object(PersonalizedQuery)#648 (3) { ["term"]=> string(31) "is it because we live in the us" ["personalized_search_data"]=> bool(false) ["retain_tailing_ws"]=> bool(false) }

No but guys actually think about it

someday people will listen to taylorswift's albums and will look on the internet for infos about her

and all of our pictures will come up. our blogs, her blog, the polaroids.

and they will feel like dying because they wish SO MUCH that they were born in this era


Just let that sink in.


Hal according to character tropes

i just want to wake up in the morning and have robin williams be alive


this was never about winning. it’s just about surviving. the machine and i couldn’t save the world. we had to settle for protecting the seven people who might be able to take it back. so we gave samaritan a blind spot: seven key servers that hard codes it to ignore seven carefully crafted new identities. when the whole world is watched, filed, indexed, numbered, the only way to disappear is to appear. hiding our true identities inside a seemingly ordinary life. you’re not a free man anymore, harold. you’re just a number. we have to become these people now. and if we don’t, they’ll find us, and they’ll kill us. i’m sorry, harold. i know it’s not enough. a lot of people are gonna die. people who might have been able to help. everything is changing. i don’t know if it will ever get better. but it’s going to get worse. the machine asked me to tell you something before we part - you once told john the whole point of pandora’s box is that once you’ve opened it, you can’t close it again. she wanted me to remind you of how the story ends. when everything is over, when the worst has happened…there’s still one thing left in pandora’s box: hope.

quick reminder that is perfectly okay to terminate toxic relationships no matter who might make you feel bad about it iT IS ALWAYS PERFECTLY OKAY TO TERMINATE TOXIC RELATIONSHIPS AND LOOK OUT FOR YOURSELF AND YOU ARE NOT IN THE WRONG FOR DOING SO


I love how the entire Trinity fandom is like, 

"Swarto!! Grester!! Master!! Chrace!!"

But at the end of every day most of us are like,

"Dat Hartbig doe!!"

Submitted by cameoappearance.

[#229. Asexuals can swallow animals up to three quarters the size of their bodies in a single bite.]

I’ve been in six psychiatric facilities in three states, from the fancy McLean Hospital to crappier state-run facilities. But I’m better now, and I swear that all this is true.


4/5 locations (the hospital)

i’ve thought about life and its meaning for a while, and i just..

we were born without our consent, grew up with rules and obligations for our survival and development, and for about the 20 first years of our lives, we basically have no say whatsoever on how we live, and then we suddenly become adults, and have to take care of ourselves and we’re expected to live on our own, study for some years to become something we are going to work with for the rest of our lives, or just jump right in to a job as soon as you can because you wouldn’t be able to live without money, all of this because we are expected to meet someone and have children and then make sure they grow up and live the exact same lives as we did.

we were forced into a life we didn’t choose to live, and that’s why i think the meaning of life is to break free from the norms and expectations as soon as you can to make your own life, to make the best of the situation we were forced to be in.

why live for 80 years, and that all you’ve ever done were things that were expected from you and not things you truly wanted? don’t ever think that someone else can decide how you life your life, because your own life is 100% yours and you have the full rights to do whatever you want.

haiku for a photocopier

Why must you taunt me?
There’s no jam in area two
I checked several times

Rockstar AU

Oliver stalked down the mellow-lit studio hallway, turning his phone off as he went. He was here to work. Tommy calling to ask why he didn’t turn up to the latest photoshoot was not going to stop any time soon. Oliver would apologize later; right now, it was either hit something, or put in more time on the new album, and he was trying to stop punching photographers.

Besides, if he didn’t get this latest set of tracks working for him soon, he might just explode. He, the band, the crew, everyone was putting in extra time on this damn album, and Oliver wouldn’t be happy about it until they started seeing some real results. But nothing was going right, nothing was satisfying him, and he just couldn’t figure out why.

But he would.

Oliver reached the end of the hall where his reserved sound booth was located and pulled up short, surprised to find the door cracked open and the lights on inside.

He’d thought the rest of the band was at the shoot and he’d have the studio to himself. Eyebrows furrowing, Oliver pressed his fingertips to the door, pushing it silently wider, until he could peer around the frame.

What he saw was Felicity Smoak. His technical engineer and producer was adjusting one of the mics and, he realized with a shock, singing softly to herself. They’d been working together for almost two years, and Oliver had never realized Felicity could sing.

