making this hole thing was a pain

Sorry.
Sorry means you feel the pulse of other people’s pain as well as your own, and saying it means you take a share of it. And so it binds us together, makes us trodden and sodden as one another. Sorry is a lot of things. It’s a hole refilled. A debt repaid. Sorry is the wake of misdeed. It’s the crippling ripple of consequence. Sorry is sadness, just as knowing is sadness. Sorry is sometimes self-pity. But Sorry, really, is not about you. It’s theirs to take or leave.
Sorry means you leave yourself open, to embrace or to ridicule or to revenge. Sorry is a question that begs forgiveness, because the metronome of a good heart won’t settle until things are set right and true. Sorry doesn’t take things back, but it pushes things forward. It bridges the gap. Sorry is a sacrament. It’s an offering. A gift.

binders

i personally use a binder for every class except one (mostly bc i like binders and some teachers require them hehe) you could decorate it to make it pretty or put useful guides in the clear cover pocket so you can glance at your binder rlly quickly before a test starts. anyways, some problems with binders are that papers often get shoved in without a single thought or the holes rip.

use plastic pocket tab dividers.
they should sell these at your average store. they’re basically tab dividers that have pockets to put stuff in. this can be very helpful for the things that you get that aren’t already hole-punched or you can’t hole punch them.
you should divide your binder up into categories such as homework, handouts, notes, etc. it makes your binder so much neater and helps you find things faster too.

get a hole-puncher
it is a pain to drag around a binder filled with unpunched papers and even if you do have pocket tab dividers, they have their limits. i have a portable 3 hole-puncher that you can place on your binder rings and it was like $2 usd.
if it’s something that you can hole-punch (margins are big enough, you can keep the thing, you want it in your binder, etc), then hole-punch it and stick it in before you lose it.

label your binder
most binders have a pocket on the spine. make a paper strip that fits the size and label that thing. all of my binders are white, so it’s difficult for me to tell which one is which right away. labels help so so much. put your name, class, period, and fun doodles on it if you wish.

folders

downside of binders: they can get heavy
how to fix that: i use folders

folders are great for classes that don’t require a lot of handouts, assignments, etc. i carry around folders for subjects like math and then file graded assignments and what not into a binder at home. this is so so much lighter than carrying 219246321 binders / expandable files.

as for me, i just carry around a general “homework” folder that has notebook paper, graph paper, and my homework. i find that it’s helpful to have all of my homework in one place, but tbh having a folder for each subject is probably more organized hehe. i have separate folders for classes like ap hugs or principles of design, tech, and engineering because the amount of handouts i get from those classes clutters up my homework folder.

pls pls for ur sanity, label your folders. get different colors or something. figure out a way to quickly differentiate between your calculus folder and your chemistry folder. it would be terrible to go to class and realize that you brought your literature folder instead of your math folder or something.

expandable files

these are like the mom of folders; folders upgraded; a family of folders

the nice thing about these is that you don’t have to get anything hole-punched, you already have stuff divided + tabs for you, and it’s pretty easy to organize.
some people like having one expandable file for their entire day while others like to have one for each subject. it all depends on you and your preferences.

it’s kinda like organized shoving.
graded homework? shove it in tab 3. syllabus? shove it in tab 1.
just make sure that you don’t shove stuff in with too much excitement (or laziness or you just want to get out of that class sooner) because the papers can get wrinkled and all folded up and possibly ripped. and nobody likes that, right?

i personally didn’t like it bc i was too lazy to undo the little loop thing and open the thing up bahahahhaha. also, i think i would’ve broken the loop at one point during the school year. but it’s portable, it’s easy to use, and there’s not much to fuss about it.

hope this helped and good luck! if you’d like to request a post, go here and if you’d like to see more helpful posts, go here!! thanks :)

HOLE FAQ

I have a hundred questions all asking a lot of the same things. To review.

I developed an infected carbuncle on my back. It hurt a lot. A LOT.

A carbuncle is basically a large lump under the skin filled with infected fluids. If the bacteria enters the blood stream it can be very serious. Thus, it must be removed. 

