not particularly happy with the cut


Seeing how successful our first little gathering was, I’m attempting to quickly organise a second event (plus, many of you already noted that you’d also like this to be regular, and are okay with Saturday)!

As usual, please contact me about participating, just for practicality’s sake. (If the timing is unfit for a lot of people, I might skip this week and postpone it to the next. I’m perfectly happy to stream with only 2-3 of you, even, but on the other hand, I wouldn’t like it if many people were left out.)

Please reblog so as many people could see the announcement as possible - we need this even more now, as the date is particularly close.

Rules and guidelines are under the cut. (Those who participated last week know the drill anyway.)
Looking forward to everyone’s feedback!

Check the streamforthemasses tag for possible updates.

Love, Annie @leaveinsilence

Keep reading
Liam Payne looks cheerful and well-rested during One Direction hiatus
The musician, one quarter of the world's biggest pop band One Direction, beamed as he stopped by HQ for his record label Sony in Kensington, London on Friday afternoon.

A little break appears to be doing Liam Payne a world of good.

The musician, one quarter of the world’s biggest pop band One Direction, beamed as he stopped by his record label Sony’s headquarters in London on Friday afternoon, despite being on hiatus from the group.

Following another big win for the four-piece at the BRIT Awards 2016 this week, the 22-year-old was in high spirits and looked particularly well-rested as he continued to enjoy his time off.

Liam cut a casual figure in dark jeans and an on-trend bomber jacket, which he paired with a grey T-shirt.

The ruggedly handsome boyband star had something of a glow about him, his happy and laidback disposition showing through.  

The singer was accompanied by Funky Buddha nightclub owner and friend Paul Chung, that afternoon, who was characteristically cool with a dollar sign on his T-shirt.

With his bandmate Niall Horan off travelling the world and Harry Styles keeping a low profile, Liam has been keeping greatest contact with new dad Louis Tomlinson.

The duo hit the BRIT Awards together on Wednesday night and representing their four-piece band by accepting the fan-voted Best Video accolade for Drag Me Down.

Ahead of the ceremony, Liam made sure he stayed in the hearts of his admirers as he shared an incredibly sexy selfie on Instagram.

The boyband hunk showed off his sensational six pack - the result of his pre-party workout session - as he geared up for one of the biggest night in the showbiz calendar.  

Liam opted for a black and white filter on the shot which helped exhibit every contour on his incredibly taut stomach.

A smattering of chest hair gave his look a grisly, rugged look - no doubt set to send his ‘Directioner’ fans into a frenzy.

The handsome star, who is on an indefinite hiatus with One Direction, added the caption: 'Workout done off to party!!! #britawards2016’

It was said to have been a disappointing outcome that Niall and Harry would not attend with the duo on Wednesday night.

A source told The Sun newspaper earlier this week: 'This could have been one last hurrah for the boys at what could be their last BRIT Awards as a band.

'But Harry has shown no interest in attending and Niall is away on his holidays in Thailand. Louis and Liam want to be there as a thank you for all the fans voting for them in the Best Video category - which is the big audience vote of the night.

'The band still have a massive fanbase and they should clean up in the public vote so they’re hoping it won’t be a wasted trip.’

Happy Thursday! Here’s This Week’s Icon

Every Thursday, McMansionHell will change the background of its icon to a new, particularly egregious McMansion, as our friend RR smiles on. 

Many people have asked why Ronald Reagan is the figurehead of McMansionHell. The answer is quite simple, and not necessarily political: Through increasing tax cuts and (picking up where Jimmy Carter left off in 1980  when he increased the reach of the Federal Reserve), Reagan deregulated the Savings & Loan associations and to some extent parts of the investment banks (something Bill Clinton would complete with the repeal of Glass-Steagall). How does this apply to houses, you ask?

During Reagan’s administration, he signed the Garn–St Germain Depository Institutions Act of 1982 into law, which allowed banks to issue adjustable-rate mortgages, the kind of mortgages that ballooned during the years leading up to the great recession. When the Savings and Loan Industry went bust, Reagan, by bailing it out with taxpayer money, created a moral hazard, which led to riskier and riskier practices on the part of the investment banks. (We all know how this story ends up.) 

