#and i always feel a bit entitled or ungrateful when i complain about not getting enough comments / the “right” comments

[toffiendfee]

3, 7, 10 for the ask game?

Thank you for the ask! ❤

I already answered 3 and 10 in a previous one!

7 ⧽. is there a fic you wish you received feedback on, but didn't get any/much?

Oofffffff that's a tough question because tbh I wish for more responses to all of my fics even the ones that are already getting a decent amount But I remember being underwhelmed by the response to The World Can Wait a Bit back when I posted it, given that I put a lot of love into that fic and was really proud of it.

Apart from that, I'll say in general that I'd always like more feedback on recent in-progress multichapter works, because they are so work intensive and difficult to write for me. I love getting comments along the lines of "I love this, please update!"; but that said, for multichapters where I usually at least try to build a proper storyline with lots of references to canon (I'm talking about AUs in particular here) and foreshadowing, I really like to see comments picking up on that! Or talking about their favourite scenes and why they liked them, and stuff like that. And psst, those are the kinds of comments that make me the most excited to keep writing, too (because if you liked this chapter just you wait what I'll put in the next one)!

Yes this is especially about i'm the offering, come sink your teeth in because that's my most recent update and there is still a lot to write and while the fandom itself is very active the ship (or rather the combination of ships / the OT3) is a bit of a rarepair so I'm not getting that many responses but there's not much to be done about that so I don't want to complain too much

[msfbgraves]

Just popping in to say that if anons don't like your work they can write their own fics, tbh. That's highly entitled behavior and rubs me the wrong way. Don't feel the need to push yourself for people who are ungrateful.

Hey love, thank you! There's such a very, very fine line between being super grateful about the passion and engagement of readers and the ridiculous amount of joy this brings, and also noticing that expectations can get well, varied and many! And sure, if this were a romance commission I know the formula: big strong dangerous mobster is dangerous to everyone but True Love. Man I wouldn't write that if I didn't eat it. But I am not under contract to write that, I am much more interested in people being nuanced, and there's nothing but genre that dictates that the Beloved is always safe. And yeah, if people are paying for the genre it would be a betrayal to yank away that understanding, that safety for the loved person, and you'd have a right to complain. But this is not a Bridgerton tie in novel! There's nothing about gangsters that inherently makes them go soft! Lock them in a genre and they are bound by the narrative but spring them out of the genre and gangsta sometimes gonna gangsta! And the whole sense of being beholden to what readers expect from a romance, or being beholden to readers at all... I appreciate every single one and I love their ideas truly, but for everything I put out I most often get a request for yet more chapters. And then to hear: I don't like this chapter, I'm through, how could you, and still people mostly want yet more free story? I know it's a compliment, but it can become a bit oppressive. I have a backlog of at least six scenes to write! And it is really hard to feel you don't owe anyone anything when people write to say that not only do you owe people a story, you owe them a specific kind of story or else.

Or else what? You stop paying me what you're not? Reblogging what most are not? My social contract here is: I am not owed any readers or payment or interaction and I get to write whatever tf I want, which in this case is two mobsters in an arranged marriage who definitely have no idea some people think they're in a romance novel. I am an absolute slut for interaction and I do want to answer all asks because I love everyone but if every ask is a scene request those are going to take multiple hours to answer and I am noticing that when you have several pending requests it starts to feel a bit like due academic writing (which also doesn't pay, sigh). And the only thing I have a right to ask of my readers is not berate me when a story is not to their taste. Goodness, if you want something specific you will have to pay someone.

Also I am a bit baffled when Terry Silver - Terry Silver! - is not allowed to be an asshole. Which part of forcing Tory Nichols to break her own hand was fluffy? Of burning down Mike's store? Of beating Daniel and Stingray unconscious? Of leaving Johnny and Chozen for dead? The reason we see him be sweet with Danny is that he doesn't take the mob boss home... often. Even canon Terry is a sweetheart to Margaret and Carla. That is one side of him and it's real. But we know it's not the only side.

Thanks for your support and for letting me rant, it's been a tough week 😴♥️

[inkykeiji]

you’re like a drug to me, a luxury, my sugar and gold

character: gojou satoru

genre: smut with a sprinkle of fluff at the end

notes: aaaaah first jjk fic ever!!!! uhhh this is honestly just pure smut and punishment, satoru is a Bad Daddy, and it’s set in a curseless AU | title cred: handclap by fitz and the tantrums

warnings: 18+ minors dni, dubcon/noncon, slight size difference/size kink, belly bulge, spanking with a belt, rough sex, minimal prep, minimal aftercare (at first), toxic and unhealthy relationship (satoru is mean n a bad daddy!), daddy kink/slightly implied ddlg dynamics, praise kink, dacryphilia

words: 3.1k

synopsis:

And although you can—and do—get away with a lot, you can’t get away with everything. A little brattiness he can handle, a little brattiness he thinks is cute. But on the days when you’re really misbehaving, purposefully (or not) breaking every rule, acting out and refusing to listen, rejecting any bargain or compromise with him at all—well, he’s only human.

And he snaps.

Gojou Satoru is a bad Daddy.

He’s a sweet Daddy, a silly Daddy, a Daddy who’s almost incapable of saying no. He’s a Daddy with a massive sweet tooth, a Daddy who frequently allows both of you to have dessert before dinner—sometimes dessert for dinner—and a Daddy who gives his princess nearly everything she desires, weak to your pretty pout and puppy-dog eyes and please, Daddy?’s. He hates to deny you, aches at the thought of you being even just a teensy bit displeased, because he wants his baby happy, always.

It’s his fault, really, you’re saying, insisting, when he calls you a spoiled brat. Because, honestly, it is; Satoru is entitled—he always has been, born with a not silver, not gold, but platinum spoon in his mouth—and his little princess is entitled, too.

Because he gives you anything and everything you ask for the moment the demand leaves your mouth, dotes on you hand and foot, absolutely adores you, lavishing you in the finest silks and prettiest lace, always indulging you just as much as he indulges himself—as much as he has always been indulged, growing up filthy rich.

Because you weren’t always like this; or, at least, you weren’t always this brash about it.

But years of getting exactly what you want, exactly when you want it, has forced your attitude to change, to shift.

You haven’t changed, Satoru tells you one day, a tub full of melty ice cream in his lap as he shovels another spoonful into your mouth, waning sun bathing the penthouse terrace in translucent gold and coral, brilliant colours reflected in his crystal eyes. “I didn’t do anything—I simply revealed your true nature,” A devious little smirk spreads across his lips, eyes glinting in an almost ominous nature, and you shiver. “You’ve always been a selfish materialistic brat, haven’t you?”

Well, you guess he has a point.

And although you can—and do—get away with a lot, you can’t get away with everything. A little brattiness he can handle, a little brattiness he thinks is cute. But on the days when you’re really misbehaving, purposefully (or not) breaking every rule, acting out and refusing to listen, rejecting any bargain or compromise with him at all—well, he’s only human.

And he snaps.

It’s always something little, after a day full of disobedience, that does it, that finally lights the fuse and forces an explosion. Something that would normally be inconsequential, something he’d usually laugh off with a coo and a loving pat to your head.

Because you fought him on bedtime last night, then fought him on going to university this morning. You demanded pancakes for breakfast and when he denied them to you, because he’s got an important meeting in the afternoon and thus hasn’t the time to make them, you refused to eat anything at all—only to whine and bitch and complain about how starved you were for the entire duration of his conference. And yet, throughout it all, he was the perfect picture of patience, endlessly cool and nonchalant in his responses to your multiple tantrums.

Until you rushed into the kitchen in a famished frenzy, diving straight for the cookie jar and shoving three in your mouth.

“Sweets are not an appropriate dinner, baby,”

The words are sighed out in pure exasperation, his thumb and his forefinger pinching the bridge of his nose, lids shut tightly.

Eyebrows furrowing, you tilt your head in confusion, speaking around your mouthful. “Since when?”

His eyes snap open, blazing azure glaring at you with such an intensity it makes you flinch, cookie crumbs turning to ash in your mouth.

“Since forever,” he seethes, mask of impassivity finally beginning to break.

“What?” you laugh around the word, but it trembles. “What are you talking about? You rarely enforce that rule—especially since you don’t even follow it yourself!”

“It doesn’t matter,” he snaps, nostrils flaring with a particularly harsh exhale. “I am the boss, and what I say goes,”

“Daddy!” A sock-clad foot stomps against the marble floor as you whine out the word, arms crossing tightly over your chest. “That isn’t fair! You can’t just—”

“Enough with this attitude!” he snarls, moving like a crack of lighting as he lunges at you, lithe arms embracing you in an iron grip. “I can, and I will,”

And then he’s hauling you over his shoulder, one strong arm wrapped around you and pinning you draped over his body, delivering swift, harsh slaps to your ass every time you kick your feet or beat your fists against his back, while every whine and complaint earns you another spank in his mind, mentally tallying them up and vocalizing the thought a moment later.

“You’re being a meanie,”

“That’s twelve,” he growls.

“I don’t care!”

“Thirteen.”

“So what?”

“Fourteen.”

“That’s nothing,”

“Twenty-five.”

And that—that gets you to pause, but not to halt, not to stop, potent brattiness mixing with fury as it boils in your chest, the need to defy, to disobey, burning through your veins.

“I-I can handle that,”

“Thirty,” his voice is calm—serene, almost—and ice cold. There’s an underlying challenge sown into it, daring you to try him again, to utter another word. He’ll go higher, you can almost hear his apathetic voice floating through your mind; he’ll go as high as he needs to in order to teach such an ungrateful little brat a lesson.

Thirty it is.

The buckle of his favourite belt jingles as he undoes it, that dainty clink! forcing shivers to pebble across your naked skin, pressing your chest further into the foot of his bed, fingers curling in cashmere.

You’ve developed a love-hate relationship with that belt; it’s so fun when you get to undo it yourself, gentle fingers tugging and toying as you squirm eagerly in his lap, yet the clank and clattering of that heavy buckle as nimble fingers skillfully unfasten it and pull it from the loops of expensive trousers is almost menacing, carrying with it portentous threats it fully intends to see through.

He never warns you when the first strike is coming, reveling in the way your muscles are coiled in tension, in foreboding anticipation; basking in the surprised yelp that bubbles up in your throat.

“Relax,” he tells you with a callous chuckle, leather squealing between large, smooth hands as he folds it. “And count,”

It’s his usual response, predictable and scripted by this point, but he never seems to tire of it, notes of delight lacing his voice.

And that first blow never counts.

Gojou Satoru may be a bad Daddy by most standards, but his punishments are harsh, brutal, and cruel, and they happen to be one of the only things he takes seriously in life.

There’s rules to each of his punishments—so many rules he’s made you write them out multiple times, until your hand ached and fingers cramped and the heel of your palm was swollen, so they’d stick in that pretty empty little head of yours, so you never forget—and his spankings are no different.

You are not to move until he tells you to. You are not to speak unless spoken to. You are to count each lash, loud and clear before the next strike lands. Each mistake, each misstep and slip-up and refusal to comply, will earn you one extra slap. The tool is to be decided based on the severity of the offence.  

The belt, all rigid rawhide and sharp edges, cuts into the supple flesh of your ass with each easy, nonchalant flick of his wrist, abrasively snapping against you.

Each collision of leather against flesh sears a tingly sting into your skin, biting rapidly rising welts into your ass and sending spiky jolts of agonizing pain bolting up your spine, the pain fading to a dull throb for just a moment before another blow is delivered.

“Gorgeous,” Satoru murmurs to himself halfway through your punishment, the word nothing more than a little huff of breath. You don’t dare respond, simply crying out the next number as he lands another harsh blow to your abused skin. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard a more beautiful sound, he continues, voice appearing faint and far away, mingling with the combined symphony of the crack of leather and pathetic whimpers muffled by sheets.

“It’s incredible,” he says, louder this time, voice dripping with wonderment, as if he can’t believe he’s created such a magnificent piece—the streaks of blood staining once perfect, unblemished skin; the high-pitched whines and sharp cries of each subsequent number; the resounding slap of the belt against your bare ass that evokes it all.

The whole thing sends a surge of intense power rushing through his veins, the tingling buzz it leaves behind enthralling and invigorating. You don’t need to look at him to know this, don’t need to see the way his eyes shine with it, the way his chest heaves with it, the way his entire body trembles with it—you can feel it in the atmosphere surrounding you, can feel the shift as his ego saturates the air, as his pure superiority bleeds into it, dense and suffocating, stimulating and revitalizing.

It infects your body, seeping in through your skin and flooding your veins, re-instills the need to be submissive, the ache to be good, providing you with the strength to endure.

