only one thing on the brain

anonymous asked:

You're legit gross lmao. That's how you know someone doesn't know a thing about POC when they say they can't tell the color shade difference of between your characters. No ones telling you to make more poc characters, get over yourself. Its the fact that you refer to THOSE characters as "Poc" is what makes all of this uncomfortable. Get a pair of glasses and fix your perspective on what "color" really is, sweetheart. Bye

I actually own a pair of glasses thank you very much, but my point is:

Hell, you don’t even know the races of my OCs. All you’re doing is assuming things. And besides that, there are actual POC speaking out themselves about this issue, and people who ACTUALLY USE THEIR BRAIN. I think you’re the one who needs to not only get over themselves, but to sit down and take the time to educate yourself. Hit me up again after you’ve done so! And next time, keep the anon off. ฅ(≚ᄌ≚)

Randoms on Monday

•I feel like I never have anything of true value to write about anymore. I don’t know why. Now it’s just random things that pop in my brain.

•it’s crazy how only one year can change so many things. I look forward to this December when I can say “a year ago today..”

•I’ve done some dumb things in the past in the name of love. …that, and out of fear of being abandoned. Unfortunately some of those choices were bad choices.

•My white and red blood cell counts were low last week..and I’m worried they’re still low because I’ve been so tired despite sleeping like crazy. So we’ll see tomorrow when they check my labs. But if they’re too low they’ll skip chemo.

•hope your Monday was good. Mine was uneventful but decent.
I’m off to get my baby ready for bed. Sweet dreams y'all.



“When wireless is perfectly applied the whole earth will be converted into a huge brain, which in fact it is, all things being particles of a real and rhythmic whole. We shall be able to communicate with one another instantly, irrespective of distance. Not only this, but through television and telephony we shall see and hear one another as perfectly as though we were face to face, despite intervening distances of thousands of miles; and the instruments through which we shall be able to do his will be amazingly simple compared with our present telephone. A man will be able to carry one in his vest pocket.”

-Nikola Tesla, 1926

the only four possible interpretations of the song ‘i saw mommy kissing santa claus,’ each more terrible than the last

listen. i can’t possibly be the first person to fall down this awful rabbit hole. i can’t possibly be the first person on the internet to point this out. 

but i need someone else to keep me company in this terrible brain-room i have built because i now seem incapable of leaving no matter how hard i try, so grab your favorite seasonally appropriate slippers and follow me on this journey into the worst five minutes of your life.

because one of four things is happening with this song:

1. a child crept downstairs late on december 24 hoping for a glimpse of jolly ol’ st nick, dreaming of some ‘t’was the night before christmas’ whimsy or maybe even a ‘polar express’-level adventure, only to instead be confronted by the sight of santa macking on their mom. right there in the living room. 

also, did you know that, in the lyrics, after mommy kisses santa, she tickles him “underneath his beard so snowy white”? think about that for a moment. really let it sit with you. you won’t want to, but let it marinate a sec.

the child did not witness a quick, platonic european-style cheek kiss. there is something more happening here. i have given friends a friendly peck before but it was not followed by ticking–their chin? their sternum? man, each to their own. but my point is: we are not talking about a simple mistletoe smooch. we are talking about intimacy.

and look, i did not come here to slutshame anyone’s mom. i certainly did not come here to slutshame anyone’s mom for making out with santa–check the archives i have literally never expressed such an interest anywhere in the years of this blog and i DEFY YOU to prove otherwise

but damn, that is a loaded way to learn of your parent’s infidelity, and shit, when you go to your dad with this information (in the chorus the narrator repeatedly voices this intention), you are about to put yourself in the middle of a weird, messy custody battle.

