chains and chocolates

‘Parks and Recreation’: Leslie Knope Writes Letter to America Following Donald Trump’s Victory

Dear America,

Amidst the confusion, and despair, and disbelief, it was suggested to me by a very close friend of mine (I won’t say her name, to protect her identity) (Ann. It was Ann) that perhaps a few people would enjoy hearing my thoughts on this election. So I sat down at my computer, cleared my head, and opened a document. Then I started crying. So I had some hot chocolate, and my close friend (Ann) rubbed my back for a while, and I got myself together, and sat down. And started crying. Then more Ann comforting me, and more hot chocolate, and back and forth like that for about six hours or so, the chain of hot-chocolate-and-back-rubs only interrupted briefly when I had to run to the store for more hot chocolate packets (“Just give me all of them, all the boxes,” I remember saying, through tears, to a very scared stockroom boy) and now I am ready to go.

When I was in fourth grade, my teacher Mrs. Kolphner taught us a social studies lesson. The seventeen students in our class were introduced to two fictional candidates: a smart if slightly bookish-looking cartoon tortoise named Greenie, and a cool-looking jaguar named Speedy. Rick Dissellio read a speech from Speedy, in which he promised that if elected he would end school early, have extra recess, and provide endless lunches of chocolate pizzandy. (A local Pawnee delicacy at the time — deep fried pizza where the crust was candy bars.) Then I read a speech from Greenie, who promised to go slow and steady, think about the problems of our school, and try her best to solve them in a way that would benefit the most people. Then Mrs. Kolphner had us vote on who should be Class President.

I think you know where this is going.

Except you don’t, because before we voted, Greg Laresque asked if he could nominate a third candidate, and Mrs. Kolphner said “Sure! The essence of democracy is that everyone—” and Greg cut her off and said “I nominate a T. rex named Dr. Farts who wears sunglasses and plays the saxophone, and his plan is to fart as much as possible and eat all the teachers,” and everyone laughed, and before Mrs. Kolphner could blink, Dr. Farts the T. rex had been elected President of Pawnee Elementary School in a 1984 Reagan-esque landslide, with my one vote for Greenie the Tortoise playing the role of “Minnesota.”

After class I was inconsolable. Once all the other kids left, Mrs. Kolphner came over and put her arm around me. She told me I had done a great job advocating for Greenie the Tortoise. Through tears I remember saying, “How good, exactly?” and she said “Very very good,” and I said, “Good enough to—?” and she sighed and went to her desk to get one of the silver stars she gave out to kids who did a good job on something, and as I tearfully added it to my Silver Star Diary she asked me what upset me the most.

“Greenie was the better candidate,” I said. “Greenie should have won.”

She nodded.

“I suppose that was the point of the lesson,” I said.

“Oh no,” she said. “The point of the lesson is: people are unpredictable, and democracy is insane.”

Winston Churchill once said, “Democracy is the worst form of government, except all those other forms that have been tried.” That is perhaps a pithier and better way to get my point across, than that long anecdote about Mrs. Kolphner. Should I just erase all of that and start with this? Whatever. I’m pot-committed now, and is there extra caffeine in that hot chocolate? Because my head feels like a spaceship. The point is: people making their own decisions is, on balance, better than an autocrat making decisions for them. It’s just that sometimes those decisions are bad, or self-defeating, or maddening, and a day where you get dressed up in your best victory pantsuit and spend an ungodly amount of money decorating your house with American flags and custom-made cardboard-cutouts of suffragettes in anticipation of a glass-ceiling-shattering historical milestone ends with you getting (metaphorically) eaten by a giant farting T. rex.

Like most people, I deal with tragedy by processing the five stages of grief: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, and Acceptance. My denial over the election results was intense. My anger was (in Ron’s words) “significant.” My bargaining was short, but creative — I offered my soul and the souls of all of my friends in exchange for 60,000 more votes in Milwaukee, to any demon who cared to accept. (Tom told me it was a terrible deal, but I didn’t care, in that moment.) My depression I have already mentioned. Which brings us to Acceptance.  And here’s what I stand on that:

No. I do not accept it.

I acknowledge that Donald Trump is the President. I understand, intellectually, that he won the election. But I do not accept that our country has descended into the hatred-swirled slop pile that he lives in. I reject out of hand the notion that we have thrown up our hands and succumbed to racism, xenophobia, misogyny, and crypto-fascism. I do not accept that. I reject that. I fight that. Today, and tomorrow, and every day until the next election, I reject and fight that story. I work hard and I form ideas and I meet and talk to other people who feel like me, and we sit down and drink hot chocolate (I have plenty) and we plan. We plan like mofos. We figure out how to fight back, and do good in this infuriating world that constantly wants to bend toward the bad. And we will be kind to each other, and supportive of each other’s ideas, and we will do literally anything but accept this as our fate.

And let me say something to the young girls who are reading this. Hi, girls. On behalf of the grown-ups of America who care about you and your futures, I am awfully sorry about how miserably we screwed this up. We elected a giant farting T. rex who does not like you, or care about you, or think about you, unless he is scanning your bodies with his creepy T. rex eyes, or trying to physically grab you like a toy his daddy got him (or would have, if his daddy had loved him). (Sorry, that was a low blow.) (Actually, not sorry, I’m pissed, and I’m on a roll, so zip it, super-ego!) Our President-Elect is everything you should abhor, and fear, in a male role model. He has spent his life telling you, and girls and women like you, that your lives are valueless except as sexual objects. He has demeaned you, and belittled you, and put you in a little box to be looked at and not heard. It is your job, and the job of girls and women like you, to bust out.

You are going to run this country, and this world, very soon. So you will not listen to this man, or the 75-year-old, doughy-faced, gray-haired nightmare men like him, when they try to tell you where to stand or how to behave or what you can and cannot do with your own bodies, or what you should or should not think with your own minds. You will not be cowed or discouraged by his stream of retrogressive babble. You won’t have time to be cowed, because you will be too busy working and learning and communing with other girls and women like you, and when the time comes you will effortlessly flick away his miserable, petty misogynistic worldview like a fly on your picnic potato salad.

He is the present, sadly, but he is not the future. You are the future. Your strength is a million times his. Your power is a billion times his. We will acknowledge this result, but we will not accept it. We will overcome it, and we will defeat it.

Now find your team, and get to work.