The punishment lasts for forty-five excruciating minutes, accumulating a total of thirty three spanks—the extra three tacked onto your original punishment of thirty, one for each time you broke a rule. He’s on you in less than a second the moment it’s over, belt dropping to the rug-covered floor with a distinct thump as soft, eager palms roam your sweaty body, lips crushed against yours, still trembling as they spill pitiful whimpers into his mouth.

The luxurious bedroom—all cream and gold and drenched in sunlight—is blanketed by backhanded praises, warning you not to be a brat and just take what he gives. He’s sadistic when he gets in moods such as these, a feral glint in crystal eyes as large hands hastily flip you over—so fast it knocks a gasp of his name from your chest—seemingly unconcerned about the fresh blood oozing from the thin swollen welts that embellish your ass staining his thousand dollar sheets.

“Daddy needs you now,” he growls when you try to protest, breathing erratic as fingers flex on your hips, squeezing and kneading before pressing down hard, a silent order to stay fucking put. “And you’re going to be a good little girl for your Daddy now, aren’t you?”

Of course. Of course, because you are a good little girl, his good little girl.

But he’s a bad Daddy.

And, like a bad Daddy, he defers aftercare—it can wait, he practically snarls as he drags you to the edge of the bed, folding your legs up on either side of your body, knees nearly nudging your jaw; and foregoes prep almost entirely—two slender fingers slipping between your slick folds, prodding your hole and deeming you wet enough to take him.

And you’d be lying if you said you didn’t absolutely love it when he gets like this, when that façade of indifference finally shatters to pieces, replaced with desperation, with urgency, with neediness.

Your head lifts from the plush mattress, neck straining a little as you watch him push his trousers down his thighs through bleary eyes, residual dewdrops of tears clinging to spidery lashes. His cock bobs a little as he kicks the pants off, and it’s just as pretty as he is, smooth and symmetrical and perfect in every way.

“This would be part of your punishment,” he pants out, speaking over your cry of discomfort as he begins to shove his cock into you, little cunt aching as it attempts to accommodate the sudden intrusion. “If you didn’t love it so much, fucking slut,”

“Daddy!” The pet name claws its way up your throat in a yelp, hands scrabbling against his shoulders, nails digging into his flesh through his Armani button-up in an effort to steady yourself, eyes squeezing shut against the severe burn that accompanies the stretch. “Gonna—Gonna tear me in half,”

“You’d think you’d be used to this by now,” Satoru muses, voice already returning to its apathetic playful lilt now that he’s half buried in your cunt, breathing already calmed. A malicious little smirk decorates his lips and he observes you as if awestruck, one of his hands moving to trace the curve of your cheek, cold fingertips soft against your scalding skin.

“So beautiful like this,” he whispers as he finally bottoms out, hips pressed flush against the back of your thighs.

And you are, fresh tears that glitter the way his eyes do in the waning sun streaming down your cheeks, leaving the prettiest streaks of salt staining your flesh; lips swollen from merciless teeth sinking into them, an attempt to silence yourself, to keep those whines and complaints of Stop, Daddy! and Hurts, Daddy! safely stored in your throat.

Your little hole flutters around him, still struggling to adjust to his girth, and his head droops forward, long tongue unfurling from his mouth to lap at the bitter water adorning your face, slow languid strokes from your jaw to your bottom lashes, replacing shimmering tears with viscous saliva.

Saccharine sugar stings your nose, sticky toffee bathed in decadent chocolate and garnished with a touch of vanilla enveloping you in a sickly sweet embrace.

Such a scent—his scent—starkly opposes the vicious snapping of his hips, setting a merciless pace from the very start, blunt nails biting deep half-crescents into your flesh as they hold you in place.

But the pain only heightens the pleasure, contradicting sensations clashing together with every one of his brutal thrusts, cashmere feeling as rough as sandpaper against your raw, wounded ass. Thorns of pain pierce through your abdomen and shoot up your spine, back arching off the bed, and the muscles in your thighs flex and clench with every slam of his cockhead against your cervix.

It’s potent and intoxicating, a heady exhilaration clouding your brain and flooding your veins, and soon there are tears leaking from your eyes again, dribbling into your mouth and mixing with strings of drool that coat the words you’re babbling out.

Blood rushes in your ears, procuring a deafening ring, and you’re not even sure what you’re saying anymore, voice vibrating indistinctly in your chest as saliva soaked mewls ooze from your mouth. Your Daddy’s staring down at you, condescension etched into his pretty features, eyes morphing from dainty crystal to the navy of a tumultuous sea, framed by strands of cream and ivory dripping with sweat.

And he’s so big, too big, stuffing you full to the hilt with each ruthless piston of his hips, mattress trembling beneath you from the sheer strength; and it’s so much, too much, you swear you can feel him in your tummy, can see the way your lower abdomen cutely bulges in synchronization with every pounding thrust.

You must say it in some way, in some shape or some form, because the patronization varnishing his features melts away, sharp smirk dissolving into a genuine grin, blue eyes lightening with pure adoration.

“Such a good girl,” you think he’s saying, through it’s hard to tell when your eyelids keep drooping, hard to hear when a symphony of broken moans and hitched whimpers and the sharp slapping of skin against skin blanket the room, reverberating off the walls of your skull. “You’re such a good, good girl for me,”

Yes, Daddy, you want to say, such a good girl for you, only for you.

“Y-Yours,” you manage instead, locking your arms around his neck and clinging to him.

“Mine,” he growls, possessiveness lacquering his eyes, brilliant and bright and shining with devotion. “That’s right, mine,”

It only takes another three thrusts before you’re gushing all over his cock, the intense spasming of your cute little cunt drawing the prettiest whines from the back of his throat as he rams into you.

“Beg for it,” he demands, and although it’s an order, it comes out more like a plead, desperation sown into his voice. “Beg for Daddy’s cum,”

You obey immediately, words spilling from your lips without a second thought, automatic and instinctual. Please, Daddy, gimme your cum? Please, please, pretty please, want your cum, Daddy, fill my belly with it, Daddy, I need it, need it so bad, please?

He gives you what you want only a moment later, cock throbbing almost violently as he fills you with thick, scalding cream—so much that you’re sure it’s dribbling out of you, trickling down your ass and onto his pristine sheets—and you roll your hips up, attempting to milk him for more.

“G-Greedy,” he pants out, but there’s a dazzling smile slapped across his face, and so much love in his eyes it’s nearly overwhelming, a fresh wave of tears casting a gleaming shield across your own.

He notices immediately, both of you wincing a little as he pulls out, a wrecked little whine escaping your mouth.

“My poor little princess,” he’s saying as he untangles his briefs—Balenciaga, this time—from his trousers, abandoned in a heap on the hardwood.

“Daddy,” you rasp, a frown marring his face, fingers encircling your ankles as he helps you unfold your stiff legs.

“I know, I know,” he’s murmuring as gentle hands pull the soft clothing up your silky thighs. “It hurts, I know baby, Daddy’s gonna make it feel better now,”

A shiver courses through your body, and he tuts, nimble fingers making quick work of the buttons on his shirt, shrugging it off before he hoists you up and drapes it over your shoulders, tenderly threading your arms through the sleeves.

It’s cozy, and warm, infused with his scent—melted sugar and expensive cologne—and you snuggle into it, weak arms pulling the material tighter around your body, swathing it in comfort. Tears prick your eyes again, blearily blinking them clear as you glance up to find him backing away. A noise of indignance sounds in the back of your throat, eyebrows knitting together as you make grabby hands for him.

“I’ll be right back, princess,” he reassures you as he laces your fingers together and allows you to pull him back towards you, voice soothing like a lullaby. Fingers trail along the curve of your cheek then trace the line of your jaw, palms smoothing hair back from your face. “Daddy’s just going to go get the first aid kit so he can clean you up, okay?”

“‘N then food?”

He coos with a little chuckle, cupping your head as he tilts it up towards him, eyes overflowing with fondness.

“Yeah, baby, and then food. Whatever you want, it’s yours,”

Gojou Satoru may be a bad Daddy, but he is also your Daddy, and that makes him the best Daddy.

[statusquoergo]

hey, to balance the angst how about marvey 16 :) and hopefully you find your muse again, thank you

To uh, balance the angst, you say? I can certainly…see how you would expect this prompt to elicit something…steamy, probably, but…uh. Well. I’m sorry about this. But it’s a happy ending, I promise!

Oh! Also, this is the last of these prompts that I received, and I want to thank everyone again for sending them to me! This series has been a lot of fun to write!

Things you said with no space between us

[Read on AO3]

They sentence him to two years in prison. The prosecutors tell him it could’ve been worse, the judge tells him he should be grateful; he knows they’re right. Mike doesn’t complain.

Harvey does. Harvey does, and Rachel does. They argue at his hearing, and Rachel wants to appeal, but there’s no real standing for that, and it’ll be tossed before it gets to a higher court. She knows it will. Mike knows it too, and he doesn’t complain. It’s all been building to this, after all, everything they’ve done up to now. Everything they’ve gotten away with that they shouldn’t have.

Rachel tries to visit him on his very first day, but she’s not on his visitation list, and they turn her away with a weary sort of irritation and not much sympathy. They start the registration process immediately after she gets back to New York, she and Harvey do, and it’s supposed to be easy, but these things always seem to take more time than they should, somehow. They do what they can.

Mike doesn’t complain. It takes a little more than three weeks, the whole process from start to finish, but Mike waits.

Not much else to do these days.

---

Mike walks into the visitation room with a smile on his face that brightens as he nears the plexiglass, that widens as he sits on the rickety stool in front of the long table and reaches across himself to pick up the telephone in his non-dominant hand so that he can press it to the unbruised side of his face.

“Hi,” he says. “Thanks for coming.”

On the other side of the glass, Rachel raises her hand to her mouth, and Harvey picks up the telephone.

“Mike,” he says. “What happened?”

Mike sits on his free hand to keep from touching his face.

“Oh this?” He raises his eyebrows like this is some kind of joke, because come on now, what a silly question that is. “I met some guy in here named Frank Gallo, I don’t think he likes me very much.”

Harvey’s face pales, and Rachel raises her other hand to cover her mouth, too.

“I put him away for racketeering,” Harvey says. “What the hell is he doing here?”

Mike grins. “Search me.”

Harvey frowns.

“I’m going to tell the warden,” he says. Rachel looks at him with some alarm, dropping her hands to the table, and Mike’s smile vanishes at once.

“Don’t do that.”

Harvey shakes his head. “I’m going to tell him,” he repeats. “I’m going to tell him the whole story.”

“Harvey.” Mike points at his mottled skin. “Harvey, if you tell the warden, Gallo is going to find out, and this’ll be nothing compared to what he’s gonna do to me.”

Harvey’s knuckles turn white as he clutches the phone, pressing it to his ear, and Rachel looks between them, their one-sided conversation, and bites her lip.

These visits have a time limit, don’t they? They must, surely.

Mike smiles wide.

“So tell me about the firm.”

Harvey lowers his head, tapping his nail against the plastic receiver. After a moment, Rachel begins to cry.

Mike looks away.

---

Prison happens on a learning curve.

After that first meeting, the one that left him feeling so hollow and cold, and so angry at himself for feeling that way, for being ungrateful, for being an entitled piece of shit— After that first meeting, Rachel promised to come visit him every day, even if she had to come alone, even if she didn’t have any news to bring him, even if there was no reason for her to be there. It was a stupid thing to promise, and she shouldn’t have done it, but she did, and Mike should have known better, and he should have warned her, but he didn’t, and that’s two hours now that she’s wasted driving out here, and two more she’ll waste driving back.

“It’s a points system,” his cellmate Kevin explains. “Beginning of the month you get twelve points, and every visit costs one. Two on weekends and holidays. Then next month you start over.”

Mike crosses his arms over his chest and tucks himself into the corner of his threadbare mattress, the matching blanket wadded up between his lower back and the dirty wall.

“That’s stupid,” he says.

“Yeah,” Kevin says. “What’re you gonna do.”

Not a goddamn thing.

---

“Mike, you’re bleeding.”

Mike touches his lip gently, curving his wrist to hide the swelling around the joint as Harvey narrows his eyes.

“What happened?”

Mike smiles and tries not to wince when it pulls at the split.

“Gallo and I got in a little argument in the day room,” he says. “Guess I’m still not used to the pecking order around here.”

I hope I die before I figure it out. I hope that day is too far away for me to see it clearly. I hope I never learn how to live here, I hope I never learn how to make this place my home.

