Is anyone else having freaking trouble with tumblr?
This is the secone time on my cpu that the website is refusing to load and I’m getting insaneeeeely frustrated.
Is anyone else having freaking trouble with tumblr?
This is the secone time on my cpu that the website is refusing to load and I’m getting insaneeeeely frustrated.
Ohh second story, we’re on it this weekkk.
Warnings: mentions/descriptions of blood & injuries, running away, captivity??, spooky forest
She had escaped the castle a mere three nights ago, sneaking past the guard of the outer gate and stealing her horse from the stables in the dead of night. She rode her steed through the woods until she reached the garden of Nymphs, near the riverbank just west of the castle. Upon her arrival, they gathered at her feet.
“I need to speak with Dhara,” She said softly.
Us before the Dabi/Toya reveal: I bet Dabi was such a caring, loving, protective older brother. I just know he miss spending time with his siblings before Endeavor fucked them all up
Us after the Dabi/Toya reveal: … So… Welcome to the ‘Lets kill Dabi’ petition. Uh, please take not of the exits all though we doubt you’ll be using them. Kn case you didn’t know, this petition was started because of our newfound hatred for Dabi- No, we dont care if he was a hot but crusty bastard. He has officially downgraded to 'crusty bastard’
The outside world touches against her outside skin, but not the other part of herself, inside.
Sally Rooney, Normal People
Lately he’s consumed by a sense that he is in fact two separate people, and soon he will have to choose which person to be on a full-time basis, and leave the other person behind.
Sally Rooney, Normal People
The Tiara Pageant Question of the Day :Do you like reading? What was the last thing you read?
#book #reading #books #bookworm #fiction #nonfiction
#india #mumbai #pune #bangalore #chandigarh #delhi #ahmedabad #indore #pageantinterview #pageantcoaching #pageantcoachritikaramtri #pageantquestionsbythetiara #thetiarapageantquestionseries #PageantGroomingbythetiara #missindia2020 #missindiaauditions #missindia2020auditions #feminamissindiaauditions #thetiarapageanttraniningstudio #winfromhome #missindia2020training #missindia2021training #missindia2021 #MissDiva2021
Amina couldn’t remember when she had entered the Library for Misborn Souls. Every book ever written could be found in its shelves. Every book was fiction, because that was how the patrons liked it.
Amina had never even heard of most of the authors on the spines. She’d made discovery after discovery, and every now and then she’d wake up from her stupor and realise that she had been lost in a book for who knows how long.
Then, just as she was to leave, she would spot another name she did not recognise.
It struck her that she had not spotted anyone in the library. There was certainly a presence of people, with sounds of books being slid and slapped and spines getting cracked and the shuffle of pages and the patter of feet… but no people.
Amina didn’t mind. It meant more privacy, and she had spent her life dying for a little privacy.
Lost and searching for the exit, Amina stumbled upon the librarian’s desk. No one occupied the seat behind the semi-circle desk, but a paperweight did sit upon a handwritten page of paper. Amina had read hundreds of thousands of words in the library already, so she picked the paper up to read some more.
“I’m sure you’re wondering what you’re doing here,” the message read. “I was, too, when I inherited this establishment from my predecessor. Which isn’t to say that I am passing it on to you. No, I have plenty of time in my pocket yet.”
Amina ran her fingers over the extruded ink and it seemed to smudge just a little. Enough to prove that her experience here was as real as could be.
“You are in the Library of Misborn Souls. Which is to say, that you are here as an apology for being born where you were. This may come as a surprise to you, or perhaps it may not, but you were not supposed to exist where and when you did. Perhaps you felt that longing, that yearning all your life—that certainty that you were meant for a different milieu.”
Amina put the page down on the desk again and looked around the library. Her loneliness was now drawing on her like a sullen night. She continued reading.
“Nothing can be done to make up for the mistake that was your existence. Everything you learnt and became—none of it was meant to be. All that can be offered is a library of every imagination, every fantasy that never made it to paper. None of these books were penned or published, only imagined. They found their way here, so that you may escape, again and again, until the end of time.”
Amina’s tears stained the page now, darkened the paper and smudged the ink. She struggled to remember what she had done when she was alive, and all the stinging pain and all the bubbling happiness.
Mixed in with all the things she’d read in the books in the library, it had become impossible to tell what her life had been and what was something she’d read here in the library. She couldn’t even tell if she liked that.
How Usagi used to speak to Chibiusa
Usagi: So, I’m not leaving until you smile
Versus how she speaks to her now
Usagi: HEY PANINI HEAD ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING TO ME!!!
Blasphemous Interactions: Chapter 2.
