grassy knolls

Setting Aesthetics for the Types

Based on people I know, stereotypes, and cognitive functions.

ENTP: A comic book store. The International Space Station. Old Faithful in Yellowstone National Park.
INTP: A museum at night. The Space Needle in Seattle. A telescope on an apartment rooftop.
ENTJ: A game of chess in the park. Pike’s Peak. The head of a long dining table at Thanksgiving.
INTJ: Physics and chemistry laboratories. Secret passageways in old buildings. A sealed vault.
ENFP: A poetry slam. Ancient Aztec ruins. A room full of decorative, metal-framed mirrors.
INFP: A window seat in a library. A small countryside chapel with stained glass windows. A canopy bed in a cluttered bedroom.
ENFJ: Making snow angels in a park. A birthday party with lots of balloons. A pay-per-view telescope at the beach.
INFJ: The Notre Dame Cathedral. Cloud watching on a grassy knoll. Watching the roe deer in the Hallerbos forest in Belgium.
ESTP: An arcade. Hang gliding over the Grand Canyon. Labeling arteries in a cadaver lab.
ISTP: On a motorcycle in the city at night. Sheer cliffs with waterfalls. Jigsaw puzzles by the fireplace.
ESTJ: The labyrinth of Versailles. Rehearsing in an empty auditorium. The top of the Statue of Liberty.
ISTJ: A subway station early in the morning. The archives of the Library of Congress. A well-worn path through twisted woods.
ESFP: Snorkeling at a coral reef. Fashion week in New York. A performance of Shakespeare at The Globe Theater.
ISFP: Botanical gardens. A blanket fort in the attic. The Santa Maria Cathedral in Florence, Italy.
ESFJ: A picnic in a park with kites. A bustling marketplace with fresh food and flowers. Feeding lorikeets at an aviary.
ISFJ: A petting zoo with baby goats. A meadow of wildflowers as far as the eye can see. Studying at a familiar coffee shop with a house band.


Anne Marie Hochhalter, 17 in 1999.
Anne Marie was outside eating lunch on the grassy knoll with two friends when the shooting began. At first she thought it was a joke but when she saw students getting shot in the legs, she realized it was for real. She tried to run to the safety of the cafeteria and was shot by Eric Harris once in the back and once in the chest. Paralyzed by a bullet that damaged her spinal cord and diaphragm (it was later found lodged in her liver), she collapsed, unable to move. She told investigators later that while she was playing dead she could hear one of the gunmen shouting orders to the other but couldn’t understand what they were saying. If rescue workers had been as little as two minutes slower in reaching her, she would have died. As such doctors later called her the “miracle girl”. She was later moved to Craig Hospital for spinal cord rehabilitation. She spent four months in the hospital.

Her mother Carla, who’d been diagnosed with depression committed suicide 6 months later, on October 22, 1999. The reports say she went to a pawn shop, bought a gun, loaded it and killed herself on the spot. She was pronounced dead at the hospital. Her father Ted remarried a year later, marrying one of the grief counselors he and Anne met.

Her 16 year old brother Nathan was also a student at Columbine. While the shooting occured, Nathan was trapped in a science room. Anne Marie underwent therapy at Craig Hospital with Patrick Ireland and resumed school Sept. 9 1999, taking one Physics class with him. Her family bought a house with wheelchair ramps and lifts with the help of Colorado Homebuilders Foundation. At age 18, she was attending Columbine part time and helped out in the nurse’s office in addition to taking classes. She wanted to go on to community college once she graduated but had planned to take the summer of 2000 off to “be a teen” since she’d lost that time the previous summer.
- acolumbinesite

Anne Marie Hochhalter made a facebook status on febuary 11 2016, where she wrote;

