So I got this new rain sounds CD to play while I’m studying, and most of the tracks are really focusing.

But there’s this one that like some crazy overly-dedicated rain CD maker person ventured out into the epicenter of a lightning storm to capture the sound of lighting hitting the ground right next to the microphone ever 5 seconds.

And every time that track comes up, my cat and I are sitting here like

Reunited || Nia & Jayden

Nia had no idea what this house would be like. While her last had been strict, she had still been given free reign to have hobbies, and even go to school, but she’d been told that this one was far worse, that the trainers were much more strict than her last. As she was walked through the halls in nothing but her undergarments, she felt more exposed than ever, but kept her mouth shut, moving along quietly until she was finally pushed into a room, gasping sharply as she stumbled and tried not to hit the floor. The moment she saw who was behind the desk, her heart stopped and she instantly reacted, taking a step forward without permission. “Jayden…” she said, before she felt a fist connect with her jaw and she fell to the floor, clutching her face as she whimpered, and even though the pain was excruciating, she played it up a little for the man in front of her, the one who had been at the forefront of her mind since the day they met.

krikkencrux asked:

Headcanon that when they're in the car together, Mello drives & Matt plays air guitar and stomps his feet on the dashboard to old rock songs. To shut him up, Mells just swerves and makes Matt hit his head on the window

I’m not even kidding this is phenrirr and I during drives

That Farnham guy is something else,” Columbus All-Star Nick Foligno said. “He never shuts up, never stops hitting people. He’s everywhere. He fights anyone.”

He’s entertaining to have around, right?

“But it’s not just that,” Foligno explained. “The thing is, that’s the kind of guy you want to play with. I bet he’s been running through walls just to make it as far as he has in hockey. Those kinds of guys don’t stop running through walls. You want to play with guys like that.

Since I’ve been thinking about Tabletop RPGs lately, I wanted to tell you a story.

The last time I played D&D, I did over 100HP in damage… however it was to the party. It was only over 100 because I hit and killed everyone in the party except for myself.

In my group there is a rule that after the one is finished being calculated, you get another roll because everyone is so shocked at what you did. I reroll, since it can’t be that bad after I nearly maimed the healer. I was attempting to use my little bit of healing on him.

I rolled a one. I rolled damage and rolled over his limit. Effectively, I reached out and twisted his head while screaming “I AM HELPING!”

I rolled again, with a different die. 1.

I just kept rerolling until I got a different number while my DM started to spout out how people were dying. I wasn’t even rolling for damage anymore. I was just rolling until I could get another number.

I was one roll away from my character killing herself. I rolled a twenty.

I got up while everyone was starting their new character sheets and hit my head on he wall for about five minutes.

I haven’t been back yet, but the rules have changed slightly. Officially if I roll two ones in a row, the third number is considered a natural 20, no matter what I actually roll.

*sung to the tune of 'do you wanna build a snowman'*
  • Me:Do you wanna watch Charlie Hunnam?
  • Me:We can watch him shoot a gun.
  • Me:We'll watch do hero stuff and break the law, now doesn't that sound fun?
  • Me:We all know the bestest part, is him holding a baby and calling his best friend 'bro' ... Do you wanna watch Charlie Hunnam?
  • Sister:SHUT UP and just hit play!
  • Me:Okay let's go!

