this place is such a hole

A Definitive List of Why I Feel Like Florida Isn't A Real Place

Here is a list of random facts about Florida that prove exactly how weird of a place it is without the news stories.

In the north west there is a waterfall. The water falls from a stream for 90ft into a sink hole and disappears into the earth.

The capital of the state is filled with ancient live oaks and every spring the city turns yellow with pollen. The pollen is like a plague on the population. Even people without allergies develops allergies living there.

You’ll be floating down a river in a boat or on an inner tube when you see something fall from a tree ten feet away from you. You scramble out of the water as you see that the what you thought was a limb is now a water moccasin swimming past you.

Extensive systems of tunnels fill the landscape. They’re the hard work of the gopher tortoise. You know to never reach into one of these gopher tortoise borrows. They’re filled with rattlesnakes.

The largest native snake in Florida can reach lengths of about six or seven feet long. It is appropriately named the indigo snake for the blue sheen its black scales. Have no fear though. It is non venomous. Despite this fact, it’s diet includes rattlesnakes.

In the south, two invasive species of snakes are cross breeding to form an aggressive giant. This monstrosity will even feast on alligators.

There is a forest surrounding a spring populated with monkeys. The monkeys are not native to the state or the region. They were brought here as an attraction and left on a small island in the middle of a river. No one realized they could swim.

There are dozens of places claimed to be fountains of youth located throughout the state. One is in the north east in the oldest city in the state. It’s also the oldest European city in the country.

Ancient fish populate the rivers throughout the state. They can reach sizes of up to 10 ft in length and weigh over 300lbs. They’re jaws are like that of an alligator.

The cypress trees turn the water tannic and black. The water is so opaque you can’t see but six inches deep.

sneak peek

Hey you guys! Since it’s taking me annoyingly long to finish any of my current works, I decided to give you a sneak peek on the class reunion AU I’m writing thanks to @bailci​. Kind of like to give myself a reason to get my shit together and finish this thing god damn it.

Original prompt from @solangeloprompts:

Class Reunion AU. Everyone from their batch knew how much Will Solace and Nico di Angelo hated each other back during high school.

So, when their reunion took place fifteen years later, none of their batchmates ever expected for the two to get along so well with each other much less find out that they’re actually…engaged?

Just what had happened during those fifteen years?

Read my sneak peek under the cut! :)

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Dreams // Nightmares

Just something I threw together in a few minutes and figured I’d post. Sorry I’ve been so inactive lately! Hope you guys are doing well. Reminder my requests are open, and also please check out my project! Have a great day!

The dreams live in a place you’ve never heard of. A place that doesn’t exist in time.

A hole. A rip in the universe.

The dreams live where you can’t go.

Someone has to catch them, though. Someone has to collect them in jars by the thousands and flick them into the people’s sleeping minds at night.

That someone is me.

Once a month, when the sun hangs low in the sky, I go out for a walk. I walk and I walk for what feels like hours but maybe it’s only a few minutes–

Nothing is ever certain with the dreams.

And once I am there, once the fog has filled every inch of my vision, once I am no longer sure which way is up or if the ground is under my feet, then I know.

I am where the dreams are.

And I stay so still, stiller than you can imagine. I am like a statue. Everything freezes.

That is when the dreams will start to come.

They land on my skin, some weighted as a stone and some lighter than sunbeams. Some angry and dark and some purer and cleaner than I can stand to look at.

And I wait, I wait until I am covered in dreams. It is the strangest feeling, nothing like you’ve ever felt before. Parts of you feel like they are floating away and yet others, others are so heavy it is as if I am being torn to shreds.

Then I lift my arms and I unscrew the jars and very gently, I scrape the dreams into them and put the lids on tight.

Some of the dreams resist. They pound on the walls on the glass and they scream and they writhe. Others settle peacefully to wait, a cat curled in a sunny spot. Others drift in aimless circles, indifferent to time, so old and tired from centuries of this dream place.

I think that some of them, I save, and some of them, I steal. Even though I know that all the dreams do not mind leaving.

When I am ready, I take up my jars and I walk and I walk and I walk until I am back to my home. Sometimes it takes me years to get back, I think, and other times only three steps before I am outside my front door. The dream world is always somewhere new.

And when it is dark, when the moon is shedding and not a soul’s eyes are open, I move. I flit from room to room and I pull a dream from my jar and I leave it inside to find its way.

