for any one who happens to read this

anonymous asked:

Whats examples of fetishizing mlm

ugh, one of my least favorite things. basically what happens when people, usually straight (or occasionally bi) women treat their mlm ships as some sort of kink as opposed to, you know, representation of real, actual mlm.

examples of this:

•not caring about characters who are mlm outside of a sexual context (i.e. only reading mlm smut because they find the idea of two men together “hot” and not actually giving a fuck about the actual personalities or problems of gay characters)

•throwing two male characters that exist within the same universe together just because they will find ANY excuse to write about two men having sex. a lot of rarepairs start out this way. bonus points if they’re both white and neither character has ever shown any interest in men whatsoever!

•referring to mlm ships as “sin” or “the reason i’m going to hell” or whatever. no. gay love is just as wholesome, just as complete, just as complex, just as worthy of respect as any straight couple’s.

•alternatively, referring to gay men as completely nonsexual if they’re not actively engaged in sex, in which case they become completely hypersexual (uwu my precious little baby is so pure but is FILTHY in bed uwu). bonus points if the character isn’t white!

•treating female characters like trash or as obstacles to their OTP

as briefly mentioned above, there’s often a racial aspect to this as well. white men are overwhelmingly favored by fandom at the expense of characters of color, even if the characters of color are far more significant to the story than the white ones (looking at you, star wars fandom). in the rare occasions they show up, black men are either precious sin-free babies or are sex freaks (or both!). east asian men are infantilized. latinx men are hypersexual latin lovers. et cetera. et cetera. et cetera.

beyond making fandom a more uncomfortable space for both mlm and poc, this can have negative real-world applications as well. the racial and homophobic stereotypes often found in fic and fandom both come from and leak into the thoughts and attitudes of the real people who consume and create this content. there are plenty of stories told by real mlm on here about how many straight women in their lives want a gay best friend or freak out about their dating lives. it’s fucked up.

time and time again on here i’ve seen straight women and girls get called out for being homophobic but defend themselves with “but i have so many gay ships!” that’s not how it works. shipping isn’t activism. i’ve seen the same thing happen with racism in fandom from my fellow white people. “i can’t be racist,” says the white person, “i love this character of color!” and then they refuse to look beyond their base love of them to dig into the nuance of the content they create or consume, and how it may harm people of color.

this is not to say that no one on here can make mistakes. mistakes are inevitable. i’ve certainly made many myself. but the best way to remedy them is not to speak, not to defend, but to listen. listen to mlm (or people who are otherwise lgbtq) when they say you’re being homophobic or fetishizing them. listen to people of color when they tell you that something is racist. i know that i wouldn’t be nearly as aware of microaggressions as i am today without the guidance of people of color in fandom, and i know that there is still far more for me to learn. i will not get there by speaking out. i’ll get there by listening.

so listen.

The One Where Stiles Vets Derek’s Girlfriends

by uraneia (AO3)

Pairing: Derek Hale x Stiles Stilinski

Oneshot

Word count: 2k

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Summary: Across the loft, Cora claps her hands. “Okay, new rule. Any time Derek wants a date, one of us has to vet her first.”

Scott, who’s actually upside down on Derek’s couch, in apparent celebration of their defeat of the alpha pack—which somehow ended with Kali trying to give Derek her number, and he still doesn’t know how that happened, because he’s the worst alpha ever—says, “You know who’s got really good people instincts?”

Read Here!

-> Follow me for more fic recs!

Princess Leia, who moments ago dropped out of hyperspace after fleeing the first major battle of the Galactic Civil War: Lord Vader, I should have known. Only you could be so bold. The Imperial Senate will not sit for this, when they hear you’ve attacked a diplomatic…

Darth Vader, who literally just saw this happen an hour ago at most and watched her ship take off: Don’t play games with me, Your Highness. You weren’t on any mercy mission this time. You passed directly through a restricted system. Several transmissions were beamed to this ship by Rebel spies. I want to know what happened to the plans they sent you.

Princess Leia, who received the data from the hands of a man who witnessed Vader kill a dozen people on his way there: I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m a member of the Imperial Senate on a diplomatic mission to Alderaan.

Darth Vader, who has been following her the entire time and can read minds:

I am a Huge Nerd for alien and human interactions that go across tumblr (space Australia and Stabby come to mind) but like for real what about the human concept of luck? Each culture has its own, too, and also superstition so like this human will go nowhere near black cats but others are just like ‘oh kitty kitty kitty’.

Try to explain to someone that doesn’t understand that breaking a mirror is more than just a glass hazard. No it’s not a mystical mirror or a religious thing. It’s just a mirror, you broke it, now you get 7 earth years of bad luck. Is to the day? Who knows. But 7 years dude.

Or like that one person who always has stuff break around them. ‘Why are they banned from the engine room?’ 'Just trust us Nyrak.’

Or what about people who things always go outrageously right for. That person where any number of the things that happen should not even be able to happen, and yet here we are.

That person that has the luck/innate skill to balance anything on their nose.

Lucky numbers. The importance of the zodiac too, while we’re at it. “The stars are not in alignment” 'have you been reading that human newspaper again Marshal?’ “No, Lydia, shut up” ,Are your species sensitive to the stars, humans?, “Nyark you know if I could explain it I would but I honestly cannot”

Good luck explaining Murphy’s Law to aliens who do not have the concept of luck or cosmic mythical interference.

about ao3 & ships

okay, time to get real here. i know a lot of people have been on an archive of our own before, i know a lot of people write and post to an archive of our own, so i know it’s not a matter of nobody knowing what i’m talking about. i’m going to introduce to you a novel concept tho

ship tag etiquette

1. don’t tag in your secondary and minor ships. if your main ship in the fic is loki x hawkeye, awesome; tag that, and anyone looking for loki x hawkeye will basically know your fic is the place to go. if your main ship in the fic is loki x hawkeye, but you also tag the 4 other ships you mention in like one sentence out of the 50k fic you just wrote, then there are going to be a lot of people out there coming to your fic thinking oh hey, at last a thor x sif fanfic sign me up only to find out fast they’re wrong.

2. don’t tag in your secondary and minor ships. it doesn’t matter if you dedicate those motherfucking sideships one paragraph out of 53, that’s like promising starving fic readers a treat and giving them a fucking pea. one pea. just one. maybe they are looking for fics with the actual ship whose tag they’re searching in, rather than: 

  • fics where their ship is used as a stepping stone to get to the main one
  • fics where their ship is tagged in because the writer thinks one mention makes it a ‘minor ship’ (IT DOESN’T, it’s just A MENTION OF IT)
  • fics where their ship is only tacked on to keep those characters busy and the main character of your fic only thinks about that ship in passing twice
  • fics where their ship is brought apart, by death or break up or infidelity, in any part of the fic just for the sake of the main ship to happen.

3. don’t tag in your secondary and minor ships. it’s just fucking rude. if i wanna get my rocks off reading superhot natasha romanoff x lady sif porn, do you know what i can find by going to their ship tag? DISAPPOINTMENT. because rather than learning that there are three/four fics focusing on their spacewives sex life, i have to sift through the mILLIONTY ONE HUNDRED fics already there, who center around loki. if i wanted to read about loki I’D JUST OPEN THE GODDAMN MCU TAG, IT’S ALL PEOPLE EVER WRITE ABOUT ANYWAY. 

4. don’t tag in your secondary and minor ships. i don’t care if you’ve done it once or twice, i don’t care if you think it’s necessary. it’s not. if you think it’s necessary, you know what you could do? add a note at the beginning. a OH BY THE WAY GUYS THISFIC WILL ALSO INCLUDE SOME SIDE SHIPS SUCH AS […] or you can let the readers figure it out. 

5. don’t tag in your secondary and minor ships. because those of us who go into those tags looking for fics about them where they’re appreciated and portrayed well and are the main focus will be left facing the origin of our supervillain story. every. single. day. 

6. if you’ve tagged in secondary and your minor ships: do us all and yourself a favour and go delete them. do it now. edit them now. you’ll be thanked, and most importantly, you’ll be appreciated twice: once by you readers, once by the people who don’t have to get annoyed anymore at seeing fics promising them an apple and giving them a fucking pea

Penelope & Derek’s Matchmaking Service

Originally posted by theonewiththevows

Prompt: The reader and Reid both have a crush on the other person but are too scared of ruining their friendship to tell the other person. Penelope decided to give them a little push and drags Derek into her mischevious scheme.

A/N: This was an idea that popped into my head because I could definitely see Morgan and Garcia meddling in their coworkers love lives. I’m not opposed to making a part two of this, so let me know if that’s something that you would want. Also, anyone who can catch the subtle F.R.I.E.N.D.S. reference that is in here somewhere is my favorite person ever. Enjoy :)

Note: (Y/F/C) = your favorite candy

Warning: nothing

Word Count: 3k

Rating: PG


Penelope sighed in frustration as she watched you and Spencer alternate staring at each other. It was almost painful the way that neither of you actually caught the other doing so. It was like some form of fate caused you to look away a second before Spencer decided to look up. Derek noticed her standing in the doorway. “Hey Baby Girl,” he called and walked over to her. She muttered a “hello” before huffing and crossing her arms. “Whoa whoa whoa, what’s the matter gorgeous? Those processing systems in that big brain of yours hung up on something?”

“How does it not drive you crazy?” she mumbled and Morgan raised an eyebrow at her. 

“How does what not drive me crazy?”

“The two of them!” she whisper-shouted and spun around walking off toward her lair. Derek rolled his eyes, but obediently followed her down the hall. 

“Gonna need a little more information sweetness,” he told her, leaning against the doorframe. 

