i actually laughed in target at the cover of the magazine

“Competitive Hand-holding.”

Kind of a pre-Kacchako/vaguely hinted at Kacchako fic, where due to a dare and a bad pick up line, Ochako ends up getting Bakugou to hold her hand. 1200 words approx, flufy and silliness. Partially inspired by this pick up line. (And of course by Sai. Because let’s be honest, I wouldn’t even think of Kacchako things if not for her.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It started because Mina found a book of intentionally bad pick-up lines.

All the girls were sitting in the common area of the dorms, doing homework or talking, when Mina arrived and gleefully showed them the book. When no one made any objections, Mina started to read out the most amusing or absurd examples at random as she flipped pages. As time went on they got progressively worse, until they got so bad that Kyoka threw a cushion at Mina’s head.

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The Only Exception - Part 9

Masterlist

Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: you don’t believe in romantic love, you find it pathetic. But maybe, you make an exception when you meet James ‘Bucky’ Barnes.

A/N: this is way longer than the other chapters, but it is a decisive moment for the reader, and for Bucky. I hope you enjoy it!

Tags: @supersoldierslover @barnesandnoble13 @vivianbabz @petals-overdaisies @damnbuckyishot @brazien @siobhanrebecca @shamvictoria11 @independentgirl @elwenia @flaipa

Originally posted by superhero-band-girl

(Credits to the owner of the gif)

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My Self-Care Master Post

Things can get tough. You’re going to have days when nothing goes right and all you feel is overwhelmed, anxious, out of control, and off-balance. While it’s perfectly acceptable to just lay around sometimes (everyone deserves those days once in a  while), you’ll oftentimes feel a lot better if you allow yourself to focus on an activity even if it’s a seemingly simple one. Check out some of my favorite things here, and I promise they’ll leave you feeling better!


PRODUCTIVE THINGS TO DO

  • Make your bed
    • Whether it’s first thing in the morning, just after you get home, or right before you go to sleep, the simple act of making your bed can make you feel way more in-control of your life. Even when you’ve got a million other things causing you anxiety, this simple act of reclaiming yourself gives you a sense of control and accomplishment. Plus, does anything feel better than pulling back the covers and crawling into a neat bed?
  • Organize something
    • Anything, really. It can be something that’s causing you stress like a messy closet or something chill and fun like your nail polish collection. Put on a playlist and sort your eyeshadows, your sock drawer, or the inside of your purse. Putting things in order, purging things you don’t need, and neatening up a collection is not only a single-minded activity that you can focus on (think of it like meditation of solitaire), but you’ll definitely be glad you did it later on. 
  • Work out
    • Definitely not always what you want to do, and do not feel like you have to. However, if you’re up to it, something as simple as a walk around the block with your dog can have you feeling better. It’s genuinely incredible what a literal breath of fresh air can do for your state of mind. My favorite form of “exercise” when I’m feeling bad is to plug the headphones in to my phone to make a hands-free phone call to my best friends or my mom just wander around the neighborhood for an hour or so while we catch up. I come back home feeling refreshed, accomplished because I exercised, and happy from a chat with friends!
  • Tackle your to-do list
    • Okay, this one isn’t so fun. But I promise it will make you feel a million times better. I don’t know about you, but for me I’m often too anxious to get started on a project (pay bills, clean up, homework, whatever) because I was nervous about how bad it was going to be or how much stuff I had to do. Once I finally woman-ed up and assessed what actually had to be done, I found that 9 out of 10 times it was way worse in my head. Do something off your to-do list. Even if it’s just one thing. Even if it’s the smallest thing. You’ll pick up momentum and want to keep going, I promise.
  • Cook something 
    • It doesn’t have to be a super healthy something, it doesn’t have to be a complicated something. Just the act of taking care of yourself like that will make you feel accomplished and you’ll be more aware of what you’re eating. For me, when I’m depressed I want to order food and I almost aways overeat when I do. Actually cooking makes you more conscious of what you’re doing and putting into your body. Seriously, even if you just make mac-n-cheese. 

SOOTHING THINGS TO DO

  • Take a bath
    • Or a shower. Just get clean. Lather your hair in shampoo and make it squeaky clean and then drench your ends in conditioner. Wash your face–twice. Scrub your skin (gently) with a yummy-smelling sea salt. Use a bath bomb. You deserve the best, and you deserve to take the best care of yourself. You are worth pampering! Bonus points: You always feel better after a bath. ALWAYS.
  • Do a face mask
    • Mix one up at home using a recipe you found online (haaaay DIY) or grab one from Target ($1, baby!). Lay it on your face and imagine your skin drinking in the nutrients. Feel yourself relax. While it’s on, do something you love. Scroll through Tumblr, paint your toenails, sing along to a good playlist. Feel secure and cared for.
  • Light a candle
    • Or burn some incense or plug in your oil diffuser. Scents are incredibly powerful and can alter your emotions. For a calm and relaxing atmosphere, try using lavender scents. You’ll feel tranquil, cozy, and clean.
  • Put together a playlist
    • This works much the same way as organizing something. The process of putting things in order and curating things makes you feel in control and decisive. Make a playlist for everything–workouts, chill-outs, parties, sleep, relaxation, etc. 

