#robinshood

[TXT: MAD FUCKING SCIENTIST] hey wake up ive been up for four fucking hours and i can hear a cat outside prowling through that tacky ass garden

[TXT: MAD FUCKING SCIENTIST] get up get up get up

[TXT: MAD FUCKING SCIENTIST] if i have to hear one more sound mgnified by seven billion i’m going to throw up on your creepy goth dècor

1. a documented hug between a mom and her son.

2. so this is love.

3. the riffraff cleans up good.

4. the ray of sunshine to be aspired to.

5. it might be time to replace an old favorite.

casual hellcat insta 1/?

a surprise video taken by the amazing spider-man.

a photo taken of an anonymously breathtaking brunette.

a warm home somewhere in queens.

gotta love those new york city penthouses-- a nice place for a cat to lounge.

a sketch drawn of central park in the company of a brave civilian.

[SMS: PETER] 6 pm Saturday

TEXTS!!!!!

[SMS: Q] no we canNOT include a celebrity scandal segment

[SMS: Q] and this is NOT a matter of debate

[SMS: Q] ah shit

[SMS: Q] u know when we had kids and we convinced me to get a morning crew

[SMS: Q] no1 told me it would piss me off this much

“And your point is...?”

It is not callous, not meant to be cold. Not meant to be harsh or unloving or difficult. Not meant to be accusatory or cutting or sharp. It is gentle and relatively seething at once, an almost slicing thing. But it happens, there, right there. She backs herself up and tugs gently on the reins of her voice. She won’t keep going.

Her eyes avert and her fingertips brush the Arc contemplatively, and her gaze shifts to the floor as if she’s thinking. Thinking. Thinking. Pale snowflake blue eyes skim the floor, skate along the floorboards. She brushes down only just, enough to feel the mechanism whir and hum and hum. It’s a sound, almost.

“I harbor for good or bad, I permit to speak at every hazard, nature without check with original energy. I think it is the most beautiful thing there is, to be so human. Because every single negative looks bad without light, and anything in a darkness seems awful. And what would we be, if not contained of good, bad? And what the fuck is good, anyway? What dictates the nature of what makes good and bad? We contain multitudes, as people, and if you can’t remember that you’re losing the most important part there is.”

She presses again. Just so. For the feeling.

“I think it’s wonderful. Your quiet, pensive thoughtfulness and your tenacity. Things you could flip over so they look bad, too. I think you forget those things. And I think they look bad to you. I think you don’t know to someone else those un-good things are great. Just because they make up the atoms that happen to create you.”