i want to stop the debate too

ask-changeling-eight  asked:

Your movement of anti fascism will fail. Do you know why? Because fascism doesn't exist. We killed it after world war 2. Honestly if you did even a little research into fascist Italy Japan or Germany you'd see you're just like them. Black uniforms, masks with skulls, attacking people to instill total fear into the hearts of people who don't agree with you. Fighting fascism with fascism doesn't make you the good guys, it makes you a slightly different version of fascist.

Sigh.  The sad thing is that we get messages just like this from clear, well-informed experts on fascism like ask-changeling-eight all the time.  

Because fascism doesn’t exist. We killed it after world war 2

Oh, that’ll be a huge surprise to Francoist Spain or the Estado Novo regime in Portugal or the people suffering under the fascists of Daesh/ISIS/ISIL or the 200+ fascist cults, political parties, and terrorist groups that have existed since WW2.  You should tell them.

you’d see you’re just like them. Black uniforms, masks with skulls,

Of course, because fascism (which we’ll remind you no longer exists according to yourself) is defined by the clothes people wear.  That’s in the dictionary-definition of fascism, right?

fas·cismˈfaSHˌizəm/nounan authoritarian and nationalistic right-wing system of government and social organization.synonyms:authoritarianism, totalitarianism, dictatorship, despotism, autocracy; More (in general use) extreme right-wing, authoritarian, or intolerant views or practice.

fascism [fash-iz-uh m] noun1.(sometimes initial capital letter) a governmental system led by a dictator having complete power, forcibly suppressing opposition and criticism, regimenting all industry, commerce, etc., and emphasizing an aggressive nationalism and often racism.2.(sometimes initial capital letter) the philosophy, principles, or methods of fascism.3.(initial capital letter) a political movement that employs the principles and methods of fascism, especially the one established by Mussolini in Italy 1922–43.

fascism noun  fas·cism \ˈfa-ˌshi-zəm also ˈfa-ˌsi-\

1often capitalized :  a political philosophy, movement, or regime (such as that of the Fascisti) that exalts nation and often race above the individual and that stands for a centralized autocratic government headed by a dictatorial leader, severe economic and social regimentation, and forcible suppression of opposition2:  a tendency toward or actual exercise of strong autocratic or dictatorial control early instances of army fascism and brutality — J. W. Aldridge

attacking people to instill total fear into the hearts of people who don’t agree with you.

Right.  Because advocating for apartheid and genocide = just another, perfectly normal opinion that we may not agree with and should just have a polite debate about over tea.  

Or maybe fascism (which, of course, you’ve informed us doesn’t exist), isn’t even a valid opinion but instead is a historically & scientifically-discredited belief that is common to the beginning of every genocide in human history.  

Fighting fascism with fascism doesn’t make you the good guys, it makes you a slightly different version of fascist.

Now where have we heard this liberal false equivalency bullshit before?  

hooligan-nova “Fighting fascists makes you a fascist” makes no sense. The defining feature of fascism is not violence.

If I fight a mugger I’m not a mugger. If I fight a bear it doesn’t make me a bear.
Fascism is about control and antifascism is about refusal of that control. 

Let’s leave the last word for Holocaust survivor Frank Frison, shall we?

“If fascism could be defeated in debate, I assure you that it would never have happened, neither in Germany, nor in Italy, nor anywhere else. Those who recognised its threat at the time and tried to stop it were, I assume, also called “a mob”. Regrettably too many “fair-minded” people didn’t either try, or want to stop it, and, as I witnessed myself during the war, accommodated themselves when it took over … People who witnessed fascism at its height are dying out, but the ideology is still here, and its apologists are working hard at a comeback. Past experience should teach us that fascism must be stopped before it takes hold again of too many minds, and becomes useful once again to some powerful interests.”   

ask-changeling-eight, if you’d like to actually learn about what fascism is and how it developed so you don’t look like such an ill-informed jackass the next time you decide to opine on the topic, we’d recommend having an adult read & explain this book to you.

pandasubaru  asked:

AU Ideas: 4 (with Artist Steve?? that'd be amazing) or 13 or 15

  • 15: My friend made me a grindr/tinder profile without me knowing and you liked my profile and then sent me a message which just said ‘Bees?’ and I’m a little confused but intrigued.