Love,

Leslie

Dear America,

Amidst the confusion, and despair, and disbelief, it was suggested to me by a very close friend of mine (I won’t say her name, to protect her identity) (Ann. It was Ann) that perhaps a few people would enjoy hearing my thoughts on this election. So I sat down at my computer, cleared my head, and opened a document. Then I started crying. So I had some hot chocolate, and my close friend (Ann) rubbed my back for a while, and I got myself together, and sat down. And started crying. Then more Ann comforting me, and more hot chocolate, and back and forth like that for about six hours or so, the chain of hot-chocolate-and-back-rubs only interrupted briefly when I had to run to the store for more hot chocolate packets (“Just give me all of them, all the boxes,” I remember saying, through tears, to a very scared stockroom boy) and now I am ready to go.When I was in fourth grade, my teacher Mrs. Kolphner taught us a social studies lesson. The seventeen students in our class were introduced to two fictional candidates: a smart if slightly bookish-looking cartoon tortoise named Greenie, and a cool-looking jaguar named Speedy. Rick Dissellio read a speech from Speedy, in which he promised that if elected he would end school early, have extra recess, and provide endless lunches of chocolate pizzandy. (A local Pawnee delicacy at the time — deep fried pizza where the crust was candy bars.) Then I read a speech from Greenie, who promised to go slow and steady, think about the problems of our school, and try her best to solve them in a way that would benefit the most people. Then Mrs. Kolphner had us vote on who should be Class President.I think you know where this is going.Except you don’t, because before we voted, Greg Laresque asked if he could nominate a third candidate, and Mrs. Kolphner said “Sure! The essence of democracy is that everyone—” and Greg cut her off and said “I nominate a T. rex named Dr. Farts who wears sunglasses and plays the saxophone, and his plan is to fart as much as possible and eat all the teachers,” and everyone laughed, and before Mrs. Kolphner could blink, Dr. Farts the T. rex had been elected President of Pawnee Elementary School in a 1984 Reagan-esque landslide, with my one vote for Greenie the Tortoise playing the role of “Minnesota.”After class I was inconsolable. Once all the other kids left, Mrs. Kolphner came over and put her arm around me. She told me I had done a great job advocating for Greenie the Tortoise. Through tears I remember saying, “How good, exactly?” and she said “Very very good,” and I said, “Good enough to—?” and she sighed and went to her desk to get one of the silver stars she gave out to kids who did a good job on something, and as I tearfully added it to my Silver Star Diary she asked me what upset me the most.“Greenie was the better candidate,” I said. “Greenie should have won.”She nodded.“I suppose that was the point of the lesson,” I said.“Oh no,” she said. “The point of the lesson is: people are unpredictable, and democracy is insane.”Winston Churchill once said, “Democracy is the worst form of government, except all those other forms that have been tried.” That is perhaps a pithier and better way to get my point across, than that long anecdote about Mrs. Kolphner. Should I just erase all of that and start with this? Whatever. I’m pot-committed now, and is there extra caffeine in that hot chocolate? Because my head feels like a spaceship. The point is: people making their own decisions is, on balance, better than an autocrat making decisions for them. It’s just that sometimes those decisions are bad, or self-defeating, or maddening, and a day where you get dressed up in your best victory pantsuit and spend an ungodly amount of money decorating your house with American flags and custom-made cardboard-cutouts of suffragettes in anticipation of a glass-ceiling-shattering historical milestone ends with you getting (metaphorically) eaten by a giant farting T. rex. Like most people, I deal with tragedy by processing the five stages of grief: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, and Acceptance. My denial over the election results was intense. My anger was (in Ron’s words) “significant.” My bargaining was short, but creative — I offered my soul and the souls of all of my friends in exchange for 60,000 more votes in Milwaukee, to any demon who cared to accept. (Tom told me it was a terrible deal, but I didn’t care, in that moment.) My depression I have already mentioned. Which brings us to Acceptance.  And here’s what I stand on that:No. I do not accept it.I acknowledge that Donald Trump is the President. I understand, intellectually, that he won the election. But I do not accept that our country has descended into the hatred-swirled slop pile that he lives in. I reject out of hand the notion that we have thrown up our hands and succumbed to racism, xenophobia, misogyny, and crypto-fascism. I do not accept that. I reject that. I fight that. Today, and tomorrow, and every day until the next election, I reject and fight that story. I work hard and I form ideas and I meet and talk to other people who feel like me, and we sit down and drink hot chocolate (I have plenty) and we plan. We plan like mofos. We figure out how to fight back, and do good in this infuriating world that constantly wants to bend toward the bad. And we will be kind to each other, and supportive of each other’s ideas, and we will do literally anything but accept this as our fate.And let me say something to the young girls who are reading this. Hi, girls. On behalf of the grown-ups of America who care about you and your futures, I am awfully sorry about how miserably we screwed this up. We elected a giant farting T. rex who does not like you, or care about you, or think about you, unless he is scanning your bodies with his creepy T. rex eyes, or trying to physically grab you like a toy his daddy got him (or would have, if his daddy had loved him). (Sorry, that was a low blow.) (Actually, not sorry, I’m pissed, and I’m on a roll, so zip it, super-ego!) Our President-Elect is everything you should abhor, and fear, in a male role model. He has spent his life telling you, and girls and women like you, that your lives are valueless except as sexual objects. He has demeaned you, and belittled you, and put you in a little box to be looked at and not heard. It is your job, and the job of girls and women like you, to bust out.You are going to run this country, and this world, very soon. So you will not listen to this man, or the 75-year-old, doughy-faced, gray-haired nightmare men like him, when they try to tell you where to stand or how to behave or what you can and cannot do with your own bodies, or what you should or should not think with your own minds. You will not be cowed or discouraged by his stream of retrogressive babble. You won’t have time to be cowed, because you will be too busy working and learning and communing with other girls and women like you, and when the time comes you will effortlessly flick away his miserable, petty misogynistic worldview like a fly on your picnic potato salad.He is the present, sadly, but he is not the future. You are the future. Your strength is a million times his. Your power is a billion times his. We will acknowledge this result, but we will not accept it. We will overcome it, and we will defeat it.Now find your team, and get to work.

Love,Leslie

‘Parks and Recreation’: Leslie Knope Writes Letter to America Following Donald Trump’s Victory

List of Movies with Canon Autistic Characters (2006 to Present)

(Earlier movies found here)

After Thomas (2006)

Snow Cake (2006)

Breaking and Entering (2006)

Today’s Man (2006; documentary)

Ben X (2007)

P.S. I Love You (2007)

Prism (2007)

Imagination (2007)

Autism: The Musical (2007; documentary)

The Black Balloon (2008)

Dustbin Baby (2008)

If You Could Say It In Words (2008)

God’s Ears (2008)

The Daisy Chain (2008)

Chocolate (2008)

Dark Floors (2008)

Recovered: Journeys Through the Autism Spectrum and Back (2008; documentary)

Autism in Our World (2008; documentary)

Autistic-Like: Graham’s Story (2008; documentary)

Adam (2009)

Suzie (2009)

City Rats (2009)

Mary and Max (2009)

The Horse Boy (2009; documentary)

The Sunshine Boy (2009; documentary)

Fly Away (2010)

Quantum Apocalypse (2010)

Burning Bright (2010)

Dear John (2010)

My Name Is Khan (2010)

Simple Simon (2010)

Ocean Heaven (2010)

Temple Grandin (2010)

Loving Lampposts (2010; documentary)

Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close (2011)

Salmon Fishing in the Yemen (2011)

Exodus Fall (2011)

Dr. Pomerantz (2011)

Mabul (2011)

Fly Away (2011)

A Mile in His Shoes (2011)

Too Sane for This World (2011; documentary)

Barfi! (2012)

Joyful Noise (2012)

El Pozo (2012)

The Story of Luke (2012)

Empty Rooms (2012)

White Frog (2012)

The Odd Way Home (2013)

Stand Clear of the Closing Doors (2013)

Haridas (2013)

Season of Miracles (2013)

The United States of Autism (2013; documentary)

Alien Abduction (2014)

NightLights (2014)

X+Y (2014)

Autistic Like Me: A Father’s Perspective (2014; documentary)

For The Love of Dogs (2014; documentary)

The Big Short (2015)

I Am Me (2015)

Aspie Seeks Love (2015; documentary)

Life Animated (2016; documentary)

Po (2016)

The Accountant (2016)

Asperger’s Are Us (2016; documentary)

Power Rangers (2017)

[Updated 04/10/17]

Dear America,


Amidst the confusion, and despair, and disbelief, it was suggested to me by a very close friend of mine (I won’t say her name, to protect her identity) (Ann. It was Ann) that perhaps a few people would enjoy hearing my thoughts on this election. So I sat down at my computer, cleared my head, and opened a document. Then I started crying. So I had some hot chocolate, and my close friend (Ann) rubbed my back for a while, and I got myself together, and sat down. And started crying. Then more Ann comforting me, and more hot chocolate, and back and forth like that for about six hours or so, the chain of hot-chocolate-and-back-rubs only interrupted briefly when I had to run to the store for more hot chocolate packets (“Just give me all of them, all the boxes,” I remember saying, through tears, to a very scared stockroom boy) and now I am ready to go.


When I was in fourth grade, my teacher Mrs. Kolphner taught us a social studies lesson. The seventeen students in our class were introduced to two fictional candidates: a smart if slightly bookish-looking cartoon tortoise named Greenie, and a cool-looking jaguar named Speedy. Rick Dissellio read a speech from Speedy, in which he promised that if elected he would end school early, have extra recess, and provide endless lunches of chocolate pizzandy. (A local Pawnee delicacy at the time — deep fried pizza where the crust was candy bars.) Then I read a speech from Greenie, who promised to go slow and steady, think about the problems of our school, and try her best to solve them in a way that would benefit the most people. Then Mrs. Kolphner had us vote on who should be Class President.


I think you know where this is going.


Except you don’t, because before we voted, Greg Laresque asked if he could nominate a third candidate, and Mrs. Kolphner said “Sure! The essence of democracy is that everyone—” and Greg cut her off and said “I nominate a T. rex named Dr. Farts who wears sunglasses and plays the saxophone, and his plan is to fart as much as possible and eat all the teachers,” and everyone laughed, and before Mrs. Kolphner could blink, Dr. Farts the T. rex had been elected President of Pawnee Elementary School in a 1984 Reagan-esque landslide, with my one vote for Greenie the Tortoise playing the role of “Minnesota.”


Related: 12 TV Moments That Will Lift Your Spirits


After class I was inconsolable. Once all the other kids left, Mrs. Kolphner came over and put her arm around me. She told me I had done a great job advocating for Greenie the Tortoise. Through tears I remember saying, “How good, exactly?” and she said “Very very good,” and I said, “Good enough to—?” and she sighed and went to her desk to get one of the silver stars she gave out to kids who did a good job on something, and as I tearfully added it to my Silver Star Diary she asked me what upset me the most.


“Greenie was the better candidate,” I said. “Greenie should have won.”


She nodded.


“I suppose that was the point of the lesson,” I said.


“Oh no,” she said. “The point of the lesson is: people are unpredictable, and democracy is insane.”


Winston Churchill once said, “Democracy is the worst form of government, except all those other forms that have been tried.” That is perhaps a pithier and better way to get my point across, than that long anecdote about Mrs. Kolphner. Should I just erase all of that and start with this? Whatever. I’m pot-committed now, and is there extra caffeine in that hot chocolate? Because my head feels like a spaceship. The point is: people making their own decisions is, on balance, better than an autocrat making decisions for them. It’s just that sometimes those decisions are bad, or self-defeating, or maddening, and a day where you get dressed up in your best victory pantsuit and spend an ungodly amount of money decorating your house with American flags and custom-made cardboard-cutouts of suffragettes in anticipation of a glass-ceiling-shattering historical milestone ends with you getting (metaphorically) eaten by a giant farting T. rex.


Like most people, I deal with tragedy by processing the five stages of grief: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, and Acceptance. My denial over the election results was intense. My anger was (in Ron’s words) “significant.” My bargaining was short, but creative — I offered my soul and the souls of all of my friends in exchange for 60,000 more votes in Milwaukee, to any demon who cared to accept. (Tom told me it was a terrible deal, but I didn’t care, in that moment.) My depression I have already mentioned. Which brings us to Acceptance.  And here’s what I stand on that:


No. I do not accept it.