Harvey’s shoulders sag forward, his furrowed brow drawing his eyes down to the cracked paint and scratched aluminum holding up the plexiglass pane between them.

“Hey,” Mike says, rapping his knuckles against the window. “I’m fine.”

“No banging on the glass,” a guard rumbles behind him.

Mike winces, and Harvey presses his lips together tight.

“I tried to get you leave,” he says clumsily, forcing the words out one by one. “The warden owes me a favor, I thought— I thought he might go for it.”

“‘Leave’?” Mike repeats. “Harvey, I’m not in the army.”

Fighting for my life every minute of every day, I can see how you would make that mistake.

Harvey smiles, even though it wasn’t funny. He knows it wasn’t. Mike does, too.

“I tried,” he says anyway. “I thought he’d let you out for a day, or, or a couple of hours, I wanted to take you home, just for a little while, so you could see Rachel. So you could talk, I… I thought it might help.”

I thought it might help to give you a taste of everything you’ve lost. I thought it might make you happy for a minute or two.

Mike smiles again, pulling at the split.

“Tell her I said hi,” he says.

Tell her I understand why she’s stopped coming here. Tell her I forgive her. Tell her everything’s going to be okay.

Tell her I’ll always love her, and for both our sakes, I hope we never see each other again.

Harvey kneads his finger into the corner of his eye.

“Jesus Christ.”

Mike presses his palm to the plexiglass.

“Harvey. Harvey, Harvey, hey, stop it.”

Harvey laughs into his chest, and Mike bites his bloody lip.

“You! Hands off the glass!”

Mike flinches. Maybe he will get used to it, sooner or later, maybe it’ll all become second nature before too long.

Not today.

---

Harvey isn’t the only one who cares about him. About what happens to him, about how he’s doing. About whether he lives or dies. Mike knows he isn’t. Even Harvey tells him as much, all the time, reminding him that he’s got people out there waiting for him, that he’ll be welcomed back at the firm with open arms when he gets out, that people ask about him sometimes, how he’s holding up and things. Harvey doesn’t have some kind of monopoly on giving him time and attention. Mike knows.

When he trudges out into the visitor’s room, when he picks up the phone and looks through the plexiglass, when Donna picks up the other receiver and looks back at him with a sad little smile on her face, he thinks maybe instead of sitting here, having some kind of conversation, maybe he’s going to go back to his cell and throw up.

“Hi Mike,” she says.

He swallows.

“Where’s Harvey?”

“Harvey’s fine.”

Mike narrows his eyes. That’s not what I asked.

“Where is he?”

Donna looks at him steadily, holding her shoulders back too tight.

“He’s in the hospital.”

So you’re a fucking liar, then. You lied to me.

“That doesn’t sound ‘fine.’”

No, no. Don’t be mean, Michael. It’s good of her to come and tell you in person.

“He has a stomach ulcer,” Donna says. “He’s going to be fine.”

Mike scowls.

“He doesn’t sound fine.”

Donna shakes her head.

“He is,” she says. “He will be. He needs to make sure he takes care of himself, that’s all. They gave him antibiotics, and he just needs some rest. He wanted me to come tell you what happened, he didn’t want you to worry.”

He’s looking out for you in your time of need. He only wants what’s best for you. He’s doing everything he can to help you. He’s working himself to death for you. Don’t worry about it. Everything is going to be fine.

Mike tangles the telephone cord in his fist and pulls it taut.

“God dammit,” he mutters.

Donna’s face goes sort of flat.

“How are you doing?” she asks after a minute.

Mike bangs his elbow on the edge of the table when he reaches to touch his black eye.

Oh, that’s right. These things happen, I suppose. There’s so much to keep track of, I forget about this and that.

“Don’t tell Harvey,” he says.

She sighs a sad little sigh.

Don’t worry about a thing.

---

Harvey shouldn’t be here. Harvey has a stomach ulcer, and he needs to rest. He should be at home, he should be in bed taking a nap, he should be curled up on the couch with a bowl of soup, he should be taking his antibiotics and relaxing and getting better.

Mike picks up the phone.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

Harvey smiles.

“Hello to you, too.”

“Harvey.”

Harvey rests his hand on his lapel, a little too close to his heart. “I’m okay,” he says. “These things happen all the time, it’s no big deal.”

That’s a lie. You’re a fucking liar, you’re fucking lying to me. You’re lying to me to make me feel better, you’re lying to me because you don’t want me to feel useless even though I am, even though I know it, and so do you.

Mike clenches his fist in his lap and accidentally pinches a bit of skin between his fingers.

Hands off the glass, you little shit.

“Harvey,” he says, “why did you come?”

Harvey shrugs.

“I couldn’t leave you here all alone.”

Of course you could. Of course you should.

“Thank you,” he says anyway. “Thanks.”

You shouldn’t have done it, though. You shouldn’t have made this mistake. I hate that you’re making yourself sick over me, I hate that you’re putting me first. I hate myself for being grateful that you’re here.

Harvey smiles.

---

Fresh air hits different when it’s not blowing through a chain link fence.

Mike steps out through the prison door and takes a deep breath. Has the sun always been this bright? Has the light always felt so warm, the wind so soft through his hair? This big, wild stretch of nothing, of nobody, of the whole world spread out before him to go wherever he wants, do whatever he wants, be…whoever he is. This whole life stretching out before him, just waiting for him to take it.

“Hey.”

Nothing and nobody except for you and me.

He opens his eyes, narrowed against the glare, and there’s Harvey, standing in the parking lot. There’s Harvey, waiting for him to come through the gate. There’s Harvey, waiting to drive him home.

Harvey, who’s always been there.

And now it’s over, and there he is.

And here we are.

“You look good.”

You fucking liar.

Mike walks through the gate, out into the parking lot, and grabs Harvey as tight as he can and doesn’t let go.

After all this time, all these days and weeks and months, all we have is this. For a moment, for now, all I want is this.

Harvey lifts his arms and wraps them around Mike’s shoulders, and holds on. He holds on when Mike tucks his chin into the crook of his neck, and he holds on when Mike’s breath shudders like he might start crying, and he holds on when the tears almost fall, and he holds on when they don’t.

This is what I’ve been missing.

Mike presses in close and holds on tight, and Harvey doesn’t let him go.

“Mike,” Harvey murmurs. “I’m so proud of you.”

Mike grabs Harvey’s coat in his fist and presses his face against his shoulder, and Harvey rubs his hand down Mike’s back.

“You did good.”

Mike sniffles, and Harvey sighs into his hair.

“I’ve got you.”

And I always, always will.

[ivyjlopez]

Q&A Part 2

Question #6

Why can’t we just compare ourselves to others?

Comparison is a tricky thing for me. You have to assess it in such a way that you won’t let yourself chase someone else’s timeline. Comparing yourself or your journey to someone  will manifest both good and bad outcomes. If you are comparing yourself to someone because you consider that person’s journey as something inspiring and motivating then that’s a good thing. However, if you are comparing your life to a different person and start feeling and realizing like, “Oh, I’m already old enough to do this, I wouldn’t be able to do this because I’m incapable, I hope I was able to buy my own house and car same as this person’s age, I think I’ll be happier if I also have a special someone whom I can held hands while driving and going to places like my friends, so and so forth…” For me, the best person whom you can compare yourself with is no other than but - your old self. 

Aren’t you grateful enough that you were no longer the person that you are as before? (Unless, you’ve become worse than before? Because if that’s the case you really have to make a heart check, dear.) Your timeline and your friends timeline aren’t the same. Let me remind you something in Proverbs 16:3 (“Commit to the Lord whatever you do, and he will establish your plans)

Question #7

Does a dream really give enough courage to an individual for satisfaction and contentment sake?

I personally think that having a dream is indeed a good sign that someone knows what he/she wants to pursue in life and it is kinda uplifting when you are able to achieve it. I also agree that it gives a person satisfaction because in the first place you actually worked hard to earn what you have at the moment. That being said, you are not just living the dream you’ve been wanting all this time but is now able to provide and become a blessing to others too. Talking about contentment, this should be something that must never depart despite having and gaining more than what you expect and pray for. If you are currently in the stage of your life wherein you are already living your dream, do not allow yourself to be fully entitled to something that you were able to achieve to the point that you even hardly notice you were already bragging about it. Remember it is the Lord who helps us create wealth (Deuteronomy 8:18) Prior to achieving something, Someone already believes that you are a one tough individual. Satisfaction and contentment is somehow correlated. You can never experience satisfaction prior to being content. Your value or worth as an individual shouldn’t be based on what you were able to attain. Train yourself to be content with the things that you have right now. Do not depend your satisfaction on achievements, wealth or any material things that can just vanish in a snap. You are already courageous and declared worthy, remember that.  

Question #8

How would you know when the time is right (in all aspects)?

Funny because prior to receiving this question from a friend, I was reading Ecclesiastes the other day and I can now correlate the answer to this one. Sure thing, I’m not a fortune teller nor can someone predict the future. The only thing I am aware of  and I can turn to in times of uncertainty is none other than but the Scripture. It says in (Ecclesiastes 3:1 “There’s a time for everything…”) no one can really tell when is the right timing, so imagine if someone finished a Bachelor’s degree at the age of sixty can you consider that as a bad timing just because a person’s age is no longer bracketed along with those who are in their twenties and thirties? If someone conceived at the age of forty, do you consider that as a bad or right timing just because it became a mindset to everybody that someone should bore a child at a certain age? Whenever I make decisions, I would ask and assess myself, “Does my heart and mind contradict with each other? Are they battling? Or are they on the same page?” Moreover, the word of the Lord has the final say. Keep seeking, studying and meditating day and night. Did you just almost forgot that God is the one in control? Talk to the One who holds and controls time. Be alert and prepared. 

Question #9

Do you give meaning to your own life or to others?

Absolutely, yes. 

I just celebrated my 26th birthday last October 17 and I’ve got no other words for this year but gratitude. I’ve learned to be grateful for the things that I have though sometimes it makes me want to surrender what I’ve prayed for. Every time I feel exhausted and helpless a certain situation would make me feel like, “Ivy, you’re too ungrateful” this person can’t even eat twice or thrice a day, the job that I have might be a dream job to someone else yet here I am complaining. It is indeed true that everyday at work is not a good day but instead of focusing on the negative why not do a lil’ bit of turning back, back when you’re still jobless. I give meaning to my own life by means of making it worth living, sometimes I think it’s a lil’ bit too late but the thing is I am able to get back on track. How do I make it worth living? Disconnect. Do not allow yourself to be available 24/7. Make boundaries. Meditate. Date yourself. Date your friends. Go to that place you’ve always wanted to go to. Buy that book you’ve been eyeing during those times that you can’t afford it. Treat your family. Serve and be part of the ministry. Revive the hobby that you want to turn as a source of income. Be kind to yourself. There’s a lot. Ask yourself what you can do more.

Do I give meaning to others’ life?

Of course, I do. I respect every individual's differences. I do not force someone to believe or like the things that I like. If they need my advice or suggestion, I’ll give mine but I won’t insist. I gave people their freedom because it’s everybody’s right. I am open and considering other people’s opinions but I don’t let their thoughts be in control of my life. I’m helping people and organizations in secret because that’s how it is supposed to be (Matthew 6:1-4) 

You don’t have to do something extraordinary to show that you give meaning to someone else’s existence. A simple sympathy or empathy sometimes will do. It’s the little things that oftentimes people neglect.

Question #10

What truly makes you happy?

“As long as the people I love and care for are happy, that makes me happy” — Sounds cliché right? Knowing that the people whom I valued are in good health, seeing them celebrating their own victories makes me feel glad too. 

It makes me happy whenever I can put a smile to someone else’s face. It makes me happy that I am able to help someone,  a group of people, organization or community even in a tiny way that I could. It makes me happy that I can be a blessing to others through God-given resources and capability. 

For myself? There’s this one thing that I always wanted to achieve though and that’s - Inner peace. I don’t know if it’s part of adulting stage but one thing I know at the end of every day, I wanted to be at peace. At peace with everybody and that includes my very own self. 

I am not getting any younger and I wanted every second to be lived by all worthy. 

I am glad that I am able to do things right this time and will no longer waste my season. 

So...What truly makes me happy is knowing that I was able to fulfill my real purpose as I continue to exist. We all know what it is but we forgot sometimes…To be more Christlike everyday. (Ephesians 5:1-2 Therefore be imitators of God, as beloved children.  And walk in love, as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us, a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God.)

[islamicrays]

Don't over-compensate with your kids. If you feel guilty over a deficit in one department of their life, don't go overboard to make up for it in another. You'll try to correct one initial problem, only to create ten extra problems on top of it.

