a special kind of woman

Joxter is Snufkin’s father, who’s only appearance is in “The Exploits of Moominpappa” (1950). He is a supremely lazy person who is attracted to all things forbidden. He shows dislike for all things proper and hates regulations. Joxter clearly embodies many things Tove Jansson approved of; simple bohemian life and certain dislike for math. Joxter is also similiar to Snufkin in the way that they both are people who you would really like to earn respect from. Joxter’s clear eyes see through all of Moominpappa’s pomposity and make him feel insecure. Books acknowledge how hard it is to feel good about yourself in front of an independent person who does not need your approval and thus does not think to express their approval of you.

In the books, Joxter gets together with Mymble (older). She is, according to Joxter, a special kind of woman. Her happiness simply enchants him. Mymble is the mother of Mymble’s daughter and Little My. Joxter and Mymble’s love ends up giving birth to Snufkin, which makes Snufkin Mymble’s daughter’s and Little My’s little brother. This was however removed from the 1990 Japanese cartoon, where Mymble is made a lot younger (the character who is Mymble’ s daughter in the book is introduced as Little My’s mother in the cartoon) and the romance is removed.

Joxter does not make an appearance outside of “The Exploits of Moominpappa” and is thus rarely mentioned in the canon or seen keeping contact with Snufkin after the book. However, one can assume this is just the natural course of things for free-spirited snufkins.

Thistle Do Nicely - Part 2

Check out part one HERE, hope you enjoy it, my lovelies

Stiles calls Derek two days later to inform him the betony is ready for pick up. It had been draining, Stiles had stayed late the night Derek had left, setting up planters and putting the soil in, soft and airy to encourage the plant’s growth. The plants had grown in increments, but far faster than what was normal for nature with Stiles gently coaxing them along with soft utterings of Celtic blessings and a touch of his nymph magic.

“Your betony is ready for pick up,” Stiles says past a yawn that sneaks up on him.

“I’ll be over in twenty.” And without a word more the line goes dead. Stiles busies himself with various tasks around the shop while he waits, picking up the slack that accumulates when he gives Scott and Erica the day off. The shop is quieter and he listens to the rustling of the plants as they move in the soft breeze let in by the open window.

Only fifteen minutes have past when a blue pickup truck pulls up in front of Stiles’ shop. He looks up from his watering, ready to make a comment about Derek’s overzealous promptness when he spots someone new in his shop’s doorway.

“Hi, welcome to Thistle Do Nicely. Can I help you?” The woman in the doorway is middle aged and has a rigid way of walking with her back upright. She ignores him for a moment, observing the dahlias near the front of the shop before looking up to meet his eyes. There’s something here that Stiles doesn’t like.

“I’m sure you could. I’m looking for a very special kind of plant, aconite?” Something about the woman is setting his magic on edge and he concentrates on keeping himself balanced, not allowing it to take a physical appearance.

“I’m not sure we have that here,” Stiles says, keeping his smile from earlier in place. He has no other reason but his uppity magic to believe there is anything wrong with the woman, but his magic has never lead him wrong before. It also didn’t help the logical side of his brain to notice that this was twice in the span of three days that someone has requested a flower with magical attributes.

“I am in good standing to believe you are capable of obtaining some?” The woman walks further into the shop, glancing at the different flowers as she goes. Stiles has to resist the urge to take steps back as she gets closer.

“I could, but you would have to wait a few days for the order to be filled. Typically four to five business days,” Stiles tells her, returning to his watering until he’s satisfied with how the lilies are looking before retreating back to his counter.

“I will need them by tomorrow.” Suddenly the woman is right in front of the counter and Stiles nearly jumps out of his skin.

“I’m sorry but I can’t do that, ma’am.”

“I’m sure you could,” she pushes, leaning over the counter in a way that feels vaguely threatening. Stiles can feel the coolness drip down his fingers, signalling his shift to his nymph form, ready to do what he has to to get this woman to back the hell up when Derek burst through the front door.

“Is there a problem, Melinda?” Derek stalks forward, that’s the only way Stiles can describe it. If Stiles had thought Melinda was intimidating, watching Derek stride through the shop with his eyebrows furrowed and his top lip looking seconds away from lifting in a snarl must be a whole new level of terrorizing.

“Not at all, Derek, dear. Just in need of some floristry,” Melinda says airily, looking unaffected but Derek’s very sudden appearance right behind her.

“I’m sure there are other shops in the county,” Derek down right growls. At first, when Derek had walked in, Stiles had felt the tension in his shoulders give way into a sort of relief. But now he isn’t too sure and his magic certainly isn’t down to letting the man stand up for and then possibly turn on Stiles. He lets the cool feeling slip down his fingers and feels the magic syphon from the plants around them and into his system, giving him a power boost.

“I’m sure there are, but I doubt any of them are run by a forest spirit,” Melinda smirks, keeping her eyes on Stiles. Never one to be easily shut up or stunned into silence, huffs in exasperation before planting (ha, planting) his nymph form hands on the counter.

“I prefer woodland nymph, if we’re gonna be politically correct.” Stiles can’t help but smirk as Derek stares at the green veins of chlorophyll that run up and around his wrists and disappear below the normal skin of his forearms.

“I’ve known your kind to be more demure,” Melinda drawls breaking the moment between he and Derek.

“Oh ho ho, you are in for one hell of a surprise, lady,” Stiles snorts, crossing his arms and letting his nymph form fade back to human skin.

