#trigger warning: language

[everybodyelsedying]

The only time you liked yourself was when you were trying to be someone this cunt might like. I'm not a quitter, I'm that cunt. I killed for you; who else can say that? You think you'd be happy with a nice Midwestern girl? No way, baby! I'm it.

Gone Girl

[5sosffquotes-blog]

“I just–” Michael began, but then paused, trying to figure out what he was going to say. “You came to my flat and you wanted to be friends again, and I just did it, even though you hurt me a lot. And I was thinking about it when I was in the loo and, why did I do that? Why am I so spineless when it comes to you?” Evie didn’t know what to say, so she kept quiet. But hope rose in her chest, a voice in her head telling her he loves you he loves you he loves you he loves you. “The thing is, you’re not ever going to be spineless for me.” The hope in her chest, once soaring and rising, crashed and burned almost immediately. “Look, I don’t mind if you’ll never love me as much as you love your acting career, or if you just want me as your friend,” Michael’s voice was strained, almost painful to hear. “But I just want to know where I stand.” Evie swallowed thickly. This was it. There was no going back now. “I’m in love with you,” she admitted, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. “So in fucking love with you.”

Tick of Time, serotonin

[calculatedmadness]

Two characters are trying to find a space in a crowded parking garage.  One of them admits something.  

And tagging those who like to read my things: webstersunabridged-edition ohidigress editoress enough-effing-owls