RELAXING THINGS TO DO

  • Watch a funny TV show
    • Emphasis on funny. When you’re already feeling stressed out, the latest character death on Game of Thrones or a cerebral documentary might not help things. A lot of people have comfort shows that helps them relax even though they’ve seen every episode a million times. Mine is 30 Rock. No matter what, it never fails to calm me down and make me feel comforted. I suggest laugh-out-loud shows like The Office, Summer Heights High, The Mindy Project, Parks and Rec, etc. Something with endearing, lovable characters and an easy-to-follow plot. Turn down the brightness on your TV or computer, though, so you don’t ruin your sleep schedule. 
  • Read a fun book
    • Nothing complicated or overwrought. Just something fun, simple and entertaining like a romance or a YA novel. Read Cosmo magazine and earmark the pages with outfits you like. Cut out cool images and make a collage. Flip through Rolling Stone and find new artists to listen to. Read a fantasy book and imagine new worlds. 

More to come! Send me any suggestions you have!

“bowie is dead”. The three-word Facebook message — all lowercase — somehow reaches me on a barely-functional wifi network on the jetfoil between Korea and Japan. I get a burst of adrenalin, a surge of horror. Can this be a joke? If it is, it’s in very bad taste. I try to load the BBC News site on my phone. No joy. Try it on the MacBook Air. After much groaning and gurning the headlines finally load. Nothing about Bowie. It must be a hoax. I remember something Iman once said: “David doesn’t believe anything until it’s reported on the BBC.” I make a mental note to unfriend the joker. But then Twitter sputters into life. I manage to get half a page of my feed. One of the tweets is from Duncan Jones, Bowie’s son. It’s true, he says. There’s a photo of Bowie hoisting him onto his back. Duncan is going offline for a while, he says.

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Going offline is what I also do. By necessity, because I’m on the Sea of Japan and the wifi isn’t working. But it’s probably for the best. This is cataclysmic news. I want to be alone with it for a while. Bowie has been my lodestar, the single most decisive influence on my life. I want to find out how I feel, and what to think, and what to do.

It’s just gone 4pm. The Sea of Japan has never looked more leaden. We’ve passed Tsushima, an island outpost of Japan which is actually closer to Korea. We’ll be arriving at Fukuoka within the hour. Then — assuming there are no visa problems — I’ll take the train to Osaka. I have a few hours alone with this. My first thought is melodramatic: “It really doesn’t matter if this boat sinks now.” Then I think of my father, who died in June. Bowie — seventeen years younger than him, and thirteen older than me — was really a second father. My father sired Nick Currie, but it was Bowie who sired Momus, the artistic self I became. To lose them both within months of each other is really hard.

At the same time, you really have to hand it to the man: what fantastic theatrical timing! He faced the final curtain — which we will all face — with characteristic aplomb, going out at the top of his game, having recently fulfilled a long-held ambition to author a hit musical, released his strongest LP in years, and made two extraordinary videos. Not to mention a touring museum show with the now-poignant title “David Bowie Is…”. And then to go, to cease — so unexpectedly! — days after his 69th birthday! Weeks after a public appearance in which his legs did admittedly look worryingly thin…

Apparently he’d had cancer for eighteen months. What a keeper of secrets, just as he was when he used to sneak in and out of Bromley bedsits, playing girls off against each other, giving everyone a different story! Sneaky David who lied to everybody because it really wasn’t any of our business! He even got Tony Visconti to lie about him being healthy and strong! I’d heard the cancer rumours, but I believed the lies. I preferred to, needed to: the lies were so much more palatable.

But it wasn’t really “unexpectedly”. His songs — the public statements that really matter — had all the while been spelling things out stark and clear to those of us willing to listen. I felt uncomfortable singing, in my Blackstar cover: “Something happened on the day he died / Spirit rose a metre and stepped aside…” It was totally clear who “he” was. And then came Lazarus, with “Look up here, I’m in heaven…” And that video which has him disappearing into the wardrobe at the end. To Narnia, some said.

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My next thought, there on the jetfoil, is: if anyone were to fake their own death it would be Bowie. He’d have it announced, and believed, and then slip off to a Bond villain retreat in the mountains of Borneo. There he’d grow elegantly cadaverous just like Balthus, the wily old artist he interviewed for Modern Painters. He’d vicariously lap up the tributes, relish the tears, laughing at our sentimentality about someone we stereotyped, sometimes, as cocaine-cold, when in fact he was a histrionic volcano of emotion. And of course he’d make a few appearances, like Elvis, because he’s always enjoyed freaking people out, stretching their ideas about life and death, especially if there was an opportunity to impersonate Elvis at the same time. Bowie not dead after all! Bowie sighted in face mask and button eyes shopping for legwarmers at Target! Please let it be true!

And my God, how the tributes will flow! For oddities and misshapes, this is our “Diana moment”. Everyone will regale everyone else with tales of how they first encountered Bowie, what his work meant to them. I got some practise in during my Blackstar cover: the spoken narrative in the middle describes how, when I was forced to play rugby at a grim Scottish boarding school, David became “my best and only friend”, a ray of light in the institutional darkness who not only understood me but understood the darkness too. It was 1972, and Mark “Huggett” Hughes had Space Oddity, The Man Who Sold The World, Hunky Dory and Ziggy Stardust on permanent loan from his big sister. They became a dark world I could inhabit, a consolation. They demonstrated that art could make an unbearable life bearable: art was utterly transformative. Yes, I had an imaginary friend. You did too. It was the same guy. We were projecting collectively, dreaming synchronously.