I tried to ignore, look away, concentrate on my order I was going to make, but when I looked back, they had disappeared and it was definitely eerie. I lived alone in that small town, all by myself, hardly came out and socialised with people so if anything happened with me nobody would know enough to bat an eye. I ordered a bottle of beer and grabbed that corner table, whipped up my phone and started to check my social media completely obvious of the fact that I have a small note placed for me by those two strange men which was sticking out of a flower vase placed on the table carrying dead flowers. How can two people, two grown up men to be precise just move out of your vision this quick? Was I daydreaming? Oh God! Didn’t I take my pills on time? Did the side affects choose to creep in only when I thought of enjoying some me time? I scrolled through posts mindlessly when that chit caught my eye. I carefully lifted the vase, not to act upon any mishaps such as breaking it and ending up attracting unwanted attention and unfolded it. It had a number. A number without a name. A number I didn’t recognise. A number that might be for one night stands and I wasn’t sure whether I was up for it. A number I wanted dial but decided to do so when I reach home because that would eat up sometime and if the number happens to be one of those dudes, that’s fine coz I don’t wanna sound desperate and if it’s just a prank cause maybe I was too ugly for them, then I can always sneak inside my sheets while I sob. Either way I needed to reach home fast because the drink I ordered was a large and costly one which meant I would have to finish it soon and walk to home somehow carrying my sanity with me because I had no money to book Uber. I started gulping down. It was strong and my head swooned but I had this fatal tendency creeping within me by then so I kept doing whatever the fuck i was up to and suddenly I choked. I tried to gulp down, but the lump in my throat won’t give way. I tried to call someone for help but I had no voice left to let out, my eyes drooped fast, i started losing balance on my feet. Suddenly I lost sense. Before I closed my eyes for good, I realised how the remnants of the drink I couldn’t gulp down came out of the corners of the mouth my mouth along with the drool. I felt dirty, messed up and then saw darkness.
Thanks to Anna and Iduna, I realized something pretty big about myself this year. That I’m using fiction as a way to cope I’m not cut out to be a mother.
And don’t “oh it will happen someday” bullshit me. I’m a firm believer that sometimes being a good parent, means knowing you won’t be and actively not getting kids. I’m a disabled adult who can barely take care of herself, I should never be entrusted with the responsbility of a child.
But in fiction that doesn’t matter. In fiction I can consume all the love and care that can come from a parent/kid relationship.
Honestly, I don’t see Anna and Iduna as a healthy parent/kid relationship, because of all the neglect they put Anna through (and in canon Anna still hasn’t gotten closure with her parents), but I have enough traumas from my own parents, so the way I look at Anna and Iduna is more wishful thinking.
Are they really your faves if you’re not self projecting…
“Tell me again what you said at the revel,” he says, climbing over me, his body against mine.
“What?” I can barely think.
“That you hate me,” he says, his voice hoarse. “Tell me that you hate me.”
“I hate you,” I say, the words coming out like a caress. I say it again, over and over. A litany. An enchantment. A ward against what I really feel. “I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.”
me reading the wicked king:
“Delivery to Erebor Mining!”
The manager’s voice echoes through the room and you jump up immediately.
“I’ll take it!” You call out and shrug at your colleague sitting a few feet away from you. “Ehm…I mean…I know the way. Delivered to them before.” You explain and turn away quickly before they can ask uncomfortable questions about your sudden urge to get to work instead of wasting some more time in the warm and dry restaurant.
is racing as you grab the delivery box and drive the way to King’s Street.
Original Source: @thespacekiosk
@ms-mazariegos @generalinternetyouth @normalweirdoboy @vivilon @apekshashettysblog @jennnnnnnnn @creativity @art @writersnoonereads @writingprompts @bookmania @bookmania @quotemadness @scienceandfood @sciencesoup @physicsphysics @mathematics-field-gbc @astronomy-is-awesome @malefica67 @tmifangirl24 @writersrelief @realitytvgifs @cradiot28 @jag4488 @tremendouslydecadentfire @explore-blog
I’m making a playlist! Feel free to add to it :3
Do you know what is something I will never get behind is how in stories people try to make the “other woman” seem so inhumane in a way like she got injections, lip fillers, she got her body done and layers of make up compared to the all natural kind of girl like natural curves and little make and trying to seem superior. No honey that’s not how that works you don’t do that ever in your life try to compare yourself to another girl and think you’re superior because you don’t have the confidence to go under the knife shut the fuck up. ￼You never know the reason why someone goes for cosmetic surgery and even if you knew you have no place to compare yourself in that way. stop that. get some help￼￼
Okay I know this is an Adam Driver blog, but can y’all help me out. I write a lot in my free time and there’s something I’ve been working on for a hot minute now. I’m just posting it here because I’m too much of a pussy to actually let people I know see it lol. If you don’t wanna see anything besides Adam just scroll past I won’t be offended. You do you man. Anyways here’s my garbage story.
