ask me how high am i

i am holding hands with a girl at the pet store. i love how her voice changes when she speaks to different animals. round and bubbly for the angelfish, high and breathy for the calico kittens, sonorous and slithery for the python. she loves them all, even the great hairy tarantula that makes me cringe. 

i am holding hands with this girl whose halo of hair glows banana yellow under the heat lamps in the reptile section, who offers her index finger to teething kittens. she asks “can’t we have one?” in the voice she uses for only me. a voice i can’t describe without using her name, but i imagine joan of arc heard something similar the day she picked up a sword. she is still holding my hand, and i feel like i’d sink into cartoon quicksand if i let go. so i don’t.

“are you two… together?”

this is not unfamiliar, but the woman’s voice, the voice she has chosen, is angrily acidic. this woman has laced her tone with arsenic, without even a passive aggressive teaspoon of sugar to hide her poison. she inhales, puffing herself up like a frightened lizard before her final words. 

“there are children here, you know.” 

in the future, i think of a thousand things to say. we were children too. two girls holding hands after school. two girls holding hands at the movie theatre, two girls in a booth at tony’s pizza, two girls sharing awkward first kisses after two solo cups of wine in someone else’s backyard. two girls holding kittens at a pet store on a saturday afternoon. 

i know now that they see us through funhouse mirrors: distorted, disturbed, our monstrous bodies taking too much space, spoiling innocent spaces with our imposing sexualities. our innocence never ours to begin with.

even with this, there is nowhere i would rather be than holding hands with her in a pet store, with her voice like rain on a hot day, her peach lips blowing kisses for fish, her grip tightening as if to say “i dare you to take this away from me.”

Day Ninety-Four

-A child told me that he loved his lanky polar bear. He then asked for his leggy man boy to not be put in a bag. He gushed to his father about how excited he was for his limping pollo loco. I am grateful to have been the one to bestow upon him his Lego Batman toy.

-A man came through with a camouflage bandana, a long-sleeved camouflage shirt, camouflage shorts, and pasty white calves. He is guaranteed to go unnoticed as long as he stays in knee-high coverage.

-I began my shift not in the happiest of moods. This all changed when a two year-old looked me in the eye and told me, “Myungh.” Children always know just what to say.

-Two three year-old twins took turns tooting on a toy trumpet together, absolutely tickled by how perfectly they could produce their one note.

-I watched on in fascination as a man in his fifties knocked over a sign at Starbucks and spent ten minutes attempting to place it upright again. He soon found his efforts to be in vain and instead attoted to slink away in what was ultimately the most noninconspicuous manner possible.

-A woman left in the middle of paying for her purchase to wait through the line at Starbucks and get a drink. I am beginning to understand how some may doubt my stories. I, too, cannot find any way to believe that this actually happened.

-A child ran towards me, shouting, “Daddy Two!” My plan is working flawlessly and my infiltration of his family has begun.

-A triad of men came through my line, looking like a hipster version of the Three Stooges, and living up to the reputation.

-A line of intimidating frat boys spent the duration of their time in my lane debating the best brands of “choccy milk” and their go-to shaking strategies.

anonymous asked:

I've seen you say a couple times that you don't see or that you're disabled. Do you mind talking about it? I ask because I am an aspiring writer and it is really hard for me. I wanted to know how you managed or what it was like?

I don’t mind talking about it. It’s something that made me who I am.

When I was about 12, my health sort of started to eat itself. I suddenly had a ton of allergies, and there were days I couldn’t get out of bed. I got sick all the time. In freshman year of high school, I suddenly couldn’t see. For a long time a thing had been going on in my eyes, but I guess I didn’t think it was abnormal until it made it impossible for me to see. Basically this hole was kind of growing in my eyes, but it was more like a rainbow.

When I started having trouble with colors and detail vision, my mom freaked out a bit, because at the time, I was an award winning artist who had ideas of going to college for art. Then I started tripping over things, hitting my head, having trouble with depth perception. Then I got sick, and I mean sick.

