I made this one before I made the last one I posted

Klaine fic - “All the Beautiful Pieces” (Rated NC17)

Blaine Anderson is spending the summer after graduation flipping houses with his brother for Cooper’s total home renovation show. The show features the worst houses Cooper can buy, with Blaine playing the role of lackey so that Cooper can torture him in front of his viewers. The last house Blaine has to renovate is an original Victorian House in San Diego, CA, which is in terrible condition. But this house turns out to be more than just another job. It was once owned by a famous Vaudeville ventriloquist by the name of Andrew Smythe. It houses a very interesting collection of items - among them, two life-sized puppets. Blaine isn’t sure exactly why, but he’s drawn to them - especially to the one with the beautiful blue eyes. He convinces Cooper to give him the puppets, and Blaine starts to restore them. In the course of the restoration, Blaine finds out that neither puppet is simply a run-of-the-mill puppet, and Andrew Smythe was hiding a secret that will be the key to saving two lives.

Okay, so, as many of you people know, this was my Reverse Bang story from way too long ago. I had it completed, but as I was uploading it, my computer crashed and obliterated this plus a ton of my other stories, which I have been writing back from memory these many years. I had this one almost down except for the last three chapters, which have been lost in the void of my brain. So, what I’ve done is start over from the beginning. I haven’t been changing the story, just freshening the language, and then I will add those last three chapters. But I’m posting it here one chapter per week so those of you who would like to can get reacquainted with the story. Of course, you could jump ahead to AO3, and cheat, re-read all 17 original chapters at once, but you’ll still have to wait for the ending, and only chapters 1-7 have been redone. Anyway, this story wouldn’t even exist without @freakingpotter who is an amazing artist and an even more amazing friend <3 Give her lots of love <333

(Warning for character death that happens in the past, hoarding, and anxiety.)

Chapter 1 (6515 words)

Blaine stares out the windshield of his rented Honda Odyssey, his jaw dropping open, stunned out of his senses at the sight of the disastrous house in front of him. His hands grip the steering wheel for support. His knees knock together, completely out of his control. A low, pitiful whining noise rattles around in the back of his throat. The house to his right, nestled incongruously behind a manicured lawn, carefully pruned rose bushes, and a well-established Mulberry tree, is so incredibly awful that he can’t stop looking at it. It’s like a horrendous traffic accident – lots of blood and twisted metal, but try as you might, you can’t make yourself look away.

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the-queen-sees-all  asked:

I was wondering, what if Harry and Hermione had met before Hogwarts?

The first time Harry Potter met Hermione Granger, she was standing with her chin up and her hands on her hips a few paces from the old olive tree in the schoolyard, glaring into the far distance. The wind was trying to twist and buffet her hair into her face, but mostly it was just tangling cheerfully with itself.

Dudley and Piers were busy kicking all the other kids off the play structure, so Harry had retreated out into the grass. He stood a safe distance from the weird girl who was pretending to be a statue and thought wistfully of lunch.

“There’s a fallen bird’s nest,” the girl said in a rapid and certain tumble of syllables. “The boys knocked it out of the tree, but I chased them off and I’m hoping the mama bird comes back. I’m Hermione Granger. We just moved here.”

“Harry,” he said.

“How’d you get that scar?” she said.

“Car accident.”

“That’s a weird scar for a car accident.”

Harry shrugged. “It killed my parents.”

She blinked quickly at him and even at that distance he wished vaguely that she wore glasses, too, because her gaze was something that really felt like it should have some built-in bluntedness. “Mine are dentists. Mum’s taking me to the library after school, want to come?”

-

Before they went into Diagon Alley, Harry asked Hagrid if they could find a payphone. Hermione picked up on the first ring.

“Harry! Where have you been? I’ve been trying and trying to call–”

“Sorry, yeah. Um, so, I’m not coming back to school next year, I…” Harry drifted off, staring at Hagrid’s massive moleskin shoulders. The giant man saw him looking and gave him a tentatively cheerful little wave. “It’s been weird, Herm.” He pressed his forehead into the phone stand, but not too hard. “I think you’re the only thing I’m really going to miss.”

“Harry,” Hermione said and Harry started to frown, because that wasn’t her stern and startled voice. That was the voice that meant she was off down a charging war path of other thought and might not have heard him at all. “I’ve been reading.”

“Of course you’ve been reading,” he said. “I’ve been being forcibly hidden from a swarm of post office owls–”

“You’re in books,” she said in breathless delight, squeaking over the telephone line. “First thing we did, of course, after the professor explained, was get her to escort us to a bookstore– a whole bibliography, Harry, a whole world’s bibliography I haven’t even touched– how am I ever going to–” She took in a little calming breath, and murmured, “Different infinities, it’s okay, Hermione, okay.” A sharp exhale and then she tumbled right back into her rushing rivelet of a sentence. “And I picked up a good dozen, besides the school books, of course, and Harry, you’re in books, in Dark Wizardwork of This Century and A Modern Wizards’ History and October’s End: A Biography–”

“Hermione,” said Harry with slow enunciation. “Are you a wizard, too?”

“A witch, I think,” she said. “But I’m still reading up on the sociology of it all.”

-

Hagrid wouldn’t say Voldemort’s name, but Hermione would. She came over with a stack of books up to her chin, gave the Dursleys her normal pointed little stare that said she’d like to set them a little on fire, and curled up in his cupboard with him.

He supposed she probably could learn how to set them on fire, now, if she really wanted to.

She gave him passages and excerpts with his name in them, with his parents’ names, a home he hadn’t known. There were pictures of a ruined house with the smoke drifting in little curls of ink. There was his mother, smiling and waving in black and white. There was his mother, laid out on the floor, with a sober little caption below it. That picture was still, except for curtains fluttering in the window.

Hermione finally dragged her face far enough up from the pages to see Harry holding his own hand very tightly, and then she closed the book and reached for one about which magical creatures you should pet and which you shouldn’t.

“Sorry,” she said.

“I wanted to know.”

“I’m still sorry.”

-

The Grangers drove Harry, Hermione, Hedwig, and their trunks to King’s Cross Station. Mrs. Granger kissed the top of Hermione’s head while Mr. Granger mussed Harry’s mop of dark hair affectionately, and then they swapped children and repeated the treatment. Hermione pushed her hair back out of her face and marched them all to Platform 9 ¾, the entrance mechanism of which she had read all about.

“Before you go,” Mrs. Granger said, “let’s buy you some sandwiches? I don’t know what sort of food they’ll have past that–”

“There’s a trolley,” Hermione said, but her parents dragged them off to a snack kiosk anyway, Harry happily in tow.

As they were on Hermione’s tight schedule, there were plenty of compartments open, and they took one all to themselves– well, to themselves, Hedwig, and Hermione’s books, which took up two seats. (Harry would wheedle Hagrid into taking him to Diagon Alley for Christmas shopping that year, where he would get Hermione a carry-all bag for her small personal library.)

Hermione took a long preparatory breath while Harry unwrapped his sandwich. “Harry? What if I go and sit down under the Hat and I just sit and sit there, and then it says I’m not a witch at all?” Hermione said, the words getting more squashed together and higher-pitched as she went. “I’m not magic, it just got confused, and they send me home? Harry, I don’t want to be a dentist. Other people’s mouths are disgusting–”

“You’re not going to get kicked out,” Harry said, chewing amiably on his sandwich. It was not good, but the Dursleys hadn’t bothered with any breakfast for him and he hadn’t wanted to bother the Grangers about it either. It was a bit dry on the way down, but it settled warmly in his belly.

“But what if I do?”

“I’ll stage a protest,” said Harry. “Refuse to do my homework til they reinstate you.”

“You’re not going to do your homework anyway.”

“See how dedicated I am to you.”

She made a dismissive little noise at him, wringing her hands in her lap.

“Hermione,” he said, and she lifted her bush of hair to look at him. “You’re the most magical person I know. It’s gonna be alright.”

She gave a long slow blink but whatever she might have said was interrupted by an uneven knock at the door. “Um,” said the pudgy boy standing there. “I’ve lost my toad.”

Hermione leapt to her feet. “Where did you see him last?”

Harry followed in the wake of her forward charge, but he brought the rest of his sandwich with him.

-

(Harry did not know this and would not know this until Mrs. Granger mentioned it casually over a Christmas dinner years and years later– but she and Mr. Granger reported the Dursleys for child abuse and neglect, over and over.

The reports got lost– minds scrubbed down, papers vanished– but they kept calling in reports. They considered kidnapping. They couldn’t imagine why the wizarding world might want to keep their chosen one somewhere so toxic, why they might want to keep this underfed child and his messy hair with those people.

“My mother left me a blood protection spell,” said Harry, whose scar had not ached in years. He poked at his mashed potatoes under the focused attention of Mrs. Granger’s stern little forehead wrinkle. “I had to live with family, blood family.”

