Be careful how comfortable you get with jokes that cut yourself down and emphasize the false concept that there’s no hope for your future and life is pointless. I get that talking about struggles is important and helps in not feeling alone. There has to be a line though, between “hey here’s something that’s rough so I’m gonna laugh about it” and cheering each other on as you hammer unhealthy concepts deeper into your mind. You are not worthless. You are not ugly. You are not trash. Good is absolutely possible in your future. Don’t forget that words have power. Be careful how much poison you throw in your own well.
someone told me once that every joke has some truth to it and that the humor people have tells a lot about their personality
when people are cutting themselves down for laughs, usually they’re venting how they really feel in a passive way
i love a good ol self depreciating joke now and again, but try and note when it’s time to talk about it and figure out how to move forward instead of laughing it off to ignore very real feelings
If you don’t know what this means, it’s basically then end of how the internet currently is in Europe. Memes? Nope. Youtubers? Bye!
You’d need a license for everything!!!!
And my fellow Americans my be all like, well, what’s the big deal for us? It’s a Europe deal.
No, because the Youtubers there that you love so much? This effects them too! I’m freaking out because Jack, the person who helps my depression go away, may no longer be able to do what he does!
Guys, we need to stop this somehow. Please.
Call your MEPs. Sign petitions. Protest (Peacefully please. Don’t get hurt).
I’m sorry for tagging you guys if you don’t want to be or already know, I just want as many people to know as possible!
I can’t tag everyone, but if you see this, please reblog it. Spread the news. Sign the petition. Call your MEPs. Do what you can to help stop this from passing in January.
I want to say something to every LGBT+ member who is in the closet:
Please do not come out if you think it is not safe enough for you.
Please do not come out because you feel the pressure to come out. No matter where the pressure comes from.
Please do not come out to LGBT-phobic people unless you noticed they change their mind. But even if they change their mind, do not come out if it is not safe.
Please do not come out to people you barely know.
Please do not come out to your school if you notice some kind of discrimination. Or your work place.
Please do not come out if you do not feel like it is right.
pairing — lee jeno x (fem.) reader genres — fluff, angst if you squint, comedy but only a little. aus — childhood best friends to loverz, next door neighbor au, (mentioned college au) disclaimers — swearing, underage swearing (?), shirtless jeno, legal alcohol consumption. length — 19.3k
synopsis:jeno decides that, this time around, he would rather risk heartbreak than love you in silence for seven more years.
a/n: i am unsure as to why you would spend your christmas reading this heckin long fic, but in the case that you do, i hope that you enjoy reading it as much as i did writing it. it’s longest fic i’ve written thus far (though only by a hundred or so words) so happy reading <3 and i’ll see you around :D
sidenote: i got my info from the home depot website and pinterest, don’t come at me if it’s not spot on.
jeno’s glad his mom’s asked him to go to the grocery store, a two minute walk away, to grab some eggs, a tub of sugar-free yogurt, and a breath of fresh air—the most welcome change of pace to his stuffy bedroom or the dust of the stale garage. he thinks he’s the first of his high school graduating class to arrive back in town for the winter but it’s here at the store that jeno sees you for the first time in years. his hand, the right one, clutching an empty basket goes limp and he’s two steps away from being fully unconcealed by the far end of the dairy aisle. surely, he must look like a creep with only his head peeping out.
it’s been years. your hair is now a faded silvery brown, presumably dyed, and gathered into a messy ponytail. the ends of your hair fight with the hood of your sweatshirt, a distilled blue and loose fitting atop a pair of gray sweats. and the basket, looped upon your left elbow, is as empty as his own but you’re overturning a can of condensed milk in your other hand, eyes scrutinizing the packaging for the expiration date, the later the better.
he would go and say hi, maybe even strike up a conversation, ask you how you’ve been, but he can’t bring himself to because he’s wearing that one bright green shirt from his seventh grade math competition that is certainly not up to your liking nor preference. really, it’s not that he thinks you’d judge him, knowing you, you’d probably get a good laugh from it and move on, but things have changed since then.
