Five Twenty Ten

You know, I used to not talk about my future at all.
And it’s not that I didn’t think about it, or that it scared me, rather I felt disinterested in it.
And that is probably because I didn’t even think I’d be around long enough to see, to live, my future.
For that reason I only planned things by seconds, not because I wanted to take it slow or to relax, and not because I was a procrastinator, but because, who even cared about what clothes I’d be wearing the next day when I didn’t even know if I’d wake up?

Since I met you, things started to change.
Since I met you, the future looks more real to me.
Since I met you, I care about it.
Since I met you, I don’t just shrug my shoulder when people ask me “where do you see yourself in five, ten, twenty, years?”

Now, that same question, scares me.
And that’s because it matters.
And it matters because of you.
So I guess all I want to tell you is “thank you”.
Because now, thanks to you, when people ask me that same question, what I want to answer is “alive.”

— 

almenotre 

Commission for @maydei :D
Scene from their fic which you can find here o3o

Here’s an excerpt! :D

“Victor had never realized how used to the gulls’ cries he had become until they weren’t there. The clicking of Mari’s bike gears and the roar of the ocean surf were the only sounds as they crossed the usually-busy bridge. It was strangely intimate with Yuuri like this; all the barriers of the day, of propriety and public opinion and their own worries had been removed. Now there was only this **chemistry.** An attraction, a set of feelings barely touched on and young, a fledgling thing testing its wings in the hopes of someday taking flight.

And there they were beneath an impossibly starry sky, two figures in the moonlight stuck on a song. Victor had never realized until that moment how truly alike they were—how improbable it was to chase a boy across the world and in the process find someone who woke him up in the middle of the night because he **needed** to dance on the ice.

A kindred spirit, a reflected soul. Two categorically impossible people who had a love of foolhardy and inadvisable things, all for the love of their craft.

With midnight come and gone, 2 AM found Yuuri on the ice playing his song from a portable cell phone speaker, the sound of a distant piano filling the empty rink in a way that felt like a prophecy of something greater. Victor liked to imagine he could already hear the power of this music on the PA system, of five or ten or twenty thousand people hearing it in a stadium, on their televisions as they witnessed Yuuri’s love.

It wasn’t a routine; there was no proper choreography, even.

But Yuuri danced with an emotion so incredible and poignant and **joyous** that Victor couldn’t look away. It was far from perfect, and less than half of it ISF sanctioned, but that didn’t matter. The rules didn’t matter on a night like this, to people like Victor and Yuuri.

What mattered was the bliss in Yuuri’s face as the music washed over him, the cut of his skates, the curl of his body. What mattered was Yuuri skating it again and again, different each time and having not a care in the world for it.

It was a once in a lifetime opportunity. Come tomorrow, a week from now, a month from now, this song would become a routine and the freedom would be gone. For now, though, as Victor leaned against the boards and **watched,** it was something new to both of them.

So he let himself enjoy it.”

So, I talked to my therapist about starting testosterone today. She excitedly said she’d write and sign anything I need, whenever I need it. That’s a thing. A big thing. That I’ll be making an appointment for before the end of the year.

Green Day, more commonly known in the zones as Nuclear Family, consists of three different ‘joys:

Saint Jimmy: The leader of Nuclear Family, Jimmy may be the only one in the crew to own a raygun, but he much prefers his trusty switchblade. In his younger years, it was told from crew to crew to never do anything to displease him, lest he decides you’re not worth his time and stab you. Now he’s mellowed out, but the threat still stands; Jimmy’s a man of honor, and a vigilante to boot, and he won’t let anything stand in his way.

Love Slave: Born in the zones and the wild card in the Nuclear Family, Slave is more acoustic than the other two - no rayguns, blades or bombs for him, the only thing he needs is his barbed-wire lined baseball bat called The Grouch. He spends most of his time in Hyper Thrust, so much so that Jimmy and Jesus have to often come down and have “extraction missions” to bring him back to their base. Slave’s practical and a bit polka dotty, but he’s good to have in a clap.

