#our grade will suffer for it but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[tesco-finest-aromantics]

when your programming teacher talks about bad programming practices but every single thing she mentioned is something you did do even though you knew not to do it, and only did those bad things because you had neither the time nor the executive function

[ourimpavidheroine]

The Time Someone Tried To Fight Me But Was Denied

When I was in the 8th grade, a girl in my grade, Trina, approached me during gym class and told me to me to meet her in the parking lot of the school afterschool where she would, and I quote, “Kick your stupid ass.”

Now, let me clarify a few things. Trina and I were the in the same grade, but the only class we had together was gym. I did not know her very well at all, other than the fact that she was our class’s version of She Hulk and that she was a very good softball player. I was in the university prep/advanced placement classes and she was most certainly not. We did not have the same friends or run in the same circles. I don’t believe, before that day, we had actually ever exchanged a single word.

To this day I have no idea why my particular ass needed kicking.  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

The conversation went like this:

Trina: Hey. You. Yeah you. Come here.

Me: Sure?

Trina: You’re going to meet me after school today. West parking lot.

Me: Am I? Why would I do that?

Trina: Because I’m going to kick your stupid ass, that’s why.

Me. Hmmm. Well. I’m afraid I must decline.

Trina: Huh?

Me: I am declining what I assume is meant to be a generous offer on your part. 

Trina: What the fuck?

Me: I mean, far be it from me to disparage your particular ass-kicking prowess. I’m sure you are wholly capable of kicking my ass, let me make it clear. In fact, I venture to say that you could easily annihilate my ass in no short order. Nevertheless, I must decline.

Trina: What the fuck?

Me: Ah, I see we’re not communicating well here. So let me elucidate. You would like me to, for some reason which is entirely unclear to me, meet you in the west parking lot after school where you will, again, for a reason that has yet to be clarified, inflict physical violence upon my person. And while I thank you for your frankly unanticipated offer of said physical violence, I am politely declining to have, as you so colorfully put it, my stupid ass kicked today.

Trina: Are you fucking with me?

Me: How very astute of you.

Trina: Are you gonna be there or not? Yes or no?

Me: No.

Trina: Whaddya mean, no?

Me: I mean, no. I am not going to meet you to have my ass kicked. I really thought I had made that clear, Trina. Please do try to keep up.

Trina: I’m gonna kick your ass!

Me: (a long suffering sigh) Trina. Trina, Trina, Trina. You offered, I declined. What more is there to be said?

Trina: You can’t stop me!

Me: Probably not, no. However, there is something I just don’t understand, so maybe you can help me out? Say you do kick my ass. Then what?

Trina: Whaddya mean, then what?

Me: I mean, then what happens? Is the idea that I will just go away, ass thoroughly kicked, and remain mute? That you will beat me without any consequences whatsoever? 

Trina: (takes in a breath but I interrupt her)

Me: In small words that your porcine brain can understand, then. Do you think I am going to be one of those girls who just say nothing when you kick their ass? Because I have to tell you, Trina, that if you do lay a finger on me I will immediately call the cops, as would my father.

Trina: Like they’d care!

Me: Well, you could take that risk. It’s up to you, really. But I imagine that the reason you get away with your petty little eighth grade despot behavior is because the girls you like to pick on remain silent. I just want to make it clear to you that I’m not that girl. In short, Trina, I will tell everyone that you beat me up. Everyone. And unlike your parents, my parents actually care about what happen to me. They care a lot. Enough to make a big stink to the school, the cops, etc. 

Trina: (backs away a few steps.) You’re a fucking stuck-up bitch.

Me: Yes, Trina. Yes, I am. Now if you don’t mind, I have band next period and I need to get going.

Trina: (mutters) Fuck you.

Me: (waving as I walk away) Good luck in finding another more compliant ass to kick!

And there you have it! The time I declined an asskicking!

[phosphorescent-naidheachd]

I suddenly really, really want to hear about your presentation on Les Mis.

