i think today might be a day where i am assertive

Dive (pt. 2)

 Im so so so sorry it took me this long.  But its here, albeit with a shitty ending so sorry for that… but i hope you enjoy it anyways.  

- Cassie 

Part 1 can be found here

Originally posted by midsummermagiic

           It had been a couple weeks since you walked out on Tyler.  You were getting along ok, at least as ok as someone who’s love of their life had just cheated on them should be doing.  You had your moments where you just broke down and cried, those were mostly at three in the morning when Tyler called you drunk and begging you to take him back, and the nights you didn’t answer- the voicemails would be even worse.  

           Jamie like the amazing friend he is promised he would keep Tyler out of trouble as best as he could but you know yourself how much of a handful he could be.  Jamie had brought the rest of your things back to your apartment which you were extremely thankful for, it would have been hell if you had to go back and relive your relationship with Tyler.  Jamie told you that Tyler didn’t move when he was getting your stuff, he was just sitting on the couch staring blankly at the tv that wasn’t even turned on.  You broke down crying and Jamie held you and then tucked you in bed and truth be told you didn’t have very much motivation to move.

           Tyler’s game had drastically changed, anyone with eyes could see the difference between his playing when the two of you were together and now.  You couldn’t deny the pang of guilt you felt for this even knowing that Tyler isn’t your responsibility and neither is his playing ability.  You knew he was drinking more and going out a lot more than usual, Jamie had told you, and once again there was a pang of guilt.

           Today had been a particularly good day so you decided to go out to the café not far from your apartment to read a book and also get some social interaction- something you had been lacking.  You had invited Jamie along be he declined which you didn’t mind, it would give you time to think while you were moderately happy- something that hadn’t happened in a while.  You got your drink and sat down at a cozy table toward the back, away from the door.  Shortly after a man asked to sit down at you table as there were none available near a plug for his laptop.  

           “I’m sorry” the man sitting across from you starts “I have to confess, I lied I don’t need to charge my laptop, I saw you sitting here and I just wanted an excuse to talk to such a beautiful lady.”

           You feel your cheeks heating up, flattered by his comment.

           “I’m William, it’s a delight to meet you” he flashes you an award-winning smile.

           “(y/n)” you smile back politely not really interested in conversation.

           “So, do you come here very often?” Really the most used line in the book… like ever “that was stupid I’m sorry I shouldn’t have said that.”

           “Listen” you start off determined to make a point “if this were any other time I might be interested in a conversation but I’m just not right now, all I am interested in right now is my book, so if you will excuse me I’m going to get back to it.”

           “Well I could give you my number you could send me a text when you’re done the book” he says completely ignoring the point you were trying to make.

           “Listen buddy” a new voice chimes in, an all too familiar voice “I’m pretty sure the lady said she doesn’t want a conversation so if get on your way before I make you.”

           You scoff at Tyler’s assertiveness and how quickly William gets his things together.  Tyler probably wouldn’t do anything to the guy, but then again you didn’t think Tyler would cheat on you either.  Great here come the water works, so much for having a good day.  You’re interrupted from your thoughts when Tyler takes a seat across from you where William was sitting just seconds ago.

           “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” you ask him extremely annoyed “At least William had the decency to ask.”  You add the last bit in knowing it would piss Tyler off.

           “William” Tyler shakes his head “would you have actually given that guy a chance (y/n)?”

           “Yeah maybe I would have” you state firmly.

           “He doesn’t seem like your type.”

           “Oh really?” you ask with a dry laugh “then what is my type Tyler?  Men that don’t care about me?  Men that party all the time?  Men that cheat on me?”

           Tyler’s features soften and you can tell right away he’s been thinking about what he did.  “(y/n) I’m sorry” he says simply.  You weren’t expecting an apology Tyler is always so stubborn.

           “How did you even find out where I was?”

           “I went to your place and I figured you just weren’t answering the door” he lets out a little chuckle “knowing you weren’t even in there makes me feel a bit stupid but anyways.  You weren’t answering so I came here because you love it here and I wanted to be close to you.”

            You can’t help it but your heart swells just before the image of him kissing the perfect blonde crosses your mind and once again tears come to your eyes. You can’t stand the idea of letting him see you cry so you pick up your things and walk out of the small café. You know Tyler is right behind you because you can hear his footsteps.

           “Is he the reason you aren’t interested?” That is not Tyler.  You turn around and William is right behind you “personally, I don’t think he’s worth your tears.”

           “It doesn’t matter what the reason is, I am just not interested in you” this boy cannot take a hint.

          “Why the fuck are you here again?” Tyler exclaims coming up to you and William.

           “Why the fuck do you think it’s ok too make a gorgeous girl cry?” William asks him getting up in Tyler’s face.  Knowing that it is a very bad decision on William’s part to get that close to Tyler you squeeze in between them, facing Tyler.  He might have broken your heart but you still trust him a hell of a lot more than a complete stranger.

          “William, you don’t know me and I don’t know you, I am not interested in you and what happens between me and Tyler does not concern you one bit” you say steadily despite the burning stares from both men.  

          “Yeah move along now buddy” Tyler adds ushering him along.

           Once William was surely gone you start talking to Tyler “Ty, I don’t blame you I honestly should have seen it coming you were out all the time partying and I mean she looked absolutely perfect.  It’s not ok that you did it but you did and it’s kind of difficult to go back on it.”

           “I was terrible to you (y/n)” Tyler says taking your hand in his “and I want to talk to you about it because you deserve so much more, so can we please go back to your apartment and talk?”

           Probably against your better judgement you let him hold your hand all the way on the ten-minute walk back to your apartment and all the way up the elevator to your apartment door where there is a basket with an assortment of things.

            “I brought this for you to apologize and you didn’t answer so I just left it” he says picking it up and studying the contents “I-uh I got you some flowers, I thought they looked nice and I remember when we went on our date to the flower garden you said you liked them, and I got you some of the candy you really like and there’s a teddy bear and I filled this jar up with everything I love about you and Jamie told me to make a photo album of all my favorite pictures of us so that’s there too, but just in case you don’t hate me any less there’s some matches in there.”  

           By the time Tyler finished rambling you had opened the door and lead him inside your apartment.  “Tyler, are you done?”

            “Well no but if you want me stop I will but I had a lot more to say” he said nervously.

             “Should I get you some water then?” you ask as a joke but when he nods you realize he’s serious when he says he still has a lot to say.  “Tyler, you just need to tell me one thing, I don’t need the gifts or the long speeches just one honest answer.”

           “Ok” he says confidently “one 100% honest answer.”

           “Was she the only the girl?”  

            Without even think about it Tyler confidently gets out a “yes.”

            “Ok now a follow up question” you pause not really sure if you want the answer “why?”

           “Because I’m stupid and I didn’t realize how amazing I had it when I had you. (y/n) if you forgive me I promise I will never party without you.”

          “That’s a pretty big promise Tyler.”

          “Well, you’re worth the biggest promises, because” he pauses “because I love you.”

           You had never heard Tyler say those words directed at you ever.  So, to say you’re a little bit shocked is an understatement.  

          “I know that you probably think I’m just desperate now, which I am, but I really do mean it.  It just took me a little while to realize.  (y/n) I love you so much it’s crazy, I didn’t think I would ever be the guy to say that but here I am and I don’t want to be any other guy.”

          “Tyler…” you say quietly cutting him off.

           “(y/n) please let me finish, if you give me a second chance I swear to you I won’t blow it, I promise you I won’t blow it.”

          “Tyler, what am I supposed to say to that?”

           “That you’ll give me a second chance?” he says hopeful “and that you love me too would be nice.”

           “Tyler, I do love you” you say and a goofy smile appears on his face “things have to change though.”

           “Things will change (y/n)” he smiles taking a step closer to you, wrapping his arms around you and giving a kiss to your forehead “Let’s go out to dinner?”

           “Ok, sure” you smile up at him “can we get pizza?”

           “We can have whatever makes you happy.”

In Trousers: A Summary/Analysis

The Story

On the cast recording vinyl, William Finn wrote

The form of the show is simple: whenever things get too hot for the older Marvin, he reverts back to himself at fourteen. After 14: he has a high school sweetheart, isn’t big with the intimacies, gets married, isn’t big with the intimacies, and leaves his wife for a man. So Marvin grows up (after a fashion), says goodbye to the ladies (more to the point), and learns to live with always getting what he wants- which is the story of In Trousers.

In the libretto for the 1986 revised show, Finn added to this: “But alot of the material was about my learning to write the kind of show songs I wanted to write. So the show is about Marvin’s education, and mine.” Ira Wetizman has called it an “impressionistic portrait of Marvin.”

The Setting

A circle on the floor, an enormous Venetian blind painted blue, a wall through which ladies can disappear.

The Cast

Marvin
His wife
His high school sweetheart
His teacher, Miss Goldberg (who always wears sunglasses)

The Songs

Marvin’s Giddy Seizures - Marvin & the ladies

The first number, of course, introduces the main character, Marvin, and sets the tone for the rest of the show. Basically, it is establishing the baseline: Marvin at 14 years old (as mentioned by Finn). He’s a weird kid, who acts inappropriately, impulsively, and selfishly. He craves the attention of others, so he makes scenes by throwing tantrums or “fits” which are represented by giddy seizures. But it’s also important to note that this song is not a specific event or experience, it’s sort of an embodiment of how 14 year old Marv acts. All the ladies are on stage and singing, but they’re not really present in the action. Because there isn’t any real action.

How the Body Falls Apart - Ladies

Once Marvin is gone, they transition to his wife’s song by having the ladies sing this sort of… ambiguous declaration about life. I guess? There is again not really any action here. I mean… “things on which we most depend seem to fail us in the end” is sort of a resonant theme, I would say.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

You have so much self confidence. What if I hate myself and every time I look in the mirror I find something more to hate?

to start off, confidence isn’t something that’s developed overnight. everyone’s different with how they develop and flourish, so don’t be put out if people are building noticeable differences in self confidence in weeks if it’s been months and you’re still struggling.

if you’re younger, you’re going to find that most of your self-confidence barriers will probably be directly correlated to living with your family, friends, and school. bottom line: it sucks. it’s likely you’re going to hate everything. nothing will look like it’s turning up for you. you’re going to feel disgusting, repulsive, annoying, and unlovable. now again, everyone is different so that that with a grain of salt. older readers, this sort of thing is going to deviate from job(s), your post-secondary, and social life.

there will be days where you’re standing in front of the mirror nitpicking apart something about yourself that you don’t like. maybe it will get to a point where you’ve nitpicked so much you’re just staring at what you see as someone who’s been shredded apart over days, or months, or years of loathing. 

over time that self-loathing is going to manifest itself, whether it’s in the words from your family, the situations you encounter; it might even be a voice always present in the back of your head or behind you. 

you need to tell that self-loathing voice to fuck off.

obviously it’s not going to make you feel better on day one. probably won’t on day two. not on week three, maybe not of month four, but it’s a mentality you need to keep checking yourself on. if that tiny annoying voice is behind you hissing in your ear, saying “ugh, you look gross today” yeah. give it a quick “fuck off, I look good” and leave it at that. block out any reply, any rebuttal. make sure the final word is you saying “I look good

assert yourself with this. every time you’re feeling self-deprecating, you tell that loathing to pick up it’s shit and get the fuck out and forget those thoughts ever happened.