Once I return home all that is left in my jars are the nightmares, the dark, angry dreams. The one who fight against me and the ones who drag me down.

But they have to go somewhere too. Dreams cannot go back to the dream place. And dreams cannot rot away for millennia in my jars.

Someone has to take the nightmares.

That is what you are for, huddled in the last corner of my home. You, the one who looks up at me with eyes so broken, a forever’s worth of used up nightmares leaking out of them. You, the one who never says a word and you the one who opens your bleeding hands every night and nods at me.

And I place my jars in your tired, tired hands and you open them and stick your arms in and you close your eyes and reel back on your heels and I watch. I watch those sharp, razor blade dreams slice your skin open and fit themselves in and I watch them eat you from the inside out.

I think soon there will be no more of you. I think you are running out and soon you will just be a hollow shell with a sad gaze. I think soon I will have to throw you out to the streets, where the people are, and hope someone will come and take you in. Perhaps they will see your scars and your hurt and your dried up tears and they will want to help you.

Yes, someone has to catch the dreams.

But someone has to catch the nightmares, too.

6x14 My thoughts

After watching this episode last night I was left feeling like a huge mixed bag of emotions had been dumped over me, but since I’m a person who likes to process things I decided to rewatch today to see if I was able to clarify ‘why’ I was having those feelings.  

Normally plot holes aren’t that big of a deal to me and as long as I can work my way around the reasons ‘behind’ why I feel that xyz happened, then I’m ok. But this episode left me with a scene that I loved but at the same time, I hated, which is an odd feeling to have.  

Across my dash today I’ve read comments from people loving the show to people having the same criticism that I have with it and when some of these people are ones you never agree with, it becomes a curious thing.  

Breaking it down - 

Snow - as in the weather.  It was gorgeous, but darn did it look cold. 

Snow - the character.  I loved her talk with Killian and her kiss on his cheek and hug were so cute.  I also enjoyed her talk with Emma about her ring.  That was nice.  And I’m really happy that the EQ apologized to her about things that she has done. That was a bonus. 

Emma - Bad - I’m sorry, your man gives you a ring and you don’t run out and leave him alone.  You stay with him or take him with you - but she was really cute and happy in her scene in the loft but then the transition to the station was odd. And then in their house when she walked by Killian - how in the heck did she know it was a secret and her grandfather?   And then after everything that happened last year AND the shears this year, I felt she was really hypocritical of his behavior.  She automatically jumped on something and their usually wonderful communication totally broke down.  It just didn’t work for me. Good - I am however excited about a second proposal and her realizing that something has happened to Killian and freaking.  

Killian - Bad - I get this is about him and his feelings of self worth, BUT running is something the old Killian would do.  And how in the heck did he learn to put his memories in that catcher thing?  And burning them, if that was what he was thinking of doing is another form of running, that they should be long past. He’s usually quite eloquent with his words and sadly they were missing last night.  Good - Colin rocked the angst look and the reunion between CS better be one to rock the socks off of Emma.  His talks with Nemo and Snow were priceless.  I wish Nemo would hang around.  That man has such a pleasant vocal tone.  Good/Bad - New coat, liked it but since new coats are really changes in the character then they should have waited for the reunion, but whatever.  Nice decision on going back to Emma but man, send her a text! The big question - Interesting that Gideon wants him out of town - a curse perhaps awaits our savior? 


Robin - Good - I still believe this Robin was there to act as a guide to help mend the 2 halves as well as make them look inside of themselves, and he did that by dropping truth bomb after truth bomb.  And I’m happy that he has the Q and perhaps can learn to love.  Bad - I’ll miss Sean.  I’d rather have his Robin on my screen any day instead of Zelena.  

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duckyraiden16  asked:

Hello! I might be getting a leopard gecko soon and I was wondering if you could help me with finding a Radiant heat panel and how I should use it? Also I wanted to tell you that you are an amazing person and I admire you a lot! Thank you :)

AWW you’re precious! Ok, RHPs! They’re great. I love ‘em to pieces. For a leopard gecko, you’ll probably just need a 28 watt. The best place to buy them is here. They’re expensive at first but you never have to replace them ever and they’re super good at their job. If you’re using a tank, it’s pretty easy to secure them to a mesh lid- all you need is some zip ties. They come with these holes for screws and you’ll just thread zip ties through them and then through the holes in the wire mesh. If you have a different kind of lid, you might have to get creative! Make sure you know your cage dimensions before you get one, though- you don’t want to end up with something that’s too big to fit!