The explosion in building fueled by these economic factors coupled with tax cuts for the wealthy enabled our frienemy, the McMansion, to go out into the world and flourish. 

If you’re interested in learning more about the history of the McMansion, stay tuned, for there will be a Sunday Special with all the information you can get your hands on in the coming weeks!

Yes. I definitely consider myself a feminist and it matters. The idea of what a feminist is is changing. I have so many strong women in my life. Throughout making this record I was really supported, consoled and held by the women in my life. My mother is a professor of renaissance history so I spent a lot of time in France as a child. Going to the Duomo and seeing St. Agatha with her breasts cut off was particularly shocking and made a mark. When you have a history of women behind you, you are constantly being floored by something powerful. It’s like waves of truth. It is humbling to listen to strong women and it makes me realize my capacity. I had to go through this as I was making the record. Through advice from other women, I felt like I [gained] more strength.

Happy Birthday, Florence!

Headcanon 121 (Bromalgamate)

The infamous bromalgamate. The story behind comic papyrus.

This is a fanfiction to make up for all the headcanons I haven’t written.



Bones do snap and break after all.

It’s all revealed under the cut.
Look at my fanfic abilities and if anyone is disturbed by the content tell me and I will make the happy smiles.

Keep reading

When It’s Bad to Have Good Choices

Maria Konnikova explores the science behind why having so many good choices makes us anxious:

“Unsurprisingly, when people were asked to decide between something like an iPod and a bag of pretzels, they didn’t feel particularly anxious: the choice was clear and life was good. When both choices were low in value, the emotions were similarly clear-cut. No one was particularly happy, but neither were they anxious. But when multiple highly-positive options were available—a digital camera and a camcorder, say—anxiety skyrocketed.”

Photograph by Bruno Barbey/Magnum.

I might have mentioned this before, but when I was a little girl, my mother was a chemical engineer who worked for a major manufacturing company, and she worked on a line of very popular menstrual products. So, I mean, menstrual products were a very casual thing when I was a kid. I think I already told the story about me thinking pads were just particularly soft stickers and putting them all over things when I was a toddler, but also I mean we just always had boxes of them around, and my mom would do things like cut pads open and show me how the polymer foam inside worked.

(Side note, this is also how I know that a lot of those jars of “instant snow” you can get this time of year are the same kind of stuff that’s inside pads/diapers/etc. You’re welcome.)

So I have to admit, it was kind of weird for me when I got older and realized that you basically are not allowed to talk about menstrual products in polite company. (Look at that! “Menstrual products” is such a stiff way to put it.) Like forget discussing your period in frank terms, you can’t even talk about the random products you use to deal with it. Can you imagine if it was considered so inappropriate to talk about toilet paper or baby diapers? Bodies are gross, messes happen, but periods are treated differently.

I mean, just watch a pad commercial? They’re not even allowed to use the color red in case it grosses people out. They pour some blue water on a pad, like that’s helpful at all in knowing whether a pad will actually work. And that’s if they even show a pad at all! Usually it’s just like flowers and horseback riding or working out and doing martial arts if it’s a more feminist ad. They’re not allowed to actually talk about the product or how it works, they just use vague-ass language to remind us that their product exists. Like we can forget with our uteruses throwing a giant fit once a month.

So I have to have like this secret network of menstrual product reviews amongst my uterus-having friends, like “oh this pad works a dream but the wings are weird” or “I could probably empty my aorta into this pad and it would be fine” or “I don’t like pads, I only use tampons and this brand has an applicator that should be outlawed by the Hague”. Because once in high school I pulled a pad out of my purse to clean up a soda spill (BECAUSE THEY’RE FUCKING ABSORBENT, THAT’S THEIR JOB) and all the boys looked at me like frightened rabbits.