I’ve never met David Bowie. I once got to ask him a question in an online chat on Bowienet, something about art magazines. And when I made my semi-instantaneous cover of Where Are We Now in 2013 he noticed it — to my utter surprise and delight — and a day or so later a story about it ran on his website. A tiny thing for him, a huge one for me. Asked last month by a Greek music magazine for my “career highlight”, I cited “being noticed by David Bowie after a lifetime of noticing him”. That’s how it felt. I never sent him my books, or my covers album with its disk dedicated to him, entitled “Dybbuk”. But I did get to explain the allusion on Bowie’s own site, at the prompting of Mark Adams, who runs it. So I do know that Bowie read it:

“David Bowie is the cultural figure without whom I as Momus simply wouldn’t have existed: a genius, a massively liberating presence producing prolifically throughout five decades, an enthusiastic index of cultural connections, a sort of internet-before-the-internet. Like the dybbuk of Jewish mythology, Bowie is a sum of stolen souls, a collection of all the most impressive gestures and talents of cultural figures he’s encountered and been smitten by. I want to make an unashamedly dark and leftfield take concentrating on the early cabaret work, the demos, the flickering shadows of Brecht and Brel, the avant-garde and eccentric moments, the symphonic poems. Songs Bowie has never performed live himself will be unfurled in unexpected yet faithful new readings, accompanied by video projections showing the many imitators whose souls the great dybbuk has so wonderfully spirited away.”

When I performed my Dybbuk cabaret at Cafe Oto the Bowie website plugged the show, and Mark Adams (“Total Blam Blam”) came along, gave me a great big bear hug, and videoed the concert for David himself. I never heard whether it met with approval, or was even seen. In my dealings with “Bowie’s people” I never wanted to be a nuisance or push myself forward. Everything that happened — and each tiny encouragement felt like being touched ever-so-slightly by the hand of a mortal god — happened because they wanted it. And, presumably, because he did. The one misstep I made was suggesting, in 2013, that I conduct an “intelligent interview” with Bowie. The silence that followed that suggestion was thunderous. Interviews were clearly not on the agenda.

So where are we now, all the little Bowie-ettes and Bowie-ologists whose souls were so gloriously stolen by nothing more than charm and talent and the forward-thrown lightning bolts of sheer heart-swallowing possibility? Well, we’re in a world made brighter than it ever dared be. Look at how grey and gloomy and awful Britain was in the 1970s, and then look at those Bowie lightning bolts, and imagine how inspirational they must have been to us! This was — incarnated in one frail and faggy yet utterly masculine person — a way to live, and be, in a form of supple, smooth gloriousness. Every dancer you ever wanted to be, every singer, every actor, every lover.

By the age of 14 my soul was utterly stolen: I looked in the mirror in my Montreal high school and was genuinely surprised not to see David Bowie looking back at me. Now there’s a weird feeling that I’m betraying him somehow: why am I still alive and he isn’t? Couldn’t I have taken a bullet for him? Couldn’t the second law of thermodynamics have been suspended, just this once?

I imagine people expecting me to do what Indian warrior widows traditionally did: throw themselves into their husbands’ graves in the act known as suttee. Because, really, why be alive in a world bereft of David Bowie? I imagine vicious people saying: “Oh, Momus just copies David Bowie the day after, let’s wait and see if he dies on Tuesday.” But no, actually I think there’ll be a great togetherness now, something I’ve felt strongly at moments when our little cult expands and everyone becomes — if only temporarily — a Bowie fan.

That will be one consolation. The bigger consolation is that the work remains, and he made so much of it, and our relationship with that amazing body of work will continue and evolve. The work will continue to dazzle and inspire and produce new work for centuries to come.

Nobody on the jetfoil crossing the Sea of Japan yet knows that David Bowie is no longer in the world. People on Facebook know it, because my phone is vibrating from time to time with message alerts. I contemplate tapping the Western couple sitting in front of me on the shoulder and telling them, but what would be the point? I wonder if the middle-aged Japanese man next to me would care? I envision catching glimpses, from my train later, of gigantic Bladerunneresque billboards displaying weeping images of David Bowie, or weeping images of his Japanese fans.

In fact the streets of Fukuoka are filled with radiant faces. Girls in kimonos and brilliant white stoles. Schoolgirls in uniform, coyly aware of their youthful radiance and its transience. Simultaneously sexual and Buddhist in that knowledge. Bright neon signs. Unlike all those romantically dark Bowie scenarios in which the world is dying and the newsman weeps and corpses rot on the slimy thoroughfare, the fact is that life goes on despite this news in its innocent, incorrigible way. Joy, traffic, the light in the sky. And after I die pretty girls will also still be smiling obliviously. Cakes and ale. The world keeps swinging.

