Rise Up, Oh Heart, For There is Another Battle to Win

Sep 23

majingojira: “ ohmygil: “ nemosland: “ oh-mystarisfading: “ #I love how in the movies he’s like ‘yes. it hurts every time they come out’ ANGST ANGST ANGST #and in the cartoons he’s just like yolo i’m a fuckin mutant bitch this shit better make my...

majingojira:

ohmygil:

nemosland:

oh-mystarisfading:

#I love how in the movies he’s like ‘yes. it hurts every time they come out’ ANGST ANGST ANGST #and in the cartoons he’s just like yolo i’m a fuckin mutant bitch this shit better make my life easier somehow #so he just uses his claws for everyday tasks #because what good are they if YOU DON’T USE THEM TO CUT SALAMI 

I find this oddly soothing.

this is so hecking gross

http://media.tumblr.com/bbe199ea3f4182a559a3feaa4e7156b1/tumblr_mo5s06d0su1r7voiqo1_500.jpg

First thing I thought of when I re-blogged it the first time.

(Source: tsuidark, via cthulhu-with-a-fez)

agirlcalledfrost asked: OH OH OH PLEASE TELL US A BOARDING SCHOOL STORY PRETTY PLEASE

ofgeography:

so my school had this thing called “senior skip day,” except that senior skip day didn’t exist and every year the administration sent out emails in the spring that were like DON’T FUCKIN SKIP CLASS OR YOU WILL RECEIVE RESTRICTION (restriction was like, my boarding school’s equivalent of detention where instead of staying after school you had to go to bed early and help stuff envelopes advertising the summer program until your hands were BLOODIED AND CRIPPLED BY CARPAL TUNNEL) and every year the seniors were like YOLO THEY CAN’T PUNISH ALL OF US!!!!!

anyway, my senior year, we all got together and nattered at each other until some brave soldier (i feel like it was my friend paula but WHO KNOWS) was like “OK SENIOR SKIP DAY IS THIS THURSDAY!!!! NOBODY GO TO CLASS OR UR A SCAB.”

we also used this email system to communicate with one another that has very deeply informed the way i understand email and which probably makes it very frustrating to be my friend and receive emails that have subject lines like “URGENT” and then just 42 links to the same florida georgia line youtube video.

so the day of reckoning rolls around and my alarm goes off at 8 (class started at 8:05 but i liked to PLAY WITH FIRE when it came to being late; my mom actually asked the school to stop emailing her when i was a sophomore because i was late so often that their rote “Mrs. Ofgeography we are emailing you to say—” was CLOGGING UP HER INBOX and she was like “i GET IT MY CHILD IS THE MOST BORING MISCREANT OF ALL TIME.”) and i looked at my roommate elle and she looked at me and went, “you going?”

“hell no,” i said. “YOLO. they can’t punish all of us.”

elle, who was far prettier and far cooler than i was with the notable exception of her obsession with tswift’s “love story” and her tendency to look at the endangered species list and cry sometimes during study hall, quickly bizounced across the street to this shopping center thing where all the cool kids smoked in secret where huge trucks dropped off clothes for the Dress Barn. i think there were also tennis courts nearby. more importantly there was this chinese food delivery place and a lil restaurant that made HELLA BAGELS.

off goes elle! meanwhile i’m like, “yessssss i’m gonna use senior skip day to watch 14 hours of tv shows and eat frozen peanut butter bars that i stole from the dining hall! I’M GONNA LIVE LIKE I’M 23 ALONE IN CHICAGO ON A WEEKEND WHEN MY ONLY PLAN IS TAKEOUT AND CUDDLING WITH THE FAUX-SNOW-LEOPARD BLANKET I WILL ONE DAY SURELY OWN.” 

of course, during this time the administration was continuing to send out emails that reminded us with increasing urgency that senior skip day was NOT A THING and that we were ALL GETTING RESTRICTION if we didn’t get our STUPID ASSES TO CLASS, GODDAMNIT, WE ARE NOT RUNNING A CIRCUS HERE. 

but i was like! yolo, motherfuckers!!! i already got into college, YOU CAN’T TOUCH ME.

at some point during the day elle and our friend ginna came back to the room with takeout from the chinese delivery place and we sat on our floor eating it and probably watching veronica mars or looking at the endangered species list and crying.

all of a sudden, elle said, “guys shut up, guys shut up, GUYS SHUT UP,” and ginna and i were like, “WHAT we have a LOT to SAY about FRIED FUCKING DUMPLINGS, ELLE,“ and elle said, "did you hear that?”

