No, fuck you. I was worth it.

and I’m still worth it // R.R. (via missinyouiskillingme)

(via cupcake-fish)


shoutout to all of us out there who haven’t posted a selfie with Brand New lyrics as the caption since 2009

(via deja-brandnew)


Hemingway and James Joyce were drinking buddies in Paris. Joyce was thin and bespectacled; Hemingway was tall and strapping. When they went out Joyce would get drunk, pick a fight with a bigger guy in the bar and then hide behind Hemingway and yell, “Deal with him, Hemingway. Deal with him.”

[x] (via newzerokaneda)

Between this and the story about him reassuring F. Scott Fitzgerald re dick size, I’m developing a picture of Hemingway as the mother hen of the disaffected white male literary set of the early 20th century.

He probably called up Steinbeck sometimes and was like I CAN’T EVEN WITH THESE DIPSHITS and Steinbeck was all “That’s what you get for living in Paris, asshole”.

(via copperbadge)

(via havisham)


(via realitycheckbounced)

(Source: recordfucker-oldblog, via ferriswheelonfire)



I love The Sims because it’s basically just a bunch of pansexual people speaking gibberish and setting their houses on fire.

The pansexual agenda.

(via joss-was-here)

A chance encounter, or the night we were friends:

I listened to your vibrant words
in between my heart throbs,
and the falling rain.
And my fear was never that you would ruin me,
but that you would not see me whole.


that moment when you mess up a word so often it becomes a default auto correct

(via under-the-starry-skies)