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.

now that the semester is over for me, i’m coming back to jj with a vengeance. problematic fav whom i love..... ALORS. going to overhaul some stuff ( graphics and part of the bio ). considering revamping tbh?? who knows. this blog has been around for a year and it kinda feels like the old amazon packaging i shove all my important legal documents into —— cluttered

     𝐈'𝐌    𝐍𝐎𝐓    𝐓𝐎𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘    𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒

                          𝐈     𝐂𝐀𝐍     𝐁𝐄     𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐃     𝐀𝐒     𝐀     𝐁𝐀𝐃     𝐄𝐗𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐋𝐄.

Community | 03x04 Remedial Chaos Theory

Hm. *debunks you*

@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?   ❜

starter call but it’s just jj reading ur muse to filth....

Mitch Albom, The Five People You Meet in Heaven

Submitted by winterswanderlust.

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.   ❜

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.

should i get my life together or should i just keep being sexy and chaotic

selective      MULTI    MUSE      𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗    𝚋𝚢    𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚊,         she   /   they    ( 21. )         triggering    themes    are    present       &.      tagged    accordingly.         very    duplicate    friendly!         HEAVILY    UNDER   CONSTRUCTION.

when the real estate agent opened my closet without asking first and came face to face with ten wigs, a pair of assless chaps, several sequin bodysuits, and a baseball bat

.

            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 .  

hello, how’re we feeling about holes (2003) today

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.