post office why you no answer me

Delivery

Summary: Shawn makes Brian hand deliver a care package to y/n because y/n is stressed and Shawn can’t do it himself because he is out of the country. 

Requested: First off I just wanna say that your work is amazing ! It’s my favourite. Lately I’ve been feeling like everything is crashing down on me. I feel like I never get a beak with school, work, worrying, just everything ! Can you do an imagine where Shawn notices you’ve been acting differently because everything’s just a little too much and makes you feel better? Thank you :)

~~~

Sleep. Sleep would be nice, but who has time to sleep anymore? Certainly not you. With work, school, exams, and so much to worry about, you can’t seem to catch a break. Even when you do have the time to sleep, you can’t because you’re so stressed. And every other second you’re awake, it is like you have a never-ending list of things that you need to get done. You’re trying so hard to just keep on going, but it’s hard, so hard. 

When your phone buzzes on your desk with a text you automatically glance at it. Good morning love it reads, from your boyfriend of course.

You just smile a bit because it’s nearly ten at night where you are, but he’s just woken up. You type a quick reply, morning babe. You’d love to talk to him, but you have so much to still do before you can even think of taking a break, much less going to bed. 

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maybe-if-it-rains-sleepingbags  asked:

Cute season 11 msr in Scully's apartment?

***This is a response to the above requests, and a sequel to In the Rain (also a little NSFWish)

She was laughing again as they finally turned the last corner to her block.  Mulder’s shoes squished with every step he took and his soaked clothes were starting to become more than just a little uncomfortable.  The air conditioning inside the building had them both shivering before they even got in the elevator.

They left a trail of rainwater behind them and a Scully gave a sincerely apologetic look to the desk clerk who looked at them with disdain. They drip drip dripped inside the elevator, creating a pool around their feet and Scully caught another case of the giggles.  Mulder couldn’t stop smiling.  She took her heels off and Mulder squished his way behind her to her door.

“I think…” she said.  “Come into the bathroom.”

“Let me get my shoes off.”  He untied his laces in the hallway and stepped out of his shoes before entering.

“Come on,” she said, guiding him through the bedroom into the attached bath.  She had most of her shirt unbuttoned by then, but couldn’t seem to manage peeling it away from her skin.

“Don’t suppose you have anything of mine I could wear laying around do you?”

“Sorry, no.”  She shucked her shirt and shivered.  It made a little plop as she dropped it on the counter next to the sink.  “There’s a washer-dryer in that closet though.”

Mulder tried to keep his eyes on her face, but it had been a long time since she’d been even the remotest bit naked in front of him.  Her bra was dark blue satin, revealing nothing, but still.  He knew what it was hiding.

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Gabrielle Union's Heartbreaking Struggle With Infertility: 'I've Had 8 or 9 Miscarriages'

Gabrielle Union has revealed she has suffered multiple miscarriages in attempted to have a much-longed for baby with NBA star husband Dwyane Wade.

Gabrielle Union attends Variety and Women In Film’s 2017 pre-Emmy celebration at Gracias Madre on September 15, 2017 in West Hollywood, California. (Photo: Jason LaVeris/FilmMagic)

In her new book We’re Going to Need More Wine — excerpted exclusively in the new issue of PEOPLE — the star of BET’s Being Mary Jane opens up about her struggles with infertility and failed IVF treatments.

“I have had eight or nine miscarriages,” Union, 44, writes in the book. “For three years, my body has been a prisoner of trying to get pregnant — I’ve either been about to go into an IVF cycle, in the middle of an IVF cycle, or coming out of an IVF cycle.”

Ole top of the wedding cake asses… #Emmys

A post shared by Gabrielle Union-Wade (@gabunion) on Sep 17, 2017 at 3:40pm PDT

While Union has spoken about IVF previously, she did not reveal the heartbreaking struggle she has faced.

But even after enduring three years of failed IVF cycles and being constantly bloated from the hormones, Union writes that she and Wade “remain bursting with love and ready to do anything to meet the child we’ve both dreamed of.”

