the place i call my home

Forgive me if I taste of thorns and unforgiveness, of metal and acid, of blood and hatred, of fire and anger. Forgive me if my lips no longer swell at the touch of yours, hungry and needing, begging for a release of some kind. Forgive me if I no longer linger on the cusp of your tongue, tasting of honey, of sunlight, of the universe.

For I have swallowed whole the demons of past, some yours, some mine, who have taken residence in between the crooks of my hollowed out bones, and haunted the only place I’ve ever been able to call home. They have burned themselves deep into memories of past, uninvited and unwelcome and have laid claim to the way my bones wrestle and rattle within my own skin.

Forgive me if I have come out of my battle hood, battered and unpretty and tiresome. For I am a victor nonetheless of the way I carry myself. And my worth, my suffering, my fight, will not be marred by how unwell I walk away from the trenches of war.
—  An Ode to Joan of Arc (and Every Woman to Walk the Earth), By Nicole Moon
6

now entering —-> the village of pandora
what do you get when you combine a town with no mayor and a young girl looking for a place to call home? you get a town brought to life with love and warmth; where nothing is perfect but everyone is happy living in a town so wonderfully ordinary. 

oh my goodness…. im in the middle of the adoption process right now for a cat i met and absolutely fell in love with. the place im adopting from is really serious about their cats finding good homes. ive gone thru 2 interviews so far and im waiting for them to call back while they talk to their supervisor. they dont want to adopt to me because im 20 😭 really hope they come around tho, the interviews went well and they kno im not a first time cat owner

anonymous asked:

can you tell us more about wally?? you two seem really cute and it's adorable to hear you talk about him

  • when he falls asleep it takes years off his face and he looks so pretty that sometimes it hurts my heart a little bit???
  • he’s one of those people who says “let me know you got home safe” and if it takes me a while to get home he will actually call me to make sure I’m ok
  • sometimes he gets really affectionate and will just bomb me with all sorts of little tiny kisses
  • the majority of the time he’ll push my glasses up my nose a little and say, “heh, nerd”
  • he also wears glasses
  • he cried while we were playing final fantasy 15
  • he cried while we were watching Californication
  • both of those times he made eye contact with me and immediately shouted “SHUT UP IT’S EMOTIONAL”
  • sometimes when we’re out places in public and he’s bored or feels like I’m not paying enough attention to him he’ll bite my shoulder
  • idk why
  • I’m dating a cat
  • he genuinely thinks bolo ties are cool and because of this he is not allowed to dress himself
  • I used to make a lot of self-deprecating jokes and he started batting me on the nose to make me stop and whoa it actually worked
  • one time we were watching a commercial and there was a puppy and we both made this high pitched “ohhhh” noise
  • he looked horrified with himself and whispered “what did you do to me”
  • he loves b-movies especially b-horror movies like Evil Dead and has watched pretty much every single one you can think of
  • we’re both such remarkably un-fancy people and it makes everything so much nicer for the both of us

Headcanon:

When Harry gets his first place after Hogwarts that actually has more than one floor, he comes home after getting a load of boxes to find Hermione using a sledgehammer on the drywall beneath the stairs. And Ron’s like, “Look, mate, I borrowed this stuff from my dad, I’ve got a DRILL and a - what’s it called again, Hermione?” “A stud finder.” “Right, one of those, and we’re going to fix your stairs.” Harry’s like, “But there’s nothing wrong with them.” “Yes, Harry, there is.” Harry’s just sort of standing there in total bewilderment while Hermione totally demolishes the wall. “We couldn’t have done that with magic?” “No, Harry, this is personal. You two take this mess out to the skip.” And then Harry stands around a while longer and Hermione puts in support beams in the appropriate places so the stairs don’t fall in, and Ron’s very excited about using the stud finder even though Hermione won’t let him use the drill. When they’re finished, Harry has this set of shelves. So he says, still completely confused, “I thought we picked this place because it had loads of storage.” And Hermione says, “Go get some of my books. I know it’s just shelves, but it’s not a bloody cupboard.”

And every time Harry moves for the rest of his life, Ron and Hermione are there on moving day and they knock out anything under the stairs, even if it’s just a wall. Hermione reads a lot of books. Ron learns to use a miter saw and a carpenter’s square and practices the nail hammering spell until he can do it perfectly on the first try. And sometimes it isn’t very practical but it looks nice…

And sometimes, when they all get older and have children, it’s cozy and has a purpose…

And eventually Hermione gets the trick of there being nothing under the stairs at all

Which is the story of how Harry Potter never lived in a house with a cupboard under the stairs again for the entire rest of his life.

