who will take me here

Let people grow.

When I was younger I was very right-wing. I mean…very right-wing. I won’t go into detail, because I’m very deeply ashamed of it, but whatever you’re imagining, it’s probably at least that bad. I’ve taken out a lot of pain on others; I’ve acted in ignorance and waved hate like a flag; I’ve said and did things that hurt a lot of people.

There are artefacts of my past selves online – some of which I’ve locked down and keep around to remind me of my past sins, some of which I’ve scrubbed out, some of which are out of my grasp. If I were ever to become famous, people could find shit on me that would turn your stomach.

But that’s not me anymore. I’ve learned so much in the last ten years. I’ve become more open to seeing things through others’ eyes, and reforged my anger to turn on those who harm others rather than on those who simply want to exist. I’ve learned patience and compassion. I’ve learned how to recognise my privileges and listen to others’ perspectives. I’ve learned to stand up for others, how to hear, how to help, how to correct myself. And I learned some startling shit about myself along the way – with all due irony, some of the things I used to lash out at others for are intrinsic parts of myself.

You wouldn’t know what I am now from what I was then. You wouldn’t know what I was then from what I am now.

It distresses me deeply to think of someone dredging up my dark, awful past and treating me as though that furiously hateful person is still me. It distresses me to see others dredging up the past for anyone who has made efforts to become a better person, out of some sick obsession with proving they’re “problematic.”

Purity culture tells you that once someone says or does something, they can never go back on it. That’s a goddamn lie. While it’s true that some remain unrepentant and never change their ways and continue to harm others, it’s important to allow everyone the chance to learn from their mistakes. Saying something ignorant isn’t murder. Please stop treating it that way. Let people grow.

  • Isaac: What the hell is that?!
  • Derek confused, looking down at his bags: I went to the farmer’s market....
  • Erica, smirking: I don’t think we can all eat that.
  • Derek: ...
  • Boyd: You weren’t supposed to bring back the farmer.
  • Stiles, looking at his plaid shirt, pointing at the pack while walking away: I’m putting you all up for adoption!
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Prompt:Your favourite episode of Doctor Who that is set in the future
 Under the Lake/Before the Flood
For @gallihafry

“Every time I think it can’t get more extraordinary it surprises me. It’s impossible. I hate it. It’s evil, it’s astonishing. I want to kiss it to death!

i survived! just wanted to thank you to all of the amazing people on here (yeah i’m taking about you) who helped me get to this point in my life. i didn’t think i would ever get to this point let alone get to this point so comfortably and without a doubt in my mind. please know that i’m so so so thankful for everything you guys have done for me whether it just be sending me a little message, following me, donating, or whatever. i don’t deserve it but i sure am grateful for it. none of this would’ve been possible without you guys. i swear i’m the luckiest dude in the world to have friends like all of you. now that i’ve rambled on about my love for u all and gotten such a huge weight off of my chest (hehe) i’m gonna go back to sleep bc ouchy.

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J E A N  M O R E A U .

There’s no surrender
And there’s no escape
This is a wild game of survival. 

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And to your right you can slowly see me descend into this madness of an idea.

So, I might draw a little comic series of Vanoss and Mini Vanoss though I haven’t decided on it yet. The idea is still there,,,,,just floating.

2
2
  • Me, a multi. shipper: *sees voltron fandom discore because of a ship/ships* Eh, another tuesday
  • Also me: *Sees anti-shipper calling a sweet wonderful artist a pedophile because of said ship* yOU WANNA FUCKING GO?!?!

a happy lil sonny for @smoltinypumpkinchild

lil sonny loves summer because the lack of sleeves means its the perfect time for all the gun shows

BONUS: usnavi breaking the news

Jughead x Reader- Soulmate AU- Drawings

Soulmate AU where whatever is drawn or written upon the skin appears on the other. I found a post on here somewhere that inspired this, so if you guys have any idea about the original post please let me know~! This fic is gender neutral!

Warnings: None at all, unless you count my writing haha

This flips between second and third person depending on the POV. Let me know how ya feel about that

Words: 1373

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Jughead sat on his bed, a smile on his face as he watched the skin of his arm, line after line appeared, creating beautiful patterns on his skin. This was a nightly occurrence, part of the routine, and he couldn’t help wondering who would draw these designs. They were beautiful, and he would always wonder just where the person who drew them was. Sometimes he would watch as lines would disappear and then reappear in new forms, the artist on the other side not happy with their work, and he knew he would be able to watch them for hours. He never told his friends about the art, as it was always gone by morning, and he liked having just a secret between him and whomever this person was.