Grab a drink and settle in, anon… it’s a long, tragicomedic tale. ;-)

OK, so the first thing you need to know is that as a child, I was a big reader. (Spoiler alert: I shockingly grew up to work in a library.) This meant that by the time I reached 5th grade, I’d already read all of the books on the list of classic Western literature our teacher told us to pick a book from for our book report: Little Women, Black Beauty, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, Little House on the Prairie, The Swiss Family Robinson, The Secret Garden, Treasure Island, etc. So my teacher gave me the classic novels list from the next grade level up. Problem solved, right? 

Wrong. When I looked through the list, it turned out that I’d already read all the books on the 6th grade list. And all the ones on the level after that. In fact, we soon learned that I’d read all of the books on all of the lists of state-approved/mandated classics my teacher had until you hit the upper high school level, and even then, I’d read most of them. (Look, I was the kind of kid who set myself summer reading assignments, OK?)

My teacher kindly let this young overachiever pick from the 11-12th grade book lists. Naturally, I picked the unabridged Les Misérables. (The translated version, though. I was an overachiever, but not that level of overachiever.)

The second thing you need to know is that my 5th grade teacher had a terrible tendency to not tell us what form each book report was going to take until AFTER we’d made our set-in-stone selections. A creative way of teaching kids to be flexible or a cruel and unusual way of amusing herself? Your guess is as good as mine.

Now if you’re familiar with Les Misérables, you know there’s a reason this book is colloquially called The Brick—at approximately 1,500 pages (in English), it’s dense, both literally and figuratively speaking. Narrative digressions, longwinded speeches, and verbose descriptions aside, Hugo has a lot of intertwining narrative arcs and plot threads. (And that’s without going into thematic elements or bringing in notes on the novel’s historical context.) So naturally this was the time that our teacher decided our book report should take the form of a comic. A single page comic.

If you’re at all familiar with Les Misérables, you know that is literally impossible to do with this book. Don’t get me wrong, I was a verbose child who had immense difficulty condensing my writing (not much has changed there lol), but that wasn’t the issue here. I don’t care how good you are at summarizing stories—unless you cut 9/10ths of the story and/or draw microscopic-sized comic panels, there’s simply no way to fit Les Mis onto one illustrated page.

So I went to my teacher, held up my hardbound copy of Les Mis, and begged for mercy. She relented… to a degree. I could, she said, write a one page summary of Les Mis. I should also draw images important to the story on another single page sheet (i.e. symbols like the loaf of bread, the pair of candlesticks, etc.). When that was done, I should attach both of these pages to a small posterboard for my classroom presentation.

That… wasn’t much better, but at least it was something vaguely approaching humanly possible. Then she added the kicker: that typed one page summary? Had to be in size twelve, Times New Roman font, and it needed to be double-spaced. I think I cried when I got home.

Let it be known that I suffered for this book report. I gave it blood (papercuts!) and toil and tears and sweat. I gave up reading other books while I was reading Les Mis because otherwise I’d lose track of where I was in the story and all the different plot threads. I purchased my very first CliffNotes—which was a sacrifice, because at that age, I considered reader guides to be cheating—and read the relevant portions after I finished each section of the book to be sure that I’d fully grasped everything that happened in that chapter. I took notes as I read… so, so many notes. And then I wrote my summary. And then I cut that summary. Again and again and again. I drove my poor parents to the very edge of their sanity with my constant emotional breakdowns and requests for editing feedback.

I finally ended up with a written summary that was 1 and 1/3 pages when typed in size twelve, double-spaced Times New Roman font. To this day, I still think that was an achievement of Herculean proportions. I drew my images and glued it all to a posterboard. Then I presented it to the class.

I don’t remember much of my presentation. I’ve done some highly entertaining dramatic presentations in my time (such as the one that earned my parents a concerned phone from my 3rd grade teacher… now that is a good story!), but I don’t think this was one of them; I was just too tired to go all in with costumes and singing and whatnot.

And then, after all of that, I got either an A- or a B+ for the report; I no longer recall which. All I know is that it wasn’t an A or an A+, and that rendered it unacceptable to 10-year-old me. The insult heaped on top of the injury of that less-than-perfect grade? The comment written in red ink on my painstakingly crafted summary: “Well-written, but too long”. I lost points because I only managed to cut 1,500 odd pages down into 1 and 1/3. 

My poor friends and parents had to hear about this Terrible Injustice at length.

