but that just makes her so human to me

anonymous asked:

lol i love the fact that it's canon that Clarke sucks at small talking. It just makes her more relatable.

clarke trying to small talk with friends or strangers has got me permanently overwhelmed. i repeat: permanently. it’s one of the most important insights we got of her okay. like yes, she is obviously this smooth slytherin who can just shred you, but she is also the most uncomfortabe human being on earth? sdgfhd like, she is so awkward in a way and Asks too much. i love that she still aces small talks by simply being cute “im sorry… too many questions” fshgfdhg.

i love her

She’s real.
She’s so perfect at being imperfect and human,
it makes me want to reach to the sky and pluck out a star,
just for her to hold in her heart.
This star would not outshine her,
for she would outshine it with her beauty.
She would outshine the star with her kindness.
She’s someone you always long to be with.
Someone who actually cares about life and what it’s about.
Who cares about love.
—  A poem about her

Honestly I know everyone’s talking about bellarke sex in that beautiful bed but like…. seeing Clarke so soft in that room but with an uncertainty about her, like she can’t remember what it’s like to have something nice, seeing Bellamy so hopeless and wrung out…. it just made me ACHE for a scene where they get to hold each other, make each other feel human again, lie in that big bed and just /be/ beside each other. Just imagine bellarke holding each other in that soft lighting, forgetting that the end of the world is coming because it feels like their whole world is already there, in their arms…


Where television is fantastic and is way ahead of film is it doesn’t feel the need to polarize women so much… Male writers, and I say this with all love and respect, often want to make a woman either the angel or the whore—make her the witch, or put her on the pedestal. When people ask me about Margaery, I say they’re not mutually exclusive. You don’t have to be practical and politically savvy and not be a good person. You can be a good human being and just be shrewd. I think all these women play similar characters.

"Useless" pet

Context: Our group of a human fighter, half orc barbarian, dwarf druid, tiefling rogue(also our DM), and half elf ranger(me) almost all had pets but only the druid had used hers for combat so far because the most mine could do was two damage and that was with a critical, while the druids could do 8, so our DM made it clear she found it pointless that the rest of us use our pets but we could if we really really wanted to.

The party had just escaped a cave and defeated a fiend and were making our way through a blizzard. After a few perception checks, we noticed we were about to be ambushed by snow spiders. The combat was going well until our fighter was frozen solid and our druid fell into deep snow, and our barbarian took hard damage.

Ranger(ooc): OK I want to jump onto the spiders back and stab it with my dual swords. (Makes the acrobatics and attack rolls barely)
DM: OK this spider is REALLY bloodied, does that end your turn?
Ranger(ooc again): Oh no, it’s Vex’s turn!
DM:Y-…Your rat?
Ranger: *NAT 20*
Party: *silence*
DM: I uh. Vex crawls out of your bag and lets out the most vicious squeak it can muster and just bites into this spiders thorax, goring it until it gives up the ghost. Jesus…

i know everyone is on some high right now (that episode was just really fucking good i know) so i’m kinda gonna ramble into the void, but the scene when luna calms raven down carries such a strength that i haven’t really witnessed on this show before. it literally left an indelible mark on me, because as much as it is an experimental choice it just happened at the right time and i can’t tell you how happy that makes me. and all that human contact that is established through the angle, lightning, movement and sound is just so immense? that entire embrace creates one of the most defining moments in the show for me, to be honest.

i mean, if we look at the scene and jump into the moment we begin at the point where raven still grits her teeth, but with luna also telling her “to say it”. that contrast between the one who wants to fight and the one who wants the one to fight to be calm here is how the director manages to take us on a whole different journey, because the well defined points of reference you can make is the interplay between “fire” and “the sea” (just look at the shot below yall im yellin)

the tracking motion that matches itself into luna’s sway, which then allows raven to fall into the “waves” of the sea and let them carry her, while all she needs to do is repeat luna’s words too, creates such a great element of focus because you get a non-verbal communication (their physical intimacy), and a verbal one.

and everything starts to match so well together into this big expression of human emotion. literally everything flows. from the camera motion, to luna’s expression, to raven’s tears and the visual tone when she repeats what luna wants her to say. acoustic subjectivity turns into a rhythm that both characters simply fall into. neither is detached from the image but is feeling what the other feels. and it’s freaky because this is not only clear by the movement of the camera itself but also the subtitles because they are literally becoming one and then


into the fucking




a satire of pathologising intelligence in TFP as a criticism of pathologising gayness

Ok, so the Holmes parents know that Eurus is like a neon, nuclear-powered genius and they don’t have like say a library for her?  Where she can see books?  And can learn about anatomy and physiology?  So, she has to dissect her own arm to see how it works?  Dude…  

Just.  dude.  

If Eurus isn’t 100% symbolism and not meant to be taken seriously as a human for a single second then I can understand this.  Because it’s not supposed to make sense.  but if it is then, yikes.

like mummy holmes is a math genius who’s like not aware that her child geniuses need outlets for the intelligence?  Sounds fake but okay.

And like Molly before me, I know it’s not.  It’s not.  It’s not supposed to make sense literally but like it’s so hard for me sometimes just not to come crashing into the rocks of the surface narrative with just a million questions regarding the basic common sense of like anyone in TFP.

How can I think that we’re meant to take this narrative seriously, at face value?  Like, ‘kid was so smart she was a killer?’.  Dude, if that’s not about Sherlock’s feeling alienated because he was a gifted child, I don’t know what is.