And I mean, it’s kind of funny to watch the blood drain out of their faces just like it is draining out of my vagina, but it’s also pretty upsetting. Because people who have periods are being taught that their particular brand of excretion (and one that, lbr, is strongly associated with women and misogyny) is grosser than any other kind that comes out of the human body. Their monthly cycle makes them “unclean” in a way that vomiting or urinating doesn’t. It’s so horrible that no one even talks about it. And because no one talks about it, we have problems like people being heavily taxed for tampons, and legislators not knowing how periods work (but still being happy to make decisions about what medications are okay to use to regulate them), and homeless shelters rarely getting menstrual products in donations of other toiletries. People don’t talk about periods or menstrual products, so people don’t know about them.

Even going beyond the widespread political ramifications of this willful ignorance, it makes a normal part of life pretty scary for preteens (or teens) getting their first period. It makes it so they don’t know what isn’t normal. It makes it so people don’t know to go to the doctor for symptoms that are warning signs of severe illnesses, and some doctors don’t even know how to deal with them. It makes it so people suffer needlessly. Even if they aren’t in horrible pain, like a lot of people are, it makes it so they may not know what kind of product is right for them, whether it be a cup, pad, tampon, menstrual underwear, whatever. They may not even know there ARE options. They may not know what kind of painkiller works best for them, or what to try next.

And the fact that there’s this huge blank spot in the way we talk about sexual/reproductive health that even rampant capitalism can’t seem to fully overcome is mind-blowing to me?? Like is a bit of blood really that scary? Really? In a world where action and horror and art house movies with fountains of gore are a dime a dozen? Periods aren’t pleasant, I’m the first person to admit that, but they’re a lot less pleasant when you can’t even ask for help to make them better – at least not in a loud voice. It’s like this bizarre open secret we can only talk about in whispers among women (side note, this makes it even rougher for trans folks to get help) like it’s some kind of arcane secret or curse hanging out inside our uteruses, and if it’s openly acknowledged, it’ll devour humanity.

Anyway, I still keep pads in my purse, and I still use them to clean up the messes that a paper towel won’t touch, no matter who’s watching. I still keep a large stack of them in my bathroom next to the extra roll of toilet paper and the hand towels. I will happily teach little boys and little girls about them, because everyone should know how a basic human function works and is taken care of. Even if you don’t have a uterus, I will be shocked if you never find someone else who has one that you love, whether it’s a partner, family member, or friend. And you should be able to help them, and to give them a place where they can talk about their own body without worrying about being “gross” or “unclean”.

LIKE SERIOUSLY, just talk about periods! You never know when the person next to you might have a great tip for getting blood out of – well, everything.

Are we still doing happy sciles headcanons @quicklikelight and @queerlyalex?

How about the one where Scott helps Stiles buzz his hair again. Not for any particularly dramatic reason. Stiles just feels like a change. And hair is minor enough to not cause a massive ripple effect, but ever-present enough to feel exciting. Scott stands behind Stiles and carefully, cleverly cuts, then uses a clipper, watches as the fine hair flutters to the floor.

(He tells Stiles he’s gotten this good because of practice on lots of puppies. Stiles makes a loud whining sound. Feels appropriate.)

For the next week, Scott can’t help but brush his palm against Stiles’ duckling-soft pate. He finds his hand rubbing against Stiles quite without his volition. Stiles moves into each brush, kitten-like, humming low. When Mason tentatively hovers his hand, Stiles allows it, but is clearly biding his time for Scott’s gentle pressure again.

Within the month, Scott scratches his fingernails lightly against Stiles’ scalp whenever they’re sitting close, because Stiles says the growing hair itches. It stops being a believable excuse after four minutes. They sit close often. So frequently, in fact, they basically never sit without being near each other. Everyone looks at them askance, but they don’t care – it’s calming for Scott, comforting for Stiles. It feels good, and they’re well past any guilt over simple pleasures.

So they’ve been this disgustingly intimate in public for weeks and weeks before Derek rolls back into town for a visit, asks when they started dating, and sends their lives for an existential loop. 