I acknowledge that Donald Trump is the President. I understand, intellectually, that he won the election. But I do not accept that our country has descended into the hatred-swirled slop pile that he lives in. I reject out of hand the notion that we have thrown up our hands and succumbed to racism, xenophobia, misogyny, and crypto-fascism. I do not accept that. I reject that. I fight that. Today, and tomorrow, and every day until the next election, I reject and fight that story. I work hard and I form ideas and I meet and talk to other people who feel like me, and we sit down and drink hot chocolate (I have plenty) and we plan. We plan like mofos. We figure out how to fight back, and do good in this infuriating world that constantly wants to bend toward the bad. And we will be kind to each other, and supportive of each other’s ideas, and we will do literally anything but accept this as our fate.


And let me say something to the young girls who are reading this. Hi, girls. On behalf of the grown-ups of America who care about you and your futures, I am awfully sorry about how miserably we screwed this up. We elected a giant farting T. rex who does not like you, or care about you, or think about you, unless he is scanning your bodies with his creepy T. rex eyes, or trying to physically grab you like a toy his daddy got him (or would have, if his daddy had loved him). (Sorry, that was a low blow.) (Actually, not sorry, I’m pissed, and I’m on a roll, so zip it, super-ego!) Our President-Elect is everything you should abhor, and fear, in a male role model. He has spent his life telling you, and girls and women like you, that your lives are valueless except as sexual objects. He has demeaned you, and belittled you, and put you in a little box to be looked at and not heard. It is your job, and the job of girls and women like you, to bust out.


You are going to run this country, and this world, very soon. So you will not listen to this man, or the 75-year-old, doughy-faced, gray-haired nightmare men like him, when they try to tell you where to stand or how to behave or what you can and cannot do with your own bodies, or what you should or should not think with your own minds. You will not be cowed or discouraged by his stream of retrogressive babble. You won’t have time to be cowed, because you will be too busy working and learning and communing with other girls and women like you, and when the time comes you will effortlessly flick away his miserable, petty misogynistic worldview like a fly on your picnic potato salad.


He is the present, sadly, but he is not the future. You are the future. Your strength is a million times his. Your power is a billion times his. We will acknowledge this result, but we will not accept it. We will overcome it, and we will defeat it.


Now find your team, and get to work.


Love,


Leslie

anonymous asked:

Hey! Fluffy christmas present exchanges between the Uncrowned Kings and their fem s/o?

I haven’t opened my gifts yet (It’s currently 11 AM on Christmas day here) so I’m writing this and it feels super Christmassy :) 


Hanamiya: “Is this for me, Makoto?” You couldn’t hide the wide, gleeful smirk that spread across your features at the hastily wrapped present from your boyfriend. He was never one for presents, especially on anniversaries or special occasions, but he always paid whenever you went out to eat. This was something new. Your boyfriend rolled his eyes at you and crossed his pajama-clad legs together. “Just open it.” You tore away the poorly wrapped green Christmas paper to reveal a pink Victoria’s Secret box. You cocked an eyebrow at Hanamiya. “Just open it. Don’t ask how I got it… It was fucking embarassing.” You stifled a snigger as you imagined your boyfriend walking into the lingerie store, picking something out for you. As you lifted the pink lid off the box, your lips formed a gasp of surprise. It wasn’t anything extremely sexy or revealing, contrary to your expectations, but it was simple black (slightly short) satin kimono. “I expected, like, a garter or something equally kinky,” you giggled, as you leaned over to wrap your arms around your gruffly stiff boyfriend. “Thought that would be something you’d wear in the house when I’m not around,” he mutters into your ear, as his right hand presses your head into the curve of his neck. When you pulled away from his embrace, Makoto’s face had a small, strange grin on it. “Oh yeah, and thanks for the shoes, babe,” he nodded nonchalantly towards your nicely wrapped package underneath the tree. Damn him, you thought. Always one to go through your stuff. As if he could read your mind, a smirk was plastered across his features as he said, “Gotta make sure you’re not buying expensive shit for other men.” 

Kiyoshi: (Teppei’s a freakin’ troll) “Promise me you can’t shake the box,” your boyfriend said, his large hands steadying yours before you could open the gigantic square package. “Why?” you were sorely tempted to shake the box, just for the heck of it, but his hands held yours in place. “Promise me, ______!” “Fine, I won’t shake the box,” you rolled your eyes and set the item down before you between your legs. The first layer was very nicely wrapped in striped sparkly red and white paper that reminded you of candy canes. As you peeled off the gold bow, you were confronted with another layer of wrapping paper, this time in green and gold. “Are you kidding me, Teppei? GIVE ME THE SCISSORS.” You tried diving for the scissors on the edge of the table, but Kiyoshi’s hands quickly snatched them from your grasp. “You didn’t let me do that, when you made me open a box full of newspapers!” You sniggered at the thought of Kiyoshi’s expression minutes ago when you made him open a fake package. In reality, you had a stuffed stocking on the side filled with basketball-themed gifts and a matching ugly Christmas sweater. It was so worth it to see his expression, however. You sighed in relief as the wrapping paper revealed a simple brown box, which you quickly tore off the lid. Inside, however, there was a large foiled package in sandwich wrap. At this point, Teppei was on the floor laughing at your expression. He was shaking with his loud chuckles and muttered something incoherent along the lines of Vaseline. “Teppei, give me the scissors.” He willingly handed them over, as it would be impossible for you to open the sandwich-wrapped package that had extra stickiness due to the Vaseline he applied on after every layer. “Last one. I promise babe,” his hand rubs your lower thighs in anticipation as you pry open the final small box underneath the aluminum foil and sandwich-wrap. You fell speechless at the sight before you. A beautiful rose gold watch lay cradled between the fabric of a familiar basketball jersey. “You didn’t have to!” you groaned, placing the gift down to attack your boyfriend’s torso with a tight hug.  “I know. But I love you,” he chuckles, pulling you closer to him. 

Nebuya: (I feel like Nebuya and his girlfriend would go light on the presents since they eat together so much LOL) “Let’s open it together, okay?” Your feet intertwined around your boyfriend’s ankles from across the table as you both were enjoying your Christmas breakfast. He nods, and you both traded two same-sized packages across the table, careful to not let it touch the food. Funny thing was, you basically had an idea of what your present was, since you had to help Nebuya wrap his gifts and ended up wrapping your own too. Therefore, both your gifts had the same wrapping paper and were in the same boxes. Since Nebuya is useless at wrapping, he snuck into your house to steal one of your gift boxes, placed your gift inside, and made you wrap it. “Three, two, one!” you counted down, as you both tore away the red Merry Christmas paper. Your boyfriend was done before you, and he held up two pairs of Nike Elite socks with absolute glee. His smile warmed your heart. “Aw, babe…thank you.” It was quite strange for you to see sappy Nebuya, but the basketball-themed gifts really struck home in his heart, especially once he saw the basketball-shaped coffee mug you got for him. Now, it was your turn. You gasped in surprise as you saw that he had gotten you the special edition books of your favorite manga. Underneath the small stacks of books was a gift card to your favorite restaurant, and you burst out into laughter at this realization. “Was this for me or for you?” you said, as your boyfriend joined you in laughter. “It’s for us,” he finally said, continuing your footsie game from under the table. “Let’s finish our breakfast before it gets cold,” Nebuya said as you both dug into the snowmen shaped pancakes that you made that morning. 

Hayama: “You’re gonna love it!” your enthusiastic boyfriend assured you as he brought out a huge bag stuffed with a tower of tissue paper. “Wow,” you said, blinking at the impressive sight. “I didn’t know what to get you, so I just got you everything!” You facepalmed at Kotaro’s actions. If you weren’t there to keep him in check, he tended to get lost in his own enthusiasm. “This is why I have to be there when we shop,” you rolled your eyes as Hayama planted a kiss on your exasperated expression. “It’s okay, you’re worth it, ______,” he said, before settling down on the couch next to you. As you pulled out the gifts, you chuckled at the spontaneity of each: a coffee tumbler that resembled a polar bear, a Baymax key chain, a huge box of chocolates, and a pillow that resembled a donut. “Do you love it?” your boyfriend’s eyes were wide in anticipation as he judged your reaction. You pulled his face close to gently kiss his cheek. “I love it, but you’re going to love yours more~” you said in a sing-songy voice. That was enough to propel your boyfriend into action. He quickly ripped past the layer of wrapping paper and was openmouthed in surprise at the skateboard. “You’ve been pining over that thing for the past month,” you commented, wrapping your arms around his torso. “You know me so well, _______.” He hastily kisses your lips before getting the skateboard out of its box. “I’ve GOT to try this today, babe. This is the best gift ever!” 

