this was exhausting to write

feel good things:

  • watch sunrises. somehow, this makes me feel like the beginning of something new, the birth of my better, stronger self. watch the way the sun rises, because just like that, you will rise and shine, too.
  • sing your heart out. dance until you’re exhausted. make art until you run out paint. write out your feelings. indulge in your passion and do it like you’re doing it to impress yourself.
  • relive your favorite, happiest memory. it is one easy guaranteed effective way to make your heart, your soul, and even your lips smile. no bias.
  • rewatch your favorite film. grab some chips or a bucket of popcorn and have a marathon of your most-watched flicks. don’t hesitate to replay your favorite scenes if you feel the need to.
  • aspire and try to be kind, always. being kind on a daily basis is possibly one of the most exhausting and draining thing to ever do but i promise at the end of the day, before you go to sleep you will realize: it is worth it. always.
  • take a shower. scrub off your creeping self-doubts, smell nice, and bask yourself with self-love. take your time to ponder about your life inside the tub. this is the best time to reevaluate and relax.
  • be spontaneous even just for one day. drive away from the city. get a haircut. go on a coffee shop hopping. sketch random places. let your heart and your thoughts wander. let your soul soar and be free.
  • treat yourself. it does not necessarily have to be something enormous or expensive. it could just be a new set of brushes or getting a thrifted second-hand book or buying yourself some bouquet of fresh flowers. it’s not about the tags, it’s about the thought.
  • rekindle your love for a forgotten passion. nothing beats falling in love with something the second time around. touch your dusty piano keys, change your rusty violin strings, and once again (just like the old days), let your ardor dance in harmony.
  • take a nap. because sometimes, the best way to temporarily solve something, is to do nothing. yes, it is only ethical to give yourself a break from the overwhelming society. and yes, taking a nap most of the time makes everything better.
  • if you want to or feel the need to, cry. there is nothing wrong with doing something that is inherent. this does not prove that you are weak, it only proves that you are a human being capable of feeling things. so really, do not ever plan to hinder yourself from crying. it’s often times therapeutic.
  • do something that you have never done before. no more excuses. just because there is nothing more empowering and satisfying than crossing something out of your bucketlist.

I am so damn tired. The kind where I lay in bed wide awake because sleep isn’t what I need.

I am so damn exhausted. Tired doesn’t really do it justice.

—  I’d like to wake up
- K.H.
Recharge

I’m tired
not of you though
But being in a group of people.

It’s okay
You can talk
I just need a break

It’s fine
I’m not mad at you
I’m just exhausted

I’m sorry
I’ll see you later
I got to go

Somewhere quiet
Where I’m all alone
To recharge.

  • Naruto: So, like, ever since Hinata confessed to me, people have been like- ya know
  • Sasuke: Hn
  • Naruto: And I'm just- I don't, like, I can't- ya know
  • Naruto: But I should, right? There's no reason I shouldn't, uh, ya kn-
  • Sasuke: Dobe, if you say "ya know" one more time
  • Naruto: I can't help it, I'm just so, so, ya know!
  • Sasuke: Why are you talking to me about this, idiot?
  • Naruto: You're the only one who hasn't said anything, ya know. Sakura-chan, Kakashi, Ino, Iruka, even Kiba have been on my case non-stop.
  • Sasuke: It's your life. Your choice. Do what you want. It makes no difference to me.
  • Naruto: But, but Sasuke, I'm just so... Ya know.
  • Sasuke: Fine, usuratonkachi. We'll talk.
  • Sasuke: Do you think she's pretty?
  • Naruto: Eto... *squints* I guess so.
  • Naruto: Actually, now that you mention it, Hinata's kind of a looker, huh
  • Naruto: But she's still not as pretty as- *glances over* Uh, other people.
  • Sasuke: Like who? Sakura?
  • Naruto: Yeah, Sakura-chan and... Someone else
  • Sasuke: ...
  • Sasuke: So the problem is that you have feelings for another person
  • Naruto: *blushes* Um... I guess, but I doubt you- I mean, this other person will ever, ya know, feel the same way, so I should just
  • Sasuke: Have you said anything?
  • Naruto: Well, no
  • Naruto: But after everything that happened, you- I mean, this person should get it by now, and if y- they don't, that probably means it's one-sided. Right?
  • Sasuke: Maybe
  • Naruto: Oh
  • Sasuke: Unless I -I mean, this 'other person' was thinking the same way as you
  • Naruto: Really? You Were?
  • Sasuke: Were what? I'm talking about this mysterious 'other person' who's apparently prettier than Hyuuga Hinata, which is -mmmphmm!
  • Sasuke: What was that, you moron?
  • Naruto: It's called a kiss, teme.
  • Naruto: Something two people do when they like each other.
  • Sasuke: ...
  • Sasuke: I'm not familiar with the concept.
  • Sasuke: Maybe you should show me again.