“Dating?” Stiles splutters. “Scott won’t even buy me a burger without expecting payment. Exact, swift payment.”

“I’ve gotten you at least six burgers in the last three years out of my own paycheck.”

“As an exchange! Homework help, cleaning your garage, buying you churros, saving your life that one time.”

“I can’t believe you’ve been keeping track.”

“I have an itemized list of favors and debts.”

“Of course you do. Anyway, Derek, why do you think we’re dating?”

At this point, Derek has rolled his eyes no fewer than five times. 

“Because you’re seven eighths cuddling and you’ve been caressing Stiles the entire time you were bickering?”

Scott looks at his hold on Stiles, thinks about how Stiles has been anchoring him against his side, realizes how close they’ve gotten – literally, figuratively, romantically. He presses an experimental kiss to Stiles’ head, ignoring Derek’s annoyed sounding huff.

“Wanna date?”

“Yeah, okay, but I’ll pay. It’ll screw up my system, otherwise,” Stiles says, looking across at Scott with warmth and humor. He returns Scott’s kiss with a peck to Scott’s cheek.

I was surprised to hear that they cut my butt out! I’m here to tell you that my butt is not dangerous. And there are many, many more dangerous things that people are happy to broadcast. I don’t know what that says about the world we live in, but it probably says something.
—  Tom Hiddleston was shocked that his naked bottom was cut out of the American broadcast of The Night Manager — particularly because it was left in the UK telecast. (W Magazine)

Written before last weeks ep, so off canon & no spoilers but premise is Regina & Emma have words after fighting the snow queen, then Robin arrives, he’s not happy and not feeling particularly honourable…..


She’s too bruised for this right now, it’s a mistake, her walls are down, battered by Emma’s words, words she will have to face later but not now, now she has to deal with this situation.

She is injured, not perilously so but enough for the pain to catch in her throat, leave her miserable. Emma is injured too but not as badly, few bruises, some cuts but then Emma is level headed, even in a fight and she, well she is reckless.

A fact that Robin has not stopped berating her for ever since he arrived at the edge of Storybook forest just in time to spot her and Emma stumbling out from the trees, covered in snow, little bits of ice and a fair amount of blood, mostly hers.

Emma hovers awkwardly to her side, keeps accidentally catching her eye and they’ve been here before but this time there’s less of an audience, no David and his so called wit and no ex-boyfriend’s wife calling her out. Dear Marian is still renting a room at the Nunnery, well she’s taking up space, her needs are few given her frozen state, which is frankly the only state Regina would ever deem acceptable should she herself ever finding herself needing bed and board in that place.

But in the here and now, yet again Emma is witness to more of her pain, the pattern between them all is really starting to piss her off. She wishes Emma would just leave, she knows why she had stayed but Robin has calmed down somewhat, a side to him she hasn’t seen here in Storybrooke and only briefly before in their realm.

He was so angry, at first she couldn’t understand, was hit with the dread that something had happened to the town or heaven forbid Roland. It was only when he started on the ever so repetitive reckless track that it dawned on her, he was angry with her and to some extent Emma for venturing into the woods alone to track down the latest villain, the so called Dairy Queen.

He’s still clutching at her wrist, fingers digging into her flesh and she’s distracted by the thought, not for the first time that his nails are always so clean especially for someone who lives in the forest, literally sleeping on the forest floor. She is hit by the memory of him rising from a nest of moss completely leaf free during the missing year and having the audacity to laugh at her not so subtle attempts to remove twigs and a god damn beetle from her hair. She wanted to punch him then, now she wishes he would notice the leaf tangled in her hair, the one she can see in the corner of her eye, was about to remove before he came up in her space, hopes he will spot it too and brush it away gently like he did then.

He is calming down and has loosened his grip on her wrist, busy himself with sweeping his eyes up and down, taking her in. Looking for injuries she realises, she pulls her good hand from him, resists the urge to wrap it round the injured one.

“Regina” he huffs “are you injured?”