He stood, listening, and learned that not only could she sing, but she was damn good at it. And she was singing his song.

Her voice was alto, soft and strangely melancholy. The song she was singing was off the new album, one of the tracks that was giving him the most trouble. It was written as an angry, fierce ballad, but in Felicity’s mouth it became slower, lingering in sadness and reflection while still maintaining an edge of anger, of revenge.

It was strangely haunting.

The hairs on his arms and the back of his neck raised with chills, because for the first time since he’d been handed the sheet music for this song, Oliver felt like what he was hearing of it was right.

He stood watching, listening, until her voice caught and she cleared her throat, humming a little around the catch before falling silent as she let go of the mic she’d been fixing.

"Go back," Oliver, ordered. "Do that part again."

Felicity yelped and startled so hard she fell against the stool under the mic, knocking it over as she whirled to face him, one hand to her chest. She stared at him wild-eyed, cheeks flushing in embarrassment. “Mr. Queen! What’re you doing here? I mean, not what’re you doing here, you work here, obviously, same as me, and we’ve got the new album, but, what I mean is weren’t you not scheduled here today?”

Oliver raised an eyebrow at her babbling and wild hand gestures; by now, he was pretty much used to it. He raked his eyes over her, curly blonde hair pulled back in a no-nonsense ponytail, black square-framed glasses perched on her nose, and dressed in a floral-patterned white skirt that stopped a few inches above her knees and yellow cap-sleeved t-shirt tucked into it. And the infamous panda flats Tommy so liked to tease her about were on her feet.

Oliver never would’ve guessed, in all the time they’d known each other, that the voice he had just heard could’ve come from this quirky, tiny girl. “I wasn’t. I wanted to come in and put some more time in on the album, but as it turns out, I’m not the only one with that idea, am I?” He smiled at her blandly, for some reason never able to resist the urge to poke at her nervousness whenever she got so flustered.

She winced, then buried it under a smile. “Of course you did! And, uh, yes. I did. I was just listening to the tracks we recorded yesterday, and I noticed there was a problem with this mic. So, uh. I fixed it. It should be picking up just fine now.”

"Thanks," he said dismissively. "Now, about your singing."

"M-my singing?" She asked, backing towards the wall. He wondered if she even realized she was retreating.

myrinthinks said:

Oh Jesus Christ, that poverty post you reblogged does seem to bring all the unpleasant people to the yard (or at least allow them to let out their unpleasant sides). I wonder if these people know what taxes are. Like, they wouldn't even realise if the government decided to use taxes to provide for poor people because there wouldn't be any changes for them because they have to pay taxes either way. Dear lord give me (and other people from poor households) strength.

I think about this a lot, but it just keeps cycling back to:

golly gosh I’m glad I don’t live in the States right now.

Not only do the majority of American poor people not really get how poor they are compared to their global peers (and I’m speaking from experience here) but they believe that they are not poor, and they genuinely believe that Those Poor People are out to get them. So you get these genuinely impoverished people who are seriously going:

  • I’m not poor.
  • Poor people are lazy and bad, and I’m not lazy or bad!
  • Therefore I’m not poor!
  • Also, poor people want to steal my hard-earned money.
  • Look how hard I had to work for this money! I had to work SO HARD! God, those poor people sure are disgusting and entitled.
  • I have to work very hard to earn healthcare and pay my bills. This is because times are hard, but I am very hard-working, and very deserving, and very tough.
  •  Why would I vote for improved welfare, or healthcare, or benefits? It would only encourage poor people to do even LESS work.
  • Why should I work as hard as I’m working just to help poor people be lazy?!

Meanwhile, Europeans are looking at them going

"Oh, you’ve never been on holiday to Europe?"

"You’ve - you’ve never been on HOLIDAY?"

"Your healthcare isn’t FREE?"

"Your boss can just FIRE YOU? For no reason?!"

"You can’t afford to pay your heating bills?"

"You PAY for university education?"

"… You pay HOW MUCH for university education?"

"The police do WHAT to you?"

"You can’t afford to pay for the prescriptions you need to LIVE - oh, hahaha, okay, I get it! You’re joking. This is a hilarious joke that you are playing on this poor European who doesn’t understand-"

”- You’re not joking.”