Maybe Sherlock, as a child, had some of these thoughts and maybe shared them with others and those others weren’t cool but flipped out and jumped to some extreme labels for him like, ‘sociopath’, etc.

So, I can either believe that the writers really think that being super smart is intrinsically and mysteriously dangerous or maybe they’re trying to tell us something that’s actually off about that idea.  Like, to the extent that everything about Eurus as a dangerous person seems fake: she can control your mind with her clichés, etc., we can see that this is a satire on the very idea that someone’s, ‘too smart’, for their own good.  

The whole of Sherlock is basically an ode to the importance of thinking for yourself, of using your brain, and lately, your heart, too.  I really don’t believe that, ‘incandescent’, and poorly parented Eurus is supposed to be a real child that the Holmeses had.  She’s symbolic of how the Holmes parented their children as being, ‘different’.  But, in light of the fact that we know that Mrs Holmes is a, ‘genius’, as of HLV, then even this theory falls apart.  Why would a genius not know how to handle her genius children?

Because here, ‘intelligent’, is code for gay.  Since it doesn’t make sense that Mrs Holmes doesn’t know what to do about her smart children, it makes more sense that she doesn’t know what to do about her gay children.  (I legitimately forgot my own theory that, sociopath is code for gay, so yeah, Eurus is a sociopath and therefore gay.  She’s the gay secret of the Holmes children).

Now, who seems more incandescently gay: Sherlock or Mycroft?  I’d say it’s a tie, personally.  Since, ‘this is family’, according to Mycroft, himself, let’s speculate that this, ‘Eurus’, phenomenon is about both of them.  The Holmes parents found them to be incandescently gay, some might say, ‘flaming’, as children and they internalised the message that that was somehow a pathology.

I think the parents didn’t intend this but they didn’t realise the influence that Uncle Rudy’s struggles and their own ignorance would have on them.  The message they received is that their true feelings were dangerous and needed to be locked away in a very secure part of themselves.  Lest something terrible happen if their feelings were released.

So, yeah, as facile as it is that Eurus psychopathy is suddenly cured by Sherlock’s hug, it makes actual sense to think that facing family secrets actually can heal a family.  Finally having the Holmes family discuss that Eurus is still alive, means finally talking about the fact that their kids are you know, ‘still’, gay, despite having hidden it all these years.  The parents never wanted that, but they didn’t realise that it had happened, either.  It makes way more sense to think that the Holmes parents didn’t know how to raise two gay boys than to think that they didn’t know how to raise to geniuses considering that Mrs Holmes, herself, is one, too.

Looking back on Eurus’ ludicrous mind-control powers we can see that this is actually a satire of how ridiculous homophobia is.  Like, people fear that hanging out with a gay person will make you gay.  Somehow, through their gay magic they will make you gay, too.  This is equally as absurd as what Eurus does with her incandescent intellect.    

Seriously, think about the word, ‘incandescent’.  Why that word?  Mycroft is not prone to poetic liberties, why here?  Because it’s code for, ‘flaming’.  To be a, ‘flaming homosexual’, means that you’re very obviously gay; everyone can tell.  Eurus isn’t just symbolic of the Holmes siblings’ queerness, she’s symbolic of how easily others could see it.  This is why they internalised that it must be hidden, because it was very obvious to others, even when they were children.

Back to Eurus’ powers: homophobia often includes a fear of seduction by a queer person.  Dracula doesn’t just drink your blood, he makes you want him, first.  He puts you under a spell.  We get tons of Dracula coding for Sherlock in series 1.  (Part 1, Part 2, Mary, Molly, Sally).

In a way, then, TFP is a satire of horror movies because it’s a satire of homophobia.  It’s satirises the fear of intelligence and that intelligence is code for, ‘the other’, ‘woman’, ‘gay’.  

If you’ve read @heimishtheidealhusband‘s meta about victorian ghosts you will know that Gothic Horror expressed the anxiety of that time about same sex romance.  So, it’s possible that the reason that TFP appears to be both an homage and a satire of horror movies, is that it’s really about the destruction of this homophobia.  It’s about throwing out all of these fears and stereotypes that are deeply embedded in our horror movies because they’re deeply embedded in our psyches.         

Maybe we should not?

Context: The three Players, A human monk, an elf fighter, and a dwarf barbarian/sorcerer woke up in a tomb and managed to make their way out, to find a dragon’s skeleton that once blocked what used to be the entrance.

Elf: “I take a tooth.”
Both Dwarf and Human(ooc): What why? Why would you do that?
Evil DM(me): No, guys, if [Elf] wants to, let her.
The Dwarf and Human exchange worried looks, having played my sessions before.

Elf:“Okay I pull a tooth.”
Me:“ Any in particular?”
Elf: “Just.. a tooth. Does it matter?”

So the Elf is allowed to pull a tooth, and the other two begin backing away. All of them are slightly surprised at first by it not being something ridiculous like explosive, and then it happens.
“Elf, roll a reflex save.”
Elf fails.
4 foot spiders begin crawling out of the mouth of the dragon and, as she fails a will save, up the elf’s legs as she stares in horror.

The Dwarf had long since cast detect magic, and saw that the now 13 spiders were all illusionary. He and the human were almost dead themselves, forgetting to breathe rather than laugh.
Anyways, the Dwarf took pity eventually and informed the elf that the spiders were illusions, which cancelled the spell.
-Genesis Campaign

nameless crossroads demon, true form + humanoid glamour. i love this awful mouth man.