The pair tied the knot in August 2014 and at first, the star didn’t see children as part of her future.

But, after realizing how much joy she felt raising three boys with Wade, 35 — his nephew Dahveon Morris, 16, and sons from a previous marriage Zaire, 15, and Zion, 10 (Wade’s third son Xavier, 3, conceived with another woman while Wade and Union were broken up, lives with his mother) — Union first discovered that having a baby was something she wanted.

Happy Holidays! ❤️❤️☃☃☃❄❄

A post shared by Gabrielle Union-Wade (@gabunion) on Dec 24, 2016 at 7:40pm PST

“I never wanted kids,” she tells PEOPLE. “Then I became a stepmom, and there was no place I’d rather be than with them.”

Dealing with infertility while being in the public eye hasn’t been easy for Union, who constantly is reminded of her struggle each time she’s asked by both family and strangers alike when she’s having kids.

“For so many women, and not just women in the spotlight, people feel very entitled to know, ‘Do you want kids?’” she says. “A lot of people, especially people that have fertility issues, just say ‘no’ because that’s a lot easier than being honest about whatever is actually going on. People mean so well, but they have no idea the harm or frustration it can cause.”

Throughout my life, I’ve often wondered aloud ‘How the hell did I end up here? Why me?’ Not sure I’ve ever found all the answers to those questions, but in this book I share my journey … the good, the bad, and the WTF. You will definitely need more wine for this one. Preorder link in my bio!!!

A post shared by Gabrielle Union-Wade (@gabunion) on Apr 18, 2017 at 10:29am PDT

“Once a month I look like I’m in my second trimester because I’m bloated,” she says. “It leads to the questions and it leads to the rumors and anytime I go into a doctor’s office I feel like I’m a member of SEAL Team Six undercover because I don’t want people to speculate.”

By sharing her story in We’re Going to Need More Wine, which is out Oct. 17, Union hopes that the way people approach her about the topic changes.

For more on Gabrielle Union’s infertility struggles, pick up the latest issue of PEOPLE, on newsstands now.


I’ve been thinking about this post and I want to imagine Link passing by Stevie one morning at the office when she says, “Rhett’s wearing that sandalwood cologne today, isn’t he?”

And Link pauses (mainly because his brain has to take a second to recall what sandalwood smells like) before answering, “Oh, uh, yeah, I think so. Why?”

Stevie grins. “Ah, sometimes I can smell his cologne on you.”

“Oh,” Link says. It’s a revelation that bothers him for a few hours into the morning, but eventually he forgets that he ever had the conversation.

Until the next morning, and the next one, and the next after that. Stevie continues to question Link about what Rhett’s wearing, from vanilla musk to amber and oak. Link always knows the answer, and embarrassedly he’ll mumble out the answer, which to her satisfaction, always happens to be Stevie’s guess.

He finds it strange how he doesn’t mind that Rhett’s scent rubs off on him, or that Stevie finds it so amusing. It all has Link noticing Rhett’s cologne more often, especially when they’re alone. He starts to read the small spritz bottles Rhett leaves on their dressing room mirror, starts remembering Rhett’s fragrances by their names. Worse, he wonders why he smells like Rhett’s cologne at all.

Maybe this is why, he thinks when they carpool and spend an hour in traffic and tangerine. Maybe this is why, he thinks when Rhett brushes against him with a hint of hazelnut.

And maybe the three of them are chatting behind the set, waiting for the rest of the crew to prep the next episode up for filming, when Link lets it—everything—slip. “That’s a new cologne, isn’t it?” he blurts, earning the attention of both Rhett and Stevie.

“Uh, yeah,” Rhett replies. “I got it a while ago, but this is my first time wearing it. It’s something like rain, I think?”

Link nods. “It’s nice. I like it.”

“Oh. Thank you,” Rhett murmurs, and everyone falls into an awkward, foot-shuffling silence before Micah sticks his head around the set wall and gives them the thumbs-up for filming.