Dear Sue Klebold, I was injured at Columbine High School in 1999. As you know, your son Dylan, and his classmate, Eric Harris, killed 13 people and then themselves. You are releasing a book called, “A Mother’s Reckoning”, and are appearing tomorrow on the TV program 20/20 to talk about what happened and what your son did. I have only two instances to form an opinion on you and they are as follows:
1. You and your husband wrote me a letter a few months after I was paralyzed saying how sorry you were. It was genuine and personal. The Harris letter, on the other hand, was four sentences long on a folded up piece of paper, and was cold and robotic. To refresh your memory, your letter read like this:
“Dear Anne Marie,
Our prayers have been with you each day as we read about the terrible ordeal you and your family have experienced. We read that you had been transferred to Craig Hospital, and we were so thankful that you had progressed to the point where you could enter a rehabilitation facility. Though we have never met, our lives are forever linked through this tragedy that has brought unspeakable heartbreak to our families and our community. With deepest humility we apologize for the role our son, Dylan, had in causing the suffering you and your family have endured. Your recovery process will be a long and difficult road, and we hope that the support of people all over the world will help you find strength and courage as you meet the many challenges you have yet to face. When we read reports of your progress, we marvel at your resolve. It is still terribly difficult for us to believe that the son we knew could play a role in causing harm to you and others. The reality that he shared in the responsibility for this senseless tragedy is beyond our comprehension. We offer our love, support, and service as you and your family work to gain control over your lives. May God watch over you during your recovery process and beyond. May each day bring you successes, however small, that bring you hope and encouragement.
Sue and Tom Klebold.
2. I was contacted by ABC to comment for the 20/20 special and they told me that any proceeds from your book (aside from publisher’s costs) will go to helping those with mental illness. Six months after Columbine happened, my mother, Carla, committed suicide. She was already suffering from depression so the shootings didn’t directly cause her to do what she did, but it certainly didn’t help. It means a lot to me that you wouldn’t keep those proceeds for yourself, but to help others that suffer from mental illness.
I think it’s appropriate that the program that you are appearing on is named “20/20”. Hindsight is truly 20/20 and I’m sure you have agonized over what you could have done differently. I know, because I do the same thing with trying to think of ways I could have prevented my mother’s death. I have no ill-will towards you. Just as I wouldn’t want to be judged by the sins of my family members, I hold you in that same regard. It’s been a rough road for me, with many medical issues because of my spinal cord injury and intense nerve pain, but I choose not to be bitter towards you. A good friend once told me, “Bitterness is like swallowing a poison pill and expecting the other person to die.” It only harms yourself. I have forgiven you and only wish you the best.
Anne Marie Hochhalter.

Co-optional History
  • Totalbiscuit: Remember remember the 10th of November there's another shitty podcast on today that's how the rhyme goes if i recall correctly.
  • Crendor: As quoted by George Washington.
  • Totalbiscuit: Indeed in his famous speech atop the hill before he was shot by a man on a grassy knoll.
  • Crendor: Ghandi.
  • Totalbiscuit: Ghandi?.
  • Crendor: Ghandi shot him down.
  • Totalbiscuit: I don't think Ghandi was there i think you are misremembering that.
  • Dodger: I mean that's what we where taught.
  • Crendor: That was the civil war i thought it was the revolutionary war.
  • Totalbiscuit: Ah yes that was it, totally true.
  • Crendor: That was Lincoln that shot him down.
  • Totalbiscuit: Yeah.
  • Crendor: I always get my history mixed up.
  • Totalbiscuit: Ghandi is like "The confederacy is amazing" and Lincoln is like "Fuck you" and thats basically how the civil war happened.
  • Crendor: And then the vampires attacked.
  • Jesse: Im not sure that's what happened.
  • Dodger: Oh and yeah then the communist army came out of the sewers they had been underground for a really long time.
  • Totalbiscuit: Yeah the ratmen.
  • Crendor: That was World War 1.
  • Dodger: Oh god im sorry i get so confused.
  • Jesse: First of all everyone knows that Lucky Lindy flew the spirit of St.Lewis across the Atlantic with Amelia Earhart single handedly ending the civil war and causing the buycut of Chinese fish.
  • Totalbiscuit: I thought it was the Wright brothers.
  • Crendor: Me too.
  • Jesse: the Wright brothers where the guys who invented the hula hoop.
  • Crendor: Wow i didn't know that fact.
  • Totalbiscuit: We learn so much from this show.
  • Jesse: Yeah you should go to your history teacher and tell them everything you just learned.
  • Crendor: I only got D's in school.

