gosh darn it
victoria from ontario canada
/

boiledleather:

edenliaothewomb:

Emilia Clarke, photographed by Cedric Buchet for Marie Claire, May 2014.

oh gosh

alicecarrier:

pretty legit swellbow going on here.  thanks for letting me destroy your elbow for 4+ hours, coral!!! and welcome to portland!!

12,819 notes
April 13th
19,663 notes
April 9th

Emilia Clarke for Marie Claire US May 2014 issue

embryodanika:

Edelweiss

Matt and I recorded tonight and we’re both proud of this. Love you all.

408,888 notes
April 7th
596,542 notes
April 5th
pizzaboats:

THEY LOOK SO PROUD!!! LOOK AT OUR bABIES! WE MADE THESE!!! LOOK AT HOW CUTE THEY ARE!! HAVE U MET OUR BABIES YET LOOK AT THEM!! BABY DOGGIES!!! THAT WE MADE!!!

pizzaboats:

THEY LOOK SO PROUD!!! LOOK AT OUR bABIES! WE MADE THESE!!! LOOK AT HOW CUTE THEY ARE!! HAVE U MET OUR BABIES YET LOOK AT THEM!! BABY DOGGIES!!! THAT WE MADE!!!

Read More

Waking up without you is like drinking from an empty cup
written by Damien Rice, The Animals Were Gone (via the-zephyr-of-words)
73,195 notes
March 28th
[after a half-hearted suicide attempt at age 13]

When Daddy comes in, he carries you to bed. Is there anything you feel like you could eat, Pokey? Anything at all?

All you can imagine putting in your mouth is a cold plum, one with really tight skin on the outside but gum-shocking sweetness inside. And he and your mother discuss where he might find some this late in the season. Mother says hell I don’t know. Further north, I’d guess.

The next morning, you wake up in your bed and sit up. Mother says, Pete, I think she’s up. He hollers in, You ready for breakfast, Pokey. Then he comes in grinning, still in his work clothes from the night before. He’s holding a farm bushel. The plums he empties onto the bed river toward you through folds in the quilt. If you stacked them up, they’d fill the deepest bin at the Piggly Wiggly.

Damned if I didn’t get the urge to drive to Arkansas last night, he says.

Your mother stands behind him saying he’s pure USDA crazy.

Fort Smith, Arkansas. Found a roadside stand out there with a feller selling plums. And I says, Buddy, I got a little girl sick back in Texas. She’s got a hanker for plums and ain’t nothing else gonna do.

It’s when you sink your teeth into the plum that you make a promise. The skin is still warm from riding in the sun in Daddy’s truck, and the nectar runs down your chin.

And you snap out of it. Or are snapped out of it. Never again will you lay a hand against yourself, not so long as there are plums to eat and somebody-anybody-who gives enough of a damn to haul them to you. So long as you bear the least nibblet of love for any other creature in this dark world, though in love portions are never stingy. There are no smidgens or pinches, only rolling abundance. That’s how you acquire the resolution for survival that the coming years are about to demand. You don’t earn it. It’s given.
written by Mary Karr, “Cherry” (via lifeinpoetry)