and men are not really a focus

anonymous asked:

I'm a trans guy and there's this really cute guy in my class that I like. The problem is, apparently he thinks I'm a butch lesbian (which I learned from a mutual friend). How do I bring this up and correct him without calling too much attention to it?

Charlie says:

if you’re talking to him, you can casually mention either being a boy or liking boys really easily if you see an opportunity. “Oh, my ex-boyfriend used to….” “I was peeing in the mens restroom and…” (okay maybe don’t use that second one. but still.)

 It may be hard to just straight up say you’re not a butch lesbian because your denial of this may come across as homophobic if you don’t deny it in a tasteful manner (”I’m not a lesbian, god no!” not that you’d say that but it’s very possible to create a misunderstanding.) But I would focus on either telling him casually or having your friend do it for you!! 

yeah no wonder woman was fukin incredible lemme tell ya why
  • w o m e n    f i g h t i n g   
  • like with godly strength 
  • doing slow-motion flips and stabbing and shit
  • it doesn’t try to focus on another thirteen fukin DCU characters okay it’s diana prince’s story
  • tiny diana!!!!!!!!
  • chris pine is rad and has a really great arc
  • gal gadot being better than all men combined
  • steve tryin to explain people things
  • basically just every man being shooketh by wonder woman
  • it’s directed by a woman and women aren’t sexualized!!!!
  • a+ soundtrack very good very epic
  • do you want to see animated oil paintings
  • remus lupin gets real angry
  • pretty damn seamless cgi
  • beautiful visual effects and costumes 
  • asks really serious questions about humanity and race and gender and ethics
  • “diana stay put” how about i do not
  • also gal gadot was five months pregnant during reshoots (which included stunts) and that’s the most badass thing ever
  • just enough campiness but not too much
  • f i  g  h  t  s
  • diana being done with guns
  • diana being done with the prejudice of man in general
  • basically gal gadot’s entire being 
  • it’s a movie that encourages women and portrays them as fierce and independent while also allowing them to show vulnerability and look wonder woman finally got it right and it made me emotional please go see it
Chris Pratt, attractive rich heterosexual white man, says he doesn't feel represented in Hollywood.

America’s favorite Average White Man has an interview with People magazine ahead of the sequel to Guardians of the Galaxy.  

“I don’t see personal stories that necessarily resonate with me, because they’re not my stories,” Pratt, 37, told the magazine. “I think there’s room for me to tell mine, and probably an audience that would be hungry for them. The voice of the average, blue-collar American isn’t necessarily represented in Hollywood.”

I’m actually amused by how earnest he is.  Has he ever even been to the movies?

I’m pretty sure there’s a whole genre of movies based on average, blue-collar American white men literally saving some brown person’s country or the entire planet or whole other planets.  

I’m pretty sure there’s a whole genre of movies where average, blue-collar American white men pine after some woman who is probably too good for them and then a whole lot of stuff happens in the middle where she realizes whoever she’s with is a dick and she should be with the protagonist instead so the average guy can get the girl.

I’m pretty sure there’s a whole genre of movies where average, blue-collar American white men – who are usually from Chicago or Boston – go into a life of crime for some noble reason (or not) and we sit for 90 minutes rooting for a “hero” who is literally breaking the law in every frame and/or killing people.

Chris Pratt sounds like someone strapped him in to a chair and made him watch Moonlight for 17 days so now he forgot that Hollywood is literally founded on white mediocrity.  But wait!  There’s more:

“I really feel there’s common ground out there that’s missed because we focus on the things that separate us,” he said. “You’re either the red state or the blue state, the left or the right. Not everything is politics. And maybe that’s something I’d want to help bridge, because I don’t feel represented by either side.”

I actually do think there’s common ground out there, and the common ground is the provable fact that the vast majority of Americans are a lot less prosperous than they realize, especially in comparison to the corporations they work for where all of the money is being hoarded.  Our common ground as Americans would be redistributing the enormous wealth of this country so that we all could experience a higher standard of living.  Unfortunately, that’s not possible because the things that separate us (mostly race, class, education, and location) are effectively used by our political system to keep an Us vs Them society among average Americans.  This ensures that we don’t turn the country into a Haves vs HaveNots society where the overwhelming majority of Americans would define themselves as the HaveNots if they were thinking clearly and less concerned with how much they have in comparison to a neighbor who doesn’t look and/or think like they do.

But that’s not where Chris Pratt is.  Chris Pratt is one of those Everybody Is So Upset, Can’t We All Just Get Along? yokels who doesn’t want to deal with conflict.  He doesn’t have to deal with the day to day consequences of politics so to him, not everything is politics.  I’d love to see what kind of bridge he is planning to make with his everyman blue-collar American heterosexual movie that speaks to him and has never been done before repeatedly.  Let me know how it is.  I’ll go spend my HaveNot money on something else.

This situation with Beyoncé really highlights how black women’s pain and emotional abuse is dismissible. Whether Beyoncé has “forgiven him” is not the issue. It’s the fact that Jay-Z has admitted to stripping Beyoncé of her innocence and causing her distress. It’s the significant age gap. But all they can focus on is how much of an idol Jay-Z is for black men for promoting black business. How about treating black women right? Once again pro-blackness equates to pro-black men.

The Ultimate Guide to POT Dates

POT
noun, (pronounced: pē-oh-tē)
A potential Sugar Daddy. This is a man you have not met yet, but are considering starting an arrangement with, or have been on a date with, but haven’t established anything solid yet. In short, a man who you think could potentially be your sugar daddy, but aren’t quite sure yet.

So you’ve checked out his profile, messaged with him a little, decided he could be the one for you; the main question asked now is - what do I do next?

The answer is simple, but for the Sugar Babies who are new, it’s often terrifying. Using the experience I’ve gotten after being a Sugar Baby for a while, I’ve put together a complete guide on how to handle that very first date, so that maybe it goes a little smoother than mine did! xo

Before You Meet

  • Get a feel for him over messaging/text - There’s nothing worse than being stuck for an hour or two with a man who has an attitude, is full of himself, or is just salty, that’s why it’s important to work out what type of person he is. 
                    ‣ Identifying Factors:
                            - He has a sleezy username on SA: if his username is ‘CunnilingusMaster69′ or something along those lines, it’s blatantly obvious what’s he looking for.
                            - His responses don’t mirror yours: think about conversational mirroring and use it to help you gauge the success of your conversation. It’s a form of social psychology that is pretty important to how anyone is perceived. If you’re typing out paragraph after paragraph and he is replying with short responses (or vice versa), it’s obvious one party is more interested than the other.
                            - He asks for sexual photos: if he’s asking for sexual photos without even met with you for the first time, then he’s got one thing on his mind and it’s probably pay per play. However, most Sugar Daddy’s will ask for extra photo’s, to make sure you’re not catfishing them, so be ready for that request and have extra photo’s you can send that aren’t on your profile (I usually send one cute selfie and a second full body pic in a nice outfit.) Please note: Snapchat ‘puppy’ filter selfies are not appropriate to send as an additional selfie, maybe once you’ve met him a few times, but not prior to a first meet. You’re already younger than him, there is no need to make yourself seem even younger.
                            - He asks you questions of a sexual nature (ie: your favorite position, sexual history, what you’re into, kinkiest desires, etc): there is absolutely no need for tacky sexual questions, especially if you two haven’t met before. It is important to understand that yes, sugaring is based on sex, sugaring is sex work, but it’s not only sex. Sugaring is about companionship, chemistry, new experiences, and then sex. If he requires a detailed list of what you will or will not do sexually just to meet you for the first time, then he is obviously not looking for a sugar arrangement, he’s just looking for pay per play (which is fine if pay per play is what you’re looking for, each sugar baby is entitled to her own wants and desires out of an arrangement).
                   ‣ Tip:
                           - Whenever an SD asks me “what i am willing to do”, i always reply with this. It’s elegant, polite, and successfully moves the conversation to other topics.
  • Get as many details about him as you can - Meeting someone off the internet is always a little unnerving, especially when it’s a man twice or three times your age. To feel safer, ask for as many details from him as you can, then reverse search the information you have (ie: his phone number, email, name, etc.) to find out his address, income, family members, and other information of the sort. The same goes with photo’s, reverse search them to find out company info, criminal history, and if he’s on any other sites (this helps cross-check age, location, and other facts he has listed on his profile).
  • Choose an identity and stick to it - Think about the type of person you want to convey (ie: the struggling but motivated university student, the driven twenty-something, the educated single mother, the urban socialite, etc) and build yourself up around that image. If you don’t feel comfortable using your real name with POT’s, use a fake name. Invent fake facts and stories or recall certain facts and stories from your life that correspond to the type of person you want to be. Remember, the more you have, the better. Most POT’s will ask you to some extent, some more than others, about you (ie: your job, your likes/dislikes, your upbringing, your dreams/aspirations, your background, your parents/their occupation, etc) and you will need to be prepared to answer. On the other hand, be prepped with questions to ask him, this date is about getting to know each other, it’s a waste of time if you leave knowing nothing about him.
                  ‣ Tip:
                           - If you’re struggling with coming up with questions, check out this and this, there’s a large variety of questions that you could use.
  • Make sure he understands that absolutely nothing sexual will happen on this date - There should be no sex on a first date, absolutely nothing sexual. If your POT believes that coffee/lunch/dinner/drinks and a hundred dollars should equal sex in the hotel down the block, then you leave him right there and then. We are ladies looking for gentlemen with the means to provide for us and support us. If he’s only interested in sex in exchange for money, then he’s looking for an escort, not a sugar baby. (Note: if sex in exchange for money is what you’re looking for, then go right ahead and make that cash, every girl is allowed to make her own choices!)
  • Agree to meet in a PUBLIC place - Always meet for the first time in a public place (A restaurant, coffee shop, bar, hotel lounge/lobby, etc) because your safety and comfort comes first! If he invites you up to his hotel room for a drink, decline by saying that is something you would love to do sometime, but would feel better meeting in a public space first. If you starts arguing or does not agree to this, drop him. You don’t need to waste your time on an asshole like him. 
                 ‣ Additionally: 
                          - Have your own transportation to and from your meet! Do not get into his car thinking you’ll save a little cash, even if he was kind and definitely legitimate! Personally: I don’t let POT’s get me an Uber home either, I don’t feel comfortable with them knowing my exact address.
  • Ask for a gift - While this isn’t something that is necessary to do, it’s something that I do. If you’re aiming for a gift, make sure to ask after you have made plans to meet or at least a day before you meet, this gives the POT time to either go shopping for you or go to an ATM for some cash. If you’re aiming for travel compensation, then feel free to ask a few hours before or even during the date, travel compensation is something usually all POT’s will agree to. This or this are the ways I use to ask, either one usually work flawlessly.
                 ‣  Keep in mind
                         - It is not a red flag if he declines to bring you a gift! At this point in your relationship, he owes you just as much as you owe him, which is nothing. If he declines, just say that’s it’s okay and then (if you still want a little cash) try the travel compensation method.
  • Text to confirm - One of the worst things is dolling yourself up and then coming out to meet, only to find that your POT actually couldn’t make it. That’s why it’s important to confirm your meeting a few hours before in a quick little text.
  • Stay SAFE - Safety has always and will always be the number one thing in the sugar bowl which is why you need to make sure you have at least one person who know’s who you’re meeting, where, and when. If you don’t feel comfortable telling anyone you know in real life, message me and I will gladly be your safety contact. In addition to having a safety contact, it is always a good idea to carry around a bottle of mace with you, for creepy POT’s and creepy men in general.

