but this is another matter




Look you may not know it, but I do. You are a good man.

On Philando Castile -

There is nothing I could write.
There are no words
That could explain to
A child
Why her father was murdered
In front of her.
I do not know any words to comfort
A child
Trying to comfort
Her mother
In the back of a cop car.
I do not know how to tell
A child
They will not be getting ice cream
With their father.
I do not know how to tell
A child
They can not be with
Now, or ever
Again. After all this,
How could a jury find
The words
“Not Guilty?”
How do you look at
A child,
Who witnessed
The taking of
A life as innocent
As her own
And say
“No wrong was done.”
How do you look at
A child,
Now fatherless,
And say
“He deserved to die.”
—  Tiffany Smalls (tswriting.tumblr.com)


The fandom is going to ‘lose it’ regardless tbh… nothing the show does is ever good enough so I doubt this is going to change. I’m also already bracing myself for the inevitable disappointment for 2x15 because there isnt enough something or another because it always ends up being the case no matter how good an episode is.

I admit I was one of those people who complained about 213. The ep was so good - until the ending. Then it went completely south, punctuated with YOU CANNOT BE SERIOUS?!

We got a meaningless “You never have to prove yourself to me,” which was so not the point of the fight between Magnus and Alec since Alec never doubted Magnus in the first place, and a fade-to-black kiss - then BAM, full on fucking against the wall in a dirty alley between two people who could’ve become good friends, instead the show turned them into fuck buddies. Why? Because a man and a woman cannot be friends unless they fucked before or one of them is gay? What next? Jace and Izzy to check that box off, too? 

Yeah, I’m helluva salty about this. Instead of a mature conversation between two people about their issues, we get juvenile soft porn, the purpose of which was…? The writers keep saying how hard it is to juggle so many characters - cut this dumb shit and you’ll have time and space enough!

Originally posted by yourreactiongifs

TalesFromTheFrontDesk: I could basically run this place myself after all the times I stay.

Guest comes in and he seems like a pretty arrogant snowflake to me. He barks only his name (with spelling) and then as I’m checking him in he goes “Yeah I thought I was [topiest of the top tiers] but it’s actually only showing [next level down from toppiest toppy top]. But whatever. It’s still a billion million points. What do I care.” Then I ask if he wants a complimentary snack because of his deuchey level status and he goes “yeah, I have enough points. another [couple hundred ish] isn’t gonna matter. Do I get 2 snacks?” No. you get one, you selfish prick. “Yeah, go ahead and take two. I can just mark it down on the list.” eye roll

I swear after all the eye rolls I do at this place my eyes are gonna detach and fall out of my head. On my death cert it will say “bled out from eye sockets after peepers rolled across the room.”

Then I was having him sign the reg card and there are places for the smoking and pet policy and he was all like, “Yeah yeah. No pets. No smoking. Sign the bottom.”

big sigh when he went to his room.

Edit: I want to say that I still LOVE my job. I got over him real quick and joked with my boss about it.

By: BillieJackson

anonymous asked:

GAYYYYYYY men aren't attracted to females using he/him pronouns. The erasure is deliberate. Your dysphoria doesn't magically convert us into heterosexuals. We like men, not girls on T. You can't pray away the gay. You can't convert our sexuality. We're homosexual. Go date a bi guy or date another trans guy if biological sex suddenly doesn't matter to sexual orientation. But we're same sex attracted, you're female, we're 100% not interested in your gross gay shaming bullshit, straight girl.

sorry babe i can’t hear your transphobic little bitch fit over the deafening roar of my Y chromasome

anonymous asked:

saying Stefan's cancer is terminal seems like a very extreme and outlandish claim when the word was never once seen in the translation. so far there isn't proof. it's very bad, but to say he's dying right away? I think you messed up doing that.

Admittedly, I do agree. I felt I should have used something less than extreme, but by the time I was going to edit, it spread like wildfire.

I feel incredibly guilty with my wording, and by no means did I mean for it to sound like he was going to die immediately. I most likely misconstrued some of the wording, and I thought I saw the concept of no cure (outside of experimentation), but I’m not the strongest of readers (or wording for that matter, but that’s for another day).

You’re 100% right. I feel like I’m repeating myself, but I do severely apologize. I wish there was something I could have done better.

He Could Be Good Again

The stench of the trenches penetrated his nose. It was already bad on cold days, sharp and stinging and ever-present—but it was worse on hot days. The smell of sweat and dirt and sunburn, of bodies over bodies, hunched together tightly, either in fear or in lack of space. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. The only thing that prevented him from going insane was the fact that this was normal. It was the same every day. He told himself again and again that it was just another hot day. Just another hot week. Just another hot month. Time didn’t matter. He just had to hold out a bit longer. Just a bit longer.

Sweat pooled under his helmet and gathered on his brow, his face dirty with soil. Little corns of sand stung in his eyes, made them water. His hands were trembling and sweating too and he wiped them frantically on his trousers, only spreading dirt. It was hot and suffocating and he wondered if he would ever get out of here alive.

