i am happy for bringing this article into my own life

“You seem very put together and secure in one self so I’m going to ask you this, and I would prefer it wasn’t publicly posted. Even if you don’t respond, that’s okay, but at this point I feel like I would appreciate a wiser person’s perspective. My boyfriend and I broke up, which may sound petty, but the shitty way I feel is not. It was because he was too overwhelmed to put effort into it. What would you suggest is the best way to move on from said breakup? HOW DO YOU PURGE YOURSELF OF EMOTION”

I asked this reader for permission to pull her question out of my askbox and answer it publicly because it seemed like it might be useful to more than one person considering becoming an emotional robot.

Dear Unnamed Reader,

First: you’re not going to like my advice.

Second: you don’t have to take it. I’m really only adequately equipped to give advice on how to be more like me, and trust me, sources are widely divided on whether this is a good thing. 

Third: I don’t think your turmoil is petty. One thousand ships have been launched in the name of a bad break-up.

Fourth: You ask me how to purge yourself of emotion. I reckon this must mean I don’t look like a hot mess on the internet, which is good to know. But I assure you that when something pings my emotional radar, I feel all feelings at level 11. Example? This morning, I gave Lover a ride to an errand. We took my old Camaro. On the interstate ramp, I put the car through its paces and experienced the burst of joy that comes in third gear at 4400 rpm. Once the car had settled, I realized Lover was staring at me. “God,” he said, “can you be any more happy?” No. No, in fact, I couldn’t. Emotions are binary in Maggie Stiefvater. You should have seen me when I first heard Two Door Cinema Club’s “Sun.” I almost died from happiness. 

But that also means my negative emotions are dialed to 11. I don’t often get upset — I’ve just become so unreasonably plucky that I assume all woes are transient, so whatevs. Because of my outsized belief in my ability to problem-solve, I really only get upset when I feel powerless. 2015 turned out to be the year of powerlessness: terrible things happening to friends, to my family, in the world. I finally broke last weekend over a comparatively tiny thing —a news article printed stuff about me that was so hilariously not true that I thought no one would believe it, particularly as the truth was still perfectly findable. But they did. And I couldn’t do a thing about it without stirring things up more and getting yet more messages telling me how glad they were to see me shot down from my Raven Cycle induced high blah blah etc. A minuscule thing — but yet more powerlessness after a year of epic powerlessness. I proceeded to launch 1,000 emotional ships. Work ground to a halt. I listened to Kygo’s remix of Matt Corby’s “Brother” 62 times in a row without pause. I sat under my office desk, only emerging to give in to to my OCD, which demanded, among other things, 17 clothing changes in 8 hours because SEAMS GOD THE SEAMS WHY. I blew a deadline. I flew to Colorado. I exceeded the speed limit in a rental Nissan that was not meant to exceed the speed limit. I blew another deadline. I paced until I couldn’t feel my knees. I thought about how I’d ruled out self-harm as an option a decade ago. I returned home. I sat on the shower floor for a very long time. I failed to sleep. I could have pretended that I wasn’t hurting, but — 

Fifth: you cannot cut out the sad emotions without cutting out the happy ones. 

Sixth: I am a disgustingly happy person. I fucking love life. The number of things in life that please me daily continues to astonish me, considering how terrible the world is. But I’m a happy person because I’m also sometimes a wretchedly sad person or terribly angry person. If you want to live life turned up all the way, you have to be open to the possibility of both joy or despair. 

Seventh: which brings me to the advice you’re not going to like: being miserable right now is not a bad thing. What you’re feeling is a valid response to a situation that you feel powerless in. It’s horrible. But you feeling genuine pain now means that you can — and will — feel genuine happiness at some point. Agony and joy come from the same place: being emotionally invested in your own life. 

Eighth: The way back to happiness is getting out of the cycle of powerlessness — basically, finding a place you can have agency again. Your misery is going to want you to find a way to be powerful in your current miserable situation. If you’re anything like me, you’ve rehearsed a few thousand options in your head. Calling him and winning him back. Making him feel as sad as you. Sending ugly greeting cards to his mother. Anything that would make you feel like you’re not completely helpless. But you need to find something else that you can be the boss of. Remind yourself of the things that make you feel like a badass. It doesn’t matter how silly or stupid they are. It can be as difficult as a project that you think will change the world, or as easy as playing a song that always gets you high. Do that.

Ninth: Do not listen to Kygo’s remix of “Brother.” It will not cheer you up.

Tenth: There is no tenth, but I really wanted one. So eat more leafy green vegetables.




The Secret (12)

prologue; part one; part two; part three; part four; part five; part six; part seven; part eight; part nine; part ten; part eleven; part twelve;

Baekhyun had gathered all of his members in the living room first thing in the morning before anyone left for schedules. They had probably all read the article by now but none of them mentioned it as he knocked on each of their doors and asked them into the main room. He hadn’t exactly planned what to say. Maybe he should have. Maybe he wouldn’t feel so nervous if he had figured out how he wanted to explain this new part of his life to his brothers.

Still here he was, with eight faces staring up at him in anticipation, about to tell them about the new people in his life that he would happily take a bullet for.

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Owned - pt 11

Originally posted by hopeatuuli

“Y/N. Please.”

“Namjoon…please stop calling me. Think things through first.”

“Just tell me where you are. This is stupid. We need to talk. Running away from your problems won’t fix them.” He growled.

“Don’t you see that’s exactly what you’re doing?”

“Well what am I supposed to do when you turned everyone against me?” He yelled.

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Control [Part 2 of 2]

Word Count: 5,388
Warnings: Some angst, hand to hand combat, anxiety, fugitive behavior, idk guys.
Summary: @blazeshira’s request - “Hi! I saw that you had your requests open and I was wondering if you could do a Bucky fic where the reader was also given the serum & trained with him along with the other winter soldiers but they developed something before she was frozen along with the others & he forgot her until he went to Siberia w/ Steve & he sees her chamber & realizes she escaped before Zemo could kill her so he tries to find her? Fluffy fluff & some angst, please & thank you!”
A/N: Part 2! Thank you all SO SO SO much for all of your kind words on part 1!! You all made me feel so much better about posting it. I seriously couldn’t ask for better readers! You guys are incredible! Thank you all for taking the time to read these stories! It means so much to me!!

If you would like to be added to my taglist for everything, let me know!!

I hope you all enjoy this! <3 Lemme know what you think!!

[PART 1]

Originally posted by laurenkmyers

Your name: submit What is this?

Siberia, Russia; 2016
    Bucky’s Point of View

“I got heat signatures,” Tony starts. Steve asks how many, and Stark replies with, “Uh, one.”

Coming back willingly was absurd.

This was the last place I wanted to be. I’ve done everything in my power to put this place out of my memories over the last two years, and here I am willingly walking back into danger with this punk all over again.

I guess history does repeat itself. Hopefully the end result will be kinder this time.

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anonymous asked:

So, I have friends on tumblr, and I am terrified of losing them, because idk how to start conversations? And I don't know how to help them when they're upset. And I don't want to lose them. I really don't.

Hi Anon!

This is a really good question.

Personally, I think starting a conversation online is actually easier than starting one in real life. You have the opportunity to introduce context as you begin the conversation, rather than having to base what you’re saying on the current context of where you are and what you’re doing.

For example, last night I went out with friends to get a sundae. We talked about the music playing in the car - that’s an easy and obvious discussion topic. We talked about sundaes. And we talked about each other, like my health issues, or my friend’s first week studying or how another friend really needs to quit her crappy job. Those are all subjects that arise naturally out of the context of where you are and who you’re with.

But the thing about online communication is that you can automatically bring the context along with you. One of my best friends lives a long way from me and we mostly only talk via facebook chat. Sometimes I might read a news article that makes me sad or angry or happy. I can send her the link and say something like “have you seen this?” or “omigod, I’m so mad about this”. It doesn’t matter what’s actually going on where I am or where she is, because the conversation comes with its own opening line, based on what I’m showing her.

And I think that’s a good way to talk to people online. So, let’s say you’ve got a friend on Tumblr. We’ll call your friend Susan.

Susan makes a post that she’s been tagged to do a question and answer thing, so she gives all the answers. One of the questions is name a food you love and Susan says she loves pancakes. That’s an opportunity for you to start a conversation with her, without worrying how to lead into that. You can just send her a message saying “Oh, your favourite food is pancakes?! Mine too!” And then you can talk to each other about pancakes. And that might lead to all kinds of other topics.

Another possibility is sending a link or tagging them in something you reblog. Maybe you think they’ll find it funny, or see themselves in it or be as angry about it as you. That starts a conversation too. You can send Susan a video of an otter sliding down a snow bank (someone tagged me in just such a video on Facebook and it was glorious). Then you and Susan can talk about otters. Or snow. Or which is the cutest animal.

As for comforting an online friend when they need it, the best thing you can do is be available. If Susan says she is having a bad day and she’s upset, then send her a message asking if she wants to talk to you about it. Ask her if there’s any way you can help. She might not know what kind of help she needs, but you can suggest. Maybe you could just let her vent her feelings to you. Or maybe she’d like your advice. You could find pictures of something she likes (like kittens or her favourite musician) and show them to her to see if it can cheer her up. You could offer to talk about something else with her, to take her mind off things.

There are lots of things you can do to talk to a friend in need, even if you’re not able to give them a real life hug or make them tea. Often, people feel better just by knowing that someone cares about them and wants to help.

Just to give more examples of what I mean, here are some actual opening sentences from my own recent online chat windows. I hope none of my friends will mind! I have many more friends online than offline, so I guess I’m doing something right, and so are they. Some of these are conversations I started, and others were started by the other person.

  • “Hi! Is the heat any better today?”
  • “Random question!!! You’re a singer, right? I’ve seen you say that somewhere???”
  • “Oh my God have you seen Moana yet?”
  • “Hiya! How’s the new job?”
  • “Have you SEEN this?” *link to video of famous actor*
  • “You’re into scrapbooking, right?”

Those are all good ways of starting a conversation, out of nowhere.

But you can also just start with a “How are you?” or “What’s up with you?” If you ask those questions and you care enough about the answers to keep the conversation going, then you are being an excellent online friend.

Most people love to talk about themselves, their lives and the things they’re interested in. If you can give them the space to do that, then they’re going to be happy, and they’re going to remember that you’re a person who makes them happy.

Good luck, make friends, keep friends and STAY COOL LIKE A TIGER SWIMMING IN ICECREAM!!!