“No” she lies, it comes out a little more petulant than she would have liked but quite frankly her wrist is hurting like a bitch, she just needs some time, away from his never ending stare and Emma’s sideward glances, she supposed she should be grateful they both care but right now, she’s tired, in pain and pissed off with people that care but not quite enough.

“Regina” from Emma it sounds like a warning, from Robin a disbelieving, almost groan. Great, two people she cant lie too, two people who think they know her better than she knows herself.

“Fine” and now its full on petulant “my wrist is a little….sore” she allows. Its far more than sore, its broken she heard it snap when she mis-stepped and fell back, landing on it heavily. It will be fine when she gets some peace and quiet, can find a happy thought to wrap herself in and heal it. The magic is there, scratching under her skin but it’s skittish, too hocked up on adrenaline from the fight to settle down and heal her. Her magic not unlike herself is quite irritable right now.

“Let me see” Robin hmms softly, reaching slowly, very slowly towards her, “roll up your sleeve” he’s no fool, knows better than to do it himself. She wonders if he remembers when she told him about magic and emotion, how intertwined they are, especially for her. How she confessed to him, that sometimes she couldn’t tell the difference between her and the magic, if she was upset or it was. It seems he does remember, worst after using a lot she had said, like in battle he had asked and now he has that look on his face, the same one he wore after her confession and ever since she overused, that look deep into her eyes, checking she is present, grounded her.

“I’d rather not” she says

“That bad” he replies, not a question but a statement.

Emma is hovering again, its evident she wishes to leave.

“You can go now Miss Swan” she tells her, “Im sure your pirate is missing you’

"Right” Emma nods, hesitates but finds her resolve “we will talk in the morning”

“Dont hold your breath”

“No we will Regina, things were said tonight, things that cannot be unsaid but perhaps not said at the right time, in the right way and if I was out of line then I apologise but we WILL talk in the morning because despite everything, theres no one else I’d rather have by my side in a fight”

Emma offers her a smile, small but genuine as she starts walking away, clearly not expecting a reply, they both know one is not needed. Her silence is answer enough.

“Hey Regina, we make a good team” she calls back, pushing her luck.

Clearly Emma’s magic is making her cocky and despite herself she smiles.


Robin has taken to her Granny’s, commandeered the back room, not her ideal choice but its closest, its late so the diner is practically empty as he ushers her through, hand on the small of her back, the first time he has touched her since their ‘break-up’. His earlier grasp on her wrist doesn’t count since she doesn’t think he was even aware of it.

Granny nodded them through, she couldn’t hear what was said but it was a brief conversation and she trusts him not to say anything to the old women that if repeated could throw the town into yet another panic.

“Roland can be quite clumsy especially after a massive amount of sugar” he explains at her raised eyebrow, the unasked question of how come he knows where the first aid box in the diner can be found, answered.

“Come on” he smiles, hand returns to her back rubs small circles there which is nice.

“What happened between you two?” He asks as he unwinds a bandage strip, ready to re-wind around her wrist.

She is sat on the edge of the couch with Robin on his knees to her side. Removing her jacket was easy, hiding the agony not so.

“I told her she ruined my life, she told me I was wrong, I ruined my own and hers” she shouldn’t have said that lest he think she would rather Marian was still dead which obviously she does but he doesn’t need to hear her say that. “I mean in everything” she clarifies “henry, breaking the curse”.

“You wish your curse was still in effect?” He asks head tilted to gauge her reaction.

“Life was a whole lot simpler and safer for that matter” lifts her injured hand to make her point.

Robin chuckles that soft chuckle, the one that is almost always accompanied by a shake of his head and bottom teeth disappearing into his lip, he does not disappointed now, makes that face at her, like she’s incorrigible and he’s delighted by it.

“And what of Henry?” He asks

She wonders briefly if he means what of me and this is his way of asking but decides, no he would have just said it. She almost wishes he had, that question would have made her slightly less uncomfortable than the one he has asked.

“We would have been fine” she says, they would have worked it out, she would have found a way. Curse in tact, would have saved them both some heartache but really fine? better than fine? happy? she’s not sure.