The next morning, Link strolls into the kitchen where Stevie sits, sipping on a Mythical Mug of coffee. He pours himself his own mug, wordless, before turning to Stevie at the counter.

“Not asking me about Rhett’s cologne today?” he asks, voice soft.

Stevie looks up from her phone and smiles. “Link. I think we both know what cologne he’s wearing.”

Link inhales, long and slow. The kitchen smells like coffee and rain.

“Yeah, I guess we do.”

San Junipero

Title: San Junipero 

Pairing: Kevin Keller x Joaquin 

Warnings: Some angst, maybe some slight cursing. 

Summary: It finally hits Kevin when Betty asks him how he is doing- He’s gone. He remembers the vaguest things about Joaquin and misses every single thing about him. 
That’s when he makes a decision. 

A/N: You waited forever and it’s finally here- a Joavin fic! 
And, listen; yes, it is a very short fic but I always like to leave room for a part two. 
Do you guys think I should continue this or not? 
Also note that I haven’t seen the episode from Black Mirror that the town originated from and I only know half of the story so there may be some mistakes! 
As always feedback is greatly appreciated and I hope y’all enjoy! 

Tag List; @sunshine51879 @dempsey-mantle @emotional-wrek-hello @day-dreaming-nightmare @nafa1604 @aezthetically @theselfishllama @angstylittleteen 


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Things To Do During That 5 Minute Pomodoro Break

Today was my first experience with the Pomodoro method (which is studying for 25 minutes, taking a break for 5 minutes, then studying for another 25 minutes, etc.) and it went so freaking well! 25 minutes didn’t feel like a lot, and I managed to study for 4 hours, which was really good as I was reviewing math and I usually quit about 1 hour in with that subject. 😂 I like this method so much that I decided to make a post about it. Here’s some things to do during that 5 minute break!

Drink a glass of water - I’ve been trying to stay better hydrated, so drinking a glass of water almost every 25 minutes is probablyyyy going to help.

Eat a snack - They say chocolate helps stimulate your brain, and what kind of fool would I be to argue with someone who’s telling me to eat chocolate? ;)

Do jumping jacks - or some other easy exercise just to get your butt to stop feeling numb from sitting.

Answer your text messages - I was chatting with 6 different people while trying to study, so I answered them when I could. 😂

Go to the bathroom - After all, you’ve drank, like, a gallon of water by now, right? 😂

Post a picture of your study space - This could be dangerous, as your 5 minutes on Tumblr could easily turn into 5 hours, so exercise this with caution. Of course, you could always take a picture and then post it later.

Organize stuff - I’m that freak that loves organization (one reason why office jobs appeal to me), so actually it’s really calming for me to make my bed, pick up my room a bit, or even just arrange my desk in preparation for the next 25 minutes.

Check social media - Again, exercise with caution! One moment I’m going through my Instagram feed and the next I’m watching glow up videos. 😬

WeHeartIt - My all time favorite app is WeHeartIt. I am so addicted. I love scrolling through it and salivating over all the pictures of cute clothes and bedrooms. (I’m a simple girl.)

Write in your journal - If you keep one, that is. I think it’s relaxing to journal or doodle.

Dance - I had to add this. 😜

5 minutes isn’t a lot, but it’s enough to replenish your drive, so use it well! Do something that relaxes you or something that gets you off your feet – depending on your mood. Math stresses me out, so I opt for relaxing. History can be dull, so for that I would choose something more energetic. Just make sure that when those five minutes are over, you’re back at your table and ready to learn. ^_^

Also, a YouTuber named Thomas Frank made this great video where he studies for 25 minutes. Watching it is sort of like having a study buddy, and it helps you keep track of the 25 minutes!
Sammy Hates His Life

I like writing Sammy, so I decided to take a crack at @yunisverse‘s version. The one where he isn’t dead, here, and Henry’s a formless blob of ink. 