Sometimes he would write things out for whomever was on the other end and the pair would have short conversations. Nothing too long, things that could be written out on an arm or a hand, and he had gotten to know little things about them. He wanted to save most of the mystery of this intriguing person until they met and wanted to save as much room as he could for their artwork.

They were talented, and it always was bittersweet when the drawings would be washed off in the morning. In part he was sad because now they would be gone, but now he would be able to wonder what they would do next. Sometimes through the school days he would leave little notes of encouragement on his arm, or just little quotes he saw that made him think of his enigma. It was strange how a few simple questions, and hours of watching them draw had made him completely smitten with them.

He knew that no one in Riverdale was the one who had done the designs, and i disheartened him some, worried he would never be able to truly meet his soulmate without having to ask them where they lived. He had always liked the concept of simply bumping into them one day, instead of doing what the other couples he knew had done, and arranged plans to meet. As far as he could tell, the person he wrote to had agreed with this sentiment.

You on the other hand were a nervous wreck these days. Everything in your life had turned upside down as your family packed everything and moved cities. Your mother had simply grown sick of the city life and your father had agreed to move her back to where she had grown up: Riverdale.

You had been here a few times as a child, visiting your grandparents when it was possible but you had always remained secluded. You didn’t want to see the other children, not wanting to make friends and have to leave them so soon after. A decision that you now regretted as you found yourself in front of the new school. You took a breath as you made your way up to the door, face looking towards the ground before you collided into a blonde girl, nearly sending you both to the ground. You were thankful as someone grabbed you from behind, helping you up.

“I am so sorry!” You exclaimed, reaching to make sure the blonde girl was alright. She just smiled and shook her head.

“You must be (Y/N), I’m Betty Cooper, your tour guide for the day,” she said, holding out her hand, which you shook.

“My names Kevin! I must say it is a pleasure to meet you, I like your shoes,” he said and you smiled warmly.

“Yeah, that’s me. that obvious huh?” you asked and Betty gave a sheepish smile.

“It’s hard to hide a new face in a town like this,” she says and you nod your head, smiling back lightly.

“No I guess not,” you said and she sighed a bit.

“Come on, I’ve already got your schedule, I’ll show you where to go for your first class,” she said and you nodded, following quickly behind her. There was something about the chatter of the two people you had met first that instantly put you at ease. Soon enough it was lunch hour and you found yourself sitting at the table with her group of friends.

“Guys, this is (Y/N), the new student everyone’s been talking about,” Kevin said as he plopped down in an empty seat at the end of the table.

“(Y/N) this is Archie Andrews, Veronica Lodge, and Jughead Jones,” Betty said, pointing them all out in order as you gave a cautious wave before sitting down beside the blonde.

Jughead Jones the Third,” Jughead piped up and Betty rolled her eyes.

“Of course, I always forget, he likes that part being made very clear,” she said, looking to you with an amused look in her eyes.

Jughead was about when Veronica butted in, making her own introduction, “Finally! Someone who can take the new kid title from me! I’ve been here for months and still haven’t shaken it,” Veronica said, waving her hands around in excitement, “It’s nice to meet you though,” she said, her smile warm.

“Why don’t you tell us a little about yourself (Y/N)?” Archie asked and you smiled, giving whatever details were asked of you and making pleasant conversation with the kids around you, your hand over the spot on your arm where a sweet message from your soul mate was sitting under the sleeve.

In the weeks that went by you found yourself becoming quite close to the small group of friends, joining them when you could. though there was an unmistakable draw to Jughead. There was just a spark that was there, that the other kids didn’t have.

And yet it still took nearly three months for the two of you to realize why that was. The two of you were sitting across from the other in Pop’s, him working on his novel and you were buried in some sketches you were working on in your sketchpad. As your pencil flowed across the paper you couldn’t help but begin to continue the pattern on the back of your hand, hoping to give that special person a surprise outside of the usual routine artistry you did.

You were so engrossed in your work that you didn’t notice Jughead stop typing, his focus now on the back of his hand as he watched the design flow freely across the skin. He glanced up at you to see if you had noticed before he tensed. He watched as your pen worked across your own hand, noticing the exact same design on it.

“It’s you,” he said, a near whisper as he did, eyes wide and staring.

At his words you looked up, a furrowed brow, “Whats me?” you asked, not seeing his hand that was still behind his laptop.

He didn’t know what to say, instead just closing the computer and laying is hand down next to yours, both of you staring in amazement at the identical pictures.

“You’re my soulmate,” you whispered, your eyes going up to look him in the eyes, a grin spreading across your cheeks.

“I knew something was odd,” he blurted and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Good to know you think I’m weird Jones,” you said and he blushed, shaking his head.

“Yeah you’re weird, but who in Riverdale isn’t?” he asked and you nodded.

