and wonder why nobody was standing on them

When I was 5, I sat on the edge of my chair with my legs spread. I felt an itch between them, so I reached down to scratch, but my grandma grabbed my wrist to stop me and hissed: “Girls don’t do that!” I asked her why, because I had seen my father doing it, I had seen all the boys in primary school doing it, too. And it itched and I wanted to scratch it. Her answer was: “It’s just how it is. Girls don’t do that. Also, don’t sit there with your legs spread like that. Girls don’t do that, either.”

When I was 6, I spent a day on the beach with my family. I was excited about the new bikini my mum got me, but confused as to why she asked me to keep the top on when I went for a swim. She hadn’t made me wear it the years before, but suddenly, she was very fussy about it. “Look, I’ve got one on, too.”, she said to me. And I thought I understood: Women had to cover their breasts, because they were bigger than mens’. But I wasn’t a woman. I was a child. Later, I overheard a talk she had with my dad. “I don’t want old men to stare at her.”, she whispered. I interrupted them and asked her why she thought old men would look at me. Her answer was: “It’s just how it is. It’s because you’re a girl. And men do that.”

When I was 9, I got in a fight with my best friend. I went home and complained about it to my grandma, who lived with us. She told me I should have seen it coming. “That’s how girls are.”, she said. “A friendship between girls is always also a competition. Girls are jealous, manipulative and backstabbing. You can’t trust them.” But I had never fought with my best friend before and I knew we’d forgive and forget the next day, anyway. So, I asked my grandma why, and her answer was: “It’s just how it is. Catfights will happen. It’s normal. That’s how girls are.”

When I was 13, I fell in love with a boy from the neighbourhood. I couldn’t hide my excitement. He was on my mind all the time and I caught myself wishing we were together, so I could hold his hand and kiss him, too. I wanted to meet him, get to know him better, and I told my dad about my plan of asking him out. “Don’t do that.”, my dad said. “It’s not appropriate for a girl to ask a boy out.” Though I partly agreed, since I had never seen a woman proposing to the man in a movie, or read about a girl kissing her crush first, I still didn’t understand what would be so bad about being an exception, so I asked my dad why I had to wait for a boy to show interest in me in order to be allowed to openly requite it. His answer was: “It’s just how it is, darling. The man makes the first move. It’s always been this way. Boys like to conquer, and girls love being chased.”

When I was 17, I was part of a large group of friends. There was a boy who fancied me. I didn’t like him back, but I wasn’t used to anyone crushing on me, so I enjoyed the attention. He’d always tell me I was special. One of a kind. Different. “You’re not like other girls.”, he said. “You’re not a bitch. You’re funny, laid back, intelligent. You don’t just care about your nails or your hair. You get my sense of humour. You’re not like most girls. You’re my best guy friend. But with tits.” I was flattered in the beginning, but soon, I started to wonder if his compliments were any at all. I began to feel disgusted with him. I didn’t want to be his best guy friend with tits. So I asked him what’s so good about a girl like me, a girl unlike what he called a typical one, and his answer was: “That’s easy to explain. A pretty model type of girl is good enough to jack off to, but in the end, a guy wants some drama free pussy. You’re an exception. The majority of girls is superficial and slutty. The kind of girl you fuck, but dump when you’re ready to settle down. Or they’re just plain boring and prude. This sounds harsh, but it’s just how it is.”

When I was 19, there was a boy I regularly had sex with. It was nice. Not the breathtaking kind of passionate, ecstatic fucking I had dreamed of; maybe we lacked chemistry, maybe it would have been nicer if we had been in love; but I was alright with it. I adapted, obeyed and swallowed. Of course I did. In the beginning, he really put an effort in giving me what I gave him. He really tried. But his attempts at putting his tongue to good work quickly faded into halfheartedly rubbing me dry and at some point, he said: “I’m giving up.” I asked him why. His answer was: “It’s so hard to get a girl off. You women need ages to cum. It’s so exhausting.” I laughed and told him I needed about two minutes when I did it on my own. “Then stick to that.”, he said. “I’ve got a cramp in my wrist. Women are so complicated. It’s just how it is. I’m sorry.”

I am 20 now, and I’ve come to realize that my female identity has been shaped by a biased, hypocritical excuse based on ridiculous gender roles: “It’s just how it is.” All my life, I have asked them why, and all they said was “It’s just how it is.” And it didn’t matter whether I’ve asked men or women. Internalized misogyny is just as harmful. There were as many women as men who said: “It’s just how it is.” But that is not the answer I wanted. Not the answer I needed. These few words don’t fucking answer the countless questions concerning my gender identity.

Why can’t I sit with my legs spread? What’s so shameful about what I keep between them? Why must I cover my breasts? Why am I being sexualized long before I’m even told when sex is? Why am I being taught to mistrust other girls? Why do I have to compete with other girls? Why am I only a good girl when I’m not like most girls? Why do I have to keep quiet about the way I feel? Why am I not allowed to show affection like men do? Can’t I conquer a boy’s heart, too? Why must love be about conquering, anyway? What if I don’t like being chased? What if it scares me? Why do boys scare me, anyway? Why do you make me feel inferior to them? And why do I have to like a boy in order to be liked? Why am I being shamed for being a “slut”, them shamed for being “prude”? Why am I expected to adapt, obey and swallow without praise when boys who return the favour are considered grateful, dedicated lovers, heroes, almost ,because to the majority of them, it’s not fucking understood that if I make them cum, they should make me cum, too? Why am I exhausting to be with? Why am I complicated?

Is it because I’m a bitch? Because I’m an oversensitive little baby? Is it because I’m a slut? A prude virgin? Is it because I’m on my period? Cause women are just crazy? Cause I am jealous, manipulative, backstabbing, competitive or any of the other countless negative traits that are immediately connected with the female identity? All summed up, is it because I’m a girl?

I’ve asked them. And they said yes.

And when I asked “But why?”, they said it again: “It’s just how it is.”

“It” is that context, is a never ending circle of resigning acceptance of the circumstance that girls are being raised to disrespect their own gender from their childhood on. I was, and am, expected to accept the fact that being female automatically makes me inferior, and that I should be thankful for being treated equally, because that’s not the standard. I was, and am, expected to appreciate and take it as a compliment when people tell me that I’m not like other women. Because I was, and am, expected to look down on women even though I am a woman myself. But I refuse. I refuse to adapt, obey and swallow. I refuse to accept that “it’s just how it is”. I refuse to take this as an answer, and I will not stop asking why. I won’t ever stop asking why. Not because I want people to give me a proper response, but because I want them to question themselves, too. I want them to start wondering. Want them to start doubting the concept of the role I’ve learned to stick to before I knew how to spell my “typically female” name. I want them to think about it, lose their sleep about it, until they ask, too: “Why?”

In order to eliminate misogynic stereotypes, we must unlearn to understand them. We must refuse to accept “It’s just how it is” as an answer, until we forget what “it” stands for. Keep asking why, until nobody knows an answer anymore. “It’s just how it is” is not an answer. Neither is “It’s cause you’re a girl”. Or “That’s how girls are”. Because girls can be everything and anything they want to be. That’s how it really is.

—  I REFUSE!, a rant on how my female identity has been shaped by excuses and lies
alec protects magnus from the clave

as requested by the wonderful @smariko !! sorry that this was quite late, but i had a little bit of trouble starting this one lol. this pretty much takes place after the events of 2x10. enjoy :)


Alec and Magnus sat cross-legged on Alec’s bed, facing each other, and talking about everything and anything. Business at the Institute had just calmed down and Alec needed to just sit down for a second. He was alive, Magnus was alive, they were alive together. And he made sure to cherish that before the next threat arose.

Alec reached out to run a light finger down the bridge of Magnus’ nose. Magnus sighed at the touch, eyes closed and hands on Alec’s chest. They were sitting close enough to feel each other’s breath but it never felt close enough.

Suddenly, the door to Alec’s room burst open and the two jerked back in surprise. Turning around, Alec glared at Jace who was standing in the doorway. “Jace, come on! We went over thi-”

“You’re gonna wanna see this,” panted Jace. Both Alec and Magnus frowned and eyed each other curiously. Without another word, they both rose and followed Jace to the Ops Centre.

“Jace what’s going on?” asked Alec, worry soaked in his voice as they turned the corner of a corridor. Alec reached his fingers out to Magnus’ hand and they interlaced fingers tightly.

“It’s the Clave,” was all Jace said. Alec groaned loudly, knowing full well that the Clave only ever sent emissaries to ruin things. The three made it to the Ops Centre as quickly as possible to join Isabelle and Clary. Shadowhunters had their weapons drawn and handcuffs out, wading their way through everyone in the Institute.

It didn’t take them long to figure out that Shadowhunters were ushering all Downworlders off the premises. A Clave representative explained that after the attack on the Institute, no Downworlders could be trusted to be in the Institute. Alec rolled his eyes. They must have known that no Downworlder was responsible for what had happened. The Clave often cloaked their prejudice as wanting to help keep the entire Shadow World but everyone knew it was bullshit.

