that is wrong with the world

Okay just wait one minute….Have I read correctly that there are actually some people out there in this world who are *chokes* upset….that Katie got promoted as Series regular?? Do such people exist?? What the flying fuck…

Explain this to me, what is it that people are so upset over? 

Do you detest a strong, independent, intelligent and powerful woman such as Lena Luthor? You know…Lena…who’s in her 20s and is the CEO of a Fortune 500 Company with a view towards righting the wrongs her family did despite the fact that she’s a Luthor and in the face of countless naysayers waiting for her to fail…

Originally posted by meafterdeath

Originally posted by cwsupergirlgifs

Maybe it’s her undeniable and unquestionable loyalty towards and support of Kara/Supergirl? 

Originally posted by lenasavedmebitch

Originally posted by scrumptiouslyswaggladiator

Or maybe you didn’t appreciate it when Lena basically destroyed any chance at having any sort of relationship with her snake of her mother (which she desperately desired) by literally turning her no good ass over to the police for the benefit of Kara and the alien population?

Originally posted by msluthor

Was it when Lena literally stared death in the face a million times like a bad ass all while remaining true to her cause and her friends and not once did she figure oh well let me join Cadmus and you know…save my life…

Originally posted by katiemcgraths

Perhaps you have an aversion to this literal Goddess and her perfect face because honestly, who wouldn’t want to see this gorgeousness on their screen all the damn time? Who?

Originally posted by katiemcgraths

So go on….someone please enlighten me as to the reasonableness in expressing any emotion other than pure ecstasy over Katie McGrath being promoted…go on…I’m waiting and I’m eager to learn 

Originally posted by captain-tv-addict

I’m just gonna’ fuckin say it, I completed all major requirements for a sociology degree right, and let me tell you I learned fucking nothing about people and society. Absolutely nothing. 

I learned more about how the world works having my transcripts frozen and being forced to confront the reality of it. 

Why have I suddenly radicalized and rebranded the blog? Because I’m no longer being fed liberal propaganda that was taught at my university lmao. 

I’m still literally shit, don’t get me wrong, but I’ve definitely got a better grasp of things than I did while in school “learning.” I’m still learning, as will always be the case, but I’m learning far better things than what was course material.

Face it, our university system is hardly about learning, and innovation and creativity, and exploration of knowledge, etc. … and more about paying for a better job. tbh..

Studying mathematics was actually more helpful to me in understanding capitalism and ableism as systems of oppression, than sociology tbh.

Like if you’re doing a sociology degree thats cool and all, but be really wary of what they teach you tbh. 

This is where learning mathematics was really influential to me … learning mathematics basically taught me not to take anyone at their word but instead find a way to prove everything to yourself. 

If it can’t be proven to yourself, and you can see no way for it to exist or be true, then … you can disregard it and work on a NEW THEORY in replacement, or figure out what in particular is wrong with the previous theory.

Not to gush about math, but it really is about everything being fake until you make it ~real~ lmao. Like you can just sit at your table and invent math if you really wanted to, you just make definitions, and prove those definitions in your invented universe. It’s pretty cool.

not to say you can just invent how society works, but you can definitely become more critical of other’s opinions of how things work within reason and within your own boundaries.

Maybe I was a bad sociology student? But I got all A’s in every sociology course I ever took so like, Idk yall, I’m just saying be wary. 

A friend with more experience on Tumblr pointed out that I was Tumblng all wrong. Since I’m still pretty new to Tumblr, I took hr wrd fr it.

So here they are again, the lovely boys, this time as a proper picture rather than an embedded-in-text pixelated thing.