I’m sitting on the floor and crying my eyes off. I feel so alone, does anyone even realise my struggle is real? that i’m in so much mental pain, standing on the edge of the cliff. Thinking about jumping, ending it all.
Not a medication or therapy can make me better. I hug my mom and say nothing, I can’t hurt her again, I just want to be with her a little longer.
I’m so scared, so physically and mentally exhausted. I sit under the shower because my legs are too weak for standing.
I’m so full of bad thoughts, full of anxiety and pain. I let part of it out with the blood, but it’s not helping. I’m trapped and so lost.

And again this writing will just fade away, get lost between other messages. And it will mean nothing

Isak hates speaking English.

Even, the bastard, has never had any trouble with English. He soars through phrases and compound-fucking-sentences with ease. 

But Isak hates it. He hates it and he’s not good at it and the only thing that he willingly do in English is rap dumb lyrics or throw in an American phrase for sarcastic effect. But he hates fucking speaking it and trying to understand it. He hates that while science and balancing equations and measurements comes so easy, the fucking English grammar structure alludes him.

And yet, when Even sits him down for dinner one day (grilled chicken and pasta, followed by strawberry shortcake– Isak’s favorite) and tells him that he got into a film school in London, Isak hardly blinks.

“Okay,” Isak says, “When are we leaving?”

Even is quiet for so long, eyes unblinkingly, unrelenting blue before he surges forward and envelopes Isak in the tightest hug he thinks he has ever felt. Even whispers, “I love you. I love you so much, Isak.”

And Isak realizes that Even hadn’t been expecting Isak to follow him. Which is ridiculous, but Even can sometimes be ridiculous.

Later that night, Isak insists that they watch a movie in English with no subtitles. He only really gets half of it, because they were speaking so quickly, but it’s a start right? And he comforts himself with the memory of Even lowly explaining the parts he missed in his ear in Norwegian.

(He also comes home the next afternoon to no less than six English language help guides, a new bottle of lube, and a chocolate cupcake with a Union Jack Flag firmly planted in the middle of it.)

(Isak hates English, but he loves Even.)

writing hannibal fic is fucking exhausting because i have to google ‘fancy recipes for pork’ and ‘edible flowers’ and ‘sexy classical music’ and ‘greek god of requited love’ and ‘fancy knives’ and ‘how long does it take to die from a stabbing’ and honestly it’s a lot of work

“If it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be.”, the quote that makes me feel so hopeful. I fell in love with a girl, but I broke her heart, multiple times. It was never in my plans to hurt her, I lost my other half by being a complete a-hole. Lust was controlling me, and it was getting worse. If you have a girlfriend or boyfriend, or wishing to work things out with someone, show them. Show them how much you love them, how much you care for them, how much you want them. Once you’ll lose them, you’ll feel lost from then on.

Something More Powerful;

- A playlist for Hurley and Sloane from The Adventure Zone. For @tazladyweek Day 5, (because they’re pretty angsty lbr).

Tracklist:

Shut Up and Drive - Rihanna // Hit & Run - Hayley Kiyoko // Kickstart My Heart - Motley Crue // Funky at Heart - Studio Killers // Delilah - Florence + the Machine // All We Know - The Chainsmokers ft. Phoebe Ryan // One Bad Night - Hayley Kiyoko // You’re On - Madeon ft. Kyan // Loose Lips - Kimya Dawson // Fake It - Bastille // I Love You - Woodkid // Strange - LP // Haunted - Radical Face // February Air (Acoustic) - Lights // Somewhere Only We Know - Lily Allen

Listen on Playmoss

[Image Credit]

when i was seven the sea-witch cursed me.