“Oh c’mon, do I need to spell it out for you? (Y/N) and Spencer. The way those two are pining after each other it’s both sickening and sweet at the same time. I’m not even a profiler and I can tell that they are head over heels. I mean I know (Y/N) is because she told me one night when I got her super drunk with the intent of forcing the information out of her, but that is beside the point,” Penelope explained as she pulled up the bullpen’s security video feed and maneuvered the cameras so they were facing you and Spencer’s desks. 

“What are you doing?”

“I’m people watching.”

“Do you do this all the time?” Morgan asked standing behind her chair.

“Only when we don’t have a case or anything else to do,” Penelope defended, “You would not believe how boring it gets in here and you people never come visit me!” 

“But why- you know what nevermind. Just please tell me that you don’t mess with the cameras in my office.”

“My vision, you are the object of my affection but for the most part my attentions have been focussed on my current OTP as you never do anything interesting in your office.”

“Forgive me for actually doing work instead of making googly eyes at my coworkers.”

“So you have noticed!”

“Of course I’ve noticed. The whole team has noticed. The only ones in the dark about it are the two of them,” Derek chuckled. Penelope smiled as she watched the two of you. You had gone over to ask Spencer something, but he had been so focused on his work you’d startled him and he’d almost spilled his coffee all over himself. 

“They are so cute,” she sighed, “Derek I want my OTP to be together!”

“Somehow I don’t think we get a vote or have the power to make that happen,” he replied, kissing the top of her head. Penelope suddenly perked up. 

“But what if we did?”

“What are you talking about?” he asked as she spun her chair around. 

“What if there was a way that we could force Reid’s hand and make him admit something or ask her out?”

“Baby Girl, Reid has specifically told me that he doesn’t want me messing with this. You think I haven’t tried to get him to make a move?”

“He told you that, but he never told me,” she chirped, turning back toward her computer and started typing away. She pulled up a website for custom floral arrangements and started clicking on various options. 

“What are you doing?”

“Creating something that all of you men hate. Competition,” she replied, patting the side of his face. A few more minutes of meddling the order had been placed, ready to be delivered tomorrow morning. 

“Why do I get the feeling I’m going to be the one he blames for this?” Derek sighed shaking his head. 

“Ha, do not worry my vision. If all goes bad, we pretend like it never happened,” Penelope told him.


You walked into the bullpen the next morning smiling happily as you carried two cups of coffee. You glanced around looking for Spencer, before nonchalantly setting one of the cups down on his desk and arranged the mountain of sugar packets you’d also brought into an orderly pile. You quickly scurried back to your desk and sat down, trying to look casual as you waited for Spencer to arrive. “No coffee for the rest of us, I’m genuinely hurt,” Derek teased, as he sat down on your desk.

“Hey, the only order I remember is Spence’s because it’s the easiest thing ever: a large black coffee and then just bring the whole container of sugar to him,” you replied trying to casually look around him. 

“Uh huh,” Morgan muttered, clearly unconvinced. 

“Good morning,” Reid said as he walked over to his desk past the two of you. 

“Hi, Spencer,” you chirped, “I stopped for coffee this morning and brought you some.”

“Thank you so much, you would not believe the morning I’ve had. How much do I owe you?”

“Don’t worry about it,” you replied tucking your hair behind your ear. 

“Well, thank you. Did you know that coffee was banned three times in three different cultures: once in Mecca in the 16th century, once when Charles II in Europe banned the drink in an attempt to quiet an ongoing revolution, and once when Frederick the Great banned coffee in Germany in 1677 because he was concerned people were spending too much money on the drink,” he rambled. You smiled and shoved Morgan off of your desk, so you could actually see Spencer. 

“Well, I didn’t know that, but I do know that banning coffee should be a crime,” you giggled. Reid smiled back at you and opened his mouth to say something but suddenly went pale. “What’s-”

“I have a delivery for a Miss (Y/N) (Y/L/N),” a man said cutting you off. 

“That would be me,” you replied, turning around. “What can..I..do..” you stuttered as you came face to face with a huge vase of lilies and red roses. 

“Sign here please,” the delivery man said, handing you a clipboard and setting the vase down on your desk. You scribbled your signature down on the form and handed it back to the man. “Have a nice day,” he said walking away. 

“Yeah, you too,” you muttered still too focussed on your flowers. 

“Oh my god, those are gorgeous,” JJ mentioned as she walked over to your desk. 

“Who are they from?” Emily asked, joining the two of you.

“I have no idea,” you replied, pulling the card off the side of the vase. 

“Read it,” JJ urged leaning in closer. None of you noticed that Spencer had unconsciously leaned closer to the group as well trying to listen. 

“Nothing can ever compare to your beauty, but these flowers are certainly a nice way to compliment it. I hope these make that lovely smile of yours appear on your face, signed your secret admirer,” you read out loud and closed the card. 

“Oooh, this is interesting,” Emily said nudging your shoulder. 

“Any idea who it could be?” JJ asked. 

“Not a clue,” you replied, sitting back down in your chair, “I’m not seeing anyone and no one has asked me out recently.”

“Anyone who you hope it is?” 

“Yeah, but considering he hasn’t shown the slightest sign of interest I’m pretty sure it isn’t him,” you mumbled. Unbeknownst to you, Spencer had wandered away into the break room fuming. This happened every time he’d finally work up the courage to ask you out on a date or flirt with you at all something would happen. Morgan would come interrupt,  Hotch would suddenly announce that you had a case, or in this case, some jerk would write you poetry and send you flowers. He downed the rest of the coffee that you had bought him and started making another cup. 

“You ok, Pretty Boy?” Derek asked watching Spencer stir the coffee quite angrily. 

“Just peachy,” Spencer growled. 

“Ya know, you could just ask her out. (Y/N) has no idea who sent her those flowers,” Derek casually mentioned. 

“Ha yeah right, I’m reasonably certain she’d rather have fancy flower man whoever he is,” he grumbled. 

“Fancy flower man? Really Reid, that’s the best you can come up with?” Derek asked trying not to laugh. 

“I have plenty of other vulgar things I could call him so don’t push it.”

“Hey, I’m not the one encroaching on your girl, but I would recommend you do something about it before you loose her to fancy flower man.”

“You think I should what?”

“Well, you’re her friend. I’m pretty sure you can find a way to top the giant array of flowers that he sent her.”

“I definitely could,” Spencer muttered, deep in thought, “I need to get to work but first I’m going to get Garcia to figure out who sent those to her.”

“Uh,” Derek stuttered, trying to come up with a way to divert him, “Why does it matter who it is? You should be more concerned with your plan to woo her, you can worry about who it was later.”

“You’re right. I’m going to take my lunch early. I need to go get a few things,” Spencer said and quickly rushed back to his desk to grab his wallet. Derek sighed in relief, happy that he’d managed to redirect Reid’s thought process, and made himself a cup of coffee. Your sudden presence in the break room caught his attention. “And where are you going lady of the hour?” he asked sipping his coffee.

“I’m grabbing another sugar for my coffee and then I’m going to get Garcia to find out who this admirer person is.” Derek did a spit take and started coughing. “Whoa, you ok?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine. But maybe you should just let this play out? See if he reveals himself to you?”

“Derek, I just want to know who it is so I can tell him I’m not interested. There’s only one guy who’s attention I want and he seems to not really care.”

“Sweetness, Reid is a great guy just a little awkward and shy when it comes to ladies, you might try being a bit more obvious about it,” he teased. You furrowed your brow and slowly turned your head toward him. 

“How did you know I have a crush on Spencer?”

“I’m a profiler and I’m really good at my job.” Derek replied.

“Yeah sometimes I forget what we do for a living.”

“And the fact that Penelope can’t keep her mouth shut,” he muttered quietly to himself. Just not quiet enough.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing!”

“I’m going to kill her!” you growled and stormed off toward Penelope’s office. 

“No no no, wait!” Derek shouted as he chased after you. You tore the door open and walked in. 

“Hello my lovely, what can I do for you today?” Penelope chirped. You narrowed your eyes at her before flicking her on the side of the head. 

“OW!” she shrieked. “What was that for?” 

“I cannot believe you told Derek that I like Spencer. I told you that in confidence and you swore you wouldn’t tell another soul,” you fumed.

“Technically you told me that while you were drunk.”

“Same thing!”

“But you know I tell my chocolate thunder everything, so you should’ve expected this.”

“Ugh, my life is over,” you whined. “Spencer is still acting weird and now some stranger has sent me flowers. Can you make yourself useful and tell me who sent those at least?”

“I take offense to that comment!”

“Who told shared a secret that she swore she would take to the grave?”

“Fine,” she muttered, “but I already know who sent them. I looked it up earlier.”

“Then who is it?”

“It’s uh, Brian in payroll,” 

“Brian in payroll?”

“Mhm,” she mumbled, twisting a piece of hair around her finger.

“Uh huh, does Brian in payroll have a last name?” you asked crossing your arms.

“Yes, yes he definitely does.”

“Yeah? What it is then?”

“Well, I can tell you that it is most certainly not Morgan or Garcia.”

“Penelope,” you groaned. “Why would you do that?”

“I’m just trying to spice it up, you know force our dearest doctor’s hand.”

“Yes and in doing that you’ve managed to scare him. He took off fifteen minutes ago,” you grumbled flopping down in the chair beside her. 

“Aw, sweets it’s gonna be ok.”

“My life is over.”

“Hey look on the bright side, at least you got some bitchin flowers,” she said trying to lighten the mood. You lifted your head and glared at her.

“Not funny.” 

“(Y/N), you need to get back to your desk and take a look at this,” Derek said as he walked into Penelope’s office.

“And you! You knew she was going to do this and you didn’t stop her,” you growled and stalked over to him, poking his chest. 

“As upset as you are right now, I really think you should just go back to your desk. You might like what you find,” Derek replied pushing your hand away. You narrowed your eyes at him.