Isabelle stepped up to Alec and Magnus with an apologetic gaze. “The Clave is placing a ban on all Downworlders entering any Institute – ever. They’re thinking of writing it into the Accords,” she whispered. Alec was speechless. They couldn’t do that, they just couldn’t.

Magnus looked up from Isabelle to see Simon being forcefully removed from the Institute. A seraph blade was dangerously pressed to his back. Simon looked back at a distressed Clary who was also being held back by an angry Shadowhunter. Magnus glanced at Simon and felt compelled to help him. “Simon!” Magnus exclaimed, wading through the dense group of Nephilim, Magnus ran up to Simon, a hand reached out to his.

Before he could do anything else, Magnus had a seraph blade held to his throat by a Clave emissary. “Hey!” Alec yelled, running to the front of the group. Magnus stood as still as possible, aware that one wrong move could have him slaughtered. Alec glanced down to see Magnus’ fingers spark with flames of red – he was getting ready to attack. Magnus looked up to sneer at the Shadowhunter in front of him, cat eyes glowing. The Shadowhunter looked back at him in disgust.

Suddenly, another Clave representative had his blade to Magnus’ throat as well and Magnus let his sparks die. Alec clenched his fists at the sight. He couldn’t just stand there. Alec cautiously walked up to the situation. Every other person in the Institute had stepped meters back, steering clear of anything that could go down. It was dead silent.

Alec placed a hand on Magnus’ shoulder and pushed him back lightly before stepping up between the Clave emissaries and his boyfriend. His eyes were piercing into the Shadowhunters’ in a look that was deathly cold. His jaw was clenched and knuckles white. “Nobody touches him,” Alec said in a low but harsh voice.

One of the Clave Shadowhunters stepped closer to Alec. “Sometimes I wonder why we ever let them in,” she said, coldly. She glanced over to Magnus to look him up and down in disgust. “Get rid of him yourself,” she snared before setting down her blade and ushering the rest of the Downworlders and Clave emissaries out of the Institute.

Letting out a deep breath that Alec wasn’t even aware he had been holding in, he turned to look at Magnus. The Warlock had his eyes cast downwards and had fists balled up beside him. He looked so helpless and – although Alec would never describe him this way – weak.

Alec stepped closer to Magnus, forehead pressed to the side of Magnus’ head. He was at a loss for words. “I don’t know how to fix this…” he murmured, softly, helplessly. Magnus looked up at Alec.

He pressed his hand to Alec’s cheek. The boy always wanted to fix everything. “It’s okay,” Magnus said as he stroked his thumb under Alec’s eye. He scoffed, letting his hand drop to his side. “It’s almost like the 1700s again.”

Alec looked at Magnus with a pained expression. He was trying to apologise but Magnus knew that it wasn’t his fault. None of this was. “I’m leaving with you,” said Alec. Magnus frowned at him. “If you’re not allowed to be here, neither am I.”

Magnus shook his head. “You’re the head of this Institute, you can’t leave,” he said, in a matter of fact tone.

Alec nodded. “I’m the head of this Institute, I can do what I very well please.”


i hope you enjoyed! if you have any prompts or scenarios for me, please head over to my ask box!

in the meantime, magnus and alec have a tickle fight amongst books.

When I was 5,
I sat on the edge of my chair with my legs spread.
I felt an itch between them, so I reached down to scratch,
but my grandma grabbed my wrist to stop me and hissed:
“Girls don’t do that!” I asked her why,
because I had seen my father doing it, I had seen all the boys in primary school doing it, too.
And it itched and I wanted to scratch it.
Her answer was: “It’s just how it is. Girls don’t do that. Also, don’t sit there with your legs spread like that. Girls don’t do that, either.”
When I was 6,
I spent a day on the beach with my family.
I was excited about the new bikini my mum got me,
but confused as to why she asked me to keep the top on when I went for a swim.
She hadn’t made me wear it the years before,
but suddenly, she was very fussy about it.
“Look, I’ve got one on, too.”, she said to me.
And I thought I understood: Women had to cover their breasts,
because they were bigger than mens’. But I wasn’t a woman.
I was a child.
Later, I overheard a talk she had with my dad.
“I don’t want old men to stare at her.”, she whispered.
I interrupted them and asked her why she thought old men would look at me.
Her answer was: “It’s just how it is. It’s because you’re a girl. And men do that.”
When I was 9,
I got in a fight with my best friend.
I went home and complained about it to my grandma, who lived with us.
She told me I should have seen it coming.
“That’s how girls are.”, she said.
“A friendship between girls is always also a competition. Girls are jealous, manipulative and backstabbing. You can’t trust them.”
But I had never fought with my best friend before
and I knew we’d forgive and forget the next day, anyway.
So, I asked my grandma why,
and her answer was: “It’s just how it is. Catfights will happen. It’s normal. That’s how girls are.”
When I was 13,
I fell in love with a boy from the neighbourhood.
I couldn’t hide my excitement.
He was on my mind all the time
and I caught myself wishing we were together,
so I could hold his hand and kiss him, too.
I wanted to meet him, get to know him better,
and I told my dad about my plan of asking him out.
“Don’t do that.”, my dad said. “It’s not appropriate for a girl to ask a boy out.”
Though I partly agreed,
since I had never seen a woman proposing to the man in a movie,
or read about a girl kissing her crush first,
I still didn’t understand what would be so bad about being an exception,
so I asked my dad why I had to wait for a boy to show interest in me
in order to be allowed to openly requite it.
His answer was: “It’s just how it is, darling. The man makes the first move. It’s always been this way. Boys like to conquer, and girls love being chased.”
When I was 17,
I was part of a large group of friends.
There was a boy who fancied me.
I didn’t like him back,
but I wasn’t used to anyone crushing on me,
so I enjoyed the attention.
He’d always tell me I was special.
One of a kind. Different.
“You’re not like other girls.”, he said.
“You’re not a bitch. You’re funny, laid back, intelligent.
You don’t just care about your nails or your hair. You get my sense of humour.
You’re not like most girls. You’re my best guy friend. But with tits.”
I was flattered in the beginning,
but soon, I started to wonder if his compliments were any at all.
I began to feel disgusted with him.
I didn’t want to be his best guy friend with tits.
So I asked him what’s so good about a girl like me,
a girl unlike what he called a typical one,
and his answer was: “That’s easy to explain.
A pretty model type of girl is good enough to jack off to,
but in the end, a guy wants some drama free pussy.
You’re an exception. The majority of girls is superficial and slutty.
The kind of girl you fuck, but dump when you’re ready to settle down.
Or they’re just plain boring and prude. This sounds harsh, but it’s just how it is.”
When I was 19,
there was a boy I regularly had sex with.
It was nice. Not the breathtaking kind of passionate, ecstatic fucking I had dreamed of;
maybe we lacked chemistry,
maybe it would have been nicer if we had been in love;
but I was alright with it. I adapted, obeyed and swallowed.
Of course I did.
In the beginning, he really put an effort in giving me what I gave him.
He really tried.
But his attempts at putting his tongue to good work quickly faded into halfheartedly rubbing me dry and at some point, he said: “I’m giving up.” I asked him why.
His answer was: “It’s so hard to get a girl off.
You women need ages to cum. It’s so exhausting.”
I laughed and told him I needed about two minutes when I did it on my own.
“Then stick to that.”, he said. “I’ve got a cramp in my wrist.
Women are so complicated. It’s just how it is. I’m sorry.”
I am 20 now,
and I’ve come to realize that my female identity
has been shaped by a biased,
hypocritical excuse based on ridiculous gender roles:
“It’s just how it is.”
All my life, I have asked them why,
and all they said was “It’s just how it is.”
And it didn’t matter whether I’ve asked men or women.
Internalized misogyny is just as harmful.
There were as many women as men who said: “It’s just how it is.”
But that is not the answer I wanted.
Not the answer I needed.
These few words don’t fucking answer the countless questions concerning my gender identity.
Why can’t I sit with my legs spread?
What’s so shameful about what I keep between them?
Why must I cover my breasts?
Why am I being sexualized long before I’m even told when sex is?
Why am I being taught to mistrust other girls?
Why do I have to compete with other girls?
Why am I only a good girl when I’m not like most girls?
Why do I have to keep quiet about the way I feel?
Why am I not allowed to show affection like men do?
Can’t I conquer a boy’s heart, too?
Why must love be about conquering, anyway?
What if I don’t like being chased?
What if it scares me?
Why do boys scare me, anyway?
Why do you make me feel inferior to them?
And why do I have to like a boy in order to be liked?
Why am I being shamed for being a “slut”, them shamed for being “prude”?
Why am I expected to adapt, obey and swallow without praise when boys who return the favour are considered grateful, dedicated lovers, heroes, almost ,because to the majority of them, it’s not fucking understood that if I make them cum, they should make me cum, too?
Why am I exhausting to be with?
Why am I complicated?
Is it because I’m a bitch?
Because I’m an oversensitive little baby?
Is it because I’m a slut?
A prude virgin?
Is it because I’m on my period?
Cause women are just crazy?
Cause I am jealous, manipulative, backstabbing, competitive
or any of the other countless negative traits
that are immediately connected with the female identity?
All summed up, is it because I’m a girl?
I’ve asked them.
And they said yes.
And when I asked “But why?”,
they said it again: “It’s just how it is.”
“It” is that context, is a never ending circle
of resigning acceptance of the circumstance
that girls are being raised to disrespect their own gender from their childhood on.
I was, and am, expected to accept the fact that being female automatically makes me inferior,
and that I should be thankful for being treated equally,
because that’s not the standard.
I was, and am, expected to appreciate
and take it as a compliment when people tell me that I’m not like other women.
Because I was, and am, expected to look down on women
even though I am a woman myself.
But I refuse. I refuse to adapt, obey and swallow.
I refuse to accept that “it’s just how it is”.
I refuse to take this as an answer,
and I will not stop asking why.
I won’t ever stop asking why.
Not because I want people to give me a proper response,
but because I want them to question themselves, too.
I want them to start wondering.
Want them to start doubting the concept of the role
I’ve learned to stick to before I knew how to spell my “typically female” name.
I want them to think about it,
lose their sleep about it, until they ask, too: “Why?”
In order to eliminate misogynic stereotypes, we must unlearn to understand them.
We must refuse to accept “It’s just how it is” as an answer,
until we forget what “it” stands for.
Keep asking why, until nobody knows an answer anymore.
“It’s just how it is” is not an answer.
Neither is “It’s cause you’re a girl”.
Or “That’s how girls are”.
Because girls can be everything and anything they want to be.
That’s how it really is.