I know it isn’t much and it can be tough to get started, but over time it does build up and allow you to tackle bigger things. say your family is being a bunch of salt mines; “oh, those stretch marks don’t look good, I know something that can help them!”

automatically, [think] to yourself “fuck off, I look good”. don’t go openly telling your family to fuck off, unless you can get away with that. reply with something like “I like them” or “I think they look great” or any variation that communicates and empowers how awesome your lightning bolt scars are. if they keep butting heads with you, keep pushing back. do not let anyone dictate what gets to be considered beautiful about your body. if you aren’t ready to confront others, or just don’t feel comfortable or safe biting back, you can also reply with a simple no and leave it at that. it’s small, but it counts.

for the readers that are stuck with families that aren’t supportive and school that feels overwhelming: trust me on this, it does get better. I didn’t go to college or university, but I do have a steady job and an apartment with two cats and gorgeous husband. your skin will clear up [eventually] and you’re going to have the freedom to buy the clothes and live the life that will make you feel confident. might not be the highest level of confidence, but it will help immensely. there will be times where you feel down and miserable, but don’t feel put out because you aren’t at the same stages that some of your friends might already be at. you’re just going at your own pace, and you’ll make it there in your own time.

How Sailor Jupiter Made Me Who I Am Today

I need to take a second to explain why this woman means so much to me.

Forgive me, I’m usually kind of a goofball, but I’m going to get on my cheesy sentimental podium for a second, because I wanted to share with you one of my favorite Sailor Moon moments (from a filler episode no less) and why it affected me so much as a child.

I will always remember the first time I saw this episode. I watched Makoto (Sailor Jupiter) figure skating so beautifully and gracefully; she looked like an ethereal princess gliding around the rink. A handsome male figure skater comes up and joins her. She swoons instantly, and it’s all adorable and romantic (aside from the fact that he’s, you know, a demon who’s targeting her for the Dark Kingdom, but that’s not a total deal-breaker, right?). But for a moment, it gets awkward. Her skating partner can’t lift her because she’s athletic, muscle-bound, and not exactly dainty, so instead, without batting an eye, she lifts him over her head. 

The look on her face wasn’t apologetic. She genuinely was having a blast and didn’t care that taking the traditionally masculine power position might make her seem less attractive to him or that she needed to hide her strength so as not to emasculate him.

To Makoto, lifting him was just as viable a solution as him lifting her.

I always was drawn to Makoto for her interesting juxtaposition of the masculine and feminine. Her version of womanhood was complex, well-rounded, and unique to anything else I had seen in kids shows before. She was at the same time strong and sweet, badass and gentle. On the one hand, a tough self-sufficient independent woman who had lived on her own for years and answered to no one. On the other, a hopeless romantic who liked crushing on cute boys and secretly dreamed of becoming a beautiful bride someday.

I also remember the episode where she gets a lady crush on Haruka because she deeply admires how Haruka is confidently able to reconcile the masculine and the feminine parts of herself, and doesn’t apologize for how anyone else receives her. Someone else’s confusion or inability to put her in a box is their problem, not hers.

“Oh, snap.”

Makoto even admits to Usagi that one of the reasons she learned how to cook was that she felt the need to balance her tomboyishness and her tall, muscular stature with more traditionally girly traits so that it would maybe soften her up and people wouldn’t be as intimidated or afraid of her.

 (Pictured: Terror incarnate)

I may not be able to lift a grown man over my head (YET), but as a tomboy who played soccer and hockey, and was the tallest girl in my elementary and middle school class, hers is struggle I identify so deeply with, and is something I always have and still do wrestle with. Judging by the responses I got from a lot of girls after the AX Sailor Moon Q&A panel where I mentioned that very thing, it would seem that apparently I’m far from alone in that struggle.

And this applies for guys, too. I think both genders often feel ridiculous amounts pressure to align their interests and personality with what’s traditionally more socially acceptable for their biological sex. Men have to worry that they’re being too “effeminate” and if they show too much emotion or sensitivity, they’ll “lose their man card”. Women are told to avoid being assertive or opinionated so as not to appear “bossy” or “bitchy”.

And God forbid you be your full-blown, unbridled, unfiltered, strong, smart, sassy self around a guy that you’re interested in. The common sentiment seems to be that if you’re not a demure, coy, shrinking violet, somehow men can't possibly find you attractive. (…Although the fact that Makoto had a notoriously terrible time finding love didn’t do much to assuage my worry that boys would be turned off by my personality. But then again, she was a teenager which is just an all-around awkward time for everyone in the romance department. If they did a Sailor Moon epilogue to show them in their 20s or 30s, I’d be curious to see if Makoto finally got her wish of getting married….annnnd I’m seriously postulating about the long-term romantic prospects of a fictional character. Wowza).

That’s why what Naoko Takeuchi created was so brilliant and progressive in my eyes. The 90s was an awesome time to be a cartoon-loving kid, and I LOVED me some action adventure shows, so at some point I had come to accept that if I wanted to watch shows in that genre, there were usually ever going to be only one or two token female leads (or often none at all). But Sailor Moon was the first time I had seen a superhero team kicking ass and taking names that was comprised of *gasp* girls. My friends and I each identified with and saw ourselves in the different Sailor Guardians (mine was obviously Makoto, so getting to voice her now as an adult is still such a surreal experience). 

You see, when you have an entire team of girls instead of just one or two, it makes the writer’s job easier because they don’t have to be as worried about playing it safe with their sole precious female character, and can therefore be more nuanced and complicated in their approach. You can give them each distinct personalities, flaws, strengths, desires, POVs, etc, because you have more than just one person representing an entire gender. With proper representation, you have the freedom to just show people as human. The good, the bad, the ugly, the quirky, so on and so forth. This goes for any underrepresented group of people.

When I started watching this show, I was young, insecure, and impressionable. I was still trying to find myself and figure out what categories I fit into. Seeing Makoto’s journey showed me that it’s okay to not fit neatly into any box, and that girls can be superheroes, too. You can save the world and vanquish evil and do it while wearing a skirt, cute accessories, and fabulous boots, if you want. You don’t have to sacrifice an ounce of your strength in order to maintain your femininity, and vice versa.

Having that inner conflict represented on screen helped me so much growing up, because it showed me that I wasn’t alone. It inspired me to believe that being strong, courageous, and athletic, and being vulnerable, soft, and, feminine are not mutually exclusive.

On days when I question myself and really really need to be reminded of all these things, I stop, and think:

“Hey. Remember, Jupiter was a princess and a soldier. Don’t make apologies for who you are just because some people’s tiny brains can’t process the fact that you are a fiercely powerful princess, a gentle warrior, a giggling boy-crazy tomboy, a decidedly "unladylike” lady, and undeniably 100% woman.“

So…thanks, Mako-chan.

Ways to Improve Yourself

1. Fix all the things that you have done and mistakes you have made in the past. If you can’t think of anything you may have done, think about people who you know have something against you. Try to get in contact with them and apologize for anything you may have done (make sure to be nice to them). You may even want to apologize to your friends too.

2. Organize your life. Clean up your room, label things, make lists, plan ahead, etc. This will make your life so much easier and it should help make these things a habit. Now you won’t be stressing about if you have that meeting today or next week, or where your other shoe is.

3. Try to see the good in everyone. You may think you hate someone until you really get to know them. If someone has an attitude that you don’t like, don’t hate them because of it. Try to empathize with them because you have no idea what’s going on in their life that’s making them act that way.

4. Optimism is key. A lot of the people that are worth hanging out with don’t like being around people whose personality drags their mood down. Optimism is also a great habit to have to keep yourself calm.

5. Practice good hygiene. I know most people already do this but I also know some people who don’t. People don’t want to be around people who don’t shower often enough or brush their teeth often enough. I recommend that you at least: shower every day if possible, brush your teeth twice a day and make sure you floss the stuff out from between your teeth, brush your hair out so there’s no knots (if it hurts so bad that you can’t handle it, try using a Wet Brush), cleaning up that unibrow, ladies-shave those legs, WEAR DEODORANT!!!, don’t wear an overpowering and gross smelling cologne/perfume/lotion, and try using a small amount of a nice smelling scent or not using one at all.

6. Eat better. I know, I know, who am I to tell you what to eat? But seriously, if you eat better you look and feel better too. It’s okay to splurge and eat some junk food once in a while but that really shouldn’t be your main diet.

7. Exercise regularly. This will have you in better shape and feeling happier and healthier.

8. Put yourself first. If you have trouble being assertive like I do, take a look at “The Personal Bill of Rights” and keep that in mind when you have to make a decision or are put in a tough situation.

9. Take pride in yourself. You have your own unique skills and accomplishments and you should be proud of that!

10. Make a list of things that make you happy. Add on to it and read through it whenever you’re feeling sad. The list can be things as small as the pitter patter of rain on the roof at night, or as large as travelling.

11. Challenge yourself. Hey, finishing a sudoku puzzle might be a challenge to you, but it’s still a challenge. This will help you learn to thrive in difficult situations.

Remember that you are loved! You don’t need to change yourself but if you’re not happy with the person you are, then go for it! Good luck! Follow me for more lists and tips like this and/or comment what tips/lists you would like me to make next! I love hearing your feedback!

Rules of the Game

Rule Number Two: You Belong to Me

Part 1

Simon x Reader

A bright light hit your eyes instantly, causing you to hiss in response. You hear Simon laugh amusedly along with the cling of his belt buckle. Finally blinking open your eyes reveals the bright room. Simon stands near the window watching as you sit up groggily. He chuckles. You can feel that your hair is a mess while you sit sloppily in your socks and underwear. As he finishes with his belt, Simon smiles at you seemingly entertained. You glare at him.

“What?” You ask a with a scowl, annoyed at his constant staring. His smile widens. “You’re lookin’ like a hot mess honey,” he chuckles. Your agitation quickly turns to a sulk.

Simon grabs your hands and pulls you up to him. “Don’t get me wrong,” he raises his brow “.. emphasis on hot,” he flashes a toothy grin. You can’t help but laugh in response.  He looks down at you with a smile.

“Alright,” he asserts—less playfully, “… saddle up honey. You’ve got a lot to do today.” He walks to the door leaving you confused.

“What am I doing today?” You ask.

He cocks his head. “It’s training day for you ladies, remember?” Simon smiles at your confusion, amused by your general hot mess aura no doubt. The occasion slipped your mind due to the recent events. “Negan wants all the ladies capable of handling a gun.” He continues, with emphasis on the last few words. He opens the door.

“Think you can handle one?” He grins mischievously.

You cross your arms with a smile. “I might need a man to show me how it’s done.”

“That’s what I’ll be there for sweetie.” You exchange a smile. “Don’t be late.” He walks outside and leaves you in his room.

You stood in silence thinking over the surprising results of your illogical whim.

____________________________________

After a brief trip to your room to change you head over to the trucks at the entrance of the compound. Heat flashes over your body when you see Simon loading boxes into the truck. 

You walk over to where the other women are crowded, keeping an eye on Simon. He turns to catch you staring and smirks deviously. He jumps down and you shy away from his gaze turning toward the group of women. You can hear as his steps come closer until he stands directly behind you. His overbearing presence seems to suck away your energy as you suddenly feel weak and breathing becomes an endeavor.

He leans into your ear and whispers, “Like what you see baby?” You blush and look to the group of women before you, hoping they didn’t hear. He lets out a low chuckle and stands to address the group, allowing you to back away and join them.

“Well alright ladies, let’s get this show on the road.” He waves his hand authoritatively, signaling the other men to start loading. As the men and women disperse Simon winks at you slyly and walks toward the front of the truck lineup.

A voice behind you startles you, “Hey (Y/n) are you and Simon a thing or something?” It was one of the women you had come to avoid in your time at the Sanctuary. Sabrina. She was skinny, foolish, and ran around in clothes you thought she must’ve found in an old strip club dumpster. Believing herself to be God’s gift to the world, she was surprised that Negan hadn’t proposed to her yet and made a fool of herself trying to seduce the man anytime he entered the room.

“Um, no..” you answer her question, annoyed and unsure of what to say.

