Kimiko

Hey~ Yaoi sucks... and swallows ;) If you like anything yaoi/yuri related, then you've come to the right place! ;3

[ms-epicness]

I just had a pedicure done. If anyone is interested in light brown skin feet pics, just contact me!! 😉 Lol

[rinharuzine]

Rin & Haru Zine Applications: One Week Left! ❤️💙

There’s just one week left to submit an application to the zine! We are looking for Writers as well as Artists and Merch Artists. We encourage you to apply! If you’re interested, please fill out the contributor application form by November 30th.

Application links: Writers Artists & Merch Artists

We’d love for as many fans as possible to have the chance to apply, so whether you’d like to apply as a contributor yourself, or you’re just eager to see the zine come together, please help us get the word out by sharing this post! 

We look forward to seeing your work~

[aoaka-chan-deactivated20210203]

LAST WEEK FOR APPLICATION!!

Don’t mess out if you have time!

[girlofdogs]

oh to wear a knife strapped against my thigh beneath a silk dress

[thoradvice]

romanticize your life. i cannot stress this enough. use scented shower gel and shampoo, so you look forward to showers. go on walks and see how pretty the sky looks. notice the wildflowers on the roadside as you drive. light a candle when you get home to make your room smell good. notice & appreciate the little things in life. it won't cure your mental illness, but it'll make it easier to exist in this world.

[vampiricfemmex]

cottagecore this or that (again)

1. embroidery or knitting

2. cloudy skies or clear blue

3. singing birds or water birds

4. coffee press or tea pot

5. matching or mismatched dinnerware

6. lambs or calves

7. keeping bees or chickens

8. wheat fields or cattails

9. woodland path or along a stream

10. picking apples or strawberries

11. frogs or wood mice

12. comfy sweaters or flowing sleeves

13. blue bells or pansies

14. trimmed hedges or overgrowth

15. piglets or foals

16. daffodils or tulips

17. log bridges or stepping stones

18. yellow or green hues

19. visit the library or the farmer’s market

20. crows or owls

21. gingham or floral patterns

22. hanging baskets or pots

23. farm in the meadows or lakeside cottage

24. pancakes or scones

25. birch trees or oak trees

26. toadstools or chanterelles

27. walking or cycling

28. straw hats or dungarees

29. wood benches or rope swings

30. crackling fire or babbling stream

[cozy-vibess]

Rainy days are some of my favorite days🖤

[refinery29]

Watch: In a powerful Congresional speech, Sandra Bland’s mother called people who think they’re woke “the walking dead” because of how little we still know

The speech included a rousing call to action before the newly formed Congressional Caucus On Black Women & Girls. And her words were incredibly resonant, even if you think you know the whole story.

Gifs: Josh Begley

WATCH THE VIDEO

[ihatethatchick]

fucking hell, plz share this

[anothersavedsoul]

My heart hurts for these victims and this mother.

[thenamelessdoll]

If you like animated fairy tales, then please consider supporting the korean movie “Red Shoes And The Seven Dwarfs” in any way you can.

People are sleeping on this despite the Disney/Dreamworks levels of animation, compelling characters, funny and silly humour, great action, and a heartwarming moral. Don’t trust the marketing! The worst thing you could do would be to judge it before giving it a chance.  

[shining-magically]

Just gonna reblog this again. The marketing was super botched (here’s an explanation of why it was so different from the actual movie) and completely misrepresented the movie’s message.

The actual movie is all about body positivity, loving yourself and others for who you/they are, liking the body you are in, learning to let go of preconceived notions based around society’s standards of beauty, and treating everyone with love and kindness regardless of outward appearances (including yourself).

Also Snow White LIKES HERSELF from the very beginning and has no desire to change (she is also referred to as beautiful a few times in her real body). She doesn’t want to wear the magic shoes and be a typical-looking princess, she only does it because she has to in order to find her missing father. She doesn’t like what she turns into. It’s the male love interest that has the desire to change how he looks, and he is the one who has to learn to love himself and others for things besides only physical appearance. He learns that yes, looks are one of the things that make you ‘you’, but you are also made up of your personality and actions, and you have to love and accept the whole package. The most beautiful people in the world are the people you love (including yourself).