- The Slightly Aggressive Affirmer

as real as magic, all that and more

for the fake dating section of my femtrope bingo card and also over here on ao3


Ginny huffed at the throng of reporters hanging outside her house, just waiting for her to step outside the door alone. Ever since she and Harry had mutually broken up they’d been harassing the both of them, asking when either would start dating again and who.

She was tempted to use yet another gift from her brother of Zizzling Zoomania, a potion that when exposed to would cause people to see animals all around, but that seemed best saved for another time when she didn’t have access to a fireplace and thus could use floo powder to get out of her house.

It did beg the question of where she ought to go and she bit her lip, contemplating her options. Diagon alley was out, so was Ron and Hermione’s place and of course Harry’s, Neville might let her hide out at his place but he’d just gotten in new mandrakes and she didn’t fancy wearing mufflers in the hot summer weather. She could go to the quidditch pitch to practice of course for her new team position but that would also likely draw reporters and she just wanted one day of peace and quiet.

The idea hit her quickly, of the last place these reporters were likely to show up to and she nearly wanted to pat herself on the back for thinking it, rushing to grab her bag and the floo powder.

She stood in the fireplace and cleared her throat so she could say very precisely: “The Quibbler.”

Keep reading

#Sanvers and what it’s like to actually see you and your relationship represented, correctly, onscreen

This past Monday night was the first episode of Supergirl since their midseason finale back in November. I’ve only recently started watching the show, so the hiatus felt like this gift I’d been given to catch up on storylines, characters, and, to be totally honest, Alex/Maggie. I know, I know, there are already several articles written about the impact of her coming out / relationship this season, but I’d like to add another. After all, when representation this good comes around, you can’t take it for granted. Who knows when we’ll get something even remotely close to this again?

During this time without the show, I’ve learned a few things. The most obvious one is that I am such actual trash (lovable, gay trash, hopefully) when it comes to Alex and Maggie’s relationship, otherwise known as #Sanvers. I’ve rewatched every single scene they have together and any they have with other characters where they talk about each other. Everything about those moments is memorized, from the words they say down to their body language. I’m constantly checking the #Sanvers / #Alex Danvers #Maggie Sawyer #Supergirl (also #Supercorp – why isn’t that happening yet??) tags on Twitter and Tumblr for any spoilers / insights from fellow fans. There aren’t too many people in my life who I can talk to about this so excitedly with which is why when I found this devoted fanbase on these sites, talking, discussing, deconstructing what this fictional relationship meant, it felt more like finding a community. It was so inspiring reading @sapphicgeek’s tweets about her day at work talking / comforting the girl who came in looking for Supergirl comics. It was equally frustrating and refreshing reading about the story of @hajabeg on the flight where they encountered a hugely bigoted person and wonderfully supportive people all within a few hours. I loved that people made gif sets showcasing Maggie’s adorable dimples or the way she cocks her head to the side or the photos of Alex overlaid with text teasing how poorly she tries to hide her “gay” or the puppy-like way she holds the door open for Maggie in 2x09’s “Supergirl Lives”, ready to apologize to the girl she loves, I mean, likes. 

What I appreciated most, though, was reading how many lives this relationship, this show, and these characters have touched, which led me to think about how it had impacted my own. Here I was, with practically a quarter century’s worth of life experience under my belt, semi-obsessively watching and rewatching scenes from a show I hadn’t even seen all the episodes of yet (as a note of reference, this also happened several months ago when I found out about the pairing of Waverly / Nicole on Syfy’s Wynona Earp otherwise known as #WayHaught, last summer with SoSo / Poussey on Orange is the New Black, of course Lexa / Clarke on The 100, Elena on One Day at a Time, Carmen / Shane on The L Word, and Root / Shaw on Person of Interest). Why?

So much of my answer came from finally being at a place in my life where I felt happy with who I was. I finally “got me” as Alex said to Maggie in 2x08’s “Medusa”. My coming out process wasn’t of my own choosing, and it’s taken me a long time to feel proud of who I am. My parents found out that I had feelings for my now-girlfriend and confronted me about them on the phone while we were hundreds of miles apart. They were furious, but there was a reason I hadn’t told them yet. I wanted to do this on my terms, I wanted to figure out who I was, work through the other problems in my life, in hopes of not getting the reaction I ended up eliciting.

I mean, earlier that year was the first time I had even started seriously confronting the fact that I was attracted to and liked girls. There were so many signs, hundreds, thousands of them from my life growing up that became clearer but I wasn’t thinking of those yet. No, what pushed me towards this realization was my burgeoning friendship with this girl. There was always some curiosity about her on my part, something that drew me in, made me kind of afraid of her, in a way, before, but when we started talking, getting to know each other, building our relationship, that’s when everything started unraveling. I couldn’t stop myself, or the feelings, any longer, which meant I also couldn’t stop the dismantling of the dam that kept my problems stocked inside. 

So when I decided to fully recognize that I had feelings for this girl, I also had to confront a whole host of problems that included, but were not limited to, an eating disorder, depression, anxiety, insecurity, and years upon years of shame and guilt for not being who I thought I was supposed to be. For disappointing my parents, my family, my culture more than I already had. For being such a failure in every aspect of my life.

After that came a long summer, and subsequent semester, where I tried to find the pieces of who I was amongst the destruction of this person I tried to be for the last, almost twenty-two years. I shaved away a lot of who people thought I was, including me, in the hopes that who I’d be left with would be my true self. I thought it’d be easy to do this after being forcibly shoved out of the closet. I thought I’d feel this great weight lift off of my chest, but instead there was months of guilt and carnage to deal with. I struggled with a lot of internalized homophobia, prejudice, initially coming out as bisexual because I was afraid of what it meant to be a lesbian, of disappointing my parents further. When Alex told Maggie that she’d tried dating men in the past as she first comes out, in 2x05’s “Crossfire”, I felt her with every word she could and couldn’t bring herself to say. I’d dated a bunch, myself, but in every relationship, there was something missing. Something wasn’t there. Something had to be forced. The intimacy was never authentic, just like Alex, and I always felt some sort of emptiness from pushing down those feelings and thoughts and dreams I’d had.

Because of all this, I saw Alex’s story as something of my own. While we were in different stages of our lives, her character nearing her 30s, me just entering my 20s, we were both adults who were supposed to have at least figured things out a little bit. Friends of mine were engaged, some married, others pregnant. What was I doing? Where was I going? I felt as if my life was just beginning when I, almost a year later, was able to say aloud, with pride, that I was gay, a lesbian. Being in this relationship with my girlfriend, living out who I was, changed the clarity with which I saw the world.

To draw on another epic speech on television, Dr. Erica Hahn’s realization that she was gay after she slept with Dr. Callie Torres on Grey’s Anatomy for the first time rung in my head as well:

“When I was a kid, I would get these headaches, and I went to the doctor, and they said that I needed glasses. I get the glasses, and I put them on, and I’m in the car on the way home, and suddenly I yell. Because the big green blobs that I had been staring at my whole life, they weren’t big green blobs. They were leaves on trees. And I didn’t even know I was missing the leaves. I didn’t even know that leaves existed, and then…leaves! You, [Callie Torres] are glasses.”

Unlike on Grey’s, though, what Supergirl gets and showcases is the uncertainty of where you go from there. I wasn’t a teenager anymore. I was on my own, living in a new city, working a new job, surrounded by people who had their lives figured out years prior, and yet, I just felt like such a kid again, as did Alex. Everything was heightened, the world’s color seemed to glow. 

When Alex decided, at the suggestion of Maggie, that it was time to come out to Kara in 2x06’s “Changing”, I was touched by everything from the words semi-tumbling out of her mouth to the way her face expressed every emotion from “oh fuck, how do I do this?” to “fuck, is she disappointed in me?”. Watching her semi-panic in front of Kara, afraid that she’d lost the person she was closest to, afraid that she’d done something wrong by simply being her, it pulled on the strings in my heart. Listening as Kara comforts Alex, reiterating how while their situations are different, she understands and Alex does not have to go through this alone because she isn’t, it was something out of a dream I wished for everyone going through something like this. When I saw Alex tearfully explain why she likes Maggie, “I uh, I just like her so much you know she’s smart and she’s tough and she’s just… beautiful, she’s so beautiful”, it brought me to tears as well. How fucking crazy is this? The world is literally burning to pieces around me, but this, this show is creating something so vivid and real. They are creating so much more than art and entertainment, they are creating hope and inspiration and a new reality within this world of Supergirl.

Alex struggled afterwards, first dealing with a rejection after putting herself so far out there, then trying to explain her heartbreak to the person who crushed her, proceeding to rebuild that relationship, coming out to her mom, and then starting this beautiful romance with Maggie. And I watched each moment, so rarely explored, with baited breath. A relationship and dynamic that’s never told. Layers never seen. People talk about representation all the time now, but it could never be overstated just how important it is for people to see themselves in strong, empowered, independent women like them, finding love with each other so organically and honestly.

Maybe if I had seen a show like this years prior, things would have turned out differently, I’m not sure, but what I do know is that thanks to Alex and Maggie, thanks to the fantastic writers on Supergirl, there are millions of people watching a character finally come into her own. There are people seeing what love looks like outside of the boundaries and norms they’re used to seeing. There are people who look to this couple with hope that it means opening a door of new w|w relationships on television like this one. There are people, like me, who revel in the scenes on YouTube, because it reminds us of ourselves, and gives us hope that happiness so pure but so raw and flawed yet, somehow, perfectly imperfect, is out there. It gives us, or at least me, so much happiness to see myself on screen, to see my relationship explored without being over sexualized, without being stereotyped (or killed off).

As I continue to watch everything unfold, I will undoubtedly laugh, cry, and feel so deeply for a couple so closely intertwined with myself. And then I’ll get on Twitter / Tumblr / YouTube, and feel everything over and over again with everyone around the world as we rejoice in a show that finally gets us right.

Thank you. To the creators, writers, crew, actors, and everyone who works on Supergirl for this. For everything you’re doing with these characters. I can’t say that enough.

So, I realized there’s almost no old people in the Shadowhunters Universe. Nobody seems to have grandparents and I think that is just sad.

And then Lightwood Grandparents headcanons hit me. I am not sorry.

