i will make a conscious effort

everyday I’m growing and I know I’m not perfect by any means at all whatsoever but man I am realizing I am good and I am love and I love myself. I think that’s by far my greatest achievement in life and the only thing is I don’t know why I started off not loving myself in the first place? there is love in my life everyday and with every interaction I have and I am so blessed and thankful. each day I want to make a conscious effort to be better and do good and to love more. I’m happy. I’m happy being me and loving me and being by myself rn. for the first time in a while I’m not really getting kisses or anything but I have never felt so much genuine love in my life than this period that I’m living in.


Hey all!

long time no see! life has been crazy! i’m going to make a real conscious effort to keep a much better schedule for updating this moving forward! my sincerest apologies!

Here are a few shots from my last trip to London! I got to do a lil shoot with Thomas Farthing with the homie ryan davies-hall! as you can see we smashed it!

Shot by Dani Dovie-Dotse.

as always my beautiful friends,

- stay|ragged

anonymous asked:

in what ways do you practice minimalism?

- i’ve cleaned out and gotten rid of everything i don’t need/use

- my living space is clutter free.

- i’m always deleting old photos, contacts (people whom i don’t communicate with), my history on my computer/phone. i keep my friends list/who i’m following to a low number.

- i watch what i spend…i only spend it on things i absolutely need.

- i keep my schedule clear and open. i only do things that would be completely beneficial to me, things that make me happy.

- i’ve gotten rid of all the toxic people in my life.

- i focus on what matters. i think about what matters/what makes me happy. i make a conscious effort to keep all negative thoughts out of my mind and life. i only need thoughts that make me feel light in my head. the heavy ones have got to go.

- I also wear very minimal makeup or none at all.
small ways to improve your bullet journal:
  • bring a ruler everywhere you bring it
  • maybe dedicate a page or two towards working on improving your handwriting. look up pangrams (definition: a sentence that includes every letter of the alphabet at least once) and practice writing them slow and steady. look at handwriting you like online and make a conscious effort to slowly change your handwriting over time. 
  • add in a little color, if that’s your thing! I personally like using washi tape, stickers, and highlighters.
  • keep it consistent– it’s hard to look back on lists to see if any of it applies to today when your colors and symbols keep changing. make sure you have a key in your bullet journal so that you know what symbols to use for different types of things.
  • find out what works for you! I personally print out a calendar every month because I feel like drawing my own out, even with a ruler, isn’t neat enough. maybe you draw yours out, or maybe you don’t find a monthly calendar useful. find what fits your schedule best!
  • try out different weekly spreads to see which kinds work better for you. you can see a lot of different weekly spreads in the bullet journal tag here on tumblr!
  • keep track of your habits. maybe this isn’t for you, but I personally use my bullet journal to help keep track of whether I’ve taken my meds, if I’ve had enough water to drink, if I’ve gotten at least 10 minutes of sunlight, and how many hours I’ve slept.  I find that this keeps me accountable and I’ve been healthier since I’ve started!
  • lastly, use it! sure, you might mess up or want to rip pages out, (I know I sure did!) but in the end, a bullet journal that has things in it that help you is a TON more useful than an empty notebook sitting around with good intentions!

So one thing I’ve learned this year is that it never hurts to be kind to people. Going the extra mile isn’t hard. Waiting an extra second to hold the door isn’t hard. Complimenting your friend’s outfit isn’t hard. Smiling when you talk to people isn’t hard.
Making the conscious effort to be kind is not hard. It just takes the thought.

can i just say that i LOVE the absolute attention that skam is making in making the conscious effort of putting in subtle hints, showing that even feels just as deeply about him and isak as isak feels?

like, i feel it’s SO important? even could have been shown to be a total douche, disregarding isak completely and being cold towards him. skam could have so easily gone down that route.

but no, they’re not. so far anyway, they’re not. and it’s so refreshing to see that? to see a show not go down the cliche route, but instead, showing even having genuine feelings being reciprocated back to isak, that they aren’t unrequited from just isak’s side. that the attraction, and not just attraction, but that feeling of “this is something more between us that i feel for you,” is coming from even’s point of view too, even if the narrative is from isak’s point of view.

