NASA
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AnasAbdin
Not today Justin
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❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
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Sweet Seals For You, Always
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2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
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Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
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@bookowlbabes
It occurs to me that somewhere in the world right now someone is reading Escaping from Houdini for the first time, and I just want them to know, you’re not alone. I’m distraught and broken too.
Where was this last night when I was finishing Escaping from Houdini
“There’s something powerful in that kind of love, something that deserves to be kindled and tended to, even when its embers are flickering dangerously close to darkness.” ― Kerri Maniscalco, Hunting Prince Dracula
Sagittarius looks out for the positive side of life. If you are complaining about your problems to them, they will always point out the good in the situation. Sagittarius is the most positive sign of the whole zodiac.
people who don’t believe in aliens confuse me so much like you really think in all of space, which is infinite, we are the only planet with life on it. ok….
How has everyone been? Its been awhile since I posted, I promise you'll be hearing more from me now.
Anti-honesty hour. Ask me anything and I will respond with blatant lies.
This actually sounds hilarious
#CherylEverdeenStrikesAgain #CherylDoenstMiss
READ IN 2017 » THREE DARK CROWNS by KENDARE BLAKE
When you accidentally read a spoiler that says your favorite character dies:
THE QUEENS OF FENBIRN → Arsinoe, The Naturalist ↳ “Don’t you see? It has to be one of us.”
If I lose Ezra too, it’ll be one body blow too many. If I lose Ezra too, I’ll give up.
I don’t think I have anyone else left.
this is the money dog, repost in the next 24 hours and money will come your way!!
ehh what the hell
OH MY GOD SO NO FUCKIN BULLSHIT I SWEAR To GOD. I reblogged this an hour ago and IM NOT Lying My Tax Refund which I did in late march popped into my Bank Account, and it was a Decent sized amount……
WHAT THE FUCK Is THIS MAGIC!??!?!?! Im trying this again IM NOT BSing hahahaha thats actually pretty cool xD
yooooo
yoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
FUCKIN YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
no BULLSHIT I KID YOU NOT! Look what I found while walking Home…..
OH MY GOD
OH MY F*CKIN GOD
THIS POST FUCKIN WORKS?!?!?! THIS IS PAST A COINCIDENCE NO WAY!??! NO FRIGGIN WAY!!!
Im Going to reblog this every day to test this, its MAGIC ITS FRIGGIN MAGIC
I need to believe in the heart of the post…
Oh? Well… *reblag*
i reblogged this and now my uncle is giving me 250 to dye my hair nani the fucko
I have nothing to lose
my palm was itchin today not riskin it
I always reblog the money posts cause I can’t afford not too lol
It works. I just got $300 for no reason.
Money dog is my friend
Money dog is the shit
I believe in the money dog😀
I believe in the money 🐶
Bless me pls money pup 🙏🐕
Just woke up 🙌🏿
Pplease😭🙏🏽
MONEY DOG I NEED YOU NOW
Okay so literally an hour later I got a FREE pack of blunts at the gas station then my boyfriend redeemed a $10 Xbox card and got $100 on his account NO SHIT. REBLOGIN TO SEE WAT ELSE HE GOT
hope your pets stay healthy in 2017
I almost didn’t blog this and felt guilty
Not risking it
i hope your pets stay healthy in 2018
“Tessa.” Her heart stopped. A great wave of lurching dizziness passed over her, and for a moment she wondered if she were going mad, if after so many years the past and the present had blended within her memories until she could no longer tell the difference. For the voice she heard was not the soft, silent voice-within-her-mind of Brother Zachariah. The voice that had echoed in her head once a year for the past one hundred and thirty years. This was a voice that drew out memories stretched thin by years of recollection, like paper unfolded and refolded too many times. A voice that brought back, like a wave, the memory of another time on this bridge, a night so long ago, everything black and silver and the river rushing away under her feet… Her heart was pounding so hard, she felt as if it might break through her rib cage. Slowly she turned, away from the balustrade. And stared. He stood on the pavement in front of her, smiling shyly, hands in the pockets of a pair of very modern jeans. He wore a blue cotton jumper pushed up to the elbows. Faint white scars decorated his forearms like lacework. She could see the shape of the rune Quietude, which had been so black and strong against his skin, faded now to a faint imprint of silver. “Jem?” she whispered, realizing why she had not seen him when she’d been searching the crowd for him. She had been looking for Brother Zachariah, wrapped in his parchment-white robe, moving, unseen, through the throng of Londoners. But this was not Brother Zachariah. This was Jem.
