Victorian Tumblr Themes
The Twisted Kingdom

The Hunger Games + Katniss & Haymitch

"In the end, the only person I truly want to comfort me is Haymitch, because he loves Peeta, too."

thewritingcafe:

Word Tracking Spreadsheets - These sheets also have sections for character and plot information.

pantography:

gloomist:

nedhepburn:

This one time I painted a living room with a girl.
This was a handful of years back. It was about eight months before the huge, flame-out of a breakup. That day, though? That day we painted the living room? It was pretty uneventful. We painted my parents living room for $50 between us and a pizza. That was it. I think we watched Anchorman or something after that.
But it still holds as on of the most indelible memories I have. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not still in love, it happened, it was good, it ended, and we’ve both moved on. But I’ll never forget that day. Because it’s never, in the long run, about the grand gestures. You can fly across the world and show up on her doorstep with a rose in your teeth and a ring in a little velvet box but I can guarantee you that - more often than not - she’s going to remember the time you built the birdhouse in the back yard, or what have you, a whole lot more.
Life wasn’t meant to be taken in large movements. The next day will inevitably arrive, you’ll sleep, and the moment will have passed. But when you have a hundred thousand small moments, you can step back and appreciate the picture a lot more than metaphorically blowing your load on some grand moment that, in all honesty, look, you’re not Bruce Fucking Springsteen, you’re not going to be able to blow everyone’s mind every single night. You’re not Romeo and/or Juliet. There’s no reason to drink the poison together in some flame-out gesture. So that leaves us with the small stuff. It’s all about the detail.
That’s what love is. Attention to detail.
And the moment will end. And then things will get boring. And it might get a little quiet. And it might all end horribly. And you might hate eachother at the end. And you might walk away from eachother one day and never speak again. But that’s just how it goes.
But she’ll remember the time you held the door open for her on your first date.She’ll remember the time you laughed at her impression of the landlady.She’ll remember the time you stayed up all night that first time. She’ll remember the small things a lot longer than the big ones.
But everything ends. And I’ll tell you why you have to make the small things, the small moments count so much more:
One day, probably a while longer from now, when old age takes ahold of someone, she might just only remember your smile. Everything you ever did together, every second, every moment, every beat, every morning spent in bed, every evening spent together on the sofa, all of that - gone. Everything you ever did will be reduced to the head of a pin. She won’t remember your name. She’ll just remember your smile, and she’ll smile. She won’t know why. It’s a base, gut reaction. But she’ll smile, uncontrollably, and it will come from somewhere so deep as to know that you touched her on a primal, honest, and true level that no scientist, scholar, or savant could ever begin to explain. There is no more. There is nothing else. There is just this: She’ll remember your smile, and she’ll smile.
And you know what? That’s all that really matters in the end.

this is truly sensational


Favourite post

pantography:

gloomist:

nedhepburn:

This one time I painted a living room with a girl.

This was a handful of years back. It was about eight months before the huge, flame-out of a breakup. That day, though? That day we painted the living room? It was pretty uneventful. We painted my parents living room for $50 between us and a pizza. That was it. I think we watched Anchorman or something after that.

But it still holds as on of the most indelible memories I have. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not still in love, it happened, it was good, it ended, and we’ve both moved on. But I’ll never forget that day. Because it’s never, in the long run, about the grand gestures. You can fly across the world and show up on her doorstep with a rose in your teeth and a ring in a little velvet box but I can guarantee you that - more often than not - she’s going to remember the time you built the birdhouse in the back yard, or what have you, a whole lot more.

Life wasn’t meant to be taken in large movements. The next day will inevitably arrive, you’ll sleep, and the moment will have passed. But when you have a hundred thousand small moments, you can step back and appreciate the picture a lot more than metaphorically blowing your load on some grand moment that, in all honesty, look, you’re not Bruce Fucking Springsteen, you’re not going to be able to blow everyone’s mind every single night. You’re not Romeo and/or Juliet. There’s no reason to drink the poison together in some flame-out gesture. So that leaves us with the small stuff. It’s all about the detail.

That’s what love is. Attention to detail.

And the moment will end. And then things will get boring. And it might get a little quiet. And it might all end horribly. And you might hate eachother at the end. And you might walk away from eachother one day and never speak again. But that’s just how it goes.

But she’ll remember the time you held the door open for her on your first date.
She’ll remember the time you laughed at her impression of the landlady.
She’ll remember the time you stayed up all night that first time.
She’ll remember the small things a lot longer than the big ones.

But everything ends. And I’ll tell you why you have to make the small things, the small moments count so much more:

One day, probably a while longer from now, when old age takes ahold of someone, she might just only remember your smile. Everything you ever did together, every second, every moment, every beat, every morning spent in bed, every evening spent together on the sofa, all of that - gone. Everything you ever did will be reduced to the head of a pin. She won’t remember your name. She’ll just remember your smile, and she’ll smile. She won’t know why. It’s a base, gut reaction. But she’ll smile, uncontrollably, and it will come from somewhere so deep as to know that you touched her on a primal, honest, and true level that no scientist, scholar, or savant could ever begin to explain. There is no more. There is nothing else. There is just this: She’ll remember your smile, and she’ll smile.

And you know what? That’s all that really matters in the end.

this is truly sensational

Favourite post

eartheld:

mostly nature

eartheld:

mostly nature
post-teenager:

Wisdom from a Nobel prize winner.

post-teenager:

Wisdom from a Nobel prize winner.

jessisntcrazy:

pr1nceshawn:

The Photos Disney Characters Would Take If They Had Instagram Accounts by Simona Bonafini.

this is the best thing ever

firmamente:

From the Lunch Break | A Walk Around The Block Project by Bettina Güber
allthingseurope:

Canterbury, England (by Lev Tsimbler)

allthingseurope:

Canterbury, England (by Lev Tsimbler)

dehanginggarden:

Through thick and thin by erynlasgalenphotoart
firmamente:

Peekaboo in the shadows by Varna-tina

scared-of-clouds:

snapslikethis:

when i was in high school i started dating this guy which is nothing unusual or controversial but i found out later we were otp for our teachers because what happened was this:

i stopped by his locker before going to mine b/c, you know, he was my boyfriend and we were in high school and that’s what we did

also, we went to a tiny high school in that there weren’t many poeple and the hs was just one long hallway

i looked up and saw mrs schaeffer the fresh/soph english teacher staring at us as she passed w/ her eyes bugging out of her head and i said, “oh shit” and he followed my gaze and said, “fuck, they know” because she immediately went to the little alcove where all the teachers hang out in the morning

by the time we got to the end of the hall every single teacher had been informed and collective awwes and gushing

the point of this story is that that’s basically how i see the portraits of hogwarts working

"did you hear students X and Z were caught behind the tapestry of the troll last night?"

"no, no, they were going out two weeks ago, she’s with so-and-so now”

and a student overhears and is like oh shit they know and 

in fics people talk about the students being all gossipy but

lbr it was all the portraits

OMG Linds:  I started dating Pete when we were both in sixth form, and the Monday morning after we started dating I was sitting in English and my friends called Miss Walters and Miss Peatey over by yelling ‘Gossip, important gossip!’ (or words to that effect). And then when they told them that I’d started dating Pete, one of my teachers just waved  a hand and said, ‘oh but we all knew that was going to happen, that’s not news.’

So basically, teachers are way too invested in the love lives of their students.

As a teacher, I can confirm this.

My grandfather always said that living is like licking honey off a thorn.
Louis Adamic (via pattiocleavis)
If your life has been ruined by Finnick Odair and Annie Cresta’s love story clap your hands