I spent about 23 hours a day in bed. I had almost constant migraines. I had pain in my entire body. My skin turned yellow. I went to every kind of doctor you can think of and was tested for everything there is. One day, I had about 12 vials of blood drawn. No one knew what was wrong. The eyes weren’t that big a deal at first, because it seemed like I might have something really serious. The first couple of eye doctors I went to kind of looked at me and said “Oh it’s nothing big.” I actually had one guy tell me that my brain was just shutting off my eyes because I wasn’t using them properly. Yeah.

Then finally, my mom took me to a friend of our family who happened to be an eye surgeon. She did a free exam. I’ll never forget it because it was the first time anyone believed me. I’d been told by doctor after doctor that there was nothing wrong with me. I’d been referred to therapists, told I needed depression meds, told I was just going through a phase or needed attention. Then this doctor put on her head gear, looked into my eyes…took off the head gear…got new head gear…looked into my eyes…took off the headgear…got hand held tools…looked into my eyes…and then stared at me with her mouth hanging open.

“I can’t see the back of your eye,” she said. And suddenly the world simultaneously healed itself and flipped upside-fucking-down for me.

Then it was all about my eyes, the one symptom we could see happening. The one that was the most dangerous. But by then it was too late.

What happened is pretty simple: I apparently have some weird recessive DNA. It triggers certain bizarre immune issues at puberty. My immune system decided to attack my body. The eyes are a delicately balanced system. They show symptoms first. My immune system attacked them with a vengeance. They swelled up like balloons. Normal eye pressure is about 14-17. Mine was at a 22 at its best. It put a tremendous amount of pressure on my Retina, specifically my macula, cutting off blood flow like when you sit on your foot. You know those little shadowy things that float across your eyes? They’re called protein floaters. My eyes had produced so many of those that the doctor could not see through them. It was a fog.

They had to find a way to map my eye, to track the damage. Cue the eye exam from hell. I have always been, even before my autoimmune disorder, deathly allergic to melon. Any kind of melon. But now I was allergic to all sorts of shit, fruits vegetables, all kinds of crap. My dad is allergic to contrast dyes. So when the retinologist suggested this dye-based eye exam that is kind of like a CAT scan, my mom said “no”. See, they inject you with this dye and then they flash this weird light in your eyes. It causes the dye to glow, and then they can see the things through the fog. My mom told them I was too sensitive to stuff for that to be safe. The doc assured her they’d put a butterfly in my arm, meaning the vein would be kept open, and a syringe of benedryl was set on the counter. They’d never had anyone react, and they needed the pictures or there was nowhere to go from there.

So they put this dye into me, and it was like I’d been injected with fire, but there was no way around it, and to me, I knew they only had about 90 seconds to get the images they needed. So I sucked it up. finally the burning began to spread. Suddenly my back felt like I was being stabbed, and I suddenly couldn’t speak. I tapped my hands on my mom, then began sneezing spontaneously. My mom lifted my shirt, and I had quarter-sized hives. The nurse said “Stop sneezing on the camera”. Yeah.

My mom went ballistic. The doctor flew up the stairs and gave me the emergency meds. I slid into a dissociation state and nearly out of my chair. They had to prop me against the camera for the next couple minutes and reinject the dye. No other way, you see.

They did this test every few months for a few years.

But then there was treatment. Not much they could do, except try to get the swelling under control. Only way to do that was corticosteroid injections in the eye. Yup. A needle in the eye. No, they don’t knock you out. They numb the surface of the eye with the same numbing drops they give you for the exams and then they come at you with a needle, tell you to look down and to hold still. And you fucking do.

I was 15 when that started.

I went to experimental clinics, labs, and joined studies. I dropped out of those. Why? It’s pretty simple. The first day I came to the exams, I was kept waiting for over two hours. I was taken into a room. I was left there. No information, no talking. Suddenly a man came in followed by a group of people, all in lab coats. He started moving me around like I was a doll and talking like, “The patient presents with…the patient this, the patient that…”

I shoved him back and said, “The patient’s name is Kristina, and she is 16.”

He finished his exam, and when he left, after the students had gone, he took two Q-tips, dipped them in that pink shit your dentist uses to swab your gums before an injection, and SHOVED them under my eyelids with a cocky smirk.