“Then they should have made them treat you right,” Mrs. Granger said, as though it was that simple.

Mr. Granger gave Harry another helping of peas.)

-

On the steps of Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy thrust out his hand to the Boy Who Lived, who surveyed the open palm with amusement. “Thanks,” said Harry. “But I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself.”

The redheaded, freckly, hand-me-down clothes boy Malfoy had been bothering snorted. Harry slipped his hands into his pockets.

“You’re the kid with the rat from the train,” Hermione said. “And the spell that didn’t work.”

“It was a cool rhyme anyway, though,” Harry said. “Hi, I’m Harry, this is Hermione.”

“Yeah, she said, then. I’m Ron– uh, Ron Weasley.”

“Yeah, he said,” Harry said, rolling his eyes Malfoy’s direction. “Come on, you wanna stand with us? Hermione will tell you about the ceiling.”

“It’s enchanted!” said Hermione.

-

When Hermione founded SPHEW, Harry was not surprised. He had spent too many schoolyard days escorting spiders to safe spaces, keeping vigil over fallen bird’s nests, and watching Hermione stand up on her desk chair in heated pitched verbal battles with teachers. She’d driven at least two teachers to tears and taught most of them at least a few new vocabulary words.

-

Over summers and holidays, Harry and Hermione took Ron to the movies, to the seashore, to Hermione’s top three favorite libraries. Hermione’s Aunt Meg taught them how to whittle under a cloud of cigarette smoke that clung to Harry’s hair until he washed it out.

In this life, there were things in the Muggle world that Harry missed, that he wanted to see again. He loved Hogwarts, and he nominally went home to the Dursleys each summer, but he knew he always had a bed at the Grangers’. He knew the weird system they used to organize the books on their shelves. He’d pass Mrs. Granger the marmalade in mornings before she had to ask. He got free dental check-ups all his life, which was good because the Dursleys rarely bothered taking him into the dentist.

The whole Granger family tore apart newspapers every morning, calling article excerpts across the table and pointing each other to their favorite journalists. Before Hermione even first stepped onto Hogwarts grounds she got a subscription to the Daily Prophet. During Harry’s fourth year, Mr. and Mrs. Granger got Arthur Weasley to buy them an owl and then began an unending campaign of furious letters to the editor that never got published.

-

In a crumbling boat shed, Severus Snape died, but first he pressed a shining bundle of memory into Harry’s hands.

The fight was still going– Neville newly broad and certain; Luna whipping out quiet, barbed little curses; Ginny charging like an army in and of herself. Hermione had her arms full of basilisk fangs. Ron was moving people like bishops and knights. But Harry had a long damp walk before him, so he had time to wade through that life not his own.

Severus had been a lot of things– one of them was in love. Harry dragged his feet through forest mulch, seeing a little redheaded girl in sunlight, hands not his own offering her transformed flowers. It had been just them for so long. For Severus, for so long, there had been no one but him and Lily.

Even in Hogwarts, Severus had drifted through the classrooms and common room and library. He had believed in magic, in the cool slide of good knives through dried roots, and in Lily– always, always in Lily– Lily in sunlight, Lily chewing on her thumbnail over Transfiguration homework, Lily flicking soapsuds at him in her kitchen at home over summer, Lily pig-tailed and seven, wide-eyed as he showed her the first magic she’d ever seen, a leaf to a flower, a bit of sunlight to a bit of fire.

He had loved, and it had been a real thing. He had fucked up, and it had been a real thing, that heartbreak, that regret.

When Harry turned the Stone in his hand and saw his mother step into pseudo-life in that forest clearing, he thought I wish I’d known you. He thought about how she was in sepia and gray, here, just like in the pictures in the pages of Hermione’s books.

But he was also thinking about Severus. He was remembering Lily in sunlight, remembering her walking away, remembering her in that same cold photographed sprawl but in color–in grief–in bruised knees and heaving gasps.

Severus had been the first to find Lily’s body and it had felt like someone had cut the sunlight out of him. Harry was living through that grief, but he was also living through the wail of the child crying unacknowledged. His tiny pudgy hands were wrapped around the guardrail of his crib.

Harry was thinking about a girl standing in a field like a statue, hands on hips. He was thinking about Hermione’s raised hand ignored in Potions, or the way Snape had sneered that he didn’t see a difference in her cursed teeth. Love had made him brave, perhaps. It had killed him, but it had not made Severus good.

Harry wondered if his mother would have escorted spiders to safe places, if she would have stood guard over fallen bird’s nests, if she had worried herself to pieces that first time on the Hogwarts Express about the Hat telling her she didn’t really belong.

“I wish I’d known you,” he told the specter of Lily Potter. He held his own hands tight.

For Harry, for so long, there had been no one but him and Hermione. Even in Hogwarts, there were things only she would understand– parking meters, the cobweb ceiling of his cupboard, the silence of marmalade at breakfast. Harry believed in magic and he believed Hermione Granger was the most magical thing he knew.

“They’ll be alright,” he said. “I’ll be alright. I was alright, mum. I wish I’d known you– but I wasn’t alone.” He squeezed his hands tighter– Hermione showing him her favorite spots in her favorite libraries; Ron shyly showing them the Burrow like it was anything less than a magnificent masterpiece of warm rooms and patchwork architecture; Hermione standing in the field like a statue, bushy-haired and seven years old, jaw set. “She wasn’t alone, either,” he said. “And she’ll be alright. Ron will be alright. I have to do this, don’t I?”

“We are so proud of you,” Lily said.

“Thanks,” said Harry. “Sorry,” said Harry, and wondered if Hermione was going to be able to read the little passages and excerpts with his name in them, with those un-moving pictures and the sober captions underneath.

He dropped the Stone.

-

When Harry Potter died for the first time, crumpled in forest mulch, he didn’t go to a squeaky clean King’s Cross Station. There were no crescent moon glasses to twinkle kindly at him.

He stood under an old olive tree and a little girl looked up at him with those eyes that needed shielding, needed blunting, needed a manufacturer’s warning. “A wind’s coming,” she said. “You can just go. It will be easy.”

He stood outside Diagon Alley, a Muggle payphone tucked between his shoulder and ear. “You’re in books,” she said, with a breathlessness he’d barely heard for years. There had been too much weight on his shoulders, on hers. “You’re done,” she said. “You’ve done enough. Go on, tap three bricks up and two to the left.”

He stood in Godric’s Hollow, in the snow, holding her hand, looking at the ruined house. “You should have had this,” she said. She was seven and small, not nineteen and weary like she had been in life. The sky was overcast but there was sunlight glinting in her hair. “You can still have this. You can have everything.”

“You’re not real,” Harry said.

“But you are,” she said. “There’s a wind coming. It will be easy.”

“You’ve never done anything easy in your life,” he said.

She took both his hands– hers were so small against his grown fingers, his broad palms, and how had they done everything with hands that small? Basilisks and werewolves; shouting down teachers from atop desk chairs.

Harry was sitting in his cupboard in the light of its single bulb and he was too big for this space, his shoulders curling forward, his head bowing. She was standing there with sunlight still in her hair and her arms piled high with books. “You don’t belong here,” she said. “It will hurt. You won’t fit, if you go back. Everything can be easy. Everything can be fine. It doesn’t have to hurt, ever again.”

“Hermione,” he said and leaned forward, put his hands on her hands where they were gripping her books. “It’ll be alright.” He smiled and she was staring at him with those eyes, those goddamn eyes. “We never fit, remember?”

“We tried,” she said and Harry squeezed her small hands gently.

“Send me back,” he said. “I want to go home.”

-

After the battle, as Hogwarts rang with frantic healing, crushing grief, and raging celebration, the three of them retreated to the library. Hermione hauled them down narrow aisles until she found her favorite tucked-away nook and they all collapsed on sagging sofas that seemed to not have been touched at all by the war.

“Well,” said Hermione. “What now?”

Ron let his head flop back against the seat, hair tumbling all over his pale forehead. “I’m going to nap,” he said. “For a month.”

“That’s not physiologically possible,” said Hermione. “Or if it is, then it’d be a coma.”

“It’s a metaphor,” Ron said, then: “no, wait, a hyperbole.” Hermione beamed at him. He blushed a little and elbowed her gently.

“After this, you’ll be in books, you know,” Harry told her.

“Not– I mean–” Hermione rubbed at her nose furiously. Ron laughed enough to wake up and sit up, throwing an arm around her shoulders.

While Ron came up with outlandish titles for Hermione’s eventual many biographies, Harry pulled his feet up onto the sofa. He watched the candles float quietly between the shelves.

My kid does 13K in damage to studio equip, we handle it like lunatics.