TLDR; it’s really sweet and wholesome, please support it if you can.

[o-a-crutchfeild]

Also, it’s stated over and over that Snow White lifts, and there’s a scene where she specifically goes back to her original body because she’s STRONG ENOUGH TO BENCH A LOT OF WEIGHT and she needs to do that to save her love interest. She’s not overweight- she’s short and she’s ripped.

I love this movie.

[kuro-von-shitsuji]

Character Development

One thing that really struck me in Chapter 140 is the juxtaposition between Sebastian’s arrogance at the start of the contract and his anxiety in the present. Look at this:

He’s so sure of himself here. He thinks this contract will be nothing – that he’ll bow to the whims of a child for awhile before going home again having had a good meal and a bit of a laugh. This is a game for him. What could possibly go wrong? 

But here:

Here his cockiness has all but vanished. A soul he’d long since consumed has come back to life, his friend(?) is dead, and now he has to face the reaper he’s already lost to twice. Then of course there’s his physical appearance: he’s soaking wet and his hair is dishevelled - not at all the immaculate Sebastian from the past.

By this point in the series Sebastian has already tasted failure a number of times and almost lost his master on several occasions more. There’s been signs of Sebastian’s confidence wavering for awhile now, but never has it been as clear as in this chapter. He’s on high alert, he’s anxious, and I’m going to make a bold claim here: Sebastian Michaelis is frightened. 

Sebastian’s character has been developing extraordinarily slowly for a main character, but when you look at chapters like this one you can see just how much he’s changed. He’s still overly arrogant and is the literal embodiment of secondhand embarrassment, but he’s clearly learning that he can’t throw cutlery at every problem that arises and expect certain victory. 

Sebastian is learning to fear and I love it. 

[crimson-chains]

Deer God <3 

LOTS OF ORIGINAL STUFF LATELY Hope you guys are enjoying ^^

[katiebishop]

[texnessa]

“When I was a student at Cambridge I remember an anthropology professor holding up a picture of a bone with 28 incisions carved in it. ‘This is often considered to be man’s first attempt at a calendar’ she explained. She paused as we dutifully wrote this down. ‘My question to you is this – what man needs to mark 28 days? I would suggest to you that this is woman’s first attempt at a calendar.’ It was a moment that changed my life. In that second I stopped to question almost everything I had been taught about the past. How often had I overlooked women’s contributions?” ― Sandi Toksvig

[like-fairy-tales]

[beauttifullife]

When Your Number Is Called

My name is Courtney, and I was born at 5:15 AM on October 26th, 1988.  When I was born my parents didn’t ask the doctor if I was a boy or a girl, or if I was healthy. Instead they asked, “what’s the number?”

The room braced for the doctor’s answer.  My parents held each other close, both openly crying as they prayed for good news.  “Her number is…” started the doctor, flipping my right wrist over and reading the black numbers that spread across it.  “152310232048.”

My parents cried in relief.  

I would live a good life.  

I had a good number.

You see, in my world, everyone is born with a 12-digit number on their right wrist.  What does the number mean exactly?  Well—the number gives us the day we die.  We don’t know how we will die, but we will—at that exact time.  Think of it like the expiration date you see on a jug of milk.  After the expiration date, you throw away the milk, right?  Well, that is what the marks on our wrists mean.  We obviously don’t get thrown away in the trash, but we cease to exist after that date.  And just like that jug of milk buried in some landfill, we too will be buried in the ground.

My number is 152310232048.

Which means that at 3:23 PM on October 23rd, 2048—I will die.  

I will live to be 59 years old.  

I have a good number.  It isn’t the best number.  My brother is going to live to be 88. My parents, couldn’t believe it when the doctor read his number out loud.  He will live 29 years longer than me.  He will see so much more than me, experience so much more than me.  He might even live to see his great-great grandchildren—I’ll be lucky to see my grandchildren.    

I sometimes get jealous when I see his number.  

But this is my life.  

I can’t change my number.  

It is permanent.  

Medicine, money, and miracles do not change your number. You can certainly die earlier then your number, but to die before your number is rare.  People just tend to be more careful.  After all, when you are constantly walking around with a literal reminder of your time left on earth on your wrist, you tend appreciate the life you have a little more.

I have a good number.  