During Your Meet

  • Make an entrance - Often,the first part of the conversation happens before you open your mouth, sometimes it happens before you’ve even laid eyes on them. When you enter any room, have your head up and your shoulders down. Don’t strut, but walk gracefully, swaying your hips gently, you can even look up videos of models on catwalks and learn how to walk like they do. Be dramatic, walk like you’re the center of attention - you’re a sugar baby: you’re young, stunning, and seductive. Pause in the entrance and survey the room slowly, let your eyes to travel from one side of the room to the other, until you locate your POT. It may sound a little silly, but a proper entrance will captivate anyone, especially your POT. Knowing how to walk properly and make an entrance is useful in practically every aspect of your life, not just in sugaring. 
  • Keep the focus on them - I’ve noticed that POT’s (and SD’s in general really) love to talk about themselves, some SB’s will even go as far as to say that these men don’t care about the things you say unless it directly relates to them (in my experience this isn’t always true, it depends on the man). Try to find a way to refocus the conversation about him, you will easily become his favorite person to speak to.
                ‣ Additionally:
                         - If he shows pride, you give praise. If he says something, then pauses, and looks at you significantly, he’s waiting for the applause. Be there to give it to him. You don’t even have to think what he did was impressive. You just have to be there ready to dispense a pat on the back  Do not be over dramatic, smile, look impressed, and stroke his ego.
  • Pay attention when he speaks - Be engaged in the conversation: ask questions to further your understanding of the topic, make comments to indicate that you are paying attention, laugh a little to signal that you are having fun, smile to show that you enjoy being in his company, and make eye contact! If you look a person in the eye, it signals that you not only hear what they’re saying but are interested in it. If you have to look away do it slowly, this reinforces your interest and enjoyment of what you’re hearing.
  • Don’t fidget - It ruins your credibility. Often, stillness is compared with integrity. Those that can look someone in the eye and sit still are usually believed over those that try to say something while squirming in their seat. It’s important to have good posture as well, don’t slump in your seat and if you do, catch yourself and correct your posture. 
               ‣  Don’t worry:
                        - Your hair looks fine, your clothing fits you well, and your phone will not explode if you don’t check it for an hour. Your main focus should be your POT, not the little things about your appearance.
  • Relax - You might be a little nervous over the first date, but chances are, he probably is too! Some SD’s are nervous the first time meeting, this might be due to the fact that you’re much younger than he is or he might be downright intimidated because of your looks. Your job is to make him feel at ease and the easiest way to help him feel at ease is to be at ease yourself. People play off each other’s energies and your body language speaks volumes, so try your best to just relax.
  • End on a good note - End the date with a hug or a handshake (or a kiss on the cheek, if you like him), something physical so that you touch and it leaves him wanting a little more. If you went out for lunch/dinner, tell him how thankful you are for taking you out, how much you loved the food, and how he has great taste in restaurants

After Your Meet

  • Assessing him - A person’s appearance and demeanor speaks volumes about them. Observe not his wallet, his cufflinks, or his shoes, but his mannerisms, his eloquence, and his overall conduct. Many good sugar daddies may not look the part, but they will act it. There’s no forcing chemistry, so it’s best to figure that out right away before delving deeper.
                  ‣ Questions to think about:
                         
    - Does he ask you first what you want to eat?
                         - Is he interested in what you’re saying?
                         - How does he talk about his family, his employees?
                         - Is he nice to the waitstaff?
                         - How much is he tipping?
                         - Were your personalities compatible?
                         - Did you have a lot in common?
                         - Was it easy to hold a conversation with him, or were there awkward silences?
                         - Is this someone you’d be comfortable being seen in public with, going on vacations with, and generally spending time with?
  • Send a follow up text - If the date went well, shortly after you meet (a few hours or a day, at most), send the POT/SD a text saying that it was a pleasure meeting him and you’d love to see him again. When (or if) he responds, you might be able to schedule your next date!
  • Think about your loses - If the date didn’t go so well, you got a free coffee/lunch/dinner/gift. If your POT contacts you and asks you out again, decline politely and wish him luck finding what he’s looking for.

Allowance Talk - Yes Or No?

There’s a lot of disagreement on whether or not you should speak about allowance with your POT on a first date. I’ve had POT’s bring up numbers over text/on the phone/email (prior to meeting and after meeting) and during coffee/lunch/dinner/drinks. In my opinion, let him bring up the allowance talk.

  • If he does, express your desires concerning allowances, gifts, and how the arrangement will work. Most arrangements end due to schedule conflicts and misunderstanding expectations, be clear about what you want. 
  • If he doesn’t, that’s completely fine too. You’ll most likely speak about it on your second date or over some electronic format.
  • If you touch on the subject but you notice he’s not too keen on delving into it at the moment, leave it alone. This sends your POT the message that you’re more interested in a suitable arrangement than the money, as well as that you are nowhere near desperate and while you are interested in him, not overly so. This lack of overt interest gives you more control of the relationship from the get-go. It also shows that he cannot control you or gain your interest with his money alone. This makes it easier for you to discuss the terms of the relationship, set boundaries, and negotiate your allowance later on.

What to Wear

Men are visual creatures, they love eye-catching arm candy, but most prefer elegance or casual classy to outright flashy. However, showing all your goods on the first meeting is not a good idea. Choose one thing to show off, this leaves his imagining and wanting more. Keep in mind where you’re meeting, as well. There’s no need to go all out if you’re just meeting for coffee.

  • If you’re meeting for coffee - Jeans and a pretty blouse will be just fine, top it off with flats or boots and you’ll be good to go. If it’s warmer out, a sundress is perfectly acceptable too.
                ‣  Keep in mind
                        - Meeting a POT for the first time in shorts is not appropriate, there is no need to play up the age difference between the two of you, even if it is hot outside.
  • If you’re meeting for lunch/dinner/drinks - A formfitting dress will do you good, especially if it’s dinner or drinks. Complete the look with a nice pair of heels and some jewelry, if you’re having trouble figuring out which jewelry to wear with what, check out this!
  • Makeup - Keep the makeup light and natural, opt for neutral colors rather than darker ones. Get your nails done, fill in your brows, foundation, mascara, light colored eye shadow, and lipstick/lip-gloss is all you’ll need. I prefer to top up my look with a slightly red nude lip (since my lips are full and the color makes them pop more), even though most SB’s suggest to stay away from all red’s.

So there you have it dolls, an ultimate guide to POT dates. Feel free to add on your own tips! Keep sugaring, dolly xoxo

anonymous asked:

"When girls and women are taught self defence (and I mean literally taught. Most women have had at least one class in school on it) we are taught that hitting is the absolute LAST resort. Realistically? If a man has actually punched us? 90%+ of women are fucked already. There is no defence against someone stronger than you hitting you." So can a woman who gets punched can actually defend herself or not?