In case the words under Link are too small in your view: The awesome artist who made this is @lightsintheskye!

anonymous asked:

So ppl r trending #laucyisover party or something like that? What is wrong w ppl?? L. is sharing something extremely personal & intimate even tho they r broken up --WHY? - because they care more about the message than about maybe the sadness of being broken up. They want the world to know that #loveislove nmw - and that that kind of love isOK .. why are ppl so disrespectful? it is in support of LGBTQ rights & ppl r trashing it -bc of some damn ship they want. SMH. they should be ashamed


The Pit lyrics (updated)

Ascend from the shit
Up to the edge of the bottomless pit
Reborn I am free
Like a fetus again I learn how to breathe

The darkness was a cocoon
Just like the moth I escape the gloom
A sparkle deep within
Lit up the flame that begot me to win

There is no way to quell my desire
The energy inside the void the fire

Cast down from the skies
Carrying the weight of a world’s despise
My downfall made me see
This hole gave birth to the preacher in me

There is no way to quell my desire
The energy inside the void the fire x2

Come closer to me
Come closer to me
Come closer to me and be truly free x4

There is no way to quell my desire
The energy inside the void the fire x2

anonymous asked:

What would Solas' reaction be to a young Dalish Inquisitor who has an abusive father and considers Solas a father figure? (My Inquisitor was constantly trailing after Solas like a kicked puppy trying to impress his new father figure)

There are times when Solas wonders- briefly and with no little trepidation- if he is perhaps wrong about the world he’s awoken to. But as the the enormity of the abuse that the Inquisitior has suffered slowly comes to light and good deal of that fades. Aside from the scars and the nightmares da'len struggles to meet male authority figures in the eyes– and is flatly terrified of both Cullen and Blackwall. In the beginning Solas comes under that same terrified suspicion as well, but the rift made is patient and careful in both voice and movement and has the advantage of being less physically imposing in stature.

Before too long Solas gets them talking, and if they are a mages he invites them to converse with friendly spirits in the fade that helps more still. In time the Inquisitor becomes his silent shadow, as close as a real father and son, and when Corypheus is at least defeated leaving the child behind will be a huge struggle. The events of Trespasser will be vastly different, if nothing else, and the child will have a better chance than anyone else of either changing Solas’s mind or joining him.

when I look at the world
i hate what I see
it’s all the same
look at the earth
it’s confusing me
everything is wrong
at least to me
—  t.m.

anonymous asked:

lulu, please don't think I'm a hater or anything, I actually think your a great person with amazing skills, and I'm not trying to make you anxious or depressed at all, but, it is because I care that I tell you this, to try to help you... homosexuality is not natural or right... and I know you have an amazing relationship, but that doesn't make it right either, even if the world says it's okay, but the world has been wrong before... please give this some thought...

Anon, thank you for your nice words. After reading your ask, I gave myself some time to think about what you said. 

And I think I really don’t give a fuck :)

gosh the arrowverse fandom is really biased
A male character can’t go wrong, whenever some is written to make something bad or make a mistake the fans always excuse him and someone else is to blame
The male characters are treated like some babies, mary sues or victims and are never called out on their shit
It’s totally different when a female character does something controversial, they are always critisised even for little things like some line
That’s so annoying and I guess depicts in what kind of world we still live in

fixaidea  asked:

AU in which Les Amis find themselves in Middle Earth (or the HP wizarding world), assuming there's no language barrier? :)

I wish I could do Middle Earth because it sounds so interesting, but alas I am merely a tourist in Lord of the Rings Fandom, and I’d be too scared of getting everything wrong. I decided to go with HP instead; I couldn’t quite figure out how to just make them stumbled into the world, though, so… I… improvised. Also there is a lot of cosette and marius here, sorry……..

  • So, in this universe, Marius met Cosette during the summer, and cried for her during the rest of the year because she seemed to have mysteriously vanished; It’s only when Cosette turns eighteen (i’m making her slightly older here, bear with me, this is the french system), that Marius meets her again, and that they have a beautiful lovely time in may. Why? Because Cosette’s a witch, and went to Beauxbâtons (Fauchelevent, an old half-blood wizard, managed to sneak muggle Valjean in Beauxbâtons as help. How, why? All you need to know is that, in another more british life, Fauchelevent might as well has been a Slytherin).  
  • Now, the standard canon-era things happen, except for the fact that when Cosette realizes her dad and Marius went to the barricades, in the middle of the night, she freaks out, apparates near the fight, in her nightgown mind you, and proceed to break the magic secrecy thing pretty badly by saving everyone. Somehow. Marius would be mad if he knew people had seen his darling Cosette in a nightdress, but then again let’s say Marius is already knocked out at this point for plot reasons. That’s how les amis end up finding out about the magic world, and it’s a pretty big cultural shock…. 

