i log in. i reblog quotes and poems and posts that slice me in half or whatever. i log out

how i feel about this image of shuji

We don’t read and write poetry because it’s cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for.

DEAD POETS SOCIETY (1989) dir. Peter Weir

XP/98 remix

ok what the fuck

It sounds like some digital boss theme

I had to draw this.

trigunning for today's warm up! these idiots have taken over all the remaining free space in my head

Men with muscular thighs just do smth to me omg

They can keep a quick pace as fuck and boy do they love letting you grind on their thigh during their free time. It's like a hobby I swear. They push and pull your hips as you whine and cling to their shirt, balled up in your fists as he carefully bounces his leg when nesscary. Only paying half of his attention to you, because yknow, he's like that.

Fucking hate pet rent.  You want my cat to pay rent?  She is a cat.  Cats don’t have jobs.  Idiot.

.║\ ║▒\ put this on your blog ║▒▒\ ║░▒║ ║░▒║ ║░▒║ ║░▒║ ║░▒║ ║░▒║ to show others ║░▒║ ║░▒║ ║░▒║ ║░▒║ ║░▒║ ▓▓▓▓▓ [█▓] [█▓] you are gay [█▓]

Question: why is a sword, a representation of being gay?

cause im gay and i like swords whats not to get

I went looking for this post specifically and only just realized that the op was the same person

you know an awful lot of people dont realise this actually. but rest assured if its about swords and being gay, there is a high chance i wrote it

[ID: a post by @/swordlesbianopinions that reads “While You Were Being Heterosexual, I Studied The Blade”. /ID]

ydk ydk i want to fuck him stupid sooo bad <3

like it's MY fault my love language is acts of service and all i know how to do is kill

dannymay2022 day 4: videotape word count: 2922

just keep talking on

Lance Thunder’s crew was about to wrap up for the night when he caught the two ghosts out of the corner of his eye. They’d just finished getting B-roll and a standup for tomorrow’s package but hadn’t shut off the camera yet. Maybe it was a sense of journalistic ambition, or maybe the fact that Lance was tired of doing stories on rising gas prices—nonetheless, Lance directed his crew to follow the two ghosts to the back of the gas station.

It was probably a bust, but what else was there to report on in this town?

He recognized the ghosts as Johnny 13 and Kitty—a notorious couple that Phantom often let race through the town on joyrides. Once, they’d been a threat to the town but after a tentative truce between them and the town’s hero, they’d mellowed out. It was a welcome change of pace after what seemed like endless attacks from the other side.

They were both leaning against the wall of the building, pulsating in the dim light, sharing cigarettes. The footage looked like trash considering how the ghosts’ glow messed with the exposure, but he hoped the audio would be better.

“—feels like our afterlives are just more of the same. We do the same boring shit, over and over and expect it to feel new,” Kitty said. “It’s just a bore.”

“I mean.” Johnny thought for a moment. “At least we don’t have it as bad as Phantom.”

Keep reading

— ⊹˚. ♡ his voice always goes soft when he calls your name.

"babydoll," he hums, voice low and saccharine as he slides over to you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling your back to his chest. his voice is husky with sleep, hair messy and eyes lidded, as he hums a good mornin' into your ear and kisses the back of your neck.

you're in the cute little apron he'd got for you, fixing him a breakfast of waffles and coffee, currently in the middle of making the homemade jam you once came up with that he likes so much. "'s breakfast for me?" he asks, repeating the little petname, leaning down and pooling his weight onto your back as he rests his chin on the crook of your neck.

his shirtless chest is warm, and he smells good — sleepy, smoky and of fresh sheets because you'd both changed the bedsheets last night before tucking in. "it is for you, baby." you say, grinding berries into the little bowl you've got your hand around. "go brush your teeth and take a shower, m'kay? so you can have a nice morning meal before you leave for work."

"ain't it the weekend?" he sighs, not wanting to move off you. you're so soft, so sweet-smelling and so comforting to the touch. "fuck work. i'll stay home with you t'day."

"you can't, it's not the weekend. and it's not like you have weekends off anyway." you laugh, dropping the little glass pestle down and taking hold of his chin, tilting his face so you can kiss him on the cheek. "go on. and if you woke up earlier, you'd have more time to cuddle me before you leave."

he smiles at your little chide, and the lines of his cheek press into your lips. "what if we just cuddled now, hm?" his grip around your waist tightens. "right here, on the kitchen counter. prop you up like this, 'n kiss you here, there—"