i don't know why anyone would need a picture that large

anonymous asked:

Completely agree. I don't understand the major praise. At one point he says they were listening to Louis' album songs and they were modest and fit his 'underdog' status. (Or something along those lines). How is that in any way a good way to market him? And the headlines about him being the worst in 1D? I'm not so mad at Louis' direct quotes but more the way they've organized the article with their headlines. Also the unnecessary updates on his smoking habit throughout? Odd thing to focus on.

I’ve been discussing/debating my take on this article this at length with @vocabularryonthemind on and off for the past 32 hours or so…because when we discuss we DISCUSS

I will be completely honest with you. I read the article, fell asleep, woke up at 4:22 in the morning, kept thinking about it, and then wrote this post about it circa 4:58. 

There was something about the article that just didn’t sit well with me. And then I started to think about how random it was that they were using The Guardian, and realised that the only other article I could remember about One Direction from that newspaper was one that was equally odd to me. As it turns out…they were both written by the same person

(x)

And it isn’t that I dislike Tom Lamont’s writing style, it’s just that it’s very focused on Tom Lamont’s experience with whoever he’s interviewing, much more so with the One Direction interview as opposed to the Louis interview, but when it came to his personal view on the situation for the most part I was like

Which I realise is ironic as I sit here and write about what I think about it, but this is literally me giving my opinion on someone else’s opinion. The difference between us is that he’s paid for his opinion. I imagine a conversation with Tom and myself would be like 

Now, given the reaction to the article, it is very hard for me to criticise this marketing tactic, given that the reaction from the general public/non-fandom audience has been overwhelmingly positive. 

I have absolutely no issue with what Louis said in this article, I agree that it is a refreshingly honest and relatively narrative-free piece, with mentions of girlfriends and fatherhood being largely in the footnotes. However, I find it incredibly hard to believe that Louis has been put in a dire situation in terms of his place in the music industry. To insinuate that his place in this situation is to merely sit around waiting for One Direction to get back together is almost insulting. 

Even if we were to say, okay Louis is 5/5 out of the members of One Direction, he’s still the 5th ranked member of ONE DIRECTION. Which is a hell of a lot more than almost 100% of the world has to say for themselves. Not to mention the member credited with the most songwriting credits. 

I did love the parts of the interview that came across as genuinely Louis, but anyone can do a basic Wikipedia search to then add to his dialogue something along the lines about, “Tomlinson may be the most under-appreciated member of One Direction but he is by no means the laziest…credited with writing 38 of the songs from their five albums, and the second member to have a number one single on his first solo venture…blah blah blah.” It didn’t have to paint this, “Well…let’s see what’s going to happen, best of luck to this kid…” image of him. There is no way that I am going to believe that as 1/5 of One Direction any of them are at any kind of disadvantage here unless Simon Cowell is out to personally victimise them. And if there’s anyone that doesn’t need to pull big names into the studio to write with them, it’s Louis. Louis is a big name that other people pull into the studio to write with them. And that’s why I’m super annoyed by this narrative. 

I don’t give a baker’s fuck if Louis is chain smoking. If someone spent a day with me they’d probably be like, “She was drinking wine at 11:45 am…” so I’m hardly one to harp on people about vices. 

I think the chain smoking and details like that definitely humanised him. Anyone who’s seen any pap pictures of him knows he smokes, so I don’t mind the bits of detail that knocked Louis off of a boyband pedestal. I mind the implication that he’s somehow being painted as someone who has the odds against them when Louis should have nothing but support and reassurance as he’s about to do something that is hard as fuck. He has an immense fanbase telling him that he’s good enough, we don’t need some random journo who’s met him twice telling the world, “Well….we’ll see.” 

And that’s how I see it. 

“I of the Storm” - Charles Xavier x Reader

I apologise in advance for this imagine, I don’t really listen to this band so I might have gotten the completely wring end of the stick with what you wanted.

Warnings: None 

Themes: Angst, Fluff (kind of)

Author: Charlie

Charles Xavier x Reader based on “I of the Storm”  - Of Monsters and Men

Your mutation: being able to block mind readers, Being able to change memories (amnesia etc)

Charles hadn’t seen you in years, but he still thought about you every single day. Every day he would wonder why you left, why you didn’t tell him where you were going, and blocked him from your mind. You had been gone over a year, disappearing one night out of the mansion, never to be seen by anyone at the school since.

*Flashback*

You and Alex had been training on the vast expanse of grounds that the mansion backed on to, and by sparring that meant you dodging Alex’s well controlled burst of energy and him shouting at you to just try and use your mutation. Only you hadn’t been able to control it well enough so far that you felt safe using it around others. Charles was there with you as always, he and you becoming close as your mutations are fairly similar. He loved you, you knew he did, most people could see it. You probably loved him too, but you weren’t used to people loving you, or even liking you, and the fact that you couldn’t control your mutation only made things worse. With some encouragement from Charles from the side lines you concentrated and tried to make Alex forget where you had just been, giving you a chance to attack him from behind.

           “Come on Y/N, you can do it, just focus” you heard Charles speak into your mind.

In a flash you saw Alex stumble back, almost losing balance and you sprinted from where you had been standing in order to surprise him, only turning round when you realise he hasn’t moved. Alex was on the ground, leaning on his elbows as he looked around almost helplessly. Charles approached him to ask if he was ok as you stood frozen in the spot knowing what you might have done.

           “ Alex? Alex are you alright?” Charles said crouching down to eye level. Alex retreated slightly.

           “ Who are you?! Where am I ?!”  Immediately you knew what had happened.

“ No”  you whispered, shaking your head as you felt tears start to form in your eyes. Not again, this couldn’t be happening. Charles looked at you with concern as he tried to reassure Alex he was safe and would be alright.

You and Charles ushered Alex into Hanks lab where he and Charles tried to figure out how to restore Alex’s memory as you slipped quietly out of the door and away from anyone else you might harm.  It had always been like this, you can’t control your memory powers when your emotional, so you tried not to be. It had worked for a while when you first came to the mansion, Charles was an excellent teacher and your skills were vastly improving, but with every mistake you made your anxiousness grew and soon you didn’t want to use your powers any more for fear of obliterating the memory of people you cared about. You couldn’t let it happen. As you lied awake in bed that night you made the decision to leave. It would be better for everyone if you did. Tears came to your eyes again as you thought of Charles, but you steeled your nerve and packed your back pack. Sneaking out past Charles office door, you left a goodbye kiss for him on his door knowing he wouldn’t have made it to bed yet again, before leaving the mansion for the last time into the night.

*Flashback Ends*

 

“If I could face them,
If I could make amends
With all my shadows”

_________________

You were sat at a café nursing a cup of tea and staring off into the distance. There wasn’t a day went by when you didn’t think of Charles, or the others, hoping that Alex was alright, that Hank and the kids at the school were all happy and safe. But mostly you thought of Charles, how he looked, how he looked at you. You loved him, you realise that now, but that’s why you did what you did. That night at the mansion, when you left, you blocked Charles from being able to enter your brain. You knew he’d be able to hear all the thoughts going around your head as you left and you knew he’d try and stop you. So you blocked him, so he wouldn’t know where you were and he wouldn’t be able to come after you. You where dangerous, you didn’t know what your brain would decide to do if or when you saw him again.

“Are you really gonna love me when I’m gone
I fear you won’t
I fear you don't”

Charles was at his desk as always. His warm cozy office that held so many good memories of the two of you. Sitting back he closed his eyes, picturing you enter his office and wandering over to sit in the chair opposite, chatting away while he worked on his papers, not a particularly affectionate memory but one that made him feel warm and full none the less. He opened his eyes and pulled his top desk drawer open, riffling through it until he found what he was looking for; a picture of the two of you together, on a day out the school had had to a museum, the both of you looking at a large painting hanging on the wall you with your head on his shoulder and his hand gently brushing yours. That was one of Charles’ favourite days, with all the kids off exploring and rooms full of art and history to take your mind off of training you had been so relaxed and him had you had unknowingly spent the entire day in each other’s company, being as close as lovers the entire time. Thinking back he remembers Hank taking the photo on his new camera, the red burnt out edges of the photo typical of 70’s photography, but Hank had been elated with colour photography none the less. Charles still loved you, but after all this time and with how you left, he had given up on you ever loving him back.

