Even tho it’s portrayed by a cis male actor, a.) it’s in keeping with the recycling of cast with different stories each series b.) they already use two transgender actors to play either cis/ trans characters c.) it’s SO respectfully done it feels like a fucking gift from cis people straight to the hearts of its trans fans.
But I digress.
LOOK AT HER
None of this ‘I’m trans so I have to present as stereotypically as possible to conform to societal expectations’ BULLSHIT.
Nah Nah Nah
This girl is who she is, her gender identity is female and her gender expression is fucking FABULOUS. She has her own style and interpretation of what it means to be a woman and it’s fucking FANTASTIC.
“And I have a floppy appendage between my legs which means I can’t wear pencil skirts”
She is not afraid of who she is. She is not ashamed of who she is. She knows she’s trans. She knows other people can ‘tell’. She dgAF.
Liz. Fucking. Taylor.
And YEAH she has a ‘coming out’ backstory.
HAND FUCKING WRITEN LIKE A ‘HOW-TO-DEAL WITH THE TRANS’ FOR CIS PEOPLE.\
This incredibly sympathetic (and currently upset) character get’s comforted by the Goddess we have seen above. (Note the word ‘Goddess’).
She apologises for not having spoken to Liz for the last 20 years bc ‘all she sees is questions’ and she doesn’t want to offend. SOUND LIKE ANY CIS PEOPLE YOU KNOW??? (Tell them to watch this it’ll explain everything)
“I’m not homophobic.”
Liz: “I’m not gay.” (She likes dudes.)
So they show her backstory- trying on dresses for the first time and your heart will break for her to see her so happy prancing around her room. But this isn’t your average Trans Backstory™, you know why?
LADY FUCKING GAGA
They wheel her in- snooping on our girl, scaring the shit ouster her and Liz, she’s terrified. She’s been caught. She’s expecting transphobia to Tear Her Ass Apart.. Then this happens.
SUPERNATURAL VAMPIRE LADY GAGA CONFIRMS TRANS PEOPLE ARE LEGIT.
She repeatedly tells Liz (Also names her- ‘MY BB’ you will cry) that she’s a Goddess repeatedly, and helps our home girl get lit, get fabulous and go get what she deserves.
Is there the classic ‘transphobic men being crude and homophobic and transphobic and abusive’ trope?
SYKE! It’s only for ten seconds and then you know what happens to those douchebags????
LADY GAGA STRAIGHT UP CUTS THEIR CRUSTY DICK-CHEESE SCENTED THROATS!
“Yeah I guess that’s cool lmao but does she get a healthy relationship”
Now- OK that boy is a DICKKKKKK. But not to her. Never to her. He head over heels in puppy love with our gal.
And she’s in love with him. And they are adorable and happy and… well, no spoilers.
‘Y’know, ‘cos I’m not gay or anything….” (I wondered why this character kept affirming that he was straight earlier in the series)
Liz: “You’re not gay when you’re with me. I’m a girl. A hetero girl”
YES AHS spoon-feed the cis audience members! Fucking acknowledge the struggles of trans folk and have happy endings for them! Fuckign DO IT.
No spoilers for later in the series, and this only touches on HALF the things that are awesome about this character (the trans thing is a plot line maybe twice? The rest of it is all her)
“Patches is just about as cute as they come! He is recovering from a
minor skin condition but that doesn’t slow him down. Patches enjoys
going for walks, he knows a few basic commands, and he’s ready to find a
new best friend. Patches appears to be friendly with other dogs but we
are still learning if he is good with cats.”
That feeling when the day’s work is nearly done and you grab a moment to just lie down for two minutes in some random place where you happen to be and let the relaxation travel through you, you feel the pressure on your feet release as you stop running about on them, you feel your arms and legs go floppy, your mind lets go from holding onto all the things you need to
It's like I've forgotten how to write. I'm creating the most simple sentences and it's really getting on my nerves. Any help?
//I think you have a variant of a writer’s block and what you need is to continue writing, without deleting anything. Create a new document if you think you don’t like the direction your writing is taking, but you might not know if you like the first version better.
If it’s inspiration that you’re lacking, I have found a few activities to help me:
Describing a picture, twice. The first time, I be as plain as I can. As an example, take a picture of a simple brown puppy. It would read: Brown, dog, four legs, floppy ears, brown eyes, black nose. The second time I describe it, it would be more! Such as: This puppy is tilting its head and its eyes seek the treat in your hand, glinting with impatience.
You know the famous “Baby Shoes: for sale, never worn” by Ernest Hemingway? It’s a six word story with emotional depth. Challenge yourself by creating a few of these.
Create imagery. When you’re writing, make sure that you or your readers can imagine clearly what you’re going for.
Lastly; practice! Continue writing, even if it makes you angry, beause you’re not going to improve otherwise. If you let yourself go without writing for too long, you start to forget where you wanted to take it and how to get there.
What about a Christmas one with Louis
where your really pregnant and it’s snowing and Johanna helps you give birth in
the house with Louis on Christmas Day
I absolutely adored writing this one. Especially in the light of our darling second-mother, Johannah.
