i 15

As April draws closer, I’m guessing a lot of us are tense. I know I am. Historically, a lot of copycat shootings happen in April. Most are caught because law enforcement has stepped up since eighteen years ago, but it’s reasonable to be especially nervous this time of year. It’s not only the eighteen-year anniversary, but also Eric Harris’s birthday, which I know has and will tick something people. I think it’s also interesting to note how many school shooters dressed in trench coats or heavy, dark clothes: Dylan and Eric, Adam Lanza, Kip Kinkel, Jason Dean (although fictional), the list could go on. 

One tip I’ve picked up from interviews is this: if you find yourself caught with no way out and are forced to wait until the coast is clear, play dead and cover yourself in blood. Do not move. This has proven to save countless survivors in the past.

Stay safe, make smart decisions, and when keeping Columbine in mind, speak of tragedy gently and respectfully; the family and community’s pain is still very raw, and always will be. Whether you believe there were thirteen or fifteen victims that day, Columbine and the survivors are never something to joke about, or characters you can manipulate.

Every time Apocalypse Noctis comes on my iPod I get motivated to draw something dynamic and epic and something way out of my drawing skill, then the song ends and Iose motivation and I end up with a doodle like this. Every damn time.

Since we’re looking at chronology in the fam recently, I reserve the right to believe that Selina can do the Shakira Shake, owned a studded belt, and knew all the moves to Ciara 1, 2 Step ft Missy Elliott.


Self-indulgent fanart for the fic A Change of Attire on A03. Don’t know if the author has a tumblr but if anyone knows if they do let me know! 

Also have no idea how Noctis would hold that camera with his chocobo hands but I’ll just say it’s through magic.

I honestly have no idea what to say right now. What could I possibly say? “My feelings, they’re a jumble.” And that is the understatement of the century. I return here now, after one of the most excruciatingly difficult nights of my existence. And what I am feeling in this moment is both utterly confusing and quite contradictory. I feel pain, devastation, and hopelessness. I don’t want to do anything. I don’t want to see anyone. And I cannot be more grateful to my past self for having the common sense to take the rest of the week off work. To have to face the world and the people in it this week- people who have no idea that my reason for existing took its final (for now) bow last night- I simply wouldn’t make it. My bed is my current sanctuary. And I never want to leave it.

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