This adorable proposal.
This is why I LOVE same-sex relationships. Like, who’s gonna propose?? Probably both!!
Lesbians destroying marriage
Xuebing Du
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
Cosmic Funnies

JVL
art blog(derogatory)
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ellievsbear

❣ Chile in a Photography ❣

pixel skylines
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
Sweet Seals For You, Always
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
trying on a metaphor

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$LAYYYTER

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Claire Keane
occasionally subtle

#extradirty

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@cozziepants
This adorable proposal.
This is why I LOVE same-sex relationships. Like, who’s gonna propose?? Probably both!!
Lesbians destroying marriage
I think when you take away all, like, the premieres and press stuff and all the special effects, then you just come down to the fact that it’s all about acting, and I think that has been the best bit for me. Happy 30th birthday, Emma Charlotte Duerre Watson!
There are exactly 2 valid romances in all of film:
1. The little cowboy and the Roman guy from Night at the Museum
2. Queen Clarisse and Joe from The Princess Diaries
This is so precious oh my god. There’s more under the cut. Also click HERE for full-sized pics and also a vid of a chicken screaming at the wind XD
Keep reading
DARREN CRISS Rogue Magazine / 2018 › ph. Joseph Sinclair
“Good morning!”
“What do you mean? Do you wish me a good morning, or mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not; or that you feel good this morning; or that it is a morning to be good on?”
- The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey [ 2012 ]
No one:
Literally no one :
Me at 3 am: "What color does Sauron's hair have?
Yes. I'm still alive.
The Price of Honesty - Chapter three
Flel's mother has always kept her a secret. She was hers to protect. Flel never understood why her mother would hide her. Her father was a good dwarf, and now he is King Under the Mountain. She has dreamed of the day she meets him, and the day she can publicly declare her Adad.
However tradition has different ideas. And Flel is about to learn the price of honesty is sometimes too high to pay.
AU, everyone lives. Erebor is reclaimed, and more dwarves move to help with the rebuild each day.
https://archiveofourown.org/works/15761364/chapters/36659559
SEAGULLS! (Stop It Now)
Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez before her democratic primary debate with Rep. Joe Crowley. Knock Down the House (dir. Rachel Lears, 2019)
In the aftermath of it all, Catarina can’t find it in herself to be mad anymore.
At the start, after Magnus had portaled home, staggering and hurt and halfway to death with this boy leaning against him, asking that she help this Shadowhunter first… she remembers healing him – Alexander – and feeling rage. With runes stark on his skin and blood on his knuckles, he had been every inch a Nephilim. The Nephilim who had stolen Magnus’s heart.
She remembers the way she’d frowned at his unconscious face, comparing him to the strip of photographs Magnus left on his desk. Watching him lying there on a makeshift cot in the living room, suffering from the shock of blood loss and broken bones, she couldn’t imagine him making funny faces, couldn’t imagine him looking at Magnus with soft, sweet eyes. Couldn’t imagine that he’d want Magnus’s touch, that he would smile that boyish, lopsided smile with her best friend’s arms looped around him.
She remembers thinking, you don’t deserve him. This Shadowhunter, this lying Head of the New York Institute, didn’t deserve Magnus and his love. Magnus, who had started sleeping exclusively on the right side of the bed, who looked at Madzie with something wistful in his gaze every time she ran toward him, who always protected his people at the expense of his own happiness.
He’s too good for you, she had thought as she glared daggers at the boy in front of her, with his angel blood and penchant for prejudice. But she hadn’t said anything, hadn’t rolled him down the stairs, and had gone to help Magnus instead; her best friend, drained of magic and still stubbornly trying to heal himself. She’d gone to the balcony afterwards to clear her mind for a minute, to rest her hands, and now, as she turns around to check in on Magnus…
The Shadowhunter is missing from his cot. Classic. Rolling her eyes, she opens the door to the master bedroom.
