vacantly-violet-blog

[vacantly-violet-blog]

I just watched a kid Fortnite dance to a car alarm in the Wal-Mart parking lot

[vacantly-violet-blog]

Let me just get this out there.

I know I'm not the prettiest girl out there, but that doesn't mean I'm not pretty at all. I have times when I hate myself for one reason or another. That reason may be the fact that I think I'm not pretty at all. I'm not perfect: I don't have a skinny waist, my curves are 'too curvy', and I'm chubby. But I can still be pretty. I think I am sometimes. It isn't narcissistic to call yourself so.

Girls, you're all pretty in one way or another. You're loved. Please remember that.

[vacantly-violet-blog]

… Was a friend

[vacantly-violet-blog]

What do you call a cheap circumcision?

A rip off.

[vacantly-violet-blog]

Happy Birthday!!!

Happy birthday to the former red paladin and current black paladin and leader of Voltron, Keith!!!

Credit to leafydraws, Marcia, Foxy Joy, and other respected artists. I apologize if I got any name wrong or forgot one.

[vacantly-violet-blog]

Self love is important.

Work on being in love with the person in the mirror who has been through so much but is still standing. Just be yourself. Let people see the real, imperfect, flawed, quirky, weird, beautiful/handsome, magical being you are. In this society, others profit and benefit off of your self doubt. Self acceptance and self love is basically a rebellious act. It's the biggest middle finger of all.

Love yourself. You're important.

[vacantly-violet-blog]

"I hate the word homophobia. It's not a phobia. You're not scared. You're an asshole."

-Morgan Freeman

[vacantly-violet-blog]

Transgenders are valid.

So I heard about the whole Trump administration wanting to erase transgender from existence. While I myself may not be a transgender, I love and support many people who are. Guys and gals, if you are reading this as either a transgender or supporter, reblog, make your own post, or something. Please. Transgender folks are still human. They deserve rights. They exist. My wonderful friend Ashtyn, born William, broke down crying today because she was terrified. Her main fear of being transgender is the rejection and discrimination she will receive once coming out. Trump voters demand for equality? This isn't it. Discrimination of any kind should not be allowed. Yes, it makes me happy knowing that I can help my friends get better and stop crying and look at the bright side of things, but I'm tired of it. They shouldn't have to deal with this. Anyone. If male white supremacists can have complete and utter respect, so should the woman who lives next door who grew up with the male anatomy, being forced to go through cases of dysphoria and depression because of it. These people are stronger than your average privileged white male.

Guys, these people need our help and support. If you're 18+, when the time comes, please vote in favor of them. Show your support. Donate. Help in any way possible. Let your fellow Tumblr users and friends know that they aren't alone.

[vacantly-violet-blog]

Kolivan: Lemme see what you have!

Keith, holding the BoM blade: A knife!

Kolivan, believing it is stolen property: N O

[vacantly-violet-blog]

REBLOG IF YOU AGREE THAT LESBIAN TRANS GIRLS ARE VALID…

[vacantly-violet-blog]

…I almost killed myself

I put on my sunglasses, to hide my swollen eyes, over my tears. I cried all my makeup off. Went inside to have a milkshake. I don’t know why. I wanted something to drink as I figured out what I would do. I got a soda and a milkshake. Medium. The cashier looked at me and with a line around the corner of the counter he rushed away from the counter “Hold on “ he yelled to a coworker.

I filled my soda and went back and saw him looking all over. I go up and he gets close and says “I made it a large”.

That was seriously enough for me not to do it. His kindness. Someone went out of their way and as I went back in my car to cry I realized I could muster through a few other days. A few more weeks. Then I came down from that panicky high of anxiety, depression, and pain. I finished my shake. And it was enough time to let me feel better. I… I’m alive. I’ll make it through.

Try and be nice today. Tomorrow. Something as much as a smile. It helped so much.

Thank you man at McDonalds.

The milkshake saved my life

[vacantly-violet-blog]

Check out @dancinglizardd’s Tweet: https://twitter.com/dancinglizardd/status/1038977994193350656?s=09

[vacantly-violet-blog]

please read this

[vacantly-violet-blog]

Here's Lance with his Pokemon!!

[vacantly-violet-blog]

spoken in silence

“She was too young for you.”

 John jerked in surprise, looking up sharply to meet Sherlock’s eye. There was no way that Sherlock could have possibly known that he was thinking about the barista from that morning, and yet—

 "Don’t know what you’re talking about,“ John said.

