crap journalism

My eyes are red and puffy and I’ve cried so much that the tears are starting to sting my cheeks and even when I wipe them away there’s still more, they don’t end. I’m curled up and my chest is constricting and my body is shaking and my hands are turning white at the knuckles, trying to get a grip but I’m slipping and there’s nothing to stop me. This is a different kind of fall, one that’s not physical. It’s the kind of fall where your mind loses itself and your heart feels like it’s shattered and everything is slipping from your control. And nothing’s okay anymore, and when everything crashes down from the cliff that you’ve been thrown from, all you see is the chaos, the shattered remnants of who you used to be. And who you are now is nothing but a broken version, with missing parts and too many problems to ever be okay again.
—  Excerpt from a book I’ll never write #9

I know that I’ll never be as important to you as you are to me. I understand that I’ll always care more than you do. I get that I’ll never be enough to make you stay.

But that doesn’t mean I’m not dying inside because of it.

—  Sadly, I know

04.08.17 // Layout in the making 🌿

I just checked out Milk and Honey by Rupi Kaur, and goodness that book is beautiful. I’m running out of magazine clippings for my bujo, but can’t seem to find any decent magazines anywhere. Who would have thought that it would be so difficult to find used magazines??

Do you want to know a weird fact about me? I am obsessed with journaling. I write entries in my journals every single day.

And the only brand of journals I will buy are from a brand called paperblanks. And. Oh man. Oh man. Their journals are so BEAUTIFUL and AMAZING but also kinda EXPENSIVE. I have spent HUNDREDS on trying to collect every style journal they have made.

I have four more on the way.

Help me. My family is dying.

Cherry Bomb - A Bughead Fanfic Part 1/??

ok ok so I saw this post and well… this is lowkey my first fanfic, so if this even gets any views, lemme know if it’s trash (it really is trash). ALSO I FEEL LIKE IT SUCKS SO THIS IS KIND OF EMBARRASSING I’M SORRY.

p.s. - I love bughead. that is all.



Jughead clunked down the rickety steps of his hammered father’s crappy trailer, sighing heavily. His body felt like a worn rag that had once been wet, but all of the liquid had just been wringed out of him, coiling him up tightly, before leaving him with nothing but threads and fragments of worthless cloth, strung high and dry. It was a numbing feeling, something so hollow that even the sun in his eyes couldn’t bring forth any recognition that there was a living occupant in his vacant shell of a body.

The thing that hurt the most was that it didn’t even surprise him anymore, it wasn’t a shock to open that door and find the habitat of a drunken caveman who reeked of beer and broken dreams. The clothes and nameless items that had been scattered in either aimless notion or an inebriated rampage weren’t an unfamiliar sight. That was the worst part, the defeated state of giving up, of realizing that Jug’s father was - and has been for the most recent years of his adolescence - a lost cause. That slim, but helplessly ever-so-present, optimism snapped in half years ago, crumbling like a stale pastry beneath the weight of so much worthless hope.

Ever since that distinguishing moment, Jug’s frame displayed his fatigue - the constantly weary and disheveled look he always wore, just like the yarn beanie  which rested atop his head like a crown for the broken. His shoulders remained slightly slouched, the signs of many sleepless nights lodged itself just beneath his hurricane eyes that brewed a never ending storm. The pink and purple creases beneath his impenetrably far off eyes stood stark in contrast of his pale skin, yet the habitual chugging of nearly burnt coffee practically every morning would help mask this over - paint a prettier picture - since no one ever seemed to like the truth.

A curl wormed its dazed way before the boy’s slate grey vision, temporarily blinding him of the gravel beneath his boot-covered feet. The humidity seemed to rise as the tussling stray rocks crunched beneath him, before making a shooting escape from beneath his soles as they darted away - projected by his weight. Jughead lifted his dull gaze to the sky for two reasons: 1) to shoo that goddamned stray lock from his eye, and 2) to determine the forecast like the amaetur meteorologist he was. He wondered whether it would rain, the winding roads claimed by the South Side Serpents were always slicker, and much harder to navigate on his banged up steed, than with dry terrain.

While the only person who truly knew the deep dark despairs of the one and only Jughead were simply himself, and his piece of crap journal. The thing could barely be constituted as a diary, considering how exteriorly damaged the leather-skinned booklet was - torn to shreds, to the point of peeling. Yet, the trashed object was his only prized possession (aside from his beanie, of course) and it always was there to console him when no one else was - especially when his father relied heavily on his best friend, beer. FP swam in ale in order to drown his sorrows, yet the consequences always gave him a good kick in the gut, piling on more problems, hence leading to another round of drinks. It’s an endless game of hide and seek - FP hid in booze, his issues tracked him down until they were solved, but they never were.