I understand where my teacher was coming from—she had specified a single page summary, after all—but I also seriously doubt she had read Les Mis as of the time I did this report, or she’d have understood how difficult was to summarize this novel in so little space. 

I have great fondness for Les Mis and I’m glad I read it, but… I worked for this assignment, when I could have just used a book I’d already read and been done with it all. I could have read a book that was literally a tenth of the length of Les Mis and dashed a cartoon out overnight like I know several of my classmates did. I wouldn’t have been marked down for going over length then.

In case you couldn’t tell, I’m still bitter. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[bitchin-lesbian]

flower crown fairy lights daisies 1975 matte black nail polish pantone moodboard stars plants converse lace handwriting cactus sunrise oil paints overalls combat boots winged eyeliner pastel tattoos piercings bands messy bun cry baby grunge space white bed sheets old books beaches eyes 11:11 painting lightning thunder storms love clouds coffee marble >:D

:Flower crown: today

Fairy lights: will i ever fuckin Stop

Daisies: i got out of my fuckin hometown of 600 people. thank gods. 

1975: i taught my brother to dab the other day, v proud big sister

Matte: maybe i’d change a few things, but not too much

Black nail polish: eh, kinda. I want to travel to other countries, learn as many languages as i can, and meet at least 1 famous person

Pantone: my roommate is fucking great. she puts up with my bullshit and my depression and anxiety and my poor broke ass and my complaints. she's fuckin hilarious and great at drawing and is funny and beautiful and i would fuckin die for her in a heartbeat.

Moodboard: some parts were good i guess.

Stars: fuck i dont even remember the last time i cried

Plants: my roommate @iceychuu cuz she can point out constellations and other awesome shit

Converse: buddy i have an oversharing problem, literally anyone that shows an interest in me and my life will have to listen to my strife and sufferings

Lace: my friend Jonathan, he’s a good buddy of mine

Handwriting: i think it would be to my brother, i’d say something about how much i loved him and how proud of him i was, and that i wanted him to do amazing and i’d be there in ghost form to kick anyone’s ass that dared to fucking try to hurt him.

Cactus: listen. brown eyes. they’re fucking gorgeous. omg. s o pre tty.

Sunrise: ‘Aut viam inveniam aut faciam’ ‘i will find a way or i will make one’- not exactly a quote, but close enough since im too lazy to find one of my faves right now. im gonna fuckin push my way through any struggles i have whether i gotta go down a given path or beat my way through.

Oil paints: ‘I Got 99 Problems and I Am 87 of Them’ or ‘Allow Me to Seduce You with My Greek Mythology Knowledge’ or ‘You Probably Think I Can’t Get Any Lower, but I’m Taking That as a Challenge, Bicth’

Overalls: pay off my tuition, make myself financially stable, make the family members i care able financially stable and pay off their tuition, make my friends financially stable and pay off their tuition, and probably just make people’s fuckin day by buying clothes or food or things people need for people that need it. maybe id build a fucking monument flipping off Donald Trump.

Combat boots: im so fucking forgiving its ridiculous. sometimes i wish i could be less forgiving.

Winged eyeliner: Buddy listen, you’re bi. yes, girls are hella pretty, and yeah sometimes guys are okay when they aren’t fucking terrifying or stupid as fuck. this is normal, relax. also, fuck everyone in town, they don’t matter. quit basketball, focus on yourself. dont try to die. harrison is not as perfect as you think he is. dedicate your life to weightlifting, you’ll feel badass and strong. cut your hair, you’ll be amazed at the difference. don’t be cringey. you’re cringey. you’re a fucking loser, so is everyone else. pink is a good color, and makeup is cool too. let girls be girls. don’t try to die, lol.

Pastel: i think i’m more punk? idk i don’t really like many pastel colors very much...

Tattoos: i fucking love tattoos and piercings? i want them so bad and i think they are very fucking attractive.

Piercings: no, makeup is expensive and I've got 0 clue what the fuck im doing. also id rub it all off. and it kinda irritates my face.

Bands: Bring Me the Horizon was my favorite band for a long ass time because their songs made me think ‘holy shit this is a normal feeling; other people feel alone and tired and sad and shitty like me too, someone understands’ and yeah

Messy bun: We are destroying the human race and the planet with Donald Trump, Mike Pence, and the others that are trying to destroy shit, and we need to fucking get our shit together. Or, Stop killing off the LGBT+ characters.