Women aren’t made of porcelain.

We’re not some separate species, or utterly different physically from men. The concept of “woman” is a societal one. It changes based on socialization, and changes based on the society’s belief on what a woman is. It’s a nebulous concept, with no solid value when hitching one’s identity to it and the same is true for men. Societal constructs like masculinity and femininity are linked heavily to societal expectations and how we’re raised. When someone says, “a woman can’t” when a “man can” most of the time they’re referring to societal expectations taken as fact. These beliefs often have nothing to do with reality, and you only have to look at the vast differences in the United States when it comes to stereotyping women of different ethnicity, various cultures, or income levels just to see how shallow those ideas are.

There are female soldiers, female police officers, female martial artists of every stripe, and the warriors are countless going back generations. You can, in fact, find them if you look. This is before we get to athletes and all the other non-combat positions women occupy today that society said, “impossible!” just a few decades ago.

This is why understanding the effects of socialization is so important. When it comes to learning, what you believe will decide what you are.

Here’s the truth: no one takes a punch well when they’re mentally unprepared for it.

Here’s the other: most people (men included) aren’t trained to take hits.

Notice that you’re instructor told you, “Don’t piss off men. You’re helpless if they decide to physically assault you.”

They did not teach you what it looks like when a punch is incoming, or what the change over looks like. Good self-defense teaches you to be aware of your surroundings and learn to determine when danger is potentially incoming. You can’t respond when you don’t know its coming, and you can’t prepare for it, physically or mentally, when taken by surprise. The first moments of a real fight are crucial. Those seconds it takes to recognize danger and react to it when you’re already in the middle of being hit is too late. You’ve lost the initiative, you’re playing catch up, and that’s a terrible position to be in when you’re trained. It’s pretty much almost always unrecoverable if you’re not.

It has nothing to do with being a man, and its disingenuous from a self-defense perspective to focus entirely on them. While far more likely, men are not the only ones who can or will hit you. Women aren’t any safer, and can be just as predatory.

The problem with these self-defense classes is if you’re really serious about learning to defend yourself then you need to train for it. Good professionals worth their salt will always tell you that you need to be training in some martial art, and practicing the techniques you learned in your self-defense course constantly so that they become embedded in your muscle memory.

When I was forced into one these high school self-defense courses, my seventeen year old martial artist self thought they were stupid and overall pretty pointless, and they didn’t come at us with any of the above bullshit about getting punched. Girls who’ve done an hour of self-defense five years ago aren’t going to be able to perform jiujutsu throws, they’ll be lucky if they remember the bear hug escapes or how to roll the wrist against the thumb and tug if someone tries to take you were you don’t want to go (and then not know what to do once they’ve gotten free because they never practice running). Forget punching, they won’t remember how to do that.

If you aren’t practicing to the point where it becomes second nature, with the added benefit of learning self-defense techniques that are exceedingly easy to memorize (believe it or not, not all self-defense programs will teach these), and doesn’t come with the caveat that if you’re serious you need more education then they’re pretty worthless.

All your class seems to have taught you is how to be a willing victim, and that’s the worst kind of self defense.

“If someone attacks you, you can do nothing so just give up.”

That’s tantamount to admitting that they didn’t really teach you anything, and don’t want you to think they did. You’re not even in exactly the same place you were before you took that class. Mentally, you’re worse off.

If you don’t believe you can, then you won’t and it’s simple as that.

It should come as no surprise to anyone that when it comes to self-defense, you get what you pay for.

Taught is not not taught, the vast majority of high schools don’t have classes. They have one hour a year (maybe) devoted to it (usually P.E.), and sometimes its not even required. If you’re lucky, it’s a seminar of a few days. If you’re really lucky, they’ll bring in one of the female (or male) police officers from a local precinct who specializes in the police’s self-defense training they give the public. However, you are not guaranteed to have a professional, or even just a local officer. Often, it’s just the PE teacher who took a three month course. What girls get in high school depends heavily on what waivers the school is willing to sign and how much liability they’re willing to take on. It also depends on who is doing the hiring, who they are hiring, and whether they actually care.

Believe it or not, there are plenty of people out there who think women don’t need to learn self-defense and don’t want to waste the school’s already limited resources on hiring someone for a few hours. Especially when you can’t learn much self-defense in a few hours, and almost none of it is lasting.

If you’re from a country other than America, it might be different, but if you’re referring American education then its important to remember you’re experiences (whatever they were) aren’t universal. No, really. Education varies heavily from district to district, and can be vastly different within single cities depending on where you live, this is before we get to county versus county, and that’s before we get to the differences between the states. In America, public education heavily dependent on money and property values. The higher the house value, the richer the district, then the better the education. Its important to know, that when it comes to education, segregation is economic. America and Americans have no real true standard for education or education value. What you get depends on where you live, and often on parental involvement.

You can’t learn self-defense in an hour or two. You will be fucked up by shitty instructors, sexist instructors, and negligent instructors. If you are not doing your own research and taking control of learning to defend yourself then you are likely to get one of the above. If you look at self-defense as all being the same, that combat is an innate skill set possessed by only one side of the human species, if you honestly believe on some level you are inferior to men (and if you’re young, white, female, and WASP, you better believe you’ve been conditioned by society at large to see yourself that way) and that there’s no point in even trying, you will be fucked.

Combat is a learned skill.

It is not innate. You have to learn it. It is not inherently masculine. If you are a woman learning to fight, you’re not actually all that special or standout. There are plenty of women out there learning to fight. However, you’ve got to go looking for it. It won’t be handed to you.

One of the most empowering aspects in learning to fight is taking control of your own safety. You are no longer reliant on the charity or uncertainty of those around you, and that certainty will drive off most predators. Predators don’t want a real fight, they aren’t looking. 9/10, they want victims who are vulnerable and go down easy. So, whether you’re male or female, and you’re worried about your safety then head to your local police precinct, find a seminar, and that’ll point you toward freedom.

So, TLDR:

Women can take punches but not if they’re not prepared for it and whoever was teaching you is a shithead.

Don’t let their idiocy turn you into a willing victim.

This post is a public service announcement, not martial arts training.

Go get some.

-Michi

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2

Animedia 2017 June
Kuroshitsuji: Book of the Atlantic

featuring Grell and William sharing an umbrella


If anyone would like to translate the article, feel free to message me for hi-res raws. But in case anyone is curious, this is just a fun promo piece for BotA DVD/BD but with focus on Grell’s preference of men. The talk about loving cold men, and how despite being fond of Sebastian, Grell’s real love is still William. That sort of thing. There is really nothing we don’t already know.

I continue to be ALL ABOUT “Adrien Agreste can’t be bisexual but it’s probably almost definitely fine for Chat Noir to be” as one of Adrien’s personal rules for his “no-pun-intended model son”/”destructo-boy superhero” divide, and I mean this in every way, up to and including: 

  • randomly deciding one night to just start ranking past akuma victims by hotness while patrolling with Ladybug (she is so shocked that he doesn’t just say “Copycat” and be done with it that she lets him go on for like fifteen minutes before just cutting him off with “Jagged Stone, OBVIOUSLY” and then he pretends to be all scandalized because “my LADY you like OLDER MEN?? how will I ever COMPETE??”) 
  • the whole thing dissolves into semi-flirty bickering and afterwards Adrien goes home and breathes out the biggest sigh of relief of his LIFE that Ladybug did not freak out or get weird about it and then starts worrying if that was really obvious enough, maybe she just thought he was joking and not actually trying to come out to her or–
  • less-randomly deciding during the next akuma attack to make a point of going “OH NO HE’S HOT” about said akuma. Ladybug is like “okay fair he really is but FOCUS PLEASE, KITTY” (and THEN Adrien goes home and breathes out the biggest sigh of relief of his life.) 
  • checking out boys in the gossip rags with Marinette on her balcony when she’s supposed to be doing her homework (in addition to trying not to die when she points out one of Adrien’s ads MARINETTE THAT IS SO PHOTOSHOPPED FOR CRYING OUT LOUD–) and being delighted when she starts commenting on the GIRLS too, PRINCESS LET’S BE BI BESTIES 5EVER and Marinette is like “oh my god I should never have told you” but it is already Too Late 
  • making a point of regularly patrolling the rooftops of the queer neighborhoods and blowing kisses to random cuties who spot him, hello gay Paris I am one of your baby queers and I secretly wish I could do this without the mask on but HAH fat fucking chance of Father not hearing about THAT one BUT IN MY HEART OF HEARTS I TOTALLY WOULD 
  • regularly addressing Nino Lahiffe with such gems as “hot stuff”, “sweetheart”, and “stud” with a genuinely embarrassing level of sincerity and zero (0) percent shame every single time he encounters him, accidentally purring VERY LOUDLY one (1) time when Nino decides to call him “tiger” in response, and then being unable to look Nino in the eye as Adrien for two (2) days oh GOD 
Sutures and Stitches [m] (ft. Jeongguk) Part 1

Genre: Angst, action, fluff, mature (mentions of blood, wounds, medical jargon) (smut in future chapters)

→ Jungkook/Reader

→ 1.7k words

Summary: hitman!jeongguk and medstudent!Y/N bestfriends!au; Jeongguk always shows up to your place or hospital whenever he gets hurt because you guys are best friends and you patch him up, but he has no idea that every time you stitch up his wounds, it tears open new wounds in your own heart. 

part 1 | part 2 | part 3


It was your secret that your best friend was a hitman, and his secret that his best friend was a medical resident currently $200k in debt and working 80 hours a week saving people. But it worked out somehow. He kept you safe by walking you home to your dingy and dangerous apartment every night after your rounds ended in the dark hours of the night, and you helped him patch up any wounds and kept it secret from his friends and yours. It was a symbiotic relationship, dangerous anyhow, but it worked.

