"That person isn’t going to be any less dead, if I wait, just a little bit."

(via hes-the-cream-in-my-coffee)


R&I 5x09: rizzoliandislestnt What a great married couple.

(via hes-the-cream-in-my-coffee)


Q
Shut the fuck up about 50 shades of grey. No one fucking cares
Anonymous
A

winchesterinengland:

oh hun

let me just give you a quick run down of all the things wrong with this ask:

1-you assume i care what some asshole anon has to say when i have 300 pounds and i’m going kikass birthday shopping today

2-you assume id care about some asshole anon any other day of the year

3-i care about the 50 shades of grey thing. and whether you do or not is irrelevant to me because you are, after all, just an asshole anon

4- this is my blog and i’ll post whatever the fuck i want, if you cant take three fucking posts about something without turning into a soggy cum stained dishrag then i suggest you make use of that unfollow button because youre gross

5- lemme break this down for you

if you dont care about this 50 shades situation, you need to grow the fuck up and look at the facts

the fact is the book was so misinformed that all the practises about bdsm culture were ignored and shit all over.

he ignores the safeword

he legitimately rapes her

he never explains everything about bdsm culture to her, shes so misinformed its ridiculous

and all of this is going even more public than it already has and its being romanticised and released on valentines day 

like “happy valentines honey! i bought some ropes i dont actually know how to tie and a whip i dont actually know how to use and i’m going to just gloss over the fact you’re uncomfortable because that clearly doesnt matter!”

incorrect use of a whip can cause organ failure

incorrect knots used on wristst or feet can literally cause them to need to be amputated

its perpetuating rape culture in ways ive never seen it be advanced to this leve; and if you dont care then youre truly disgusting 

you dont care about the kids not fully understanding their sexuality being abused by older people who they think are totally allowed to do this shit?

you dont care about the people that will be raped because of this because hey apparently rape is sexy?

you dont care about the fact that the bdsm culture is, once again, being portrayed as people who are fucked up and must have been abused to be that way rather than normal people who enjoy a kink in their own homes?

you dont care about the fact that youre not supposed to bleed on your first time. ever. and now tons more girls are going to think that its completely normal? that tons more guys will? that tons of people are going to think its expected for the female to bleed when SHE WONT IF SHES BEEN SUFFICIENTLY TURNED ON AND STRETCHED ITS REALLY NOT THAT HARD

you dont care about the stereotype of subs not actually enjoying bdsm culture is being widespread? that all subs dislike it and simply have an ulterior motive?

you dont care about the underlying message of the book being “a woman should give everything, including herself, to a man”?

you dont care about all the people in abusive relationships that will think “oh well this must be normal then” and stay there?

christian grey is a run-of-the-mill abusive boyfriend. he isnt a dom. 

a dom loves his/her sub completely and the motto of bdsm is "safe, willing and sane" (or something like that anyone feel free to correct me)

it means that both partners have to be completely willing, with boundaries, safewords and everything worked out before they even think about touching eachother intimately. 

if something is a boundary, you dont fucking do it

that simple

if the safeword is used it stops. everything stops

that simple

a dom should treat his sub like a goddamn princess (unless they have prearranged and understand that he wont eg-pet play, slave play where anything outside of the bedroom is also in the same dynamic HOWEVER IT IS STILL CONSENSUAL SO IT IS STILL OKAY)

a dom is not christian grey

but millions of people are going to think he is and are going to think that thats the way bdsm should be and they’ll get involved in something very dangerous if they dont have the real facts.

that people will think its romantic because this shit is scheduled for valentines day  to treat your partner like shit, abuse her, and that what? getting them off absorbs you of all your shit? no. this is so fucking gross and im not taking a backseat when this shit happens

so in conclusion

literally fuck you, you insensitive fuck stain, this issue is so fucking important.



R.I.P Lee Thompson Young (1984-2013)
You will be missed.

(via caityllotz)


"I really loved how he made me laugh." Goodbye Barry Frost.

(via coffeeintheirveins)



Stana: I think every woman has a bit of it all, truly. I think every woman is a little spicy and a little sweet.

Stana: I think every woman has a bit of it all, truly. I think every woman is a little spicy and a little sweet.

(via ijustwantcastle)


wickedlycaskett:

beckett-always-castle:

random-ship:

In words
By E

OMG…This is going to  my next wallpaper!! AWESOME!! :)