Mibuchi: “Oooooo, is that for me?” your boyfriend daintily clapped his hands together as you placed the beautifully packaged bag in front of him. “No, it’s for me, silly,” you said, rolling your eyes. “Dear, I asked that for emphasis on the excitement,” he said, sassing you back. “You know I love you,” he added, as he began to rummage through his gifts. It was always great to see Mibuchi’s expression on anything you got him, especially since you spent so much time brainstorming the perfect gift. You ended up getting him three silk handkerchiefs for his formal wear and a nice suede scarf. Knowing Reo, he would prefer a gift he would rather use but he was always too prideful to ask you for it. “It’s lovely, ______,” your boyfriend said as he admired the gifts. “Just like you,” he added, getting out of his seat besides you. “You’re going to LOVE what I bought you, and us!” He left you confusedly sitting there for a minute, as he rummaged through his closet to reveal a simple silver bag with red tissue paper on top of it. “Merry Christmas,” he said, holding it out for you. Inside the bag was a perfume set of your favorite scent and as you dug deeper, you pulled out a beautifully handknit sweater. “I made it,” your boyfriend said, smirking slightly. He showed you the sweater he was wearing and the obvious mistakes on its hem. “I made mine first, so it’s a bit uglier than yours, but we can match now.” Your face lit up in a grateful smile - grateful for your boyfriend and his thoughtfulness…even his sass too. “Let’s match and snuggle, Reo,” you suggested, pulling him down on the comfy sofa beside you. 

Animals | Chapter Six

The night was darker than ever with the loss of the moon. No light to illuminate the shadows below, all the wolves inevitably shivered. The moon was like the mother they’d never had and when she was gone, a sense of loneliness crept within.

Keep reading

vox.com
A letter to America from Leslie Knope, regarding Donald Trump
"People are unpredictable, and democracy is insane."
By Leslie Knope

Dear America,

Amidst the confusion, and despair, and disbelief, it was suggested to me by a very close friend of mine (I won’t say her name to protect her identity) (Ann. It was Ann) that perhaps a few people would enjoy hearing my thoughts on this election. So I sat down at my computer, cleared my head, and opened a document.

Then I started crying. So I had some hot chocolate, and my close friend (Ann) rubbed my back for a while, and I got myself together, and sat down. And started crying. Then more Ann comforting me, and more hot chocolate, and back and forth like that for about six hours or so, the chain of hot chocolate and back rubs only interrupted briefly when I had to run to the store for more hot chocolate packets (“Just give me all of them, all the boxes,” I remember saying, through tears, to a very scared stockroom boy), and now I am ready to go.

When I was in fourth grade, my teacher Mrs. Kolphner taught us a social studies lesson. The 17 students in our class were introduced to two fictional candidates: a smart if slightly bookish-looking cartoon tortoise named Greenie, and a cool-looking jaguar named Speedy. Rick Dissellio read a speech from Speedy, in which he promised that, if elected, he would end school early, have extra recess, and provide endless lunches of chocolate pizzandy (a local Pawnee delicacy at the time: deep fried pizza where the crust was candy bars). Then I read a speech from Greenie, who promised to go slow and steady, think about the problems of our school, and try her best to solve them in a way that would benefit the most people. Then Mrs. Kolphner had us vote on who should be class president.

I think you know where this is going.

Except you don’t, because before we voted, Greg Laresque asked if he could nominate a third candidate, and Mrs. Kolphner said “Sure! The essence of democracy is that everyone—” and Greg cut her off and said, “I nominate a T. rex named Dr. Farts who wears sunglasses and plays the saxophone, and his plan is to fart as much as possible and eat all the teachers,” and everyone laughed, and before Mrs. Kolphner could blink, Dr. Farts the T. rex had been elected president of Pawnee Elementary School in a 1984 Reagan-esque landslide, with my one vote for Greenie the Tortoise playing the role of “Minnesota.”

After class, I was inconsolable. Once the other kids left, Mrs. Kolphner came over and put her arm around me. She told me I had done a great job advocating for Greenie the Tortoise. Through tears I remember saying, “How good, exactly?” and she said, “Very, very good,” and I said, “Good enough to—?” and she sighed and went to her desk to get one of the silver stars she gave out to kids who did a good job on something. And as I tearfully added it to my Silver Star Diary, she asked me what upset me the most.

“Greenie was the better candidate,” I said. “Greenie should have won.”

She nodded.

“I suppose that was the point of the lesson,” I said.

“Oh, no,” she said. “The point of the lesson is: People are unpredictable, and democracy is insane.”

Winston Churchill once said, “Democracy is the worst form of government, except all those other forms that have been tried.” That is perhaps a pithier and better way to get my point across than that long anecdote about Mrs. Kolphner. Should I just erase all of that and start with this? Whatever. I’m pot-committed now, and is there extra caffeine in that hot chocolate? Because my head feels like a spaceship.

The point is: People making their own decisions is, on balance, better than an autocrat making decisions for them. It’s just that sometimes those decisions are bad, or self-defeating, or maddening, and a day where you get dressed up in your best victory pantsuit and spend an ungodly amount of money decorating your house with American flags and custom-made cardboard cutouts of suffragettes in anticipation of a glass-ceiling-shattering historical milestone ends with you getting (metaphorically) eaten by a giant farting T. rex.

Like most people, I deal with tragedy by processing the five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. My denial over the election results was intense. My anger was (in Ron’s words) “significant.” My bargaining was short, but creative — I offered my soul and the souls of all of my friends in exchange for 60,000 more votes in Milwaukee, to any demon who cared to accept. (Tom told me it was a terrible deal, but in that moment I didn’t care.) My depression I have already mentioned. Which brings us to acceptance. And here’s what I stand on that:

No. I do not accept it.

I acknowledge that Donald Trump is the president. I understand, intellectually, that he won the election. But I do not accept that our country has descended into the hatred-swirled slop pile that he lives in. I reject out of hand the notion that we have thrown up our hands and succumbed to racism, xenophobia, misogyny, and crypto-fascism. I do not accept that. I reject that. I fight that. Today, and tomorrow, and every day until the next election, I reject and fight that story.

I work hard and I form ideas and I meet and talk to other people who feel like me, and we sit down and drink hot chocolate (I have plenty) and we plan. We plan like mofos. We figure out how to fight back, and do good in this infuriating world that constantly wants to bend toward the bad. And we will be kind to each other, and supportive of each other’s ideas, and we will do literally anything but accept this as our fate.

And let me say something to the young girls who are reading this. Hi, girls. On behalf of the grown-ups of America who care about you and your futures, I am awfully sorry about how miserably we screwed this up. We elected a giant farting T. rex who does not like you, or care about you, or think about you, unless he is scanning your bodies with his creepy T. rex eyes or trying to physically grab you like a toy his daddy got him (or would have, if his daddy had loved him). (Sorry, that was a low blow.) (Actually, not sorry, I’m pissed, and I’m on a roll, so zip it, superego!)

Our president-elect is everything you should abhor and fear in a male role model. He has spent his life telling you, and girls and women like you, that your lives are valueless except as sexual objects. He has demeaned you, and belittled you, and put you in a little box to be looked at and not heard. It is your job, and the job of girls and women like you, to bust out.

You are going to run this country, and this world, very soon. So you will not listen to this man, or the 75-year-old, doughy-faced, gray-haired nightmare men like him, when they try to tell you where to stand or how to behave or what you can and cannot do with your own bodies, or what you should or should not think with your own minds. You will not be cowed or discouraged by his stream of retrogressive babble. You won’t have time to be cowed, because you will be too busy working and learning and communing with other girls and women like you. And when the time comes, you will effortlessly flick away his miserable, petty, misogynistic worldview like a fly on your picnic potato salad.

He is the present, sadly, but he is not the future. You are the future. Your strength is a million times his. Your power is a billion times his. We will acknowledge this result, but we will not accept it. We will overcome it, and we will defeat it.

Now find your team, and get to work.

Love,

Leslie

—written by a member of the Parks and Recreation writing staff

Leslie Knope works for the US Department of the Interior, Midwest Branch, in her hometown of Pawnee, Indiana. And she believes that optimism defeats pessimism. She asks that if you have the means, you kindly make a donation to the ACLU, the International Rescue Committee, or the charity of your choice, to help the country and those most in need.

chained-to-the-mirror  asked:

Chocolate and lemon... yes, I can see how that would be a tough choice. Both are delicious after all. I hope you didn't feel sick from eating so many cupcakes :) I think I might have done the same. And you're so right about internal critique killing creativity. It's good to have some of it, but there is a limit. And there should be times when you work without criticism. That's what I think, anyway.

I agree with you.  Too much criticism kills creative thinking, and you often need to think outside the box if you are going to reach the right conclusions, or produce anything of worth.  People miss things, because they allow their inner voices to keep them stuck in mental and creative ruts.  The main reason I am so good at what I do is because I don’t limit my thinking to the usual, to the norm.  I explore all avenues, allow myself to follow patterns and leads without succumbing to the fear of looking ‘silly’.  I don’t care if people think my methods ridiculous, because I get results.

As for the cupcakes, I spread out the eating of them over an entire day.  If I’d tried to eat 6 in one sitting I’m sure I would have given myself a horrible headache.

anonymous asked:

Hi! I apologize for the formatting; tried to get everything to fit! Name: Rachel. Color: Purple. Ship: three way tie between Elski, me and my boyfriend, and a couple characters I created for a MCU fanfiction I want to write, which is pretty much me and my boyfriend again, but different at the same time. Ice cream flavor: peanut butter and chip (from a local ice cream chain) or chocolate (nationally). Own a cat?: no; more of a dog person. And now I don't know exactly how to end this... awkward...