Birthday Surprise - Sirius Black x Reader

Warnings: I wrote this in a rush so if it’s not very good I apologise in advance.

Requested from anonymous: Today is Ben Barnes’ birthday!! I’m so excited! So in honour of his birthday can I request a Sirius Black x Reader imagine where it’s Sirius’ birthday and the reader with the Marauders prepare him a surprise? Thank you!


Sirius woke up with a strange feeling this morning. Oh yeah. It is his birthday today. He didn’t expect anything from his friends. Perhaps they don’t even know what else it is today, than a simple Sunday. Little did he know that this exact moment his best friends, the Marauders and Y/N, were down at the common room trying to prepare his surprise.

“No! No! No!”

“Come on Y/N you didn’t like anything we suggested.” protested James while eyeing Remus to defend him.

“She’s right you know, Prongs. We can’t scream ‘BARKY BIRTHDAY’ the moment he comes down.”

“Why not?” he whispered-yelled, not taking it anymore. “I think it is a brilliant idea! You guys know that 'Barky’ is the word he would have chosen to say as a joke. He’s Padfoot after all. We know him pretty well.”

“Yes, James, exactly. That’s why we can’t do this. We don’t want to do something he would have done and said on his own. We want to catch him off guard. Besides, he doesn’t even know we know it is his birthday today.”

“You’re so annoying today!” James exclaimed trying to control his anger for his best mate’s sake.


Y/N wasn’t annoying in real life, but today she wanted to make something special for Sirius’ birthday. Sirius never really celebrated his birthday and he never talked about it. In fact, he never told anyone when his birthday is. All she could think about was a way to make him feel loved. She loved him, yes, but that didn’t affect anything. She would have surprised him anyway. These feelings, though, made her work harder and try to do more thinks that just to yell 'Barky Birthday’.

“Y/N!!” Remus almost screamed while waving his hands in front of her face.

“Sorry I drifted away.” she apologised. “What were you saying?” she asked with an innocent smile on her face.

“I asked how did you manage to learn when his birthday is.”

“I just bought some candies to Regulus and gave him some advice for a girl he fancies, in exchange for Sirius’ birthday date.” she replied feeling proud of herself for doing so.

“Amazing” said Remus admiring his friend for her cleverness.

“We still don’t know what to do with his surprise guys! We’re wasting time right now.” James joined them reminding them that in any moment Sirius will come down.

“I say we do something spontaneous. Something he never saw us doing before. So we will catch him off guard and each of us will do what we think it’s best.” Y/N suggested.

“All right. Remus and I will scream 'BARKY BIRTHDAY’. No objections!” James said turning to Remus who was ready to protest. Remus just rolled his eyes.

“Y/N? What will you do?” they boys asked her.

“I have something in mind. But let me do it first and then you can scream your wish as many times as you want.”

“Why?” James asked her impatiently.

Sirius appeared at the top of the staircase but nobody noticed him. They were deep in conversation and he couldn’t help but wonder what they were talking about with so much passion.

“Be patient. You’ll see.”

“He’ll see what?”

Everybody froze immediately and turned towards the staircase to find Sirius looking back at them. He took a few steps and soon enough he was standing at the end of the stairs leading to the boy’s dormitories. He stared at his friends waiting for an answer.

“What do we do now?” whispered James.

“Watch” Y/N told them with determination. She stood up.

“It is now or never.”

“Now or never wh-hmpf”

Sirius couldn’t finish his question. Y/N ran across the common room and towards him. She jumped and fell in his embrace. Luckily Sirius caught her and put his hands on her lower back while she placed her lips upon his like her life depended on that kiss. He kissed her back with the same passion. Their lips moved in sync proving that they were perfectly made for each other and expressing the feelings the two teenagers felt for the other. They parted only when they felt the necessity to breathe. Y/N looked down at Sirius and grinned widely. Sirius smiled too and let her down on her feet.

“Happy Birthday, Pads” she said satisfied with how her plan went.

“BARKY BIRTHDAY TO YOU, PADFOOT!!” screamed James, while Remus rolled once again his eyes and clasped Sirius’ shoulder wishing him 'Happy Birthday’ with a warm smile.

Sirius couldn’t believe his ears. They knew. They knew and they had surprised him. They actually cared about him. If he were anyone else, he would have wanted to know how they found out. Sirius Black, though, couldn’t care less. All he cared about right now was the girl with the beautiful smile in front of him. His first love had actually kissed him. He’s never been kissed like that before. And he couldn’t help but admire this little angel looking him in his eyes. He cupped her cheek and brushed her cheekbone with his thumb. She closed her eyes savoring the moment. He leaned in and pressed his lips upon hers softly, like she was fragile and she would break at any moment. When the kiss ended she asked eagerly like a little child:

“Ready for your presents?”

“I thought you were my present” he replied and kissed her forehead, being happy for once on his birthday.

Originally posted by negandarylsatisfaction

Title: Sleepless in Sanctuary

Summary: You can’t sleep and so decide to pay Negan a late night visit.

Warnings: Smut, fluff

Pairing: Negan x Reader 

Stirring awake in the bed that you shared with Amber and Sherry, you looked up at the ceiling and sighed as a storm raged on outside. It was still dark out, no sign of sunrise and no bone in your body was ready to fall back asleep. Pulling your bottom lip between your teeth, you glanced at the other wives who slept soundly before slowly untangling your bare legs from the bedsheets. One thing was on your mind, one man. Negan had been distant lately, more than he usually was, which considering the circumstances wasn’t surprising.

Keep reading

The bandit/irregular/soldier loop

[This should have been a rigourous text full of notes and citations and names and dates, and possibly maps. Instead, it’s a stream of consciousness. I apologise for the mess.]

It occurred to me that the history of outlaws and assorted glorified bandits, and the history of knights and assorted glorified warriors, have A LOT more in common than either I or @we-are-knight would like to admit.

Like, there’s a very common pattern all over the world, where brigands who were used to a) targetting whomever they pleased, and b) having a price on their head, would get sanctioned by a state authority of some sort to focus on specific targets from now on, according to said state’s interests. At which point the brigands can be called irregulars or mercenaries or allies (diplomacy permitting, because it’s entirely possible to arrange the whole thing in secrecy instead), although they’re doing the exact same thing they did before, only to different people. And the state stops bothering them, because they’re useful.

But now they have bargaining power, and they might ask for more than just amnesty for their previous crimes and immunity for their present ones - which the state probably doesn’t consider crimes at all. They could ask and get funding, rewards, lands, offices, or titles if available. And the more powerful and respectable they become, the more they become competitive to the state’s authority, and eventually the state will have to either integrate them completely (do you want knights? because that’s how we get knights), or go “I’ve made a huge mistake” and turn them back to outlaws and start chasing them all over again.

But it’s not necessarily a straight trajectory, it’s a tangled mess. For one, “the state” is a VERY relative term. Even when the brigands operate within a single sovereign entity, an empire or a kingdom or a republic, there are local lords, landowners and officials who can offer or withdraw patronage independently from central authority, and there are court and/or parliament politicians with their own agendas and personal interests to promote, and religious institutions with land and money and their own interests. Any and all of these could change the brigand’s status back and forth, depending on the power balance between them.

Add borders into the mix, especially fluid borders that move due to war and politics, and it’s a complete toss-up whether the brigand will be perceived as a bandit, a mercenary, a rebel, an outlaw, an irregular, a soldier, an elite warrior, or a revolutionary. (From South America all the way to China, bandits have been instrumental in overthrowing regimes.) In periods of instability, it could change from day to day, or depending on who you ask. Place the action at sea, and you have a very similar mess, except now the terminology also fluctuates between pirate/privateer/corsair and the like.