But it didn’t matter, didn’t matter at all. Not with the sound of gunfire over their heads, making them shiver and clutch their own weapons tighter. Not with the screams hurting his ears, chilling him to the core, making him want to hide and cover his ears, making him want to close his eyes in horror. Oh Merlin, make it stop!

But the screams got louder and louder and—was it one of them? Was it one of his own soldiers? No, they couldn’t lose anyone, they had to get out alive! He had to help them—he had to! But the screams rung in his ears, made him unable to move, made him clutch his head, his gun discarded on the ground. There was too much noise, too much noise! Too loud! Too much! His head hurt. Oh Merlin, what was happening? Screams, gunfire and his own voice in his head trying to figure out what to do. But there was only panic, panic, panic. He couldn’t hear his own thoughts anymore.


Was that …


… Percival?

‘Theseus, please!’

Was his friend in danger? Was his friend the one screaming his lungs out? Oh no. Nonono! He needed to help him, he needed to do something—anything! Percival couldn’t die, he just couldn’t! He needed to help him! He wanted to shout, wanted to tell his friend that everything would be alright that he was there but he couldn’t see, couldn’t … couldn’t … Where was he? Where was Percival? Who was screaming? Everything was too much—the smell, the sounds, the heat, everything. It was dark—why was it dark? Why couldn’t he see anything? Why couldn’t he move? His limbs seemed to refuse to work, his voice wouldn’t come out, he couldn’t do anything.

‘Theseus, wake up! Please, wake up!’

Percival sounded panicked and he didn’t know what to do. What could he do? He needed to help him! Now! But how? How could he help when he couldn’t see, couldn’t move—when he didn’t even know what was happening? And there was still this deafening gunfire, shots over shots over shots. And the heat made him unable to move at all, the stench clouding his senses, making everything blur.

‘Theseus, it’s just a dream! Please wake up!’

The last words sounded choked, like Percival was sobbing. Why would his friend cry? Why would he tell him it was just a dream? Was he already delusional from pain? And he wasn’t there to help him, wasn’t there to hold him, could only listen until everything was over. And his friend was begging him—and he couldn’t do anything. Oh Merlin, he was a failure!

‘Theseus, please! Wake up! Please, I beg you!’

Suddenly there were hands on him, shaking him roughly but he didn’t fight back, couldn’t fight back. He would endure this, would wait until it was over. Would wait until Percival was finally gone—he couldn’t let his friend die, he just couldn’t! He was thrashing, was trying to free himself but the hands held him down. He had to get to Percival! He had to!

‘Let go of me!’ He screamed, his voice hoarse from the heat and the lack of water. ‘LET GO OF ME!’


He jerked—and opened his eyes, still thrashing around. Sun burning against his retinas, the stench hitting his nose once again, his skin sticky with sweat. He could feel the earth against his skin, could feel the roughness of fabric against his face.

And then—it was gone.

He lay there, panting, panic bubbling in his chest. But he wasn’t in the trenches, wasn’t sitting under the scorching sun, wasn’t hearing the sound of gunfire. He was lying in a bed, sheets tangled around his legs and a weight on his chest, a human body. But the screaming hadn’t stopped and with a pang he realised that it was him who was screaming his lungs out. It was him. It had been him the whole time.

‘Theseus, calm down.’


‘Theseus, breathe.’

He was alive.

‘Theseus, you are safe.’

Nobody was dying.

‘I have you, love, I have you.’

And with that he knew he wasn’t back in the battlefield. He wasn’t. The screaming stopped, only the sound of heavy breathing filling the air. The weight on his chest was still there, grounded him. And it was a living, breathing body, emitting a soothing scent—a familiar scent. And slowly, ever so slowly, he calmed down. His body was still trembling but he knew where he was now, knew that he was safe. He began to sob quietly and the weight lifted off his body and he was pulled against a broad chest, strong arms holding him, keeping him close, keeping him secure.

‘I have you, love. Come here, I have you. You are safe. You are in my apartment, in New York. You are safe.’

He curled up against Percival, his tall frame suddenly appearing very small. But he knew Percival wouldn’t care, knew that he would hold him until he was better. Not that he would ever get better. But there were phases when he wasn’t thrashing around, when his thoughts weren’t occupied by the war. There were phases when he was good.

He could be good again.


franchise films carried by white actresses

franchise films carried by actresses of color….


not everyone
not y o u

anonymous asked:

Is it okay to be a virgin? Whenever I tell someone that I am, they look at me as if I sinned! I feel stupid

Oh my goodness, of COURSE it is. Your body is yours alone to decide if and when you want to share it with another human being. It’s not a race and no one’s opinion matters in this but your own. I was much later than most people as well, and I felt that pressure, but in the end, it didn’t matter, because I was only going to when I was ready, if that time would ever come. You’re perfectly normal and fine.

The million dollar question(s): How exactly did Kakashi react when he found Sakumo dead on the floor? Did he sit there in shock? Did he go get help? 