We all know that Tom Riddle is incredibly intelligent and thinks highly of himself. So being in the possession of an eleven-year-old Ginny Weasley, must have been hell. Especially when she was writing a poem.

Ginny comes to him for help and Tom wishes he can headdesk because, ‘as a fresh pickled toad’ sounds hideous! And after she had bragged of Harry’s good looks.

But it would look suspicious if an 11 year old was writing something along the lines of, 'as verdant as a grassy knoll’. 

So Tom has to hold back the various unpleasant things he wants to say, and somehow curb her childish description of the conqueror of the Dark Lord.

He managed to slip a 'divine’ in there though.

JFK’s tragic assassination overshadows the fact that he represents a time when the physical embodiment of the American man’s libido was elected President. During his reign the White House doubled as the Playboy Mansion, with one former Secret Service agent commenting, “The sheer number of Kennedy’s sexual partners, and the recklessness of his use of them, escalated throughout his presidency.” Kennedy achieved peak bro by inviting high-class prostitutes – sometimes several at a time – to the Lincoln Bedroom to be “entertained.” And he liked to snap photos of their, uh, grassy knolls.

Now, when you’re leading the free world through the 1960s, you can’t just slink off down to the local Walgreens with your thumb drive and print off some glossies to hide under the bed. You can, however, get your longsuffering Secret Service agents to take your nude photos to an art gallery and have them framed … so that’s exactly what JFK did. No, seriously.

The 5 Pettiest Abuses Of Power In Presidential History

North Texas Gothic

You drive for hours. You’re still in Texas.

You’ve never been to Oklahoma. No one who goes there ever seems to come back.

They’re building a wall on the border. They say it will keep immigrants out, but you worry about what it is keeping in.

The tornado sirens go off at noon. The tornado sirens go off at noon. A tornado comes, and the sirens are silent. You wonder what they really warn for.

You’re trying to get from Irving to Plano. You end up in Deep Ellum. You’re trying to get from Fort Worth to Addison. You end up in Deep Ellum. You’re trying to get to Deep Ellum. You drive down the Grassy Knoll twice and go home.

There’s a new highway. There’s always a new highway. You get a bill in the mail from a toll road you’ve never heard of. You pay it, just in case.

Marching band members are dropping like flies from heat exhaustion. You judge their lack of commitment. Do they really have spirit? Do they?

Your high school football team loses every game. Everyone goes. There are no other options.

Why are the snow cones so good? You used to know someone who didn’t like them, but you don’t talk to them anymore.

You went to an out of state college. You wear a Longhorns t-shirt anyway, for protection.

You go to youth group on Wednesday, to see what it is about. You’re not what it is about. After ten years of church trips and bible camp, you finally escape by moving to the heathen Northwest.


Imagine: Dean teaching you how to handle the sniper rifle.

(Dean x Reader, Fluff!!)

You followed Dean up the grassy knoll. He had no trouble mounting the steep incline even with the long gun strapped over his shoulder. You struggled to keep up, trying to mask how winded you were every time he glanced behind. The sun broke through the trees above and Dean paused looking out of the forest. The last few steps, he had pulled himself over a five foot wall of mossy rock. You reached up trying to grab a branch for support. Dean reached down to grab your hand. With his help, you made it over the natural wall.

“You good?” He asked, hand lingering on your shoulder.

You nodded and he stood.

“Alright, well, we’re almost there, so hurry up.”

You smiled. His gruff demeanor not even registering past your excitement. His hand slid down your back resting on the curve before finally moving out of reach. You pushed to keep up with him, falling into his hurried pace, letting the fabric of your jackets over your arms brush as you walked. He paused at the crest, dropping the gun off his shoulder and shrugging out of his jacket. He rolled his shoulder where the strap rested. His black shirt clung to skin with the perspiration of the hike. He remained oblivious to your gaze crouching to the ground and squinting into the distance.

“Alright,” He unzipped the case around the sniper rifle pulling the gun out. The well maintained metal gleamed in the midday light. He pointed at the scope. “This is the scope, this is the upper receiver… recoil pad… pistol grip… and you aren’t listening to anything I’m saying are you?”

