im a hipster yall.

its leaked. and therefore, downloaded. and on my computer. I cant be tamed, ya’ll.

cerolink:

Foot.

is anyone as terrified as i am by this post. NIGHTMARES

“GET THAT MILK ON MY OREO NOW!”

lets be WILL and GRACE. except both with red hair.

(via leilockheart)

“Don’t forget your helmet.” The boy was halfway out the door.

“Mom, helmets are for second graders. I promise I’ll only go up and down the street. You know like only two cars an hour come down here anyway. What if Peter or Sara saw me? MOM, they’re in middle school.”

“Well, You’re not in middle school. When you are, we’ll talk about it.”

“Fine.”(No, I really can’t wear it. Maybe I’ll just hide it in the bushes at the end of the driveway). “Its not like I don’t know how to ride a bike, anyway.”

He pulls down the kickstand with his left ankle, the rusty metal scratching against his jeans, but unfelt on the skin underneath. His hidden intentions to toss off the helmet are betrayed by the buckle hanging loosely on his throat.  His fling is less discreet than he had hoped, and the empty shell bounces around the front yard, its hollow cavern sounding out muffled gunshots as the neck-straps smack into the sides. It eventually rolls to a stop, shrouded in the hedges of his mother’s garden. He quickly glances back, checking to see if his mom had witnessed his traitorous act, and almost falls off the bike, his blind steering barely avoiding a crash into the basketball hoop. His driveway is ideally located at the crest of a hill, and it doesn’t take much pedaling before he is charging downhill, the rush of wind loud in his exposed ears. He hoped some of the other kids would be at the brook near the end of the street; playing by himself was never fun for too long.

            Being preoccupied, he never saw the Bird; though its shadow precedes the descent, it’s just a cloud to the boy’s earthbound eyes. The smooth casing of the helmet had stopped its gnarled limbs from tearing him off the bike many times before, the talons slipping off the enamel.  But the hair on the boy’s head, like the back of a rabbit, is soft and layered, and the claws sink in, like the boy’s soccer cleats into athletic fields so many miles from here.  The cry of the Bird makes his body quiver, reverberating like a reed in his clarinet; its terrifying, shrill, papery cry means something, but its not the boy’s death knell; it screams of cigarettes and 4 am trips to McDonalds, joints before first period, drinks in the backseat before school dances, and helmet-less rides down to the bottom of the brook; it screams of first kisses and midnight phone calls in the basement so no-one will hear; the screech means the Bird will take the boy away.  It will bring him back, maybe, but the helmet will lay forgotten in the bushes.

im reteaching myself photoshop… its harder than i remembered it haha… anyway this is my first use of it in 3 years, now just re-understanding all of the layer stuff… i dont think ill ever re-figure out vectors lol.

Amber spyglass: (n), a book by Philip Pullman, (v) to be in the same place at the same time in different universes in an attempt to be with the person who completes your soul.

Example: Maggie and I amber spyglassed while smoking, even though thousands of miles and broken phones attempted to keep us apart.