“Good point,” you said and he smiled, putting his hand in yours, his thumb tracing the design gently before leaning in so your lips could meet.

~~~~

What you didn’t see, the two of you completely engrossed in each other was a grumbling Betty, handing Veronica and Kevin each a twenty dollar bill in the doorway of the diner.

“Told you so,” she said, a smug smile on her face before she snapped a picture of their two friends.

“I knew they were end game,” Kevin said gleefully, laughing playfully at the blonde. The group of friends had been split, divided and had started the bet at Veronica’s suggestion. Archie and Betty saying it was too good to be true, Veronica and Kevin, swooning at the mere idea of the new kid and the loner being soul mates.

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Let me know what you guys think. Tell me how to improve! Pointers are definitely appreciated! :)

Google search: how to fill the mother shaped hole I have in my chest.

What do I fill it with? I’ve tried
taking the most maternal pieces I’ve found
in my therapists and stuffing it into my chest
like toilet paper in a bra but something
always goes wrong. Blood seeps
deep into toilet paper rapidly & then becomes
more danger than gauze & I can’t help
but remove it from my heart because
the maternal parts of the therapist
didn’t belong there in the first place &
everyone knew it except for me.

Google search: how to accept the fact that I will never have the mom that I have always needed.

That no matter what I do or say,
or how much I plead with whatever power
lives up above and decides what happens
here on earth to give me a re-do or
to give me a woman here who will take on
the mother role,
I will never have the mom
I have always needed.

Google search: what is it going to take for me to move forward knowing I will never have what I need?

What has to happen for me to stop
taking a blade to the soft flesh of my wrist
every time I don’t get what I need?—
every time I look for a mom in the eyes
of the nice woman working at TGI Fridays or
the dental hygienist who cleans my teeth
& wipes a tear from my cheek while I shake
in the dentist chair & tells me
I did a good job when it’s over or
every time a person who my mind has
already labeled “fill-in mom” doesn’t
fit inside the mother shaped gaping
wound in my heart.

What has to happen in order for me
to stop searching for love inside eyes
that do not have what I need inside them?

What has to happen in order for me
to stop emptying myself out when those people
who I want to love me like a mother loves
her daughter don’t have that capacity?

Google search: tell me a good story about your own mom.

Tell me about the time when she
rubbed your back & sang a lullaby to your
sick, aching heart. Tell me about
how she made you chicken noodle soup
& stayed home from work with you
because she loved you & wanted to do
nothing more than help you
feel better.

Tell me about the time when
you fell down & scraped your knee &
you went crying to your mommy & she
grabbed a pretty baindaid & kissed
your bruise & said, “all better!”

Tell me about your first break up & how
your mom came home early that day
with ice cream & trashy movies &
held you in her arms as you cried
until you had nothing left in your heart but
the love of your mommy’s soft touch.

Google search: how to make it stop hurting so much.

I can’t go a day without feeling this
missing piece inside of me & some days
it aches less than others but on the days
when the aching has total hold of me
there is no relief. No one can do anything
to make it better; there is no word in the world
that could save me from the pain of knowing
that I will have to live the rest of my life
without the love I needed maternally.

I need to find a way to stop hurting;
a way to make the world stop turning on the days
when the pain takes control of my body
& all I can feel is the way my mom’s touch
was a bullet & she was the gun &
I need to find a way to make the noose
around my neck loosen its grip before
I suffocate inside the truth.

Google search: the truth is that I’ll never have a mom. How do I accept this? How do I move on? How do I live without that love?

Google search: the sadness is overtaking me.

One night, my mom was in a good mood & she came into my room to sing me to sleep—she never did this, it was a new thing. I was laying in bed & she was sitting on the carpet next to me, leaning her back against my nightstand when she began to sing.

“Close your eyes and I’ll kiss you,
tomorrow I’ll miss you,
remember I’ll always be true.”

I felt my eyes begin to fill up with tears, though I wasn’t sure why & feelings were never safe so I hid it & pretended I was fine.

“And then while I’m away,
I’ll write home everyday,
and I’ll send all my lovin’
to you.”

I could not control it, I let out a loud sob & said,
“Please don’t leave me mommy! I promise I’ll be good, I’ll do anything!” & my mom grabbed my hand & said, “don’t worry, Baby, I’ll never leave.” & when she left my room that night I laid in bed & cried & cried & didn’t know why.

Google search: why do the good memories hurt more than the bad ones?

Why am I still crying at that song
by the Beatles & the memory of my mom
grabbing my hand & assuring me
she would never leave when
I’m now an adult & can see
all the awful things that my mom did to me?

Google search: how to stop wanting a mommy like the version of my mommy who randomly sang to me.

—  GOOGLE SEARCH: MOMMY, (han hyland)