[Part 1]

Some background:

I’m an audio engineer and score arranger full time in my self-owned business. It’s how I provide for myself, my fiancée (also CF), and my mother. I record, mix, and master for bands, voice-overs for local commercials, and write music for people’s weddings, college films, indie games, etc.. It was my passion since I was a child and every day I ask myself why I get paid to do what I do.

You know, until today.

I had a woman schedule to come in because she wanted me to record her monologue for an acting class. I thought it was going to be easy enough. I set up a mic and a music stand in the sound booth and got my workstation prepped for tracking. She was supposed to show up at 3:30, so when 4:00 came around, I called her to ask her if she was still coming. It was my last contract for the day and I was wanting to get home to my fiancée, dogs, and dinner.

“Oh, sorry sweetie, I’m going to be there soon. I just had to get my son from ex-boyfriend.”

Uh oh.

4:12, she showed up with her child.

To preface, I’ve never really wanted kids, and don’t really hate them either. But I’ve been childfree of mind for a decade now in league of several bad child experiences in public.

Anyway, I sat her down at the conference table and tried to talk to her about the contract and billing, etc., and just couldn’t because of the six-years-old pile of ovary droppings next to her.

“Mommy it’s cold in here.” “Mommy, I’m bored.” “Mommy, that guy has girl hair.” “Mommy, I want to play on the phone.”

The incessant whining went on for the entirety of the discussion. She did nothing about it. I had an ache in my stomach that this might be a rough session.

I was right.

I showed her to the sound booth, positioned the mic at face level, told her the basics of mic use, and then she floored me with a question.

“Can my son stay in there with you while I do this?” I insisted that he wait in the conference room (across the hall from the control room) because the control room wasn’t a very kid-friendly place considering the 120K of equipment at arms reach.

“But he’s a little angel.”

I shouldn’t have taken her word for it. I SHOULD NOT have taken her word for it. This kid was ANYTHING but. I let him in, told him to sit in one of the office chairs and don’t touch anything. Needless to say, he touched. I queued the recording arm and signaled her to start. She got three lines into her take before I hear a deafening screech and crash.

That little shit machine had just knocked over a $4,000 Korg into a rack with $9,500 of equipment. Completely shattered the touchscreen on the Korg, busted the dials off of half of the effects, and totaled my distressor that I use for almost all the vocals I track.

All of this, by the way, was the room’s length apart from where I told the crotch goblin to stay.

The kid, because of the loud noise, started full-lung screaming. Not crying. Not yelling. Screaming.

The mother, with no hesitation, ran over to the control room and DEMANDED to know what I did to her child. She cussed at me and accused me of hurting her little snot monster. Threatened to sue and even swung at me. When I told her that her precious angel had just racked up at least twelve grand of damages, she said “good”, spit on me, then stormed out, slamming every door on the way. So I pulled the security camera footage and had filed a police report. Grand total: $13,504.25. I also mailed her the bill for her session for good measure.

Of six years in the studio, this is my only truly terrible experience. Fuck mombies. Fuck having children. Thanks for making my vasectomy decision that much easier on me.

[Part 2]

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10

HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY, celebrated my way aka EVERYONE LOVES YUURI KISSES <3 <3 <3

Super self indulgent but man this made me happy to draw, I hope it makes some of you happy today too ^ ^

Thank you everyone who played my Valentine’s Day Game! The event is now closed, thanks for participating!! <3

ALSO HAPPY BIRTHDAY CHRIS, SORRY I DIDN’T MAKE A SEPARATE POST BUT YOU’RE INCLUDED IN THIS BB <3

Explanations/headcanons beneath cut!

PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, EDIT, OR OTHERWISE USE MY ART WITHOUT MY EXPLICIT PERMISSION. More detailed rules available on my Rules & FAQ Post.

The artist also appreciates if ship bashing can be kept out of the comments/tags. Don’t like, just skip <3 Thank you.

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The 3 Elements of a FLAWED Character

You know that moment when you find an old notebook, and you start reading the story you were writing years ago, and after about one page…  

And then after a few more paragraphs … 

This has happened to me several times. On every occasion I want to curl up in a small box and wait until everyone forgets I was ever a writer. And every time, no matter which old story it is, what sends me crawling into that box is the same thing: the main character. Even after I had learned to incorporate empathetic qualities into my heroes (as listed in the last post), my protagonists were still deeply annoying – if not more unbearable than before. 

Why? What made them this way? They had winningly empathetic traits! Were they terrible people still? No, and that was the problem. They were perfect. Smart. Noble. Brave. They had dazzling martial arts skills. They loved people and people loved them. They were Chosen in some way and destined for greatness. Angst-plagued though, of course. They were tragic little heroes, misunderstood and abused, driven by the desire to vanquish all who caused them suffering.  

I could’ve composed a Gaston-like song enumerating their virtues and sorrows. 

And the only thing that would’ve made them more punchable is if they did use antlers in all of their decorating.

Characters can’t be completely likable. Yes, they must possess strengths that win the reader’s empathy, but without an equal amount of flaws … they can’t function. If they’re not flawed, they shouldn’t be the main character. Story is about someone changing, for better or worse. Under the surface, all good stories are about this process of human growth or decline. So if a hero is perfect from the beginning, there’s nowhere they need to go. And consequently, there’s no reason for a reader to follow. 

The inclination to follow a story is begun with interest in the premise, of course – but it is locked in when empathy occurs, when we begin to care – the moment the reader transposes their own external and internal lives onto a character’s life. A process which starts when a reader recognizes a shared something between themselves and the hero. Sometimes, this is a goal or strength or situation. And sometimes, it’s a flaw. We meet a character that is weak in the same way we are, and a strong internal connection is born between the reader’s life and the life on the page. On a deep level we’re thinking “This person is like me. What happens to them? How do they deal with it?” And because of this connection based on what is lacking in our lives, we want to live the story, see how it ends, and find out how the main character – who is just like us – reached that ending. Because it’s our lives we’re reading about, and if we play it out in advance, maybe we can reach a positive ending too. 

So! In what way should a main character be FLAWED? 

1) Weak in a way that only hurts themselves. 

Let’s call these MIND.

2) Flawed in a way that hurts others. 

Let’s call these MORAL.

The most realistic – and most compelling – characters have both types.  

And if a character has these flaws, the story must be steering them towards what they NEED to overcome them. The main character needs to learn something, a truth, a new way to live. This is the theme of the story. Theme is a statement the story seeks to prove, to the main character and the reader, about how to live a better life. It’s the solution to whatever moral and mental conundrum they’re facing. So … 

3) The SOLUTION to their moral and mental weaknesses. 

How does that work? To illustrate, let’s look at Stitch and Alexander Hamilton. (What a combination.) 

STITCH

Moral: He’s destructive. Violent. Rude. Vindictive.  Manipulative. Enjoys the suffering of his enemies.

 And in general, pushes everyone and everything away.  

Mind: Despite his violent ways, he yearns to belong, and senses that he can’t.

He believes he’s alone, he’s unlovable, he’s monstrous, he’s never had a family and never will – he’s lost, like the Ugly Duckling. He’s missing a family he’s never had.  

Solution: He just needs to start treating people like family to be accepted into one. 

HAMILTON

Moral: He’s selfish. (“Be careful with that one love, he will do what it takes to survive.”) He’s arrogant. He’s self-centered. (Think of the entirety of Burn.) And in his obsessive journey to succeed, he pushes everyone out of his path.  

Mind: He has a fixation on death, on time running out, which drives his manic desire to achieve. (“I imagine death so much it feels more like a memory.) He’s insecure. ("Graduate in two and join the revolution. He looked at me like I was stupid. I’m not stupid.”) 

Solution: Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story? Eliza tells his story. Hamilton’s goal throughout the story is a legacy; he strives to achieve this immortality in any way possible, even if it means neglecting his loved ones, or even ruining their lives. He needs to learn that his loved ones are enough. Eliza is enough. And through her, he will live on. 

What would have happened if they weren’t flawed? The stories would have been boring. What would have happened if their flaws had been treated like attributes that didn’t have to change? The stories would have ceased to be. Progress couldn’t happen, because by accepting the status quo of their mental and moral states, we’re refusing the call to adventure outright. They’d just exist in the same state they were in the setup, stagnant, somewhat lifeless. Flawed characters must motor towards that NEED, or solution, that will save their lives. 

(I realize this “need” element is rather vague, so it’ll get its own post.)  

But in conclusion, this balance of strengths and flaws – and how this fictional person deals with the adventure they’re thrown into – is what makes a main character compelling, empathetic, and real. 

So when I unearth a notebook years in the future, containing one of stories I’m writing now, maybe the main character won’t make me feel like this:

Maybe it’ll even be like this: 

And best of all, maybe one of those characters will make a reader somewhere feel understood and helped and not alone. Wow. That would be amazing.