  • Grandma Lightwood spoiled Alec rotten when his parents brought him to visit. He was her first grandson, her perfect little boy, who liked to sit in the kitchen while she baked him cupcakes.
  • Grandma Lightwood loved him the most and defended him from Maryse and Robert’s stern looks. She loved Izzy and Max too, of course. But Alec was the one who got an extra piece of lasagna on Sundays.
  • Grandma Lightwood always asked him about his life and remembered all his little interests. She collected articles about whatever Alec was into as he grew up and she hand-sewed a case for his first bow.
  • So when Alec came out, he received a call from her a few days later. He answered right away, after all, it was grandma.
  • And it broke his heart, because she was crying and asking how could he have tricked her all these years.
  • It was hard for Alec to see the way his parents looked at him. But it destroyed him to listen to his grandmother asking him never to go see her again. To hear her saying she lost two grandsons in the same year.
  • A couple of weeks later, Alec received another call from his grandparent’s house. He did not answer it, but his phone kept buzzing.
  • He still didn’t answer.
  • Magnus had to convince him that it would be ok. So, when the phone buzzed again, Alec answered.
  • It was his grandfather.
  • Now. Grandpa Lightwood was never too affectionate. He never liked kids. He was rude and stern, and he barely spoke to his grandchildren. Whenever they visited, he stayed in the garden, tending to his plants. He scowled Izzy when she tried to pick any of his flowers and terrified Max with his angry glares.
  • He greeted Alec in the same way he always did. “Good afternoon.”
  • Alec was used to have polite conversations with his grandfather. Sometimes, he’d ask for a practical favor, for him to come and get rid of some minor demon that had been bugging their house for a while.
  • So, when his grandfather asked him to come and kill some minor demon, Alec didn’t make much of it.
  • But grandfather stopped for a second, breathed in and said. “Bring your warlock friend too. My flowers are sick and I need a magical solution”.
  • And so they went. Killing the demon was easy and Magnus was able to get rid of what was bothering the plants in seconds. Grandpa Lightwood thanked them. Offered them a glass of water and sent them their way.
  • Just like he always did.
  • And it was like that for years. Whenever Alec’s phone with his grandparent’s number, it was always his grandfather in need of a quick demon kill, or for someone to fix the house somehow. Grandma was never there when Alec went to answer the call, and he’d refused the glass of water, before coming back home.
  • Years later, Alec was already living with Magnus and they had Max and Rafael to take care. Being the Head of the Institute, he had no time to worry about such irreversible things.
  • So, when Izzy asked him if he was going, and Alec answered “going where?” and saw the realization and anger coloring his sister’s face, he was just mildly upset. “Grandmother is hosting a big family lunch on Sunday,” his sister told him in between clenched teeth, “I’m not going if you’re not going.”
  • “You have to go, Izzy. They are old and won’t be with us for much longer.”
  • Alec didn’t mean to rant about that to Magnus when he got home, after convincing his sister she had to go. He didn’t mind not being invited. They even had plans for that Sunday, so they wouldn’t make to the family lunch anyway. He had his own family lunch.
  • But rant he did. And Magnus was not happy in the least when Alec was finished. He said nothing, though, and comforted his husband the best way he could.
  • So, on Sunday, they got the boys ready and Alec was assembling the picnic basket while Magnus took his sweet time doing his face. He wore his best clothes, his most expensive makeup. Alec was at the verge of yelling at him when Magnus walked out their bedroom looking fabulous.
  • “Not fretting, Alexander. We can use a portal.”
  • However, when they walked out of the portal they were not at the Central Park. They were standing inside of Lightwood Grandparent’s house.
  • Alec was ready to turn back and walk away. His entire family was there, looking at him with mixed expressions of surprise, offense and amusement.
  • But Max, who had been restless the entire morning, escaped from Alec’s arms and ran straight to Maryse’s. His little horns were growing and he wanted to show his grandma what a big boy he was.
  • Rafael - who was hiding behind Alec’s leg, since he wasn’t used to so many people - followed his brother at once. He had gotten his first scar from training, and he wanted to show off too.
  • Grandpa Lightwood stood up and started slowly assembling a small table. Alec recognized it as the kid’s table, the one he used to sit with his siblings while the adults ate at the grand table.
  • And Grandpa Lightwood shot an annoyed look at his oldest grandson and said. “Are you going to help an old man or are you going to just stand there?”
  • So Alec helped him and Magnus made two other seats for his husband and him. Grandma Lightwood didn’t say a word during the entire meal.
  • Once lunch was over and Alec went to fetch the boys, who have both disappeared with Izzy and Jace to take a tour around the house, he found his sons at the kitchen, their little legs bouncing without touching the floor as they talked excitedly to each other.
  • Alec called for them, telling them to get ready to leave, but when he entered the kitchen, he saw that they weren’t alone. Grandma Lightwood was getting the cupcakes out of the oven and she frowned at him.
  • “The boys haven’t had their dessert yet,” she said seriously
  • Alec tried to tell her they had eaten too much already, but Grandma Lightwood raised a hand and shut him up. “Then you’d better bring them here tomorrow. So they can have their dessert.”
  • And so they did. Once very month, for as long as Great-Grandma Lightwood lived.
Spark (M)

A/n: Finally it has come out! I bet ya’ll were waiting for this fic! This is also just a rewritten fic. I hope you guys will like it! >.

Pairing: Yoongi x reader

Summary: Romance blooms between an introverted artist and a young girl going through a lot of emotional things they both have never dealt with before.

Genre: Angst/Fluff/Smut

Word count: 4946

He could feel the warmth of the summer winds they had given off. Each hour they were getting cooler as the night began to creep up. He liked the way the sky had looked, the sun halfway down with the pink and orange pigments surrounding it. He smooths out his canvas as he began to focus on the sunset, then using light quick strokes with his paintbrush as he paints the scenery in front of him.

He stopped midway through the painting and blankly stares at the details, his fingers stroking the picture in an up and down motion while the paint stains them. Looking up to the sunset that was once his muse, he throws the canvas and his papers towards the trashcan. He sighs in frustration, this was probably his thirtieth time today trying to find inspiration, something he couldn’t find that would spark the genius artist inside of him.

The thought of not being able to etch his creativity made him panic a bit. There was going to be a grand opening at this museum and he was one of the first artists to be featured. He quickly gets up out of his seat, carrying his stuff in his arms, but as he turns around he bumps into a stranger. The both of them falling onto the ground, papers flying while his art tools were placed everywhere.

“I’m so sorry,” he blurts, trying to apologize to the stranger by bowing at a ninety degree angle.

“It’s fine, I should be the one to say sorry,” you replied, getting down on your knees as you began to pick up his things while he just stood there, mesmerized by your presence, your aura. He was struck by your complexion, your movements. You were the epitome of purity, grace and beauty. The way your skin would glow with no effort, the warm winds blowing through your shiny, silky hair. You were ethereal and he needed to paint you.

Keep reading

Can’t Stop Won’t Stop

@monstacookieshere’s that other fic rec list I promised I would make for you because you are lovely and wonderful and gorgeous and i’m so happy we discovered each other. Happy reading. 


1.  Of Superheroes and Super Tantrums by starspangledsprocket 

After Steve makes a bad call on a mission, Tony and Bucky are de-aged into three year olds. It goes about as well as can be expected.

Super cute, super fluffy. 

2. And You Needed Someone To Show You The Way by sailorchibi

Tony knows what the team really thinks of him. It’s a delicate balance: they tolerate him because of his money and his toys, and he gets to stay on the team and fight with them. He’s okay with that. So long as he hides the fact that Steve’s and Bucky’s names are written on his skin in the most embarrassing act of one-sided love affection ever, everything will be fine.It just figures that a fantastically stupid villain, a kidnapping plot and a video camera will bring Tony’s well-kept secret out into the open.  

Heavy on the feels. Sorry. 

4. It’s Not An Epic Romance (it’s a love affair) by ErisDea

They come together at the worst possible time.

(And to be fair, the writing on his back and her unmarred skin literally promises that they will never have the romance of the century.)

There is so much threesome porn my head spun a little. But it’s also pretty fucking cute even though it’s kind of hate-fucking and competition for a while. 


5. Salami by L1av

Everyone hears stories about the idiots who have to go to the ER to get random objects removed from their asses. If someone told Bucky he’d be spending his weekend in the hospital for one of the most embarrassing occurrences of his life, he’d probably laugh in their face and tell them to go fuck off. But here he is, in the ER with eleven inches of packaged, cold salami stuck up his ass. To make matters worse, his nurse is really hot. Really hot.

Join Bucky for one of the most awkward and yet comical experiences of his life that leads to self-discovery, trust and maybe even love.

I laughed so much reading this, not as cringe-y as I thought it would be (going to the ER because you’ve got salami stuck up your ass sounds mortifying) and I honestly think more people need to read this because it’s amazing. 

6. Bucky Barnes Has His Shit Together (and Other Lies He Tells Himself) by betty days (sadrobots) ***

You’d think a guy who owns one of the most successful bakeries in Brooklyn, has a million-dollar smile and that antiquated good ol’ boy charm, blond hair and blue eyes and biceps for days, would know what’s what.

But don’t let that fool you: Steve Rogers is a mess


7. Critical Feline Mass by Kryptaria, rayvanfox ***

Adjusting to civilian life is hard for any military veteran — especially for one ex-sniper with a cybernetic arm, a classic Harley, and friends who keep trying to ‘help.’ When Sam Wilson at the VA sends Sergeant Barnes to rent a room from the hottest guy in the DC area, Bucky thinks maybe civilian life is worth it after all. And then he finds out Captain Rogers is everything Bucky’s not: a real hero, a Medal of Honor recipient, and an all-around nice guy. Bucky doesn’t have a chance in hell with him.

Sam was a huge help to Steve Rogers when he left the military. In the spirit of ‘pay it forward,’ Steve decides to rent out his basement room to a vet in need. But when Sergeant Barnes shows up on his doorstep, he knows he’s in for a world of trouble. Barnes is exactly what Steve never knew he wanted, from his bedroom eyes to his wicked innuendos. And he’s Steve’s tenant.

A love story in twelve chapters, including two Harley-Davidsons, a guardian angel, multiple snipers, the only woman who can scare them into behaving themselves, spontaneous kittens, and one attacking sheep.

Bucky’s makeup and dressing habits actually break Steve’s brain. It’s adorable. 

8. Itsy Bitsy Yoga by wearing_tearing

Bucky teaches a Parent & Toddler Yoga class. Steve and his two year old son are his students.

The absolute cutest shit. Steve’s kid adores Bucky. 

9. The Art of Standing by eadunne2

Steve and Bucky have perfect chemistry from their very first scene, and it leaves them both wanting more. But they’ve both learned the dangers of wanting, and for people that practice good communication so regularly, they kind of suck at it.

