My name is Sara. I am 17 and I am hella gay. I love space and I love the sky. I'm a major cartoon junkie and I watch just about everything you suggest to me. Procrastination is my favorite past time. My outlets are art and music. I often talk in the tags. Feel free to hmu cause I will definitely answer anything and everything.

romanovvs:

getting ready in cosplay the morning of a con

mstrkrftz:

welcome-on-Mars by CHRISTOPHE CORREY

tamorapierce:

elockhartbooks:

authorsarahdessen:

sixpenceee:

Famous Failures

I stumbled upon this video a long time ago and it honestly made me feel a lot better.

"If you’ve never failed, you’ve never lived."

I could not fit everyone mentioned in the video in this post so be sure to give the video a look.

WATCH IT HERE

As someone who fails regularly, I find such comfort in this! 

I like this a lot.  My college creative writing teacher refused to read the revisions I had done on my stories because he said he knew I was a B student and that wasn’t going to change. 

Stephen King’s college writing teacher didn’t think he was very good.  My college writing class thought my writing was “babyish” and “stupid fairy tales.”  The original teacher didn’t care for me, but she developed medical problems and was replaced by David Bradley, Jr., who made it plain he believed I had what it took.  I don’t do writing classes or groups anymore, but I’m still in touch with Bradley, one of the finest writers I’ve ever read.

cheskasmagicshire:

nerthos:

geoffsayshi:

krystvega:

The African Renaissance Monument in Senegal, larger that the Eiffel tower and the statue of liberty .. Things you don’t see in mainstream media.
@KrystVegaNeteru

This is beautiful.

I think this picture better illustrates the size of that monument.

I never even knew this existed this makes me so happy to find out about it

we joke about procrastination but nothing is worse than the nauseating feeling of having every intention of doing something but physically not being capable of doing it and then feeling like you want to throw up because the deadline is just getting closer and closer.

hohohobutmadefashion:

the question that keeps me up at night

sexhaver:

roosterteethdump:

Well…

officialunitedstates:

I was nervous, I admit.  It was our second date and I wanted everything to be as close to perfect as possible.  I had even gone so far as to fill up my car with the second cheapest gasoline type.  I had no idea what it was or why anyone would ever buy it but I decided that no expense would be spared.

I had also baked some fresh muffins.  Those took me about six hours to make because I kept changing my mind on what flavor muffins I wanted.  At first, I wanted to make some with nuts but then I changed my mind after about ten minutes of them in the oven.  So, I put on my mitts I knitted the day before and took them out, promptly dug into the muffins with tweezers to remove each nut, and then decided to replace them with chocolate chips.  This worked well, until I remembered that I hadn’t asked her if she was allergic to chocolate or not and didn’t want her not to be able to have any.  So, I put on my mitts I had knitted the day before and took them out of the oven, got back out my tweezers and tried to remove the chocolate chips.  They were all melted and everything but eventually I managed to get them out with a straw.  I replaced them with bananas because I had never heard of anyone that was allergic to bananas and I thought that was a safe bet.  After about three hours of cooking at 100 degrees they seemed warm enough to be done. 

Her apartment was a short drive away.  I got out of the car like a gentleman and rang her doorbell instead of playing my Linkin Park song so loud that she could hear it from inside and know that I was there.   Her doorbell had a nice ring to it.  Like really nice.  I loved the notes and the rhythm to the chimes and everything.  It was nicely paced and not too rushed.  It really gave off a welcoming feel. 

She answered the door with a smile. 

"Hey, I really like your doorbell," I said.

She stepped out and glanced at it. 

"How much?" I asked.

She laughed right in my face.  I assured her I wasn’t joking.

"I can’t sell you my doorbell. How would you even get it out of my house? Isn’t it built into the wall?"

"That’s not important. I’m willing to go as high as $100."  I had seen half a season of Pawn Stars; I knew what I was doing.

"500." she countered.  She knew what she was doing, too.

"Meet me in the middle at 300?"

"350."

Dang, she was good.  She must have seen at least two seasons of Pawn Stars, maybe even three.  But I really wanted those bells. 

"Alright, I can do 350," I said as I went in for the handshake.

I spent the next hour and a half punching her wall to get her doorbells out.  Then I drove home and installed them.  I forgot about the date and the banana muffins completely.

officialunitedstates:

"Look out at this sand.  If you shield your eyes from the horizon, your sense of perception is completely destroyed.  Is this sand ten feet away or miles away?" she asked me, still staring out into the dunes.

"I don’t know… I can’t tell."

"That’s right.  For all you know, it could be infinite.  With each step you take, each passing second of travel, you have no way to knowing how far you have gone, or how far you have to go."

I looked over to her.  She was still staring at the sea of sand, mesmerized with the complexity of something so simple.  I suppose I was too.

"Date a girl who reads books," she said, briefly taking her eyes off the sand to glance at me. 

"What’s that?" I asked, not quite understanding her.

"Date a girl who reads books.  For her, the world of books is as infinite as this sand." 

She picked some up and let it sift through her fingers.  I watched as the grains slid quietly off of her hand and back into their pasture. 

"Hey, do we have any water left?" I motioned at the backpack, a bit parched from the summer heat.

"No we’re all out," she said calmly, "The sand is our water.  Let us drink from it together."

"What the hell," I said.

maeisblonde15:

inkskinned:

"My family is suffocating me with pressure to be a perfect student and daughter." (r.i.d)

people always ask me why i’m going into teaching instead of being a writer.

the number of notes on this in less than 24 hours and the number of people who said “same” or “exactly” or “about me” - that’s why. there is so much fundamentally wrong with our system. The only way to change it is from within.

That’s legit my whole life

I’ve discovered there’s a lot you can do inside haunted houses.

fictionalfeather:

For example, you can:

  • be in a shampoo commercial

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  • start a boy band:

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  • spot some choice booty:

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  • break into song:

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  • see some people in frankly offensive outfits:

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  • attend a metal show:

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  • listen to some sick jams:

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  • discover zombieism:

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  • sample some tasty snacks:

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  • watch someone get burned bad:

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  • find something you really like:

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  • find something you really, really like:

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  • find something you REALLY REALLY LIKE:

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  • and wonder if you left the stove on:

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