“It doesn’t matter. Now, as I was saying before the mutt interrupted,” Stiles’ gaze snaps back up to look at Derek and oh, that was a flash of blue eyes, he’s a werewolf. That explains the need of aconite. So, the betony must be for Melinda.

“You want wolfsbane that I have already told you I’m not willing to provide,” Stiles interrupts, raising a hand to stop her. He watches as sparks dance across her shoulders and her face contorts in anger.

“Listen here, you ignorant little tree dweller -”

“I believe he has refused you business,” Derek growls, a full-blown-without-a-doubt-supernatural growl that shakes through the air. It throws a shiver down his spine but he keeps his eyes locked on Melinda while she tries to pretend the noise doesn’t worry her.

“I apologize, Mr. Stilinski, I guess I will be looking for my needs elsewhere.” And without further ado she vanishes as if she was never there.

“What. The FUCK!” Stiles shouts, arms flaring into his nymph form when he slams them down on the countertop and he watches out of the corner of his eye as the plants near him grow and tremble. Derek stands and watches as Stiles brings his breathing back down to normal and his arms fade back to skin.

“I really hope you don’t do that every time you get mad, makes it hard to lay low,” the man scoffs, causing Stiles to look up sharply and flash angry amber eyes, in no way helping his case. He could feel the pinch in his ears that means his ears are shifting as well, becoming pointed and angled.

“Shove off, fuzzball. You weren’t the one threatened on your turf and is still being visibly threatened by a fucking werewolf, So, excuse me for my magic being a little defensive,” Stiles snarks heavily.

“I’m not threatening you,” Derek says, eyebrows scrunching in a way Stiles refuses to acknowledge as adorable. Stiles’ raises his in response and makes a point of looking down at Derek’s hands where he’s shifted his claws.

“I think that gnarly manicure begs to differ.” Derek looks down and quickly curls his hands into fists when he notices the problem.

“My wolf is defensive because it failed to notice that you were magic, it’s on edge,” Derek says, maybe a little petulantly. He takes a step back and Stiles almost coos at how the tips of his ears flush in embarrassment but manages to tamp it down,  

“Well, this has been nice, buddy o’ pal, but I think I’m done with this little supernatural neighborhood round up, so if you would please see yourself out now-”

“You’re not safe here,” Derek says, embarrassment gone and back to the gruff, antisocial commands of before.

“Really? I hadn’t noticed when I was threatened not three minutes ago,” Stiles says, eyes wide as he leans in with mock surprise.

“She’s going to come back, people don’t just refuse her.”

“We’re you not actually here for that? ‘Cause I’m sure I was very clear when I did reject her.” Derek rolls his eyes and crosses his arms making Stiles huff, “Weren’t you suppose to cut me off? I thought we had a pattern going there, big guy, but now that’s just out the window I guess. It would have been nice to know I wouldn’t be stopped, ‘cause I said all that really fast so that I could say it all and -”

“Are you done?” Derek interrupts, making Stiles glare again and he spots it - just the barest hint of a smile before it’s gone and the dead seriousness settles back over his handsome features.

“Yes, asshole.”

“So let me rephrase this - no one rejects Melinda Edwin,” Stiles’ breath catches in his throat, “Leader of the Edwin Coven.”

“I am in deep shit,” Stiles’ breathes out, dropping his head onto the counter in front of him and smacking his forehead with it a few times for good measure. The Edwin Coven were a group of witches hailing all the way from Salem where they ruled with an iron hand and held a severe grudge against the descendants of those that lead the infamous witch trials. They were known for their ruthlessness while hunting down those who cross them and the underhanded ways they tend to take their revenge.

“That’s one way to put it,” Derek confirms.

“Alright, thanks for the info,” Stiles looks up from his arms cheerily, pushing out from behind his counter and starts shoving at Derek. “Guess you can leave now, I’ve had my fill of surly werewolf for the day. See you again never.”

“Stiles,” Derek growls, “I’m not leaving.” As if to make himself clear, he stomps his feet firmly and suddenly Stiles is trying to move a brick wall and not just a 200 pound man.

“Yes. You. Are.” Stiles grunts, punctuating each word with a push to Derek’s unfairly firm shoulders.

“I forgot how entertaining human strength is,” Derek huffs smugly.

“But I’m not human,” Stiles says, backing up and smiling sharply. Derek has the decency to look concerned.

Melinda was right, nymphs were typically known as some of the quietest of the supernatural. They kept to themselves, avoided conflict and tended to the plants. But Stiles had learned a long time ago that he didn’t really fall into that stereotype. He moved too much, spoke too much, was just too much. He didn’t find himself in the category of unassuming, but that was okay because most expected it when they heard “woodland nymph” and if Stiles was anything, it was unexpected.

“Stiles,” Derek says his name lowly, a warning just barely laced with a growl that manages to just egg Stiles on.

With a twist of his wrist, vines from his wisteria flowers shoot out from their baskets and wrap around Derek’s arms and the hedera ivy slithers out from the pots Stiles keeps on the ground and strap around Derek’s ankles effectively immobilizing him. Derek tugs at his restraints and Stiles can feel it in his fingers as if he were holding the vines himself.

“I have gone nearly three years without incident and I refuse to break that streak now because of some territory dispute between Hogwarts rejects with a vendetta and some puppies.” Stiles says, moving towards Derek. When he’s close he pokes him in the chest, “So, you will leave and I don’t want to see you ever again. Got it?” Derek snarls, fangs lengthening and sideburns growing.