Well, there’s my writing motivation for today. I’m going to go make my main character more of a lovable jerk.

on the new Iron Fist series

So after binge watching a ton of Marvel’s new Iron Fist series, I went onto tumblr, wondering what the fandom was up to now, what with all these new gifs and stuff to make. ‘Maybe I would find some fan art or something’ I thought innocently to myself,

BUT BOY WAS I WRONG

instead, I was greeted with SO MUCH DISCOURSE on how Iron Fist ‘needs a chinese-american actor’ or ‘has terrible dialogue and is slow’.

the best part is when I found out that some of y’all are trying to get this show boycotted like ‘????’

Now as a Chinese-speaking Asian female, living in Asia, with an Asian background and a good know-how of Chinese history, as well as a decent knowledge of comic books, (although I confess I got into the animated series first) I’m here to end the discussion before y’all get your full rage on and start fighting fans of the show like it’s Lord of the Flies up in here

So keep reading if you want to be educated or if you just want to fight me before you know what you’re even talking about

“THE SHOW INSULTS CHINESE CULTURE”

Uhhhh…no? I’ve seen a few episodes and I mean so far there isn’t really anything that screams ‘insult’ or even offensive in the slightest. Besides maybe the fact that they take the beliefs and twist them a little bit but honestly even that ain’t that bad as to what I’ve seen elsewhere.

I’ve read the boycott post and let me say that yea, they dressed him with an eye for Asian elements, but maybe that’s because it’s supposed to be resembling Asian clothing? I mean how is that offensive? Is it the part that it looks Asian? Or that you simply feel that white people that direct these shows should not be using Asian stuff for entertainment? Because I hate to break it to you but it’s still not offensive. Even the dragon tattoo is totally fine because it’s supposed to resemble Asian elements yea but also have y’all read the comics? Because he punched through a dragon and basically took it’s heart. So I mean a dragon tattoo kinda matches the theme.

I mean in the first episode they speak almost flawless Chinese for Pete’s sake! Hell, I was surprised that they even had it in them to have a non-Google translated line. Sure the accent was a little overdoing it cuz not even I have that thick a Chinese accent but I’ll excuse it since he was apparently learning and speaking 15 years. (I speak it maybe a few times a day for like the last 14 years or so only)

So no, the show doesn’t really insult Chinese culture, sure they might be ignorant, but you must understand that after generations of stereotypes and misconceptions that that can’t just go away with one show

“Danny Rand should be played by an Asian guy/be a Chinese-American”

I can’t even begin to tell you my frustration about this.

Y’all do know this show is based on the comics right?

You know, the one with the white guy.

I know Marvel is infamous for not including enough representation in their shows but seriously? This is like the Harry Potter thing all over again with Hermione being black, it’s not that we don’t want representation or anything, but it’s the fact that this hero that us comic fans have come to already love has been replaced. Or at least it feels like it. Like when a movie is made from a book and people go crazy because character XYZ suddenly has different traits or isn’t quite what was described as compared to the book.

Frankly, it sucks.

So even though yes, Marvel should have more Asians in their shows, don’t expect them to completely give the main character a makeover, even if the makeover was supposed to provide representation. And honestly? I don’t want them to change him because I really freaking love Iron Fist, just as he is.

“This show just villainizes Asians”

So you tell me that my race is being made villains because Marvel decided that most of their Asians on their shows are evil ninjas (aka the Hand) and at most there are like 3 sorta good Asians. Oh and I’m sorry, you want more Asian men that are good guys? You want a balance of Asian heroes?

Well I guess that would be kind of hard to fit into the story since, oh, I don’t know, everything happens in the USA?

If you want more Asian characters well then look no further because you do have them. Daisy Johnson from Agents of Shield? What about her extremely brave mom? Or maybe Colleen in Iron Fist? Everyone seems to be blatantly ignoring her badassery and only seeing the part where she’s a sorta love interest.

Facts are, there are Asian characters, you’re really just looking hard enough. I agree wholeheartedly when you say that more Asian men need to be in the Marvel universe that aren’t part of the bad guy team but you gotta say that they are still awesome.

Does anyone even remember the Japanese ninja yakuza guy from Daredevil? Dude got set on fire and STILL came back to kick ass. That’s a plus in my book because even though he’s considered bad, he’s been proven to be cunning, smart, and overall awesome.

“The show has terrible stunts/acting/dialogue/fight scenes”

From here on out it’s mostly just me trying to explain why the directors and writers of the show made decisions in the show to make it what it is, so let’s dive right into it.

  • STUNTS

Actually the stunts weren’t half-bad. If you’ve seen other shows or movies that are heavily reliant on stunts and action, and compare it to this show, they really aren’t that much different. Sure it might seem a little unbelievable sometimes like they’re breaking physics or something, but he already has a glowing fist. I think we’ve crossed the line of believable long ago.

  • ACTING

I have nothing to say about this except that go and take some acting or drama classes before coming and criticizing these awesome men and women who did indeed try their best

  • DIALOGUE

Now I get the dialogue might be a little weird at times and what not, but you must understand that this show was partially written with the Defenders series in mind. So almost everything that was said in the show is meant to lead to something more. Thus, you must take it as a bigger picture. Sorta like how everyone said that Fantastic Beast and Where to Find Them wasn’t as good as they thought it would be, that movie was also meant to lead on to a bigger story so you might want to excuse the weird speech and cryptic lines at times.

  • FIGHT SCENES & ACTION

Okay seriously people, please read the comics. Danny Rand is supposed to be an accidental hero, one that doesn’t want to fight unless he really has zero choice in the matter. So yea, the fight scenes won’t be that interesting, but only because the character in question is more interested in ending the fight than anything.

~

So there you have it, my whole slightly angry info-dump on Iron Fist and Marvel’s representation problem in general. If you want to correct me or scold me even then by all means message me or shoot me an ask. But just keep in mind that Marvel can’t make all your problems go away in one show, and please for the love of all that is good read the comics before coming to rant okay?

Closet Softie

Or, How Bucky Barnes Nearly Ruined His Tough-Guy Rep

(On AO3)


The trail mix was gone. 

The nice, expensive trail mix, with twelve kinds of nuts and the big sunflower seeds and dried fruits, the kind Tony only rarely left sitting on the common floors for everyone to get at, was gone. 

Clint had been looking forward to that stuff all morning

All the way through a hellish morning “jog” with Steve, all through Nat handing him his ass on the training mats, all through firing the same batch of misweighted arrows over and over so Tony could take scans and fix the design, he’d been thinking, when this is done I get to go upstairs and hang out on the couch and watch Dog Cops and eat the good trail mix, guilt-free. 

And it was gone.

Clint was gonna shoot somebody.

Just as soon as he figured out who’d taken the trail mix.


kingofmemes posted:

yesterday i saw a sad duck in the park who kept getting picked on by the other ducks so today i brought some trail mix and we had a nice lunch together. also i think he might be the duck who pooped on sam last week. if so, he is officially my new best friend. 

Posted at 3:29 PM, 24379 notes

(Read More Below)


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Some Strings Attached

Ugh so there was a post going around that I’ve now long since misplaced but it was like “I just saw you go upstairs with someone else and I know we’re only fuck buddies but I’m gonna go punch them in the face” and I was HERE FOR IT. If somebody remembers the post, link me. In the meantime, have some Sterek getting together fluff.

“Just tell Derek you want to date him,” Scott says, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world.

Stiles bugs his eyes and flails his hands in wordless frustration, because the correct response to this patently ludicrous advice eludes him. He had come for sympathy, not pie-in-the-sky delusions. “Scott. Bro,” he finally gasps. “How could you even suggest that in good faith? No way! Bad plan!” He slashes his arms in a demonstrative X. “The only reason we’re even hooking up is that I made it super clear I was down to fuck, no strings attached! I’m not ruining a good thing by announcing to Derek Hale that I’m 85% in love with him.”

“Why?” Scott genuinely seems confused, the sweet summer child. After falling into a happy triad with Allison and Isaac after their first semester at UCLA, he doesn’t really understand the definition of “unrequited.”

Stiles turns his attention to a hanging thread on his t-shirt, sourly tugging it loose. “He’s out of my league. I mean, with the baseball, and the smarts, and the sarcasm, and those eyes…” he breaks off with a sigh. The last thing he needs to do is remind himself of how gone he is on Derek. “Just, he’s popular. Dictionary definition of too cool for school. And the three people he actually deigns to hang out with here are all just as cool and good looking as he is. Do I need to remind you I’m not? I’m a gawky, nerdy Sophomore. I’m lucky to even be his fuck-buddy.”

Scott makes a face, incredulous. “I dunno, he must like you well enough if he’s still sleeping with you after all this time. What’s it been, six months? And you guys hang out, too, you’re always telling me about how easy it is to chat with him after you bone. So it’s not just sex.”