So they’ll fuck and tease and talk dirty and even dance. They just can’t kiss

Why yes, I’d love a BDSM fic with fluff and feels. 

10. Click Here to Read Full Article by thecommodore_squid***

“You’re losing public favor at a dramatic rate.”


Fury glared. “Fortunately, I am smart enough for the both of us and have created a narrow pathway of recovery. This option has a little bit of opportunity-cost, but I’m eighty-three percent sure that it’ll be worth it and it’ll work in the long run.” Nick paused, then amended, “Eighty-two percent.”

Steve and Bucky are famous and pretend boyfriends until the moment they’re not. 

11. Lights, Camera, Action by AustinB***

Steve gets a job as costume designer under Nick Fury for Shield Studios, where he meets movie star Bucky Barnes, and it all unravels from there.

Pining. So much pining and adorableness on set. 

12. Run Your Fingers Through The Knots of My Soul by caelestys

Sometimes Bucky thinks it would be really cute to meet someone in a coffee shop, like in those silly romantic comedies Clint makes him watch. But there is a reason why meet cutes in cafes don’t happen in real life, and it’s because customers suck. And besides, love fades. But coffee? Coffee is forever.

This is a story about love and life–and coffee, which Bucky would’ve argued was probably more important than either of the first. But that was before Steve Rogers came along. 

A nice steady burn. Everything’s on fire. This is fine. 

13. Never Say I Don’t Get You Anything Nice by TheMeaningofHaste

“Buck up soldier, it’s time to get you laid for the disabled kids of America!"Steve groaned, wishing he had taken Tony up on his earlier drink offer. "There will be no getting laid,” he grumbled, his voice hushed in case someone might hear. “This is a charity dating auction, not a prostitution ring!"Peggy smirked at him through the mirror. "Don’t say that before you see who wins you,” she teased with a wink. “You might get lucky and land a fella who’s crazy about you.”

Saccharine sweetness. Seriously. I have a cavity. 


14. Hard Time Forgiving, Even Harder Forgetting by lunacanislupus_22

It takes walking down a crowded street in Brooklyn hours later to realise what the emotion is. He’s passing a small child with its mother, smacking their small hands demandingly against the glass of an icecream shop. The child’s eyes are wet with tears. He shies away from it. Particularly sensitive to the sound of children screaming. It’s only after he’s out of hearing that his head clears enough for him to realise. What he’s been feeling around Steve.


Even when Bucky doesn’t know himself, he takes care of Steve. FUCK. I’M NOT CRYING UR CRYING. 

15. Got Me Going Crazy by FawkesFlame123

“Do you have any idea what you do to me, Stevie?” Bucky growled, his voice deep and husky, straddling Steve’s hips, pushing him down onto the sofa, pinning his arms above his head. “Bucky, what is – oh,” Steve frowned, then, thankful that this was Bucky, not a lapse into the Winter Soldier, and he smiled cheekily, “no.”“God, baby doll,” Bucky growled in Steve’s ear, rolling his hips against Steve’s, so that he could feel just how hard he was for him, “you’re so perfect, fuck, gettin’ me all hot and bothered. Do you even know what you’re doin’ half the time?” Steve arched his back instinctively and melted in Bucky’s touch, in his voice, in the lips that were mouthing along his jaw, nipping lightly at firm skin, making him whine, before, “I’m not doin’ anythin’.”Bucky tightened his grip on Steve’s wrists above his head, rolling his hips again, grinding down on the blond, both of them straining in the restrictions of their clothes, “oh, yeah, then what’s caused this?”

Basically, the one in which Steve is an oblivious sweetheart and Bucky doesn’t know how to deal with that.

Ah, yes, some lovely porn. It’s stupid how much Bucky adores Steve. Fuck me up. 

16. Nothing’s as Sweet as Supersoldiers in Love by heartsdesire456

Informally titled: Bucky Barnes Loves The 21st Century Almost As Much As He Loves Steve Rogers

“Captain America’s mystery lover! That’s what everybody’s talking about.”Bucky turned around as soon as he heard ‘Captain America’, only to see Tony had on some entertainment news report and his latest photo of sleeping Steve was flashed up on the screen beside the person talking. “Hey, what’s that?” he asked, hopping over the back of the couch to land beside Stark.“Your Cap lovin’ gone viral, I guess,” Tony said, turning up the volume.“Rumors spread like wildfire with the first photo of Steve Rogers, Captain America himself, was posted to a comically named Instagram called ‘GodBlessAmerica36’.”

Bucky is that boyfriend. 

17. Super Soldier Drug Reactions and Other Engineering Failures by AgressiveWhenStartled 

Beside Natasha, Steve’s phone buzzed facedown on the table. After the last text, he’d hastily flipped the screen over and stared straight ahead like he’d been caught talking in church. Clint nudged him with his elbow. “Better check that,” he murmured. “Could be important.” Everyone at the table pretended they weren’t looking as Steve hesitantly turned his phone over, blushed so hard his ears looked like they’d been boiled, and slapped it back down again.

Covert missions. Stupid guy is stupid. Nick Fury is so done. 

18. Never Someone Else by Kellyscams

Prompt: ok. sub!bucky post catws, D/s universe where bucky is learning to be steve’s sub again. ((with clarification from prompter: Steve was Bucky’s Dom in a D/s world before the war and before the fall. PostWS Bucky is now recovering and learning to be Steve’s sub again))

KELLYSCAMS IS AMAZING OH MY GOD. Read everything they write. Everything. Set yourself on fire. It will hurt less. 

19. Redefinition by manisseta

They took their time to talk about it, both at home and at increasingly surprising places, like that time Steve had asked Bucky, “But would you want me to tie your feet as well or only your hands?” on a rooftop during a recon mission in Finland, and Nick Fury had gently scolded through the comms, “Gentlemen, surely there’s a better time to discuss that?”

I’m always a slut for Stucky nonchalantly discussing shit on missions. 

20. There is a Church Where They Whisper Your Name by bazanite

What you want and what you know to be true are battling up against each other like animals, tusks locked, breathing heavy into the twilight.

I’m not normally into Second Person but this one is perfect. 10/10. 

21. Persistence of Memory by hollimichele

It’s a nondescript sort of a Wednesday morning when the Winter Soldier walks into SHIELD headquarters, bold as brass, and announces his intention to surrender.

This is honestly one of my favorite fics and I’ve read it about 500 times. 

22. Steve Rogers Versus The Classics by thecommodore_squid

Steve narrowed his eyes. “I’m beginning to suspect I’ve been set up.” “I would never,” Natasha said, feigning shock. Steve sighed.“God fucking dammit,” he heard someone say and looked up.

An AU in which Steve is still Captain America and Bucky is the unfortunate history professor selected to help him understand those references.

Quickly becoming a favorite of mine, simply for the way this person writes Steve’s struggle with the 21st century and how some poop culture would affect him. 

23. Young Heart, Out Our Minds by junko

Bucky posts a selfie of the two of them in bed to his instagram. He hashtags it #goodmorningamerica. Sam Wilson and Pepper Potts retweet it to their twitter accounts.

Steve and Bucky acting like the young men they never got to be. 

24. Shyest by biblionerd07

SHIELD discovers that HYDRA took a DNA sample from Captain America and a DNA sample from the Winter Soldier and tried to breed a perfect supersoldier. Steve and Bucky suddenly find themselves the parents of a three-year-old boy who won’t speak.

The cutest kid fic ever. No mpreg (not that I have anything against it, it’s just nice to see an alternate version of these two meatballs having a kid that is genetically theirs) but IT’S SUPER SWEET AND ADORABLE. 

25. Just Hold Me by shanology

Bucky Barnes is living in Avengers Tower, and all he wants in the world is to be cuddled. He sets out to get his new friends to give him the snuggling he needs, because it’s not something he can ask of Steve yet. Steve doesn’t see it in quite the same way. Also, there are Avengers movie nights, possibly with a showing of The Covenant. Just saying.

These two idiots I stg. 

26. My Soul to Keep by hitlikehammers

They’ve had more second chances than anyone has a right to. They’ve survived the unthinkable, and emerged not only breathing, but together. So they don’t risk it; they don’t play games with fate. Every night, they lay everything out: the good, and the bad. The life-altering and the mundane. The bad haircuts and the shitty cologne. Every night before they go to bed, they make damn sure nothing’s left unsaid between them.

Just in case.

I really like this idea of complete opens with ones partner, just laying it all out on the table every night. 

27. Dream of Caramel by gwyneth rhys (gwyneth)

But none of that explains why right now Clint’s pants are literally on fire and Barnes is pitching an entire five-pound bag of pastry flour straight at Clint’s crotch with his metal arm.

Clint’s POV is what I live for. Super cute. Bucky and Steve are such oblivious idiots, but Clint and Natasha love them anyway. 

28. It’s Always Been You, Stevie by FawkesFlame123

Bucky smirked, his blue eyes light in the evening darkness, his short, dark hair lighting up whenever the streetlights fell upon them, “told ya, punk. Now, spill.” “This really isn’t the time to – “Steve, fuckin’ tell me,” Bucky demanded, cupping Steve’s face now, all humour gone, replaced by worry and fear, “what’s wrong?” “I’veneverhadsexbefore!” Steve said, all in one go and managed to slip out of Bucky’s hold, as he went slack, just staring at him. “There, are you happy?” Steve huffed, his voice was shaking, eyes wide and fearful, worried that Bucky would turn and run, “that’s what’s been botherin’ me. ‘Cause, I-I, you know what, forget it.”

What better way to end this list than with a Virgin!Steve fic? 

One Wild Ride

The much anticipated band au (seriously, you guys are the best) that I’m still not sure if I intended for it to be serious or a crackfic. Five chapters in total but that’s just the tentative layout for it that I’ve got working so it might be more or less but let’s just go with 5 for now. Special thanks to Rhiannon for reading it through and listening to me go on and on about this universe for the past few weeks (months? idek)

Also, I’m trying my hand at a new style of writing- sort of like an article/ journalism vibe- so I hope it’s not too bad

Chapter 1

Breaking News: Lily Evans and James Potter are not so secretly snogging. The internet is losing its shit.

Welcome ladies, gentlemen, and non-binary folk to what is the first of a five part exposé on the two biggest names in all of music right now: The Marauders and Lily Evans. One is boy band group that’s achieved One Direction like fame in the past few years, and the other is an immensely talented singer/songwriter who’s poised to take over the world one day. But now, on the eve of their respective world tours (the Marauders kick it off in Paris in one week, while Evans starts off in New York a few days later), we here at TIME feel it’s time to remind you all just how it all started and where they came from. From the nitty gritty beginnings- the broken friendships, nasty rumours and tears of all kinds- to the happy endings, I’m here to dig in deep. So buckle up kids, this is going to be one wild ride.