“Stiles -”

“You might wanna put away the mutton chops, buddy, I’m about to toss you out on your ass,” Stiles says cheerily.

“Don’t you da-”

“Bye, Derek.” And with that, a vine flings open the shop door and Derek is tossed out like week old trash with the door slammed behind him. Stiles turns on his heel and hums while he goes about closing shop for the night.

Ups and Downs

Requested by @milkandcookies528 : Maybe you could do one where reid falls in love with the reader who works at the bau with him. But she has a boyfriend and one night the team goes to a bar and the both of them leave to go to her apartment and are in the midst of sleeping with each other and her boyfriend comes home to see them together which causes a fight between her boyfriend and the reader and he breaks up with her. Sorry if it’s alot.

A/n: I slightly altered this request, i hope you still like it. 

Title : Ups and Downs

Pairing : Spencer reid x reader

POV: Switches a lot, 1st person, thrid person mostky

Word count : 2443 ( My longest to date! Thank @madamredwrites and her writing sprint for that)

Originally posted by stallingdemons

You begin to fall out of love when you stop.

Stop talking, stop caring, stop respecting, stop trying, stop loving physically and emotionally.

It’s when things stop being mutual. Your relationship switches from a two way street to a one way and then a deserted highway with tumbleweeds and the memory of what once was.

Now it’s just getting depressing.

Technically it wasn’t over, because neither of you actually acknowledged it. You both knew what was going on. You heard her on talking, you saw her smile as she looked at her phone, her sudden vigor and the joy in her face to go to work. You saw the signs of guilt, of trying to overcompensate.

You saw her trying.

Which is why you were here, with your team. Drinking yourself till your senses were numbed, till you couldn’t think, couldn’t feel. So you wouldn’t have to try, so you could just let loose and feel sad.

“Hey Y/N, you alright?” JJ frowned as she glanced at you, taking your 3 glass of whiskey.

You stared at your empty glass and laughed, a bit manically as the tears filled your eyes.

“No JJ. I’m not, i’m really not. “ you replied, running a hand through your hair before making your way to the dance floor.

Keep reading

All The Women I Thought I’d Be By Now

The kind of woman who knows when to wear pantyhose (??) and when to be bare legged and looks good in either.

The kind of woman who owns heels and wears them regularly and feels comfortable doing so.

The kind of woman who has dated every different kind of man, and enjoyed them and felt comfortable with them.

The kind of woman who knows where she is going to be in ten years.

The kind of woman who buys a house and fills it with things she loves and ends up having a cohesive aesthetic.

The kind of woman who not only keeps plants alive but has a dog and a calendar with get-togethers scheduled into it weeks ahead of time.

The kind of woman who can feel confident her life is going to look like Diane Keaton’s in The Family Stone in a few decades.

The kind of woman who doesn’t look up guys she’s dated or girls she’s had falling outs with on social media so that she can gloat about ‘winning’.

The kind of woman who wears a curated outfit every day instead of a uniform of the same kind of pants and loose-fitting top.

The kind of woman who plays piano maybe!

The kind of woman who knows what wine to buy and keeps a wine rack in her house because she doesn’t idly drink whatever is around instead of saving it for special occasions.

The kind of woman who hosts dinner parties and has an endless supply of fascinating, smart, successful friends and no one wants to leave at the end of the night because we’re all talking about so many things.

The kind of woman who gets up before 9am most days.

The kind of woman who doesn’t see a therapist anymore because she has already worked through all of that.

( but also: the kind of woman I didn’t know I wanted to be // the kind of woman I became anyway )

The kind of woman who doesn’t worry about whether she’s smart enough.

The kind of woman who has everything she wants and pays for it herself.

The kind of woman who feels happy about very small things every day, like catching a small glimpse of the city skyline on her walk home.

The kind of woman who is better at loving than anyone else he’s ever met.

The kind of woman who has a box of letters people have written her over the years, and the pages are full of so many important things.

The kind of woman believes, but also recognizes that is not a negation of disbelief.

The kind of woman who lives in a whole world made up only of the things she likes.

Dear Nana...

31st July 2017, 3:10pm will forever be carved in my heart.

Anne Curtis. Daughter of Anne Byrne and Joseph McGuinness - who are so proud of you, I love you so so much.

As your 7th grandchild, I never expected to stand out to you, but by god you made me feel loved and special. The most caring, loving and kind woman I’ve ever known, who knew more than any of us could ever hope to about the universe.

My dear nana went through so much hardship and pain in early life. That’s why we think the Alzheimer’s started - to make her forget. Losing her mother at the age of 4, her father at the age of 11. Having all her siblings die, apart from one who was sent to the army. This young girl was sent to her horrid aunts, a real Cinderella story. Later an orphan and even later a nurse - this woman was the height of compassion. She deserved so so much more and I wish that somehow I could’ve given that to her.

Dear Nana -
I’m sorry that in your last days I could do little more than weep and hold your hand. I’m sorry I couldn’t bring myself to tell you what you meant to me even if you couldn’t respond. For that, I feel weak.

Dear Nana - I’ll miss the way you gave up half your dinner for shoomy (dog). I’ll miss the way you bought cereals with toys at the bottom just so you could give them to JC and I. I’ll miss the way you twiddle your thumbs and the way you say “I beg your pardon”. I’ll miss the wine Spritzers you gave us as children. I’ll miss the way you sing songs I’ve always been too young to recognise.

Dear Nana - I love you.

I have questions….

