sorry for my reflection

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Mineral Lot #61 - Retail price $180

ON SALE for $130 (free shipping in the USA)

This lot includes everything you see in the pictures- this three piece scrying set! (Sorry for my reflection lol) Huge obsidian sphere (wooden stand included), large mirror, and a small mirror! 

If you’re interested in a lot, you send me the lot number and your email address over the instant messenger here on tumblr. If you were the first to claim it, I will let you know! If you live outside the USA, please let me know what country you live in, so I can let you know how much shipping is!

The payment method used is paypal invoice which is sent to your email. You don’t need a paypal account to pay, just a credit or debit card. The invoices will all be sent after all the lots have been posted.

You have until the end of Monday to pay. If you don’t pay, it will go up for grabs again. Please do not claim a lot if you know you can’t/won’t pay. It really adds a lot of stress to this already quick paced sale.

You can claim as many as you want. Good luck! :)

The blue oceans, the white clouds, green grass… I… I can’t see any of it.

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“Yeah my cool bent ones got broke when… when I was t-trapped in Ultra Space, so ol’ Hala got me new ones or whatever.” 

5

Sorry.. Don’t think any of it.. It’s not anyone from here.

Everyone here is lovely. And I’m sorry my mood is reflecting on my kindness and helping with you guys..

I don’t want to feel like this…

No matter how much I push it back.. it just comes back worse the next time..

This has happened too many times and far too often. 

Every blow just feels worse. Like if someone threw a javelin or spear through your chest. 

I don’t think i’m alone.. in terms of feels like this.

I think any creators feel like this…and any person can feel like this… 

If they go out of their way just to see the people they care about happy.. they’d do it again and again..

But sometimes its like it doesnt even get recognised? it’s instantly forgotten. just.. pushed aside, and on with the next piece someone can take from me..

And for me, this isn’t about creating content so much… as it’s just everything..

Just subjected to lies and propaganda.. blackmail.. questioning my own judgements and self worth… manipulation… physical and psychological hurt.. it’s tiring… and painful.. 

I’m just tired..

Just venting. Dont worry about it. I’ll sleep it off. 

sorry…

im sorry…

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“And why did you play this game?”

“Board games are played when you get bored.”

“Not this one!!!”

Praise is a funny thing.

Yuuri has learned his whole life that people were always going to be better than him at whatever he did.

When people praised him he would get this warm feeling in his gut that spread to his chest and the tips of his fingers and to the tops of his ears. He liked the feeling. He preened under it. It was nice.

But the feeling vanished, seeped away just as quickly as it had appeared, when those people turned around and praised another with louder voices and wider eyes and brighter smiles. Yuuri would turn around and walk in the other direction, leaving the warmth of the praise behind.

During warm ups at competitions, he would watch other skaters execute a jump flawlessly, flying weightlessly through the air, cutting through the ice sharply. Yuuri would turn away and try to focus on his own technique and his own blades gliding across the hard surface.

And when he tried for a jump and didn’t succeed as well as the others, well, he would blame his insecurity on his nervousness to perform in front of a crowd, but he knew it was his false sense of hope he gained at listening to his coach’s words.

He had learned to ignore praise when it came to him in the form of motivation. It never worked as motivation. Rather the opposite, actually. Sure, it sounded nice, but Yuuri could tell just by the intonations of the words that the person wasn’t praising him to praise him.

Often he found that listening to praise was psychologically deceptive to his rate of success in competitions. At one point in his career he had actively sought out harsh critique from his peers and coach and told them not to give him compliments until he asked for it.

Reluctantly, his coach and rinkmates agreed, throwing out words that cut through his heart and made him curl in on himself as he hid in the changeroom, furiously wiping the tears from his face as he tried to convince himself that this is what he wanted, that this is what he asked for, but it became too much for him to bear.

So Yuuri had learned not to believe praise when it was handed to him.

The warm fuzzy feeling never returned when he heard “good job, Yuuri,” “keep it up,” or “you keep performing like that during competition and you’ll soon get the gold!” It only made him stressed out and anxious about his own abilities.

It never seemed real.

It wasn’t until Victor became his coach that praise started to feel like something he deserved.

If Yuuri was being honest with himself, Victor was quite an extra guy. He would compliment Yuuri on everything from the way he styled his hair to how he arranged his lunch boxes. But that took a turn when they were on the ice.