— —

Steve’s phone buzzes.

“If this is another Grindr notification, I swear to God—“ Steve starts.

“That you’ll answer it and go get laid?” Sam says. Natasha snickers.

“That I’ll kick your ass,” Steve says.

Sam raises an eyebrow. “Will you?” he asks.

“Yes, I will!” Steve says.

“He’s very scrappy,” Natasha says. “He once managed to scratch me.”

“Check your messages,” Sam says.

Steve sighs, rolls his eyes, and pulls out his phone. He reads the notification from wintersoldat3255. It says, Bees? and nothing else.

He holds the phone up to Sam. “See?” he says. “See the weirdos who message me because you made this profile?”

Sam takes the phone from Steve, reads the message, and snorts. “Okay, well, maybe they’re not all winners. Let’s see what he…” he trails off, eyes going wide. “Shit, those are some pectorals.”

“Oh, pass it here,” Natasha says, taking the phone. Even Natasha — who is rarely impressed — raises her eyebrows. “Maybe you should see what this guy has to say,” she says, passing the phone back to Steve after a long moment.

“I’ve seen what he has to say, and what he has to say is ‘bees’, apparently.”

“It was a question,” Sam says. “You should change your intonation.”

Steve exhales. “Bees?” he asks, exaggerating the raised end of the question. “That better?”

“Very,” Sam says. “Now let’s look at your other prospects.”

Steve gets up to get another round of drinks.

— —

He doesn’t know why he goes back to Grindr that night, after he’s back home and has had a few drinks. It’s not that he wants to get laid — honestly, he doesn’t want to get out of bed — but he’s sort of curious about who saw his photos and thought ‘yeah, I’d hit that’.

He scrolls through a few generic messages, then sees the one from wintersoldat3255.


What the fuck.

So he types out, what the fuck? and sends it back to the guy.

He doesn’t expect an answer — the guy messaged him hours ago — but it only takes a minute or so before he gets a response:

You say save the bees in your profile, which is noble and everything, but I know for a FACT that you’re allergic to bees.

First of all, Steve is a little heartened knowing that Sam knows him well enough to include the fact that the bees need to be put on the endangered species list and should be protected on his dating profile. But then he realizes that this guy… somehow knows that Steve is allergic to bees, which is creepy as hell.

No I’m not, Steve lies, calling the guy’s bluff.

No, you are. I’m the one who shoved an Epipen in your thigh after you got stung during Gilmore Hodge’s birthday party and his mom was too freaked out to do anything about it.

Steve stares at the message, then shakes his head. It can’t be right! The person who stuck the Epipen in his thigh during Gilmore Hodge’s birthday party was Bucky Barnes, and this guy can’t be Bucky Barnes.

Can he?

Steve quickly clicks over to his profile. He scrolls through the pictures, but there aren’t any of his face, just abs and pecs, which makes Steve roll his eyes a little. When he goes back to his messages he has another from wintersoldat3255:

Yeah Steve, it’s me.

Steve’s eyes go wide.

Bucky? he asks.

Long time no see.

Can’t actually see your face, so I don’t really know it’s you.

A photo appears. It’s of Bucky Barnes, mugging for the camera with a toothy grin.

You wanna catch up? Bucky writes.

Sure. Where are you? Steve asks, heart beating fast.

It’s Grindr. The whole point is that you can see.

Steve rolls his eyes, they make plans to meet-up at a local 24-hour diner in a half hour, and Steve saves the photo that Bucky sent him, just in case.

— —

Bucky is already sitting in a booth when Steve walks in. He perks up, grins, and waves. “Steve!” he calls.

Steve straightens up a little, takes a breath. He shouldn’t be so nervous; it’s not like there’s anything riding on this. He’s just seeing his childhood best friend for the first time in over ten years. No big deal.

Doesn’t help that Bucky was Steve’s first crush, but no big deal, either.

He walks over, and Bucky’s just grinning at him, like he’s the best thing he’s seen in years. “Hey Buck,” Steve says.

“Steve,” Bucky says, kind of breathy. “Wow, you look fantastic.”

Steve shrugs. “I look like me,” he says. “Don’t have abs like you do, apparently.”