 Chapter 1


Raymond Howell awakened much like he did every morning, to the sound of Bryant Gumbel’s soft voice commenting on some tragedy in some part of the world. Ray reached out, his eyes still closed, and grab the remote and hit the mute button. It was too early  for somber banter from plastic newscasters.“Shut up, Bryant.” he said to the tv and buried his head under his pillow. He finally rolled over and opened his eyes to the bright streaks of sunlight that hit the opposite wall through the curtains and quickly shut them again. He glanced at the the digital clock. It blinked 9:13. He sat up and drew his knees to his sharp chin and watched the dust playing in the sunlight. He reached over and grabbed a half empty can of Coke from the night stand and swallowed. It was too warm, too thick and too sweet but it wet his throat. Then reached for his cigarettes, lit one and and inhaled deep. He exhaled and took another sip of his Coke and sat listening to the house. He didn’t hear the TV downstairs so he guessed his mother wasn’t home. She was probably out at garage sales in the neighborhood or rummaging through the consignment shops downtown for more “deals” as she liked to call them. Garbage was what  Ray called them. He glanced at the television. Bryant was laughing at some joke Willard Scott had made apparently. Ray had fallen asleep, as was his habit, with the TV on. He had been watching the late night Creature Feature. Some cheesefest about a 2-headed guy. That was probably why he fell asleep fifteen minutes into the movie. He had been hoping for a kaiju flick or maybe a Hammer film, but he got drive-inn fodder…Oh well.

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and sat there smoking. He remembered dreaming. Something about that girl at school. The black haired  vixen that sat across the room from him in his History class. He usually didn’t have good dreams  after falling asleep to the Creature Feature, especially not ones about girls, but she had been on his mind a lot lately. A lot. He drew on his cigarette and blew smoke rings. he sat there trying to remember the dream, then rubbed the sleep from his eyes and stood up and stretched and grabbed his glasses off the night stand.

He was fifteen years old, bean pole thin and gawky and he wore glasses that slightly magnified his eyes; not much, but enough to to earn him the nickname of X-Ray from the kids at his school. He yearned for contacts and a body like Arnold Schwarzenegger. The first had been promised to him when he turned sixteen, and the second was a pipe dream no amount of push-ups would ever deliver. His hair was bleached blonde, cropped close except for a few dyed green spikes on top, that his mother loathed but couldn’t talk him out of.  He also was the proud owner of a hole in his left earlobe that had a ring in it with a cross that dangled on the end of a little silver chain. His mother hated that, as well.

 Ray walked over the bedroom window, hitching up his red pajama bottoms, and pushed aside the curtains and looked out on a sunny Saturday morning, the sunlight glowing in the lenses of his glasses. He looked out at the cul-de-sac at the end of Preston Drive, his neighborhood, the - “suburban hellhole”, he called it. He looked directly across the street and saw Mr. Krenshaw mowing his lawn. Ray thought this was a complete and utter waste  of time seeing as how the lawn was pristine. Hell, it was immaculate. The grass was never more than an inch tall at anytime and perpetually green year round. A weird, technicolor green, that hurt your eyes to stare at it too long. Ray often wondered if he watered it with toxic waste. But there he was nevertheless, every Saturday morning, on his riding lawnmower, in his polyester pant suits, straw fedora and loafers, mowing away at it. He even had a pipe in his mouth. He reminded Ray, for all the life of him, of the guy on the cover of that first Devo album, only slightly older. Ray suspected Mr. Krenshaw might be an android. Next door to the lawn mowing Mr. Roboto, was Mrs. Thompson unloading her groceries from the back of her station wagon. He watched as she struggled with the three brown paper bags as her two twin boys,  whom Ray like to call the Thompson Twins, which always made him chuckle, ran around like a couple of spastic chimps on speed, in between her and her front door. That isn’t going to end well, he thought as he looked to the left of of his own house at the house that was currently under construction. The yard was hard scrabble and lumber scraps. The construction was taking forever on that house. Not surprisingly the construction crew wasn’t working on it this morning, either. He had overheard his mother telling Mrs. Thompson that the developers were running out of money. Good, he thought, maybe they wouldn’t finish building. There were enough assholes on this street, already.

Ray hated this neighborhood. He hated his neighbors. He hated this street, this cul-de-sac. He hated living here. When his parents separated, his Mom got the split-level home here on Preston Street in Mayfield Heights. His dad moved into an apartment in Cleveland. He got to spend a few months with his dad in the summer but he had the pleasure of living in this hellhole the rest of the year. The city was only 20 minutes away but it may as well be a million miles away as far as he was concerned. He looked up the street at Higway 271. He could see the Luna City arcade, the Circle K and further along he could just see the sign for the Good Times Video store, the only bastions that held off being completely bored to death out here in the ‘burbs.

