Pretty Tumblr Themes

SHOPGIRL BY DAY, FANGIRL BY NIGHT
Hej- my name's Carsen, and I'm a Scandinavian lass hailing from the land of 10,000 lakes. This is just a place for my thoughts, interests, and current obsessions.
 photo fancy_page_divider_zps42b7460f.gif
Books, old movies, traveling, photography, musicals, history, art, cats, Doctor Who, Disney, Game of Thrones, Harry Potter, Sherlock Holmes, Shakespeare.

galtenoble:

I will keep you from all harm.

galtenoble:

I will keep you from all harm.

55595472:

eighttwotwopointthreethree:

I WOULD BUY A THOUSAND TICKETS FOR THIS.

The funniest thing about this is that only one of the actors gets drunk, and it’s a different person each night. So it isn’t just everyone struggling, it’s everyone else doing their shit and one person fucking it all up. It’s brilliant.

55595472:

eighttwotwopointthreethree:

I WOULD BUY A THOUSAND TICKETS FOR THIS.

The funniest thing about this is that only one of the actors gets drunk, and it’s a different person each night. So it isn’t just everyone struggling, it’s everyone else doing their shit and one person fucking it all up. It’s brilliant.

Where? Wherever you like. 

debilitati0n:

bettervillains:

life-at-taco-bell:

You would think that teenagers would be the rudest customers, when really it’s mostly older middle-aged people.

The elderly are either adorable or the wrinkly reincarnation of Satan. There is no in-between.

Victory would’ve been a good Dalek.

porkskins:

madgirl-without-a-box:

porkskins:

Has anyone actually had a neighbor that’s asked to borrow sugar?

No, but one time my neighbor arrived with 56 packages of sugar because there was a sale, and he gave us 10 for free.

Your neighbor is the type of person we read about in math books.

I solemnly swear that I am up to no good… mischief managed.
havocmachine:

I planned to draw a Hiccup partner pic to this, but I don’t know if that’s going to happen…

havocmachine:

I planned to draw a Hiccup partner pic to this, but I don’t know if that’s going to happen…

At the edge of the wolfswood, Bran turned in his basket for one last glimpse of the castle that had been his life. Wisps of smoke still rose into the grey sky, but no more than might have risen from Winterfell’s chimneys on a cold autumn afternoon. Soot stains marked some of the arrow loops, and here and there a crack or a missing merlon could be seen in the curtain wall, but it seemed little enough from this distance. Beyond, the tops of the keeps and towers still stood as they had for hundreds of years, and it was hard to tell that the castle had been sacked and burned at all. The stone is strong, Bran told himself, the roots of the trees go deep, and under the ground the Kings of Winter sit their thrones. So long as those remained, Winterfell remained. It was not dead, just broken. Like me, he thought. I’m not dead either.