probably-doesn't-make-much-sense

For @2momsmakearight and @puzzlingpeace and anyone else who who received horrible messages and they just didn’t want to share.

“It’s okay to be fierce. & if you’re fierce, it’s okay to be kind.”

I am choosing kindness. This person may have broken in and stole a sense of security that we all felt, but we won’t let it break us. I won’t let you turn my smile into a frown, you won’t burn out my light. Am I afraid? I think any person in their right mind would be but that won’t make me shut down and hide. Instead I’m going to spread kindness through this time of hate. You don’t own me and your hate doesn’t control me. You are just a coward hiding behind a keyboard and you will not break our foundation that a majority of this fandom has created.

So, it was Hamster/Angry G’s birthday on Tuesday, and @junkpilestuff left a bag of the finest seeds for Hamster G and a 1 year subscription of Astrology magazine for Angry G. So, when she returns, she notices something on the table.

BUT HEY, IT’S THE SAME ENVELOPE SHE GAVE TO ANGRY G. DID HE NOT LIKE THE GIFT?!

Nah. It was empty, and a small note was written on the back of it.

YAY!!! :D

(It’s drunken Friday, so this is all I have…

Underneath the cut is the behind story of what Angry G went through before he wrote that note. XD )

Keep reading

mxshiiach  asked:

Place a ⭐ in my askbox and I’ll say some nice shit about you. || accepting
@mxshiiach

Alright sit the fuck down, grab a snack and some water, and get comfortable. This is gonna get long, I have a feeling. I remember when I first saw this blog on my dash. And I just….adored the concept so much. I’ve seen soulless Sam blogs, boy king Sam blogs, the works. But Messiah Sam? That was new to me. And I was quick to fall in love with the portrayal, as well as the writing, on this blog. I followed. I will be honest, I fully expected not to get followed back. I was completely okay with that. I just wanted this amazing blog on my dash, all the time. BUT I WAS FOLLOWED BACK. Cue me having a lil squirm happy fest at my computer. Mutuals. I was so flattered. I thought, awesome, we can be those chill mutuals that just appreciate each other’s presence on the dash and such! Because lordy I was too shy to actually start interaction with such an amazing blog. BUT THEN THEY SENT A MEME.

I’m not going to give you the whole history background here, because this is already getting kinda long, but long story shorter! Now my ask is usually 75% from this blog, because they are a blessing that sends me so many things. I absolutely love it. I’m pretty sure we talk daily, even if it’s just short silly conversations.

I am constantly in awe of the beautiful phrasing and descriptions from this blog. The writing on this blog is probably one of my favs throughout this whole site. It has a wonderful flow to it, without getting too bogged down in little details. It reads incredibly well, without being plain or repetitive. Sam feels alive and real in each and every thread and ic post. And the mun? The mun is such an incredible sweetheart, a true gem of kindness on this site. 

Basically, I adore this blog with every fiber of my being and will follow forever. I’m incredibly glad that I happened to see them on a mutual’s blog (godforsakenthing) and got up the courage to follow. Bless you, Jesus Sam <3

You are not alone - by Claudia Boleyn


You are foul mouthed, harshly spoken, will not bow and will not bend, will not bite your tongue, will not purge your mind of thoughts, will not deny your ambition, your intelligence. You do not always care for articulate delivery. You are messy, you seep words and emotions. You will be seen. You will be heard.

He does not like it. He tells you so. Tells everyone who will listen.

You are full of anger. You are full of resistance. You are full of justice. You are bursting with the rage you’ve accumulated in only a few short years of your young life. You have experienced pressing your nose to the dirty ground to let them tread over the scarred skin of your back. You were taught early on to surrender, to step aside, to give way. They called it grace, class, ladylike, good. (And of course you know how important it is that you are not bad.) You have already swallowed your words and your pride and your thoughts and your complaints. You are already an unwilling martyr. You have burned alive so many times to warm their chilly toes. And they did not thank you.

He calls you an idealist. He speaks it with a sneer, scoffs into his wine. He knows that one who has lived in silence can do nothing but think, and therefore he fears what it is those moments and days and weeks and months and years spent biting your lip until it bled have spawned.

He wants you to be silent. You are supposed to be mute, did he not make it clear? You must look to your betters who came before you who did not complain and did not disobey. (His father before him held a gun to their backs as they smiled and smiled, eyes screaming).

He expects you to bear your pain. To complain would shatter the illusion, and you must be smoke. You cannot be glass, you must only appear transparent. You must be stone, shined to gold. But do not be fooled into thinking this equals value.