2. “but smile” you say, “you do realize that this song is meant to be tongue-in-cheek, with the clear implication the child is a classic unreliable narrator, too naive to realize ‘santa claus’ is just Dad in disguise, and furthermore that this irony is heavily telegraphed by the repeated assertion ‘what a laugh it would have been / if Daddy had only seen,’ a line that could never have made it into an ostensibly light-hearted christmas song if not for the certainty that it is all in fact a hilarious misunderstanding? it’s the kid’s dad! you are thinking about this way too much!’

ok first of all, obviously.

second of all, counterpoint: how do you mistake your dad for santa? he’s your dad. you know what he looks like. no matter the extenuating circumstances, if you are creeping around in your own house late at night and you see a man who looks like your dad kissing your mom, how would your first thought be anything other than ‘oh probably that is my dad’

“um smile,” you interject, probably a little distressed by the intensity in my voice and the general lack of blinking, “earlier in this very post you quote a line that tells us, the listener, precisely what enables this shakespearean case of mistaken identity: the dad is wearing a fake beard ‘so snowy white’. ipso facto, the dad is dressed like santa. bam. case closed, encyclopedia brown.”

but no. nonononono. wait. unpack that. why is the speaker’s dad in full santa garb? 


we already know the dad had no intention of being seen by any of his children. how do we know this? well, a) it’s the middle of the night and b) presumably if the dad intended for his offspring to take in the santa act, he wouldn’t be subjecting his child to this psycho-sexual minefield.

“ok now,” you say, “maybe one or both of the parents has a fetish, it is not your place to judge.”

well, yeah. but maybe when you have kids, the middle of the living room is not the place for your kris kringle kink. consenting adults should of course chase their bliss, but the child who takes in this scene is gonna come out of this with some very specific emotional baggage, i’m just saying.

3. “okay smartass,” you persevere, maybe now a little tired by my inability to let this go. (sorry.) “consider this: maybe within the fiction of the song, santa is real. you don’t know what type of relationship the speaker’s parents have with each other. you definitely don’t know what type of relationship santa has with mrs. claus. polyamory is a thing. open marriages are a thing. this could all be a completely above-the-board situation. the child will, as we have already established, approach their dad, at which point they will have a frank and informative dialogue about monogamy alternatives. merry christmas.”

well listen, i hate to rain on your parade, friend, but there is a crucial flaw in this line of reasoning: christmas eve is a workday for santa. santa is on the clock. santa has the impossibly difficult, high-stakes task of delivering presents to all the good children celebrating the holiday. this is literally the one night of the year where he needs to knuckle down and concentrate on his job.

and instead he is out there, still in full uniform, in the middle of his most important workday all year, getting his beard tickled?

fucking unprofessional. kids are gonna not get their gifts because of this bullshit.


great. now the narrator has to go the whole rest of their life wondering what the fuck in their subconscious conjured these images on christmas goddamn eve. not toys, not candy, not playing in the snow, or any other source of festive child-friendly cheer. no, this little kid nestled up snug in their bed on the night before christmas and dreamed not of sugarplums but of the hypothetical chemistry between santa and their mom.

there is no win scenario in this story. everywhere you turn it is an absolute fucking nightmare.

…and people are angry about plain red fucking starbucks cups. goddamn.

anyway. happy holidays, everyone.

Thoughts are not a reflection of an inner self, they are just.. thoughts. They come and go and we remain, the ‘us’ that is the real self is ever-present throughout the changing weather of the mind. 

We’ve all been deeply conditioned to derive our sense of being from our thoughts. Our identity becomes dependent on them; we become identical to them. We hand over control of our sense of self to something unpredictable and unreliable. Is this any way to live?

It’s only when things get really bad that we teach people to disidentify. To lessen the pain of intrusive thoughts, we remind people that they are not their thoughts. But really, this is a phenomenon that affects every single one of us.

When we come to understand that thoughts are simply things that the brain churns out, that they are just neurological events rather than a reflection of inherent personal identity, that our sense of self, well being and happiness doesn’t have to be dependent on the next thing that happens to pop into our heads, an entirely new way of being becomes available, first in short bursts of ‘awakening’ and then in increasingly pervasive states of awareness, peace and clarity. 