Bucky laughs, ducks his head. “I’ll be honest — my friends made that profile for me. I thought Peter was taking pictures for his art class of me at the gym.”

“Why didn’t he include his face?” Steve asks. “It’s not like your face is a bad one.”

Bucky laughs. “Thanks for that, I think.” He pauses, starts playing with the edge of the plastic menu on the table in front of him. “And it’s because I’m out but I’m not out out.”

“Okay?” Steve says, a little confused.

“Anyhow, what have you been up to? How’s life? Do you still like pancakes? Because this place has the best pancakes.”

— —

It’s weird how easy it is, reconnecting with Bucky. Steve never spent much effort trying to find him after they lost touch. He just assumed that Bucky thought he was too cool for him when they got to high school, and it was almost a relief when he moved away during the summer before their junior year, just so Steve wouldn’t have to be reminded of the best friend he lost.

He wants to ask Bucky about it, but he doesn’t have to. Bucky just opens up during their second round of milkshakes.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“For what?” Steve asks.

“For when I stopped talking to you during high school. I know that it must’ve made you feel like shit.”

Steve fidgets. He doesn’t want to answer that.

“You know my parents were in a bad place.”

“They got divorced, right?” he asks.

Bucky nods. “But the last two years were… really bad.” He pauses, clears his throat. “I wasn’t hanging out with a great crowd. And I think I justified not talking to you because I didn’t want you to get involved with that crowd. But I more just think that I didn’t want you talking me out of the bad shit I was doing.”

Steve remembers the way that Bucky walked down the halls with his friends, rolling his eyes at Steve when he tried to talk to him. Of course, Steve tried to talk to him, tried having a showdown of some kind, but Bucky would just… walk away. He never bothered listening.

It hurt.

“And then my parents got divorced and my mom and I moved in with my Uncle Pierce, and…” He trails off.

“That’s the uncle who I met that one time, right? Who said I should be sent to a pray away the gay camp?”

“We had no money,” Bucky says.

“How was it?”

“I joined the Army as soon as I could,” Bucky says with a weak smile.

“Shit,” Steve says.

He shrugs. “I’m out now, and I’m doing pretty well for myself. Got my issues, but everyone else does.” Steve nods. “And besides, I’m free to do whatever I want now, so.”

“So you’re spending your time on Grindr?” Steve asks.

“You are, too!” Bucky says.

“My friends made me a profile!”

“No, Steve, you can’t take that excuse. I already used it.” He’s laughing, and Steve kicks him underneath the table.

“It’s true!”

“Yeah, yeah, Steve Rogers.” He stops laughing, just smiles. “Steve Rogers,” he repeats, quieter.

“That’s my name,” he says. The ‘don’t wear it out’ is implied.

He glances down at his shake, and stirs it with his straw. “I wanted to find you again for a while,” he admits, still looking down. “I debated about sending you a message for about an hour before I did.”

“I’m glad you did,” Steve says. “I’ve wondered a lot about what happened to you.”

“Do you think…” Bucky starts, looking up. He clears his throat. “Do you think that we could meet again sometime? I just… I feel like this is a second chance, and I don’t wanna mess it up.”

“I’d like to see you again,” Steve says, stomach tingling, and not from the milkshake.

“Cool,” Bucky says, and Steve feels his foot shift against his. He doesn’t move it away.

Steve doesn’t mind, just presses his own foot closer to Bucky’s, and looks forward to their future together.

Mirror For The Sun - Part 8: Change of Plans

Masterlist  -  Series Masterlist  -  Part 7 - Part 9

Summary: (Bucky POV) Nat tricks you into leading a road trip with Bucky, Sam and Steve. Her plot is partly to get the boys to travel for fun for once but mostly to get you and Bucky together. You and Bucky, who seemingly despise each other.

Warnings: swearing

Word Count: 3171

Author’s Note: Gah sorry this took so long. I’m already starting on prt 9, so hopefully it won’t be as long for the next one.

Originally posted by gliceria

This morning is a battle. It’s a battle to focus on really anything but Y/N. I’m just not sure what to make of any of this. I have no idea what she’s thinking while she flits around the campsite packing up the sleeping bags and tent while Sam works on breakfast. She doesn’t seem any warmer to me than she is to Sam, playfully dodging his reach when she steals a piece of bacon, or than when she grabs Steve’s arm to get an extra lift to push the tent bag on top of the car. I can’t figure out if this morning was just a weird thing in an emotional moment or if it was something more.