she cursed my great-grandfather, actually, who had spat on the hands of the ocean and disrespected the beating heart of the earth - for what else are waves but a pulse - who was silly and violent and who tried to rip from the water what was hers by rights. we were wealthy, before that, a family of merchants. my mother says in her youth she recalls white horses, the gleam of candles, early mornings with bread baked fresh by a horde of servants.

he didn’t ask permission to cross her. that’s what my mother tells me while she spoons porridge with no flavor into the wood of my bowl. he had no faith in superstition, rode with boats that were more decoration than strength, the folly of a man who was cruel and vain and proud of his own gold teeth. the sky had been blue, so regardless of what the village witch said, he would sail that day. and when his boat sank; their lives turned blue like the sky that day.

my mother says she thinks the curse on the men of our family, even if they come in when they marry, is that they will forever be violent, too foolish to see the storm on the horizon. she whispers this to me on the eve of my seventh birthday, while father is his own storm, thundering around the house, looking for her. later, when i am cleaning the cut by her cheek, she tells me the curse is on the women to forever be unhappy, to wane until they are shadows, to walk into the deep like a sinking ship. 

we don’t burn candles often, they are too expensive. she tells me this in the silk of a dark room. the moon kisses her hair. 

in three days, my mother will walk into the ocean, and my father will be my own problem. the curse will pass onto me. 

my father does not believe in superstition, no curse to conquer him. when he is gone, and i am heartbroken, i go to the village witch. i ask her to teach me about magic, and other things, and about how the ocean can be coaxed, and how to save my father’s soul. 

and my hands rot too, keeping a house by myself with things i barely knew. i learn the art of a good scrubbing, keep my mind full of white horses while i endlessly clean, dream of candles in dark while i make the bread that he will not allow me to eat. he keeps me from the ocean, from visiting the place that took my mom, from following in her footsteps where the water makes women undone.

i am sixteen when i see her in the water of a bowl. she scares me so completely that i drop it, and my father comes in with his hands, and the curse, and i almost forget all about it. it isn’t until after that i realize she is beautiful, and young, which surprises me. 

i think about it every evening. her face becomes distorted to me. i can no longer remember the exact shape of it, only the impression of beauty. 

i turn seventeen and wait for the high moon. i pin safety to my vest in little witch herbs and runes. i put naked toes on the sand and slip closer, closer, to the avenue of my family’s doom. i find a little private beach, small and surrounded by rocks, hidden from my father in the event he ever thought to come looking. at high tide, it is barely the span of my body. at low, it feels empty.

the witch of the land has given me what i need to call in the witch of the sea, but i do not use it. it feels wrong, somehow, standing here in the wind and the quiet pulse of the world. i put down the incense and sage and i sit just close enough it feels wild, dangerous - but not close enough to get caught up in thrill. 

when nothing happens, i go home and i make bread that i will not eat.

for months i do this. i climb down to my beach. i learn to do it when the moon is half, and then when the moon is empty. i learn to do it so well that sometimes i go to sleep in my own bed and wake up by the water. i take to sleeping with warding runes to keep me from being pulled in the rip out to the waiting hands of a hungry sea-witch.

i don’t know when i start talking. more often i sing, because singing in my house is not allowed, and something about the way the rocks echo my voice feels comforting. the older i get, the more i can pretend i hear my mother’s voice, answering me, harmonizing gently. i sing songs about sadness and lullabies about curses. when i have exhausted every song i know, i write new ones about fathers who have never learned how to be kind, about the house i work in but do not love, about mothers who left, and about a sea witch.

i see her sometimes. in a puddle, in the drop of rain, in the strangest places. i never expect it, although i always hope. i am never able to see her for more than the length of a wave, breaking, and each time, it does something new to my heart.

at eighteen i am too much of my father’s burden. he tries to unload me onto other men. the land witch helps me with this. i rub hemlock, burn wolfsbane. we arrange so these men have other women to marry. the news of my curse is bad enough to scare most away. my father is not happy.

after a particularly savage night, i wonder how bad it could be. i could marry some boy from the village who didn’t quite bother me. i suppose they’re not ugly. timothy had always been gentle to me. i think about a life, and how i am cursed to be unhappy. my father would finally be proud of me.