just, with the whole, remembering that isak likes his cardamom, that even could HEAR isak’s voice breaking when he was trying to say cardamom like he had back at even’s place, but it not coming out as a laugh, but rather a choking sob, and even could detect that and his smile faltered STRAIGHT away into a frown. in the nervousness he feels when he has to strike up a conversation with isak. in the fact that, yes, even DOES get jealous when he sees emma and isak. in the fact that when he texted isak, he told isak that it was HIS, even’s OWN fault, that things were going too fast, and he knows it. in that he could open up about his fears to isak, and talk to isak about simple things like the music he enjoys? in that he made grilled cheese for isak and HUNG OUT with him, and ENJOYS hanging out with him? in that he recklessly breaks into someone’s home just to be with isak and actually just … joke around with him and kiss him. that once even starts kissing isak, he doesn’t want to stop kissing him. in the simple back rubs even gives isak when they cuddle and how even LISTENED to isak when isak talked about his parents with him. in the simple way even still looks at isak in the same way he looked at isak with such intensity the very first time.

i’m just so happy skam’s actually … gone down such a reinvigorating path of not showing the same old same old trope that they COULD have SO EASILY fallen into and shown. thank god for actually showing even and isak as 2 boys who BOTH FEEL for EACH OTHER, in the very direct and open way they show it with isak, but in the very subtle and quiet ways they show it with even. 

and just … how can you not have faith in even and isak having their happy ending? of course, even and isak are gonna have a happy ending. there is no doubt in that.

Meditation is always ideal; there is no need to correct anything. Since everything that arises is simply the play of mind as such, there is no unsatisfactory meditation and no need to judge thoughts as good or bad.

Therefore we should simply sit. Simply stay in your own place, in your own condition just as it is. Forgetting self-conscious feelings, we do not have to think “I am meditating.” Our practice should be without effort, without strain, without attempts to control or force and without trying to become “peaceful.”

If we find that we are disturbing ourselves in any of these ways, we stop meditating and simply rest or relax for a while. Then we resume our meditation.

If we have “interesting experiences” either during or after meditation, we should avoid making anything special of them. To spend time thinking about experiences is simply a distraction and an attempt to become unnatural. These experiences are simply signs of practice and should be regarded as transient events. We should not attempt to re-experience them because to do so only serves to distort the natural spontaneity of mind.

—  Dilgo Khyentse Rinpoche
Olivia's Spell Casting Basics

I have received a few messages from people who are just starting to practice and want some guidance. There are a million resources that are super helpful for beginners and I plowed through witchcraft books when I first started out. It took me a while to really get a feel for casting though so here are my basics that I use and would recommend to anyone looking for guidance with spell casting.

🌕– Raise your energy before you cast a spell. Personally I imagine myself tapping into my energetic core and then attaching it to the energy of the earth and drawing up energy from the earth. It doesn’t matter how you do it but make a conscious effort to raise your energy. Picture yourself filling with golden light or lighting or whatever image speaks to you. Listen to music that helps you trance into a powerful place. Dance or work out and feel your body humming. Whatever you do, raise that energy!

🌕– Repeat your incantation three times. This piece of advice helped me so much. This way you can pace yourself and find a rhythm to the spell and it doesn’t feel so abrupt when you finish.

🌕– Always phrase your intent in the present tense as if you already have it. (Ex: I am healed instead of I want to heal or I will heal)

🌕– Release the energy you built up into the spell. Sounds obvious and yet it isn’t. I used to feel antsy and excited after I did magick because I was building the energy but not releasing it. Before you end your spell consciously send as much of the energy you raised into your spell as you can manage. Imagine the energy flowing out of you and into the spell, filling and anchoring it, and use your final words to sever your connection to that energy, like tying off a ballon or breaking a bridge.

🌕– Once you’re done, be done. Try not to think about it. Don’t picture how your spell will happen or wonder if it worked. Go about your life and whenever something comes up related to it remind yourself you have it taken care of and let the thought pass.

🌕– Be specific but open to possibilities. If you are casting a spell for love and by love you mean a girlfriend say that! Don’t be afraid to ask for what you want. However, be open to possibilities. Life is random and sometimes unforeseen things are what we need. Try to really boil down what you want and then be open about it’s form. Using the girlfriend example I just gave maybe you are picturing this classic meet cute where your eyes lock and you know it’s her. It’s possible but it could also be that girl that just messaged you on Tinder or the friend you’re getting closer to, or the cute waitress you feel compelled to leave your number for. Idk man I’m single but you get my point, accept opportunities as they come.