He encourages you to remain a child, and yet you must not be curious. You can be no Alice, you must not venture into the rabbit hole. Precocious children must be disciplined. It is only in books that we may smile and laugh fondly at their adventures. Your own adventure is yet to come. Do not seek it, though, for that demeans you. Makes you desperate, needy, distasteful. Instead you must wait to be found.

You may grow, of course, but only so far so as not to impose. Remember how frailty becomes you? Vulnerability endears you to him, to them.

This is because we wish to protect you.

(And if necessary, break you).

You must have presence and dignity, but you must stand behind him at all times. With his permission you may glitter. To sparkle without it is tantamount to your own self opinion, which is sin.

He thinks it is better if you cry in secret when the lights are out and everyone has gone to bed. Do not burden him with your thoughts, your feelings, your humanity. When he sleeps you must disappear, he will blink you out of existence.

You must carry your strength within. It must not show on the surface. It must not be acknowledged. You are soft. You are smooth. You smell of roses. You do not perspire.

He tells you true strength is in silence.That hatred is an ugly trait in you, and the ugliness is the part he despises most of all.

But you do not need his approval. You not wish to be pleasing. You wish to be yourself.

You are armed with such fire and endurance as he cannot imagine or emulate. Because his survival has never depended on them.

You tore the stitches from your mouth this morning.

And you are not alone.

(by Claudia Boleyn

5

I knew something was “wrong with me” mentally for a really long time before ever doing anything about it. Despite meltdowns, panic attacks, shutdowns, people trying to convince me to do therapy, I believed getting help or acknowledging what was going on was “weird” and something to be ashamed of. It took me until I started college to finally see a doctor.

I’ve had physical pain for as long as I can remember. I don’t know what it’s like to go a day without being in constant pain. One time I fractured my ankle and was so used to joint pain I didn’t realize it for a week or two.

I was always the kid who got super into things I liked, to the point of talking about it all the time and having friends get exasperated with me. I hardly ever make eye contact with people and they never understand why.

I’m now 20 years old and through the years I’ve trained myself to hide a lot of things; I don’t show extreme emotions in front of other people, I only complain about pain if it’s really really bad, and I keep things to myself when I’m passionate about them. But I’m working on unlearning these things because I don’t need to be ashamed of myself. I’m in diagnosis limbo for my physical problems and spend most of my time in bed due to mental shit and pain, and that’s how I am and that’s okay. I’ve come a long way with overcoming fatphobia and abuse and that’s pretty damn rad.

I wear my special interests on shirts and keychains, I wear arthritis gloves and walk with a limp because I’m cripple punk af, and it’s all part of who I am. Happy no shame day!

EDIT: I’ve seen the information about this day being for POC. I’m a white passing latinx and have been told that’s okay but if people want me to take this down I will.
Letters Left

When Lucy left the Guild to protect everyone:

Natsu and Happy burst into her apartment expecting her to be there

But she wasn’t there

And there was a note left for whoever happened to break into her apartment (aka everyone)

When Natsu left the Guild to be able to learn how to protect everyone:

Lucy burst into her apartment expecting Happy and Natsu to be there

But they weren’t there

And there was a note left for Lucy

And they both chased after one another

The Mini-Rant About YA

Please note, all my comments have to do with a specific set of YA, mostly composed of female authors. I haven’t read male authors John Green or Cory Doctorow, so I have no idea if the YA they write is good or not.

Just sayin’.

Also, I’ve set my timer for 15 minutes. Publishing whatever I write in that time.

Putting this under Read More for those who’d rather skip.

Keep reading

You know I see a lot of “kids these days never go outside, they just play video games and watch TV!”

And yet here are my younger cousins outside wandering around. But you know why? They have room to. We live out in the boonies, there’s next to no one here, so their mother isn’t freaking out about going outside.

You know what I think part of the problem is? Parents, and the media.

We grew up in the age of newstories everywhere being mostly “so and so was found kidnapped from their front yard and murdered!/ met someone online who later kidnapped and murdered them!”. My mother was paranoid, parents are paranoid. I had the fear of the internet instilled in me at a very young age, and I wasn’t even allowed on it until I was 16 or so. My mom still regularly tells me not to talk to anyone on the internet at all because they’re just middle aged perverts who are going to kidnap you. I am 20.

My parents talked about how when they were young and they would bike all the way into town without supervision (and it’s at least a10 minute drive in a car), about how my mom would walk down to trade day with just her friend. We would not be allowed to do that now. I was not allowed to do anything like that. 

Kids are scared to go outside because parents scare them, and parents are scared to let their kids out because the news scares them.