She smiles at Simon as he walks toward the trucks. “Well if you’re not going to take advantage of that, I will.” She sauntered off toward him as anger boiled in your veins. You walked to the nearest truck but before you could get in Simon whistles loudly claiming your attention, and Sabrina’s. He pointed to you, “You’re ridin’ with me.” He said matter-of-factly. You passed Sabrina shooting you a dirty look as you claim the seat she was heading for.

You make it to Simon and he opens the door placing a hand on your hip to help you in the obnoxiously large truck. He closes the door and comes around to the driver’s seat. You sit with a scowl knowing now that Simon was on Sabrina’s hit list.

Simon started the truck and began driving to the saviors shooting range not too far away. He looks over to notice the anger in your expression. “What the hell’s got you so grumpy?” He asks.

You look out the window, “Nothing…” you say calming a bit.

“Hey,” he nudges your shoulder, “I’ve got something to lift your spirits.” You look at him intrigued. He looks to his crotch and back to you with a quick raise of his eyebrows. You scoff and laugh it off. “Of course,” he continues, “… you’ll have to buy me to dinner first.” He looks to you with a smile and you shake your head smiling.

The rest of the way there you sit in a comfortable silence, although still troubled by another woman already yearning for the man you had just acquired.

Arriving at the range, Simon and the other men begin setting up guns for the group of women nearby. Simon gave a rather long speech about safety and a tutorial on shooting that seemed like common sense. Finally he finished and you were able to begin shooting. You stood at the end of a line of women firing at the dead walkers tied to several trees. Simon walked to the opposite end of the line checking on the others.

“Simon,” Sabrina cooed, igniting your anger once again. “Can you help me hold this thing?” she asks weakly. You try to ignore her by focusing on your shooting.

You take a shot, it’s low.

You see Simon walk up to her and adjust her grip. Sabrina takes a shot in her new position. “Just like that,” he praises. Furious, you fire again missing the mark. You grow angrier as Sabrina giggles and flirts with Simon on the other end of the lineup.

“Here,” one of the men walks behind you distracting you from them, “… may I?” he asks gesturing to come closer. You nod. Two can play this game. The man positions himself around you to improve your stance. “Now try,” he whispers dangerously close to your ear. You fire one. Two. Three. Four. Quick and aggressive shots pierce the head of the dead walker target.

Simon notices the burst of shots and immediately looks to you. Rage boils in his eyes seeing another man entwined with you.

“Wow,” the man says stepping back. “I think you’ve got it.” You turn smiling until you see Simon heading straight for you. Shit. Your smile disappears as he stands directly in front of you obviously displeased.

“Go help the other women,” he commands the men while maintaining eye contact with you. They slip away quickly and he stares hard into your eyes. Suddenly his eyes soften, but only slightly. “Having fun over here?” he quips, walking around you. “Only as much as you are…” you retort, jealously clouding your judgement. Simon blinks closing his eyes for a second longer than usual. “What did you say?” he asks lowly. You have no time to answer or regret having said anything as he roughly spins your body and grabs your hips tightly. He pushes his crotch into you aggressively. You gasp silently. His hands loosen on your hips and travel heavily to your shoulders extending to your hands as he positions you to shoot again. A tingle runs down your spine. He places his hands possessively over your own. Simon tightens himself around your body and lifts his lips to you ear. “Rule Number Two,” he says gruffly as you await the rule, and the shot. His proximity and heavy breathing on your neck sends heat to your loins. Simon stills himself. Then roughly grinds the hardness in his pants into your ass. A small moan escapes your lips, audible only to him. “You belong to me.” He whispers huskily. He pulls the trigger and the gun clicks. “Looks like you’re dry.” He states and quickly walks towards the trucks.

“Wrap it up!” He yells impatiently.

Oh my god, I so want to do a part 3 to this one. I don’t know where I’d go with it yet (I still feel like Loki’s change of attitude towards the reader happened too fast) but ugh, I just love where this one went and how it turned out and… yeah. Cool. Thank you to @all-nerds-here for requesting this part two - I genuinely had a blast writing it. Enjoy, my darlings, and let me know what you think. 

Prompt: PLEEEAAASE continue the Loki x sick!reader one! It was sooo good!

Plague (Part 2)

Part 1

You knocked twice on the door. The early morning sun peeked into the hallway from the above skylight (of course Tony Stark would have windows in the damn ceiling) and though you still weren’t feeling completely well again, the sleep yesterday had certainly helped. Given that you were awake early, on account of your inability to sleep properly whilst sick, you still hadn’t changed out of your pyjamas. Around the red silk, you’d wrapped your duvet and in your hands you clutched the blanket that Loki had placed over you.

It hadn’t taken you long to figure out that it was Loki who had cared for you the day prior – nobody else had been around – but you had taken the briskness with which he had left as a sign to let the topic lie. Until this morning, you had intended to keep it that way but you felt somewhat indebted to him after waking up feeling so refreshed.

Keep reading

Confessions of a Teenage Sugar Queen: Soulmates

Zuko retrieves his laptop bag from his room and heads for the kitchen table. I linger in the hallway, trying to focus long enough to make sense of his mom’s article, but the words are blurring together.

Damn you, tears.

I take a minute to collect myself before joining Zuko in the kitchen. He fishes something out of his pocket and places it on the table while he types in his login password. It’s a tube of chapstick, and I would be lying if I said I haven’t noticed that slight bulge in his pants before. He must carry it with him all the time.

I’m so wrecked. If I don’t kiss Zuko soon, I might die of thirst. I don’t like the taste of his particular brand of chapstick, though.

I figure this moment is yet another lost opportunity when he snaps the cap off, but it isn’t chapstick at all.

Keep reading

9

16th Century Dyes:  Was the color of Purple for Royalty only? - - And was it rendered from Sea Snails?  

The Sumptuary laws of Queen Elizabeth I say:

None shall wear:

Any silk of the color of purple, cloth of gold tissued, nor fur of sables, but only the King, Queen, King’s mother, children, brethren, and sisters, uncles and aunts; and except dukes, marquises, and earls, who may wear the same in doublets, jerkins, linings of cloaks, gowns, and hose; and those of the Garter [meaning those who were inducted into the *Knights of the Garter], purple in mantles only.”

*Incidentally, The Knights of the Garter, or The Order of the Garter, was founded by Edward III in 1348. The Order, consisting of the King and twenty-five knights, was the highest honor one could attain and was usually reserved for those who were either born into nobility, or were bestowed with titles of nobility, and reserved for those whose service to the King or Queen were considered to be exemplary, and usually held the rank of an Earl, a Baron, or a Knight.”

The above statute seems to be where we find the controversy. Is Elizabeth specifying the color purple - casting a wide net to restrict that color in any fiber, or, is she restricting silk dyed with purple?

To answer that, lets break down the statute sentence by sentence. In the first line Elizabeth specifically refers to silk that is dyed purple. She does not state, "No one except the King, Queen, Kings mother, children, etc., can wear the color of purple….rather she says silk dyed purple.  She also mentions cloth of gold (which was fine linen or silk fibers spun with real gold), and sable fur. The fact that she mentions these two other items in conjunction with purple dyed silk is also telling, as both were extremely costly.

If you were related by blood to the King or Queen, or held the title of Duke, Marquise, or an Earl, you were considered "royalty” and could wear purple silk, cloth of gold, or sable fur in a doublet, a jerkin, in the lining of cloaks, in gowns, and in hose [stockings]. But those who were members of the Knights of the Garter could wear any of these fabrics or fur only in their mantles, which was a kind of wrap or cloak.  So if you were a Baron or a Knight, and you were a member of the Order of the Garter, you could wear purple silk, cloth of gold, or sable fur ONLY in the lining of your cloak.

At any Renaissance Faire, or on the websites of Faire Boards, popular internet sites dedicated to Elizabeth, and on the websites of private reenactors and costumers, they proliferate the opinion that only the King or Queen could wear purple.  But Elizabeth doesn’t say you cannot wear purple! - She says purple silk.  

QUESTION: Has the assertion that only the “King” or “Queen” could wear purple  have stemmed from a misunderstanding or a “miss-interpretation” of these Sumptuary Laws?:

It is worth mentioning, that some faire boards prohibit the use of purple in the clothing of the actors at Renaissance Faires so that the Queen or King will stand out from among the other reenactors for the patrons, who don’t always know enough about Renaissance history to be able to spot her/his majesty. My character at faire is that of a baroness (Margaret Howard, Baroness Scrope of Bolton), and many times patrons have referred to me as “her majesty.” Because they see me dressed sumptuously they tend to assume I am portraying royalty. Therefore, there is an effort by faire boards to disallow purple so that those portraying royalty will stand out against those portraying wealthy nobles. But this seems to have fed the controversy that only royalty wore purple.

So why the restriction on purple silk in the Sumptuary statutes? 

I’ll dive deeper into this topic, but purple rendered from Sea Snails was not the method used during the Tudor Dynasty. Rather, royal purple was rendered by the use of such expensive dye materials as indigo blue dye overlaid with red dye made from Kermes or Cochineal dye; which would have rendered a deep royal purple. But because Indigo and Kermes were both very expensive dyes, AND required skilled dyers to create it, fabrics dyed purple using THESE particular ingredients would place them at a premium. But, there were many other cheap plant sources that could have been, and more than likely were, used to render many shades of purple, pink, violet, lavender, and mauve as I’ve shown in color samples earlier.

In an article published by Stacey Leigh in 1996 entitled, “An Historical Overview of Dyes, Dying, and Fabric Colors in the Renaissance,” she opined that:

1)  “...from these glimpses of the factors influencing the coloring of medieval and renaissance garb, we can deduce that, although the lower classes may have had a variety of colors available to them, bright red, plum purple, and most shades of blue were not among them.

2)  “We must also remember that all dye processes were somewhat time consuming and labor intensive, and the results were often uneven and not well fixed. The lower classes were probably too overworked to attend to the dying and re-dying of their daily garb.”

I’ve highlighted those two sections for a reason. In terms of her first statement that bright red, plum purple and most shades of blue were not worn among the lower classes, the painting above (picture #7, 8, 9) put that statement up for serious debate - as you see plenty of red, blue, black, and even LAVENDER depicted in the clothing worn in the painting. The only color not shown is “plum” purple. You can read more about blue dyes in my other posts, but let me dispel the rumor that tints used for paints were more varied than those used for wool and clothing. The same materials were used for both oil paint tints and dyes.

In terms of the second statement highlighted, I respectfully point out that we really don’t have any proof, one way or the other, to say with any surety what the peasants did or did not wear, because there simply is a lack of written documentation for that class of people. History has focused on the upper classes and those of royalty; therefore, we are left to conjecture where the lower classes are concerned - which really is just a "guess” based on one person’s ideas, opinions, or thoughts.

We do not KNOW what their daily, weekly, or monthly routine consisted of; though we might feel we have a basic idea, we simply lack the documentation to support Ms. Leigh’s assertion about being too overworked to redye their clothing.  I do not feel that simply because the process would be time consuming is evidence enough to assert that this would prohibit re-dying clothing. Everything the 16th Century Tudors did was time consuming! I do not think “time constraints” would even be an issue; and I think to suggest it would, is based on modern day comparisons rather than an understanding of the Tudor culture. We live in an age where our transportation is motor driven; where microwaves, electricity, ready-made clothing, and the availability of food that takes minimal preparation time, by comparison, can make any replication of 16th century methods of ‘dying’ materials, yarn, or clothing seem excessively labor intensive.