I'll share with you two stories to show you what I mean.

A few days ago, I took my kids to the pediatrician for a routine checkup. We go to the pediatrician's office quite often, because between regular checkups, sick visits, and scheduled vaccines, for four different kids--we are there pretty much all the time! I bring all four kids with me whenever we go, and so the all-female staff and nurses and doctor have gotten to know us pretty well and know that we're a homeschooling family. They all love us there. :)

As we were getting my 4-year-old weighed and measured, the nurse and I had a serious conversation. She is a young Arab woman, only a few years older than me, with one 11-year-old son. We speak to her in Arabic whenever she's working at the office when we're there, and my kids delight in hearing her Syrian accent (in contrast with our Egyptian dialect).

She asked me, "I know you are homeschooling your kids...but why?"

I gave her a brief outline of my reasons for the decision to homeschool, citing the academic, religious, and social aspects.

She sighed. "Yes, I think I'm beginning to understand. This is a great idea. I wish I didn't have to send my son to public school, but that's where he is. He's 11, and he is getting more and more difficult by the day. I think he gets more unmanageable with every year that he's in American schools. Like you said, the social environment in schools is terrible! He learns from his classmates, so he's already cursing and saying the F-word, having conversations about girls and dating. Last year, this one girl had a crush on him and because he didn't like her back, she started calling him gay. He's also watching horrible shows on TV, and playing the worst games on his ipad and phone. I don't know what to do about it. I feel like I'm losing control of my son," she admitted sadly.

My heart went out to her. I nodded sympathetically, acknowledging the problem with her. "Do you think it's possible for you to cut back or even eliminate his access to all the gadgets? He's only 11 after all, and you are his mom. I know it's hard, but it might be the best thing to do for you to put your foot down and take away the smartphone and ipad. It might help mitigate his behavior."

She looked away. "I wish I could. It's kind of complicated. You see, I'm a single mom, because my husband is مفقود (lost). We came here from Syria when all the violence happened...without my husband. We don't know where he is now; we haven't heard from him since. My parents and siblings are here too, alhamdulellah, so they help me raise my son."

My eyes, at this point, were stinging with unshed tears. My heart was aching for her. I gave her a hug.

I said, "I am so sorry. الله يقرب البعيد (May Allah bring close the distant ones.) But alhamdulellah that you've got your family here to help."

"But they don't really help, not like you think. They are actually the ones who have given my son all the technology. They all feel bad for my son that his dad is gone, so they just give him a lot of stuff. When he's upset, they cheer him up by buying him a toy or a game or a gadget. When he gets good grades in school, they reward him with more stuff. My parents promised him that if he does well on his next test, they'll buy him the newest iphone. I keep trying to tell them that all these things are only making the problem worse, but they don't get it. My dad always says, "This poor boy is growing up without a father, and I don't want him to feel محروم, deprived. So we have to make it up to him." They make it up to him by giving him a lot of things."

I nodded, seeing her plight. "Well, their feelings are definitely understandable. But maybe instead of material things, can they just give your son time? Quality time together, having conversations, going places together, reading?"

She said, "No, they have everything but time. They own a limousine company, so they're always busy, always working. They are rarely around for that long. They have the business to run. I think that might be another thing they feel guilty about."

"Which helps explain further all the gifts," I said. "You know, this is a problem but insha'Allah it's fixable. It will require effort and determination, but you can do it insha'Allah. It's clear that deep feelings of guilt and grief are causing some serious overcompensating, which is only exacerbating the issue. You may need to have a serious discussion with your parents about how your son is doing, and the best way to come together as a family to meet his needs and to raise him in the healthiest way inshaAllah."

Unfortunately, this is not the only story I've encountered of a parent overcompensating when it comes to their child.

A few years ago, I met a mom of two young kids whose husband traveled a lot for his job. His trips (both in America and internationally) took him away from the family for long periods at a time. Just like the nurse at my doctor's office, this mother also had her relatives living near her, but they gave the kids free reign and tried never to deny them any requests, specifically because they felt bad that the kids were largely growing up without their dad present in their day-to-day life. So these kids ran rampant, acting entitled, demanding, and ungrateful.

The mother was complaining to me that she ends up bearing the brunt of the kids' behavioral problems, because she is the only one who attempts to say "No" to them. But the kids, beings kids, don't like to be said "No" to, and they often ignore her orders or whine or threaten to "tell Baba on her once he gets back!"

These kids actually threaten their mother with tattling on her to their father! This is straight manipulation.

The mother is now the bad guy. The absent father is the good guy, an image of him that's reinforced in his kids' minds every time he returns home with lavish presents and overblown gifts.

"My husband himself feels guilty about how often he's away," the mother told me. "So he overdoes it with the gifts for the kids when he comes back. He also lets them get away with murder, since he's not usually home to see them for long stretches at a time. So next to him, to the kids I look terrible! I don't shower them with gifts and I don't always say yes to their demands. So he's become this hero to them, and I've become a monster."

SubhanaAllah.

These two completely separate stories about two different Muslim families have one underlying factor in common: parental guilt, if unchecked, leads to overcompensating and major behavioral problems for children. There are so many cases like this.

You might think that you're helping the situation by giving the kids material gifts in lieu of the time or physical presence that you cannot give them--but in reality, this only makes the situation much, much worse. You are only alleviating your own guilt by showering the kids with more stuff than is good for them, while harming the kids even further by enabling their bad manners and steeping them in materialism.

Kids need more time than money from the adults in their life. When there is a problem, throwing money at it usually only makes it worse.

More than anything else, kids need our time and attention. They don't need as many gifts, or as many devices or gadgets or screens. They just need you, fully focused on them and present with them.

The solution to following unchecked emotion and over-compensating is to use reason and try to find balance. In the Quran, Allah the Exalted commands us often toward al-qist, القسط. For example, in the beginning of surat Ar-Rahman, Allah draws our attention to the perfection of the balance which He has sent down, by linking the notion of balance with the sky:

وَالسَّمَاءَ رَفَعَهَا وَوَضَعَ الْمِيزَانَ (7) أَلَّا تَطْغَوْا فِي الْمِيزَانِ (8) وَأَقِيمُوا الْوَزْنَ بِالْقِسْطِ وَلَا تُخْسِرُوا الْمِيزَانَ

"And the sky--He has raised it, and imposed the balance.

So that you don't transgress the balance.

So establish the balance with equity and don't make deficient the balance."

The sky and everything in it, everything about it, is precisely placed in a perfect balance. If the sun were just a tiny bit closer to the earth, we'd all be burned to a crisp. If the sun were just a tiny bit farther away from the earth, we'd all freeze. The sun, moon, stars, planets are aligned in a precise calculation, without shortages or imbalances. Everything within the skies is perfectly proportioned, and precisely measured. No transgressions, no excesses, no extremes.

No imbalance.

May Allah grant us the wisdom to ponder His ayaat and live them in our own lives, ameen.

Via Umm Khalid

[sebastiianstan]

Tumblr content school: why you don’t always get notes and how to (potentially) get a bit more

So in recent weeks, I’ve seen quite a few posts floating around that centre around the same subject: content creators, mainly gifmakers, not gaining followers as quickly as they would like to and/or not getting as many notes on their original content as they would like to. Most recently I’ve seen people share their like-to-reblog ratio, with a call to users to also reblog content instead of just liking it, which would result in more exposure and recognition for the creator.

Now, while all of those feelings are perfectly valid and you’re obviously allowed to post whatever you like on your blog, the conversation around this is quite unnuanced and, at times, a bit uninformed. I’m not claiming to be some kind of expert, but having been a content creator (gifmaker) on this platform for quite a few years, with my own small share of popular gifsets floating around and having built both my own blog an two fansites/group blogs to at least moderate success, I do think I have a certain degree of insight re: getting notes, so I thought I’d put in my two cents. Please note that I’m not making this post to be condescending in any way, or even to tell you what to do/how to create content, but I thought I’d help as much as I can, based on my own experience.

Below the cut are 1. reasons why I think gifsets don’t always get the number of notes you wanted/expected them to, and 2. tips on creating and posting content in a way that will potentially get you more notes.

Why you might not be getting (a lot) of notes

So let’s start with some general trends re: gifsets not getting as many notes as you’d like/expect, and not as many as they would have maybe a few years ago.

1. Tumblr is past its peak

Based on experience, I’d say fandom Tumblr reached its peak in 2015-2016, and was riding that out in 2017. I’ve mainly been a Marvel blog in recent years, so I can’t speak for other fandoms, but Tumblr was... wild in the lead-up to and aftermath of Captain America: Civil War (2016). Wonder Woman (2017) was a similar situation on the DC side of things. 

New Marvel releases (like Ant-Man & The Wasp, Avengers: Infinity War and probably most notably, Black Panther) still get a lot of traction and fandom definitely isn’t dead on Tumblr, but I feel like 2015-2016 were definitely peak years. I only recently returned from a year-long hiatus; I stopped being active in late 2017 and even then my dashboard wasn’t quite as active as it was a year before that. Upon returning here about a month ago, most of my mutuals from back in the day had also become inactive and a lot of gifmakers I used to follow were not creating content anymore.

So it boils down to this: I think it’s very likely that the amount of active users within your fandom has diminished significantly as compared to two years ago. A set that may have gotten 10k notes within a few days in 2016 might now only get half of that.

2. The URL thing

This is a sad truth, but it does seem that having a semi-canon or canon url does at least help with getting a larger amount of notes on your content. I have no tips on getting a canon url (I got very, very lucky with this one), but this is a simple observation I have from over the years. Url trading/selling has basically become a genuine business due to this - canon urls are in high demand.

More importantly, what I can say is that it’s smart not to change your url too often. Becoming a popular content creator on this platform is basically the same as building a brand - and a brand has an easily recognized name. Once you have a url you are happy with, try to stick to it for a while. When you change your url, links break on reblogs of your old gifsets, by the way.

3. The like-to-reblog ratio has always been unbalanced

For as long as I can remember, posts have gotten more likes than reblogs. If your ratio is 2-to-1 or 3-to-1, trust me, you are doing perfectly well for yourself! Again, as with my first point, this might have gotten a bit more extreme since 2016, but it’s not a new thing.

4. Popular users support each other

Obviously there’s nothing wrong with this (in fact, I love that we all support each other), but yes, in general big/popular blogs are friends with each other and tend to reblog each other’s content, which can be discouraging for smaller or aspiring content creators on the platform.

However, please be aware that these big blogs built up the following they have by posting content for years and it just takes time. Also, know that most users on here actually really enjoy being tagged in your posts - so if you gif a movie or tv show you know a popular user (that you follow) likes, tag them in it and if it’s high quality content (I’ll touch on this later), they’ll probably reblog it.

Tips on getting more notes

Alright, on to part two: my personal tips on getting more notes. These are strictly based on my own experience, and as a repeat of my disclaimer earlier: I am genuinely trying to share my knowledge; none of this is with the intent of being a condescending know-it-all.

1. Don’t look like you’re complaining

No matter what the intent behind your post about your lack of notes and/or followers is, it’s very likely you’re going to come off entitled or ungrateful. I’ve personally unfollowed multiple users who post consistently about reaching their next thousand, who make angry/frustrated posts when their followers don’t increase as quickly as they’d like to, when they lose followers, etc. I understand that the hustle is frustrating, but posts like these are really quite annoying for your followers; you’re complaining about followers you don’t have to followers you do have, who are then more likely to unfollow you because it looks like you’re complaining. Your mutuals might understand why you’re posting this, but others probably don’t.

When it comes to posts about like-to-reblog ratios, which I’ve seen a fair few of recently, please consider a couple of things. 

When you ask people to reblog your post instead of liking it, you are essentially telling them what to put on their own blogs.

A lot of users on here have carefully curated content; while some users simply blog about everything they like, others stick to a certain set of subjects/movies/tv shows. If they see a post they like that doesn’t fall into those categories, they’ll give it a like to keep track of it and show their appreciation, but won’t put it on their blogs. You can’t tell people to reblog something they don’t want to.

You’re essentially asking people that you do not really personally care about to do something for you. Most of the likes you get on your post are likely from people that you do not follow yourself. I’m not saying that you hate your followers or don’t care for them, but you can’t really ask anything of a user that you don’t even follow yourself.

Look at it this way: Tumblr is basically a mini society, with its own market in the form of content creation. The ones who have a few thousand followers, and who get a few hundred or a few thousand notes on their posts are already the lucky ones. If you’re a user who gets hundreds/thousands of notes on their posts (even if it’s not as many as you like or deserve), you should keep in mind that the vast majority of users on here are small blogs that don’t have the traction that you have. If you post a screenshot of the like-to-reblog ratio on a post that has 2k notes, they’re going to think, “what on earth are you complaining about?”