But first I guess I have to rewind a little to say, oh, about almost eight years ago.

Keep reading

“World Without Ghosts”

(An essay by Chinese sociologist Fei Xiaotong, written around 1943 or 44)

Accepting an invitation from the University of Chicago, I went there to work on my book “Earthbound China.” After I arrived, a secretary showed me to room 502 on the fifth floor of the Social Sciences Building and asked politely if it would do for an office. When I noticed the name “Robert Park” in the brass card-holder on the door, the alert secretary hurried to say, “I was waiting until you decided before putting your name up.”

“Don’t change the name. I like that one,” I told her. But she could hardly have understood why.

Robert Park had been my teacher. He came to Yenching University [in Peking in 1932] when I was an undergraduate there. Though I was just an ignorant student, I absolutely worshipped him—except for the old man’s perverse insistence on teach­ing at 7 a.m. and never missing a class or even coming late, which meant I had to skip breakfast to get there on time. For better or worse, his course determined the direc­tion my life has taken in the ten-odd years since, and to him should go the credit or the blame. The founding father of the Chicago school of sociology, he maintained that sociology should take as its subject understanding human nature. Perhaps I liked him because he wanted me to read novels and not sociology textbooks. More than reading novels, he urged going and personally experiencing different kinds of life. Ten years later I still follow this teaching. On this trip to the United States, I had hoped to go hear his classes again. But I was busy with other things, and it was half a year before I got to Chicago, and the old professor had already gone south to escape the Chicago cold. And so it happened that I was put in his office.

This arrangement, whether accidental or not, was full of meaning for me. I had been an unremarkable student in Professor Park’s class, a matter for some regret, and ten years later, though still without achievements, I remained eager for a word of praise from the teacher. I was secretly happy that, sitting in the chair he had used, I would surely absorb something of his spirit, and hoped to write a book that would compensate for my earlier failure to be worthy of the pains he had taken in rising so early all those mornings to teach us. There is here a sort of historical causal connection: because of a past memory the present takes on a significance greater than anything in the current situation. My strong desire to have the name left on the door arose out of a need for concrete, living, moving history. I felt that if the nameplate, the old books lining the walls, even the air in the room were not disturbed, then, surrounded by this lingering past, perhaps in a few months I would see a draft of “Earthbound China” on the table. But if these were disturbed, all might be lost.

This, in fact, is the “tradition” of which I have written in an earlier article. Tradi­tion need not be an obstacle to innovation. True, it has its bad side. When old peo­ple, with the various privileges and respect that have been accorded them in the past, prevent any change in the status quo, that is a bad aspect of tradition. But it is also undeniable that everything new is born out of that which is old. These ties of kinship should not be obliterated, and recognizing them gives to the connection between old and new the significance of succession and continuity. If we can develop this kind of feeling for history, I believe the world and mankind will be richer. When we go on a trip into the country, we can enjoy the scenery merely as a present phe­nomenon; if we have left there earlier memories worth recalling, this can bring on a pleasant nostalgia; and if this is a historical site, our feelings arc further enriched because of what others did there. People do not live only in the here and now; life is not just a string of moments. We need history, for it is a wellspring of inspiration. When we take tradition in this way, that is another aspect of it.

Sometimes I think the world is very strange. We in the Orient accept tradition, but what we seize on is its bad side. The West seems to want to disregard it, with the result that the good side is lost too.

Of course, it is not entirely true that Westerners purposely disregard tradition. For the most part, they all know much more about the history of their own coun­try than I do. Every child who goes to New York has to go gaze at the huge Statue of Liberty and then on the way back visit the church that George Washington fre­quented. In Washington, D.C., there are the hundred-foot-tall Washington Monument, the Lincoln Memorial, and now the Jefferson Memorial. Buildings just a few hundred years old are preserved as historical monuments. On a personal level, Americans keep diaries and write autobiographies. I have elsewhere described how on Thanksgiving the year before last my host brought out a big pile of his fathers diaries. At Professor Redficlds house, Mrs. Park especially wanted me to see the pictures of Redfield ancestors in a corner of the living room. On Professor Ogburns staircase wall were neatly lined up generation after generation of ances­tor portraits. Perhaps because at a dinner party I had once expressed the view that Americans lack any feeling for history, all the friends I came into contact with were particularly anxious to correct my misapprehension by showing me their concern for their ancestors. All this is true, but still I feel their regard for tradition is to a greater or lesser extent conscious, intellectual, and artificial. It is not the same as ours. The reason I feel this way is that I have found Americans do not have ghosts.

When tradition is concrete, when it is a part of life, sacred, something to be feared and loved, then it takes the form of ghosts. This is equivalent to the state­ment by Durkheim that God is the representation of social cohesion. As I write this, I feel in my heart that Chinese culture in its essence is rather beautiful. To be able to live in a world that has ghosts is fortunate. Here let me relate some personal experiences.

When I was a boy, because the family was in decline … we lived in a big old building of which at least half was closed off awaiting uncles who seldom came home, and in another part of which were dark rooms that had never seen sun­light. … In these dark and desolate rooms, there were more places for ghosts than for people This environment was already sufficiently frightening, but in addi­tion not a day passed when people did not talk of ghosts to scare or amuse us children I am not exaggerating when I say that to a child like me brought up in a small town, people and ghosts were equally concrete and real….

Because I grew up half in a world of ghosts, I was particularly interested in them. Gradually my fear changed to curiosity and then to attraction, to the point that I even feel a little sorry for people raised in a world without ghosts. The thing that felt most strange to me during almost a year of living in America was that no one told me any stories of ghosts. I do not want to overpraise such a world, but I will admit that children who grow up in it are more comfortable than we and do not have to live with fear in their hearts all day long. But perhaps there is a heavy price for this, a price I would be unwilling to pay.

The beginning of my gradual change in attitude toward ghosts occurred the year my grandmother died. One day not long after her death, I was sitting in the front room looking toward her bedroom. It was almost noon. Normally at that time Grandmother would go to the kitchen to see how the lunch preparations were coming along, soon after which lunch would be served. This had been a familiar sight for me, and after her death the everyday pattern was not changed. Not a table or chair or bed or mat was moved. Every day close to noon I would feel hungry. To my subconscious mind the scene was not complete without Grand­mothers regular daily routine, and so that day I seemed to see her image come out of her bedroom once more and go into the kitchen.

If it was a ghost I saw, it was the first one in my life. At the time I felt nothing unusual, for the scene was so familiar and right. Only a little later when I remem­bered that Grandmother was dead did I feel upset—not frightened, but sad the way one feels at a loss that should not have occurred. I also seemed to realize that a beautiful scene, once it had existed, would always be. The present loss was just a matter of separation in time, and this separation I felt could be overcome. An inex­tinguishable revelation had struck; the universe showed a different structure. In this structure our lives do not just pass through time in such a way that a moment in time or a station in life once past is lost. Life in its creativity changes the absolute nature of time: it makes past into present—no, it melds past, present, and future into one inextinguishable, multilayered scene, a three-dimensional body. This is what ghosts are, and not only did I not fear them, I even began to yearn for them.

I cannot get used to people today who know only the present moment. To take this moment as [the sum of] existence is a delusion. Our every act contains within it all the accumulated history from the beginning of the universe right down to the present, and this every act will determine the destiny of endless future generations. If the present moment, fragmentary, abstract, false, is taken for life, this life will necessarily be shallow and base and even empty—since the moment cannot last, one might as well indulge oneself and revel, for when the instant is gone what is left?

American children hear no stories about ghosts. They spend a dime at the “drugstore” to buy a “Superman” comic book. This “Superman” is an all-knowing, resourceful, omnipotent hero who can overcome any difficulty. Let us leave aside the question of what kind of children this teaching produces; the point worth not­ing here is that Superman is not a ghost. Superman represents actual capabilities or future potential, while ghosts symbolize belief in and reverence for the accumu­lated past. As much as old Mrs. Park, trying to lessen the distance between East and West, might lead me over to the corner of the living room to look at faded photographs, it was the Redfields little boy who showed me the heart of American culture, and it lay in Superman, not ghosts.

How could ghosts gain a foothold in American cities? People move about like the tide, unable to form permanent ties with places, to say nothing of other people. I have written elsewhere of the gap between generations. It is an objective social fact that when children grow up they no longer need parental protection, and the reflection of this in the family is childrens demand for independence. Once when I was chatting at a friends house, his daughter sat with us chain-smoking. The father happened to remark that it was senseless to smoke like that, but she paid no heed and afterwards told me that she was eighteen, it was none of the old mans business, smoking was her own affair. Eighteen is an important age for a girl; after that her parents need not support her, but neither can they tell her what to do.

I also know an old professor whose son teaches in the same university as he but lives apart from him—which might be all right, but he seldom even visits. During the war they could not get a maid and it made my heart sick to see the professors wife, old and doddering, serving a guest coffee with shaking hands.

When I was staying at the Harvard Faculty Club, I noticed sitting at the same table every morning a white-haired old gentleman who lived upstairs and who from his looks was not long for this world. Whenever I saw him I felt outraged. He must have been a famous professor who had educated countless people and worked hard for society. Now old and failing, cast out of the world into this building, with­out relatives even to care for him much less give him pleasure, he might as well have been dead. One day he said softly to the waitress, “I don’t know if I’ll be able to make it down the stairs tomorrow.” Afterwards I asked her where his home was, but she did not know the answer and only shook her head. In America, when children grow up they have their own homes, where their parents are mere guests.

Outside the family there is certainly much social intercourse, but dealings with people are always in terms of appointments. On my office desk is an appointment calendar marked in fifteen-minute intervals with a space for a persons name beside each. Apart from business there are various kinds of gatherings, but if you go to one you will find it is no more than social pleasantries: a few words with this person, a few words with that one—it is hard even to remember their names. I cannot say all Americans pass their lives like this. But I once asked a fairly close acquaintance how many friends he had whom he could drop in on at any time without a previous engagement. Counting on his fingers, he did not fill one hand. In fact, unless they have business or an engagement they spend most of their time at home, where they don’t much like to be disturbed by guests. At any rate, friends warned me not to go barging in on people all the time.

