and then i started complaining about my life and posting selfies instead

If You Care - Part 5

Originally posted by porkdo-bi

Table of Contents: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Epilogue

Genre: Angsty, (coming soon) smut

Pairing: Reader x Park Chanyeol / Oh Sehun.

Word Count: 1,930

Summary: When Chanyeol’s old friend comes back from studying abroad, you find yourself seeing him less and less. Your boyfriend hasn’t been paying attention to you, so Sehun steps in to comfort you instead.


Friday came faster than you expected. It was a beautiful night. You were excited to go out with your friends. It had been a long time since you had gone to a club. But tonight, you were going. And one of your favorite artists just so happened to be going, to top it all off. If you got Giriboy’s autograph, your life would be complete. Either that or a picture would satisfy you. Hell, if he even looked at you, you’d be satisfied.

With a smile, you looked at yourself in the mirror, analyzing your face. Your lips were a nude but slightly pink color. Your eyeliner had come out perfectly for once and the new mascara you’d bought the other day really did make your eyelashes longer. You were wearing a black dress. You’d bought it a few days ago, deciding that it was perfect and that you just had to have it or you’d die.

You’d outdone yourself tonight. Chanyeol had no idea what he was missing. You’d be posting pictures all over social media so that he could see exactly what he was currently missing out on. You had every intention of making him wish that he had spent his time with you instead of spending all of it with Yuna.

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City of TomCav, Day 2

Tom Auto

As Rogue were saying they wouldn’t allow food gifts, my plan to bring Tom a bag of Clementines (top rated snack by both Tom and Magic, MATES #46) was foiled, so instead I learnt the noble art of Candle Making, and made a Clementine Cake candle using eco soy wax. And made custom labels. And went all out.

It’s called ~Respect For Women~, OBVIOUSLY. 

He couldn’t believe it, and that I knew which episode it was, and just seemed so surprised, touched and taken aback. “Wow… I can’t tell you how much that means to me that you actually know that.”

And he signed Little Harry’s little head! And took more selfies with him. He promised to put them up on social media soon when he escapes UK roaming charges.

He was like “I LOVE YOUR GLASSES.” And I was like “I LOVE YOUR GLASSES TOO.”

Our glasses are cute, ok!

Then “I LOVE YOUR REVERSE FLASH LANYARD.” To which I restrained myself from the obvious reply of “I LOVE YOUR ENTIRE EXISTENCE.” Which would have been accurate, but may have resulted in security being called to the scene.

I took a photo of myself outside the auto room afterwards because Tom got me feeling cute af and like I could take on the world!  ❤

Tom Photo


The Cavanarms were out of ALL control. What kind of musculature!


And the everything, let’s be real. The everything.

Random Observation

Tom asks for permission always. Before doing anything which may tangentially involve you, he asks if he can, if that’s ok, and waits for full verbal consent before proceeding.

Beyond precious and lovely and tremendous and winning.

And robust & athletic.

Tom Talk #2

  • He will be doing MATES “until the world runs out of snacks!”
  • Power sliding was his own invention – it was written as running in and grabbing the gun and he was all “no I don’t think so, how about I just slide in” and so he did.
  • He likes to do all of his own stunts – he says his stunt double has the best job in the world because he gets paid to come in then get told to go home and hang with his twins because Tom has got this.
  • The glasses were coming on or off from episode 1 as little tells and visual hints and cues: Tom was doing “about 117 things throughout season 1” as part of EoWells’ subterfuge, which you can watch back and notice only in retrospect.
  • Big Belly Burger started off as a joke, and he and Carlos were like “let’s talk about Big Belly Burger as much as we can” as improve which then took off and became a thing, so much so he now has a poster in his room.
  • Was asked if he could travel back in time, what message would he give himself -  “don’t kill all the cows in the future, Big Belly Burger is the best thing they have!”
  • Tom kept complimenting the shirts and costumes of everyone queueing to ask questions – it seemed a tactic to ease their nerves. Adorable and thoughtful!
  • “Hello, Flash!” (In EoWells voice) at a little girl in a Flash shirt about to ask a question. TOO CUTE.
  • His favourite scene this season was in Flash Back where Grant was chained to the chair, and he was threatening to thrust his hand through Barry’s chest.
  • Mentioned NBA All Stars – said that it’s basically rich celebrities trying to play basketball for televised fun, but that it gets into trouble when they start taking it too seriously and forget it’s just on television.