It’s also a battle over the next stop. She’s sitting stubbornly on the picnic table holding her atlas while Sam begs her to get in the car. Steve is rolling his eyes and I’m barely holding back my laughter.

“Come on! You’re being such a princess!” Sam scoffs, “Get in the car.”

“No! Vegas is not part of the plan!” She shouts back defiantly.

Keep reading

hurricanesunny  asked:

#15 w/ boyfs because i'm predictable garbage

[The way you said “I love you.“ + 15. Loud, so everyone can hear] 

Michael breathes in, hoping that more air in his lungs will give him a sudden, magical boost of confidence that’ll get rid of the nervousness currently flowing through his veins. When it doesn’t, because that’s life, he gives the steering wheel one last squeeze before he fetches the goddamn heavy boombox from the passenger seat. 

He gets out of the car and stands outside of the Heere household. No backing out, Michael. It’s time to get your fucking cheese on, Michael. Fortune favors the brave. Or the stupid. But this is for Jeremy, so he’s fine with being either.

Before his brain can convince him to back out for the nth time, Michael texts Jeremy, sealing his fate tonight completely. Now or never.  Cheese. It. Up.

to heerefarwhereveryouare

hey i heard u liked carly rae
look out ur window

from heerefarwhereveryouare

Why omg? 

Is the Queen Of Pop herself in the driveway?

He pockets his phone, ignoring the incoming buzzes from Jeremy’s messages because he’ll understand soon enough. Michael jams the volume of the boombox to the loudest it can go, and presses play right as Jeremy’s head pops out his bedroom window. Emboldened, he lifts the boombox above his head while The Queen of Pop blasts out. Worlds fly by. Drove by your place and stopped again tonight–

“Michael,” Jeremy says, mouth hanging open. “What are you doing?

“Come down and find out!” Michael yells, deciding to yell some more to quell the drumbeat in his chest. “And I can’t lie. I like the feeling, how you make me shy. I share my secrets and I will not hide–” and he can’t see Jeremy at his window anymore. He really hopes that means he’s going down the stairs and not dying from mortification because Michael is the world’s worst boyfriend.

Thankfully, that thought only lasts for a few seconds and a couple more lyrics because Jeremy is out his front door. He’s clad in pajama pants and one of Michael’s sweatshirts, his hair a mess and his face slightly flushed. Michael thinks he looks beautiful but he lacks the eloquence or composure to communicate this. Instead, he just sings in probably the most terrified tone, “GIMME LOVE.”

“Oh my god, what is happening?” Jeremy says, a hand on his face, but he’s smiling. That’s probably a good sign. “That’s a boombox, holy shit. You have Carly Rae on cassette?”

“I made it happen for you, dude,” Michael tells him. “Only the best tunes for your promposal.”

“My what?

And fuck. Whoops. There goes the cool intro he had planned, he thinks as he frantically thinks of what he can do to salvage the situation.

Cause I want what I want, do you think that I want too much?–

“Do you wanna fuckin’ go to prom with me?” Michael blurts, immediately wanting to smack himself in the face. The only thing stopping him is the boombox that would crash over his head if he did. He’d end up with a concussion. “Fuck–It’s just. I remembered when you told me forever ago that you secretly liked cheesy shit like boombox proposals and I figured I could totally make that happen. But, wow, this is going pretty awful so far because I had a speech. I asked Jake to help me write index cards. I told him it was for debate, but it’s just me talking about you.” Okay, a concussion actually doesn’t sound too bad right now. “They’re in my pocket. The index cards, I mean. But I can’t get to them because of the boombox, and yeah, I had a plan. Which isn’t happening anymore. So, uh. Do you want to go to prom with me!

It’s the way we are together. Wanna feel like this forever–

“Why are you yelling?” Jeremy asks. His hand is still on his face, but Michael can see the goofy smile behind it, thank god.