“If this is another part of this BS plan you two have going on, I’m going to kill you both,” you grumbled, stalking down the hallway. 

“What are you doing?” Penelope whispered at Derek, as they followed you. 

“Just watch,” he replied with a smug look on his face. You were expecting to see yet another bouquet of flowers that the two of them had sent to you, but you certainly weren’t expecting this. Your desk was scattered with various pieces of paper and rose petals. A large white teddy bear was sitting in your chair with a bouquet of gardenias nestled in its arms and a bag of (Y/F/C) tucked in beside it. You stood rooted in place out of surprise until Derek gave you a slight nudge. You walked forward and picked up one of the pieces of paper. You smiled as you recognized Spencer’s handwriting and started reading. It was a poem by Christina Rossetti, one of your favorites actually “I loved you first”. You had talked about this with Spencer months ago, when you both discovered your shared love of poetry. From the looks of it, he had managed to write down all of your favorite poems on these little notes (probably including a few of his own favorites) and put them all over your desk. You plucked the bouquet of gardenias out of the bear’s arms and smelled them. 

“Red roses traditionally symbolize love and passion while gardenias’ symbolize pure, secret love which more accurately displays how I feel about you,” Spencer mumbled from behind you. You immediately spun around and dropped the bouquet back in your chair, before throwing your arms around his neck and crashing your lips into his. He seemed to be stunned for a few seconds, before kissing you back and wrapping his arms around your waist. Hoots and hollers came from all around the office, mainly from Penelope and Emily. You separated a little breathlessly and rested your forehead against his. The pair of you were smiling from ear to ear. “Please tell me this isn’t a dream,” he muttered closing his eyes. 

“Nope,” you replied popping the “p”, “I’m real.”

“So I take it you like me too or else I think you’ve been sending some very mixed signals.” You chuckled and kissed him again. 

“Does that answer your question?” you asked, after you’d pulled back. 

“I think it does, and to think I had a whole speech planned out to make you at least go on one date with me,” he replied scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. You just shook your head and smiled at him.

“That’s so sweet, but how on earth did you have time to set this up? I couldn’t have been gone more than fifteen minutes,” you said, turning slightly to look at your desk,

“14 minutes and 23 seconds actually, but I’ve had the notes sitting in my bag for about a week now,” he told you. 

“Ok, that’s enough, back to work all of you,” Hotch said, commotion having finally drawn him out of his office. There was a collective “sorry” muttered from around the office, before Hotch turned his attention to the two of you. “Do we need to have a conversation or can I trust that this isn’t going to affect work?”

“I think we’re good,” you answered. 

“Good, now I need to call Dave and inform him that he owes me twenty bucks as do the two of you,” Hotch chuckled motioning JJ and Emily. The two women groaned slightly before reaching for their purses. 

“Wait, what?” Spencer asked raising an eyebrow, keeping his arms wrapped around your waist. 

“To make a long story short, we started a pool going for how long it would take the two of you to get together after three months of watching the two of you flirt. I had yesterday, Hotch had today, Rossi had tomorrow, and JJ had next Monday,” Emily explained as she walked up the stairs and handed the money to Hotch, who gladly pocketed it and went back in his office to presumably call Rossi who was off on vacation time. 

“I cannot believe this! How many people in this office are invloved in our love lives?” you cried in frustration, even though you were smiling. 

“Wait, who else is involved in our love life?” Spencer asked, looking down at you confused. 

“And that’s our cue to run chocolate thunder,” Penelope muttered, as she took off running dragging Derek along behind her. You shook your head and laughed, all irritation suddenly vanishing. 

“Wonder what that was about,” Reid thought out loud, as you unwound from his arms and moved all his gifts out of your chair. 

“Don’t worry about it, just remind me to tell Brian from payroll to send her some flowers,” you told him. He looked very confused but just shrugged and kissed your forehead. You grinned up at him, knowing that this was the start of one of the best times in your life. 

Shakespeare (Part I)

Harry X Reader (AU)

In which Harry is a poetic frat boy who just so happens to be the TA for your new English class.

Author’s note: This is gonna be a multi-part fic!! I’m really excited for it and would love any and all feedback. I hope you enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing. Xo


You aren’t a newbie, but your frazzled appearance might portray you that way.

Autumn air nips at your cheeks as you rush around the corner and continue along the edge of the sidewalk. Your feet carry you around other students who aren’t as pressed for time. They give you amused side-glances  as you hustle into the entrance of the closest brick building.

This was supposed to be your semester, the one where you get to class early and rewrite your notes by hand and get straight As. But one-too-many snoozed alarms later and your first day of classes has become your worst nightmare.

You take the stairs two at a time, and are rushing through the doorway to the second floor when you slam full force into a particularly solid shoulder. You’re knocked off balance and a flurry of papers careen through the air to scatter the floor around you.

Keep reading

[3]

GOSH SYAORAN. 

IF YOU’RE GOING TO READ A MANGA OUT LOUD AT LEAST READ IT LIKE YOU MEAN IT. 

Syaoran has no points in dramatic acting ability whatsoever ok. 

Neither does Kurogane. It’s not a thing he would ever admit to being interested in himself.

But this is Manga-chan. 

Kurogane has certain standards when it comes to Manga-chan. They have to be met. 

Simply understanding the dialogue isn’t enough ok IT MUST BE BROUGHT TO LIFE

SCREAM THESE DEATH CRIES LIKE YOU MEAN THEM SYAORAN. 

ANYTHING LESS WOULD BE UNACCEPTABLE. 

Siniy (Chap. 1)

A/N: yaaay! I finally posted part 2! :D The time line will be slightly different than the original CACW, but only by a bit, especially in the next chapter! I hope you guys like it! ENJOY! - Delilah  ❤️

P.S. How do you think alien sex would go with Bucky? ;) 

Siniy: Reader is an Avenger with her good friends, but unlike them, she’s not a demi god, millionaire, super soldier, or a science experiment. She’s got a whole other dilemma: she’s not of this world. Things happen, and she finds herself on the run with Team Cap in Bucharest, along with catching the eye of Bucky Barnes.

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Alien Reader

Warnings: Swearing. Slight angst. Slight suicidal thoughts. Teasing. Emo Steve lol. Sassy Sam. 


Do you know who I am?” 

You’re Steve,” Bucky replied with a small, nostalgic smile. “Your mom’s name was Sarah. You used to wear newspapers in your shoes.”

You gently ran your tongue over your busted lip, tasting the saltiness of the blood that formed there each time you did so. You could feel the bruise forming underneath your eye and you were positive it was swelling now. You didn’t mind it, though, you would heal soon. You always did.

Today, you had found out that Bucky Barnes was strong; really fucking strong. Strong enough to catch you in mid-teleportation and slam you into various objects, including T’challa. Somehow, he’d managed to go into full Winter Soldier mode after speaking to a therapist, which resulted in numerous casualties. You were the first one in his way, which meant you got the full package.

You were able to stun him though; you didn’t even have to touch him. Your appearance alone was enough to throw him off. You let out a snort as you realized he’d probably never knew about the modern hair styles, only, yours wasn’t from a dye job. You were an actual alien.

But your appearance wasn’t enough apparently, as he drove his flesh fist into your face, amongst other things. You weren’t going to hold that against him or anything and you would get over it soon.  

“What did I do?” Bucky asked as he avoided everyone’s eyes.

“A lot.” Sam sassed, crossing his arms in disappointment. He hadn’t seen the man for more than three hours, and he hated him already.

He’s a lunatic. 

You heard his thoughts as if they were being spoken aloud.

Perhaps he was right, but that wasn’t what concerned you at the moment. Usually, you could hear any person’s thoughts, no matter how big or small they were. You could hear every single word clearly, but for some reason- you had no idea why -you couldn’t read Bucky Barnes’ thoughts even if your life depended on it. And that scared the living shit out of you.

All you could gather was single words, but the one he was thinking of was extremely eerie.

The only thing you could pick up was: kill 

And he was talking about himself.

You found yourself staring at him shamelessly. you had no idea who this man really was, but if Steve was willing to flat out trust him after what had just happened, then you were putting this all on him. You had no intentions of involving any other people, but the way this was going, and the way Sam whispered to Steve that he “knew a guy”, you weren’t so sure about keeping a low profile. 

“We should get a car at some point.” You chimed in, causing everyone to look over at you. Immediately, as soon as Bucky’s eyes landed on you, his jaw nearly hit the floor. His eyes focused on your face, his brows furrowing. You had no idea why he was staring, but it was making you so self conscious. 

Steve nodded, grabbing his leather jacket and slipping it over his shoulders. 

“Alright guys,” he spoke, his voice echoing along the walls of the warehouse. 

“Let’s get moving.”



The gentle rumbling of the small car you were in was the only audible thing. Along with Sam’s game of Tetris on his phone. 

You specifically asked Steve to find a low profile car, but one with leg room so that you could breathe without feeling like you were being suffocated. But nope, as soon as he returned in the little navy blue beetle, you made a mental note to never trust him with cars again. 

You let out a sigh as you heard the same lousy word over and over again, clouding your mind and breaking your train of thought: blue.

And it was coming from one person. 

It was being repeated over and over to the point where you were growing highly agitated. You peered over the seat at Steve, who was focused on the road ahead of him. Sam was playing Tetris on his phone silently, his face set in a concentrated frown. Bucky was staring out the window, but occasionally, he’d send you side glances before looking away quickly. If you weren’t annoyed, you’d find his actions a bit cute, just like him.

It was so wrong, you knew that. However, it was pretty much a scientific fact. Bucky Barnes was really handsome for someone who’s an ex brainwashed hydra assassin of seventy years and you were just looking. That’s all. The way he looked at you in the warehouse confirmed that he didn’t find you attractive one bit. 

But you didn’t blame him. Who would like some girl with unnatural blue hair and matching eyebrows. You were a giant target for bullying. 