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anonymous asked:

Why do you hate the idea of "internalized anything? "

It’s a silly way of understanding marganilization in my opinion. Interactions take place within matrices of marginalization and material relations- the identities of the people engaging in the interactions are important but not terribly so, and certainly they are not so separable that they need their own term. So for instance, let’s say a black woman passes me by for a job and gives it to a white woman who’s less qualified, just because of things she assumed because she is black. The interaction between us takes place under the matrix of racism (I am denied access to material resources specifically due to my race) and that wouldn’t change if the woman denying me the job was Latina, or white- either way, my NOT being white and that being the determining factor here makes the interaction racist. Calling this an instance of “internalized racism” not only shifts the focus to that woman’s particular feelings (which honestly, they matter but in the whole scheme of the interaction, I don’t care) but also makes it seem as though this racism exists inside her, and is a personal problem, and not the result of being born and baptized in a racist system which has tainted her worldview. So had a white woman done the same thing, she would also be doing it because she had “internalized” the logics of racism- we all “internalize” these logics and have to work toward seeing them as ideology rather than truth. Racism isn’t internal, it’s external, and racist interactions occur within it- not just between individuals. Of course we should have special sympathy for people of color who seem especially impacted by racist thought in a way that makes them hate themselves. But for one thing, they aren’t internalizing anything that other people don’t (it just hurts other people less because it isn’t about them) and for another, we need to focus on the system at work.


I get the idea, I really do. And I sympathize with it. I do think women enacting misogyny in our interactions with each other comes from a different emotional place than when men do the same thing, and I think this deserves recognition. But at the end of the day, one woman not “internalizing” misogyny doesn’t make patriarchy go away. So I’m not terribly interested in the idea that marginalized people’s interactions with systems are different in this particular sense- they’re not really, but we stand to be hurt a whole lot more by them than people who aren’t the targets of those systems. I think a lot of my reaction is just visceral, a reaction to this idea that the problem lies within a particular person rather than in broad material structures. It feels nice, but doesn’t hold much political weight.

SPN Hunters and Poverty

Ok the Original Post* was getting pretty long and I wanted to go off on a tangent so I’ve started a new one here:

So like, the audience is supposed to think it’s uncomfortable and possibly wrong for people whose job it is to save the world to have a certain level of luxury. Which is less than the one the people making the story have.

Honestly, I always knew they were there, but for the first time I’m actually kinda creeped out by the class issues in SPN (ok, I lie- the prices Creation charges creep me the fuck out, but aside from that. I mean in the actual story). Like, Sam and Dean are not truly poor anymore. But they do still live partially as working poor. They’re still economically insecure; depicted as, in some ways, working poor people who go into mostly middle-class and upper-middle-class communities, do a horrifying vital service, and then disappear. And it’s romantic, heroic. But it’s wrong.

Like, it’s actually a moral wrong that they should be poor. They deserve to be at least as economically stable as their creators.

We talk a lot about romanticizing violence, but what does it mean that the whole structure of the show honestly kinda romanticizes the poverty of the working class? Walmart is not romantic; it just sucks. @chiisana-sukima

Yes, American SPN Hunters are portrayed, generally, as working class (Winchesters, Campbells, Bobby) or middle class (Asa Fox, Jody, Donna). I think it is important to keep in mind that one reason full time hunters often seem poor is that the majority of what they are doing is a) considered criminal and b) needs to stay secret.  So they have to live under/off the radar.  In order to do that, you need to be either VERY, VERY wealthy (and bribe everyone) or you have to commit fraud on a daily basis. Assuming none of our hunters have endless supplies of cash, being cheap helps with the daily committing fraud process. Here’s why/how:

1) Hunters scam credit cards  - because they can’t hold down a real job and hunt, which means they have no means of income (other than technically criminal activity like hustling pool and looting the monster victims). Also, they can’t BE themselves - they cannot afford to be traced - by the authorities OR by the very smart humanoid monsters they hunt. Scammed cards can get detected really fast if you are throwing money around. Also, scammed cards are only as good as their limit (which is likely to be low) - so you want to make them last as long as possible. Lastly, when your card IS caught, skeevy, ethically questionable places are less likely to report it to the police. So Hunters look for cheap, dive places to spend their fake cash. Note: often some of these skeevy places are NOT less expensive than the Holiday In Express - they just ask fewer questions or will rent a room without a credit card or will forget you were there (or are more used to cleaning up blood from sheets).

2) Hunters are con men - they have to pretend to be authority figures/repairmen/teachers/social workers/lost relatives in order to get the information they need. They need to be ‘noticed’ as little as possible and leave almost record of their stay. Using a credit card leaves a trail - so that means using cash in places that won’t notice cash, and eating in places that see (and forget) lots of strangers. They also need to be hard to find when their identity is questioned. Who would look for the FBI in a skeevy hotel? Those two shifty guys in flannel coming out of the dilapidated Inn on rt 20 couldn’t possibly be the nice men we talked to earlier today…[of course the giant black car and hunter’s ridiculously good looks aren’t a problem, but that’s tv land for you].

3) Hunters are rural nomads - Notice that, in general, Hunters try to stay out of cities. While one of the main themes of SPN was supposed to be a focus on ‘heartland America’  - but really, woods monsters hide in rural areas, and (in theory) many human-eating monsters are are nomads, roaming for food. Thus Hunters focus on rural America and move around a lot following the monsters. Rural America is full of very small towns/places with no other option than the 1-2 star hotel (or less). One of my fav personal stories is of staying in the ONE motel in the entire COUNTY in TN - and it was EXACTLY the kind of place a Hunter would stay (right down to the friendly diner next door and the truck stop on the other side).  If you were wealthy and wanted to stay in that area - you rented a whole HOUSE/cabin in the nearby picturesque woods  - which is likely to get VERY noticed - or you stayed 30-50 inconvenient miles away.

US Hunters Evolving: Donna and Jody are an exception to many of the above statements. But they are a different kind of hunter - one that fans feel is an evolution of the American Hunter - the regional protectors. Jody and Donna, both suburban middle class, use their actual positions of authority to learn about and track monsters and also to cover up the evidence. They keep their own gerenal area ‘clean’ and call in “full time” nomadic hunters to deal with scarier stuff or stuff they hear about outside their territories. Their positions and training also make them capable fighters - brave, good with guns, etc.

US Hunters Best of a Broken System: Lastly, remember that the US did have a system more like that of the BMOL - academic magicians in authority directing local hunters to kill problems. What the US has NOW is what developed as a stop gap when the MoL vanished. Hunters like Dorothy and Mr. Ketch (shudder) trained others to keep the monsters at bay. They were focused on the find and kill part - not the administrative outlook of “Hey, if we are smart and make enough $, we can do this job better, faster and more efficiently.”  ‘Cause *I* know I sleep better in nicer hotels and I WORK better if I’m really well rested. Sam and Dean are MACHINES, really, - the stuff they pull off given how crappy they treat their bodies…

In Conclusion: Hell, I’ve lost the thread of where I was really going with this…it has devolved into an examination of WHY the class differences exist between US and British ‘hunter systems’. Not sure I’ve addressed @chiisana-sukima‘s concern about the morality of SPN implying that hunters SHOULD be poor or working class. 

Anyone else?

The Night’s On Fire

Originally posted by igot7-love

MATURE

Warnings: Underage drinking, drunken sex.

You feel the bass pounding beneath your feet the moment you step out of the car. The massive house is overflowing with college kids (and brave locals), stumbling around with red cups in hand. You can see strobe lights flashing and smoke from the smoke machines drifting out of the open door and you know that this is not the place you want to spend your night.

“Smile, sweetheart,” one of the brothers slurs as you wait by the door for your roommate, “you’re at a party!”

Before you can retort, one of the more sober brothers working the door shoves him inside. “Sorry about him. He’s a new brother. They’re finally allowed to drink and he’s gotten a little out of control,” he explains. “I was going to ask over or under but because there’s vodka in your cup, I’m assuming over. Don’t tell me if I’m wrong.” He holds his hand out for yours and scribbles a circle on the back with a grin. “Enjoy the party.”