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I remember something young Bowie told Russell Harty: “Do I worship anything? Life. I very much love life.” He said it with a twinkle in his eye. (In one of his last interviews the theme returned with dark humour: “I’m not going to enjoy being dead much.”) As the jetfoil crosses the mercury-grey sea, something catches the bleary corner of my eye. A silvery flash, there and then gone, a big living thing breaking the surface of the water, leaping with what looks like joy, the pure joy of being alive. A swordfish? I’m too slow to see for sure, but I decide it was a dolphin.

A Second Chance

Hey, Darlene ( @nerdyandturdy ), Merry Christmas to you and your loved ones! I hope you have wonderful and, most importantly peaceful, holidays and a Happy New Year!!! I feel like I should apologize for this fic because it got waaaaaay out of hand and has nothing to do with your suggestions.

With any luck you’ll still enjoy it, though! Happy reading! :-)

~~ @bri617aroundtheworld

June 2013

Isn’t it funny how sometimes the theory of an idea sounds absolutely amazing, and then when you put it into practice it turns to utter shit?

Yeah, this definitely fits that description.

“I wouldn’t mind tapping that,” the burly man plopping down in the uncomfortable chair opposite her drawls, licking his lips as he checks her out unapologetically. His handcuffs rattle against the metal table as he straightens in his seat. “Maybe we can turn this into a conjugal visit, baby.”

She slams her eyes shut, wondering for the hundredth time in the last hour why oh why she agreed to do this.

“Guard,” she calls, slowly exhaling through her nose, trying to dispel her frustrations.

Is it really too much to ask for a little bit of respect? She’s here to help these men and all she’s gotten in return so far are lecherous looks and sexist comments. Do they not realize that she’s trying to offer them a chance to turn their life around?

“Please escort Mr. …” she looks down at the clipboard with the list of guys to interview, marking yet another name with a big fat X, “Lynch back to his cell or wherever he came from. We’re done here.”

The lewd smirk instantly drops off his lips, turning them down in a scowl. “Bitch, I was told you’d give me a job and now you just send me away after ten seconds?” he exclaims, trying to tug away from the correctional officer that’s dragging him out of his seat. “Fuck this! You better hope I don’t see you walking down the street once I get out of here.”

She just shakes her head, biting back the snarky response lying on the tip of her tongue, while she watches him get pulled out of the interview room, ignoring his colorful commentary. There’s really no point in arguing with am asshole like him.

You’re doing this for Roy, she reminds herself firmly of the reason she’s here.

Roy Harper, her best friend since childhood who she’d grown up with in the not so glittery part of Las Vegas, who’d been caught transporting drugs for a local gang. When he’d refused to name any of the guys that had paid him to commit the crime, he’d been shipped off to prison at the tender age of 18. She’d been off at MIT at the time, feeling completely helpless as she witnessed her best friend get locked up. During his sentence, she’d only managed to visit him a handful of times during the holidays, but she’d made sure to call him every week to help keep him out of trouble.

Four years and a whole lot of good behavior later, he’d been released on parole, and assisted by A Second Chance, the very organization she’s working with now, he’d found a job and started a new life far away from his criminal past.

Without the incredible work of A Second Chance, who knows where he’d be today. Maybe he’d be part of the 52% of inmates that return to prison within three years of their release, instead of holding a steady job and happy life in Starling City.

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Request #4: Carl Imagine

Anonymous request: Can I have an imagine where I’m This badass chick who only looks after myself but one day saves Carl from walkers cuz I think he is cute so he brings me back to camp. When he does bring me back i see my dad who walked out on me Daryl and it’s wicked intense but we learned to get along

Hope this meets your expectations! I have to admit I’m not really happy with this one as I feel it didn’t turn out quite right. 

It’ll be okay

Night was going to fall soon and I decided to find someplace to rest during the darkest hours. Walking through the woods, I spotted three trees that stood in a vague triangular shape. Perfect!

Using my arm and leg strength to climb up each tree, I managed to fasten my hammock. It was now suspended at about three yards above the ground which was ideal. I once had hooked it up only two yards up in the air and woke up face to face with a tall walker. Let me tell you that it certainly isn’t the best sight to wake up to!

The next night, still shaken by the gruesome wake up call, I had put it up way to high and a strong gust blew me off the hammock. I fell on the ground, earning myself a couple bruises on my ass. Needless to say, I learnt my lesson the hard way.

Looking up at the sky, I reckoned that I still had about an hour of sunlight left. It would be enough to hunt something small if I was lucky enough. Gathering all my strength, I threw my backpack unto the hammock, keeping only my riffle and my throwing knives on me. I doubted many people would go out of their way and climb up that high just to find out what was inside a beaten rucksack.

I walked through the woods in silence, killing only a handful of roamers along the way and being careful as not to make any noise or I could be certain my hunt would be in vain. I knew time was against me, soon there wouldn’t be enough light to distinguish rocks from rabbits and using a torchlight would scare them away.

Looking down, I could see some small tracks, probably a rabbit. They had to be fresh because the strong wind would have made them unrecognizable otherwise, covering them with leaves.

Not even ten yards away, I spotted a rabbit in front of some bushes. It was eating something, its small cheeks moving furiously and I almost felt guilty as I raised my arm, knife in hand. I took a few seconds to aim properly, knowing that I wouldn’t get another chance if I missed this one.