I had to go to the hospital for several days. 

The doctor had to surgically remove all of the infected bits. The infection was large so he kept having to make the hole bigger and bigger until all of the infection was removed. 

The infection is likely from diabetes and my poor immune system.

I am in much less pain than before the operation, but it still hurts. I have painkillers. 

I am taking powerful antibiotics to make sure the infection does not return. 

The hole is clean and free of infection. I have special soap that I clean it with in the shower. It will not kill me if it is exposed for a short period of time. Normally it is packed with moist sterile gauze and then covered and taped. 

I have nurses that come and check on my wounds every couple of days.

The hole could not be stitched and closed because of its size. It also needs to drain. 

The hole will heal in a few weeks. It will take much, much longer to close up. It will have a nasty scar. 

I hope that answers most of the questions. 

Sorry means you feel the pulse of other people’s pain as well as your own, and saying it means you take a share of it. And so it binds us together, makes us trodden and sodden as one another. Sorry is a lot of things. It’s a hole refilled. A debt repaid. Sorry is the wake of misdeed. It’s the crippling ripple of consequence. Sorry is sadness, just as knowing is sadness. Sorry is sometimes self-pity. But Sorry, really, is not about you. It’s theirs to take or leave.
—  Craig Silvey, Jasper Jones

“10 things I learned when he left me.
1. Smoking 3 packs of cigarettes a day won’t numb the pain.
2. Your friends will do anything to distract you from missing hin but the only thing you’ll be thinking about is him.
3. Checking if he’s online all the time will only remind you that he’ll never call again.
4. Don’t listen to music for a while because every damn song will remind you of him.
5. Kissing strangers won’t fill the hole he left in you.
6. Being drunk almost everyday won’t help you to forget him.
7. Seeing him with someone else will make you wanna throw up. But you’ll turn around and act like you didn’t see him holding her hand, because it’s been almost 6 months and people expect you to be over it by now.
8. Hearing someone say his name will make you ache.
9. You’ll want to scream when you see how pretty she is.
10. Blocking his number and deleting every picture of him won’t help you forget what happened and how much you loved him.”

- It’s you, forever, T.

4

Chat Noir is finally done!

His base doll is a Deuce Gorgon, which means I had to take off the snakes and scales, fill holes, and root from there. 

His costume was all hand made by myself, and the zipper is a functional zipper, as is the bell which will jingle if you poke it. The belt-tail is also posable. The ears were left over from my Val custom and I just set those into a headband. 

His hair was the biggest pain, as it’s not a style that translates the best to rooted hair. All things considered I think I got decently close. Overall I’m pretty happy with him. 

As for whether I’ll make Ladybug, depends on if I find the right base doll as I might not’ve made him if I hadn’t had the base doll already lying about. 

paschalthebae  asked:

Laurent having nightmares and trouble sleeping and maybe Damen waking him up, but just talking, not touching, because of past incidents where Laurent didn't realize who was touching him and also fluff? ☺️

“Laurent, wake up. It’s just me. There is nobody else here. Laurent.”

There is sweat on Laurent’s brow and his throat. He is breathing erratically, with creases of pain on his lovely face. Damen’s chest feels as though he has swallowed a bowl of burning soup; he has to move quickly, when Laurent’s entire upper body jerks to the side, in order to avoid Laurent touching him. He raises his voice, but keeps it steady. Calm.

“Wake up. It’s a dream. Laurent.”

The sound Laurent makes as his eyes fly open is the worst thing that Damen has ever heard. Damen looks down at his clenched hands, tight and aching with futile anger, and sees that he has ripped a hole in the sheet.

Laurent’s ribcage is heaving. He fumbles with his left hand and takes hold of his right shoulder, over the thick knot of scar tissue. His blue eyes are still dazed, but the mist is clearing from them, moment by moment.

“You’re safe,” Damen says. “We both are.”

Laurent closes his eyes again. Damen doesn’t move. He watches the shivers subside, and the breaths come more evenly through Laurent’s parted lips.

