roaring like a porcelain doll

the-winchester-initiative:

shinysherlock:

pickled-johnlock:

what do you say when someone asks what you’re doing and you’re reading homosexual fanfiction based off of a book written 150 years ago

Tell them you’re reading a transformative work based on late Victorian literature that questions traditional views of gender and sexuality.

That was fucking beautiful

(via adweeb-deactivated20160228)

fasterfood:

Question 6: who is the real slim shady? support your answer using evidence from the text.

(via neatpotatoes)

A few weeks ago I wrote about a day and forgot that I had done so. Here it is.

Waking up slow in Dylan’s musty cottage of a house, then drifting back off and rousing to the rustle of supermarket bags containing breakfast, and a special South African tea he’s nostalgic for.

We lazily headed to the park; to laugh at quarrelling monkeys and choose our favourite flowers in the conservatory before sprawling in the sunshine. Spying the huge chess set under the trees, we headed over, to muse and whine with every move. After my laughing victory we changed “lets get ice cream” to “lets get lunch” and headed for the restaurant attached to his bar, where we sat at the high tables with 2 bar staff on break and munched our food.

Wandering home we dozed and cuddled before it was time for him to go to work, and me to get up and read sociological journals in preparation for my exam on Saturday. After a few hours of this I showered and walked into town to check out open-mic at alchemy. Having an empty slot, Dylan had to move from behind the bar to the stage, and played a fourty minute acoustic set to a small but friendly crowd.

Mid way through our friends Rob and Alice joined me and after Dylan had finished playing and knocked off, we sat outside in the balmy night with beers. Alchemy closed and we headed to the Oak, to watch a stringy hippy belt Bruce Springsteen and feel the wooden floors of the old hotel rumble as everyone stomped along with the music.

My attempts to get a round in resulted in Dyl confiscating my credit card and putting it in his wallet –I only got it back this morning. Alice had been going easy on the White Russians and was ok to drive so we clambered in her tiny car to go home with a critical happy meal pit stop. At home we happily munched and the night melted away.

Today I’m studying until 4 when I’ll walk to meet him at work and convince him to bear my victory in chess again, then maybe grab a coffee at Nanna’s, a 50’s theme café/op shop, before heading to his parents’ house for dinner.