Not A Lot, Just Forever - Adrianne Lenker & Daniel And Louis As A Bad Fathers

by fall out boy

i miss my chemical romance and i want porn bots to stop following me

im sure someone already made a post about it but i came across a ublock origin add-on that blacklists around 950 AI websites and disables AI overview ☝️ so u can be free from seeing AI in your search

my desiccated son thrunt

Humans didn't make the big ben. Do you really think those dumbass Britains could make a clock that big? Those big gears are way too heavy, how'd they get those up there. No way. It was the beasts

Inflamed Sense of Rejection: Chapter One

~~~~~~~~~~~ Author's Note: This is that Angel Face backstory I was talking about. His name is Caleb Handover because I'm not going to call him Angel Face the whole time. There will be no "spice" because I type this on a school computer and honestly I want to expand my writing abilities. ~~~~~~~~~~~

This is a horrible way to start a journal, probably the most over-done and unintriguing sentence used to start a story, but my name is Caleb Handover. I’m 16 years old, and I live in Wilmington, Delaware. I go to Mt. Pleasant High School, class of 2001. That makes me a Junior.

It’s boring. Every single day is the same. The ducks pass over the sky when I’m walking to school, and it looked cool when I was nine, but nowadays it just feels like I’m watching someone drive to work. 

Delaware duck schedule: 6 AM, wake up to the same alarm as everyone in the neighborhood. 7 AM, fly to the pond for breakfast and a bath. Pass by that blond kid again. 

My hair was born white. People on the street asked my mom while she was pushing the stroller, why do you bleach your baby’s hair? 

She never did. 

 First period is Advanced Placement Calculus. I’m thinking about ducks. Derivatives, ducks, hyperbolas, ducks, factorials, ducks, integrals…

My mom called my hair duck-fuzz.  

I like math, but I only say that because high schoolers have to like something. If you say you don’t like any subjects in school, you sound like a wannabe-dropout loser. I’m 16 years old and taking AP Calculus. I don’t think I’m a wannabe anything, but I don’t think I’m genuine, either. I’ve already done the warmup question on the board. Find 34! It’s just a factorial. Does anyone see me?

“Caleb Handover?”

Only during attendance. 

I raise my hand until my elbow is about six inches off of my table, parallel to the smooth, fake-wood surface. Not high enough to seem like a geek, but still giving effort.  

Invisibility is a science.

“Here.” 

There’s a pause. My hand stays in the air.

“Caleb Handover?” my teacher tilts his chin up and surveys the room, his pencil hovering over my name, ready to write truant. 

“I said I’m here,” I said louder as I raised my hand higher. My pen balances between my peace-sign fingers. My teacher flicks his eyes to me, and his eyebrows soften. He adjusts his glasses. The sad taste of desperation lingered in my mouth after essentially begging to be accounted for.

“Oh, hello Caleb. Sorry I didn’t see you.” My teacher laughs dryly and clears his throat. “Serena Hofstadter?” 

She has mono. 

“Gordon Jacobs?” 

That’s how Serena got mono.

For a moment I picture Serena and Gordon as Romeo and Juliet during the final act. Gordon drinks from a tall, crystal vial of mononucleosis extract and collapses. Serena, covered head-to-toe in orange spray tan and blonde highlights underneath her Shakespearean garb, discovers him on the floor and gives a tearful soliloquy before kissing him feverishly in an attempt to drink the mono from his lips. In the end, they’re both bedridden, and everyone knows. 

In fair Delaware we lay our scene.

I don’t know why, but I’m angry at them. Serena and Gordon. My knuckles turn white as I grip my pen harder, gritting my teeth and thinking about my peers who go to parties to drink and kiss and do drugs. I didn’t even think parties were a real thing until I started listening to rich kids’ conversations. 

“I got home so late last night…” quote from the boy wearing the same clothes as yesterday.

“I’m, like, so hungover.” quote from the girl wearing sunglasses indoors at 8:30 AM.

“Her house was so tacky.” quote from the girl whose locker is head-to-toe in sequins and leopard print, who uses perfume to cover the smell of anxiety pheromones. 

I’m not jealous, and I’d rather have lifelong diarrhea than be in the same boat as these kids, but it would be nice to have a life. 

It would be nice to be a part of something bigger than myself.

~~~~~~~~~~~ Author's Note: Please let me know what you think, and if I should keep writing this. It would be appreciated :)

Let’s not forget to acknowledge Alexandre Dumas this Black History Month

The writer of two of the most well known stories worldwide, The Three Musketeers and The Count of Monte Cristo was a black man. 

That’s excellence.

[image description: the bugs bunny in a tuxedo "I wish all (blank) a very pleasant (blank)" meme edited to say "I wish all of my Jewish followers a very pleasant rosh hashanah". In front of Bugs there is a jar of honey, a stack of apples and pomegranates. In front of bug's mouth there is a shofar.]

(guy who has so much fucking work to do voice) i should write a fic

Horse figure of the day: Stig Lindberg Horse

brutus' legacy (& dante's inferno)

so i can't stop writing about brutus- shocker, i know. i wrote this piece about brutus' story in the eyes of the people vs the soil he was buried in. first line(s) is from that one person yelling at their cat iykyk