“And it echoes when I breathe
Til all you see
Is my ghost
Empty vessel, crooked teeth
Wish you could see”

After your coffee you went for a walk through the rainy streets and along the large lake that butt on to wherever the hell you were this time. Charles had been playing on your mind recently, more than usually; and he was never far from your mind to begin with. Since you left you had learnt to control your powers a lot better than before, travelling to sleep villages to big cities, anywhere no one could find you. As you walked through the rain you closed your eyes and for the first time in years, let your guard down. Lifting your face to the sky and letting the rain fall on your face and wash away all your worries and troubles.

The mountains of paperwork that had been piling up on Charles desk were almost blocking his view of the door; they actd as a wall, sealing him in from the outside world, just him alone woth his thoughts. Charles had of coarse tried to find you when you had first disappeared, but after checking all the places he and the team thought you could be and without the use of his telepathy the search quickly became useless and even Charles had given up. He could still imagine you though. The way your hair curved around your face, your hands and their delicate shape and soft touch, you smile and the slightly crooked tooth that hid in the corner of it. He sighed as he pictured you, just as detiled as the day you had left, but as he slowl came back to the reality of office, you faded into the walls like a ghost.

“Are you really gonna love me when I’m gone
With all my thoughts
And all my flaws”

Now you were crying. The tranquillity of the lake you were by and the sound of rain and very little else around you had not only rid your mind of the worry you constantly felt but brought to surface old memories. Specifically Charles, his eyes, the way he used to look at you, or they way you used to think he looked at you. It all seemed so long ago now you couldn’t be sure if Charles ever loved you like you thought he might have. The doubt settled in your mind as you let the tears pour down your face, Charles could never have loved you, and even if he did, you hurting Alex and running away with no explanation would certainly cause whatever feeling he had for to you vanish in an instant.

“Are you really gonna need me when I’m gone
I fear you won’t
I fear you don't”

He didn’t need you, how could he love you when all you did was push him away and hurt people around you. You were no use to anyone. But the niggling thought that stayed at the back of your mind persisted, you missed the mansion and everyone in it, you so wanted to return just for a moment and see everyone, make sure they were ok. But you couldn’t do it, could you?

“Til all you see
Is my ghost
Empty vessel crooked teeth
Wish you could see”

It seemed everywhere in the mansion Charles went there were reminders of you, pictures, places, hell even patches of grass that brought back memories of you. He had never let go, not fully, the pictures of you in his desk drawer, wallet and on the walls of the mansion surrounded by all the other mutants, happy and smiling reminded him of that.

“And they call me under
And I’m shaking like a leaf
And they call me underneath

To the storm”

Your car pulled up at the entrance to the estate. And you sat there, the rain pattering on your windshield, wipers going as you looked up at the place that was once your home, and you couldn’t go in. You sat there for at least an hour, hands sweating as you thought of everyone in there, and Charles. You could see through some of the ground floor windows, faint outlines of some of the students chatting away and laughing with each other, you could disturb that you thought. It would be like you brought the rain inside with you, none of them would want you there after what you had done, especially Charles and Hank. You didn’t know how Alex was but if it was bad you couldn’t face them, any of them. So you didn’t, you slowly reversed out into the road and drove silently away, hot salty tears falling freely from your face, a stark contrast to the freezing rain still pouring down outside.

Alternative Ending:

Your car pulled up at the entrance to the estate. And you sat there, the rain pattering on your windshield, wipers going as you looked up at the place that was once your home. You sat there for a while clammy hands encasing one another as you thought of Charles in his study.

He sat at his desk, scribbling away at new paper work for students, with the fire blazing away in the corner of his room when he heard a knock at the door.

           “Come in!” he shouted through the thick oak

Slowly you pushed the door open and stepped inside, looking around to find the top of Charles head peaking up from behind some papers.

           “What can I help you with?” he said not looking up from his writing

You stood still in front of his desk not knowing what to say to that question, when he looked up from his papers read to question the silence.  All at once he saw you again, standing in his office just like he had pictured a thousand times. You started silently weeping again as you saw his brilliant blue eyes staring back at you like they had done years ago. He slowly made his way around the desk, reaching out to touch you face. As his warm soft hand came into contact with your ice cold and slightly damp cheeks you turned your head to nuzzle into the snugness of it. He brought you closer until your foreheads were touching, whispering sweet nothings into the air as he too started to cry, his other hand coming up to your face eyes still fixated on yours to make sure you didn’t vanish again, he brought you in for the kiss he’d waited three long years to give you.

*

*

*

*

Please give me feedback on this and tell me what you think, and feel free to request headcannons at the moment as my imagines requests are closed although I might not do too many more song fics for a while, they are so stressful xxx

Gladio’s breath is hot against the thin skin of Noctis’s throat. Noctis closes his eyes, arches his back when Gladio’s tongue flicks lightly against his neck. He lets out a soft moan and Gladio responds in kind, placing a gentle kiss on Noctis’s neck as he runs a large hand down the prince’s thin frame. The hand trails slowly down Noctis’s side, his hip, his thigh – and when it reaches his knee, Gladio tightens his grip and pulls Noctis’s leg around him. As he does, he grinds forward, pressing hard against Noctis. Noctis lets out a surprised gasp that trails into another moan.

Noctis hears a deep, rumbling laugh and he opens his eyes. Gladio is watching him, watching the prince’s reaction to the warrior’s every move. Noct rolls his eyes before saying, “Enjoying this, are you?”

The smile on Gladio’s face tells Noctis that he is, in fact, enjoying himself. Gladio leans down, grazes his teeth along Noctis’s earlobe and whispers, “Very much so.”

Noctis shudders and resists the urge to touch himself. It had been a while since they had done this. Too long, Noctis thought.

As if Gladio reads Noctis’s mind, suddenly the hand on his knee begins trailing up his leg again. It stops at his hip and tenses as Gladio grinds forward again. Noctis’s eyes close and he arches into the thrust, pushing himself harder against Gladio. Gladio tenses, his hand gripping Noctis’s hip harder for a moment. Through gritted teeth, he says, “Gods, you’re so gonna get it.”

Noctis resists the giggle bubbling in his chest. He smiles, moves his hips against Gladio’s again and taunts, “Promises, promises.”

Gladio leans up and looks down at Noctis. His expression is so damn intense that Noctis hesitates for a moment, is about to ask if everything is alright, when suddenly Gladio’s lips are on his. The kiss is brief. It takes seconds before Gladio is pulling away, trailing small kisses down the prince’s neck. In a swift motion, Gladio finally removes Noctis’s shirt and continues his trail of kisses down Noctis’s chest. He nibbles every now and then, sending a wave of pleasure through Noctis’s body every time. The trail continues down Noctis’s stomach, and when Gladio finally gets to the edge of Noctis’s pants, he looks up – a question in his eyes. Noctis breathes heavily for a moment, then slowly nods. He watches as Gladio unzips his pants and pulls them off of his body. He watches as Gladio leans down and licks up his stiff member. He watches as Gladio opens his mouth and –

And then he wakes up.

Noctis wakes up, alone in bed with a soft breeze blowing through the open window. His eyes scan the room wildly for a moment, and before disappointment can flood his body, he remembers his dream. It hadn’t been a dream last night. All of that had actually happened. The memory makes him smile and when he turns on his stomach to hide his blushing face (from who, he doesn’t know), he takes in a sharp breath. He’s hard still, very hard, and he instinctively grinds himself against the bed, desperately looking for relief. It doesn’t take long – he had been close already, apparently – and when he’s finally relieved, he gets out of bed. He cleans himself off, gets dressed, and heads out of the room to look for Gladio.

When he gets to the bottom stair, Iris is there to greet him. She steps in his way and says, “Morning, sleepyhead!”

Hiding his disappointment that Gladio is nowhere in the immediate vicinity, he shakes his head. “Morning,” he grumbles, and runs a hand through his hair to try to fix it slightly. “Where is everyone?”

“Oh,” Iris says, obviously less than enthused about Noctis’s indifference. “They’re out walking with Talcott. They went to see the sights. We should too!”