With interpersonal ties like these, naturally they seldom see ghosts after death. Moreover their movements are so easy and they have contacts with so many peo­ple, that there seldom comes about the kind of relationship I had with my grand­mother, living interdependently for a long time, repeating the same scenes, so that these scenes came to seem an inalterable natural order. Always being on the move dilutes the ties between people and dissolves the ghosts.

As to attachments to places, that is another thing that made me uncomfortable in America. Not the beds and mattresses, for I believe there are none more com­fortable than those of the Americans, but the constant moving around that year was the cause of my discomfort. I visited many places, but when I think of them now it seems I went nowhere, for I felt no particular attachment to any place as all were alike, differing only a little in the height of the buildings. The cities are all more or less the same, at least for a traveler: you get off the train and your bags are taken by a black man who everywhere wears the same type of cap (you may not encounter this kind of man, but you will not encounter any other); you take a similar taxi to a similar hotel—no matter what hotel, if you have stayed anywhere once, you will not feel it unfamiliar. The hotel rooms are all comparable, some big­ger and some smaller, but none lacking a bathroom, a cold-water tap, a Simmons mattress, and nice stationery and envelopes. Since it is the same everywhere, you can never take away a particular impression from any hotel.

Hotels are not exceptions; it is basically the same with homes in American cit­ies. Moving house is no more difficult than changing hotels; a phone call is all it takes. Move here, move there—the houses are about the same. In New York I thought of renting a house and visited ten possibilities in succession. In the end I said to the friend who was accompanying me, “Why bother to see each one? Why not draw straws?” Moving here and there dilutes peoples ties with houses.

Whenever I return to my native place, I go to see the house I lived in as a child. I have lots of questions about the tung tree and the loquat tree; the tung tree still has my name carved on it. In London, where people do not move so frequently, I still remember where I lived on Lower Station Road and Ridge Avenue [?]; while I was in the United States I heard that the old buildings there had been bombed, and it made me feel bad for several days. In America, at least for me, no house has yet produced such a feeling.

I cannot get used to the way lights illuminate all the parts of a room either. Liv­ing in such rooms gives you a false sense of confidence that this is all of the world, that there is no more to reality than what appears clearly and brightly before your eyes. I feel the attitude of Westerners toward the unknown is very different from that of Orientals. They think of the unknown as static, waiting for people to mine it like an ore—not only not frightening, but a resource for improving life in the future. They are very self-assured. We Orientals feel some measure of reverence for the unknown; our reverence for fate makes us content with our lot, makes us aware of human limitations, and keeps our eyes fixed on the humanly attainable. I cannot assert that this attitude is ultimately due to the form of the houses we live in as children, but I believe that my own early feelings of uncertainty toward the big kitchen and the back garden and my fright toward the closed-off rooms have still not dissipated, but only expanded into my view of the universe. If many people in traditional China had similar experiences, then these experiences may have deter­mined the basic structure of our traditional attitudes toward people and things.

In a world without ghosts, life is free and easy. American eyes can gaze straight ahead. But still I think they lack something and I do not envy their lives.

M. H. Boroson here. I don’t agree with everything in this piece, but I find it fascinating. I used a passage from it at the opening of The Girl with Ghost Eyes, and I wanted to share the rest of Dr. Fei’s brilliant essay.

anonymous asked:

I once saw an article about the de-masculinization of black men and how black men couldn't succeed in Hollywood without playing a gay man or a drag queen. I've also heard (no source tho, grain of salt and all that) that a black actor once complained that the producers of the film he was in tried to force him to wear drag. What's your opinion on that? Is there an agenda or is just homophobia in the black community? Is this the polar opposite of the hypersexualization problem?

Like, as a black man I understand why so many black people are protective of themselves when it comes to representation. Like for centuries black people have been vilified, disrespected, and mistreated in theater and film and television and due to that, it’s made the world see us as trouble makers. I mean, if you’ve heard of Stepin Fetchin (a character played by Lincoln Andrew) you’ll  probably know that in the 60′s a lot of black people did not like him (or his character) because they believed his character was bringing the race down. There’s actually an interesting play about it called “Fetch Clay, Make Man.” It’s a good read. 

But in modern times, I think its important that black people (especially black men) realize that being over masculine is only hurting ourselves and our community. And it keeps many black actors from taking roles that could raise their profile and shed light on different aspects of Black life (something that our community has been clamoring for.) 

Have you seen the LA Complex? It has a nice story about Kaldrick King and Tariq, two black men who fall in love in LA. Kaldrick is a big time rapper, and Tariq is trying to be a music producer (and the relationship is nice until it becomes abusive, and then I had to stop rooting for Kaldrick…) But the producers said is was very very difficult to find a black man to play Kaldrick and were so happy that they found Andra Fuller. 

I’m not ashamed to say that I am a huge Power Rangers fan, and my favorite ranger of all time is Scott Truman. And when Eka Darville showed up on Spartacus as the love interest for Barca, I started becoming an Eka Darville fanboy. When I read his interview for why he chose the role (because he was offered it and originally was going to refuse it). When he questioned himself as to why, he realized that his refusal was about his own personal hangups with homosexuality. 

It’s really up to each individuals perception. But I always think its important to really sit and ask these questions as to why black men feel a certain way about playing gay, or looking less than hyper masculine. I’m not going to deny that there have been and are people out there who want to make black people look foolish, but we also need to think about whether or not we’re rejecting a role/opportunity because it is insulting to us as human beings, or if its because we’re not comfortable allowing ourselves to be vulnerable. 

I feel like the best way to move forward is to allow black men and black women the ability to be human. There are people who are black AND LGBT. There stories matter. There are black people who aren’t sports superstars. There stories matter. There are black people who have two mothers (or two fathers) and their stories matter. There are black people who are transitioning, or have already transitioned. There stories matter. 

Have an open mind, and if something is really really iffy about a part, or a narrative, then I see no problems with not taking it.  

Full "Stern" Interview with Mario & Marco

Mr. Götze, how was 2011 for Marco Reus?

Mario: Many goals for his club, avoided the descent with Mönchengladbach, matches with our national team. He can go on like this.
Marco: Oh, national team?! But I was injured most of the time. Now I have to be friendly too: Became Champion, on top with Borussia Dortmund. He even showed great performance from time to time. *smiles*

Are you satisfied with this year?

Marco:  You can always improve, and that’s what we want to do. But I'm satisfied with what I have achieved so far, yes. It should not seems like you would rest, because that’s not true. 
Mario: Yeah, you don’t do this. Maybe our fans feel different about it, but for me as a football player the championship is far away. 

Did your status on the pitch changed during this year?

Mario: I always feel that the rivals adapt to me better than before. 

Does defenders still wispers to you that you have only 5 minutes left?

Mario: *laughs* to live?

Until the next injury.

Mario: I’ve never experienced something like that. 
Marco: You won’t be offended with words on the pitch. The actions speaking for themseves. You will get injured or not. 

You both play in clubs with strong footballers but most of the time you were able to convince as a team. At the same time, you guys are known as players who make the difference. How important is a single player in times of modern football? 

Mario: Bacelona is a good example. They got many players with individual quality, but they make everything as a team anyways. I think both is important to be successful. 
Marco: They often talk about a main character. Maybe a single player can decide a game from time to time, but never the whole season. 

What made you two so successful, exept talent and luck?

Marco: Maybe your surprised when we don’t say: I wanted it so bad and I had the will. We had and have it of course too, but mainly it’s the fun we have.

At least that doesn’t sound like the type of footballer like Oliver Kahn.

Mario: Do you mean with Kahn that you always have to torment yourself?
Marco: I stick to it, it’s the fun. That you’re crazy for football and be passionate. 
Mario: Discipline and Disclaimer too, but I totally agree with Marco.
Marco: Mario even plays football down in the basement. 

In the basement?

Mario: We got a little pitch down there, perhaps 4x5 meters in size, with little gates. Me and my brothers play with a little plastic ball, but not as often as in the past.
Marco: although it would be necessary. *smirks widely at Mario*
Mario: I’ve invited Marco to a little match, but he doesn’t dare. *grins back*

So, Reus has a basement training deficit against Götze. Another difference between you is, that Mr. Reus was already at several clubs. 

Marco: I didn’t play in the first year of the B-Jugend at Borussia Dortmund, because the Trainer said he would set the players after their performence and skills.
Mario: That’s why you didn’t play.
Marco: You weren’t even born back this time! *laughs* In those days I already thought that I’m good enough and after a game against Ahlen I asked them if they wanted me, and the Trainer said yes. Basically I tranferred myself. Ahlen made me feel good.


Marco: Because I was finally allowed to play football. It hurts when you’re like 15,16 or 17 years old and you can’t play. That’s like a ban. I didn’t even cared that I played for the third class Ahlen instead of the first class Borussia Dortmund. 

Mr. Reus, you said you have to feel good to bring good performance. What does that mean?

Marco: When I moved to Mönchengladbach at the age of 20, I became part of a very young team, which helped a lot. Than of course the surroundings: family, girlfriend, manager. 

Mr. Götze, you still live with your parents. 

Mario: And it’s the most beautiful place to live. 
Marco: I live alone - and can’t complain. If you will ever move out…
Mario: What surely happens…
Marco: You will like it. And I even know why.
Mario: I love to cook.
Marco: That’s what I’m talking about! *both of them laughing hard*
Mario: No, let’s be serious. I have my family and friends here, so everything is fine.

Do you ever feel like your career went rapidly better and better?

Marco: I’m a late Bloomer compared with Mario.
Mario: I think you have to classify and process. When you’re surrounded by the right people, you can relativize everything.

Do you still have contact with some friends from the past?

Mario: Something changed. There are 2 or 3 friends who still see’s me like who I am. But there are some people too, who only wants to be friends with you because of your career. 
Marco: Those people who “always believed in you”. I know them too.

Do you get warily?

Mario: Yes.
Marco: It’s always difficult to find people you can trust. But that’s not a problem, I have enough good friends. 
Mario: When we are away with the team, we always sleep in expensive hotels and of course we spent a lot more money on clothes than other people at our age. That’s a fact. But we don’t spent all our money for expensive things, we still eat pizza for 7 euros. *laughs*

Do you get begging letters sometimes, like some lottery winners?

Mario: Nobody asked me for money yet. 

Mr. Reus,you watched a game from the tribune a few days ago, because of you toe-injury. You sat next to you girlfriend. (Mario is typing instantly something in his phone) Did you told her how everything runs and she said “ok I’m going to watch this game with you in the stadium, even the cameras filming and and taking photos of me”?

