Tom Hiddleston as F. Scott Fitzgerald

(Source: ginger-midgets)

thegestianpoet:

  • where does dorian gray buy his clothes?
  • at forever 21
I come back from a family trip and Tumblr has lost its last shred of sanity.

Seriously.

I am flabbergasted on so many levels.

People are losing their ever-loving shit over a tiny little hiccup. Yeah, it was a creepy move boarder-lining actually illegal stalking, but it’s not like the bitch went all Kathy Bates from Misery and chopped his fucking foot off or something. 

*pause for collective deep breath*

I hate to say it, because I was actually starting to like some of the gals in the Hiddleston fandom, but you all are over-stepping boundaries as well, some a lot more blatantly creep-tastic (I’ve seen death treats hurled countless times at the clearly disturbed perpetrator). More than a few fans are in dire need of massive amounts of sedatives and therapy now.

I guess I just thought this fandom had more class. 

Oh god, how wrong I turned out to be.

(Source: estrology)

hedgehog-goulash7:

#So beautiful  #Sherlock Holmes  #Game of Shadows

(Source: theblacksonnenblume)

tonythaxton:

Rehearsing a bunch of songs you’ve never heard. #go (Taken with instagram)

Such a tease…

tonythaxton:

Rehearsing a bunch of songs you’ve never heard. #go (Taken with instagram)

Such a tease…

A lot of people enjoy being dead. But they are not dead, really. They’re just backing away from life. Reach out. Take a chance. Get hurt even. But play as well as you can. Go team, go! Give me an L. Give me an I. Give me a V. Give me an E. L-I-V-E. LIVE! Otherwise, you got nothing to talk about in the locker room.
castle:


Psychiatrist: Tell me, Harold, how many of these, eh, *suicides* have you performed? Harold: An accurate number would be difficult to gauge. Psychiatrist: Well, just give me a rough estimate. Harold: A rough estimate? I’d say … fifteen. Psychiatrist: Fifteen? Harold: That’s a rough estimate. Psychiatrist: Were they all done for your mother’s benefit? Harold: No. No, I would not say “benefit.” 

Harold and Maude

castle:

Psychiatrist: Tell me, Harold, how many of these, eh, *suicides* have you performed? 
Harold: An accurate number would be difficult to gauge. 
Psychiatrist: Well, just give me a rough estimate. 
Harold: A rough estimate? I’d say … fifteen. 
Psychiatrist: Fifteen? 
Harold: That’s a rough estimate. 
Psychiatrist: Were they all done for your mother’s benefit? 
Harold: No. No, I would not say “benefit.” 

Harold and Maude

penny-hartzs:

Doctor, we need you to come in