As an example, for the 16th Century Londoner, buying bread from the baker was a luxury that many who lived in the country would not be afforded. Therefore, I am not convinced that those among the lower classes would avoid dying their clothing because it was too time consuming, or that they would avoid doing so because by comparison to our lives they were 'overworked.’ We must keep in mind that people in the 16th Century did not have the luxury of an 8 hour work day to which we are accustomed. Dying their own fabrics, spinning, and weaving, were simply a part of the Elizabethan lifestyle. Labor intensive work was all they knew. Therefore, I respectfully disagree, and suggest that while the author has experience in replicating the process of dying with period dye stuff, the opinion she offers is based on modern day comparisons rather than fact. The norms of the 16th Century Englishman/woman would seem extreme to those of us living today in the 21st Century; as we cannot conceive of living without modern day conveniences. But when you have nothing to compare, such chores would not be avoided due to inconvenience or hardship.

Returning to my point, it is my opinion that it may not necessarily have been the color of purple that appears to be prohibited…but rather it seems very possible that it is royal purple dyed “silk” using expensive premium dyes to which the Sumptuary laws apply. It seems plausible that someone of nobility could also wear purple worsted, silk velvet, satin, damask,  brocade, or wool using these expensive dyes  - if they could afford it.

The question that begs to be answered is: What did Royal Purple look like? How was it produced?

I’ll touch on both of those very shortly. The point I am focusing on at the moment is that there were dyes that were very expensive and would have only been available to the wealthy titled, but there were also dyes that were cheap and readily available and could possibly have been used by the lower classes - more than likely the Yeoman and Merchant classes.

It is my opinion, that the dyes that were expensive were those that were regulated by the Sumptuary Laws, and I’m not alone in that assertion.

Ultimately, your guide to the wearing of purple at faire should be left to your individual guild and the faire board. If the faire board asks that only the Queen or King wear royal purple, there are many beautiful lilacs, lavenders, and mauve that COULD be used in your ensemble for both the nobility, gentry, merchants, and commoners and still be accurate to the time period.

Myth: Purple dye during the Tudor Dynasty was made with Sea Snails:

There is a belief circulating among Renaissance enthusiasts that the reason purple was set aside as a royal color during the Tudor Dynasty was because it was made of sea snails and was expensive to produce. This is only partially true.

The purple rendered from sea snails was known as Murex Purple, Tyrian Purple, Imperial Purple, or Greek Purple.

As you will see in the next section there were purple dyes made from sea snails and muscles that were very costly to make, but contrary to popular belief those dyes were not available during the Tudor Dynasty.

Murex “Tyrian” Purple 

Beginning in about 1500 BC, the citizens of Sidon  and Tyre, two cities on the coast of Ancient Phoenicia, (present day Lebanon), began to exploit a remarkable new source of purple; a muscle called the spiny dye-murex found around the Mediterranean.

This deep, rich purple dye made from this snail became known as Tyrian purple or imperial purple.

Tyrian purple was made from the ink sac and took thousands of shells to obtain enough dye to work with.

One ounce cost the equivalent of 3000 pounds sterling in today’s money, or $4,500 in US dollars.

Prior to 1464 AD, the most famous purple dye in the ancient world was Tyrian purple.A common belief is that purple dye during the Tudor Dynasty was made from these sea snails, and is believed to be the reason why it was so costly; thereby prohibiting this color for only the very wealthy - or rather those of royalty.

While sea snails and muscles were widely used to dye clothing at one time in ancient history, and it was a costly commodity, the use of sea snails to render purple dye was not used during the Tudor Dynasty. The reason was because the secret to the production of Tyrian purple was lost with the decline of the Roman Empire. The large scale production of this purple made with murex ceased with the fall of Constantinople in 1453 (29 May, actually). It was replaced by other cheaper dyes like lichen purple and madder, or indigo overlaid with kermes.

In 1464, Pope Paul II decreed that cardinals should no longer wear purple, and instead were to wear scarlet rendered from kermes and alum; since the deep Tyrian purple from Byzantium was no longer available.  Bishops and archbishops, of a lower status than cardinals, were assigned the color purple, but not the rich Tyrian purple or the purple made from sea snails. Rather, they wore cloth dyed first with indigo blue, then overlaid with red made from kermes dye.

It wasn’t until 1685 that a researcher named William Cole replicated Murex dye. He described in some detail how to use Nucella lapillus, a type of sea shell he found on the shores of the Bristol Channel, to obtain the purple dye, but Murex dye was not commonly used thereafter.

Henry Tudor, a.k.a. King Henry VIII, became king in 1509. Purple made from Murex was no longer available at that time period, and the secret to its production was also not available. So the myth about purple dyes being produced by sea snails in England during the Tudor dynasty can once and for all be put to rest

What did Royal Purple truly look like?

Although purple made from Murex was no longer available during the time of Henry VIII, Queen Mary, or Queen Elizabeth, there is some controversy - or curiosity - about what true Royal Purple looked like.

Marcus Vitruvius Pollio a Roman writer, architect and engineer  in the 1st Century, stated  that Tyrian purple varied from a reddish to a bluish purple.

Picture #1: Is a dye bath made from a type of murex; a sea snail known as Hexaplex trunculus.It appears bluish at this stage, but once the fibers are dried they turn deep purple as seen in PICTURE #2 above.

The mucous secretion of the Murex brandaris  species produces a dye more red in color:  See PICTURE #3 above which shows a sea slug (snail) and its secretion. It turns this color in the sun or when it mixes with oxygen.

The most valued shades of “Tyrian purple” were said to be those closer to the color of clotted or dried blood. Those of us who have worked in the medical field can tell you that clotted or dried blood is a very deep wine color - as seen in the ink secretions from the slug in the pictured above.

Other Natural Dye Sources for Purple:

From the Middle Ages onward, purple and violet dyes for the clothing of common people were often made from blackberries or other red fruit of the genus rubus, or from the mulberry. Currants were also a plant source used for dyes.

Examples of dyes using blackberries and mulberries can be seen in the picture of yarns shown in PICTURE #4.

PICTURE #5 is a shade of deep purple rendered from a concentrated dye bath using blackberries.  

As I have shown you, there were many methods to dyeing fabrics in shades of purple, the least expensive of which was using natural plants and berries that were both inexpensive and readily available to even the poorest commoner. However, it has been suggested that these dyes would not be as color fast as the more expensive dyes,which would make them less desirable, even among the commons.

Whether or not those among the commons would use these inexpensive dyes, remains unanswered. I think it is plausible, but there’s no definitive answer. The one thing of which I am convinced, is that the actual color of purple was not reserved just for the King or Queen, and was, in fact, no longer considered to be the Color of Royalty.  Purple dye was not rendered by sea snails, but the dyes used to counterfeit the color of true Royal Purple would more than likely only be available to the wealthy because the ingredients to render this purple were cost prohibitive to anyone other than the clergy, the nobility, and perhaps the landed gentry.

Again, to recap, Scarlet (purplish pink) and Crimson replaced purple as a Royal color. They were expensive to produce, as they were made with cochineal or kermes.

But just as having cloth dyed with true Tyrian purple was once considered to be valuable, so was using cochineal or kermes; but it was not just the color that made it desirable,  it was the status of owning a garment dyed with these specific dye sources.

Cochineal: Replaces Purple as the New Royal Color

Recapping, as I mentioned earlier, the Sumptuary laws of Elizabeth I, states “velvet” of Crimson (Deep Red), *Scarlet (bright purplish-pink), or Blue, could only be worn by Knights, Barons or Baronesses, or anyone of higher rank.However, like purple silk, it was Scarlet and Crimson (and blue) Silk Velvet that appears to fall  under the purview of the Sumptuary Laws.

In 1543, the first samples of cochineal from the new world (South America) imported by Spain, arrived in Venice, which was the major silk producing and dying center in Europe. Master dyers tested the dye on silk and found it superior to the European dyes available at the time.

By 1560 cochineal had become the second most valued export (after silver) from New Spain (South America); however, the Spanish maintained strict control over cochineal exportation. With the decline of Tyrian purple, gradually deep reds, made with dye from the cochineal insect, became the new royal color in Europe, replacing that of purple.

At first the fabrics dyed with cochineal were cheaper and in less demand than the traditional kermes dyes but that soon changed. Cochineal proved to be powerful, fast and could yield colors ranging from delicate pinks to vivid reds. In addition the cochineal proved to be 10 to 12 times stronger per pound of dye than kermes. This dye was obtained by crushing the bodies of female cochineal insects, producing colors ranging from red, purple, orange, gray, and black dyes depending on the mordants used.

PICTURE #6: Shows wools dyed with Cochineal. Here you see the vivid red
and deep wine color that became the new Royal Color replacing Murex
purple - which was no longer widely available during the Tudor Dynasty.

The antipathy Queen Elizabeth had for the Spanish is well documented.
Because they maintained a monopoly on the importation of Cochineal until
late in the 1600s, one has to wonder if Elizabeth’s feelings about the Spanish
may have had something to do with her placing restrictions upon its use?  Of course, silks dyed with Cochineal were largely imported from Italy and
Italian silks
would be considered a premium. So..the bottom line is that the dyes used to produce purple was very costly; which was more than likely another reason why purple dyed silk was listed in the Sumptuary Laws, and usually worn by the wealthy titled.

Cochineal, Kermes, Indigo blue used to render purple dyes on these expensive Italian imported silks, in my opinion, is what Elizabeth was addressing when she wrote this particular statute.

Drabble 2 (Late) Valentine's Day

Being a Vampire King who drinks shades of red of course i liked valentine’s day. It was the one day of the year in which everywhere i go is a walking feast of red and pink all over the place. And the sweetest shades where always in the candy kingdom.

It didn’t help that Gumball had to have a lovers ball out in the gardens for the holiday every single year.He also baked pastries with strawberries, cherries, and raspberries, and little frosted cookies with those annoying little candy hearts that get stuck in your fangs all of the time, happen to be all shaded red. And what happens when there food in the shade of red made by the hands of Gumball himself. I steal and eat them of course. What can i say a Vampires gotta eat what a v\Vampire gotta eat you know.

So i found it funny to see myself standing in front of the mirror and only looking at the formal clothes that i had placed upon my person. I went with a dark whine tail coat suite with shinny burgundy shoes and a white top hat with a ribbon. Boy did i look fancy. Looking like a million dollar topper. I just felt like dressing fancy today, i asserted myself. But i knew the truth. Perhaps i wanted to look as irresistible ad an apple ripe on a tree for a certain pink haired boy that day with the adorable little dimples and little crown upon his head. 

Don’t get mushy Marshall. Who am i kidding i might as well be a marshmallow right now. I pinched my noes. I grabbed my umbrella and was out the door.

When i got to the party of course, one, i was late, two, the party was duller than the undead and i would know, and three, Gumball was no where in sight.

“Hay Marshall,” Fiona came running in her dress, “Wow man, you actually have a suit. You actually look like a gentleman.”

“Och!,” Acting like i was stabbed in the heart, “that hurt. right hear man,” playfully pounding my chest over his heart,“ it’s like you think I’m not nice at all.” Fiona laughed and so did I. “Hey do you know where BG is?”

“Yeah he’s been in his room the whole time. I don’t know why,” She looked over her shoulder, “Uh gotta go Flame just got hear.”

And we parted ways. I flew up unto balcony, not making a single sound, and i looked through the window, umbrella in hand. Gumball sat there looking at something on the edge of his bed. The item clutched in his hands tightly. He looked stressed about his shoulders tense in his fine tailored suit. Emphasis on fine, by god Bubba knew how to work a formal suit. This white one wrapped around his torso and his thighs in such a way that it was snog worthy. Marshall put that information in the back of his mind for latter.

He looked lonely sitting there and we couldn’t a cutie like him sittin’ all alone now can we. So a burst through the balcony doors, closed the curtains and doing a flourishing twirl as i threw away my umbrella saying. “Hey Gummy Butt Baby, wanna be my Valentine?” i just love how i enter a room.