Just as I was about to throw my knife, a loud gunshot thundered through the night, quickly followed by another one. All the birds in the area immediately started batting their wings, quickly flying away in a loud cacophony and I knew without having to look that the rabbit was long gone too.

“You gotta be kidding me!” I seethed angrily. I was about to walk away and go back to my camp when something nagged me at the back of my mind. Sighing at my own stupidity, I started running towards the noise.

It was a pain in the ass to find the exact location of the gunshots because they had echoed all over the place. Right as I about to give up, I heard groaning in the direction of a small clearing and I followed the sounds.

Stepping out of the trees’ protection, I saw about eight walkers moving in unison towards some crumpled shape that I couldn’t make out in the tall grass.

“Hello fuckers,” I shouted even though I knew it could jeopardize my life. It was the only way to save whoever was being attacked and I didn’t think I could go on living knowing that I had let someone die. “Come and get me,” I yelled, taunting them and if I hadn’t known how dangerous this actually way, I would probably have laughed at the way they all turned to me simultaneously and abandoned their previous prey.

I threw all my six knives in a mere matters of seconds and they all hit their respective targets: rotten heads. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the figure difficulty ramping on the ground, probably searching for the gun but using it would only have attracted more roamers.

Confidently, I walked towards the two remaining walkers and grabbed them both by their necks before forcefully crushing their heads against each other with a cracking sound.

The person on the grass was now looking at me and I noticed that it was actually a young teenager about my age. Uncut brown hair was falling over his features, darkening his whole face and making it even more unrecognizable in the dim light.

“Thanks,” the boy muttered, trying to get up on his feet and failing. Silently, I stretched out my hand and he took it without question before I pushed him back to his feet swiftly and he stumbled, instinctively grabbing my shoulder for support. “I think I twisted my ankle or something,” he excused his clumsiness and I couldn’t repress a chuckle when I saw his cheeks turning pink. Up close, I could see his light blue eyes and the freckles that sparsely embellished his blushed cheeks.

“Missed on a fat and juicy rabbit because of you,” I announced in an amused voice.  “Come on, I bring you to my camp for the night.” Between all the running and killing, darkness had eventually come and we would have to move through the woods using only the moonlight as guidance.

“You have a camp? Is there a group with you?” The teenager asked, standing still in the middle of the meadow as I retrieved my knives and his gun.

“It’s really just a hammock and no, I’ve been on my own since my mom died a few months ago,” I explained, making my way to him as the tall grass rubbed against my jean-clad legs.

He gave me a sincere and apologetic smile and I deduced that he had gone through something similar. I silently handed him his gun and he looked shocked that I would entrust him with a fire weapon when we had literally just met. Smirking, I opened my hand, showing him that I had emptied the magazine as the golden bullets shone in my palm.

“How many walkers have you killed? And people?” He inquired as I put my arm around his waist and he grabbed my shoulder for support. Slowly, we started making our way back to the woods.

“Ask me one more question and I swear I’ll let you rot right here,” I joked but his questions were truly making me uncomfortable and I still didn’t know if I could trust him. He might have a broken ankle but I wasn’t sure who would win in a hand to hand combat. I turned my face away from him and looked backwards, having heard some groaning. There were quite a few of them but they were moving slowly and we had a good head start. Besides, the density of the forest would slow them down more than us.  

He remained silent for a few minutes. Perhaps he had taken my threat seriously or had also noticed the roamers following us from afar. However, those minutes were short lived and I knew he was about to say something even before he had opened his mouth.

“Will you tell me your name,” he inquired, his voice uncertain which made his slight southern accent more audible.

“It’s (Y/N),” I replied, slightly out of breath due to carrying part of his weight for so long.

“I’m Carl,” he replied, a smile on his cute face that reached his eyes. He stretched out his hand for me to shake.

Somehow, this gesture made me smile as well and we ended up walking the rest of the way to my camp while Carl told me about a community called Alexandria and how he had actually been headed back there when he was trapped.

 

When I had the hammock in sight, I was forced to admit that I hadn’t really thought this through.

“Wait, you’re telling me that I have to climb up the tree?” Carl exclaimed a little louder than was safe when he noticed where my hammock was hung.

“It’ll be okay,” I reassured him even though I wasn’t sure about it either. “There are some small branches you can use as leverage and I’ll go first so that I can pull you up.”

It the end, it didn’t go as smoothly as I had explained but I was positively surprised when I saw that Carl actually knew how to climb up a tree, the only problem being his ankle. I ended up pulling him up the last fifteen inches and almost fell out of the hammock when his weight offset mine. He had quick reflexes though and grabbed my hand before I could experience such a fall again.

I shared my food and water with him, something which was unusual for me. I was used to surviving on my own by now and having someone’s company actually felt nice. I didn’t know much about him or his group, but he had told me that they were a bunch of good people and that they’d certainly allow me to stay if I wanted.

Carl made himself comfortable after we had eaten, resting his foot higher than the rest of his body to fight the swelling. It was a tight fit but we made do as we lied down next to each other, our heads in opposite ends of the hammock.

“Aren’t you going to sleep,” he asked and tried to conceal the yawn that soon followed his question.

“I don’t know yet if I can trust you.”