  • Stiles is like 12, why is he interning at the FBI, granted access to anything outside the mail room, and contributing to a task force? Unlike Veronica Mars, he wouldn’t pop up a million times in cases he solved because all his cases are supernatural…so?
  • Why are literally all the abusive fks back to either terrorize or redeem themselves but none of the decent people returned? Jennifer, Deucalion, Jackson (Yes, he was an abusive fk, fight me), Ethan, Peter, Theo, Gerard, Kate…but a girl can’t even get an Isaac, Danny, Braeden, Kira mention let alone return?
  • Why did they brutally kill off Cody, an underdeveloped bisexual werewolf they barely wrote for, just to bring back Jackson, abruptly make him bisexual (the everybody’s type line was bs, fight me), and fail to develop him further because he disappears?
  • Why, of all the guys he could be dating, is he dating his former BFF ex? Why has fandom rewrote Danny as the villain in his ship with Ethan for lying, when Ethan lied all the time?
  • Why did they reveal that Danny knew about supernaturals but never brought him back to elaborate on that?
  • Why is Lydia working with the guy who tortured her and screaming out the name of the guy who emotionally abused her?
  • Why did they say Stiles would be in three episodes when he clearly isn’t?
  • Why did they make Derek a fugitive for mass murder? Why can’t Derek ever find peace?
  • Why is the FBI trying to catch Derek if he’s on the Interpol list and it’s well beyond their jurisdiction at this point?
  • Why did we need two season big bads loosely connected when the town naturally turning against them would have been sufficient on its own?
  • Why did Melissa McCall, pack mom, the one person everyone either loves or respects get shot and only Scott (and Malia) was there to comfort her? Isn’t the sheriff like her BFF? Isn’t agent Mccall still in love with her? Don’t Liam and Mason treat her like their mom? Isn’t Chris, who lost the love of his life and his daughter, in love with her?
  • No, seriously, why the fk did Chris leave beacon hills and go to South America 2 days after being shot and didn’t share one anguished moment with Melissa? She deserves better than this and that’s OOC for him.
  • What the fk has Parrish actually been doing all season? I’m not being sarcastic, I honestly don’t even know.
  • Why did the sheriff and an FBI agent allow an entire militia to take over the town and kill and shoot at cops, and kill them and kids, and the national guard isn’t called? The national guard shows up for protest…like, really?
  • Why did they spring Scott and Malia on us like this without proper build up? Did Scott officially break up with Kira? Would Scott ever date his best friend’s ex without having the tiniest freak out that it’s weird? Isn’t it ooc of him to just go with it?
  • Why did we tear one of the only non white interracial ships up just to pair Scott up with Stiles’ leftovers? No offense to Malia. Just… sighs.
  • How many lives does Gerard’s evil, bald headed ass have? Wasn’t he dying? Bish why are you still here?
  • Why did they make the black woman the villain who is leading an entire militia of close minded, supernatural hating, Nazi Trumpkins against people who are different? Y'all got her out here killing kids and torturing folks. It’s a special kind of fkd up. I’m just not here for a black woman being the person senselessly killing people for being different and killing innocents in the process. Like, it just don’t sit right with my soul. Y'all finally gave a black woman prominent screentime without making her the magical negro who abruptly vanishes or the strong black woman who mysteriously disappears the second she gets the man, and she’s leading Nazis. Fking Nazis. Y'all serious?
  • Why don’t we have time to adequately develop storylines and characters but there’s plenty of time to redeem Theo, Jackson, and Peter (again)?
  • Why did y'all say Deucalion was invincible and then kill him like that?
  • When did Nolan decide to be a double agent? Was a scene cut and we just don’t know about it yet?
  • What happened to Hayden?
  • Why did y'all use Mason, a black boy in pain, to remind Theo that he can’t heal someone unless he gives af, just so later on when he inevitably heals Liam it’s because he gives af? Once again a POC pain is used to procure feels for a white character. Because let’s drive home that Theo only cares about Liam. Y'all needed Mason in pain for that?
  • Why are y'all baiting and pandering to Theo and Liam and introducing Jackson and Ethan as a ship for that gay rep, but y'all have a whole interracial gay ship with Mason and Cory that y'all don’t even right for? Where tf has Cory been most of the time anyway?
  • Why do y'all get off on making Derek be anywhere in the vicinity of Kate, his abuser, and allow her to sexually taunt him too? It’s gross af. It was always gross af. It will never stop being gross af.
  • Why did y'all bring back two of his abusive, toxic exes that never seem to go away just to name him suffer again but not the supportive mercenary girlfriend who built him back up and taught him how to take care of himself?
  • Seriously though, Beacon Hills doesn’t have a mayor or something? Why tf are armed citizens roaming the streets shooting down the sheriff station, people’s houses, and publicly running teens down with cars what the frick frack fk?
  • Who cleaned up all the stone bodies at the hospital? Is there a supernatural crime scene cleaner we don’t know about? There should be and that person deserves a spin off tbh. That person has seen some shit and they’re tired of these mother fking supernaturals and their mother fking messes.
  • Why are we supposed to believe that Noah Stilinski hasn’t uttered a word to Stiles about being run out of his own station? What the hell are they talking about on the phone? The weather?
  • Where the hell is the Anukunite? He just roamed through the hospital, turned people to stone and is just chilling?
  • WHY CAN’T Y'ALL PAY THE LIGHTING DEPARTMENT? It’s been 6 damn seasons of me squinting through this show. Y'all couldn’t spring for a few extra light bulbs for the last episodes? I’m too old for this shit.
  • Why did Scott and Malia have to learn how to fight without seeing when the entire town runs on 3 light bulbs and they’ve been fighting without seeing this entire time?
  • Why are kids walking around the school with bloody bandages and no authority is asking questions or sending kids home? Y'all had black kids walking around with bloody bandaged hands, do y'all not know anything about black moms? Cuz that wouldn’t fly. I’m a grown ass woman. I’m not afraid of werewolves, I’m afraid of my mom.
  • Wasn’t Gerard the principal? Isn’t Lydia’s mom the principal now or something? Who is the principal of this godforsaken school?
  • How is Parrish still on the force when they know he’s supernatural?
  • Why did y'all finally pair up Stydia and not do anything with them?
  • Where the hell is Deaton?
  • Why is Derek being an abuse victim reduced to him being grumpy and used as comic relief and angst to downplay and dismiss without exploring properly or respectfully? Why can’t he ever find peace? How fkd do you have to be to do half the things y'all do to his character? I don’t understand.
  • Why have y'all spent the entire final season with random plot lines and characters and not resolving shit?
  • What even is this season? Did y'all even try with this writing? Did y'all even attempt to be consistent? Did y'all care to do it justice? What even?
  • How are y'all going to wrap all of this messy ass season and even more messy ass series up in 50 minutes or less?

