Oct 21, 2014

198 notes
Oct 21, 2014

48,296 notes
anal-weed:

happynervosa:

He is trapped

free him

anal-weed:

happynervosa:

He is trapped

free him

(Source: idiod, via mostlycatsmostly)

Oct 21, 2014

568 notes
awwww-cute:

Fuck your circle and its magic

awwww-cute:

Fuck your circle and its magic

(via bedlamsbard)

Oct 21, 2014

52,934 notes

estifito:

14.09.18

what are cats

(via bedlamsbard)

Oct 20, 2014

17,081 notes
billtheradish:

King me!

billtheradish:

King me!

(Source: cute-overload, via bedlamsbard)

Oct 20, 2014

10 notes

bedlamsbard:

darklyndsea:

bedlamsbard:

Actually, the ironic thing about this post is that now that I’m no longer in Latin 101, I’ve learned like a million agricultural terms from the Epodes.  (And, to be fair, there’s a lot of murder and sex too.)

Yeah, but how do you say bathroom (or whatever they called them in Rome or Athens)? It hasn’t come up for me, though I guess I can ask where the baths are. The docks are sort of the equivalent of the train station, so that’s covered. Still, I only learned how to murder people in 3rd year Spanish.

Also, do you know what those agricultural terms are in English? Every time I have to read something at all agricultural I just kind of go “I guess I’ll have to trust that the dictionary is translating into English, even though I have never heard this word before.”

Latrina, latrinae!  That one I know from all the military stuff I’ve done in the past; it hasn’t come up in any of my actual Latin classes.

With the agricultural stuff, I have the advantage of having grown up in farming country, so that helps, and I’ve picked a lot of it up from reading about agriculture in the middle ages and early modern periods for various reasons.

You are so lucky. I’m still waiting for somebody to come out with a dictionary that translates my Latin-English dictionary (also sometimes my Greek textbook, but that’s usually because of Britishisms).

(Though TBH if I had one of those dictionaries, some sections would probably come out sounding “strong like a tree or a tree, not like the plant part of a plant” which is, um, less than helpful. “Next, the farmer uses a sharp farm implement to do something farmy”. Possibly I’ve discovered why this dictionary doesn’t exist.)

Oct 20, 2014

8 notes
andimjulie:

hanginggardenstories:

HOUSE OF SCREAMS, by Julie Murphy
We stood in the muddy line wrapping around the haunted house as workers dressed as zombies and lunatics staggered up and down the crowd, startling anyone who dared to make eye contact with them.
I leaned into Sara. “This is lame.”
Her thick black waves blew in the wind. Watching her was like seeing the best parts of me reflected back in the mirror. “This is normal, Cecilia,” she murmured before returning her attention to her date, Paul. He was her type: not too tall, curly brown hair, and honest eyes.
Sam, Paul’s friend and my date, pointed to the sign hanging above our heads. HOUSE OF SCREAMS it read. “Sounds like a really good porn if you ask me. Shame you two didn’t wear your cheerleading skirts” I didn’t really know what my type was, but Sam wasn’t it.
Sara reached for my hand and squeezed hard, stopping me from responding.
This wasn’t fair. I was ready to go home.
Though, after the last few years, I really owed my sister some of the normalcy she so craved. Since moving to Crowley, I’d been on my best behavior. I even agreed to join the cheerleading team with her. Granted, the uniforms were kind of cute. I’d give her that.
But last night, after the game, she crossed the line when she signed us up for a double date with these two jackasses.
Screams from the haunted house wafted out past the walls. An actor in a straightjacket stumbled toward us. Fake too-bright-to-be-real blood dripped from his mouth. I felt rushes of adrenaline masked as terror from the groups on either side of us as he came closer and closer.
The man snarled, lunging over the rope. Paul pulled Sara in close, protecting her from this harmless threat as my sister played along, letting this sad teenage boy be the big man.
But I held eye contact with the guy. I could see past the makeup and costume straightjacket and see the human being who made minimum wage working this gig. I held his attention like a precious gift.
But then Sam made the mistake of curling his arm around my waist. I blinked as I swatted him away, and the man in the straightjacket continued on down the line, terrifying willing customers. But there was no scaring me.
I was the real monster.
Sara tugged me along by the elbow. “Normal,” she begged under her breath.
I nodded. But really, the man in the straightjacket had reminded me of my own normal. Our own normal.
We crept closer to the entrance as workers dressed in shredded clothing begged us to save ourselves and turn back.
Paul and Sara clung to each other, practically bouncing up and down with excitement as late October winds pried any remaining leaves from the trees.
 “Next group!” the man at the entrance dressed as a bloodied prison warden called out above the blood-curdling screams. HOUSE OF SCREAMS sent one group of four in every ten minutes, they claimed the small groups allowed for maximum terror.
The four of us passed through the turnstile into a heavily fogged room. “Welcome to HOUSE OF SCREAMS!” said a booming voice. “If you’re lucky, the only thing you’ll lose will be your voice.”
I’d never been in a haunted house, but it seemed to live up to every expectation set by years spent watching B horror movies.
Sara grinned. I rolled my eyes and reached for Sam’s hand.
We walked through a narrow hallway lined with black curtains as hands reached out from behind them. The screams from the rest of the building became a constant chorus. Sam’s hand was slick with sweat, but his breaths were measured as we pushed forward.
A man with a chainsaw and a bloody apron weaved in and out of us. Sara screamed moments too late—something only I would notice.
No, I thought. No, we will never be normal.
Each room was a different scene of staged horrors. Botched surgeries, asylum gone wrong, an axe-dragging serial killer.
Finally we came to a room lined in coffins, which appeared to be our only obvious exit.
“No, way man,” said Paul. “That is screwed up. I’m not getting in a coffin.”
“Why not?” I asked. “It won’t be the last time you have to get in coffin. And at least this time you’ll be awake.”
The door we’d just come through shook as the axe murderer from the previous room banged against it, demanding to be let in.
Sam shook his head. “Dude, come on.”
I opened the lid of one coffin and took Sam’s hand. The faster we got out of here, the sooner we could ditch these guys.
The lid shut behind us, swallowing us in pitch black. The screams were duller in here, but they never truly ended. I felt along the walls ahead of us as the hallway narrowed until we could only pass one at a time.
“Close quarters,” said Sam as his hand brushed my ass.
I decided that since he didn’t have night vision, I would only count this as a mistake.
But then he grew braver, allowing his hand to rest. I pushed him away, counting it as a second strike.
I stopped abruptly as I felt the hallway dead end into a door. Sam fell into me, pushing me into the door. But he didn’t move. Instead he stood there, the weight of him pressing into my backside as his hands traced the lines of my body. Normal, normal, normal, I chanted over and over again in my head. His fingers skimmed the waistband of my jeans and crept up my stomach, pawing at the undersides of my breasts.
I wasn’t the only monster amongst us.
I spun around, pinning him to the wall.
“Yeah,” he grunted. “I knew you were the feisty one.”
“Oh,” I said, my lips teasing his with every syllable. “You have no idea.”
Without warning, I sunk my teeth deep into his neck. His veins broke against my fangs like a string pulled to its last thread.
His blood rushed through me like freedom.
In this narrow hallway, his pleading voice filled my head and I vowed to memorize them like my favorite song. In this haunted house with its uninterrupted screams, he was both loud and cripplingly silent.
The door swung open. He was just another voice. No one would ever hear him.
“Goddammit, Cecilia,” my sister said.
I enjoyed one last sip as Sam’s life slipped from him and into me. I pulled back, letting his useless body fall to the ground.
“Holy fucking shit!” screamed Paul as he peered over my sister’s shoulder. The smell of urine filled the stale air as he pissed his pants. He was hysterical, but like Sam, his voice bled into the masses.
“Sorry,” I told Sara as I licked the warm blood from my lips.
Paul began to run, but she was quick to catch him, before he could move on to the next room.
She held his cheeks in her hands. “I want you to know I had a really fun time tonight.”
Paul nodded frantically, tears rolling down his face. Drool dripped from his lips as Sara kissed him. Quickly, she broke his neck and he fell silent. Forever.
No one keeps a secret like a sister.

I wrote about haunted houses and sisterly love for my last Hanging Garden story of the year!

andimjulie:

hanginggardenstories:

HOUSE OF SCREAMS, by Julie Murphy

We stood in the muddy line wrapping around the haunted house as workers dressed as zombies and lunatics staggered up and down the crowd, startling anyone who dared to make eye contact with them.

I leaned into Sara. “This is lame.”

Her thick black waves blew in the wind. Watching her was like seeing the best parts of me reflected back in the mirror. “This is normal, Cecilia,” she murmured before returning her attention to her date, Paul. He was her type: not too tall, curly brown hair, and honest eyes.

Sam, Paul’s friend and my date, pointed to the sign hanging above our heads. HOUSE OF SCREAMS it read. “Sounds like a really good porn if you ask me. Shame you two didn’t wear your cheerleading skirts” I didn’t really know what my type was, but Sam wasn’t it.