When did he finally let himself cry? Who let this child stay in the Hatake manor after Sakumo’s suicide?

and i so badly wanted the little things to not matter. i didn’t want the thought of you touching another girl to matter or the fact that you probably don’t even think about me. i wanted it all not to matter. i wanted you to not matter because if you didn’t matter then it wouldn’t hurt that you haven’t even called in a year. it wouldn’t hurt that i still long to hear your voice at the end of the day. i didn’t want it to matter because when it matters it hurts. it hurts like hell. god, why does it hurt so much. i need it to not matter. i need you not to matter. why do you matter..
—  i should be over you//Deeply Feeling Series (via promisesofamazing)

The Simpsons, “Lisa’s Wedding”, 1995

Steven Universe, “On the Run”, 2015

  • “But Lisa, you’re better than this place. You’re like a flower that grew out of a pot of dirt.”
  • “That’s a horrible thing to say!” 


  • “You’re the one good thing that came out of this mess. I always thought you were proud of that.”
  • *hug time*

I recall only catching the last half when I first saw “Lisa’s Wedding” ages ago, but this particular scene anchored itself (or I wouldn’t have recalled it upon seeing “On the Run”). It’s a lesson that I consider valuable because no one who trashtalks your origins and family means you well, even if they think they do. They don’t respect you if they do. They don’t want you as you if they do. They don’t want to wait for you if they do. The only time I can maybe imagine it might have some merit is if you have to cut yourself off emotionally for your own wellbeing and need the help in redefining your identity from someone close on your own terms.

That’s not what Pearl’s doing. The thing with Amethyst is that she came out of the ground with no one around to tell her anything but RPG. They control who she is even if Amethyst senses something isn’t right and acts out as a result. This particular line, while presented as for Amethyst’s sake and as a nice thing to say, is objectively something that further separates her from essential self-understanding and unlike Lisa she lacks the knowledge to fight back. Heck, there’s even an element of Amethyst needing to be grateful for having been accepted by the CGs in there. Exceptionalism never is pretty. As the show’s gone on, the message’s only become worse because we now know for certain (as opposed to it being extremely likely with as many holes there are and the nature of the war) Amethyst is not the only good thing to come out of this mess. (That remark in “Bismuth” about “we could always use more amethysts” also has my attention, but that can go a number of ways including shit writing.)

How the frickles the crewniverse thought that line should be answered by a hug instead of strangulation I don’t even want to know.

So lemme tell y'all a story:

I was in 10th grade honours English. I loved my teacher - she was super cool, but didn’t take any shit from anyone. During our time with her, she was going through a rough divorce.

Our teacher had developed this system: if we were good, she’d add “time” to our class, with each “time” being worth ten seconds, so we had to work hard. That meaning, she would give us a free period after we’d built up the exact time that a period extended to be. It was an earned privilege, and we always did our best to try and obtain it. Hell, playing puzzle games and reading was way more fun than a test or worksheet!

We were reading Animal Farm, a book my mom had given to me when I was ten bc she knew I loved to read and enjoyed anything that was thought-provoking. I’d read it then, and again later in my parochial middle school. Living in a big city, public schools aren’t well-funded, and I was lucky to have all my close family scrape together cash for a good education. Needless to say, I was rather familiar with the book.

Now back to the system! Our teacher had implemented a rule that every morning (she taught my first period class) we wood stand up and recite the commandments of animalism. We’d all try our hardest to do it perfectly, lest “time” be taken off our class. But one morning, she was… cold.

My classmates who’d recited before me were all told to sit down and stop reciting, because they were “wrong.” Knowing that, I was confused, as was everyone else. Yet, we all kept trying the same thing. She let the first few people finish. Then, she let people get partially through before she’d utter, “wrong” or something of the sort and deduct our hard-earned time.

It finally got to me; it was my turn. I stood up and started, and was immediately shut down by her. I was frustrated, to say the least. I replied after a second and told her that I was, indeed, right. She muttered for me to sit down. I refused, and by now she’d taken off twenty seconds. Everyone groaned, but I continued to disobey. Eventually, my classmates started telling me to just stop and it turned into yelling at me once I’d lost our hard-earned twenty minutes (meaning we had been halfway to a free period) as I continued to argue. Once we were in the negatives, people were literally yelling obscenities at me. They even yelled at her, blaming her divorce and period. Gross behaivour, mind you.

I didn’t stop.

The teacher said that she was going to call security and have me removed. I replied that it was a-okay with me to do so. I promptly walk out of the room and she followed up by telling me to wait in the hallway. I’d intended to walk to the office myself, but obliged figuring it was no matter to me.

I was in the hallway for about a minute before she rushed out and gently grabbed me by the shoulders. I was rightly confused. She gasped, and stammered out that she had never imagined it would happen. Why was she suddenly not being so ruthless? Why was she flabbergasted? Well, apparently what she’d “wanted” was for us to all fail. That it was a lesson, and she’d have given back the “time” she had removed. It was all about “knowing” what was coming, and how fascism meant that the rules could change at any time, without your knowledge and consent, but you could still be punished for it. She told me that she’d called security, and told them if they saw me in the hall during that call, to excuse me. Nobody had done that before. Apparently, throughout her decades of teaching, not one student had done that. They had all caved and sat down eventually.

You can be that person. In something that matters to us all. It’s not fun, but when has fighting for what’s right ever been easy?