Posts like these can really only backfire. I don’t think it’s likely that a lot of users will suddenly start reblogging instead of liking because of them. I know those posts are getting traction, because your mutuals and fellow content creators understand your frustration (believe me, I do too!), so they reblog/like/comment on it, but you’re essentially in an echo chamber of content creators. Anyone outside of that circle will not understand it and might unfollow you because of it.

2. Quality

Another disclaimer: I’m not implying that the people who have made posts about notes/followers don’t make HQ gifs. This is simply the “tips on getting notes” section of this particular post, so that’s what I’m doing. Veteran gifmakers can skip this section because I won’t be presenting anything new here.

Here’s the thing: high quality gifsets get notes. I know that what constitutes a HQ gif is subjective, but there is a consensus on this amongst big blogs, so I will summarize it below.

Make gifs from high-quality video sources. If 1080p is available, use that. Don’t gif from videos below 720p. Also, the larger the t*rr*nt file, the higher the quality. If a 1080p t*rr*nt from a movie is under 2GB in size, it’s probably not decent enough to gif from.

Use the new dimensions. Tumblr changed from 500px to 540px over 3 years ago now I believe, and all the big blogs use these dimensions. I rarely see sets like this anymore, but some users do still hold on to the old dimensions. Obviously, you should do what you like, but know that you’ll get more notes if you make the switch.

Do not skip frames. If you use screencaps, extract 25 frames per second. If you are an ‘Import video frames to layers’ kinda gal, like me, import all frames.

Sharpen your gifs! It makes an insane difference. My faq section links to a sharpening action.

Your frame delay should be 0.05. If you have a low amount of frames, you can get away with 0.06, but do not make your gif any slower than that. It will look unsmooth.

Go for natural coloring, where you simply brighten up the gif and enhance the colors (beware of whitewashing tho). I know that using PSD’s from resource blogs is tempting, but it’s very likely they will not work for the particular scene you’re giffing. It’s best if you learn to color yourself and adapt your coloring for every set. Also, it’s up to you what you think is pretty, but extremely vibrant and extremely pale coloring isn’t very popular anymore. Natural is the way to go. (This is with the exception of those gorgeous color edits people have been making recently. Y’all are queens & that shit is hard to make yo!)

If your gif is larger than the 3mb limit, NEVER sacrifice colors in the ‘Save for web’ window. Always delete frames to lower the size of your gif.

Just saying, but Photoshop CS5 has been known to make the best gifs.

For beginners out there, please don’t be discouraged. I’ve been making gifs for years, and they were absolute shit in the beginning. It just takes time to learn, but if you stick to it, you’ll get there.

3. Concept over quantity

Allow me to draw a comparison with YouTubers here - I think we all prefer YouTubers who post one well fleshed out video a week (for example, Safiya Nygaard) over YouTubers who post an okay video every day.

I think a lot of users think the way to get notes and followers is to post a gifset every day. This probably does work to an extent, but I personally think it’s better to come up with original concepts that you post every few days.

When you watch a movie, you can make five gifsets out of scenes from that movie, or you can come up with a concept. For example, parallels between scenes, parallels with other movies, the best lines of a certain character, etc. This takes more work, but sets like these are highly appreciated because they’re original, and they tend to get more notes.

This doesn’t apply to new releases, as you are probably among the first to gif a particular scene, but if you’re giffing a scene from a movie that’s been out for a while, you’re very likely not the first to do it. People will see it, realize they’ve already reblogged something very similar, and keep scrolling. But if you come up with a new idea, that’s what’ll get you more traction.

To give you a personal example; I recently rewatched all of the cap films. Now, I could have giffed popular scenes like “I could do this all day” or “I’m with you ‘til the end of the line”, but that’s been done before... a lot. Instead, I came up with this, and got 6.5k notes. I haven’t posted that many new sets on my blog recently, but posting content like that has gained me some followers and new mutuals.

4. Timing

All this requires is keeping an eye on your dashboard and taking note of when most of the people you follow are online. I sometimes see European content creators posting their sets smack dab in the middle of the day. Lemme tell y’all something: the Americans are sleeping.

I’m in timezone GMT+1. My dash wakes up around 5pm. I never post before 6pm - I’ll post anywhere between then and midnight, so feel free to convert that to your own timezone. The scheduling feature on posts comes in handy if you’ll be asleep or at school/work around that time.

If you post when Tumblr isn’t active, your set will drown in all of the other content, so be smart about timing.

5. Strategic tagging

It seems that a lot of users still don’t know this: only the first five tags on your post show up in tags on Tumblr. Anything past the first five will only be useful for your own tagging/archiving system, but will not show up in any tracked tags.

So first point: always use the most prominent edit tag for the fandom you’re posting in. Examples are #marveledit, #hpedit, #filmedit. These are frequently used, and often tracked by big blogs.

Second point: figure out who the big fansites/group blogs are, and if they track a tag, tag them. Make sure you follow them, obviously. If your post is funny, you might wanna tag bob-belcher (#bbelcher) as well - this blog is popular across fandoms and posts content from all over!

Third: tag users who you think will like your post. Don’t be thirsty with this. Again, only do this if you follow them. Tagging 2-3 users is ok, but don’t be out there tagging 8 to 10 blogs on your post. Not only is that a little pointless (because only the first five tags will show up), it also makes you look thirsty. Users might not appreciate this, and ultimately might not reblog your post because of that. Also, try not to tag the same users on every single one of your posts.

6. Popular content

If your fandom is niche, so is your content. That’s perfectly fine; don’t feel pressured to post about anything that isn’t your passion.

But if your goal really is to get more notes and followers, create content from fandoms that are big on the platform. Examples are Marvel, Harry Potter, Star Wars, film blogs, etc.

7. Join a fansite/group blog

Every big fandom on Tumblr has one or multiple fansites/group blogs. I recommend you figure out who they are for your fandom, and apply to one that’s accepting new members. You’ll likely get in if your gifs are HQ.

I know this sounds a bit counterintuitive, as you’ll be posting content on another blog that will be getting the notes and followers from it, but it actually is a good way to gain more exposure. These blogs have large amounts of followers, and they usually allow you to reblog your own content to them, as long as you’re active. I think it’s a great way to get your content out there.

Alright, time to wrap up this post. I’m not personally calling out anyone who has made posts about followers, notes, like-to-reblog ratios, etc. I’ve seen at least 15 of those posts in recent weeks so I’m just reacting to a trend I’m seeing, by presenting a potential solution to a problem people seem to be having. 

My last tip is this: if notes and followers on Tumblr are making you feel down or frustrated, maybe it’s time for a little hiatus or a step back. In the end, you are not getting paid for this and your popularity on the platform has no bearing on your real life. This is supposed to be a fun outlet for your passions and interests, not a source of frustration and anger. Don’t take it too seriously! You’re doing amazing sweetie.

[grahamstoney]

How To Be A Successful Loser

New Post has been published on https://grahamstoney.com/life-coaching/how-successful-loser

How To Be A Successful Loser

I have a recently-ex friend of mine who really gives me the shits. Let’s call him “Garry”… because that’s his name. Garry is what I call a “successful loser”. He worked hard, became successful and made a lot of money; but then threw his success away because he was unhappy. Ever since I’ve know him, he’s been at a bit of a loose end trying to sort out what to do with his life. Restless and unhappy, he spends much of his time spreading his misery and unhappiness to others. But this morning thinking about Garry inadvertently led to the epiphany which I am convinced is going to change my life.

Garry reminds me of George Costanza from Seinfeld

Garry complains about everything, but doesn’t create anything himself or contribute much to other people. His presence may be welcome at first, but after a while becomes irritating. Garry is defensive and judgemental. He cracks jokes that are only amusing to himself, and uses humour as a way of avoiding his painful feelings. Garry considers other people’s emotions to be “self-indulgent” and actively avoids dealing with his own emotional upsets by projecting them onto someone else. He criticises other people who delve deep into their emotional pain in order to heal it, while he wallows in the shallow end of his own misery, never really getting to the root cause of his emotional problems. As a result, he never really heals his own pain. He doesn’t listen, especially when confronted by reality. Instead, he says “No no no!” when faced with the truth and stays stuck in victim mode unable to move forward. He is chock full of limiting beliefs and will actively argue for their validity when challenged. He’ll even encourage you to take them on too, and criticise you when you don’t adopt his own cynical beliefs and negative world view. He has a misplaced sense of entitlement where he acts as if the world owes him somehow, yet doesn’t seem to believe that he deserves to be happy. He makes a half-hearted effort at everything in life which pretty much guarantees that he won’t be successful at anything, then blames other people for his own failings. He’s fundamentally ungrateful and untrusting. He’s done just about all the personal development program and read almost every self-help book on the planet, yet hasn’t learned a damn thing because he never puts what he learns into action. Instead, he has come to the conclusion that none of it works. He hasn’t read my book on confidence for men which would definitely change his life, because he knows that if he did, he would end up being accountable for putting what it says into action because he knows the author. Plus he’s a cheapskate and doesn’t want to fork out the lousy $27 bucks for it. Garry hates taking risks, and only ever takes action when he knows it has a guaranteed positive outcome; which in real life means almost never. Instead of taking responsibility for dealing with his issues, he just goes around broadcasting misery to other people.

(That’s what my ex-flatmate Paul used to call a “free character assessment”)

The truth is that Garry is so annoying precisely because he reminds me of the part of myself that does all these things too. It’s not just about Garry; it’s about me.

Garry reminds me of George Castansa from Seinfeld; only not so funny. This morning I remembered that episode where George realises that since he’s a complete loser, he should always do the opposite of his normal inclinations. As a result, he stumbles on unexpected success all over the place. If Garry’s life choices have led him to so much misery, the obvious answer is to do a George.

This led to a major epiphany where I discovered the question by which I’m going to lead the rest of my life:

What would Garry do?

Just ask this question in any circumstance where I have a choice to make, and then do the opposite. Byron Katie came up with four questions that changed her life, but I reckon I’ve refined it down to just this one. I don’t think it even requires much conscious choice to do the opposite to be honest; just asking the question itself is probably enough:

When the going gets tough, what would Garry do? He’d give up.

When things aren’t going my way, what would Garry do? Blame other people.

When the girls I like don’t seem to like me, what would Garry do? Whine and complain.

I stuck this note on my fridge to remind me.

Next time I decide life is all too hard and I want to give up on my dreams, go look at porn, declare everything hopeless, renege on some promise I’ve made to myself, quit before I’ve even started a new project, or give up on it before giving it a decent chance at success, I’ll just remind myself:

That’s what Garry would do!

Now I know all this sounds pretty harsh, and would probably hurt Garry’s feelings a lot if he were to read this. After all, deep down he’s a sensitive soul like me. But I don’t care. No more Mr Nice Guy for me. The guy needs a shake-up anyway.

I don’t want people like Garry in my life any more. I have enough irritation, cynicism, resentment and resignation in my own head thanks very much, I don’t need an added dose from anyone else.

From now on, I’ll be listening to that voice in my head called Garry… and doing the opposite.

[smorkaft]

My dad was nice but he was very old, never was very good with feelings and I didn’t see him a lot after I was 6, so he was more like an uncle to me, even on the day he died. I don’t say this to be cruel, I’m thankful for the fun times we had together, but I never felt like I got to know him as an adult, as anything other than a father. My mother and my sister have always been my actual family, and I love them both very much, but they’ve also always been condescending when speaking to me, but I never really knew how to describe it as anything other than “teasing”. In more recent times, I’ve come to realize that it’s really not okay, that they can be manipulative and have intricate tactics to say things without feeling shame, since I rarely reciprocate any hate towards them and their comments are really unwarranted and mean. I’ve tried to identify the things they do. They say things that appear helpful but usually support them with unnecessary negative personal attacks (because you’re lazy, because you’re stupid etc.), they use backhanded compliments, they laugh while saying mean things so they can decide if they’re joking afterwards in case I get upset, they have short spurts of unusual kindness every now and then to make up for their common behavior (moral licensing), they call me sensitive to justify themselves (when really it’s the opposite), test my intelligence with esoteric trivia to justify their stance, amongst other things.

