peel's

Last night I went to the wrap party for the show I was working on at ShadowMachine and everyone cheered for the short I worked on, which was so awesome! People were coming up and telling me it was the best looking short this season…. Anyway I’m proud of all that, but what I’m NOT proud of is having 8 drinks and waking up this morning still a little bit drunk, stumbling into the kitchen and grabbing a bollilo bread roll and taking it back to bed with me, hugging it and periodically waking up to eat it.

In Tokyo, Sam Kriss paid a visit to the Nakagin Capsule Tower, the crowning achievement of an architecture collective called the Metabolists. Its modular design comprises a series of pods, each containing a bed, a kitchen, a toilet, and some storage space—and more pods could be added or subtracted as its residents deemed appropriate. A beautiful idea, right? Well, it failed: “Some of the pods are still inhabited, but it’s hard to see how. From outside, the tower looked like a dying animal, sweating and greasy in the heat, trapped inside its wire netting. Looking up, you could see that some capsules had been half-filled with rotting garbage, a rippling line of trash drawn across their single windows. Inside, panels peel from the ceilings and mold crawls underneath; grime and seepage scorches the concrete with strange, bubbling forms. Kurokawa’s masterpiece was an utter, unsalvageable failure.”


The Sad Story of the Nakagin Capsule Tower, and Other News

The breezes taste
Of apple peel.
The air is full
Of smells to feel…
New books, erasers,
Chalk, and such.
The bee, his hive,
Well-honeyed hum…
Like plates washed clean
With suds, the days
Are polished with
A morning haze.
—  John Updike, September
I love you, I am in love with you, and I choose you.

Dear Jess,

I didn’t mean to fall in love with you. But there we were, the two of us, living there in the same building, with fifty other people, and every day I saw you. I watched you laugh and tie your shoes and do your homework and wash dishes and peel an orange, and your touch and your grace in those little moments became something so tightly woven into the fabric of my life that I cannot imagine-I refuse to imagine a life without you in it.

You’ve got scars. A big one across the back of your left hand, a jagged white ridge where broken glass tore the skin years ago. You’ve got other scars too, whenever a man yells even in fun to a friend you jump and take a sharp breath in to steady yourself. You never stand with your back to a door. You sleep with the light on and the door locked, a small sliver of light coming under the door into the hall.

You’ve got so many walls up, I wonder if you will ever let me in. But I don’t need to be let in to love you from outside. You’re a work of art, Jess, plain and simple. You with your wavy brown hair and freckles and big blue eyes and the way you get paint all over your sweater when you paint canvases for your art class and the way you cradle a cup of coffee like it’s a precious gem and the way you tilt your face full towards the sunshine and breathe deep and close your eyes; I could just watch you do what you do all day. I don’t think I’d ever get tired.

I wonder about you, so many mysteries in one person. Where did you come from? Who dared to give you those scars? Why are you here, at this university, in this dorm building, and what star-fated reasoning put me here too?

I’m writing this to you because I am in love with you. You have bewitched me, Jess. But more than that, I love you. I’m not just fascinated by you, I care about you and I choose you a thousand times over if you would choose in return to accept me.

I want to hold your hand and fold your laundry and make you coffee and read aloud to you until you fall asleep. I want to hold you tight and kiss your forehead and know that you are mine. I want to get a job and a house and have children and I want them to have your smile and my nose and your eyes. I want to sit on a front porch somewhere, fifty years from now, on a creaky rocking chair and talk about the weather and I want you to be sitting there with me.

I want to know how your day was, every day, and I want to e-mail you every joke I hear and to cook you breakfast and to take pictures together and to travel the world with you if that’s what you want.

I know you say that you don’t want anyone right now, that you want to be alone, and that you don’t know who you want to spend the rest of your life with.

But I know who I want to spend the rest of my life with, Jess, and I’m writing this because when you realize something that pivotal, you want to know what the rest of your life will hold. Tell me you will give me a chance, Jess, I promise I will not let you down. I will not leave you alone, hungry or crying or shattered. I am not the same man as whoever broke you before.

I love you and I am in love with you and I choose you a thousand times over and I will for a thousand years because you are my destiny. One word from you and I will be by your side or silenced forever, it is your life and you owe me nothing. Tell me what you want, Jess, and I will give it to you to the best of my ability.

Love,

Mitch 

“ you know, i’ll stand in line and wait sometimes up to half an hour at robust every day for a cup of coffee and one of their blueberry muffins and every single time they make it worth it. “ walking into the bar with said cup of coffee and a small box tucked under his arm, he set the box down on the bar top before flipping the top open to reveal six muffins nestled inside. “ i swear they must put crack in them or something because they are addicting. “ he said, grabbing one for himself and peeling the wrapping before taking a bite. “ try one, “ mouthful of muffin, he gestured to the box. “ they’re great. “

Flashes of black mixed with vibrant streaks of blue, the seductive tones of dark wood and dark gold metal. The sweet scent of bubbling champagne, the tingle of expensive flutes held in gloved hands. Flowing dresses, the click of heels on the polished floor; the hum of tailored suits meandering throughout the space.