An unmanly squeal escapes from Gumball as he hides the object he has behind his back away from my eyes. “W-what are you doing here. I nod interested in that sort of frivolous romantic activity at the moment,” Gumball said face to fast with a delicious shade of read on his face for me to take him seriously. He suddenly gulped and pulled at the collar of his sweet shirt. “You’re wearing a suit.”

“You like?,” I say modeling it in various fierce modeling posses including several version of the tiger on the prowl including the growls. This only made gumball blush more.

“I-irrelevant of what I-i think. I must ask why are intruding me.” He shuddered avoiding my eye sight the cute little thang.

I chuckled, “Oh don’t you get it Bubbah,” I dropped to my knees and hold his soft shin delicately in my hands looking into those big orbs of his. “No one should be alone on valentines day.”

“Marshall…why that one of the sweetest thing any-”

“Oh before i forget,” I rummaged through my pockets to finding my gift, “I-igot you something,” now it was my turn to blush. “You know since i am now your valentine and junk. just take it.” i pulled out the small bag and gave it to gumball. 

Gumball looked at me questioningly but he opened the bag to reveal-

“What is this?” he indicated to the herbs with a smile. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“close your eyes and smell them it gets better”

Gumball closed his eyes and laid his lashes over his smooth pink cheeks that i wanted to kiss really bad right now. Contain the urge man. Fight the urge.

“Oh my Glob! They smell heavenly. like roses. What is this magic?!

"No silly it’s Rosemary.”

“Rosemary?”

“You can make tea with it too, so that it can go with you baking and stuff you know. if you want that is,” i scratched the back of my neck nervously.

“ Really tea?! Rosemary. What a delightful name for this wonderful substance. I shall plant them immediately!” He hummed and went off to place them somewhere. But not before he lent into me and gave me a kiss on the cheek he went. 

“here,” he placed the object that had been hiding behind his back  gently into my hands and whispered, “thank you Valentine,” he an of with the rosemary before i could snuggle him to death. the bastard. 

It was a red, really red, very deliciously, gorgeously red all over with all sorts of my favorite shades of red. that said embroidered in the middle “Be Mine Marshall      -Gumball”. Stunned and pleased and upset that i didn’t take my chance at a good confession snog of my crush that i have been crushing for like four evers. there was a note.

dear Marshall. you can suck the red out of the pillow i know you want to because i know you could never resist the sweet temptation of shades of red. It is quite alright, for in this pillow is recipe to regenerate red into the fabric so that you can have all the red you desire

love Gumball

My knees buckled at the thought. Never ending red. Someone deserved to get laid by giving a genius present like this. Oh yes. lots of future snogging indeed,

Sick of Love or Lovesick?

Pairing: Wonho X Reader

Genre: Angst/Fluff

Word Count: 4,192

Request: Can I request a angst/fluff Monsta x Wonho scenario where you two break up over something and both feel sad and broken but then he decides to make you jealous so you see him with another girl. And at the end the members try to set you up and you get back together? Thanks :) -ii-ahn


When Wonho had called you to meet him in front of his dorm, you did not know whether to feel relieved or irritated that you had not even taken off your shoes and stepped inside your own home yet. It was hours since you had been out, and now you were going to head back out only having made it to the front of your door. Your boyfriend’s tone was urgent, so you sucked it up and made sure your door was locked before beginning to walk to his dorm.

Actually, you thought to yourself as you readjusted your handbag over your shoulder, it’s not that bad of a timing. I needed to tell him the news anyway. A yawn released from your mouth. You brought your hands to your eyes, and your fingertips brushed slightly where your dark circles sat. Hopefully, you would be able to get some sleep soon after you met up with Wonho.

After the taxi dropped you off, you walked down the nearby neighborhood before you spotted a familiar figure standing outside Monsta X’s dorm with a hoodie over his head, sweatpants and sandals. He shivered from the cold night as he waited for your arrival. A small smile appeared on your face, watching him from a few feet away. He was not wearing makeup nor was his hair styled. He always complained about how awful he looked, but you always loved the natural side of him. Sometimes, you forgot that you were dating a celebrity.

“Wonho,” you called out just when the distance between the both of you closed. Quickly, he turned around to the sound of your voice.

You thought that your heart would feel relieved once you got to see his face, but your smile fell once you noticed his solemn expression. That was not good news. You felt frozen to your spot and suddenly began to think of any wrongs that you did. Apparently, he had not called you out to hang out with him. Not with such a serious face, he did not. “Where have you been, (Y/N)?” he asked in a low voice. “You forgot about our plans, didn’t you?”

You inhaled deeply, trying to form the right words. Honestly, you did forget about your plans with him, but you knew that you could not ignore the emergency that arose. “I know. I’m sorry. I should have called you right away, but something came up, and I forgot. That’s what I wanted to tell you. I-”

“Was it really important that you forgot about me?” sighed Wonho, his breath visible in the cold air. “This is the fifth time, (Y/N).”

You gulped guiltily and nodded your head. “I know, Wonho, but this time, it was really important. My-”

“Were you with Mingyu again?” Wonho asked, this time, with a little bit of irritation in his voice. The accusation shocked you.

Mingyu was your ex-boyfriend. He was the reason that you missed dates with Wonho two out of the five times. Wonho always seemed to be wary about your ex even though you assured him that everything was okay. Mingyu was not someone that you would ever date again. You knew that even if you happened to have ran into him once in a while…just like you had today.

You met Wonho’s eyes that demanded the truth. He thought that just looking into your eyes would deliver the truth like he wanted, but you knew that he had misunderstood once he began to turn around and head back inside his dorm.

“Wonho, it isn’t what you think it is,” you calmly stated though your voice was near straining. “Please let me explain first before you accuse me of anything.”

“What is there to explain, (Y/N)? You were with him when you were supposed to be with me. I think that’s enough explanation,” Wonho snapped.

Pain filled your heart. Your boyfriend had it all wrong. You wanted to get him to understand, but because he kept cutting you off, you were becoming more hurt and angry as you stood in front of him.

“You don’t believe me at all…” you murmured, hands tightening into fists.

“I want to believe you, (Y/N).”

“But you don’t.”

Wonho rubbed his palm over his face. “It’s getting late,” he said to you. “You should probably get going now.”

You wanted to bite your tongue and hold back, think of his assertion as irrational and hope that your relationship would be okay tomorrow. Except, that was not who you were. You did not like to leave conflict to be unattended. “You aren’t being fair to me, Wonho,” you told him. “I admit that I was with Mingyu, but it was not like I was on a date with him or anything. You didn’t ask me why I might have ran into him. Instead, you just blindly think that I’m hanging out with him behind your back, and that really upsets me. I’m your girlfriend-”

“You’re not being fair to me either, (Y/N),” interrupted Wonho. “If it isn’t a big deal, why didn’t you tell me where you were at instead of having me wait on you? Why is it that when you promise to meet with me that you end up bailing last minute only to later have me find out that you were with that bastard-”

“I told you it was different this time!” you shouted.

Your voice rang out in the cold, dark night. Your nose was beginning to turn red, and you stuck your hands inside your coat to keep warm. Tears formed in your eyes, ready to fall. Wonho stared at you after your outburst, surprised, and hesitating whether he should add some more commentary. You continued on before he did, tired that you have yet to tell the truth and deciding that now was the time. The reason why you forgot your plans with Wonho, the reason why you saw Mingyu, the reason why your legs felt weak and why your dark circles are more visible. A tear slipped down your cheeks.

“My dad is sick,” you cried out, avoiding eye contact. “I got a call from my mom while I was getting ready that he was in the hospital. What was I supposed to do? I dropped everything and went to go see him right away.”

You could no longer hold in emotions, and your sobbing was now more apparent although you continued to speak in between your sobs.

“His back pain is getting more severe, Wonho. Mingyu was also there, but I didn’t call him. My mom did because he’s like a son to my dad. I couldn’t just tell him to leave. I stayed there for two hours, sitting next to him to make sure he had company or until my mom asked me to go home. Even though I am so sorry about making you wait, I just couldn’t think of our date at that time, okay? I just couldn’t…”

Guilt ate at Wonho. His heart felt as if it was picked up only to be thrown at the ground. He felt shameful, pathetic at how he was all angry at you for not showing up when you were someone way more important. “(Y/N)….” He began to take a step closer to reach for your hand as a way of comfort, but you took a step back and pulled your hand away. Now, it felt like someone had left his heart on the ground, leaving it to be stepped on.

You sniffled and wiped away the tears on your face. “Just stop,” you sighed a shaky breath, slowly regaining composure. “I don’t want sympathy if it’s given like this. You didn’t believe me at all. You’re my boyfriend, Wonho.” In a lower voice, you changed your statement, “Well… you were my boyfriend.”

“Wait, (Y/N).” Wonho’s eyes widened as soon as he heard you. “(Y/N), please.”

“No,” you refused. “You’re mad at me for breaking promises about our dates, right? And I’m… I don’t think I want to see or talk to you for a while after this. It works out better this way.”

Turning back to the streets, you noticed how fewer cars were out. It was getting late. You turned back to Wonho. “I’ll be leaving now…” you murmured. Not wanting to say another word, you began to walk in the direction of your apartment. You felt as if energy was zapped from you. More than anything, you were tired and wanted to sleep and just let the day pass.

Wonho watched as you walked away. He wondered if you really had just broke up with him that easily. Just when he was about to feel upset, remembering about the times when you blew him off, the feeling was replaced with anger. Sure, your dad was sick this time, but what about the other times?

“Whatever,” Wonho mumbled as he kicked the air and started to walk back inside to his dorm. “I can do way better than (Y/N). I don’t need her.”

You needed him.

First thing in the morning, you did not remember how serious your argument with Wonho had been, but when you were about to reply to the morning text that he always sent, you looked at your phone only to see zero messages.

Sighing deeply, you pulled your pillow onto your face and then let out a muffled scream. Your whole body still felt as if it had no strength which made it difficult for you to want to get out of bed. When you heard your phone ring, you pulled the pillow off of your face to check the caller ID: Mom. You answered right away. “Yes?”

“Hi honey,” your mom spoke. “I was wondering if you wanted to go together to the hospital to see your dad today. He called me to tell you that he wanted to see you again. That man, it has been less than 24 hours since he last saw you. Such a daughter’s fool.”

You could not help but laugh. It was a perk of an only daughter. You soon decide that that was enough to get you rolling out of bed. “I’ll go. Should we go get breakfast and get him some, too? I’m sure he can’t stand the food at the hospital.”

“Yeah,” your mom agreed, laughing as well. “Also, he said that he wanted you to bring Wonho to see him, too.”

Your heart gave a jolt, for it was not really like you to lie to people. Except that you could not really tell her that you and Wonho had broken up. It was not their problem, but yours. You chose to give an excuse instead.

“Um, yeah… I don’t think I’ll be able to get Wonho to come today. He’s been really busy these days,” you stated nervously.

“Oh, that’s okay! He can just visit another day then,” your mom responded happily. You were not so sure about that.

You cleared your throat as you stepped into your bathroom. “Hey mom, I’m going to hang up now to brush my teeth and all of that. Call you back. Bye.”

As soon as you hung up, you grabbed your toothbrush and squirted toothpaste onto it. The minty goo touched your teeth, and you began to brush hard. Your mind wandered to Wonho. How was he taking the break up?

Hyungwon smacked Wonho’s bottom hard. “Wake up, Wonho hyung! It’s already noon. Are you seriously going to stay in bed all day?!”