Cry baby: I've been to two Jonas Brothers concerts and one Demi Lovato concert. i dont think i was older than 11 for any of them, and holy shit i was in rapture.

Grunge: Dwayne the Rock Johnson. He could literally write ‘what’s up’ and i’d probably frame it and look at it every day

Space: not really, i’ll work anywhere as long as i’m comfortable

White bed sheets: get pajamas on, get in bed, get on computer until i wanna sleep

Old books: that i kinda hate them lol 

Beaches: im thinking a pink color, or maybe a dark ass purple or blue? keep it styled how it is now, longer on the top, shorter on the sides, whatever.

Eyes: my roommate, my friends Josh, Nicole, and MJ, and @dxrk-sxxls​ and as for where, ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ wherever the fuck we decided i guess lol this would be an Adventure

11:11: stability, death, and the death of Donald Trump and Mike Pence

Painting: SO IN FUCKING 6TH GRADE I MADE MYSELF INTO A CEREAL KILLER. I WAS A BOX OF CEREAL WITH A BLOODY MACHETE AND NO ONE UNDERSTOOD MY COSTUME AND I WAS SO DISAPPOINTED AND SAD.

Lightning: *finger guns* sucked a dick. i was kinda in a horrible mindset and was hoping he was one of those dangerous strangers that would kill me but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ i am still here.

Thunder: hurt my brother.

Storms: this is vague, like the song/person would be there ALL THE TIME, or just whenever i wanted to listen to music or interact with a human being? Mr. Brightside or my roommate

Love: nope, lol

Clouds: i already rock short hair

Coffee: legit i just get a caramel macchiato or a cascara latte, i dont even care who orders for me, even if it gets fucked up as long as theres no mint in it i do not care

Marble: surviving

@dxrk-sxxls i did it bicth

[thanakite]

Hello mate We are suppliers of the best grade pharmaceutical products, buds, seeds and Oils for patients and smokers and Pain relief pills in stock. Are you depressed, suffering from cancer, glaucoma, headache, insomnia, joint pains, multiple sclerosis, muscle cramps, nausea, etc and need the best strains of medical marijuana to help ease your pain?? Was wondering if you would like to try some of our product?

I mean I'd love to but I'm completely broke so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[mckinleyslistrp]

You have also successfully earned the base point level of 100 points !! We are extremely excited to have you playing, ELIJAH MOTTA and bringing them to our dash, KAYDEN. After reading over your audition, we think THE CREPEHANGER, will totally fit them. However, if you aren’t so sure of that we can gladly discuss a change.

            CHAY SUEDE is now taken. You’ve got 48 HOURS to get your characters page ready and don’t forget to look over the GUIDE if you’ve forgotten anything!

FACECLAIM: Chay Suede DESIRED CHARACTER: Elijah Ashton Medina Silva (formerly) Elijah Ashton Motta (now) FAMILY & RELATION: Motta & Adopted AGE, BIRTHDAY & GRADE: 17, April 1st & Junior. SEXUALITY & PRONOUNS:  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ bisexual but not sure & he/him POSITIVE TRAITS: cocky, humorous, adventurous NEGATIVE TRAITS: aggressive, negative, stubborn EXTRACURRICULARS: football & baseball LABEL: The Crepehanger SECRETS: ( prostitution, drug and parental death tw )