i walk to the beach and i tell the waves about him and how i could convince myself it was love if i just never wanted from him. how i could be okay, if not content, how i could be free, how i already had learned life down on knees.

but i go home and i write a rune of warding. and the years pass and i find reasons each suitor is wanting. and the sea witch i see, sometimes, peeking out at me, staying long each time in the water, looking, watching. i see her in mirrors when my father storms against me. it is bad because he mistakes the cause of my smiling. it is better when she is there the next morning.

and i go to the ocean. when i am too sad to speak, it seems like the ocean is whispering for me. i picture my mother’s voice and tell myself i am happy. i am seven again and we are sewing. i am seven again and the curse has not been given to me. i am seven and she came home after she walked to the sea.

i grow silly, brave, unthinking. i leave behind the herbs and i wade deep. i teach myself the art of swimming. i am bad at it, at first, but something about it feels good to me. like the ocean wants to buoy me. in the day i think of it, guilty. what if there was a rip tide, and the water took me? who would care for my father if i stepped off the beach into a long drop? wasn’t i clever enough to know that the ocean is uncaring?

it is not this that does it. i go out after a rain and i slip on the rocks and suddenly i am in water above my head but without the moon i cannot see the up of it. i kick and i thrash and the water surrounds me. the tide pulls on my body and in the cold i feel my body grow weary. water spills into me. it punches through my body, up my nose and into my lungs and some part of me knows this is what mother felt before she was gone.

i kick ground by accident, reorient, drag myself heaving and spitting into the air. i lie there for a long time, half in and half out of death, enjoying the sensation of breathing and of life.

when i look up, i think i see her, watching me, her brows knit with something like worry. but we make eye contact and my heart leaps and then she is gone and i am left alone with nothing but the dawn breaking.

my father is furious when there is no bread. he finds my hair wet, and the salt of the ocean still smelling on me. and that is it. that day he goes out and pays someone to agree to marry me.

this feels right to me, i think. i’m twenty-one, three times seven, a perfect number for a curse to fully come down on me. i will be wed in three weeks.

the land witch comes to visit me. she looks like she’s sorry for me. she gives me a spell and tells me to put it under my pillow; i’ll dream of love and it will soothe me. instead i dream of the seawitch, and how wonderful she is, and the sight of her, out on the water, worried.

even though it is risky, i go down to the beach. i do not bother with protective spells, i have already seen that the water can kill me. fear alone keeps me from wandering. i sit on the beach and in the sand i draw runes for understanding and i make the small magicks i’ve spent years learning and i close my eyes and i ask the ocean “why do you do this to me.”

i fall asleep. i dream that the sea witch talks to me. i dream she is my age, that she is the great-granddaughter of the first to curse my family. i dream she has spent years watching, learning, finding the truth of me. that she just needs to get the courage to come and speak, that she has fallen in love with my singing, that she knows no curse but the one in her heart that brings her back to a human, to a creature of air and not water, to a mistake in the making.

in the dawn i know it is a dream and no more. i make bread. i pour water out before it can make mirrors. i do not look. i do not like the ache that has filled me, as if i’ve been looking for an answer and the answer only leads to longing.

the man i meet - my husband-to-be - is delighted by the house i keep. he believes a woman should keep in her place, and her place should be clean. he hears from neighbors that sometimes i sneak out to the land witch’s house. laughter barks out of him. not going to allow that behavior, not me. he does not believe in curses. he will pack me up and move me from the ocean to somewhere in the mountains, where i know nobody. and i will, he promises, learn to keep my place, and that place clean.

i tell myself i could love him. he is not ugly. he says i’m pretty enough after whiskey. my father mentions i used to sing. i refuse to perform for these men so instead i make them cookies. they laugh and talk about me, even when i am in the room, as if they cannot even see. they shake hands and talk about how useless a woman is for much else than breeding. it’s very funny. the man meets my eyes and promises he’ll put a baby in me. i look down and pretend the thrill i feel is excitement, not fear brewing in me.

the land witch comes by a week before my wedding. she is smaller these days, aging. her apprentice and i get along wonderfully. the two women stand before me, holding something. 

a small box, so tiny and lovely. “break the curse,” the witch whispers, “learn to be happy.”