Sara reached for my hand and squeezed hard, stopping me from responding.

This wasn’t fair. I was ready to go home.

Though, after the last few years, I really owed my sister some of the normalcy she so craved. Since moving to Crowley, I’d been on my best behavior. I even agreed to join the cheerleading team with her. Granted, the uniforms were kind of cute. I’d give her that.

But last night, after the game, she crossed the line when she signed us up for a double date with these two jackasses.

Screams from the haunted house wafted out past the walls. An actor in a straightjacket stumbled toward us. Fake too-bright-to-be-real blood dripped from his mouth. I felt rushes of adrenaline masked as terror from the groups on either side of us as he came closer and closer.

The man snarled, lunging over the rope. Paul pulled Sara in close, protecting her from this harmless threat as my sister played along, letting this sad teenage boy be the big man.

But I held eye contact with the guy. I could see past the makeup and costume straightjacket and see the human being who made minimum wage working this gig. I held his attention like a precious gift.

But then Sam made the mistake of curling his arm around my waist. I blinked as I swatted him away, and the man in the straightjacket continued on down the line, terrifying willing customers. But there was no scaring me.

I was the real monster.

Sara tugged me along by the elbow. “Normal,” she begged under her breath.

I nodded. But really, the man in the straightjacket had reminded me of my own normal. Our own normal.

We crept closer to the entrance as workers dressed in shredded clothing begged us to save ourselves and turn back.

Paul and Sara clung to each other, practically bouncing up and down with excitement as late October winds pried any remaining leaves from the trees.

 “Next group!” the man at the entrance dressed as a bloodied prison warden called out above the blood-curdling screams. HOUSE OF SCREAMS sent one group of four in every ten minutes, they claimed the small groups allowed for maximum terror.

The four of us passed through the turnstile into a heavily fogged room. “Welcome to HOUSE OF SCREAMS!” said a booming voice. “If you’re lucky, the only thing you’ll lose will be your voice.”

I’d never been in a haunted house, but it seemed to live up to every expectation set by years spent watching B horror movies.

Sara grinned. I rolled my eyes and reached for Sam’s hand.

We walked through a narrow hallway lined with black curtains as hands reached out from behind them. The screams from the rest of the building became a constant chorus. Sam’s hand was slick with sweat, but his breaths were measured as we pushed forward.

A man with a chainsaw and a bloody apron weaved in and out of us. Sara screamed moments too late—something only I would notice.

No, I thought. No, we will never be normal.

Each room was a different scene of staged horrors. Botched surgeries, asylum gone wrong, an axe-dragging serial killer.

Finally we came to a room lined in coffins, which appeared to be our only obvious exit.

“No, way man,” said Paul. “That is screwed up. I’m not getting in a coffin.”

“Why not?” I asked. “It won’t be the last time you have to get in coffin. And at least this time you’ll be awake.”

The door we’d just come through shook as the axe murderer from the previous room banged against it, demanding to be let in.

Sam shook his head. “Dude, come on.”

I opened the lid of one coffin and took Sam’s hand. The faster we got out of here, the sooner we could ditch these guys.

The lid shut behind us, swallowing us in pitch black. The screams were duller in here, but they never truly ended. I felt along the walls ahead of us as the hallway narrowed until we could only pass one at a time.

“Close quarters,” said Sam as his hand brushed my ass.

I decided that since he didn’t have night vision, I would only count this as a mistake.

But then he grew braver, allowing his hand to rest. I pushed him away, counting it as a second strike.

I stopped abruptly as I felt the hallway dead end into a door. Sam fell into me, pushing me into the door. But he didn’t move. Instead he stood there, the weight of him pressing into my backside as his hands traced the lines of my body. Normal, normal, normal, I chanted over and over again in my head. His fingers skimmed the waistband of my jeans and crept up my stomach, pawing at the undersides of my breasts.

I wasn’t the only monster amongst us.

I spun around, pinning him to the wall.

“Yeah,” he grunted. “I knew you were the feisty one.”

“Oh,” I said, my lips teasing his with every syllable. “You have no idea.”

Without warning, I sunk my teeth deep into his neck. His veins broke against my fangs like a string pulled to its last thread.

His blood rushed through me like freedom.

In this narrow hallway, his pleading voice filled my head and I vowed to memorize them like my favorite song. In this haunted house with its uninterrupted screams, he was both loud and cripplingly silent.

The door swung open. He was just another voice. No one would ever hear him.

“Goddammit, Cecilia,” my sister said.

I enjoyed one last sip as Sam’s life slipped from him and into me. I pulled back, letting his useless body fall to the ground.

