tongue river

Things people don't talk about enough

• River Phoenix in Jimmy Reardon
• River Phoenix in Running On Empty
• River Phoenix in Dark Blood
• River Phoenix in Stand By Me
• River Phoenix in Dogfight
• River Phoenix in My Own Private Idaho
• River Phoenix in 7brides for 7brothers
• River Phoenix in ABC afterschool specials
• River Phoenix in it’s your move
• River Phoenix in hotel
• River Phoenix in Robert Kennedy and his times
• River Phoenix in explorers
• River Phoenix in Family Ties
• River Phoenix in Circle of Violence: a family drama
• River Phoenix in little nikita
• River Phoenix in indiana jones
• River Phoenix in the mosquito coast
• River Phoenix in i love you to death
• River Phoenix in silent tongue
• River Phoenix in sneakers
• River Phoenix in the thing called love
• River Phoenix playing piano
• River Phoenix playing guitar
• River Phoenix singing
• River Phoenix laughing
• River Phoenix acting
• River Phoenix being an amazing human being
• River Phoenix’ beauty
• River Phoenix being an icon to gay people
• River Phoenix being vegan
• River Phoenix not giving a crap about fame
• River Phoenix not wanting people to know about his drug habits bc he didn’t wanted the young fans going down that way
• River Phoenix respecting everyone
• River Phoenix in glasses
• River Phoenix his smile
• River Phoenix his eyes that held so much love
• River Phoenix love for his family, friends and fans and the earth
• River Phoenix in fucking general???????

Things people talk about too much
• River Phoenix drug overdose

My Artistic Vision

Submitted by: http://thefeelofcacoethes.tumblr.com/

Length: Short

One of my favourite things to do is create public street art pieces. I work by the cover of darkness, never leaving my art in the same place twice. Sadly, my work is short lived, but I love the creativity, the reactions of the public, and especially the creation process!

When creating public art pieces the most important detail is the pop. The attention grabber, the head turner, the hook that drags people in with cameras and gaping mouths. Tonight I was working with a darker base than usual, to make sure my colors explode! Here’s a tip from a pro: A darker base with tones of orange, red, and yellow will look spectacular! But before the paint comes a few cosmetic details.

First, I drill a few holes into the base, and insert wooden dowels I’ve covered in glow paint and glitter. Not the most professional of mediums, but the end product will still be stunning. Next, I make a few cuts in the base, and insert colored pieces of glass I got cheap from a glass blowing studio. Bargains are an artist’s best friend, after all! After that, I string rows of fairy lights across the dowels, and into the cuts, to give a glowing, whimsical feeling. Next is my absolute favourite part: The painting!

I start out with a bright neon orange, drawing tongues fire and rivers of marigolds. Next comes a light yellow, warm sand and gold jewelry. Blood red is final, fiery and bright, with mountains of magma and fire truck feathers. Red is the easiest of colors, since I can make it from the leftover pieces of my previous art. Waste not want not, am I right?

I stand back, and survey my work. The piece glows in the rising sun, reflecting the lava-like colors of the sky. I’m so proud of this piece, it’s one of my best so far. But now I must go, so my art will remain an anonymous beauty for the public to gawk at. Perhaps I will see it in a newspaper! I don’t want to brag, but my work is featured in papers a lot . Some even in the front page! Though, I do wish the media would stop calling my work “desecrated corpses” and “gruesome murders committed over night”. 

Before I leave, I lean down and rip off the tape I placed over my base’s mouth. His teeth are colored bright pink, courtesy of yours truly. I thought it would be it nice touch. Too bad I had to put the tape on, because the pink is smudged a bit from his attempts to scream. Oh well! He stopped screaming now, and my artistic vision still survives. 

I turn to leave, but a whimper stops me. A young woman stands across the street from me, her hand over her mouth and tears streaming down her face. Good thing I decided to pack more paint today.

It’s so hard, being an anonymous street artist. No one seems to understand my vision.

Credits to: http://thefeelofcacoethes.tumblr.com/

devouring-time  asked:

Congrats on the milestone, love! Prompt: Hawke has a Good Dream on a night during the three year break. If only he didn't have to be woken by kisses from Flower instead of Fenris...

Hawke remembered desperate, clawing hands, and shadowed eyes, a desire to wipe out bad memories with good ones. Fenris had not been like this before, Hawke thought, with no small amount of amazement. It was so good to see him brazen and confident. It seemed that before - but then the thought was gone, and with it the troubling nagging feeling that had followed it.

Fenris’s eyes glowed like warm green flames, and the smile on his face was something that nearly stopped Hawke’s heart. His hands fisted in Hawke’s red flannel, he backed the big mage up one, two, three steps, until his back hit the bed post, and Hawke lifted his hands in mock surrender.