But now, the word was growing louder and his looks were becoming less cautious and more frequent, which was pushing all the wrong buttons. Why couldn’t he think about the weather like Steve or chicken nuggets like Sam?

You felt the last of your restraint leave you as you heard another word from his mind.

Weird.

You ripped off the little navy blue cap from your head and turned so that you were staring directly at Bucky. The man jumped slightly and turned to you, his face in a small frown.

Yes, my hair is blue!” you snapped, your brows furrowing with annoyance. “Just fucking look at it and get it over with, okay?” You took a strand of hair and placed it in his face dramatically and flailed it around. Bucky let out a grunt and craned his head in the opposite direction.

His metal hand reached out and grabbed a hold of your hand with a little too much force.

“What’s going on back there?” Steve eyed the both of you in the rear view mirror, his eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“Tell your friend to stop staring at me!” you exclaimed.

“I wasn’t staring, I was admiring. There’s a difference!” He responded with the same amount of malice as he pushed you away from him. You grabbed another piece of hair and jammed it in his face, forcing him to look at it. You were so fed up with everything. This entire week had been extremely tiring for you and you were at your breaking point.

“Oh my god,” Sam groaned as he ran his hands over his face. You could hear his thoughts, which consisted of nothing but insults and complaints that were aimed towards you and Bucky, also Steve for not driving fast enough. He hastily reached over to the small radio and cranked up the volume button as high as it could go, much to you and Bucky’s annoyance. You squeaked, covering your ears with your hands as the loud rock music blared through the speakers and vibrated throughout the car.

“What is wrong with you three?” Steve exclaimed, before turning the radio down until it was at a normal frequency. “You’re acting like children right now!” When you realized that you were still leaned up on Bucky, you blushed and scooted as far as you could. He, on the other hand, seemed slightly bothered.

From then on, the three of you were completely silent, with the exceptional complaint from Sam and the occasional sigh from yourself. You were aching all over, but Steve made it clear at the beginning of the drive that there would be no stops unless it was an absolute emergency.

As you leaned against the window, watching the scenery pass you by, you perked up once you heard the familiar sounds of a weather broadcast. Unfortunately, it was only in German, which you had absolutely no idea how to speak, much less understand.

“What’s going on?” you asked as you peered over and rested your chin on the leather shoulder of Steve’s seat. He shrugged before turning the radio louder. Once again, you had no idea what was happening. What if there was a tornado or something?

“I have no clue. I can’t speak German.” Steve confessed with a small sheepish smile.

“I can only speak profanity,” Sam chimed as he gave you a small thumbs up.

You frowned as you sat back into your seat. You were staring up at the sky as you listened to the German forecast. You couldn’t help but notice how dark the sky was getting and it was bothering you quite a bit. What if there was an actual emergency? You didn’t want to get sucked into a tornado or get caught in a hurricane. You couldn’t swim to save your life.

“They’re saying that there’s a thunderstorm coming.” Bucky chimed, causing the three of you to turn and look at him in surprise. “There’s a high chance of softball sized hail and thirty mile per hour winds as well. Also, we should get to safety. It’s not a good idea to drive during something like that.” He included with a small nod.  


After arguing with Sam about the German directions on the map, you plucked it from his hands and set it in Bucky’s lap, asking him to show you all to the nearest motel. 

And to your luck, there was a small, run down little motel just a mile away. 

But to your dismay, it was practically filled. 

“All the other rooms were filled,” Bucky explained as he handed Steve a motel key. A single hotel key, might you add. “All they had was this one, but there’s only two beds.”

The four of you were standing outside the motel room. You managed to grab some snacks and sodas from the vending machine, which you may or may not have picked the lock to get. Desperate times called for desperate measures. 

You raised your eyebrow as you stared at the man. You weren’t shy, not at all, but you didn’t know him at all. From what you experienced earlier, he wasn’t as crazy as everyone made him out to be, but still, you were cautious. You’ll admit now, you liked how he was staring at you, but this was a mission, not one of those bachelorette series from TV.

“That’s fine,” Steve said with a tired smile. “Let’s just get some rest. We’ll leave in the morning.”

What Bucky failed to mention, was that the room was the smoking room, which would’ve been nice if he had given you guys a heads up. You hated how cigarettes smelled, it made you nauseous.

The two king sized beds were covered with stiff sheets and comforters, but you didn’t care. You just wanted to shower and get whatever rest you could before tomorrow. That is, if Tony didn’t come busting in here in the middle of the night and arrest all of you.

Steve unlocked the hotel door and opened it, immediately you were bombarded with the stench of cigarette smoke. You felt a wave of nausea hit you at full force. You covered your mouth, trying to block out the smell, but it was practically everywhere now and you couldn’t stop the bile that slowly began rising up your throat.

You felt Sam’s hand on your shoulder and gently shake you.

“Y/N?” he asked, the wariness was evident in his voice. “Are you alright?”

You felt yourself heaving as you headed straight for the bathroom. You slammed the door shut with a loud boom and fell to your knees, emptying your stomach into the porcelain bowl. 

“On second thought,” Sam called from the other side of the door. “You can have the first shower. Just please don’t puke in there either, kiddo.” 

You let out a small groan, placing your elbows onto the toilet bowl and running your hands through your hair. How you were going to sleep in this mess was beyond you. Maybe if you slept with the window open, that would help? But given the two highly paranoid super soldiers, that was probably unlikely.

With a small, defeated sigh, you gathered enough strength to stand and began stripping off all of your clothes. 

You pulled back the plastic shower curtain and turned the knob, filling the room with the sounds of water cascading down the tiles. 

This was going to be a long night. 


“I am not sharing a bed with him!” Sam spoke, crossing his arms as he stood at the edge of the bed.

You and Steve both let out matching groans, only yours was full of rage instead of annoyance. It was a bed, for Christ’s sake! Bucky wasn’t going to fondle him in his sleep, if that’s what he was afraid of. And Sam, bless his soul, the worst he could do was fart in his sleep, because there had been many times where the team had both witnessed and heard it happen. 

You agrily kicked off the covers, sending them flying off of Steve in the process. You had no kind of sleeping shorts, which meant you were left only in litlte white cotton panties and one of Steve’s oversized shirts, which seemed to only cause more of a hassle. Your clothes were currently in the small washing machine down the hall, which meant you were having to borrow Steve’s, which practically went down to your thighs.

Bucky and Steve practically had heart attacks when they came back room from their gas station run and saw you sprawled out on the bed, watching the the news channel. Steve immediately shielded his eyes, while Bucky avoided yours with any means. 

You hastily shoved past Sam as you ripped the covers back from the second bed and plopped down with an angry sigh. You were so done with his shit. How was he allowed to be an Avenger even though he acted like a pre-teen girl? You had no clue.

“Thank you, Y/N.” Sam sung as he settled into bed with Steve, sending you a shit eating grin and batting those eyelashes of his. You responded with a silent middle finger, one that you wished you could poke him in the eye with.

Slowly, as time inched on, everyone began falling asleep. 

Except for you, you were wide awake. 

You stared up at the ceiling, watching as the ceiling fan whizzed in rapid circles. The only light was coming from the giant neon motel sign, which just so happened to be positioned right by your room. It filled the entire room with eerie purple streaks of light. 

With a sigh, you rolled onto your side. You expected to see Bucky asleep like the others, but to your surprise, he was wide awake. And staring directly at you. 

“Why are you awake?” you whispered to him. Your eyes were focused on his as he stared back with an unreadable expression. The way he stared at you, made you feel so vulnerable and it brought out all your insecurities.

“I can’t sleep.” He confessed with a low voice. You felt yourself growing hot and bothered by the way his voice sounded; deep and full of sleepiness. You felt a wave of arousal grow between your legs as you watched his eyes shift to your lips.

“We’re probably going to prison tomorrow,” you whispered, along with a bitter laugh. “You should enjoy being comfortable while you can.” His brows furrowed as he watched your reaction. You would give anything to know what he was thinking right now. Was he interested in you? Did he think you were pretty? Most men didn’t unless they were into some fetish-y type of stuff.

“If that happens,” he said, his voice growing deeper. His eyes burning into yours. You fought your inner instincts to lean in closer to him. “I’ll take the blame for everything. This has nothing to do with you.”

Just like that, that’s when you heard it.

Beautiful.

You blinked, feeling your cheeks heat up. You had never been called beautiful before, much less through someones thoughts and it scared you a bit. Here was a strange man you’ve only known for a a few hours, yet he was calling you beautiful. He was pressing all the right buttons.

You let out a small, but obviously fake yawn. “We should try and get some sleep now,” you whispered, turning onto your opposite side. “Night, Bucky.” You were far from sleepy now, in fact, you’ve never been more awake. You felt as though every cell in your body was humming with some foreign feeling you had no idea how to express.    

But just as you swore you were going to pull an all nighter, you felt your mind becoming fuzzy, your eyes drooping with tiredness. 

The last thing on your mind as you felt yourself being taken away by slumber, was the word repeating one last time in your brain. 

Beautiful. 


- Fin!

Tag list of super awesome people! ❤️

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If I accidentally forgot to tag you, or your tags don’t work, pls let me know guys! (I promise you’re not a bother!) 

Tags are open for this series babez ;)

I Like Girls (Veronica x Reader)

Prompt: Can you do something where Archie (or another victim of your choice) tries to kiss the reader or something, but it turns out they are a lesbian. And so Veronica finds out they have a crush on her and teases them and lots of fluff. (Lol if you don’t do stuff other than jughead that’s fine)

A/N: Literally love this idea so much as I have such a crush on Veronica anyways. I’m going to use Chuck as my wonderful victim. I thought about using Archie but that boy is clueless with everything. Requests are Welcome!