Tatiana Metanova
You do not get to insult Tatiana Metanova under my roof. Yes, she ain’t your ‚strong‘ feminist heroine BUT that doesn’t make her a weak helpless character:
she sets her sister’s happiness before her own
she walks miles everyday in a war torn Leningrad to get food for her whole family
she literally sees her family and friends dying in front of her
she overhears her own mother saying she rather wished Tatiana were dead instead of her brother
she cuts her hair and goes searching for her lost/possible dead twin brother IN A WARZONE
everyone she ever loved is gone, only Alexander is left and yes it clearly shows in their (tbh not really healthy) relationship
she goes back to face the horrors of Leningrad to find Alexander
she makes her way heavily pregnant to America
she is 19 years old, give her a break jfc
“There was nothing more cosmically chaotic than war.” ― Paullina Simons, The Bronze Horseman
I knew SJM was going to heal Chaol. It’s the entire premise for the book, so of course she would. I just had no idea it would feel like this.
I know I made a vague post about Tower of Dawn, but then I tried to go to sleep and realised I was still pissed so here’s a detailed account of what the phrase “get up” means to me, an actual disabled person, rather than SJM, an abled person who decided to write a disabled character being healed by nothing but those two magic words.
So here’s what get up means to me:
It started with sleeping in. It got harder to wake up every morning. My parents were convinced that I just wasn’t motivated enough, so they kept telling me to (guess what) get up. Because that’s what you say to a moody teen that won’t get out of bed, right?
Then, I started falling asleep in class. I developed a rash over my legs that made walking painful, and the pain felt like it seeped into my bones over time, leaving my legs painful constantly. I walked oddly, stiffly, around the house and at school, and it aggravated a knee injury I had from a car accident 3 years prior, one that I thought had healed within 2 months of the accident. I was wrong, and I’ve continued to be wrong to this day. The rash healed, but my knee did not.
Eventually, I stopped going to school. I tried multiple doctors until I found one that my mother liked. This doctor seemed to believe that I should be woken at 7am every morning, come hell or high water. She misdiagnosed me with an autoimmune disease (easy to do, given that CFS bears striking similarities in some cases) and subsequently viewed my chronic fatigue as a symptom of a greater problem, one she could treat with vitamins, antidepressants, a better diet, more sunlight, etc, etc.
She was wrong.
I, being 14, didn’t get to say that she was wrong. I didn’t get to say that it hurt me when I went to physiotherapy under her orders and was forced onto the rowing machine. I didn’t get to say that it hurt me to do stretches sometimes, that it upset me when I was told to stop being lazy, to get up. I sure as hell didn’t get to tell my parents to stop trying to wake me up at 7am.
My fatigue grew worse. Soon, I got delirious when my mother tried to wake me, often having no memory of her waking me the first few times. She’d insist that I spoke to her when she woke me, that I acknowledged her, but I couldn’t remember. I’d wake at noon after 5 hours of being woken up every 10 minutes with no memory of being woken previously. I thought I was going crazy.
And through it all, I was told to get up.
Soon, I figured out that pain kept me awake. To stop myself from falling asleep in class and getting into trouble, I started beating my injured knee. It never bruised or bled, but it kept me awake. It helped me get up. I wasn’t to know that that would leave me with an injured knee to this day.
Soon, it escalated to me being unable to stay awake for more than 4 or 5 hours at a time. My school attendance was adjusted to only half-days, until even that grew too much for me. Sleep became painful, and I had to prop my knee up on a certain angle to keep the pain at bay for long enough to get the rest I needed, waking every time I shifted in my sleep.