Keep reading


Australia is not real. It’s a hoax, made for us to believe that Britain moved over their criminals to someplace. In reality, all these criminals were loaded off the ships into the waters, drowning before they could see land ever again. It’s a coverup for one of the greatest mass murders in history, made by one of the most prominent empires.

Australia does not exist. All things you call “proof” are actually well fabricated lies and documents made by the leading governments of the world. Your Australian friends? They’re all actors and computer generated personas, part of the plot to trick the world.

If you think you’ve ever been to Australia, you’re terribly wrong. The plane pilots are all in on this, and have in all actuality only flown you to islands close nearby - or in some cases, parts of South America, where they have cleared space and hired actors to act out as real Australians.

Australia is one of the biggest hoaxes ever created, and you have all been tricked. Join the movement today, and make it known that they have been deceived. Make it known, that this has all just been a cover-up. The things these “Australian” says to be doing, all these swear words and actions based on alcoholism, MDMA and bad decisions, are all ways to distract you from the ugly truth that is one of the greatest genocides in history. 162,000 people was said to have been transported to this imaginary land during a mere 80 years, and they are all long dead by now. They never reached that promised land.

Tell the truth. Stand up for what is right. Make sure to spread the world - Australia is not real. It’s a codeword for the cold blooded murder of more than a hundred thousand people, and it is not okay. We will not, accept this.

Stand up for the ones who died. Let it be known, that Australia does not exist.



NO END to Islamic Terrorism

 In the light of the recent terrorist attack in london, we come again to the point of re-evaluating the “religion of peace”. Many people already have resumed pushing the foolish notion that Islam is not represented by these extremists, but time and time again they are proven wrong. Now is the time to break the conditioning, and now is the time to take back the western world from the hands of this violent group whose views and desires are so incompatible with our own.

anonymous asked:

I always feel like I should never start writing about a setting until my world-building is %100 complete. Which is impossible, I mean, it's a whole world. I just feel like I've done something wrong when I upload a story that may contain things I'll retcon later, or is lacking in tons of names and places. What do I do about this paralysis? I love world-building but it's got me self-conscious.


My biggest advice here is don’t put so much pressure on yourself to produce something perfect in your first draft. I thrive on worldbuilding, and I often write drafts of stories or scenes that have big blanks where proper nouns need to go eventually. You can do a lot of worldbuilding before you write, but the truth is, you’re unlikely to fill in every single detail before you pump out draft. Sometimes you don’t realize all the little things you need until you’re writing the story. 

[I’m assuming by “upload” here, you’re meaning that you post your stories online somewhere. k? k.] 

If it makes you uncomfortable to post drafts with blanks or potentially incorrect info, then don’t. But that doesn’t mean you can’t write it. In fact, I will always recommend writing your story, let it sit around in the dark for a while, then be heavily revised before posting it. First drafts and early drafts can produce some awesome stuff, but it doesn’t mean it’s flawless and it certainly doesn’t mean it should be given immortality by posting it online. [CONFESSION: I used to do this when I was younger. I heartily regret it now. It did not help me develop as a writer to think that my early drafts were worthy of strangers reading. I think I’ve wiped all trace of my shitty teenage writing from the interwebs, but one can never be sure.]

Let yourself write a hole-filled clumsy first draft. Then go back later and revise. It gives you time to see the work with fresh eyes and also gives you time to develop the world through writing in it. That’s the best way to world build, if you ask me. 

HERE are some great quotes from great authors on first drafts. 

All the Worlds We Couldn’t Live In

Sometimes we love more than life itself and sometimes that is not enough. Or the worlds where Sansa and Jon didn’t get to have each other. 

Joanna Snow had only ever wanted Sansa Stark

In one world, the Three Heads of the Dragon are born: boy, girl, boy and two of those heads are murdered before they can even realise that they are destined to save the world. In that world, Jon Snow comes into the world and it is wrong and he is wrong and there is no Viseneya.