Stiles grimaces. “Yeah, but it’s not…”


“… a real relationship,” Derek says into the phone, hearing full well the heavy dejection in his voice. So sue him; the admission is more than a little depressing. “He just wants to be fuck buddies.”

“How do you know?” Laura asks reasonably. “Maybe this Stiles person would be interested in dating you, too. No offence, but you’re not great at reading people. I mean, he’s interested in chilling with you even after you hook up, and clearly he enjoys the physical aspect. Did he actually ever say he wasn’t looking for more?”

Derek heaves a sigh, rolling his eyes even though she can’t see over the phone. “Yep. About two minutes after the first time we slept together he said, ‘no strings attached, obviously.’ So, you know, pretty safe bet that it’s no strings attached.”

“Oh,” Laura says. For once she doesn’t have a snappy comeback.

“Oh,” Derek agrees. Dejectedly.

She gives him a sympathetic little hum, and then asks, “and he’ll definitely be at the sorority barbecue?”

“Yeah.” Stiles and his broad shoulders and his long fingers are definitely going to be at the party.

“Maybe you shouldn’t go,” his sister says softly. “If you really like him, and he’s just looking to get laid…”

Derek groans. Not go, and give up a chance to hook up with Stiles? Smart, maybe, but not something he’s capable of doing.

The problem is, he’s liked Stiles forever. Or at least since he first saw him, laughing uproariously and running around with his friends with an actually broom between his legs, playing “Quidditch.” Derek would have been way too embarrassed to do something like that on the front lawn, but Stiles made it seem like the most effortlessly awesome thing a person could get up to.

No, compared to Stiles, Derek is practically a social recluse, an awkward jock with only about three people who he gets along with at all. Stiles definitely doesn’t want to get saddled with a boyfriend like him. He’s lucky they’re even hooking up after all this time.

“Derek, I mean it,” Laura says. “Look out for yourself for once.”

“I know, I know,” Derek grumbles. “But it’s not my fault he’s…”

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anonymous asked:

I'm sorry to bother you, but do things really get better? I'm 16 right now and everything I know is sadness and exhaustion and anger and then I talk to my parents and they just complain about adult life... is it worth it to go on?

oh gosh, i promise, it’s worth waiting, buddy. i know there are a lot of people who say, oh it gets better. and it does in some ways, but what it really gets is different. the people who are angry and mean and horrible often stay that way. the people who cut you off or who flip you off or who piss you off often are the same people at 16 as at 26. 

i think i hated people telling me “it gets better” because what could get better about being a mentally ill queer cuban girl in a world that wanted to eat me. i got spat out. my writing isn’t published because i’ve been rejected so many times i don’t even notice anymore. i was told a few times “make it less obviously homosexual”. what is going to get better about that, i said to myself. the memory of it will never be a nice one.

things got different slowly. like i didn’t realize until i was far on the other side of it. i wasn’t kidding in that last post when i said today i read my writing at 15 and it was painfully obvious how depressed i was. i didn’t have a diagnosis. like you, all i knew was that i was exhausted and angry and sad all the time and when i talked about it, i was told “everyone feels that way sometimes.” i felt that way all the time. in this story, i don’t suddenly wake up after turning 18 and have a magical life where it is all bunnies and flowers and loving. it took me 3 years of trying before i finally managed to quit self-harm completely. my eating disorder and i are still not on speaking terms, luckily. i’m slowly getting a handle on my ocd. i didn’t realize that the biggest thing that was changing was me.

yeah. being out of the house made it easier. away from where people knew me as a certain person. being someone new or being who i was or being in a room full of people who didn’t care how gay i was. being in control made it better. finding real and true friends made it better. being able to make my own plans and choose my own story and do more than just wait until i was old enough to be taken seriously - it got better.

but honestly it’s me. i learned how to shake hands with depression, he and i are such good old buddies i sometimes see him before he’s even coming. and i’ve gotten so good at getting out of his embrace, because practice makes perfect, same as anything. and i’ve learned things about myself i had no idea about at 16. i didn’t even realize i’m funny. i had never been skinny dipping. my only kiss had been sort of an accident. there was a lot i cared about then that i don’t care about now, because in my new world outside of that, the people i surround myself with don’t care either. i’ve worn a dinosaur onesie pajama set to eight parties now when 19 year old me wouldn’t be seen without her makeup. i wear glasses in public even though i’m nervous they make me look like a bug. i have tattoos and new piercings and a bank account (and no money) and i have love. and i don’t mean with a partner, although i’m blessed enough to say i have that as well - i mean. i just found it. i taught myself how to look for it. i figured - listen, i’m here still, so i might as well, like, try to enjoy it. and it wasn’t overnight. it still goes away sometimes. but i love so much and so easily now. i laugh more because of it. i let myself love dogs and movies and silly things. and this love sort of … makes things better. because it reflects off of everything into you. like a mirror.

at sixteen… at sixteen i was very suicidal. i didn’t know that it applied to me, because i thought i was just annoying and lazy. looking back now i always pull a face at how obvious it was, and how close i got to walking myself into a grave. it was more than a close call. death, like, waved. i actually believed i wouldn’t make it past 18. what was the point? what was the point of anything? i think if i’d told myself then, “it gets better”, i would have laughed. “maybe for you!” i would have said, “you have money and a life and you’re not like this.” but it did get better. in inches. stick around to see it. stick around to see everything wonderful that’s waiting in the wings for you. that knows your name. a fate of beautiful moments that are small and precious, like butterflies landing on fingers or snowflakes on tongues, or just sitting with a good book during the rainfall. hell, stick around to write the book, because (trust me), if you believe in your art and yourself - it can be done.

stick around most of all because what gets better is you fall in love with yourself. the world doesn’t become suddenly sickeningly sweet, even if the people around you become better and you’re given more opportunity. that’s wonderful too but… what happens is that over time, the stuff they told you stops sticking. you realize that just because your nose is crooked it doesn’t even matter because it doesn’t stop you from being the best dang ping pong player in your family. you realize you have a family, even if they’re not blood. you realize you are your own family. and you learn to take care of yourself and yes, it gets ugly at times, but you manage. and inside of managing there’s all these wonderful successes like mac and cheese and getting the bills done and the smell of clean laundry and friends that make you laugh so hard you almost pee and an apartment with plants in every corner and a hairless cat in sweaters or a dog with a bowtie or both and watching movies and reading books and seeing art, all of which haven’t been created yet, and possibly you’re the one who makes them. and managing … managing doesn’t have to be big. sometimes it’s just making a small difference. and sometimes the person you make a difference to is yourself. and that’s amazing.

stick around because, trust me, somewhere in there, you meet your younger self in your dreams and you tell her - oh gosh, i promise, it’s worth waiting, buddy.

So I finally went through omgeverythingplease and here are things that I didn’t know
  • Bitty is OBSESSED with food. OBSESSED.
  • Boy has a *problem*
  • Like I know we like to headcanon that Bitty goes into some sort of media, but he’s more likely to become a food critic. Basically he’s more into the “baking” part of “baking vlog” than the “vlog” part.
  • Holster is a grumpy messy bitch.
  • For real, the team seriously debated who was grumpier: Jack or Holster
  • (for like, a hot second, before the answer became obvious)
  • (It’s Jack. Jack is the grumpiest)
  • Ransom and Bitty are very close friends. Close enough that Bitty chirps Holster that he’s being replaced via tweet.
  • Ransom and Bitty get PSLs from “ ‘Bucks”.
  • That is a quote. Eric Richard Bittle has called Starbucks, ‘Bucks.
  • (I bet he calls Target, Tar-zhay too)
  • This one was a bit more analytical: we found out about Jack coaching peewee via Bitty’s twitter
  • Bitty is the one who tells us that the Jack says the kids call him “Coach Z”
  • Because Bitty is the one who typed out the tweet, if the kids called Jack “Coach Zed”, he would have spelled out “Zed.”
  • Therefore we can assume that the kids called Jack “Coach Zee” and not “Coach Zed”
  • However this revelation by Jack was immediately followed by a debate over Zee vs. Zed. So who really knows?
  • I still don’t know how either of them pronounces “pecan”
  • More after the cut because this is getting long

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The possibility of Otayuri becoming canon

So in this post-Welcome to the Madness daze and with the information that has been released today, I would like to do some speculation about the character dynamic between Yurio and Otabek and the possible implications for this ship to become canon. I have already written a bit about this in a comment to another post here, but I would like to elaborate.

Again, this is just me throwing around ideas, with a good dose of wishful thinking.

-          Otabek enters the story quite late as a character. He is there from the beginning but we only get to see him interact with the others from episode 10 onwards. The focal point becomes what his relation is to Yuri. He whisks him away on his motorcycle, takes him to one of the most beautiful vistas in the city and then casually drops how he has admired him for the past five years. Then he offers Yuri his friendship, which has apparently never occurred in Yuri’s life before, they go for a coffee and Mari is stunned to see Yuri normally interact with another human being for a change. It’s up to you to ignore any fond gazes during this scene. What’s worth mentioning is that Yuri seems kind of perplexed by this whole thing. The “eyes of a soldier” line gets to him, because it is probably the first time someone sees him for who he wants to be.