Hey, Rachel! That’s really cool! Peanut butter and chip sounds really good! Yeah, I’m more of a dog person myself too. Heh, if that isn’t the most relatable thing I’ve seen all day.

Omg please read this I'm literally crying right now I love Leslie Knope so much

Dear America,

Amidst the confusion, and despair, and disbelief, it was suggested to me by a very close friend of mine (I won’t say her name, to protect her identity) (Ann. It was Ann) that perhaps a few people would enjoy hearing my thoughts on this election. So I sat down at my computer, cleared my head, and opened a document. Then I started crying. So I had some hot chocolate, and my close friend (Ann) rubbed my back for a while, and I got myself together, and sat down. And started crying. Then more Ann comforting me, and more hot chocolate, and back and forth like that for about six hours or so, the chain of hot-chocolate-and-back-rubs only interrupted briefly when I had to run to the store for more hot chocolate packets (“Just give me all of them, all the boxes,” I remember saying, through tears, to a very scared stockroom boy) and now I am ready to go.

When I was in fourth grade, my teacher Mrs. Kolphner taught us a social studies lesson. The seventeen students in our class were introduced to two fictional candidates: a smart if slightly bookish-looking cartoon tortoise named Greenie, and a cool-looking jaguar named Speedy. Rick Dissellio read a speech from Speedy, in which he promised that if elected he would end school early, have extra recess, and provide endless lunches of chocolate pizzandy. (A local Pawnee delicacy at the time — deep fried pizza where the crust was candy bars.) Then I read a speech from Greenie, who promised to go slow and steady, think about the problems of our school, and try her best to solve them in a way that would benefit the most people. Then Mrs. Kolphner had us vote on who should be Class President.

I think you know where this is going.
Except you don’t, because before we voted, Greg Laresque asked if he could nominate a third candidate, and Mrs. Kolphner said “Sure! The essence of democracy is that everyone—“ and Greg cut her off and said “I nominate a T-Rex named Dr. Farts who wears sunglasses and plays the saxophone, and his plan is to fart as much as possible and eat all the teachers,” and everyone laughed, and before Mrs. Kolphner could blink, Dr. Farts the T-Rex had been elected President of Pawnee Elementary School in a 1984 Reagan-esque landslide, with my one vote for Greenie the Tortoise playing the role of “Minnesota.”

After class I was inconsolable. Once all the other kids left, Mrs. Kolphner came over and put her arm around me. She told me I had done a great job advocating for Greenie the Tortoise. Through tears I remember saying, “How good, exactly?” and she said “Very very good,” and I said, “Good enough to—?” and she sighed and went to her desk to get one of the silver stars she gave out to kids who did a good job on something, and as I tearfully added it to my Silver Star Diary she asked me what upset me the most.

“Greenie was the better candidate,” I said. “Greenie should have won.”

She nodded.

“I suppose that was the point of the lesson,” I said.

“Oh no,” she said. “The point of the lesson is: people are unpredictable, and democracy is insane.”

Winston Churchill once said, “Democracy is the worst form of government, except all those other forms that have been tried.” That is perhaps a pithier and better way to get my point across, than that long anecdote about Mrs. Kolphner. Should I just erase all of that and start with this? Whatever. I’m pot-committed now, and is there extra caffeine in that hot chocolate? Because my head feels like a spaceship. The point is: people making their own decisions is, on balance, better than an autocrat making decisions for them. It’s just that sometimes those decisions are bad, or self-defeating, or maddening, and a day where you get dressed up in your best victory pantsuit and spend an ungodly amount of money decorating your house with American flags and custom-made cardboard-cutouts of suffragettes in anticipation of a glass-ceiling-shattering historical milestone ends with you getting (metaphorically) eaten by a giant farting T-Rex.

Like most people, I deal with tragedy by processing the five stages of grief: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, and Acceptance. My denial over the election results was intense. My anger was (in Ron’s words) “significant.” My bargaining was short, but creative — I offered my soul and the souls of all of my friends in exchange for 60,000 more votes in Milwaukee, to any demon who cared to accept. (Tom told me it was a terrible deal, but I didn’t care, in that moment.) My depression I have already mentioned. Which brings us to Acceptance. And here’s what I stand on that:

No. I do not accept it.

I acknowledge that Donald Trump is the President. I understand, intellectually, that he won the election. But I do not accept that our country has descended into the hatred-swirled slop pile that he lives in. I reject out of hand the notion that we have thrown up our hands and succumbed to racism, xenophobia, misogyny, and crypto-fascism. I do not accept that. I reject that. I fight that. Today, and tomorrow, and every day until the next election, I reject and fight that story. I work hard and I form ideas and I meet and talk to other people who feel like me, and we sit down and drink hot chocolate (I have plenty) and we plan. We plan like mofos. We figure out how to fight back, and do good in this infuriating world that constantly wants to bend toward the bad. And we will be kind to each other, and supportive of each other’s ideas, and we will do literally anything but accept this as our fate.

And let me say something to the young girls who are reading this. Hi, girls. On behalf of the grown-ups of America who care about you and your futures, I am awfully sorry about how miserably we screwed this up. We elected a giant farting T-Rex who does not like you, or care about you, or think about you, unless he is scanning your bodies with his creepy T-Rex eyes, or trying to physically grab you like a toy his daddy got him (or would have, if his daddy had loved him). (Sorry, that was a low blow.) (Actually, not sorry, I’m pissed, and I’m on a roll, so zip it, super-ego!) Our President-Elect is everything you should abhor, and fear, in a male role model. He has spent his life telling you, and girls and women like you, that your lives are valueless except as sexual objects. He has demeaned you, and belittled you, and put you in a little box to be looked at and not heard. It is your job, and the job of girls and women like you, to bust out.

Like most people, I deal with tragedy by processing the five stages of grief: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, and Acceptance. My denial over the election results was intense. My anger was (in Ron’s words) “significant.” My bargaining was short, but creative — I offered my soul and the souls of all of my friends in exchange for 60,000 more votes in Milwaukee, to any demon who cared to accept. (Tom told me it was a terrible deal, but I didn’t care, in that moment.) My depression I have already mentioned. Which brings us to Acceptance. And here’s what I stand on that:
No. I do not accept it.
I acknowledge that Donald Trump is the President. I understand, intellectually, that he won the election. But I do not accept that our country has descended into the hatred-swirled slop pile that he lives in. I reject out of hand the notion that we have thrown up our hands and succumbed to racism, xenophobia, misogyny, and crypto-fascism. I do not accept that. I reject that. I fight that. Today, and tomorrow, and every day until the next election, I reject and fight that story. I work hard and I form ideas and I meet and talk to other people who feel like me, and we sit down and drink hot chocolate (I have plenty) and we plan. We plan like mofos. We figure out how to fight back, and do good in this infuriating world that constantly wants to bend toward the bad. And we will be kind to each other, and supportive of each other’s ideas, and we will do literally anything but accept this as our fate.
And let me say something to the young girls who are reading this. Hi, girls. On behalf of the grown-ups of America who care about you and your futures, I am awfully sorry about how miserably we screwed this up. We elected a giant farting T-Rex who does not like you, or care about you, or think about you, unless he is scanning your bodies with his creepy T-Rex eyes, or trying to physically grab you like a toy his daddy got him (or would have, if his daddy had loved him). (Sorry, that was a low blow.) (Actually, not sorry, I’m pissed, and I’m on a roll, so zip it, super-ego!) Our President-Elect is everything you should abhor, and fear, in a male role model. He has spent his life telling you, and girls and women like you, that your lives are valueless except as sexual objects. He has demeaned you, and belittled you, and put you in a little box to be looked at and not heard. It is your job, and the job of girls and women like you, to bust out.

You are going to run this country, and this world, very soon. So you will not listen to this man, or the 75-year-old, doughy-faced, gray-haired nightmare men like him, when they try to tell you where to stand or how to behave or what you can and cannot do with your own bodies, or what you should or should not think with your own minds. You will not be cowed or discouraged by his stream of retrogressive babble. You won’t have time to be cowed, because you will be too busy working and learning and communing with other girls and women like you, and when the time comes you will effortlessly flick away his miserable, petty misogynistic worldview like a fly on your picnic potato salad.
He is the present, sadly, but he is not the future. You are the future. Your strength is a million times his. Your power is a billion times his. We will acknowledge this result, but we will not accept it. We will overcome it, and we will defeat it.

Now find your team, and get to work.