I did end up dozing off a bit after a few hours had passed but never went into a deep slumber. My mind was on high drive thinking about the community he had described. Maybe it would be best not to be alone but what if they turned out to be freaks? In the end it the was promise of a comfortable bed that made me decide.

As I watched him sleep soundly, a frown due to the pain etched on his cute features, I admitted to myself that I wouldn’t mind seeing him everyday either.

 

The next morning, both of us found out that if it had been hard for him to climb up, it would be even more hazardous to help him down.

“Come on, jump,” I encouraged him as he sat on the hammock’s edge, his feet hanging over me just a few yards up in the air. After a lot of thinking, the best idea we came up with was me climbing down and trying to catch him when he’d let himself fall down.

“I don’t know,” he interjected, not entirely convinced by what I thought was a brilliant idea. “This could go wrong in some many ways.”

“The worst that can happen is you twisting your other ankle,” I mocked, sticking out my tongue at him in a puerile manner.

It did go wrong but not like I’d imagined. I ended up not being strong enough to catch him and he fell on top of me, pushing me backwards as his body covered mine. This shit hurt even worse than when I had fallen out of the fucking thing on my own!

His face was only inches away from mine as his long hair tickled my face. We were both panting, adrenaline high in our bloodstream. We stared into each other’s eyes in silence and he was even better looking up close.

“Well, I didn’t twist my other ankle,” Carl interrupted my staring, chuckling lightly as I felt myself blush.

It took us a few hours to reach Alexandria, Carl’s injury and the hot air slowing us down.

The gates opened at once when we got close enough for them to see us.

“It’ll be okay, you’ll see,” Carl reassured me, taking my hands and squeezing it tight.

I had to be extra careful not to let my mouth fall open when I saw the kids playing on the streets and the perfectly cut lawns that surrounded the houses.

Suddenly a man dressed in a sheriff’s outfit came running in our direction and took Carl in a tight hug. I stood next to them awkwardly, not knowing any of these people.

“(Y/N)?” I heard a familiar southern timbre call out my name but it sounded more like a question. Turning around, looking for the voice’s owner, I spotted someone in the crowd that I hadn’t seen in over six years.

“Daryl?” I cried out in surprise, not having expected to meet him again out of all people.

He had left my mom and me after both of them got into a terrible argument that lasted for months on end and they couldn’t stand each other anymore. Mom ended up throwing him out the house and I never saw him again. “Dad, is that you?”

Instead of getting a reply, Daryl ran towards me just like the sheriff had done moments ago with his son. He hugged me tightly and even though I couldn’t breathe in this bone crushing hug, I never wanted to leave his embrace again.

“I’m so sorry (Y/N), so sorry,” he murmured, not letting go of me. “I’ll never leave ye again, I promise.”

Requests are open!! I’ll probably take me longer to write in the next weeks because college is starting again soon and I’m also working on my own novel  but I’ll keep writing imagines :) 

Chick

TRAMADOL MIDNIGHT THEATRE

Title: Chick
Rating: PG
Summary: The gossip magazines just found out about Clint’s daughter Isobel. Clint’s freaking out, but Steve’s totally got this covered.

“Well, it had to happen sometime,” Tony says philosophically, when JARVIS puts up the People Magazine cover on the big screen in the kitchen. It’s Saturday morning, and those fucks didn’t even warn any of them, and Clint is white as a sheet and holding Izzy more tightly than she’d like to be held.

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anonymous asked:

tiltheendfanproject. com/about/ can't log on to my account right now, but it's malikcuddles. hii! how are you? well, before you even asked I was already skeptical so I went looking for it. their twitter is @FansTilTheEnd and the most 'personal' acc they have that I found as off right now (I don't have much availability to look atm) was this @2DirectionsBlog... I had never heard about either before, but they seem to have some support. I'm still not completely buying tho. too weird.

Hey babe. Yeah I saw the twitter referenced in one the articles about it. Personally, I’m pretty well convinced this is the work of the incoming team and isn’t an organic fan campaign. If it were, more of us would’ve known about it.

The first red flag is that these mysterious Australian fans have yet to show themselves or shoutout their personal twitter, tumblr, Instagram or Snapchat accounts. This would certainly be the time to gain more followers and become individually influential voices in the fandom. But instead this is all we got:

Called “#TilTheEndFanProject,” the ad was the result of several months of fundraising. As explained on the project’s website, “This was just an idea back in May” from three “girls in our 20s from Brisbane, Australia.” PayPal and GoFundMe accounts were set up for fans worldwide to raise money for the ad, but it was admittedly “hard going.” The organizers say, “We ended up spending plenty of late nights coming up with how to raise money. We sold fairy floss at our nephew’s school fair. We started an Etsy store… anything we could. There were tears, tantrums and plenty of laughs.”

“We had some of the most passionate and amazing Directioners who supported and believed in the project as much as we did, and to each and every one of you THANK YOU,” continues the message. “It never would have happened without you! Being a 1D fan changes you and makes you believe you can do anything… And we did.” The cost? A whopping $5,000.


