mach712:

celeryandhummus:

(x)

kristen loves women and she doesn’t take shit

It’s wonderful how much of this game she is not playing.



The sins of the father are to be laid upon the children.
The Merchant of Venice (3.5.1)





thymoss:

mads mikkelsen as lucifer

His eyes glitter, bright and burning, looking up from The Pit. He fell. Oh, but how he fell, how it hurt.They abandoned him. HE, HE cast him out, thought to— No. No more tears. Tears are what they want. And he will never, ever be what they want. (x)

the most glorious of archangels. the rebel. the serpent.

lucifer.

created to fall. created to rebel. the morningstar created to cast and then consume the shadow for the kingdom of heaven, as the dark side of the coin of creation, flipped around by a despot god.

lucifer no longer traded in petty currencies of good and evil any more. they are scaffoldings to a rotten cathedral glimmering with ambition and power, and he will not stop til he has scaled to the very top.

he knows better than anyone how far the fall can be - and now he will rise higher than the creator had ever even intended.

suggested by the evil overlord villainyandgoodcheekbones



petrole:

une passion pour jeanne d’arc, stella tennant by paolo roversi for vogue paris february 1994



francisabernathys:

theparisreview:

In a note to Fitzgerald, Hemingway shows he was better at being aggressive than passive-aggressive.

For more of this morning’s roundup, click here.

“Hemingway once sent F. Scott Fitzgerald a typescript of A Farewell to Arms. Fitzgerald sent back ten pages of edits and comments, signing off with “A beautiful book it is!” You can see Hemingway’s first reaction above (signed EH). In later drafts, it seems, he took some of Fitzgerald’s advice to heart.”


Burn all of your bridges
just so that you can build them again
with thicker ropes.

Hurt all the people you love
and then commit every felony to win them back.

Drown yourself in bleach until not even Heaven’s light
can compare to how bright you can burn.

Turn yourself inside out
and paint your organs the color of what you see
in your dreams.

This is the art of
living with a ticking heart — a grenade you
throw through windows to make a
point that language
has no room for.

This is how I destroyed you. And this, is how
I kept you alive.

Dig yourself a ditch, six
feet deep, and bury everything that you’ve ever
said, everything that you’ve never
meant, and everything that has
burned you and left you with nothing
but ash.

Shinji Moon, Advice From Dionysus (via colberting)


as if men had a monopoly on murder.



brothermates:

tell me why you wanna come with me tonight