bellasdumptruckass:

Rosalie chewing gum and popping it in Edward’s face whenever he annoys her moodboard

ALT

inspired by my silly little post:

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jenniedavis:

(via goodnightfairchild)

twilight-mademegay:

twilight-mademegay:

They Hadn’t Known

That’s what they tell themselves over and over again. That didn’t know it would happen. Alice hasn’t even seen it. One second everything is as usual, they’d been in a new town for a year and everything went well. They aren’t masquerading as teenagers. They’re all college students -even Esme and Carlisle- and living in the same house. This way they could stay around longer without anyone worrying about why they weren’t aging. 

The next, she’s dead.

It’s something so simple, so stupidly human, it comes at them with such shock. 

Renesmee is dead. 

She had been driving home from the grocery store. She did all the shopping for herself and Jacob since the others had long forgotten what food was good. It was such a mundane and boring task on just another Wednesday afternoon. Everything should had been find. 

A four car and semi pile up takes her away from them. One car ran a red light, taking out a mini van that swung directly into into her driver side door. It had pinned her and she was unable to even think before a semi truck was in her path. The driver didn’t have enough time to stop. The force shattered her crystal like bones and tore through what they had once thought was impervious skin. 

They had never tested out how tough her skin actually was. No one could bring themselves to harm her nor did she want to find out herself. They had all assumed she was likely as indestructible as Jacob. She was, though they would never find out. But not even Jacob Black could live through a car wreck of this magnitude. 

When Bella had picked up the phone, she didn’t expect to hear from the sheriff’s department. She didn’t expect to hear a car registered to her current false name had been in an accident. She didn’t expect to hear the drive- her “sister”- had not survived. 

The phone crumbled in her fist.

People actually want more of this so I guess we doing it babes.

(via foreverdawning)

supermassivebutthole:

we’re really overlooking that the most autistic character in twilight is actually rosalie

-clear special interests (cars, fashion + beauty, motherhood)

-extremely risk averse

-other characters think she is highly intelligent, vapid, selfish, stubborn, and unempathetic

-meltdowns, she’s the only character who has a history of meltdowns (wtf do you think that murder spree was?)

-relieves stress through control behaviors

-bottom up thinker

-unable to correctly gage people’s intentions, but also very intuitive and astute

-disrupted by change

-canon is fake, I bet she stims like a motherfucker

(via foreverdawning)

headspace-hotel:

marzipanandminutiae:

lgbtunis:

lgbtunis:

lgbtunis:

ppl trying to frame art as something thats been historically a “privilege” restricted to the upper classes pisses me off saur much….. when you have no idea what youre fucking talking about ❤️

the way ppl like to envision working/lower class people (or even just… ppl living outside those dynamics) throughout history as like…. eternally miserable illiterate idiots that only know eating gruel and dying of the plague is fucking infuriating. people sang songs, told stories, wove fabrics, embroidered, knitted, decorated their homes, their places of worship, their tools, their food, their clothes, their hair, their bodies, for thousands upon thousands upon thousands of years. everyone, throughout all of human existence, loved art. created art.

some of you unironically talk like 18th century colonialists but with the labels scratched off.

like. you may be stupid

saw a post on here that said that, before recorded music, only upper-class people had access to music because they could pay musicians

besides the blindingly obvious flaw here (so…you’re paying musicians to WORK…which would make those musicians what class exactly?), that’s just. patently absurd. if you have a scrap of wood to make a whistle, if you have a box with strings stretched taut across it, if you have a solid Anything to slap rhythmically with your hands, if you have nothing but your own voice, humans can and will make music anytime, anywhere

and now I make a point of saying, at my house museums, that all classes of people made and enjoyed music long before recordings came along

Musical instruments are literally some of the oldest human made objects, we have flutes that are 80,000+ years old. It’s been a basic human skill to be able to make a flute or a drum etc across cultures.

And humans sing! Humans sing while they work, it’s just a Human Thing, adsgxcstchchbnjcszv

(via thetalkingsnowball)

we-are-rogue:

[by Geoff Manaugh]

a drywall knife

In one of the most interesting moments in his memoir, [jewelry thief Bill Mason] sees that architecture can be made to do what he wants it to do; it’s like watching a character in Star Wars learn to use the Force.