They’re lying in Magnus’s bed together, Magnus’s head pillowed on Alec Lightwood’s chest, nearly asleep as he slowly heals from the wounds of battle. His body still lies stiff from the aches of demon venom coursing through his blood, skin paler than its usual golden hue, bruises littered everywhere, yet his arm is still curled possessively around the Shadowhunter’s waist in a familiar motion.
And the Shadowhunter…
He’s looking at Magnus like he’s a miracle.
His eyes never leave Magnus’s and his face is soft and warm and content, like he’s holding onto something he thought he’d lost forever. He looks young like this, the way he smiles and whispers secrets into Magnus’s ear, the way his fingers trace patterns on his bare shoulder, the way he readjusts the red silk blanket so that it’s tucked carefully under Magnus’s chin.
Magnus can’t see it, with his face buried into the Shadowhunter’s shirt, but from the doorway, Catarina can. This boy… he’s truthfully, honestly, painfully in love. The type of love Catarina hasn’t seen Magnus receive in too long, the type that’s as helpless and natural as the sky is blue. And a part of her still wants to be angry, to shake Alec Lightwood until his teeth click in his skull, to tell him, don’t you ever hurt him, but from the way he’s staring down at Magnus with his heart in his eyes, she thinks he already knows.
Catarina starts to turn around, when unexpectedly Alec Lightwood’s eyes dart up to meet hers at the sound of her loafers swishing faintly against the rug. They stare, frozen for an awkward moment, and she nearly laughs at loud at the way his cheeks go rosy pink. She opens her mouth to say something, to make fun of him maybe, or tell him to let Magnus sleep, but right then Magnus shifts, groaning low in his throat, and the Shadowhunter breaks his gaze, mumbling something into Magnus’s hair that makes her friend smile gently.
Wordlessly, Catarina magics the door closed, staring at the smooth black wood as Magnus and Alec fade from view. In the kitchen, she makes herself a cup of chamomile tea, hands wrapped around the soothing, fragrant heat as she sighs in exhaustion. The two of them… they don’t make sense to her, not at all. They shouldn’t work. But Magnus is Magnus, and he’s never done anything by halves. If his happiness comes in the form of a too-tall Shadowhunter with gentle eyes and a cautious smile, then Catarina will be the very last person in this dimension to tell him no.
Now I’ve gone and done it, I just started Political Animals (again)
Grief is not just the pain of loss. It’s the pain of facing a future without someone, the knowledge that someone we love is gone, and we won’t ever laugh with them again, or argue with them about stupid little things. That we’ll never walk in the door and they’re there, like they’re supposed to be. It’s watching the people around you grief and cry, and doing everything you can to support them but also shutting up, because you never want to upset someone else you love and talking about the loss of a share loved one is exactly what’s going to make them cry.
It’s knowing you would do anything to bring them back, and hating that you’re so upset not just because it hurts, but because they would absolutely hate seeing you so upset. It’s loving hearing people speak about the good times, and how amazing they were, but also dreading it because depending on what time of day it is, you’re going to react different.
Grief is individual and collective, all at once. It’s trying your hardest to be kind to yourself but failing everyday because they’re just not there anymore for you to throw an arm around and tell them you love them. It’s feeling like everyone is judging your every action, because if you’re miserable all the time you’re looking for attention and if you’re happy you obviously didn’t care enough.
It’s trying to live your best life because they would want you to, but knowing it would be so much better if they were here. It’s dreaming of the day you see them again, and hating when people argue about if there’s an after life, because when they say there’s not your thoughts are “I’ll never see them again” and when they say there is, it’s usually a platitude meaning “you’ll be reunited”, but no one really knows.
It’s wanting to talk about them all the time, but watching how often you do because everyone’s watching to see if you’re dealing. It’s being asked “how are you doing?” and automatically saying “ah fine, every day at a time” when in reality it’s every minute.
Grief is everyone thinking they know how to tell you how to process it, instead of actually letting you process a loss that no one could ever understand.
But most of all grief is the price we pay for love. And as much as I hate grief, and I hate everything it is, it’s a price that’s still too cheap for all the love I was given.