Love,
Leslie

Rivetra Fics

Note: Here are many Rivetra (Levi/Petra) fics you could read! Also, most are drabbles and poems. 
SOME ARE IN SPANISH AND FRENCH!
I’m certain there are more out there… if there are more… feel free to add! c:


  • #——–E


36 Things I will never regret or 36 seconds before death,  
A Blessing or Mistake,  A Clear Midnight,  A Faint Recollection, 
A Gentle Kiss,  A Little Push,  A Love Destined To Be,  A Painful Sight,
 A Slight Inconvenience,  A sudden surprise,  A Summon,  
A Thug of Loving You,  A wedding,  A Year To Look Forward To,  
Ackerman Family Adventures,  Ackerman Siblings AU,
Actions and Consequences,  All Because of The Aiaigasa,
 All in a Day’s Work,  almost lover,  Alone with Company,  
An Angel’s Free Will,  And So We Meet Again, Another Perspective,
 Arms Wide Open,  Art Of War,  Asleep,  As Long As I’m Breathing,  Autumn,  Baby Don’t Cry,  Bane of Titans,  Beautiful,
 Beauty in Hell,   Before The End,  Behind Close Doors,  Be With You,  Bisou Bisou,  Bitter Coffee,  black and white,  Blooded Uniform,  Bonjour et au-revoir,  Boundaries, Breaking the News, Burn,
 The Butterfly Effect, Caffeine, Captain and Soldier,
Careful What You Wish For,  Carry Me Home,  
Chain Messages, Chocolate, Chords of Progression,
Chores with the Corporal, 
 Clash of Heaven and Hell, Cold, colour, Convergence,
Cookies by Corporal, Coeur de battant,  Corporal Pervert, 
Crossing Lines,Dawn, DearMemories,  Decided on You, decrescendo, Delicate Afflictions, Despertar enla mañana, Destinado a ti , Devious, Tender Touch, Diario de Memorias,  Did You Hear?,  Down The Road, Drifting, Like Feathers on the Wind,   Drunk,   Drunk in Love,
 ElFrío Seductor, Enchanting ,Endless Sky,  Entangled, Equals, Equations, Errores,Estrellafugaz, Eternal Love, The Everlasting Flower,  Exposed




  • F——–R


Facade’, Fade to Black, Failed to Send,  Favors, FinallyIFoundYou, 
Finally Happy, Fine, Intertwined, First Reality,  First Step,  Flats, 
Flower girl, Flower Of Fire,  Flowers, 
Forever Is Never For Certain, Fragile Wings, Freedom Fighters,
Future Memories, Golden Eyes,Goodbye my Love,
 
Good Morning, Baby, Gotten,  Grapevine,  The Healing Process, 
Heat, Heichou, Hello Again, Here to Stay,  Her Soldier,  Hieroglyphs, Home,  Honey and Spice,  Honey and Stone, 
Honey ‘n the Scouts, Honey Tea,   Hypnosis,  I’d give my eyes to you, 
I’ll Need You After Class,  In Another Lifetime, In His Dreams,
 It’s 5 O'clock Somewhere, I Would, Jueves,  
Ladoncellayel demonio,  Lamia, La noche de la entrega,  
The Last of Us: Attack on Titan, Lazy Morning, Levi’s Daughter, Liebesbrief mit kein Wiederkehr,
 Life Is Beautiful With You,  Life Lessons,  Life’s Too Short,
 Link Through Time,   Los muros jamás detienen la primavera, Lost, Love is Waiting, Love vs. Fear, Magical Mirror, 
Meet Me at the Stairs, 
Memorias de Otoño, Miscommunication, Misguided Hope. 
Mistaken Identity,  Mockingbird, Moments in Between, 
Mr. Ackerman Kindergarten Class,  My Admiration,  My Immortal,
 My Sunshine, Nameless Creature, New Girl, Nice,  Not Sorry,  now, again as before, 
of Regret, and Remembering, Old Traditions Die Hard,  
One More Chance, 
One Sweet Love, Our Silent Vows, Outside The Walls,
 The Passage of Stars, Patches, Paws & Sweet Tea, Petra, Petra Slips
Up!, phantasmagoria, Philosophy, Pianissimo, Pirouette,  
Poetry is a Luxury , Poing contre coeur, Possesive, PreciousSecrets, Private Dancer, 
Punto de No Retorno, Push, Fall, Quand les arbres perdent leurs feuilles, ¿Rea estoy solo?, Red String, Remembering Petra, Repercussions, 
Réquiemde un Amor Perdido, Resolutions, respite, Rewards, Rivetra: Sickday, Rivetra ,  , 

  • S———Z


Say It With Flowers, Scare Tactics, Scars 【Rivetra, 
Scattered Memories, Secret Princess, Shared Moments, 
The Shitty Things People do when in Love, 
SNK: One Sweet Love, Soaring Stone, Solid Ground,Solopuedo, 
Solo tu y yo, Something About You, Something about your Lips,  
So this was Squad Levi , Spoils of War, Step by Step, 
Stich it Together, Stronger,  Summer Storm, Survivor’s Guilt,
Sweat For It ,  Sweet Addictions, Taking a Break ,  
Teaching Ms. Ral, ¿Teacuerdasmí, Tea for Two,  
The Absence of Starlight, The Absolute Law, 
The Captain and his Soldier, The Language of Love,
the other side, These Cruel Deeds,The Wedding,  
The World We Saw, They Call It The Language of Love,
 Till My Last Breath, time cannot erase, Tired, 
To Clean, Or Not To Clean, truth or dare, To Us and Our Blooming Jubilance, The Tug of War, Turkish Delight, Turnabout is Fair Play, Turning Pages, The Two Faces of Surprise, 
Un canto de cumpleaños, Underground Desire,
 Underground Drabbles, Unwind, Ups and Downs,
 The Visit, Voicemail,  Vulnerable,   What He’s Gained,  What If, 
What Levi Didn’t Talk  When He Talked about Babysitting,
 what you cannot escape,  What’s Left Unsaid, When Love Lasts, 
where we land,  While All The Vultures Feed, 
Whispers of the Wind, White Knight, Why did you have to go, 
Windborne Feathers, Wishes,  With You, 
You Only Need The Light When It’s Burning Low, Your Criminal, 
You’re The Only One,  ça ne prend qu-un jour,  愛着 love, 



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vic-fuentabulous

Jean Jacket

Morning, his place / Burn toast, Sunday / You keep his shirt / He keeps his word / And for once you let go / Of your fears and your ghosts / One step, not much / But it said enough / You kiss on sidewalks / You fight and you talk / One night he wakes / Strange look on his face / Pauses, then says / You’re my best friend / And you knew what it was / He is in love

“Aren’t you sick of me yet?” You giggled shyly. You tried to pretend like it didn’t bother you; but typically you were gotten sick of. You didn’t mind much—you were used to it. So you let the humor in your voice block how your heart really felt. Sad, alone.

“Absolutely not,” he shook his head simply and smiled at you fondly. “I would love for you to stay here all the time,” he promised and pulled you into his arms and breathed into the top of your hair. “You smell good,” he muttered as an afterthought.

“You wanna keep me because I smell good?” You joked again because you couldn’t imagine why anyone would want you to stick around for longer than an hour or two. But here was Louis, the sweet, blue-eyed guy that had stolen your heart and asked you to spend the night with him.

“One of the reasons I’d like to keep you around, yeah,” he smiled. “That so hard to believe?” He whispered and tilted your head up. Louis didn’t like being serious a lot. In fact, he sort of enjoyed your banter (even if it was a bit sad you were making fun of yourself) because he too guarded his heart with humor. He knew how that went. But right at the moment, he was staring into your eyes looking for the answer to his question: did you really think he didn’t want you?

“Well, umm…yeah,” you whispered quietly.

He pouted and pulled you back into his body letting his hand rub up and down you back smoothly and gently. “Poor thing,” he said just above your head. But he wasn’t saying it to you. He was thinking it and he felt it in his heart how sad that was. You felt unwanted and he didn’t know how that could possibly happen because goodness God, did he like you. “I wanna keep you around for a while, if that’s alright with you,” he said sweetly and you felt your heart somersault in your chest.

“I’d like that,” you mumbled. Whether he meant it or not, that sounded awfully good right about now.

*

True to his word, Louis kept you safe and sound for a long, long time. Day after day he tricked you into staying the night until essentially you were living there. He even went as far as to spill his drink all over your clothes just so he would have to wash them and make you wear his sweats.

He was very lucky he smelled so good and you were so weak for him.

Louis loved having you around. Because you smelled like flowers and tea and he loved tea. And he was very much starting to love flowers. Perhaps it was odd and maybe a bit possessive, but you just found it cute, and oh-so Louis—but he would steal trinkets from your purse or briefcase whatever you had with you when you visited and told you it fell out of your purse and the only way you could get it back was for you to give him a kiss and he wasn’t leaving his apartment anytime soon.

So slowly the walls came down. Louis learned everything there was to learn. Why your walls were so high up and even though they were, people, you claimed, were pretty good at climbing and ruining your heart anyway.

Louis didn’t like the sound of that and he promised you over and over again that he wouldn’t ruin your heart. Sadly, he knew that you didn’t fully believe him. But he figured that, and he was okay with that even, because he wanted to prove himself to you.

He adored you and he would do everything in his power to prove himself to you. No matter how long it took or what he had to do. You deserved that. It was the least he could do.

*

Louis was an awful cook. You liked that a lot about him because it really made you think that you could be different from the person you were supposed to be in love with.

Considering Louis was handing you burnt toast with the biggest smile on his face as he kissed you good morning on the forehead, you weren’t sure you could love someone more than you loved Louis. But you didn’t dare tell him that.

“I’ll take you to breakfast,” he promised with a chuckle. “But I thought you might want something to eat right now,” he smiled sheepishly.

“So you decided charcoal was part of a balanced breakfast?” You smirked and eyed the blackened toast as if it was poisonous.