I’ll never forget the way your laugh sounded no matter how long it’s been since I’ve heard it. I won’t forget how your breaths sounded as you slept, or the patterns your heartbeat would make as my head laid on your chest. I won’t forget the color of your eyes, the scars on your hands, the freckles on your nose, or your silhouette. How could I? I can’t forget that I’m in love with you but I have to love you from afar now. The kind of love where I can’t go home with you. The kind of love where you have to disappear for a while. The kind of love where I can’t call you, I have to rely on fate to bring us to the same place at the same time. I’ll love you from afar because I know that we are better apart then we are together, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less.
—  pen-to-paper-bm 
Will you promise me one thing, darling? That whenever I forget that I am loved, that I still have a place in this world, you will be here to tell me that I will always have a place to call home, that your arms are the home to my body and your heart, the home to my soul. Will you, darling, be here to remind me that I will still have you even when I have nothing else at all?
—  Lukas W. // To remind

PLEASE READ: this is part of a serious autobio series I started months back to document my gender transition. These took place months ago, during the early days. I’d only been on hormones for 4 months.

May 29th, 2016. A good day. I’m extremely fortunate to have supportive parents. (I don’t like the nickname Jules though, don’t call me that). Honestly, if I hadn’t been living at home at the time, I wouldn’t have been able to afford getting as far as I have. Between therapy, doctor appointments, bloodwork, etc etc I’m many thousands in the hole from transitioning. It was particularly hard on me because I was freelancing and had useless insurance. Worth every penny.

someone somewhere is losing sleep over you getting home safely. i,too, am restless. i know sometimes the birds are just birds, but they show up in the poem anyway. some nights when it gets quiet, i say, “i forgive even the worst of this cruel world,” and nothing changes. and where i am standing is still not mine,was never mine, never will be mine. and if everything i belong to no longer belongs to me, then maybe i’m the problem. maybe smoke finds my hands no matter where i am. and anyway, it doesn’t matter. we can sleep this off. we can get in a car someday and keep driving until we end up in a place that does not ask of us where we came from, and asks nothing of us except our names, which they pronounce the way our mothers intended and if we miss home, we call because the landline’s not dead and nothing’s ever really dead, and we laugh with our kids someday about how we survived a world that did not want us and was not afraid to tell us so and we turn the news on and we do not flinch. 

Undeadpool

So, home-brewed science-fantasy system called inertia. We’re on a mission from death, who gave us presents before we went. Mine was, he made me undead. But I keep forgetting. We’re fighting an EXTREMELY powerful psionic guardian trying to rescue one of Death’s favourite two minions from a coffin chained to the roof. (Yeah, our DM has a hell of an imagination.)

DM: “So. As you’ve done the most damage to the chain Tonauac, the guardian places his hands together, and a tiny ball of light appears above him.”

Scientist: “I step away.”

Me: “Wwwwwhy?”

DM: “The heat and radiation of a miniature sun shines down on you. You take…” Rolls a LOT of dice. “125 damage.”

Me: “Aaaaaaaaand I’m dead. Welp. Tell my family I love them, make sure my AI goes for a good price and have it wipe my browser history before it goes…” As I’m handing over my character sheet. 

Captain/Necrolyte: “You’re a zombie, I can stick you back together, don’t be so dramatic.”

Me: “Wait, really?”

DM: “Yeah, she can regenerate you from a speck of blood.”

Me: “I’M DEADPOOL WITH A SNIPER RIFLE.”

DM: “Your rifle is melted.”

Me: “I’M DEADPOOL WITHOUT A SNIPER RIFLE.”

It’s not always the sea trying to call me home.
Sometimes it’s the sky. Sometimes it’s your voice
in a dark room and my stumbling feet that can’t
seem to reach you in time. I ate strawberries for
the first time in months and I swear they taste
sweeter than you ever could have. So maybe
this is forgiveness, or maybe it’s just acceptance.
Either way it’s getting too heavy to lug around
my heart and your guilt. So here’s a shrine of
daisies, here’s my hands wrapped in velvet.
Here’s your final resting place. A graveside
for the pulp of heartache you turned me into.
Nothing is tugging me off my feet or stealing
my air. I’m home, and it feels softer than you
ever could have.
—  HOME, angelea l.
cat emergency!

(not house related at all)

hey all, my dad had a tenant leave unexpectedly and he left his beautiful cat behind. she’s grey/blue and has medium length hair. not sure if she’s fixed or not, she’s under 3 years old. she’s been living alone in this apartment for 6 weeks (my dad has been visiting her and giving her food and water), but they want to clear out the apartment and call animal control in the next 48 hours. we really really want to find a good home for this sweet kitty. she’s currently in capitol hill (in Seattle) and you’d have to come to the unit to pick her up. i would obviously meet you in a public place first, the building owner will likely be there too.

please reblog this or send it to anyone you know who might want a sweet cat! she’s really frightened from being alone for so long. i’m opening up my inbox, or you can email me at househuntingcontact@gmail.com if you are interested or know someone who is.

She was a nomadic lover, a wanderer at heart.
She danced through life with the soul of a gypsy.
Making homes out of people, but never staying long enough to call them her own.
I thought maybe if I loved her enough, she could find my heart to be her forever place.
She was like a metaphor I didn’t understand
An excerpt of a book that I’d never get to read.
Reducing her to just a girl was like reducing poetry to just words. It was like reducing love to just a feeling, and war to a mere disagreement.
I couldn’t pin point home on a map, but I’d found it in her arms.
She no longer lived inside my chest, but she’d left her fingerprints on everything.
And even though I was just another stop on her path; She was my entire journey.
—  Sierra Clark