The patient will never be an snotty little bitch again, I guess.

So yeah. Fuck those guys. They gave me two injections in one day, which no one had ever done before, because it was almost impossible to function with two pimple-like bubbles on your eyeballs.

Still my health was bad. Then all of a sudden, when my mom had given up, It just wasn’t anymore. Suddenly, I was fine, and all that was left were the eyes. I went back to school, except now I was blind.

In a few months, I’d lost about 80% of my perfect vision. I was photophobic. I got horrible and constant headaches. I walked with a cane. And not a single fucking teacher believed me, except my civics teacher, who had gone blind at a young age due to some other weird eye disorder, and my physics teacher who was deaf. I had teachers send me to the office for wearing my sunglasses (with a note on file). I had teachers get on my case about having an audio recorder and CD player for my books. I had teachers call me names, make fun of me, make me leave class to photocopy their notes larger, so that I missed the lecture the notes were on. I had teachers take my medications which had to be in my possession because of their time-sensitive nature and constant administration and hide them in their desks as punishment for asking questions or demanding help. I had classmates pick on me, but luckily, I was well-liked, and I was an officer in the ROTC. I even excelled there in spite of my vision, because my Captain believed in my leadership skills.

I always tell this story because I think it is funny. We had this special boot camp we got to go to if we were in the upper ranks of the ROTC. If you joined the military after high school (which I could never do) you got a higher paygrade for having gone through it. Almost like taking a couple JC classes in the military. It was grueling and all physical fitness, obstacle courses, PT, classes, guard duty…fucking blah. Our unit was allowed six participants. I sort of figured that it wasn’t really fair for me to go, even with my high rank (a company XO). To my complete fucking shock, my Captain recommended me to go, cutting out a classmate (and ex) of mine who was higher in rank. The boy went ape-shit. He went on and on about how unfair it was. He even went to the school board. My Captain made his reasons clear; he told them that the academy isn’t about military sponsorship. It’s about skills and quality. He didn’t care if I had a disability. In his eyes I had more innate ability than anyone there because I had worked so hard just to be where I was. The boy was angry. I told my Captain I appreciated the gesture, but honestly, we ought to make it fair. I told him that we should train to meet the PT standards, and that if this kid could make his, but i couldn’t make mine, he should go. I made mine. He didn’t. He complained about that too. At the last minute, we were told one extra person could come because another school had lost one. So he came anyway. The whole time he bitched about me being there. When I got there, the real military officers gave me shit like you wouldn’t believe, because they weren’t used to dealing with disabilities or recognizing that they can’t discriminate against high schoolers by law. The commander of the unit tried to dress me down in front of everybody for wearing sunglasses. I was pretty pleased with myself for telling him off but still sounding respectful. He kept saying “Take off my glasses”. I told him they weren’t his. They were mine, by law, and that if he had a problem with that, he could consult my attorney, the DOJ, and the doctor who prescribed them. He tried to fuck with me. I didn’t say anything except to ask him if he wanted me to have a migraine, because that’s what taking the glasses off means. He was so confused by me he walked away and called my Captain over. There were words. After that, he came up to me once or twice, almost like a test, to ask me if I needed him to slow down or if I was getting around alright. He wasn’t being nice. He was egging me in a condescending tone and with very bullying language. He’s a drill instructor, and you know what, that’s his job. I told him I was fine. But I made a decision: I wasn’t just going to make the female PT marks. I was going to test out of this fucking place at the male PT marks. And I fucking did. That boy…had an asthma attack on the track (I had asthma too, but I worked my ass off while he coasted on his “boyness”) and failed. At the certificate ceremony, the commander came up to me and said I had really impressed him, and that it was a shame I couldn’t enter the Navy. I thanked him, but what I wanted to say was, “Go fuck yourself and take the NAVY with you”. I ended up the Battalion XO Senior year. This would have given me a guaranteed spot in Westpoint if I could have taken it. My Captain cried when he told me he was sorry he had to give it to one of our Company XO’s. I told him that it was best for everyone, because I am not the type of person to enjoy taking orders. I had learned that about myself.

He laughed.