“Fucking motorcycles!”  Dylan yelled smacking the steering wheel with his palm.  “This happens every time!  You think you see a space, lots of room and then there’s a God Damned bike taking up a third of a space that might be useful to you!” “Maybe you shouldn’t be driving around this tank of a four wheeler,” Owen scanned the parking garage.  “We live in New York, not backwoods Yukon.” “Just shut up and help me look for a space, dumb ass,” Dylan grumbled.  The massive truck’s engine rumbled, growling like a disturbed tiger prowling the parking spaces for it’s next meal.   “Smart car...smart car...smart car...” Dylan grumbled, looking at the spaces that could be filled by his truck.  “No respect for classic American muscle anymore...” “I’m gonna do it...” Owen said, not looking from the spaces. “What?” “I’m gonna move back in with Val,” Owen mumbled.   “Sorry,” Dylan said, scanning the spaces.  “What was that?” “I’m gonna move back in with Val.  I just gotta swallow my pride and do it.” “Seriously, Owen?” Dylan said.  “That girl was a psychopath!  And you’re seriously considering moving in with her?  Again?  After everything?” “Firstly, she wasn’t a psychopath,” Owen said.  “She had some stuff going on, but it’s over.  Secondly, I don’t have a choice but to move back in with her.  I can’t afford rent in my place and it makes more sense to move in with Val.” “You’re kidding me!”  Dylan cursed, stopping the truck.  “You’re moving back in with that controlling bitch?” “She wasn’t a bitch, OK?”  Owen said.  “Yeah, we fought and yeah, she was controlling...sometimes.  But she’s not like that anymore.” “How do you know?” “We talked...” “Owen, you can’t move back in with a girl who was stealing from you after a phone interview.” “Let’s try another level,” Owen turned away from the spaces.  “If we make this loop another time, I’m gonna get dizzy and puke.” “Not in my car, you’re not!”  Dylan ordered, turning the car toward the next level of the parking garage.  Once they arrived, Dylan started the circling process again.  “See?  Still no room.  And don’t think I forgot about Val.  She’ll use you again, man.” “She hasn’t yet...” “What?” “We’ve been seeing each other again,” Owen explained.  “Privately.  It started as a few cups of coffee, which she paid for, then dinners, which we split.  We’ve been seeing each other for a few months now.” “Months!”  Dylan slammed on the brakes and looked at Owen.  “You’ve been seeing this girl for fucking months?  You’re so full of shit!” “Remember those night classes I started taking?” “Yeah for computer—oh...” “Yeah, I didn’t tell you cause I knew you’d freak out.” “No shit man, that’s not how you treat your brother!”  Dylan glared and let off the brake, moving the car forward.  He looked out the window, scanning the backs of cars and getting more frustrated with each vehicle he saw filling a space.   “Dylan, listen, I didn’t want you to find out because I was worried you’d shake me off Val again.” “Cause she’s fuckin’ evil!” “But,” Owen repeated a little louder, “she’s been getting clean again.  She’s sober now...” “Fuck that,” Dylan shook his head.  “She lied once she lied again.  I mean, what’s she got to offer this time?” “Space...” “Fuck that, I can offer you space.  Or just go live with mom and—“ “No, there was a space.” “What?”  Dylan looked back.  “Where?” “Between that yellow car and the grey sedan.” “I see it now!”  Dylan grinned a little, victorious.  “Not gonna get me this time!” Dylan pulled into the space quickly and started backing into the slot.  The front of the truck still stood out a good foot or so out from the space, but Dylan was confident that no one would smash the front of his truck.   “Look,” Owen said.  “I just wanted to give you time, you know?  We weren’t gonna hide it forever, but I thought it was only fair to let you know that I’m gonna do it.” “No you’re not.” “Yeah, I am!  And nothing you can say will change that.” “Why, Owen?  Cause of love?” “It’s nothing so stupid, don’t think I’m an idiot OK?  She just...we just...it’s complicated.” “Uh-huh...” Dylan shook his head.  “And who’s gonna be there to pick up the pieces of your shattered life once you realize Val is still the same?” “I’m not a kid anymore...” “Fuck that, you’re 23.” “And your 28, what’s your point?” “My point is—“ Dylan started to yell, but let out a slow breath instead.  “Forget it.  I’m not gonna yell.  I know how much you hate yelling.” “You’re OK then?” “No, I’m not OK,” Dylan said.  “I don’t want to see you with that girl again.  I made that very clear last time.  But nothing I say will change your mind and I’d rather be a part of your life when you’re doing something stupid than not be there to help when it falls apart, OK stupid?” “Yeah,” Owen nodded.  “Ready?  We can still get to the store before it gets too late.” “I’ll be there in a second,” Dylan swallowed, unlocking the doors.  “I need a second to clear my head first before I take a swing at you.” Owen was about to say more, but stopped.  He reached for the door handle and pulled.  “Dylan?” “What?” “I can’t open the door.” Dylan sighed and flipped the lock switch again.  Owen opened the door a little, but the car out his side was keeping his door shut. “Fuck me...” Dylan cursed, smacking his steering wheel with an open palm.  He tried to open his door, but found he was also stuck.  For a moment, both boys sat in silence.   “Wanna try the next level?”  Owen asked.   “Yeah,” Dylan sighed, defeated.  “OK...”

[fandomtrashofficial]

Neither one nor the other, I am, I was and I’ll remain myself

You’re Right-wing or you’re Letf-wing? You’re yokel or Parisian bobo? Either one or the other You’re a man or you perish Culture or pathetic¹ Feminist or shut up Either you’re macho or homo But you’re phobic or sexual Miscreant or terrorist You’re long-haired or else you’re bearded Conspiratorist², Illuminati Mythomaniacist² or sell-out? Nothing at all or all immediatly Radically or undecided Haw, you change your mind idiot? But you’re Hutu or Tutsi? Fleming or Walloon? You have dangling arms or you are influential? Finally you’re racist? But you’re white or else brown, eh?

Neither one nor the other Bastard, you are, you was and you remain it

Neither one nor the other, I am, I was and I’ll remain myself (x4)

Ho, sorry, Mister doesn’t take sides Mister isn’t racist, seeing that Mister doesn’t get attachments Anyway Mister has a black friend, and an Aryan friend too It goes right over the mister’s head, besides all it, it’s useless It’s better to do nothing than to do harm Hands in the shit or else in the annals Asshole or else thinking the world revolves around you Mister think you are the cat’s whiskers Above all not raise hell, have to quiet, eh? Have to be kind, have to be cuddly Have to be in on it, have to be hip To be thought hightly of everywhere, eh?