I wish people would realize, especially when writing traumatized characters, that PTSD is so much more than just nightmares and flashbacks. In fact, that’s only one group of symptoms for it.

PTSD is being unable to relax in your own home because although you know you’re safe, your mind is stuck on red alert 24/7. It’s feeling your heart race faster and faster, sweat dripping and feeling sick to your stomach, and you just want to hide. 

It’s accidentally lashing out, it’s being unable to concentrate. It’s spending hours trying to distract yourself because you can’t get to sleep - and why would you want to, anyway? 

It’s feeling so much fear that you wish you were dead, and your hands just won’t. Stop. Shaking. Nothing helps you calm down; the effects of your panic attacks last for days, making you physically ill and unable to do much except cry.

It’s not trusting your loved ones and looking away so that you don’t see the pain in their eyes when you tell them not to touch you, when you question their motives and love for you. It’s hell, and it’s so much more than flashbacks and nightmares. These are some primary symptoms, yes, but they aren’t everything. 

mystrade in thirty different AU settings (x):

  •   [29/30] Football AU

Generally Mycroft Holmes doesn’t do things impulsively or under the influence of alcohol, but when he occasionally does it ends up being something ridiculous like buying his favourite small football team, because they’re so obviously badly managed he just can’t watch them lose any more.

Perhaps if he did get to think about he would realize he is not prepared for his hobby growing quite so dramatically.

But even then he wouldn’t know how much he is not prepared for the team’s coach, Greg Lestrade.

Johnlock and TJLC are Red Herrings.

Now before you freak out on me, TJLC is real and Johnlock is coming by the end of series 4. But what we haven’t realized is that by spending all of our time and effort trying to prove the inevitable, we’ve lost focus of the other stories at play. Just look at us now – we haven’t blogged TJLC theories in three days yet we’ve completely obliterated our brains by collectively overturning every clue and puzzle piece the show, books, and blog could possibly give us. TJLC is obvious, we don’t need to continue to prove it. And look what we can all come up with now that we’re free to do so. We could’ve been like this weeks, months ago, but we hammered TJLC home as if it’s the only plot in Sherlock. It’s not. Maybe no one else was like this but I sure was. TJLC was the most important thing – anything else i happened to discover was just gravy. Now it’s the opposite – I want to decode *every* plotline, TJLC is unfolding and I don’t need to pay it any further attention. I want to tie up *every* loose thread. TJLC isn’t a loose thread and really hasn’t been for a long time.

Since Setlock we’ve been focusing our brilliant minds on child’s play, mostly looking through the TJLC lense. Again, this is what i did, I’m sure not every single one of us was like this. But now I’m overwhelmed looking at all the clues i willingly overlooked because they weren’t relevant to TJLC. Moffat and Gatiss are happy we kept blogging mostly TJLC this whole time – because we’re really not giving anything away in the long run. People will believe us, or they won’t. All the writers have to do is lie. It would be worse for them if we solved The Final Problem and leaked that to the world too early. I mean, USA Today linked to my blog because they liked one of my theories on The Six Thatchers. What the fuck. What if I cracked The Final Problem and a major newspaper’s online account linked to it? That would be worse for everyone involved than constantly telling Johnlockers to keep quiet. With this in mind, Moffat and Gatiss have a bigger twist set up that’s not TJLC and they desperately don’t want anyone to know about it. Anyone who watches the episode early has to sign nondisclosure agreements beforehand. This is bigger than we could imagine. And keeping the analysis to Johnlock is saving their asses, because I know if we chose to drop TJLC, we could collectively Crack this case wide open.

Anyone up for the challenge?

Snarky RP-Starters

“Now is not the time.”

“You’re not being helpful.”

“And you couldn’t mention that any earlier?”

“The only skill you have is that you know how to be in the way.”

“I know exactly what I’m doing.”

“At least I’m capable of admitting I’m wrong.”

“And it didn’t occur to you it might be important?”