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House Rules (M)

Originally posted by nnochu

Summary: Frustration over recent political changes sets you off, and your loving husband helps you see the error of your ways.

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Smut

Word Count: 7,492

Warning: Dom!Yoongi, husband/wife relationship, teasing, punishment, edging, ass play, dirty talk, political themes

A/N: I could probably add more warnings. Rest assured, this is not vanilla. Enjoy!

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unpopular opinion: there’s no way we can get a great garnet episode at this point

aka why i can understand why garnet stopped having episodes dedicated to her.

this isnt to justify the lack of episodes dedicated to her, but rather my anger and frustrations with the crewniverse for repeatedly stunting any development for her and turning her into a really bland and overly forgiving mom character

garnet transformed from this mysterious mother figure that would do quirky things and have spouts of anger to a faux progressive happy go lucky character (odlaws’ put my issue into words perfectly if you wanna understand it more)

like back in season 1? what were garnet’s flaws:

she was awkward, she would turn violent if you pushed her hard enough, she over estimates steven, she can lose focus easily, her stoic persona made her come off as uncaring and intimidating

after jailbreak, keeping it together and cry for help you would think garnet would face new conflicts such as trust issues, dealing with PTSD, coping with horrific imagery, letting things go, etc

but no. we never get any of that. we’re not ALLOWED to get any of that. instead all that emotion and turmoil is given to ruby and sapphire. really godbless these characters, i still love them to death and despite some of my issues with keystone motel, its still a really solid and enjoyable ep. But this arc was supposed to be about garnet being hurt. pearl was jealous of garnet and pearl hurt garnet. when pearl was insulting sugilite no one went “how rude of pearl to insult amethyst and garnet”. We all understood that sugilite was a separate identity who made her own decisions and garnet and amethyst weren’t influencing it. 

even when ruby and sapphire were angry about how they were hurt, RUBY was in the wrong because she didnt want to forgive pearl right away and sapphire told her that forgiving pearl was the right thing. ignoring the fact that that was a terrible message to send, that you need to just forgive people who hurt you right away just because they’re close friends, we never get a chance to see garnet vent and show her anger. even in Friend Ship, it ended with garnet playing the life coach for pearl DESPITE pearl not giving a proper apology and instead making bad excuses and using guilt tripping tactics (”im not strong enough” “im just useless”). its like the tumblr equivalent of someone going “i know i did something bad i get it im trash i deserve to die”. But garnet can’t shut that down can she? garnet cant receive a good apology can she? no she has to sit down and stroke Pearl’s ego for a goddamn minute.

garnet cant express her feelings because that’s wrong and bad! pearl can scream at a child and smack a wall simply because he tried to be supportive but garnet cant be mad. garnet’s not allowed to express her feelings. Friend Ship and Cry For Help made me realize something awful.

when garnet’s mad its not sympathetic, it’s scary

back in season 1 I forgave it since garnet was an imposing figure. she’s weird and mysterious. when she was mad it was over things like accidentally getting her glasses knocked off and ronaldo kidnapping steven. you could laugh at the situation with her and not really take her anger seriously enough

so you would think given the circumstances, the writers would understand that we should sympathize with garnet since she was violated. which isnt at all funny and nearly made her defuse.

But you’re not supposed to empathize with garnet. you’re not supposed to relate to her. You’re not supposed to go “poor garnet thats so messed up”. you’re instead supposed to react like “Yeah that was messed up but WHY is she mad at pearl :(”

amethyst complains about the house being awkward and taking neither sides despite it clearly being something that she should be supporting garnet in. steven doesnt support garnet either. when pearl snapped at steven in Rose’s Scabbard, steven chases after her and spends some time with her to lift her mood. But steven didn’t care to do anything for garnet. Steven didn’t invite her to come to the motel. Steven didn’t take the time to talk to her. and Steven didn’t make any attempt to relate to her.

and yet guess who did get the good ol’ “get coddled like a baby” treatment.

pearl. someone who was the cause of all this drama. who not only violated a friend several times, but delayed their mission and risked endangering everyone for the sake of feeling good about herself. but ofc the writer’s woobie fave could never do anything wrong :(

an entire arc that should’ve been meant to flesh out both garnet and pearl ended up shelving garnet and treating pearl like the victim in all of this. that SHE’S the one who needs help.

how insulting

a black woman who sang a song about the importance of love and fusion, who nearly fell apart when she saw forced fusions, is not the victim in this. the Cry For Help was about pearl. garnet needed to drop all her feelings for pearl.

And afterwards it just went downhill from there. its like the show completely gave up on garnet.

more focus and screen time was given to ruby and sapphire, who again i love, but get more development than garnet.

and finally we reach “Log Date 7 15 2″ or as i like to call it “the rise of magical negro garnet”

Peridot’s comments don’t piss off Garnet. You don’t see her get visibly angry. She barely musters a response except for mildly bored look. I wasn’t asking for “garnet beats up peridot for being a homophobe”, but I know very well that garnet would not be the type to just allow Peridot to spend several days making off color comments. Garnet looks bored to mildly pleased. 

You could call this character development except… not really? Garnet smiling more does not equal Garnet being way more tolerant of disrespectful behavior. But since this was an arc for peridot i forgave it a bit. 

But then came episodes like Gem Harvest where Garnet would seriously be the last person to just shut up and tolerate Andy’s disrespectful behavior. And in Mindful Education we see garnet using ruby and sapphire to express how they handle trauma rather than Garnet using her own emotions.

Garnet isn’t flawed anymore. Garnet doesn’t make awkward comments or act in ways that are oddly violent. She’s not brash or passionate. She’s just there to offer advice.

Finally there’s Room For Ruby, an episode that made me sit and go “there is no way in hell this is the same garnet before”

  • garnet was already cautious with Steven trying to train a corrupted gem, why would she not even moniter him teaching Navy about earth (i know they think she’s dumb but she’s not an animal and there’s a reason why the diamonds sent out those rubies)
  • garnet saw a future where navy did not care about being a crystal gem and did nothing. excuse me? Garnet says herself her future vision works like a river with various streams connecting to it, and relies on the future thats most common (she when she jumped in front of a spilled coffee pot to protect steven). garnet even understood at the end of the episode that bad futures are possible and risky, and if they’re most common she needs needs to act on it. why on earth would garnet see a future where navy takes the ship and leave and not do anything about it
  • she was waaaaay too laxed about steven failing to stop navy. remember when she said she was terrified of Blue Diamond? Or when she smashed a warp pad just for seeing peridot show up? 

garnet’s cool with everything now. she doesnt care. she became the most assertive member of the team to the most passive. she’s easy to convince and push. she lacks any depth outside of “quiet mom who smiles sometimes”.

i cant believe im saying this but i honestly thing the crew fucked with her personality harder than lapis. because at least in lapis’s case, there was no concrete identity for her.

but there was one for garnet, one we all loved. 

awkward, funny, quirky, sensitive and assertive garnet.

the writers could have developed it more and jailbreak made me believe we were going to see more of her. but instead the writers decided decided “Garnet with layered personalities is a bit too much for us. so we gotta simplify her. make her the walking shoulder to cry on. the friend that enables everything you do, she just loves steven and thats all that matters.”

and that’s all garnet is now. she’s almost like peridot. happy go lucky, overly forgiving and a shell of her former self.

and that makes me mad

Another Man’s Treasure

A/N: This is a completed five-part mini-series because @alrightpetal and I have this thing about making Harry super vulnerable and flawed. So here you go.

// Another Man’s Treasure // Mind on a Mission // Take the Lead // Worth the Pain // Wings of Butterflies


…I’m gonna show you tonight! I’m alright! I’m just fine! And you’re a tool so, so what?

You belted your heart out up on stage, pumping your fist in the air to empower your words even further. It was a good thing you knew all the words, too, because your mates had bought you so many drinks your vision was crossed and blurred you couldn’t have read the lyrics to an unfamiliar song. Then you would have just been a blubbering fool butchering a karaoke performance. And that would have been embarrassing.

Singing yourself blue in the face—and drinking yourself into oblivion—served as the perfect outlet for your aching heart. Hours earlier, you’d been dumped. Or more accurately, replaced.

It’d been a week since you’d heard from your long-term boyfriend, and while you knew he was on holiday with his mates—a holiday you hadn’t been invited on—it was still odd that you hadn’t heard from him at all. Not even a text to let you know that he’d made it to Amsterdam. You didn’t expect too much communication; you trusted him to treat you right, but, silly you, you thought your boyfriend might actually miss you and want to say hi.