Wonho groaned loudly, rotating to lay on his other side, completely ignoring the younger member. He was not really asleep, but he definitely did not want to get out of bed. Eyes still shut, he recalled his fight with you last night. The part where you cried replayed in his mind over and over again, and each time, his heart died a little more. He could not stand you crying. It felt a hundred times worse because he was the culprit of your tears.

“Wake up, hyung!” Hyunwon said again, pulling Wonho’s pillow out from underneath him and letting Wonho’s head fall onto the mattress.

Even more frustrated, Wonho kicked off his blankets and jolted up. “I’m up! I’m up!” he barked. “Now leave me alone!”

Hyungwon froze for a second before he blinked. Then, he walked away muttering to himself. “I guess he’s not dead seeing how there’s fire in his eyes… Gee… Someone woke up on the wrong side of bed… Next time, I’ll have Minhyuk wake him up…”

After Hyungwon left the room, Wonho grabbed his phone to take a look. Not a single message from you. What if she’s with Mingyu right- No, no! Wonho, get it together now, he thought to himself. You’re a single man now. Stop thinking about who your ex is with and focus on some better girls.

Then he thought about you, your family and Mingyu at the hospital together. The image of a perfect family formed in his mind. When you were still dating Mingyu, Wonho knew how much your dad adored Mingyu. He probably even thought that Mingyu was better for you than Wonho himself.

Wonho started to dial a number before he even realized. The other line picked up, and Wonho held his phone over his ear. “Hello?” he answered. A female voice greeted back. “Hayoon, can you help me with something?”

“Where is your boyfriend?” you dad asked as you took off the lids of the containers of food. “Does he not know that his father-in-law is in the hospital?”

You gave your dad a wry smile. “What ‘father-in-law?’” And then scoffed. “It’s not like we’re married or anything… He’s busy…”

“I think he’d be a good son-in-law.”

He didn’t think so. He’s always comparing himself to Mingyu, you thought to yourself. He was way different from your ex-boyfriend. He might not be a model boyfriend, always perfect like how a lot of people saw Mingyu, but you never wanted perfect. Wonho had a nice appearance, but he also had hidden insecurities that made him more human such as his weak heart and fear of rollercoasters and tendency to doze off.

You did not realize you were thinking about him again until your dad called your name for the third time. “(Y/N).”

You looked up. “Yeah?”

“Boy troubles?” he asked.

Did you always make it so obvious? You nodded your head slowly. “It wasn’t my fault though!” You paused, changing your words. “Ok, maybe half of it. I can’t be thinking of him already. We already broke up. He’s probably moved on.”

“No one said that just because you broke up that it’s not possible to get back together. Besides, I doubt a person’s heart can change that quick.”

“Do you like him that much that you want me to get him back?” You raised an eyebrow.

Your dad grabbed a spoon and took a sip of the soup. He smiled. “Bring him here as soon he’s no longer busy.”

I.M took another glace at his phone before he turned back to Wonho and Hayoon. He shook his head. “I already sent a text to (Y/N) to come here. First off, I can’t believe that you two broke up. Second, I can’t believe that you actually think this plan is good enough to work.”

Wonho ignored I.M’s warning and went over his strategy again with Hayoon. I.M exhaled and stood up from the couch. “That’s it. I’ll be in Shownu hyung’s room with the others. My work here is done. I cannot stand to watch this.” He walked up the stairs, leaving Wonho and Hayoon in the living room on their own. Hayoon crossed her arms over her chest.

“Do you really want to do this?” she questioned Wonho again. “Making a girl jealous isn’t the number one way to get her back.”

Wonho shrugged. He wanted to see if you still really liked him based on your reaction when you spotted him with another girl. He then heard you knock on the door. “Coming!” he called out, getting up and walking to the door.

You expected to see I.M at the door but instead, you found Wonho in front of you. You swallowed hard. You remembered how you said that you did not want to see or talk to him. He did not look as if he missed you. There was not a single hint that gave that sign away. “Um, Changkyun…called me…”

Wonho stepped aside so that you can walk, and as you passed by, your arm brushed by his. A shiver ran down your spine. You started to hurry up the stairs to avoid being in the same room as Wonho when you found another person on the couch. She looked stunning. You made eye contact with the girl. “Hi…” you greeted, surprised.

“Hi!” the girl answered back, smiling. “I’m Hayoon. Nice to meet you.”

“(Y/N).” She must have been Wonho’s new girl. You felt like something was caught in your throat. “Um, it was nice to meet you, too. I’ll just be heading up the stairs now.” Your feet picked up the pace and hurried up to Shownu’s room where everyone else was. You placed a hand on your heart and breathed. Calm down.

When you tried to ask the other members what Hayoon’s relationship was with Wonho, all you got back were hesitating and unsure answers as if they did not know themselves. “Since you’re curious, you must still be into him,” Kihyun said, laying on Shownu’s bed like it was his own.

“Well, yeah. I was just really angry with him before because of what he said, but I didn’t think that I’d say that I was going to cut off ties with him. I was thinking of coming down here before to apologize to him, too, but I see that he probably doesn’t even want an apology anymore let alone to get back.”

“Doubt that,” I.M said mockingly.

“What was that?” you asked, not catching I.M’s comment.

“Nothing.”

“Ok…” you replied, slightly confused but did not ask again. “Anyway, you guys called me to hang out, but you all are just sitting in Shownu’s room. Are we going to be doing something?”

“Watch a movie.” “Make lunch.” Both I.M and Kihyun looked at each other.

Jooheon let out a nervous laugh before correcting the other two responses. “We’re going to make lunch and watch a movie.”

You took a glance at all six of the members and tilted your head. They were acting really strange, but you had yet to figure out the reason. “What are we making?” you asked, suspicious. Just like you thought, they did not have an answer at all.

“We didn’t go to the market because we were going to let you decide,” Jooheon answered. ”You and Kihyun should go together.”

Jooheon quickly gave Kihyun a ‘go and distract her for a while’ look. Kihyun jumped up and grabbed your wrist. “Yeah, let’s go!” Before you could say a word, he had already pulled you out of the room and down the stairs.

The rest of the members looked at each other, letting out a sigh. “Ok, we all probably concluded that Wonho’s plan to get (Y/N) back won’t work at all,” Shownu admitted. “I think we’re going to step up and change the game.”

Minhyuk nodded his head. “I feel like we should get Hayoon in on it, too.”

The rest agreed and put their heads together to discuss their plans to set both you and Wonho up. The awkwardness between the both of you made them uncomfortable. Though the main reason was to see both of you happy, they could not wait to rid of the awkward atmosphere for themselves.

When you and Kihyun made it downstairs, you looked over to see Wonho and Hayoon very close to each other. He had his arm around her, and her hand was on his knee. They were laughing at something one probably said. Not wanting to watch, you walked to the door and put on your shoes.

Wonho looked over at you and found Kihyun next to you. He frowned. Where were you going at this time with Kihyun? He was supposed to make you jealous and not the other way around. Wonho gave Kihyun a look, but Kihyun just shrugged. As if to help Wonho’s curiosity, Hayoon spoke up. “Where are you two going?”

“Market to buy food for lunch,” Kihyun replied.

Just then, Kihyun’s phone dinged and so Hayoon’s at the same time. Both pulled their phone out to read the messages. It was the same message: Kihyun & Hayoon. You both go to the market together. Leave (Y/N) and Wonho by themselves. After reading the message, the two exchanged looks as confirmation.

Hayoon stood up. “Oh! I want to go to the market!” she exclaimed. “(Y/N), is it okay if I go instead?”

“Sure, we can just all go together.” You gave a small smile.

Disagreeing, Hayoon shook her head. “You should stay here. I’ll go! Two people are enough to go the market. I have not been in a while, and I’ll need a guy to help me carry the groceries.”

“I’ll go with you,” Wonho volunteered, but Hayoon shot his offer down.

“You stay here with (Y/N),” she replied which made Wonho perplexed. This was not how it was supposed to go. “Since Kihyun is already ready to go out, I’ll just go with him!”

Hayoon then grabbed Kihyun’s arms and rushed to the door. “We’ll be back soon!” she said.

As soon as the door shut, you realized the it was only you and Wonho in the living room. The awkwardness was almost palpable. You played with your fingers, and Wonho rubbed the back of his neck. “I guess I’ll just go back upstairs…” you said, not really to Wonho but just yourself, but when you made it in front of Shownu’s room and turned the doorknob, it did not open. Locked.

Your eyes widened. You tried to turn the doorknob again and locked the door. “Guys,” you called out. “Open the door.” Next minute, someone turned up music really loud inside. Great. No one was going to hear you at all.

You sighed in defeat and descended the stairs once more. Wonho was at the bottom, waiting. “Maybe I’ll just come back later,” you told Wonho, anxious to leave the house.

“Stay,” you heard Woho reply. You looked up at him. “Do you really feel that uncomfortable with me?”

“What? No, I-”

“Changkyun invited you here, so you might as well stay for lunch,” he stated as he walked over to the couch and took a seat.

You took a seat across from them, starting to play with your fingers again to calm down. “Ok.”

Neither of you spoke for what felt like hours until Wonho cleared his throat, catching your attention. “How’s your dad?” he asked.

“I know he’s in pain, but he doesn’t show it,” you revealed. “It’s my dad.”

Wonho could not help but smile. You noticed, and it made your heart jump. “He also,” you continued, “kind of wants you to see him…”

“Really?”

You nodded your head. “But I’ll just tell him that you can’t and that you’re schedule is really hectic or something.”

“No, I’ll go,” Wonho told you. “I should go.”

You could not help but stare at him, surprised at his answer. You both were not even in a relationship anymore, so why would he agree to go?

Wonho stared back at you. His eyes ran from your head to toe. You were really beautiful. He could not see himself without you, and he really did not want to see you with someone else. It was his fault for letting you go that night. “I want to apologize,” he said next when your attention was on him. “(Y/N), I’m sorry that I didn’t believe you and made stupid accusations about you and Mingyu. I was insecure and jealous, but that was not an excuse to act like a jerk to you. I should have let you explain yourself.”

“It’s okay…” you said in a soft voice.

“It’s not,” Wonho denied. “I cut your words off and thought that our date was more important than your dad’s health. You had every right to break up with me. I really don’t deserve you. But is it selfish of me to still want to be with you? I don’t want to be away from you, (Y/N). I’ll do everything to make up to you. Please.”

He moved from his side of the couch and walked over to you. Leaning down, he was so close to your face. He closed in the space between your lips and his. His lips soft, he kissed you slowly over and over again, and you let him. Then a thought crossed your mind, and you slowly pulled back.

“What about Hayoon?” you questioned.

Wonho shook his head. “I’m not with her. She’s just a friend of mine. I love you. Only you.” And he leaned in to kiss you again.

Writing a Spell

Okay, so I see a lot of these posts… However, someone suggested I make one as well. I am not sure whether or not this is the *typical* way of doing things, because I have always written and used my own spells, but I would like to offer it to you nonetheless. To be honest, I sort of just wing it, but in a way that is pretty ~structured~ and helps me get a good spell written, and quickly. 


As always, I find it is important to get organized. As I have mentioned before, I have lists upon lists upon lists of things. I keep a hardcover of my Book that is more geared towards my workings, note taking, journaling, sigils, etc. and then I have a Book on my computer where I write lessons I have learned, rituals and spells I’ve written and done but may not use again in the future, and basically everything else that doesn’t fit into my hardcover Book. 

One of the things I keep on there is a list of things I have on hand. To keep myself organized, I sat down one day and typed up every single correspondence at my disposal that I am aware of. I went through my herb cabinet, and typed them all up. Made a list of crystals, materials that I may be able to use in a spell, everything. From there, I did loads of research on each and every one of them, and made quick-notes next to them. Again, quick-notes for quick reference. Now I have a list of everything I have, which is why I recommend this. Instead of having to google search or pull out a book every single time I want to write a spell, I can search by key word based on the general need or I can search by the correspondence itself–all in a library of things I know I have. Cuts out a lot of time.