After a short while, Laurent extends one hand, blindly, in Damen’s direction, sliding it palm-upwards on the sheets. Damen picks it up in both of his own and holds Laurent’s fingers against his own closed lips. All of him is longing to do more, do gather Laurent entirely into his arms, to kiss him until the sour fright is gone and there’s nothing left in their minds but pleasure. But this isn’t about what Damen wants.

Laurent’s cool gaze finds him.

“It could have been worse,” Laurent says. “The night after we fought, at Marlas, I dreamed I killed you. I’ve been waiting to have that one again.”

Damen tightens his grip before he can think better of it, but Laurent doesn’t seem to mind. His own fingers tighten as well, and he uses their joined hands as an anchor to haul himself closer, his silvery moonlit head invading Damen’s pillow with calm entitlement. He rests a foot over Damen’s ankle, settles his face in the hollow of Damen’s neck and exhales.

Damen has dreamt of the flogging post, and of Laurent’s hand around his on the hilt of a knife angled towards Laurent’s heart; Laurent’s arrogant gaze commanding him, and Damen helplessly obeying. Blood spilling between Laurent’s full lips.

He wraps one arm around Laurent, holding him close. He leaves the other between them, fingers tangled through Laurent’s, until Laurent settles back into sleep.

Sweeter

Jason x reader

Part 1 here


It hurt waking up.

The light filtering through the buildings dazzled you; it made your skin burn and stung your eyes. Your mind was still fuzzy and what happened last night looked almost like a blank space to you, though the pain in your body seemed to remember what your head couldn’t. Last thing you could remember was walking away from your ex´s house after you broke up; from then on you only had flashes of it. Getting dragged to an alley, your head smashing against the wall, a burning pain on your body and someone cutting through your neck.

Your hand reached for the spot instinctively, expecting a huge hole or teared skin, only to find a fine scar and clotted blood.

Your body was still resting on the wall, the hard bricks pressed deep against you back making you flinch once you moved as you tried making account of yourself, hopping for the worst. Surprise came to you when nothing was out of normal, everything was there, even the things on your bag, not even a thing was moved.

“Probably a failed robbery”, you thought, “guy must have thought I was dead from all the blood that came out of the cut.” Your hand reaching again for your wound.

You tried to remember your attacker; something that may give the police a clue on who to look for but the only thing that came to your mind was a man a white streak of hair and a pair of red eyes looking at you

A cold shiver ran through your spine. Red eyes, that’s impossible, almost laughable, things like that, belonged only to nightmares or stories, but still, the thought lingered in your head for a while up to the moment you decided to leave.

It was a long way from there to your apartment. With a bit of effort you finally managed to stand up but just as soon you wanted to sit again, not daring to leave, hoping to avoid the next, it wasn’t the pain you got from moving but the fear of facing the judging looks from people what wanted you stay, you couldn’t blame them though, even if everything was in its place, the blood could make them think the worst.

Once in your apartment you finally took a bath. Under the cold water your skin still burned, blisters covering your arms from the long exposure to sun. Hot tears left your eyes as you tried to get the blood of your body and hair. You couldn’t stop feeling scared; you didn’t remember what happened or who did it. And even if you could attribute it to a robbery, something still felt off, and those red eyes, why did they haunt you so much?

As weeks passed, the few memories from that day had already started to fade. You kept going on with your life as if nothing had happened; though you had to make a few changes, as your skin became more sensitive to the sun you had to change your shift, now having to work at night. You tried filling a police report the day after the attack but all you got were pieces of a broken memory and something that just couldn’t be, nothing that could help you.

Aside from your night shift, after some time everything seemed to be back to normal but as the worries started to go down, something else was growing.

You noticed it a week after that night, how your food portions were getting bigger. When before a spoonful of it was enough, now you were eating twice as much. You were getting hungrier. By the third week, full meals enough to feed two people, was barely satisfying. Worry started to grow inside you as you feared you might have gotten something from that night, a bacteria or a parasite that had made at home in your stomach or worse.