Neither one nor the other Bastard, you are, you was and you remain it

Neither one nor the other, I am, I was and I’ll remain myself

Neither one nor the other Bastard, you are, you was and you remain it

Taken from http://lyricstranslate.com

_______________

This song is extremely important to today’s society

[connor--wilson-blog]

Probably || Self-para

The Wilson family was broke. Now, this wasn't much of a surprise coming from Flint, Michigan. Many families were poor there, in fact, eviction notices were handed out almost every week. Connor remembered the day his mom sat on the dining room table with elbows on it's surface and hands placed over her wet eyes. An eviction. They were going to lose their house if they didn't get their money together to pay the rent.

Being lower middle class in Flint wasn't easy; everywhere else in the U.S., Connor would have been considered poor, but in Flint as long as you weren't living on the streets, you were okay. Not having much money to spare, Connor would sometimes steal from the local corner store. Just some chips and a soda was all. Little did he know, many kids thought and did the same thing in his town, which led to the store's closing soon after; scarce green bills. The local store wasn't the only place poor Connor stole from. Oh, there were department stores during Christmas. Markets. The restaurant his own mother waitressed at; the good 'ole "dine and dash". Of course, Connor always had a price to pay after doing such things. His mom always knew when he had those sticky fingers. He'd walk home with wandering eyes and a suspicious look on his face, sometimes, maybe an even "sick" look. His conscience revealing itself was what it was. For doing this, he'd receive a scolding and maybe a punishment like washing the dishes, but nothing major. His mother would never make him return the things he took. She couldn't. The boy was hungry and desperate. Stealing things got Connor what any boy his age "needed". Chips. A watch. A present for his friends. New clothes. She couldn't take something away from him that she couldn't provide. Sometimes, stealing was the only way, or the easier way, perhaps. Although this was all true, she never once told Connor's father about this "terrible" act he committed every week. Ever since mid July, he'd been acting so odd. Mean. Very mean. What was going on? Stress maybe? Yeah, Flint was very stressful. Lately, he'd spent each night at work, later and later. Stress...?

"Mom... I'm going to the bookstore," Connor says as he grabs his backpack and swings it to his back, "I'll be back by 5."

Connor's mom knew exactly what he was going to do. He'd go to the bookstore, pick up a book and read almost half of it before he placed it back, hidden so he could find it the next day for some more reading. He'd even draw in a fresh sketchbook from the shelf and sit in the back corner so no one could see. This was stealing, but what was the boy supposed to do when his freshly mean father wouldn't buy him another drawing book or even allow him to work on his art in the house anymore? This hobby of Connor's was recently banned from his father's presence; not wanting to get his best art piece ripped to shreds, he had to go into hiding to do his "horrible" act. Of course, Connor had to hide this sketch book in the store as well. If his father caught eye of this, he'd hit him in a second, leaving yet another bruise on his son's body.

After some time at the bookstore, Connor looks over at the clock, realizing the time reads 6:30p.m. He was late! He told his mother he'd be home by 5 and he was late. Good thing his dad was working overtime lately. If he found out about this, all hell would break loose. Connor needed to rush now. He needed to get home before his father. After throwing the sketch book under a big pile of about 10 others, Connor's hands begin to shake and sweat, along with a pant in his breath as he speeds to the store's exit. He needed to get home. Realizing that about 3 minutes had probably passed, Connor picks up some speed as the sun reaches it's last peak of the day and darkness chases after his steps. Now, he needed to run. He needs to run!

Books jump in his backpack as he goes faster and faster. He was out of breath! But he needed to continue running. If he didn't, he'd be doomed. He'd be...doomed. Suddenly, he reached the corner of Franklin and Roger. Franklin...Roger... which way was home again? Connor couldn't think! Not with this kind of pressure. "Which..which way?" he asks himself under his confused breath, "R-roger." Off he went now, on his way home. It was probably about 6:37 now. Oh good. Good. His dad usually got home by 7:15 these days. Good. He had time. But that didn't mean he could stop. He needed to get home early. What if his dad pulled up to the driveway earlier than expected? What if his dad saw him running in panic to get home? Would he have mercy? Maybe? Not if he was out drawing. But how would he know? Because his father knew.....