“Because I’m nervous?” Michael laughs, because this is all ridiculous, really. His heart is beating fast and loud and his hands are clammy and he’s got a beautiful boy right here, smiling at him. “Because I’m standing in your yard and holding this thing is starting to hurt my arms. Because you’re my boyfriend and I’m asking you out to prom and you technically haven’t given me an answer, which! Is totally cool! Don’t feel any pressure to answer right now. Or ever, if you want. I’m–”

“Michael,” Jeremy interrupts him. He lowers his hands, and god, he’s something. Jeremy is blushing real bad to the tips of his ears and Michael realizes that Jeremy hasn’t stopped smiling this entire time.

“Yeah?” Michael says dumbly. Really, if anybody expects him to be coherent in the face of this, they don’t know what they’re dealing with. Surviving Jeremy Heere is an endless struggle.

Jeremy takes a deep breath. Then another. Then he shuts his eyes and he says,

No. No, he yells.

I love you!” And the thing with Jeremy is that he’s pretty goddamn loud, when he wants to be. If the dulcet tones of Carly Rae Jepsen didn’t stir the neighbors, this definitely did.

Michael doesn’t know what to do with himself. A part of him wants to cry and kiss Jeremy and another part wants to ask why the fuck are we like this? But really, he’d never want to have it any other way.

“Why are you yelling?” Michael asks, overcome with love.

“It seemed like the right thing to do?” Jeremy shrugs. 

Belatedly, Michael realizes that most of their I love yous were quiet affairs. At six years old, whispered happily in a pillow fort. At twelve, muttered while Michael helped Jeremy up from scraping his knees. Sixteen and the words spilling out to an empty passenger seat as he watches Jeremy walk away. Seventeen, breathless in between kisses. (I love you, I love you, I love you.) 

There’s something exhilarating about being loud. About people hearing. Knowing.

I love you too!” Michael yells over Jeremy’s bark of laughter. “But uh, is that a yes or a no or an ‘I’ll think about it’ or–”

“Put down the boombox, Michael, holy shit, of course it’s a yes.”

“Oh thank fuck,” Michael says in reply to both the things Jeremy just told him. He’s about to thank him because his arms were really starting to hurt, but he doesn’t get to talk at all because Jeremy grabs his face and kisses him. 

He stops thinking about anything else after that. He just lets his hands fall to Jeremy’s waist and kisses back, trying to say I love you without saying anything at all. 

Cause I want what I want, boy you, it’s what I need. Gimmie love, gimmie love, gimmie love, gimmie love–

(They’re interrupted a few seconds later when an honest to god airhorn sounds from Jeremy’s house.

“Ugh, dad,” Jeremy sighs against Michael’s neck.

“I actually have Marry Your Daughter on cassette too.”

“If you play that anywhere near my dad, I’m breaking up with you.”

“Awww, come on.”)

I shared my toddler's hospital bill on Twitter. First came supporters — then death threats.

At first, the comments were almost entirely supportive. With the exception of the guy who thought that Ethan should have been more personally responsible (in utero, I guess, although I’ve never been sure how best to explain that concept to an 8-week-old fetus), the vast majority of people were either in shock at just how high the lines on the bill had added up or else they were staunchly on our side. People were ready to fight for a kid they’d never met, and they were sharing their stories with me in the hopes that I’d fight for their children too.

But as more and more people saw the original tweet, the tide seemed to shift. I was still seeing lots of people on our side, but as articles were churned out and shared, it was clear that people weren’t reading much past the headlines. They came at me swinging, picking fights I’d never asked for. They called me ungrateful, a thief, a lazy mooch, an attention whore.

The attacks became increasingly personal and increasingly violent. Strangers were telling me it would have been cheaper to make a new kid, as if anyone in the history of the world could ever replace this bright light of mine, the boy who loves animals and can’t keep himself from kissing babies and always wants to sleep with one arm wrapped around my neck.

I was offered a .22 bullet, although I’m still not sure whom he meant it for, me or my child. One man took me up on the challenge I’d posed in the thread and declared that my son just wasn’t worth keeping alive anymore. There was even a percentage of the comments dedicated to the belief that I was a foreigner or, worse, a terrorist, which is when I started asking news outlets to use my full name: Alison, not Ali, since people seemed unable to believe that I was, in fact, a white chick from New Jersey…

At first I tried to keep up with the flood and even attempted to reason with some of the haters, but I realized quickly that it was useless, and not just because of the sheer number of comments. It was because no one was listening. No one seemed willing to stop shouting long enough to realize that there was a real person on the other side of the screen, a mother who’s seen her baby go through hell and come out the other side four times now and who just wants him to have a shot at going to kindergarten too.

