zeldathemes
'Cause if we've got no honor
then we've got no shame
mariaaliceck:

 

mariaaliceck:

 

thegleepocalypse:

tofumotherfucker:

ladymacmeth:

the sound of high heels on the pavement as you walk is the ultimate power trip, like you could be buying milk or on your way to assassinate someone

or you could be crippling yourself to uphold a patriarchal beauty standard

or you could be simply wanting to wear high heels while crushing the patriarchy. Click click mother fucker. 

Whenever you’re going through a bad day just remember, your track record for getting through bad days, so far, is 100%; and that’s pretty damn good.
My amazing friend (via pain-is-temporary-keep-fighting)
Why are we talking to each other in English?
Two non English speakers who share the same first language while chatting on the net, probably (via ignitiondorks)
Sorry to bother you. Can you recommend some jily fluffy smut for me please?

Anonymous

doeandthestag:

A dark alleyway. One street lamp is flickering, casting an orange light on the scene below. You lean against the streetlamp, trying to look as nonchalant as possible. A stranger dressed in a long coat appears as though they materialised out of the shadows, just out of the circle of light provided by the lamp. Their face is hidden in darkness. “Come here, come closer,” they say, in a barely audible whisper. You approach nervously.They open their trench coat. “Take your pick,” the stranger says, in a hoarse voice.

"This never happened, okay?" You nod quickly, avoiding eye-contact with the Dealer. They slink off into the shadows like a cat down the alleyway and you watch them go before turning and hurrying down the street.

kinghanalister:

carryonmy-assbutt:

fingersareoptional:

jetn:

fingersareoptional:

fingersareoptional:

fingersareoptional:

fingersareoptional:

fingersareoptional:

fingersareoptional:

*prepares party popper*


*nervously shakes the party popper*


*slowly falls asleep with the party popper*


*has a wonderful night with the party popper*


*gets married to the party popper*

It’s a beautiful evening in February. My wife and I are sitting at the fireplace, when suddenly a terrible image appears on the screen of my computer.

My wife looks at me. As I look in her terrified, cardboard eyes, filled with tears, she takes a deep breath, before saying with her shivering voice “It’s what you’ve always wanted, dear. Do it.” My hands start shaking and a lone tear rolls down my cheek. “I can’t, honey. I’m not like that anymore.” “I will do it.” a small voice behind us says. As I turn around, my eyes cross with my son; our son. “You don’t have to do this, Benedict.” I say, as I hold his hands.
Ignoring what I told him, young Benedict Popper-Are Optional holds my wife’s cardboard body in one hand, and her long, beautiful string in the other. With tears in my eyes, I turn my head away. A loud pop sounds behind me and I watch in terror as I see my wife’s confetti spread across the room.
"It’s what you’ve always wanted, dad…" my son says, putting his small, cardboard hand on my shoulder. "Yes," I say, "but not like this… Never like this…"

what the actual fuck



why is there fan art

nevermind that why is their son lettuce

kinghanalister:

carryonmy-assbutt:

fingersareoptional:

jetn:

fingersareoptional:

fingersareoptional:

fingersareoptional:

fingersareoptional:

fingersareoptional:

fingersareoptional:

*prepares party popper*

*nervously shakes the party popper*

*slowly falls asleep with the party popper*

*has a wonderful night with the party popper*

*gets married to the party popper*

It’s a beautiful evening in February. My wife and I are sitting at the fireplace, when suddenly a terrible image appears on the screen of my computer.

My wife looks at me. As I look in her terrified, cardboard eyes, filled with tears, she takes a deep breath, before saying with her shivering voice “It’s what you’ve always wanted, dear. Do it.” My hands start shaking and a lone tear rolls down my cheek. “I can’t, honey. I’m not like that anymore.” “I will do it.” a small voice behind us says. As I turn around, my eyes cross with my son; our son. “You don’t have to do this, Benedict.” I say, as I hold his hands.

Ignoring what I told him, young Benedict Popper-Are Optional holds my wife’s cardboard body in one hand, and her long, beautiful string in the other. With tears in my eyes, I turn my head away. A loud pop sounds behind me and I watch in terror as I see my wife’s confetti spread across the room.

"It’s what you’ve always wanted, dad…" my son says, putting his small, cardboard hand on my shoulder. "Yes," I say, "but not like this… Never like this…"

what the actual fuck

why is there fan art

nevermind that why is their son lettuce

I often think that the night is more alive and more richly colored than the day.
Vincent van Gogh (via aquaticwonder)