Rubberhose AU belongs to @yunisverse


Sammy wasn’t sure why he’d come back. He didn’t even like working at Sillyvision, not really. So why had he decided to answer Joey’s letter? Why had he decided to come back to the studio? He wasn’t about to admit to himself that he missed his job. He’d liked being around people like Susie and Henry, and even Joey to a certain extent. Susie had been a good coworker, always respectful of his space, but concerned enough to drag him out when the need arose. Henry had been a good boss, generally keeping to himself. He’d understood Sammy’s need to be alone when it came to his work. Joey had been…something special. He’d paid well at the very least, and he’d even left Sammy alone most of the time. The one thing he hadn’t missed though, was the ink. The second he entered the studio, he groaned. There was ink everywhere. He couldn’t take a single step without stepping in some kind of puddle of ink.

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anonymous asked:

hey evie! I had a little fight me today that dd/lg was sfw and bdsm is nsfw... she's my friend however, and i feel she's making some mistakes with her choices in the lifestyle. of course it's not my place to say otherwise, but i would at least like to nudge her in the right direction. do you have any words if wisdom i could pass on?

Anon,

The use of “sfw” versus “nsfw” terminology to say whether a kink is somehow safer / less “extreme” / vanilla friendly or not has perplexed me. It makes sense to call a blog, or a post or a photo “sfw” or “nsfw” but an entire lifestyle? Can an entire kink lifestyle truly be “safe for work”?

The answer is no.

Kink is never safe for work. I don’t care if it’s DDLG or branding with hot irons. You can’t take that into your office in a public way. That is why day collars were invented. DDLG IS BDSM. You can’t say BDSM is inherently NSFW and then also say DDLG is not. That isn’t logically sound.

I believe what your friend is trying to say is “it’s okay if I engage in DDLG openly. DDLG isn’t as scary / extreme as all that BDSM stuff is. What’s so bad about pacis and calling my partner Daddy?”

But that just isn’t true. You can’t sterilize kink like that. If you think you can go out grocery shopping sucking a binkie, or use a sippy cup at work, or call your partner Daddy and have them call you Little at your office during lunch… boy I have news for you. The world is not that prepared to handle your private life. Because that is what you are doing. Bring private kink into the eyes and ears of non-consenting parties. No matter how “innocent” and “sweet” it is to you. Not everyone is going to see it that way. And if you believe in consensual kink you will respect the lack of consent of uninformed parties and not make them privy to your DDLG. You are welcome to try and show your boss or your grandparents or coworkers your DDLG blog and see how “safe for work” they believe it is… (hint: they won’t). No sex / not participating in a sexual way does NOT make something sfw.

You cannot sugar coat kink. You cannot water down DDLG to make it “sfw”. DDLG is BDSM. Stop trying to sterilize it to make it palatable for the masses. Because by the time you do that, it is no longer BDSM at all.

Hope this helps,

Evie

zdbztumble  asked:

60. “Before you decide to murder me, let me explain…” Ash/Misty

Hey there @zdbztumble!! I am so sorry I haven’t posted an answer to your ask yet!! I HAD something all typed up and i may have accidentally closed the damn thing!!! Ugh!! but, the characters were a little too OOC and I didn’t like it anyways, so, heres attempt number 2!!


“ASH KETCHUM!!! GET OVER HERE RIGHT NOW!!” 

Ash awoke violently from his peaceful slumber to his wife screaming his name for a completely different reason, and judging by her tone, she was NOT happy. 

“Coming, Babe!!” He called as he jogged to her office

“What’s up Mist?” he asked while stretching 

“You wanna tell me why the hell there is a $10,000 on our credit card?!” Misty seethed

Ash’s eyes nearly bulged out of his thick skull, “Misty! hold on a sec!” he put his arms out in self defense as she stomped towards him

He could see that she had no intentions of listening to him…..without him being on the floor in a sort of headlock, so he resorted to a line he learned from Cilan

“Misty! Before you decide to murder me, please let me explain!!! I found your parents!!” He braced himself

the next thing he knew, her arms were around his neck, and her lips were on his.