In a lengthy scene at a hotel in Cleveland that Mason would ultimately hit more than once in his career, he explains that his intended prize was locked inside a room whose door was too closely guarded for him to slip through. Then he realizes the obvious: he has been thinking the way the hotel wanted him to think—the way the architects had hoped he would behave—looking for doors and hallways when he could  simply carve a new route where he wanted it. The ensuing realization delights him. “Elated at the idea that I could cut my own door right where I needed one,” he writes, Mason simply breaks into the hotel suite adjacent to the main office. There, he flings open the closet, pushes aside the hangers, and cuts his way from one room into the other using a drywall knife. In no time at all, he has cut his “own door” through to the manager’s office, where he takes whatever he wants—departing right back through the very “door” he himself made. It is architectural surgery, pure and simple.

Later, Mason actually mocks the idea that a person would remain reliant on doors, making fun of anyone who thinks burglars, in particular, would respect the limitations of architecture. “Surely if someone were to rob the place,” he writes in all italics, barbed with sarcasm, “they’d come in as respectable people would, through the door provided for the purpose. Maybe that explains why people will have four heavy-duty locks on a solid oak door that’s right next to a glass window.” People seem to think they should lock-pick or kick their way through solid doors rather than just take a ten-dollar drywall knife and carve whole new hallways into the world. Those people are mere slaves to  architecture, spatial captives in a world someone else has designed for them.

Something about this is almost unsettlingly brilliant, as if it is nonburglars who have been misusing the built environment this whole time; as if it is nonburglars who have been unwilling to question the world’s most basic spatial assumptions, too scared to think past the tyranny of architecture’s long-held behavioral expectations.

To use architect Rem Koolhaas’s phrase, we have been voluntary prisoners of architecture all along, willingly coerced and browbeaten by its code of spatial conduct, accepting walls as walls and going only where the corridors lead us. Because doors are often the sturdiest and most fortified parts of the wall in front of you, they are a distraction and a trap. By comparison, the wall itself is often more like tissue paper, just drywall and some two-by-fours, without a lock or a chain in sight. Like clouds, apartment walls are mostly air; seen through a burglar’s eyes, they aren’t even there. Cut a hole through one and you’re in the next room in seconds.

~ Geoff Manaugh, A Burglar’s Guide to the City

(via bigbadbutch)

scoutingthetrooper:

(via thewinedarksea)

dumbest-bb:

I am not meant for casual. I was born for soul crushing devotion.

(via appalachiancowboy)

baddingtonbitch:

(via volturialice)

lastflowerofyourhouse:

funniest thing about my orpheus and euydice post is that i’ve seen multiple people now respond to it as if gideon is orpheus, when gideon is very obviously eurydice.

that’s the thing about gideon. she’s eurydice and she’s sleeping beauty and she’s the prince(ss) in the tower and she’s also a butch with a sword. when she has any degree of agency she loves to be the hero but when she’s trapped by outside forces she always ends up playing the damsel.

the obvious flip-side to this is that harrow has almost never really needed to be protected. she’s been victimized plenty, but she’s been very proactive in dealing with situations. she looks frail and bleeds from interesting places more than she really should, but she plays the hero. she’s orpheus walking into hell. she’s the prince discovering the glass coffin. and she might’ve been, but wasn’t, the hero come to save gideon from the tower.

this is very cool and interesting and should be incorporated into fantasy aus more often.

beingharsh:

The Devils (1971), dir. Ken Russell

(via goodnightfairchild)

probablyasocialecologist:

“Despair is paralysis. It robs us of agency. It blinds us to our own power and the power of the earth. Environmental despair is a poison every bit as destructive as the methylated mercury in the bottom of Onondaga Lake. But how can we submit to despair while the land is saying “Help”? Restoration is a powerful antidote to despair. Restoration offers concrete means by which humans can once again enter into positive, creative relationship with the more-than-human world, meeting responsibilities that are simultaneously material and spiritual. It’s not enough to grieve. It’s not enough to just stop doing bad things.”

— Robin Wall Kimmerer, Braiding Sweetgrass: Indigenous Wisdom, Scientific Knowledge, and the Teachings of Plants

(via aturinfortheworse)