tara i see your on too

As soon as you become aware of thoughts and feelings of fear, pause for a moment and take a few full breaths. With each out-breath, see if it is possible to relax areas of obvious tension, softening through your face, letting your shoulders drop back and down, and releasing tension in your arms and hands. Now, silently offer these words to yourself:
This is the suffering of fear.
Fear is a part of being alive.
Other people experience this too … I am not alone.
May I be kind to myself … may I give myself the compassion I need.

Tara Brach  

From a meditation on fear in Tara’s book, “True Refuge”


Be My Lifeline

*Not requested, but something I have been working on.

Summary: The reader goes off to explore the world only to come back and find out her father has passed.

WARNINGS: Death of a loved one, swearing

Word Count: 2,572 

The gifs are not mine, I found them on Google.

Keep reading


Ladies in Season 6:  Denise Cloyd

Do you have any clue what that was to me, what this whole thing is to me? See, I have training in this shit. I’m not making it up as I go along, like with the stitches and the surgery and the… I asked you to come with me because you’re brave like my brother and sometimes you actually make me feel safe. And I wanted you here because you’re alone. Probably for the first time in your life. And because you’re stronger than you think you are, which gives me hope that maybe I can be, too. I could’ve gone with Tara. I could’ve told her I loved her, but I didn’t because I was afraid. That’s what’s stupid. Not coming out here, not facing my shit. And it makes me sick that you guys aren’t even trying because you’re strong and you’re smart and you’re both really good people!

haunted-goddess  asked:



@palizinhas replied to your post@scienceofficer-willowrosenberg asked: Tara,…

She can run away from you and bump right into me, everyone wins ;) (always so weird when someone uses one of my gifs and I get a notification for it. I keep forgetting that’s a thing)

I didn’t know that was a thing! 

Kennedy deserves a lot more love, so I’m glad when I see it :) For Kennedy’s own benefit though, it’d be best if we’d stay apart haha. She reminds me too much of the girls I went to high school with; I’d have a feeling we’d bash heads a lot ;)

lattelibrapunk  asked:

For the fanfic based on your URL, I couldn't resist as yours is too perfect to pass up. The Queen that ruled their land was stern, but fair, and all who had the privilege of seeing her in person spoke of her beauty. And those who crossed her, or witnessed such an atrocity, spoke of her swift and decisive viciousness at such insolence. But the question that everyone murmured in the shadows, was their Queen her namesake, would she ever find what made her happy in the way she made them happy?

Can this be real? I need this in my life. Tara, you’re such an amazing writer 💕

Imagine Chibs patching you up after you get into a fight with some guy at a bar.

Our girls night out was going great so far. Jax and the boys had Abel and Thomas, giving Tara a free night to relax and no drama going on with the club. Everything was golden.

Venus, Tara, Lyla and myself had gone to see a movie, ate some great Italian food and were currently at a local bar to wrap up our evening with a couple drinks. Nothing to extensive, just some sipping and an easy atmosphere.

I took a small drink of my Sweet and Sour Amaretto. “How’s things going with your shop Venus?”

Venus blushed softly while pushing some curls from her face.

“It’s going well Sugar. Alexander has been such a big help and the sales are up too.”

Venus owned the new clothing shop downtown. She named it the Southern Star and even designed alot of the clothes, but specialized mostly in lingerie.

“How’s that teddy that I made you fairing?” Venus asked, a dirty little smile on her face.

I nearly choked on my drink, my cheeks burning. The girls however, all leaned forward, chins resting in their palms with the same smile as Venus.

“Yeah Y/N. Tell us all about it!” Lyla giggled, wiggling her eyebrows.

Venus had made me a dark blue, silk teddy with lace trim that my Old Man, Chibs absolutely loved. I wasn’t one to buy or wear stuff like that very often, but to see that look on his face… Woah Buddy!

“First off, fuck y'all.”

The girls busted out laughing.

“Secondly, I’m surprised he’s not ripped it to shreds yet.”

Lyla and Tara fell into Venus still laughing. Our conversation turned to less dirty, more light hearted subjects as the night went on.

“I gotta go to the bathroom. Be right back.” I got up from the booth, heading to the back of the bar.

I quickly did my business, washed my hands and came out, nearly running into an asshole that was berating a young girl.  It looked to be his girlfriend.

The music in the bar area was too loud for anyone out there to hear, but I’d heard it all.

“You stupid bitch! How many times do I have to tell you, you pathetic peice of trash?!” Spittle flew from the mans mouth, landing on the girls glasses. She was shaking in fear and I’d had enough.