when she decided to break the kiss, “I…..guess I owe you an apology, huh?” she spoke softly

“It’s ok, and you’re right, I should have at least mentioned something to you” Ash kissed his young wife’s cheek

“That would’ve been nice! but, what’s done is done, when’s our flight?”

“5:00AM” Ash gulped, Arceus he HATED red eye flights, he knew Misty did too, less snuggling time for the couple. 

“Well, we better get packed” Ash stated, “then maybe later, you know, we could….” he stroked Misty’s sides gently 

“Yeah? Hey Ash, can I ask you something?” Misty purred while wrapping her arms around the back of his neck, she almost felt bad for what she was about to do to him.

“Ask away baby!” he inched closer to her lips 

“You got $10,000?” she whispered with a huge grin across her face

‘oh shi-” Ash thought

but before he could react, Misty put him on the ground in a head lock 

Too bad Cilan didn’t tell him what Iris did to him AFTER he used that line!!!!

Thanks again for the ask @zdbztumble 

Ahahahaha. You’re okay, Anon. *looks into the camera like I’m on the office* is one of my favorite phrases to use. I laughed when I saw it. No worries. XD

I’m working on it. I don’t know why this chapter is giving me so much trouble but it is. It’s also my favorite chapter so I want it to be good. All I can tell you is that I’ll post it when I’m done. <3

Is Mary the Fifth Pip?

As today seems to be a good day for some Mary / Mycroft speculation - here are my 2 cents on that matter.

This post by @deducingbbcsherlock, asking how Mary got into CAM’s office, had me thinking, especially the note by @girlofthemirror, because she mentions Mary could just have bribed the security guard (as Moriarty says to Sherlock ‘ ‘That’s your weakness – you always want everything to be clever…’ - but sometimes the obvious answer is the right one).

When Sherlock examines the unconcious guard in CAM’s office he points out his tattoos.

The number ‘14′ is a symbol of white supremacists, refering to the 14 words slogan by one of their leaders (if you honestly want to read this crap, look it up on wikipedia). That’s why Sherlock knows ‘White supremacist, by the tattoo, so who cares?’

But there’s another tattoo on that guard as well:

This is a very common prison tattoo, the outer four dots representing the prison walls and the inner dot representing the prisoner. But it’s made of five dots = 5 pips? Is this the clue we are given from TPTB that all this is connected to Moriarty and his plan to burn Sherlock’s heart out?

What does Moriarty say at the pool? ‘Kill you?  N-no, don’t be obvious. I mean, I’m gonna kill you anyway some day. I don’t wanna rush it, though. I’m saving it up for something special.

What could be more special than being killed by your best friend’s wife?

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Watch on thepeoplesrecord.tumblr.com

In Ferguson, Washington Post reporter Wesley Lowery gives account of his arrest
August 14, 2014

For the past week in Ferguson, reporters have been using the McDonald’s a few blocks from the scene of Michael Brown’s shooting as a staging area. Demonstrations have blown up each night nearby. But inside there’s WiFi and outlets, so it’s common for reporters to gather there.

That was the case Wednesday. My phone was just about to die, so as I charged it, I used the time to respond to people on Twitter and do a little bit of a Q&A since I wasn’t out there covering the protests.

As I sat there, many armed officers came in — some who were dressed as normal officers, others who were dressed with more gear.

Initially, both Ryan Reilly of the Huffington Post and I were asked for identification. I was wearing my lanyard, but Ryan asked why he had to show his ID. They didn’t press the point, but one added that if we called 911, no one would answer.

Then they walked away. Moments later, the police reemerged, telling us that we had to leave. I pulled my phone out and began recording video.

An officer with a large weapon came up to me and said, “Stop recording.”

I said, “Officer, do I not have the right to record you?”

He backed off but told me to hurry up. So I gathered my notebook and pens with one hand while recording him with the other hand.

As I exited, I saw Ryan to my left, having a similar argument with two officers. I recorded him, too, and that angered the officer. As I made my way toward the door, the officers gave me conflicting information.

