will look like.

(via hotelsongs)


“I don’t think that I’ve been in love as such,
Although I liked a few folk pretty well.
Love must be vaster than my smiles or touch,
For brave men died and empires rose and fell
For love: girls followed boys to foreign lands
And men have followed women into Hell.

In plays and poems someone understands
There’s something makes us more than blood and bone
And more than biological demands…
For me, love’s like the wind, unseen, unknown.
I see the trees are bending where it’s been,
I know that it leaves wreckage where it’s blown.
I really don’t know what ‘I love you’ means.
I think it means ‘Don’t leave me here alone.’”
Neil Gaiman, “Sonnet” (via ricktimus)

(via gnimaerd)


Sep 3

When my battery is low :

thehilariousblog:

A Low battery warning:


Critical battery Warning:

Follow this blog, you’ll laugh out loud

(via fuckyeahwizardryy)


Sep 1

When teachers give you an assignment and say: “This isn’t the type of assignment you can do the night before it’s due.”

(via runningawaywiththedoctor)


Aug 27
Ulyana Sergeenko lookbook fall/winter 2011/2012

Ulyana Sergeenko lookbook fall/winter 2011/2012

(via demarches)


Aug 26
discosnape:

Movie Poster Re-make Meme: Moulin Rouge! (2001)
requested by ngx and infinitys-smile

discosnape:

Movie Poster Re-make Meme: Moulin Rouge! (2001)

requested by ngx and infinitys-smile

(via dollsome-does-tumblr)


Aug 12

Let me tell you something about wolves, child. When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. Summer is the time for squabbles. In winter, we must protect one another, keep each other warm, share our strengths. So if you must hate, Arya, hate those who truly do us harm. […] Sansa is your sister. You may be as different as the sun and the moon, but the same blood flows through both your hearts. You need her, as she needs you.

Let me tell you something about wolves, child. When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. Summer is the time for squabbles. In winter, we must protect one another, keep each other warm, share our strengths. So if you must hate, Arya, hate those who truly do us harm. […] Sansa is your sister. You may be as different as the sun and the moon, but the same blood flows through both your hearts. You need her, as she needs you.

(via hotelsongs)


Aug 10
“This instance in particular proves that beneath all that cool pseudo-academic hogwash lurked a very passionate man who knew how important it was to say “fuck” now and then, and say it loud too, relish its syllabic sweetness, its immigrant pride, a great American epic word really, starting at the lower lip, often the very front of the lower lip, before racing all the way to the back of the throat, where it finishes with a great blast, the concussive force of the K catching up then with the hush of the F already on its way, thus loading it with plenty of offense and edge and certainly ambiguity. FUCK. A great by-the-bootstrap prayer or curse if you prefer, depending on how you look at it, or use it, suited perfectly for hurling at the skies or at the world, or sometimes, if said just right, for uttering with enough love and fire, the woman beside you melts inside herself, immersed in all that word-heat.” House of Leaves, Mark E. Danielewski (via arbitrarily) (via arbitrarily) (via hotelsongs)

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