sometimes history does repeat itself
You want blood. I get it.
Take it from me, man.
"What if God had given you to me as a man?
Did it hurt him to know that I could not follow you into whatever despair you crawled into because he had not given me wings like yours, a soul like yours?
Do you think he knew about the war in your heart or how
I wasn’t supposed to survive it?
What if your hand wasn’t permanently resting on my shoulder
like an angry scar?
Tell me what it would be like if the world didn’t end every time
we turned our backs on each other,
if I asked you to stay and you listened.
Did it hurt when the angels tore you away?
Did you find yourself in other things? Did you kiss other women
like early mornings?
Or was it my face you saw every time someone else tried to love you?
What if i didn’t spend my days thinking of ways to put my mouth
on yours? What if I didn’t have a theory on what you taste like?
Ash and some impossible light that can’t be touched, only felt.
I am trying to find my way to you in the kingdom
only there are brick walls instead of roads,
only there are guns here.
They don’t keep dandelions or wishes,
but if they did, I would wish for your hands, always your hands.
I am pretending your fists are kisses.
I am waiting for you to put your arms down and come back to me.
What if all my prayers did not start with your name?
I loved you through the blood in my mouth and forgave
the emptiness that you left because even after the hurt
and all the teeth,
I think of you when I think of home.
I think of you and a wide-eyed boy with holy wars moving beneath his skin.
It all started with burning, and I know we promised we wouldn’t talk about salvation
but I feel it when I look at you
and it is too much like an ending.
What if we did not ruin everything we touched?
What if we stopped being sorry for the things we couldn’t save,
like each other, like the wide-eyed boy I carried
out of a burning building, and even then
I didn’t really save him,
and even then, he never blamed me
because he was too busy blaming himself.
you were throwing yourself in front of any hurt
that could come towards me
like a car crash so that was how we loved,
like collateral damage.
What if we were selfish? What if we let the world catch fire
and saved ourselves?
What if love is made of burning things?
What if its not? But what if it was just all we could manage?
What if the fire was all we could have?
Do you know that I’d take it anyway?
That I’d take you in any way I could, even if our hearts
fell out of the wreckages of our broken bodies?
We are not human, we are fallen cities
and we are only trying to stand up straight."
need more adventurous people to hang out with and go to parks at midnight and sit on roofs at 4am and wait till the sun comes up and go skinny dipping at night and climb trees and go for picnics during the day to places we have never been before and go to waterfalls and sit up till 4am talking in our undies
being as in love with you as i am
Arabian Little Red Riding Hood with a red hijab
A Japanese Snow White with her coveted pale skin and shiny black hair
Mexican Cinderella with colorful Mexican glass blown slippers
Greek Beauty and the Beast where Beast is a minotaur
Culture-bent fairy tales that keep key canonical characteristics
GIVE ME THESE I M M E D I A T E L Y
I AM SO TEMPTED TO DRAW THIS YOU HAVE NO IDEA
"We are more than a bit concerned with the Benihana egg trick called for in the script. I’ve tried it and can only get it 1 out of 4 tries, and I’ve seen Benihana chefs flub the manoeuver when they have an entire grill as target. Mads has to crack his eggs into a 8-inch diameter skillet. The props Master calls his guy. The Production Manager calls in his guy. I call my guy. On the morning of the shoot we have 8 dozen eggs and 3 Japanese chefs with their hands made up to be hand doubles.
I guess I don’t have to tell you that when Mads arrives on set, he just tosses an egg up in the air and the egg breaks on the spatula. No problem. Unbelievable. I insist it was a lucky fluke but he does it again. I accuse him of practicing when I wasn’t looking but he laughs (as if he has time to practise egg-cracking between scenes) and tells me he was a juggler in his youth.” [x]
And here we all thought we’d have a million outtakes of Mads flubbing the egg trick…
All of the Stilinski family hugs
The amount of questions Bastille asks in thier songs really stresses me out
are you gonna age with grace? do you like the person you’ve become? can you fill the silence? how am i gonna be an optimist? how am i gonna get myself home?
like idk dan you figure it out
Certainty comes from the evidence. I didn’t want to find any evidence on you.