tbh i love being corny and able to celebrate love im so bored of glamourising negativity theres nothing cool about apathy i fight so hard every day to be better than that finding beauty in small things is what keeps u going
Yall remember that time Clarke fell completely in love with Bellamy, then Bellarke became a canon romantic ship & Bellamy was loved so much that even a year after his death he’s still able to trend worldwide for hours and hours with 130k tweets :D
Stiles is walking home from Scott’s house when he feels the
hairs on the back of his neck rise. The streetlights overhead begin to flicker
before the bulbs go out, immersing the street in darkness. Stiles turns around but
he was too late.
He feels his legs being wrenched from beneath him, a cry
tearing at his throat as he falls to the ground. He claws at the earth, his
fingers raking across concrete and dirt as the creature drags him into the
forest. He thrashes about and kicks himself free of the beast’s hold. He
scrambles to his feet, stumbling as he ran as fast as he could away from the
He feels the creature’s claws tear through his bag, pulling it
from his back and tossing it aside before chasing after Stiles.
Stiles trips and falls down an incline, hitting the ground
with a painful thud. He finds himself immersed in a world of darkness and
decay, but he didn’t have the chance to dwell on his thoughts; the creature is
closing in. He scrambles to his feet and runs.
The next morning, Claudia wakes up to find her son missing;
his bed not slept in, his school books still sitting on his desk and his
lacrosse gear by the door. She begins to panic and runs to the Sheriff’s office
to tell them that Stiles is missing, but no one believes her because of her
dementia. Sheriff Stilinski tries to calm his wife down and takes her home,
promising that he’ll look for Stiles and telling her that there’s probably nothing
to worry about; Stiles might have just slept over at Scott’s for the night.
Sheriff Stilinski goes to the school to look for his son,
but he’s not there. He pulls Scott aside and asks him if he’s seen Stiles but
Scott says he hasn’t seen him since he left to go home last night. Sheriff
Stilinski begins to worry. He calls out a search party and rumours quickly
spread that Stiles ran away from home. That is, until the search party stumbles
upon something in the woods: Stiles’ backpack, torn and discarded.
I love Dookie because it’s an album about being bored and panicked and mad and confused written by a bunch of 20 somethings around 20 years ago and now I’m a 20 something too and the album still feels relevant and reminds me that I’m not alone in feeling anxiety/apathy/anger/aaaAAA
a guy at work who’s taken to hanging around me when I’m on break, who likes to act like he’s earned the right to me in my personal space, who’s added me on facebook because I couldn’t think of a polite way to say no, this guy -
he tells me that I talk a lot but don’t message him back very much. he says it like an accusation, like it’s my fault that he’s never sent me anything more interesting than a deadpool gif. how does he expect me to make a conversation out of that? why am I the one responsible on that?
and how can he say I talk a lot, when ¾ of our conversations are him talking about himself? he’s never asked me anything more personal than what time I get off work. I know about his family, his garden, his new house, his cats. what does he know about me? that I humor him, probably, and what else does he need?
I’m waiting at the bus stop after work and another man I work with joins me. he makes a little small talk, which I return, and then I go back to reading my book. he laughs and says he’s sorry for distracting me when I’m trying to read, but that doesn’t stop him from doing it again. and again. and again. and again. in the twenty minutes it takes the bus to finally arrive.
he asks what I’m reading but is talking over me before I finish telling him, nodding and saying how cool it is before I even get to the good part. he asks if I have a boyfriend, laughs when I say that I don’t and like it that way. he tells me how boring being an adult is when you’re single as if he expects me to relate, as if I don’t love being single, as if admitting that he’s too boring to entertain himself will somehow make him so attractive that I volunteer to do it for him.
this is not a desire for me but for my time or attention or vagina or whatever. my actual essential self is more or less secondary.