i smuggle the box, take it everywhere with me. it is days before i have a moment to slip away, to open it by the sea. i take a candle with me, even though my father will notice and be angry.

by the light of fire i read the spell they have left me inside, and then i am so full of gratitude i cannot stop crying.

it must be a full moon, so i must wait. in the meantime, i walk home, and i bake. 

i do not see the seawitch, even though i look for her. maybe i have wounded her, getting married. my father asks why i keep smiling. i tell him it is because i am finally with a man. he grunts and says to stop looking so silly. 

the man kisses me. i let him. we are married on a night with a full moon, and i poison him and my father in the bread i did not eat. i think of how these men were cursed so they could not see a storm coming. i watch them as they lie there, dying, and then i put all of the things i own into a basket for the land witch. i leave it there with a song i wrote for her, a spell i know will make her happy, will stop the aging of her joints, will give her the kind of relief she gave me. 

i go down to the water. i find myself running, even though i am in no hurry. i know the way so well it is like i wake up there, panting. i ask permission first. i lay out the contents of the box, i organize and practice and when the needle and pain comes, i am ready for it. i am used to pain at night. i breathe into it and walk naked into waters that swallowed my mother.

i chew bitter herbs. i swallow fire. i feel myself drown as i change from land witch to sea witch. 

when it is done, i open my eyes in the deep of a moonlit ocean. and i see her. 

this time she does not flicker. this time when i reach for her, she is there, and she is pushing my hair out of my eyes, and we are kissing with the ocean rejoicing around us, and i am laughing, and i hear her voice as clear as bell inside me.

and we live like this, a whole world between us where white horses are the size of pinky fingers and swim with their thin snouts, where i need no candles because i was raised lightless, where we have no servants but the water takes care of us. i show her the magic of land and she unfolds the magic of water. together we are unstoppable. when i come up to the air to sing little girls a promise that they can survive the madness, she sings with me, and we make a beautiful harmony.

I’m sure you’ve heard a million times over how important it is to comment on fanfiction - maybe even from this blog. I’ve been a frequent advocate of supporting stories with feedback, often reblogging posts about its importance (and even making one or two of my own). For me, every time a post about comment culture crosses my dash I find a fresh determination to be a commenter and vow to leave feedback on every fic that crosses my dash from there on out.

But here’s my secret: sometimes, I don’t feel like leaving a comment.

It’s not that a fic is undeserving or that I have nothing positive to say, in fact it’s usually quite the opposite.

Sometimes, I look at the large number of comments a fic has already received and I think “What difference will it make if I just add to the masses?” But then I remember how excited I get every. single. time. someone leaves me feedback, how much my heart soars whenever I receive a comment notification.

Sometimes, I see that a fic has zero to little comments and I think “Oh, it would be awkward if I was the only commenter, I don’t want to stand out.” But then I remember the stories I’ve published that never received any responses, merely gathering a few reblogs and a handful of likes and leaving me disappointed and discouraged.

Sometimes, I read a fic long after it’s been posted and I think “Why bother commenting now? It’s way too late for that.” But then I remember that one time someone found a fic of mine months after it had been posted and still left a comment, making me feel as though my story had a permanence and a lasting impact.

Sometimes, I read a fic that is already multiple chapters in, and I think “I can’t possibly comment on any chapter but the last, otherwise it’s going to seem strange.” But then I remember all the effort that goes in to a single chapter, all the courage it can take to publish those words and how reassuring it can be to hear that a particular piece of a story had an impact.

Sometimes, I read a fic and I can’t think of anything insightful to comment, and I think “If I don’t have anything profound to say, I may as well say nothing at all.” But then I remember how it feels to stare at a blank comment section, wondering where exactly my story went wrong and wishing for even the smallest of reassurances.

And sometimes, I read a fic and I’m just tired, and I think “What’s it going to hurt if I just skip the comment this time? Who will even notice?” But then I remember how much time and energy a writer put into their story, how exhausting writing can sometimes be.

I read a fic, I remember these things, and I decide to leave a comment. 

Comments, from the smallest of keyboard smashes and heart eye emojis to the largest of analyses, mean the world to a writer. A comment can be the difference between an abandonment and another update, the divide between a story of requirement and a story of passion. Comments truly are everything to a writer, and they require so little from each one of us.