“Thanks, you’re helpful. And five minutes late!

“Shut your mouth for once.”

“Is thinking too much asked?”

“You better fix that right now!”

“For once in your life, use that thing inside your head. The one called ‘brain.’”

“Great, you’re just what I needed.”

“Oh, and you’re so great yourself?”

“If you hadn’t come, I would’ve managed just fine.”

“I need you like I need a hole in the head.”


Before I start, I’m just going to say that the only characters who didn’t do something shitty in both musical or movie would be Betty Finn, Martha Dunnstock, and Dennis. That’s it. If you try to say anyone else didn’t do one shitty thing, yikes.

Alright. So, Jason Dean is a pretty shitty human being, I get it. But, quote from the author’s note in the Heathers musical script that, I personally think sums it up pretty well before I go into a rambling mess.

“Most villains don’t think they’re villains; they rationalize villainous behavior with “it’s what I had to do to fix my problem.” So it is with Heathers. You’ll get best results when your characters avoid excessive or gratuitous cruelty and negativity and instead play up solutions and hope…Dan Waters had an idea to tell a story about a school as cruel as the real world, and the kids who tried to change it.”

I won’t go into J.D.’s history too much because that’s been played out a million times. What all has he grown up with but Bud’s destructive behaviors, both in his occupation and presumably in his home life? Destruction is all J.D. knows, to an extent.

His main point was to make the world better, and though his execution was poorly picked, he MEANT WELL. “Make the world a decent place for people who are decent.” So, @people who seem stuck that he only did what he did for Veronica, no. The big plan was to stop assholes from being assholes by any means necessary and he overstepped it by a long shot.

To say that Jason Dean is completely a monster is to wash out every other aspect about him, just as to praise Heather Chandler (which, I’d like to point out is just was all the students who fake mourn her are doing) is to erase all the wrong she did.

One of the points of this story is to show that teenagers are humans and they make mistakes, and J.D. is no exception. I’m not saying what he did was right, because it was NOT, but the meaning behind it was GOOD. You have to take in every aspect of him as a character to understand him, to do otherwise is to disrespect the story, the writers, etc.

The murders: Make the world better for better people. Good idea, bad way of going about it.

Going to kill Veronica: Concerned about her fessing up, hope to get her back. Super duper Shitty.

Trying to blow up the school: VERY EXTRA INTENSE SHITTY. He’s incredibly unstable at this point.

Blowing himself up: Kind of redemption, he’s stepping back and realizing that, y’know. This didn’t work and he trusts Veronica to fix things her way.

To defend Heather Chandler, Kurt Kelly, or Ram Sweeney by pulling the “they were only seventeen” card, you have to do the same for Jason Dean.


The Prince of Egypt Read-Along
  • The Prince of Egypt Read-Along
  • Jeff Goldblum

A clip from the beginning (“Deliver Us”/prologue) of The Prince of Egypt Read-Along (narrated by Jeff Goldblum).  Per @somehow-you-will‘s request for something involving the bio-family :)

** there are sound effects from the movie, so you can hear people shouting, whips cracking, and babies crying in the background.  it might be a little startling if you’re not expecting it.

Happy Thoughts For A Boring Shift

.Neville Longbottom is the most rockin’ father ever. Like, he’s always trying to show people pictures of his kid(s). 

Scorpious Malfoy has a weakness for blue raspberry gushers. The little muggle fruit snacks always stain his mouth blue for hours. 

 Minerva McGonagall at 14 had pulled more pranks than all the marauders combined. (Not that she’d ever tell.)

Seamus Finnigan secretly loves classical music. After he and Dean move in together, it constantly plays throughout the flat and is now the only thing Dean can paint to.

After the war, Hermione was struggling. She couldn’t concentrate on even the most interesting of passages due to her severe ptsd… there was too much buzzing in her brain. Too much nervous energy…  until Molly Weasley showed her how to knit without magic. The consistent movement of the needles calmed her and channeled her nervous energy into something constructive…

Both ladies one Christmas decided to knit every child at Hogwarts without Christmas presents their very own Weasley Sweater. They called it the Secret Santa Sweater Society. 