Despite all of the following, Jughead managed to keep a somewhat steady leeway at school. Since the raven-haired boy grew up on the South Side, he grew accustomed to the Serpent way. As long as you stuck up for yourself and “don’t take shit from nobody,” (one of FP’s favorite phrases) you were good to go. Jughead most certainly wouldn’t have made it if it weren’t for the fact that his father was the leader of the Serpents (though he doesn’t like to admit it), he had too kind of a soul for the expectations that were meant to be upheld as a Serpent. So, Jughead learned. He was beat down, bullied by the others, but FP didn’t put up with it. Jughead had to stand up for himself, and he did, but only by his father’s rough pressure (which he claimed the kid would thank him for later).

Still, Jug pulled through, and somehow earned himself a respective slot in the social class during high school. And maybe, just maybe, the other teens respected him because of his father. Not only did he have friends, but girls seemed to really dig his brooding, bad boy look. While the other boys had similar style (all of them pretty much along the lines of bad boys), Jughead had this kind of look about him, as if he couldn’t give a shit if the world ended that day or not, and truthly, he didn’t. However, the suggestion always seemed to be enough for the ladies, and Jughead would play along. The chase always gave him a distraction from reality - the really shitty situation he was stuck in and couldn’t seem to get out of - he couldn’t move because he didn’t have enough money. He was practically dead to the rest of his family, Mom and Jellybean didn’t want him around, he was just another unwanted dead weight - a reminder of the past.

So, he distracted himself with girls, hooking up with them for game. He didn’t do it unless they were okay with it though, assuring that all they wanted was a fling. He couldn’t commit to a real relationship, and he made sure everyone was aware of it. The bursts of heat and pleasure allowed himself to let go for a while, distance himself from his current situation. The only other outlet he had that gave him temporary piece of mind was writing, in his shredded companion, of course. That’s really what he spent doing, writing in his small journal, tracking down girls like a hound, or doing random, slightly illegal, tasks for the Serpents - most of which his father forced him into (drunk or sober).

This day, Jughead decided to ride over to Pop’s for his daily coffee. He enjoyed relaxing and jotting down things in his journal - some days what he wrote was about his life, other times about someone else’s. As he arrived after nearly hydroplaning off the slick roads on his way to the diner, Jughead parked his bike in one of the open spots near the entrance beside another pair of motorcycles - probably belonging to a couple of his Serpent pals. He walked inside, being automatically greeted with some hoots and hollers from the other Serpent teens sitting in one of the booths. He didn’t bother going up to the counter, they already knew his order by heart since he practically recited it to them every day since freshman year. So, he waltzed over to his “pack,” plopping himself down next to one of the members. They all greeted him with a slap on the back or a slapping high five, causing him to grin.

Jughead lifted his gaze to the door as the jingling of the bell promised another person’s entry - a person who took Jug’s breath away. A gorgeous blonde shuffled through the entrance, her long lengs guiding her to the counter where she began to speak to the employee. He couldn’t look away, his stormy eyes trained on her pink lips as they moved fluidly, emitting the words which formed a sentence that Jughead’s hazy mind couldn’t process - too enveloped by the abrupt appearance of the beautiful girl. He couldn’t believe he’d never seen this gal before, or at least, he couldn’t remember it. There’s a good chance that they actually had met before, but as babies, minds too new and fresh to comprehend anything put before them. Or maybe their parents knew each other from way way back, everyone knew everyone in the tiny town of Riverdale.

As the new girl took her seat at the booth three rows in front of him. Jughead caught himself, realizing that he’d been staring for far too long. He jerked his gaze away, but he was hooked like a fish, unable to yank himself away from the magnetic appeal of her features. She caught his misty gaze, sensing his eyes on her. Emerald green met cadet grey. Something shifted within both of them, but neither would feel it until it was too late to go back. A pounding on his back and a whisper-shout in his ear shook Jughead out of his own brain.

“Ooooh, looks like little Juggies has a crush on the blonde,” Jeff, one of the boys murmured not-so-quietly, his toothy grin saying it all.

Jughead shook his head, but couldn’t hide his shit-eating grin at the thought of actually speaking to the model. All the boys seemed to become even more rowdy if possible, as one of them got a seemingly wonderful idea.

“Dude, who wants to bet that Jug can charm that broad and get her to slum it with ‘em in three days?” Tom asked, the biggest brute of the entire group.

Everyone was enthused by the idea, resulting in another uproar of laughter and boyish commotions. Jughead even enjoyed the idea a bit himself, the prospect of meeting her got his blood boiling and his heart thumping. Someone who worked at the diner set his mug on the table with a soft clink. The steaming cup of coffee reflected what he felt - a burning desire. He had to get this girl, he had to charm her, he knew he could. He didn’t want to hurt her feelings though, so maybe he would spend time with her and simply tell the boys that he did - even if it was a little white lie.