Originally posted by masterofsoundandfury

anonymous asked:

Emma Watson is racist?! Says the one constantly use the words "white feminism" , as if white women could not suffer from oppression, as if the only women who are oppressed in this world are the black ones. You pathetic whore, you are actually the racist one here and you don't even know. Emma did not say anything racist. You are a special kind of idiot.

First of all, I am a white woman, so this comment is completely off base. And if you were at all educated on the topic at hand, you’d know that White Feminism pretty much means a white washed version of feminism that is not all inclusive. It doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with white women in particular. It pertains to those who white wash the movement so it doesn’t include any of the struggles that black, hispanic, asian, trans, lesbian/bi/asexual ect women face. 

Second of all, Emma Watson didn’t have to say anything racist. Her ideas are racist. She completely ignores any and all intersectionality in her feminism. She classified Beyonce, a black woman, as being too sexual to be a feminist. Black people in general, especially women, are already viewed as hypersexual in society. Which is why you see White Feminists* policing Beyonce and Nicki Minaj for expressing their sexuality while they praise and/or fail to police musicians like Miley Cyrus. That’s racist. Just because she isn’t as forward with it as Iggy Azalea doesn’t mean she doesn’t have internalized racism along with the internalized misogyny she so clearly exhibits. 

Cancer Woman, Pisces Man

The double Water Sign influence over those who love, such as the Moon Maiden and the Neptune man, is in many ways, more magnetic and compelling than a double Fire, Earth or Air combinations. The mystical water essence of their natures is sensitive and absorbing… reflecting images back and forth between them… so that frequently, their romance has a dreamlike quality about it, however many years they’re together.

If they should quarrel and separate for a time, the missing is usually much deeper than with other lovers who are thus temporarily parted… the emptiness greater. The need to return to each other and be mutually forgiven is intense. A recently parted Crab and Fish are two sad and depressed people indeed.

They should cheer up, because their chances of reconciliation are excellent - when she stops pouting and he stops trying to escape himself, which is, of course, a solution doomed to failure. It’s impossible to escape one’s self, as impossible as it is to permanently avoid the other half of one’s self. If there should be more than one negative aspect between the Luminaries, Ascendents, Mars and Venus in their birth charts, they could remain divided. But there will always be the memories… What in the world would he do if he ever lost her? How could she live without him? The girl Crab and the Fish feel their emotions with an intensity that belies their outwardly reticent, quiet manner. When the enormity of such a loss strikes the Lunar lady and her Pisces man in that awful, shocking way of a reality when it suddenly hits hard that it is a reality, not just a hazy “maybe,” their minds and hearts and souls are all three unexpectedly overwhelmed with a surge of emotion difficult to express, because the thought of the possibility suffuses the intellect and the feelings so totally.

All the more reason for the Moon Maid and her Pisces man to make a special effort to refuse to allow the few differences between their personalities to grow until they drown their caring.

Fortunately, the differences are relatively minor, and can be smoothly compromised, once they’re confessed - and softened slightly. Since they both like happy endings, we’ll peek at their problems first, then last of all, remind them of the oceans of good things they share that make their romantic chemistry so powerful.

The first scarecrow we see in their garden is made of the strangest things. What could it be? Certainly not straw. It’s green, slightly soiled, crumpled and wrinkled, with bits of metal fastened here and there. It’s money. Sure enough. Actually, worth much less, in the long run, than straw or hay. The scarecrow of money can frighten some lady Crabs and the Fish they love with its ability to form itself into a high wall between them. She likes to accumulate it, save it, keep it, sock lots of it in the bank, stuff it in her sachets and watch it grow sturdily through investment. She’s normally more than a little economical with cash, if she’s a typical Cancerian, and she may nag him about being so disinterested in gathering up scoops of it, so careless about scattering it around among his friends who need it, spending such large sums of it on his multiple dreams and schemes - and what she considers to be unnecessarily large tips to waiters, waitresses, bellmen, doormen, redcaps, porters and the like. He’ll have to try to understand that she’s not really stingy, just concerned about her security in what he must admit is an increasingly insecure world - and she’ll have to try to comprehend that an excessive concentration on cash strangles his creative freedom and his imagination equally. Then they should open separate checking accounts, each of which will be none of the other’s business whatsoever. (Even so, he’ll probably be less interested in her monthly balances than she’ll be in his.)