Around Junior year I got people to pay attention. My doctors got the DOJ and the Social Security people involved. A woman came to my school and enforced compliance in a tone of voice I’d never heard anyone but my mother use. She threatened to rain brimstone down on them if they didn’t give me what I needed, and things changed.

My parents wanted me to take a full scholarship to a local school, but I wanted to get away. So I did. I wanted to travel abroad, so i did. And when I was 19, they perfected one of the surgeries they had been working on the entire time I’d been struggling with this.

See, the injections had brought and kept the swelling down, but that meant that the fog was still there (since ocular fluid doesn’t replace), and the structures in the eye had been stretched all to shit, and were laying in my eye like melted plastic wrap. The old surgery was like a blind man hacking with a machete, but the new surgery used fluorescent dyes to track movement. Dyes that wouldn’t kill me. The old surgery had a 50-50 shot at complete loss of vision and made you lay on your face for three weeks. The new was fool proof and took 45 minutes. So, I got one eye done. They swapped out all the fluid and replaced it with saline. They peeled the distorted membrane off the macula. They stitched up my eyeball and gave me a sick metal eye patch. Looked like a fucking space pirate. It was rad.

But the blind spot is still there. The cataracts caused by the steroids are still there. The scars are there.

A few years later I had the other one done too.

My college was great. It took a lot of work getting all my reading done, about 500 pages minimum, per week, done via audio. I used to spend hours at the pool table in our residence hall, listening to my books and practicing. I got pret damn good too, at pool. It was difficult taking notes or working with a note taker. It was scary traveling by myself. It was hard to get people to understand there wasn’t anything WRONG with me. Just that my eyes don’t work even though it seems like I’m normal and fine, and like they should. People always think to be legally blind you have to be completely blind, and they think you’re not going to be able to defend yourself. I’ve been targeted by pickpockets. I’ve been followed by scary dudes. I’ve been treated like shit, laughed at, and accused by full grown adults of faking to get privileges, all because I can look at the place where their head should be and smile at the blank spot there. All because I can walk down a flight of stairs with a few neat tricks I know that have nothing to do with a cane.

But shit…you probably didn’t mean to ask for my life story. I’m going to get back to the point. My writing. What has it done for that? Like how can you be a writer if you can’t fucking see? Technology. It’s been amazing. I can use a computer same as anyone. The Kindle has been a fucking revolution for me because for the first time in a decade and a half I could read without pain and suffering. Just…all the things it does have made life so much easier than it used to be. It got me out of bad relationships with people who used my disability as a control. It gave me a little bit of confidence back. It helped me know I could handle myself.

And really, I think my vision loss had a lot to do with my writing. In some ways it gives me different perspective, sure, but it’s more than that. I was undeclared when I entered college. I didn’t know what I wanted to do. I thought about history or sociology. My mom had a degree in that and she was an English teacher. I wanted art history, but what the fuck was the point in that? Couldn’t see a damn thing. And then I had a class in poetry, and shit…That made sense. I’d always loved language and writing. Always been okay at it. Dorte stuff but never thought about doing it for a living. But then it was like yeah…yeah I’m gonna fucking do that. Just like when I decided to meet the male PT standards.

If it is in you. If you love it. If it defines you and possesses you, it does not matter how fucked up you are. You will find a way. You don’t have a choice. You are that thing. And you’ll adapt. You just have to let yourself. You have to keep pushing. You have to learn how to handle frustration. you have to train yourself into stamina. You just keep going. I’m nowhere near as successful as I want to be. I’m still going. I hope I get even better. I hope I can say things that make truth more obvious, or that help people put words to things they have always wanted to say.

I don’t need my eyes to be a fucking firestorm. That’s just me. Eyes don’t mean shit.