Hey guys! This is my first ever masterlist! I will have a link to it in my description as well and I will post a new one every month! :)

The imagines with ** next to the title has smut in it.


Pack Imagines-

  1. Scars To Your Beautiful

Scott McCall-

  1. Entitled Wolf 

Stiles Stilinski-

  1. Sleepy Stilinski
  2. Take Me To The Ball
  3. Little Ms.Shorty
  4. Like Father, Like Son
  5. Two Humans In Fear
  6. My Forever

Isaac Lahey-

  1. Full Of Surprises
  2. Locker Room Make Out
  3. Paralyzing Fear
  4. Our Belle and Her Beast
  5. Damn It, Lahey
  6. You Aren’t Her

Theo Raeken-

  1. The Real Theo
  2. Match My Pain
  3. Never Again
  4. Detention Was Hot**
  5. Blood and Guts
  6. Raeken and Dunbar(TheoxReaderxLiam)**

Derek Hale-

  1. Unplanned Picnics
  2. My Brother’s Trainer

Lydia Martin-

  1. New Thoughts**

Liam Dunbar-

  1. Raeken and Dunbar(TheoxReaderxLiam)**
  2. Stupid Misunderstanding

Malia Tate/Hale-

  1. Officially, Satisfied**

Peter Hale-

  1. Domestic Wolf
  2. Close, Not Close Enough
  3. Where Have You Gone?

Brett Talbot-

  1. Phone Down
  2. Grocery Girl

That’s it so far! :) Thank you all for requesting and making this blog so great, love and kisses to all xx

The Vampire Diaries is Lacking Common Sense

……I cannot be the only one pissed that this last season of the Vampire Diaries is basically shutting down any type of ship or rational idea ever created.

Anyone with common sense watching this show knows that it went completely rogue like mid-way through season 4. So many questions. Number one being how did Stefan and Elena break up like it was nothing? Watching old episodes…their chemistry was so on point I can’t even fathom it. They saved each other from so much. They went through…everything…together. How?

Another being Klaus and Caroline. I just…Klaus at one point would’ve destroyed the world for her, so you’re telling me he easily went to New Orleans and never tried to contact her again after a quick fuck in the forest? How does that even make sense?

And then there’s Bonnie. When her and Damon were in the prison world there’s no way things could’ve remained completely platonic. Human nature would’ve suggested some time of hugging or cuddling…They even acted as more than friends would act. They both showed signs of jealousy toward one another. In fact, in some scenes once Bonnie was back it was clear that Elena was curious about their “friendship.”

None of this makes sense at all???

We burn that bridge when we come to it.

Yeah, Dean used that line regarding Lily, and their plan to ask her nicely not to kill any more angels. The way he phrased it also reminds me a little bit of that scene in 5.03, the way Cas wanted to just walk into that police station and matter-of-factly tell the officers that they witnessed an archangel, and politely ask where the archangel is now.

I already discussed that scene relative to Ishim’s comment about humans lying, because that’s just what they do, so this second reference back to that scene makes the parallel even stronger here. From 5.03:

CASTIEL: A deputy sheriff laid eyes on the archangel.
DEAN: And he still has eyes? All right, what’s the plan?
CASTIEL: We’ll…tell the officer that he witnessed an angel of the Lord, and the officer will tell us where the angel is.
DEAN: Seriously? You’re going to walk in there and tell him the truth?
CASTIEL: Why not?
DEAN: Because we’re humans.And when humans want something really, really bad, we lie.
DEAN: Because that’s how you become President.

(sue me, I couldn’t resist copying the bit about the lying either, because that’s relevant here too)

And in 12.10:

SAM: So what’s the plan?
DEAN: We knock on her door, ask her nicely not to kill any more angels.
SAM: And if she says no?
DEAN: Then we burn that bridge when we come to it.

This is essentially the first half of Dean and Cas’s conversation there from 5.03. The second half comes from Ishim after we learn the truth from Lily (the human), and learn that Ishim (not a human) has been the one lying all along.

So how does this tie back into burned bridges? Because I’ve been trying to work my head around Ishim’s line about “cutting out his humanity.”

ISHIM: I used to envy you, Castiel. Did you know that? You survived Hell, you were chosen by God. Now look at you. You’re sad, and pathetically weak. So now I’m gonna help you. I’m gonna cure you of your human weakness, the same way I cured my own. By cutting it out. [Ishim walks over to Dean with his angel blade ready, intent on killing Dean]

This was wonderful, because it pinned the label of “Castiel’s Human Weakness” to Dean Winchester’s forehead, but… if the parallel is supposed to tie Dean to Lily… it sort of breaks down there a bit because Ishim DIDN’T kill Lily, he killed HER INNOCENT HUMAN DAUGHTER.

So, why THIS particular parallel then?

Burned bridges.

Ishim loved Lily with everything he had. Obsessively, completely, and irreparably. BUT LILY DID NOT LOVE HIM IN RETURN.

Nothing he did could force Lily to love him back. She initially admired him, was in awe of him, but she never loved him in a particularly human way that he wanted her to. She’d originally been the one to summon HIM, but when he wanted more from her, she summoned another angel to protect her from Ishim. Akobel respected Lily and cared for her and defended her, and in the end gave his life to protect her from Ishim, all the while Ishim was lying to the rest of his flight about the reality of Lily’s situation.

Ishim abused the power of Heaven and his position of authority over other angels (Cas included) to carry out his own revenge mission against a woman who refused to love him.