“Yes, obviously,” he rolled his eyes. “I’m trying!” He proclaimed when you started to laugh at him. He pushed the toast away and started to tickle you for all he was worth. “You’re so mean to me!” He cooed as he prodded your tummy and sides.

You cackled and almost cried happy tears because Louis was just so cute and silly. “The meanest,” you agreed.

“Glad we agree,” he said as he stopped tickling. “No, but seriously, don’t eat that; I think it’s going to attack,” he smirked.

You giggled and rolled on top of him playfully and smiled down at his soft face and let your hands skim his sharp cheekbones and stubble. His smile was so gorgeous and you knew that no one in the world was as lucky as you were to wake up beside Louis Tomlinson’s smiling face.

*

It took another full three months before you officially moved into Louis’ apartment. Of course you were always there and by the end of the first month of dating, you had a key (Louis had it customized so his initials were on it mixed in with blue and green polka dots—just in case you forgot who had your heart.)

By now Louis and you had been dating for a little under a year and you were quite amazed by how lovely he was still. It was a never ending honey moon with him.

It was scary, you had to admit. Because Louis was so careful with your heart and he seemed so sure of you and him but…but he was Louis. He had soft hair, soft skin, and a soft heart and he just made you feel so safe. You weren’t sure if you could ever get it around your head that he liked you enough to live with you.

But it wasn’t easy for Louis either. Louis grew up with a lot of women in his house. He saw a lot of heart break and he would be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t afraid of heartbreak—because he was. Tomlinson’s just constantly seemed to get their hearts broken.

Luckily, you were different. He admired you because you worked tremendously hard and you never complained when he was gone on business—off recording artists over in the states or something spectacular like that. He always brought you back a cute little souvenir. “Made me think of you,” he whispered softly. “Do you like it?” He wondered. Because Louis was still trying to figure you out. And for the most part he thought you were simple. There was a lot to be said about simple. Simple wasn’t boring or derogatory—not to Louis anyway. Because it made you easy to shop for; you liked notebooks, and magnets, decorative pens, and key chains. You enjoyed chocolates, candles, you still liked CDs and liked gift cards more than an actual present because he knew how indecisive you were and that way you could get what you wanted when you could figure out what you liked best.

It was your mind that was complex and how you thought. You never took anything at face value and Louis thought it was so amazing to watch you examine something. He was constantly missing movies because while you were entranced by the emotion actors were portraying on screen, Louis was brushing a strand of hair across your cheek trying to figure out what you were thinking.

And of course you made up a lot in your head. When you had bad days—and there were very many bad days—Louis would just hold you and kiss your forehead and try to imagine that he was kissing all the aches in your head that made you so miserable. He wondered how anyone in the world could hurt you because you were just to beautiful to be hurt like this.

He hated the person that broke your heart. It was a lovely heart with simple wants and needs because you didn’t feel you deserved complex and extravagance.

But that was okay with Louis. Because he was pretty sure you found the extravagance in simplicity.

And he thinks that’s why he liked you best.

*

“That’s my shirt,” he murmured when you stumbled out of the bedroom to find him watching a football game on the couch one Saturday morning. You had had a late night at the office, of course. Because only you would get stuck doing paperwork until nearly eleven at night on a Friday when all you wanted was to snuggle up to Louis on the sofa.

You nodded and looked down at the shirt. Louis wasn’t heaps taller than you. Not like he wanted to be. But that was okay. It was especially okay because while some guys had their girls wear their shirts—they ended up looking like dresses on them. Not for you. Louis’ shirt barely reached the top of your thighs leaving you just in boy shorts and Louis’ was sure he had never seen anything so pretty in his whole life as you so early in the morning. Your hair was a bit of a wild mass but he couldn’t have cared less because you were just so pretty. Nothing looked so good as you. “It’s warm,” you mumbled and sat down in his lap. You curled into a ball, tucking yourself as small as possible against him. “Am I too heavy?” You asked.

“No,” he said immediately. “Not at all. You’re perfect,” he whispered.

“Shh,” you blushed and curled in closer to him. “No such thing as perfect,” you whispered sleepily.

“Look in the mirror, babe,” he swore.

Louis was the best thing in the world to you.

*

Louis pressed his lips into a flat line as he stared at you, with a slight bruise on your cheek. He wanted to kill the person that hit you.

“You can’t lie to me about shit like that. When I call you, you have to tell me exactly what happened.”

“You would have rushed down for no reason, Louis,” you whispered softly.

“You cannot get hurt,” he answered.

“It was stupid, Lou, please don’t worry about—”

“Of course I’m going to worry. Why would you ever think I wasn’t going to worry about you? What is so hard to understand that I care about you? I care about you so much, what don’t you understand?” He asked almost angrily. He wasn’t really mad at you. He was mad at whoever hurt you and broke you so badly that you couldn’t believe Louis. You couldn’t sense that he loved you. And now, because you were at a office gathering a pub, and some drunk asshole hit on you and then when you told him you weren’t interested he was so pissed that he may have actually hit you.

Louis texted you throughout your evening because he just wanted to check on you and make sure you were eating enough and supplementing your drinking with water. Or at the very least he wanted to know if he had to come get you.

“I don’t understand it,” you croaked. “I don’t know what you want me to say,” you started crying. “I don’t understand how you can care so much, no one ever has Louis,” you broke. “I don’t know how to be cared for,” you said and you hurried to the bathroom so you wouldn’t be sobbing in front of him.

His heart softened. He didn’t mean to sound so harsh. You were so easy to love and care for and he was just so sad that you couldn’t believe that. He loved you so, so much—even if he hadn’t said it yet. So he moved to the bathroom, listened as you cried among the shower. He rested his head against the doorjamb. His heart sinking almost to the ground. Carefully he unlocked the door (advantages of living in this apartment for so long—he knew how to unlock the door without a key). He tugged his clothes off and stepped in behind you. He wrapped his arms around your waist and he tucked his face into your neck, letting his lips brush your skin. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “One step at a time, love. Just a little more each day, okay? It’s okay,” he promised.

You leaned against him and you sighed heavily as he held you. Your heart full against your ribs. Because Louis never pressured you, but always cared. And you really should have known that.

*

Louis had woken in the middle of the night and found you sleeping peacefully. His hand was twined around yours, your chest gently rising and falling. He woke you. He knew you were tired but he couldn’t wait any longer. It was torturing him. “Babe,” he whispered.

“What’s the matter?” You groaned sleepily.

He shook his head. “You’re my best friend,” he murmured.

“Did you seriously wake me up to tell me that?” You grumbled.

He nodded. “Yes, but there’s more,” he said. “Can you look at me please?”

“Lou,” you whined.

He cupped your face and you opened your eyes sleepily. He looked so strange and your heart swelled a little. He stroked his thumb across your cheek and smiled sweetly at you. “I love you.”

You blushed and smiled brightly before you wiggled forward and wrapped your arms around Louis and you pressed your lips to his. He smiled brightly against your mouth. Louis was so bright in the dark—he was like your personal sunbeam brightening every part of your world. “I love you too, Louis,” you whispered back.

Louis glanced at the clock and he smiled. “One year to the day, babes.”

You giggled. “You know, I wouldn’t want it any other way, Lou,” you smiled.

“I love you, I love you so much,” he said and kissed you hard on the lips.

You smiled happily. “I love you tons too, Lou-bear.”

Sunday, June 25. 7:01pm UTC

So from the Inka Market, we decided to go to El Centro. El Centro is the historical center of Lima. There are a number of government buildings and the president lives there. I think I shared that before.

Anyways, in El Centro, souvenirs tend to be cheaper and available in a greater variety. Each of us bought a ton of stuff (probably too much stuff to be honest).

After our souvenir haul, we headed to Plaza Vea, a huge grocery chain, where we bought some chocolate to bring back home.

Then came our struggle: we needed to get home. We’ve been using Uber so we thought we could easily order one to take us home. Wrong. There was a huge community day of sorts occurring in El Centro so a number of the streets were closed off and there were crowds of people everywhere.

Every time we ordered an Uber, it was 5 minutes away. But that 5 minutes soon turned into 11 minutes and then 20 minutes. We canceled probably 5 or 6 Ubers and walked at least 6 or 7 blocks before we got an Uber to pick us up. From the first Uber we ordered to the one that actually picked us up was about a 1 hour wait.

We got so desperate that we even asked a few taxis to take us. Two taxis said no as it was too far and one wanted to charge us 25. Our Uber was less than 20.

Normally, all that waiting would have just been annoying. But in this case, it was a pretty scary experience. The sun goes down here around 6pm. By 7pm, it is as dark as it is at home at 11pm.

Anyways, we have safely gotten an Uber and are on our way home. Thanks to Jehovah!

anonymous asked:

would you be able to write about a first kiss?

I’m going to write it from a boy’s perspective for obvious reasons.

All my life I’ve felt lonely. No one has wanted me. No one has cared. Another day gone, another day arriving; it is the same. Days are repetitive; days are bland. My days aren’t days. They’re nothing.

Nothing is the feeling which possessed my body all these years. A feeling of emptiness; a feeling unidentified.

When questioned,

“How do you feel?”

my reply is always the same;

“Alright.”