“Uhh,” Noctis starts. Ever the eloquent prince. “Sure. Why not?” At least it’ll be a chance to look for Gladio.

“Great! I’ll show you around!”

She turns and heads out of the building. Noctis had already seen most of Lestallum when they had first arrived. They had needed to stock up on ingredients for Ignis and health reagents for the rest of the party. Compared to Insomnia, Lestallum wasn’t that large of a city, so they had covered most of it within the evening.

The walk with Iris is less than exciting. Noctis had always liked Iris and regarded her well, but lately something had seemed..off. She had started avoiding him a few months before he had left the capital. When they did speak, she always seemed distracted, or quiet. Since Noctis had a hard time with conversation anyway, their talks had been very minimal.

Now, though, she won’t stop talking. She keeps rambling on and on about the marketplace and the different shops as they head through. When they get to the refinery, she tells him all about it and how only women work there. He encourages her and she smiles, then she begins leading him to the outlook. As they walk, he steps too close to her and brushes her arm. He mumbles an apology, steps away, then looks over to see her blushing. There’s a shy grin on her face. Noctis raises an eyebrow, but ignores the question that comes to mind.

When they reach the outlook, Noctis finds himself scanning the crowd, looking for Gladio. He feels a slight stab of disappointment when he still doesn’t see him. He’s about to tell Iris that maybe they should head back when he suddenly feels her move closer to him.

“You know, Noct,” she says, wrapping an arm around his and pressing her body close. “This almost feels like a date.”

Noctis tries to control his expression, but can’t fight that surprise that passes quickly over his face. He fakes a smile, nonchalantly slides his arm out of hers, and says, “If it were, your brother would kick my ass.”

The thought terrified him, honestly. At least now it made sense why she had started avoiding him before.

Iris giggles and lets her voice take on a flirty tone as she says, “Well, we better keep it quiet then.”

I don’t think you understand that if Gladio found out I was sleeping with both of the Amacitia siblings, he would literally kill me, is the first thing that goes through Noctis’s mind. When he’s about to speak, Iris sighs and continues, “And besides, you already have Lady Lunafreya.”

Noctis remains quiet. He wants to deny what she says, tell her that of all the people he truly desires, Luna isn’t one of them. The marriage between them is arranged and, while the prospect of spending the rest of his life with Luna hadn’t really seemed that bad in the beginning, it was the one thing he wants least in the world now. Picturing himself with anyone other than Gladio… Well, it just wasn’t going to happen, at least.

Iris offers an awkward smile and kicks absently at the ground. She turns back toward the location of their hotel and says, “Come on. The others should be back at the hotel by now. Let’s join them.”

Noctis agrees, putting thoughts of Luna and Iris and this whole awkward “date” aside, and follows her back to the hotel. As they had thought, when they get there, everyone is gathered in the lobby. As soon as they enter, all eyes turn to them. Noctis’s eyes find Gladio’s and, when they meet, he watches Gladio’s shoulders relax. A slow smile spreads across Gladio’s face, and Noct finds himself easily returning that smile.

“Where have you been?” Prompto asks, skipping forward. “We were starting to get worried!”

Iris and Noctis exhange a look and Iris giggles, “It’s our little secret.”

Prompto groans. “Don’t tell me you two were on a date? Noct, why do you get all the pretty girls?”

Iris only gigggles more and hides her now-blushing face. Noctis rolls his eyes and turns them to Gladio again, who suddenly is studying him curiously. Uh oh.

Later, when Noctis is laying in bed, he hears the door open. He looks up to see Gladio walking in and moves to the side as Gladio finds his place in the bed. When he’s comfortable, he turns to Noct, his eyebrow raised, “So.. A date with my sister, hmm?”

Noctis rolls his eyes and throws a leg around Gladio, easily manuevering himself to straddle the warrior. Gladio allows it and places his hands on Noctis’s hips, rubbing his sides lightly with his thumbs. Noctis says, “That’s what she seems to think.”

“Hmm,” Gladio says, and stops moving his thumbs. “And what is it that you think?”

Noctis shrugs. “I don’t think anything. I was only looking for you the whole time.”

Gladio looks at him curiously. “Looking for me? What for?”

Noctis sighs and rests his hands on Gladio’s stomach. “Do I need a reason?”

“No, but—“

“I had a dream,” Noctis interrupts, and moves his eyes to Gladio’s.

Serious now, Gladio studies Noctis’s face. He knows that Noctis had been having nightmares lately – the concern is written clearly on his face. Quietly, he asks, “What was the dream about?”

A smug grin spreads slowly across Noctis’s face. He leans down, picks up his hand and runs a slow finger down Gladio’s chest and stomach. He hooks the finger just inside Gladio’s pantline and turns smoldering eyes to the warrior. He says, “Let me show you.”

Gladio smirks, and eagerly meets Noctis’s lips with his own.

anonymous asked:

6 valdangelo, 12 percico, 2 jasico, or 1 perjasico??? AAAA you don't have to do all of them, pick whichever one--

((i picked the percico and perjasico cuz thats too many sorry!!!))

12. “accidentally fell in your lap while standing on this crowded bus”  (perrcico)

It’s a rainy day in Queens when Nico hops onto the bus. Its not horribly crowded yet, as he’s one of the first stops on this route, but all the seats are already taken. He doesn’t mind, and heads toward the back to just stand and wait till the bus clears out.

The bus gets moving again shortly. and stop by stop, becomes more and more crowded. Hardly anyone gets off, and by the time they’re half way through the route, the bus is packed. Nico’s heading all the way across town. so he know’s he’ll be standing a while, which is annoying but not the end of the world. He puts in his headphones to listen to some music and try to relax for the ride.

The shaky city bus rumbles around a turn, while he’s not paying attention, and before he even realizes, Nico falls over with a shrill squeak and is sitting in the lap of some poor guy who was sitting in the seat next to the spot he was standing in.

Fuck.

Nico scrambles to apologize but the guy is already laughing.

“Wow! at least let me by you dinner first buddy.” The older boy jokes lightheartedly. Nico is blushing bright red and struggles to get up and out the boy’s lap, but the bus is way to crowded and there’s no way he can stand up now.

“oh no…” He groans softly to no one in particular. his new seat-mate doesn’t seem perturbed.

“Welp, looks like you’re stuck with me, man. Heh, it’s cool, it happens. You can get up once some gets off.” He says kindly. He doesn’t seem fazed in the slightest, but Nico has all but died inside by now. He wishes to curl within himself while the bus continues moving and the guy he’s sitting on goes back to the game he was playing on his phone. Nico just tries to avoid looking at him, and desperately prays for more people to get off on the next stop. The young man under him speaks up once he beats that level.

“I’m Percy, by the way.” He says as he looks up at him and meets his eyes. Nico blushes. He’s fucking gorgeous honestly. His eyes are ocean-colored, and his dark hair frames his face so well. Nico has to take a moment before he‘s able to find his voice again.

“Nico. I’m Nico. and I am REALLY REALLY sorry. About sitting on you and all….” He says, squirming uncomfortably. Percy puts a hand gently on the small of his back and leans in.

“Trrryyy not to wiggle to much dude. Wouldn’t wanna make this more awkward than it already is.” He says quietly, moving his hand away. Nico is absolutely positive he has turned several shades of red, and is contemplating whether it would be better to just die on the spot, right now.

Percy pulls up his phone again, tilting it this time so Nico can see the screen. He’s opened up his photos and has a picture of a large dog pulled up, a deep-black hound of some sort. He’s grinning ear to ear.

“See that? That’s my dog! I just got her, her name is Mrs. O’leary. Shes huge but she’s super friendly. I have no idea what kind of dog she is, but I love her to pieces.” He says, before flicking to another photo, this time of the dog wearing a funny hat. Nico stops him.

“What are you doing?” He asks, competely confused about why he’s getting a personal slide show of this stranger’s dog. He loves dogs, but this is honestly just bizarre. Percy chuckles lightly.

“Well, were kind of stuck together for the moment, and you seem kind of incredibly nervous. Figured you could use a distraction?” He says, with a smile and a shrug. Well. He’s got a point. Nico nods gently, and Percy resumes his presentation of Mrs. O’leary in a variety of hats and strange situations.