If he couldn’t have her the way he wanted to, he was determined to burn that bridge to the ground. He destroyed everything SHE loved in turn. First he killed her defender Akobel, and then he killed the one being Lily truly loved, her daughter.

Ishim had thought her powerless, and his only recourse was to punish her as much as he believed she was trying to punish him. He was taking away her last bit of power (or so he thought).

And that’s why he attacked Dean. Not because he was powerless, BUT BECAUSE DEAN WAS TO CAS EVERYTHING HE WANTED LILY TO BE TO HIM.

For all his venom and anit-human rhetoric, Ishim was only bitter that the one human he wanted to love him completely had rejected him. He thought he could use force, or his position, or his magic to make Lily love him, but rejection stung him hard.

Yet here’s Dean Winchester, sauntering in to that diner with less than zero patience, sliding in next to Cas, defending Cas, standing at his side, standing up for him, clearly CARING about Cas, clearly VERY CLOSE to Cas emotionally in a way that Ishim would’ve been over the moon if Lily had been toward him.

So Ishim drives the nail in every chance he gets, bringing up Castiel’s most painful memories (Balthazar, Uriel, the angels who died at his hands…). 

*sorry I lost my train of thought here for a second because my CAT IS SNORING and it’s freaking adorable okay…*

So Ishim is deliberately provoking Dean and Cas both here, and it doesn’t take him very long to see the dynamic between the two of them (even as it differs from the dynamic between Sam and Cas), and singling out Dean as his prime target for “curing Cas of his humanity.”

Because Ishim isn’t trying to destroy Dean for not loving Cas, the way he tried to destroy Lily for not loving him. Ishim’s trying to destroy CAS. Because, in Dean, Ishim believes that Cas got something he was denied. Because unlike Lily, Dean loves Cas back.

Ishim was all about burning bridges.

It also reminds me just a shade of Dean’s line to Kevin in 7.21. He was a little bit wrong here, but he was a heck of a lot right:

“'Cause the angels – they don’t care. I think maybe they just don’t have the equipment to care. Seems like when they try, it just… breaks them apart.”

Graduation from Hogwarts

I think it’s so weird that we literally get no information about each years students who graduate. Like??? Sure we get that Oliver Wood like cries when they win the Cup in his last year but???Why is there literally no moment (at least none I can think of) where we get that part. I mean Dumbledore never said something to the graduation class at the last dinner of the school year and there is no thing like a senior prank and it makes me so sad??? Like do they get a goodbye?
Because I can see McGonagall hugging her students goodbye especially during both wars because there is the possibility they’ll never meet again.
And what about all the seniors from every house (yes Slytherin as well come on they’re humans and it’s also the end of school for them) just pulling pranks on everyone and the teachers are fine because yeez the deserve it? And just you see bawling 7th years everywhere because shit they are gonna miss this so much.
And the whole senior class having a party at the lake the day before they leave just celebrating all these memories and friends they made at this place. And every year without fail the day the terms ends and everybody packs there are just 7th years walking around hogwarts just looking at every little thing. Just taking in their second home one last time because they probably won’t be there ever again. The place they grew up in and became the witch/wizard they are now.
We never got that and it makes me so sad because I would be heartbroken to leave this place:(((

The way Eugenia Cooney just straight- up pretends she’s fine is terrifying. 

She’s literally going to die if she doesn’t seek help, and fast. This isn’t “body shaming” or “judgement”, this is reality. Her body appears to already have started the decomposition process. It is literally eating itself to stay alive, working on her muscles (including her heart) for protein, and the brain for fat. This lifestyle is KILLING HER. And the fact that she legitimately doesn’t see the problem makes me so sad. This is body dismorphic disorder at its finest. She just doesn’t see it, can’t acknowledge it, won’t seek help. 

Where is her family? Where are her friends? Someone in her personal life desperately needs to take the reigns and help her. 5150, if needed (and it’s needed, at this point; she looks like she weighs about 80 pounds. That qualifies as “danger to self”). 

This is a human being, and she is going to die VERY SOON if she does not get help and start putting on some weight. 

I don’t know what to do. I want to help, but how can I? I’m just a fan, I don’t know her personally. 

And how do you help someone who refuses help????

It all just makes me so sad. 

Wrong Girl

Pairing: Dean x Reader x Sam
Words:   1006
Requested by Anonymous:  Hi I want to know if you could do a oneshot where the reader is human but Sam and dean think she’s a demon and try torture her but realizes she’s human and freaks out and try’s to make it up to her with smut please ??? If you can’t I totally understand but thank you so much P.s I love your blog so much it’s my go to spn 😘❤️❤️❤️❤️ 

Warning: mention of smut

A/N: Sorry it doesn’t have real smut…the smut slump is deep
A/N2: This is not part of the “Our Girl” series.
A/N3: If you want tagged in anything, just let me know.

         You hadn’t been yourself for a few days. The demon had completely taken over, using you to do whatever it wanted. It was on the run from the Winchester’s. You knew of them. You weren’t stupid. You had been a hunter for years.

           As soon as the demon smoked out of you, you were on the ground, trying to recoup from what had happened.

           “Got you, Bitch,” Dean’s deep voice was right above you. You had fallen into a demon trap. You couldn’t move. Not because of the trap, but because your body was in pain from being used by the demon.

           “The demon’s gone,” you said, looking up at him.

           “Right,” he rolled his eyes.