I changed and tweaked the request up a tiny, little so it’s not going to be on Christmas Day but it’ll be a week or so before; but it follows the general gist of the request sent in. Thank you to to Anon who sent this in - it’s a wonderful little something.
This story doesn’t link up with the Louis storyline I’ve got for his writing, but, it’s just a sweet little one-off something to make it Christmas-y.
Thank you so much, hibana!!! Your letter arrived safely and I LOVE IT SOOOOO MUCH! Your drawings are so So SO ADORABLE! How do you even? Seriously! 1 cm!! Is you a wizard!?!? And yes everyone here is hiding under piles and piles of blankets since it’s many degrees below freezing outside. I was also very happy to see that we both have the same floppy leg eren plushie XD! I hope you stay warm and have a happy new year!!!! <3<3<3 Thank you~~<3
imagine: you have your first severe migraine since the start of the outbreak, and feel useless while your best friend Daryl goes on a run without you. when he returns, he soothes your pain with medicine and affection. (1,304 words)
based on this request: could you write one where the reader is ill and because of that she can’t go on a hunt. she’s feeling useless and is scared that the group (especially daryl) might think the same about her. but it turns out that it’s the other way round and daryl is overprotective about her.
an: as a sufferer from chronic migraines i chose to write about it in this imagine, because it SUCKS and i want daryl to make it better for me :( - gabby
“Wha’s goin’ on?” I could just make out my best friend’s voice through the painful sound of blood pulsing through my head. I lacked the energy to open my eyes and search for Daryl; a small groan and a whimper was all I could manage. Soon I sensed that he’d crouched beside my bed, and when I felt his cool hand on my forehead I whimpered once more, this time in relief.
“She’s burnin’ up Rick, what is it?” Daryl asked, his words saturated with concern as he pushed the bedsheets away from my shivering body. While I knew I was boiling hot, my body felt the compulsion to pull the sheets around me for warmth; the internal conflict was exhausting.
“All I know is, she was taking out walkers at the fence and just collapsed, so I carried her here,” Rick replied, before calling to Hershel for help. I winced at the volume of his voice as the old man’s name echoed through the cellblock.
“Migraine,” I managed to whisper, ignoring Daryl and Rick’s muttering and pressing hard on the left hand side of my face with my clammy hands in an attempt to relieve the pressure inside my head. I’d suffered from migraines since I was a child, and I knew it must have been the unusually bright sun combined with hot weather that had triggered it; now that we were passing into summer there were fewer clouds to filter out the light. My eyes had always been especially sensitive to bright lights and my head responded horrifically. This was my first migraine since I’d joined the group, and possibly the most unpleasant to date.
Hershel hobbled into my cell, I could recognise his walking stick and floppy trouser leg through my one squinting eye. He perched himself on the end of my bed and encouraged me to rise to a sitting position; I did so reluctantly with aid from an unusually gentle Daryl. My head whirled, and I could feel the familiar nausea creeping up into my chest, hiccups forcing their way up my throat.
“How’re you feeling, Y/N?”
A sudden stream of my vomit answered Hershel’s question, splattering all over his clothes and my bedsheets. I dropped my head into my shaking hands in utter mortification and let the pent up tears finally flow, oblivious to how much the crying would worsen my migraine later. Daryl apprehensively rubbed my back as I choked out a string of apologies to Hershel, too embarrassed to look up. The old man simply chuckled and lightly patted my knee.
“Don’t you worry yourself, we’ve seen plenty worse things in this world than vomit.”
Once Daryl had carried me into his cell where I’d stay until Beth had cleaned up my sheets, he and Rick had fought hard to convince me that I shouldn’t join them on the run. Despite how debilitating the migraine was, I couldn’t think of anything worse than staying here to sleep while my best friend and everyone else were working so hard.
“But I want toooo,” I moaned, still reluctant to open my eyes. I resorted to begging, although I knew deep down that a run was the last thing I needed to recover from my migraine. “Pleeeease?”
“Does everyone turn into a four year old when they get migraines?” Rick joked, unscrewing the cap of his water and cautiously handing it to me.
“You gotta sleep, Y/N,” Daryl urged, stifling a laugh as I spilt water down my chin. “We’ll be back soon, I’ll try find ya some aspirin or somethin’.”
I laughed weakly and turned over to face the wall, pulling a pillow over my aching head. “You’re gonna have to find something stronger than that, Dixon.”
It was night by the time I awoke, I must have slept for hours. I sat up groggily, wincing and massaging my temples, the after effects of the migraine and my tears prominent and painful.
“My mouth tastes like shit,” I muttered to myself, reaching for the bottle of water on the floor beside my bed, only to find it was empty. Looking up, I was momentarily confused to find Daryl sat on the ground polishing his crossbow before remembering I was situated in his bed rather than my own.
“Look like shit, too,” Daryl said with a grin, tossing me a full bottle of water. I failed to catch it, my reflexes hindered by the loss of blood cells in my brain. “Pretty intense headache, huh?”