Masterlist

I Like Girls (Veronica x Reader)

For the past 10 minutes, Chuck has been trying to hit on you while you stared at him with a bored look on your face. You knew you were gay. You’ve known for the past 4 years but as fresh meat in Riverdale, not many people knew that.

Kevin, who was standing next you trying not to die laughing, knew you were gay the second you walked in the school doors. He compliments that he has a great gaydar when in reality, he caught you glancing at Cheryl Blossom’s beautiful ass. (oh my god that ass of hers is heaven)

“So You, Me, and Pop’s?” Chuck asks as you glance at Kevin, who’s actually dying against your locker.

“Um, Chuck, is it? I’m sorry I’m just not interested.” You shrug as Kevin lets out a snort, making you giggle a little.

“Oh Come on, Baby. One night with me, and you’ll be interested!” You and Kev share a look. Should you let him entertain the thought that you could possible like him or tell him there’s absolutely no way you could like him if you tried?

You were too nice and too gay to lead him on so you speak up, “Chuck. I’m gay. Like SUPER fucking gay.” Kevin laughs. “Like I would rather date Cheryl or Veronica than you or any other guy.”

Chuck pauses and the smile drops on his face. “You could have just said you weren’t interested.”

You roll your eyes and turn to kevin as Chuck walks away. “Why do all guys do that?”

He smiles down at you. “Cause they’re all clueless idiots.”

“So True.”

Keep reading

I don’t think about Harry Potter a whole lot, typically, but today I saw a video that featured Harry wearing some cool shades and I started wondering: what if Voldemort’s killing curse had struck Harry just a little lower? What if, on the first of November, 1981, the Dursleys had discovered on the doorstep their infant nephew - not with a conspicuous jagged scar, but instead with eyes the colour of electricity? How would blind Harry Potter’s life differ from the story we already know?

The first divergences are small and predictable. On his eleventh birthday, Harry’s letter from Hogwarts is written in delicate braille and the signature of Minerva McGonagall is elegantly embossed. At the Hut-on-the-Rock, the newly-revealed wizard boy is impressed not by Hagrid’s size but by the unusual depth of his voice.

Arriving at Hogwarts, we get no description of Draco Malfoy’s appearance, but instead learn the self-important scuffing sound of his footsteps, plus the fact that Crabbe and Goyle smell of old oatmeal, too much candy, and something that reminds Harry of grumpy toads.

Instead of learning “Lumos”, our blind Harry learns spells like “Oros” - which makes books and letters whisper their contents to him in their papery voices - as well as “Divinus”, which causes his wand to hum like a tuning fork the closer it gets to the object he’s thinking of.

One very notable thing has changed, however. In this world, no-one will ever tell Harry that he has his mother’s eyes. It’s hard to tell how much this changes Harry’s story; perhaps, without Lily’s eyes to stir up such emotion, Professor Snape won’t inflict Harry with the sadistic cruelty of a jealous lover - though he still treats the Potter boy with the same distance and hostility he felt towards Harry’s father, James (this, plus the acrid fumes and addling, humid vapours of the potions classrooms, continues to make the subject one of Harry’s least favourite).

With eyes that mark him as “The Boy who Lived” he may not be able to see the reflection of his desires in the Mirror of Erised, but upon placing his hand on the mirror’s cool surface Harry’s head is filled with the murmurs of familiar and comforting voices - his uncles, grandmothers, great-aunts and second cousins - and he is taken by an overwhelming sense of belonging, of being home.

Our sighted Harry always relied on the help of his friends to overcome challenges, and this remains true through the challenges to reach the Philosopher’s Stone. Hermione will still fend off the devil’s snare and solve the potion riddle, while Ron’s command over the chess board will still get the trio through the fourth chamber. Unable to see, Harry may yet be able to capture the winged key in the third chamber; instead of chasing the key like a daring snitch-seeker, he rises cautiously on his broom into the middle of the whirling, fluttering cloud and waits patiently until his keen ears distinguish the slow and clumsy flapping of the injured old key, grabbing it cleanly out of the air as it lumbers past him.

In his second year, Harry’s blindness is if anything an advantage in the fight against the basilisk, making him immune to the serpent’s petrifying gaze as he follows the sound of Fawkes’ voice to rend it through its head. (Incidentally, the repercussions of Dobby’s meddling this year will be slightly lessened, as who could blame a blind twelve-year-old for knocking over a sugared violet pudding - although the Dursleys will try - or bumping into a wall at Central Cross station?)

Professor Trelawney’s classes in third year could only be incredibly tedious for Harry, being unable to read tea leaves or see into crystal balls. What’s more, the Divination professor makes near-constant references to “blind prophets” and “third eyes”, which Harry can’t help but feel is somewhat offensive. Hermione will be very patient with Harry when they sit down to practice their astrology readings and Harry has to ask “Where are the stars, Hermione? The stars? Is Mars in the house of Jove right now? What’s the moon doing?”

With all the talk of The Grim this year, all Harry notices is the lingering ‘shaggy dog smell’ that seems to follow him around whenever he’s outside the castle.

Will a blind boy be allowed to participate in the Triwizard Tournament? Of course he will! Wizards don’t understand ‘safety’. Our Harry may not be a confident flyer, but he still has command of the Accio charm, as well as an entire stash of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes products under his bed in his dormitory. Even a Hungarian Horntail can’t see you through Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, not can it smell you once you’ve detonated a few dung bombs. After being tricked into devouring an entire case of Skiving Snackboxes, any dragon is going to feel like taking the day off.

Harry doesn’t recognise Hermione at first when she attends the Yule Ball with Viktor Krum: her improved posture changes the sound of her footsteps, and her voice has taken on a new lilt and clarity after Madam Pomfrey shrunk her teeth to undo Malfoy’s hex. Masking her characteristic smells of library books and toothpaste, she carries with her the flowery scent of the cosmetic potion she put in her hair.

Harry will be incapable of seeing thestrals, even at the start of his fifth year; after hearing the clopping of hooves from his carriage and remarking that “regular, horse-drawn transport seems rather mundane for Hogwarts”, he will be drawn into a very awkward and illuminating conversation with Luna Lovegood about the nature of death.

Umbrige will be described to us not as “toad-like”, but in terms of her voice “like an indignant budgerigar stuck in an expensive vase”. Her classroom smells strongly to Harry of talcum powder and too-sweet tea, with an undertone of vinegar and hints of nightshade.

With a fragment of Tom Riddle’s soul trapped within his eyes, Harry’s visions of Voldemort are stronger than ever, and he rushes as always to confront the Death Eaters - a group of determined friends by his side - at the Ministry of Magic.

Of course this Harry will succeed in hunting down the remaining Horcruxes and tracing the paths of the Deathly Hallows. How could he not, with his magical talents, his powerful capacity for empathy and love, and the endless help of his his allies and friends?

Coming to in a spectral representation of King’s Cross Station, Harry recoils from the whimpering fragment of Voldemort’s should before being greeted by the figure of Albus Dumbledore, whom Harry recognises from his distinguished voice - like a grand old oak tree, its branches bowed under the weight of a thousand stars. Harry’s figment of Dumbledore smells like soap and gold wire, like ink, polished wood and lemon sherbets, and very faintly of kind and humble tears. Occasional wisps of the old man’s expansive beard brush past.

Harry has the same conversation with Dumbledore about life and death, about his own plans and foils, and about Voldemort. Harry is offered the same choice: to go back to the land of the living or to board a train into the beyond. Harry still chooses to return to Voldemort’s camp in the Forbidden Forest, for the sake of his friends, whom he knows and loves by sound and smell and touch.

Harry - The Boy Who Lived - the boy with eyes like lightning, duels Voldemort without ever seeing his snake-like features or the contempt and malice in his red-ringed pupils, and defeats the dark lord just as he does in the original story, because the sum of one’s strength is more than any one sense, just like a community’s strength is greater than that of any one person. Beside the skinny boy with the dark glasses held together by Spell-o-tape stand a frizzy-haired muggle girl who has read every book, two of redhead siblings from a huge and loving family, a forgetful boy raised by grandmother, a girl who still carries around a battered pair of Spectre Specs, and countless other witches and wizards who know that love, acceptance and cooperation are the most powerful magics of all.

Princess of Themyscira: Part 4

AN:This chapter came fairly easy, I love how it turned out.

Words: 1813

Part One, Part Two, Part Three


The only thoughts on your mind as you climb the steps up towards your grandmother’s palace are ones of sleep. Your body aches, your spirit is sore, and to be completely honest, you feel a bit hollow inside. All you want is to collapse on your bed and sleep. Of course, life isn’t that easy.

    At the top of the stairs, you find your grandmother and your sisters waiting for you. You’re a bit surprised. Usually, by this time, they’ve drunk themselves into a stupor, having told each and every one of your mother’s battle stories. The hangovers typically last for days, and you’re usually the one to hold back your sisters’ hair in the morning.

    You say nothing as you take a seat at the top of the stairs, and turn to face the horizon. The sun is just beginning to rise, and no one seems inclined to say anything, so you sit in silence until Io finally asks, “What was she like?”

    You turn towards your sister and stare. You’d heard the stories, how Io had been madly in love with your mother, and how she had cried for days when she had been officially banished. After a moment you say, “You knew her longer, shouldn’t you know?”

    Artemis’s hand lands roughly on your shoulder, “We knew Diana, Princess of Themyscira. Warrior of the Amazons. We did not know Diana, mother of Y/N, Warrior of Man’s World.”

    You bite on your lip, “You don’t want to hear what I have to say.”

    “And why not?” Euboea asks.

    “Because it involves Man’s World. It involves my brothers. It involves my father, and however much love you have for my mother, and for me, you have just as much resentment for them.”

    “Have we ever shown this resentment? Said bad things?” Hellene asks.