“Holy fucking shit!” screamed Paul as he peered over my sister’s shoulder. The smell of urine filled the stale air as he pissed his pants. He was hysterical, but like Sam, his voice bled into the masses.

“Sorry,” I told Sara as I licked the warm blood from my lips.

Paul began to run, but she was quick to catch him, before he could move on to the next room.

She held his cheeks in her hands. “I want you to know I had a really fun time tonight.”

Paul nodded frantically, tears rolling down his face. Drool dripped from his lips as Sara kissed him. Quickly, she broke his neck and he fell silent. Forever.

No one keeps a secret like a sister.

I wrote about haunted houses and sisterly love for my last Hanging Garden story of the year!

(via awholehandful)

Oct 20, 2014

10 notes

bedlamsbard:

Actually, the ironic thing about this post is that now that I’m no longer in Latin 101, I’ve learned like a million agricultural terms from the Epodes.  (And, to be fair, there’s a lot of murder and sex too.)

Yeah, but how do you say bathroom (or whatever they called them in Rome or Athens)? It hasn’t come up for me, though I guess I can ask where the baths are. The docks are sort of the equivalent of the train station, so that’s covered. Still, I only learned how to murder people in 3rd year Spanish.

Also, do you know what those agricultural terms are in English? Every time I have to read something at all agricultural I just kind of go “I guess I’ll have to trust that the dictionary is translating into English, even though I have never heard this word before.”

Oct 20, 2014

1,744 notes
helens78-cat:

Purrouboros!

helens78-cat:

Purrouboros!

(Source: corporation-cats, via bedlamsbard)

Oct 20, 2014

608 notes
blorgblorgblorg:

shoelust:

Alexander McQueen SS15

what the hell is going on with them heels

blorgblorgblorg:

shoelust:

Alexander McQueen SS15

what the hell is going on with them heels

(Source: media.style.com)

Oct 19, 2014

710,822 notes

rnessage:

be nice to people because the world is a shitty place and we all need a little help sometimes

(via awholehandful)

Oct 19, 2014

81,121 notes

People always make Juliet out to be dumb in Romeo and Juliet, but I think she at least had some sense where Romeo didn't have much of any

  1. Romeo: I was thinking about this chick earlier who I said I was in love with but now I love that girl over there that is very likely to either belong to my family's enemy or be close with my family's enemy as it is their party I am crashing
  2. Juliet: I do not like being so young and forced into a relationship with an older man, but oh there's a cute guy more my age over there. And since he's here he must have been invited and is there for a reasonable love match for myself
  3. --
  4. Romeo: We should kiss right now at this party
  5. Juliet: No that is a super dumb idea
  6. Romeo: *kisses her anyway*
  7. Juliet: That was dumb of you
  8. --
  9. Romeo: We should get married right now
  10. Juliet: We don't know each other. Shouldn't we wait until at least a little time has passed?
  11. Romeo: Like tomorrow?
  12. Juliet: Sure, fine.
  13. --
  14. Juliet: We're married now, so we have to try and make things better between our families.
  15. Romeo: Right.
  16. Romeo: It seems I have killed your cousin and am now exiled.
  17. --
  18. Juliet: Ok so since Romeo fucked up I'm gonna fix this shit by taking a harmless sleeping liquid. He'll come and get me and we can go away together.
  19. Romeo: *immediately kills himself*
  20. Juliet: For fucks sake.
Oct 19, 2014

61,393 notes

interquast:

technology isnt making people talk less, its allowing people to choose who they want to talk to. i dont want to talk to your “intellectual” anti-technology ass, i want to talk to like, twelve different people who are vastly more interesting and never have to look up from my phone to acknowledge you

(via blorgblorgblorg)

Oct 19, 2014

88,856 notes

lucyintheskywithstarofdavids:

best-of-memes:

Not even lion

This is the best post I have seen all day

(via bedlamsbard)

Oct 19, 2014

264 notes

masrika:

All I want is a story that includes a vampire getting frustrated when they try to learn a new language, because suddenly no-one speaks Latin anymore.

A vampire getting frustrated because the English that they learnt 600 years ago isn’t the English that anyone is speaking any more. 

A vampire getting so confused by the over abundance of cases in Russian and throwing down the text book that’s meant for kids in disgust, because they’re 308 years old, why is this so difficult? 

A vampire that speaks Spanish with an ancient greek accent, because they’ve tried but they can’t shake off the tonal nuances of the language they grew up speaking.

Vampires and languages. All I want. 

(via bedlamsbard)

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