🌕– Believe in yourself! Believe in your magick! At the end of the day this is all you and if you don’t trust yourself you’re getting in your own way. Magick is complicated but you know yourself and your needs and can listen to your intuition. Trust it, trust yourself, and know you are a kick ass witch. You’ve got this!

who the fuck cares if people are ‘forcing’ diversity. i have to force myself to get out of bed to go to school in the morning but just because you have to make a conscious and active effort doesn’t magically stop it from being the right thing to do. chances are if you don’t think any kind of social change should be ‘forced’ youve never tried to enact any social change, idiot

Drinking Alone

Warren Worthington iii x Reader

A/N: This wasn’t requested and I have about five hundred other things to be doing but I listened to Last Week’s Alcohol by Kerrigan and Lowdermilk and it just? Idk but I could see it in my mind so I had to write it 

Tags @kurtwxgners @put-in-writing @v-writings @notsofastmaximoff @rax-writes @shayara @raypclmer @emmcfrxst

Warnings: Drinking/alcohol

Loud electronic music thrums through the crowded house party and scenes from yesterday’s fight play on repeat in his mind. It takes a conscious effort for Warren to uncurl his hands from the fists they had somehow formed. There’s a pretty girl trying to make eye contact with him across the room, but all he sees is you. The hurt in your eyes and the way you had pulled away from him.

I can’t think when you’re around. I need space. I need to think.

He doesn’t realise he’s reaching for his phone in his pocket till he’s staring down at your contact information on the screen. Against his better judgement, he starts writing a text.

I’m sorry. No, not good enough. Try again. Can we talk? Pathetic. Start over. I miss you.

He deletes the text and repockets his phone without sending anything. The girl across the room is starting to make her way over, and somehow, a smile is tugging at his lips. It feels like a lie. Warren raises his glass and knocks back the last of his drink. It’s his fourth. Or maybe his fifth. It’s all starting to run together and he can’t bring himself to really care. His phone vibrates and his hands clench into fists again. It’s you. He knows it’s you. He doesn’t check, though. Can’t make himself check. What if it isn’t you.

I need space.

The walls start to feel like they’re caving in on him, like he’s suffocating; drowning in the crowd. The music feels very far away and Warren doesn’t want to be here, but he doesn’t want to go home. Doesn’t want to go back to his empty apartment. Being surrounded by people is better. There’s less thinking involved. He’s still lonely, but it’s a different type of lonely and it’s better. He has to believe that this is better. His phone buzzes, reminding him of the text he just received but he still doesn’t check it. It probably isn’t you. He surges to his feet, looking for another drink. Something to do with his hands, something to occupy his mind. Something to make him forget, if only for now.

He catches a glimpse of you across the crowded room and the fucking floor feels like it’s falling out from under him. The girl smiles and she isn’t you and Warren almost laughs because he’s pretty sure he’s losing his goddamn mind. Maybe it’s the alcohol burning through his veins. You’re everywhere he looks but you’re not here and it’s been barely twenty-four hours since he last saw you and he misses you so completely, so painfully that he thinks his heart might stop. He’s going insane. That has to be it. He’s lost his fucking mind. Scenes from last night flash through his mind. You’re standing away from him, standing by the door. You’re leaving. Telling him not to call.

His phone is in his hand again, though he doesn’t remember when he reached for it. Your contact information is on the screen and the photo of you tucked against his side feels like a punch to the gut. His knuckles are white where he’s gripping his beer bottle too tightly. It’s not like you were his. Not properly, not yet. Not anymore. Three perfect weeks. That’s all he was allowed and he’s finding it almost funny that he didn’t know better; that he thought he could have something good and that it could last. You said don’t call, but he’s never been one for following instructions. He stares at your picture for a second longer before slipping his phone back into his pocket. He’s never pretended to be brave. Yesterday’s fight is playing in his mind for the thousandth time that night.

“Warren, you don’t do relationships, so how am I any different? How am I-fuck, I just-how am I supposed to trust that this is different? That this’ll work out?” You’re fighting back tears and your hands are shaking and he feels like he’s frozen in place, like he’s slowly falling apart from the inside and there’s nothing he can do to stop it. “I can’t-don’t just tell me that it will. Please don’t just expect me to believe you when you say you won’t hurt me-I-it’s-fuck. I can’t-everything feels off in my head, I need to think. I can’t think when you’re around. I need space. I need to think. I can’t be here right now.” You’re opening the door, walking away from him. When you turn back, his heart heaves it’s self into his throat. “Please-it’s-this isn’t-don’t call me.”

