lightningstruck

Shows up 15 minutes late to the revolution with Starbucks

it wasn’t worth it

Me: Red smock, lifting flagpoles, fake names, buying children, giving alms,   homoerotic tension, 24601, who am I?  I’m Jean Valjean.

Grantaire, Book III (via incorrectlesmisquotes)

I’m looking at you.

“June 6, 1842”

I guess you think this thing, huh?  Wow.  Well, you’re really wrong.  I can’t even believe how wrong you are.  See, this is what I think.  And this is how I understand it.  Yeah, I know, Me, I am The One who knows.  And you are not.  How could you possibly not know this and then write the character in a way that isn’t congruent with this very specific historical information?  Because I knew.  Me.  I Knew this information already and I can write it in large words.  I am Smart and Important at Les Misérables

x.

Victor Hugo (via quietlikecreepifying)

almost always, the answer is no, it’s not george blagden. no, he hasn’t cut that lank, dirty seaweed off his head yet. no, he hasn’t sat down in front an honest to jesus webcam and recorded a badly-worded exR version of “i will follow you into the dark.” no. it’s not george blagden. and while i feel a sense of peace washing away the adrenaline that spiked when i thought, just for a moment, that it might be him, when my fight-or-flight instincts demanded that i either look at the post again, deliberately, or else fling my computer across the room and be rid of it forever, i can’t help but notice the small piece of my soul - just a pinprick, really, but i can feel it throbbing through the whole of my shitty consciousness - that wishes, vaguely but insistently, that the post had been about george blagden.