Last night after seven and a half days of nothing, you completely lost it and called him forty-seven times in a row. And not a single one was answered. So you rang your closest friends and they came over, laptops and tablets in hand, and intense cyber-stalking commenced.

It only took thirty-four minutes for your good mate Lindsey to unearth a damning post on Insta that your boyfriend was tagged in by a girl you kind of knew. The picture itself wasn’t awful; honestly you couldn’t make out much besides silhouettes and drinks. Even the caption wasn’t much; all it said was, “this guy” with a random slew of emojis. But the funny thing was, when you tried to search for it yourself, nothing came up. Meaning you were blocked. You weren’t meant to see this picture.

Twenty-two minutes of super-sleuthing was enough time for your oldest friend Ashley to find every social media account the girl had, and then eventually uncover her phone number.

In thirteen minutes you had a text drafted to her that was so long it was broken into five different parts when you hit send.

And one minute and fifty-four seconds is all the time your boyfriend—well ex-boyfriend—allowed you to speak to him today before he told you he was coming back tomorrow and there’d be no need for you to come see him. Tomorrow or ever again.

So your mates did what they knew best. They took you out, got you absolutely smashed, and then got you up on stage to pour your heart out. Somewhere in between I Will Survive and Total Eclipse of the Heart, you got a bit weepy and ended up calling your brother from the toilet. It took you awhile to realize you weren’t actually sobbing to him but his voicemail, and as soon as you did you pulled yourself back together and headed out for another drink and a rousing rendition of Since U Been Gone.

The few other patrons in the pub were hardly paying attention to your drunken warbling on stage, only breaking from their conversations when your mates would cheer at the end of each song, some of them even offering half-hearted claps. If they were annoyed, they certainly didn’t let on. Most likely, they pitied you; for Christ sake, you pitied you.

When your song ended, you finished the rest of your drink and began flipping through the songbook. Liberation was surging through you and you wanted a song to match your mood; something to serve as a proper fuck you to the twat you’d wasted the last few years of your young life on.

The book closed on your fingers, and you stumbled back in surprise. Were books automated now too?! You still weren’t over the automated tills at Tesco, would you now have to get used to robotic books closing on you when they’d had enough?!

“[Y/N].”

You looked up, your blurred vision slowly coming into focus as you swayed on the spot. A robotic book didn’t close itself on you, a person had closed it. Which was rather rude of them.

[Y/N],” he repeated. Finally he came into view and you cocked your head in confusion.

“Hazza?” you slurred, taking a step closer to get a better look. You nearly toppled off the stage, but Harry was quick to grab you by the waist and steady you before easing you down.

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And I Drove You Crazy (Bucky Barnes x Reader) One Shot ❤

A/N: hey y'all! This is most likely the most sinful thing I’ve ever written. I had to take some breaks while writing 😂 but this is dedicated to the lovely, super awesome @diving-down-to-wonderland for her birthday! (HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY HUN!) I hope you like it! ❤❤❤
- Delilah ❤

And I Drove You Crazy: Reader’s bike needs to be repaired asap, leading her to come across an insanely gorgeous mechanic whom she may or may not want to bang the second she lays eyes on him.

Warnings: SMUT! Semi-Public sex. Unprotected sex.

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Bare // Jughead Jones Smut

Summary: Heading to Pops after the reoccurring verbal fight between your sibling and Dad, your boyfriend notices how tired you look. Admitting the fighting he takes you to his favourite place to wait for to calm down. Things get heated quick between Jughead and you.

Characters: Jughead x reader, Hermione Lodge, and Archie Andrews (mentioned)

Words: 1702

Disclaimer: I do not own Riverdale or the characters. I also want to clarify, in the tv series Jughead is NOT asexual and this is based on the series not the comics.

Warnings: Fluff, mention of fighting, and smut

Author: Caitsy

Tagging: At the bottom

A/N Someone posted wanting Jughead smut because there isn’t. Under the forever tags I’m adding them to a Riverdale taglist. If you want off please let us know.

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Originally posted by fyeahriverdale

The night was cold, the type of cold that seeped through the thickest of jackets and clung for hours. The type that made you think that you would die from hypothermia at any point despite compelling evidence that it wasn’t possible. You were trying to get away from the fighting between your sibling and father.

Lately it seemed that the sounds in the house were the screaming match that went down every night when you tried to sleep. You would sneak out half an hour into the fight and you always walked yourself to Pop’s for a milkshake. It was getting around that your home life was terrible.

“I’ll have a strawberry milkshake this time.” You mumbled digging into your pocket for change.

“It’s on the house.” Mrs. Lodge smiled seeing the pain and fatigue clinging on your features.

Normally you would argue that but as of lately you didn’t have the energy to do anything so you nodded before sitting down in a booth. It was late so you were one of the very few people sitting in the diner. You barely noticed the person that sat down in the booth until they spoke.

“Y/N.”

You looked up to see your boyfriend looking at you concerned, taking in the inky colours underneath your eyes. It wasn’t hard to see that sleep had evaded you for the last little while. It was concerning for Jughead.

“Hey.” You smiled placing your hands back into your lap while Jughead ran his eyes across your features, “Something wrong Jug?”

“Why are you here so late?”

“Can’t sleep-“

“The truth.” Jughead firmly said.

“I haven’t been sleeping.” You admitted, “I can’t fall asleep in a house where screaming takes place every night. There’s no peace at all.”

Jughead’s heart broke when the tears gathered as your voice broke in synch with his heart. You were normally one of the strongest girls he had ever known. When you learnt about his home situation you had fought him to tell the Andrews, despite Fred being a main reason why Jughead didn’t have a home anymore.

“Oh.” Jughead breathed sliding into your side of the booth instead. He wrapped his long arms around your shaking frame, leaning his chin on the top of your head, “It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry.” You mumbled, “Why are you out so late Jug?”

“Couldn’t write in the house. I’m so used to writing with you by my side or in here. I have words racing in my head but I couldn’t write with Archie playing his songs. He’s an amazing singer but those songs aren’t putting me in the writing mood.”

You chuckled as Jughead pressed a kiss to the top of your head. You were still wired so Jughead gripped your hand and tugged you out of the diner. The milkshake forgotten and if Hermione Lodge was being truthful, she hadn’t started making it when Jughead showed up.


You knew that he could see that you wouldn’t be able to sleep for awhile so he did something he knew you would like. The Twilight Drive-In was still in the process of being demolished but the shack that Jughead had slept in still stood.

“Come on.”

“Aren’t we trespassing?” You mumbled walking in while Jughead made sure the coast was clear.

“Probably.” He shrugged, “I know you though.”

You chuckled as the two of you dropped to the bed in silence. Jughead was different when it was just the two of you and not around your peers. You each had an uncanny distaste for public displays of affection to the disappointment of Kevin.

“Do you remember when I invited you here for our first date?” Jughead asked putting his arm around your shoulders.

“Of course I do!” You laughed.

“Movies, and when the second movie started I couldn’t help myself from kissing you.” Jughead whispered leaning his forehead against yours. The atmosphere got charged when he pressed his lips against yours.

“I remember you pulled back and I crashed mine against yours.” You breathed.

“I don’t…” Jughead trailed off before, “Can you refresh my memory?”

Without another word you pushed your body onto his lap and pushed his hat off his head. Your lips moved against each other passionately as you gasped when Jug’s hand came to rest of your thigh.

Jughead pulled away to trail his lips down your neck to suck on your collarbone. You released a breathy moan as you clenched his hair in your hands, arching into his chest. You took pride in knowing you had turned him on.

“Y/N…” Jughead breathed as you rubbed yourself on his hard on. He moaned as his head rested on your chest before gripping your hips in a bruising hold.

He pressed his hands on your hips down as he slowly dragged you up and down his lap. You hissed when your clit dragged across the zipper of his black jeans. He let go to push his jacket and sweater off his arms before returning his hands back to your hips.

You grinded against him harder both of you hissing and panting as you leaned down. You ran your lips slowly up his jaw, teasingly leaving small bites. You bit him at the same time he groaned lowly.

“I also remember what happened a few dates after that” you said as a smirk crossed your face as you began to speed up.

“You talking about the one that Archie walked in on?” Jughead smirked dragging his hands up under your shirt and pulling it off and onto the floor within seconds.

“More like the one after that.” You breathed slowly dragging his shirt up his body, “The one where we-“

You gasped when you turned flipped onto your back with Jughead hovering above you with one hand trailing fire down your chest to the button of your jeans. He slowly kissed the underside of your jaw while his fingers carefully and awkwardly undid the button and pulled back to remove your jeans.

“I’ll never get out of this.” Jughead whispered, his eyes igniting the fire in you to higher temperatures.

“Jug…please.” You whispered pulled him back down onto your body. The start had been intense but it slowed down, possibly because of the awkwardness, to wear you caressed each others skin.