           “I promise,” you said, “It smoked out.”

           “How do you even know what that means?” he growled.

           “I’m a hunter too,” you said, trying to sit up, but your body was so weak. It was hard to do anything.

           “Like we’re going to believe that,” Sam came into the room, “Looks like we have the upper hand here.”

Keep reading

I normally don’t speak up on this, now I personally don’t reblog candids on my blog, that is my own choice. To others who do, I have no issues with that at all. However, when it is very, VERY apparent that Taylor does not want to be photographed and she is going to extreme lengths, (lengths that no human being should have to go to) then maybe, don’t  post those photos online or reblog them? I don’t know, I mean everyone has their own opinions and everyone is free to make their own choice, but to me it just feels so wrong. Because it just feels like we are contributing to the problem. I have no problems with candids of her walking by and smiling, or even just not directly engaging with the paps but still not showing any obvious signs of discomfort, but when she is clearly trying to hide her face, or her friends are stepping in to shield her, then that bothers me. No one should have to deal with that. No one, especially Taylor Swift should have to worry about situations like, “Okay. We are pulling up to the curb now, so I want you guys to get out first like this, and then I will get out and throw my bag in front of my face and you guys will direct me where to go.” No one should have to be thinking about how to shield themselves that far ahead. The girl gets enough crap from the media, the paps and the haters. I just feel like we shouldn’t contribute to the problem.

As the Radio Plays - Part Two

Pairing: Lin Manuel Miranda x Reader


Summary: Fast-forward six years. What even happened to you?

Warnings: Cursing, as always. Also very mild blood.

Word Count: 3,942 (MAKE ME STOP RAMBLING.)

A/N: HA, LOOK, THERE’S A SECOND PART. I couldn’t leave it just like that, dudes. I’m not that mean. Also, MY FAVORITE HUMAN BEING BECCA is a fantastic human and I honestly have her to thank for getting me back into this and tbh, I don’t know why I have all of you followers out there (like I’m shook???? where did you all come from????? I’m literally trash what the heck) but i am so grateful for every single one of you and you are all such beautiful wonderful lovely people and my love for all of you is eternal.


“Are you coming home yet?”

“Soon, buddy,” you cooed to your nephew over the phone. “I’ll be home soon. Could you put Grandpa back on the phone, please?”

“You promise you’re coming home soon?” He asked you once again, still unsure of your response.

Of course, you couldn’t blame him for his uncertainty. You were in the process of “going back home” for the past six years, and each time you intended to follow through with it, you just couldn’t find the courage and simply chose to stay put, much to your family’s dismay.

With a sigh, you paused for a moment before replying. “I promise I’m coming home soon, Eli. Ten more days, kiddo.”

You’d made this promise to several other family members, but every time you did, it turned out to be just as empty as the last one.

“Good,” he said, the tone of his voice seemingly pleased with your answer. “I’m gonna give the phone back to Grandpa, okay? I love you! See you soon!”

A laugh fell from your lips and for a beat, you froze in fear. This time, you really meant it. You were really coming home this time around.

“Should I believe you this time?” Your father’s voice on the other line snapped you out of it, and you sat there nodding despite the fact he couldn’t see you.

“Yeah, Dad,” you answered softly. “I’m really coming home.”

After exchanging words with your father for a few minutes, you ended the call, your hands visibly trembling and your eyes welling up.

It was a long time coming, your journey back home. Your intention was to stay in London for two years, allowing yourself time to figure out what to do, to find yourself, to put yourself back together. But lo and behold, six years later, you were still all the way across the pond.

No, this time, it was the truth. This time, you were really going home. You needed to be back in loving arms. It wasn’t like London’s West End hasn’t treated you well, but London wasn’t home, and well, to be honest, you were homesick. Sure, you’ve made family out of the friends you’ve made, but it wasn’t the same. God, you’ve made up so many excuses not to return.

This time though, you were going home.

Your final curtain call for the show was quickly approaching, giving you a week and a half to mentally prepare yourself for your homecoming. Despite agony gnawing at you, the thought of going home granted you some piece of mind, knowing that regardless of how many years have gone by, you still had a loving family to return to. They haven’t physically seen you since Christmas of ‘05, and it’s been four years since they’ve held you in their arms.

It was six years ago that he’d left you.

Four shows and two Olivier awards later, you were still hurting.

Of course you were. How could you forget about the high school sweetheart that promised you forever only to leave you at the altar? How could you forget the letter he hastily wrote to you before he walked out? How could you forget the coldness in your bones the first time you slept in bed without him?

There was no such thing as forgetting.

Last you heard, Lin had found success in his art. Some show about something with other people, winning him a Tony. Maybe a few. You didn’t really care.

No, that’s a lie. You did care, but denying yourself any opportunity to dwell on him for longer than a millisecond was the only way to keep you away from the vices you had lurking in the shadows. Especially now that you’ve reached a plateau, no longer completely drowning in the depths of your sorrows. You’ve managed to stay afloat for the most part. It got easier to tune out conversations that praised him, to let their words fall on your deaf ears, but the effort you put into doing so never faltered. (Have you heard of Lin-Manuel Miranda? He’s a genius! – Yeah, yeah, sure he was, yep, whoop-dee-fucking-doo.)