Marco: She is watching every game of my team at the stadium. This time I was injured and sat next to her. Sould I sat down 3 places away from her, or what? *laughs* That would’ve been quite unnatural. 

They wrote in the newspaper that you showed the love of your life.

Marco: She sat next to me in the stadium! After that we went together to the VIP room, but she left after a couple minutes. My family stays there after every game too. I think, you don’t have to overthink everything.

Mario(shows a picture from the newspaper on his smartphone. The photo shows how Marco kisses his girfriend.): “Marco Reus kissed his Caro tenderly on the tribune”. *laughs hard* 
Marco: Completely unnecessary to show that now, completely unnecessary. *smirks at Mario*

Do you feel in everyday life that footballers are role models too?

Mario: It’s not like I feel it every second. I don’t went to the christmas market and drink 5 cups of Glühwein of course, but I wouldn’t do this at home either.

Some professional footballers of Dortmund went to a concert of the politically incorrect and disputed Rapper Bushido. 

Mario: I wasn’t there.
Marco: I went to Söhne Mannheims in Oberhausen, they aren’t politically incorrent, right? 

Could you sing along without being filmed? Celebrities who are went out privately recover themselves on youtube sometimes. 

Marco: Nobody filmed me or recorded me… I think. I didn’t even danced or something like that. *laughs*
Mario: You’re just wearing a hat when you went out, that’s enough. 
Marco: We even play football in towns and live in towns where football is an pretty important thing. I don’t know Berlin that much, but I think football is more significant in Mönchengladbach and Dortmund than there.

We often read that many different clubs offer a lot of money to buy you too. Mr. Reus, the Fc Bayern woos you at the moment. How do you deal with that?

Marco: I’m not so much interested in reports like that. When I show performance and big clubs wanna buy me, I’m happy about it. 
Mario: It’s always great to hear that, of course. But the question is, how serious those articles are.

But of course, the representatives of major European clubs report their consultant Volker Struth and Dirk Hebel.

Marco: Yeah, sure and that’s what I’m a little bit more interested in. But I don’t ask Volker about new inquires every week and he don’t annoy me with it either. 
Mario: We are both pretty happy at our clubs. I don’t think I’ve send any signals that shows that I really wanna leave Borussia Dortmund.
Marco: When the newspapers wrote that Bayern wanted to buy me, something beautiful happened to me. I came to training and over my locker hung a poster with the words “Ulli, keep your money”. 

How would react your teammates when they read that Arsenal wants to pay 40 million euros for Mario? 

Marco: Then he gets spells in the cabin, that’s for sure. Plus some from me. *smirks*

Footballers and trainer always say they wanna focus on the next game. Do you really do that?

Marco: Ask someone from the Bundesliga against whom he will play in 5 weeks, he will need time to consider. 

How do you plan your own career?

Marco: It’s diffecult to really plan something, everything can happen in football. You have to convince every single day, during every training. When I wanna influence my career, theres no other way. I think, I really live for the moment. 
Mario: Me too. Of course I have some goals for the future, but I don’t put myself under pressure. 

And what about private things? Kids, for example, do you want some at the age of 30? 

Mario: Perfect question for Marco.
Marco: Thanks, you’re so kind. It can happen a little bit earlier, but it can wait. 

Mr. Götze, how will 2012 go for Marco Reus?

Mario: If he will marry? At least he will score a lot of goals and give some Assists. 
Marco: And Mario has to stay healthy and show, how good he is. I mean on the pitch, of course. *smirks*

Why I Ship Gay Ships

So a scathing article on the fetishization of gay men by white women stumbled into my feed and I got pissed.

Rather than argue that there is no fetishization, I’m simply going to list a few of the reasons why I ship gay ships. Which - shock, horror - are nothing like what you’re suggesting, and paint a far richer picture than your eagerness to jump on your high horse and ‘burn the hypocrite’ would suggest.

I ship gay ships because I’m sick of reading heterosexual romance with all its sexist stereotypes. Not including the het traits prevalent in yaoi, slash fiction focuses on the relationship between two personalities rather than the reinforcement of two gender roles or, even worse, the attempt at being edgy and feminist by doing nothing more than reversing those gender roles. Slash and Femmeslash - yes, believe it or not we can read both -  as they exist today have been molded by significantly different tropes and practices, and are therefore refreshingly free of those stereotypes that quite simply make me gag.

I ship gay ships because I don’t give a fuck about their gender. I don’t go out in search of a new ship by scrolling to find which two men I can fetishize next. I latch onto chemistry that often happens to be in the form of a bromance. Why is it always a bromance instead of a female friendship? Because female friendships of depth are still underrepresented in pop culture. Maybe you should write an article about that.

This brings me to my next point. Extending a bromance into a romance, to me, is the figurative equivalent of shoving a sword through the “no-homo” attitude that I see far too often. Just like my first point, this is a way of using slash fiction to counter sexism: male sexism. No homo? Full fucking homo. Get over it. I want to see more of it, not because it gets me off, but because it normalizes the natural extension of a male friendship into a gay romance, rather than reinforcing the concept that men should act as homo as they like but then get weirded out when love is brought into the mix.

Finally, slash fiction removes the vicarious appeal, and I like that. This is not the sort of romance that I’m meant to mentally slot myself into and then spend the rest of my life searching for, only to feel hideously incomplete if it doesn’t show. This is a romance experienced by two people who are not me. There is no ‘relateable female protagonist’ who I’m meant to model myself off, which means I am free to appreciate their happiness for them. Do you understand what I’m saying here? Because this is the most powerful point and the one that is most difficult to articulate. Slash fiction teaches me to appreciate the happiness of others, without then hinging my own happiness upon it. It teaches me that there can be just as much joy in playing the role of the Pansy or the Hermione who set up the two dorks, as there is in being the romantic heroine. It teaches me to appreciate the love that other people share without experiencing jealousy or aggression, which teaches me to be relaxed and happy in my own skin, and to value myself by qualities far removed from whether I’m single or taken.

Since you’ve stuck with me to the end, I actually am going to argue against the concept that the fetishization of lesbian porn by men is the same as the love of gay ships by women. It’s not. Women support gay romance in fiction to the same extent that they support it in real life. The issue that can arise with men supporting lesbian porn is that they often don’t also support those relationships as they exist in the real world.

Women read gay romance because it’s liberating. It squashes stereotypes and sexism, and allows us to read a romance that for once in our fucking lives does not require us to be either the damsel or the femme fatale.

We read it because gender and gender roles shouldn’t matter when it comes to romance, and if the only way we can get that is through unpublished, amateur fiction, then maybe you could throw us a goddamn bone and think twice before devaluing the richness that is slash fiction by reducing gay romance to a fetish.

Engaged - Part 1

Woah I wrote a ladybug fic. Also HERE on fanfiction and HERE on ao3

Characters kinda OOC but only because it’s 10 years in the future and they have experienced character growth ok. I’m a sucker for Established Relationship Adrinette and no one can stop me. 


Wedding bells are in the air for two Paris stars!

After months of rumors, unconfirmed sources, and sneaking around, it’s finally official—Marinette Dupain-Cheng and Adrien Agreste are engaged!

The model son of fashion icon Gabriel Agreste, 25, and the designer mogul, 26, have sealed their relationship of seven years with a ring, according to exclusive photos posted by La Vie last Thursday. Cheng was spotted with an estimated 3 carat cushion-cut diamond on her left hand, and boy, all we have to say is this: ABOUT TIME!

The pair started dating following Cheng’s entrance as an intern in 2018 to Jolie magazine, where Agreste was frequently featured. The amateur designer soon became a smash-hit, and took all of France by storm when she launched her own publication, Coccinelle, in 2022. Four years and millions of magazines sold later, no one has their finger on the pulse of Paris like Cheng.  Sources close to the couple say that while being the CEO of a multi-million dollar company has its difficulties, the pair is closer and happier than ever.

Who wouldn’t be, with the size of that rock?

“Adrien is really supportive of the whole thing,” a source tells us, adding that “Her success is his success. He’s so excited to take on the next chapter of their lives together.”

We’re so excited to see what the future holds for Paris’ favorite couple! From all the crew here at Mon Dieu, we wish them all the happiness in the world!

Adieu, cheries!  

Keep reading


Poster from 1999 play by underground writer / director David N. Donihue

Below is a collection of works and hard to find memorabilia taken from 20 years of Donihue’s writing and directing of poems, plays, films and music videos. Below is taken from a series of articles and a couple photos from Donihue’s own private collection.

Donihue was born in rural Eastern Washington and raised near the Green River Killer in Auburn, Washington. He started writing plays that were performed for 45 cents in his back yard and local parks when he was as young as seven. His first film was made when he was eleven, utilizing a rented video camera and two borrowed VCR’s with stereo cables. His father was a pastor. His mother, a well known Christian Devotional author. 

The controversial writer got his first negative reviews at the age of 15, when he was nearly expelled from his conservative town’s high school for writing the below story -

MR. CLOWN (1990, Age 15)

Mr. Clown was a happy clown.
He loved making children happy.
And they were happy and the parents were happy.
And everyone was happy.

Until Mr. Clown realized he could no longer please children.

They wanted to be transformers and deformers and things with no form whatsoever.
And so then the children were unhappy and the parents were unhappy.

Until Mr. Clown decided to blow himself up into many little pieces and then
the children were happy and the parents were happy and Mr. Clown never had to be sad again.

The End.

Donihue handled the rejection of his early art well yet refused to take another writing course again. It should be noted, he was later nominated for a Film Fare Award for his writing on Parzania, the highest honors in India and one of the largest international awards one can receive. The film, was an anti-religious violence piece.

By his mid teens, Donihue was writing feature length plays. During these years, Donihue began to work graveyard shifts at a local college radio station, KGRG-FM, as an overnight DJ.

There, he became obsessed with experimental music and film, and directed a series of student films. These included Anthony’s Apocalypse and Inside Anthony’s World. During this era, at age 18, he wrote Hold My Hand & Tell Me I’m Not Insane, a comedy-drama about a young playwright whose scripts follow his life, yet later dictate it. The play was produced in Seattle with its premiere at the Scottish Rite Hall on Capitol Hill.

During his early twenties, Donihue wrote, directed, acted in and produced a string of independent plays within the northwest including Hey Baby Do Ya Wanna Come Back To My Place and Justify My Existence, and another pop psychology comedy Brain Aches And The Quest For Redemption Of A Telephone Psychic as well as the forty-minute short film Love Me Tender, Pay Me Well.