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theres two kinds of Lesbians Fans Of a Fictional Man:

1. “isnt it interesting that im only ‘attracted to’ men when theyre unattainable ? and im not even attracted to him really, im just a huge fan. ive actually found a healthy outlet for my socialized tendency to seek out or find a man on whom to focus thats compatible with my being a lesbian”

2. “shes trans”

Bioware Men - The Kissing Edition (updated) (Long)

(Author’s Note: I know I haven’t gotten ALL the Bioware men, but I’m working on it! (I’m missing Sebastian, but only because I really need to go mom up and take the kids to the library.) The Men of the Inquisition will end up here eventually. Er, once I actually finish the game.

As always, major props to my betas, Galleywinter and Zeroredemption!)


Kaidan is intense; lips, hands, every sense trained on you as if memorizing you through osmosis. His hunger is leashed, contained with the ruthless control that saw him through his first tour on the Normandy. He can’t contain it for long, though - not anymore, not after all this time, and all that formidable focus is entirely tactile, entirely on the task at hand, which is making you pant and writhe and scream until he can finally let himself trust that you’re real.

* * *

Alistair is reverent, worshipful; with him, a kiss is a paean to the Maker, a thing out of time and space. Delicate, as if he’s not sure quite what to do, or if you’ll disappear if he’s too quick, too harsh, or if his hands stray. But the strong, sword-calloused hands that won’t go below your waist are trembling, and his reverent mouth quickly heats to almost clumsy hunger, as if he wants to absorb you into himself where he can safeguard you from everything that’s coming.

* * *

Carth is rusty, as if he hasn’t kissed anyone in years and isn’t too sure he should be doing it now. His kiss is angry and hard, but he’s hungry, too…. so hungry for you. His hands bite into your shoulders, and he’s trembling; you’re honestly not sure if it’s from grief or rage or desire. Maybe he doesn’t know either. His Force presence is a whirl of so many things, but it’s your name on his lips as they follow the line of your jaw, your name he groans when your hips meet and rock together.

* * *

Zevran kisses like he kills; with skill, flair, and a certain amount of showmanship. He smiles against your throat, catlike and smug, whispers charming obscenities and flatteries in that exotic Antivan accent of his, until you’re drunk on him, everything about him. But when you kiss him back, that’s when that practiced smile starts to slide off his face. That’s when his golden eyes heat, when the lean muscles under your hands tense, when you can taste honesty mingled with desire on his tongue.

*  *  *

James is tequila-flavored adrenaline when he finally lets go and just takes your mouth like he takes every other military objective, all power and purpose and driving need. His big body is hot against yours, all muscle and undeniable strength; you knew he wanted you like hell burning even before he pulls you tight into him, lean hips surging into the cradle of yours as if he’s already inside you. His kiss might everything you expected, but you never dreamed how soft his lips were, or how the velvet brush of his shorn hair against your fingers made want pool inside you, hot and liquid and quivering.

* * *

Joker Moreau is stunningly physically restrained when he kisses. But where he’s physically cautious, his mouth is anything, anything but. The things he whispers against your neck, the low, hot whispers of a lover about your skin, your scent, the feel of you, what he’s imagining doing to you, how long he’s watched you, wanting you… His commentary is all spiced with a generous helping of his trademark snark and punctuated by the kisses of a man who is truly gifted. Joker can turn a simple kiss into an act of blazing eroticism - precise, probing, mimicking everything he wants to do to you, with you, in you with just his tongue, until you’re shuddering against him, locking your fingers into the back of his pilot’s chair and moaning into his mouth in helpless surrender.

* * *

Garrus doesn’t kiss, not like a human does, but there’s something stunningly, suggestively erotic in the way his eyes hold yours as he leans down and presses his forehead to yours. He’s humming - a low, subvocal intonation that gets into the marrow of your bones and liquifies it, until his hands, his arms, the look in his unfairly blue eyes are the only things holding you up… until they’re not, and you discover that Garrus is very, very good at calibrating things other than firing algorithms.

*  *  *

Everything about Zaeed is hard lines and gravel - he’s the first to tell you his good looks were lost long ago, and he has the voice of a seasoned soldier, rough from too much battlefield smoke and way too many nights in a cigar-fumed nightclub. So it’s a complete surprise that he touches you with such care, tracing the curve of your skull, tangling your hair in his fingers as if he’s savoring the texture, leaning close to sample the scent at the hollow of your throat. The way he kisses is a surprise, too, all delicacy and finesse, and very, very thorough, until you feel like he’s mapped every nerve ending you have and is taking his sweet time about lighting them all on fire, one after another, with a lazy mastery that’s as arousing as it is irritating.

* * *

Fenris is equal parts desperation and fear. His kisses almost snarl with impatience, as if he’s been waiting years to let loose, let go. To have you. To have something in his life that’s just for him, and from the way his hands are moving over you, mapping you, that’s just what he’s thinking. Where his mouth is clumsy, his hands, all clever fingers and sharp gauntlets, are not, daring to claim every inch of you, daring you to claim him back. When you do, he growls low in his throat, and he snarls something in Arcanum that could be a curse or a prayer or a threat to the Maker not to take you away from him before he can steep himself in you, sate himself on you, bury himself so deeply in you that nothing in Thedas can untangle what the two of you have become.

* * *

Thane is decadence; leashed, lethal, and elegant, and that’s the way he kisses, too, as if a single, simple kiss is the equivalent of a hundred acts of simple carnality. His mouth, so delicately scaled and lush, is your lodestone. Your world spins around his axis as he kisses you with exquisite eroticism, committing you to memory with lips and tongue. You’re hazily aware that he could break you in a dozen ways and you’d never feel it, but you’re even more aware that he could make you erupt in a dozen more, and you’d never forget it. And neither would he.

* * *

Steve Cortez is precision, soft-spoken but devastatingly thorough in his exploration of your mouth, your jawline, your neck as you let your head fall back against the cool metal exterior of the shuttle. You can’t get your breath, you just can’t, but when you do, the air tastes like him. Like chicory coffee and determination, like love. Like home. And you can’t help it, can’t help but respond, hands streaking paths of want up his back, feeling the flex of muscle as he shudders, leans into you. You get a little equilibrium back by the time you’re cupping the back of his head, the lean planes of his cheeks, and you meet his precision with your fire. You kiss him back, letting him know with tongue and teeth and muted moans that you refuse to lose him every bit as much as he refuses to lose you.

* * *

Jacob is honesty; there’s honest admiration in his eyes as he looks at you, honest desire in the strong hands that slide from yours up to your shoulders, pulling you into a lazy, seductive dance around the cabin. Honest desire on his tongue when he finally kisses you, managing to tease, to seduce, to woo you for only a moment before honesty takes him, too, and you’re both trembling, both seeking out skin hidden by clothing, seeking to share vulnerabilities. And then it’s honesty of a different sort when you tumble to the bed, wrapped around each other as if you can each shield the other from everything outside this room.

* * *

Anders is hunger and loneliness and longing all wrapped up in a kiss that tastes faintly of lyrium and a faint, exotic tingle that can only be Fade energy. He crowds you against the wall, lean body hard against yours, trembling hands framing your face, fingers tangling in your hair as if he needs to have all of you, right here, right now, as if you’re going to be ripped away from him at any second. When you wrap your arms around him to soothe, he shudders, and his kiss changes to something dangerously erotic, all hot lips and bold tongue and aching hunger, as if this is it, this is the act entire, and he can bring you both to completion with just this….

* * *

Nathaniel is hard - hard lines, hard, sinewy muscle, hard, calloused hands on your skin, hard lips against the back of your neck, hard flesh against the curve of your backside as he presses against you. His voice is hard, too; aristocratic accent wrapping easily around base words as he whispers what he wants to do with you, wants you to feel when he does them. But for all his hard edges, he’s soft, too, and it shows in the brush of his hair against your throat as he bends to taste your collarbone, in the stroke of his tongue, warm and wet on your shoulder. His archer’s precision shows when he moves to map your spine from bottom to top with a chain of tiny kisses that leave no skin unworshipped, when his hands slide between your legs, pressing where you burn hottest for him. Your head falls back against his shoulder, and when you shudder,  so does he, and you know then what his restraint is costing him.

Smooth Criminal ✘ Sebastian Smythe Imagine ✘

✘ A/N: Here I’m! Guys, you won’t believe. I passed by a break up, pool party and exams lately, puft. I’m fine sz

For real, I have a weak spot for Sebtana, I love it so fucking much, sexual tension while they sang Smooth Criminal was like WOW. 

I know it’s a lesbian and a gay, it’s my only crackship :’) At laest my others ships on Glee happened o/

(and nop, just bc I ship it I’m homophobic like some people think)

ANYWAY, I really like that scene and this one was kind hard to me to write, but I hope you like it!

~There’s too much of the show, so I’d say it’s a free adaptation?

@lyss-91, thank you for beta!

You

Sebastian

Both

✘ Request: Could you do a Sebastian Smythe imagine where instead of Santana and Sebastian singing Smooth Criminal it’s the reader and Sebastian and they kinda have a thing for each other and instead of her getting slushied at the end he kisses her. By the way, love your writing!

Originally posted by laheyjackson

Your high heels in contact with the ground made some clicks, the repetitive melody of your footsteps and the shadowed silhouette, which could be seen from inside the room, were the only signs that you were coming. 