Three stops later the bus is well clear enough for Nico to get up but he doesn’t notice. He’s to busy laughing at the dog wearing a Chia Pet costume. Percy sees that Nico can move freely now but makes no move to let him know. He decides to just enjoy this a bit more.

—–

((for this one you get the bullet points because i have SO MANY IDEAS and could probably fill a book with it))

1. Counselors at a terrible summer camp (perjasico)

- Percy, Jason and Nico are three counselors at Camp Olympia, each one heading a different cabin and a small band of middle-school aged children.

- Jason is the sensible counselor. You go to him when youre homesick, or when you need to learn how to tie a fancy knot. He’s a regular boyscout, that guy. He’s also fun as all hell to prank, and thats where Percy comes in.

- Percy is the counselor you go to when you want to do something fucking stupid, because not only will he let you get away with it, but he will probably help you. Looking to TP one of the girl’s cabins? He’s your guy.

- Nico, dear sweet Nico, is rumored to have killed a man. He’s the counselor you do not cross. If he said it’s lights out, it is LIGHTS OUT. He doesn’t need to give time outs or extra chores as punishments. He just levels you with that death glare and you get your ass in line. At least, thats what everyone who is not in his cabin assumes. But his kids think he’s amazing, and sometimes he sneaks candy into camp for them. And Jason and Percy already know he is a big softie who cant say know to kids at all.

- During craft hour, the three of them make each other matching bracelets with their favorite colors; green, blue, and black.

- Percy’s team always win’s at canoe racing and Jason is so sure he is cheating because that is just fucking impossible. The only reason they even care is because the winner always gets a kiss from Nico afterwards, when the campers aren’t looking.

- Nico strongly encourages naps, and his cabin kids can usually be found laying about in the field with him, not actually participating in anything. Nico refers to this as “nature observance hour”, but really he just falls asleep.

- the three of them like to sneak out of their cabins at night, after they do bunk checks and put the kids to bed, and go swimming in the lake together. and sometimes make out a little bit.

- Nico is strictly forbidden from telling ghost stories around the camp fire after he made that one kid pee himself. To be fair, he didnt think it was that scary, and he helped rush the kid back to the cabin to change.

- Girl campers always have crushes on Jason and Percy and wonder if theyre available and try to flirt with them, but little do they know Nico has both those idiots wrapped around his finger.

onwardmarchingfishes  asked:

Hey, I need some advice. My mother is very adamant that healthy food is cheaper than fast food and that people who say otherwise are just being lazy, which surprised me as she is normally very supportive in situations like these. I don't know if it's really possible but what can I say to help change her mind about this?

In conversations like this, there are three main points that you want to get across to your mom: 

  1. Preparing your own meals may be cheaper in the long run, but it requires a huge cash investment in order to start, thus making fast food the more affordable current option for many people.
  2. Everyone experiences different living situations and dietary values, making it impossible to state that either fast food or home food prep isalways going to be best answer for everyone. It’s instead necessary to acknowledge that both have legitimate value.
  3. People have the right to eat what and how they want without being shamed for it. Their right to bodily autonomy is not trumped by our “concern” for their health or money.

We have to remember that monetary cost is just one small aspect of this. If it was just about which one is cheaper, then there would be an easy objective answer. But people are still arguing, so that’s not the case. A bigger issue is: Why do people feel that they have the right to control and criticize a complete stranger’s diet? Why does fast food bother them to the point that they’ll shame anyone who eats it? When people criticize fast food, what they’re really condemning is 1. poverty and 2. fat bodies. Dumping on fast food is a form of body shaming and classism: Identifying it as such is an important step to talking about diet critically.

Now in terms of money and resources,

When eating fast food, you’re required to pay for:

  • transportation to and from the facilities
  • the cost of the food (a small lump sum that buys one meal)

That’s pretty much it. Things like the cost of labor, access to a bathroom and a heated environment are all included in the cost of food. As long as you can pay for the meal, you have access to a huge range of resources.

Compare that it what you must pay when preparing your own meals with your own ingredients:

  • transportation to and from the grocery store
  • the cost of the food (a large lump sum that buys several meals at once)
  • refrigerated storage
  • storage containers
  • waste disposal
  • running water, in order to clean your hands before and after preparation
  • cleaning products
  • a heating implement to cook the food
  • additional ingredients/spices in order to prepare a full meal
  • utensils in order to prepare the meal
  • pots/pans to cook in
  • dishes to serve the meal with and utensils to eat with
  • furniture such as tables or counter tops where you can both prepare and serve the meal
  • electricity, lighting and heating in order to make the environment comfortable enough for you to spend all this time in
  • child care and/or entertainment so that any potential kids will not be put in danger by the cooking process

Add into that the time that it takes to complete your shopping, transport all the food home, store it properly, take it out at meal time, prep your meal, cook it, store the leftovers, and then routinely sort through your food in order to throw out anything that was wasted or has gone bad. Due to opportunity cost, the large amount of time that many people spend maintaining their kitchens can cost them a rather significant amount of money in addition to what they’re literally spending on food and resources. 

So when people talk about how a pound of chicken is sooooo much cheaper than a Big Mac, they may be right about the cost of food, but they’re only looking at one tiny aspect of meal prep. People like your mother are ignoring the big picture.

Eating “healthy” and preparing your own food can absolutely be cheaper than fast food, but that can only occur once you’ve already invested significant funds into the process. If you’re working a minimum wage job and are just starting this process of feeding yourself (and others!), then it’s highly unlikely that you have access to a big enough lump sum to gain all the resources necessary to cook your own meals.  

If your mother can’t accept this information (and if you’re comfortable enough to get on her sh*t list for a little while), then there’s always a much less mature debate tactic that you can employ: Turn into a two year old. Every time she eats something, ask her “Why?” 

  • “Mom, why are you eating that cereal? It would be so much cheaper if you got whole oats and baked that granola yourself, why are you being so lazy and eating it out of a box? We could have just dehydrated grapes instead of being lazy and buying raisins!”
  • "OMG Mom, why did you buy a gallon of milk? If you didn’t spend so much money on store milk, we could have our own cow! It would be so much healthier to just milk our own cow every morning and make our own cream and cheese from it. God, I know that a cow costs like thousands of dollars, but the milk would be cheaper. It’s better for us in the long run.”
  • “Mom! You’re so lazy! Why are you using cake mix? For just a couple cents, you could have grown wheat in the back yard last summer, stored the stalks and ground it into flour. Why would you buy the store stuff instead? Why aren’t you willing to do even the slightest bit of work for your food?”

Chances are, your mom is going to get frustrated and PO’ed really quickly. And she’d have every right to. But this will hopefully start a conversation - Why is it okay for her to take short cuts and rely on pre-made foods, but it’s bad when other people do it with fast food? Why is she the one who gets to declare which short cuts are acceptable and which ones are not? And is she really taking these short cuts out of laziness, or because it’s impractical for her to spend so much time prepping meals? Use this as a chance to show that food is not a black and white issue: Even she’s actively participating in “fast food” culture by buying some form of prepackaged food, so it makes no sense to completely condemn or blame other people for doing the same thing.

Now, in addition to what I’m posting here, I have tags dedicated to both #fast-food and #food-politics. Some of those posts might be helpful in giving you resources about both food politics and people’s right to bodily autonomy. 

Good luck!

Nigeria experts don't exist

I’ve seen a proliferation of “Nigeria Experts” in the last year due to Boko Haram’s insurgency (only after the Chibok kidnappings, not prior) and the upcoming elections. Much like the war on terror gave us an unending supply of pundits, commentators and analysts on terrorism, I see the same with Nigeria sociopolitics.

The peculiar thing is that many of them are not Nigerian. You certainly don’t have to be a Nigerian to be knowledgeable about Nigeria or offer news (i.e. Will Ross from BBC), but you need a connection or some type of base knowledge beyond things you read on the internet. These people have zero connection to Nigeria and in some cases, have never even been to Nigeria. What then makes them an expert? Why are they always on news programs? Their nonsensical articles continue to get the green light. They really have no idea what they’re talking or writing about, but the danger is that because they have a platform, many people think they do. A platform means legitimacy in the eyes of the unaware, which is understandable. They are coming to you for information. The problem is that many with platforms have no idea what they’re talking about.