However, in this world, Rheagar gets his girl and his third head. Nothing much changes, it all goes wrong but Rheagar gets one thing right. Lyanna Stark, vulnerable and just sixteen gives birth to a little girl instead.

Ned takes one look at the girl and sees his little sister, a woman that he loved more than the world but he still names her after Jon, a man that he respected and loved. When he sees little Joanna, he sees two people. Both who he loved and that somehow makes it a little easier.

But that is not where the story begins, at least not for Joanna. The story begins when all the bells in Winterfell were rung for Lord and Lady Stark’s first daughter. Joanna is scared at first and then reluctant second. She knows that she is the blood of Winterfell but she also knows that she is a bastard and no bastard is truly ever safe. Not even when they are good and honourable Ned Stark’s daughter. She doesn’t want to go but Ned Stark pins her with a look and she goes, fear coiling in her stomach, not ready to see the girl that will take her place. Lord Stark hoists her up and she is forced to look at this new child.

She starts when she sees the baby. The little girl (her sister) looks nothing like her. She is all Tully and Robb and Lady Stark but she is lovely and she cannot help but stroke a shy finger down her cheek. The baby shifts, her little mouth now opened into a little o and three-year-old Joann’s heart does a strange little jump. It feels like her heart might explode and this is the point where she should look away because she very much likes her heart and this girl will one day replace her but she can’t stop looking at her and she doesn’t think she minds so much anymore if her heart does explode. Her father (their father now) presses a kiss to her forehead and forces a promise to love her. She nods, still too amazed by the pretty little baby that is now hers, all hers. And just like that, this baby shifts from Lady Catelyn’s daughter to her sister.


Robb always tries to drag her away to play like they used to but she can never bring herself to go. Sansa is always growing (more beautiful, everyone says. Their eyes sliding over her, unseeing and indifferent. Joanna doesn’t care though because they are right, Sansa is becoming more beautiful) and she’s scared of missing something. Just the other day, Sansa had said her name (or at least tried); her heart had grown all the same and awe and elation had filled her belly. There had been another emotion, a dark and vicious smugness at the sight of Lady Stark’s pinched face. Joanna had tried not to think of that for too long and Sansa had said the word again, dragging her attention away. The feeling is not quite gone and always unfurls itself whenever she sees her father’s wife.

She shakes her head no and Robb pouts but goes away eventually. She curls up on her side, turning to face Sansa. The little girl is asleep but she doesn’t mind that. She’s happy to just watch. Despite how much she tells everyone that they have the same chin, they look nothing alike. She tries not to mind that so much but there is always that disappointment. She loves Sansa, more than the world itself but she thinks that it would be nice to have someone that looks like.

Not once does it come into mind that Sansa might care about her appearance and realise why they look so different? Perhaps it should.


Sansa is five and angry and jealous.

“But I don’t see why you’re taking her side.” She sighs and rolls her eyes because what else can you say? Sansa had said that Arya was silly, ganging up on little Arya.

“You were in the wrong,” she said simply but this didn’t seem to appease her. It only made her all the angrier.

“But Arya-”

“Is little. You’re supposed to look after her.” Tears sprung to the other girl’s eyes, making them look even bluer than the sky. Guilt pooled into her stomach at the sight of her. She had never been able to stand Sansa’s tears. Sansa knew that very well and had always used that to her advantage.

“You’re only doing it because you love her more!” Her breath got stuck in her throat at the words. Sansa was now openly weeping and crying. She tried to touch the other girl but Sansa shook her off.

“No I don’t,” she said but she did not truly know what else to say. Sansa was nothing like her and so beautiful that it sometimes made her head spin. Arya was like her, though. She looked like her and when she had first seen her littlest of sisters something had slipped into place. Joanna did not know what to make of any of it. When she had first seen Sansa, her heart had nearly exploded and when she had then seen Arya, it had felt like a missing piece slotting into place. All that she truly knew was that she needed both of them.

“Yes do!” She shook her head and finally catching Sansa’s hand. Sansa didn’t fight her off or try to push her away but that might have just been because Sansa didn’t really push people. The quick grip of her hand told her all that she needed to know. She let out a breath of relief and relaxed.