Now, I have mentioned before, as I learned back in my newbie days from my lovely mentor–it is very beneficial to get in tune with your correspondences yourself. The quick-notes can be useful in the meantime until you really develop a relationship with your correspondences’ energies, but in the end I am a firm believer that some of us have different energetic compatibility with certain correspondences;  that may make us get different results from them. In my experience, I have found that..you may have completely different results with cinnamon, or whatever it may be, than I do. That said, I’d meditate with/experiment with/take notes on a correspondence as often as you feel is appropriate for you. One a week? One a month? You decide what feels best. 

Another list I compiled on my e-Book is a list of ~spell types~ for my own quick reference. A few examples would be something like… 
Poppet, potion, knot spells, enchanted objects, etc. 
Just ideas for the form I can put my spell into. Keeps it fresh; reminds me to use a variety of spell types that I may sometimes forget about. Also helps me pinpoint exactly what suits the type of spell, and in turn, accelerates the ability of my spell. 

From there, putting a spell together gets super easy.

I want to do a spell. I want to, ummm (I am always horrible at examples ;p)
Find the motivation to exercise every day.

Welllll… Pull out my handy-dandy notebook (eheheh) and be like:
“I think I will make a motivational tea!” (or something) “But, not a hot tea, because when I think of hot tea I think of getting warm and cozy with a book.”

This might be the right choice for you. But after referring to my list, I may decide that I would like to do a jar spell instead, so it is more lasting. I don’t want to make a drink and be motivated for an hour, only to sink right back into my usual un-motivated self. I think this kind of attention to detail sets my spellwork now apart from what it was. The form of the spell I choose directly correlates to how I am measuring it, how I would like it to manifest, and whether or not it runs with or against the currents of my own energies.

After you decide what form your spell will take, you can easily refer to the things you already have on hand to toss into your spell!

So now you know you’re going to do a jar spell, and you’re going to throw some great magicky things in it. What comes next?
For me, I juice it up. I channel hella energies into my spell, make sure it is ready to go out into the astral world and make me proud. I program it. While I am charging it, I tell it what I am charging it for. I have developed a “spell voice” :p
whenever I do a spell, (if I am able) I speak in a soothing, monotonous, chant-like voice. It is kind of a routine for me, as it helps me get into ~the zone.~ You can also speak in rhyme, sing, do a charm of some sort, if these things help you.


Other things that help me are: Repetition and restatement, specificity, hand gestures/drawing, being direct and assertive instead of asking nicely, and then dropping it.


To clarify:

  • Repetition and restatement– repeat yourself. “I’m gonna be hella motivated. I’m gonna be hella motivated. So hella hella hella motivated like so motivated u would NOT BELIEVE.I also like to restate in a present tense, as if what I have willed has already come true. “I am motivated. I was so motivated today. I exercised every day from [this time to this time]. I have remained motivated. I am the embodiment of motivation.”
  • Specificity– Be specific about how long you want your spell to last. Be realistic as well. Spells can/do expire, so, in my opinion, if you want something to last longer than just a small time frame, it’ll take some dope ass magic :p
  • Be specific in your word choice, your time, what you wanna be motivated to do–as many details that you can think of. Visualize and program it as if it is already in existence, and you are just explaining it to someone.
  • Hand gestures/drawings– Very often I use gestures/drawings on myself or paper with ashes or markers or whatever it may be. Very often I make my fingers into a triangle to channel energies. Very often if I use a sigil in spellwork, I will take whatever I am using (flour, for example, if I was making a flour poppet) and also draw the sigil on my skin with it. I always feel like it connects me to my spell, and further enforces my will.  Also just feels pretty cool to do hahaha :p
  • Being direct– I learned this from my mentor. I am the type to be like “Hey can u plz let me like, hav som money to lik, buy food and surviv PLZ” and that leaves the door open for you to get a “lmfao no”  

    I still use respect in my tone, because that is just in my nature, but I am more like “Hey I’m gonna eat today, so yeah, if you wanna join or somethin’ you can.”

    In other words.. Not so much “can I please be motivated? and more like “I am gonna be motivated as hell.” There is no choice.
  • Dropping it– Once you have put your will out there, do not keep asking. Do not keep hoping it’ll “come true” as if there is any question that it will. Simply tell it to happen, and then let it. I have found that the more you “ask” for something, the longer it takes to get to you. I think it is like, you ask, and it’s like “Yeah sure!” but, every time you ask it starts over from the beginning as if you were asking for the first time again. I am not sure if that makes sense, but it makes sense in my head ;)

So now you move along to the last step. You have this jar, with great things in it, it’s super energetically potent, and you have programmed it like a boss. The last thing is to lock it all together and hit send! The seal! 



I have mentioned this before, but I will do it again. 


I always like to seal it vocally and symbolically. I like to say “And so it is” as my phrase of choice, as well as usually do something like…. Melt wax over my spell, blow on it, run it under water, set it on fire, whatever tickles my fancy. That is the magical send button :)



So I think that is all I have to share, for now, my friends!


That’s it! You did it! The end! You’re a bad ass and I am proud of you! 


Please let me know if there is anything I can clear up for you! <3 <3

Right before I left for college, I was running my high school. Feel it. I knew where to park, I knew where to get the best chicken-cutlet sandwich, I knew which custodians had pot. People knew me. They liked me. I was an athlete and a good friend. I felt pretty, I felt funny, I felt sane. Then I got to college in Maryland. My school was voted number one … for the hottest freshman girls in Playboy that year. And not because of me. All of a sudden, being witty and charismatic didn’t mean shit. Day after day, I could feel the confidence drain from my body. I was not what these guys wanted. They wanted thinner, blonder, dumber … My sassy one-liners were only working on the cafeteria employees, who I was visiting all too frequently, tacking on not the Freshman 15, but the 30, in record-breaking time, which led my mother to make comments over winter break like, “You look healthy!” I was getting no male attention, and I’m embarrassed to say, it was killing me.
But one guy paid me some attention — Matt. Matt was six feet tall, he looked like a grown-up von Trapp child, and he was five years older than me. What?! An older boy, paying attention to me? I must be okay. Uff. I made him laugh in our bio lab, and I could tell a couple times that we had a vibe. He was a super senior, which is a sexy way of saying “should have graduated, but needed an extra year.” He barely spoke, which was perfect for all the projecting I had planned for him. We grew up in the same town, and getting attention from him felt like success. When I would see him on campus, my heart would race, and I would smile as he passed. I’d look in the mirror and see all the blood rise to my face. I’d spend time analyzing the interaction, and planning my outfit for the next time I saw him. I wanted him to call. He never called. But then finally, he called.
It was 8 a.m., my dorm room phone rang. “Amy, wassup? It’s Matt. Come over.” Holy shit! This is it, I thought. He woke up thinking about me! He realized we’re meant to start a life together! Let’s just stop all this pretending that we weren’t free just to love one another! I wondered, would we raise our kids in the town we both grew up in, or has he taken a liking to Baltimore? I don’t care. I’ll settle wherever he’s most comfortable. Will he want to raise our kids Jewish? Who cares? I shaved my legs in the sink, I splashed some water under my armpits, and my randomly assigned Albanian roommate stared at me from under her sheets as I rushed around our shitty dorm room. I ran right over to his place, ready for our day together. What would we do? It’s still early enough, maybe we’re going fishing? Or maybe his mom’s in town, and he wanted me to join them for breakfast. Knock-knock. Is he going to carry me over the threshold? I bet he’s fixing his hair and telling his mom, “Be cool, this may be the one!” I’ll be very sweet with her, but assert myself, so she doesn’t think she’s completely in charge of all the holiday dinners we’re going to plan together. I’ll call her by her first name, too, so she knows she can’t mess with me. “Rita! I’m going to make the green bean casserole this year, and that’s that!” Knock-knock. Ring ring. Where is he?
Finally, the door opens. It’s Matt, but not really. He’s there, but not really. His face is kind of distorted, and his eyes seem like he can’t focus on me. He’s actually trying to see me from the side, like a shark. “Hey!” he yells, too loud, and gives me a hug, too hard. He’s fucking wasted. I’m not the first person he thought of that morning. I’m the last person he called that night. I wonder, how many girls didn’t answer before he got to fat freshman me? Am I in his phone as Schumer? Probably. But I was here, and I wanted to be held and touched and felt desired, despite everything. I wanted to be with him. I imagined us on campus together, holding hands, proving, “Look! I am lovable! And this cool older guy likes me!” I can’t be the troll doll I’m afraid I’ve become.
He put on some music, and we got in bed. As that sexy maneuver where the guy pushes you on the bed, you know, like, “I’m taking the wheel on this one. Now I’m going to blow your mind,” which is almost never followed up with anything. He smelled like skunk microwaved with cheeseburgers, which I planned on finding and eating in the bathroom, as soon as he was asleep. We tried kissing. His 9 a.m. shadow was scratching my face — I knew it’d look like I had fruit-punch mouth for days after. His alcohol-swollen mouth, I felt like I was being tongued by someone who had just been given Novocain. I felt faceless, and nameless. I was just a warm body, and I was freezing cold. His fingers poked inside me like they had lost their keys in there. And then came the sex, and I use that word very loosely. His penis was so soft, it felt like one of those de-stress things that slips from your hand? So he was pushing aggressively into my thigh, and during this failed penetration, I looked around the room to try and distract myself or God willing, disassociate. What’s on the wall? A Scarface poster, of course. Mandatory. Anything else? That’s it? This Irish-Catholic son of bank teller who played JV soccer and did Mathletes feels the most connection with a Cuban refugee drug lord. The place looked like it was decorated by an overeager set designer who took the note “temporary and without substance” too far.
He started to go down on me. That’s ambitious, I think. Is it still considered getting head if the guy falls asleep every three seconds and moves his tongue like an elderly person eating their last oatmeal? Chelsea? Is it? Yes? It is. I want to scream for myself, “Get out of here, Amy. You are beautiful, you are smart, and worth more than this. This is not where you stay.” I feel like Fantine and Cosette and every fucking sad French woman from Les Miz. And whoever that cat was who sang “Memories,” what was that musical? Suze Orman just goes, “Cats.” The only wetness between my legs is from his drool, because he’s now sleeping and snoring into me. I sigh, I hear my own heartbreak, I fight back my own tears, and then I notice a change in the music. Is this just a bagpipe solo? I shake him awake. “Matt, what is this? The Braveheart soundtrack? Can you put something else on, please?” He wakes up grumpily, falls to the floor, and crawls. I look at his exposed butt crack, a dark, unkempt abyss that I was falling into. I felt paralyzed. His asshole is a canyon, and this was my 127 Hours. I might chew my arm off.
I could feel I was losing myself to this girl in this bed. He stood up and put a new CD on. “Darling, you send me, I know you send me, honest, you do …” I’m thinking, “What is this?” He crawled back into bed, and tried to mash at this point his third ball into my vagina. On his fourth thrust, he gave up and fell asleep on my breast. His head was heavy and his breath was so sour, I had to turn my head so my eyes didn’t water. But they were watering anyway, because of this song. Who is this? This is so beautiful. I’ve never heard these songs before. They’re gutting me. The score attached to our morning couldn’t have been more off. His sloppy, tentative lovemaking was certainly not in the spirit of William Wallace. And now the most beautiful love songs I’ve ever heard play out as this man-boy laid in my arms, after diminishing me to a last-minute booty call. I listened to the songs and I cried. I was looking down at myself from the ceiling fan. What happened to this girl? How did she get here? I felt the fan on my skin and I went, “Oh, wait! I am this girl! We got to get me out of here!” I became my own fairy godmother. I waited until the last perfect note floated out, and escaped from under him and out the door. I never heard from Matt again, but felt only grateful for being introduced to my new self, a girl who got her value from within her. I’m also grateful to Matt for introducing me to my love Sam Cooke, who I’m still with today.
Now I feel strong and beautiful. I walk proudly down the streets of Manhattan. The people I love, love me. I make the funniest people in the country laugh, and they are my friends. I am a great friend and an even better sister. I have fought my way through harsh criticism and death threats for speaking my mind. I am alive, like the strong women in this room before me. I am a hot-blooded fighter and I am fearless. But I did morning radio last week, and a DJ asked, “Have you gained weight? You seem chunkier to me. You should strike while the iron is hot, Amy.” And it’s all gone. In an instant, it’s all stripped away. I wrote an article for Men’s Health and was so proud, until I saw instead of using my photo, they used one of a 16-year-old model wearing a clown nose, to show that she’s hilarious. But those are my words. What about who I am, and what I have to say? I can be reduced to that lost college freshman so quickly sometimes, I want to quit. Not performing, but being a woman altogether. I want to throw my hands in the air, after reading a mean Twitter comment, and say, “All right! You got it. You figured me out. I’m not pretty. I’m not thin. I do not deserve to use my voice. I’ll start wearing a burqa and start waiting tables at a pancake house. All my self-worth is based on what you can see.” But then I think, Fuck that. I am not laying in that freshman year bed anymore ever again. I am a woman with thoughts and questions and shit to say. I say if I’m beautiful. I say if I’m strong. You will not determine my story — I will. I will speak and share and fuck and love and I will never apologize to the frightened millions who resent that they never had it in them to do it. I stand here and I am amazing, for you. Not because of you. I am not who I sleep with. I am not my weight. I am not my mother. I am myself. And I am all of you, and I thank you.
—  Amy Schumer