So keep going. Keep doing whatever you need to. Do it better and better. Bend yourself around it. People who see you struggle will think they’re lucky, but you and I know the truth: they’re not even close to the kind of strong you are. Not even a little bit.

shit my friends insist i said more than once sentence starters;
  • ❝can you believe my sister commented on my last instagram picture that i look like satan?❞ 
  • ❝listen… i may be tiny but my kicks can reach very high don’t try me. ❞
  • ❝ actually, you’ve got it all wrong, darling. my middle finger salutes you. ❞
  • ❝ i look like shit, this is exactly why no one wants to date me. ❞
  • ❝ did you know in that in eighth grade i kicked someone’s knee and broke it? ❞
  • ❝ he deserved it, no one fucking compares me to a semi-trailer and gets away with that. ❞
  • ❝ do i look like my brother’s keeper to you? ❞
  • ❝ the best thing that happens when couples combine their names on facebook is that you can block them both in one press. ❞
  • ❝ you know, it’s so weird that the saying is butterflies in your stomach, it should me just flies because usually the person you fall for is a piece of shit. ❞
  • ❝ you know you should all just break up with your boyfriends and just date me, we could be each other’s sisters wives. ❞
  • ❝ yes it is morning, good however it is not. ❞
  • ❝ why do birthdays happens only once a year? i want to get birthday gifts every week.
  • ❝ i’m literally the biggest sinner in this city. ❞
  • ❝ how does my grandma always sees me from her window, for fucks sake, there’s a building in front of hers! ❞
  • ❝ i just hope my grandma won’t tell my mom she saw us kiss.. ❞
  • ❝ if you piss me off one more time i will throw my phone at your face. ❞
  • ❝ scaring people is kinda my thing. ❞
  • ❝ what do you mean thanks? bow down to your fucking queen. ❞
  • ❝ what do you mean thanks? lose your clothes. ❞
  • ❝ why yes, throwing water balloons at our boss is a good idea. ❞
  • ❝ well you see there’s thing thing called google, how about you use that instead of driving me nuts. ❞
  • ❝ oh for the love of god, all i wanted was a bit of silence and rihanna’s voice is that so fucking bad? ❞
  • ❝ we should watch porn together, that will be fun. ❞
  • ❝ who’s idea was it to do this again? ❞
  • ❝ i swear i’m a nice person once you get to know me. ❞
  • ❝ i am not a midget! i’m 5′0 for godness sake! ❞
  • ❝ when will the aliens save me from this awful planet? ❞
  • ❝ do you think anyone will notice if i burnt down the school? ❞
  • ❝ honestly, who cares, i mean if i break my leg then i will get babied by you so just push me off the bar i beg of you. ❞
  • ❝ i wish i was an ice cream cone. ❞
  • ❝ you can’t handle being punk rock, you can barely handle being cheesy pop. ❞
  • ❝ if you punch me in the face i’ll give you a dollar. ❞
  • ❝ honestly i’ll give everything for the hulk to fight me. ❞
  • ❝ i feel as if someone is baking me in an oven. ❞
  • ❝ do you think i’ll be a good wife? ❞
OMG Check Please has officially set my bar too high for friendship

Like, it’s so unreal how jealous I am of a fictional hockey team. I’m bout to sign my unathletic ass up for some random team sport b/c of this wholesome friendship shit Ngozi is shoving down my emotional windpipe

anonymous asked:

Hi for fic recs I'm good with anything I just am in a slump trying to find some good Granada style fics and so I thought I would seek the help of an expert xD Maybe some fluff or h/c preferably 1k+ words

Originally posted by jeremyholmes

Oh good! let’s do this :D

Particular Pecularity by saavik13m, 43k, Mature: “How high is your regard for me, Watson?” He asked abruptly, his eyes still trained on the fire. “If I were to confess my darkest secret would you leave? Would you abandon me here to my melancholy?”A case forces Holmes to reveal the truth to Watson and risks both their reputations and their liberty. Just how understanding is John Watson?

Since First I Saw Your Face by Stavia_Scott_Grayson, 42k, Mature, Holmes POV, wip: During the Great Hiatus, Holmes, studying in Tibet, reflects on his first meeting with Dr John Watson. Full of historical references, with a hopelessly in love Holmes, beautiful writing, one of the best fics of the moment. I can’t recommend it enough, it’s so good D:

Le Beau Gent sans Merci by SweetSorcery, 2k, Teen: News of Captain Jack Croker and Lady Mary Brackenstall start Holmes and Watson talking about the perfect relationship.