No one will ever understand. I don’t want anyone to understand. I never asked for anyone to get involved. Needless to say, that doesn’t mean I’m not glad someone did. This someone sitting in front of me. Legs crossed; eyes open; hands contributing with daisy-chain making.

Chocolate hair; blueberry irises. cherry lips. 

Oh, those lips. Sweetness and softness from a perfectly baked cookie. Rest and relaxation on a rainy Sunday afternoon. This is dim comparison. How can one compare to something so incomparable? 

The first time I did it. My virgin lips touching such angel-like nerve endings. My cold, forgotten of hands touching the heaven I saw in front of me. Running my fingers through her hair like a failed olympic athlete and appreciating the cheeks I thought were impossible to possess by any creation. My good-for-nothing, meaningless life had a meaning. It had a reason. A purpose.

Thank you for kissing me. Thank you for making my life worth while.

2

Your mother led us to glorious victory! The odds were against us, and our hearts were uncertain. But we chose to fight alongside Rose, and here we made our stand against our Gem Homeworld! 

what started out as me wanting to draw rose in cool armour turned into hours of indecisiveness but HERE IT IS it’s done

yahoo.com
‘Parks and Recreation’: Leslie Knope Writes Letter to America Following Donald Trump’s Victory

The following is a letter from Leslie Knope, who works for the U.S. Department of the Interior, Midwest Branch, in her hometown of Pawnee, Indiana. She believes that optimism defeats pessimism, and asks that if you have the means, you kindly make a donation to the ACLU, the International Rescue Committee, or the charity of your choice, to help the country and those most in need.

Dear America,

Amidst the confusion, and despair, and disbelief, it was suggested to me by a very close friend of mine (I won’t say her name, to protect her identity) (Ann. It was Ann) that perhaps a few people would enjoy hearing my thoughts on this election. So I sat down at my computer, cleared my head, and opened a document. Then I started crying. So I had some hot chocolate, and my close friend (Ann) rubbed my back for a while, and I got myself together, and sat down. And started crying. Then more Ann comforting me, and more hot chocolate, and back and forth like that for about six hours or so, the chain of hot-chocolate-and-back-rubs only interrupted briefly when I had to run to the store for more hot chocolate packets (“Just give me all of them, all the boxes,” I remember saying, through tears, to a very scared stockroom boy) and now I am ready to go.

When I was in fourth grade, my teacher Mrs. Kolphner taught us a social studies lesson. The seventeen students in our class were introduced to two fictional candidates: a smart if slightly bookish-looking cartoon tortoise named Greenie, and a cool-looking jaguar named Speedy. Rick Dissellio read a speech from Speedy, in which he promised that if elected he would end school early, have extra recess, and provide endless lunches of chocolate pizzandy. (A local Pawnee delicacy at the time — deep fried pizza where the crust was candy bars.) Then I read a speech from Greenie, who promised to go slow and steady, think about the problems of our school, and try her best to solve them in a way that would benefit the most people. Then Mrs. Kolphner had us vote on who should be Class President.

I think you know where this is going.

Except you don’t, because before we voted, Greg Laresque asked if he could nominate a third candidate, and Mrs. Kolphner said “Sure! The essence of democracy is that everyone—“ and Greg cut her off and said “I nominate a T-Rex named Dr. Farts who wears sunglasses and plays the saxophone, and his plan is to fart as much as possible and eat all the teachers,” and everyone laughed, and before Mrs. Kolphner could blink, Dr. Farts the T-Rex had been elected President of Pawnee Elementary School in a 1984 Reagan-esque landslide, with my one vote for Greenie the Tortoise playing the role of “Minnesota.”

After class I was inconsolable. Once all the other kids left, Mrs. Kolphner came over and put her arm around me. She told me I had done a great job advocating for Greenie the Tortoise. Through tears I remember saying, “How good, exactly?” and she said “Very very good,” and I said, “Good enough to—?” and she sighed and went to her desk to get one of the silver stars she gave out to kids who did a good job on something, and as I tearfully added it to my Silver Star Diary she asked me what upset me the most.

“Greenie was the better candidate,” I said. “Greenie should have won.”
She nodded.
“I suppose that was the point of the lesson,” I said.
“Oh no,” she said. “The point of the lesson is: people are unpredictable, and democracy is insane.”

Winston Churchill once said, “Democracy is the worst form of government, except all those other forms that have been tried.” That is perhaps a pithier and better way to get my point across, than that long anecdote about Mrs. Kolphner. Should I just erase all of that and start with this? Whatever. I’m pot-committed now, and is there extra caffeine in that hot chocolate? Because my head feels like a spaceship. The point is: people making their own decisions is, on balance, better than an autocrat making decisions for them. It’s just that sometimes those decisions are bad, or self-defeating, or maddening, and a day where you get dressed up in your best victory pantsuit and spend an ungodly amount of money decorating your house with American flags and custom-made cardboard-cutouts of suffragettes in anticipation of a glass-ceiling-shattering historical milestone ends with you getting (metaphorically) eaten by a giant farting T-Rex.

Like most people, I deal with tragedy by processing the five stages of grief: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, and Acceptance. My denial over the election results was intense. My anger was (in Ron’s words) “significant.” My bargaining was short, but creative — I offered my soul and the souls of all of my friends in exchange for 60,000 more votes in Milwaukee, to any demon who cared to accept. (Tom told me it was a terrible deal, but I didn’t care, in that moment.) My depression I have already mentioned. Which brings us to Acceptance. And here’s what I stand on that:
No. I do not accept it.

I acknowledge that Donald Trump is the President. I understand, intellectually, that he won the election. But I do not accept that our country has descended into the hatred-swirled slop pile that he lives in. I reject out of hand the notion that we have thrown up our hands and succumbed to racism, xenophobia, misogyny, and crypto-fascism. I do not accept that. I reject that. I fight that. Today, and tomorrow, and every day until the next election, I reject and fight that story. I work hard and I form ideas and I meet and talk to other people who feel like me, and we sit down and drink hot chocolate (I have plenty) and we plan. We plan like mofos. We figure out how to fight back, and do good in this infuriating world that constantly wants to bend toward the bad. And we will be kind to each other, and supportive of each other’s ideas, and we will do literally anything but accept this as our fate.

And let me say something to the young girls who are reading this. Hi, girls. On behalf of the grown-ups of America who care about you and your futures, I am awfully sorry about how miserably we screwed this up. We elected a giant farting T-Rex who does not like you, or care about you, or think about you, unless he is scanning your bodies with his creepy T-Rex eyes, or trying to physically grab you like a toy his daddy got him (or would have, if his daddy had loved him). (Sorry, that was a low blow.) (Actually, not sorry, I’m pissed, and I’m on a roll, so zip it, super-ego!) Our President-Elect is everything you should abhor, and fear, in a male role model. He has spent his life telling you, and girls and women like you, that your lives are valueless except as sexual objects. He has demeaned you, and belittled you, and put you in a little box to be looked at and not heard. It is your job, and the job of girls and women like you, to bust out.

You are going to run this country, and this world, very soon. So you will not listen to this man, or the 75-year-old, doughy-faced, gray-haired nightmare men like him, when they try to tell you where to stand or how to behave or what you can and cannot do with your own bodies, or what you should or should not think with your own minds. You will not be cowed or discouraged by his stream of retrogressive babble. You won’t have time to be cowed, because you will be too busy working and learning and communing with other girls and women like you, and when the time comes you will effortlessly flick away his miserable, petty misogynistic worldview like a fly on your picnic potato salad.

He is the present, sadly, but he is not the future. You are the future. Your strength is a million times his. Your power is a billion times his. We will acknowledge this result, but we will not accept it. We will overcome it, and we will defeat it.

Now find your team, and get to work.

Love,
Leslie

I don’t really know what you want in someone. 
So I’m insensitive. 
I won’t wake up early in the morning just to get breakfast with you. 
I’d tell you all kinds of bullshit when we fight.
I won’t really chase after you the way you want me to because I don’t give 2 fucks about our conflicts.
I don’t like having serious conversations with you and you’re annoying to talk to when you don’t make sense. 
I’ll probably get jealous over the smallest things and I’ll constantly want your attention because I have a 10 year old’s brain, most of the time. 
I don’t know how to sit still. I like to break things and do things that are stupid for girls to do. 
I don’t giggle over small jokes. I make inappropriate penis jokes in public and I can be loud enough to get us kicked out of a mall. 

But I guess I’m not all that bad. 
I mean, if you wanted someone to talk to until the sun came up, I’m down with that. 
Maybe even if you don’t wanna speak, we could just keep the phone on. 
If you wanted to run away on a weekday because of the shit life hands to you, you don’t even have to ask me. 
We can talk about the things you hate and I’d try to make you feel better about yourself because nothing is worth making you feel bad. 
I wouldn’t know how to make your coffee in the morning but I’d get you a box of colorful donuts when you’d tell me you were feeling gray. 
I can’t sit through sappy movies with you but we could get as high as you want to and I’d do all kinds of crazy shit with you. 
We could bust our asses and be stupid together. 
I’d steal little key chains and chocolate bars for you. 
I’d make you laugh until your stomach would start hurting because it’s okay to be stupid in front of you. 

I might not be girlfriend material, okay? 
I don’t really know what to say most of the time. 
But I’m really settled on staying with you. 
Even when you don’t want me around.