INFJ - cold and hard on the outside, warm and fuzzy on the inside INFP - warm and fuzzy inside and out INTP - warm and fuzzy on the outside, cold and hard on the inside INTJ - cold and hard inside and out
The sign appeared mysteriously one morning, mounted to the wall of the tunnel in Bryant Park Station that led to the number 7 train. It made Santana stop in her tracks and drag Brittany to a halt along with her. “NO PDA” it read, in big, black capital letters. It made several things immediately come to mind, most of them wanky, none of them involving the word no.
"Check that out," Santana said, nodding at the sign.
Brittany tilted her head and studied the letters. Then she shrugged her shoulders and said, “Type set in Helvetica. Needs better kerning.”
It took Santana a moment to realize that Brittany was talking about the font on the sign. Brittany went to MIT a mathematical genius, but she came back a renaissance woman, and lately she’s been splitting her time between helping out at the dance studio around the corner and devouring stacks of books on the most random subjects. Last week it was the mating habits of ducks. This week it’s typography.
"Is that so?"
"Yeah. The letters have too much space between them."
God, Brittany was hot when she was nerding out. It made Santana want to break some rules, or just one in particular. “Too much space, you say?” she asked, leaning in closer.
Brittany’s answer was pulled into a kiss, in front of a sign that never stood a chance of being obeyed.
“You’re born with a ton of fucks to give, so you spend them like a kid with a credit card. You give fucks about your friends, about your grades, about your fashion sense, about strangers’ opinions. You give way too many fucks about way too many things. You have so many. Then, as you get older, you have maybe 10 fucks per month, so you learn to budget them. You allocate fucks to family and career, but there aren’t enough fucks to give to the newest fads. Oh, someone at work has something they need my help with that’s outside my job title? I’ll do my best to allocate some fucks, but this month is pretty tight. Then, as you get even older, you’re down to 1-2 fucks per month, and those fucks are pretty damn precious. You give them to your family and your hobbies and your job, and that’s kinda it. It’s not your fault – fucks expire too quickly. I would’ve liked to save my fucks from when I was younger but I can’t. Then, you hit fuck insolvency. You’re getting like 1 fuck a year, and you have to make it last. So you go without, and even previously fuck-worthy things, you just can’t give a fuck. Some people run out really quickly, Some people have a fuck trust fund that pays out a decent amount even into old age. But at some point, the fuck faucet runs completely dry and you’re out of fucks to give. It’s just basic Fuckonomics.”—Unknown English Teacher (via memewhore)
you’re safe as long as you don’t imagine your otp slow dancing to ‘the way you look tonight’ in their pjs in the kitchen of their new house at 3am with their heads resting on each other’s shoulders if you do imagine that then you’re ruined im sorry
i want brittana to walk out of the choir room after the proposal with huge smirks as they link pinkies and walk down the hallway.
and as they’re walking out of the building i want santana to nudge brittany and ask her if she thinks they bought it, because they’ve been engaged for months now but brittany knew the glee kids would be pissed if they weren’t there to witness it.
also, she kinda wanted to rub it in their faces.
but most of all, she felt kinda bad that she beat santana to it.
So, one of my pals is currently (and has been for months) in a tight spot financially, which is severely impairing her ability to secure stable and affordable lodging. She’s been through so much for so long and copes with serious depression, and I would love to see her in a secure living situation…