There's a hint of Madness that makes you special

(via uirukii)

postmodernismruinedme:

vardaesque:

unusualjourney:

what-rabbit-hole:

“some historians think that michelangelo was drawing god in a human brain. very few people knew what one looked like at the time; but michelangelo had dissected cadavers and would have known. it even has the hint of a brain stem. if true this would have been a great “fuck you” to the pope whom he was not friendly with but also would have meant god was in a human brain, or created by man.”

Interesting.

also michelangelo painted a baby angel flipping off the pope

the blond one, you see his right hand? that’s called the fig and it’s an old world european gesture for ‘fuck you” because apparently Pope Juluis II was a total raging asshole and everyone hated him

but nobody ever noticed this little fucker because the ceiling was so high

and then thirty years later they called michelangelo back to paint the wall behind the altar and he wasted no time in painting the gates of hell behind the pope’s chair

what a badass

It amuses me to this day how much Michelangelo hated his job

(via uirukii)

uirukii:

bratkitty:

Protip: you never grow out of it. I’m 29 and I would do the same thing.

I’m sorry, but I will never get over how adorable that little boy is.

uirukii:

likeafieldmouse:

Alan Stephens Foster - The Fall

This is a print I would buy, hang up, and cry myself to sleep with every night.

doorwaytoparadise:

In which Javert teaches Valjean what a French kiss is (though I think that’s pretty self-explanatory).

lokidindeed:

i-deduce-youre-a-bitch:

YOU NIQQAS WANNA LEARN ELVISH?! HERE YA GO!

this makes me think about the post about the two girls who didn’t want to get caught sendes notes in class so they learned elvish

(via sasparillalock)

(Source: ohmylaniaison, via fashionablygeeky)

mylittlefurballs:

She thinks we can’t see her.

(via revolutionarysass)

clau-schwa:

always-obsessed-with-something:

ivyblossom:

“Actually, do you know what, ignore me.”

John. John Watson. He just killed a man to save me from myself. Who does that? God.

Look at him: he’s not like an ordinary man. He just shot someone and he’s perfectly fine. Not a hair out of place. He’s just standing there with those nerves of steel, those steady hands, he’s playing innocent, standing on the other side of the tape like he’s uninvolved. He thinks I won’t figure it out, he thinks I won’t know. He’s not ashamed of it or proud of himself; he just did what he thought was right. He didn’t even do it to impress me; he’s not trying to make a point, he’s not demonstrating his usefulness to me. He’s not going to hold it over my head, either. Is he. He found his way here just to protect me. Gratis. As if that’s completely natural.

Natural for him, maybe. Yes. Completely natural for him. My hidden jewel: John Watson. How could I have been so blind? 

I would be dead by now without him. I chose the wrong pill. I was wrong twice tonight. A true failure of an evening, by all accounts: two massive failures of observation, more if you count the details. It doesn’t matter: we’re both still here. Second chance: I’m paying attention to you now, John Watson. I see it all in you now.

He came after me, even after I told him I was married to my work. Even after I left him and ran off on my own, twice. I wonder if there’s a way to revisit that conversation, hmm. Not really an area in which I have any real expertise. Is that what he wants? How does one go about doing that?

I thought he was ordinary. I didn’t know what I was dealing with. Unfair! He was hiding in plain sight. He thinks of himself as ordinary, so he appears to be ordinary. To the naked eye, at least. But he’s not. Most definitely not. His hands aren’t even shaking, not even now. Look at that.

Oh, I’m keeping him.

#i can actually feel my heart shattering

(Source: ssherlock, via deanscoat)

(via party-in-my-purgatories)