The opposite trajectory is also a common pattern, which would explode every time a prolonged conflict ended. Basically, when you hire a bunch of irregulars to do your dirty work for you, for wages and/or loot, and the conflict goes on and on until your side wins (or retreats but with survivors), and then you tell them “alright, you fought for me, you bled for me, I don’t need you any more, go fuck yourselves”, chances are, they won’t go fuck themselves. They are still armed, and most of them have no property and know no trade. THIS is their trade. If you don’t offer them a nice retirement, they’ll just keep on raiding, and this time they have zero incentive to stick to designated targets. Aaaand you call them brigands again.

It doesn’t have to be irregulars to begin with. Levies can easily end up like that after a vicious war (that’s what the incredible Broken Men speech is all about in A Feast For Crows), and even standing armies. But regardless of where they came from originally (a peaceful farm, an outlaw hideout, or the barracks), by that point their profession is raiding. If conditions permit it, they can organise and seek employment “officially”, and do somebody else’s dirty work. And then you call them mercenaries, free companies, condottieri.

…And it’s still the same people, doing the same thing they did yesterday. At some point you have to wonder why the hell we need all those terms at all. Brigand, irregular, mercenary, soldier, it’s one and the same if you ask the victims. But nobody ever asks the victims. Nobody gives a flying fuck about the victims, unless they can be framed as “our” victims and there’s a propaganda potential to be exploited. It is known.

Quick and Dirty Deconstruction of the Outlaw Bandit

Myth: Outlaws are INDEPENDENT. They stand against state authority, and they fight the authorities, and they’re a beacon of freedom despite their shady practices. So common folk support them, especially when the government is unpopular.

Reality: Almost always outlaws have a patron of some sort. Could be local, could be central, either way what they do is fight AN authority, on behalf of or in (mutually opportunistic) cooperation with ANOTHER authority. Common folk do support them when they fight unpopular rulers, but also because they have no other choice. When outlaws are especially successful, then for all intents and purposes they BECOME authority. That’s not freedom. That’s textbook “here comes the new boss, same as the old boss”.

Myth: Outlaws steal from the rich and give to the poor.

Reality: That’s usually true, but it’s not for a noble cause. It’s because the rich have money and the poor don’t, and because the poor can provide excellent shelter from the authorities, so it’s useful to be on their good side. Plus, they’re very easy to please, since small amounts of money are a big deal for them. Even so, it’s not always true. Sometimes outlaws pillage indiscriminately. And sometimes, to get over with the ugliest side of this, they do the exact opposite: the systematic persecution of minorities is often conducted by bands of outlaws sanctioned or tolerated by the state for that reason. (Of course, other times it’s just armies…)

Quick and Dirty Deconstruction of the Noble Knight

The word chivalry is derived from the French cheval, for horse. By a staggering coincidence, so is the word chevauchée.

Try

A/N: Thank you to @impala-dreamer for the read through. This is kinda different for me, I don’t know if it works, but here we are! I think it’s pretty relatable (at least I hope so), and I hope you enjoy. Let me know what you think! (If you want on or off a tag list let me know!)

Words: 780

Pick-a-Winchester x Reader

~

“Hey, can I ask you a question?”

You were just pulling back the covers when he walked in, fresh from the shower, towel low on his hips, looking better than any man really had the right to.

“Shoot.”

Turning his back to you, he went to the dresser to grab a pair of boxers. “I heard you talking to Charlie on the phone earlier…”

“Ok! I’m sorry I watched the episode without you, I just couldn’t wait. I promise I’ll watch it again with you and I won’t spoil anything this time.”

“No, that’s n-you watched it without me!?” He stopped, shaking his head to get himself back on track. “That’s not what I’m talking about. I’m just wondering why you never stick up for yourself.”

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Can you make a post on representation, "queerbaiting" and everything that surrounds that? Representation itself isn't a a bad thing, but how and why did it turn into whatever the heck it is today

First of all let’s get ‘queerbaiting’ (I hate that term) out of the way. The idea behind it was to criticize the act of deliberately implying and teasing a gay pairing, only to switch one (or both) of the characters to a straight pairing last minute. However, actual examples of this can be counted on a single hand.

Instead, ‘queerbaiting’ instead is frequently used by shippers as a buzzword to throw a fit that their homosexual ship was sunk by canon and then use it as an excuse to harass and demonize the writers. It’s gotten to the point that people abusing the term clearly don’t care about the context and are just upset they couldn’t force their personal ship to be canon.

Exhibit A: Steven Universe fans accusing the staff of queerbaiting when a fan-favorite lesbian ship was seemingly sunk by a staff member preferring… a different lesbian ship. Yeah, ‘queerbaiting’ is full of shit at this point.


As for Tumblr’s extremely shoddy handling on representation? There’s a word for that; Tokenism! Tokenism is the practice of making only a minimal and symbolic effort towards equality and representation, typically in the form of hiring a small amount of (aka ‘token’) minorities or providing two-dimensional characters whose only notable trait is their minority status in a media.

Keep reading

Dan x Reader - Not Enough For Her PART 1

PART ONE

Third Person POV
Everyday she would go and hang out at the boys’ place, for she was one of their best friends. Not to mention, she literally lived like 5 minutes walking distance to their flat, in the same exact district. But then, she would almost always go to a nightclub. Why? Well because Dan insisted on it nearly almost every night, whilst she and Phil stood by side awkwardly. Sometimes Phil would even talk up other girls, leaving her to have nobody to talk to and stand by herself.

Y/N’s POV
I look around in the loud noisy nightclub that I am yet again at, dragged by Dan Howell himself. High heels, some silver something dress and black heels, paired with makeup. I sighed as Dan hit up a bunch of girls. Speaking to them with his arousing admiration and sparkling personality, drink in hand. He was surrounded like the entire club with long leggy, pretty blondes and I just kinda stood there. I wondered why I had been doing this for the last weeks. Then remembered Dan’s face as he smiled with his brown fringe and eyes, while we played together in the lounge. Random talks and catching up on TV shows with Phil bringing in more snacks. Walking through London and admiring him from below with his detailed face that keeps you coming back for more. That was why I was here, Dan Howell and everything about him. My best friend that I was so desperately in love with that I convinced myself to go along for his company. To spend the entire afternoon with him and gazing at his smiles, and then head to the club. As I went home at night as a girl was on Dan and then to see him again the next day. Somehow to me, it was worth it. He was worth it and although it hurt like hell, I’m too in love to care.

Third Person POV
“Dan, why don’t you just tell her already?” Phil asked confused watching the tall man lie on the floor, groaning.
“Because, Phil.” Hungover Dan said placing his face further into the pillow.
“Because?” His best friend asked from the friend he tried consulting with to no avail multiple times.
“Because I’m not good enough for her, Phil.” Dan spoke firmly raising his voice for bit because of his absolute frustration. He liked, no he love a girl. In his mind, she was absolutely perfect. Charming, witty, funny, beautiful and a kind heart that blew him away from the moment he met her. But of course, it was true good to be true. y/n was too good and too pure, absolutely too good for Dan Howell himself, or so he thought. So now, he would continue the process for the 2nd week and 3rd day in a row of going to the nightclub and looking for some excuse of someone who made up for y/n. Of course, they’d never go home with him, the farthest he made it was out to the street before he pulled off with Phil and left, only after y/n was gone. Except this time, there was someone who interested him just a little bit enough for her to stick around.

Y/N’s POV
Today Dan spoke less and I don’t know why but it was just nice to be with him and Phil.
That was until Dan asked the dreaded question, “Club time anyone? It’s Saturday.” I looked to Phil and my already prepared dress as we all nodded and began getting ready. I thought it would all be the same, except tonight it wasn’t. Dan was actually with a pretty girl and it was tangible one. I heard the conversations with humor, similar interests, creative careers and stimulating goals. Heck, I already started to like her and from the looks of her long, fit, stature, who wouldn’t? That was the day everything changed for the worse. I was nearly going to cry that night as I stumbled into a 24 hour cafe, with a man sitting there. I was somewhat of mess, as I realized that I could never be what that girl was for Dan.
Perfect and captivating, she was everything a girl would want to be and I didn’t stand a chance. There was a silver lining though, as the man introduced himself and we got to chatting. He was working on some extra fulfilling project, besides his already stable career. I was intrigued, but more so lonely so we sat together and I quite enjoyed his company. He was kind and comforting, even though I literally didn’t tell him anything. Edmund, or Ed, gave me his number and for the next three weeks, we were getting close. Maybe there was someone to soothe my heartbreak.