I recently read an article on Yahoo that said Umaru Yar'Adua and Buhari were Hausa.  They are not. They are Fulani men. If a major news outlet cannot get something as basic as the ethnicity of former heads of state right, then I cannot trust their analysis. What else is wrong?

Here’s the thing you all need to understand; no one is an expert on Nigeria. You can be well read, have a lot of cursory knowledge or be well versed in the history and politics (your views will also depend on how much objectivity your ethnic prism allows - this matters), but this doesn’t mean you have your finger on everything. 

Steer clear of anyone who claims to be an expert on Nigeria. It’s virtually impossible to be one, including for Nigerians themselves. No one knows all the Nigerian perspectives. 

This is part of the problem I see so glaringly whenever I come online and I see what passes to be the “pulse of the nation” and all the reporters are in Lagos. That’s the pulse of Lagos, not Nigeria. Diaspora voices outside of Nigeria are also a big part of Nigerians online. We shouldn’t forget it. I’m part of that.

With regards to the “pulse of the nation”, this also manifests itself not just on the internet, but in media reports where a large percentage of the people talking are in Lagos (and Abuja). It creates a skewed view of what people assume is representative of Nigeria. Many don’t even examine that online voices and offline voices are not the same. For one thing, if you’re online, it means you have a computer/laptop, tablet or smart phone. Most people in the village don’t. Many poor people in the cities don’t. The houseboy or market woman likely does not have a macbook and they’re probably not on twitter. You’re not hearing from the majority of the country, and with that you’re not hearing their perspectives. So take that into consideration when you look at online voices of Nigerians. I know many of the “new media” types do nothing but glean and copy, then water down what Nigerians are saying into digestible bits for their audiences.

What I find funny about all this is that sometimes, these new Nigeria pundits and commentators will engage and talk down to you as a Nigerian like they know more about you than you do. They aren’t abrasive like the conscious ankhs who will argue with you about your identity, but they will think like they know all there is to know because they took a course in school, watched some videos, read BBC Africa, have some Nigerians friends, maybe even dated a Nigerian or two, or went on holiday once somewhere in Africa.

At a recent event, I had one of these new media types ask me if I was Nigerian when he saw my name tag. I told him yes, then he started asking me about Yoruba people (this happens frequently). I told him I wouldn’t know the intricacies of Yoruba culture because I am half Andoni and half Igbo, not Yoruba. Igbo people he knew. Andoni people he didn’t. No big deal, many people don’t (Nigerians included). He asked me where they were in Nigeria, I said in Rivers State, not far Abia and Akwa Ibom. He had no idea what Rivers, Abia and Akwa Ibom were. He asked if they were near Boko Haram activities. I said Rivers State is literally at the bottom of Nigeria, at the other end of where Boko Haram is waging their terror. After Rivers State, it’s the Atlantic Ocean. There’s nothing else.

So I guess he was curious because he asked about Andoni people. I assumed if I said Ijaw he would have some idea, but unsurprisingly he didn’t know what Ijaw was either. I’m not even sure why I continued to entertain this convo, but I named ethnic groups near the Andoni people. I mentioned the Ogoni and Kalabari. He thought Kalabari was Calabar (not the 1st time this has happened either) and started talking about Carnival. He said “you mean Calabar, where they have the Carnival?” I said no, that Calabar and the Carnival is in Cross River State. I’m talking about Kalabari people, as in of the Ijaw extraction in Rivers State, but he didn’t know what Ijaw was, so this was a pointless conversation. Anyway, this white man really asked me if I’m sure of what I’m saying and that I should double check because he saw Calabar Carnival pictures on Flickr and he’s pretty sure about it. 

These are the new media types giving commentary on Nigeria. It’s so laughable.

joym13  asked:

One word prompts: hushed

It was always her ritual, in the dark, hushed hours before bed.


When Henry was very young, it was a long stretch of time, often hours before dusk, in a world where the seasons cycled and yet nearly everything else stayed the same.


“One more!” he’d invariably insist, when she began to close the pages of his bedtime story. She gave in more often than not, for the joy of reading to him, but also for the chance to stave off those empty hours.


As she wandered the house in her silk nightgown and bare feet, cleaning pasta sauce from the counter and cheerios from the floor, as she replaced Henry’s favorite toy cars and stuffed zoo animals in their baskets, it always felt like a loss, rather than a gain. As though she were clearing her home of traces of its greatest source of joy. Creating emptiness. Restoring black and white and that sterile sort of opulence that only ever managed to feel like home when Henry was filling it with crayon marks and lovingly worn books and delighted laughter.

 
And yet, for all of that, it always felt like something she had to do, in order to make the home of a deceptive mayor fit its role, in order to contain the guilt that had begun to seep in with her love and happiness, in order to stave off the constant terror of Henry discovering all and no longer loving her. All those dark, oppressive feelings that now seemed so much heavier in her heart than they had when she had worn them as heavy jewels and tight corsets.


And so it was her ritual, walking through a half-lit house in the late hours of the night, carrying a glass of red wine, or perhaps a mug of coffee, and putting all the little things that make up a life back to rights. 

-&-

“Sorry, Mom!” Henry calls, tripping up the steps past her, stumbling on legs that are growing faster than he can keep up with. He shoots her a smile, grabbing his sneaker from beneath her gaze, “No shoes on the stairs…Mom?”

Henry falters as she blinks back unexpected tears. “Mom, what–?”

“Nothing, sweetheart,” she assures, shaking her head and leaning into the one-armed hug he offers. “I’ve missed your shoes lying all over my stairs.”

“That’s weird, Mom,” Henry observes, though he doesn’t pull back from their embrace.

After a few moments balanced on a couple of stairs, Henry asks, half-joking, “Does this mean I can leave dirty plates all over the living room?”

She laughs, a little tearfully, and kisses the top of his head, though she can barely reach to now, for how much taller he’s grown. “Don’t push your luck.”

“I missed you, Mom,” he says, giving her a final squeeze before continuing up the stairs with his discarded shoe.

She shakes her head fondly, “You didn’t even know I existed.”

“I still missed you,” he insists.

-&-

It amuses Robin, when they first begin to live together. He is most definitely a morning person, and as he trails after her in the late evening, helping where he can, though his eyes have begun to droop and his mouth stretches with an almost amusing abundance of yawns, he asks why she doesn’t just straighten up in the morning.

“I don’t know,” she shrugs, hands hesitating on a throw pillow that Roland had been using as a toy shield, “It’s an old habit.” She chuckles as he steps towards her and sleepily bumps into the coffee table, nearly tripping. She catches his hand and drops a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Go to bed, Robin. I’ll be up soon.”

“Promise?” 

“Promise.”

“You’re sure you don’t want help?”

“You do help, all day. But you don’t need to when you’re dead on your feet.”

He grins sleepily, bending down for a real kiss, and her heart still does that ridiculous pounding-soaring thing at the simple domesticity of it, at the way he pulls away and then stops to steal one more kiss because he never could resist her smile.

“I love you,” he says, hand smoothing through her hair.

“I love you, too.” She curls a hand around his forearm and presses a kiss to the inside of his wrist. “Now go to bed.”

-&-

“Come upstairs,” he pleads again one night, arms wrapping tight around her waist as she dries the last two mugs from the dishwasher and sets them on their shelf.

“I’m not quite finished,” she insists, half-heartedly pulling away in a competition stacked against her from the beginning by the fact that she doesn’t really want to win. “I haven’t straightened up the coffee table and couches yet.”

“Well,” he pretends to consider it, tilting his head against her neck, lips brushing her skin, “a couch would work for what I have in mind. But a bed would be more comfortable.”

“Robin!” she laughs, hands covering his at her hips. 

“Please?” he begs, “I’ll help you finish in the morning.”

She turns in his arms, poised to defend her nightly ritual, but when she catches sight of the teasing, hopeful, loving glint in his eyes, she finds that the words rush away, like a hushed, barely-spoken whisper. “All right,” she agrees.