Warren downs his drink and blindly reaches for another, shoving the memory away.  

The pretty girl from across the room earlier has made her way to him, and she’s even prettier up close but when he smiles at her, it feels like someone else is prompting his movements. He doesn’t feel like he’s here, doesn’t want to feel like he’s here. He doesn’t want to feel anything right now, but the persistent ache in his chest is radiating through him, making him painfully, deeply aware of every second ticking by. The girl leans in close, grabs his hand, pulls him out to dance and he doesn’t have the strength to resist, so he goes with her. The music is loud and demanding and it directs his movements, muscle memory taking over as he moves with the girl. She’s pressing close, an arm draped around his neck and her smile has a suggestive edge to it. Warren feels like an outside observer looking in because it doesn’t feel like he has any control over his actions. He doesn’t want her, doesn’t want to be dancing with her, but he can’t make himself pull away. Her lips graze over the shell of his ear as she presses closer still, and suddenly he’s called back to another house party, weeks ago, similar to this one and yet infinitely different.

His arms are around your waist and he can feel your breath ghosting over his skin and you’re looking at him like there’s no one else in the world who matters and the sudden rush of sheer, unadulterated want that courses through him is dizzying. Your body is warm against his and though the room is crowded, his attention is entirely on you and when you smile at him, he feels like his heart is going to pound out of his chest. You’ve always been too good for him.

His entire body tenses up at the memory, like there’s an electric current searing through him, yanking him from his inertia. This isn’t where he wants to be. His apartment flashes in his mind again. The fight wasn’t even really a fight. It wasn’t big or loud or violent but it left him utterly shattered, and he hadn’t realised just how invested he was in you being there till you walked out.

I can’t think when you’re around.

He can’t breathe. The crowd is pressing in on him and he can’t fucking breathe.

The song is over and he pulls away, making some feeble excuse and all but stumbling for the door. He needs air. The house is full of people and the heat is rising and the walls are closing in and he feels like he’s suffocating so he stumbles out, away from the house, towards the street. Pushing clumsily through the gate, Warren’s feet hit the sidewalk and he feels like his lungs work again. He only gets a second’s reprieve though, because suddenly he registers that you’re standing there. You’re only a few feet away from him and you look like you’ve been crying and this has to be some kind of fucking hallucination because there’s no way you’re here.

Don’t call me.

The silence feels like it weighs a goddamn ton, like it’s crushing him where he stands. Your hands are shaking and you take a deep, steadying breath.

“Don’t-don’t say anything, just-I’m sorry. I’m sorry about-and the-I left. I shouldn’t have. I’m just-fuck, I’m so scared. I want you; I want to be with you, but god Warren, I’m so scared. This scares me.” You gesture helplessly at the space between the two of you and you look so small somehow, so vulnerable that it’s taking all of his limited self-control not to just reach for you. Not to pull you in close and hold you and tell you that it’s all okay. His body is screaming to just step towards you but he bites down on the impulse, instead standing frozen in place.

“I’m scared too,” Warren says softly, hesitantly. The look of tentative hope that crosses your face is enough to make him keep going. “I don’t-it’s-my shitty track record with relationships is my fault, but I want to be with you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone before.” His hands are shaking now and he shoves them into his pockets, hoping you won’t notice. This kind of painful honesty is dizzying, but he’s made it this far so he might as well keep going. He owes you that much. “But the idea of hurting you-it scares the shit out of me. This is fucking terrifying but I want to make it work. I want us to work.” His breathing is unsteady and you’re standing as still as a goddamn statue and he’s sure, he knows he’s done something wrong. Said too much too soon. Scared you off. He tries to think of something to say, some way to defuse the situation, to persuade you that he isn’t a fucking catastrophe of a person, that-

You fling yourself at him, your arms going around his neck as you collide with him, knocking him back a step as he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you in close, burying his face against the crook of your neck, breathing you in. You’re here. You want him.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper against his skin as you cling to him. Warren doesn’t know how to say that you don’t need to apologise, that everything you said to him last night was justified, that it’s a fucking miracle that you’re here, that you want him, so he doesn’t say anything. He just gently tilts your head up towards his and leans down to press a soft kiss to your lips, and the little sigh you let out as he kisses you is like a rush of pure exhilaration because you feel like every good thing there is in the world and somehow, for some reason, you want him.