Earth does such things
to itself: furrowing, cracking apart, bursting
into flame. It rips openings in itself, which it struggles
(or not) to skin over. The moon
doesn’t care about its own
craters and bruises. Only we can regret
the perishing of the burned place.
Only we could call it a wound.
—  Margaret Atwood, Morning in the Burned House: A Fire Place

Victor didn’t know how he had gotten to his current situation.  

“Grand Central Hotel, please.”

The cab driver clicked his tongue and typed the address into the GPS hooked up on the dash, before glancing over his shoulder.  “Need some help with your bag—er, your friend?”

Victor gave a guilty smile, trying to ignore the cramping in his lower back from the amount of deadweight slung over his shoulder.  The deadweight groaned lowly, one of its hands fisting in the front of Victor’s untucked dress shirt.  

“It’s alright, he’s just had a bit much to drink.”

As he eased Katsuki Yuuri, Japan’s top figure skater (and, evidently, Japan’s top pole dancer), off of his shoulder and into the backseat of the cab, Yuuri flung out a hand to grab his wrist, pulling him headlong into the cab with him.  Victor grunted, maneuvering his knees off the seat and reaching behind himself to close the cab door, all the while trying to ignore the warm champagne bubbles clouding his brain, the warm feeling of Yuuri’s hand around his wrist.  (The warm feeling of Yuuri that had been against his body earlier, as they’d danced.)

Yuuri slung an arm around Victor’s neck, already beginning to murmur sweet indecipherable nothings, and Victor cleared his throat awkwardly, meeting the cab driver’s eyes in the mirror.  The driver raised a single brow, and then, deciding not to make a fuss, shrugged.

“No vomiting.”

Victor nodded, trying to loosen Yuuri’s chokehold.  “Promise.”

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okay bitches, there’s something you need to know about maple syrup

Since none of y’all in the Check Please fandom know how it’s made, and I’ve read some pretty traumatising things in fics, I took these pictures especially for you today. And some are taken from the internet.

We dig holes on our maple trees so come Spring, they leak through metal peens.

In Québec, maples wear buckets. It’s FASHIONABLE.

Now, these are the quaint little érablières (maple tree places?), but others don’t mess around.

Then, what comes out can’t be eaten directly (except by squirrels), it needs to be boiled into one of these motherfuckers here

Now there are different ways of cooking maple, so you can have syrup, butter, and other goodies. What interests us right now is what we call “tire” (pronounce teer)

Below are pictures I took today at the Sugar Shack fair in my town. There are barrels of already boiled tire, and you need to boil it again to serve it. 

Then you pour it on the snow, in neat little lines. I should have taken that one, it was bigger than the one I actually got. 

Now you take a popsicle stick, start at one end and roll it up. You need to wait until it’s cold enough to stick together, and then you have to make sure it’s not lopsided or anything otherwise it gets all over your fingers and that shit’s sticky as hell.

Here you have the result (it’s pretty small, should be bigger). It’s so sweet, the best part is the cold snow that melts in your mouth at the same time. 

And THAT’s how you eat tire sur la neige. Yum yum. (say hi to my friend photobombing me). I don’t want to read false maple representation on future fics from now on, or the angry French Canadian fairy will come and set you right!

Why Holmes Is Ridiculous

Being a list of his oddities, which I am keeping for my own amusement, or possibly for blackmail. I will add to this whenever new proof comes along.

1. The Persian slipper. He keeps his tobacco in the toe of a slipper. Why? Does it tickle his sense of humor? Was it the nearest thing to hand? Does the tobacco not taste of feet, now?

2. The knife in the mantelpiece, which keeps his correspondence in place. I do not understand the purpose in stabbing one’s letters. It is neither picturesque nor practical, and it makes a series of holes in the mantel. It also makes the letters rather difficult to read.

3. The contradiction between his professed philosophy and his actual soul. He talks like an ascetic, and lives like a poet. He scolds me for sentimentality and praises the flowers. He calls my stories rubbish for their romanticism, then lets our suspect escape because he committed his crimes for love. He names his own body mere transport, claims to live wholly divorced from its sensations; yet he surrounds himself in music and incense and wine, and takes me to out to dinner at every possible excuse.

4. He once summoned me all the way across town to listen to his thoughts on the beautiful nature of dog-kind. He sent me a telegram. He said it was urgent.