Another scarecrow looms in the moonlight - moodiness, a complaint each of these two will make against the other. He withdraws into Neptune’s silences to meditate, she becomes cross because he won’t tell her what he’s thinking. Or - she crawls into her crab shell to brood in an inexplicable melancholy during the waning Moon, and this causes him to be depressed, because the Pisces man, as I’ve noted before, is a “psychic sponge,” helplessly absorbing all the feelings around him. Influenced by the Lunar phases, the Cancerian woman is a “reflector” of feelings, imaging them back like a photographic plate. (It’s not a coincidence that most Crabs are either photographers or intensely interested in photography.) So she “reflects” his silences, and he “absorbs” her melancholy. He’s curious about what she’s thinking when she’s quiet, though his curiosity is more veiled than hers. These two both like to keep secrets, at the same time they like to know secrets, and each is equally adept at pulling secrets out of others, while locking their own against all questions. Once they recognize this trait they share, they can learn to laugh about it, and refuse to allow it to cause tension between them. With her reflecting nature and his absorbing nature, mental and emotional pollution is a constant danger. If they allow their frustrations to rise or sink above or below the safety level of tranquility, the clouds of tension can only pour back upon them a rain of resentment, frustration and selfish seeking that kills happiness.

The girl Crab’s great sense of humor is a saving grace regarding many of their problems. Unless there are unusually severe afflictions between the Luminaries and Ascendents in their horoscopes, there should be no “sexual scarecrows” to frighten them during their lovemaking. Normally, Cancer and Pisces are ideally mated in a physical sense. Through their sexual union, they experience the rare joy of - not just receiving, not just giving - but exchanging the gift of fulfillment. The difference is something many lovers never realize. Because they’re so closely, even telepathically attuned to each other’s needs and desires, passion brings them profound peace, stills their trembling… and afterwards, when they’ve become two separate individuals again, their Oneness lingers in their eyes, like a memory of magic too deep to communicate in words, best left to only quiet knowing.

He really listens to her seasonal fears and apprehensions - with such gentle patience. She covers his winters of self-doubt with such warm and tender blankets of caring. Remembering how much they need each other, being aware of the unthinkable possibility of losing the security of their special kind of interdependency, can protect their relationship. This man and woman are extraordinarily sensitive to each other’s thoughts, literally able to read each other’s minds.

The refreshing newness of love, like the sweet grass-scented blessing of a silvery summer shower, is worth protecting.

~ Linda Goodman’s Love Signs

@theincrediblepicklepanda​, I’m sorry for the delay, but I hope this content is worth the wait. :-)

I’m done with trying so hard and making an effort for people who just don’t give a shit. If you don’t realise how awesome it is to have me in your life and how much I do for you whilst sacrificing everything that makes me happy, then just leave me alone. Or fucking realise that I deserve to be treated like the kind woman I am. I am special, I am worth the time and I’m worth fighting for. You obviously thought that once, so either realise it again or leave me alone and stop making me feel worthless and sad.

defending robb stark

or: annmarie word vomits about robb stark for an obscene amount of time

oftentimes, I see people complaining about Robb Stark for his perceived villainy. “he doesn’t care about his sisters!” “he throws away his entire war effort for some girl!” “he wasn’t being king to protect anyone, he was just doing it for revenge!” “he’s a hypocrite and he treats his mother horribly!” I feel like some of this has come from the show’s portrayal of Robb as an older man with a sixteen year old mentality, who does throw away the war for very little reason and who often does sideline Catelyn (although this is really the writers’ fault). but book!Robb is nothing like this, and I think people need to separate the shows from the books. so, in the interests of length and time, I’m going to look at two of the major reasons why people hate on Robb: his marriage to Jeyne, and his legitimization of Jon. (lots more below the cut lol)

Keep reading

There’s a special kind of bitterness and exhaustion that comes with being a woman who has done a ton of emotional labor in the past. For better or worse; I grew up on the internet. And as such I formed many kinds of relationships there and in real life. Some terrible but most are in the pleasant to amazing range. I’ve tangled with enough men that I just…don’t care to anymore. I’ve been the feelings receptacle, the stand in girlfriend, the therapist, the manic pixie projection, the leave my wife for someone half their age chick, the runner up etc. They’ve been scummy, slimy and abusive. I’ve learned my lessons in shitty ways. What I can tell you is I am just over having to justify my feelings to dudes. I’m no longer interested in holding their hand and helping them along to understand my view. I’m not gonna make a PowerPoint and bulleted list with why I should be seen as valid and autonomous. I make like one honest attempt but if they’re being thick or just “not seeing” my take, I’m out. It’s my right to cash out and move on. If they can handle with why I’m abrasive and acidic that’s fine! I do have friends that are understanding of this and don’t fault me for it. But I’m not gonna be trampled anymore. I’m establishing hard and firm boundaries and uhmmm if that isn’t to your liking well it is free to unfollow me. 