5 minutes until home. He could do this. He was already half way through Roger Ave. He was good. This was good. Until... Until his father pulls up next to him in his run down pickup, sending out a few putts and a squeak as it reaches a halt.

Ohh... poor Connor was doomed. There was no point on running now. He was caught. Maybe he could get a ride home? His heart beating a million a minute, barely even able to swallow these beats, Connor was desperate for almost anything now. Even if it meant some terrible bruises in the morning. He was going to get it anyway.

Silence... as the father gets out of the car and approaches exhausted Connor who is trying to catch his breath, which was an almost impossible process at the moment. Suddenly, Connor could feel his chin being forced up from his chest to the sky and shockingly.... a slap in the face. "D-d-"

"Shut the fuck up, boy," he says with a straight face and continues with an unchanged aggressive tone, "Now, I am not even gonna let you get in my pickup, you understand me? You wanna stay out late. Fine. You'll get it when you get home. Now, you walk yourself home. You're lucky I'm not locking the doors on you."

Connor would have rather those doors been locked on him. That way, he couldn't enter the pit of hell. Were normal kids supposed to feel this way about their home? Walking home gave Connor an out to all of that pain... so... why was he even going back? He could just leave now. He could just stay at the book store or sneak on a bus to some place random. Some place away from "home". Why not? Unfortunately, Connor was at the mark between 16 and 17. But if he was 18... no body would be on his tail for leaving... He could just... be... but....

The car drives off, and Connor's left standing in the cold. Alone. Dark. Breathless. Shocked. Tears begin to stream down his face as his brain registers the process of walking. What was going to happen when he got home? More slapping? More pushing? Yelling? Bruises? Another living hell? Probably.

[sun-and-stars-girl]

Ranting, feel free to ignore.

So, the other day my Grandma told my mom that "Your daughter might need psychiatric help, she's so antisocial." Well excuse me, but I can't fucking deal with you guys. The minute I step foot downstairs or even talk about Doctor Who or some fandom and how it was so sad someone goes: "Oh my GOD, you're such a teenage GIRL! It's a stupid made up show, so stop crying." Well I'm sorry, but in my head, the whole show is practically real. I can sympathize with Rose Tyler when she lost the Doctor, or When the Doctor lost Amy and Rory. They're practically my children. It kills me to see them unhappy. And teenage girl? Well I am one, so it makes sense. As opposed to what? The 'boy' my mom calls me because I love walking around in jeans and tee shirts?  And since I'm the oldest child, I'm the one everybody judges. My littlest sister who is crazy as fuck, but  she's my sister, so... But seriously. She eats like a fucking cavegirl at the dinner table, won't touch a thing on her plate because she doesn't like it, and makes rude and snarky comments and what does she get? "You poor baby, did you have a bad day at school? Here, mommy will make you a sandwich and we can go upstairs and watch whatever you want." I do all those things and I get: "OH MY GOD YOU DISRESPECTFUL CHILD!!! WHERE WERE YOU RAISED? IN A BARN?? PHONE, LAPTOP, NOW. YOU ARE GROUNDED." Yes I know there is a seven year age difference between us, but still?!!!! And then my grandpa, who lives with my family walks around and openly discusses with his wife the women who are at least fifty fucking years younger than him that he thinks are 'cute' or 'attractive.' And my other little sister doesn't care at all. But the minute I open my mouth about how amazing and attractive Loki is she flies at me saying: "Oh my GOD, he's EVIL, that means he's off limits, you're INSANE!" Thanks, sis, I didn't need my heart. So I come upstairs and sit on the internet and talk with you guys because you're the only people who understand me and I get yelled at? For God's sake. 

PS, sorry for the language, I'm pretty mad about this.

[renaden]

Who'd fancy throwin' away a perfectly good cat?