There’s no such thing as what you ‘should’ be doing with your life. If you’re not holding yourself back from something you really want to try, and you enjoy the way you spend your day, then you’re a smashing success.
i lost a love [x] a playlist of lost and unrequited loves that doesn’t include on my own
lonely town (on the town) // he’s a right guy (high society) // it hurts me (all shook up) // just not now (i love you because) // there’s a fine, fine line (avenue q) // heaven help my heart (chess) // like it was (merrily we roll along) // legally blonde (legally blonde) // pretty funny (dogfight) // happy to keep his dinner warm (how to succeed in business without really trying) // fly, fly away (catch me if you can) // maybe this time (cabaret) // when words fail (shrek: the musical) // how i am (little women)
‘ I’D LIKE TO STAY LIKE THIS FOR AWHILE. ’
⤷ grave suggestions meme because i was very bored and desperate to write something and begged madi to send me something
There’s a hollow ground ripped through her chest. An abysmal cleft between her ribs, cataclysmically exposing the throbbing heart underneath ivory ribs with the wilted petals of withered roses planted inside the spaces between.
It’s been their first night out in a long while, an undefined number of months at least. Indulging in the neon haze of the night’s aging hours, nearing the upcoming and surely inevitable death of something that’s just a number. The happier times grow to be, the faster it all goes by. Moments of absolute bliss pass with the sheer bat of a single eyelash, but it’s the dolorous times that torture for a small eternity. Pain tends to linger on for what feels like forever – always has. She can never shake it off of her tired frame, scrub it from her fair skin and replace it with something more kind to her fragile heart, beating like the erratically flapping wings of a nervous humming bird. It always seems to be the bad things that stick, carve themselves a dark hole inside one’s flawed memory.
When the music had kept her mind at pretty ease, she’s spared no concern in devotion to the unspeakable atrocity of moments in her life’s recent history. It’s just that that’s said to repeat itself – history; it plants the willful seed of dread in her body, makes crushing nausea rise and a false ache to set her head up to catch blazing flame.
Bitterness’ sickening flavor coats the inside of her mouth when she awakes and it takes her a moment to remember:
He’d asked her why she didn’t have a drink with him, stuck to coca cola with a tiny slice of lemon floating on the unhealthily saccharine soda’s surface, hitting the walls of glass in its quiet off-beat dance routine instead. She remembers the uncertainty, the way her heart had grown heavy whenever her keen eyes snuck over in a slight endeavor of stealing glances of him. She remembers thinking he wouldn’t notice until she’d been proven otherwise. He looked back at her, saw the hint of a deep frown hovering dangerously close over her glum features. It coerced his initial smile to disappear, shift until his expression’s alienated, filled with generous concern. The question still echoes inside her drowsy morning-head. When he’d asked her through the rhythm of music bleeding through the speakers, trying to determine if something’s wrong, if she’d doing fine. When she swallows down the bitter taste in her mouth, she remembers – the sinking feeling, stomach growing almost as heavy as her heart. A smile, not quite as sincere as it could have been. “I’m just a little tired.” She’d known right then he didn’t believe her. The look on his features, pulled into a mask by doubt and bore something she couldn’t quite define. If she’d known better, she would have not pushed the initial recognition of something of guilt’s kin aside or labeled it as sheer nonsense.
The ache of her head and overwhelmed mind retreats from the stage of things demanding immediate attention, declaring their own utter importance. Opening her eyes against the dim light seeping through the blinds and hardly contributing to the room’s illumination. She looks around, fearful anticipation keeping her on edge. She’s afraid to make a hurtful discovery, something to crush her heart into tiny pieces. But there’s nothing after she idly turns, lazily squinting against the outlines of his back next to her. It takes her a moment to identify him, the ink spilled under his arm’s skin, to realize the light snoring she’s hearing doesn’t belong to him. Electric shock jolts through tired limbs and she jumps up as much as her body willingly allows her to, in her state of fatigue, a little less traceable in the instant before she realizes.
Honestly though, I love how The Clone Wars aims–and succeeds–to show so many differing points of view other than “Jedi good, Confederacy bad” and I really love that. Seeing people discontent with the state of things, people who understand that both sides of the war are at fault in some way or another. And that’s really nice to see in a franchise that’s so often perceived in a “Good Guys v. Bad Guys” light
Dear tumblr Society of Magicians, there’s something on my mind that I would like to talk about.
I noticed that quite a lot of you are interested in feminism, so I would very much like to hear your opinions on this.
It’s this scene:
(hah, I got your attention now :-P )
How do I feel about this scene?
I love if. Because I love these two characters, and I love how Jonathan succeeds in rescueing Arabella…after all, it is his fault that she got trapped there.
I love them as a couple, because, as far as regencies go, Arabella and Jonathan are quite equal. They support each other and they balance each other’s character flaws…honestly, if Arabella hadn’t been around, Jonathan would probably already have transformed himself into a bumblebee just because he wanted to try out that funny spell scribbled in that old book.
If I’m honest with myself, I also love it because I am utter Bertie Carvel trash and my crush on Jonathan Strange is so enormous that I sometimes shake my head at myself. I guess I put myself in Arabella’s position subconsciously here.
So, these are my feelings. I enjoy this scene very much.
At that moment, my rational analyzing mind (well trained during 6 years of Literature major) comes knocking and says: Are you allowed to enjoy this so much? It’s TRUE LOVE’S KISS! Literally! I thought you consider yourself a feminist? How can you allow yourself to enjoy this trope so much? I thought you despised damsels in distress?
The truth is, I do enjoy this scene. But I also feel a little guilty about that.
Not overly science fiction, but I love this show. I love the very strong female lead. A great role model, and proves that a woman can both strong and beautiful without sexist outfits that reduce them to just eye candy. I love how she succeeds despite the rampant sexism that was too common during this time. Glad to see a new season coming our way.