Michael about Lady Diana:

“Lady Diana, um, in real truth, was one of the sweetest people I’ve everknown, because, um, we could relate to each other, we shared something in common, with the press. I don’t think they hounded anyone more than er and myself. And we had a relationship, a very good relationship,where we would call each other, er, late at night, for me, er, and we would, you know, just talk about… just like cry on each other’s shoulders,how hard and difficult and how mean the tabloids can be. And how they lie and twist stories around. Um, but she came to…"Private Home Movies, April 2003

"She was just a wonderful, warm, compassionate, er, person… very caring,very caring. It was real. It wasn’t a publicity… stunt. It was real”
Private Home Movies, April 2003
“She really cared. I’m the same way. If feel the same way that she does about children and the future of our children and the future of the world”
Private Home Movies, April 2003

Sb: What if you found a woman you was soft, who was incredibly soft?
MJ: Like a Mother Teresa or a Lady Diana or… That would be great. That would be perfect.

Schmuley Tapes, 2000/2001
MJ: A woman I really liked and respected was Princess Diana.
SB: Why?
MJ: Because she was classy and sincerely cared about people and children and the plight of what was going on in the world. She didn’t do it for show. I like the way she made her kids wait in line to get on a ride for something.

SB: Can we say that there was an ever so innocent slight romantic
attraction? Or do you not want to say that? Do you just want to say
that you thought she was a very special? She was a feminine kind of

MJ: Very feminine and classy. She was my type for sure, and I don’t
like most girls. There are very few I like who fit the mold. It takes
a very special mold to make me happy and she was on of them. For sure.Schmuley Tapes, 2000/2001

Journal Of A Working Dreamer #4: Romance Ponderings And The Risk of Progressiveness In Pop Culture

So today I was working on a project when suddenly I was reminded of my favorite anime of all time Library Wars, a love story about a young woman who joins a special kind of military to protect free speech while trying to find the man who inspired her journey. I think the theme song popped up in my youtube playlist or something, but that’s not important right now- anyway!

So as I listened to song and was reminded of this show, I strangely had the sudden urge to roll my eyes and push down the sense of nostalgia I had for this romantic anime. This is weird because I praise the show as much as I can and it’s always in my top five favorite tv shows in general and the manga is really good too. So why was I doing this?

I then began to think of other romantic movies/shows/books I’ve enjoyed in the past and realized something. I’ve been in denial about enjoying these romances for years. I’ve recommended them as good stories, but always tried to pitch it to others based on other plot elements instead of the romance- and I didn’t realize it until now.

Now I am NOT one to go all “oh society is horrible and it made me this way” nonsense. No matter what social construct you live in, you are responsible for your own actions. However, I won’t deny that it could be possible that social elements can be in part why I denied liking romance or maybe why some women deny liking typically feminine things.

Our modern culture is going through a phase of “women should be strong and independent” and “I don’t need no man” attitude right now. In pop culture, there are more commercials and products used to empower women by saying they don’t need to be girly to enjoy life. You still got your Barbie doll and your Disney Princesses, but more people are vocal about the negative aspects our culture is putting on girls. That these kind of products are placing them in a box since not all girls are into frills and pink- 

On paper, this makes sense. If a girl grew up liking sports and science, pop culture didn’t really have anything for that specific group outside of one or two “girl power” episodes of a tv show from the 80s to the 2000s. Or if a woman liked something like Sherlock Holmes, they were outcast by the elite male founded Sherlock Holmes clubs that has been running on for years (The BakerStreet Babes podcast in particular faced this, which from what I understand prompted them to make their podcast in the first place)- so because of this misunderstanding of the female sex or straight up sexism, the desire for women to break these cultural gender norms skyrocketed, yet even though we have made a lot of progress for equality in pop culture specifically, I believe we have run into a snag.

 See, because of how ridiculously easy it is to take a concept and run with it too far, there is now an… let’s just say unspoken rule that women are not allowed to enjoy typically feminine things. I say unspoken, but there are actual articles of famous feminist cringing at their daughters for enjoying frilly and pink things despite their efforts to raise them against these norms.  

And when I read things like this, I realize that we have taken girls out of a stereotype box and placed them in another. Suddenly, it’s no longer acceptable for a girl to like pink princesses because they are “more than that stereotype.” Suddenly it’s bad for a girl to want to be saved by a boy because girls need to accept that they can “save themselves.”

And while those are good lessons, it becomes a problem when you take away something girls genuinely enjoy simply because it doesn’t fit modern culture norms. Because of this, I think more women (myself included) feel the need to hide away from enjoying traditional romances or girly things in general because we’re worried that people will think less of us. That we are weak willed because we want a man to come sweep us off our feet and enjoy stories about that. But we shouldn’t be limiting ourselves. 

Girls shouldn’t be believing that they are being “brainwashed” if they like typically feminine things. That’s some serious destructive thinking.

Here’s a concept:

You can be a tomboy and love romances. You can be into frilly dresses and karate. You can like fashion and sports. You shouldn’t limit yourself based on what society thinks or what’s ‘progressive’ enough- 

If you want to be a career driven woman with huge business goals: GREAT

If you want to be a mother and don’t mind being a stay-at-home wife: COOL

If you want to get married: AWESOME

If you want to be single: SWEET

Look, I’m glad we came a long way as far as women issues are concerned, but we need to be careful. Otherwise we just end up being hypocrites who lift girls from the pink frilly princess stereotype and force them to go under the strong independent woman who don’t need no man stereotype which, if you think about it… can do a lot more harm in the long run. Let them be what they want to be. And let girls enjoy what they enjoy. 

So… yeah. Turns out I really really like Pride and Prejudice, Library Wars, Much Ado About Nothing, Broadway Musicals, Princess Tutu, Cinderella, and other stereotypically girly things.

And I’m not ashamed to admit it.

Orfa Sarraszen, Arch-witch of the Scarlet Hare Coven. One of the oldest, most experienced and respected witches in the Coven, which means she’s a very special kind of ruthless and a woman not to be fucked with.