In 1998 Donihue began performing under the stage name Punko and released an indie album titled The Day Bob Went Electric. The comedicly performed yet earnest album garnered regional radio and Donihue continued to perform the sad and sweet parody like tunes until his final show at sxsw in 2007.


projections (1997)
you expect me to become what you project

my eyes are drifting to the clouds once again

I see the colorless planet and am ashamed

I see the vibrant vivid crashing rain

crashing down with sincerity

why does it take pain to 

transcend us a bit of honesty 

in this day and age

and all of my daydreams come crashing in

singing dum dee da lum dum dum dee lumm dum

and all of your projections threaten to transend

screaming dum de da lum dumand 

all of my daydreams function once again
run in the sunshinelike 

your drift in the daydream light

like that colorless drifting look in your eyes

I’m still the same no matter what you bring to my life

I’m still the same I can drift inside

on account (1997)
on account that your strung out and

there’s no doubt I lost my mind

I’m a tripper & a spinner & I’m stuck on overdrive

I’m a preacher and a seeker 

like watching Jimmy kiss the sky

And all about that day & how you sat me down 

& changed my life

There’s no reason to be seasoned 

if you’ve seen the world flash by

Look at what’s going on

Yet they are strong

He’s my brother like a summer like a daydream whitworth time

He’s a prisoner and I miss him wonder who he’ll be next time

He’s a liver & a giver & I’m sorta trapped inside

Look at what’s going on

Yet they are strong

I’ve seen all the young idealist turn into what they despise

I’ve seen all my daydreams take me right on through this daylight life

I’ve seen people try to heal me just so they could feel alive

Donihue during this era directed the little seen feature The Humanity Experiment.

In 2005, Donihue wrote and produced the first “non-trippy” film of his career, Parzania. It was directed by Rahul Dholakia.

The internationally acclaimed feature was nominated for the eastern hemispheres Oscars, the film fare award for Best Picture and Best Screenplay and Best Story. Leads Sarkia and Naseeruddin took home Best Actor Nominations. The film is considered by many accounts, to be one of the most controversial films in the eastern hemisphere.[8]

The English language thriller, based on the true story of the Gujarat Riots of 2002, was initially banned in India, caused a storm of protests and bomb threats, and later garnered praise from the New York Times, Variety, Indiewire and many others.[9] It was shown in New York as part of the Museum of Modern Arts’ India Now film exhibition.[10] Donihue was nominated for Filmfare Awards for Best Screenplay and Best Story for Parzania. The film won the Screen Gem Award for Best Picture.

While at the same time, he was developing something revolutionary -

In 2010 Donihue’s epic four and a half hour interactive choose your own adventure film The Weathered Underground was released by Indican starring Heroes Brea Grant. The comic book inspired picture went on to become a small cult classic and is now shown as part of curriculum at many of the worlds best film schools. Considered one of the most daring voices to come out of the independent underground film scene, 

in 2014 Donihue directed another socially driven action comedy, The Bang Brokers, which is currently headed for distribution.

Mr. Donihue’s love for music driven short films continues, having recently directed over 30 music videos / short films in the last two years for EDM acts such as Moguai, Mark Sixma, Thomas Gold and EDM legend John Dahlback.

Below is a collection of poems and stills from the music videos from the last two years.

Keep reading

In The Grip – Our Hidden Personality by Naomi L. Quenk Extraverted Sensing Types: ESTP & ESFP

Important Features of Dominant Extraverted Sensing

Extraverted Sensing types typically use their favorite perceiving function in the outside world, focusing it on people, things, and activities. Perhaps more than any other type, they are “in the world” and experience sensory data from the environment purely and directly. As a result they tend to

• Cut to the heart of a situation and implement an effective solution

• Ignore hidden implications, hypotheses, past traditions, and future possibilities

• Demonstrate an economy of effort in whatever they do

• Feel optimistic, not dwelling on problems outside of their control ·

• Accept others as they are and take people and situations at face value

• Have a natural affinity for sensual and aesthetic experience

• Appear shallow in their pursuit of sensual pleasure at times

• Evoke admiration and often envy for their carefree enjoyment of everyday living

Triggers for the Inferior Function

Extraverted Sensing types report the following type-specific factors that are likely to provoke a grip experience:

Excessive focus on the future: Spending a great deal of time with people who are very serious or quite focused on future plans and goals is an effective trigger for the inferior function in ESTPs and ESFPs. In fact, any situation that requires projection into the future and commitment can serve as such a trigger. For some, even committing to things in the near future is unpleasant. “I feel pinned down by commitments,” said an ESFP. “What if I don’t feel like seeing a movie tomorrow?”

Closing off of options: “What if I pick the wrong thing and have to stay with it?” said one ESTP. “If I decide to be a dental technician, I won’t be able to be anything else.” Other Extraverted Sensing types agree that closing off options by making a choice makes them anxious and gloomy. “I’m filled with panic and dread when I am faced with ‘have to-s,’” said an ESFP.

Excessive structured activity: Operating within a set structure that requires conformity to someone else’s schedule may also prove debilitating to Extraverted Sensing types. Lengthy periods in such a school or work environment may lead to the inertia and despondence that often precede an inferior function experience.

Forms of the Grip Experience

Just prior to falling into a grip experience, the dominant function of Extraverted Sensing types may become exaggerated. They may flit from one sense experience to another with no pause to evaluate any of the incoming information.

As this one-sided approach inevitably leads to further failure of their sensing function, they lose their characteristic easy-going, agreeable character. No longer are sensory data accepted at face value. ESTPs and ESFPs may seem to withdraw into themselves, lose contact with their habitual optimism, and appear tired, worried, and withdrawn. As dominant Extraverted Sensing becomes less and less available, inferior Introverted Intuition takes over.

As a reminder of what Introverted Intuition looks like in its adapted, dominant form, Table 12 describes what Introverted Intuition looks like in dominant Introverted Intuitive types as well as in Extraverted Sensing types, for whom it is the inferior function. Notice the difference between conscious (dominant) Introverted Intuition and unconscious (inferior) Introverted Intuition.

 Internal confusion: In the grip of inferior Introverted Intuition, Extraverted Sensing types become confused by unfamiliar inner processes. They have fantasies of impending disasters and dire possibilities-overwhelming fears of fatal illness, forebodings about losing an important relationship, and anxiety about harm coming to a loved one. “I feel like I am being enveloped in a whirling, swirling maelstrom,” said one ESFP. “I get into a spiral filled with frightening possibilities,” said another. Fears of impending psychosis can also haunt Extraverted Sensing types. They may feel overwhelmed by inner possibilities, disturbing images, unfamiliar self-doubt, and loss of connection to their environment.

Inappropriate attribution of meaning: In the grip of inferior Introverted Intuition, an Extraverted Sensing type may - due to lack of experience - internalize random cues from the environment and interpret them as negative possibilities. There may be fear that he or she has done something to jeopardize an intimate relationship. ESTPs and ESFPs in this vulnerable state may uncharacteristically read between the lines and attribute malevolent motives to people.

A simple request may be misinterpreted as a sign of disapproval or disappointment. One ESFP became overwhelmed with the idea that her children would prefer her ex-husband’s new wife to her because she was not a good mother.

She feared that her children would no longer belong to her when they returned from spending time with their stepmother.

Grandiose vision: In its inferior form, the visionary insight of Introverted Intuitives comes out in grandiose, often quite nebulous, cosmic “vision.” Because dwelling on the past or future is unusual for Extraverted Sensing types, their inferior function episodes tend to be brief and rarely acted on.

However, when subjected to an extended period of stress, an ESTP or ESFP may engage in a search for mystical meaning in the form of obsessive interest in unseen forces of cosmic proportions. Events typically given no more than a moment’s thought are imbued with deep significance; theories about the ultimate purpose of life are formulated. Inexperience in such areas makes Extraverted Sensing types appear to others as extremely inappropriate and out of touch with reality.

Ways of Returning to Equilibrium

Extraverted Sensing types report frequent but relatively brief episodes of being in the grip of their inferior function. The frequency of their experiences may be due to society’s demands for regularity and predictability, expectations that are particularly difficult for ESTPs and ESFPs. Their return to equilibrium is aided by making contingency plans to deal with anxiety-provoking situations. Others can be helpful to them by providing realistic reassurances that dire outcomes are unlikely and by helping them set priorities so they will feel less overwhelmed by possibilities. Auxiliary Thinking or Feeling often aids their return to equilibrium. ESTPs may analyze an overwhelming situation and use logic to extricate from it. ESFPs may regain control of a situation when they recognize their own and others’ feeling values.

New Knowledge

Familiarity with their inferior function enables Extraverted Sensing types to tolerate future possibilities without being overwhelmed. They can then make difficult decisions in ambiguous situations, accept the reality of the decision, and avoid looking back. They may also achieve some appreciation and a measure of comfort with the unknown and mysterious aspects of life. They are then less likely to dismiss both their own and others’ intuitions as irrelevant and meaningless.


Table l3 summarizes the important triggers for the inferior function, grip experiences, ways of returning to equilibrium, and typical new knowledge gained from the experience for Extraverted Sensing types.

 A Grip Experience

The following episode was reported by an ESTP. However; ESFPs report similar responses to the kind of situation described here.

Looking for Escape Routes

Steve, an ESTP sports journalist, was excited and happy about the impending birth of his first child. Although it was the height of the football season, he was confident he would be able to get someone to cover for him at a moment’s notice should his wife, Cindy; go into labor earlier than expected. He figured that his uncharacteristic distractibility at work and at home were the result of anticipation and his heavier work load.

Cindy had their baby a week after her official due date. Steve assisted her during her long and difficult labor. Both parents were thrilled with their new daughter and, though they were quite worn out, were happy to bring her home. That first night, however; Steve awoke suddenly and was overwhelmed with the idea that a fire might break out in the house. He recalled: I was in a panic. I got up and roamed all over the house trying to identify possible escape routes. After satisfying myself that we could escape, I went back to sleep. But the next night and every night for a week, the same thing happened! I awoke, roamed the house to be sure about the escape routes, and finally went back to sleep. I knew my concerns were unusual for me, but at the time, the chances of a fire, the danger to our baby; and my need to protect her were all-consuming. Steve recalls that sometime after this episode of terror; he realized that his overly happy-go-lucky demeanor prior to the birth was perhaps a denial of his anxiety about becoming a father and being responsible for a helpless baby. It occurred to him that this new role in life forced him to explore and become more comfortable with a previously unfamiliar area-a long-term vision of the future.

* This article is from the book “In the Grip - Our Hidden Personality” by Naomi L. Quenk