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From script to screen: Bellarke in 1x10

"Standards: A Slam Poem"

“Standards: A Slam Poem” In third grade I sat wondering, “Aren’t your parents supposed to love you?” After yelling at me for receiving a 99%, I sat heartbrokenly crying at the piano, incoherently sobbing while you just sat right next me engrossed in your own little world staring at a computer screen, not noticing your sobbing daughter. Your daughter. The one you call stupid selfish greedy idiotic senseless worthless and every other insult you can possibly muster from that pea sized brain of yours. You have a PhD, not an understanding of human emotion or limitation. You set standards so high that they are more than impossible to reach. Every time I get even remotely close those expectations are heightened beyond belief. It feels like I’m in a desert and finally achieving your expectations is just a mirage. I climb life like a rope hoping to see that bell but it just keeps fading, climbing twice as fast. I’m overwhelmed, stressed, and unhappy. I can’t recall the last time I have been happy, if I’ve ever known what that feels like to begin with. I do not know the feeling of feeling appreciation. I do not recall that last time you expressed pride in me because it has never happened. A few words can send me flying teetering free-falling off of the edge holding in tears while you sit by completely unaware. After spending hours pouring over a thirteen page essay I’ve asked you to read multiple times, you finally did so when I got the grade back… three months later. Shocked, you said, “This is actually good.” “Actually?” Hours upon hours poured into an assignment that some people failed, returning home with a 98%. But even so you looked at the rubric and told me, “2.5 out of 3 for this section? This is unacceptable” There were 150 points possible by the way. Are you asking me to achieve perfection? The impossibility of flawlessness? I don’t know what to say I don’t know what to do I don’t know what to give I don’t know how to try. Even as I tell myself not to, I succumb to what you want. I stretch myself thin worry myself to an early grave and I am weak. I am weak in the fact that I give in. I am weak in the fact that despite my straining vocal cords and my pulled taut muscles I am your slave, your doll. I look at my reflection in the mirror and tell myself that I am strong, but I still bend to your will. You’re living vicariously through me, forcing me to do and accomplish all that you had failed to do in your youth. You feel revived in me making a carbon copy of yourself and thinking that you are making a great contribution to the world. What you have yet to realize is that I will never be like you. When I see traces of you in me, I think of myself as nothing but a monster. You have allowed me, forced me to let letters and numbers define me. You say that you do absolutely everything for me but you only truly care for yourself. I’m barely clinging onto life here on my side of things and yet you still push. You push and push and force. Every time I attempt to bring up your faults, you turn them back onto me. Yet when you complain about my faults, you fail to realize that they are yours too. For a one that claims to know science, you don’t seem to understand simple genetics. Maybe you gave me my skills for acting. I fake like no other, constantly living a play. With a mask of content on my face and a smile plastered to my lips, I wipe away my sadness and I diminish the darkness in my eyes. I act around you and I fool you all… I’m almost good enough to fool myself into believing that I am happy, that I am satisfied with my life. The one person the one friend that understood what I’m going through has found her happiness leaving me lonelier than before which I never thought possible. Surrounded by people everywhere we go and yet I am so isolated and so closed off from the world. Am I shutting myself in, or are you shutting me out? I for one do know that you would love it if I stayed home every day holed up in my room, studying. After all, Harvard is for those who strive hard enough. Harvard! Harvard is a dream you built for me forced onto me, and yet if I bring it up, you say, “As if someone like you can get into Harvard.” Ever since I was two, you have pummeled drummed into my head that I am to go to Harvard and make the family proud. Yet here you are crushing under your foot a dream that I am not even sure that I want. This is because I don’t know what I want! How can I know what I want when I don’t even know who I am? I have no clue who I am. You have made me play pretend for so long that I no longer remember the girl I used to be, if I were any different before to begin with. I aimlessly wander about, unsure of every decision I make unsure of every action I execute. Congratulations on making me second guess myself and regret my life. Good job making your daughter a numb brainless drone. Your standards your expectations are like shackles, weighing me down and chaining me to a life I no longer wish to live. Every fiber of my being is shrieking at myself, scolding myself, telling myself to not give in to your standards. Tonight, as well as all of the others, I shall cry myself to sleep. I will mourn for the girl that grew up too fast, that lost herself before she found herself. Yet tomorrow morning and with every other passing day, I will be back to the automaton, living for you, but not for me.

lara jean and peter kavinsky instagram au • to all the boys ive loved before (2018)

~mine~

Will, upon Matthew’s arrival at the institute: Okay kid, if you’re going to be a part of this family, you have to be put on rotation for the Weekly Sacrifice

Matthew: The what?

James: Each week, one of us has to pretend to be sick so that he can call Brother Zachariah over.

Will: You’re the newcomer, so it’s your turn, and-

Matthew, having crawled into bed, shivering under blankets, wailing: CALL THE BROTHERS, I AM MOST VILELY ILL!!!

James: A common cold would suffice…

Matthew: I HAVE DROPSY! DEATH IS IMMINENT! AH, DEAR LOST YOUTH

Will: …Excessive. I like it.

insp.

Stilesss

I love how stupid Stiles is 😘💕 #dylanobrien #teenwolf #stiles #sesson2 #stupid #stilesstilinski #perfection #cute #amore #flawless

imagine bellarke in a relationship and not capable of keeping their hands to each others but in a non-sexual way… like…

bellamy resting his arm on clarke’s shoulders when they sit next to each other

clarke always playing with bellamy’s hand when they hang out with friends

bellamy delicately letting his hand on her lower back when they walk together

clarke always running her fingers in bellamy’s hair and making a mess of it

bellamy caressing clarke’s hair when she sleeps her head on his lap

their feet always meeting under the table when they eat

their hands always linked when they fall asleep next to each other

basically bellarke incapable of standing apart for a few minutes and always having to touch each other just because they can azsdfgjkl

Omg! Two of my fave things! PJO and Mean Girls. Like yasss

I swear sometimes percy is karen from mean girls

Dying crying

Riverdale Cast + Bughead Support

😵

in two days percy jackson will be over

in two days my life will be over