my first attempt at this kind of text

I. Watch those old cliché love story movies
I know you like. Admire the way he kisses
her, holds her eyes in the palm of his hand
like a jewel. Learn from him.

II. Hold me when something seems off.
Press your lips to my forehead as if they are
a band-aid, mend the wound, and promise
not to rip it off too quickly when they part from
my skin. You have always known that I am a
sensitive thing. Adhere to it. Pay attention to
when I need your softness.

III. Here, let me hand you a list of all of the
things I wish you could do, not wish you could
be. This is not an attempt at me trying to change
you, dear, this is an attempt at trying to save
what may have very well been doomed in the
first place. I want you to feel the same fire that
I do. I want you to burn, just as I do. I want you
to feel how it is to be the scarred remains of
what is me, and understand why I yearn for the
kind of healing that I do. I want you to play
surgeon and piece my body back together.

IV. Look over your ex-girlfriend’s text messages
to her current boyfriend. “Good morning,
beautiful”, “I hope you have a wonderful day”,
and “dream sweetly when you sleep” should
come as second nature to you. I once was
this person, and I’ve been drained of all the
adoration I can spare by not receiving it in
return. I am not a flower that can stay in
constant bloom, and if you think I can, then
I’m sorry to tell you, but the garden you are
searching for does not exist in this graveyard of
a girl.

V. I want to feel wanted.
I want to feel wanted.
I want to feel wanted.
Does this help you understand?

—  a list regarding how you can love me as wholly as you want to make it seem // Haley Hendrick

Psych + Text Posts

(I saw that there weren’t any of these on Tumblr as far as I could tell - I only found one set, and it was solely for the ship Shules - so I attempted to make some myself! Please be kind; this was my very first attempt, and I’m well aware I could have done better. I’m working on it. :) )

Through the Dark

Originally posted by ccandides

(Take my hand, let’s see where we wake up tomorrow.)

word count: 3,970
note + trigger warning(s), 160702 ||  I was notified by a very lovely and kind reader that this story is and/or can be possibly triggering for a few in the following way(s): (thoughts of) depression, anxiety, insecurity

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To expound on my earlier point I like that Kingsman is attempting to be a new generations James Bond because that’s not actually their intent

Oh I’m sure some fucko in marketing wants it to be but the movies themselves feel less like some kind of vain reboot or James Bond Jr ( that was a thing by the eay, god the 80’s ) I can only judge from the first kingsman but the trailer shows strong signs of following the same tone and path as its predecessor.

The film’s are a take on the James Bond Style spy, right down to Eggsy probably getting a new girl every movie, but they are a true and blue homage. They take the good of James Bond, the things people like and make it their own.

They have fun with their film, and right down to Harrys mother fuckin eye patch that makes him look like Harrys evil twin, they embrace the cheese of the spy film tropes without making them the focus.

I’ve always personally really hated the Austin Powers films, thought they were a garbage series that had little to no point other than thinking it was satarizing James Bond. The movies were never fun and all 100% about “How can we Crack a joke at this ridiculous situation” In my opinion they’re an example of what Kingsman is doing, done wrong

All in all, kingsman is less a reboot or a continuation or a parody of James Bond, but more a spiritual successor.

Eggsy, however intentional this was, is going to be this generations Daniel Craig, in an attempt to homage and pay tribute to spy films they’ve kinda given James Bond the most dignified way to continue, at least in spirit and that’s pretty fucking awesome.

Take note Hollywood, you can continue a franchise without continuing a franchise.

[II b.] Game; A Short Fic.
Pairings: HaruI/SumiBanba.

Sinopse: Haruki and Sumireko decided to start a little bet. The winner will be the one who get the first kiss of the respective lover. IT’S SUMIREKO’S TURN!

you can do it ojou-sama

Some silly notes: yep, this is a translation of my original text (which is in portuguese) so… this is the reason why i’m not translating any of the ~slangs~ haruki says. (the text loses some things but yeah sorry for that idk how to translate these kind of thing//).

Previous / [Haruki’s turn]

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Man Booker winner's debut novel rejected nearly 80 times
Jamaican author Marlon James says he nearly gave up writing after his first novel, John Crow’s Devil, was rejected 78 times by publishers
By Mark Brown

“He recalled that his first novel, John Crow’s Devil, was rejected 78 times by publishers, before it was eventually published in 2005. “I had to sit down and add it up one day and I had no idea it was that much,” he said.

Despite the success of his latest novel, which the Man booker judges described as “an extraordinary book” after a unanimous decision, James said he thought the publishing industry had not changed that much since his first book was repeatedly turned down.

“There was a time I actually thought I was writing the kind of stories people didn’t want to read,” he told Today. Asked if he had considered giving up writing, the 44-year-old writer said: “I did give it up. I actually destroyed the manuscript, I even went on my friends computers and erased it.” He said he retrieved the text by searching in the email outbox of an old iMac computer.

James is the first Jamaican writer to win the Man Booker prize, taking the award for an uncompromising fictional history of the attempted murder of Bob Marley in 1976.”

Today, for the first time in forever, I met my friend Hannah. Okay, for this to make sense, I should probably explain.

Hannah (heroesofbaltimore) is my best internet friend. I started talking to her in fall of 2013. We started talking on tumblr, and quickly started texting when we realized we both lived in Canada and in the same province. We became good friends and we both changed each other’s life.