So please, I beg of you: swallow your excuses, realize that leaving feedback has an impact that extends beyond you, and LEAVE THAT COMMENT.

colder weather makes me want to be in love

when the breeze kisses my cheek

I wish it was you

when I wrap myself in a sweater two sizes too large

I pretend it’s your arms

when I listen to the quiet sound of rain on my window

I dream it’s your laugh

when I reach out to close the door

I ache because it’s not your hand

I want to be dizzy and bubbling over

and the only person I want to be with

is you

jet setting [m]

title: jet setting
member: chanyeol
length: 4k
genre: smut, some fluff

a/n: this…..is a pwp… but really it’s not my fault park chanyeol attacks someone stop this man (no, don’t)
also this does not involve any planes we’re talking a different kind of jet okay

Originally posted by dazzlingkai

You could always tell when your boyfriend wanted something from you.

You weren’t saying Chanyeol didn’t have a subtle bone in his body, it was just that—well, he didn’t have a subtle bone in his body. Nothing about him disappeared; Chanyeol was obvious, present, all the time. And his emotions were as clear to you as everything else about him. When he was nervous, you knew—as did half the others in the room. When he was angry, or upset, or delighted, it permeated the atmosphere, like an infectious disease that touched everyone. And when he had something on his mind, well. The problem was that when it came to it, no one could make Chanyeol talk if he didn’t want to. Not even you.

So right now, as he hesitated on the other side of the bed, pretending to be doing something on his phone but sending you obvious secret glances every few moments, you let him believe you hadn’t noticed anything. You would wait for him to crack.

Keep reading

6

If I could create some sort of magic thing, what would it be?

Why Japanese is EASY

A lot of people want to study Japanese but think it’s too hard and that they will never succeed. That is really a myth, though. Here is why Japanese is actually easy.

1. All verbs are regular, there are only 2 exceptions 

If you know French, this must sound like a dream to you. In other languages [like French] there seem to be more irregular verbs than regular ones. Not in Japanese, though. There are 3 groups of verbs, the first 2 being regular and very easy to conjugate. The third group consists of only 2 irregular verbs!

2. Easy pronunciation 

Japanese doesn’t have any exceptionally hard to pronounce letters. Unlike Arabic, German or Finnish, Japanese should be quite easy to pronounce for English speakers. Also, Japanese isn’t a tonal language like Thai or Chinese. 

3. No genders, plural or articles

Anyone who studies a romance language [and many other languages that have that] knows how frustrating it can be when you use the wrong article or verb ending. In Japanese, it doesn’t even exist, so nothing to worry!

4. Grammar is easy!

That’s true. It’s just completely different from English, but that doesn’t make it hard. After a while, it will feel completely normal. The best part about the grammar is that you can build a whole sentence with just one word. For example, if you wanted to ask somebody in English if they did their homework, you’d say ‘did you do your homework?’ Kind of long, isn’t it? In Japanese, you can ask by using only the verb ‘to do, can, be able to’ - like this: ‘done?’ Also, spoken, you can drop many words if you don’t really need them, especially particles! So if you’re not sure what particle to use, chances are you can just easily leave it altogether without the sentence losing its meaning. It’s easy to build sentences that seem to end in ‘…’, but that’s completely normal in Japanese and everyone will understand.

5. Tons of resources

Sadly, there are some languages people don’t really care about or not a lot of people want to study/ are interested in. Japanese is not one of those languages. There are hundreds of books about Kanji alone! And so many courses for every level. Also, it doesn’t matter what you’re interested in - anime, manga, books, movies, game show, video games, dramas, music - it’s all out there and super easy to find, so you definitely will find something you can listen to or read to practice your skills.

6. Kanji/the writing systems are hard?

No. They aren’t. It’s just a huge workload, it takes time and effort, but they are not hard.

At first, having to learn 3 writing systems will seem exhausting. But believe me, later, when you start reading, you will be so glad! You can detect if a text has a lot of foreign words at one glance if it has a lot of Katakana, for example, and you could say a lot more on twitter because of the syllabaries!

So actually, the 3 systems put together makes everything easier to read!

So please, just start studying and go at your own pace, and have fun studying every day ⭐︎