“You really don’t regret the curse?” He asks.

The simple answer is as always no because it led to Henry but breaking the curse, well that’s a whole different ball game. She thinks of Emma’s words again “you ruined mine, you have no idea” but she does and Emma knows it. That’s the annoying thing about the Saviour, she gets it, all of it, the whole messed up situation and yet she still thinks that she and only she can bring back the happy endings but she’s wrong.

“Regina?” Robin murmurs. He has stopped mid bandage, concerned look on his face as his eyes drift down to her other hand, the uninjured one, the one in which she digs her nails into her palm repeatedly. Robin reaches for it, then stops.

“Im fine” in answer to his unspoken question “just tired”. Straightens her palm flat on her trouser leg, look see, all fine.

“The curse gave me control” she tells him, now she has none, its unsettling. “At the time, it seemed necessary” more than necessary.

“And now? You gave up Mayorship voluntary after all”.

“Mmmm true…but I have more important things to do right now”.

“For which I am grateful” he says, this time he reaches for her hand, doesn’t stop himself, takes it and gives it a gentle squeeze briefly before turning his attention back to the bandaging.

“Besides this cursed land, isn’t all bad isn’t it?”

“No indeed not, Im quite fond of it”
he tells her “especially the food”.

“It always comes down to food with you merry men” she teases.

“Besides, I think that level of control is unrealistic”

She stifles a sigh, wishes he’d move on, change the subject, so much simpler before when they were together and she would have shut him up with a kiss.

“You think Im unrealistic?” tries for flippant, fails.

“Thats not what I said”

“Its unrealistic to expect everything can be controlled, can be fixed, sometimes all we can do is try our best” he’s looking concerned now, worried about her, worried about the burden he has placed on her, a burden she knows she deserves but yet,

She snorts a laugh “Or you can just get yourself a code and live by it no matter what” its cruel and she didn’t mean it, mostly she regrets it apart from that small angry voice that says this is ridiculous, he loves you and you love him, codes and everything else be damned.

Her words have shaken him, he rocks back on his haunches to his feet, pushes away from her, she sees the tight line in his jaw before he turns fully away, paces forward, hands running through his hair, his little tell of stress.

“Im sorry” she says and means it now.

He half turns back, “don’t be”.

“I am sorry Robin” she forces herself to her feet. Inspects his handiwork, he has done a good job on her wrist.

He steps forward as she does, two magnets, meeting in the middle of the room. They really shouldn’t be this close, he said he wanted to fix up her wrist and he has done so now they should leave, go, their separate ways but neither of them move away, only closer.

“Its a bit of a mess isn’t it” he says, chuckling low, its not funny and he’s not really laughing.


Robin pulls her into a hug and she lets him. Its just a hug and its been a shitty shitty day. Its nice to lean against him, tuck her head into his chest, breathe him in, familiar and thrilling at the same time.
One hand around her waist, the other at the back of her head, palm down running up and back down, smoothing it against her skull, she sighs, so nice.

Both her arms are round his waist, loosely wrapped there, neither of them speak, neither wants to break the moment but her wrist aches and she wants to move her head up to his, wants more so she pushes back and away. Robin reaches for her, pulls her back and kisses her, hard.

Its too brief then he’s the one pulling away now, putting space between them, hands running back though his own hair, apologising again and again.

“Don’t” she tells him. “There’s nothing you can say to make this better, we both know how we feel and you know how you feel about Marian and I respect that and despite what I said earlier, I do respect your code, I really do” she tells him, words spilling out, “but apologising is pointless”.

Its all pointless really she thinks.

She stands, back straight, head raised “thank you for this” lifts her bandaged wrist “and thank you for coming to find me today it means a lot but Robin you made your choice, asked for my help which I intend to give you and in return I ask that you continue to stick by your code”

“I don’t know how you feel” he says, he’s miserable, its not what she wants. He is supposed to have his happy ending, she has promised herself he will get it. Marian has been frozen too long, she will try even harder tomorrow but she wont lie to him.

