#bdewitt

[powerbisexual]

Well, I just gave you a follow for that url, because /damn/.

asdf, thank you! I still can't believe it wasn't taken!

[angelshawke]

bdewitt replied to your post: bdewitt replied to your post: Pamiętając ostatni...

Drugie miejsce? Nieważne, nikt nie będzie o nas pamiętać za godzinę :D

ach, w sumie racja :DDDD

[angelshawke]

bdewitt replied to your post: Pamiętając ostatni rok, specjalnie pojawiłam się...

Ostatnie od jury, czwarte od widzów. Zakładam, że nie zrezygnowali z tego sposobu oceniania?

haha, faktycznie w zeszłym roku było takie mega zaskoczenie ze Szpakiem, nie? :D może historia się powtórzy hmm

[angelshawke]

Pamiętając ostatni rok, specjalnie pojawiłam się na Twoim blogu, sprawdzić czy znowu live-blogujesz Eurowizję. Woo! Niech moc będzie z nami \o/

jak mogłabym nie liveblogować eurowizji, nie mogłam zerwać z tą tradycją :’DD

[jam-hearts]

@bdewitt thank you!!!

[thegirlfallsfromthesky]

@bdewitt

Continues from here

“... I don’t know. I’m sure most people would be smart enough to just accept it.”

[thegirlfallsfromthesky]

@bdewitt

Continued from here

“That’s not fair. And I never said I was the one alleging it.”

[lacklusterfatale-archive]

♬ [ idk why somehow the possible image of this playing out in my head makes me laugh]

@bdewitt

       It wasn’t like she lived in the mountains of Tennessee for years and years. She wasn’t even a teenager when they relocated. And yet, the songs there: the songs sung from the heart and with shoddy instruments held so much more to her than anything a record player could creak out.

      So why did she own that fucking record player?  Oh. Right. How could she be dumb and forget? Some men were into the romancing with music deal, so she could set it for them. But, why did she keep that particular record which held the utmost gloomy, utmost dead melody. It held everything she hated in a song and yet-

“Maybe you’re cold but, you’re so warm inside.”

The green eyes with flicks of grey found--(better) green ones. Did Booker think she was implying something to him? That she could read him like a open book? Or, that she was trying to lull him to sleep as his head rested on her pillow. “I sung this to my sons.” She answered not with ice, but indifference. No–she internally corrected herself. She sung it to Jon. Greg got something different. Rhoda, for a moment, the smallest moment recognized with the faintest humor that it could’ve been off-putting for a man to just hear about a woman’s children without warning. But really? She didn’t care. It was a parent thing.