Obligatory fandom ass kissing? Check. Adult fans (1D’s future target audience)? Check. “Tears, tantrums and plenty of laughs.” Who talks like that?? It reads like a fanfic summary. They also can’t keep their story straight regarding the cost of the ad. One source says $5,000. Another $6,500. In reality a full page black and white ad in Billboard costs a little over $7,000. Why wouldn’t they know that? I think they figured lower price points would be more convincing.

Next, they’re 20-something and call themselves Directioners??

Again, who are these nerds? LOL Most of the adults in this fandom loathe that nickname. That is well known–to those in the fandom.

Another thing is that their tweets about the project have been quite unpopular.

From the beginning…

…to the end. This was right before the articles about the project starting rolling out:

No wonder they covered their butts by saying they sold stuff on etsy.

The next shady thing is that @FansTilTheEnd claims 33,000 tweets.

The account has been around since May. So they’d need to tweet around 5,500 times a month to get to that number. In September, they tweeted (including retweets) around 100 times. The numbers have to be bogus. They probably got twitter to put up fake numbers (including followers) so they could blend into the 1D landscape without attracting suspicion. Twitter claims to be cracking down on this, but I think it’s safe to say it’s still happening. Especially if you’re very well connected.

Also the response they got from 1D was unusual:

As we know from other fandom organized projects, you don’t always get acknowledgement from the guys–even when it’s for CHARITY.  But ¾ are all over this random as hell Billboard ad with less creative fan art than you can find on your dash at any given moment?? Nah son. The timing of this is probably meant to distract from the cancelgate shitshow and the “Liam meltdown” articles. I feel them.

On to the next red flag. They also managed some Maroon 5 promo:

Why does that matter? Business stuff. Maroon 5 is managed by Jordan Feldstein. His management company is called Career Artist Management. Guess who owns a stake in that company? Irving Azoff.

“I got approached by a whole bunch of [management companies] to come in with them, but I wanted to try it on my own and see how that felt. When Irving presented the idea of retaining a piece of my company and my name and identity, that was appealing. It was the first offer that made sense, where I’m not just another cog in a big wheel. And I get to learn from Irving, which was really the most enticing thing.”

Jordan Feldstein on partnering with Irving Azoff

Guess who mentored Jordan? Irving Azoff.

“Return every phone call, reply to every email… That’s an edict throughout this company. And I really admire that he’s so powerful but still able to maintain ­relationships and treat people with a level of respect. Everyone is his friend, everyone comes to his house for dinner and looks to him for advice. He’s tough, and protects his clients like I’ve never seen, but he seems to do it in a way where everyone wins.”

Jordan Feldstein on what Irving Azoff has taught him

Where did those quotes come from? Billboard magazine. Welp, connect those dots. Yeahhhh, I’m not mad. This is actually clever and good fandom management. It’s just that as a fandom, we have a tremendous amount of experience with sniffing out lies. Don’t underestimate us. It’s almost go time after all. ;)

Pretty appalled by the encounter I just had in Target.
A woman was checking out with her husband. She proceeded to pull out a magazine with Bruce Jenner on the cover, where he had said he felt like a role model. She then laughed and said he’s no role model and shouldn’t think of himself as such.
Me: “I suppose none of us know how he feels, because we’re not in his position, but if he’s happy that’s all that matters and he’s helping other people like him”
A-hole lady: “I would never want him as a role model for my children, once you have kids you’ll understand”
Me: “actually I do have a son, and if he were in the same predicament as Bruce id want him to be comfortable being whatever gender he felt fit him best”
A-hole lady: “well I feel sorry for your child then to have you as a mother and think that that’s okay”
Me: “don’t-he has a mother who would accept him no matter what he did or how he felt. Bruce is an Olympic champion who is standing up for others like him and he’s comfortable doing so. And that’s great.”
A-hole lady then rushes out angrily.

BYE FELICIA TEACH YOUR HATE ELSEWHERE

Firearms Over Facials

Author’s note: After Stephen’s comment regarding Felicity looking hot shooting a gun, I started thinking about how she learned to shoot. The most obvious answer would be Diggle. But then I wondered what it would be like if Lyla decided to take her shooting. I blame doubledeez06 for this after our convo on Twitter yesterday… and I’m also dedicating this to serafinabellasera who requested this… sort of… It isn’t what you actually requested, but I hope you like it anyways! :D 


“You know, this is really relaxing…” Lyla said, voice trailing off slightly at the end. Felicity lifted the cucumber from one of her eyes and glanced at her friend. She could sense she was fidgeting, unable to truly let go.

“But…?”

Lyla sighed. “I prefer other ways of relaxing.”

Felicity turned slightly in her massage chair, removing the other cucumber. “What is your preferred method of relaxation then?” she asked.

Lyla grinned, the mud mask following the movement of her muscles in the oddest way, almost like a second skin. “I like to shoot things.”

Felicity laughed loudly, filling the private room with her voice. She collapsed back onto her chair and put on a fake frown. She knew Lyla too well. She knew this weekend of pampering was nice but not her friend’s cup of tea. “I thought you’d enjoy a weekend away, with mimosas and deep tissue massages and sexy attendants.”

“I have enjoyed this, Felicity. Truly. But I haven’t had the chance to shoot anything in quite a while.”

Felicity watched Lyla. The fidgeting was getting more noticeable. “Is there a shooting range anywhere near here?” she asked, finding the idea of a shooting range being near a spa retreat kind of humorous.