Dan’s POV
It was now almost a month after the clubbing days, and I was with Poppy. We were now exclusive, and I quite liked her. We went on a handful of dates and her personality was versatile, something I appreciated, along with her desire for things to be gradually more intimate, it was classy. She was peppy and clever, I began to be more and more drawn to her free spirited nature. There was still days I missed y/n, but I had to move on and it seemed like she did as well. One time, she just said she was seeing someone and as I saw her less, the someone became her boyfriend. It was gut wrenching, but when I saw them together for the first time, they were dynamic. y/n looked didn’t look gloomy like when we went to the club, she grinned and Edmund, that was his name, took care of her. He was something completely aspirational and did charity for children, he was perfect for her and entirely better than me. I watched how he took care of her as they walked towards Poppy and I, his arm over her and mine over Poppy’s shoulder. I wished it could’ve had been mine over y/n’s shoulder, but it wasn’t.
//Time Skip//
Almost 2 Months

Y/N’s POV
I still went to Dan and Phil’s flat, but now it was distant. Dan had a new girlfriend, her name was Poppy and she was quite literally a flower. Bright and happy with her blonde wavy hair, rosy face and clear cheekbones. I couldn’t help but not like her and she was so absolutely kind. Dan and her were worked so well together and it stung immensely but I couldn’t help but be happy for them. I wanted to be that girl with Dan so much, but I couldn’t be and never would be. I had to get over it. Besides Edmund was amazingly sweet to me and I guess I wasn’t alone anymore. But one day, I came over and poppy was there. She greeted me excitedly to suggest that her and I go shopping, while Ed came over with Dan to play video games. I awkwardly agreed and watched Dan’s surprise at his girlfriend’s suggestion, as I called Edmund over.

We headed out the door and I left the three boys at home, my boyfriend and guy who I wanted to be my boyfriend for so long and Phil. They all seemed to get along as Poppy and I headed out the door.
As we stopped at bench for a rest from shopping, Poppy suddenly asked, “Can I ask you for some advice with Dan?”
I looked over at her slight nervousness putting down my bags and nodding.
“Yeah.” I answered trying to sound sure.
“It’s just, I really really want to get him something. Like a present but I just don’t know what he would like.” Her pretty English accent entwined in her voice made the ramble sound pleasant. “I’ve only known him for barely two months and you’ve known him way longer. I need to get him something he likes. Do you mind helping me?” She smiled with earnest, and I realized she really did care about Dan. As did I, so I agreed happily and she squealed.

Dan’s POV
I don’t know how or why, but somehow the boyfriend of the girl I love is here on my living room couch, playing Final Fantasy XV with me. It was weird and confusing to say the least, but I guess I had to go with it. y/n’s boyfriend was great, he was cool and funny to talk to. Not to mention, he looked good and was just overall well rounded and successful. You couldn’t really not like the guy, and I had nothing against him. The only thing I held against him is that he’s with the girl I wanted to be with but could never, because well I wasn’t and would never be good enough as him. We made small talk and played more, as I sat there absent minded over how everything had become so messy. It was all my fault and there was nothing good about me to fix it.

Part 2: http://fictionallybliss.tumblr.com/post/157473019551/dan-x-reader-not-good-enough-for-her-part-2

Paladin Problem #4
  • People using modern slang: I'm trash for this this morally questionable character or idea.
  • Paladin: That won't do, come on, let's get you cleaned up and exposed to more upright examples to look up to.
  • People: they're so amazing, they could step on me, punch me, set me on fire and I'd thank them.
  • Paladin: That doesn't sound right, not only are you getting seriously hurt and degraded, don't you think you'd have an easier time getting their respect and admiration by standing on your feet and being more than a stepping stone?
  • ...
  • Paladin: I wonder why nobody invites me to parties.
Follow The Angels

TITLE: Follow The Angels

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 1

AUTHOR: MaliceManaged

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine meeting Loki in a forest… When you’re both trying to dispose of a body

RATING: M

NOTES/WARNINGS: This thing got out of hand several times, but dammit it’s finished now! Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go break something. Beware of casual discussions about murder, mentions of torture, blood and all that fun stuff. XD

__________________

    If there was ever a time for practical footwear; it was when one found oneself walking through the woods. Alas, she had not chosen such this particular evening; a decision quickly regretted as she stumbled over a small pile of haphazardly fallen twigs and leaves, nearly falling face first onto the dirt. Of course, she hadn’t exactly planned to spend the evening away from the level asphalt that paved the city she called home on a good day; which was why she was dressed in a short dark red dress and black three-inch heels.

    She hissed out a curse as she stumbled again, this time falling to the ground and dropping the rope that tied the wrapped up tarp she’d been dragging behind her in the process. She brushed her dark hair out of her face irritably, wishing she’d thought to tie it back, then stood, brushing dirt off her knees and thighs with a quiet grumble and picking up the rope again, heaving its burden forward with a grunt before beginning to pull it behind her again as she continued to walk. She heard a twig snap nearby and froze, looking around her as best she could in the relative darkness the moonlight couldn’t banish. Hearing nothing further, she continued on more warily, ears trained for any more noises.

Keep reading

The woman who wrote this just put into words how I felt all my life.

“ When I was 5, I sat on the edge of my chair with my legs spread. I felt an itch between them, so I reached down to scratch, but my grandma grabbed my wrist to stop me and hissed: “Girls don’t do that!” I asked her why, because I had seen my father doing it, I had seen all the boys in primary school doing it, too. And it itched and I wanted to scratch it. Her answer was: “It’s just how it is. Girls don’t do that. Also, don’t sit there with your legs spread like that. Girls don’t do that, either.”

When I was 6, I spent a day on the beach with my family. I was excited about the new bikini my mum got me, but confused as to why she asked me to keep the top on when I went for a swim. She hadn’t made me wear it the years before, but suddenly, she was very fussy about it. “Look, I’ve got one on, too.”, she said to me. And I thought I understood: Women had to cover their breasts, because they were bigger than mens’. But I wasn’t a woman. I was a child. Later, I overheard a talk she had with my dad. “I don’t want old men to stare at her.”, she whispered. I interrupted them and asked her why she thought old men would look at me. Her answer was: “It’s just how it is. It’s because you’re a girl. And men do that.”

When I was 9, I got in a fight with my best friend. I went home and complained about it to my grandma, who lived with us. She told me I should have seen it coming. “That’s how girls are.”, she said. “A friendship between girls is always also a competition. Girls are jealous, manipulative and backstabbing. You can’t trust them.” But I had never fought with my best friend before and I knew we’d forgive and forget the next day, anyway. So, I asked my grandma why, and her answer was: “It’s just how it is. Catfights will happen. It’s normal. That’s how girls are.”

When I was 13, I fell in love with a boy from the neighbourhood. I couldn’t hide my excitement. He was on my mind all the time and I caught myself wishing we were together, so I could hold his hand and kiss him, too. I wanted to meet him, get to know him better, and I told my dad about my plan of asking him out. “Don’t do that.”, my dad said. “It’s not appropriate for a girl to ask a boy out.” Though I partly agreed, since I had never seen a woman proposing to the man in a movie, or read about a girl kissing her crush first, I still didn’t understand what would be so bad about being an exception, so I asked my dad why I had to wait for a boy to show interest in me in order to be allowed to openly requite it. His answer was: “It’s just how it is, darling. The man makes the first move. It’s always been this way. Boys like to conquer, and girls love being chased.”

When I was 17, I was part of a large group of friends. There was a boy who fancied me. I didn’t like him back, but I wasn’t used to anyone crushing on me, so I enjoyed the attention. He’d always tell me I was special. One of a kind. Different. “You’re not like other girls.”, he said. “You’re not a bitch. You’re funny, laid back, intelligent. You don’t just care about your nails or your hair. You get my sense of humour. You’re not like most girls. You’re my best guy friend. But with tits.” I was flattered in the beginning, but soon, I started to wonder if his compliments were any at all. I began to feel disgusted with him. I didn’t want to be his best guy friend with tits. So I asked him what’s so good about a girl like me, a girl unlike what he called a typical one, and his answer was: “That’s easy to explain. A pretty model type of girl is good enough to jack off to, but in the end, a guy wants some drama free pussy. You’re an exception. The majority of girls is superficial and slutty. The kind of girl you fuck, but dump when you’re ready to settle down. Or they’re just plain boring and prude. This sounds harsh, but it’s just how it is.”

When I was 19, there was a boy I regularly had sex with. It was nice. Not the breathtaking kind of passionate, ecstatic fucking I had dreamed of; maybe we lacked chemistry, maybe it would have been nicer if we had been in love; but I was alright with it. I adapted, obeyed and swallowed. Of course I did. In the beginning, he really put an effort in giving me what I gave him. He really tried. But his attempts at putting his tongue to good work quickly faded into halfheartedly rubbing me dry and at some point, he said: “I’m giving up.” I asked him why. His answer was: “It’s so hard to get a girl off. You women need ages to cum. It’s so exhausting.” I laughed and told him I needed about two minutes when I did it on my own. “Then stick to that.”, he said. “I’ve got a cramp in my wrist. Women are so complicated. It’s just how it is. I’m sorry.”

I am 20 now, and I’ve come to realize that my female identity has been shaped by a biased, hypocritical excuse based on ridiculous gender roles: “It’s just how it is.” All my life, I have asked them why, and all they said was “It’s just how it is.” And it didn’t matter whether I’ve asked men or women. Internalized misogyny is just as harmful. There were as many women as men who said: “It’s just how it is.” But that is not the answer I wanted. Not the answer I needed. These few words don’t fucking answer the countless questions concerning my gender identity.

