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give me a Hamlet who believes he must be cruel to be kind

a Hamlet whose “I loved you not” is choked out like the lie it is. whose words to Ophelia begin stumbling and contradictory but build to viciousness, tears in his eyes barely in check. Hamlet, whose attacks upon her femininity are calculated and careful, hitting her where it hurts most. a Hamlet who tragically mistakenly believes aiming for her most intimate insecurities, betraying that trust born of a tender love, will make a cleaner break of it all and keep her away from him, away from the doom that he sees settling over Elsinore like a black cloud.

give me a Hamlet who acts, as he always does, from a sense of necessity. Hamlet who protects those he loves by betraying them. Hamlet whose mistake was acting too much on his own, making true the isolation and single-minded purpose he promised the ghost of his father. Hamlet who walks away from Ophelia disgusted with himself, self-loathing and heartbroken but that’s nothing new. 

give me a Hamlet whose lamentations and rage at her graveside don’t feel hypocritical. a Hamlet who loved her and hates how he failed to keep her away from all this death, driving her to it instead. a Hamlet who sees that the pain he caused with good intentions only continues to build.

give me a Hamlet quietly begging that, in Ophelia’s orisons, all the sins he is about to commit against her be remembered.

Soft, pale lavender
Soft morning light
Your soft hair strewn across the pillows
Your hand soft in mine
The soft whisper of your breath over my cheek
Laughter that tries to be soft
But when it’s 12:45 and the porch light is soft in the window laughter isn’t soft
The smell of your perfume is soft at the base of your neck
And my lips are soft on your collar bone
And I forgot what it felt like to be soft until you dragged your soft fingertips over my spine, your words soft in my ear telling me that I’m safe
Your voice making the world go soft and quiet
But I’m supposed to be writing about things that remind me of you and not how you made me trust again in your softness and in mine.
So,
Pale lavender,
The sunrise,
Feeling loved for the first time (for real)
—  Sarah. A.B.

‘A One Time Thing’ mini fic. Post epilogue. (Because of course Killian would coach a kid’s hockey team. Of course.) 

So this fic comes from ohmyohpioneer messaging me about seeing tiny tots playing hockey, and then it just spiraled out of control and this happened. 

So, you know. Enjoy.

-

It’s far from surprising when Aidan announces that he’s going to play hockey this year. 

(Because, naturally, he announces it, rather than asks.) 

He’s grown up being carted off to Killian’s games, and Henry’s; and while the men in his life get together to watch sports in general, as Killian, David, and Robin play hockey together, naturally that’s the one they’re most enthused about. 

Aidan’s also a very physical child, so it figures he’d choose a sport like hockey, as opposed to, say, golf. 

In another completely unsurprising turn of events, it is Killian who worries about it. 

“What if he gets hurt?” 

Emma rolls her eyes. 

“You play hockey. Henry plays hockey. He’s not made of glass.” 

(And while it is true—and while it is also true that Aidan is hardly a delicate flower, always wanting to roughhouse and wrestle, forever running at things and jumping off things—still, Killian worries.) 

“He’ll be fine, Killian.” 

“Of course he will,” he says after a moment. “Because I’ll be coaching.” 

Keep reading

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On Saturday one of the co-founders of bisexual-books​, Ellie got married.  Yes, that is her on top looking like an adorable little cupcake in her dress.  She also had a rainbow of cupcakes instead of wedding cake….. so of course we arranged them so the bi pride ones were together :D  Other co-founder of the blog Sarah performed the ceremony, including a pagan handfasting.

So please join us in wishing Ellie and her husband Randy a long and happy journey together! <3

I’ve noticed there are a lot of people who think we’re being over dramatic about these new post widths, but let me try to explain why we gif-makers are so upset about this:

Making gifs is a time-consuming hobby, we’ve spent hours and hours on making them for our own enjoyment as well as yours (hopefully).

When I have to break down my personal process of making gifs I would say it consists of:
* 20% loading frames, resizing and cropping
* 50% sharpening
* 20% colouring
* 10% saving and uploading them on tumblr

As you can see, sharpening my gifs is by far the most time-consuming part, I do it only because I’m a perfectionist and I like to make my gifs look good (let’s face it: nobody likes blurry, unsharpened gifs).
With the recent resizing of our posts, all of my gifsets have become exactly that, blurry and grainy. 

If you do not have a lot of experience making gifs yourself, you probably won’t even notice a gifset is slightly blurred, but for me, as the maker, I try to achieve the best quality of gifs I can make. I see these little details, and I see them in other people’s gifsets too. Which means those other people will see the flaws in my gifsets as well. And that’s a horrible feeling (like I told you before, I’m a perfectionist).

So in short, us gifmakers being upset over this change isn’t just because we’re a bunch of obnoxious snobs who have to make a fuss about every little change tumblr makes, but this is about hours and hours of work going to waste, just like that. It’s a horrible feeling to see something you’ve worked on so hard go down the drain and I sincerely hope you don’t ever have to experience it yourself.

Thank you tumblr for totally neglecting the needs of your user-base, and your complete lack of communication isn’t exactly helping either.

Sometimes I’ll see a wildly popular post of some low-key blogger ive followed for a while, and I had no idea they made this stunning thing that got picked up and whirled around through hundreds of social circles all the way back to me, and I’ll feel a little proud of them as they probably sit there drowning in notifications and regret. My day will come someday.