-&-

Regina’s head rises and falls with each of Robin’s breaths. The rhythm of his lungs and heart as he sleeps has lulled her into a half-waking calm, his skin warm on hers, the palm he’s buried in her hair even in sleep a comforting weight.

In the hushed night, as her family sleeps, she thinks about how Robin has this strange habit of knowing her better than she does herself.

Because as she kisses the skin just above his heart and closes her eyes, she can finally picture it. The living room with a stuffed monkey for a throw pillow, and a couple of Henry’s books stacked where her black leather coasters had been. The movie they watched last night still in the DVD player, the case on the ground beside it, a dark green sweater draped over the sofa back, black flats discarded in front of it, blankets askew and trailing on the ground, crayons piled haphazardly onto construction paper, two empty and red-stained wine glasses resting beside two large mugs that recently held steaming hot cocoa. 

In the hush, the quiet, she can almost hear the buzz of it all, can easily imagine the way it would be evident, to anyone who might catch a glimpse of the room, that a family calls this place home. 

And that presence fills her heart with a warmth that is ritual enough on its own.

You may or may not know that I live in Hamburg (second biggest city of Germany), and you may or may not know that there are currently very many refugees (mostly Syrians) trying to get to safer countries in Europe. Germany already took in a lot of them and is planning to take in 800,000 refugees by the end of the year - the figure is very likely to go up and breach one million. You may have heard about the ugly and horrible incidents that happened over here, of right-wing extremists burning down refugee camps. This is truly awful and disgusting.

Those horrible people are the minority though. Most Germans want to let the refugees come into the country and help them - and a lot of them don’t just say that, they actually do help. I can say this because I’ve seen it with my own eyes, as I am one of the many volunteer workers at my city’s central refugee camp and it is really amazing and heart-warming what happens there! I could tell so many stories and talk about it for ages. Maybe I will make a few posts about it.

The aid organisation at the central camp is run ONLY by citizens and volunteers who do all of this in their free time and for no pay. The state/government has nothing to do with it. It’s just the citizens who live here, who decided they had to do something and help the refugees that came into the city. It started with some donations, and now it’s the biggest and best organized aid project by volunteers in whole Germany, I believe. It’s HUGE.

We got the biggest exhibition halls of the city for this purpose. The large hall (13,000 square meters) is where about 1,000 refugees can stay and sleep at the moment. One of the “smaller” halls next to it (4,000 square meters) is for collecting, sorting and organizing the donations - and it’s stuffed. It’s pretty overwhelming. People really bring in tons of donations all day long, by car or by bike or even by foot with bags and boxes full of stuff: All sorts of clothes (for women, men, children, babies); sanitary products (shampoo, toothbrushes, toothpaste, soap, combs, menstrual pads, shaving foam & disposable razors, washing cloths & towels, deodorants, bodylotions, etc); various toys, picture books, coloring books & crayons etc for the children; also “universal” games for adults like chess and cards; baby stuff (diapers, powder, cremes, baby wipes, baby slings, strollers, new pacifiers); dictionaries (Arabic - German, Farsi - German, …) ; bed sheets, pillows, camp beds; prayer carpets; also empty knapsacks, suitcases etc so the refugees have something where they can put and keep their stuff in.

Some of our supermarkets joined in and help with this, too. They sell refugee camp boxes for discounted 5 - 10 Euros (like a whole cardboard box of shampoo bottles or a whole box of soap) and deliver the boxes to our central camp where the volunteers make “hygiene starter packs” for the refugees. Every pack has one item of everything that’s available (one shampoo bottle, one toothbrush, one bar of soap, one toothpaste, and so on.) So people don’t necessarily need to come work directly at the camp, or bring in donations themselves; they can still just buy a box at the supermarket and it gets here and it’s great help!

We have one extra stand that gives out donated mobile phones/smartphones to the refugees, and the big hall (where the camp is set up) is provided with free WLAN so the people in the camp can go online and message their friends and family members who aren’t here with them and keep in touch. Also, we have many volunteers who teach the refugees to say/ask/read basic things in German, so they will be able to orient themselves in the neighborhood.

Everything works out really well. So many people are donating, so many people are helping. Today I spent 5 hours at the camp, just sorting donated women’s clothings. Everything that has holes or is dirty or smelly goes into the trash bags - we only keep stuff that is good to wear (and not degrading or humiliating - nobody wants to go in rags!) Also, socks and underwear must be new and in original packaging (no second-hand underwear.) Then we sort everything by clothing type (T-shirts, long-sleeved shirts, tank tops, sweaters, jackets, coats, trousers, long skirts, short skirts, dresses, maternity clothing, shoes, gloves, scarves, headscarves, and so on) - and after that we sort every clothing type by size, from small to medium to large. Then it goes into packing cases. So in the end we have several boxes with ONLY “Women’s sweaters, size medium” or “Women’s winter coats, size small” or boxes of just headscarves. Then the boxes either go to the hall right next to the “sorting hall” where more volunteers are handing out all the things to the refugees who live here at the central camp, or the boxes will be put into cars and (again by volunteers) delivered to other refugee camps that are located within reachable distance and that are not (yet) as well-organized and equipped as the central camp.

So that’s basically also one reason why I was very quiet here on tumblr lately. A lot of my spare time I spend doing voluntary work at the refugee camp. I go there at the weekends like today, for several hours, or sometimes also after work in the evening. It’s exhausting, but it’s also great to see how many people are willing to help, and all the donations are overwhelming. My shoulders, arms and back are hurting from the physical work, but you forget all of this when you can make the people who had to flee and leave behind their home a little happier again, or at least make them feel welcome, and let them know there are people who care and who do all they can to help them. It’s a very moving experience. I wish positive stuff like this would also be more present on the media and not totally overshadowed by the negative and violent happenings. (Of course it’s important to talk about the right-wing extremist movements and fight them, but it’s also important to show the other side of it all, and show the part of Germany that helps and supports. Those who are NOT against taking in more refugees are the majority!)

Here are some pictures of the hall with the donations where I work as a volunteer. It looks very chaotic but it’s actually pretty well organized :D

Cell Block Sniper (Domestic Assassins Frozen AU)

For the past few days, I’ve been enthusiastically following the entertaining Domestic Assassins Frozen AU (modern day), with many entertaining posts from writers including raksha-the-demon  (who also helped me come up with a title for this–many thanks!), geometrynerd and ultranos.

Anyway, I had an idea for a one-shot based on “Cell Block Tango” from Chicago (which I know couragedontdesertme loves), although this is set in the modern day and not back in the 1920s. Most of the characters from said song will be used with the exception of the Hungarian. There will be no singing and dancing unfortunately. ;) Also, this is a very long one-shot just over 5000 words long. The first time I beat my one-shot word count record, and it’s one with Elsa as a sniper. Well then. One shot, five mini-stories.

Warning: strong language and mild violence ahead. Rated M to be safe.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Why do you think writers wrote about WoT that People don't change people??

Because that’s what the episode is about.

It’s not about “what if everybody else didn’t have Riley around to change them into the ‘best version of themselves’ all on her own?” which is pretty much what’s being pushed in other corners of the fandom, it’s “What if the bay window was closed? What if the girls never became friends? What if PEOPLE didn’t change people?”

Riley herself is VERY yikes in the episode, and that’s largely a product of not being friends with Maya (or Farkle, lbr). And while I need to see the final cut to be absolutely sure, IMO we also get to see what Riley “gets from” Lucas in terms of people change people—if you’ve followed my blog for a while, you already know what I think it is.