“It’s not just a headache,” I countered, unsteadily taking a sip of water. I realised I hadn’t eaten anything all day, and found myself gazing hungrily at the tin of soup in Daryl’s lap. “It’s the worst thing ever, it makes you feel sick, hurts to move your eyes and you can’t even speak properly.”
“Sounds like a blast,” he smirked, poking fun as he sat on the bed next to me, the mattress dipping with his weight. “You feelin’ alright now?”
“Better, at least,” I yawned whilst rubbing at my eyes, conscious that they were likely to be bloodshot and swollen. “Felt like shit to be here doing nothing while you’re out there gathering supplies.”
“Felt like shit to be gatherin’ supplies knowin’ you were here throwin’ your guts up,” he replied, grinning as I flashed him a harsh stare that let him know to never mention my vomiting episode ever again. “Ain’t much of a haul today. I did find this, though.” A box of pills landed in my lap, and I gasped in delight as I studied the label.
“Codeine? Oh my god, this stuff works wonders.” Whilst skim-reading the medicine’s packaging and glancing again at Daryl’s tin of soup, I tried to suppress the greedy noises my stomach was emitting. “It says I need to take it with food.”
“If ya want my soup, you only gotta ask, Y/N.”
Daryl’s sheets were stained with tomato soup that had dribbled from the spoon he’d fed me with, as well as from spraying out of my mouth with laughter when he’d mimicked the way Rick fed Judith, using the “here comes the airplane!” line. I yanked the sheets off of me, a hot flush rippling through my body.
While the codeine had knocked the ache right out of my head, I was now left with the side effects, my head spinning and a thin layer of sweat coating my body. I was slightly delirious too, much to Daryl’s amusement.
He dabbed gently at my head with a cold cloth as I drifted into sleep, not caring that my skin was probably an uncomplimentary hue and that my hair was plastered to my face with sweat. I only cared that Daryl was here with me, trying his hardest to make me feel better as he lulled me into a light stage of unconsciousness.
Just as I was beginning to slip into a dream, I felt a breath of air flutter over my face. Upon opening my eyes the tiniest fraction, I witnessed Daryl leaning unusually close to my face, visibly torn between whether or not he should press his lips against mine, and how he could do so without waking me.
“Migraines aren’t contagious, Daryl,” I mumbled sleepily with a smirk at his reaction to my consciousness. “So you can kiss me, you won’t catch it.”
“I ain’t kissin’ your puke lips,” he retorted, backing away from me sheepishly. Ignoring the nausea churning in my stomach, I forced myself upright and lightly brushed my lips against his cheek before tugging him towards me by the sleeve of his shirt. With Daryl’s arms ridigly hung around my shoulders, I fell asleep to the pounding of his quickened heartbeat, realising that our embrace soothed my pain and sickness more than any painkiller could have done.
GD is not at Teddy's party? My suspicions are right then. He must have flown to Singapore to personally drag Seungri back to Korea.
I can see it now: Seungri, kicking back at a hotel poolside in Singapore, slurping at one of those fancy cocktails with little umbrellas in them - and then suddenly a goat-screech ricochets across the pool.
Seungri looks up and there is his worst nightmare, mullet and all, sprinting as fast towards him as those floppy goat-legs will allow.
“THERE YOU ARE MAKNAE YOU STAY RIGHT TH-”
Seungri vaults over a deck chair and makes a run for it, but trips over his flip-flops. Jiyong makes a flying leap and tackles his middle but due to the impossibly large size difference, he only hangs off Seungri’s waist as the maknae sprints around the pool, trying to throw him off. Jiyong screeches all the while, his words juddering with every slap of Seungri’s flip-flops against poolside.
Eventually (a long, long while later) Seungri runs out of breath and they both fall into the pool. Jiyong untwists his hyperflexible arms, grabs him by the ear, and drags him out.
Jiyong keeps Seungri’s wrist zip-tied to the seat arm the whole private-jet flight back to Korea, and sends every incriminating picture he has of Seungri on his phone to TOP, by way of punishment.
I spent the recent Queen’s birthday weekend in Port Fairy, with the highlight being the Dachshund Dash. With a racecourse of a mere 20 metres in length, many of the doggies failed to make it to the finish line, but it sure was bloody cute watching the floppy-eared, short-legged canines go wild.
1. Attractive in a pretty or endearing way, as in “a cute kitten”
2. Sexually attractive: North American, informal, as in “a cute guy”
When Kurt knocked on the door of apartment number 51, Blaine answered wearing his pajamas and carrying a bowl of half-eaten cereal. They were nice pajamas. Kurt recognized them from the Derek Rose collection, but they still made quite the contrast with Kurt’s suit and tie.
“He left,” Kurt announced, dropping his shoulder bag on the floor and marching into the living room. “He just left, without even a ‘so long, sucker’ for the road! I feel like a fool.”
“He—,” Blaine watched in confusion as Kurt bustled into the apartment and stamped his way across floor, “are you talking about Eric? What do you mean ‘he left’?”