“hear what?”

“that!”

‘that’ was the sound of one of our dorm moms, mrs. f, knocking on doors and saying things like, “IF YOU DON’T GET YOUR BUTTS TO CLASS IN 5 MINUTES YOU’RE ON CATEGORY 4 RESTRICTION FOREVER.” elle quickly scampered up our raised beds to hide in the corner, where a tiny human like elle could actually hide from view; i leapt immediately into what we called a closet but was basically a cubby with a flap that was DEFINITELY not meant for a 5'8” individual with knobby as hell knees.

our door, which was never locked because we both hated the effort of typing in the lock code, opened. mrs. f said, “mollyhall?”

i held my breath. 

you can see the flaw in my logic.

mrs. f sighed. “mollyhall, i know you’re in here, i literally heard your voice ten seconds ago.”

“mollyhall, i know you’re in the closet.”

“mollyhall—”

there was a creak. mrs. f stopped. it wasn’t actually a “creak,” so much as this like, prolonged groan? like it’s the sound an elephant would make if it sat on a really large accordion.

i poked my head out of the closet. mrs. f looked at me. elle sat up.

i said, “where’s ginna?”

“um,” said elle, “she’s in the—”

ginna yes.

i really wish i could describe the sound the ceiling made when it collapsed. it sounded a lot like the way losing your breath feels. i sort of remember ginna falling in like, really slow motion, like i could see the expression on her face. i didn’t really think about how i would describe this in words. ginna’s face said:

she belly flopped onto the floor. i mean, the girl bounced. and then she just laid there. mrs. f looked at her. elle looked at her. i looked at her, still mostly in the closet. we were all going to get category 4 restriction forever.

ginna said, “hi, mrs. f. i feel like i should explain.”

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Sep 22

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rabioheab:

my dog was supposed to be a police dog but he failed the training for it because he was too much of a wimp. the trainers said that when he was supposed to be attacking dummies he’d run up to them and roll over and wag his tail and they also said he was the worst failure they’d ever seen 

(via bleedingwillow96)

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michiko-luvs-fanfiction: “ opulentes: “ WRITER LIFE • Tips on Getting Started • Why the Right Word Choices Result in Better Writing • 7 Tips to Become a Better Writer from Stephen King • Why Writers Must Read • 4 Ways To Have Confidence in Your...

michiko-luvs-fanfiction:

opulentes:

WRITER LIFE

Inspiration and Writer’s Block

MUSIC

SOFTWARE AND TOOLS

Research Organization

Family Trees

Editing

Writing 

Timeline Makers

FORUMS, BOARDS, COMMUNITIES 

WRITING BLOGS

RESEARCH 

Culture

Terminology

Mental Illness

Crime

Survival

Self-Defence And Fighting

Death

Body Language

GENERATORS 

Names

Plots

Prompts

NOVELS

 ROMANCE

Sex

Kissing

WORLD BUILDING

PLOT

CHARACTERS

How To

Archetypes 

Depth

Questionnaires

Names

EDITING AND REVISION

Reference Materials

How To

Synonyms

Editing Services

Grammar

PUBLISHING

Self-Publishing

Agents

Software

Querying

Literary Magazines

Publishing

ACADEMIC

General

Introductions

Body Paragraphs

Topic Sentences

Conclusions

Thesis Statements

Citing

Argumentative Essays

Writing About Poetry

Expository Essays

Research Papers

College Application Essays

Narrative Essays

INCREDIBLY helpful! :)

(via cthulhu-with-a-fez)

steadymobbing:

steadymobbing:

i asked my mom how she met my dad and she said at a college basketball game this guy got distracted and got hit by the ball and got a huge bloody nose and he came up to her after the game and said “i was distracted by you” with like blood all over his face and jersey

so i asked my dad and he said “my friend told me he’d give me 10 bucks if i asked a girl out with my broken nose and she said yes”

(Source: ptolemaic, via cthulhu-with-a-fez)

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