Martha and Alexis are worried about her. She can hear them, sometimes, through the door. 
They’ve all had a hellish couple of days to say the least. A father, a son, a fiance, they all lost one of the ones they held most dear. But it seems her form of grief has them worried. Guess they would be- they don’t know her in grief. You see, her and grief are old buddies. Old buddies who still drink together sometimes. And get wasted together. And get angry at themselves for getting as drunk as they did in college with the other, and angry at the other for encouraging them to get so drunk again.
She might not be literally hungover- they made sure to get rid of all alcohol in the place (her father helped clear it out. He knew better than anyone), but she felt as emotionally drained and as remorseful as if she was. But this wasn’t just one day. This was lots of days. This was day after day of crying, of holing herself up, of crying some more. Of curling up in his too-big clothes and grasping at the last traces of his scent. Of never leaving the room, not really. Of trying to count the winds as they whistle through the too-empty loft instead of the days since. Of anger, of wishing for something that could never be, of numbing sadness, of crippling melancholy. Of sadness that now had her holding Heat Wave in her trembling hands and getting hit by wave after wave of memories, the page stained with her too-frequent tears. 
It was the dedication, really, that did her in. She had picked up the book just fine. She had opened it just fine. But barely a page in and there were all the tears. 
"To the extraordinary KB and all my friends at the 12th."
She’s just assaulted by images. She remembers her initial rage over the cover art- the same day he’d gotten her a coffee for the first time. She’d been amazed that he knew her order, and furious about the cover. They were such babies then. Before the bombs, before the tigers, before the Hudson Rivers and the traitors, the corrupt and the crazy. Hadn’t been through anything but yet he’d already saved her life once. He’d saved her from the beginning though really, his words at least. They’d been what got her through her mom’s murder. In books, murders made sense. Murders had answers. And though she had closure now for her mom’s case maybe… maybe she could still be saved by his words. That had been her reasoning. 
She remembers that first book party. That time she thought it’d all be over, that this man she was warming up to was going to leave. She’d worn that blue dress that she definitely had not spent hours looking for because she wanted to impress someone. Who was definitely not that someone. No. 
Hell, it had been. What use pretending now? 
And she remembers how much she had been shocked and awed that that man had written that as his dedication, and that he thought her extraordinary. Those words. His words. How many words he had used since, how many words they should’ve yet been able to share. The words she had prepared for that day. The words written, the words said. The words whispered, the words argued. So many words. But it was words that had saved her.
And she reads on and on, drawn back into Nikki’s world, perhaps they’ll save her again. She still cries, don’t get her wrong. The ink smudges in some places due to the excess of tears. 
Nothing will replace him. But perhaps his words can save her. 

wickedlycaskett:

beckett-always-castle:

random-ship:

In words

By E

OMG…This is going to  my next wallpaper!! AWESOME!! :)

Martha and Alexis are worried about her. She can hear them, sometimes, through the door. 

They’ve all had a hellish couple of days to say the least. A father, a son, a fiance, they all lost one of the ones they held most dear. But it seems her form of grief has them worried. Guess they would be- they don’t know her in grief. You see, her and grief are old buddies. Old buddies who still drink together sometimes. And get wasted together. And get angry at themselves for getting as drunk as they did in college with the other, and angry at the other for encouraging them to get so drunk again.

She might not be literally hungover- they made sure to get rid of all alcohol in the place (her father helped clear it out. He knew better than anyone), but she felt as emotionally drained and as remorseful as if she was. But this wasn’t just one day. This was lots of days. This was day after day of crying, of holing herself up, of crying some more. Of curling up in his too-big clothes and grasping at the last traces of his scent. Of never leaving the room, not really. Of trying to count the winds as they whistle through the too-empty loft instead of the days since. Of anger, of wishing for something that could never be, of numbing sadness, of crippling melancholy. Of sadness that now had her holding Heat Wave in her trembling hands and getting hit by wave after wave of memories, the page stained with her too-frequent tears. 

It was the dedication, really, that did her in. She had picked up the book just fine. She had opened it just fine. But barely a page in and there were all the tears. 

"To the extraordinary KB and all my friends at the 12th."

She’s just assaulted by images. She remembers her initial rage over the cover art- the same day he’d gotten her a coffee for the first time. She’d been amazed that he knew her order, and furious about the cover. They were such babies then. Before the bombs, before the tigers, before the Hudson Rivers and the traitors, the corrupt and the crazy. Hadn’t been through anything but yet he’d already saved her life once. He’d saved her from the beginning though really, his words at least. They’d been what got her through her mom’s murder. In books, murders made sense. Murders had answers. And though she had closure now for her mom’s case maybe… maybe she could still be saved by his words. That had been her reasoning. 

She remembers that first book party. That time she thought it’d all be over, that this man she was warming up to was going to leave. She’d worn that blue dress that she definitely had not spent hours looking for because she wanted to impress someone. Who was definitely not that someone. No. 

Hell, it had been. What use pretending now? 

And she remembers how much she had been shocked and awed that that man had written that as his dedication, and that he thought her extraordinary. Those words. His words. How many words he had used since, how many words they should’ve yet been able to share. The words she had prepared for that day. The words written, the words said. The words whispered, the words argued. So many words. But it was words that had saved her.

And she reads on and on, drawn back into Nikki’s world, perhaps they’ll save her again. She still cries, don’t get her wrong. The ink smudges in some places due to the excess of tears. 

Nothing will replace him. But perhaps his words can save her. 

(via alwayslove47)


Where do you think he is? I don’t know.

When I spoke to him last, he said he was twenty minutes away.

(via katherinbecketts)