    Your answer is swift and unforgiving, “Yes.” You can see the shock on the faces of your friends, of your grandmother, and from the rest of my sisters. “It didn’t take you long to accept me, despite being hesitant at first. But I remember the hushed whispers in those early days, what you all would say when you thought I wasn’t around.”
    You swallow thickly, “You hate my father for having taken my mother away, but if you knew my mother as you claim, then you would know that no one could make her do anything. And to understand who my mother became when she left here, you’d first have to understand my family. And that starts with my father. And to be honest, I don’t know if it’s a story you’re going to like.”

    There’s several long minutes of silence before Io finally says, “Diana was our sister. We wish to know her. You come from her, if you say we need to start with your sire, then that is where we shall start.”

    You take a shaky breath before nodding once, “Well, to start, he wasn’t my sire. He was my father, and whatever your misgivings toward men are, he was a good man. He was born into wealth, to a loving mother and father. My grandmother, his mother, wanted a child desperately and it took several miscarriages before she was able to have my father. But he was her world. And my grandfather, Thomas, was a doctor. He turned away from corporate America to help people. To try and relate to those less fortunate than him.

    “They were murdered in front of my father when he was eight. That one moment defined the rest of his life. He was left in the care of the family’s butler, Alfred.” You smile at the name, and pause for a moment as the memory of the older man takes center stage in your memory.

    “Alfred was amazing. Managed to raise my dad, and my brothers and even helped raise me. He and mom got along so well. He took care of cleaning and cooking, and everything, and anytime one of us had a problem we would go to him.”

    You pause to wipe away a tear, before continuing, “As my father grew up, he became obsessed with vengeance.”

“Of course.” Artemis’s voice is sure, understanding, as she says, “If any of us were in the same position we would do the same.”

You smile, “Except he didn’t.” You receive puzzled looks before saying, “He found the man who murdered his parents, only to find out he’d been hired to do the job. He had a gun in his hand, he could have killed the man but decided against it. Decided that he wouldn’t become the very thing his parents had tried so hard to fight.

“He went on a journey across the world. Trained under hundreds of masters in escape and martial arts. He was gone for nearly eight years, and when he returned, he took on the persona of Batman. He donned a mask and a cape, and worked to protect the city he loved. That’s how he met my brothers.

“Dick, Jason, and Tim all came to him in different ways. Each had their own journey with him, but they all were of the same mentality. To protect. It’s the same way he met Mom. The Justice League was formed out of need, not desire. Some Earth shattering crisis, where Mom first appeared. She thought dad was too broody. She worked so hard to get him out of his shell.

“The thing that did it was her almost dying. She took a hit for him. It would have killed him, but it only wounded her. Unlike most of the League, Dad didn’t have any powers. He was extremely smart, cunning, and a master of fighting. But he wasn’t invulnerable.

“Tim said that he never left her side after that. He refused to even eat until she woke up. And her first words to him were, ‘Your rules be damned, Bruce Wayne. I love you, and no matter how hard you push me away, I’ll fight even harder to get close.’ Jason said he just gave up after that.

“Dick said they became one of the most sappy couples ever after that. Only at home though. When they were in uniform they were all business. At least that’s what they claim. Dick said that a lot changed when he let Mom in. She didn’t let him isolate himself, or deny his feelings. She forced him to admit stuff, to become more open.

“My father, who apparently had a hard time admitting he cared, finally admitted that his number one fear was to lose those important to him; my brothers and my mother.”

You pause again to swipe at the tears running down your face. “I remember coming home from a night out with my brothers to find them dancing in the kitchen. We watched them for an hour. He was singing to her. Mom was the only one who could convince him to sing. He had such a pretty voice. He would have given her the sun and the stars if she had let him.

“My brother Damian came after they had been together for about two years. When my father had been traveling he met a woman named Talia. She was a smart woman. A strict woman. And a hell of a fighter. Unbeknownst to my father, a night together had created Damian.

“Damian resented Mom at first. Said there were months of snipes back and forth but my mother never backed away or coddled him. Any smart alec remark was met with one of equal standing until something happened that nobody would talk about. All I know is that Talia never came around again, and my parents were given full parental rights. I came about two years after that.”

“And?” Calyce asks.

You smile, “We were happy. We were a family. I grew up with four older brothers who meant the world to me. Who I could go to. My father wouldn’t go out on patrol without reading me a story before he left. Damian taught me fighting basics to defend myself. The others tried to coddle me too much, he said. But neither Mom nor Dad wanted me to join the family business.

“They wanted me to have a normal life, and I did. Or at least as normal as it can be in that situation. I grew up with the other league kids. I had chores and dance class. We had family trips and family dinners. Mom would tell me stories about her childhood. Dick taught me how to tumble, and Jason would taught me how to ride a bike. I’d spend hours playing video games with Tim. He made me my first cup of coffee for exams. Alfred nearly blew a gasket. Mom just took pictures.

“On weekends Mom would take me horseback riding, and we would race. My favorites memories are the ones of all of us together. Birthdays, galas, movie weekends. But my favorite is one of my mom and dad dancing.

“There was always something going on in the world. Some crisis, but I remember thinking I had never seen two people so at peace in that moment. I had never seen two people so in love. He used to call her ‘princess.’ And it wasn’t some in some condescending way either, it’s because that’s what she was, and she deserved that respect.”  

You take a deep breath, “My dad died about three months before I came here. It sent Mom into a rage. She destroyed that incoming fleet. Despite his own resolve not to kill he never tried to persuade her otherwise. He knew she did what she thought was best, that it was a last resort.

“What she did to that fleet though, it was pure vengeance. They had taken the love of her life away, and she was going to kill them for it. She became a different person after that. She was very withdrawn, and when the invasion got worse, they decided as a family that I needed to be saved.

“Alfred drugged me. Slipped something into the coffee Tim had made. They were all there as my eyes closed. They all told me how much they loved me. When I woke up, my mother was carrying me on the beach here. She’d packed a trunk with things she said were important. Put the key around my neck, and well… you know the rest.”  

This time, you let the tears come, you allow yourself to sob as you say, “She wasn’t so different from the woman you tell stories about.”

Artemis’s arms surround you, and she pulls you close, “She was very different, little one. She was a mother, not only to you but to your brothers. She was a wife. She was in love. She was a warrior.”

You swallow thickly, “She was Wonder Woman.”

baby violet + klaus headcanons

- klaus did not speak at all until he was like 5. he spent all that time just pointing at things and crying. he also never went through the baby-talk phase, he went straight to using full sentences. his parents always joked that he was actually born knowing how to talk like an adult but he just pretended he couldn’t to mess with everyone. he was actually very slow to learn how to read, mostly because it took a while for anyone to realise he needed glasses. if violet went anywhere without taking him he would cry.

- violet was one of those babies who could crawl really fast and would just disappear if you turned your back for more than 0.4 seconds.  she also had the magical ability to get past any and all child locks. it always took about 900 hours to put her to bed. she was also constantly asking really weird questions like ‘what would happen if the world was a triangle’ and ‘can dogs and cats understand each other’. 

anonymous asked:

This sounds weird but could you give some advice to other fanfiction writers? You're really good. 💕

oh my goooooooood where are all you lovely people coming from tonight?? 

alrighty, let’s give this a go!

Fanfic Tips:

Character Motivation

This is my biggest thing. You should always, at any given moment, know what every character in a scene wants. What they want is going to dictate how they act and react to things. Without characters wanting things, nobody ever does anything, and your fic doesn’t exist. 

When characters have different motivations and have to come together, magic happens. And as characters develop, their motivations change. 

Great example?

what Luke wants (general motivation: freedom -> The Right Thing): to get off his uncle’s farm and get to go be with his friends at the academy -> to be a Jedi and fight for the rebellion -> to learn more but also keep his friends safe -> to redeem his father.

what Leia wants (general motivation: fight Empire): to get the Death Star plans to the rebel base and find Obi-Wan Kenobi -> to not be in the Empire’s clutches -> to blow up the Death star -> to not be in the Empire’s clutches -> to save Han -> to blow up the other Death Star 

what Han wants (general motivation: self-preservation -> protect friends): to get his hands on some money so that he doesn’t get killed by a mob boss -> to escape the empire -> to help the rebellion/keep his friends safe

(Obi-Wan, meanwhile, pretty much just wants to keep Luke safe, and help the rebellion if he can.)

All different, all interweaving, most of them changing as the characters are influenced by others, and learn and grow. 

So yeah. You gotta know this shit about your characters - it’s crucial. 

Tip? If you’re unsure about whether you know what they want, try making a list of all the important characters in your fic (and then potentially do this with most scenes, briefly) and work out what their main motivation/what they want is. Just…in general. In life. And then, once you’re in a scene, see how this plays into what they want in this exact moment, and how they’re going to go about trying to get it. 

Know Your Source Material

You don’t have to be an expert in your fandom to write fanfic, but the more you know, the easier it is to move through the world and build a story, because you know where you’re going and how things work. Wikis are your friend, especially when working in big universes like DW or SW. (Like, hell, I might know a lot about DW, and feel very comfortable in that universe, but I still find myself on the TARDIS Index File all the time, checking little random things. It’s a damn godsend, and every fandom has a wiki.)

Your Characters Are Just People

Make sure you let your characters fuck up once in a while. They’re fallible beings, they’re going to make rash decisions that backfire, they’re going to try something and fail, they’re going to say the wrong thing and piss somebody off. They’re going to maybe mean well but fuck up majorly, and that’s okay, that’s good. Let them apologise, let them learn from the consequences, let the healing of a wound in a relationship bring the people closer together. 

And yes, this still goes for characters that almost never do anything wrong, or are all ‘holier than thou’. They are still gonna go about some things the wrong way. 