One instructed me to exit to my left. As I turned left, another officer emerged, blocking my path.

“Go another way,” he said.

As I turned, my backpack, which was slung over one shoulder, began to slip. I said, “Officers, let me just gather my bag.” As I did, one of them said, “Okay, let’s take him.”

Multiple officers grabbed me. I tried to turn my back to them to assist them in arresting me. I dropped the things from my hands.

“My hands are behind my back,” I said. “I’m not resisting. I’m not resisting.” At which point one officer said: “You’re resisting. Stop resisting.”

That was when I was most afraid — more afraid than of the tear gas and rubber bullets.

As they took me into custody, the officers slammed me into a soda machine, at one point setting off the Coke dispenser. They put plastic cuffs on me, then they led me out the door.

I could see Ryan still talking to an officer. I said: “Ryan, tweet that they’re arresting me, tweet that they’re arresting me.”

He didn’t have an opportunity, because he was arrested as well.

The officers led us outside to a police van. Inside, there was a large man sitting on the floor between the two benches. He began screaming: “I can’t breathe! Call a paramedic! Call a paramedic!”

Ryan and I asked the officers if they intended to help the man. They said he was fine. The screaming went on for the 10 to 15 minutes we stood outside the van.

“I’m going to die!” he screamed. “I’m going to die! I can’t breathe! I’m going to die!”

Eventually a police car arrived. A woman — with a collar identifying her as a member of the clergy — sat in the back. Ryan and I crammed in next to her, and we took the three-minute ride to the Ferguson Police Department. The woman sang hymns throughout the ride.

During this time, we asked the officers for badge numbers. We asked to speak to a supervising officer. We asked why we were being detained. We were told: trespassing in a McDonald’s.

“I hope you’re happy with yourself,” one officer told me. And I responded: “This story’s going to get out there. It’s going to be on the front page of The Washington Post tomorrow.”

And he said, “Yeah, well, you’re going to be in my jail cell tonight.”

Once at the station, we were processed, our pockets emptied. No mug shots. They removed our restraints and put us in a holding cell. Ryan was able to get ahold of his dad. I called my mom, but I couldn’t get through. I couldn’t remember any phone numbers.

We were in there for what felt like 10 or 15 minutes. Then the processing officer came in.

“Who’s media?” he asked.

We said we were. And the officer said we were both free to go. We asked to speak to a commanding officer. We asked to see an arrest report. No report, the officer told us, and no, they wouldn’t provide any names.

I asked if there would ever be a report. He came back with a case number and said a report would be available in a week or two.

“The chief thought he was doing you two a favor,” he said.

The Ferguson Police Department did not immediately respond to a request for comment on Lowery’s detention.

Source

Watch on fullpraxisnow.tumblr.com

In Ferguson, Washington Post reporter Wesley Lowery gives account of his arrest | Washington Post

For the past week in Ferguson, reporters have been using the McDonald’s a few blocks from the scene of Michael Brown’s shooting as a staging area. Demonstrations have blown up each night nearby. But inside there’s WiFi and outlets, so it’s common for reporters to gather there.

That was the case Wednesday. My phone was just about to die, so as I charged it, I used the time to respond to people on Twitter and do a little bit of a Q&A since I wasn’t out there covering the protests.

As I sat there, many armed officers came in — some who were dressed as normal officers, others who were dressed with more gear.

Initially, both Ryan Reilly of the Huffington Post and I were asked for identification. I was wearing my lanyard, but Ryan asked why he had to show his ID. They didn’t press the point, but one added that if we called 911, no one would answer.

Then they walked away. Moments later, the police reemerged, telling us that we had to leave. I pulled my phone out and began recording video.

An officer with a large weapon came up to me and said, “Stop recording.”

I said, “Officer, do I not have the right to record you?”

He backed off but told me to hurry up. So I gathered my notebook and pens with one hand while recording him with the other hand.

As I exited, I saw Ryan to my left, having a similar argument with two officers. I recorded him, too, and that angered the officer. As I made my way toward the door, the officers gave me conflicting information.