Claire? Are you all right, love?”
“Am I all right? My God, Jamie!” Tears stung my eyelids and I blinked hard, sniffing. He raised his good hand slowly, as though it were weighted with chains, and stroked my hair. He drew me toward him, but I pulled away, conscious for the first time what I must look like, face scratched and covered with tree sap, hair stiff with blotches of various unmentionable substances.
“Come here,” he said. “I want to hold ye a moment.”
“But I’m covered with blood and vomit,” I protested, making a vain effort to tidy my hair.
He wheezed, the faint exhalation that was all his broken ribs would permit in the way of laughter. “Mother of God, Sassenach, it’s my blood and my vomit. Come here.”
His arm was comforting around my shoulders. I rested my head on the pillow next to his, and we sat in silence by the fire, drawing strength and peace from one another. His fingers gently touched the small wound under my jaw


(this scene should have been in the show) 

How you all are with transmisogyny

A lot of the time I see people act like the oppression and prejudice that all trans people face is identical to that which trans girls experience, and that isn’t the case, so I’d like to write out a few key differences so people can better understand us, since despite what you may think most people perpetuate transmisogyny just as much as cis people do, just in different ways

One of the most important things I feel is how a lot of people, despite heavily advocating for not assuming someones gender, will refer to trans girls as “dude”, or “man”, even after they express discomfort. Even though a lot of people don’t consciously think about it when they say those things, and use that as an excuse to keep doing it. It’s important to not misgender people, and making a conscious effort to not make people uncomfortable with your words is important

Another point is how people automatically assume that the transphobia faced by, say, nonbinary people, and the transphobia faced by trans girls, is exactly the same, when that can’t be further from the truth. The way cis society views trans girls and the way they view non binary people is very different. With nonbinary people, a lot of it is jokes about “haha since when have there been so many genders” because they’re uninformed and ignorant, and yes, that is obnoxious and bad, but it doesn’t really face up to the violent transphobia that trans girls face. We have slurs thrown at us, thrown out of our own homes, even attacked for even presenting as girls, and while there are unaccepting parents for everyone, it’s easier to live a comfortable life identifying as non binary while in the closet, and only being out to trusted friends and online, whereas the emotional toll of having to remain closeted and live life as a man while being a trans girl is excruciating

There’s also the way that people view certain behaviors when a trans girl performs them, and when anybody else does. For example, a lot of trauma victims will be into “childish” interests like children’s cartoons, or rb a lot of kidcore, and that’s generally accepted as being okay. However, I’ve seen many trans girls get harassed for acting that way, despite the people doing the harassing being mutuals, and even friends, with people who do the exact same thing, but aren’t trans girls. Trans girls are held to a much higher standard for maturity, even if they themselves are trauma victims, while every one else gets a pass to act as they please

I see many trans girls headcanon characters, especially those they id as, as trans girls like themselves, and a lot of the time, they get shot down by a ton of people unless they basically write an essay on it, while you can claim that literally any character is nb and have it be generally accepted, so why is it trans girls have to so heavily prove that characters are trans girls when other people don’t?

There are a lot more points I could bring up, but basically this is just a small piece that hopefully might help some of you understand why a lot of trans girls experience frustration at other members of the trans community

  • “I believe in women uplifting other women. The only thing that makes our gender weaker, is the fact that we are the gender less likely to stand up for the other. We are the gender more likely to try and make another look bad, and when one of us is already bad, instead of being kind, we pound them into the ditches. And that’s what makes us weak, nothing else. If we can change this, we can change the whole structure of our being female, I truly believe this. Personally, I grew up admiring other women and wanting to be friends with them, but unfortunately, I learned the hard way that they were the ones who would hurt me. Women hurt other women all too often, and that’s a fact. I’d like to see not just us not hurting one another; but us actually making a conscious effort to be happy for another when she is happy, to hope the best for another when she has better, and to lift another up when she is down. We know that so many of us are harsh, cold and selfish, and we try to protect ourselves from one another, that’s the reality. But it’s also a reality that what is real can change. So that means we can change it.”                
2. Filling the Tyra Void

The question we kept asking ourselves coming into this cycle was, “What does a post-Tyra Banks Top Model look like?”

It’s probably too soon to say anything conclusively, but man was it jarring the way we were introduced to the model house. Where were the Tyra photographs, Tyra curtains, and Tyra catchphrases slathered on the walls? We didn’t even get a proper tour (i.e. girls running around screaming about how great their pad is) of the place!