All the Makings of a Great Romance by fleetwood_mouse, 12k, Explicit, Holmes POV: Sherlock Holmes lays down his account of the events of The Adventure Of The Empty House, the years leading up to it, and the night that followed.

Notes On A Love Story by A_Candle_For_Sherlock, 4k, gen: Watson finds a copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray in Holmes’ room. Or: what happens when a queer novel upends Baker Street.

Hidden Depths by Susannah_Shepherd, 7k, Explicit: Watson inadvertently lets slip that his war injuries are far more extensive and crippling than he has formerly admitted. Holmes encourages him to confront his fears and find new hope.

Lesson Learned by Shadowycat, 9k, Mature: In which, Holmes makes a discovery, Watson makes a decision, and Holmes learns a lesson (or two) he never thought he’d want to learn. (Alternating Holmes and Watson POVs.)

Rubicon by Janeturenne, on livejournal, 4k: “One minute we were both on the deck, and the next minute we were both in the river…“ after an explosion while working on a case, Holmes and Watson think they’ve lost each other.

and, if you haven’t read all of Katy Forsythe, you should ;)

First, there’s the obvious “transwomen have penises and lesbians aren’t into that” argument, which is 100% valid and really, that’s as far as we need to go. However, let’s go a bit further.

Transwomen perpetuate the idea that being a woman means big boobs, wearing dresses, tons of makeup, high heels; having long flowing hair, and acting “girly.” They think it means shopping, and getting your nails done.

I mean, look at famous transwomen.

Originally posted by thehighpriestofreverseracism

Originally posted by theglossdotcom

Originally posted by tampire

This is what being a woman means to them.

This is what they think women are.

Ask any transwoman what transitioning meant to them, and they’ll talk about buying dresses and wearing makeup and doing their nails and getting breast surgery. I’ve seen it time and time again. 

In fact, I’ve heard transwomen say that their choice to do all of this makes them MORE of a woman than me. (x)

How am I, a butch lesbian, supposed to agree with and get along with someone on a personal level, who agrees with this rhetoric? A rhetoric that basically dictates that I, being a gender non-conforming woman, should want be a man? 

On that same note, I wouldn’t date a transman. Not because they identify as male, but they think NOT wearing dresses, NOT wearing makeup, cutting their hair short and not wanting make up makes them a man. 

I’m supposed to not only find this okay, but want to be friends with someone who believes and perpetuates this and even be willing to date and fuck someone who believes and perpetuates this?

I’m sorry. No, I’m not. If you want to believe this, fine. If you want to support this, fine. But stay out of my life, and stay out of my bedroom.

anonymous asked:

How do u bring up your dating rules? Like the money and all that

Everyone who know me in real life or come across me thinks I am high maintenance. They can see it. You won’t see me without my hair, lashes or nails done.

When a man tries to pursue me, they ask me what I look for… I always tell them how my exes have always spoiled me. I tell them straight up that I am high maintenance. My parents have given me a certain lifestyle that I plan on maintaining. I tell men- why would I date someone with lower living conditions than what my parents provide me with? Here’s my favourite line to use in my vanilla life, and every one of my friends who has a brain agree with me: When I am looking for a relationship, it has to be beneficial. Why you ask? My time is valuable, and the person would be an asset in my life. Why would I add something in my life that doesn’t benefit me in some way (happiness, sex, money, health, etc)? We don’t pursue relationships to bring us sadness, let’s be honest here.

My parents made more money than the majority of my SDs, and I would bring it up whenever they told me they can’t provide something. Lol one of my SDs went into credit card debt for me to protect his ego. Men are stupid, use that to your advantage.


Eddie Redmayne 2016: A year in the life, Part 2

Eddie had been named to the Queen’s Honour’s List in 2015, but it wasn’t until Dec. 2 that he met up with Elizabeth at Windsor Castle (just down Eton High Street from his alma mater) to become an Officer of the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire.

And how did their brief chat go? “She was asking me whether I prefer film or theatre, and asked me if I enjoyed it. I’m very lucky to do something I am passionate about - I’m very grateful to do something I love because it is a rare thing.”