Victor would tell him he was doing a good job after he practiced an element for his upcoming program, but he would also give critique where he thought Yuuri could do better. And it always came out sincerely. He said it like he meant it.

Victor’s praises were always paired with criticism and Yuuri would take them with a sportsmanship any athlete would admire. He remembered what he did correctly and fought with his body until he could turn a mistake into a performance worthy of a gold medal. Worthy of Victor.

After every practice they would walk home together, side by side with praises rolling off of Victor’s tongue like butter.

And after everything he’d done to prevent himself from accepting praise, he found himself blushing, that warm feeling spreading from his chest to his fingertips, down to his toes and up to his ears. Never leaving his veins even as Victor tells him what he needs to work on for their next practice session.

It stayed there throughout the night as Victor showered him in praise, trailing kisses where he told him he was beautiful. Giving attention to the sore parts of Yuuri’s body. Feathering his fingers over his bruises where he had fell on the ice.

When Victor tells him, “you’re so beautiful,” “you are perfect for me,” and “I love the noises you make when I kiss you here,” Yuuri grows warmer and warmer and most of the warm feeling pools in his lower abdomen.

Once, Victor made an effort to give Yuuri more praise during practice which led to Yuuri pushing him up against the shower wall and practically punching the air out of his lungs with a kiss so intense he couldn’t feel his legs anymore.

Victor soon learns this is a thing for Yuuri, but only reserves it for the bedroom. Afterall, skating with a raging hard on is dangerous when you’ve only got eyes for one person and you end up tripping over your own feet and fall face first onto the ice almost fracturing your wrists and dislocating your shoulder in an attempt to brace yourself on a slippery surface.

Yeah, Victor reserves the praise kink for the bedroom and gets rewarded for his efforts in the form of Yuuri’s loud, low moans, a string of incoherent words, and fingers that push so deep into his skin, they leave crescents behind.

Praise is a funny thing.

Yuuri has learned to treasure the praise that was given to him but to keep it from getting to his head with the criticism that soon followed.

The day I left the moon for the sun,
an eclipse sucked the light from
my throat. I choked on stardust,
spat out tiny universes the moon
would never dream of orbiting.
The sun told me I was the brightest
thing she’d ever seen. The moon
sighed when I told him, saying he
knew the craters in his surface
were enough of a flaw to send me
rocketing across the galaxy.
I think the moon is jealous. He has
always wanted her rays to warm
him but they could never reach
quite close enough. Maybe that’s
why he settled for my hands
instead; tender, quiet things that
fill the holes in his surface.
The sun commends me for trying
to heal him, but promises me
eternal shine, a wine I cannot
refuse. Sometimes I look up from
my home on her fiery flesh, a solar
flare amongst many, feeling sorry
for the moon. I know he blocks
her beams so I can take note of
the dark he feels now. Halos the
light around his frame so I can
see every curve and scar shaping
his being. I tell him, I’m sorry, but I
can no longer see my reflection
mirrored off his reflecting light.
Maybe I never did.
—  how i fell in love with space // Haley Hendrick
Hot New Lazytown Meme™

post pictures where you can obviously see the green screen reflection and add a weird caption

example:

the Green Has Been Spotted

I’m tired of being that girl who wants different things and feeling as though I need to apologize for it. Truth is, I’m not that into dating when I’m content with my own independence and solitude. Texting, skyping and any type of social media is a hassle because I have nothing to say or share and my life has never been that interesting, anyways. Not to mention I hate my own availability to everyone else when all I really want is a few moments peace to myself. No, that’s a lie, I want many moments of peace to myself, or with my family, or exploring new places. I want to go to old places, too, ones I’ve travelled so many times as a kid it feels like I’m stepping in the same footprints I left behind years ago. And I want to spend my time learning and re-learning from strangers and experiences rather than being shoved through a system that worries more about pay than quality. I want to live far from society and judgement and prying eyes, where the only ones who know my name are the birds and the bees that take the worms and leave the honey. I want to be me with no repercussions. I want to live my life to the fullest the way I want to and with no set backs. I want to be me without feeling like I have to give parts of myself to those I don’t trust. I want to be me and not feel the need to apologize for it because I want different things.
—  taintedglass