“Yes you do” she says and leaves, doesn’t look back, makes it all the way home before she gives into the tears, pushes away the tiny sliver of hope in her heart, that voice that whispers, perhaps now he knows how you feel, wishes she told him sooner, wishes she hadn’t told him at all.

Before they met, Natalie knew that Karl Malden had worked with Kazan in both theater and movies, and was particularly impressed that he’d played Mitch in the original production of A Streetcar Named Desire and won an Oscar for his performance in the film version. She first saw the movie in a screening room at Warners with Dennis Hopper, after hearing Nick Ray, James Dean, and Dennis talk about Kazan; and during her years under contract to the studio she screened it several more times, to remind herself that there was life beyond A Cry in the Night and The Burning Hills, to admire the direction and acting, and simply to watch Vivien Leigh, who fascinated her above all other movie actresses.

On a personal level, Natalie was only moderately curious about other actresses, but after we became friends, she asked many questions about Vivien. She was fascinated to learn that they shared a “wrist problem,” as Vivien thought her wrists too thick and usually wore bracelets or long sleeves to conceal them. Natalie seemed to find every detail important, from Vivien’s favorite couturier to her favorite role.

The extent of Natalie’s curiosity suggested some kind of personal identification, to an extent that became apparent only after both lives had ended too sadly too soon. Although Vivien’s life was the higher-wire act, they had the same delicate balance in common: unhealed wounds and undying humor, surface poise and subterranean disorder. Vivien’s favorite theater role was Marguerite in The Lady of the Camellias, and Natalie’s first theater role would have been as Anastasia: feverish romantics, both of them, living in a climate too cool for their kind.

-Gavin Lambert, Natalie Wood: A Life

I smoke and think of our conversation
where I told you I needed
a distraction. Some substance to alter my
frame of mind. You tell me, “You are better
than this.” Then you ask me if you are
a distraction. I want to say, life is my
distraction from you now. Even though
life should be the priority, and
what I have had with you should be
on the back burner. Particularly now.

I want to say: You are better
than this. This work fueled
silence of a dial tone.
Better than the cut you have made
of passion from your life because
it scares or distracts you.

One day, perhaps you will find
a balance within yourself. Someone
you can come home to.
You will cease to hold yourself back
from the endless flow of beauty
waiting for your fingertips
to inject life into places
you used to fear were filled
with darkness but I will
have stopped waiting for you.

As we cannot try, in vain
to make each other happy
any longer.

—  “On Being A Distraction” by Radha Kistler {} 
That Something

If it seems really choppy and quick, it was written that way. I feel like memories move through our mind quickly, and some details are missing. This is about your life with Harry, casually together, but not really. He wants things to be a bit more serious though, and you try to resist (although lets be honest, who would?) Just wanted to write something a bit more interesting than straight smut. But it is smut, so enjoy that ~ 


Keep reading

I’ll be missing this and next week’s JUST updates due to a bunch of stuff busying my schedule and then going to MCM london by the end of the week. since I’ve ran out of buffer and will be working on a new batch of pages afterwards, the next updates might have a slight style shift; I’m still not particularly good at comics and want to hit a better balance between quality & quantity, since the current update rate isn’t cutting it for me. here’s hoping all will go well with figuring that out.

that’s about it, happy monday everyone!

cut open my sternum;; 

“‘Are you happy here?’ I said at last.He considered this for a moment. 'Not particularly,’ he said.'But you’re not very happy where you are, either.’St. Basil’s, in Moscow. Chartres. Salisbury and Amiens. He glanced at his watch.'I hope you’ll excuse me,’ he said, 'but I’m late for an appointment.’He turned from me and walked away. I watched his back receding down the long, gleaming hall.” [a henry/richard fanmix] 

fireshrine - purity ring // all for myself - sufjan stevens // now, now - st. vincent // swimmer - caroline // muscle memory - lights // in her prime - the strokes // rotten stinking mouthpiece - the mountain goats // hourglass - catfish and the bottlemen // pretty baby - brendan benson //