*cries because of renly*
*cries because loras cried too*
*cries because loras blamed himself for renly’s death*
*cries because renly is gone*
*cries because “I loved him”*
*cries because of “when the sun has set no candle can replace it”“
*cries because renly/loras*
*Jesus does the cup song at the Last Supper* You’re going to miss me when I’m gone.
before i knew which blogs were which,
some were fandom, some were art, some were music, and some were a bit of everything.
now everything is sebastian stan
- Daisy: How old were you when you had your first kiss?
- Carnation: If I handed you a concert ticket right now, who would you want to be the performer?
- Jasmine: What color looks best on you?
- foxglove: Name three facts about your family?
- Allium: What's the best thing you can cook?
- Orange Blossom: If you could pick the gender and appearance of your child, would you?
- Calla Lily: If you died right now, what song would you want to play at your funeral?
- Poinsettia: Favorite holiday dish?
- Oxlip: Would you ever get into a long distance relationship?
- Primrose: Favorite kind of soup?
- Daffodil: What's the most thoughtful present you've ever received?
- Rose: Do you like someone?
- Amsonia: Would you ever become a vegan?
- Peony: What's your favorite hot beverage?
- Tulip: For your birthday, what kind of cake do you ask for?
- Myrtle: Do you like going on airplanes?
- Hibiscus: Did you ever play an instrument? If so what?
- Zinnia: Who was your best friend when you were six years old?
- Poppy: What color was your childhood home?
- Hydrangea: Starbucks order?
- Violet: Do you like where you're from?
- Locust: What was your favorite book as a child?
- Rhododendron: What's the scariest dream you've ever had?
- Queen Anne's Lace: Would you rather carve pumpkins or wrap presents?
- Magnolia: Favorite kind of candy?
- Aster: Would you rather be cold or hot?
- Marigold: Do you listen to what's on the radio?
- Heliconia: Do you like when it rains?
- Azalea: What's a movie you cried while watching?
- Dandelion: Do you think you're important?
i want to write the kind of short stories you read in english class that are on this weird level of surrealism that they still haunt you years down the road
It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the sound I heard when I was 9 and my father slammed the front door so hard behind him I swear to god it shook the whole house. For the next 3 years I watched my mother break her teeth on vodka bottles. I think she stopped breathing when he left. I think part of her died. I think he took her heart with him when he walked out. Her chest is empty, just a shattered mess or cracked ribs and depression pills.
It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s all the blood in the sink. It’s the night that I spent 12 hours in the emergency room waiting to see if my sister was going to be okay, after the boy she loved, told her he didn’t love her anymore. It’s the crying, and the fluorescent lights, and white sneakers and pale faces and shaky breaths and blood. So much blood.
It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the time that I had to stay up for two days straight with my best friend while she cried and shrieked and threw up on my bedroom floor because her boyfriend fucked his ex. I swear to god she still has tear streaks stained onto her cheeks. I think when you love someone, it never really goes away.
It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the six weeks we had a substitute in English because our teacher was getting divorced and couldn’t handle getting out of bed. When she came back she was smiling. But her hands shook so hard when she held her coffee, you could see that something was broken inside. And sometimes when things break, you can’t fix them. Nothing ever goes back to how it was. I got an A in English that year. I think her head was always spinning too hard to read any essays.
It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s that I do.”
It’s not that I don’t love you. (via extrasad)
i’m not like other girls. actually, i’m nothing like other girls. and that girl u saw get on the bus earlier isn’t like other girls either. it’s surprising, really. it’s almost as if everybody is different from each other. holy shit
What To Do When Your Boyfriend’s Asshole Best Friend Says, “Hey, Never Trust Anything That Bleeds For Seven Days And Doesn’t Die,
OR The Only Poem I’ll Ever Write About Periods.
Don’t excuse him because he’s had
at least three lite beers
and is sweating through his black button down
that his mom or exgirlfriend
probably bought him.
Don’t excuse him because he’s been turned down
by the last six girls he went on dates with
after meeting them on tindr
with a picture that’s seven years old
Don’t excuse him because
he’s usually such a nice guy
because you don’t want to be a bitch
because you don’t want to cause a scene
because when you were seventeen
your sister told you
no one likes an angry feminist
Let me explain something to you.
Every goddamn motherfucking month since I was eleven,
a part of me
tore itself to shreds
ripped itself apart inside me
and then remade itself.
So yes, I bleed for seven days
and I don’t die
You know what else can do that?
Things of legend.
Fuck, I can even
So I say, never trust anything that can’t
bleed for seven days and not die.
You know what that makes it?
So let’s see, hon,
What you’re made of.
If you can bleed for seven days
and not die.
Rip out his jugular with your teeth.
And when he bleeds for seven seconds
spit on his corpse and say,
I thought not.
Katherine Tucker (via ofcrosseddaggers)