One instructed me to exit to my left. As I turned left, another officer emerged, blocking my path.

“Go another way,” he said.

As I turned, my backpack, which was slung over one shoulder, began to slip. I said, “Officers, let me just gather my bag.” As I did, one of them said, “Okay, let’s take him.”

Multiple officers grabbed me. I tried to turn my back to them to assist them in arresting me. I dropped the things from my hands.

“My hands are behind my back,” I said. “I’m not resisting. I’m not resisting.” At which point one officer said: “You’re resisting. Stop resisting.”

That was when I was most afraid — more afraid than of the tear gas and rubber bullets.

As they took me into custody, the officers slammed me into a soda machine, at one point setting off the Coke dispenser. They put plastic cuffs on me, then they led me out the door.

I could see Ryan still talking to an officer. I said: “Ryan, tweet that they’re arresting me, tweet that they’re arresting me.”

He didn’t have an opportunity, because he was arrested as well.

The officers led us outside to a police van. Inside, there was a large man sitting on the floor between the two benches. He began screaming: “I can’t breathe! Call a paramedic! Call a paramedic!”

Ryan and I asked the officers if they intended to help the man. They said he was fine. The screaming went on for the 10 to 15 minutes we stood outside the van.

“I’m going to die!” he screamed. “I’m going to die! I can’t breathe! I’m going to die!”

Eventually a police car arrived. A woman — with a collar identifying her as a member of the clergy — sat in the back. Ryan and I crammed in next to her, and we took the three-minute ride to the Ferguson Police Department. The woman sang hymns throughout the ride.

During this time, we asked the officers for badge numbers. We asked to speak to a supervising officer. We asked why we were being detained. We were told: trespassing in a McDonald’s.

“I hope you’re happy with yourself,” one officer told me. And I responded: “This story’s going to get out there. It’s going to be on the front page of The Washington Post tomorrow.”

And he said, “Yeah, well, you’re going to be in my jail cell tonight.”

Once at the station, we were processed, our pockets emptied. No mug shots. They removed our restraints and put us in a holding cell. Ryan was able to get ahold of his dad. I called my mom, but I couldn’t get through. I couldn’t remember any phone numbers.

We were in there for what felt like 10 or 15 minutes. Then the processing officer came in.

“Who’s media?” he asked.

We said we were. And the officer said we were both free to go. We asked to speak to a commanding officer. We asked to see an arrest report. No report, the officer told us, and no, they wouldn’t provide any names.

I asked if there would ever be a report. He came back with a case number and said a report would be available in a week or two.

“The chief thought he was doing you two a favor,” he said.

The Ferguson Police Department did not immediately respond to a request for comment on Lowery’s detention.

(Read Full Text)

Initially, both Ryan Reilly of the Huffington Post and I were asked for identification. I was wearing my lanyard, but Ryan asked why he had to show his ID. They didn’t press the point, but one added that if we called 911, no one would answer.

Then they walked away. Moments later, the police reemerged, telling us that we had to leave. I pulled my phone out and began recording video.

An officer with a large weapon came up to me and said, “Stop recording.”

I said, “Officer, do I not have the right to record you?”

He backed off but told me to hurry up. So I gathered my notebook and pens with one hand while recording him with the other hand.

As I exited, I saw Ryan to my left, having a similar argument with two officers. I recorded him, too, and that angered the officer. As I made my way toward the door, the officers gave me conflicting information.

One instructed me to exit to my left. As I turned left, another officer emerged, blocking my path.

“Go another way,” he said.

As I turned, my backpack, which was slung over one shoulder, began to slip. I said, “Officers, let me just gather my bag.” As I did, one of them said, “Okay, let’s take him.”