People change people. Who are any of these kids (including Riley) if none of them ever became friends? That’s what WoT3 is about. Anyone who tells you it’s about “what everyone else would be like without Riley to change them” is missing the bigger picture, because it’s also about how yikes RILEY HERSELF would be if people didn’t change people.

bad boy, bad girl ( a jack gilinsky fan fiction) chapter 19 :)
chapter 19 *erica pov* I woke up to the sound of my mom’s car leaving the driveway. I turned my body, expecting to find Jack when instead I found nothing. Cold, limp, boring nothing. I groaned and pulled the covers to the top of my head, wishing I could fall asleep forever and forget everything. But I can’t. I just need to get up and do my shit. Get today over with. I sat up strait and looked around my room. I cringed, everything reminded me of him. The stuffed teddy bear he won for me at the carnival, his sweatshirt crumpled up on my desk, the flowers he picked for me at the lake, just everything. I swung my legs to the ground to find a bowl of cereal with a note on the side. ‘I saw the tissues, thought you might have had a rough night. I love you, -Mom’ it said. Tissues? I looked at my floor to find millions of mascara stained kleenexes sprawled around. I sighed, slowly every single detail from last night came to my head in a flashback. I stood up and I quickly ate the bowl of cereal and got up to get dressed. I opened my closet and of course the first thing I see is a picture of him and I at the lake. He was kissing my cheek and I was laughing my ass off. Johnson had tweeted it. I ignored it and grabbed some grey sweatpants and a white camisole. I was officially not going out today. I heard my phone ping, so I dragged my feet along my cold floor to check whatever loser was bothering me now. I had three missed calls, 15 texts and a few tweets all from Jack. He had just tweeted: @jackgilinsky: when you lose someone you can’t replace I rolled my eyes at his sappiness. Suddenly, my phone buzzed and I threw it onto the bed in surprise. I rolled my eyes at myself and reached over to pick up the phone, knowing exactly who it was.  “Erica, baby?” I heard his rough voice crack. I could already feel the tears coming.  “What?” I spat out rudely.  “Baby, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean shit.” He said, and I could tell he was on the verge of tears.  “But you said it. Jac-” “Don’t, Erica. I love you. And I need you. Please, just say you forgive me. Just say you love me.” He whispered while cutting me off.  I felt a pang in my chest, and that’s when I realized. Jack did hate it. Just like everyone else. He meant every single word he said yesterday. And maybe it was yesterday, or maybe it would come in the future, today or tomorrow or in two years. But he will eventually crack. He won’t be able to support my long nights of crying or my endless supply of drugs. He won’t be able to look at me with pride in his eyes, only sorrow and regret. He’ll dump me and I’ll end up walking around, believing the world is a large vast of nothingness and questioning my existence. And here kicked in the complete numbness of cold and lonely in my heart and soul, as if they had been ripped out. An empty drop in my stomach and the pang of guiltiness fill my body. I don’t want to leave him. I love him and he loves me more then anything in this world. But he will grow tired. So, I sat there questioning myself once more, what are we doing here? and what should I do next?. Because there really only are two options. Stay with him…or leave him.  “Of course I still love you. You can’t just stop loving someone. But I can’t do thing anymore.” I said to him as tears flew down my cheeks.  “Don’t do this to me.” He said while slightly sobbing. “Jack, I just can’t. I’m sorry.” I said. I heard him began to say something but I quickly hung up the phone. “AHRGG” I screamed as I threw my phone across the room. I crashed into the wall behind me and fell down to the floor, sobbing for what feels like the millionth time today. I heard my phone ping once again. I somehow found the strength to crawl over to my cell. It was a text from Jack.  Gilinsky<3: 'Why did you let him fuck you up so bad, emotionally and mentally, that you’ve completely shut down anyone that tries to help you. You don’t talk about your feelings, you push kind people away and you let negative choices take over your world. You refuse to open up and let someone love you. Because that’s all I ever did, Erica. All I ever did was love you. All I ever wanted to do was love you.'  As I read, I felt a queasiness in my stomach. I wanted to throw up. I stood up and ran to my adjoining bathroom. I stared in the mirror and gasped. Because that was not me. I was not looking at the tough, bad ass, care free bitch I had grown to be over the past few years. I was staring at a weak, miserable, vulnerable, injured little bird who couldn’t even fly. My hair was a mess and I had mascara leaking down my face and over the big bags under my eyes. My eyes were glassy, my cheeks rosy. I suddenly had an idea. I reached foreword. I pulled open my mirror to find exactly what I was looking for. I pulled the bottle into my hands and grasped it as hard as I could. I popped the cap and spilled a few pills into my palm. I stared at my hand for a few minutes, considering all the possibilities. It’s not like I had never thought of this. I looked back up into the mirror ready to take one last look at myself. But once again, I saw something else. I saw the jagged scar in my lip. I saw the small scratches on my cheek and arms. My chapped lips. My slowly healing side. My scars. All that I had been through, all that I had fought through. All that effort would be put to waste.  And in one second, I realized what exactly I was doing. In horror, I hurled the pills at the mirror. I backed away, frightened at what I was just about to do. I sank down to the floor, running my hands threw my hair, gasping for air in-between my loud sobs.  *jack pov*  I slammed my fist into the wall and pulled back to find a large dent.  “Fuck.” I murmured to myself.  I looked around my room, as if searching for something. I was so angry. I could still feel the wet tears on my cheeks. I wiped them away onto the sleeves of my old sweatshirt. I turned around to find my car keys. Then I knew exactly what I wanted to do. I grabbed them and ran out the door. I jumped into my car and drove all the way to Sammy’s with my Drake music blasting at the highest level. I got to his house in a few minuted and pounded on the door. He opened the door with a smile in his face, which seemed to disappear when he saw the scowl on my face. Johnson appeared out of no where and had the same reaction.  “Dude, what’s wrong?” Asked Sammy.  I rolled my eyes at him and walked past the boys, into the house. I could practically feel the steam coming out of my ears. I took a deep breath, before I let everything out on Sammy.  “Why’d you have to fucking love her, man?” I yelled as loud as I could.  Him and Johnson exchanged confused look. “Don’t play that bullshit with me! Why did you have to find one of my only sources of happiness and ruin it, huh? Because if you hadn’t loved her, you wouldn’t have been so worried about her that night at the lake. I wouldn’t of had to tell you guys about Charlie, and Johnson wouldn’t of told her you two knew.  And you wouldn’t have fucking raped her, giving her more problems and trust issues then she already had!  SO YOU KNOW WHAT SAMMY? FUCK YOU! SHE WAS MY GIRLFRIEND! WHY DID YOU HAVE TO TAKE THAT AWAY TO?” I screamed the last part as loud as I could then slightly shoved him. The boys just stared at me, and I could feel tears sliding down my face again. I felt my body collapse to the floor, against the stair case.  “What do you mean 'was your girlfriend’?” I heard Johnson say as he sat down in front of me.  “We broke up last night. Because she won’t trust me anymore because  I told you.” The boys just stared at me, not knowing what to say. I realized what they were thinking. This really wasn’t any of Sammy’s fault. It was mine, but I was just trying to blame it on him. Of course I would never admit that now, but it was true. I stood up and wiped my nose on my sleeve.  “I gotta go.” I murmured and ran out the door, slamming it behind me. And that’s when I realized I was just trying to avoid my issues,  I was running from my problems. - fillerrrr i know, sorry i haven’t updated it in a while. I’m entering this contest and I’m making it a fan fic with Jack & Jack & Sammy, so I’ll be posting that as well. hope you’re excited :)

anonymous asked:

As a fellow Beth/bethyl fan, it makes me sad to see posts like yours about "cackling" at people who don't think Beth is (or should be called) Judith's mom. Why can't we just have different opinions and be respectful of that? Maybe you're referring to people who dislike Beth, but as someone who is uncomfortable at giving Beth that title, I feel it is directed at me too. I just want to be able to love the Grimes & Beth without feeling like I have to pick a side. Sigh.

[Sighs right back] You seem to have an issue with the word “cackling” in general, so I just feel that you should know that I use it for /every/ situation. Good. Bad. Uncomfortable. Hilarious. I like the word cackling. [This will be long, by the way].

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

You do know that cis people can't help being cis any more than trans people can't help being trans, right? The constant cis hate on this page is getting to be a bit much. I don't hate anyone, I've never bullied anyone, I'm a nice person. It's not ok to generalize and bash on others simply because some people might have been mean to you. It seems a bit childish. Good grief, can't we all just get along?