Jesus of Suburbia: Jesus is said to have grown up with Saint Jimmy in the Outskirts, coming with him when they ran from the City. Jesus is Jimmy’s right-hand man, closer to him than even Love Slave. Whenever Jimmy opts to wield the switchblade over the raygun, Jesus uses it for him, fighting alongside his best friend. He often times wears the “drunk bunny” head in the place of his mask, but just as often it gets stuck (he’ll sit there for five, ten, twenty minutes before Jimmy and Slave realize he needs help, again). Outside of a fight, he’s clumsy and dorky, but don’t underestimate him - he’ll just as quickly beat you down, even faster than both Saint Jimmy and Love Slave.

i love williams sonoma. i love walking in there and imagining having a life where i can afford a $25 dollar jar of pasta sauce and entire dining sets for every single holiday. that’s when i’ll know i’m truly rich, when i can tell my future spouse “darling, it’s almost October, time to put away our summer dishes and bring out the Halloween dishes”

He loves to talk, but not all the time. He tells me that talking doesn’t mean anything unless it’s worth ruining perfect silence. Most people, he says, waste their breath on everything that means nothing. But he likes when I talk. About the people in the coffee shop, and old cities I wish I’d been to, and which constellations I like best. About anything, really. We talk until the sun rises, and then we sleep all day. And we sing loudly when our favorite songs come on the radio, and we let our hands drift out the window like soaring birds, and we live. God, we live. Like addicts, and nomads, and kids with wicked minds and screaming hearts. Half the time we don’t know what day it is, but we don’t care. Because his bed feels the same on Monday and Thursday and Saturday, too. And we eat when our stomachs grow too loud, and we press close when we can’t pay the electricity bill, and we learn that sometimes what is perfect and what is enough live oceans away from each other.
     But when enough becomes too little and we don’t even have our two pennies to rub together, he performs on the street with an upturned top hat at his feet. Old, bluesy songs about wild girls and townie boys. And even though his voice is only ok, with cracks in all the important parts, people see his long hair and his big smile, and they stop to watch with enormous eyes. Look, they point: a boy who never learned how to worry playing at maturity, his face bent over a guitar, long fingers threading the strings. They stand on the streets, a cigarette break from their white collar routine, and see in him some other life. Some different path. They see themselves, a little happier, a little louder, a little more carefree. The kind ones wish him well as dollar bills float from their hands. Fives and tens and twenties from those who would do everything differently if they had another shot. One man with a fading ring tan above his left knuckle gives him a crisp hundred dollar bill, his face lost in thoughts of what might have been. Transparent. He’s like that with people: prying them open without even trying. He sees through them, and you, and even me. Especially me. 
      We lay in bed that night surrounded by paper that will only pay a fraction of our bills, but we laugh like we’ve won the goddamn lottery. Laugh so hard we can barely breath. I laugh until I cry, and he holds me in his hands and tells me that when he has the money, he’ll buy me a ring and make this whole shindig official. My voice raw with tears, I tell him he better.
     And he has the warmest hands with callouses on all the fingertips, which I don’t think anyone else knows. Not like I know. Not like they feel them against their palm and cheek and thigh in the middle of the night. I like that I hold a million tiny fragments of him that no one else has even touched. Like he calls his sister twice a week to make sure she’s not using again, and he only watches scary movies because they make my blood flow faster, and he’s an all consuming, thousand-watt, stars in his eyes kind of person. The kind people want to be around without ever knowing why. The kind who tells you he loves you and really means it.
     He only says it sometimes. When it’s just us two and the perfect silence is worth being broken. And I trace road maps across the skin of his back, and I wonder. I wonder what I did to deserve all this. The affection, and the easy smiles, and the list of kid names we like tucked away in his desk drawer. Shuffled between coins and nicotine gum. And then his breath is heavy in my hair. I never fall asleep before him because I don’t know how to stop thinking. I wonder and I wonder and I wonder how I ever thought I’d be better off on my own. And he pulls me closer. Whispers my name like a promise. All the world stands still for just this moment. And I wonder how a person- one single, broken person- can come along and make so much sense.
—  I hope you find this kind of love, and I hope you never let it go.
Pluto rising often have a series of incarnations. Their lives fall into distinct chapters, each of which has a recognisable beginning and ending. They are one way for a few years, doing a particular profession, wearing a particular kind of clothing, exhibiting a particular kind of personality, espousing a particular set of values. Then something happens – not always visible – and they become somebody completely different. They build a new personality out of the ashes of the old. The former life is gone forever, and something new starts which may go on for five or ten or twenty years. And the same thing happens again
— 

Liz Greene 

It’s a date

-SNOWBAZ-

This is my @carryonsecretsanta gift for @eroticgropefest Also, inspired by the @carryon-countdown prompt: Date Night. Hope you like this, Katie! It’s been so fun being your SS  ♡ ♡

Summary: 

Five times Baz has to bite his lips in order to refrain himself and one time he doesn’t.