Is this a conscious effort to be less tacky, or did they hire the new panel so last minute that they didn’t get a chance to make pillows with Rita’s face on them? It just doesn’t feel like home without narcissistic decor.

Also, there’s no more TyraMail. Now the message from the host is known as a “RitAlert,” which is a probably a better name than my suggestion: Ora-spondence. Despite what the name would indicate, there’s nothing urgent about a low-quality, low-energy video selfie filmed from a cellphone. I wonder if the models’ literacy skills are so questionable that they had to ditch having the girls take turns reading text off a screen.

While there are some minor format differences, thus far I’m pleasantly surprised at the subtle Tyra touches Rita possesses. We discussed last week how when Rita heard a sob story, she had to one-up it with one of her own. Apparently, interrupting other people’s back stories with personal details from her own life is a pattern for Tyra Rita.

For example, at panel, Rita asks if Cody grew up living in the shadow of her twin, Tash. Cody cries and nods affirmatively. Rita boasts that she could read the twins’ body language to determine that proclamation, even though you can totally see her reading off some producers’ notes on the table. I appreciate that she’s trying to stunt like she’s Miss Cleo or something.

I’d be interested in hearing how Cody got relegated to beta twin, but we don’t have time for that story because Rita wants to inform everyone that she grew up in the shadow of her older sister, too. At the risk of pulling a Miss Cleo myself, I’d guess that’s why Rita is such an attention whore as an adult. (An attention whore who I like so far, mind you, but an attention whore nonetheless.)

The best part of this scene is that Law wants to cap off the discussion with an emotional moment by asking Tash to hug her sister. Tash doesn’t budge initially so he commands her a second time to give the hug. The judges talk about how beautiful the hug is despite that they literally forced them to do it.

“Cody, this is the time for you,” Rita says. Not long after, she awards Cody “best photo” to complete the storyline even though - REAL TALK - Tash has a much better photo. But it’s not about who actually has the better photo, it’s about Rita sticking it to her bitch older sister who hogged too much of their parents’ love.

In addition to injecting herself into the winner’s story, Rita manages to make the loser’s story about her, too. Like many a Top Model girl, Justine said she had a difficult childhood, which is evident from these family photos of her family strangling each other and making Justine wear a basket on her head.

Rita can’t get over how young 18-year-old Justine is. (That’s another difference between Rita and Tyra. Rita acts like 18 is a distant memory to her despite being in her mid-20s while Tyra would imply that 18 was, like, yesterday.) Though it’s barely relevant, Rita says:

Such humble beginnings! Can you believe THEE Rita Ora ever had to work at a mall? (Yes.) When Rita eliminates Justine a little later, Justine is so overcome with crying hysteria that she drops to the ground. Rita comforts Justine by once again talking about herself.

Yeah, we heard you the first time. The point Rita is trying to make is that Justine is so young, she still has time to improve her modeling skills. Whatever. Real models get their starts much younger than eighteen; Justine is already behind the curve!

Let’s not even talk about how a bunch of the girls on this cycle are older than Rita. What hope do they have starting a modeling career now?

That’s why telling 27-year-old Cody that this is her time is pretty disingenuous if she thinks a modeling career awaits her. Selling sneakers is respectable, Rita. Selling bogus dreams borders on cruel.  

4 Funniest Moments from America’s Next Top Model Cycle 23 Ep. 2

like I get that Martin and Ben obviously did a great job with what they were given and they were the ones who created pining, the love and the heartbreak in every choice they made, but at the same time so did the editing team, so did the composers, so did the costume designer, so did literally everyone involved with the show. and if that wasn’t the story Mark and Steven wanted to tell, why the fuck didn’t they stop literally everyone else involved in the show from doing all this??? I don’t think it works to have script writing indicate supposedly ‘just bros’ (which tbh I don’t think it really does anyway) when everyone else makes the conscious effort to make it obviously more than that. I dunno. this just doesn’t add up to me. all I can do now is sit back, put my feet up and ride this train to fuckville. 

Entrée (J2, ballet AU, eventual sadist!Jensen, hurt!Jared, read the note at the end)

With a dismissive turn of his head, the man moves toward the door.

“W-wait!” Jared stammers out, and miraculously, the man does. “A-are you Je-Jensen A-A-Ackles?” The shivers are back now, tenfold worse for their absence. Jared feels like he’s going to shake apart.