Upon receiving this message, I (a trans guy) mentioned to my (cis) boss that hey, we got our first official anonymous comment accusing us of “cis hate!” Started from the bottom now we here, or something, right? Instead of laughing it off or telling me “don’t feed the trolls” like I was expecting, she instead asked that she write the response to this one. Ask and you shall receive: 

Hey Asker, we got your message and it was handed up to me as program manager because it’s kind of a big thing to toss out an accusation of cis hate, and I wanted a chance to air my thinking on this one. So, the whole tenor of your comments kinda rubbed me super wrong in a way that I decided to take a day to breathe and think and decipher what exactly I wanted to say. Here are a few things:

1)    Constant cis hate? On this blog? Dude? Whaaaat the hell? If you’re talking about a specific post prior to our receiving your anonymous comment, the one about pronoun usage in a mythological culture in a fantasy series and how cis people would likely do awesomely in such a lovely made up world of using new pronouns all of the time without weirdness or slip ups or comments? Well, yeah, we totally stand by that. I mean. Fantasy fiction is a place where you can magically unseat cultural hegemony (thanks Marx!), socially constructed and habitually deployed notions of gender and language, and instead, create a world in which people express their identity in words or actions that are wholly respected and received with reverence and a non-negotiable truth and certainty. Period. You are what you say. I am what I say. Full stop. My name is_________ and my pronouns are _______, period.

This is why I like fantasy fiction so much. Dragons hatch from eggs after being sat on in a fiery pit by a really pretty blonde almost-Queen and we get addressed by whateverthefuck pronouns and names we assert as ours. Cool. And everyone does it without fail and without asking questions or diving into analysis that just isn’t theirs to dive into. Because names matter. Pronouns matter. And a fantasy world is a good place to feel affirmed and seen and magically respected by the rest of humanity (or druidom, or whatever).

2)    Trans presence, trans voices, trans-a-palooza will always be a vital element to our work on queer tips. Why? Because trans erasure, and stigma, and bias, and discrimination is so freaking real it hurts our soul and if we, on this fabulous little interweb platform can step up and be vocal about the awesomeness of transness, transgression, non-binary expressions and identities, and people just livin’ how they want/need/are called to live as their authentic genuine self, we are going to blog the hell out of that shit and do it with gusto, commitment and a fierce sense of obligation to create more and more spaces online and in the human world where the BS that trans people of all their glorious permutations are forced to grapple with and confront. So yeah, if our calling out the fact that trans people are routinely discriminated against by cis people, makes you feel like we’re hating on you, personally calling you a bully, not acknowledging that you’re a nice person, or feeling bashed by our truth-telling and reality-naming approach to transphobia, violence and marginalization, I might suggest taking a deep breath and thinking things through. Maybe check out this post again.

Bottom line. Our comments and reblogs and sharing of jokes and cute-ass GIF sets are not a direct comment on your you-ness, but rather, commentary on a routinely fucked up systemic and pervasive approach to trans people and queer people, a system we are all a part of holding up or dismantling in some way. We don’t think that’s childish, we think it’s pretty grown up awesomeness to want to take responsibility for our learning, education, action and work toward a more pluralistic and respectful cultural norm. I say this a cis chick. I know I have work to do and keep doing and doing again. Because oppression of trans people is real. I have to listen and learn more than anything. Certainly more than anonymously commenting about how I’m a nice person in response to a blog that acknowledges a ciscentric and transphobic world.

3) Want to read more than just my slightly snarky thoughts?

Teaching for Diversity and Social Justice edited by Maurianne Adams, Lee Anne Bell, Pat Griffin

Injustice at Every Turn: A Report of the National Transgender Discrimination SurveyThe National Transgender Discrimination Survey is the first large-scale national study of discrimination against transgender and gender non-conforming Americans, and paints a more complete picture than any prior research to date.

Transgender Legal Defense and Education Fund’s Health Care Access Information

Just to add my final two cents, asker: if your hurt feelings over a joke made on the Internet and not aimed at you are so troublesome that you feel the need to accuse us of hatred (hatred of the vast majority of the human race,) you’re free — encouraged, even — to unfollow us. Have a good one.

#5: He gets a girlfriend, but you have a crush on him
  • Harry- He slouches in his chair, pondering about what he should do next. Questions fill up his mind like, "Should I go with Kendall? Or should I be with (Y/n?)" His hands shake as he nervously grabs his phone, and dials a number. "Hello?" "I'm sorry… this wouldn't work out even if we tried our hardest. We're two different types of people and I love someone else. Sorry Kendall." He can already picture the tears rolling down her cheeks. "I love you Harry, please." She cries. "I have to go." He whispers, and hangs up. The winter air stings his face as he runs out, trying to find you, without any luck. He calls a taxi and drives to your house. When he gets there, he knocks on your door, but there's no answer. "(Y/N)!" He yells, banging on it. He turns the knob, and luckily it opens in one swift movement. Muffled sobs take up the hallway as he walks closer to your room. "(Y/n), I'm-" "Just go Harry! I'm not going to be your "side chick" that you use, just to make me feel better and to not get caught with Kendall!" You yell, tears rolling down your face, splashing as they hit the blanket. " I came here to tell you that I need you with me, because I just broke up with Kendall. I love you (Y/n)." He says, sitting across from you on your bed. He reaches out his hand, and you slide yours into his large ones. "You're hand fits in mine, like it's made just for me." He smiles. "I love you Harry so much okay?" "I love you too."
  • Liam- "(y/n)!" He yells running after you, Sophia not far behind him. When he finally catches up to you, he asks Sophia to give you two a minute alone, and she hesitates before walking back into the house. "What do you want Liam? I don't want to be around something that I'll never have." You cry. "I loved you ever since I first laid eyes on you okay?! I love you so much (y/n)! But you're always so consumed in yourself and never open your eyes to actually notice anyone else!" He yells right in your face. He's pissed off, but his face softens as he looks at yours. You've never heard him yell at anyone, especially not at you. "Li-" "Liam!" You could hear Louis' soft voice running toward you. "I hate you so much, you jerk!" You yell back at him. Louis stands between the two of you, in shock because of how you were treating each other. "Leave then! Don't bother coming back!" He starts, but you're already in your car as he gets his last word out. "Liam. I can't believe you would even think of saying such words to anyone." He whispers. "I know. I'm so sorry." He whimpers into Louis' shoulder.
  • Louis- He sits on the edge of his bed, thinking about the conversation that you two had earlier in the day. "What's wrong with me? Why do I always neglect the best people in my life?!" He yells. He was finally understanding how much he loved you and needed you in his life. "I'm sorry El.... I know, I know. I just need her with me. I need her here, by my side. You could never do that for me." He tells her, and hangs up the phone, not even letting her get her last word out. He runs to his car, and drives straight to your house. With a small shaking fist, he knocks onto the only thing that now separates him from you. Right when you open it, he cries out, "I need you." Your tears pour out as he hugs you, and whispers over and over. "I love you, please stop crying."
  • Niall- Weeks had passed since you had visited Niall, and he hasn't called or anything. "Why don't you just go?! Why don't you just leave me alone?" He yells at Barbara. "You're the one who gets mad over tiny things! Simple things like how much money I spend! I make money too you know!" She spits. "Why do you need shoes that cost thousands of dollars? Gosh, you always act like you're a spoiled princess." He screams back. "Maybe because you always told me I was your princess." She cries, slamming the door. He figured that that was the last argument that he would have with her, ending the relationship. He hesitates, then picks up the phone to call you. "(Y/n)?" His voices cracks before he just breaks down, crying into the phone. Within minutes, you arrive at his house, and he vents about the breakup. He sobs into his hands, while you sit next to him, and you kiss his neck. "I love you (Y/n). You'll always be here for me." He says, leans over, and kisses your lips. The rest is history.
  • Zayn- He's torn between the two of you, but he thinks that he made his decision by the time the concert is over. "That was awesome." You smile. "Yeah, (y/n), I have to tell you something." He says, as you walk to his car. "I know everything that I just told backstage, but I love Perrie so much, I don't want to end this relationship." Your smile fades, and he pulls you into his warm embrace, hating his decision. "I knew that you would choose her over me, But I know everyone will do anything for love." You cry into his shoulder. Later that night, as he pulls Perrie closer to him, he realizes maybe he chose the perfect girl.
  • Hey guys, I'm so sorry my gifs weren't working so I'll try to post it with them again but hope you enjoy : )