Why can’t I sit with my legs spread? What’s so shameful about what I keep between them? Why must I cover my breasts? Why am I being sexualized long before I’m even told when sex is? Why am I being taught to mistrust other girls? Why do I have to compete with other girls? Why am I only a good girl when I’m not like most girls? Why do I have to keep quiet about the way I feel? Why am I not allowed to show affection like men do? Can’t I conquer a boy’s heart, too? Why must love be about conquering, anyway? What if I don’t like being chased? What if it scares me? Why do boys scare me, anyway? Why do you make me feel inferior to them? And why do I have to like a boy in order to be liked? Why am I being shamed for being a “slut”, them shamed for being “prude”? Why am I expected to adapt, obey and swallow without praise when boys who return the favour are considered grateful, dedicated lovers, heroes, almost ,because to the majority of them, it’s not fucking understood that if I make them cum, they should make me cum, too? Why am I exhausting to be with? Why am I complicated?

Is it because I’m a bitch? Because I’m an oversensitive little baby? Is it because I’m a slut? A prude virgin? Is it because I’m on my period? Cause women are just crazy? Cause I am jealous, manipulative, backstabbing, competitive or any of the other countless negative traits that are immediately connected with the female identity? All summed up, is it because I’m a girl?

I’ve asked them. And they said yes.

And when I asked “But why?”, they said it again: “It’s just how it is.”

“It” is that context, is a never ending circle of resigning acceptance of the circumstance that girls are being raised to disrespect their own gender from their childhood on. I was, and am, expected to accept the fact that being female automatically makes me inferior, and that I should be thankful for being treated equally, because that’s not the standard. I was, and am, expected to appreciate and take it as a compliment when people tell me that I’m not like other women. Because I was, and am, expected to look down on women even though I am a woman myself. But I refuse. I refuse to adapt, obey and swallow. I refuse to accept that “it’s just how it is”. I refuse to take this as an answer, and I will not stop asking why. I won’t ever stop asking why. Not because I want people to give me a proper response, but because I want them to question themselves, too. I want them to start wondering. Want them to start doubting the concept of the role I’ve learned to stick to before I knew how to spell my “typically female” name. I want them to think about it, lose their sleep about it, until they ask, too: “Why?”

In order to eliminate misogynic stereotypes, we must unlearn to understand them. We must refuse to accept “It’s just how it is” as an answer, until we forget what “it” stands for. Keep asking why, until nobody knows an answer anymore. “It’s just how it is” is not an answer. Neither is “It’s cause you’re a girl”. Or “That’s how girls are”. Because girls can be everything and anything they want to be. That’s how it really is.

—Mia Morgan, I REFUSE! A rant on how my female identity has been shaped by excuses and lies ”

artwork by Andrea Mendez

00: Death Awakens Hate

S I X    M O N T H S   A H E A D  


     Tone’s eyes lurked around the crematory as the darkness of the heavy clouds hung over him like an animated cartoon from childhood shows. Soon the rain would follow, the July weather finally finding its match for the summer heat that’s been controlling the city for at least mid-March. Down south, Atlanta to be exact, it’s expected, but doesn’t mean it keeps the ones around him from complaining any less than before when it’s cold as ice. 


     Eva’s trembling lip drew his attention from the one around them, his expression hard and detached, the man standing across from him forcing the cold stance. Yet, he knew the emotions running through her right now. He suffered from this once before; losing someone so close to your heart that it makes you want to be dead. He hoped she would grow to accept it. Even if she doesn’t believe in him anymore. Do it for herself, because death was a part of life and the showing of weakness was a part of death.  

      The sweet whispers and moans of love she would cherish and shower him in would be lowered into this grave; replaced with her silent hatred. Nobody knows but them. Regardless of her feelings, Eva never turned her back on him. Insisting on standing by his stand no matter how much she questions him as a man. Tone always has the urge to ask the million-dollar question floating around them. Why? As much as he despises the single word question; he too wonders, especially in this case.  

      Never asked, Tone knows why Eva hasn’t left and it has nothing to do with choices. Or love. Hate doesn’t keep her closed off and broken, love doesn’t stop her from walking away from him and everything that she once believed in months ago. The man who sweep her off her feet still lived somewhere deep down in him, making her believe everything that came out of that beautiful mouth of his.

      The lowering of the casket should have set her off. He just knew it would. Tone was even prepared for it, but it never happened. The mother of this young lady, the woman who had protected, birth, and love her like no one else, was being taken away. Going six feet below and yet not once did she allow her guard down to cry or whimper in front of those around her. Instead, she bites her bottom lip and adjusted the Gucci sunglasses over her eyes. Her strength was one he feared in moments like this. It had been awhile since fear creep over his body, consuming the control he desperately needed every second of the day.

     She would be the death of him one day and Tone was ready to accept that now.

My Candy Love - Episode 31 Guide

Notes:

-      Negative result for LOM
/      Neutral result for LOM
+     Positive result for LOM

/ or + Means my Love’O’Meter is at 100 so the result is either neutral or positive

If an answer does not have  -, /, or + beside it, it means I don’t know the result

LOM: Love’O’Meter; Low LOM is around 65 points or lower. High LOM is 65 and over.

Action Points: 350-550 depending on how lucky you are on finding people within the episode.

Illustrations: 5 Illustrations possible, one with each boy. Dialogue choices results in getting illustrations.

Hidden Item: Crystal Pendant found in Hospital Room 1 in drawer, right after talking to Lysander for the first time. To keep necklace, don’t give the pendant back to the Nurse. Pick correct dialogue with Nurse Felicity which is marked in bold. Image of pendant location is at the bottom of guide.

Note: For each single episode replay from episode 28 and up, you will be redirected to a page where you will be able to choose the boy with whom you with to (re)play the episode. This option is only available on the web and not on the mobile application. Remember the new skins will not be visible in the episode illustrations.

Money:

Flowers $10 ($20 on Lysander’s route)
Stuffed Rabbit $7
Meal $7
Bus Ticket $10 (Only on Lysander’s route)

Auntie: Gift is a stethoscope. Found during the objective: ‘Find Lysander’s doctor and tell him the truth about Nina’ in Hospital Room 1 and Upstairs Hallway.

Keep reading

Vivien Leigh as Sabina in Act III of The Skin of Our Teeth, 1945

“You’re a very nice man, Mr. Antrobus, but you’d have got on better in the world if you’d realized that dog-eat-dog was the rule in the beginning and always will be. And most of all now. Oh, the world’s an awful place, and you know it is. I used to think something could be done about it; but I know better now.”

2016 has left many people bereaved of all hope and purpose. The only vestige of comfort I can offer is that the world has been here before: when Thornton Wilder wrote the words above, humanity seemed similarly poised on the edge of oblivion, ravaged by the twin horrors of Nazism and Fascism and stalked by the threat of Nuclear annihilation. By telescoping history and setting the plight of modern man alongside events of the Bible and the Ice Age, Wilder was making the point that what we perceive to be unique problems of our own time have their real basis in human nature itself - particularly man’s greed, selfishness and lust for power - and can only ever be resolved by looking inwards and finding higher motivations for how we live. Until then, the most we can hope for as a species is to blindly stumble from one calamity to the next while narrowly avoiding complete extinction - if only by the skin of our teeth.

Amidst the chaos of the past year, a thought that’s persistently troubled me is whether there is any real value in running a blog on a classic actress whose life ended almost half a century ago - especially one who’s been widely misrepresented to be nothing more than a shallow icon. There’s a tendency to think of vintage blogs as offering an escape from the harsh realities of modern life to the comfort of a glorified past. No one could be blamed for wanting to retreat from the world in its current state, but it’s also obvious that glamourising the past can have dangerous consequences - particularly given how nostalgia for ‘the good old days’ has been cynically exploited by the far-right with alarmingly successful results. Taking an interest beyond one’s own time and place shouldn’t be regarded as escaping from life but as the natural inclination of a curious and inquisitive mind; in its highest form, it’s about trying to preserve everything that’s best and beautiful in human thought and achievement, but it’s also about recognising the worst mistakes of human societies in an effort to avoid ever repeating them. Furthermore, I think these two aims are co-dependent: if we were truly succeeding in the first then we wouldn’t be failing so abysmally in the second.

For anyone who takes even a passing interest in human history, one thing stands out more than anything else: we didn’t care enough. Tragedies happen, atrocities are committed, good people suffer and the bad go unpunished, and once a suitable amount of time has passed we look back and wonder why nobody did anything about it. One positive thing about 2016 has been to make me care more, and I vow to keep on caring in 2017. I know it may take more strength than a lot of people have right now, but caring is the only answer to the evil and injustice that we see all around us. And caring even when we feel that no one cares for us is the highest test of our courage. If we don’t know what to care about, we can start by caring about truth, beauty and love. These seem to me to be humanity’s best weapons in the new year, and they may be all the ones we need.

Bloom, rinch, G

Stealth is key to John’s work, always has been. He likes to keep his hand in.

Specifically, right now his hand is in a patch of little white-and-yellow flowers. He thinks they’re daisies, although botanics were never John’s strong suit. He’s pretty sure they’re not poisonous and Finch isn’t allergic to them, which is the important part.

Speaking of Finch, the man is sitting on a bench a few yards ahead, engrossed in a book. John smiles as he plucks a handful of flowers.