It was eye-opening to see just how low our discourse has sunk, to be forced to acknowledge that what passes for debate in the age of the internet is often nothing more than spewing venom at the other side. How are we ever supposed to find a solution that’s better than either Trumpcare or Obamacare if we can’t even shut up long enough to recognize the humanity in the people on the other side of the debate?

This is why I fucking hate Twitter, and social media more generally

What I want to do: tell people I’m asexual so it’s out of the way and they can stop assuming I’m allosexual

What I don’t want to do: give a 5 minute explanation of what asexuality is followed by a 10 minute debate on whether or not it’s actually a real thing followed by yet another another 10 minutes of uncomfortable questions as they continue to try and disprove my sexuality to me 

Let Us Go (Mino x Reader)

Requested by anon. I’ll talk about some changes about the requests in a bit. Enjoy!

Originally posted by ikonis

Being with Minho was very complicated. You loved that man and he loved you, but sometimes love is not enough, there was a lot of toxic in the relationship, having to secretly date but dealing with each other every day like you were strangers, seeing him with other women in m/v’s and you had to dress them up in their very revealing clothes or straight up underwear, touching up on your man, it drove you to the stage of insanity.

He had to ignore you, he had to act like your relationship did not go past professional, but he also had to stand the idea of dressing up other idols. Epsecially the legendary G dragon, who had stated that you were his favorite stylist, just the idea of you seeing other men in just underwear was enough to get his blood boiling.

That caused fights, yelling and throwing things, slamming doors, saying things you would never say, tear stained cheeks and soft sobs that could be heard even with the door locked. It was not healthy, not for you nor him. Someone had to stop this, he was not strong enough and you knew it, he was too emotionaly attached to you, every time you had a fight he would sneakily come to the room and cling on to your body, wrapping his arms and legs around you, afraid that you will leave him


“What is all this?”

He asked when he walked in on you packing the stuff you had left in his house and leaving the stuff he had left at yours. Hurt and confusion written all over his face. Your body and mind was numb, you didn’t feel anything, it was the stage that Minho feared, he knew that if he stopped getting a reaction from you, there was no way of changing it.

“I love you and you love me, but this is real life. I hope we can be professional at YG”

You tired to walk away but she stopped you, wrapping his arms around your waist, making the air leave your body. A tight grip like the ones at night, his nightmare came to life. You are leaving.

“Please (y/n) i’m not a beggar, but i’ll beg for you”

“Let me go Minho, let us go”


You were used to this. You were back to acting like strangers, but now you were hiding misery instead of love and jealousy, the professional relationship became strictly cold and on arms length. You could not leave your job, he certainly couldn’t leave either.

The pain became stronger when he saw you moving on. Jiyong found you single, he finally had the chance to flirt with you, it was like a stake went through his heart when he saw you walking with him through the halls and whispering about how the restuarant you went was great. He stopped dead in his tracks and looked at you guys backs, feeling his mind burning and his heart aching.

“Are you okay?”

His friend Bobby asked him. Bobby knew about you two, he could understand why you walked out of that relationship, but he could also acknowledge how much pain that caused. He had good relationships with him, but whenever he tried to bring it up to you, you would raise a thick brick wall and shut it out.

“Do you want an answer?”

He sarcastically answered. A bitter smile played on his lips, the lips that missed yours so much, or just a simple touch from your soft fingertips.

“Come on, the others are waiting for us”


He couldn’t sleep at night. The bed felt too cold, he missed how you would lay on your back, waiting for your face cream to dry, how your hair would tickle his face at night, how you had a problem breathing so you would sleep with your mouth slightly open, how you would put a ton of blankets just so you can sleep with a shirt and underwear cause you hated pijama pants.

Then he wondered. Was Jiyong getting to know those habits? Did he started to figure out your night routine, maybe now you slept with your hair down, maybe now you would wait for your cream to dry before you laid in bed with him. Sleepless nights became his new habit now.