“Hey, dick cheese! Leave her alone!” I shouted at him as he raised his hand to her.

He paused midslap, his beady eyes glossed over from his last fix he’d had. “Mind you’re own business!” He yelled at me, then jerked his hand back, bringing it down quickly against the girls cheek.

She cried out and I charged at the bastard. He wasn’t expecting the force that I’d tackled him with. He tumbled to the side, falling into a table full of beers and wings.

I stood there, chest heaving from anger and the adrenaline rush. The girl had come out from the hall, moving over to where my table was at. The girls all rose from their chairs, Venus taking stand in front of the others. She checked on the abused girl, making sure that nothing was broken.

I began to walk towards my group when Tara yelled out,

“Y/N! Look out!”

The slime ball had grabbed my hair, yanking me backwards off of my feet. I landed hard on my back, groaning. I heard the click clack of Venus’ heels. Ya see, when Venus gets pissed, Vincent usually makes an appearance. I’d only seen it once and that was enough for me.

However, I held my hand up, signaling her that I had this. Slowly I got to my feet, facing the peice of shit.

“Like hitting women, huh?”

I raised my fists, boxing in my face just like Chibs and Happy had taught me in the ring. The bastard didn’t fight fair, landing a kick to my stomach.

I went down, gasping for breath. He stood over me, raised his hand and smacked me in the face. He backed away, grinning.

“Your Old Man needs to teach you a lesson, bitch!” He laughed.

Again, I slowly rose to my feet, albeit a bit wobbly. He came back at me, swinging his meaty fists. I leaned back and to the side, dodging his hits. My moment came when he left his face open and I landed him a right hook to his nose and mouth.

He cried out, falling to his knees. I kicked him in the nuts, then finished him off by grabbing his head, giving him a quick headbutt, breaking his already crooked nose.

His eyes rolled into the back of his head, then he fell backwards, passed out. I spit on him before realizing that cuffs were being slapped onto my wrists.

“Aww hell! Really Wayne!?” I shouted.

“Just for a bit Y/N. Chibs can bail ya out.”

I was led past the girls, smiling at them.

“We’ll get ahold of Filip Sweetheart, don’t you worry!” Venus said loudly as I was taken out of the bar.
I’d been locked in the cell for about an hour. The son of a bitch whos ass I kicked in the cell next to me, snoring away.

My face throbbed and my eyebrow, which was busted, was still bleeding. I perked up when I heard Chibs’ yelling down the corridor.

“Why the bloody hell was I not called sooner, Unser!?”

“This is protocol, Chibs. You know that.” Wayne replied, calmly.

“Protocol, my Scotish, white arse!”

“But it’s a lovely Scotish, white ass.” I laughed.

Chibs’ eyes darkened when he saw me. I knew I must’ve looked a mess. He tapped his foot, impatiently waiting for Unser to unlock the door. When mine was finally opened, Chibs rushed in, his hands framing my face.

“The hell happened, Love?”

I licked the cut on my lip. “Douche bag was hitting on a girl, so I took care of it.”

Chibs sighed, but smiled anyways. “Can’t let you go anywhere.”

“I know, right? You should see the other guy.” I laughed.

“You can take her home, Chibs.” Unser said.
Chibs helped me into our dorm room at the clubhouse. Tara had given him all the necessary things to patch me up before heading home herself.

He held my hand, as I lowered myself onto the edge of the bed. I hissed, my body begining to get stiff.

Chibs opened the aid kit and took out 2 prescription strength ibprofen. He got me a bottle of water, silently handing them to me.

I knew he wasn’t upset with me… Annoyed, maybe.

I took the pills and hunched my shoulders. Chibs kneeled on the floor in front of me, alcohol, peroxide, cotton balls and tape seated neatly next to my foot.

His soft fingers slid underneath my chin, raising my face slightly so he could get a better look at me. I was quiet as he dabbed and cleaned my cuts. He spent extra time on my eyebrow where the biggest cut was.

The silence was killing me. “I couldn’t just walk away like nothing was happening.” I whispered.

He sighed, before grabbing some more cotton. “I know, Love. I know you can take care of yerself…” He paused, putting a butterfly bandage on my brow.

“I just hate seeing ya like this.”

I smiled, leaning forward to place my lips gently against his. He kept his kisses light, slipping between my legs. Chibs wrapped his arms around me as he burried his face in my neck, laying a few kisses on my go to spot.