Desperate, my parents and doctor cooked up a plan to admit me to a hospital for what they called “sleep therapy”. Basically, medical personnel would do exactly what my mother had, only they’d enforce a curfew, take away my laptop and electronic devices at night, force me into an exercise regimen, and, in my doctor’s words, “reset me”. After my experiences with physiotherapy, I was terrified of having no voice there.
Thankfully, we moved away at that point, and I lost touch with my doctor. Being admitted to that hospital became impossible given the distance, so I started at a new school with new kids. I had to explain my illness to every teacher I had, because none of them knew I was disabled. Apparently there’s no memo-type arrangement for that. It was mortifying. On my first day I was forced to walk the marathon track through the bush. I was 16, but I couldn’t articulate to them in a way they respected that it wasn’t just a matter of willpower, whether or not I could walk the track.
Turned out, it was. I willed myself through the track because I was embarrassed. I got through the day. Because I’m that strong and inspiring, right?
When I got home, I collapsed. I spent the next 24 hours in bed, unable to even get up to pee. All I did was take pain medication, eating when I needed to to take stronger doses. I barely remember the next 3 days after that, spending most of the time sleeping in bed, sleeping on the couch, or sleeping in the shower.
I received no apology from the school.
Eventually, I got up again. I went back. Months passed, and even though I only attended intermittently, I was soon appointed as a Student Leader. I have a loud personality, when I’m awake, so I guess they figured it would be useful in some capacity. I expressed concern about attending the student leadership training day, but was informed that I couldn’t become a student leader if I didn’t. So I went, having been assured that it was indoors.
It wasn’t.
First was a hike up a cliff. I almost fell over three times, convinced that if I did I’d never live it down. My knee gave out once, but I managed to stay upright. Several of my peers joked about me looking exhausted because I “wasn’t used to exercise”.
We sat down at the top of the hill, then. You know how, if you have an injury, it feels worse the next morning when you wake up? For me, sitting down without heat packs applied to my joints does the same thing. I’ll always hurt more when I get up.
So, sitting on the hard ground for half an hour listening to some camp counsellor talk wasn’t ideal. When it came time to leave, I knew I’d be so much worse.
It took me several tries to stand. Several people deemed it necessary to tell me to get up.
We walked back to the main house and sat inside for a while, talking. I was not provided with a comfortable chair, as they were few and far between and I was lagging behind the group. No one offered me one. I was the last to arrive, so I sat on the floor. Because that’s fair, right?
Later that afternoon, we were broken into groups for a scavenger hunt around the woods. I objected, informing a teacher that I was tired, but he told me that if I stayed in the house someone would have to stay to supervise me, and everyone was getting involved in the hunt. The same teacher that promised me there was no physical activity involved in the trip made me feel like my pain was a burden while I was trying to learn how to be a leader.
I got up.
I went through the motions of the scavenger hunt, sitting down on the ground and rocks where I could. Not because the pain would stop, but because my legs felt like jelly and the amount of time I could spend on them was decreasing. The more we walked away from the main house, the more panicked I got. What if I couldn’t walk back to the house? I didn’t have a wheelchair, or anything to help me get there. I voiced my concerns to the other members of my group, but they informed me that I was being dramatic and it was “just a little bit longer”.
I did make it back to the bus. I limped into my mother’s car at the school where we met up, and fell asleep immediately.
When we arrived home, I had to walk out of the car and into my bedroom, which was up a flight of stairs at that time. I fell over at the bottom and bawled my eyes out, practically crawled up them, and had to have food and water brought to me for 3 days afterwards.
All because they told me to get up. Get up from the ground, get up from my chair, get up the cliff–I had to do it, right?
I received no apology. I dropped out of high school a few months later.
Get up doesn’t cure disabilities. It puts us in danger. I don’t get up anymore. I roll out of bed after 12 hours of hibernation, but I don’t get up. I don’t set alarms. People don’t wake me (deliberately). Physically, I don’t really get up anymore. Not like this. Getting up for me means sitting up, tying my hair back, and getting to work on my novel. That’s getting up. Sometimes I can’t even do that.
I knew SJM was going to heal Chaol. I’d accepted that. I just had no idea it would feel like I never want to get up again.