“Actually yes,” Lyla grinned. “A.R.G.U.S. has a training facility about a half hour from here.” Lyla sat up, almost bouncing in her seat. “Can we go? I can teach you to shoot. I think you’ll find it rather… stress-reducing.”

Felicity giggled. “John has taught me how to shoot.”

Lyla laughed skeptically. “John might be a good shot, but he shouldn’t be the one teaching anyone to shoot. Trust me. I will fix his teachings.” Lyla winked as she stood, switching off the massage chair. “Let’s go!”

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i’ve decided to go ahead and post my feelings for once & all about the entire Rolling Stone magazine article.

it’s difficult to understand why the article was written that way, without having read previous cover stories from Rolling Stone. they follow the subject around for a day (or occasionally multiple days) typically from start to end. the music, in these articles, are not the entire focus, and actually tend to the backdrop. yes, Rolling Stone is a mag about music, but they generally keep their in-depth analyses regarding albums or singles to the review section, occasionally side bar snippets, etc. so, keeping this in mind, you realize that the 5sos article follows the standard for Rolling Stone. yes, we’d all love it to be more about the music, but that just isn’t what is expected from their cover stories.

now the 2 majorly problematic things according to the fandom’s general opinion is the comment about sex by luke, and the three or so paragraphs about arzaylea. it seems excessive, but clearly arzaylea was an important enough aspect of luke(and the other boys)’s day that the writer/interviewer deemed it fit to introduce her. Rolling Stone treats their cover stories as stories, that’s why there’s so much detail, even about arbitrary things like clothing or small gestures like holding hands. not ideal, especially considering many people’s feelings towards her. and no, most people realize fans don’t particularly enjoy hearing about relationships in such detail; admittedly, it was a poor decision, but, again, Rolling Stone caters to a different target audience than just the fans of whoever is on the front page, so editors did not have our feelings in mind.

onto the sex comment, which is word by word: “They were wildest on their early tours, when they’d go to bars to mingle with fans after shows. ‘When you put four young dudes on a tour bus, playing theaters, then arenas, you’re going to have sex with a lot of girls, I guess,’ says Hemmings. ‘We had a good time.’ Multiple girls in one night? ‘I feel like I shouldn’t say,’ he says with a smirk. ‘You could say the possibility of that is high.’” 
totally not a fandom-friendly insertion, then again, Rolling Stone is a rock-based publication. you can tell by the blatant misogyny and general disrespect towards female teenage fans including comments in this article such as “hemmings-obsessed female fans”. not at all making excuses for what luke said, but i do feel like it was a miscommunication. visualize luke saying it, for example. it was a really bad attempt at a vague answer. in a spoken interview with calum, ashton and michael laughing & making faces, it honestly wouldn’t make anyone think twice. this is the last mention of luke & sex & is roughly 4 sentences in total.

another particular problem people are having with it, is female objectification. while luke’s sex comments are poorly worded, they aren’t objectification. sex is sex. it was too vague. though, the way the author phrased it/posed those questions is borderline inappropriate. (again, this is coming from the magazine that faked a rape story, & has been known to be sexist, unfortunately) the whole story about Chad Kroeger at the restaurant can definitely be perceived as female objectification. though, if you read, you can see that all 4 of them, especially michael & calum are mocking him (in a playful tone, they love Kroeger) about being creepy. they mention porn in passing, and yes there’s a huge ongoing argument that porn is female objectification, but that’s an entire different thing - whether you believe porn is this & such. if you imagine a girl saying the same things as they are saying (not including Kroeger) but about the male anatomy, you probably wouldn’t think of it as objectification. it was, honestly, just a more intimate conversation than one would expect from kids being interviewed for something like Rolling Stone.

onto the good stuff!!!: the surprisingly heartwarming & overlooked parts are the mentions of ashton’s difficulties growing up - we almost never hear about that other than a vague “1 mom, no dad” type of comment. another great aspect is michael’s mental health being addressed. this time, it isn’t a quick “ya i went to a therapist” or talking about it in general, it’s him actually admitting to certain issues he has. it’s particularly significant when the interviewer/writer experiences (or at least interprets them as) his emotional problems.

but the most enlightening part of this article, is how they all express their thoughts in some way or another. even if it’s the fleeting comment about how many fake people were at the AMAs, or ashton expressing how much he loves his band in more ways than just one. and even the slightly melancholy story about 5sos on tour pranking their managers.

yes, this article isn’t the best. yes, it mentions some shit it probably shouldn’t & misleads with poorly phrased/contextual statements. but, it is one of the realest, or rawest, things we’ve been able to see. they are saying what they feel, they are behaving how they are; this isn’t a mushy article about how much 5sos have succeeded in their careers, or how much they love us (though that’s always nice to hear), or the fact that their album is so terrifyingly mature & profound for their ages, it was never supposed to be that. it is 5sos behind the set-up cameras & attached mics, it is them out living their lives from the perception of a judgmental, middle-aged man who probably only enjoyed the stories about Kroeger or the Foo Fighters concert, that is what makes its brutal honesty refreshing. no gimicks, no michael pretending everything is okay, no luke pretending he’s not behaving differently with a new girl on his arm. it’s real.