[What makes you emotional?] "Love stories, romantic comedies, things like that. I get so attached and I just bawl at the end. I don’t ever want to be in love though, that just looks like pain. I couldn’t ever be in a romantic role either. I just watch them." -Maisie Williams

  • me waiting for haikyuu season 2: [banging fist on table] WHERE. ARE. THE. OWLS. WHERE. ARE. THE. OWLS.
yvonnism:

Ymir and her cold butch stare. #inktober

yvonnism:

Ymir and her cold butch stare. #inktober

this is what happens when you travel alone for too long

"I watched the contents of his soul for a moment and saw a black-painted boy calling the name Jesse Owens as he ran through an imaginary tape. I saw him hip-deep in some icy water, chasing a book, and I saw a boy lying in bed, imagining how a kiss would taste from his glorious next-door neighbor. He does something to me, that boy. Every time. It’s his only detriment. He steps on my heart. He makes me cry.”

starspngledman:

oh you’re watching the winter soldier? i love that movie, the way he just [clenches fist] soldiers on through all that fricken’ winter

szaniawa:

What really happened

S08E09 - “Flatline”

Deviantart

A Song of Ice and Fire by George R. R. Martin  —— (Insp)

“The best fantasy is written in the language of dreams. It is alive as dreams are alive, more real than real … for a moment at least … that long magic moment before we wake.

Fantasy is silver and scarlet, indigo and azure, obsidian veined with gold and lapis lazuli. Reality is plywood and plastic, done up in mud brown and olive drab. Fantasy tastes of habaneros and honey, cinnamon and cloves, rare red meat and wines as sweet as summer. Reality is beans and tofu, and ashes at the end. Reality is the strip malls of Burbank, the smokestacks of Cleveland, a parking garage in Newark. Fantasy is the towers of Minas Tirith, the ancient stones of Gormenghast, the halls of Camelot. Fantasy flies on the wings of Icarus, reality on Southwest Airlines. Why do our dreams become so much smaller when they finally come true?

We read fantasy to find the colors again, I think. To taste strong spices and hear the songs the sirens sang. There is something old and true in fantasy that speaks to something deep within us, to the child who dreamt that one day he would hunt the forests of the night, and feast beneath the hollow hills, and find a love to last forever somewhere south of Oz and north of Shangri-La.

They can keep their heaven. When I die, I’d sooner go to middle Earth.”