I’m reminded of this when I see other people’s number.  

The first time this happened was when I was 5 years old.

On my first day of school, I was in kindergarten and I’ve never really interacted with any other kids besides my older cousins. I was nervous, so when recess was called, I decided to go to the swings.  Anyone who liked swings as much as me—well, they were cool in my book.    

On my way to an open swing a wild boy with a dinosaur shirt, and brown eyes full of mischief, performed a back flip off the swings and nearly knocked me over in his crash landing.  He jumped up, dusted off his pants and smiled at me and said, “My names Devon, and I am going to live to be 57.”

It was such a typical kid way of introducing themselves.  Adults tended to be more secretive of their numbers.  Wearing watches, or long-sleeved shirts to cover up their numbers, but five year olds—we didn’t understand the concept of subtlety. 

Clearly.

Another body quickly landed next to him, this one thankfully on their feet.  It was a red-haired girl, with two perfectly braided pig tails.  “My names Fiona, and I’m going to live to be 62.” 

Another body landed next to her.  He stumbled a bit on his landing, and his glasses fell down the bridge of his nose as he found his balance.  “Hi, I’m Oscar,” he smiled, shaking his long brown hair out of his eyes as he pushed his glasses up his nose.  “I’m going to live to be 17.”

Mind you—we were in kindergarten.  We were literally learning our ABC’s, learning how to tie our shoes, and zip up our coats, but the concept of numbers—that we didn’t need to learn.  Our parents made sure we knew what our number was, and what their number was, and what grandma’s number was—numbers were literally ingrained into our minds, much like the literal numbers that adorned our wrists.  

Which meant even at 5 years old, I knew that Oscar—well Oscar, had a bad number.  

It must have showed on my face because the boy—a boy who I didn’t even know, hugged me.  And as he squeezed me, he said, “It’s okay,” before pulling back and smiling.  “My dad’s say that seventeen is plenty of time. They said it is isn’t about how high your number is—but it’s about what you do with the number you get.”

Looking back now, as an adult thinking about having my own child—I’d probably say the same thing to my child if they were born with a bad number.  What else can you do?  You can’t change your child’s number.  You can’t give your child more time, no matter how much you wish you could take the numbers off your wrist and place them on your child’s—you just can’t. Your job as a parent is to protect your children, but you can’t protect them from the inevitable, so instead, you give them something else.

Oscar’s dads gave him hope.  

His dads were great people.  I grew close to them as we progressed through school because obviously, Oscar, Fiona and Devon and me—we became best friends after the day on the swings.  We called our group “The Swingers,” much to the embarrassment of our parents.  We didn’t understand why they didn’t like our group nickname when we were young, but we finally understood when we were 15—and thanks to the internet, we learned exactly what “swingers” were. But even after learning the sexual nature of our group nickname, we still kept it, because honestly, what teenagers didn’t like tormenting their parents?

“Courtney where are you going?  It’s late!”

“Dad said I can go to Oscar’s house!”

“And what will you be doing at Oscar’s house?”

“God mom—we are just having a swinger party, can I go now?”

The look of embarrassment on my parent’s face was always perfect—especially in public.

Speaking of Oscar’s house.  His house became the “hang out” spot for us four.  Mostly because his dads had an awesome basement, and his dad Jerry was professional Chef, which meant we ate good there.  But back to Oscar’s dads—they were awesome.  They adopted Oscar when he was just an infant.  His mother gave him up when she saw his number.  It was an epidemic in our world.  Foster homes were full of children with bad numbers.  

But Oscar’s dads, they didn’t see his number.  They just saw Oscar.  This happy, intelligent, beautiful blue-eyed child who just so happened to be destined to die young.  They didn’t see his number—instead they just saw Oscar.

Devon, Fiona, and I—we only saw Oscar too.  

Most of the kids in our class didn’t really attempt to get to know Oscar, because honestly, what was the point?  He wouldn’t be around for long.  So, it was the four of us—for as long as we had the four of us.

We laughed.

We cried.

We fought.

We experienced our first kisses.

We loved.

We had our hearts broken.

We got drunk once—never again.

We got high—more than once.

We just lived.