We sat there, holding each other. The leather of his jacket creaked as he pulled back slightly.

“Let’s get you in the bath, Love.”

“Only if you join me.” I said, as he helped me up.

“Oh aye, Love.”

Chibs was one hell of a ‘medic’ and I was glad to call him mine.


Denise Cloyd in every episode - Twice as Far

Do you have any clue what that was to me, what this whole thing is to me? See, I have training in this shit. I’m not making it up as I go along, like with the stitches and the surgery and the… I asked you to come with me because you’re brave like my brother and sometimes you actually make me feel safe. And I wanted you here because you’re alone. Probably for the first time in your life. And because you’re stronger than you think you are, which gives me hope that maybe I can be, too. I could’ve gone with Tara. I could’ve told her I loved her, but I didn’t because I was afraid. That’s what’s stupid. Not coming out here, not facing my shit. And it makes me sick that you guys aren’t even trying because you’re strong and you’re smart and you’re both really good people, and if you don’t wake… up… and face your…

Dear optometrist,

You seem like a nice enough dude. Thanks for complimenting my iris color. It was actually cool to hear that in your opinion they’re actually a unique pale green. I’ve always wondered how to describe them. I like my irises too. They’re neat.

I could’ve lived without the bro comments about feminism these days wanting everything to change all at once (preeeetty sure feminism has been working on this shit for a long time, and just because you feel uncomfortable knowing you’re not supposed to use phrases like “man up” anymore isn’t on us).

I appreciate that you really paid attention to my eyes (the thing I paid you for). However, I would like to note that, when you asked me to list my medications, you should’ve kept your damn mouth shut when you offered inane advice like “you should try and wean yourself off those; it’s not good to be on medication you don’t need” and “I mean, I look at you and you’re not depressed at all, right?” And when I replied, “well yes, I am very good at pretending when, you know, I have to function in the world” the correct response was not “that’s all life really is, we don’t need medication for that, we just need to man up–oh I shouldn’t say man up.” To which I thought, but didn’t reply, “you shouldn’t, in point of fact, have said any of that.”

So, my dear fellow, maybe you do what you do (eyes) and we’ll leave the extremely complicated, personal, upsetting and NOT YOUR FUCKING BUSINESS state of my mental health to, oh, I don’t know, THE DOCTOR THAT TREATS ME FOR IT, no?

Ta ta for now,

So. Last night happened. 

Lexa died.

We got burned. There’s simply no other way to put it. We got burned. It’s been fourteen years since Tara Maclay, and LGBT characters are still getting killed on TV by Freak Magic Bullets literally two minutes after they’re shown being happy. Not only is that lazy storytelling at its finest, but at its basest level, it’s pretty heartbreaking for people who merely want to see themselves represented onscreen without dying, like they have countless times before.

I know. I know. I can see the dubious, shocked expression on your face — well, surprise! We have strong feelings about this, too! Who ever thought people who have been discriminated against systematically throughout modern society and history caring about representation in popular culture was such a novel concept?

…Anyway. To say that I’m livid would be a gross understatement. And I’m sure that there are plenty of people who feel the same way as me out there. Angry. Betrayed. Seething.


It’s not a secret that Commander Lexa is a character who has inspired a range of strong emotions in people, from hate to adoration to, perhaps, obsession. She was stoic, most of the time. Emotionless, expressionless, and other-words-that-start-with-an-e–less. One might even call her “broody.” But despite all of that — despite all her standoffishness, her early rhetoric about survival and love being weakness…she was simply so full of love. The kind of love that can move mountains, the kind of love that burned so bright and hot that it was total, even though she didn’t really express it all that much with sweeping declarations of devotion. And that was so beautiful.

She didn’t need to express it with words. It showed in every little action she did, whether it be for Clarke, or for her people. Lexa loved her people so much that it physically hurts to even think about it. Lexa loved Clarke so much that she basically pledged her life to her.

Then, Lexa died.

When I watched the scene, I couldn’t move. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t feel anything for a scary few moments. I could only keep staring, transfixed, as my worst fears came out to play on screen. I kept on thinking, numb and starting to tremble, This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening.

But yes. Yes, it was happening, and there was nothing anyone could do at that point to stop it. So I sat there. I sat there and I trembled. I sat there and grit my teeth together. I sat there and watched. I sat there and watched while I physically felt something in my chest break into tiny, jagged pieces. Yet somehow, I still remained in denial: Clarke will be able to fix this. This isn’t permanent. The bleeding can be staunched. Lexa isn’t actually dead. Titus, get the fuck away from her. She will not die.