 Sherlock did not respond.

 John shifted in his chair. Sherlock’s face was difficult to read.

 The barista had been pretty—smiling and vivacious and, yes, all right, likely too young for him. But he’d met her eye and had smiled back and she’d looked right through him. Right through.

 It had been a blow to the ego, he supposed. But a mild one. The flirting had been little more than a reflex. He wasn’t interested in—he hadn’t thought seriously about—not since Mary, not since everything that had happened.

 No. It had not been her lack of interest that troubled him.

 The barista had looked right through him, and he’d felt old, and foolish, and then he’d thought of Eurus. He’d thought of her smiling face and her bright eyes and the way she’d leaned towards him on that bus, the way she’d hung on his every word.

 He’d never questioned it. Not once. He’d never wondered why someone so young, so pretty, so lively, so interesting would ever spare him a second glance. He’d just accepted it as fact. He’d allowed a monster into his life, had held the door wide open, and he’d never even questioned it.

 John sighed, looked at Sherlock.

 "You’re right, of course.”

 "Mm,“ Sherlock agreed. “I always am.”

 "Well, no. Not always.“

 Sherlock see-sawed his hand in the air. "Usually.”

“All right,” John said. He shrugged, looked up at the ceiling. “You’re right, of course. Not like I have much to offer, yeah? Not anymore. Who would ever want—?” he trailed off. He did not want to wallow.

 Sherlock looked at him. His eyes were very pale in the firelight, nearly colourless. He was quiet for a very long time. His silence had weight.

 The implication of that silence settled uneasily in the air around John, prickling, sparking.

 "You’re kidding,“ John said.

 "Does it really surprise you?” Sherlock’s voice was soft. It was strange, coming from him. That care. And somehow, at the same time, not strange at all.

 John opened his mouth to issue the kind of brush off that should have come naturally. No response came.

 Sherlock watched him carefully, waited.

 "Yes,“ John said. Then he shook his head, dismayed at the instinctive lie, dismayed that it had been a lie at all. Because he’d known, hadn’t he? On some level, he’d always known. "No.”

 Sherlock swallowed. His Adam’s apple bobbed. His face was all sharp angles and shadows in the firelight.

 "What am I supposed to—?“ John tore his gaze away, looked at the fire. "What am I supposed to say to that?”

 Sherlock shrugged, leaned back in his chair. His face was impassive. “Whatever you’d like.”

 John looked at him.

 Sherlock stared steadily back at him for a moment, then turned his attention back towards the fire.

 John thought about Mary, gasping her last breath in his arms. Thought about Rosie, asleep upstairs in the cramped little room they shared. Thought about the things he’d always wanted to say, the words he’d choked back again and again because there had never been a right time. The chances he’d missed. The hurts he’d caused.

 It had always been easier to pretend that Sherlock did not feel things that way.

 It was between them now, heavy and electric in the air.

 There was nothing stopping him. He could stand up, he could step forward and drop to his knees in front of Sherlock’s chair and take his firelight-kissed face in his hands. He could bring their lips together and pull Sherlock’s breath into his own lungs. He could do that, and Sherlock would let him.

 Whatever you’d like, Sherlock had said.

 There were so many things he’d like to say. So many things he’d like to do.

 All he had to do was stand up. Step forward.

 John shut his eyes. “Why me?”

 He was not entirely sure he wanted to know the answer.

 He thought again of Eurus, her falsely shy smile and downcast eyes, her flirty words, the way he’d simply accepted that she’d been drawn to him. He thought of Mary, and the way he’d loved her and then hated her all at once, the way he’d taken his own freely offered forgiveness and twisted it into an ugly nest of resentment and anger. The way he’d never gotten the chance to make it right again.

 "Why me?“ he asked again.

 Sherlock was silent for a long time. He looked at the fire.

 "Because I love you,” he said finally. “I’m given to understand that these things are not always rational.”

 John breathed out hard. His eyes had begun to sting. The plain, uncomplicated warmth of those words settled over him, banishing the uncomfortable tension in the air.

 Sherlock turned away from the fire, looked at John. His expression was heartbreakingly bewildered, vulnerable. His eyes were very wide.

 John nodded. He smoothed his hand over the armrest of his chair, patted it once. His hand was steady.

 He stood up. He stepped forward.

[vacantly-violet-blog]

[vacantly-violet-blog]

A series of iconic quotes that happened in just one scene