I hate when I’m in class, working on my personal writing and someone leans over and goes “WHat R U wRITing” like your eulogy if you don’t back the fuck up you soggy lampshade
Saturday night. Endless sirens and firetrucks.
Oh good, the police helicopter is out.
Edit: I should clarify, please don’t worry. I am in a peaceful leafy suburb. With, apparently, more than its share of violent deaths BUT all is well.
for every 50 notes this gets i’ll read a chapter of this book:
What a horrible way to die.
everybody has that one kink that they will never ever admit to liking and will secretly read every fic ever written about it but will vehemently deny it if you ever mention it
If you ever want to model your relationship after a couple, always model it after Morticia and Gomez. They are perfect.
They just love each other so much and want each other.
Gomez - How long has it been since we last waltzed?
Morticia - Oh Gomez…Hours.
They are perfect. That is all