Your eyes snapped from where his finger traced the gun. It was difficult to concentrate when you had rare unrestricted viewing access to his arms. You smiled guiltily. “I just wanna shoot the big gun already.”

He sighed, but the corners of his mouth twitched up. “Fine. C’mon.”

He spread his jacket on the grass and motioned you towards him. You kneeled down awkwardly as he shifted to his elbows lying flat on his stomach in the grass just off his jacket. He patted the fabric silently directing you to copy his position. You fell on your forearms relaxing your hips against the ground. Dean reached over you, chest pressing against your shoulder and back as he moved the rifle in front of you. You ducked your head as he lowered his making sure the sight was aligned. His breath washed over your hair as he did. Heat crept under your collar and your heart began to race. He shifted to your side, his shoulder squeezed against yours, face inches away.

“Okay, you wanna look out to where we’re shooting.” He nodded down the incline to where he set up a row of targets earlier. “Line the gun up as much as possible, then try to find it in the scope.”

Your eyes narrowed searching out the blur below. You aimed the tip of the gun in line with the blur in the middle, then sank down to look through the scope. You were met with a circle of grass. You moved slightly to the right. The picture blurred, objects whizzing. You moved back unable to find anything but grass. You frowned moving back from the scope.

“I can’t see anything…” You admitted reluctantly.

“That’s alright. Try again.” You sighed. Chewing the inside of your cheek you repositioned the gun. “That’s right. Now barely shift it in a direction.”

You nudged it a fraction. A target appeared and disappeared in an instant. You nudged it back. Finding nothing, but grass you huffed pulling back to shoot Dean a pleading pout. He chuckled. You rolled on your side as he slid over. He repositioned the rifle, then carefully moved on his side gesturing for you to take place. You rolled to your stomach cautiously, taking care not to disturb the gun. You settled on your arms peering down the scope where a target was fixed neatly in the crosshairs. Instead of moving away, Dean pressed against you. His hand rested between your shoulderblades eliciting a tingling sensation down your spine. When he spoke, his voice was low and gravelly, breath warming your ear.

“Okay, now focus…” His voice was near a whisper. “Keep it steady.”

You wrapped your hand over the pistol grip, finger hovering over the trigger. With each thump of your heart the crosshair bounced.

“It keeps moving.” You whispered back.

“Try to relax. Slow your heart rate, take long, slow breaths…” He suggested, hand slipping to the small of your back.

You took a deep breath, but your ears burned from the heat radiating off his lips and your nerves were tight anticipating stimulation from his fingers resting on your spine. You heart thumped in your chest keeping the crosshair moving despite your best efforts to ignore it. You attempted exhaling a long steadying breath. Your finger squeezed the trigger. Instantly, a crack reverberated through the air. The surprise and excitement muffled the pain of the gun kicking back into your shoulder. It took a few seconds, before the pain bloomed in your arm. You fell against dean dramatically, your head resting on his forearm.

“Oh Jesus Christ, that was loud!” You exclaimed louder than anticipated. “Did I hit it?”

“You’re a few miles off. And what did you expect, Y/n? It’s a sniper rifle.”

“Yeah… sniper rifle. It’s suppose to be sneaky and quiet.”

He nodded to where your hand clutched your shoulder. “You okay?”

You began to deny the pain, then stopped smirking up at him. “Why? Are you going to kiss it all better?”

He looked up to where the targets were in the distance, a smile brightening his face, unable to shrug off your teasing. He shook his head in amusement dropping his gaze to yours, then your lips. He shifted, his leg slipping between yours as he braced himself over you. He studied your eyes for a moment watching as pupils dilated and breath hitched in your throat. He seemed to consider something. You were afraid he was going to pull away when he leaned down. His lips melded against yours, softly, intimately… drawing butterflies in your stomach and lust between your legs in equal measures. Your hands fisted the fabric of his shirt, back instinctively arching to deepen the kiss, but he kept the speed slow and deliberate until light burst behind your lids. He pulled back leaving you breathless.

“Better?” He teased gently.

“Are you going to do that every time I shoot?” You asked wrapping your arms around his neck.

He smirked. “Imagine what I’ll do if you actually hit the target.”