Regarding what they say, it’s a lot of belittling my physical / mental traits, my hobbies or openly calling me lazy and stupid as if it was a given fact; they make comments about my hair, my nose, my weight and my clothes, so much so that I didn’t let myself look how I wanted to until I was about 19 and underwent several style makeovers in my teens. A very common one is also that I can’t complain about anything because everything I do and study is apparently really easy to them, despite that my technical knowledge of art is good for a 20 year old and I’m trying hard to get better. My mother and my sister like to bring up how my sister works in her free time and that her school is much harder than mine, as if we were on the verge of being homeless and without a future and that working longer is a good thing. My sister also sighs and gets bothered by the fact that I am anywhere near her, answers in silence, with muffled “mm”s or with an attitude, which has led me to avoiding her as much as possible. Her personality completely changes to a cheery, invested daddy’s girl as soon as anyone outside the close family comes by, so I think she’s just insecure and manipulative but doesn’t see anything to gain in interacting nicely with any of us at home since she’s got us wrapped around her finger anyway. My mother is always very nice to me and people in general, but she has made it a habit to belittle me quite often. I think she mostly sees it as harmless, so I don’t hold it against her too much, and she has toned it down after I’ve brought it up, even if I had to do it a couple of times first. I’ve noticed that in my friend groups, some people target me more often than others and I’ve been called a drama queen before, so I know very well that I am more sensitive than most and that it’s noticable to others. I’ve worked on making teasing me feel less enjoyable to get people to stop, either by smiling it off or ignoring them, but I guess it’s just tattooed on my forehead that I can’t stand it. My mother and sister’s comments especially, since they always feel so honest and cutting. Though it might be a stretch to assume so, I suspect they’re the reason I have performance anxiety/ a feeling of forced over-politeness around strangers and that I feel like women can push me around verbally and that I find it scary to critize them. My mother, even if I know she’s nice and tries very hard for us, has a very short temper. Especially in public, because I know that she’s very preoccupied about how she appears to others. In the past, when I’ve annoyed her in public (like asking to play on her phone while we were waiting and I didn’t have a phone yet), there’s been times where she’d scream right in my face to fuck off, which would make everyone around us stare and go quiet. I feel like my mother has a pretty sad look on parenting; her parents were emotionally absent and had issues and her mother married an abusive man that she lived with most of her life, and when she didn’t live with them she’d live with a childminder. She wants to be a good parent, but she’s a bit lost on how in some areas by inheriting the absence of her parents. Nevertheless, having all of my closest family be so on edge all the time has had a toll on me and my ability to open up/feel safe around others sometimes. I suspect that they’re also the reason I’m somewhat self-conscious about my looks and my behavior when I’m in public (especially the length of my hair). It’s clear that my lack of masculinity hasn’t gone unnoticed, I’ve been called a faggot a lot of times, and it’s a shame that my looks and my behavior is stereotypically gay or female, but I can’t do much about it unless I were to brainwash or censor myself further. I used to wear brighter clothes, have a high-pitched voice, act more flamboyant than I do now and and just generally be more down-to-earth, but I repressed that part of me when I realized it was seen as gay and feminine. I didn’t like that people felt entitled to comment about things that evoked insecurities in me, no matter who they were and how the comment was presented, so I conditioned myself to be manlier. Constantly having to put up with degrading comments in an environment you can’t exit, no matter how much kindness you try to meet these people with, it really starts warping your perception of personal relationships and slowly erodes your mental fortitude over time, and now here we are. When I DO make similar remarks about my mother and sister, it’s always the biggest deal ever. I can admire their boundaries, but I also realize they’re the cause I have fewer. If I bring up that I find their behavior to be hurtful it’s always a battle, I never get met with any understanding. If I bring it up with my sister, she brings up things I did when we were kids as if she’s got The Great Book of Grudges under her bed and I’ve made no growth at all since I was 8. Always this fucking whataboutism, furthering my sentiment of being required to always be nice to her so as to not be a hypocrite. She takes absolutely no shit from me, no matter how small; and now she wants to become a cop too, go figure. If I bring up my sister’s behavior with my mom, she somewhat agrees with me but usually says that my sister is still growing and will be nicer soon, as if she can’t be held responsible for any of her actions and her terrible attitude even when she’s now 18. If I bring up my mom’s behavior with my mom, she starts victimizing herself and saying I’m ungrateful for the things she does for me (again, whataboutism). The way she sees it, taking care of her kids materially (household chores, help with emails, work etc.) exempts her from having to respect their boundaries or give them emotional care sometimes. I agree that I should help her more at home, which I have taken measures to do, which means I can listen and show sympathy, but a part of me also knows that no matter how hard I work for her, I’m still not going to have her fully listen to me, because I can’t remember a time that she has asked me how I feel/ if I’m okay in my entire life unless I’m bawling my eyes out in front of her, despite the fact that I’ve lived as a shut-in during my whole life. And that really hurts. It feels like she wants me to be someone else, someone tougher and better, so she doesn’t care about how I really feel, and so she doesn’t ask. It feels near impossible to ask someone to listen now, that I can’t be sad about anything. That you can just walk all over me and that it’s okay, because I didn’t walk the dog during my lunch break or something. I was just never taught that it’s okay to be sad and talk about it, and I’m finally realizing that my family hasn’t always been nice to me growing up. Just asking for help/comfort produces this massive guilt and panic in me and it would have been unbearable if I wasn’t so self-conscious about it and good at hiding it by now. I feel like I have to be controlled and smiley, or else people will think I need them to listen. When I’ve tried reaching out to friends, it’s usually a select few and after a problem is over, when it’s too hard to stay quiet. Some of them are really nice and caring and it means a lot to me to have my struggle be validated by people I look up to, but I’ve also had my problems fall on deaf ears sometimes, which is understandable, even if a bit disappointing. In 2019, I made a huge life decision that I thought would finally prove my worth to my family. I moved to Belgium and attended a really hard school. First time I lived alone. First time I had to take care of myself. In a foreign country where I didn’t speak the language. Didn’t have any friends. Where I had 5 different subjects at once, several of which I sucked at and all really hard to pass. In a country with an unforgiving school culture that I never experienced before. A school with power-tripping asshole teachers.  A country with the most bureaucratic administrative processes I had ever have to go through. A bitter taste of reality, and a really stupid decision born from desperation I didn’t acknowledge I felt then. I tried and I failed miserably. I felt like I was going insane and I was breaking down every day. I chose to drop out after two semesters and return as a failure, but now I feel like I have some sense of direction and a more realistic understanding of what pace I need in life.

[mobius2684]

Not so quick rundown of what I have been up to

Basically why I haven’t been doing much in the posting/content department, broken down by month. For the tl;dr crowd: skip the october 2016 entry unless you want to read about some drama, the rest of it has just been my adventures with unemployment and how it has affected me for the past 8 months.

July 2016: This month I had lost my job of 8 years due to the company completely closing nationwide. First time ever filing for unemployment as I wasn’t able to find another job in 3 months since said company announced their closures on April 1st of the same year. Was really upset with the store closing as I really was starting to feel like I had a job that I was decent at, had met some great people working there both employee and customer, and now I wouldn’t really have a chance to interact with them as much. Went to San Diego comic con as I had purchased tickets well in advance. Didn’t get to do most of what was on my list of things to do there, but did get to have a personalized sketch done by Yoji Shinkawa as well as sit in on a small q&a session with Hideo Kojima.

August 2016: With unemployment filed and completed, I was looking for all sorts of work. I collected a lot of possible work via etsy with requests for new destiny cloaks as well as preparing for the halloween season for my goddaughters’ costumes as they live in another state than me. End of the month I ended up with a job offer from the lady who works at the storage unit I rent from. The lady had injured herself at the end of the month by fracturing her right arm in 2 places, making it unbearable to do any of her bookkeeping tasks, and asked if I would like to help her with. I said yes as she’s 73 years old and nobody should have to deal with working through that kind of pain.

September 2016: I started to work for the storage unit place the day after labor day. It was an easy job, just somewhat boring as it was a fairly archaic setup. All bookkeeping was done by hand, including receipts, ledgers, etc. Only the key card system for the gate was done via a computer program. This job was to be temporary while she healed. When she was well enough to work, I would be let go as its a one person operation. Also to note, most storage unit places typically have a home/condo/apartment built into the office, as there is someone always on the premises. This was the case with this place, so I was able to take care of her in the beginning as well as do the tasks at hand. This was also a full time job.

 I started to get a bunch of early etsy orders for the holiday season as well as for halloween, so on top of having a full time job, I had to also work my etsy part time on top of the halloween costumes for my goddaughters. I had an old acquaintance contact me out of the blue around this time as well, where she told me that she was planning on visiting close to me to see some friends she met while playing Destiny. At the time I was happy for her and excited as I hadn’t seen her physically in about 10 years and figured this might be a great trip for her to show her around my hometown and the surrounding area and just catch up. More on her in October. Finished this month with a very last minute run to see Carpenter Brut in concert. Literally found out about the concert 2 hours before they went on so drove as quickly as I could to DNA lounge. Definitely was worth it, excellent show all around.

October 2016: This one is a long one. Skip to November if you don’t want an essay about old acquaintance. I’m needed for another month to work at the storage unit place. I have had to help her with things that I was not prepared for, mainly of the medical type. She is diabetic and has survived both lung cancer and colon cancer. I am becoming more of her in-home care person on top of taking care of the expected duties of the job, which was starting to put a strain on things as I would simply work my 8 hours a day for 6 days a week, most of that was taking care of her, going home, taking care of my grandparents, and sewing and working on etsy until I needed to sleep, rinse, repeat. I get the goddaughters costumes made and out to them, they love them, as well as another friend of mine wanted me to make matching dad and son costumes for his son’s first halloween.

 Made his son a pikachu costume and Dad an Ash jacket. Also near the end of this month I got to see Magic Sword in concert. It was a bit of a bummer as the venue was ill-equipped to handle a show like theirs so we didn’t get the whole experience with the lights and background, on top of the fact that the sound guy was doing a lousy job so they didn’t come out for an encore and simply stopped playing halfway through “In the face of Evil”. Hoping that they’ll come out to SF again or somewhere closeby so I can see a full show. *skip to november 2016 to avoid massive drama backstory essay

 Middle of the month is when my old friend was due to come out to visit. A little background on said friend: I met her back in 2005 when I was just starting to get into cosplay. We would chat about similar interests as well as cosplay related things, despite there being an age difference of about 6-7 years. She’s had a few hardships in 2006 that was of her own doing which led her down a path of co-dependence on others as well as manipulation and always playing the victim. Our communication was spotty, her only surfacing when she felt like it, always to unload her stories of woe and hardship.

 I had tried to help her on several occasions as best as I could despite being several states away. I’d send care packages when I could afford to, mainly of food as she would talk about not having money for it, work screwing her out of hours, etc. I would also send old clothes as she lived in a much colder part of the country now and she was ill prepared for the winter in her state. I had commissioned her for a costume just to help her pay bills despite said commission being extremely late for the event it was needed for, and practically unwearable due to poor construction. I had sent her money when she was in between relationships and had no job. Simply put, I was there for her as much as I could be, but she wasn’t really reciprocating that over the years and at the time I wasn’t really able to see it.

Fast forward to the week she is coming out here. She fails to tell me that her friend that she is visiting is more of a romantic interest. She’s in a 3 year relationship with a guy she’s living with. She has also been talking with another guy who she plays Destiny with in a romantic way, so basically she’s got 2 possible love interests and a boyfriend at home that she doesn’t want to work things out with, but also doesn’t want to break up with just yet as if she does then she won’t have a place to live. Trying not to judge but also not really liking said situation as its pretty scummy of her. The weekend before her trip, said friend she’s supposed to be visiting with for a week upsets her majorly and is now not a possible romantic connection in her mind, but is not known by him as she doesn’t tell him that she’s upset with him because she’s now too invested in this trip.

She comes out here and gets to stay with him at his parents place. She has a list of things she wants to do while out here, but wants to do them in a certain order so she has money for said things. Understandable, but makes it a bit difficult as she expects both myself and her host to take her places and keep her entertained. A lot of suggestions get shot down as she doesn’t like doing said things, but has to realize that there aren’t many free things to do during the weekdays. She gets increasingly frustrated by her host and his family for doing the most mundane things despite letting her stay there for free as well as feeding her, considering she is in the heart of wine country as well as the heart of dubious airbnb country where they could have easily charged her a premium for staying with them. She feels entitled to her friends money, as many times I would get a text from her complaining about him not paying for her part of their outing. She would also get upset with him when he would ask who she would be on the phone with, as she was in contact with said other guy who she liked from Destiny. This would irritate me as I felt as if she was ungrateful and somewhat disrespectful, on top of the fact that I was juggling a full time job, my etsy as a part time job, and taking care of both my grandparents and this lady at the storage unit.