Receiving the OBE was “an extraordinary thing…absolutely wonderful…something that I had never thought of and it was never in my wildest imagination…the whole experience is incredibly humbling.”

Although Baby Iris was not on hand, she did leave her imprint on the day. “She does have the habit of knowing when you have a big day, like today…and she was up until four in the morning, so both my wife and I came today with matchsticks under our eyes,” Eddie said.

Hannah reportedly was in Chanel for the occasion. And Redmayne-watchers couldn’t help but notice that, from the waist up, Eddie appeared to be in the same formal attire he wore for another momentous day — the Sarah Burton morning coat, waistcoat, pocket square and tie he wore for his wedding.

VIDEO: (with a bonus ad for Fantastic Beasts)

Brendon: *hits blunt*

Sarah: how high are you right now?

Brendon: I don’t know, like, 5′7″

“Everyone is always making fun of me because of how I look, how fucking weak I am and shit, well I will get you all back: ultimate fucking revenge here. you people could have shown more respect, treated me better, asked for my knowledge or guidance more, treated me more like senior, and maybe I wouldn’t have been as ready to tear your fucking heads off. then again, I have always hated how I looked, I make fun of people who look like me, sometimes without even thinking sometimes just because I want to rip on myself. That’s where a lot of my hate grows from, the fact that I have practically no self esteem, especially concerning girls and looks and such. therefore people make fun of me… constantly… therefore I get no respect and therefore I get fucking PISSED. as of this date I have enough explosives to kill about 100 people, and then if I get a couple bayonets, swords, axes, whatever I’ll be able to kill at least 10 more. and that just isn't enough! GUNS! I need guns! Give me some fucking firearms!”

- In the months leading up to the Columbine High School Massacre, Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold loaded up on guns, bullets, pipe bombs, and attempted to make napalm. The two shooters’ ultimate motive was revenge, as they both felt like loners and wanted everyone else to pay. In his last journal entry on the 3rd of April 1999, Harris wrote “I hate you people for leaving me out of so many fun things.” 17 days later, he and Klebold became the perpetrators of one of the worst school shootings in American history, shooting dead 13 people before turning their guns on themselves.

anonymous asked:

In my current work I meet lots of entitled men who thinks they're above me, but they can't ever be too bad because I literally handle their business' economic work. Every so often someone particularly bad call in, and I handle it with grace if I may say so myself. So much so my colleagues often praise me for it and asks how I can keep so professional. Buddy, pal, it's simple. I worked retail through high school and uni. I am untouchable.

Shu Headcanon (The Prince 5 Edition)

Shu held your face in his hands and his eyes were locked into yours. He had pulled away from this deep kiss, afraid he would push you too far so soon.
You stare up at the blue in his eyes and dreamily admire his handsome face.
You still didn’t understand how he had so suddenly decided he wanted you and only you. You were just a farm girl who took a job in the town for her family. Compared to the girls dancing at the ball you blended into the background. You were too plain, especially for a Prince.
This made you sigh sadly.
‘What is it?’ Shu asks, noting how your eyes left his and you looked to the floor.
'I-I’m just not convinced that your highness should take so much interest in me.’
Shu frowns, 'Ridiculous. I am interested in you, your home, your childhood, your experiences, I want to know everything.’
'But why?!’
'Because I’ve lived such a sheltered life! I have never been further than the town. I have only ever met women who have been taught how to talk to me! You speak politely but you say things that I actually want to hear. So please do not think you are lowly, do not think you do not deserve to be in my company!’
You simply nod as you process every word.
'Y/n, I will treat you as an equal. I will keep you for myself and you shall help me become a better Prince!’
He grabs your hand and sighs as he pulls you along to the corridor. He leads you to the room next door, as the doors opens you gasp at finding sweet pinks and purples decorating the room. Flowers cascaded everywhere, candles lit from every corner.
It was a dream.
The bed was just as big as the Prince’s.
'This..this is my room?!’ You gasp looking around at the expensive vases.
'Yes, right next to mine. Do you like it?’
'It’s amazing..’ You stand in the middle of the room with tears in your eyes.
Shu’s heart jumped, those tears told him everything he wanted to know. You were exactly what he wanted. Someone who could appreciate things in life, no matter how big or small.
'I’ll give you everything you desire.’ He said softly, walking closer to you. Wanting to smother you in kisses and wipe the tears away.
You watched him carefully, his kind eyes confirmed that he was telling the truth and you would have everything you wanted. Shu would really look after you and your family. You decide you had better start falling in love with him. Just like he wanted.
He held your hand and wondered what you were thinking, watching as the silent tears ran down your face.
'Kiss me Shu.’ You whisper.
His heart skipped and nodded slowly, caressing your face as his lips slowly meet yours.
His kisses were divine and you melted in them. You found yourself kissing him back harder, to his surprise he gasped but lost himself in desire.