Planning Is Good, But Be Flexible 

In my experience, while some people lean heavily towards one or the other, appropriate use of planning or gardening can depend heavily on what kind of story you’re writing. 

When writing more action based storylines, I’ve found it’s very easy to get stuck in the middle of them - you get the characters into a mess and get stuck for a month not knowing how to get them out. This is where planning tends to be handy. A good way of not getting stuck is to plan it all out in little increments, so there’s not too much room to get stuck. Also, plotting from the back. Start at the end. Works really well a lot of the time. 

If planning works for you, plan as much as you want. But, always, always, be ready to change something, if you try a bit of gardening and end up somewhere different to where you expected to be. Always follow what feels right over sticking with a plan. 

Gardening aka Let The Characters Take The Lead

…this is fanfic. Let’s be honest, we know that most of it is juicy interpersonal stuff. So while planning is all well and good, I think gardening works a lot better. When writing the maths teacher fic, I went in pretty much blind. I had a couple of vague ideas of what I wanted to achieve, but I also wanted the relationship I was developing to be as absolutely genuine/believable as possible (which, according to the general consensus, it is). 

The way to do that?

Don’t try and force things between the characters. Sometimes you might start a scene with a particular moment in mind, and that’s all good, but for me personally, I’ve found that you tend to get results that are more organic by simply going into a scene blind and seeing what the characters do. You should still, hopefully, have an idea of what you want to happen, but the characters and their ways of reacting to things should always come first. 

Seriously, if you’ve got the characterisation down, they’ll do the hard work for you. 

Maybe they’ll get to where you wanted, maybe they won’t. But it’s actually a really fun ride, doing it this way. When are they going to kiss? When are they going to fuck? Who knows? Not me! How could I know, when I haven’t yet seen/created the unique and particular path of events that gets them to that point? 

Like, I went into a chapter once, intending for a child character to kill a guy. But when it came to writing the scene, I just wasn’t quite sure if she would actually do it, even with her evil psychopathic mother egging her on. So I gave the kid the reins/gun, and sat back to see what happened. She ended up shooting him non-fatally, only for him to be killed by the vaguely disappointed mother instead. I was like “oh, okay, cool, that works”. 

Garden. Have fun letting the characters surprise you!

Dialogue

Dialogue is the make or break of a story, really. And the trick to dialogue is to make it authentic, and give the characters their own unique voices. 

First one is simple. Make sure the dialogue sounds like how people actually talk. Anyone who has read any of my fics knows that I use “-” and “…” and “um” and “uh” liberally. That’s because humans, modern day ones at least, aren’t always the most eloquent of creatures. We mumble and say the wrong thing, or get distracted halfway through, or forget what we were going to say, and hesitate when we’re unsure (even posh, eloquent characters, they just do it less and use bigger words in between). Let the characters do this. 

Saying the dialogue out loud will help a lot. Also, you could also try verbally paraphrasing a conversation from the fic to a friend, and you’ll likely find some of the dialogue coming out a lot more casually/authentically. 

As for giving the characters their own unique voices, that’s just down to knowing your canon and being in tune with the characters, which is a crucial thing but unfortunately not something I can really give advice on, you’ve gotta get those in your head on your own. 

Details Matter

Different details matter in different stories. And getting them wrong can really break the immersion.

If you’re writing characters that come from a different place to you, make sure you know how people from that place talk! Americans, don’t you fucking dare have a British character call somebody ‘Mom’, it breaks the immersion completely and makes me want to punch something. It’s ‘Mum’, for anyone from UK/Aus/NZ. And same with Brits writing American characters, but the other way around. This goes for any UK/US/Aus/NZ/Canada language difference. Find out what your character calls things.

Working details out can seem unnecessary, or going over the top, but honestly, half the time you realise that you’ve gone and got something wrong, and next thing you know the entire plot has a gaping hole in it, or a character doesn’t know something they got told three months back, but you forgot about it. 

Like, okay, I have a day by day plan of the timeline of the maths teacher fic (and, going forward, its general universe), because I was trying to weave in all this original material through the show canon (and now, write several stories/oneshot set at the same time within that verse, focused on different characters/things), and if I hadn’t done that, I would have royally fucked myself over multiple times. 

I’m not saying everyone has to make a timeline that detailed, because for a lot of stories it wouldn’t be remotely necessary, but it was for this particular one. 

But just details in general. Do your research, check that thing on the wiki, get specific with details about a character, even if they’re just a minor one (though maybe stick to just one or two details, in this case). 

This kind of goes along with show, don’t tell. Like you could tell the readers blatantly that a character loves a thing, or you could talk about how they wearing clothing printed with the thing and have them jabbering on about it excitedly, you know? 

Don’t be afraid to ask for help if you need information!

Seek out people who are experts in something you need to know about. This might be kink (bless the friends I’ve made through fic in the last six months or so, who have helped me in this area), or something specific to their country’s society/culture/choice of words for a certain thing. 

Also, if you’re trying to add diversity in your fics, and you hopefully should be, ask friends or people on Tumblr from within the group you’re trying to include to get information! Want to write a trans guy? Go find a trans guy to talk to about it! (I did this with a demigirl character recently, and got about four or five really helpful people more than happy to give me the info I was looking for, they were really excited about the prospect of demigirl characters existing at all.) It’s really easy to add in background diversity regardless of what fandom you’re writing for, and it can make a lot of difference to any readers who find themselves unexpectedly represented, even if only in a minor or one time character. 

In Conclusion:

Know your characters, and what they want, and how they talk. Let them lead the story, because they’re why you’re here, and doing all this. Give them real and imperfect voices and qualities, and let them make mistakes and apologise.

And do your research, so you get the details right.

I hope this helped! Now, go forth and write!

(And have fun! That’s the other big rule. Do it out of love, make yourself laugh, just have fun with it!) 

When applied to a family, the gaslight treatment is a special form of dysfunction. It happens when you, a child, receive messages or encounter experiences within the family which are deeply contradictory. 

Messages which are opposing and conflicting; experiences which can’t both be true. When you can’t make sense of something, it’s natural to apply the only possible answer:

Something is wrong with me.”

Today, scores of children are growing up under a gaslight of their own. And scores of adults are living their lives baffled by what went on in their families, having grown up thinking that they, not their families, are crazy.

I have seen gas-lighting cause personality disorders, depression, anxiety, and a host of other lifelong struggles.  Receiving contradictory messages that don’t make sense can shake the very ground that a child walks on.

The Four Types of Child Gas-lighting:

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the PERKYGOTH manifesto

Right! Here we go! It seems, that in these passing times, it has become fashionable, nay, perhaps even *scoff!* required of goths very much like ourselves that they reflect upon life itself with the most cynical and morose of countenances. We, the Perkygoths of the world, stand in the face of this, and reclaim our heritage as follows!

1 » We realize, and perhaps even declare publicly, the simple fact our attire and decorative tastes and downright silly, yet in the face of this impractical and sometimes even inconvenient nature of things, we LAUGH! Yes, all those skirts make the boys have to piss like girls, but hey! it contributes toward greater understanding between the sexes!

2 » There is no “standard” behaviour or code of any sort for member of the so-called “underground”, you silly gits! Why, who ever thought of anything so bleeding preposterous?! If i want to skip across the dance floor to see a friend, well damn it all, i’m going to! And about that smile i was wearing last week at the club, yes, it was mine! No, my mother did not make me wear it!

3 » Um, just cause i look like a goth right this very instant does not preclude me not looking like a goth sometime tomorrow, after the shock and horror of this realization passes by, you will note that it’s actually quite fun to inject a little variety into things.

4 » On that note, neither are we required to listen solely to goth, death rock, or darkwave. We are, however, allowed to physically assault the next person who scowls at us for slapping that p-funk, hard techno, or riot grrrl record on the turntable immediately after playing the sisters or somesuch.

4.5 » And while i’m thinking about it, we’re also allowed to clobber anyone at a club who whines about the dj playing too much goth and not enough deathrock or something of that ilk.

5 » But, if there’s one thing we mustn’t ever do, under any circumstances, it is lord our knowledge over that of others. If there is a sin, dear Perkygoths, it is self-righteousness and pomposity. We simply mustn’t go out and wave all that nifty info we just read out of good old Mr. Mercer’s handy-dandy goth guide as if we had known it all along. Cause face it, most of us weren’t even there when half of that stuff happened. (There are exceptions, of course, but they aren’t allowed to lord their knowledge either, nor are they suppose to reflect in a nostalgic and whiny manner).

6 » Oh! Right! Back to Perky! Um, stomping in mud puddles is perfectly acceptable. Dancing and realizing that you look like a complete idiot is heartily encouraged. Continuing to dance, no matter how many other people are also noting that you look like an idiot, is even more heartily encouraged. Remember kids, the look or the lifestyle? The lifestyle, of course, you’re a Perkygoth. Don’t just look like a looney, act like one! It’s much more fulfilling than primping in a mirror all night.

7 » Um, i forgot the rest. Probably didn’t even think of them to begin with. i’ve prolly lied about everything so far. Uh, am i getting paid to do this? What was i saying?

7.5 » Just remember, fun is your middle name, or at least it;s somewhere in your vocabulary. Whatever you’re doing, think to yourself: “am i having FUN?” If no, time to do something else. A short attention span means you don’t have time to get bored and mope!

let this be our rallying cry!

“DO NOT STAND IN OUR WAY! WE WILL WALK AROUND YOU!”

anonymous asked:

Why do u think Riordan never talks about the struggles of dealing with menstruation for a demigod, like when they're on the run or on a quest? It could be that he doesn't feel comfortable writing about something he's never experienced, but then, he's written about a lot of things he's never experienced. As far as I know, he's not gay or gender queer, but he's written about those things. Am I the only who's kinda bothered by the fact that he kinda just pretends it doesn't happen?