One day he cracked. He couldn’t stand your bright smile, You had to dress up his group and you were a tad bit too happy.

“Give me a minute”

He said and left the room, banging on the door. The guys didn’t know about you, it was your choice, so they thought it was just nerves from Taehyun leaving.

“(y/n) go talk to him, he always seem to listen to you”

Jinwoo said. Honestly you were curious about his blow up too, so you just nodded and walked out. He was just sitting at the end of the hall, his eyes closed and breathing through his mouth. You debated on if you should approach him or not. You took a step but stopped “Did he want to see you?” You thought.

“You can come, I want hurt you anymore”

He said. He heard the door opening and closing, he heard your hesitant heel clicking on the well polished floor. He felt a bit happy that you came out to see if he was okay, it meant that you cared.

“Are you alright?”

“Do you want me to be honest?”


“Then no i’m not. I haven’t been fine since you left”

“We were both unhappy before I left”

You defended yourself. He had held back his anger all this time, playing his character and keeping his composure like a well oiled machine. But hearing you saying that… it broke him.

“Who told you I wasn’t happy? You did that on your own”

“It was more of a fight club than a loving relationship”


His voices was loud and booming, going throught the empty halls. You tried to keep your cool, if you both started yelling you would cause trouble, it could also cost you your Job.

“You just wanted the place clear for Jiyong”

That was it. You hand acted for you and slapped him hard, he looked back at you surprised. Instead of a poker face there was now an angry face, with tears filling up the eyes that he was never getting bored at staring.

“I loved you more than I loved myself. I stood by your side when no one was there, ME! the girl you are accusing did that. How dare you say that to me? You think you are the only one hurting? That only proves how selfish you are”

You were whisper yelling. You tried so hard to keep the tears in your eyes, but once you let all this out, one managed to slip out. You wiped it off as you turned your face on the other side, sniffing your nose.

“I miss you little wolf “

Your nickname. That silly nickname he gave you when you went to the zoo and he had to drag you away from the cage of wolfs. You were so fascinated by them, it was like you were in the pack. After that you got a tattoo of a wolf on your right thigh.

"I miss you too”

“Then why do you insist that we were not meant to be? I know you turned Jiyong down, you tried but you couldn’t. That’s what you said to him right?”

You nodded. Looking at the ground, you felt to arms pulling you, the second after your face met his shirt, as his palm and long fingers went to your hair.

“I love you”

“I love you too”

Have you ever had a long travel and you get that warm and comfortable feeling as soon as you step on your house? It’s the same feeling you felt when you relaxed in his hug. You let a long breath, kind of like that breath you leave after you unbutton your jeans, that relief of free space.

“Will you come back home?”

“Baby steps, let’s just take baby steps for now”

“What the queen wants, the queen gets" 

I noticed recently that the ace discourse has turned more and more aggressive recently, even going so far as both inclusionists and exclusionists sending death threats towards one another.

So please, just remember that whether you are an inclusionist or an exclusionist, this is not war, this is not bloodshed. It’s an argument on a website about whether ace/aros belong in the community. And under no circumstances does this warrant telling someone to die or suffer.

By all means have a structured and coherent debate if you want to. But death threats and aggressive and violent behaviour is just too much, so please, stop.

Kara and Maggie take Alex Home

It’s adorable that they thought they’d be able to keep her in the DEO overnight for observation.

“I was just in a cage for thirty-six hours, and you want to confine me somewhere else?” she asks, and J'onn lets the medics get good and terrified for a few moments for his own amusement – because after this hell, god, he needs some amusement – before clearing his throat and stepping forward and telling them, with as much seriousness as he can muster, that the medics should give the younger Ms. Danvers and Detective Sawyer a full briefing on Agent Danvers’s immediate medical needs before sending her home.

Because if even Maggie couldn’t keep her in bed, heaven help anyone who tries to keep her there overnight.

Especially not for observation.

Maggie drives and Kara lays Alex down in the backseat, her head on her lap.

Maggie looks back at them through the rearview mirror every few seconds.

Partially because it’s a beautiful image, and she wishes she weren’t driving so she could snap a photo.

