anonymous asked:

I feel like I can't be a doll, because wearing my hair down doesn't match me, it's weird.. My jaw and forehead are to angled and my face is too long - any suggestions? :(

This aspect of the Living Doll lifestyle is the most difficult/problematic for me… the name implies cookie-cutter perfection is what is sought after, but I hope you’ll find most of the community is actually very accepting, loving, and diverse. We’re all just seeking eternal cuteness/dollyness in our own way!

If you want to dress up and identify as a living doll, it’s as simple as that!  Only people with bitter souls (who’s opinions don’t matter, let’s be real!) will tell you otherwise.  Your natural features should not hold you back from pursuing this style.  Work towards a dolly version of you, discovering what looks accentuate your natural beauty. 

So what I’m trying to say is…be kind to yourself and your body, and think of the living doll style as more of a “highlighter” to yourself…if that makes sense? Try to ignore the thoughts that say you can’t be a doll and just dive-in!!~ Try out some makeup looks and cute clothes, and have fun with it! (๑´ㅂ`๑)

On another note, for your hair.  I’m really feeling ballerina buns/sock buns with large bows as accents, if your hair is long enough to make a bun that is :) And wearing cute headbands is a great idea to doll-up a look no matter the length of you hair ^-^

We are all beautiful, Anon!~ Always feel free to message me if you need to talk or have more questions.  I try my best to make this blog a safe and positive space~


When you are there, it just makes me realize how much I  n e e d  y o u here. At the beginning I was going to do all of this by myself, and now with you and Diggle… I rely on you.


Will + keeping distance


"Anakin." Obi-Wan’s voice had gone soft, and his hand was warm on Anakin’s arm. "There is no other Jedi I would rather have at my side right now. No other man." Anakin turned, and found within Obi-Wan’s eyes a depth of feeling he had only rarely glimpsed in all their years together; and the pure uncomplicated love that rose up within him then felt like a promise from the Force itself.

"I…wouldn’t have it any other way, Master."


In response to an earlier entry of mine, this post appeared on College Confidential:

"You know, I get sick of college admissions officers saying how they couldn’t accept so many wonderful people. While it’s supposed to be comforting, obviously, I just find it really insincere. I mean, either you’re accepted or you’re not. There is no grey area… so they shouldn’t try to sugarcoat the harsh reality." 

I’m thankful to whomever posted this, because it really made me think. It’s certainly a fair post, and I imagine a lot of our applicants share these sentiments. A million years ago when I was applying to college, perhaps I would have felt the same way.

I’ve written before about how the class is selected, but I’m too tired to dig up the post so I’ll give a quick recap. First you apply. Your application is read by a senior staff member who will look for deal-breakers (like a bunch of D’s, for example). Assuming you’re competitive, your application is then read by a primary reader who will summarize it at length for the committee. Then a second reader (and sometimes a third) will read and write their own summaries. Then it will go to selection committee, where multiple groups of different admissions staff and faculty members will weigh in on it. Assuming you’ve made it that far, the senior staff will then review it again. Approximately 12 people (give or take) will significantly discuss and debate your application before you’re admitted. This is all very intentional; committee decisions ensure that every decision is correct in the context of the overall applicant pool, and that no one individual’s bias or preferences or familiarity with a given case has any chance of swaying a decision unfairly.

With that in mind, let me tell you a little bit about what my job is like from November through March. Three days a week, I take a random bunch of applications to the public library, find a quiet corner, and immerse myself in your lives.

I read about your triumphs, I read about your dreams, I read about the tragedies that define you. I read about your passions, your inventions, your obsession with video games, dance, Mozart, Monet. I read about the person close to you who died. I read about your small towns, your big cities, the week you spent abroad that changed your life. I read about your parents getting divorced, your house burning down, your girlfriend cheating on you. I read about the car you rebuilt with your dad, the championship debate you lost, the team you led to failure, the performance you aced. I read about the people you’ve helped and the people you’ve hurt. I read about how you’ve stood tall in the face of racism, homophobia, poverty, injustice.

Then I read about the lives you’ve changed - a math or science teacher, a humanities teacher, a counselor. I read the things that they probably don’t say to your face for fear of inflating your ego: that you’re the best in their careers, that kids like you are the reason they chose to be a teacher in the first place, that they’re better people for having known you.

If you’ve had an interview, I get to read about how you come across in person to someone you’ve just met - how your face lights up at the mention of cell biology, how you were five minutes late because you had an audition, how your smile can fill a room, how you simply shine.

(Your grades and scores are clearly competitive or your application wouldn’t be on my pile in the first place.)