Then, Lexa died.

Lexa died. The harsh truth. The simplest way I can put it, yet they somehow manage to carry more weight that this entire sweeping obituary/whatever-the-hell-it-is.

It wasn’t until thirty minutes later when it actually hit me: Lexa is dead and she’s not coming back. Don’t give me your City of Light, AI finale bullshit: Lexa is dead, and there is no way in hell you can come back from that. Anything involving her on this show after last night’s episode is tainted. It hit me as if it was some colossal Jupiter-sized garbage truck slamming into my chest and crushing what was left of my heart into bits, and that was that. I started to cry.

I may cry a lot over things, but a single fictional character is generally not one of them.

It wasn’t the screaming kind of crying. It wasn’t the sobbing kind of crying, either. It was the jaw-locked-so-tightly-it-hurt, nose-growing-hot-and-wet-and-red, tears-dripping-in-fucking-rivers-down-my-cheeks, not-a-sound-escaping-from-my-throat kind of crying. It was the silent, awful, aching kind of crying, the kind that with every involuntary heave of your chest it sends another wave of nausea and crushing heartbreak lancing through your blood and your flesh and your bones.

The last time I cried this hard and this extensively was over a year ago when Korrasami became canon. But the two situations could not be more different. Korra and Asami got their happily ever after, and don’t get me wrong, I am still so, so happy about that.

But Lexa did not get her happily ever after.

Lexa died.

Perhaps she died happy, but she died.

The 100 had been such a beacon of positive queer representation that I simply could not believe, for an entire half-hour after the episode ended, that it killed its only lesbian character two minutes after she was shown being happy with the woman who was, quite possibly, the love of her life.

Let’s talk about that, shall we?

Lexa and Clarke were happy. They. Were. Disgustingly. Happy. And. In. Love. And if you say that they weren’t, then I really don’t know what show you were watching. They had consummated their relationship. Exchanging those looks — you know which ones I’m talking about. Lexa was happy. She smiled more in those two or three weeks with Clarke then she probably had in the past two or three years. And she got killed mere minutes after she realized that maybe, just maybe, she had a chance with the love of her life. What kind of message does that send? The ages-old saying: If you’re a woman who loves women and you get even a moment of happiness, you die.

And that is just another factor that contributes to the heartbreaking ordeal that was Lexa’s death: the timing of the entire show. It is so, so painful to think about the fact that Lexa only had four months left to live from the moment Clarke’s boots touched the ground. Yet you could tell that she was so desperately in love with this girl, this girl who fell from the sky and almost singlehandedly turned Lexa’s world upside down, to the point where her last orders were to tell her very own killer not to harm Clarke ever again. The last things she ever saw were Clarke Griffin’s tears, the last things she ever felt were Clarke Griffin’s lips on her own, the last thing she ever knew of her mortal life on Earth was Clarke Griffin.

Then, Lexa died.

Titus could shoot me and it would hurt infinitely less than that.

I could go on all day about how much her death affected me personally, how much of a blow it was for the queer community, how much of a blow it was for the fandom. I haven’t even gotten into the debacle/burning train wreck that is Jason Rothenberg and his filthy lies about Lexa and Clexa in general, but I won’t. I’m tired and I’m upset and I’m angry and I’ve been listening to Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story from Hamilton on repeat for the past 4 hours and I don’t think I will ever completely get over this, but I’m starting to cry disgustingly hard again so…

My dear, brave, beautiful, wonderful, indomitable Lexa: rest in peace for all of eternity. You deserve it. You deserve it and so much more. You deserve so much more, but since you can only work with what you get, you deserve to spend your death in peace — the concept that you spent the last few weeks of your life fighting so hard for. I love you so much for that. You are a trailblazer. You are a true visionary, and your impact will be felt for years to come, both in your dimension and ours. Your death is not the game-changer: you are. You are more than a plot device. You are the most extra of all extra characters ever. You may not be real, but I know that you’ve moved the hearts of thousands. I can’t believe I’m getting so sappy over you, you candle hoe. I hope that you never run out of Peach Bellini candles in the afterlife.

Thank you, Lexa. And for that matter: thank you, Alycia. Thank you, Eliza. Thank you both so much. For breathing life into a relationship that I could root unconditionally for. For breathing life into a relationship that might have saved my life. Has saved many lives.

Lexa and Clexa are both eternal.

May we meet again, my dear heda.