“It’s happening again.” She thought to herself, watching the different clusters of policemen separate and regroup over and over again. More and more seemingly arriving by the second. The color of the bright yellow police tape began to sting her eyes, but not even physical pain could draw her out of that trance.
A colossal red oak tree was at the center of it all, and even at a distance Maya could spot the dried blood ominously splattered across its bark, like a twisted Jackson Pollack painting.
She couldn’t help but think, “when most people go back to their old high school, it’s usually for a reunion, not a murder.” She couldn’t help but to reach into her back pocket and pull out a white folded piece of paper and reread the words sloppily scrawled across it in black ink.
“I’m think police regret your if me alive, -Love HIM.”
“What does it mean?” Maya whispered quietly under her breath, “I can’t be the only person who got one.”
If only she could travel back in time to two years prior, when it had all begun. She laughed at how naive she was, thinking that the first murder was an isolated incident. It was almost exactly two years ago that she had been sitting beneath the branches of that same tree, with her friends, or as they used to call themselves, “The Core Four”. Closing her eyes, the memories of where it all began started to gradually seep back into her mind.
“I’m so late,” Maya thought to herself in a panic as she pulled her black Volvo convertible into the schools parking lot in haste. She forcefully turned the wheel and swerved into the first available spot that caught her eye.
The morning had begun with a broken alarm clock, spilt coffee, and a strand of Maya’s shoulder length auburn hair getting burned to a crisp in a botched attempt at using her mother’s curling iron. She was so late that she debated even showing up for school, but missing yet another chemistry class was a great way to guarantee a C-, or worse.
Getting out of her car, she couldn’t help but notice the unusually scarce amount of vehicles in the parking lot. On a normal school day, almost every parking spot contained some sort of vehicle, mostly cars, but occasionally a motorcycle or moped.
She decided to ignore the empty lot, but only due to the increased sense of urgency flowing through her body. Walking the familiar paved path that approached the main entrance of John Adams High School, Maya was shocked to see the various groups of people all leaving campus at once. Many walked towards the parking lot in groups of two or three in a rushed manner, frightened expressions on their faces. There were even a small group of girls sitting together on the front steps comforting each other. The inevitable rush of curiosity began to halt her motions and before she knew it, she had become temporarily paralyzed, the curiosity now spread across her face like a banner as she stood directly in front of the main entrance.
“Maya!” A familiar voice called out to her from underneath the large tree to her left.
“Shawn, hey,” she said, obvious concern prominent in her voice, “what’s going on? Why aren’t you guys in class?”
“Schools cancelled until Monday.” The dark haired girl to the right of Shawn stated bluntly, looking at the ground as she pulled apart blades of grass one at a time with her long nails.
“Lena Dixon got murdered last night.” The girl replied with an expressionless face. There was no trace of emotion in her voice.
“Not just murdered,” the second boy chimed in, “completely gutted, body parts everywhere. Like some kind of gruesome twisted horror movie.”
“Ryan, you’re such a creep,” Shawn spoke again, with a disgusted look on his face, “you’re even less empathetic than Jade.”
Maya couldn’t even comprehend the gruesome news her friends had just delivered, “Oh my god, do they know who did it?”
She sat down next to her friends underneath the thick branches of the oak tree.
“They apparently arrested one of her neighbors, some sick freak. People said he was watching her for awhile.” Jade spoke again, with a slightly more sympathetic tone in her voice, “So yeah, we have a long weekend.”
Lena Dixon wasn’t exactly a friend, more like someone you’d occasionally mutter a quick “hello” to when passing one another in the hallway, but hearing of her murder affected all of them. Even Ryan and Jade, who chose to hide their emotions under an unsympathetic facade.
“Well, I’m gonna bounce,” Jade said impassively before flicking her long braid behind her shoulder, “being here right now is creeping me out. Meet up later though?”
“Just give me a time and a place, I’m there,” Ryan responded while standing up and quickly brushing the dirt off of his jeans, “I should probably leave too, the second my mom hears about what happened she’ll go apeshit.”
After saying a quick goodbye to Maya and Shawn, Ryan quickly jogged forward, catching up to Jade, and soon the two were engaged in their own private conversation.
“Hey, you alright?” Shawn asked, scooting closer to Maya.
“Shawn, someone we know just died, isn’t that shocking for you? Not just died, murdered! I don’t understand how you three could be so nonchalant about all of this.”
