artemysa:

The best seats at Queen’s are in the front row of the Upper Circle. The reason is this: you can see over the top of the barricade. So after the final battle, when the barricade turns round, you can see all of Les Amis stand up, and quite cheerfully walk off stage. What a good joke they’re playing on Marius, pretending they’re all dead. Just picture his face when they all turn up at his wedding. Ha ha ha.



  • [drunk joly voice] no ssshhh SSSHHH HE'S GONNA
  • [drunk joly voice] ok go
  • [drunk combeferre voice] theeeeeeeeeeere's antimony, arsenic, aluminum, selenium, and hydrogen and oxygen and nitrogen and rhenium........


newyorksloths:

We’ve all got our junk



mymarbleapollo:

Belfast, Ireland





i.
we are in love,
and we are breaking,
and i know i should not follow you.

we are in love,
and we are breaking,
and there is no should.
not for us.

the first time i remember you we stood in a golden hall,
the sconces playing dusty bluebells with the curls of your hair,
the velvet of your cloak melding you into the shadows,
but your eyes brimming with firelight.

we lived together,
then,
hands clasped together over a hilt of the sword,
mouths clasped together over the peak of a hill.
i would have walked with you until the sun collapsed in on itself
and you were the only light left in the world.
the only steps i took were in your footprints,
the only air i breathed that you let out—
a taste of salt, of blood, of iron filings.

i am only glad i never saw you go out,
that my eyes shut before yours did,
and that i could never mistake you for sleeping.

i closed my eyes on the light of the sun,
flashing on the flat of the swords,
and waited.

ii.
we next meet at a party,
your hair bound back and your eyes bright blue,
but something in me breaks when i see your little feet jut out
from under your dress foam.

you press gloves into my hand and a glass to my mouth,
and i drank cherries down, spilling red juice through my skirts,
through my hands,
through your lips.

i must say your hands are softer now,
delicate and waifish and almost transparent if i
hold them up to light.
i can see through you.
i can see every bone and every crevice and
every hollow brick where you hide your secrets,
and i love it all.

iii.
i remember kissing someone.
they did not have your smile, but they had your teeth,
imprinted on the back of my lips with fervour.
they did not have your eyes,
but they had your look.
they did not have your dress,
or your velvet cloak,
but they had your portrait in a locket about their neck.

i could not bring myself to hate you.

iv.
you waved at me from the bus stop,
all red jacket and gold hair and hands coaxed from marble.
i was almost ashamed to look at you,
that you had to see your reflection in my eyes.

you deserved mirrors of silver,
mother of pearl,
lakes so still and quiet that the water sings like polished glass.
not the bloodshot eyes of someone who wishes
wishes
to drown.

(although whether in vodka or the sea i do not yet know.)

you held my hand later that week,
hot and burning,
and i wondered whether icarus would change his mind about flying
if he knew that the sun could come to him.

v.
the clock in the corner points to a quarter past twelve.
and you are not in your seat.
the curtains start to draw up on a two act play
with another curtain fall before intermission
and i am dragged back
to battlefields.
to bedsides.
to handkerchieves filled with blood and tears and
cherry stains.

the seconds tick on.


?.
i have loved you,
and i do love you,
and i will love you.

there are no tenses.
we are fucked up and in love
and shattering into thousands of pieces.
there are no clocks.
not for us.



— [ ouroboros ] a.g.  (via eurvdice)




teamdaae:

Make your choice….



I think the scariest thing about falling in love is that there’s always an opportunity to fall out of it. There is no signed contract, no promises that can’t be broken, no guarantees that that person will stick around and that scares me to death. One day, they can just wake up and be over your little weird habits, and the way you say the letter “I.” They’ll realize you’re selfish, they’ll realize they deserve so much more. And that’s the scariest thought I’ve ever had.


—this is so personal i’m going to be sick (via brennanat)


cutebmo asked: prompt: stars and galaxies inside your body

courfius:

when my pastor first told me all the good kids go to heaven
for eternity, it was enough to make little seven-year-old me
take a serious look at atheism.

it’s not that i’m skeptical of paradise and it’s not
that i’m against what jesus stood for. it’s like —
i tried to imagine eternity and it felt like cramming elephants
into my skull, like my eyes were gonna pop out and roll away across those
polished shoe-scuffed hardwood floors.

infinity scared the shit out of me and it still kind of does.
boundless is horrifying; endless is just too goddamn much. i can’t group infinity
into neat little clusters of three or five and i can’t fit
its scientific notation into my pocket and i’m only human,
what do you expect of me? i’m terrified of that which
i’ll never understand.

i used to think outer space was a box —
that one day someone would announce
the astronauts had reached the end of the universe,
white gloves stark and useless against black, finite
walls.

i wanted the stars to be countable so i could reach the end of my
ten fingers and start over again and over again and over again,
even if it took me until i died or longer, until i touched
that final twinkle.

i was fourteen when i saw the first glimmer inside me,
cut my hair pixie-short after anne hathaway in a magazine and
looked in the mirror, touched my fringe and learned 
the true curve of a smile.

i hung the first stars, or rather discovered them —
sending tentative spaceships deep into my mind
until they bumped the burning glow and reported:
“houston, we’ve got light.” and i charted them carefully,
with pride. hey, houston, we’ve found something,
hey, houston, look, look what i wrote! i’m proud of it.
holy shit, holy shit, i’m proud of it.
hey, houston, i think i’m gay. hey, houston,
i like the skin i’m wearing even when it’s
riddled with zits — i’ve got constellations at even
my most basic levels, isn’t that neat? hey, houston, i’ve got talents.
hey, houston, i’ve got friends. hey, houston,
i’m brave. hey, houston, i’m strong and i’m powerful
and i love people and i love this sunrise and i

love myself.

(tell the world — this is going to change history.)

whole goddamn universes sparkling where i hadn’t seen them before,
bathtubs overflowing with stardust, basins of darkness
to catch the light — so much of it everywhere, in sudden illumination —
so many stars, too many to count.

infinity still scares the shit out of me, okay.
you’ll never find me volunteering for a day trip to mars
and i’m not going to be one of those mathematicians
who spends their life trying to wrestle a sideways eight
into submission. but i can coexist with it.
i’ve got fucking eternity inside of me,
a neverend of boundless and bounteous space,
jumbled with stars, pockmarked with planets,
so much to wonder at and so much to respect —
and i love that, jesus.
i really do.

i found heaven the day i let myself realize
i’ve got black holes, yeah —
but shit, man, i’ve got stars.


CREDIT