He gets to his feet and soundlessly walks behind Finch. There’s not a lot of people in the park today, everything quiet. Nobody wondering why a tall man in a suit is holding flowers and standing behind another man on a bench.

It’s a warmish day, and Finch has left off his hat, hairs bristling up. John slowly, slowly lowers one flower to lie along Finch’s hair; it’ll probably fall off if Finch so much as stirs, but right now he’s motionless as only Finch can be when he’s focused on something.

John figured he’s manage two flowers, maybe three, before Finch caught on. But Finch remains still as John dots his head with flowers, and ends up moving to put them in Finch’s collar when he runs out of room.

When John is out of flowers, Finch says, “Next time, perhaps you can give me a nice bouquet instead. I’m fond of tulips.” He sounds deeply amused.

John tries to think of how he was made and didn’t even notice. It’s somewhat effective at keeping him from grinning, or hugging himself while mumbling Voluntary!Personal information! From Finch! "Maybe I’ll make you a flower crown,“ he says.

Finch looks around then, turning half his body to give John an unimpressed look. Maybe-daisies tumble down from his head to his jacket, and yet Finch doesn’t brush them off. "You can make flower crowns.” His voice is heavy with skepticism.

A grin breaks out on John’s face then, unstoppable. “I’m a man of many hidden talents,” he tells Finch.

He gives Finch a courteous arm up, already plotting the extravagant tulip arrangement he’s planning to send to United Heritage Insurance’s offices. He might even learn Finch’s favorite color out of the deal.

The Cardinal Sins of Homestuck Fanadventures.

So there you are, reading Homestuck, and suddenly you think “Hey! These sprites are pretty simple, I could do this, but with my characters instead.” Great. Welcome to the halls of the fan adventure. You have just become the one millionth person to attempt this, and like most of those before you, you are going to fail at some basic things. Or at least you would if not for this list. These are the cardinal sins of writing a fan adventure, curated after sifting through hundreds of terrible ones before you. Of course the zeroth sin is “Thou shalt not make a Homestuck adventure, thou shalt try to do something more original”, but since I know you won’t, let us begin.


Thou shalt not write Homestuck.

You are not Andrew Hussie. You will never be Andrew Hussie. So why are you trying to write his story? It’s a task you’re guaranteed to fail. Instead, you need to write your own story. This means you can’t just take his jokes and recycle them. This means you can’t just put carbon copies of his characters in the same world and then wonder why nobody is reading. It’s not interesting, and nobody wants to read the same tired “a boy stands in his room, although sixteen years ago he was born, only today will he get a name” schtick we’ve seen a thousand times. Introduce new plot elements, introduce new conflict. Don’t retread what we’ve seen already. Scratches. Ancestors. Exiles. God Tiers. Troll/Human relationships. All those things we’ve already seen. Do something else or change them up in a way that’s more exciting.

Thou shalt ask “why”.
This means a lot of things. You will ask “why” are you writing this comic. What is the story you want to tell, what is the theme of the story, what is the purpose. It also means you must ask “why” your characters do all the things they do. They must have a reason for everything - not necessarily a conscious one, but one you are aware of. This means every action they take, every piece of clothing they wear, every item in their room has some backstory related to the character. This will go a long way towards making them believable..and most importantly of all NEVER have a blank room. It’s lazy, a waste of time and the hallmark of someone who doesn’t give a shit.

Thou shalt not switch characters too quickly.
This is a big one, and it includes having a pesterlog two pages in. It is the tried and true sign of one who just wants to “get to the good parts”, so they rush through introducing the characters as fast as they can - but alas, you see, by rushing through you make it so we don’t have any reason to care or like these people, and as such you give us plenty of excuses to gloss over all of your meticulously written out troll quirks.

Thou shalt characterize properly.

I know, it’s hard. Making a really fully fleshed character is not easy for the best of us - but you know what is easy? Not making everyone the exact same character except for text color and quirk. Your conversations between your characters must not just serve as vehicles for things to happen - they need to have subjects other than just “Do you have the game? Yes. Let’s play.” These characters should have histories together, and not big mysterious ones, but little ones like how they love watching cop dramas together or make fun of each other’s hairstyles all the time. Write these histories, then play on them in your conversations.

Thou shalt not use pop culture as a crutch.
A good sign of a shitty comic is when a character is defined by what commercial products they are interested in. This goes double for kids who symbols are just some videogame property or superhero mark. Your character can like something, they can even be obsessed with it, but that means their character trait is UNHEALTHY OBSESSION, not whatever stupid game or cartoon happens to be the subject of their passion. The media is ancillary, and if it’s really going to be good you should pick something you yourself are not a fan of. You’ll find it much easier to write a well rounded person that way.

Thou shalt remember comedy.
This is important because Homestuck’s entire style is inherently funny. If you want to write a SERIOUS story with lots of drama, then you need to choose a different art style. You are wasting your time trying to make these cute cartoon stub people with no arms get really upset about something. It will never be taken seriously. Tongue in cheek is the name of the game.

Thou shalt know when to alias.
This is important, because Homestuck thrives on rasterized art, but every now and then real objects are resized down to fit. If you are doing this you must become aware of what aliasing is and when to do it and how to turn it off when needed. This means never ever resizing a sprite with aliasing on because you know it will distort the sprites. It means when you resize objects from google you will turn on aliasing because you know it will be necessary to make them look good. It also means learning to understand rasterized sprites can only be sized up by whole values (2x, 3x, and so on).

Thou shalt use proper perspective
Whatever room base you use will have lines you can use to find what the proper perspective is. Your posters must follow these lines. Your furniture must follow these lines. If you don’t, if you leave your posters as perfect squares on an angled wall you will doom yourself as someone inattentive to detail. It’s also important to use the same perspective for all your objects - if they are at different angles, they will look terrible.

Thou shalt know thine limits
Practicing as an artist is important and you should do it as often as possible, but if what you’re doing does not look good you should not try to pass it off, you should keep trying until it does look good or ask for help. If you can’t illustrate whatever it is yet, you should rethink your approach and see if there’s another way to do it. Most of all, you should make sure whatever you’re drawing is clear - the best way to do that is to flip the image horizontally and see if you can figure out what’s happening.

Thou shalt not overillustrate

On the other hand, you should know what the limits of the style are, and realize if you want to go outside those limits you should have a good reason. This means that creating small details and highly shaded eyes on the low-res sprite templates is a no no. Likewise with shading on the character, the hair, individual hairs being visible, the list goes on. These sprites are deliberately minimalistic in design, and going overboard on them creates visual conflict and actually makes them look worse, not better.

Thou shalt remember planning is easy, doing is hard.
Sure, you’re psyched, you’ve got everything planned out. You know your character’s motivations, you know the plot points, sweet god you’ve got the epic final flash planned out to a frame - but you still have only two pages done. That’s when it dawns on you that making a fan adventure is super hard. Like a job you put in six hours a day hard, if you want it to get anywhere. So be prepared, you’ve either made a huge commitment for yourself, or guaranteed one more dead adventure for the world to dissect with glee. Good luck, and try your best.

I don’t know that this is a complete list - there are always new sins being committed, including the minor ones like writing in canon characters and doing it poorly or using the sylladex system incorrectly, but if you follow these guidelines you should at least be off to a good start. Feel free to let me know what sins you think should be added!

The Bimbo Web-Challenge #11

“Like, duh”, Candy said while looking at the article about the best ways to pick up boys in her girly magazine. She didn’t really remember getting it, but somehow it had appeared on her nightstand. She had been awake early and had started reading. Why? She didn’t know. There had been some voices she recalled, but what they had said and who it had been she had no idea. It didn’t seem to bother her though. She was ready for a new day and the beginning of her first challenge. There were only four days left in the challenge and her big bulk of transformations was over. She already looked and sounded like a bimbo so how bad could it get?

There was a beep coming from the computer which indicated todays topic had arrived. As she opened the mail Candy suddenly thought that it could get a lot worse. The challenge was “picking up men”. Whoever got the most phone numbers would win this challenge. She hadn’t picked up any man in her entire life. She even was a man two days ago. How was this supposed to be comfortable?

She sat there for a long time thinking about what would happen if she just denied the challenge. Hadn’t Jennifer done that once? Something about getting all the enhancements instead of just one? Candy couldn’t let that happen.
She looked into her wardrobe, surprised at all the new different kinds of clothing that hadn’t been there two days ago. She picked a cute but not very revealing outfit and headed for the park.

She went to the asian garden. She had never been there before but somehow it seemed appropriate. How was this supposed to work now? She just stood there for a while, waiting for men to drool over her and give her their number. That’s how she remembered it from when she had been a man. But somehow nobody came. She looked at all the men that went by, wondering if they’d approach her. Slowly she started fantasizing about each one of them to take her home and make her his. She wanted to serve them. She wanted to be their little wife. But nobody approached her and she was too submissive to approach anyone. She started walking around the city. This went on for about two hours until her phone rang. 

“Hey Candy. We were very disappointed in your process. You’re not picking up men. You just stand there waiting for them to pick you up. And why would they do that? So we’ve decided to give you a little help. Candy, as your master I command you to look approach every man that you come by and ask him for your number. But put on some more revealing clothing first please and put your hair in pigtails.”