You never cared going to the doctor after what happened, the fewer things you could associate with it the better, but now it was time to face it. The studies brought more doubts than answers as everything was fine, nothing out of the usual. No explanation for your increasing hunger, no changes on your weight either, and nothing out of normal.

You couldn’t help letting out a laugh, “It’s just your imagination [Y/N], there’s nothing wrong.” Your body trembling as you moved. “It’s going to be okay, don’t worry, we are going to be fine.” You told yourself until you finally calmed down.

But soon things became worst.

It happened soon after your diagnosis. A pain on your chest woke you up and it became harder to breathe, air passing like fire through your throat. Damn, it hurt so much! Your whole head felt like it was breaking apart, the pain coming from your mouth.

You were less conscious of yourself as pain began to grow in your body. You were so thirsty it was hard to think. Your moves became faster as you tried desperately to subdue your thirst, but no amount of water seemed to be enough to do it.

Before you finished thinking you were already outside, still on your night clothes, hopping the night breeze would calm you, until you smelled it. A sweet fragrance, coming from somewhere down the street, so sweet it made your mouth water and the pain on your head now feel like needles on your lips.

The smell was now the only thing you could think of. You started to run, looking for it, desperate to put your hands on it, to finally taste it, so bad it made your throat burn even more, until you finally found it, or better said, you found her. A girl laid on the sidewalk, clutching her hand to wound on her abdomen, blood dirtying her dress and the concrete as she tried to stand.

You inhaled a long breath, tasting the sweetness her blood brought to you. A feral growl left your mouth as you pounced. Everything happened so fast you weren’t even conscious of what was going on, your mind focused only on the thirst. Your moves where swift and quick, she tried to scream but your hand was already there, using all your strength you managed to get over the girl, pinning her to the floor. She started to move, trying to break free of your grip, after all, you were just another girl but just like her, you found out you were too strong for that.

Wanting to end the pain you finally gave into your instincts. Taking a deep breath you bit into her neck, piercing her flesh with the fangs you had just grown. Hot liquid started to run into your mouth, even better than it smelled, passing through your burning throat like ice, taking the thirst away. I was nothing like you’ve ever tasted, nothing you could compare it to. A faint sound made you stop, her heart gave its last beating before finally stopping, leaving you disappointed. You wanted more.

By the time you were done your face was covered in blood, your clothes and hands soaked in it too. As if you were still on a trance your feet began to move, looking for something else to calm your thirst until coming from a diferent street you found it, but there was something different, another smell reached you, something familiar.

Following your feet you came to a darkened street. It wasn’t until you were at the entrance you finally noticed where you were. It was the same alley, the same floor, the same walls but a different scenario. This time it wasn’t you on the floor. You had to thank Gotham for this; it was now a man’s turn to learn from this city. He just had a hit on his head, lying unconscious on the floor, and blood trailing from the cut, the same familiar smell still lingered in the air, making you thirstier than ever as it was now closer.

You were ready to attack until you felt yourself grabbed by the back by someone strong enough to hold you. A steady hold kept you from your pray, making it hard to move. Noticing the smell come from them you tried to break free of his grip. You used all your strength, trying as many tricks you could make out until you finally broke free.

You turned yourself to face your attacker, hissing and baring your fangs, coming face to face to a man you were sure didn’t exist, a white streak of hair too familiar, and a pair of red eyes looking at you with surprise.


A/N: It’s done!! i finally finished the second part of the vampire Jason story. It was much larger than I expected. Thank you all who liked the first part and everyone who asked for a second part, hope you guys like it @cait-writes-stuff @dove-among-bats @batlog @noobwing @uncpanda @roseangel013bf

I think, though, that the people who love the Mountain Goats were always going to be sad. They were always going to indulge in pessimism and torture themselves with doubt and poke holes in all the things that might threaten to make them happy. It comes with the territory. It’s why we love the songs in the first place, and why we keep loving them long after the pain that endeared them to us is over.
An Exploded View of Beverly Holes

For Beverly Holes, I’m taking this corner of Beverly Hills and building a virtual set that’ll be a combination of digital photos and live action miniatures. 