Elijah moved to the Lima area when he was ten. His mother had always been what he has now learned was a prostitute. She was very heavily hooked on drugs and had people coming and going in and out of the house at all hours. She was a single mother that basically didn’t want to be a mother in the first place. She knew who his father was but didn’t care to tell his father about him. When he was nine, Mr. Motta, the accused mobster, had put a hit out on some guy that owed him money. Turns out that guy was one of Eli’s mom's clients. When his mother had “friends” over he was always asked by his mom to go play in the closet in the back bedroom and this time he did just as he was told. Except for this time his mother never came back to tell him he could come out for super or anything. He stayed there for a few days, unaware of the time and was greeted by cops searching the house that came across the little boy. His mother was murdered along with that other man because she was a witness that just so happened to have no one that would care if she was taken out as well. Well, Mr. Motta figured out about her having a son a few months later while watching the news and making sure no leads led back to him, and somehow felt bad about it. He decided to adopt the little boy and Elijah has no idea. Elijah has never been good in school and half of the problem is he had never been willing to fully commit to it. He believes that school is a waste of everyone’s time and it will do nothing to prepare him for the real world. After his Freshman year, he went back in with a new outlook, to cheat the system. He got a tutor and then charmed his way through their morals and convinced them it was okay to let him see a test or two beforehand, saying it helped him learn better. After a while he was able to figure out how to get his hands on every test he would need, plus more. That’s when he started breaking into the school and taking pictures of tests, selling them to people that were willing to cheat to get a good grade, which ended up being more people than he expected. Once the news got around and he got outed, his father paid off the school to make it go away and he transferred to McKinley. ( pill and addiction tw ) (happened this past football season) Anything he thinks of, he can give someone a million reasons how it could or already did up bad/wrong. Except football. Football was the one thing he was good at, the one thing that was going to get him a scholarship so he doesn’t have to use his families money, and out of Lima for good. He had been the top linebacker on the team since his Sophomore year and his position never wavered. He even filled in for the quarterback when something went wrong there, the team actually winning a few games when it happened. He has never been the type to keep his mouth shut and talking shit on the field one night is what cost him a shoulder injury. A torn rotator cuff, to be exact, the injury never fully healing. He went to the hospital once, got some painkillers and a doctors opinion about surgery but by the time it happened it was toward the end of the season and if he had surgery, he wouldn’t have been able to play baseball this season or fully play football his Senior year. As stubborn as he is and stuck in his ways, he didn’t take the doctors advice and suffered through the pain, not wanting any scouts to know he was injured. He started taking painkillers and buying them off of someone, to help his pain. Now he’s getting addicted to taking them everyday. He still contemplates having the surgery because trying to play third base on the baseball team is really taking a toll on his arm. 

(nsfw? idk what to tag this but I feel like it should be. sorry!) Elijah loves porn, he loves sex more but his need to watch porn every day led him toward this next secret. He came across self pleasing live videos of college girls who seemed to do whatever anyone in the chat room wanted. Which led to him hiring someone to set up his own website to do the same for whatever the audience chose to watch. He earns at least a thousand dollars a month from basically having sex with himself and chatting with people online.

Elijah isn’t quite sure how this next secret came along but all he knows is his current attraction is older woman and one of the families close friends got that ball rolling, one night at the fancy parties his parents make him attend. She’s in her thirties and somehow he texted her for his dad one day, which led to them casually texting every now and then. Which then led to him making that first step and they’ve been hooking up every now and then for the past two months.

HEADCANONS:

He doesn’t try to come off as negative in most situations, he tries to be as realistic as possible and just let people know that life sucks because it always has for him and that’s all he knows. He walks around with his family bought cars and money, not really caring who he offends, he can’t help that his family has money but that’s not the reason he’s a dick, he doesn’t care to show it off. He just doesn’t care if it offends you.

Family means the world to him, his family isn’t the closest in his eyes but maybe that’s because he doesn’t actually feel apart of the family since he’s adopted. He’s very protective so if he ever sees or hears you talking about his family, he will give no fucks with his actions. The same goes for his close friends. He will defend them until the end of the world. Once he has your back, he has your back.

Appearance isn’t something he thinks too much on, it that doesn’t mean he doesn’t take a little extra time to make sure his short dark hair isn’t brushed just right and his outfit screams, are those dirty jeans? But he looks good doing it. He’s a slob, his room is far from organized and every week he has to do the walk of shame, carrying dishes from his room to the kitchen. He is almost always in some combat boots and has some cigarettes to fit right in his jacket pocket. He has a few tattoos on his upper right arm. Consisting of a huge shark attacking a pirate ship and another that is a sailors steering wheel. It may not seem like he cares but he cares about his aesthetic more than he lets on. 

Most days he seems like the quiet mysterious type that always has something negative to say. He makes it his life mission to go against what everyone is for, just to see what they will say to him. He doesn’t like when people tell him what to do and depending on who it is he will do the opposite just to mess with them.