Harry Potter traveled the world before joining the Aurors. He needed to be reminded that there are good things still out there, untouched by the cruelty of the Death Eaters.

Luna Lovegood hasn’t changed, she’s still Luna. 

Arthur Weasley was taken to a theme park for his 65th birthday. He rode every ride. 

I dreamt that I was a NPS ranger, or pretending to be one, and it was my job to climb to a small cabin at the top of a mountain - a journey that would take me several days.

On my way there, I stumbled across a farm that had a bunch of fuzzy little piglets. I couldn’t resist and just grabbed one, hid it under my sweatshirt, and started to leave… only to make eye contact with the farmer, who was The Final Pam. I subtly released the pig and continued walking.

At another point, I was watching a romance movie about park rangers. They were talking about why things wouldn’t work out between them, since one was getting transferred to a different park. “I don’t want to save Minnesota for the squirrels,” said one. “All I want… is you.” My brain decided that was a really impressive, romantic line and woke me up so that I would remember it later. Thanks for nothin’.

Only for tonight.- CH

A/N: Smut. Read at own risk. 

The tension was too much, your breath hitched in your throat as he made his way towards you. Weaving his way in and around the others in the room with just one thing on his mind. You. It was hard to think of a time when the sight of Calum Hood didn’t make your insides turn to mush and your brain lose the ability to form a coherent thought. This was your new normal.

His eyes glance to the floor as he stops in front of you and takes your hand in his and leans in to speak.

“Been waiting all night to get you, Pretty girl. I thought I said no teasing.” His voice is heavy down the back of your neck and your body curls in anticipation.

A lover on the left. A sinner on the right.

“I just have to feel you with my hands, I have to get my lips all over your body. I can’t be in the same room as you and do nothing.” His hands have gripped your hips and are snaking down to grab you. You know it’s not right, you are letting yourself be led into the lion’s den once again and this time you are more than happy to sacrifice yourself.

Only for tonight.

That is all it has ever been and is all it ever will be. A fleeting moment of weakness filled with lust and sometimes a hint of regret. Every single time. Every single time you feel yourself drifting away from his grasp his brown eyes meet yours from across the room and you are pulled back to shore once again. No matter how hard you try you can’t his escape his hold on you.

Before you know it he has you pinned against the bathroom wall in the club, your legs wrapped around his waist as he starts to kiss your neck, grinding his hips into yours making you shudder. You know you should stop before it goes any further.

Keep reading

Tumblr motherfucking pisses me off because all of these posts about intrusive thoughts are “stab people” or “kill your family” or “::insert edgy goddamn violent thing here::” as if that’s the only definition when they can just as often take the form of a little voice sliding into your ear and tacking itself onto the side of your brain and whispering “they don’t love you, here’s all the evidence one piece by one” or “that friend is tired of you, this is how you can tell” or “it would be so much easier if you severed all your relationships and hid forever” or “how easy, how easy it would be to just…stand a little too close to the tracks while waiting for the train”, tattoos on the interior of your skull that keep reasserting themselves and screaming fucking louder until you find a corner to hide in and cover your ears and just wish they would leave you alone. ;_;

Intrusive thoughts are not always violent towards other people. Sometimes they’re you systematically destroying yourself.

I refuse to let today be a bad day. 



fun bilingual things

- you know the word in second language but not first
- your notes sometimes are in both languages at once. some words are quicker to write than their equivalents
- phone autocorrects to wrong language
- the words that are the same but slightly different in your two languages are always spelled the wrong way. no matter what.
- certain memories only available in one language
- music genres?? u like maybe alternative and pop music in your first language but like rap and musical theatre in your second
- u know what verb tenses are called in your second language but not in your first
- saying bullshit like “close the lights please” because it’s idiomatically correct but not in english