I need to make “exploded” (in several varieties of the word) views of some of the buildings the camera will be passing by, and here’s the first one.  That little dude on his cell phone was a pain to dig out of there.

Still needs some more boards, but that’s just about one down.  Long way to go, so we’ll have to check back on this thing later…

This poem is not about a lover. It’s about the only person that ever filled that void without fucking me.
I could text you and tell you I miss you.
I do it every once and a while and consider it several times a day.
I know you’d say you miss you back.
I know you’d mean it.
But that hasn’t stopped the pain.
It’s started to feel like instead of a void, I have a small hole, made by the ember of a cigarette. And even though the hole is small, it’s the most painful thing in the entire, goddamn universe.
I think my cigarette hole is just under the third rib on my right side. That’s the place that starts to hurt when I run so hard my body wants to stop existing.
It makes me think of you when I exercise.
I started running to reduce my anxiety. It’s less successful than hugging you, but it’s all I’ve got. You don’t take my breath away like sprints do, but runner’s high doesn’t have shit on you.
I didn’t mean for this poem to feel like a cry for help.
You only left physically but it’s not like you could leave your scent here. There isn’t a you to sing with anymore. There aren’t car rides and the assurance of you remembering my fast food order. And I guess that’s why I still haven’t found someone to replace you.
I finally understand what the poets mean about leaving and taking part of a person with you. You sewed up the biggest void I had. You loved me like my parents never could. But I guess you smoke, too.
And when you were packing up to move 45 minutes away, you must have lit a cigarette, gazed at the town you’d always hated, smirked at your ability to leave, and dropped it, still lit.
I think it fell into the third rib on my right side and stuck there.
This poem is not about a lover.
This poem is about the only person that’s ever filled that void.
—  JJ, “This poem is not about a lover”
  • Bellamy: *is an idiot during the whole episode*
  • Me: i'm upset but let's hope he goes back to his senses quickly so i can try to forgive him
  • Bellamy: "you're not in charge here and that's a good thing because people die when you're in charge"
  • Clarke: *pain*
  • Me: bellamy my boy you can go die in a hole i never want to see your face again fucK YOU

“Sorry.”

“Sorry means you feel the pulse of other people’s pain as well as your own, and saying it means you take a share of it. And so it binds us together, makes us trodden and sodden as one another. Sorry is a lot of things. It’s a hole refilled. A debt repaid. Sorry is the wake of misdeed. It’s the crippling ripple of consequence. Sorry is sadness, just as knowing is sadness. Sorry is sometimes self-pity. But Sorry, really, is not about you. It’s theirs to take or leave.

Sorry means you leave yourself open, to embrace or to ridicule or to revenge. Sorry is a question that begs forgiveness, because the metronome of a good heart won’t settle until things are set right and true. Sorry doesn’t take things back, but it pushes things forward. It bridges the gap. Sorry is a sacrament. It’s an offering. A gift.”
― Craig Silvey, Jasper Jones

I made myself sad…

Click here for larger pic

Personal Tumblr ~ Main BlogLife Is Strange ~ SideblogSociety6

2

“I apologize again Y/N… I should have been here earlier.” Castiel rose up as the grace coming out of him and into your wounds faded.

“No Cas… You came and that’s what matters.” You lifted your head up to look at him. His face stoned cold with grief.

“Please don’t be worried.. You got here, healed me and I can’t thank you enough for that. Don’t feel guilty for something you didn’t cause. It’s that damn wendigo that did this who should regret it.”

“But after everything I have done.. All the pain that I caused…I have to make sure things are alright.” Bright blue eyes burning a hole in your Y/C/E ones.. You saw the raw pain that made him human, even if just for a second.

Sorry.

Sorry means you feel the pulse of other people’s pain as well as your own, and saying it means you take a share of it. And so it binds us together, makes us trodden and sodden as one another. Sorry is a lot of things. It’s a hole refilled. A debt repaid. Sorry is the wake of misdeed. It’s the crippling ripple of consequence. Sorry is sadness, just as knowing is sadness. Sorry is sometimes self-pity. But Sorry, really, is not about you. Its theirs to take or leave.

