lightningblitz6:

daysofxavierspast:

zeelaonmars:

scalestails:

are u fucking kidding me

octopi are just as ridiculous as cats ok

"NOPE".

" MY BOWL"

lightningblitz6:

daysofxavierspast:

zeelaonmars:

scalestails:

are u fucking kidding me

octopi are just as ridiculous as cats ok

"NOPE".

" MY BOWL"

(via stillhearyourghost)


dennys:

denny’s reminds you to behave accordingly at this weekend’s festivities. we also remind you that after you’re all con-ed out, we’d love to see your costumes and serve you late into the night. cosplayers are welcome at dencon 24/7.

dennys:

denny’s reminds you to behave accordingly at this weekend’s festivities. we also remind you that after you’re all con-ed out, we’d love to see your costumes and serve you late into the night. cosplayers are welcome at dencon 24/7.

(via stillhearyourghost)


basedpidgeot:

stop enforcing the idea that u need 2 be in a relationship 2 be happy sometimes u just need more cereal

(via stillhearyourghost)


for-science-sake:

The Crocked forest, in West Pomerania, Poland. Planted in the 1930’s it remains a mystery how these hooked pine trees came to be, theories speculate that they were shaped like this to be used as building material for boats or curved furniture. 

(via stillhearyourghost)




inseparablemind:

WHAT I ACCOMPLISHED IN 2013 IS

image

WHAT I ACCOMPLISHED IN 2013 IS

image

(via stillhearyourghost)


vaguelyjewish:

testoster0ne:

how do woman not orgasm when inserting tampons.

like isn’t just like having sex idgi?

This sounds like a Mitt Romney diary entry.

(via stillhearyourghost)


Not every relationship has to be super deep and intimate. I have some friends I see once a year and some I talk to every day. And I’m a different level with each of them.


homorecker:

My fav thing about tumblr is the complete lack of country music it makes me feel like this is where I should be

(via stillhearyourghost)




when I was six years old and playing with a doll house and a girl asked me why the sides of my thumbs were jagged, and I told her that I dropped a knife while making toast instead of telling her how I did it every time I felt nervous (which I counted; it could range from once every seventeen seconds to only twelve times a day), I did not feel poetic.

when I was ten and my friends bailed on me to go ice skating and left me alone in the school yard and I resorted to pretending I had really bad hayfever so I could cry in my room without my mother questioning me later on that day, I did not feel poetic.

when I was twelve and I couldn’t breathe because I had no idea what I was doing with my life after leaving primary school and I thought that I had no meaning for anything, I felt like an oddball because nobody else was having an existential crisis. I felt like I should be seventy years old. I did not feel the youth in my bones. I did not feel poetic.

and even now, when I have to stop myself every so often and tell myself to breathe so I don’t work myself up in a state where I can’t breathe properly and end up entirely overwhelmed, and even now, when I stutter over the start of most of my sentences even though I feel the word I want to say clawing at my throat, I do not feel special. I do not feel cute. I do not feel poetic.

so please, tell me: why do you insist on making what has messed up most of my life into a fairytale? there never was, and never will be, anything lovely about not feeling like a human being; just bitter acceptance that will come in time, along with reassurance in that I’ll be able to live with the fact that it happened - and that things have changed - but I will still feel those things, and they will never be tied to any form of romance. don’t make this into a love story.

Romanticization: A Clouded Definition (via deathlusted)