Candy wanted to scream at them. That they were the ones who made her look and act like she was. How was this her fault? If anything it was hers for not making her more sexy for the men. All she could say was “Like, Yep, master.” as the phone became silent again.
She went home and changed clothes then went out again. For a short moment she just closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She knew that in the moment she opened her eyes and saw the first man in the little shop across the street she’d be walking towards him. She felt embarrassed because she knew she couldn’t stop the humiliation that was about to come.

As she opened her eyes she made her first step towards the store. Then another one. It was like she was on auto-pilot. She entered the store. There he was. Candy felt small and out of control. All she could do was walk towards him and say “Uhm. hiya.” - “Oh hey. What can I do for you?” - Candy giggled. Why had she done that? She remembered that she had something to do here right? Some kind of challenge. “Uhm. yep.” - “And what’s that?”
God he was hot. Why did he have to be so big and muscular? She felt embarassed to even consider him as being interested in her. He was a god and she was just a silly little asian weirdo. “You can, like, give me your number and stuff?” Finally it was out. The man looked a little confused. Candy leaned down on the counter. Somehow she couldn’t take her eyes of this man. He was so interesting.

“Here you go. Call me whenever.”
Candy was interrupted from her daydreaming by a piece of paper that was  waved in front of her eyes. “Yep, master” she said with a dopey grin. She was hooked on him. She wanted his babys. “What did you call me?”, he said, now a little more arrogant. “Uhm like.. I said <Yes master> coz i’ll call you whenever master and uhm.. like.. do whatever you want master” - “What is this? Is this some kind of prank?”
He backed away. - “Nono don’t leave master. Let Candy uhm…” She awkwardly moved towards him and they both fell onto the floor, her face on his crotch.
“Uhm like.. master. do you want me to suck your cock?”, Candy said.
The man was intrigued and just looked at her lusting for his stiff member for a few seconds. Then he shouted: “Hey guys, come check this out.”
Soon three men stood in front of her. Candy said “Hiya guys. Can i like have your numbers and stuff?”
The first man said “I thought you wanted to suck cock for your master?”
A bolt of pleasure shot through Candy. “Like totally master.” she said as she dropped to her knees. As Candy started rubbing all of her masters cocks she wondered if one of them would marry her and give her the life she so desperately wanted. Inside she screamed disgusted at what she was doing, but there was no way to stop it now.

“You love sucking cock you little slut, don’t you?”
She did. Why was she so disgusted before? This was wonderful.
“Yes. take it all. Do you like it when i pinch your nipples, Candy?”
She did. She hadn’t noticed it before, but it made her feel really good.
She wanted to tell master that he was so right, but in that moment a cock was shoved deep into her little mouth.
“Take it all slut. You love sucking off strangers whore? Do you love just walking into some public place and sucking off all the men there?”
She did! She did! That was sooo like her. Master knew her so well.
“Do you get off of some stranger shooting his load deep into your mouth?”
Yes! Yes! Yes!
As the cock was pushed deep inside her mouth and semen started to shoot out of it, Candy couldn’t do anything else then let the tingling sensation flow through her whole body as it shut off her brain and her whole body started to shake. She couldn’t move! She was frozen. The tingling continued to grow until it overtook her whole body. She screamed. She shivered. A mindblowing orgasmn rocked through her that wouldn’t stop. She almost choked on the cock, but that just made her pleasure the more intense. 
“What the fuck? Did you just cum whore?”
She was freed from the cock so she said “Like uh, totally.”
The other cocks started bursting out semen all over her face.

Something felt weird. Candy felt uncomfortable. Something was missing. It was like a heat in her stomach that implicated that she needed something. Her phone rang.
“Hey Candy. We didn’t want to interrupt you. Nice show! However i’m sorry to say this, but you became last place for todays challenge. Since you were occupied we held the poll without you there and the results are in. We gave the audience a choosing of four special enhancements and the winner is <<Cum vampire>>. Congratulations. From now on whenever you get cum on your face the rest of the day will be a bit blurry since you’ll feel like you’re totally drunk and get completely addicted to cum. Every minute you’re out of a cock to blow you’ll be feeling incredibly hungry and do everything to get more. The effect will only wear off when you fall asleep. Hope you have a nice evening and see you tomorrow.”

Well. Fuck.

From The Sidelines

by: YetAnotherPhanBlog

Genre: mostly fluff, some angst 

Description: Dan plays piano for Phil’s dance class.

Warnings: idk none i guess

Words: 1942

Chapters: 1/?

Something was a miss about the way his fingers danced across a board of ivory coloured in black and white. So precise and calculated in the way that there was never a wrong note. Never a sway in the slow and steady timing of the song.

Nothing too slow or fast or even remotely off key of the pianist, yet everything seemed so wrong. Maybe it was too cautious, too calculated, giving an inhuman sort of air around the boy. Maybe it was the way the light from the window bounced off his hair and on to his sheet music. Maybe it was the look in his eyes.

Keep reading

gearsoflove  asked:

I could write a whole page about how much I love your theories about Chara and Undertale in general, how well-written and interesting they are, how it's lovely to see a person do so much research in order to help the fandom understand a character more, etc. But I think it's enough to say that you're by far the best and my most favourite Undertale blog. Also, a question for you, I roleplay Chara on another site, so if it's not a problem, could you maybe give me some tips on their personality?

(undertale spoilers)

imagine a bunch of exclamation marks. miles and miles of exclamation marks. that’s how i’m feeling right now! i can’t thank you enough for your kind words!

alright, let me tell you about chara’s personality from my perspective. more info about my points can be found in my chara posts masterlist.

chara has the potential to be extremely manipulative. they manipulated asriel (to go along with the plan), the humans (to attack chasriel), and the player (to try other routes and eventually do the pacifist ending). when chara has a goal, absolutely nothing will stand in their way. their goal matters more than ANYTHING to them. that includes the people who are closest to them – that’s why chara was capable of putting asriel and the other monsters in so much danger. they sometimes delight in the pain of others. flowey himself said about chara:

but if the narrachara theory is to be believed, they also have a wonderful sense of humour and love jokes. they enjoy being around dogs… but they also have no problem with seeing them die for the sake of their plan! because NOTHING and NOBODY matters more than the plan. they tend to make a “creepy face” when very focused on their plan.

chara can’t stand wasting time when they’ve got something to do. they ignore people’s monologues and they even tell monster kid to turn around when they start talking to them and immediately initiate a battle. chara gets angry when they lose – this can be seen in sans’ reaction to chara’s face if they get killed.

after losing to sans once:

after losing to sans twice:

but even worse, chara can’t stand to be deceived. if sans is spared (from chara’s perspective, likely an effort to save time because sans takes forever) and proceeds to dunk chara, they’ll have a far stronger reaction.

so although chara can seem expressionless and cold at times (they don’t emote at all after sans’ prank when they “first meet”) when focused on their plan, they’re also capable of widely varying facial expressions, from strange faces, to angry glares, to laughing so hard that tears run down their face.

despite all this, they’re capable of at least seeming loving. perhaps they even are genuinely loving as long as they’re not focused on a goal. their hatred and their drive (their determination) is really like a curse for chara. 

here’s some random awful stuff chara seems to have said:

glad dummy:

burgerpants:

(for the burgerpants thing: i know this is an amusing line, but it’s implied that chara told him to go to hell)

snowdrake:

snowdrake’s mother:

vulkin:

i associate these negative responses outside the genocide route with chara because they seem so similar to the stuff that chara actually says in the genocide route. i don’t believe genocide route chara is really much different to pre-death chara. i feel that the chara who tried to force asriel to kill against his will and the chara met by the player at the end of the genocide route are actually extremely similar. i just feel that that’s how chara behaves when they’re extremely set on a goal. if kindness and patience isn’t necessary, then it goes out the window.

chara seems to have some sort of fascination with the idea of hell, from using the word (or being implied to) a few times to referring to themself as a demon. 

chara is implied to be able to feel with their stolen soul (after the first genocide route, at the very least):

a few lines later:

chara also doesn’t agree with the player’s desire to recreate the world only to waste time destroying it again when they already knew what would happen. to chara, it is a waste of time. and chara hates wasting time.

if chara’s slaughter of flowey is any indication, they are especially sensitive to what they consider betrayal. asriel is the reason chara’s original plan failed which is probably why they’re notably cruel to him. chara’s reaction to sans’ “mercy” also seems to echo this sentiment. chara cannot stand betrayal, regardless of what they have actually done to others themself.

but when they can’t do murderous things, they sit back and have fun. pacifist kind of dialogue happens. chara is a three-dimensional character with their own likes and dislikes. they have a very dark side, but they also have a more light-hearted side.

so basically:

  • great sense of humour!
  • but also a very dark sense of humour
  • hates wasting time
  • if there’s a plan and chara is capable of making strides towards its completion, they will turn very serious and disregard the safety of others and anything else that isn’t the plan
  • CAPABLE OF FUN AND GOOD TIMES
  • references hell a lot?
  • also capable of many different kinds of expressions, even while serious and driven by a goal (not stoic ALL the time)
  • for some reason they really seem to dislike snowdrake’s family???
  • sensitive to betrayal