Numerous uplifting things were announced by the boys - most of which sounded like they should come from a coach’s mouth - as they shoved Jughead out of the booth. They all patted him on the back reassuringly, attempting to boost his confidence and self-esteem. He made his way over to the blonde slowly, drawing her attention as he perched himself on the empty bench across from her. She lifted her gaze, raising a perfectly shaped eyebrow in inquiry, as she inspected him closer. Before either one of them could say a word, Jughead swiftly reached across the table that was bolted to the floor and snatched the girl’s cherry which was placed on the top of her strawberry milkshake. Jughead was known for his smooth moves and sly pickup lines, but little did he know that Betty wasn’t one for that.

“Hey! You stole my cherry,” Betty snapped, her face changing to quick anger, lips downturning to an agitated frown.

“That’s one thing checked off my ‘To Do List.’ Now I just need to pop your cherry,” Jughead decreed, that cocky smirk playing on his mouth once more.

Betty’s eyebrows rose even further, her green eyes widening at his suggestive words and conceited tone. She leaned in a bit, playing along.

“Oh, yeah?” Betty implored, wondering just how long she could toy him along with this.

“That’s right. What’s your name, baby?” Jughead questioned, entranced by her natural beauty, which happened to be even more stunning up close. He tried not to give off just how nervous he was, keeping his hands under the table to hide just how badly they were shaking.

“That’s really none of your business, but you can tell your buddies over there that it’s Betty. I’m sure they’re going to want a name for the girl who embarrassed the hell out of you to tell the story later on,” Betty elaborated in a sickly sweet voice, laced with poison meant to kill.

Her smile said otherwise, reflecting the cheeky smirk Jughead had been wearing before. As he processed her words, his face shifted from arrogant to confused. Betty took the opportunity to stand up, pour her milkshake on his crotch, and strut out of Pop’s. An appalled Jughead was left sitting there, his jeans wet, his dignity completely gone. His heart, however, had walked out the door in Betty’s hand. He was definitely going to make her his, whether it was three days, or three years, that was it. Betty and Jughead were endgame, and that was the one thing Jughead was sure of. The crowd of teens came jumbling up to Jughead, shouting and guffawing at his milkshake coated pants. Jughead just sat there, displaying a broad smile, totally dumbstruck - a rare sight indeed.

"Songs of the Spirit Hunt"

More pseudo-academic fanfiction inspired by ghostfiish‘s thing inspired by my other thing so basically this is turning into a ouroborus of science fiction, pesudo-academia, and hot ghost-aliens.

Private notes of Dr. Rubert Haldeman, Phantom Expedition

Day 15:

Adjusting here has been a challenge. The longer days remind me a lot of working on my thesis off-world; just stims and busywork until I finally adjust to the new solar cycle…or have a small psychotic episode. Again.

What’s really proving to be difficult are the temperature extremes. I thought that semester in Stellegarra was rough, but here the days are long and sweltering, then the nights dip so low that snowfall isn’t uncommon- and it’s supposed to be summer, here.

The halphas don’t seem to notice much either way. They go about in those light, thin leotards that leave too much skin bare whether it’s fifty celsuis or frost starts clinging to their hair. Aderyn just about cracked a rib laughing when he saw me bundled up in heavy winter gear for the first time. Just floated right in front of me, curled into a ball clutching himself trying to breath again.

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studyingroses' Bullet Journal Guide

I FINALLY DID THIS. IT TOOK LIKE TWO MONTHS BUT HERE IT IS. A while back someone requested that I do a guide for how I create my bujo spreads and after much procrastination, I’ve finally put it together! So here we go… 

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“Perhaps he can yet prove his worth to me. Perhaps the mistake of the past can be undone.”

“I’m giving you the chance to do the first worthwhile thing in your life and you wouldn’t even listen!”

“Stanley Pines was the man who saved the world, not me. I spent so long thinking he was a selfish jerk, and he turned out to be the most selfless man I’ve ever met in any dimension. If I’m totally honest, I must admit he’s a hero and I’m… a hero’s brother. And I’m okay with that.

I’m literally crying for two fictional old men, what has my life become

Watch the speedpaint here!

anonymous asked:

I totally agree with you! Organizing really helps with my anxiety, but "organizing tips" are given by people who don't really get anxiety. I try to keep it low key like a weekly to-do list (in case you have a bad day) or a list of things that are constantly running through my mind or a list of questions I want to ask somebody.

I was watching a video today where someone whose videos I love (and no shade) talked about organization and how they thought bullet journals were crap because you spend more time organizing than doing. And while that can definitely be true for me, I find that the process of making the pages look nice and colorful is super calming and an act of self care for me. Similar to people who would use adult coloring books. It’s an act of mindfulness in a way.