“I suppose you have plans for me, then?” he asked the elf, and Fenris’s smile grew. The elf pushed up on his toes, and met his eyes fiercely.

“The night is young,” Fenris murmured, voice low and deep and amused. Hawke’s entire body reacted to that voice. Maker, it had been so long – and he had never wanted anyone the way he wanted Fenris. Fenris was naked, then, where he hadn’t been before, and as Hawke lowered his hands he found himself marveling at the feel of his skin, the strength of his body, the beauty of his form. “Tell me,” Fenris said, cocking his head, watching him so fiercely. “Tell me again how you love me.”

“I love you,” Hawke said, without hesitation, and Fenris smiled again, and leaned closer, and licked the side of his face. Hawke frowned, and he tried to pull away. “Fenris,” he said again, surprised by the weight of the elf against his chest, pinning him there as his tongue lapped wetly. A river of drool trekked its way across his cheek to pool in the recesses of his ear.

Hawke started awake.

He was greeted by a powerful puff of doggy breath, and one of Flower’s lazy, loving smiles. The dog, the upper portions of his massive body perched too comfortably atop Hawke’s chest, angled his head in an attempt to get his tongue up his nose.

Whatever lingering pleasantness Hawke’s dream might have left him with, it was gone now. He pushed the dog away.

“No!” he scolded. “Bad dog!”

Flower was one of the few creatures on the planet who failed to be taken aback by Hawke’s grumpy voice. The large mabari wagged its tailless backside, and snuggled down against the mage’s pillow with a series of grunts and sighs as Hawke tried to get the drool out of his ear. His beard was wet, and his entire bed smelled like dog, and the sun wasn’t even up yet.

Hawke scrubbed his hands through his hair and gave the dog a halfhearted glare.

“You expect me to sleep on the couch?” he demanded.

Flower gave an enthusiastic borf and wagged his backside again.

“No way,” Hawke told him, pushing him. “Shove over. This is my bed.”

The mabari barked again. Hawke buried his head under his pillow.

Drabbles

Imagines

One-shots

Series

‘’He looked upon me as a kind of father figure. He’d knock at my door and ask if he could come in and sleep… He’d sleep on the couch. I could hear him rehearsing his lines–at 4 in the morning. I said, “Fuckin’ go to sleep.” He’d be in the bathroom, taking a crap, doing his lines.’’  — [Silent Tongue co-star Richard Harris on River]. 

‘’He bonded very, very strongly with Richard Harris. River would come and drive Richard to the set, bypassing the film’s drivers. He always wanted to make sure that Richard was fine, that Richard wasn’t lonely.’’ —  [Silent Tongue producer Carolyn Pfeiffer on River].

2

A new poem from Sandra Cisneros, the author, most recently, of the poetry collection My Wicked Wicked Ways, and A House of My Own: Stories From My Life.

God Breaks the Heart Again and Again Until It Stays Open
               after a quote from Sufi Inayat Khan

But what if my heart is a 7-Eleven after its third daytime robbery in a week?

What if my heart is a piñata trashed to tissue and peppermint shrapnel?

What if my heart is a peeled mango bearing an emerald housefly?

What if my heart is an air conditioner weeping a rosary of rusty tears?

What if my heart is Sebastião Salgado’s sinkhole swallowing another child?

What if my heart is Death Valley in wide-view Cinemascope?

What if my heart is a chupacabrón chanting, Build the wall?

What if my heart is the creepy uncle’s yawning zipper?

What if my heart is a Pentecostal babbling a river of tongues?

What if my heart is the cross-eyed Jesus bought at the Poteet flea market?

What if my heart is El Paso, Texas, in bed with the corpse of Ciudad Juárez?

What if my heart is unhinged from the weight of its lice-ridden wings?

What then for an encore, oh my soul, when you have blessed me a
      hundredfold?


More on these books and author:

Late Night Walk

Originally posted by yooneroos

You hummed softly putting your phone on top of your ear as you snuggled your hand under the warmth of your pillow. You were met with a soft whisper as if scared that he would wake you up if you were too loud. ‘Are you awake?’ and you were sure if he wasn’t your boyfriend you would have hung up the phone and continued on sleeping but this was Hyo Seob and no matter how much you complain about him. You honestly do love the goofball. ‘Why?’ you asked pulling your phone away from your ear as you tried to look at the watch. You couldn’t even focus your eyes as the bright light blinded your eyes. You closed your eyes and tried to rub off the sleep away as you put it back onto your ear. ‘What time is it?’ you asked over all his mumblings that you couldn’t make out.

‘Oh it’s.’ he trailed off probably only now checking the time. ‘It’s 1.45 am.’ He answered innocently not at all guilty at waking you up in an ungodly hour. ‘What do you want?’ this time you didn’t even bother to hide your annoyance at your boyfriend.