 I take her out to SF so we can catch up and just have some girl time, despite really not having the time to do so, on top of it being an extremely busy weekend in SF as fleet week was happening. She didn’t really talk much with me on the trip unless it was to complain about her friend and to tell me how excited she was to talk with the new guy she liked. I would try to talk about what’s been going on with my life, only to be met with segues into something else completely different or just changing the subject. Not a lot of catching up, she spent a good chunk of her money on items for herself as to be expected, with snide remarks on how nobody really gets her gifts. This kinda pissed me off as I had spent at least 2 weeks on a knitted scarf for her as well as a small messenger bag that I sewed for her for this trip. I take her back to her friends parents place and go home.

 A few days after our outing, my grandpa had a stroke episode while I was home on my lunch break that scared both myself and my grandma. Had to rush him to the ER, had to contact work and let her know what’s going on and why I’m not back, work was supportive and just closed up early for the day for me as I wasn’t sure how long we would be in the ER. I’m getting texts from my friend of her complaining that this guy wasn’t paying for her outing once again. I simply texted her back stating “I am at the ER right now with my grandpa and grandma, grandpa had a stroke episode and we’re trying to see how severe it is”. I get no reply back from her for 2 hours. I simply chalk it up to her being busy, or one of us being in a dead zone or whatever. I didn’t have time to worry about that as I was worried about the condition my grandpa was in and just keeping my grandma calm. Thankfully it was a mild stroke, no major issues. We were at the hospital for 7 hours.

 I get my grandparents back home, call work to let her know how my grandpa is doing and that I will be in tomorrow for work. Said friend texts me to complain about how crummy her trip to the aquarium went. At this point, tensions were high, but I simply sent her a message saying “I’m guessing you didn’t receive my last message that said that I was in the ER with my grandpa who had a mild stroke. I had been in the ER for about 7 hours now”. Her response was “no”. Now, if you’ve made it this far into reading this whole thing, first off thank you and congrats. Secondly, you’re probably wondering “why does this whole mini essay about this chick matter?” or something to that extent. Well I don’t know about you good people here, but normally if a friend or loved one or just someone you kinda sorta know states that they were in the ER, and they don’t work in the medical field, most people’s reactions would be “what happened?”, “is everything ok?”, “are you ok?”, “is X person ok?”, etc. ad nauseum. There was no concern shown from her. NONE. No call to see if everything is ok, no text to ask if everything is ok, NOT A GODDAMN THING.

 Why is that such a big deal? Offering compassion does not cost you a damn dime. All I wanted from her was a simple act of compassion. I had not asked for much from her over the time we had been friends. Just the one time I really could use it, its just lost on her. She continues to text me to ask me if we’re still going to hang out before she leaves. I’m just left in just disbelief at the whole thing. I don’t really text her after that, stating I’m busy. She’s constantly bugging me about this, all while I’m telling her that I have family issues to tend to. I finally agree to see her again, despite wanting to rip her head off. I meet with her and the guy, and I simply tell them in person what’s going on and what happened at the ER. Her friend offered concern, all while she’s sitting there stuffing her face and changing the subject. I ask for the bag that she borrowed from me from our previous trip out, she gives it to me and I make an excuse to leave early. She still isn’t getting it, so I ask for her friends’ number. I say my goodbyes and she states that she wants to visit again sometime.

 The day she’s leaving, after she’s on the plane, I text the guy she’s been staying with. I tell him during this whole trip that she essentially used him, complained about him and his family the whole time to me, that the person she was being all secretive about on the phone was some guy she likes better than you, and that she’s in a relationship with someone back home and has been with said guy for 3 years and lives with him. He was not happy about this and rightfully so as he liked her. This of course led to them both arguing, and her contacting me via text about this and why I did it. I completely ignored everything. I felt that I owed her nothing after all of this. Her last message to me was “cool beans. we don’t have to be normal about it. But thanks for betraying my confidence and trust in the first place. You’re a shit friend and I hope you’re happy with yourself. Thanks for throwing our decade long friendship out the window”. She then proceeded to remove me from facebook and any other social media that we shared.

Am I really a shit friend? Am I really a horrible person for doing these things? Did I have to do what I did? Was it worth it? I will let you draw your own conclusions as yes I know that I didn’t have to do what I did and I could have been the one who takes the high road on this, but when you’re under a lot of stress due to work and deadlines and family issues, you tend to do shitty things. I grappled with the whole thing and felt awful for doing what I did, but at the same time I felt that no amount of talking would really get through to her about how much damage had been done. In some senses I do feel like a major weight was lifted from my shoulders as I really didn’t want to have a friend who didn’t understand basic concern for others.

November 2016: Still working at the storage unit place. The lady I’m working for has not been healing well due to not listening to her doctors orders. The maintenance man that the owner hired for the place injures himself horrifically, with what I assume his shin bone is jutting out of his skin. He tells us that he slipped down a ladder and that was about it. He’s rushed to the ER by ambulance. The owner then gets his son-in-law to work for him as maintenance man to replace the injured one. Son-in-law decides to have me start on a project for him, that requires me to make an excel spreadsheet of all the tenants who rent at the storage unit with all their info.

He tells me that the owner needs this info in digital form for insurance purposes and I agree to it since it does make sense, but it detracts from my other duties with caring for the lady I’m working for as well as the other office duties. I do this anyways as it seems like they might actually change the setup there so that its not all hand-written and a bit easier to keep track of as well as back up. Etsy orders are flooding in for the early holiday rush and I’m trying to keep on top of it all.

This marks the first thanksgiving where we don’t celebrate together as a family. My grandma simply just didn’t want to put up with all the fuss, my Mom and my nephew ended up going to Las Vegas for a football championship game for my nephew as he’s been in little league football all through the fall and his team had done really well and made it to the championship game. I couldn’t go with them as I had to watch the farm, as my Mom is a caretaker of a small school district owned farm and the animals need to eat everyday. My Uncle and Aunt both work demanding jobs that they aren’t able to get many days off so they weren’t able to come down for the holidays. My brother went up to his girlfriends parents place, so it was a bit odd and slightly depressing.

Only weird highlight was that I had a short convo with Dennis Wedin on instagram and I mentioned that I hope to send him and Jonatan some little handmade gifts when I get the chance to make them.

December 2016: Still working at the storage unit place. I end up getting sick near the beginning of the month with a cold/flu. I work through it like normal, just making sure to prepare myself as best as I can at work with plenty of fluids, a blanket, a heater, meds, tissue, etc.

 This time it gets interesting.  Storage unit place also houses cars, trucks, and RV parking spaces. Plenty of people rent these spaces, including one guy who states that he has an old Porsche and its been back there for 10+ years. He’s hoping to restore it for his kids despite none of them being super interested in it. Well with said spreadsheet work, I’m finding a ton of discrepancies as to whom is actually in the units and spaces that they say they are. Lots of calls have to be made, lots of running through the lot to check what is where, etc. Porsche guy is one of those discrepancies, and we ask for him to come down and confirm which space he’s in.

 Well apparently his Porsche is missing as it is nowhere to be found on the lot. He has his sister come down with him and she’s yelling at me and the lady I’m working for, accusing us of stealing his car. The sister then calls the cops to come down and question us. Now there’s no way in hell I or the old lady I’m working for has stolen his car. For one, I had no clue what he had until November when he came to pay his bill. For two, most of the cars that are stored at this particular storage unit place are not in running condition, his included. He had stated this back in November that it doesn’t run and needed a ton of work on it.

 One cop accuses myself and the old lady as well, despite what they need to do is run the VIN, and look at the records at the DMV as to who it had been registered to. For three, the Porsche guy hadn’t even checked on his car ever since he had parked it here for 10 years. No “hey I’ve been paying for this for 10+ years and if its so important to me I should at least check on it”. The guy hadn’t non-opted his vehicle and simply stopped paying any sort of registration on the vehicle. So now I’m a week away from christmas, still sick with whatever super cold/flu that is going around, I’ve been stressed due to busting my ass on getting etsy orders out in time for christmas, working 6 days a week in the office, and now I’m being accused of grand theft auto.

 After the cops finally decide to actually do some investigating, they found out that the car had been stolen in May 2012. Someone towed it off the lot that also rents at the storage unit, hence why they had access to the lot. Since he had rented the spot so long ago, the old lady didn’t remember or even know what he had back there. Since he hadn’t registered it in so long, the person who stole it got some sort of lein title for the car and fixed it to running condition as someone about 500 miles away is driving it around.

Christmas was rather uneventful as I was finally better from being sick and was trying to relax from everything. Got things for my mom and her bf as well as something for my nephew and a few friends of mine. For my birthday I went and watched Moana with my Mom. Ended up sick again as the next day I ended up throwing up. Whether it was the food or just round 2 of super cold/flu, I didn’t know but didn’t really care as I wanted it to be gone. Didn’t do much of anything for new years as I worked and so did a bunch of my friends, top it off with still being sick and not wanting to be around people and spread it around.

 If you’ve made it to the end of this, I truly do thank you as it was a long bunch of bullshit that you honestly didn’t have to read and I could have summed up a lot shorter but didn’t. I hope you enjoyed this small peak into my life. I will eventually update this with January 2017 and February 2017 or just simply make a second post if anyone cares to see the rest of this out. Thanks again.

[deadcatelog]

chaha,, this is why i ended up crying on the sidewalk at 12am outside of a public event i’d brought a ticket for because i wanted.......  i thought we both wanted to go........ she told me she was in the city then suddenly she says she realized she was actually in longisland and about 2hrs away from the city........ even when.

i thought were going to do something fun together again for once, since it’d been so long...... i sai d i wanted to go see it and she said she wanted to come and i told her where i was.. she has a car and i took the train which is a lot slower and; she never responded? we used to talk for hours.. then about an hour, or a little more than an hour away? maybe 2? from when the event was soupposed to start she told me she was hanging out in a lounge with some of her other friends. drinking and partying? i was nt mad she was enjoying herself but i was peevedshe didn’t even tell me she was back in the city.... even if that was the case that she ever wasn t omg... it wasso close to when the even was soupposed to start. there’s no cell service in the subway and my phone was abt to die. i texted her asking, i don’t remember? omething about the event.i think i told her i was an hr away from it and since we were both in different places and w diff. transportation situations... she took so long to respond... my phone was about to die.. im so fucking easy to fool lmao, i was curled up in the corner of a room after i finally walked in the event charging my phone for 2 hrs (the event was 3 hrs) waiting for anything... she always lets her phone die when shes out late at night. my phone was on 1% so i thought maybe hers was too so i stopped thinking about it and just sat at the bar and listened to the music. i think my last text to her was “are you coming?” i woke up in the middle of the day the next day and there was just still no response.. i should have expected this. she’s been so cold lately. she probably just realized what a fucking mess and a burden i was and that she didn’t have to do that once she saw how normal people acted towards each other. she probably didn’t want to deal with the stress......she was being nice about it and i was being an idiot. last time we hung out i pointed out that there was this function in manhattan while we were in queens after getting something to eat, we spent all day in queens until she led me into a dunking donut and sat down and we sat there for hours. she said she had to charge her phone. she had a portable charger. right before this she kept telling me how tired she was and how she wanted to go home and i protested but then i was like... ok thats fine ur tired lets go to ur car and i’ll see u off but she told me she’d parked really really far away.i didn’t mind, she was the last person whose company i enjoyed. i was so scared of the idea  that she wanted nothing to do with me. we stayed in that fucking donut shop for hours. i was tired too so i got a double expresso so we could hang out like we’d sai we’d do.... like i’d traveled 2hrs for to do.... she didn’t even talk to me almost the entire time, she was jst staring at her phone. maybe complaining about how i wouldn’t take a hint. i don’t even know who those ppl r she never told me anything about them besides the fact that some of them were older than her and they went out drinking together often. she sounded like she really liked them. i didnt care that she had other friends whose company she enjoyed so much... it made me happy to see how well she was doing after hs. god im such a fool. i’m so fucking stupid im literally fucking retarded. she;d been acting weird and distant for months. i thought that was just what is was like watching your hs friends grow up when u two were in completel different situations but there were so many times where i’d toss all my plans to prepare to travel/hang out w her just to show up and suddenly she didn’t have the time bc she had something she had to do that ...just so happened to be starting like 10 minutes after i’d traveled all the way across manhattan to see her... im a fucking idiot. she probably decided she didn’t like me anymore a long time ago after nothaving to deal w me every day and was probably trying tolet me go easy by letting me chose not to make the same dumb decisions over and over but i was so desprate to hold onto her bc no one else talks to me. an y sane person wouldn’t have stood up for that... and some times i did say to her that what it wasn’t cool to call me over and say we should hang out only to tell me she’d have to bail for an interview or something she was scheduled for like a week b4 we met up or something. she never responded to those texts. i was so scared she would decide she was mad at me and done dealing with me so i never mentioned them again even though it fucking hurt. i felt like a toy being tugged around when she got bored but immediately threw away when something else, something more important than leisure of course, came up. i dont know how to make friends. looking back on it, were we even really best friends like i thought? we were only friends for a year, maybe that wasn’t enough? i enjoyed her comapny... and S’s comapny, and sometimes A’s company so much... especilly when we were all thogether even if it was just in class. maybe im just being inconsiderate and i cant see why so im jumping to conclusions bcfrom my point of view i’m?? everything hurts again. im always the fucking dummy, the crazy psycho weirdo that even the nicest ppl could see needed to be put down before it hurt anyone or them. even someone as blind as me can see it in their fucking eyes. they get wide, they back up a bit or hunch their shoulders and stop talking and my fucking dumbass just walks forward and keeps running my dumb mouth bc all i think of it is ‘oh! what happened? they wont be able to hear me from that far away i’ll walk closer and keep taling’ ad now im just  afucking angry loser screaming like a fucking toddler on the floor about how unfair the world is when the truth is nobody deserves to fucking have to deal with me. mr g was right to fucking hate my entitled guts. ms garia was right to fucking hate my guts too while putting on a huge fake grinthat i just saw as proof that what i thought she was probably thinking of me was just my outlandish brain trying to make me feel like the entire world was fucking against me when in reality that wasn;t the case when in reality that was the case because they have a fucking reason to be. even though i wasbeginning to ate my uncle for basically cornering me all the time and listing off all the ways he thought i was stupid and disgusting and a pain to have around wasn’t he fucking right? it i it cant just i cant just run around being offended by everyone in the world and giving them the silent treatment-- even if i thought i was giving them space,how could they fucking know?? 