Today is a day for lovers
And according to a song, Ohio is also for lovers

I’ve never been to Ohio

I could stare forever, studying your eyes though

Blued steel with specks of grey and flakes of gold

I wonder what the colour of yours say about your soul?

That it is wild and free, like a hawk flying over a grassy knoll?

Maybe it tells how there’s endless warmth under that the silence that so many take for cold?

I look at you at dawn and I can finally see beauty, of that I am certain.

Early morning light dappled with shade from the curtain

Darling, you look half enchanted when your hair meets the Sun’s rays, mouth in a half smile as you stir to greet the day.

I never want to stop feeling this way.

Enchanted yet not enraptured

Intrigued and not enamoured

Beguiled without the glamour

These slow and lazy days remind me how you make my life so much the gladder.

Daniel Lee Rohrbough was heading out of the cafeteria that morning with friends Lance Kirklin and Sean Graves when the shooters opened fire down the grassy knoll outside the school’s west entrance. There was no warning for Danny and no chance, He was felled by shots to the abdomen and left leg. Lance tried to catch him but was shot as well. Moments later Dylan Klebold shot him again at point-blank range in the chest. He bled to death on the sidewalk outside the school where he lay for nearly 2 days before paramedics were allowed to move him.

For the ones we love, we must sacrifice..

Based on the imagine: Imagine dating one of Elronds twins and him pleading with you to break up with his son because he saw your death in the future and doesn’t want his son to be heart broken on Imaginexhobbit

Characters: Elladan. Elrond. minor Elrohir and Arwen ( But arwen is a kick ass lil sis!).

Words: 3303

Authors note: Sad ending; if you are like me and don’t like to read them, then avoid this like a person with the plague.

The breezy halls of Imladris were erupting with activity as the midday sun cast its rays upon the happy house. School children had been released to cause chaos and ran about the grassy knolls without a care. Elves and Elleths alike could be seen slacking from their duties . Some read books under the trees, some picnicked with their friends. Even the ever working Lindir could be seen dragging his feet and lingering, but no one would believe of such an occurrence if they were told. 

The guards and warriors not on duty could be heard fighting on one of the performance platforms. A few of the fatigued and defeated guards sat with feet dangling over the edge of the raised platform, water goblets in hand and shirts unbuttoned or discarded. The few pairs fighting seemed to quickly lose their vigor and motivation and gave into a stalemate. The lazy day atmosphere seemed to be hitting them too.

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Reunion AU: Injury

Hannibal watched his omega calculatingly, noting the bright flush of anger in Will’s cheeks. He’d chased the omega relentlessly, causing Will to drop his beloved stuffed rabbit into a mud puddle.

He backed them onto a patch of soft grass, and began to shove lightly at his omega’s shoulder, further aggravating Will by blocking any retreat.

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In honor of Odat’s B-day...


Huge shout out to khaleesimaka for helping me out with this!

“Sooooul,” she whines at the bottom of the grassy knoll they’ve inhabited. “Could you get me some more of that wolfsbane over there. I can’t move.”

What on earth had he gotten himself into? All he was supposed to do was rescue a princess from a dragon for the prince. He wasn’t planning on the princess being the beast, nor was he prepared for months of servitude under said beast. Everyday with the female dragon was a hell of an experience with many surprises. Like now–he thought to himself. How on earth is it possible that something as terrifying as a giant fire-breathing lizard; a be-header of all things autocratic; could overjoy in scarfing down dandelion flowers and toadflax by the pound.

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Farming is nothing new to Kansas. But now it’s drawing in a new community that’s trying to bridge the divide between life in another country and one in the United States.

In the midst of boxy yellow and brown public housing, beyond the highway and past empty grain elevators, sits Juniper Farm. It’s spread over nine acres on the Kansas side of Kansas City.

As their children play on the grassy knoll behind us, four women sit at a plastic picnic table speaking in Karen, a language spoken in parts of Myanmar.

They’re students at a program called New Roots for Refugees. The program aims to teach the basics and business of farming to refugees over the course of four years. At the end, many of the graduates are ready to start farms of their own.

Refugees Plant The Seeds Of A New Community In Kansas City

Photo: Oluwakemi Aladesuyi/NPR