“The Swingers” lived every day to the fullest—until the day came when four was about to become three.  Oscar’s day would land just a few weeks before our Senior graduation. We always knew his number, but it never seemed real until it came so close to the actual date on our calendar.

Oscar took accelerated courses so that he could graduate before—his number came up.  The school planned a graduation ceremony just for him the day before his number.  His dad’s and his extended family fills the stands, the rest of his class sit in the chairs, the very same chairs they will soon fill in a couple of weeks when the class of 2007 would all walk together.  The principal called out Oscar’s name, and he stepped up to the microphone.  

Oscar was the schools valedictorian.  He stayed late after school, he studied well into the night, he worked hard—so hard, that his dedication to his studies really got in the way of “swinger” time.  One day, after another late night of not seeing Oscar because he was studying for a Chemistry test, I yelled at him. “It is just a Chemistry test Oscar! If you get a B, it won’t be the end of the world!”

Oscar barely blinked an eye at my outburst, instead, much like that day in front of the swings—he pulled me into a hug. “Look, this is the only time I have to be great,” he said.  “I don’t get anything after this.  So, if this is all I get—I’m going to be the best.”

And he did.  

He became the best.

A 4.0 grade point average

An SAT score of 1560.

And he never filled out a single college application.

Oscar cleared his throat in front of the microphone, garnering everyone’s attention.  “Thank you for everyone who came today.  It means a lot, to me. Very much like my life, I’m going to keep this speech short.”

Gasps echoed through the gym and Oscar smiled.

“That was not meant to be a joke.  Please don’t think that I am making light of the fact that tomorrow is my number.  Instead, I say that I will keep this speech short—because I think the world tends to greatly underestimate the power of something short.”

“My mother gave me up for adoption when I was only 1 minute old.  As soon as the doctor read my number, she signed over custody of me to the state.   I always wondered, how can I be judged of my quality of life, before I’ve even taken my first shit.”

Laughter echoed from the students, gasps echoed from the parents, and grumbles of disapproval echoed from the teacher’s and administration. But Oscar just smiled, as he looked back at the principal.  “Feel free to give me a detention this weekend for cussing,” he joked, earning another chuckle from the students.  

“She was wrong—by the way,” continued Oscar, his gaze going back out to the gym.  “Anyone who ever stared at my number, and looked at me with sadness—you were wrong. I have lived—not as long as our parents and not as long as you all will live—but make no mistake, I have lived.  My life may have been short, but it doesn’t mean it has been any less significant as someone who lived well into their 80’s.”

Taking in a breath, he gave his parents and then the swingers a shaky smile. “Every second of every single day for the past seventeen years—have been lived to the fullest because simply, I didn’t have the time to waste.  Every moment of my life has counted, cherished and loved—can you say the same thing about yours?”

Oscar died on 2:13 PM on March 16th, 2007.

Like his number said, he lived to be 17.

He had a bad number

But he didn’t let his number define him.

Instead he lived every day, until his number was called.

This story was adapted and turned into a 50 page short story, and is now available for purchase through Amazon!

The Kindle format can be purchased here for $2.99

The Paperback format can be purchased here for $5.99

It is also free with Kindle Unlimited!

Thank you for reading this story, and for your support if your purchased the book!  

[salt-n-burn-em-all]

I’m going to cry all the way to Amazon so I can buy this.

[oneshoeshort-deactivated2021060]

I made this mistake of reading this at work.

I’m crying in the back of an ambulance.

[anxious-bi-bb-deactivated202006]

I’m not crying. You are

[oneshoeshort-deactivated2021060]

NO IM NOT.

It’s allergy season here ;-;

[prin-xxx-ess]

A reminder not all subs are the same. Tumblr sub blogs almost appear like a monoculture of “popular” kink but remember not all subs like being degraded, not all subs like being used, not all subs like being bratty. Not all subs are poly or play with multiple partners, not all subs enjoy sex, not all subs like being slapped, not all subs like being spit on, not all subs like being spoilt financially, not all subs like older partners, not all subs enjoy being tied up, not all subs are masochists!! And this doesn’t make them any less of a perfect sub.

[queercbc]

Goth Girl Appreciation Post

[the-suburban-craft]

[forgottenpnffacts]

Ferb’s birthday is on February 29th (leap year day).

[transvinniedakota]