eatingwordswithkittywitch:

Why do people say “You’ll feel different about kids when you’re older”? Of all the people I knew as children who have now become adults, the children who liked children usually went on to be good, happy parents, the children who didn’t like children still don’t like children, and the ones who hated children and had them anyway now hate their lives.

(Reblogged from waywren)

ladyjeeves:

sharkchunks:

Simon Stålenhag

At a glance I thought these were photos and slowly realised they weren’t. They incite intense curiosity in me and I dig that. 

(Source: gerardofilici)

(Reblogged from illustratedjai)

theelpasogunfight:

mentiree:

rapunzhawk:

loveandeloquence:

He’s Counting Down From 21, And By The Time He Reaches 15, My Stomach Is In Knots

Th

This. This is important.

Fuck

(Reblogged from starkpanda)

silversteampunk:

coin-what-coin:

whaoanon:

beahbeah:

1. The role and functions of a pawn.

image

2. The weakest pieces on the board; numerous; interchangeable; existing to be sacrificed for the benefit of the real players.

image

3. Unlike other pieces, a pawn may not retreat. It can only go forward, one step at a time.

image

4. A pawn cannot capture a piece that blocks its path. It may only proceed if the opposing piece concedes ground, or if a different route is offered.

image

5. The en passant capture is a special move that permits one pawn to successfully attack another without directly engaging it.

image

6. Otherwise, the only way a pawn can capture is by going one step forward and to the left or right, in a single diagonal move.

image

7. In very rare occasions, if a pawn is allowed to cross the entire board, unscathed…

image

8. …it may be promoted to a queen, and, perhaps, turn the tide of the war.

(source)

pats face im always going to reblog this

are you fucking kidding me

Wow, that was beautiful.

(Reblogged from melredcap)

(Source: reyesrobbies)

(Reblogged from melredcap)
honeyed-rose:

karinashadow:

adeelikespi:

phobias:

knocking down dominos made of dominos 

Wtf. This is not cool. NOT COOL.

WHAT THE MINDFUCK IS THIS?!!!

I find this to be intensely satisfying l3

honeyed-rose:

karinashadow:

adeelikespi:

phobias:

knocking down dominos made of dominos 

Wtf. This is not cool. NOT COOL.

WHAT THE MINDFUCK IS THIS?!!!

I find this to be intensely satisfying l3

(Reblogged from saltysalmonella)
Played 5,901 times

Weep not poor children, for life is this way

Murdering beauty and passions

(Source: nosignofnormalcy)

(Reblogged from waywren)

Anonymous said: Anything Peggy Carter-related after CATWS. Idk, former members of SHIELD visiting her or nurses trying to shield (hah) her from what the organization she built had become.

melredcap:

wildehack:


She grows worse very quickly. She has no appetite, and her thirst becomes such a constant companion that she barely registers it. People come and go very frequently. It seems that every time she opens her eyes someone else is sitting by her bedside.

There’s her Lorelai, slipping Peggy’s rosary into her hand, the one Gabe bought for her in Venice. It’s such beautiful colored glass. Deep, true reds. “Antoine’s gonna come visit soon,” Lorelai promises, squeezing Peggy’s other hand. “He’s got some things to take care of first, but he’ll make the time.” Peggy tells her not to worry, that of course she understands. The country must be in a serious state. She’s immeasurably proud of him—always doing whatever he can to help. “He gets that from his grandma,” her daughter says, an old call and response. “And his grandfather,” Peggy replies. 

There are flowers on the bedside table. Creamy white roses. “Now who brought those,” she asks aloud, and there is no reply. 

Steve comes, and he plugs in an ipod full of music from when she knew him—Duke Ellington, Glen Miller, Patti Page, Billy Holliday. He tucks a white strand of hair back behind her ear. They talk a little about Gabe, and they talk a little about Nicholas. “He isn’t dead,” Steve tells her, looking very serious. It seems no one really dies these days. “I always knew he’d do well,” she says. 

She opens her eyes and Antoine is asleep in the chair next to her, looking exhausted. Poor darling. She wonders what grade he’s in now. College? It’s somewhere in New England, she’s sure of it. 

She wakes up in the middle of the night, thirsty, and reaches for some water. It takes a surprising amount of strength to hold her glass between both her hands, even half-full. “Could you set this back on the table for me,” she begins to ask before she remembers she’s alone, but stops. A hand reaches out and immediately takes the glass from her. It appears to be made of metal. 

She knows that she can’t always trust what she sees, that sometimes she gets confused. She tells herself she must be confused, because James Barnes is holding her glass. She remembers that funeral, she knows she does. His hair is long and ragged, one of his arms is not right, and he looks as though he hasn’t slept in days. “You don’t look well,” she tells him. He shrugs. “Just tired,” he says finally, and carefully sets her glass down on the table. Peggy smiles. “Me too,” she says. 

There’s music playing, a song she knows. You’ll never know how many dreams I’ve dreamed about you, or just how empty they all seemed without you. So kiss me once, kiss me twice, kiss me once again… “Will you turn the radio off, my darling,” she says without opening her eyes. “That song always makes me sad.” 

She holds the rosary Gabe bought for her in Italy in both her hands. The beads are such beautiful colored glass. Lorelai helps her count. 

She dreams Steve is alive, that he’s here, as young and beautiful as the last time she saw him. “It’s been so long,” she tells him, aching and honest. “So long.” He takes one of her fragile hands in his, kisses her knuckles. “I know,” he says, and doesn’t let go. “I’m here.” 

AUGH

(Reblogged from melredcap)
(Reblogged from melredcap)

I was an outsider, an introvert, and could relate to people who were struggling and I just had a sensitivity to people who were not being treated well.

(Source: markoruffalo)

(Reblogged from marchingjaybird)