But Christ, you were the biggest mess in the universe for the longest time. Well, you had every reason to be, especially after losing not just one, but two things that meant the world to you. And because all logic and reason had escaped you, for several months, you spent the entirety of your days in your dark childhood bedroom with nothing but a bottle by your side, clutching it as you slept. It didn’t matter the poison because nothing intoxicated you more than the thought that you were not enough for the love of your life. You slammed back anything that would keep you distracted from your very own personal hell.

The mere thought of him, even in fragments, elicited such excruciating pain, wracking your body with violent sobs, causing your head to throb, making your insides twist and churn. Memories of him surprising you with flowers, memories of him teasing you, memories of him chasing you around the apartment, they were strangling you. The sound of his name, the memory of his face, everything about him made you want nothing to do with home anymore.

Because he was your home.

But you were evicted at the very last moment, left abandoned and without shelter for no valid reason at all. At least, the reason wasn’t valid for you.

So you left.

You picked yourself up, gathered your things, journeyed across the pond, and somehow found new footing, making ripples in the stagnant waters of your life, recreating movement, reintroducing life. You skipped a stitch and left a tiny hole, praying for something to come fill it.

And now here you were, success knocked at your door, roses fell at your feet, admiration beamed at you from every possible angle.

Life had made a complete one-eighty, spinning you in the opposite direction, sending you down the right path because now, you were a sellout, and a damn good one at that.

This path, though, was bringing you right back home.

Back to the sidewalks you used to travel, back to the sounds you used to hear, back to the place where your story began… and ended.

It was time to start anew.

On Tuesday morning following a drunk night out with your closest friends to say your last goodbyes, you shipped yourself across the pond to be reunited with the city you’d loved since day one, reunited with the people who’ve supported you your entire life, reunited with the people that never dared to abandon you.

Your brother greeted you with open arms, scooping you up into his arms and holding onto you like he’d never let you go.

“Sam, I’m not going anywhere anymore,” you told him, trying to break free of his asphyxiating grip. “I’m home.”

The last two words almost felt foreign to you, considering you’d been displaced and didn’t exactly know what home felt like anymore. It shook you to your core as it dawned on you that you were existing in the very same space of the person who’d left you behind. Sure, Lin was most likely miles away from you at the time, but still, the thought of potentially encountering him somewhere in the city increased your level of anxiety.

“Yeah, dude,” your sister quipped, giving your brother a hard smack on the back in order to get him to release you. “Let the girl breathe.”

Finally back on the ground, your family crowded around you, each of them taking turns to hug you (each of them also refusing to let you go).

The excitement of your homecoming had finally died down once you’d gotten settled back at your childhood home, and you were given a moment of peace, allowing you the time to remember how it felt like to be… okay. Your bedroom had been left untouched, everything from figurines to stuffed animals to your old keyboard and posters were all in the same place. Nostalgia washed over you, submerging you in memories that your mind had tucked away.

In your closet, there was a treasure box sitting on the top shelf, nearly completely hidden behind a stack of old sweaters. Curious, you tiptoed up to grab it and brought it back to your bed, making yourself comfortable before examining its contents.

No, you thought as the tempo of your heart began to pick up.

Old pictures and crumpled notes and movie stubs and wrinkled amusement park wristbands filled the box to its brim.

The treasure box was one long running gag, something the two of you did whenever something happened. If it elicited any type of positive reaction, the two of you would throw a part of the memory into each other’s boxes. Why you did, you never knew, but now you were regretting it.

Regret suffocated you as you picked up a colorful greeting card, toying around with it in your fingers while you weighed the options of hurting yourself even more or being the adult you were and putting it away.

You were weak.

‘Happy one year, mi amor! I love you. Irrevocably so. Here’s to us and here’s to many more years!


“Goddamn it,” you whispered, willing yourself not to cry but failing in the process.

As much as you wanted to stop torturing yourself, your heart had the complete opposite desire, urging you to continue breaking yourself apart.

There was a picture of both of you from high school graduation, clad in royal blue cap and gowns, your arms around each other, his lips pressed tenderly against your cheek as you grinned cheesily at the camera. You were so young, so innocent, so full of zeal.

‘WE DID IT!!! I’m so proud of you. And me too, but mostly you. Here’s to us and here’s to being college kids!’

Behind that picture was another one of the two of you in your first apartment. Eighteen years old with no fears of the future, no anxieties about what was to come, no clue as to where life would take you, both of you happily cheesing at the camera as he held out the key to your brand new home to present to all the world. On the back of the picture was an inscription from none other than the bastard himself.

‘It’s not a house, but we’ll get there someday… Here’s to us and our first home, and here’s to what the future holds, babe!’

Tears were distorting your vision, but you didn’t need to look at the picture anymore. The image of you and him in that very moment was already burned in your mind.

There was little gift tag in the midst of it all, the little note scribbled on it told you it was from your 21st birthday.

‘Happy Birthday, cariña! I have never seen a cuter drunk than you. Here’s to you and many more drunk nights with you dancing like no one’s watching!

P.S. I was watching you all night. It was the best.


Tucked underneath a movie stub (Fantasia 2000, of all movies) was the corner of a… wrapper? It was secured on a notecard with packaging tape.

“Jesus Christ,” you whispered to yourself, snickering softly through your tears as you held it in your hands.

‘I don’t care how tacky and embarrassing this is. It’s a MILESTONE, baby!! Here’s to us and here’s to doing waaaay more of this. ;)’

Yep, it was just as sloppy as anyone else’s first time. He was just so focused, so intent on doing it right, finding the right position, making you comfortable. Looking back, he was so serious, so focused on you enjoying it. It wasn’t until you told him he was perfect that he finally relaxed.