On the Coven of the Scarlet Hare

Scarlet Hare witches believe that the closest way to get close to Mother Earth is to lead a nomadic, self-sufficient lifestyle which emphasizes pack hierarchies, exploration and the immediate satisfaction of primal impulses such as aggression, hunger and lust, always present in the notion that each day, each small pleasure could be their last. The live for the hunt, both of their enemies and of magic secrets and resources. They will attack perceived offenses to Nature such as undead, fiends and aberrations on sight, with extreme prejudice, and to the bitter (and often brutal) end. 

Hello! I don’t really know if you take submissions, but I have been through your blog and I am amazed by both this collection of glorious representations of female beauty which you have assembled and by the representations themselves.

I used to take an art history class and have stumbled upon portraits of women which have struck me deep and wished to share them on your blog, of course if that is possible! 

The first one is Portrait of Henrietta Sontag by Hippolyte Delaroche (1931) , Henrietta Sontag was a german opera singer. This portrait since I have seen it, haunts me. Her pale gaze into the vague and that expanding serenity on her face. 

I do take submissions, although I won’t always post all of them. But I like this one, and I love hearing your commentary.

….slight typo though - 1831, not 1931 :)

Submission by poedelaire


*Just imagine what he can possibly do with these hands* Kitana was thinking while being amused by how hot literally and figuratively Liu Kang has become.

Liu Kang was a special kind of shaolin monk, who could have put mind of this royal woman to lustful imaginations. 

She already knew that this sparring match will end up in a much more private manner.

A Facebook friend of mine posted this picture a couple days ago. It’s just bathroom graffiti, but it’s very telling of a phenomena we’re seeing all across this website - and outside it too. The writing in pink says “August 29th - Lesbian Visibility Day”. The writing in black says “and bissexual too, erase it now, dear”, with a condescending little heart. Notice also that the word “lesbian” has been partially erased, probably by the bisexual woman who wrote the text in black.

This illustrates well the widespread trend that is lesbians not being allowed to have anything for themselves. Non-lesbians constantly feel entitled to our spaces, our discussions, even our bodies, and every time we try to assert some semblance of boundaries, we’re criticized harshly for it. Want to express your sexuality, your desire for women? You’re a predator, mannish, objecifying. Want a separate space to discuss your specific issue or heal among other lesbians? No, you’re exclusionary, and you’ll hear this from the same women who fight for female-only spaces. Everything we have must be open for consumption, and our needs are always shoved aside.

Sometimes I have this impression that non-lesbians don’t really see us as a “real” oppressed group? They see being a lesbian as an inconvenience at most. Or even worse, they see it as a luxury, as if we “don’t have to deal with men”, as if we’re not as vulnerable to their abuse for not having sex with them. They ignore the whole layer of vile lesbophobia and hatred that we get from men specifically for being lesbians, on top of what we get for being women.

If they even see us as women at all.

Being a butch dyke, I’ve noticed that straight (and a lot of bisexual) women either treat you like a dangerous predator that’s out to abuse them, or they treat you as some sort of cute pet. Because since we don’t perform femininity, we’re considered “immature”, “childlike”, “not like a fully grown women”, and I’ve heard this kind of idea coming out of straight women a lot. They treat us as rebellious kids, who didn’t “settle down” yet, because performing femininity is regarded as a sign a girl reached adulthood. And then, of course, they get shocked and appaled when the little lesbian pets affirm that our relationships with other women are more than “special friendships”, or when we want to have our own spaces where we don’t have to justify our existence all the time.

It’s like they feel we owe them, somehow. We owe them our time and energy because we are not “real women” with “real problems” like dealing with Nigel’s bullshit, and holy shit, I’ve seen so many bisexual women coming to cry on a lesbian’s shoulder because Nigel was an asshole, to get a hug, a kiss, maybe some actual decent oral, and when they’re all healed up and happy, they go back to their cozy hetero relationships, the ones that their families approve and that doesn’t get them dirty looks in the street. We’re not even pets them, we’re service dogs. We’re resources to be used when it’s convenient.

And y'know what, I’m so tired of this. This week I was in a lesbian-only discussion about gynecological care and the discriminations we suffer there, and a bi woman decided to butt in and whine that we were not catering to women who like dick. It’s fucking outrageous, because every gyno ever caters primarily to women who fuck dick. But no, we can’t have a group of lesbians talking about their lesbian stuff, right? We get accusations of being “biphobic”, but I don’t see lesbians invading bi women’s spaces. Hell, all I see is lesbians saying “leave us alone”, “let us have our own thing”, “respect out boundaries”, and this is apparently too much? We can’t have our terminology, our stories, our culture, without someone else wanting to get their appropriating little mitts on them. Is respect too much to ask?

This is why, every day that passes, separatism sounds like a better idea. Because no one fucking takes us seriously. They all love our shit, our spaces, our style, our terms, our story, but when it comes to respecting our boundaries or actually acknowledging that we are an oppressed minority that contains women of all races, all ages, all backgrounds, then it’s too much. Because there’s this ridiculous idea going around that we’re some kind of special elite within Feminism, because we are completely woman-identified and woman-focused, as if this wasn’t the very root of all the hatred we get. And it’s just so exhausting, it makes me want to not even talk to anyone who’s not a lesbian.

This has been the pissed-off lesbian rant of the day, and I’m 100% sure some non-lesbian will take offense and come whining in my inbox.