You made quick work of Jughead’s black jeans by shoving them off by your feet along with his boxers. You moaned taking in his size despite it not being the first time you had seen each other naked.

“You’re wearing too many clothes. I’d prefer the soft, supple skin.”

With shaking fingers Jughead couldn’t entirely release your bra clasps with fluid movements but that was okay. With an apology breathed into the crook of your neck you switched positions with Jughead, now you straddled his thighs as you swiftly removed your underwear. Jughead had taken the time to stroke himself.

You took your tall and lean boyfriend splayed out on the cot with his green eyes darkened with desire and his tongue running over his swollen lips. Your heated gaze raked over his form from his ruffled raven hair going everywhere both from his hat and your fingers.

You didn’t even notice that his free hand had moved to the apex of your thighs. It never failed to amaze you how his touch could make you nearly collapse. You felt more than saw him move to lean against the wall and drag you up. In unison Jughead and you hissed as you sank down on him.

Jughead had this thing where he wouldn’t let either of you move as he let the feeling overpower him. A beat later he had you bouncing using his power as you felt boneless before you met him thrust for thrust. Swivelling your hips as you sank down you had Jughead gasping.

“Oh god.” You breathed squeezing your eyes closed as Jughead’s thumb pressed into your clit, “Holy sh-“

“I’m c-lose.” Jughead exclaimed tugging you down with his other hand. You ground your hips gripping his hair tightly. With a harsh brush against your clit you fell into your climax

Jughead got off on the way you came. You’re skin would colour into the most beautiful pink he had ever seen. Your toes and fingers would curl together while your nose crinkled at the strongest crest. Your hair would be a halo around your head and his favourite part was when his name fell from your lips like a raindrop from a flower petal.

Breathing was difficult as you both came down from your highs shaking from the intense love-making. Jughead dragged you down to lay down but the chill in the room caused goosebumps to raise on your body.

“We should probably go home.” Jughead breathed, “Getting caught by the cops in here wouldn’t be fun.”

“Yeah.” You yawned, “Do you want to stay over at my place?”

“What about your-“

“You know my parents love you. They’re fine with you staying if the door isn’t closed all the way.” You whispered.

In a comfortable silence you dressed quickly, only this time Jughead’s sweater was wrapped around you. In typical fashion it was much too big on you but in your rush to get out of your house you had grabbed the thinnest sweater you had by accident. Jug’s hat was back on his head and his arm was around your shoulder.

Jughead had a lot of shades to himself where he was a novelist, student, best friend and boyfriend. He was sarcastic and intelligent with a certain way of words. He was cool and collected with a witty remark to anything but he was different behind closed doors. Sex with Jughead wasn’t the smooth sailing in tv shows and movies but instead it was true with awkwardness that dissipated when you got more and more well versed with each others bodies.

“I love you.” Jughead whispered into your hair when you were asleep in his arms in the safety of your room. He didn’t say it often but he showed it a lot. Jughead loved you even if he didn’t say the words and you returned the same feelings.

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@sgarrett49 @superstitiousinstincts @queenkc1 @welcome-to-my-broken-sanctuary

When you’ve had a lot of exposure to the SJ side of Tumblr, you’ll start to pick up common abusive tactics they use to instill control over people who are unsure of what side they want to be on.

The most common type I’ve seen was projection. It’s when someone wants to remove all accountability from the actions resulting from bad traits they hold by attributing those bad traits onto you. And I’ve seen it in this form the most: Somebody could go into hysterics about the supposed ‘self-hate’ you have because of certain political views you hold (that don’t apparently “line up” with your minority status), but a quick scroll down through their blog would either reveal those typical self-depreciating posts, how much they hate/want to kill themselves, or how nobody else likes them.

They tell you not to talk to certain people they perceive to be bigoted based on their very broad definition of one. If that doesn’t work, they’ll resort to toying with your emotions. I’ve talked about this before, but they’ll insist that nobody else (outside of the minority group they’re apart of) cares about them. Basically it usually goes like: “If you associate with them, they’ll drop you in a heartbeat when you don’t become useful to them anymore, but since we’re the only people who supposedly care about you, you’re better off staying with us no matter how much abuse we throw at you.” They feel threatened when anyone, especially other minorities who are expected to have camaraderie with them at all costs, point out faults within their mindset so they resort to this particular tactic.

There’s also the “Preemptive Defense” strategy which a lot of narcissists love to use. I didn’t know there was an exact word for this, but I’ve seen this one play out way too often on here. It’s when someone says you should trust them right off the bat because they’re a “nice person”. But on here it comes in the form of trusting someone - especially believing whatever they say without question - because they’re a minority of some sorts. Because they’re a minority and therefore inevitably ‘oppressed’, everything they say, they say with good intentions (or everything they say is right) even if it comes in the form of overtly abusive language.

And you can’t really do shit about it cause, “You gotta listen to them or else you’re speaking over them and denying their right to a voice!”

Another attribute that narcissists share (and lots of people on here) are subjecting people to “smear campaigns”. They control how others see you by making themselves out to be the good person while you’re the toxic one. A smear campaign is a preemptive strike to sabotage your reputation and slander your name so that you won’t have a support network to fall back on lest you decide to detach and cut ties with this toxic person. They may even stalk and harass you or the people you know as a way to supposedly “expose” the truth about you; this exposure acts as a way to hide their own abusive behavior while projecting it onto you. I think I’ve lost count of the amount of times I’ve seen this happen here.

They deliberately misrepresent your thoughts and put words in your mouth too. They’ll try their damn hardest to rephrase whatever you say to make your opinions sound like garbage. This gives them a sense of power as everybody comes running to their side and away from yours because they purposely misinterpreted the core argument you made in your post. One of their favorite approaches is finding something slightly off with your wording and using that to twist the point you made while moving the goalposts at the same time. I made a post that said ‘Radfems will call a transwoman a man because they raped somebody as if men are the only ones capable of rape’ and I got swarms of replies talking about how I didn’t care about the rape victim affected (which they ironically proceeded to deny his identity by referring to him as a ‘’female’’ because he was a transman) because I happened to bring up a different issue at that time. Either that or I was a rape apologist.

Once they lose that sense of control – because you disagree with their thought process – they’ll either try to strip of you of your identity or use fear-tactics (i.e: nobody cares for you except for us) as a consequence of not conforming to their political views. “If someone’s reaction to you setting boundaries or having a differing opinion from your own is to threaten you into submission, whether it’s a thinly veiled threat or an overt admission of what they plan to do, this is a red flag of someone who has a high degree of entitlement and has no plans of compromising.”

Then comes the oversimplifications and generalizations of complicated matters. They’re left-wing versions of reactionaries, they don’t bother to look at things from different perspectives; they instead apply their own bias where they see fit. They have no concept of nuance and dismiss people who point this out.

Enough is Enough

Dean x Reader

Word Count: 1,067

Warnings: slight panic attack, language, asshole Dean 

Request: Can I request an imagine where the reader lives with the brothers at the bunker & Dean is always a jerk to her & then one day she has a panic attack & then fluff ensues…

Summary: Reader has lived & hunted with the boys for 3 years & usually puts up with Dean being a dick pretty well. One night, she can’t take anymore and has a panic attack.

A/N: Enjoy!! Feedback greatly appreciated!! And thank you to @mamapeterson for just reading over this before I posted it lol wasn’t too confident on it tbh but I hope y’all like it!!

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givenchy & gold (m.)

;pairing — jungkook/reader

;warnings — sex | implied exhibitionism | mild dom/sub tones | if u’ve got a praise kink then ur gonna love this | mentions of daddy kinks | instances of spanking 

;summary — you’re the supervisor of the clothing department with a lot of useless lingerie knowledge, jungkook is the jewelry department’s defiant hot boy who flirts in wristwatch brands. basically an upscale retail au, but with lots of implied under-the-counter sex. and when an opportunity presents itself to fuck each other in the boss’s office after hours, you’re both too hot for each other to say no.

;word count — 20k im so sorry

part i | part ii (coming soon!)

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First Time for Everything

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Word Count: 2,400

Warnings: smut, language, hilarity

Summary: (inspired by this post by @missjackil ) Sam’s never had a blowjob, so you take it upon yourself to convince Sam to let you give him his first ever blowjob.

Send a message or leave a comment! Feedback is always appreciated!

Dean loved to brag. He bragged about everything, from the perfectly executed execution of the monster on their latest hunt to how many beers he’d outdrank his brother by. Usually the latter ended with him toppling onto one of the two beds, slurring his way into a sleep that would last for a good twelve hours. Sometimes he bragged about the blowjob he’d gotten from the pretty bar waitress, betting Sam that “he’d probably never gotten a better blowjob.”

And it was true.

Sam hadn’t gotten a better blowjob because he’d never even gotten a blowjob.

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