anonymous asked:

Hi! I'm really sorry to bother you, but I'm having a hard time understanding which type I am. I know I'm either an INFP or an INFJ -the boderline between the P and J was always extremely close. I've gone through you're blog, and my problem is in that I identify strongly with aspects of both types, even though I know I can only be one. Do you have any ideas or suggestions so I can clear this up? Again, I'm terribly sorry to bother you, and hope you have a wonderful day!

No bother at all. This nice little excerpt by Dr. A.J. Drenth & Elaine Schallock does a pretty nice job of contrasting the differences:

“When you compare the functions of INFPs and INFJs you realize these types are actually quite different, as they have no functions in common. INFPs use Fi, Ne, Si, and Te, while INFJs use Ni, Fe, Ti, and Se. The direction of N and F is different for each type.

INFPs are much attuned to their feelings – the good and bad. Those feelings serve as creative fuel for navigating the world and finding their place in it. INFJs, while emotional (thanks to Fe which causes them wear their emotions openly), lack the depth of emotion that Fi types seem to get caught up in, and they don’t spend such a long time “experiencing” or “wallowing in” their emotions as Fi types can. Fe is focused outwardly, spending a lot of time reading and analyzing the emotional states of others, but it is considerably LESS in touch with its own feelings. Ironically, INFJs can usually read others’ moods extremely well but have a hard time being aware of their own feelings about something. Fe is definitely compassionate, fiery, and emotional at times, but being the auxiliary function, not the dominant function, it takes less precedence in the INFJ versus the INFP.

If acting authentically, INFJ’s will avoid simply getting caught up in their feelings, instead using Fe to verbalize/convince others of their intuitions (Ni). INFJ’s also come across as more bold in their assertions than INFPs. INFPs may appear to vacillate in conversation with others since they are typically using Ne in dialogue. The strong convictions of their dominant Introverted Feeling function (Fi) start to open and can seemingly lose steam or concentration as their auxiliary Ne explores their meaning and accuracy. They may have considerable difficulty making definitive statements of strong conviction. This typically is less of an issue for the INFJ. The INFJ starts its functional stack in Perceiving mode (i.e., Ni), which is open and uncertain (although this openness is often concealed from the outside observer, since Ni is introverted), before it begins to converge into a judgment a la the auxiliary Fe, at which point INFJs sound more convincing and strong in their convictions.

Another major difference between INFJs and INFPs is their overall approach to the world: the INFJ, when functioning authentically, is more analytical, while the INFP is more artistic. This can be understood by looking at their functional stacks. The INFJ moves from Perceiving (Ni) to Judging (Fe), from openness to convergence/analysis. The INFP moves from Judging (Fi) to Perceiving (Ne), from closure to divergence/openness. Hence, INFP’s tend to be much more exploratory in their approach.

INFPs’ writing styles and book preferences vary dramatically from INFJs’. INFPs prefer reading and writing fiction novels. Fi takes personal experience and uses it as a springboard to explore potential plotlines and story ideas via Ne. They love expressing the human condition – the struggles, the emotions, the joys, etc. INFJ’s, however, tend to prefer writing analytically, non-fiction works. They tend to observe the world around them and make deductions, pinpointing occurrences as they understand them via their Ni. They are really more like scientists than artists (a similar comparison would hold true for INTJs and INTPs).”

I do hope this helps. Although today I can agree with the INFJ writing style, I used to write a lot of fiction when I was younger. Going back to the emotions aspect, although both types may feel saddened by someone else’s dismay, INFJs are more likely to empathize with a friend–actually feel what they are going through, even if the experience didn’t happen to them. INFPs can certainly sympathize and still feel bad for their friend, but not really know how they are actually feeling unless they’ve gone through a similar experience. 

INFPs, being more in tune with their own feelings than those of others, are more likely to know exactly where they stand on certain matters, where INFJs may take longer to feel strongly about a certain perspective since they put themselves in the shoes of multiple people with multiple standings. 

Also, this bit from INFJ Blog may help shed some light on the differences between the two types:

“…if you are an introvert, your dominant function is internal, and not necessarily the function which most accurately describes how you express yourself in the world. INFJs express themselves to others mostly through their first extroverted function, Fe; while INFPs express themselves through their first extroverted function, which is Ne.

Since Fe is a Judging function, INFJs will appear more J-like. They are organized, like to be on time, appreciate having things planned in advance, etc. On the flip side, since Ne is a Perceiving function, INFPs will appear more P-like. They are flexible, not as focused on time, and prefer to go with the flow rather than follow a schedule.

However, since INFJs dominant function, Ni, is a Perceiving function, their internal world is more P-like, and vice versa for INFPs. Basically, if you find yourself thinking “I’m really not as put together as you think I am” a lot, you might be an IJ. And if you find yourself thinking “I’m way more put together than you think I am” often, you might be an IP.”

Honestly, if you Google “INFJs vs INFPs” you can find some excellent articles distinguishing the two. Good luck in finding out your type!

Ally, this is for you

@kkumri 

Near where I live, there’s a restaurant called Merlion and out front is a fountain of a lion-headed fish. Not knowing anything about Singapore, I always thought this was a local anomaly and I never made the connection between the statue and the fact that this restaurant serves Singaporean cuisine. For years, I would pass by and think, ah yes, there’s that interesting statue. Isn’t it looking cute today? What a nice carved fishtail it has! Then one day you posted about the fame of the merlion in Singapore and I finally put the pieces together.

Now, every time I pass by that restaurant, I think of you.

I don’t know about you, but I believe in an interconnectedness of all things. The universe is a system, and it evolves together as one whole. Science tells us this, and I believe it to be true. Of course, we’re so deeply embedded, both in the system itself and in the experience of ourselves as individuals, that it’s hard for us sometimes to see that we are related to all things and that there is a bigger picture in which our tiny lives make sense. It’s so easy to lose that sense of connectedness, to come to think we’re alone and uncared for in a harsh world. To combat this way of thinking, I try to pay attention to all the little things that remind me of connections that I maybe don’t understand but of which I am nevertheless a part. Such as, for example, a fountain with a statue, reminding me of a person across the world and my distant but real connection to a human that is beautiful simply in the fact of existing. Whose presence in my life is real, even if it’s not immediately or physically there. How does a connection like this happen? I don’t understand how I, in particular, came to think of you, specifically, or why this exact thing would happen. But it did, and it’s something. Isn’t it something? You and I, somehow, part of something whose meaning we can’t fully understand as tiny individual beings but which, by noticing the connection between us, becomes perceptible.

I don’t know, I think it’s beautiful.

When I saw you’re having a brain-mind-focus-confusion thing (which, by the way, I totally get. Not the specifics of your situation but the general experience where your brain just isn’t working the way you want it to and you don’t understand and it’s frustrating because you just want to fix it and be able to do better. Yeah, I get that), I wanted to write something to you. Even though I’m not active on tumblr, I check your page frequently because of this connection that I formed somehow sometime to your art, your content, your being. It may sound weird and I may be taking this too far, but I thought, as much as this connection has an effect on me, it could have an effect on you, too, if only you were aware of it. This is like, a fourth dimension of the third law of motion. For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction; for every perception of connection there is an equal and opposite participation in connectedness. I don’t know about this –I’m not a physicist, this is a metaphor, there will be no equations to follow up this bizarre assertion. However, I do know: sometimes, complex systems work in ways we can’t comprehend from within the system. This doesn’t mean they aren’t comprehensible, even if to us it seems like they couldn’t possibly be (also, consider your brain as a system whose functioning you can’t fully comprehend from within the system. It’s doing something, and it makes sense, probably, but not in a way you can understand in this moment. This seems relevant to your situation). A butterfly flaps its wings, or a person writes a note to a stranger across the world. This might cause a hurricane but also, possibly, a perception of unexpected beauty. I hope you feel that, I hope you can perceive something wondrous and awesome, I hope you participate in something meaningful.

Also, yes. I am probably insane, but I promise it’s benign. Don’t worry that there’s some freak of nature out there thinking so much about you –it’s only ever good things.

Reflections on 11 months (yes, 11 months) of sobriety

“When we come face to face with the reality of our own imperfection, which is the reality of our very being, we can either laugh or cry; comedy and tragedy, as the masks we see in theaters suggest, intertwine. At certain moments in our lives, in fact, it seems that the most fundamental choice each of us has is between fighting ourselves and laughing at ourselves.”

-”The Spirituality of Imperfection,” p. 190

For those of you who are new here or just didn’t know, my name is Alex and I was a drug addict for over 4 years. In October of 2014, I shot up my last bag and popped my last Vicodin. Not “last” as in “final,” but as in “most recent.” I make that distinction not only to assert that I can’t predict the future, but also to acknowledge my fundamental powerlessness over drugs and more generally the compulsive desire to alter my mood and consciousness through external means as I see fit. In the last year, I’ve laughed and cried; spent sunny days outside with new friends and spent dreary days at home under the covers; celebrated victories and mourned losses; and through it all, I didn’t pick up a syringe or a pill bottle. In the last week or two, I’ve experienced a nagging restlessness that just won’t seem to go away. It keeps me up at night when I should be sleeping and draws my attention away when I should be focusing. It occurs to me that though I’ve spoken about achieving sobriety with a number of people, there is a lot I’ve left unsaid and I’ve decided that I just have to get it out somewhere. So, Tumblr, I choose you to bear witness to my ramblings. What follows is a series of reflections, realizations, and thoughts that have helped bring me to a greater understanding of myself and the world around me. 

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Characters: Single!Misha x Reader, Jensen Ackles, Jared Padalecki

Chapters: One Shot

Notes: Based off this Request by Anon

Warnings: Mentions of Eating Disorder and medical issues related to it. 

Notes: If you or someone you know has an eating disorder or any disorder eating thoughts or habits; please seek professional help right away. Link to my Eating Disorder Help Masterpost

Originally posted by hufflepuffcas

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