Honestly I think it’s just because there’s a perception in publishing that no one wants to read about it. It’s not just Rick… 

Look at The Hunger Games, for example: I distinctly recall a scene where Katniss pees and then describes her pee to highlight the fact that she’s dehydrated, but I don’t recall any mention of what she did when she got her period? (If she got it at all, she was pretty malnourished so it may have stopped…) 

There’s also Hermione. To be fair, Harry Potter is told from Harry’s perspective, but over seven books I don’t think there’s a single mention of Hermione complaining about cramps, or mentioning how she’s craving chocolate, or making an offhand comment about anything at all to do with periods. 

Twilight is focused around Edward wanting to drink Bella’s blood but there’s not even a single passing thought of ‘Oh I wonder if the blood lust gets stronger when I have my period and am bleeding non stop for a few days’.

The only book similar to PJO that I’ve read that mentions periods is Tomorrow When the War Began (also written by a man), when Ellie makes a comment about being down to her last tampon after a year of living in the bush as a guerrilla fighter. 

Just a single, throwaway line like that by Annabeth would immediately make the character feel even more real. Or a mention of how she thought ahead and got the implant so she doesn’t get her period anymore, because she didn’t want to have to worry about it while saving the world. 

I agree that it would be awesome to see periods referenced in more YA. These books are aimed at the age bracket where girls are dealing with the awkwardness and pain for the first time, after all, and seeing their fictional idols dealing with it and going on to fight the bad guys and save the world would probably help them feel better through the cramping - or at least help them feel as if someone understood their struggle of having to go on with life, pretending everything’s fine and pushing through the pain while it feels like you’re being stabbed in the guts.

Battling Insecurity

The biggest demon of most musicians is a feeling of insecurity. It’s the creeping (or blatant) suspicion that you are literally the worst musician in the world — or at least nowhere near as good as you “should” be. It can also manifest as the idea that you’re going to: get laughed at by your peers, be a complete failure at everything you ever attempt, be revealed as a fraud, find out everyone is just humoring you, find out that your doubters were right, end up completely destitute and have to live in a cave, or possibly just spontaneously die the next time you have to perform. It turns out that all of these worries are 99.999% of the time completely baseless. No, you are not that 0.001 percent case where these thoughts are accurate. Bassoonist Georg, who has never actually touched a bassoon and likes living in caves, is an outlier adn should not have been counted.

The thing is that everyone feels like this, at least sometimes. I myself have, at the time of writing, complained at two different people a total of four times in the past week that I am going to end up living in a cave in the North Woods because no one will ever want to pay me for anything because I Suck. This is objectively not true. (You bought this book after all.) It may be a cliche, but there is a lot of truth to the thought that we are our own worst critics. There is no one else out there who knows your musical intent. If your trill doesn’t sound the way it did in your head, you are the only person who knows. Everyone else will think approximately this: “Hey, that was a trill. Cool.” If they’re especially persnickety, they might add “That was a little (better/worse) than when (you/someone else) sang a similar trill.” I don’t think there is a person out there who specifically goes to listen to a performance and thinks “This is awful and this performer is awful,” because most people are very nice. You are the only person there who thinks that you suck.

There are ways to battle insecurity, of course. Every performer develops a set of techniques to reaffirm their own self-worth, to calm themselves down, and essentially talk themselves down from the tree their anxiety has them hiding up. However, trial and error can take a long time, and you are going to need your self-esteem shored up a lot in the next year. With that in mind, here are suggestions from performers in college and beyond for how to manage insecurity.
Focus on things you’ve improved in the past year. When you start to worry about how obviously you’re no good and no one will ever want to listen to you etc. etc. etc., take a deep breath, then list three things you’ve improved in your playing in the past year. You have definitely improved at LEAST three, if not eight or nine aspects of your playing. Be as broad or as specific as you wish. This is about you acknowledging that you have grown and gotten better, so you choose the things on which to focus.
Listen to old recordings of yourself. If you absolutely CANNOT think of a SINGLE THING you’ve improved on in the past year (really? Not even your ability to play a single piece?), then go and listen to recordings of yourself from years ago. Find something you performed in when you were a freshman in high school (or, if you’re a freshman, see if you can find stuff from elementary school!). Go and listen to it, as critically as you can. It will probably make you cringe. That’s a good thing. Know why?
It’s because it shows you how much you’ve grown since then. If you fast-forward ten years from now, as long as you have kept playing, I can guarantee that future-you will listen to recordings of current-you with that same kinda cringey feeling. Because, in ten years, you will have improved so much that your current playing will be unrecognizable. And you will be proud.
Remember that the goal is improvement, not perfection. Music is not a race. Music is not a competition. Music is an art for self-fulfillment and self-expression. Perfection is impossible. Being “the best” is also impossible - there are seven billion people on Earth (and six in space (I checked!)). There’s always going to be someone out there who has practiced a little longer, or harder, or started earlier, or whose fingers are just a little closer to the perfect shape for your instrument. Your goal, then, should be to improve your own self - no comparisons to others, nothing like that.
Remember everyone comes from a different background. That person who sits to you in your ensemble, the one you’re envious of? You can’t know everything about their life. Maybe their parents started them on their instrument at age three. Maybe they haven’t gone out on the weekend in a year and a half because they practice then, or because they work to make up for not working during their practice time during the week. They could have a buttload of debt because of outside lessons. There’s no way to know what advantages or tradeoffs they’ve had to get where they are.
Once you’re at a certain point in life, there’s no way to add something to your life without sacrificing something else that you also like. If someone else practices X amount hours more a week then you do, then they spend X amount less doing something valuable to you - work, sleep, other homework, socializing, recharging, etc. They may simply have different priorities than you, and that’s okay.
Shut down the voice that compares people. Comparing yourself to someone else does nothing for you. Really. Unless you’re actively studying someone’s technique for educational purposes, comparing yourself to that 5th year senior, or that incredible freshman, does nothing for you. When you notice yourself doing the comparison thing, just shut it off. Practice rebuffing that voice.
“Sarah plays really well, yes. When I’ve played as long as she as, I’ll be better than I am now, too!”

Or!

“That freshman plays really well - I’m glad they had the opportunities they did.”

If all else fails, just look at these other people as motivation. Aspire to be as good as them, and use that to fuel your own practice. Just don’t let it spiral into beating yourself up. You’re worth more than that.
Directors have a vision. If you don’t match that vision, it’s not a personal failing.This is specifically in regards to auditions or chair seatings. Every musician has a different style and different technical abilities, and that’s okay. Sometimes your skill in a certain area may be amazing, but your tone just doesn’t match the rest of an ensemble. Or your sight-reading is great, but the director prefers someone else’s musical interpretation. That’s okay. There are ensembles where sight-reading is super important, and where your tone matches perfectly. You just have to find them, and you will eventually.
Make sure to take care of yourself. You can’t practice as efficiently if you’re sick. You can’t improve as much when you’re always exhausted. Trust me - due to an immune system that works about as well as a mall cop, I’ve spent on average eight weeks a school year feeling absolutely gross. I had to take an incomplete with my private teacher the first semester of my senior year of college, because I was so ill I could barely phonate (mono is a big ball of suck).
I’ve been better overall, however, since I started scheduling my sleep and food and socialization times. My calendar has nine hours of sleep scheduled in every night, I have phone calls and coffee dates with my best friends penciled in every week, and food is as regular as clockwork. Why? Because it prevents that nauseous, exhausted feeling of sleepwalking through a ten hour day. Hard days still happen, of course. However, I don’t spend nearly as much time cajoling myself to just keep putting one foot in front of the other anymore. Instead, I’m awake, engaged, and able to complain about things other than how tired I am. Progress!
Read up on Impostor Syndrome. Impostor Syndrome is when your brain’s resident jerkwad is constantly suggesting everyone you know is about to find out you’re a fraud. Who cares about any auditions you’ve successfully done. Who cares how good a grade you got last week. The jerkwad yells that you’re faking everything you’ve ever done, and people are going to figure that out, and then you’re going to end up living under a bridge and charging people tolls to cross it, and then they’ll figure out you aren’t even really a troll, and then you’re going to have join me in the cave in the North Woods and eat beetles and moss.
That jerkwad is a liar. Even I haven’t ended up in the North Woods yet, and I’m pretty sure I should list “Can BS Real Well” on my resume under Skills. You are a real musician - after all, you play music! That’s it. That’s all that’s required to call yourself a musician. I promise.

That I Have Regretted

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x Reader (female pronoun)

Genre : Angst, tiny bit of fluff

Warning : death, cringe worthy writing, sucky writing, etc (??)

Word Count : 5120 ( Sorry, I got carried away )

A/N : This idea came to my head all of a sudden minutes before I sleep and unlike some of my other ideas, this one lingers in my head day and night so I decided to write it. At first I wanted the character to be Steve coz he’s my ultimate favourite among the Avengers but Bucky seemed to be more suitable. This is the very first story I post on this blog so please be nice to me 💕 - Nana🌸

Originally posted by gliceria

There both (Y/N) and Bucky stood still like statues.

In the dark, cold room, face-to-face, eyes boring into each other due to anger that has been gnawing on both of their hearts.

“I mean it” he said.

(Y/N)’s eyes were narrowed to the man before her, hands moving to rest on her hips as she answered her man back, “you are not the boss of me, James” she spat bitterly. The name she used to address him meant that she is beyond mad, pissed, annoyed, and all other emotions that are stirring up in her.

Bucky cringed slightly at the name (Y/N) used to address him, it sounded rather hostile and cold to him because the name is rarely used by anyone close to him.

“you never listen to me, not a damn bit! How many times should I tell you to stay in the Quinjet after you did your part of the mission and until we all finish ours!? You are our eye in the sky and you almost blew the mission for us all, almost get killed and those damned HYDRA agents almost escaped!”

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