‘’Hey, Andrew McCarthy. Don’t now if you heard, but Blaine may lose an eye. The same Blaine who was just besties with most of you not four months ago.’’ You shot before all the Warblers entered the room, staring at Sebastian. 

 ‘’Wait, are you serious? Is he gonna be okay?’’ Trent asked, catching your attention for a few seconds.  

‘’Well, sure, if he doesn’t care about seeing in three dimensions.’’ You answered ironically and crossed your arms, it was for Santana to be here, not you. But she had an important training of the Cheerios marked on last minute, and couldn’t miss.  

Soon, the Latina explained the plan and you agreed, even though you didn’t have much choice when it came about Santana, and if it were to be honest, she also gave you insult tips and said what song you should sing.  

And, of course, forced you to wear a hat and her clothes. You really did feel like you were in an 80s movie. 

Well, anything to help long-time friend.  

‘’Trent, I got this. Bummer about Blaine, he was pretty. He shouldn’t have gotten in the way, though. That slushy was meant for Kurt.’’ Sebastian said impassively, as if the pain he had caused in Blaine was only a side effect, something common like buying pizza at a pizzeria. You wanted to beat yourself for having a thing for such a mean person.  

‘’You may look like the villian out of a cheesy ‘80s high school movie, but you should know that I am fully prepared to go all Danny LaRusso on your ass. Admit you put something in that slushy. What was it, huh? Glass? Asphalt?’’ You asked, trying to stay focused. You could not control what came from your heart or your instincts, but you could control your body. 

‘’Red dye number six.’’ Sebastian said simply, his hands clasped behind his own body.  

‘’You’re a liar.’’ You accused him, the words coming out of your mouth like snake venom.  

‘’She questioned my honor.’’ His tone was ironic again, and you really wanted to kick his pretty stupid ass for that. He looked at the Warblers smiling and rested his gaze on you. ‘’I demand satisfation in Warbler tradition.’’ Sebastian approached you and you held your breath. He had hurt Blaine and you had to fulfill Santana’s plan, focus!  

‘’You want to have a duel?’’ You also approached him in order to intimidate him. Two could play this game. You turned your head to two men sitting in the yellow chairs. ‘’Cello guys, can you hang back for a second? I’m gonna need you for this one.’’  

‘’Everyone else clear out. I don’t  want you to see me make a girl cry.’’ The leader of the Warblers asked, maintained his cocky posture and his natural sarcasm.  

‘’Let’s just keep this on point.’’ you nodded and smiled wryly, tired of little games.  

The cellists began to play their respective instruments, you walked away from Sebastian and sat in one of the chairs comfortably, crossing your arms and legs right away. You moved your head slightly to the side, a shade of defiant smile on your lips, as a signal for the him to begin.  

Sebastian paced between the chairs, occasionally putting his hands on them as the instrument players dueled a battle of intense looks and precisely fast touches.

Uh, as he came into the window

It was the sound of a crescendo, uh!

Meanwhile the Warbler sang, he didn’t take his eyes off you, going in your direction. You, of course, wouldn’t not look back.

He came into her apartment

Sebastian moved closer to the chair where you were, leaning over and touching it.

He left the bloodstains on the carpet, uh!

As he sang the verse, you watched when Sebastian took his touch off the chair to your body, running his hand a little down your arm and shoulders gently, something you never imagined he could be. That simple touch made your heart race and your hands sweat, damn body.

In the second Sebastian finished uh, you turned your head quickly to follow where he was going, his mouth half open with the simple act that had just happened, the effect it had on himself.

She ran underneath the table

He had his back to you, trying to catch his breath. After all, that was a difficult song to sing fast, and the overwhelming feel of touching you does not help, at all.

He could see she was unable

Sebastian quickly turned with force, returning with his fearless stance, letting the music take care of footsteps.

So she ran into the bedroom

He gave a quick, provocative smile to you, which you responded by tilting your head to the side and rising from chair.

She was struck downIt was her doom

Sebastian opened his arms, as if exclaiming an event, but his eyes never lost sight of you.

Annie are you OK?

He turned his head when followed in his footsteps as a leopard chases its prey, his emerald green eyes darkening while the intensity of his gaze on you, like did his smile and the challenge itself.

So, Annie are you OK?

You continued the singing of the chorus, leaning on the chair of a cellists players and running your hands over it, going to Sebastian, all while you and he held a war of looks, smirks were a part of their expression.

Are you OK, Annie?

You got rid of the chair and your body walked to Sebastian and his did the same for him, you were like a positive and negative magnet: attracting to your opposing poles, to your difference which completed everything that was missing.

Annie are you OK?

So, Annie are you OK?

You and Sebastian came as close as two humans could approach without touching each other. And then turned 180 degrees, continuing to look at each other, as if you two were in a parallel world, completely different from the earth planet, perhaps even in another solar system where only you and he were living creatures and so they feared to abandon each other’s image.

Are you OK, Annie?

Annie are you OK?

After the spin, both of you started to walk backwards, moving away from each other. Even that you two preferred the way it used to, you had to admit in the deep places of your mind that this was even fun; Fleeing and coming back, felt like an addiction.

So, Annie are you OK?

Are you OK, Annie?

Sebastian and you stepped into the middle of the chairs again, heading toward each other, as if the distance to be beat was to offer a valuable prize.

Until you were so close that in just a half step your lips could meet, but they did not. This fact only gave more air to your lungs and made you sing with the greatest determination ever seen in that room.

Annie are you OK?

So, Annie are you OK?

You pulled your tie violently, but not hurting, and you took a turn, bringing your hand up his arm in the process. Adrenaline was palpable in the room.

Are you OK, Annie?

Annie are you OK?

Will you tell us that you’re OK

You walked back and Sebastian followed you, like you both were playing tag.

Uh!

There’s a sign in the window

Again, you were so close you could feel each other’s breath as the song unfolded from their tongues to the outside world. Sebastian let his gaze travel all over your body, checking you out.

That he struck you - A crescendo Annie

You shoved Sebastian’s shoulder when you realized what he was doing, resisting the desire to do the same.

He came into your apartmentHe left the bloodstains on the carpet

Once more approcheing, eyes (Y/E/C) and gree united.

Uh!

Then you ran into the bedroom

You were struck down

It was your doom

Annie are you OK?

So, Annie are you OK?

It was he’s turn to walk away from you and you follow him. And so it went on.

Are you OK Annie?

Smythe stopped and looked at you, waiting for you to reach him.

Annie, are you OK?

You, involuntarily, threw a provocative glance at Sebastian and turned away from him.

So, Annie are you OK?

He looked at your butt, checking you out again. Human instincts sucked.

Are you OK Annie?

You turned your face to Sebastian, the moment he looked at your face: symmetrically.

Are you OK Annie?

You moved away again, waiting for Sebastian to follow you, you returned to your home position and found himself next to you, singing aggressively.

You’ve been hit by

You leaned toward him, showing 0 percent fear.

You’ve been struck by

A Smooth Criminal

You two walked away again, following opposite paths between the chairs. You looked at the floor for a few seconds as your fingers touched the wood of a chair, but Sebastian was just looking at you. They both ran for a while, touching distinct chairs, until you stepped away from the object.

I don’t know!

Annie are you OK, Will you tell us, that you’re OK

There’s a sign in the window

Sebastian began to chase you at varying strides, the fight between the instruments was obvious and beautiful.

I don’t know!

That he struck you - A crescendo Annie

I don’t know!

He came into your apartment

I don’t know!

Left bloodstains on the carpet

The impromptu cinematographic chase went on, you slammed your chest without strength and raised your voice.

I don’t know why, baby!

Then you ran into the bedroom

I don’t know!

You were struck downIt was your doom - Annie!

Annie are you OK?

Stirring the bare part of the hat of your hair, you tried to steady your own quick steps without falling or losing tone.

Dang, gone it - Baby!

Will you tell us, that you’re OK

Dang, gone it - Baby!

There’s a sign in the window

Dang, gone it - baby!

That he struck you - A crescendo Annie

You bowed again, in order that your tone might reach even more Sebastian like the Black Canary with her cry.

Hoo! Hoo!

He turned a chair, pulling it out of his way to take you.

He came into your apartment

Dang, gone it!

Sebastian walked to one side and you went the other way, in a circle. What was left between you was, basically, a small circle made up of a few chairs and cellos.

Left bloodstains on the carpet, uh!

Hoo! Hoo! Hoo!

Then you ran into the bedroom

Dang gone it!

You were struck down

Sebastian approached and made a gun signal with his hand, but you did not panic or bowed your head in front said: you have moved forward.

It was your doom - Annie!

The leader of the Warblers let his eyes travel all over your body one last time until he fell on your face, never losing his rhythm.

You’ve been hit by

War of looks had reached a new proportion, his height making him look down and yours you face up, but now it was the end: the great finder of the winner.

You’ve been struck by

Distance between two of you was dangerously small.

A Smooth Criminal

For the first time in the history of choiral duels, there was no winner.

Draw.