By now I’m fully invested in you so I write a gazillion nice things about you in your summary and I’m smiling the whole time. I talk about your depth, all the ways you’re a great match to MIT, all the things I know you’ll contribute to campus. I conclude with phrases like “clear admit” and “perfect choice.” In my head I imagine bumping into you on the Infinite Corridor, asking you how your UROP is going, seeing your a cappella group perform.

I come home each night and tell my wife over dinner how lucky I am, because I never seem to pick boring applications out of the pile. In fact, I tell her, I’m inspired enough by the stories I read to think that the world might actually turn out to be okay after all.

In March I go into committee with my colleagues, having narrowed down my top picks to a few hundred people. My colleagues have all done the same. Then the numbers come in: this year’s admit rate will be 13%. For every student you admit, you need to let go of seven others.

What? But I have so many who… But…

And then the committee does its work, however brutal. It’s not pretty, but at least it’s fair. (And by fair I mean fair in the context of the applicant pool; of course it’s not fair that there are so few spots for so many qualified applicants.)

When it’s all over, about 13% of my top picks are offered admission. I beg, I plead, I make ridiculous promises (just ask the senior staff) but at the end of the day, a committee decision is a committee decision.

Of my many favorites this year, there were a few who really got to me, and when they didn’t get in, the tears came. Some would call me foolish for getting this wrapped up in the job, but honestly, I couldn’t do this job if I disconnected myself from the human component of it. It’s my job to present you to the committee; if your dream of being at MIT didn’t become my dream on some small level, then really, why am I doing this at all? Others would disagree, but then, others aren’t me.

To the 87% of you who have shared your lives with us and trusted us with your stories over the last four months, please know that they meant something to me, and I won’t forget you. When I say that I share the pain of these decisions with you, I’m not lying. I’m really not lying.

To the person up there who said “while it’s supposed to be comforting, obviously, I just find it really insincere” - you have it backwards. I don’t expect it (or anything else) to be comforting at this moment. But insincere? No. Not that.

Just got confirmation that the USPS picked up the mail (for real), so it’s on the way. I’ll be thinking about all of you.


after the war, there is nothing for draco. nothing, for a long time, and then suddenly there is luna. luna, who brings him harry, and then hermione— brings him odd offers of friendship in ways he’d never dared to dream of. it is a long battle; draco is unsure that his friendship would be wanted by anyone. it is only because of his work with luna at the quibbler that he even trusts her judgement. but harry is quick to accept his apologies; after what they’ve been through, boyhood rivalries mean very little to him. hermione’s trust takes much longer to gain— she has no use for his friendship, he has hurt her more deeply. it isn’t until draco takes interest in her catalogue of magical creature accounts that she even begins to talk to him, and draco begins to make amends by co-writing columns with luna in the quibbler to get the word out about her work. he even joins her on some of her travels abroad, joins harry and luna for dinners at the cottage, argues playfully with ginny about their favorite quidditch teams, and nods politely at ron whenever they are in the same room, though he never speaks a word to him. 

and draco is grateful for it all, because after the war there was nothing, and now he has been given everything.

To people who think Daryl falling in love with Beth is immoral because of the age difference: 

There is a vast difference between being infatuated with someone because they are young, and falling in love with a person who happens to be younger than you.

"I can takecare of him"
“He’s fucking family.”
“He’s not going to some fucking nut house” “He’s staying with me”
“You’re sick, Ian”
“I’m worried about you”
“I love you”
‘Can I go in with him?”
“I’m sorry I’m late”
“He’s got me”

Mickey Milkovich’s different stages of accepting Ian’s illness


Last Tango in Halifax1x023x01

  • things you shouldn't worry about:believing a romantic relationship is the only way to be valued as a human being
Hi guys,

Here is another update of things I learned out in real life.

You are going to mess up, a lot, because you are human and inexperienced. This applies to everything from social skills to forgetting to submit a form. This makes trying to be an adult fucking terrifying because some-days you go out and you feel like you have fucked up everything forever.

But you still ave to go out there, try, come home and have a cup of tea and a cry if you need it, and then go out there and do it again.

Many people have told me your thirties are more fun than your twenties, because you make a lot of mistakes and do a lot of learning in your twenties.

So for all of you messing up out there, keep putting one foot in front of the other, you can do it!

And for those who are not there yet, be prepared, being an adult is tough and doable.

And for those who have trouble getting out of bed in the mornings and for who getting to work is a big accomplishment, I admire your persistence, you are amazing for getting up and not checking out on life.

Being an adult is hard, and it is okay to mess up. Just try to learn from your mistakes, and jump right back in the game.