THIS BLOG IS NOW AN ARCHIVE. find me @skoolbully! i’ll be moving over all active threads and select things from my inbox. it's been real over here at skoolbully dot tumblr dot com, but i'm excited to have a start that's as fresh as pinesol.
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@drunivers, for death!
A PLAYGROUND ISN’T THE IDEAL PLACE TO RAISE A KID: monkey bars laced with tetanus / swings with rusty chains that’ll catch you by the neck / rocks to shove into your pockets while you drown waiting for a parent to pull you out of the water. it always made him feel bad when he was little, because everyone had moms and dads to pick them up and he just had a couple of friends who were as sad and ugly as he was. ( to this day, he always closes his eyes when adults pass by. ) so he gets it, or he thinks he does / so he sees a girl with a sad face and feels inclined to intervene. never mind that she’s standing right in his self-assigned smoke spot.
❛ greetings, stripling. ❜ he leans against the offensively green playground ladder, hands buried deeply in the expanse of oversized pockets. nimble fingers on stiff cigarettes, grabbing / pulling / thinking better of it. ( acid, acid –– tab tab. DON’T DO DRUGS, KIDS. ) jimbo hawks and spits. ❛ wanna build a cardboard submarine? ❜ a beat missed / a hop, a skip, a jump! of a stray neuron. ❛ sike. ❜ . . . ❛ shouldn’t you be in class? ❜
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Mitch Albom, The Five People You Meet in Heaven
Submitted by winterswanderlust.
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VIXIENE / art attack.
the early morning buzz, a sun that patiently awaits the discovery of a scene to shine upon : it finds the two of them at their desks, twisted towards each other like awkward plants ( ingrown, roots sprouting off in different directions, their soil - patch was newly shared ). she is half - distracted in her devoted scribbles, pen running across paper, dashing numbers across her artwork — a girl’s face made up of sevens, an underloved kind of number, sadly facing the fate of all primes ; too complicated to sit naturally & quietly, waiting to be split up by nice, round numbers — it rebelled, it said : TAKE ME AS I AM OR DON’T TAKE ME AT ALL! [ … ] as words sprinted from his mouth, desperately perching against a finish line that rode itself out of site, she feels their roots grow further apart — his notion of numbers was thoroughly unromantic, a life lived in a different abstract to her own.
& still she finds a smile creeping upon her lips, interest a captured thorn upon her tongue. ARCHI - TEXTURE : his argument falls against logic with playful amusement, willfully ignoring progression, loose strands held together by a fist. ‘ if you need help with homework, you can just say so [ … ] BUT YOU DO KNOW THIS IS A HISTORY CLASS, RIGHT? RIGHT? ‘cause i’ve never heard anyone get so — passionate about maths outside that classroom. ‘ pen is raised to mouth, the end lightly gnawed, smile still in place ( sometimes, she speaks aloud in her own room, just to herself, just to remember she still has a voice ; she could drown in her own silence otherwise ).
& teeth set down hard against the edge of pen, ink exploding against her tongue. she sticks it out, crosses her eyes to see the black spot laying there [ AN OMEN BIRTHED ANEW : the pirates would get her one day! ]. she dashes into her bag, ripping out the inkstain with a grimace ( the taste would linger until the end of the day ). ARTWORK IS WORSE FOR WEAR — her seven - face was too stained now. ‘ no, i don’t get what you’re saying. unless you’re asking for study help. THEN I GET WHAT YOU’RE SAYING. ‘
❛ i’m saying that if no one knew how to smash two numbers together, we’d all still be trading in beans. and that’s what people used to do, so ... you know. ❜ a shrug / a tentative revision of the past, dawning on humanity like the sun rising in the west. ❛ history! ❜ he proclaims this with all the indubitable bravado of a magician’s ‘tada!’, perking up just enough to strain against the roots that bind him to the snake pit of his indifference. HE AND KIRA ARE PLAYING A FRIENDLY SCRIMMAGE: he hurls his words like a ball bouncing off the walls this way and that, with nowhere to land and everywhere to go / she climbs onto notebooks she’s filled with page after page of logic she knows to be true and splays her arms, not in an effort to block him but instead to catch that unruly ball. if he’s being honest with himself, he kind of likes it. if he’s being honest with himself, he’s so used to losing that it’s nice to play a game where the consequence of fumbling the play are nothing more than crooked smiles filled with straight teeth. –––––and ink stained tongues, apparently, for those who’re so starved for words that they eat them in their womb.
a grimace, a creasing of the brows, and a wince of the eyes: empathy isn’t emotional intelligence, IT'S THE PRACTICAL APPLICATION OF A HYPERACTIVE IMAGINATION. he can offer her no handkerchief with which to scrape the taste buds off her tongue; his pockets are filled with lint that smells like home and lighters that look like mom, all flowered print and wasted warmth. so instead he pulls a face, wrinkling his nose against the thought of what he assumes ink might taste like. ( SOLID-DARE-TITTY, or whatever. ) jimbo mumbles a muddled curse word beneath his breath and this, too, is his own way of offering moral support. it’s all he can do; doesn’t know how to help or be helped.
❛ uh, lowkey though ... ❜ he can pretend not to care all he wants. it doesn’t change the fact that numbers make his brain scream like a fax machine, and it definitely doesn’t change the fact that he’s dancing on that narrow tightrope between ‘endearingly struggling’ and ‘abject failure.’ jimbo twiddles his pencil thrice more, bids it adieu, and then extends it out for kira: this, a symbolic offering / this, a pact made in the same way that boys spit in their palms and shake on it. ❛ you help me, i help you. squid pro quote. ❜
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super sexy au: I'M BACK BUT I WRITE LIKE THIS NOW
“Oh man, I gotta get out of here,” Jimbo thought to himself, stupidly.
Jimbo heard Skinner’s footsteps outside the door and froze. He needed to leave, but there was only one way out of the ugly ass office. Unless... Jimbo had to think fast, but he didn’t. He walked up to the window, because cool kids don’t run. He jimmied the lock a little one way, then the other way, then again, back and forth for minutes until the window he was trying to open was wedged shut tighter than asscheeks covered in superglue.
“ That’s dope!” said nobody, because it was not, in fact, dope.
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should i get my life together or should i just keep being sexy and chaotic
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an independent and private multi muse blog, loved by kate .
my feet are on the ground, i swear but i’m not moving anywhere. my lungs say that i’m breathing, but when did my heart stop beating? i don’t know who i am or who i used to be before you broke me into a thousand pieces. now, tell me how am i to fix this? don’t you try and help me ‘cause i know only time can heal but it’s running out. tell me how to feel okay, ‘cause i don’t know. i’ve been feeling pretty low ever since you dug my hearts grave .
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jar jar binks vc: mesa mesa sorry for the inactivity 😩💦🥺👉🏻👈🏻 i have my second round of midterms coming up, as well as an oral presentation that’s due tomorrow ( do not ask me if i’ve made the presentation yet. you don’t wanna know the answer any more than i want to deal with my own reality ), 'nd i’m just constantly,,,,, vibrating. made the questionable choice of charging my old gameboy advance, so you already know i’ve been living my scooby doo mystery mayhem fantasy. gonna pop in tomorrow to work through some asks and get back to IMs ♥️ stay safe and stay groovy. the world is a vampire.
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