“Who’s asking?” the man replies, voice gruff, unkind. He turns back halfway, so Jared is in his periphery, and Jared makes an effort to look healthier, happier, better.

“M-my name is J-Jared,” he says, tries to will down the cold with a conscious effort. “I want t-t-to learn from you.”

“Well, Jared,” the man says, and his voice makes Jared’s name something simultaneously menacing and unimportant, “I’m afraid I’m not taking on any students right now.” He turns back to the door and Jared feels his heart drop downdowndown somewhere dark inside him because this is his last hope. He’s given everything to get here. He has nothing left.

“P-please, Mr. Ackles!” he says, forcing the man to stop again. “I don’t—I don’t have anywhere else to go.” It comes out broken, too honest. Pathetic. No one would want him like this. No one. Especially not Jensen Ackles.

There have been many moments in Jared’s life when he’s hated himself before, but this…this is the darkest.

Mr. Ackles has already turned away again, taken the remaining steps to the front door. He unlocks it with a jingle of keys, pushes it open. He’s leaving. Leaving Jared out here, alone.

Jared deflates, wilts, a flower in frost. He can only be so resilient. He has saved all of himself for this, and now he has to go back, through the cold and the wet, he doesn’t even know where. Make a new plan, find a new path.

Maybe Mr. Ackles will let him stay on the porch until the rain subsides.

Maybe Jared will just curl up on the side of the road and die.

“Well, are you coming in or not?” that gruff voice asks him, and Jared’s chin jerks up from its journey down to his chest.


“Get inside,” Mr. Ackles reiterates. “You look like a fucking drowned puppy, Jesus.” He stomps his work boots on the mat in front of the door, limps over the threshold.

Read more on AO3

(Bad news: I haven’t written a Christmas fic, because somehow in trying to brainstorm for it, I got this whole crazy idea in my head. Good news: you get this instead?)

We could discourse about this all day. Scream until our lungs collapse. The truth is tumblr is not and will never be the platform for social justice. Tumblr only uses social justice as tool to dehumanize and bully people. It’s America-centric, refuses to understand nuances and only glorifies boring white people for the same things they “drop” POC for. What I’m trying to say is that if you hear about an issue on here, don’t let tumblr be your only source of information. Don’t be afraid to branch out and understand and change your problematic behaviour elsewhere. It’s okay to not be aware of everything. You’re young, you’ll learn and do better. As long as you make a conscious, daily effort to be kind and do good, it doesn’t matter what fools on here are preaching.


Shawn Mendes
Words ~ 1,200
Warnings ~ Swearing
Prompts ~ 11) “
You walked into my life and every little piece of strength I had just vanished. You’re my weakness and I hate that.”
13) Kiss me, please
14) Please, just stay, please
Note ~ This started off okay then as I got more tried it slowly got worse and worse. Also, as I was writing this all I could think about is how it reminded me of Daemon and Katy from Onyx XD

I was shoving the last textbook into my bag when a Shawn grabbed my hand and started dragging me through the busy hallway. He was walking so fast that I found it hard to keep up with him.

“Hi to you too.” I noticed the pissed off look on his face, “What’s up with you?”

“Nothing.” Shawn snapped, but I could tell he was making a conscious effort to stay calm. Alrighty then.

We didn’t speak after that. People would turn to stare as we walked past, but quickly looked away when they too saw a very angry Shawn. Honestly, I wouldn’t blame them; he was intimidating even on a good day.

Shawn eventually dropped my hand and slammed open the doors leading into the school’s theatre, any harder and I’m pretty sure the doors would have came off their hinges. Confused, I slowly followed Shawn into the room as he flicked the lights on. I was even more confused when jumped onto the stage and walked over to the piano that was set up for a school performance in a few days time.

“Come here.” Shawn commanded, his voice coming out a lot more friendlier this time. Taking his hand, he hoisted me onto the stage before guiding me over to the instrument. Somehow we both managed to squeeze onto the little stool. Shawn looked at me and smiled weakly before whispering very quietly, “Play for me?”

My hands hovered over the black and white keys as I racked my brain for a tune. I’ve only ever played piano in front of people a handful of times; and while Shawn has listened to me play before, it didn’t make me any less nervous. 

Soft music filled the room as I played a familiar song I learnt years ago, knowing there was no chance I would mess it up horribly. Shawn let out a content sigh and closed his eyes as the peaceful melody, all of his anger and stress seemed to just melt away.