OR

Five times Simon doesn’t mean it and one time he does.

Word count: ~2k

Rating: T

Tags: Best Friends, Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Pining, 5 +1 Things

Also on AO3


The first time he does it, it’s completely unconscious.

It’s summer and they’ve been moving furniture from the Pitch Mansion to Baz’s new apartment with Fiona. Snow is in a tank top, all covered in sweat and his cheeks flushed red from exhaustion.

Baz hands him a bottle of water, his fingers resting a moment longer than necessary on Simon’s skin, and the world is suddenly too hot and his pants too tight.

Baz blames the tank top.

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congratulations to shinee on finishing up their fifth japanese arena tour, shinee world 2017, today! with twenty five concerts in ten cities the tour is speculated to have brought in 340-345k attendees, making it their most attended arena tour so far. (this is when not taking in account the 534k attendees that shinee world 2016 accumulated with the addition of their dome concert numbers.) here’s to more successful concerts in japan in the future, and the potential of either more dome concerts or a dome tour within the next year!

A Perfect Encounter - Part 1

Bucky Barnes x Reader AU!

Summary: sometimes, being at the wrong place at the right time means that your life can change.  

A/N: “I´ll tell you my name if you can find me again” is my prompt to celebrate that @just-some-drabbles has hit 4k followers. Congratulations! I have already written to you toooo many times to tell you about your awesome work and writing skills, so you deserve them and more :) 

Tags: @supersoldierslover @barnesandnoble13 @amrita31199

Originally posted by winter-barnes

(Credits to the owner of the gif)


“I come back from work now, and the house is filled with strangers that Tyler has accepted. All of them working. The whole first floor turns into a kitchen and a soap factory. The bathroom is never empty.” 

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actual 13x05 coda lol

“Hello, Dean.”

It’s a miracle Dean doesn’t swerve off the road when he answers the phone. He clenches the wheel so tightly his knuckles strain, stealing glances towards Sam to make sure he hadn’t woken his brother. Castiel, unperturbed by Dean’s silence, continued.

“I-I know you have every reason not to trust me, but I’m really back. Been walking for a day now to find an old payphone…your number’s the only one I know by heart…”

How Dean’s still breathing at this point is a mystery. Castiel gives an address and Dean doesn’t even hesitate in accelerating five, then ten, then twenty miles over the speed limit. 

It can’t be Castiel. Dean knows this. Good things don’t happen to them and there’s no way in hell Billie would bring back Castiel, not after what Castiel did. Which means it’s a monster. And with an impressionable spawn of satan out there thinking Cas was his father, well.

At least, Dean tries to pretend this is his only motive. But deep down, he’s got a far more pressing reason for racing across the empty highway: catharsis. That thing that Mia had been trying to get them to do. It might not actually be Cas, but it sounded pretty damn convincing over the phone and if that was the case…Dean could actually say goodbye. Or, perhaps, the words he’d never said aloud before.

Either way, Dean could finally find some semblance of peace before Sam ganked it.

But as he leaves the car and sees him (it, it’s not Castiel) Dean can’t do a damn thing. The worst part is, the creature can’t even be bothered to get Cas’ trench coat right. That thing is ugly, but it’s Castiel’s and this creature can only manage a poor replica.

That is, until he see’s Castiel’s face. Hopeful, vulnerable and so painfully familiar Dean forgets to breathe. He can’t even speak. They both stand frozen, staring, until suddenly Castiel’s stumbling forwards and clumsily tugging Dean into a hug. And Dean knows he shouldn’t let this happen, this thing could be dangerous, but it feels like Castiel, feels like the goodbye he never got, so he clings to Castiel’s trench coat, burying his head in the crook of his neck as he swallows a sob.

He’s dimly aware of Sam shouting, there’s a click of a gun cocking. Time’s run out. Dean silently curses Mia, he doesn’t feel any better, all he wants now is to never let go. “Goodbye, Cas,” he whispers hoarsely.

“No, Dean,” Castiel tightens his hug, “It’s hello.”

Maybe it’s the look in his eyes, or the feel of his embrace, or Dean’s own desperation, but Dean believes him. He pulls Castiel closer and finally breathes easy.

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I’ve just finished reading all seven books again and it mesmerizes me how, five years after my last reading, I’ve had a different understanding of some arcs, and I was emotionally more involved in some characters. I can’t wait to read the series all over again in five, ten, twenty, fifty years! I’m not afraid anymore of growing older and losing interest in Harry Potter because it has so many layers, so many characters, it is just a different appreciation every time!

