In kindness, there is strength ::

filthe:

no one cares if you don’t like short hair on girls shut the fuck up

Empathy isn’t just something that happens to us—a meteor shower of synapses firing across the brain—it’s also a choice we make: to pay attention, to extend ourselves. It’s made of exertion, that dowdier cousin of impulse. Sometimes we care for another because we know we should, or because it’s asked for, but this doesn’t make our caring hollow. The act of choosing simply means we’ve committed ourselves to a set of behaviors greater than the sum of our individual inclinations: I will listen to his sadness, even when I’m deep in my own. To say ‘going through the motions’—this isn’t reduction so much as acknowledgment of the effort—the labor, the motions, the dance—of getting inside another person’s state of heart or mind.

This confession of effort chafes against the notion that empathy should always arise unbidden, that genuine means the same thing as unwilled, that intentionality is the enemy of love. But I believe in intention and I believe in work. I believe in waking up in the middle of the night and packing our bags and leaving our worst selves for our better ones.

Leslie Jamison, “The Empathy Exams” (via The Believer)
beebunny:

Aint nobody fresher than my motherfucken clique

beebunny:

Aint nobody fresher than my motherfucken clique

becausebirds:

An owl gets inside the house. The Owl Whisperer™ tries to get it back outside again. x

samheughan:

T H E  Q U E E N  &  H E R  S O L D I E R | (cover art by Val)

you know the story: a queen sits atop a shaky throne while others vie for her crown. there is a man who loves her, but it is not to be, so he shows her the only way he can: through serving and loving from afar.

“Who am I, that you should love me?”
"You are My Queen," he said. She sat perfectly still, looking at him without moving as his words dropped like water into dry earth.
"Do you believe me?" he asked.
"Yes," she answered.
"Do you love me?"
"Yes."
"I love you."
And she believed him.

listen.

I’m currently in the process of contacting a bunch of people referred to me by acquaintances who know I need roomies and it is NO FUN. I’m not really fussy about who I live with - my last roommates were hard to get along with with but we all tried really hard and parted on good terms, but I’m still super nervous about potentially living with strangers. I almost got an apartment with some rugby friends, but they had a falling out and are no longer speaking and I’M STUCK.

askash101:

Reblog if you’re the gay sibling.

operamatic:

hungrylikethewolfie:

unreconstructedfangirl:

All of these places look like heaven to this duvet princess.

Okay but that first one, I’m not sure y’all understand how deeply-instilled my desire for a cupboard bed has been since the days of David the Gnome.

There is no feeling quite like the sorrow of wanting a reading alcove and NOT HAVING ONE

homosexualpancakes:

give us the child

homosexualpancakes:

give us the child

Aaaah don’t look at me I’m talkin about ~*~A GIRL~*~ and I can’t stop

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