He turned away from the window. He could feel the sun, warm across his back and shoulders. He passed under the lazily revolving ceiling fan and walked over to his stereo and began sifting through his cassettes - Devo, Bauhaus, Black Flag, Husker Du, New Model Army, The Human League. He found what he was looking for; The Dead Boys. He began humming to himself as he popped the cassette in the tape player and started dragging his stereo speakers across the room to his bedroom windows. He hoisted up both windows and propped the speakers up on the window seal, facing outward on his unsuspecting neighbors, mindlessly going about their Saturday morning routines.  His Mom was probably going to give him a lot of shit for what he was about to do and he would more than likely get grounded. “What do I care?”, Ray said, exhaled cigarette smoke, cranked up the volume to max and pressed play.The thump of the bass from the intro to 'Sonic Reducer’ boomed in his room and rattled the windows. Mr. Krenshaw, who just finished mowing his weird, possibly radioactive lawn, looked across the street at Ray’s house, and frowned, clenched on the pipe between his teeth harder and shook his head in disgust. The guitars shrieked and Mrs. Thompson, currently struggling to get her key in the front door of her house and juggling three bags of groceries, got startled and dropped one of her grocery bags on her front steps. It exploded, sending canned goods and produce flying everywhere, like shrapnel. The Thompson Twins screamed in delight and started chasing cans. She groaned and glared over her shoulder at his bedroom room. Other neighbors who were watering  plants, washing their cars or jogging on the sidewalk, all stopped and looked at 521 Preston Circle in surprise.

“Hey, you freakin’ zombies!” Ray shouted over the music, “Wake up!” His voice rolled over the cul-de-sac leaving dogs barking and Stiv Bators moaning behind it. “ I’m not gonna be like you,” he shouted, the cigarette clamped in the corner of his mouth. “ I swear to God, I’m not!”

Raymond Howell, X-Ray to his friends, son of Diane and Andrew Howell, stood in the middle of his bedroom  in his bright red pajama bottoms , his chest sunken and sallow and raised both of his middle fingers in a triumphant Fuck You to everything around him on this beautiful Saturday morning in Mayfield Heights, a suburb of Cleveland  in the great state of Ohio, in the month of May in the year of our Lord, nineteen hundred and eighty seven.

So after an argument with my stepdad he called the police and tried to get me arrested.
For the most absurd thing.
He’s been harassing my Mom all week and he’s been making really snide comments under his breath when he walks past my room. And then today when I was in the shower he went in my room and turned off my DS just because he wanted to (I always leave it on when I’m not playing) which pissed me off even more, because he has no right to touch my property.
I got fed up with his crap so I slammed my door shut, but my Mom came in and ask me why I slammed it. Then he came in (wtf) and backed me up to the wall and said that I had to answer or he’d force the answer out of me. I then told him to get out of my room and he told me that I should go back to my Biological father (I’ve hit my limit at this point) so I started yelling at him.
So he calls the cops (and get this) he says I pointed a knife at him.
I had my glasses in my hand.
My glasses.
Guys at this point I’m shaking and my hand tremors are 10x worse.
But then police got here and I told them what happened. They understood everything and tbh they made me feel a lot better. They saw all of my Pokémon stuff and we started talking about Pokémon, Zelda, the new 3ds and a lot of other stuff! At this point I wasn’t shaking anymore and they were telling me about Majora’s mask and COD and we were all laughing in my room.
They said I should stay with a friend for a bit so I’m gonna head to my bff’s house tomorrow.
I wanted to thank them but I’m shy af so yeah.

A day in my life people.