“No, I don’t. Please don’t be like this Sans. Let’s play. We can play whatever you want.” She told her. This seemed to appease her and Sansa’s face fell into one of thoughtfulness and consideration. She eventually nodded and she smiled, relieved and bright and happy. She hated fighting with Sansa.

“Fine,” she grumbled. “But I want to play knights and princesses.” She shrugged, she didn’t mind. She liked being a knight (Sansa’s knight, really) even though she was a girl.

They end up playing for hours and Sansa does not once let go of her hand. She thinks that Sansa may also be scared of letting her go as she is.


Sansa and she are not allowed so much to play with each other anymore. Sansa is becoming a lady and she is still a bastard and that is all clear now, much clearer than before when she was first laying eyes on her little sister. Sansa still sneaks into her room, almost every night.

They are laying side by side, she now twelve and Sansa nine. They are both too full of something unknown to go to sleep.

“What do you think womanhood is like?” Sansa asks suddenly, rolling onto her side so they are now facing. Most of her face is hidden by shadows but her eyes are still clear and bright, banishing all darkness. She shrugs, it is something that she should know. She is a woman now.

She had just gotten her moon blood the other month. There had been no celebrations of course. She was only a bastard after all and womanhood for bastards did not mean songs or happy endings. Sansa and Arya had brought her blue flowers, weaving it into a crown and placing it on her head. Their Lord Father hadn’t been too pleased about that. She had taken it off and passed it to their father but Sansa had only snuck into her room again, with a crown of flowers even lovelier than the one before.

“You deserve to be a queen,” she had said, pressing the crown to her head and a kiss to her cheeks. She had tried to ignore the sudden warmth that had erupted in her chest. A warmth only caused by Sansa and had grinned a wide toothy smile, forgetting that ladies weren’t supposed to smile so widely. She was a bastard, what did it matter anyways?

Sansa doesn’t look too happy with that answer but what else can be said?

“But you just had your moon blood! Wasn’t it magical or wonderful?” She frowns, wrinkling her nose but quickly smoothed over her expression. It hadn’t been wonderful, not at all. It had been painful and messy and she hadn’t felt new or womanly or good. She had only felt awful, hating each moment of it more than the other. She didn’t say any of that, though. Sansa’s dreams were more precious to her than light itself. She would never crush that.

“It was fine, nice,” she replied. Sansa wrinkled her nose, her face scrunched up in confusion. She had to squash the bubble of laughter that nearly escaped her.

“Nice? Just nice?” She nodded, humming. Sansa shook her head and sighed. “You’re so strange sometimes.” She laughed then, unable to stop herself.

“That’s not very ladylike or kind of you to say,” she teased, jabbing an accusatory finger into Sansa’s side. Sansa squealed, moving away and batting her hand away but she jabbed another quick finger into her side.

“You’re awful!” Sans squealed, her voice soon fading into laughter. Their laughter bounced off the walls. She knew that they were being far too loud but she did not care. In this room, Sansa was hers.


Joanna doesn’t like Theon but she especially doesn’t like how he looks at her now. He always seems to look at her as if he wants to eat her. It does not make her scared as much as it makes her angry. And apparently, Sansa feels the same way too.

“I hate him!” She winces as the brush catches on another snare, immediately moving away from Sansa and her touch. “Sorry.” She sighs, leaning back again.

“Theon? Put him out of mind Sans. He’s not worth it,” she says gently. This is their time. She won’t allow Theon to ruin this for her.

“I know but it just makes me so angry thinking about it.” She nods but she doesn’t truly understand. Sansa had never seemed upset when any of the girls showed attention to Robb. She does not say anything, though, allowing the both of them to fall into silence.

She tries her best to focus more on the quiet hum of Sansa and less on her brushing her hair and less on her jealousy and less on how it makes her feel.

“Your hair is so lovely.” She snorts. Her hair, just like Arya’s always seems to end up tangled and messy. Sansa’s hair is always lovely and beautiful and in the sun, it looks like copper. She sometimes dreams of running her fingers through Sansa’s hair. It is something that will never happen, though. Sansa, perhaps out of loyalty to her mother, refuses to allow anyone but Lady Stark to touch it. There are many times that she is jealous of Lady Stark and this one of them.