Sorry means you leave yourself open, to embrace or to ridicule or to revenge. Sorry is a question that begs forgiveness, because the metronome of a good heart won’t settle until things are set right and true. Sorry doesn’t take things back, but it pushes things forward. It bridges the gap. Sorry is a sacrament. It’s an offering. A gift.

—  Jasper Jones, Craig Silvey
Why I think season 2 has "Bellarke" potential

I guess you can say with all that has happened in the finale, I’m still a bit high. Despite the mess and the confusion, I find what Jason is trying to work is actually, well, working out. The way I see it, season 1 is making first impressions; the build-up, the “character development”. This is how you “slow burn” and this is also how you fall in love. It takes an entire season just to get somewhere, and I personally think it’s brilliant. We know the characters well enough; their fears, their pain, what makes them strong, what makes them weak, what they like, who they hate, etcetera. Things are starting to slowly work out. I mean, the Ark is on Earth now and the Mountain Men are involved, as we were expecting since episode 1. I don’t see any plot holes…at least not yet.

I am one of those big shippers that just hopelessly fall in love with characters, individually and together, and I suppose I could Meta out the character developments if I wanted to, but because I’m a Bellarke, I’m only going to be sticking with Clarke and Bellamy, featuring Finn.

You’ll need to remember this phrase because I’ll be coming back to it in a minute: “You trust him?” -Bellamy. “Trust? No…I do believe in second chances.” -Clarke.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

how do you think liam's live performances have changed since 2008?

oh man. ohhhh man. I can’t believe you are going to make me think about the fragile, painful reality that is liam payne

BUCKLE UP, FRIENDS, THIS MAY BE A ROUGH RIDE

Keep reading

Sometimes, we meet people that change everything. They change the way that we look at the world, and the way that we define things like “strength.” They make us question the things we thought we knew about love, and family, and loyalty. They inspire us to be better people.

And sometimes, these people leave. And when they disappear, they create a hole that can never really be filled by anyone else.

But through the pain of losing them, we need to remember that what will never leave are the lessons that they taught us. The things that they made us feel. Nothing can ever take away the time that we had with them while they were still here.

So, welcome to Ally A Saves The Day.

Allison Argent has always been and will always be a source of inspiration and a pillar of strength for her fans. The point of this blog is to celebrate the life of this beautiful young girl through gifs, edits, fic, meta, fanmixes, and more. To leave behind the negativity in fandom and focus on the amazing person that Allison was and is.

Please check out our about page, follow, and reblog to spread the word!

vurtkonnegut  asked:

252

252 from here: “I’m scared I’ll die alone”
it’s yuri on ice bc thats all i can think about right now haha 

i just love the fact that he got sick of sitting around and feeling bad and just…did something about it? #goals


I’m scared I’ll die alone.

The thought came so easily to Yuuri that he didn’t even think about how terrifying it was for a moment. It was just the truth. Here he was, a failure of a skater, holed up in shame and petrified to go home or make something of himself. No career. No future. No love life. Not even a dog to keep him company.

He curled up in his desk chair, stomach rolling at the thought. He’d been wallowing in self-pity for a while, he’d admit that, but this was something new and painful. Failure on all accounts. Failure as a living creature. Alone and miserable for the rest of his days, not even good at the thing he was supposed to be good at.

He bit his lip hard, too hard, took his glasses off and set them on his laptop, and kneaded his eyes with more force than strictly necessary. That kind of thinking was getting him nowhere! How long had it been since the worst competition of his career and he was still sitting here, moping? He was tired of it! Tired of the self-defeating thoughts and his own bad attitude. There was only one thing to do when the world was falling to bits, and that was throw yourself into your work until something, somewhere gave way. It had worked before in the past.

Maybe if he could put his all into skating, something would eventually fall through on the loneliness bit.

At least, it was worth a shot.