Ahn Hyeongseop Harry Potter AU

  • ever since you’d come to hogwarts, it was your dream to become a healer at st. mungo’s
  • madam pomfrey heard about your dreams from professor neville, the head of your house, hufflepuff, and had offered to let you study under her for a while, just learning the ins-and-outs of basic healing
  • immediately you’d agreed, and so you spent a good portion of time in the hospital wing
  • one person who you noticed came to the hospital wing a lot was ahn hyeongseop
  • he was a super clumsy gryffindor who seemed to have a knack for making things catch on fire
  • madam pomfrey knew him well, and even started tasking you with healing just the small scratches and scrapes he would get from his various antics
  • while clumsy, hyeongseop was also very friendly, chatting with you about why you were helping madam pomfrey out, and getting to know you
  • you discovered that you two were in the same year, though different houses
  • occasionally in the great hall during meals, hyeongseop would greet you before joining his other friends
  • it became part of your routine to expect hyeongseop at some point in the hospital wing, you and madam pomfrey exchanging amused looks
  • soon, you found yourself falling for his witty charm and playful comments
  • of course, madam pomfrey picked up on your newfound crush, giving you a look every time hyeongseop stopped by the hospital wing
  • when the school year ends and summer begins, hyeongseop occupies a small section in the back of your mind, as the guy you like
  • and when you go to diagon alley to  buy school supplies (without your muggle parents), you happened to run into him at second hand robes
  • “oh! (y/n)!” he smiled widely, “are you back-to-school shopping as well?”
  • “yeah,” you explained that your parents tended to freak out a bit when they saw such intense wizarding world stuff like diagon alley, and so you were there by yourself
  • “me too,” hyeongseop laughed, recounting the time that his mom had fainted after seeing a dish that washed itself, “let’s go together!”
  • you felt like you were going to faint as you and hyeongseop went from shop to shop, buying all the necessary items for the next school year
  • of course, hyeongseop tripped on the cobblestone road and skinned his knee, but a simple healing charm fixed that
  • “thanks, (Y/n),” he smiled sheepishly, “i always seem to be getting hurt.”
  • then, instead of even going all the way to the hospital wing, he just goes straight to you, asking you to heal a broken bone or scraped knee
  • you’ll be in the library studying
  • “psst! psst!”
  • you look up to see hyeongseop hiding behind a stack of books
  • euiwoong is somewhere facepalming
  • “i may have broken a nail…”
  • then one day
  • ONE DAY
  • you’re carefully cleaning out this scrape that he got running after justin in the charms corridor
  • and he just blurts out, “(y/n), I think you should date me. we’d be a perfect couple.”
  • and you’re like uM excuse me
  • he just continues on like he’s stating facts, even gesturing his arms to punctuate his statements
  • “like think about it– i’m clumsy, you’re collected, i get hurt a lot, you heal a lot, i’m loud and daring, you’re quiet and kind.”
  • “you’re really bad at asking people out, you know that?” you flicked hyeongseop on the nose
  • “but are you saying we should?” hyeongseop grinned over at you excitedly
  • “yeah, i guess i am,” you replied, cheeks heating up a bit
  • dating hyeongseop was a bit like dating an overzealous puppy
  • brings you a gift for every anniversary (five days, ten days, twenty days, fifty days, etc)
  • he still gets injured a lot, but now he has no shame in asking you to heal him
  • despite his playful attitude, he’ll give anybody who hurts you hell
  • one time someone said something nasty to you in charms
  • and hyeongseop found it out from justin, who found it out from seonho, who found it out from daehwi, who had charms with you and had heard it
  • and the guy who had said the thing ended up with a bat boogie hex so powerful he was sneezing bats
  • and the ironic thing was, he ended up in the hospital wing being treated by you
  • as you carefully prepared a solution for him, hyeongseop hovered behind you, occasionally whispering menacing things to him
  • “not so tough now, buddy, are you?”
  • really just a like a puppy who guards their loved ones when in danger
Why Hearing Parents Don’t Sign

One of the strangest facts related to the signing community is that most hearing parents of Deaf children do not sign. It has been said that ninety-seven percent of hearing parents never learn ASL. Why aren’t more of them willing to learn sign language? 

I used to have complicated theories about this, but one day it dawned on me that the answer is so simple it’s almost shocking. Most hearing parents don’t sign because they don’t want to communicate with their children.