(How am I doing?!)

The Major Arcana in One to Two Sentences

The Fool: Fuck yisssss

The Magician: here I am, rock you like a hurricane

The High Priestess: Don’t ask me how I know, but I do, and I will and I am.

The Empress: You’re welcome & so am I.


The Hierophant: I think I’m better than you because I shit on a golden toilet.

The Lovers: Whoops there it is.


Strength: Look, I can snap your neck if I wanted to, but I’m not and I’m being very polite about it so please just fucking work with me.

The Hermit: You ever just wanna go take a nap for like 6 years? Like turn your phone off, lock the door and just fucking be gone for awhile.

Wheel of Fortune: What’s happening is not your fault, Gods obviously doing it because he thinks it’s funny so sit back and laugh.


The Hanged Man: People suck and then you die.

Death: See? I told you. Everybody poops, and eveybody dies, and everybody poops when they die. It’s best just not to fight the natural order or things.

Temperance: You know that feeling where it feels like EVERY part of your life is falling apart and you don’t know what to do cuz there’s just so fuckig much? It’s like the opposite feeling of that.


The Tower: AHAHHAHA. Well fuck me right?

The Star: It’s like when you find your phone at the bottom of your purse after your thought for SURE you had lost it.

The Moon:
Anxiety: beware
Anxiety: 🌚 /beware/

The Sun: Woke up on the right side of the bed, I’m gonna eat breakfast & EVERYTHING!

Judgment: If you fucked up, you fucked up. Try again later.

The World: Yas bitch you fucking slayed out there, own it.

Cas: *crashes into ground at high speed, making huge crater*

Cas: *emerges unruffled*

Cas: How far am I  from the Lebanon, Kansas?


this is the song from today’s clip and I’m just...

i cursed the breath of the sea
spelled as poetry
the dreams i could explore
i left them by the door

i watched the lanterns tilt
through days of darkened guilt
i prayed for newborn skies
to lift me up so high

i was blind now i can see
sweet mother set me free
how i could ask for more
let them sisters soar

this land is more than dreams
these days are what they seem
no more darkend doors
let them sisters soar

We dated for 8 months. He treated me horribly and I kept forgiving him. It got so bad my family and friends were begging me to leave him but I had faith that it would get better. I found out he lied to me so we broke up but agreed to try to stay friends so I asked him to go to therapy with me. A week later I was raped and went to his dorm after to talk to his roommate and he walked in at 5:00 am high as a kite. I told him what happened and he fell asleep and I hoped that he would remember therapy, especially because I asked him to come with me since I needed the support to be able to talk about it. He was always late and flaky in the past but for some reason I thought it would be different this time. I desperately needed support and my therapist and I agree it will never come from him. Not after how horribly he treated me. Not after all the times he let me down. Not after all the chances I gave him.


It’s been a while since I’ve posted my face but yea!! Here I am!! I’m Alexis Jubilee, 18, I like long walks on the beach, reading, and having a scheduled existential crisis every two weeks. I’m Mexican, from Los Angeles, and Pan-romantic Asexual?? I’m still figuring things out. I’m currently studying criminal justice in New York, *vigilante superhero voice* “trying to make the world a better place.” People always ask me how I like it here; it’s kind of like LA, only less chill, very high-paced. And expensive. Fun fact, my dad has 11 dogs, 2 birds and 2 cats. Needless to say, I miss home. I love watching Thomas Sanders’ YouTube videos, they always cheer me up. Also, his Tumblr content is A1!