At this point my stepfather is always the aggressor and all of the officers know it.
I’m just glad I stopped shaking bc my hand tremors wouldn’t stop. ;;-;;

Sorry for the long post, but I needed to vent and I don’t have anyone atm.

flowers-for-freaks asked:

(almost accidentally unfollowed) when i was really little i was tired of getting my brother orange juice just because he was the older sibling so one day i decided to just pour all this sugar into it so he'd never ask me to it again bUT IT WASNT SUGAR IT WAS THE SALT AND I ALMOST KILLED MY BROTHER OH MY GOD NOW HE WONT EVEN LOOk AT ORANGE JUICE AND HE BRINGS IT UP "you almost hit me.." "you almost killed me so shut up."

One time when I was six, I was at my friend, Camera’s (his name was actually Cameron but we called em’ Camera) house and they had a wooden fort built up right by their fence that peered into this old lady’s backyard.

We were sliding down the slide and playing tag for a while then it escalated into a game of truth or dare. I dared him to kiss the dog, so naturally, Camera did.

Then he dared me to climb into the old lady’s backyard. Being the fearless, carefree, idiotic six year old that I was, I did.

But I didn’t simply climb into her backyard. I fell. Fell on my face. Scraped my knees on the fence while sliding down the splinter loaded wood.

Of course I screamed, of course I made noise, of course the old woman not-so-gracefully stumbled out onto her patio wondering what the fuck was going on.

Camera’s face dripped with nervous sweat as he peaked over the fence line. His eyes were egg sized and mouth dropped lower than a 7th grade white boy sagging his pants.

I had not yet realized the presence radiating with anger directly behind me. I slowly rolled over and stared at my friend Camera in confusion. Why was he making that face? Why was he slowly lowering his watermelon shaped head below the fence line.

Slowly realizing what was going on, I pushed myself off the bark textured earth with worry and fear. I looked up and faced the elder woman with a broomstick in hand. Her stance was sloppy and she was clearly not prepared for a four foot three child dressed in the most clashing colors to front-flop into her backyard.

Oh tore cheek. I tore ass cheek like a flock of fuck boys were making their way towards their phone charger so they could ask for nudes from the popular group of seniors girls before their battery ran out.

Luckily, I made it to the the broken down fence on the left of me that was lifted off the ground. I body slammed into the dirt and squirmed my way under the fence like a girl that had just gotten out of the shower attempting to put on a pair of black skinny jeans.

I was free. I was finally free. I ran out into the street and took notice of my surroundings. I knew where I was, I knew where I had to go. Yet again, I ran across the street and made sure to go by ten times as faster while passing the old lady’s house. I made my way back to Camera’s front door and knocked as hard as I possibly could, anxiously waiting for the door to open.

A sliver of light peeked through the door, then opened all the way, revealing Camera’s silhouetted figure. He slid to the side yo let me pass into his home. The door shut quickly after me.

I was finally safe.

I have not told this story in about nine years.

I hope you enjoyed the answer I put A LITTLE BIT too much effort into answering.

abaikgirl asked:

"I'm going to be sick" McAuthor. I love the way you write that ship!

(I’m glad you like the trash I supply :) ) 

“I’m going to be sick.”  Carla muttered.

  “You’ve thrown up three times in the past half hour.”  Stanford offered.

  “Shut the hell up.”  He was sitting beside her on the bathroom floor.  She was clinging to the toilet, retching into it every few seconds.  In between fits, Stanford would reach up and flush the toilet for her.

  “Where’s Stanley?”

  “Dunno- probably out playing beer pong.”

  “You guys are lucky I came along.  You should go home, get some.”

  “Stan’ll be mad.”  She sighed, “He was really looking forward to this party.”

  “I’m sure he’ll understan, especially after you’ve puked your cuts out three times over.”

  “I will not hesitate to hit you.”  She groaned.  “Can you get me some water?”

  “Sure thing.”  He pushed himself up the side of the tub to his feet.  “I don’t even have to leave.  He grabbed one of the paper cups beside the sink and filled it.  He returned to the floor, handing it to her.