“Thank you,” she says instead. She is too tired to get into a debate and Sansa’s fingers running through her hair now feels too nice. She can barely concentrate or think up words. The pleasant sensation too overwhelming.


Sansa is four and ten years of age, now a woman, and thinking of more.

“I want to practice.” Gone is the girlish snap or the jut of her chin. All signs of childishness are gone. She does not know how she feels about the disappearance of the girl before her. Scared she assumes. Her time is running out. She tries her best to push it out of her mind. You still have her now, she reminds herself but the question always hiding at the back of her mind is: for how long?

“Don’t be silly. I’m a girl,” she reminds her. Sansa only shrugs (a rare sight) and moves closer to her. Her shoulder brushing against her won and that girlish, sweet scent that always seems to cling to Sansa, piercing her nose. It makes her feel dizzy, dizzy enough to say yes. She swallows down the words, although they are hard and bitter.

“So, it won’t matter,” is all Sansa says. Internally she disagrees. It matters all the more because of that. She shakes her head but Sansa pins her with a look. Breath and air escape her and her heart does the same jump, the same near explosion that it did when she first laid eyes on Sansa. There is more, though. There is so much more.

She nods because despite how much she fights, despites what she thinks, she has never been able to say no to Sansa. Sansa’s smile is bright and wonderful and lovelier than ever and if she thought that she couldn’t breathe before, she is deadly wrong because now all the air has escaped the room.

Sansa takes her hand and leads her outside to the weirwood (and when did it suddenly become Sansa leading her around?). They stand before the tree and she knows it is wrong and bastard of her to do so but she wants more than what she is allowed. She has never been allowed much but she still wants it all. She wants Sansa.

“What do we do now?” She asks, her chest unbearably hot. It is as if someone has placed the sun in the place her heart should reside. Sansa frowns, thinking for a moment.

“Let’s just do it all here,” She finally says. They both nod and there are nerves in her stomach. There shouldn’t be nerves. There should be something. Sansa is my sister is what she should think but what comes into her mind instead is: Sansa is mine.

“That’s fine.” They settle under the weirwood. The snow dusting their heads, melting away, almost as if it were never there. Sansa looks like a snow maiden or the bride of winter. She wonders what Sansa thinks when she sees her? If anything comes into her mind. She wonders if she sees something other than a sister.

She opens her mouth to begin the vows of the groom but Sansa silences her.

“Who comes? Who comes before the Gods?” She stares silently at Sansa because never before has she offered to take the male’s part. She doesn’t know what it means but she knows it means something and it makes warmth spread all through her body.

“Joanna Snow comes here to be wed. She comes, begging for the blessing of the Gods. Who comes to claim her?” She stumbled over her words, turning her face away, in hopes that the steady fall of snow would cool her burning cheeks. Sansa tugged at her hand, dragging her attention down. Dragging her attention to her.

“Sansa Stark, comes to claim her? Who comes to give her?” Sansa’s voice is confident and strong, echoing throughout the weirwood. She should shush her but she finds herself not caring

“Me, I guess.” And just like that, that strange and weird tension that had taken hold of them both is gone. They both fall into giggles, leaning into other for support. Sansa undoes the clasp on her cloak, allowing it to fall to the ground. She then undoes her own cloak and sweeps her cloak over her shoulders. Sansa’s face falls into one of absolute concentration. She leans back and smiles. This is the time that the bride and groom share a kiss but Sansa is still her sister and they are both still girls and this is still just a game.

“Am I Stark then?” She asks, desperate to avoid this, to do what is right. There is a flicker of something, disappointment? She hopes it is disappointment. She desperately wants it to be disappointment, needs it more than she should. Sansa’s expression soon settles into something a little more known and recognisable.

“You’ve always been a Stark to me.” Emotion floods through her body and there are no words. No words that she knows. No words that she can say but she wants to try. Try and say them. Try and explain. There is a loud screech and they both whip around to see what it is. They both pale at the sight. It is their father. His face like ice itself. Guilt, pours into her stomach (although she has done nothing wrong, she refuses to admit it); she has never made their father angry and neither has Sansa

“What is the meaning of this?”