This girl saved my life. In the fall of 2013, I attempted to jump in front of a bus. This girl’s kind words stopped me. She was there for me when no one else was. Hannah is the reason I’ve started to follow my dreams of becoming an author. She’s actually the reason I finished my first story, and with her help, I uploaded it online. Most importantly though, she teaching me to love myself.

I helped changed her, she tells me sometimes. She says that when she talks to me, she doesn’t feel so alone anymore. She feels happy, and that makes me feel great about myself. She also let’s me know that I’ve given her the confidence to do things outside of her comfort zone and follow her dreams.

We always talked about the future, how four years from now -after her graduation- we could meet each other. We would go on for hours about how we both wanted to move to California and pursue our futures. It wasn’t until recently I realized how close by she lived.

When I saw her, I ran to her and picked her up. I twirled her around and I never wanted to let her go. Saying goodbye to her was one of the hardest things I had to do.

Today, I met her. After a two hour drive in a blizzard, I can finally say that I’ve met my best friend. It was the greatest hour of my life. I had never felt that comfortable with someone before.

After today, I know that there isn’t someone I would rather chase my dreams with.

Dear Coach

Sexual assault is any type of sexual contact or behavior that occurs without the explicit consent of the recipient. Falling under the definition of sexual assault are sexual activities as forced sexual intercourse, forcible sodomy, child molestation, incest, fondling, and attempted rape.

It happened when I was sixteen. I am twenty now.

I did not define what happened as sexual assault until two nights ago, after I had a panic attack, four years after the fact. It was the first time I ever cried over the event, and the first time I ever realized that it had damaged me.

When you, my talented, handsome coach, began texting me, I felt incredibly special. You were so good at the sport we played, and everybody praised you for your abilities. And here I was – your young student, who had never received this kind of attention before. I was accustomed to high school boys, but you were a man, 23 years old, and experienced in comparison to myself. You told me that I was beautiful, that I was talented as well, and that you liked me more than your other students. When you asked me to come over to your house one night, I felt like an adult, knowing that you were different than the boys I was used to.

When you kissed me, it felt magical – a grown man wanted me, even though he could have had anybody else. When you asked me to come back to your bedroom, I said no, knowing what it might suggest, and knowing that I was not ready to lose my virginity that night, but hoping that if things progressed over the next few months, it would happen. When you led me to the sofa, I figured that it was a safe compromise, so I took charge, kissing you like a mature woman would. Before you, I had only seen one penis (and even at that, I kept my eyes closed for the entire two minutes that it was out), so I had no idea how to deal with one. But I wasn’t a girl – I was a woman, and a woman should know how to pleasure a man, right? So when you took off my shirt and bra, I reached for your zipper and tried my best to be the woman I thought you wanted me to be. I gave you a hand-job for a few minutes, but you told me to stop because I wasn’t doing it right. I was relieved – I had no ideas what I was doing, and was happy just to kiss you.

I guess you had other plans though, because when you rolled me over onto my back, pulled my skirt off, and tried to put your penis inside of me, I was surprised.

“I don’t think we should have sex tonight.”

You continued to try and force yourself into me as I squirmed underneath you. I put my hand over the opening of my vagina, covering it.

“I don’t want to have sex with you.”

You tried to pry my hand off of my vagina, and tried one more time to put your penis inside of me, before pausing to look me in the eye.

“But I love you.  I want you to be my girlfriend.”

I sat up, seizing the opportunity to remove myself from underneath your body.

“I don’t think we should do that.”

“If we go back to my bedroom, I’ll use a condom.”

“Let’s just stay out here, I think I’m gonna go soon.”

“But I love you.”

I may have been naïve in the events leading up to this, but I knew that love did not constitute what you had just tried to do, and hearing those words, when I knew they meant nothing, did not make me want to have sex with you. However, I was afraid that if I tried to leave, you would continue to try and put your penis inside of me, and that maybe you would succeed. So when you grabbed my head, and pushed it down towards your penis, I figured that I could satisfy your need without having sex with you, and obliged, hoping that it might be enough. When you told me you loved me after that, it felt like a slap in the face. I began ignoring all of your text messages, and stopped showing up to practice.

I do recognize that I enabled this situation, and that I should never have put myself in the position that I did; I take responsibility for enabling you and for engaging in any sort of sexual activity with you. I will never stop blaming myself for these things; this is why I never told anybody or tried to get you in trouble, or recognized that what you did to me was wrong. It is also what made me choose to include the definition above, because without it as a reference, I would continue to question whether or not your actions actually constituted sexual assault, and I’ve already done that for far too long.

I refuse to take responsibility for your actions any longer. I never considered this to be sexual assault, and shouldered the weight of my mistakes, as well as yours, for four years, until I began reliving the experience during sex and had a panic attack, causing me to realize how scarred you have left me. I discontinued a lifelong passion when I stopped participating in a sport, for fear of having to face you, my coach, every day. I lied to everybody around me about why I stopped, and left almost a decade of practice behind. Sex should never be a traumatic or painful experience, and my experience with you was. However, I refuse to allow you to haunt me, and will not live under the shadow of what you did any longer.

This has not been written with the intention of punishing you, or sharing your identity; I have no intention of opening old wounds when mine have begun to heal, or of causing you any pain. However, I hope to share this with other people, who have doubted the validity of their experience, who have lived with shame and self-doubt for far too long.