5. He has the lashes of a society girl. A very lovely girl.

6. Also, he colours up like a girl when I praise him: turns pink as a peach. I praise him as often as I can manage it, for the entertainment.

7. He has the manners of a cat. He lays about about all evening, prowls about all night, and finally falls asleep in broad daylight, in odd places–curled up in the depths of his armchair, or stretched out on the sofa; once, atop my shoulder, in a railway car. I spent the better part of two hours with him snoring gently into my neck, trying my utmost not to laugh.

9. He is really quite discourteous to the Yard, who are actually useful to him; yet he is startlingly attentive to me, and has always been so, long before I became at all useful, or proved myself anything more than a broken-down reject of his Majesty’s service. He mocks my writing, but he treats me beautifully.

8. He takes no exercise whatsoever, despises fresh air and country holidays, and spends a quarter of his days full prone upon the sofa, thinking; yet he maintains a remarkable physique: slender, lean musculature capable of sudden power and startling grace; bright eyes, magnificent legs. He’s like a thoroughbred horse; his strength is in the bone of him. He’s–

[Here the numbered list breaks off abruptly. There is a single notation beneath this point, in the same pen, but notably shaky:]

What have I been thinking? How on earth have I allowed myself to get so far?

[No explanation of this extraordinary statement is offered.]


“Do you really think me ridiculous?”

“Holmes. Oh, Holmes, you did take it. You’ve had it this entire time?”


“What have you been doing with it all these weeks?…Never mind, I don’t want to know. Please give it to me.”

“Tell me what the last line means.”

“Nothing. It means nothing of any significance. Will you give it here?”

“It is impossible for it to mean nothing.”

“Nothing that need concern you, then.”


“Holmes. I can’t tell you.”

“Could you tell me if I held your hands? Like so? H’m, no, it appears that strikes you entirely speechless. What if I do this? Ah. Still speechless….Oh. Oh, you’re shaking. Are you angry? Have I offended you? Watson–I am sorry. I can leave.”



“Yes, I think you are ridiculous. And wondrous. You are wondrous.”

“Oh…That is acceptable.”

“Come here. You’re blushing.”

“I am not.”

“Pink as a peach. Absolutely beautiful.”

“For God’s sake!”

“Come here, and I’ll shut up.”

“…You’re ridiculous.”

“What? Take your face out of my neck, I can’t hear you.”

“I said, you’re ridiculous, too.”

“Yes, I know. Isn’t it lovely? We match.”

I think I’m actually going to be pretty pissed if sjm doesn’t up her diversity game in the next books.

There are a lot of opportunities for her to do this - she has in no way written herself into a corner where diversity is no longer possible (this may have to do with world-building holes, but, anyway…).

There are Courts we haven’t seen yet, characters, Chaol is going to whatever in the hell place he is going that could have diverse people, I’m sure there will be more relationships developing that don’t at all need to be hetero or even monogamous, tbh. There is just… a lot of potential for this.

(edit to move some of my tags to the post bc… my tags got ridiculous…) If I knew before what I know now about these books, I may not have read them in the first place. But I did, and now I’m here, stuck in this fandom dumpster of smut and meta and so-called theories, and I like living in this damn dumpster. I just wish it weren’t filled with white hetero monogamous couples all the time.

And so I’m… going to be quite disappointed if some things don’t change. I don’t know what I’ll actually do. But I know I won’t be happy.

shout the lyrics out, spit them out and stomp them into the ground, mash them into the dirt under your steel toed boots, mash and mash and mash, until your ankles hurt
run and run away, run away, until the town recedes into the horizon behind you, until you hear that train whistle in the distance, until you know you’re allowed to scream because the only living things that’ll hear you are the trees
run and run away, run away, until your ankles hurt
—  i tell these things to myself but i never listen to anything i say // i whisper the lyrics, caress them gently, and i stay in the same place, in this hole i’m digging for myself
The Legend of Bread

whiskeredwolf submitted:

A long time ago, two races ruled over Earth.

And Monsters.

(The screen pans out, showing a human with a rolling pin and a goat-shaped Monster with a baguette.)

One day, the Humans declared war on the Monsters.

(A human with a sharpened pizza pin and

“Baguettes have no place on the Surface!” The Humans decided. “Pizza is the way!”

After a long battle, the Humans won, and sealed the Monsters underground with pizza magic.

Many years later…

(A child with a roller pin is shown tripping down a hole.)

Legends say that those who climb Mt.Bread never return…