there probably isnt a person on this planet that would feel sympathy for my fucks. ed up situation because they suddenly have to deal with treating this entitled stupid bitch super delicately  least she hurt them. i don’t even know what i do to hurt them, but i do it anyways. im 100% sure that its just by being me. my mother always fucking screamed at me since i was little how much of a curse i was on her. i can’t imagine my brother came out of nowhere with what he was thinking when he stomped upstairs and choke slammed me against my fucking bed and screamed in my face while he shook me and stepped on my laptop after i took my food back. he called me ungrateful. he yelled it to me straight in my ear as if to force it into my head. i don’t even remember being ungrateful?? he talked about brining home food he let me eatallthe time like white astle but i thought i’d always expressed my gratitute but maybe i didn’t?? i don’t remember. i always felt like id din. 

there’s a fucking REASON why EVERYONE i meet thinks im a fucking liar and more than worthy of their distain and being put in my place whether it meant i’d get my feelings or my fucking face hurt. everyone wants me to apologize to my brother. and my mother. everyone thinks im being an unreasonable cunt. EVERYONE in my family has shown distain or disapointment in me. it doesnteven fucking matter that i was ableto get into one of the best schools in the country. now i just get even more people outright avoiding me or confronting me bout how much of a fucking disgrace they think i am. my fucking exsistance is always a major fucking burden on everyone around me. it just keeps happening again and againandn again and i keep trying to change but the cycle never stops. it doesnt matter how good of a persn i run into, after having to deal w me for a few weeks they’ll start pushing me out of the way if im walking too slow or step on my toes or avoid me and talk about me behind my back. i can imagine it.... i’ve always told myself i was wrong and oerthinking myself but it always turns out to be true and its always worse than i imagned they’re always way more pissed off at me for my bullshit and that hurts more than any ~over anxious thinking~ i could tell myself. they dont deserve to have to deal with a fucking demon like me but im fucking human too and it hurts so fuking bad. i an see how much they hate me or are pissed to have to put up with me. my uncle told me a few weeks ago that he wish i knew how much he wanted to fucking hurt me when he came back to his apartment and saw the mess i made... i swear to god i was letting the fucking meat defrost... it was 1am bu i was up the entire time; i was making burgers. there were two and the first one was fucking raw and frozen on the inside despite deforsting it in the microwave. he asked me over and over again when school was starting again. i wanted to cry at how obvious it was he wanted me fucking out. i thought i just had bad luck witht my mom but that made me realize it wasn’t fucking bad luck it was all my own fault. probably from the very beginning. i couldn’t help that i didn’t want towash the dishes then and did eveything i ould to get out of it with her. i couldn’t help that even though i did wash the dishes and cleaned up after myself that i let everything aroun d me get so bad before i did something about it. back then i just didnt want to do it and i thought it was unfair that i was always the one to clean the dishes all the time while tony only had to tae out th e trash once a week or so. every time she told me to get off my ass and wash the dishes it was so fucking full it made me mad that i was cleaning up after everyone else. and every time i pointed that out of course both of them were aginst me. she and he told me in their own ways they bot h thought it was only fair. 

that fucking bitch. she wasn’t even anywhere close to fucking proud when i got into columbia. her voice was flat the entire time, i tried to get her excited so hard. i knew she cared about money, i told her how much money a school like this could help me make and it was basically fucking radio scilence. and i wasn’t even anywhere comfortable, i was at this place in brooklyn (fucking brooklyn, fuck brooklyn) for this other girl i’d just become friends with (that’s a lie, i dont become friends w ppl idk how she just picked me up like a dog off the dtreet. she told me she liked to do that with people once)and this new teacher that got so pissed at me when i wandered off like i wasn’t fucking 30 days off from being 18 years instead of 8 years old... my heart was singing. i’d finally gotten into my dream school and she didn’t care, and then she didn’t care either. they were both probably so fucking annoyed it hurt ind ifferent ways i didnt want to talk about it anymore. i wanted to hug everyone around me, for the first time in so long i felt like my world lit up in a billion colors and i could finally be happy iforever but it was like... no one felt the same way. i get a bigger reaction from strangers who can briefly relate to me off of some superficial shit all the time than i did. i’d lost that feeling after that. it went from winning the lottery to just another academic achievement that nobody but me and a few other poor souls that probably had to feel obligated to say something nice even gave a shit about. those types, i cant even imagine im an entire person to them. i’m just some symbol of like... society as a whole not being... fucking i dont know,? even this sounds fucking arragont and hell coming out my my mouth nowthat i type it out... lmao mr. g just gave me this fucking look after the announcement took place for the rest of the year. i wanted him to acknowledge that he was wrong about me so bad, haha, that he was wrong to hate me but of course why would being the first student in the history of our shitty fucking school to even get in shitting distance of an ivy league mean anything to him? he probably figured i got in bc i was black, and poor and using that + lies to trick the adoffiers to let me in. ms garcia too. she would hardly speak to me after that. her eyes seemed to burn whenever i met them. i... never thought that they were wrong, i couldn’t shake the enthusiasim i’d lost inside of me after the other day. i( can’t imagine they thought i was anything less than absolutely coddled and spoiled athome while my entire family stroked my ego and did my every bidding since it would probably explain why i acted the way i did in class and schooli guess. fuck i cant even remember more than half the shit i did in hs.)but wasn’t going to just so happen to speak about how great if feels to know that i was probably going to be set for life, for a great fanatastic life, when they were alwyas just barely keeping their mouths shut from calling me a a fucking retarded entitled cunt every time i opened my mouth and it pissed them off.

god no wonder they hated me. im losing my train of thought. i hate myself. i hate myself so much. i don’t even know wit when im hurting other ppl andyeti was always this self righteous bastard who claimed i only cared about others bc i did community service (that no one ever saw since i didn’t do it in school.... so it would be easy to just think that im just a lyingbitch trying to get attention and shit i dont deserve.... like w this admission offer lol)

everyone whose nice to me eventually learns it was a fucking mistake.i seethe way people look at me so clearly now, but still its neveruntil its too late i still dont fucking know what i do to piss everyone around me off all the time. everyone i figured was pretty smart around me always tended to avoid me or get angry at me for no reaosn i could explain. lmao. andr saw it too, she couldn’t stand being around me after a certainpoint. i dont have friends. ive never had friends like everyone else had friends. just fucking sympathizers (”why do you even speak to her?” just someone looking out for someone they loved when i did some dumb shit to them) i wish i had a knife so i could slit my throat right here. maybe then someone will read it and understand that i dont mean it but onestly would they?? am i getting anything less than i fucking deserve?? it doesnt matter if i don’t like it, i’m always brining fucking painful unnecessary bullshit into people’s lifes and make even the kindest people want to fucking rip my guts out for it. there’s a noose tied up to my closet right now but i please just please don’t want to suffer anymore.i dont want toknow what its like to be homeless, but idid this to myself. i’ve always fucking did this to myself. all my shit is password protected. i want to see myself as a martyr so bad but a martyr wouldn’t try and force someone to read this shit and try and make them feel bad for shit they barely had anything to do with that im just trying to drag them into bc i want to feel good about myself, and they only was i an accomplish that is by making other people feel bad?? hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha.

a few weeks ag  i told myself i wouldn’t do it in my dorm because i didn’t want to make other people comfortable. i dont want anyone to come and see my body next to the fucking pigsty i always seem to create wherever i go. i dont want them to have to see my half naked body, but i didnt have any clean clothes. clothes... i jsut spent over 100 on some fucking jeans and a denim jaket bc i wanted it even though i can’t really afford it. me bac k on my bullshit again, of course.oh my god oh mygod. fucking hell god dammit. but isnt this nothing less than i desevre anyway? for making so many poor innocent people have to endure my fucking insane ly uncomfortable awkwardness and the natural hellfire that surrounds me and i was born with and burns everyone around me except for me. is it really so objectively terrible when they burn me back?? they don’t know that i dont have any idea what im doing. they dont know what goes on in my head. i learned to destroy my own feelingsand shut down my human reactions while i was livnngin that hell hole........the second hellhole i came from,theone here on earthnot the one ispwaned in lol.

i really dont even want to hink about the anger the peoplewhove trulygotten to know me will go through if i did die like this. everyone around them will be superifcially mourning and they wouldnt be able to say anything bad, haha~ about me because of the social pressure or w.e, they’dprobably feel terrible themselves because i know even thoughthey hate me and hurt me or want to hurt me or lie to me to hurt me or laugh ifthey make me flinch they’d probablyfeel bad about how glad they feel and should feel for having thishorriblehellcritter whipe herselfoff the face of the earth. and everyone elsewill think im pathetic, of course. so many people already know howpathetici am. theyll ust roll their eyes in annoyance and grumble how i did everything to deserve the shit i went through, and that it was pathetic how i canttake half the shiti dish out.then they;ll go on with their lives nd i’ll be dead and forgotten and the world can cheer silently that im finally gone.

[spectacuulous]

ah yes anther fuckin rant

lmao so a like two months ago my mom got mad at me because we were talking about the difference between our generations and she was saying how my generation is “the lazy generation” and we’re “rude and ungrateful” and we “act entitled and are always on our phone” and so i clapped back with “well your generation is responsible for destroying the planet, giving us the phones in the first place, and making the technology that YOU complain about.” and i was getting real sassy because she was being rude to me and well i hate when anyone is rude to me and i’ll admit, maybe i shouldn’t have gotten sassy. anyway, she didn’t like how i handed her the truth and she “banned me from prom.” i’m sorry but i’m gonna rant about the fact that thats unfair. it’s unfair because i had to sit and listen, without interrupting i might add, to her degrade not only me as a person but a whole generation THAT HER GENERATION CREATED, but while i was saying what i had to say, there was constant interruption on her end of the conversation, and i just got the slightest bit sassy with her because she was being rude and annoying. so tell me how that is fair and makes me not eligible to go to prom?

then, the other day my boyfriend asked to prom, in a really cute way i might add, and i showed my mom the poster he made and she smiled right? and so today, i posted on my finsta that “i can’t wait for prom and summer” and unfortunately she follows my finsta because when i made it she saw it and followed me before i could block her. so she sees the post and is like “you’re going to prom?” and i said yeah, and she was like “well no you’re not because you were rude and that was our punishment that day” and then she proceeded to be even ruder and said that “she shouldn’t even let me have a boyfriend because of how immature i am and rude, and then proceeds to accuse of doing things that i have not done” which of course makes me feel like complete crap because it’s my own mother saying such cruel things to me, and then she asks me two minutes later, i shit you not, to go make her a grilled cheese sandwich with some chips. and she expects me to not be upset AT ALL and happily make her a sandwich. what the fuck. so yeah i had to make her a grilled cheese sandwich and i watched her sit on the couch like nothing was wrong eating her fuckin cheez doodles.