“The show works best with daily conflict – Harry is a malcontent bitch who’s always complaining.”

  • BUT deep down Harry is a good person, and all he really cares about is “getting his daughter safe and sound.”
  • Described his behaviour on set as “just massive amounts of hijinks and practical jokes – that’s my speciality.”
  • CARLOS: “a musical genius… the best I’ve ever seen in 25 years.”
  • Someone asked what he likes to do in his spare time…. “Vancouver is a coniferous jewel of a city”, he spends a lot of time being outdoorsy. He also writes a lot!
  • “I WROTE SOMETHING FOR GRANT AND I”, it shows both Tom and Grant in a “MUCH DARKER AND FUNNIER LIGHT” – NOT for The Flash, something original, and they ARE going to shoot it and make it available to us!
  • Was asked about the wheelchair, and mimed out the same story that he did in yesterday’s lounge with the spinning of the chair, saying on every spin to Grant, “WATCH YOURSELF, ALLEN.” And Grant couldn’t keep a straight face.
  • Talked about Cisco vibing… “he can’t really control it! But then he can!” Said how he can when he needs to for the story, but then at other times it seems like he can’t again, but that it’s a necessity for the story as everything would be too easily resolved otherwise.


I forgot to mention in yesterday’s post about the Tom Lounge that he said that he and Carlos are going to be RECORDING SOME MUSIC TOGETHER and putting it online for us at some point!!

lovesick | shawn mendes imagine

requested by literally nobody (seriously. no one asked for this.)

word count: 1,111

author’s note: my inbox was filling up with angsty/romantic imagines and i wanted to break that up by doing something lighthearted. plus i’ve been made aware i’ve been lacking in the imagines department lately so, yeah. enjoy!

Your name: submit What is this?

As far as you were concerned, this was all Jack’s fault.

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That’s what we’ve been doing this past week, right? If you follow me, you’ve probably seen me reblogging a ton of beautiful South Asian women with bindis on their forehead, appreciating our shared culture throughout the diaspora. But (for once) you didn’t see me posting selfies and promoting this myself. 

The truth is, I was incredibly uncomfortable with posting a picture of myself wearing a bindi and mehndi because it felt like I was making a costume out of my own culture, somehow. I know how ridiculous this sounds, but the truth is, I’m not just Indian. I was born and brought up in America, and no matter how brown I feel most of the time, there is a part of me that will always feel like a white girl playing dress-up. 

This is coming from a girl who has done the following:

  • Taken Jainism classes for over 10 years of her life. I’m a devout Jain and have taken multiple pilgrimages. I believe in Jainism and what it stands for and I explain and defend it whenever someone questions me about my faith.
  • Memorized every line of the following movies: Kuch Kuch Hota Hai, Kal Ho Naa Ho, Dil To Pagal Hai, Kabhi Kushi Kabhie Gham, Jodhaa Akbar, and others.
  • Learned to play the keyboard. Not in the European classical tradition or a modern tradition, but the Indian classical tradition with Aavroh-Aroh-Pakad and Taal and Sthayis and Antros.
  • Learned to sing in the same tradition. I learned to sing Raags like Malkaunse and Bhopali when my peers were learning Ave Maria. 
  • Danced. For about 16 years, I performed to Bollywood songs at an annual Diwali party and when I wanted to do more, I chose to study Kathak instead of jazz. I could have auditioned for the school plays but I stuck with learning how to hit my chakars on beat. Come college, I realized I needed dance in my life and auditioned for Raas and Bollywood teams when I could have chosen an alternative. (And yes, I made a Bollywood team and I absolutely love being a part of it!)
  • Written. For pretty much every research paper I’ve been assigned that has had somewhat of an open topic, I’ve fit the assignment to the research I’ve been interested in. Which has been India and Indian identity. Last year, I researched the causes of the partition between India and Pakistan. Another year, I compared the Jain Ramayan to the Hindu version. This year, I’m trying to put Marxism into a Jain perspective. Every chance I’ve had, I’ve taken to fit my western education into an Indian perspective.