‘Doyou misses you.’ He muttered now slightly softer and layered with doubts.

‘What?’ You couldn’t make sense of his sentence as he stuttered over his words trying to explain himself but you weren’t listening as you racked your brain for Doyou and finally a small adorable dog came into your mind as you signed in irritation at your boyfriend. ‘Doyou?’ you asked him again and you could hear a nervous chuckle at your tone of voice knowing that you weren’t mad but rather just annoyed. He made you felt that way in a daily basis. ‘We’re thinking of going for a walk.’ He explained as you sighed out and put your phone away from your ear and you stretched your back and took a deep breath before sitting up and going to open the light on your bedside table.

‘Hyo Seob it’s 2 o’ clock in the morning.’ You tried to reason with your boyfriend now that you were awake.

‘Well it’s actually 1.48 am.’

Smartass.

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2

‘’We didn’t have enough trailers to give to everyone, so we gave them to the first four above-the-line people. When River started working with Sheila Tousey, he realized that she was in a honey wagon and he was in a trailer, and she not only had long makeup hours, but a lot of preparation doing vocal exercises. So he came to me and said, “I’d like to give Sheila my trailer and I’ll go into the honey wagon.” I’d never had an actor say, “May I give up my comfortable space for a smaller one, because one of my fellow performers needs it more than I do?”

[Silent Tongue’s producer Carolyn Pfeiffer on River].

God Breaks the Heart Again and Again Until It Stays Open
(after a quote from Sufi Inayat Khan)

But what if my heart is a 7-Eleven after its third daytime holdup in a week?
What if my heart is a pinata trashed to tissue and peppermint shrapnel?
What if my heart is a peeled mango bearing an emerald housefly?
What if my heart is an air conditioner weeping a rosary of rusty tears?
What if my heart is Sebastiao Salgado’s sinkhole swallowing another child?
What of my heart is Death Valley in wide-view Cinemascope?
What if my heart is a chupacabra black star swallowing the cosmos?
What if my heart is the creepy uncle’s yawning zipper?
What if my heart is a Pentecostal babbling a river of tongues?
What if my heart is the cross-eyed Jesus bought at the Poteet flea market?
What if my heart is El Paso, Texas, in bed with the corpse of Ciudad Juarez?
What if my heart is unhinged from the weight of its lice-ridden wings?
What then for an encore, oh my soul, when you have blessed me a hundredfold?

—  Sandra Cisneros
nurse rogers [steve rogers]

@darlingbuchanan requesteda steve x reader where they’re left alone at the tower and steve accidentally confesses his love for her?

tagging@mattymattymerduck, @avengerofyourheart, @wakandasoldier, @darlingbuchanan, @bemystucky, @idorkish, @iwillbeinmynest, @aubzylynn, @angryschnauzer​, @almondbuttercup

warnings: fluff, flustered steve, injuries, explicit details of gore and body regeneration

additional notes: female reader who is a member of the avengers. reader has regenerative healing abilities, like deadpool. varies between your pov and steve’s. my fault, since i started this out in reader’s pov and forgot about it later on. the gif has nothing to do with the plot but steve’s “oh shit” face applies here.

Your name: submit What is this?

It had been an hour since the team left for Croatia, leaving you and Steve behind. Steve had felt he should sit this one out and allow Bucky to prove himself as a potential team leader, while you were nursing day-old injuries. The previous mission had left you with a severed foot, dislocated shoulder, and multiple bullet wounds. Your abilities of self-healing and regeneration served to quicken the process, and so your bullet wounds had all closed up nicely, but your shoulder was still stiff, and since your foot had been lost in the chaos of battle, you were left to regrow it from scratch. Even with your regenerative healing factor, a day of rest was necessary. You had a feeling Steve had stayed behind just to act as your personal nurse—he always looked guilty whenever he saw you hobbling off to the med bay after a mission—and Bucky had merely gone along with his best friend’s excuse.

Not that you were complaining. Granted, you were pretty high on pain medication—your healing factor did nothing to ease the pain of injury, perhaps even increased it—but having Steve at your beck and call was by no means a terrible experience. It was sweet how much he cared for you; you wondered if he gave the others treatment this special.

“Here, Y/N.” A glass of water appeared in front of you, attached to the hand of the man of your dreams. From your spot on the couch, you glanced up lazily at Steve to see him frowning down at you, his brow furrowed with worry. “Need to hydrate for that foot. How’s it look?”

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i just wanted to stop feeling like i was a desert. maybe that’s why i drank too much, why too many nights i chased your river tongue. you made nothing else matter. i was endlessly thirsty and you were a bloodless slaughter. i looked into your eyes and saw oceans. 

i forgot you can’t drink saltwater.