Just like it was a draw the war your tongue was waging with Sebastian’s, an aggressive kiss started by the boy. He had something for you and you had something for him, it was obvious. And with a song like that and such a performance, the result couldn’t be any different. As soon as the last syllable was sung, Sebastian kissed you and reciprocated.

The noise of the door opened at the end of the cellos, the Warbles released nothing but their breaths: their leader was voraciously kissing the girl he would make cry.

Sebastian’s hands tightened on your hip and brought you closer, wanting to enjoy every bit of that kiss distressed by the wait, and you pulled closer to the nape of the neck, caressing a small part of his hair.

None of you had felt that way when you kissed someone: fully alive. It was as if every atom of you had resolved to give a ‘hello, I’m alive and here’, and it felt so good.

You took your lips from his for air, but you could’t let Sebastian out of your arms, okay, he didn’t seem to mind either.

Meanwhile, Trent threw slushy into the trash, his leader would probably not need it, anyway.

In the Rough

(based on this) part 1 (you are here), part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7



There’s a lot about Mari that Yuuri loves. In fact, he’d go so far as to say that he loves his sister more than almost anyone else, except maybe his parents. Despite their six year age difference, neither of them have ever had any other kids to really interact with. As such, each of them were the other’s best and only friend. But the fact has always remained that Mari is older than Yuuri. One day, he’s always known, she will be the queen of Yutopia. What he didn’t expect was for that day to come so quickly, or have such a profound effect on their relationship.

It was gradual at first: Mari turning him away from her door when he asks her to help him with his studies, Mari spending more and more time in the library with her own when she was never the best of students before, Mari lashing out at him when he actually gets the courage to press for her attention occasionally. Time and again, Mother assures him that it’s just the responsibility of being the crown princess that’s weighing on her. Still, Yuuri can’t help if he’s lonely.

That’s what led to this.

“Not now, Yuuri.” Mari is sounding increasingly irritated with him, but he can’t really seem to stop himself. It’s been months since they’ve had a proper conversation.

“It will only take a minute, I promise!”

“I don’t have a minute!” she finally snaps, rounding on him. “I don’t have a minute to myself because the coronation is so soon. What on earth makes you think that I have time to spare for you? Don’t be such a clingy child!”

Yuuri silently curses the way his eyes well up with tears. “I… Excuse me.”

“Yuuri, wait. I didn’t mean–” He can hear her calling out to his back, but the words don’t really register.

Being too overbearing has always been Yuuri’s biggest fear; he’s emotional and soft in a way that no self-respecting royal should ever be. Mari knows this, and used it against him. He really must be too much if she of all people is telling him so. He can just leave her alone until after the coronation. Maybe longer, if it looks like she’s feeling too overwhelmed by his presence. He has an outfit that he uses sometimes when palace life is too much for him and he sneaks out to go to town. He can use that to sneak out. He can take a horse, a sword, and some money, and hide out somewhere until everything blows over in a couple of months.

It doesn’t take Yuuri long to slip past the guards and get off the castle grounds. He’s done it countless times before, once even smuggling Prince Phichit out with him. He slips out the back way, through the forest. Everyone in town knows his face, and most of his subjects do too; it will be best to avoid people for a while.

Of course, that doesn’t mean that he’s brave enough to stray from the path. The woods between this and the next kingdom are deep, and more than one traveller has gotten lost within them, or attacked by robbers. If his maps are right, he’ll be able to get to the next kingdom within a fortnight.

Sleeping on the forest floor is irritating, but hardly anything new; this isn’t the first time that Yuuri has disappeared for a few days, even if it’s the first time that he’s planning on leaving the kingdom without permission. By the eighth day, Yuuri’s rations are beginning to get a bit low. He’s grimy, there are leaves and twigs in his hair, and his ratty cloak is rattier than ever. Still, he doesn’t turn back. At this point, going home would create more distress than it would relieve. If need be, he can just… kill a rabbit or something. There’s a stream less than ten minutes from the path, and making a fire is no problem. He can make it to the next kingdom.

The sound of a carriage jolts him out of his thoughts. He darts back into the trees, hiding in a bush. He still hasn’t crossed the Yutopia border, so it’s possible– probable, even –that the driver of that carriage knows who Yuuri is. As the carriage draws closer, Yuuri can make out little details that start to change his mind. Its blue, for one thing, and only a single carriage; most trader caravans are made up of several plain wagons with faded paint.

Yuuri hears rustling behind him. In less than a second, the quiet rustling becomes shouting. Bandits. Seven men attack the carriage from all sides, one even jumping from a tree to land on top of the carriage. Yuuri doesn’t even realize that he’s drawing his sword until it’s already out.

The door to the carriage flies open and two men– one man and one boy, really, no more than thirteen –jump out, weapons drawn and ready. The boy shouts something that sounds like “Stay the fuck there or I’m telling Dad,” but Yuuri can’t focus too much on him. He’s taken down one of the robbers, but there’s another one coming at him.

It takes the three of them nearly twenty minutes to knock out all of the robbers, and when they do, they’re panting.

“Thank you for the help.” The dark-haired man from the carriage holds out his hand for Yuuri to shake. “We might not have made it without you.”

“It–It was nothing, really.” Yuuri holds up his hands, as if that will deflect the praise. “I was just trying to help. Anyone would have done the same.”

“Tch.” The boy sheaths his sword. Now that Yuuri has a chance to look at him, he’s amazed. The boy is beautiful, almost fairy-like, but he fights like a demon. He’s also dressed like a royal. “At least you didn’t get in the way.”

Yuuri doesn’t quite know how to respond to that, but as it turns out, he doesn’t have to. There’s a laugh from inside the carriage and someone else exits. This man is definitely a royal, and it’s possible that he’s even more beautiful than the boy. They must be related, with their strangely colored hair and eyes.

“That’s high praise coming from you, Yuratchka.” The man looks Yuuri up and down, and Yuuri has to force himself not to blush. “I’ve decided. He’ll be my new bodyguard. I’ve been needing a new one, and I can’t bear to see my beloved younger brother fight on my behalf anymore.”

The man swoons dramatically, but it looks like he’s actually about to fall. Neither of his companions make a move to catch him, and neither does the driver, a woman with bright, fiery red hair. Yuuri is there before he knows it, catching the man before he can actually fall to the ground.

He finds himself looking into the most piercing pair of eyes that he’s ever seen. His eyes inexplicably heat up and Yuuri can tell that if he looks for too long, he’ll be overwhelmed; those eyes can see straight into his soul.

“Be careful,” Yuuri manages.

The man flicks a piece of silver hair out of his eyes and smiles, standing up straight. “Yes, he’ll do nicely. I’m keeping him.”

He ends up on the floor a second later anyway, courtesy of the flying kick that the boy– his younger brother, Yuuri reasons –aims at his back. “Don’t just assume that some random man in the forest is trustworthy enough to be your bodyguard! Think this through, old man!”

“I’m only twenty two,” the man pouts from the ground. “You’re so mean, Yuratchka. Besides, he saved my life, and he doesn’t seem to have anywhere to go. Dad will allow it.”

Yuratchka rolls his eyes and walks over to the carriage. “Whatever. You might want to ask him what his name is before you ask him to risk his life for you though.”

The door slams and Yuuri is still a little confused. The man is still on the ground, the dark haired man from earlier is sheathing his sword without a care in the world, apparently used to this sort of behavior.

“He has a point!” Silver-Haired Man bounces up and picks the twigs out of his hair. “If you’re my new bodyguard, I must know your name.”

“Yuuri,” he says without thinking. Then he realizes that giving his true last name could be a very bad idea. “Yuuri… Nishigori.”

Silver-Haired Man introduces himself as Victor Nikiforov, the crown prince of the neighboring kingdom. The fairy-like boy with the foul mouth is indeed his brother, Prince Yuri. The other man is Georgi Popovich, Yuri’s personal bodyguard, and their driver is called Mila. The four of them have apparently been travelling together nearly all of Yuri’s life.

The reality of what he’s just inadvertently agreed to doesn’t hit until he’s sitting in the carriage with them later: he’s agreed to become the personal bodyguard to the crown prince of the neighboring kingdom, who would no doubt know his name but not his face. Yuuri can’t help but wonder how he’s going to get himself out of this one without causing himself and everyone around him massive embarrassment.

Luckily, he has several months to come up with a solution.

ladyknighttime  asked:

As a newer follower, what is A Highlander's Tail?

Oh boy. I’m guessing that means you also don’t know PDOC about Fifty Shades of Plaid and The Devil’s Sporran either then.

Hello, welcome to the crack that is going to be my literary career, this post will be your guide.

Hunger Pangs you likely know about but here’s the origin post where @jeneelestrange straight up altered the career path of my life.

I’ll keep Public Displays of Confection short, but basically I came up with the pun and liked it so much I decided to turn it into a w/w romance about two bakers who fall in love while competing in a wedding cake contest. It’s so sweet it might actually give you diabetes. (Small humorous extract)


A Highlander’s Tail started because @thestarfishdancer is a horrible enabler and I couldn’t help from shitposting in response. Somehow I ended up being convinced I should write a thing called A Highlander’s Tail. The vague plot outline I have so far features a Scottish werewolf who becomes a retainer for a young English woman who is brought to Scotland after marrying her much older (also English) husband. (A common trope in awful American written Scottish romances.) As with most old Scottish houses however, there’s rumors abound of ghosties and goblins and things that go bump in the night. Which is absurd of course. They howl. 