Funny how he could still bring a smile to your face despite him walking out on you.

An hour had gone by and you’d sifted through almost everything in the treasure box. You took one last peek into it and saw the damn thing glaring right back at you.

That fucking letter.

You knew you’d regret keeping it, but it was the last thing he’d given you, the last words he’d written you, the last memory you had of him. Of course, you decided that you hadn’t endured enough hell, so you opened it up, just as gingerly as you did on that fateful morning. The tears on your face joined the stains you’d left on the note from the first time around, and no matter how hard you tried to stop reading, you couldn’t help but continue down to the very last letter of his name.


Right. Lin had no idea what ‘always’ meant. If he knew the definition of the word, you wouldn’t have been crying yourself to oblivion this entire time. But there you sat, wallowing in the pain you tried to forget for the past six years.

Without a word, you stuffed everything back in the box and shoved it back in your closet, debating between burning everything or keeping it just in case you wanted to remember how heartbroken you still were after all this time. You padded softly down the hallway with your purse on your shoulder and walked down the stairs, grabbing your coat from the closet before heading out.

“Where are you going?” your mother asked you, the look on her face expressing the worry she’s seemed a pick up since that day.

“I just need to breathe,” you replied shakily, bleary-eyed and broken. “I’ll be back later.”

You followed the sidewalk down Sixth Avenue, unsure of where you were headed. All you knew was that you needed air, you needed a distraction, you needed to be alone. After walking aimlessly, you found yourself getting on the A-train heading somewhere, probably north– it didn’t matter. You found a seat near the back of the car and you leaned against the window, trying to collect yourself, desperately telling yourself not to cry because for God’s sake, you were in a public place and it wasn’t the right time to have another one of your breakdowns.

Every time your journey came to a halt, you made an effort not to look at the people getting off and on, fearing that someone would see the state you were in and mock you about it. But just one time, the doors slid open and caught your attention, causing you to look up out of sheer curiosity.

God fucking damn it.

There he stood, his hair, a little longer than you remembered, was covered with a dark blue beanie and he was wearing that dumb gray pullover that he loved so much.

You tried to turn away to face the other direction when he started approaching your immediate vicinity, but the sudden movement of the subway cars made your head jerk backwards, slamming it on the window behind you, and loud thud echoed throughout the space.

“Whoa, are you okay?”

You were stuck between a rock and a hard place, unable to speak and unable to run (sprint, actually, because you wanted to sprint out of there).

In your periphery, you saw him reach for your arm and you instinctively jerked it away.

“Don’t touch me,” you spat in reply, your body turned completely away from him, eyes focused on nothing in particular.

“Ah, I’m sorry, I just wanna know if you’re okay,” he said quickly, lifting his hands up as if in surrender as he shuffled over to face you.. “Holy shit…”

“Lin, don’t–”

“Y/N, fuck, oh my God.” He was fumbling for words, his eyes doubling in size as he placed his hands on top of yours. “I thought you were in London…”

All you could do was glare at him, your emotions already getting to the best of you as you felt one single tear roll down your cheek.

Lin brought a hand up to your face and he wiped away the tear with his thumb. “Look, I’m– I’m so sorry, you don’t even know–”

“Please, just stop,” you cut him off, your quivering whisper barely audible over the sounds of the subway. “I don’t wanna–”

“No, please, can I just…” He gazed deeply into your eyes, and you saw the redness in his face, familiar with the look only after having worn the same expression for the longest time. “Can we just talk? Please? Y/N, can you just give me the chance to apologize?”

Absolutely fucking not, you thought to yourself.

With a shake of your head, you bit your lip and let out a long, trembling sigh. “You just apologized right now.”

“But you deserve an explanation,” he added, his voice pleading and helpless.

“I got the explanation loud and clear in the letter, Lin. I don’t need the live version of it because trust me, your words were clear and concise.”

“You don’t understand–”

“No, Lin! You don’t get a chance to make up more excuses for that day, alright? You don’t get the opportunity to elaborate on why you did it. I already know why you did it, you don’t have to remind me because I have lived every day for the past six years just playing that Goddamn memory in my head over and over again. You–”

“I did it for you, Y/N!”

Everyone in the car all looked up at both of you, but at this point, you didn’t care. You wanted the entire world to know that this successful ‘Broadway star’ was, in all actuality, the most selfish bastard to exist.

“I-I did it for you,” Lin repeated, this time softer than before. “Because you deserved better. And now look at you… I’ve heard so many good things about you and how incredibly you’re doing, well, how incredibly you did in West End, and I’m sure your success is gonna follow you out here–”

You couldn’t it bear it any longer. He was talking to you like what he did was merely a favor, trying to prove to you that he was the catalyst to your success, convincing you that it was his nudge that sent the dominos toppling down.

The only thing he caused was a spiral into chaos, misery, and heartache.

Like clockwork, the subway car announced it was coming to a stop and you decided it was your chance to leave.

As you wiped your tears away, you got up from your seat and grabbed ahold of a pole to steady yourself as the subway screeched to a halt. You wrapped your arms around yourself, walking past the crowd of people and stepped down onto the concrete.

“Baby, wait!” He grabbed you by the arm, suddenly spinning you around. “Please, I just wanna talk…” His eyes were round and pleading, the expression on his face seemingly distraught and torn.

You managed to break free of his grasp as you turned on your heel, dodging through several people. Hot streams of tears falling down your cheeks, you could hardly see anything. It didn’t matter though. You just wanted to get out of there.