“We were practicing father,” Sansa says quickly, now letting go of her hands. Joanna does not remember when they took the other’s hand but she regrets the loss of contact.

“You shouldn’t be practicing. You’re both girls. This is wrong.” Their father reprimands them, each word colder and icier than the one before. He eventually sends them away, ordering them to never do such a thing again.

Later on, the day, as she prepares herself for bed, she realises that Ned Stark, their father had never once said anything about them being sisters and she dreams that night of being a man. Of being a man and allowed to hold and kiss Sansa Stark.


It does not matter. King Robert comes and Sansa gets betrothed and it all ends the same and just how she expected.

I Love You So

I love you so,

Your smile makes my worries drop away.

Your hands keep me up when I’m too weak.

Your voice soothes me to sleep when I’m afraid.

Your fingers tracing patterns on my back

Keep my tears at bay.

I love you so,

I can learn stories in your eyes.

I can lose myself in the way your dimples dip into your cheeks.

I can find freedom in your laugh.

I can find peace in your loving heart.

I love you so,

But her eyes carry a darkness like no other.

Her heart as cold as ice

When she yells at me.

Her voice doesn’t waver,

No way to mistake her words.

No way to miss the message.

I love you so,

But she means the world to me,

No matter how hateful her words.

Her hands don’t tremble

When she points an accusing finger.

She knows what she’s saying.

I love you so,

But when she tells me it’s wrong,

I feel it to the bone.

Like a bullet ricocheting

Through my body.

I love you so,

But she hates me now.

She hates what I’ve chosen for myself.

And in the end,

She hates you.

And she hates from a place so shallow,

It’s barely valid to herself.

I love you so,

But with every passing day,

Her slurs are more pronounced,

No longer burning her tongue.

Her hate for me is more prominent,

Like your collarbones.

I love you so,

But her eyes no longer carry love.

They carry a thing much worse than hate.

Her hands are no longer there to support me,

They are there to make me fall instead.

Her smile no longer puts my worries at bay,


It causes shivers of fear down my spine.

I love you so,

But she thinks she knows best

When she casts you out of the house.

She thinks she’s saving me

When she threatens you.

She thinks she’s better,

Just because she’s older.

I love you so,

But I can’t take a stand.

I don’t know how.

I’ve never had to.

I’ve been her picture perfect girl,

Good grades,

No drugs,

Nothing odd.

Until now.

I love you so,

But I can’t fight or yell back,

Because the second I do,

The floodgates will open,

And sooner or later,

My body will be drained.

Of love.

Of everything.

I love you so,

But I’m afraid of what she’ll say.

Or what she’ll do.

This won’t save me from her hateful words.

Or her coldest glares.

I love you so,

But stolen kisses

And hidden dates

And linked fingers

Don’t make up for all the insults.

For everything she blames on me.

I love you so,

But my hands keep slipping from yours.

My eyes can’t meet yours.

My smile doesn’t show when you’re with me.

My voice is barely above a whisper when you’re around.

My hands are no longer sure when tracing patterns on your skin.

I love you so,

But I no longer tell stories like I used to.

I can’t lose myself in happiness like I used to.

My hugs don’t linger as long as they used to.

I no longer find peace

Because my heart is broken.

I love you so,

But she’s my mother,

And despite every synonym for ‘dyke’

She can come up with,

I love her.

And her opinion matters.

Despite her hatred towards me,

I don’t know where I would be without her,

So maybe I’ll love you another day.

anonymous asked:

Okay in what universe does this make sense. This is the the third time I read TOP calling SeungRi materialistic. TOP, the person privately collecting art pieces for his own enjoyment, calling SeungRi, the person creating jobs for people through his business, materialistic. TOP who loves art,a material possession,more than people (and in some cases his band mates). But somehow because SeungRi wants to be successful at his business ventures he is wrong. How is this allowed to continue to be okay?

