sherlawkward:

jensensations:

care to try some Old Sport, old sport?

OH MY GOD I JUST SPIT EVERYWHERE

vixikori:

knifefarty:

Why is 9 mad at 10?

Because 10 lost 9’s rose.

get the fuck out

ered-sama:

I really like wearing skirts but sometimes the way people react to it makes me want to punch them in the face.

rufflebutts:

shoutout to all the other ex-gifted & talented/honor student/straight a/senior editor/star student/99th percentile/once-creative burn-outs who have, since high school, realized they are truly miniscule fish in a giant, endless ocean, criticized themselves to the point of creative paralysis, and participated in so much self-sabotage they no longer see the point of doing anything at all because they’re just going to ruin it for themselves anyway

:)

this one’s for you

huntswoman:

moeofyo:

because of meghan i am going to write a les mis fic that is just a 10 paragraph biography of the landlady of the building where they fuck

#’who is ”they”?’ #i’ll tell you but first i have to explain the landlady’s view of napoleon #hugo-authentic fanfic

damsel-with-a-dulcimer:

And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne: You’re not a REAL Gatsby fan unless you’ve read the book. Unless…

gatzzby:

You’re not a REAL Gatsby fan unless you’ve read the book. Unless you’ve read every Fitzgerald book. Unless you’ve read their early drafts, mailed to you by Fitzgerald himself. Unless you first read Gatsby when Scott handed it to you in a Parisian bar in 1925, apologising for the cover when he saw you disapproved. Unless you embarked on an intense friendship with him that culminated in rumours that you two were having a clandestine homosexual affair. Unless you once took him to the Louvre so you could prove to him that his penis wasn’t any smaller than those on the statues there. Unless Scott turned up, drunk and uninvited, at your house so many times that you had to move more than once. Unless you continued to exchange increasingly infrequent and terse letters with him for the rest of his life, then missed his funeral because you were in Cuba. Unless you called his literary talent “as natural as the pattern that was made by the dust on a butterfly’s wings” and won a Nobel prize and wrote For Whom The Bell Tolls. That’s right, you poser, if you’re not Ernest Hemingway you can fuck straight off right now. We’re on to you.

masks-and-roses:

Sometimes I think I should take up running, just in case I meet the Doctor.

leuces:

x

llamacornsaregoingtoeatyou:

anondracomalfoy:

When you slowly start hating someone you were friends with.

i dont know why this is so accurate but it is

thefaultinourfandoms:

fasterfood:

“dad i got accepted into harvard!!”

“son im very disappointed in u. i did not raise u to be such a nerd”