But he was persistent. He followed you up the stairs and out of the station, still calling after you, his unrelenting pleas for you to just stop and talk to him penetrating your ears despite the loud traffic of Manhattan.

With an outstretched arm, you stood there, waiting for a cab, wanting nothing more than to just go home.

“Please,” he begged you as he reached for your hand, taking it in his. “Can we just talk?”

You pulled away without a word and got into the backseat of the taxi, giving your home address to the driver.

The car door suddenly swung open and Lin got into the backseat with you, slamming the door shut.

“I’m not letting you leave without giving you a proper explanation, Y/N.”

“Why not, Lin?” You cried in response. “You had no problem leaving me the first time around, so the fucking least you could do is let me do the same thing to you!”

Lin slid the window divider and closed it, giving both of you some privacy. (Except, because of your raised voice, the driver still heard every word.)

“I left because I loved you so much, I knew you deserved time for yourself to… to grow and explore and-and then you left for London and–”

You’d had enough of his patronizing words, tired of him trying to justify his actions by showing you everything you’d accomplished since that day.

“I left because I had nothing else keeping me here in New York! I left because I lost you and I lost my sanity and I lost my strength and I lost the baby and I couldn’t live in a place that reminded me of the fact that I lost everything I had.”

Lin didn’t say a word. He sat next to you, wide-eyed and speechless.

“What baby?”

Right, that.

Six weeks after the day he left you at the altar, you woke up one morning with a hangover to go puke your guts out in the bathroom, only to find blood dripping down your leg. The sight of your own blood was enough to sober you up to the point where you could comprehend the gravity of what was happening, and you immediately called out to your mother. She immediately rushed you to the Emergency Room and the bomb was dropped upon your arrival.

You were nine weeks along.

For those past six weeks, you chalked up your nausea and fatigue to your newly acquired drinking habit, assuming your ability to only keep down saltine crackers and soup was because of your lack of an appetite, crediting your late period to the fact that you were just so stressed and your body couldn’t cope.

It didn’t occur to you that you were pregnant.

But the verb was the operative word. It was all in the past tense. Just like your sanity, just like your love life, just like Lin.

“Y-you were pregnant?” His breathing got shallow and his mouth was agape, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He took your hand and squeezed it. “I didn't… I didn’t know–”

“How could you have known, Lin?” You spat out angrily, yanking your hand away. “You left, remember? How could you have possibly known if you weren’t there?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Jesus Christ, how dense was he?

“I didn’t know! I was too focused on the fact that you left me and I…” Your voice grew small as you wept quietly to yourself, longing for simpler times, yearning for a chance to go back, mourning for the life you’d lost due to your own irresponsibility and lack of judgment.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured in reply, his voice quivering. “Baby, I’m so sorry…”

The taxi approached your place and you opened up the divider, handing him money to cover the fare, tipping him graciously as an apology for the chaos he had to endure.

Lin got out first, standing by the car door as he waited for you to follow suit, and you caught a glimpse of a stray tear slowly trickling down his face. He shut the door when you joined him on the sidewalk and you both stood there as the cab sped off into the night.

“So what now?” He asked softly.

“Goodbye, Lin,” you replied, unable to make eye contact.

And with that, you went inside your building, leaving him all alone out there, just like he did to you all those years ago.

I’m not sure if I ship Lapidot or not because, y’know, I still consider Peridot as my wife…and I’m okay with Amedot too so…urgh. Guess I should let her go. Good bye, my child. *go cry in a corner*

Anyway, these last days I’ve been reading @dement09‘s SU human AU comics and … I think I might like a girl irl, and these comics kinda make me more comfortable with myself.

So thank you Dem for your art and for using it so well, you’re a big inspiration to me! ~★

(I imagine Lapis calling Peridot almost everyday pretending she has problems with devices just to see her Peridork … that’s what I’d do actually. ˳⚆ɞ⚆˳)

I’ve seen them come and go.
I’ve seen them make her feel on top of the world and then they pull the rug up from under her feet.
I hope you’re different. I hope you’re stronger. I hope you understand her and don’t turn another way at the first, ‘Road Work Ahead’ sign you see.
She’s complex and very hesitant, if you stay you’ll understand why.
She deserves the best.
Seeing her broken down by so many people just looking for a challenge has made me despise the human race.
Be better than her past.
Tell her she looks like a goddess in her yellow dress.
Prove to her not everyone is a coward.
Show her what it’s like to be with someone genuine.
Take her to see puppies and take a million pictures of her playing with them, even when she tears herself down with lies saying she looks like garbage.
And god dammit, remind her that another persons arms aren’t a jail cell.
—  a PSA from a very apprehensive best friend.

A new screenshot draw-over, this time of the DS9 episode “Move Along Home”. Original screenshot provided for comparison.

Wadi are garishly dressed aliens, with webbed hands and feet, and awful fashion sense. Culturally they place high importance on games and fun, and struggle to grasp that “compulsory fun” ceases to actually be fun for many other species. Their speech and language is exactly as a Terran might expect: akin to a flock of excited and loud geese. This “child” is actually fully grown. Wadi don’t make a distinction between “mature” and “immature” in terms of how one acts, so after they’ve finished growing it becomes almost impossible to gauge their age.

Having drawn Kira between Sisko and Bashir makes me want to draw her carrying around humans all the more. She could just reach her arms out to the sides right now and pick them up.