Watch on descentintotyranny-blog.tumblr.com

In Ferguson, Washington Post reporter Wesley Lowery gives account of his arrest

Aug. 14 2014

FERGUSON, Mo. — For the past week in Ferguson, reporters have been using the McDonald’s a few blocks from the scene of Michael Brown’s shooting as a staging area. Demonstrations have blown up each night nearby. But inside there’s WiFi and outlets, so it’s common for reporters to gather there.

That was the case Wednesday. My phone was just about to die, so as I charged it, I used the time to respond to people on Twitter and do a little bit of a Q&A since I wasn’t out there covering the protests.

As I sat there, many armed officers came in — some who were dressed as normal officers, others who were dressed with more gear.

Initially, both Ryan Reilly of the Huffington Post and I were asked for identification. I was wearing my lanyard, but Ryan asked why he had to show his ID. They didn’t press the point, but one added that if we called 911, no one would answer.

Then they walked away. Moments later, the police reemerged, telling us that we had to leave. I pulled my phone out and began recording video.

An officer with a large weapon came up to me and said, “Stop recording.”

I said, “Officer, do I not have the right to record you?”

He backed off but told me to hurry up. So I gathered my notebook and pens with one hand while recording him with the other hand.

As I exited, I saw Ryan to my left, having a similar argument with two officers. I recorded him, too, and that angered the officer. As I made my way toward the door, the officers gave me conflicting information.

One instructed me to exit to my left. As I turned left, another officer emerged, blocking my path.

“Go another way,” he said.

As I turned, my backpack, which was slung over one shoulder, began to slip. I said, “Officers, let me just gather my bag.” As I did, one of them said, “Okay, let’s take him.”

Multiple officers grabbed me. I tried to turn my back to them to assist them in arresting me. I dropped the things from my hands.

“My hands are behind my back,” I said. “I’m not resisting. I’m not resisting.” At which point one officer said: “You’re resisting. Stop resisting.”

That was when I was most afraid — more afraid than of the tear gas and rubber bullets.

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Hey guys.

I apologize for being the wet blanket at the mo. The news about Carrie Fisher is really getting to me. Like, bad. The kind of bad where I’m gonna need to call my therapist while she’s on vacation bad.

Yeah, I know the whole “But you never even know her! Stop making this about you!!” thing and I get that. I’m not trying to make this about me.

I grieve for her family. I grieve for her. I grieve for a world without her in it. I grind my teeth at the fact that just yesterday, we were being told she was stable. I grieve for the complete suddenness of this. It feels like I’m one big ball of grieving.

I’ve always been attuned to people’s emotions. Call it bullshit if you like, but when enough people are sad or hurt or angry, you *feel* that. It’s in the air, in your veins. It becomes you.

Today is a grieving day, and the fact that I can’t lay in bed and sleep through it is turning me into a major depresso grump. I don’t take feelings like this and turn them into art, as much I’d love to for Carrie Fisher’s sake. I shut down, I reboot, I make things than after a nice joke or two.

I’m in shut down mode right now.

And the plain fact is, I can’t be on here (Tumblr) right now. Every other post is a tribute to Carrie Fisher, or a gifset, or whatever. Which is good, it’s deserved. But man, I can feel my chest tightening up just thinking about. I’ve been crying most of the day, and lemme tell ya, that is not easy when you sit in a crowded office answering phones for eight hours a day.

I probably won’t be on for a bit. I just can’t handle this place right now, and I hope you peeps understand. (I’m not even sure why I’m making this post. Trying to explain, I guess, but words are just *pzzzrtblght* right now. It feels like I’ve lost someone I knew.)

Thanks for understanding, and if you don’t *shrug* You are who you are.

And, sorry for being the drama llama. Happens. I’m gonna go now.

anonymous asked:

Hey, why does Janelle wear black and white almost exclusively?

In her own words: 

“When I started my musical career I was a maid, I used to clean houses. My parents–my mother was a proud janitor, my step-father who raised me like his very own worked at the post office and my father was a trash man. They all wore uniforms. And that’s why I stand here today in my black and white and I wear my uniform to honor them… This is a reminder that I have work to do, I have people to uplift, I have people to inspire.” [x]