So pretty much every chance I’ve had in my life, I’ve chosen to take the more Desi path. But for some reason, I never questioned these decisions in my life. I never looked back and realized that everything on that list was a choice I made because it was just obvious that I should take that path. Those events never added up to me being completely and wholly Indian, and I felt uncomfortable participating because of it. 

A few things happened that led to me finally posting this and writing about this. One was that I actually found myself wearing a bindi. I’d never really worn bindis before, aside from performances. But this past weekend, I was getting ready for my cousin’s wedding when my mom handed me the packet of bindis and all of a sudden, the choice was once again mine to make. Indian or American? 

Earlier that day, I was complaining about how my skin color changed after four days of the sun being out. I had just found the perfect foundation and my makeup was going to be ruined by my darker complexion. Why couldn’t I have skin that stayed the same throughout the year and an accent with my parents that my friends wouldn’t make fun of and a freaking safety pin that will go through all the pleats of this sari?

I didn’t end up wearing the sari because it was really far too difficult to wear. I went with the easier choice of a churidaar and continued getting ready.

But that’s the thing, isn’t it? It’s the easy choice to opt out of Reclaim the Bindi week because you’re suddenly not brown enough to do so. It’s easy to encourage others to do what you’re afraid of doing yourself. I knew that the only person who felt fraudulent about me posting this selfie was myself. 

The bindis stayed in my purse for half the night.

Aside from that, I was really enjoying myself. The baraat was too much fun and the vidhi was beautiful. The reception had just started and I was having fun dancing the night away with my family. 

In that moment, I really did feel Desi. I guess going to a wedding will do that to you, but I felt Desi and I felt confident. So I said to myself, ‘Why not?’ It would only make me feel more beautiful and in touch with a side of myself I already loved.

So I went to the restroom and, with my henna-coated hands, put on the bindi.

And nothing else had changed. The party was still in full swing, the newlyweds were being lifted off the floor in celebration, and I just wanted to keep dancing. In fact, when I was in the bathroom, one of my favorite songs was playing and I was more upset about missing out on some quality jamming than I was nervous about wearing my heritage on my skin.

It was a good moment. It was a good night, really, and when I got home I felt beautiful and had to take this selfie. And tonight I have to post this because I know there’s some other girl out there with a name her teachers can’t pronounce and a passion her non-Indian friends don’t understand. Because there’s some other NRI or member of the diaspora who feels like they haven’t gotten the right to wear the clothes their heritage entitles them to. I have to post it because when I saw that picture of Kylie Jenner wearing makeup that looked like that of an Indian bride at Coachella, I felt just a little bit of rage. She had not gone through what I went through just to wear a single little bindi on her forehead. She has never felt like she was lesser because she wasn’t Indian enough and wasn’t American enough at the same time. She never had a girl ask her if she was diseased when she came from India with henna on her hands in first grade. Girls didn’t run away from her as if she was a monster after that because they didn’t understand what mehndi is and what it means to our culture. I have to post it because somewhere in the world, there are girls following the footsteps of their white sisters, copying cultures that aren’t their own after making fun of it all their lives. And then there are girls just like me, wondering if their identity will ever be enough, will ever give them a right to the things that were theirs to begin with.

Incarcerus: Chapter 1

summary: AU. Vampire and bail bondsperson Emma Swan is drawn into a supernatural murder mystery that entangles her with strange forces, dark secrets, a far-too-charming, handsome, and enigmatic fellow vampire named Killian Jones, and the ultimate questions of how to start a blog on Fangd, get a parking spot in Boston, and avert an immortal war. She is confident love is nowhere in the plan.
rating: T
status: WIP
available: and AO3
notes: I decided to go ahead and post it. This is my new project, and as usual, I would probably not expect the speediest updates on it, but oh well. I can’t stay away from multi-chapters too long, apparently. Alas.

 I am a vampire.