  “Drink this and wait here, I’ll go get Stanley.”  She nodded, sipping from the cup.  He left her in the bathroom, closing the door behind her.  He tugged at the tie he was wearing and hung it over the handle, hopefully tha twould keep people from disturbing her.  He made his way downstairs into the living room where most of the party-goers were.  They were all around his age, college age kids home for the summer.  the host had broken into his dad’s liqor cabinet.  Underage.  Great.  Stanford went through the kitchen to the backyard where a couple guys were huddled around a ping pong table.

  “Hey Fellas- have you seen my brother, about my height, looks almost exactly like me?”

  “Pines?”  Said one of the guys, who stumbled over, nearly colliding with Stanford.  “You’re the nerd one, right?  The Princeton guy?”

  “I guess that’s me.  Have you Seen Stanley?”  He asked flatly.

  “Not for awhile, he and some of the other guys went off to…to..damn, what did they go off to do, Mark?”

  “Hell if I know…”

  “God, dammit.”  Stanford sighed, “Well, when he comes back, tell him I had to take his girl home, alright?”

  “Sounds good, Stannerd.” Said the drunk guy who’d nearly walked into him.  Stanford shook his head and turned away, trotting back to the house.  He ran back up the bathroom and took his tie off the door.  He knocked and was let in by a very wobbly Carla.

  “Stanley ran off with some of the guys, probably going to do something stupid.”

  “That…dummy.”  Carla slurred.  Stan guided her downstairs through the party out into the night air.  “Always…ditchin’ me, leaving me with you…”

  “I could leave you her with all these strange men McCorkle…”

  “Nonono-”  she clung to his arm.  “Take me home please.”

  “Alright, alright.”  He shook his head.  “You’re lucky Stan paid me not to drink tonight, Carla.”

I saw my friends today!! I had a really fun time!! 

I helped record songs by drinking mountain dew and playing games on my phone. I’m the best.

sometimes i hit some keys on the piano

A+ me


Have you seen this video before? Some say it’s the baby’s fault for hitting the cat, and some say it’s the cat’s fault for attacking, but did you forget about who’s filming this? It’s not the baby’s fault or the cat’s fault. It’s the mother. The cat was trying to play but Babies have soft skin and he started to cry. The mother should have put the baby or cat somewhere else. But no. She decided to fucking film this shit. She doesn’t not deserve to be a mother or a pet owner.

there was this hilarious moment last night… we were playing left 4 dead 2, the friends and i, and lol they were stalled for some reason and i was near the safe room, and there were a bunch of cars that, when hit, would trigger alarms and alert the horde

so i naturally shot them up, ran into the safe room, and shut the door

it was hilarious 11/10 my friends’ screams were top notch

I never realized how much time I spend doing creative/art related projects. I got a wrist wrap and an Ever After High Doll that I WAS going to dabble with repainting while resisting my tablet, but after it started hurting to play with paint on the doll, it hit me that I can’t really do anything creative. I was so upset I had to go take a nap. this is going to be miserable ;_;

Oh yeah, I beat my 3-Heart Hero Mode run of WWHD, by the way

I only had 5 “deaths” in the whole run (saved by fairies, of course). First death was a Moblin in the Hyrule Castle massacre, second was a spike trap in the Wind Temple, third was to Phantom Ganon (the red magic is pretty much one-hit lmao) and I lost my fourth and fifth fairies to Moldorm Ganon because fuck that guy.

But hey, I’ve gotten good enough at Wind Waker that I can make it through the first 30 floors of the Savage Labyrinth without losing 3 hearts, even with double damage on. I feel pretty okay about that.

anonymous asked:

Hi ariana how are you.... people who are actually trying to blame ronaldo, casillas or Carlo for last night those people can shut the hell up no one is to blame for what happened last night I mean hit the bar twice post once and coming up against an inspired keeper which Diego alves was you know it's most likely never going to happen. it is time for every R Madrid play to unite together themselves and fightback and prove to all the doubters why real madrid is the best club in the world toda