Cailean Glenn—our resident werewolf, does his best to make her feel welcome in his own gruff way, but when her marriage starts to flounder and she starts straying farther and farther from home as a means of distraction, he realizes the secret of the (fictional) town of Braedhuin may be at risk of exposure. 

There’s all sorts of shenanigans and romantic guff, as well as fun little absurdities like were-sheep who herd themselves and win national prizes. As per @deliriumsetin‘s wishes Cailean’s best friend is a plucky Irishman, Ruaidhrí, who seems to own an Irish setter who is often conspicuous by his absence. The setter is a downright friendly fellow though.


The Devil’s Sporran is a lighthearted contemporary romance spurred on after an article denouncing romance literature as basically sin, used the hilarious phrase “Shirtless Satan” to describe men in kilts. Some people wanted it to be the actual Devil, but for now he’s just an ordinary good looking man with a smile that can make you think very bad things.

The main focus is on Kate, an American who is the maid of honor to her college bff’s wedding to be held in Scotland where both her and her beau are from. As the maid of honor she gets introduced to all kinds of quaint traditions she’s never before encountered which you don’t really have to deal with in America. Like trying to find a real silver sixpence, taking the bride out around the town on her Taking Out, the whole kerfuffle with trying to find matching dresses for three vastly different shaped women, and realizing at the last minute she’s expected to pick out a tea set for the bride despite being a coffee drinker her whole life, and what the fuck is the difference between Wedgwood and Denby.
And then there’s the groom’s best man Donnie…she feels someone should have warned her about him:

“What are you doing in here?” Kate demanded, scrabbling to cover herself with the ugly tartan shawl despite being fully dressed.

“I was next door,” Donnie informed her, eyes darting over the length of her, “looking at scabbards. Are you all right? You sounded upset.”

“I’m fine!” She protested, but even to her own ears it sounded shrill. Her shoulders slumped, defeated. “I can’t get out of this stupid dress. There’s too many buttons and the assistant has apparently run away and I can’t breathe.”

Donnie chuckled easily and the sound went curling straight down to Kate’s bare toes, hidden under the length of her skirt. It was offensive how charming this particular Scotsman could be, especially given how effortless he made it seem. She was almost certain she’d have hated anyone else for it.

“She’s helping a bride,” he informed her, “I heard crying so you’re on you’re own for a while. Let me?”

The question was so unexpected and softly spoken it threw her off guard, and Kate found herself compelled to turn as he stepped further into the changing room, pulling the curtain closed behind him. She’d half expected to be manhandled by rough hands, surprised when he began freeing her from the confines of the bodice with the utmost of gentleness.

“There now,” Donnie intoned soothingly as the dress began to slip away from her shoulders. “All better.”

“Thank you,” Kate murmured, drawing in shuddering breath, the ghost of his fingertips still hot against her spine.

“You look lovely, by the way, very,” he smiled tightly, catching her eye in the mirror, “honorable.

Kate snorted, and moved to hold the bodice in place against her chest, aware that a good portion of her naked back was now exposed to him. “I’m supposed to look like the bride. Some tradition about keeping the Devil away.”

“Hmm,“ Donnie hummed, the silk of her skirt trailing through his fingers as he leant in, smile broadening into a roguish grin over her shoulder. “Tell me, Kate, do you think it’s working?”

It’s even got fanart already, cutesy of @songofsunset:


Fifty Shades of Plaid started out again as a humorous shitpost when I was being salty over how Scottish history is often romanticized to make us look like tragic heroes, rather than the victims of class oppression, and cultural warfare. 

It’s since turned into a serious novel which follows the standard Scottish romance style but is actually a visceral denouncement of the whole trope of Scottish romances written by outsiders with little to no regard for our heritage beyond “men in kilts look good” (a lighthearted sample).

It’s the story about a wealthy weaver and his daughter acquiring land in Scotland, after buying out a weaving town, intending to produce the cloth for much lower wages, and selling it at a far more expensive price on the Royal Mile in Edinburgh after it became fashionable to wear again in 1822 after King George IV felt like playing dress up, despite the kilt having been banned for actual Scottish people to wear for almost four decades for being considered an act of treason. Hence the title, fifty shades of plaid.

The main characters at present are called Elizabeth and Alasdair, and it will likely be years before I am done writing this. But it’ll get there, one day.

I also have various other writing projects going on, but these were the ones inspired by tumblr. I am hoping to churn one out each year, though in what order I don’t quite know.

And that my doves, is why I have no fucking time on my hands lmao.

Sony's marketing slideshow is my early Christmas present

Someone got payed to write up these ‘Key Themes’

Mens Issues/Potty humour? Adam Sandlers bread and butter

All the hip teens dig the Smurfs “humour”

Ah yes, we must focus on the colour blue

“this cool meme”

“Food and Man living in harmony”

I can’t tell if “Don’t feed them yourself!” is their bad attempt at a joke or if that’s an actual suggestion

“What the kids really want are adhesives! Think about it; Spiderweb; Sticky; Adhesive! This is a sound marketing strategy”

Psycho - Nightwing x Reader

Originally posted by rainbowclashart

Requested by Anon - a Nightwing imagine where the reader is Harley and Joker’ daughter and no one on the team trust her, especially Nightwing who she had a crush on. Since she is their daughter she can be a little weird and crazy at times and one time Nightwing snaps and calls her a psycho just like her parents. so she runs off and no one hears from her for almost a year They try to find her but nothing. She saves them from her parents and Nightwing tries to get her to come back cause he likes her too


“So what are we doing today?” you shouted, cartwheeling into the training room. You could feel the team’s distrustful stares on you, but you ignored them to stop in front of Nightwing. Giving him a salute, you grinned at him. “Ready for anything, Bossman.” 

Nightwing frowned before brushing passed you. “Today we are working on basic combat skills.” You frowned slightly, hurt that he ignored you. However, you pushed that aside, moving to stand with the others. They shifted away from you as if you were contagious disease. A stab of pain echoed in your heart as you forced yourself to focus on the good looking Nightwing. 

Everyone started to pair off. You turned to Robin who was standing near you. “Hey Bird Boy, wanna dance with me?” 

Robin gave you a disgusted look before shaking his head. “Sorry, I’m with…” He looked around quickly as if begging for help. Cassie saw his situation, waving him over. Robin sighed in relief. “I’m with Cassie.” He ran off, leaving you alone.

Your heart ached a little, but you ignored it, moving around to ask the next person. However, everyone already had a partner. Nightwing noticed your predicament, sighing in irritation. He waved you over to him. You skipped over to him, smiling happily.

Nightwing rolled his eyes before giving out instructions. Soon everyone separated to start sparring. You and Nightwing moved towards the far corner. Nightwing dropped into a fighting stance. 

“So, how is your day?” you asked, watching him carefully. You didn’t drop into a defensive stance, choosing to stand calmly in front of him. Nightwing didn’t answer, rolling his eyes again. “You seem rather tense.” 

“Enough,” he ordered before attacking you. You easily dodged his attacks, and continued talking.  

“I was just thinking about bananas.” You laughed, thinking about it as you knocked his feet from under him with a swift kick. “Did you know their scientific name is musa sapientum, which means the fruit of the wise men? Isn’t that weird?” 

“(Y/N), I really don’t care,” Nightwing snapped, jumping to his feet. “Focus on training.” 

You gave him a curious look, blushing slightly. “Well, I can’t help that it’s so boring. You may be good looking, Nightwing, but you are hardly challenging.” Nightwing’s eyes narrowed before he sprinted forward. He started throwing fast punches and kicks, intending to harm.

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Calm in The Storm - Yoongi (Suga) Fluff/Angst

Originally posted by minshoot

Request: Could you do a BTS Suga imagine where he’s really stressed about work and he starts snapping at everyone and the others called you to calm him down. Love your imagines 💕

Word Count: 2127

Genre: Fluff/Angst

Member/Group: Yoongi (Suga) of BTS

Summary: With a comeback coming soon, all the boys of BTS are more stressed than ever. Stress can bring anger with it, but there is always a way to get people to calm down.

A/N: Hi guys! I have a few drafts in the works, so multiple scenarios could possibly be posted this week. I am telling you guys, I may not post on Friday or Saturday because I have a few babysitting jobs lined up this weekend. (Oh the joy of being broke but too young to legally apply for a job in Texas… kms.)


 “Namjoon, what do you think about adding a piano section in right here?” Yoongi gestured to the bars displayed on the screen and pulled one side of his headphones off of his ears. Namjoon looked over the work that Yoongi had done and bopped his head as he tried to think of the lyrics that would be put over the beats and rhythms they were currently preparing. After a few seconds, Namjoon nodded and sent his sleepy eyed best friend a thumbs up.

 “I think it’ll work well with Jin’s solo vocals right here.” Namjoon walked back over to his spot at his desk and popped his earbuds back in as he continued to work.

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