I couldn’t help be giggle as he tried humming along to the tune. The boy’s eyes snapped open at the sound. At first I thought he was going to be mad, but instead he just smiled even wider. My hands stopped their movement on the keys and the last note hung in the air.

I forgot how close together we really where. When I turned to look at him our faces were only inches apart, our noses almost brushing together. Shawn’s gaze moved from my eyes to my lips, back to my eyes, then my lips again, making his intentions on kissing me very clear. Even so, he didn’t move which was odd seeing how upfront he normally was.

Then I realised he was waiting for me to make the first move, “Shawn?”

“Kiss me, please.” Shawn all but begged, leaning closer until our foreheads touched and our lips nearly brushed, but no further than that.

I so badly wanted to run away and hide in some cave in the middle of nowhere and never come out. We shouldn’t be this close. Shawn shouldn’t be asking me to kiss him and I shouldn’t want to kiss him. I kept telling myself that over and over again, but who was I kidding, I wanted to kiss him so bad.

And that want only became stronger when he looked into my eyes again and that whole cheesy rom-com thing happened where I got ‘lost in his eyes’. Then his lips parted and I couldn’t stop thinking about how soft they looked and how awesome it would be to kiss them and his hot breath only drew me in more.

So I kissed him. It was amazing. Everything started off slow and innocent. But then one of us started putting more power into our movements and things just sort of took off.

Shawn knew exactly what to do and how to act. With one hand on my waist, he tugged me closer so I was practically sitting on his lap; his other hand finding itself at the back of my head to keep me from moving away. A involuntary breathy sound left my lips as Shawn’s fingers got tangled in my hair. At first I thought it would have scared him away, but in fact it did the opposite as Shawn pulled me even closer.

Eventually the kiss slowed down to a halt, but neither of us where ready to move away. Shawn started drawing small circles on my waist with his thumb while humming the tune I was playing earlier.

Suddenly reality came crashing down on me. What the hell was I doing? I shouldn’t have kissed Shawn. More importantly, I shouldn’t have enjoyed kissing Shawn. I mean, we’ve spent most of the year hating each others guts. We’ve only just started seeing each other as friends like a month ago. Does he seriously expect me to suddenly be all lovey-dovey with him? After all the shit he’s put me through?

Pain flashed across Shawn’s face as I stood up and walked around the other side of the piano to collect my bag from the floor, “Where are you going?”

“Away from you.” Okay, maybe that was a bit harsh on my part.

“Alex?” He stood up and took a step towards me. I took a step back.

“I shouldn’t have kissed you. It was a mistake.” I took another step back as Shawn tried reaching out for me again, knowing if I let him touch me I’ll just cave like last time.

The pain in his face quickly turned into something much angrier, “Don’t lie, I know you liked that kiss just as much as I did.”

“So what if I liked it? It doesn’t change the fact that you hate me!”

“Alex, I don’t hate you. I’ve never hated you.”

“Then why have you been treating me like dirty for the past year?”

“Do you really want to know why?” I nodded, “You’re why. You walked into my life and every little piece of strength I had just vanished. You’re my weakness and I hate that. And I didn’t want to hurt you by doing something stupid, so I tried pushing you away but so far that hasn’t been going to plan.’

"Well, I’m sorry that I’ve made this past year so difficult for you.” I shot back, still not sure if I should be angry or upset with what he just said.

Shawn let out a frustrated groan, “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Sure you didn’t.” I turned to walk away but Shawn caught my arm before I could leave.

“Alex please.” All the anger had washed away from his face leaving the saddest look I’ve never seen, “I’m sorry that I was a giant dick and I hurt you. I want to make this right, just stay, please.”

God, I hated how weak I was, “Okay.”

Shawn nearly jumped in the air with excitement, which I had to admit was pretty funny. Apparently he was so excited that he went in to kiss me again, but I quickly pushed him away laughing.

“Only friends to start with. So no more kissing or anything.” I stated.

“I’m perfectly okay with that.”

porous-kitchen-utensil  asked:

@young minority bi kid anon: I'm 20 and came out to my immigrant parents in september. My mom had a similar reaction to yours, and I had to dispel a lot of negative stereotypes surrounding bi people ("how do you know?" "Well I think we're all a little bi" "what if you're with one and decide you want the other?" -->just a few). I talked to her about these things, and made a conscious effort to make bi puns/jokes all the time to normalize it. She's much better about it now :)

for anon ^