“Well,” Shawn began, “You know how Ryan and Jade are.”
“What do you mean?”
“Ryan uses bad jokes as a coping mechanism, and Jade acts like she doesn’t care about anything, even if she’s dying on the inside. She’s been like that since her dad died.”
It was all true. Ryan had been labeled a goofball from an early age, but in reality the jokes were just a diverse way of handling the pressure constantly put onto him by his family. His mother was a first generation American, but his father had relocated to The United States from China when he was sixteen. Mr. Lin was just as hard on his son as his father had been to him, and Ryan’s only way to release the frustration was humor.
Unlike Ryan however, Jade had adopted several of her distinct traits later in life. The emotionless and unsympathetic charade had began one year prior, after her father’s death. For months after the accident Jade constantly saw people searching for emotion on her face and in her actions, and before long she learned how to conceal it, quickly becoming habit.
“Maybe I could understand why they’re acting this way,” Maya stated making eye contact with the blonde boy next to her, “but it doesn’t seem like you. Like you almost don’t even care”
Shawn sighed, it was a sigh of exasperation, but also frustration at not being capable of finding words to describe how he truly felt.
“I’ve never lost anyone before,” he began to reason, “I wasn’t exactly friends with Lena but it’s still pretty effed up to know what happened to her. Every time I walk into history and see her empty desk it’ll make me sadder than I can even begin to comprehend. I’m only in shock Maya, and believe it or not everyone grieves differently, so stop blasting Ryan, Jade, and me for how we’re handling this.”
“Shawn, I didn’t mean it like that. I just-”
She was interrupted by the sounds of Shawn abruptly zipping up his green Northface book bag and standing up.
“I’ll see you tonight if the plans work out Maya.”
Maya discovering the murder was a mere coincidence. In fact, the young woman had practically stumbled upon the scene. It was less than a day before that she made the decision to drive home from college. She had hoped that the note she discovered taped to the wall inside of her dorm was a distasteful prank, an imbecilic joke created by someone with a twisted sense of humor. After plenty of interrogation, Maya came to the conclusion that her roommate couldn’t have been responsible, nor was she convinced that her roommate would do something that insensitive. She paced rapidly, trying to rationalize the situation.
Still however, thoughts of uncertainty raced through her mind, despite her best attempts to keep a cool head and remain rational. These thoughts got the better of her and she soon found herself impulsively making the two hour trek east back to Northville.
“Fuck rationality,” she thought to herself, “better safe than sorry. He obviously knows where I am. I’m no safer at school than I am here.”
When questioned by her parents Maya claimed that she simply wanted to surprise them for Christmas. She wondered how they’d react to the real reason for her sudden visit.
“The serial killer that harassed my friends and me two years ago and also killed several of our classmates before inexplicably disappearing is back in action and sending me threatening letters. Merry Christmas!”
“If only.” She snorted.
After surprising her family with her presence and dropping off her things, Maya began to drive aimlessly through the familiar streets of her hometown. When the loud wails of police sirens blared and several vehicles with flashing lights zipped past her, she could feel her stomach churn. Something was triggered in Maya’s mind that inexplicably caused her to suddenly jerk the wheel left in order to complete a risky U-turn and follow the police cruisers. It only took about three minutes before she stumbled upon the site, her former high school. Anyone passing by the scene would assume the worst due to the number of first responders present. After parking a couple of blocks away, Maya exited her vehicle, sauntered casually to the front of the school, and stood as close as she could without being caught or crossing the yellow police tape. There were several conversations going on at one time and Maya listened closely, trying to pick up on details of the crime.
“Only twenty years old, poor kid. No one should have to go out like that,” one dark haired police officer said solemnly to a taller blonde man in uniform next to him.
“Isn’t he one of John Robbins boys?” the man asked.
“Yep, Evan Robbins,” the police officer nodded, “he was one of the only surviving victims of those high school attacks and murders I was tellin’ you about. Worked at his dad’s store. Good kid.”
A rush of several different emotions began to course through Maya’s body.
“It’s true,” she thought, “He’s back”
Everything after that was a blur. A very discombobulated Maya slunk back into the front seat of her sedan and let her right hand ball up into a tight fist. She slowly raised that fist up near her face and slammed it back down repeatedly against the glovebox.
“Breathe.” she whispered harshly under her breath trying to compose herself.
She knew where she needed to go, or rather who she needed to go see, but something was holding her back.
“Will he even want to see me? Will any of them?” she muttered nervously, “worth a shot.”
Thanks so much for reading if you did. It’s the first story I’ve really committed myself to so it’s a big deal for me. For now we will continue with our scheduled Adam Driver programming.