                                _______________________

Her eyes flew open with no warning, a small whimper escaping as her eyes struggled to adjust to the brightness streaming in from the two rusty windows to the left. Even nestled under the thick blanket, her body shivered as a ghostly breeze flew in through the windows, lifting the heavy curtains to allow more ungodly sunlight in.
The light shift of a half asleep arm landed on the cold, empty half of the bed. In a flurry of groans and silent swearing she peeled back the blanket and crawled out into the chilly morning breeze. He couldn’t sleep without the windows wide open, much to her annoyance. In a tatty old kitty sweater and watermelon shorts, she grabbed a pair of woolly socks off the dresser and scrambled into them before easing the door open.
It was amazing the sleep pattern the girls had; the slightest rustle of a biscuit wrapper or door opening would have them wide awake; yet they could both remain curled up deep in dreamland during the biggest thunderstorm.
“Your awake.” She grumbled, shutting the study door behind her.
“Of course,” He looked up from the laptop with a smile that left her heart fluttering. “Its almost six.” He always set an alarm every morning but rose two hours before it. Always leaving her fast asleep, having learned very early on that she was definitely not a morning person, he would hide away in the cozy office and get to work before the household woke up.
“I missed you.” She sauntered over to the huge window seat and flopped down ungracefully. This room was her second favourite to the kitchen, with its sprawling bookcases filled with stories, mysteries and recipes; the roaring fire with the ancient chair loyally placed in front. But above all else was the view of the beautifully growing garden from the huge window, treating her to glimpses of the brightening sky out.
“And I missed you,” The laptop was shut with a quiet click and he folded his huge frame down next to her on the seat, pulling her into his arms. “How’s your head?”
Ah.
She knew champagne left her with a dull hangover, yet she hadn’t been able to resist a glass or three last night at the art gallery. It was the opening of a new seasonable range of thoroughly expensive splatters of colours, but they had been personally invited by the artist. It had meant a night away from the house; from the children, from the horses. Just the two of them.
“Fine,” She fibbed, trying to smile brightly but failing. “I still can’t believe you bought that painting last night.” She’d almost dropped her drink when she’d spotted the price tag. Really! Who splashed out $12,000 on a painting?
There was a knowing smirk slowly swiping across Harvey’s face, and she knew there was a master plan somewhere. It was his life’s mission to make the pieces of the puzzle fall into place for them all, and somehow, there was a genius plan for this painting.
With no warning he grabbed her, lifting her onto his lap with a kiss on the cheek. “Are you busy today?”
“What did you have in mind?”
He chuckled, but his face grew more serious as his dark eyes melted into hers. Seconds later they were in a heap on the cold wood.
“How do you fancy going out for lunch?” His eyes held a secret, but she knew he wouldn’t reveal more until he was ready. “Mom said she’ll have the girls.”
Uh-oh.
Storie dearly adored Harvey’s family, especially his kind hearted mother but she was far too soft with the twins. The last time she’d looked after them, Rivage had rolled in flour under the pretense of baking. _Actually rolled in flour._ It had taken two showers to get the white snow out of her hair.
“That sounds nice,” She said feebly. Awarding him with a soft kiss on the lips, she scrambled off the cold floor with the groan of a seventy year old with arthritis.

anonymous asked:

Sooooooooo haylorsecrets is killing my buzz lmao they are refuting everything we thought was going on

Nah she gave an important clue though, she basically came in to say there’s gonna be haylor relationship rumors in the future BUT IN HER OPINION she doesn’t think it’s true because she thinks haylor is dead BUT she’s not sure and that anything can happen between them in the future.

Those rumors aren’t out yet according to her (behind-the-scenes apparently) so why warn us beforehand? I just think it’s sketchy as fuck, especially when right now Taylor’s friends that she’s hanging out with have been liking Harry’s pics, etc 🕵🏼

So anyways keep your eyes peeled out for any potential haylor rumors in the media LOL.

Wiles

Chapter 1: The Holidays

By: Warped-Imagination

Summary:  A continuous string of moments that affects Sansa’s life and in particularly the catalyst being Petyr Baelish. Rated: Fiction  M - English - Hurt/Comfort/Angst  - Words: 8,914

Yeah I suck at Summaries. Just moment of inspiration, there be multiple chapters with no particular flow but the story connects. I’m bringing the creepy back to creepyshipping. Blah Ha ha!

You can Read it Here on Fanfiction.net

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A 77-year-old grandmother beat the crap out of a guy who tried to rob her. When Winifred Peel attempted to get cash from an ATM in Liverpool, 3 men tried to push her aside and take her money. ‘You’re not having my money, young man,’ she thought, then grabbed one of them by the collar, pulled as hard as she could, bashed his head into the wall 3 times, and scared them off. Source Source 2