I'm Nikita. 20. Super short. Grammar Nazi. College Student. Teacher's Assistant. Part-time Khaleesi. I try to be original, but mostly I just reblog like mad.

 

flyartproductions:

The Ghost of van Gogh
Self Portrait (1887), Vincent van Gogh / Haunted, Beyoncé

flyartproductions:

The Ghost of van Gogh

Self Portrait (1887), Vincent van Gogh / Haunted, Beyoncé

sosa-parks:

When a girl says “Make me” that’s secret code for “fuck the shit outta me until I can’t walk or talk straight”

poemsofthequiet:

blackbanshee:

Seven week old puppies playing with mommy.

mom! mom! mom! mom! mom! mom! mom! mom! mom! mom! mom! mom! mom! mom! mom! mom! mom! mom! mom! mom! mom! mom! mom! mom! mom! mom! mom! mom! mom! mom! mom! mom! mom! mom! mom! 

this is the best thing ever

(Source: imbourbon)

oreoofficial:

ahh yes 2014. the 2014th year. 2k14. 2014 years since year 0. the big 2014. the year of 2014. two thousand and fourteen. the ol 20 14

(Source: oreoofficial)

Anonymous asked
will u tell me a story

officialunitedstates:

"You can’t just ride a bear," she said.  "It’s not built for transportation."

I looked at her cowardly face.  “That’s loser talk,” I said.

She was a bit offended but I didn’t care.  I was going to ride that grizzly bear and I was going to do it today.

"Give me the lasso out of the bag," I ordered.

"No… please, don’t do this."

"That’s loser talk," I said as I ripped the backpack out of her hands. 

The rope was thick and the lasso was heavy, but I had spent every waking hour of my life preparing for this day.  A heavy rope wasn’t going to stop me.

"What if it bites you?" she protested. 

But I wouldn’t listen.  This was my destiny; this was my fate.  I slowly approached the grizzly, rope in hand, my fingers ready to strike. 

I knew it could sense I was coming.  It turned, sniffed the air, and rose up on its hind legs.  He was towering, about a foot taller than me, and had thick brown fur shielding him from the cold.  I only had my $240 North Face jacket.

"Let’s go.  You and me.  It’s game time, you dumb bear," I taunted. 

He slowly turned to face me.  Our eyes met, and he had a twinkle in his eye that looked like a diamond.  It was kind of cute for a bear. 

I readied my lasso.  The time was right.  The wind was settled and the air was clear.  It was now or never. 

But I couldn’t do it.  It was something about the way he tilted his head and stared at me—a sort of innocence and fragility that I had scarcely seen before.  I just couldn’t bring myself to tame such a wild beast.

"I can’t do it…. I can’t fight you, bear," I shouted in tears.

"That’s loser talk," said the bear.