Think about it for a second. If they wanted to communicate, why, it would only be natural that they would sign. The problem has nothing to do with sign language itself, certainly not access to learning it or the challenge of mastering it. Millions of people all over the world flock to sign language classes. Non-deaf signers outnumber Deaf signers. In the United States, ASL is second only to Spanish in its popularity as a “foreign” language. 

You would think that parents have even more reason, no, the best reason, to learn sign language. Instead, it is one of the hardest, rarest things in the world for a parent to do. Why is that?

Most parents are conditioned, from their birth up, for the simple reason they were parented first before they became parents themselves, to engage in a power and control relationship with their children. This is taken so much for granted in our society that very few people are aware that children make up the most oppressed and abused population. True, children start out in life as small, making them vulnerable to—even magnets for—all sorts of mistreatment, but that doesn’t make them any less human or less deserving of respect.

Unfortunately, the Victorian view of children—“Children should be seen and not heard”—still permeates modern mainstream parenting culture. The biggest sickness in a relationship involving power and control is the absence of true communication. There may be a great deal of talk passing between parents and children, but a careful study will reveal that very little of it is real communication.

Because of their misguided belief that they must control their children through the manipulations of power, parents do not want communication to occur. They would find it immediately threatening. This results in their often saying things like “Don’t you dare talk back to me!” or “Because I said so!” If there is true communication, it immediately elevates children’s status, forcing adults to recognize them not as objects or second-class beings but as individuals with totally valid needs and desires that are just as important as their own. Few parents are prepared for such an egalitarian relationship with their children.

The power dynamics involved explain why fathers, in traditional hierarchical households, are less likely than mothers to learn sign language, and why the few signs they do know are non-negotiable signs of authority: NO, STOP, BED NOW. It also explains why hearing siblings, who are more or less equal to their Deaf siblings, are the family members most likely to sign. It’s no accident that most of the parents who do sign are “different” from the mainstream mold—open-minded, eccentric, radical. They may not always realize this, but often they are not only embracing sign language, bilingualism, or the cultural perspective of deafness, but an alternative style of parenting that lessens or removes the “versus” in their relationships, replacing it with, well, “with.”

Interestingly, the oral deaf community has the same problem. Despite their children’s skills in lipreading, most parents are unwilling to accommodate their needs in this area. They still say “Never mind” or “I’ll tell you later.” But there are a few oralist parents who take care to look at their children before speaking, pause between turns, gamely repeat themselves, and take pains to include their deaf children in the family. I wouldn’t be surprised if the percentage of such sensitive oralist parents is comparable to the percentage of parents who do sign with their Deaf signing children. But this is not a manualist versus oralist issue. This isn’t even a problem unique to deafness. It’s a much deeper concern having to do with parenting, power and control, and what it means to truly communicate.

Another interesting phenomenon is that some non-signing parents do learn how to sign … later, often too late. There are many stories telling of how a parent got a new Deaf coworker at the office, or comes into contact with Deaf people at church. All of a sudden, the parent is eager to learn sign language. Why now, after five, ten, fifteen, twenty years of living with their own flesh and blood? Simple: the new relationships with these Deaf adults are not stuck in the quagmire of power and control. Other stories tell of hearing parents’ hands magically coming to life when they find themselves to be new grandparents of their Deaf children’s Deaf children. This happened in my family. My grandfather never signed much to his Deaf daughter until the day he learned his grandson was Deaf. Again, the key here is power: The traditional grandparent-grandchild relationship is thankfully much less wrapped up in control than the traditional parent-child relationship.

That the medical perspective of deafness is relentlessly presented to parents doesn’t help. The idea that Deaf children are impaired, in need of treatment and rehabilitation, only discourages parents from regarding their children as individual human beings worthy of equal respect and true communication. So the battle against audism shouldn’t stop with changing parents’ attitudes toward deafness, but should address the very nature of the growing people we call children. Why? Because parents can, and do, learn sign language only to exercise power and control over their Deaf children in different but equally abusive ways. Within the signing community, even Deaf parents need to understand what true communication with their children requires. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be much better than all those hearing parents who do not sign.

The question to ask hearing parents, then, is “Do you want to communicate with your children?” If their answer is yes, there are no excuses for not learning sign language. No excuses. If their answer is no, their crime goes beyond merely neglecting to sign. Their crime is perpetuating the oppression and abuse of children, passing on the power and control cycle to the next generation, and the next, and who knows when it will finally be broken?