 It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.

 In fact, and you probably saw this pun coming a mile off:

 It usually kind of sucks.

Emma sat staring at the computer screen until her eyes crossed, she leaned back in her chair with an aggravated noise, and deleted the text, only to find nothing more scintillating to take its place. Then she was left performing the frustrated writer’s gaze upon the abyss of blank-white doom, which was even worse, so she typed it back in again, tried to think of synonyms with more syllables, made a louder noise of aggravation, and deleted them for the second time. This was pointless anyway. Nobody was going to read this blog even if she started it, those that did weren’t liable to be happy with her for it, and she had not a single scrap of penetrating or original insight to help anyone who might find themselves thrust unpleasantly into this new situation, which was the reason she’d had this whole godforsaken idea in the first place. They didn’t exactly hand out “So Now You’re a Vampire, How To Not Fuck Up Your Afterlife” how-to guides, and considering the hash she’d made of her previous one, she was probably the least qualified individual to think about offering advice on this one. Still, though. She’d had a moment of believing she could be useful; they came along every so often, long after the last one had died of loneliness. That she could try to build a support group for people who did what sensible people did in this day and age, when their entire life turned upside down and they had no idea how to deal with it: Google that shit and complain about their problems online, just like everyone else. Connect over similar interests. If in this case it happened to be the fact that you were now an immortal blood-drinking unholy creature of night and terror instead of some ordinary hobby like TV shows or collector cars or pictures of cats doing dumb things, not that different. But she’d just been deluding herself. As usual.

After a moment, Emma closed the browser window, then clicked her dash through a refresh. Figuring out what to name a social media site for supernaturals had taken, possibly fittingly, a truly legendary effort. At first it had just been Fangbook, until the werewolves objected that this was discriminatory, and attempted to start Furbook in revenge, which had not worked out for them; it was remembered as the MySpace of the equation, and besides, it sounded like the home of disturbing niche porn. Fangstagram was, for obvious reasons, out, as vampires and cameras generally rendered each other obsolete, and a Twitter full of actual wolves might be even worse than the regular one. Their manifold networking difficulties had finally arrived at a compromise in the form of their current vehicle: Fangd. To avoid a second go-round of the nomenclatorial dilemma, it had been pointed out that both vampires and werewolves had fangs, and besides, it sounded cool. Currently, it was mostly used for chat posts, arranging feeds, perusing heavily filtered photos of buff shirtless werewolves, and the inevitable casual hookups section, as well as worthless shit to buy (all products promising to increase a vampire’s tolerance to sunlight were to be filed in the same category as penis-enhancement-pill spam emails).

As far as Emma had found, admittance to the supernatural set seemed to function along the same rules as your first day at high school: asking for help marked you out as the newbie, and in this case, the cool kids snacking on you might not be at all a figure of speech. So everyone, even if they didn’t, acted like they knew exactly what they were doing. And the high school comparison could be depressingly apt, considering that all-powerful immortals with hundreds of years of age and experience at their disposal could still hold the pettiest of ridiculous grudges. The “blood feud” and “perpetual enemies” things were way overblown, but stuff did happen. Another reason Emma had wanted to start the blog. Immortal did not by any stretch of the imagination mean indestructible, and plenty of clueless newcomers got caught in the crossfire of the power struggles. Then there were the simply stupid ones. You couldn’t be killed by the same things as before, no, but you could still Darwin Award yourself out of the running.

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You Belong With Me

He’d told her to wake him up before she left for Joe’s birthday party but she didn’t want to wake him as he was sleeping so peacefully in her bed. He’d just gotten home from the UK the night before and she knew that he was exhausted. So, instead of waking him up, she scribbled him a note and left it on her pillow.

Went to Joe’s party. Thanks for watching the cats. Dinner is in the fridge if you just want to heat it up. Love you, T.

Adam had been invited to the party, too, but considering how tired he was, he had decided to sleep instead of accompany her. But that was fine with Taylor. Meredith and Olivia were in the family room, lounging on the couch, when Taylor made her way to the door.

“You two better be good for Daddy,” she said. Meredith looked away while Olivia meowed.

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