Author: penhales

concept playlists;

winterblues:

you’re lying on mossy forest floors, slowly transforming into a nymph, your fingers are turning into flower vines, your limbs are bleeding honey & growing thick skins of sepia bark, wings sprout in between your shoulder blades. your breath sounds like the wind. fireflies litter the air above you

you’re hold up in an abandoned church, outside there’s a raging storm & a horde of zombies roaming around, pressing up against the entrance doors. you & a small band of survivors are staying inside for the night in hopes to ride the bad weather out. you take first watch & listen to these tunes on an old ipod while everyone else tries to get some rest & the undead crawl outside, awaiting the taste of human flesh.

you’re in your boyfriend’s pickup. he’s asleep in the passenger seat, you’re driving without a destination in mind & you have the window down as you let the cool night air whip against your face in a state of pleasant delirium

you’re on a rooftop somewhere, there’s 5 am air on your skin, streetlights glint like coins at the bottom of wishing wells from where you sit. you’re feeling peaceful for the first time all week

you’re lying in the middle of a crop circle forty miles from your grandma’s old house waiting for aliens to come and abduct you

it’s four pm in the afternoon and you’ve got your head in the lap of the only boy you’ve ever loved & you’re reading jane eyre & he’s sipping on tea & it’s the kind of weather where it’s just warm enough for you to pretend it’s summer & it’s drizzling & you’re listening to the rain beat softly against the windowpanes

you’re curled up in bed as it pours outside, there’s a citywide blackout and the last candle you had left has finally blown out, but you feel strangely at peace within the warm, all-consuming dark

you’re making out in the bathroom of a house party with someone that makes you feel like you’ve swallowed the sun

you’re standing amidst a city you burned to the ground. the apocalypse has come & gone. all that’s left is ashes & mortar & sad bones but you’re feeling empowered. a slow smile creeps up your lips as you realize how you’ve always wanted to watch the world burn

you wander into wonderland and now you’re suddenly being crowned fairie queen, apparently there’s a prophecy waiting to be fulfilled 

it’s mid morning but it’s dark outside from the rain. you thought the tapping on the window was from the rain but it’s actually a crow that flickers out of sight when you look directly at it

you’re sipping on cherry cola by the pool on a lazy sunday & you’re feeling younger than you’ve ever been

you’re summoning old ghosts in an abandoned parking lot on a smoggy thursday night

Penny Dreadful: a summary

Vanessa: *Looks pained*
Malcolm: *Makes bad decision*
Victor: *Licks dead body*
Caliban: “Screw you, Victor! You’re not my real mom!”
Dorian: *Has sex with everything and stares in the mirror*
Brona: *Coughs*
Sembene: *Judges silently*
Vampires: *Chow down*
Ethan: WHAT THE FUCK-

gingersaurus:

raythebrutallyhonestguy:

ladyshinga:

yusaku777:

ladyshinga:

kendralynora:

gingersaurus:

That moment when you realize that Barney Stinson was probably not as much of a jerk or a womanizer as he was portrayed to be, but that the story was narrated by future Ted, trying to get his children to approve of him dating Robin again, so future Ted had to make the man Robin married look like the bad guy in the story.

duuuude

Ted is the worst Unreliable Narrator of all time

also just Ted is the worst

Honest question: who is worse, Ted from HIMYM, or Ross from Friends?

they’re both worse

@gingersaurus Your theory is confirmed by Neil Patrick Harris.

WHAT THE FUCK.  NPH ACTUALLY RESPONDED TO MY CRACK THEORY?????

People who might have written Shakespeare’s plays

listing-to-port:

The ale-pushing hand of Kit Marlowe’s ghost; metaqueen Elizabeth the zeroth; Prospero, of whom Shakespeare is the lightly fictionalised equivalent; a passing bear; they are a group effort and ongoing in-joke of the time travelling community; they are the work of trees trying to decipher human behaviour, each peer-reviewed by more than a dozen larches; Bacon (two slices of); Sir Thomas More; Sir Thomas More than that; Sir Thomas Most; Stonehenge but with fingers; Don Quixote; you (having the advantage that you may have read them first); the dark lady; a vague but pen-having sense of patriotism; in a stunning twist, it was the anthropomorphic personification of the authorship question itself; Shakespeare.

quinndolyns:

quinndolyns:

itwashotwestayedinthewater:

itwashotwestayedinthewater:

whats wrong with you? you got some sort of……..some sorta syndrome? you got a syndrome or something? youre tryna tell me youve got like, a syndrome

[goes to doctor]: whats wrong with me doc. tell me the ‘prognosis’
doctor: well, its looking as if you have some kind of syndrome
[thinking] hmm.. thats not good

i diagnose you with symptoms syndrome

sorry to say but it seems you’ve got problems disorder