T.O.P is sometimes really wise and introspective and at other times he just talks total crap (see: his tantrum at Youngbae for filming him in the shower…) I think he really does worry about Seungri/doesn’t quite feel comfortable with Seungri’s big and scary non-Bigbang world. Baby…grew…up? Maybe they had a heart to heart about it or maybe Seungri just deals with T.O.P’s art snob jokes and inwardly his eyeballs are rolling out of his face and down the street and into traffic.

Originally posted by char-ms

‘Osho, what is wrong with marriage? Why do you always speak against it?’

Sunderam, marriage is a great institution. Without marriage life would be very empty. Without marriage you would all be Buddhas!
It is marriage that keeps the world going on; it keeps things running. It keeps all kinds of things moving, alive. In fact, without marriage there would be no religion at all.
Religion exists not because of God or for God; it is because of marriage. Marriage creates so much misery that one has to meditate; meditation is a byproduct. Without marriage, who would bother to meditate? For what? You would already be blissful!
Without marriage there would be no renunciation, Buddha would not have left the world—for what? His wife, Yashodhara, must have created the situation—Mahavira would not have escaped to the mountains. Without marriage there would have been no Buddha, no Mahavira. Just think: the history would have been very flat, without any salt, tasteless. Marriage keeps this whole ‘sorry-go-round’ on and on. People call it ‘merry-go-round’…
I am not against marriage—without marriage, ninety-nine percent of jokes would disappear from the world. How I can be against marriage? I am all for it.
Sunderam, marriage makes many things possible.

‘Marriage is the process of finding what kind of man your wife would have preferred!’

Drinking in a bar, two friends are chatting about life.
‘Who introduced you to your wife?’ asks one.
The other says, ‘We met casually. I can’t blame anyone else.’

Two women are chatting at the hairdresser.
One says, ‘My husband travels a lot. He spent one month at home out of the whole year!’
‘One month?’ exclaims the other. ‘That must be very annoying to you.’
‘No… a month goes by fast!’

The doctor and his wife are walking down the street when they are passed by an incredibly beautiful woman. She has big tits, a nice body and a beautiful face. She seems a little self-conscious of her beauty and as she passes by the doctor she smiles a familiar smile.
‘Who is that lady?’ asks the wife.
A little shy, the doctor answers, ‘A client.’
‘I know,’ the wife replies, ‘but is she your client or are you hers?’

In a small city in the interior of Brazil, a couple is sitting on a bench outside the house enjoying the moonlight.
Maria turns to Ze and says, ‘Ze, do you know something? Tomorrow it is going to be twenty-five years that we have been married!’
And Ze answers, ‘Yeah!’
‘Twenty-five years… Uau! Ze, it is a lot!’
‘Look, Ze, why don’t we catch some of the chickens in the yard and kill them for tomorrow?’
‘Why, Maria? Poor chickens… it is not their fault!’

‘Hey!’ cried Satan to the arrival. ‘You act as if you own the place.’
‘I do,’ came the reply. ‘My wife gave it to me before I died.’

Now, without marriage all these jokes would disappear.
Without marriage there would be no misery—and no laughter either. There would be so much silence… it would be NIRVANA on earth!
Marriage keeps thousands of things going on: the religion, the state, the nations, the wars, the literature, the movies, the science; everything, in fact, depends on the institution of marriage.

I am not AGAINST marriage; I simply want you to be aware that there is a possibility of going beyond it too. But that possibility opens up only because marriage creates so much misery for you, so much anguish and anxiety for you, that you have to learn how to transcend it. It is a great push for transcendence.
Marriage is not unnecessary; it is needed to bring you to your senses, to bring you to your sanity.
Marriage is necessary and yet there comes a point when you have to transcend it too. It is like a ladder. You go up the ladder, it takes you up, but there comes a moment when you have to leave the ladder behind. If you go on clinging to the ladder, then there is danger.

Learn something from marriage. Marriage represents the whole world in a miniature form: it teaches you many things. It is only the mediocre ones who learn nothing. Otherwise it will teach you that you don’t know what love is, that you don’t know how to relate, that you don’t know how to communicate, that you don’t know how to commune, that you don’t know how to live with another. It is a mirror: it shows your face to you in all its different aspects. And it is all needed for your maturity. But a person who remains clinging to it forever remains immature. One has to go beyond it too.

—  Osho