But mostly, she keeps looking to make sure Alex is still there. Still breathing. Still safe.

They don’t discuss it – they don’t have to – Maggie just drives straight to Alex’s apartment.

Alex shudders as they walk into the front doors, and she nearly vomits when they walk into the elevator, though she tries to hide it.

But she’s with the women who know her best in the world.

So naturally, she’s unsuccessful.

They don’t comment other than to soothe her as she shivers her way up, up, up, until she scrambles off the elevator as quickly as she can.

Maggie doesn’t ask. She doesn’t have to.

She goes into Alex’s apartment first, with Kara holding Alex up at the threshold, and she checks every corner, every crevice, every window, every space.

“Clear,” she says, but soft, soothing, not like she would shout it to other officers on an active scene.

Alex nods and steps forward.

“Of course it is. I’m sorry, I’m being ridiculous.”

“No, Alex, you’re not.”

“No you’re not, babe!”

Alex’s eyes widen, and she looks between her sister and her girlfriend nervously.

But they’re smiling at each other like they’ve been best friends for years, and Alex furrows her brow.

“So a lot happened while I was away, huh?” she asks, looking between them happily, happily, because she’s never seen them get on this well, and it’s that, more than anything, that’s going to heal her.

“Turns out, Kid Danvers and I make a pretty good team.”

“Kid Danvers?” Kara grimaces, but her shining eyes give her away.

“I mean, you said on that other Earth that have Kid Flash, right?”

Kara sets Alex down on the couch and smiles, gesturing at Maggie to sit on Alex’s other side.

They surround her and wrap her with blankets and loving arms.

“So, tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“How my favorite women rescued me.”

Kara and Maggie exchange a glance, and Maggie begins with a tentative voice.

“Well, I might have borrowed your gun at one point…”

They take turns telling Alex of their fights, of their discoveries. Of their breathroughs and of their nightmares.

Maggie jumps in and glosses over the part where Kara caused the water to flood the cage.

She knows Kara’s already told her, already sobbed, already apologized, already begged forgiveness that it never occurred to Alex that she needed to give, but Kara doesn’t need to relive it.

Alex catches it, and Kara catches it, and they’re both grateful for her tact.

“You’re amazing at all this, Maggie,” Kara tells her when they end with finding her, finally, finally, finally.

Maggie shrugs. “Just doing my job.”

“No, but Maggie, Kara’s right. With that hostage thing before I was taken, I mean babe, seventeen entire hours of talking that guy down? That’s incredible. You kept all those people alive for seventeen hours.”

“And then I caused a lot of property damage,” Kara adds sheepishly, but instead of agreeing sternly, Maggie waves her off.

“And figuring out how to talk to Rick, that thing with the security cameras – ”

“It would have worked with a flash grenade, too.”

“Oh my god, Maggie.”

“I’m just saying, Danvers.”

“No, but really, Maggie,” Kara interrupts, because she knows if they restart their debate about why the hell Maggie wants a flash grenade to begin with, they’ll never, ever stop.

“Can you…” She turns bashful again, and Maggie tilts her head curiously.

“What, Kara?”

“Can you… teach me? How to be more… like you? I mean, how to read people like that. How to talk to them. How to… control your anger?”

“Yeah, you have a lot of that, huh Little Danvers?”

Kara hangs her head like she’s embarrassed, ashamed, but Maggie is on her knees in front of her almost instantly.

“Hey, Kara. No, don’t do that, I didn’t mean it like that. Hey, look at me. Kara, he was torturing your sister. He would have killed her. He was taunting you. He was… he was… I can’t describe to you the things I wanted to do to him.”

Alex stares, and Kara stares, and they both know that maybe, just maybe, the three of them are so tightly bonded – even through their strong differences – because the three of them have the same kind of rage at their core.

“But how did you… control it?”

Maggie sighs and bites her lip and stares at something in the distance that isn’t really there.

“Kara, if I didn’t control my anger, I’d be…”

“Angry all the time.” She says it in a soft voice, and Alex takes her sister’s hand, because her too, her too, her too.

“Yeah. I’d be behind bars, not… I just have to keep focused on what’s ahead, not what’s inside, if that makes sense.” She grins slyly and shifts her gaze to Alex. “Yoga helps. That kind of mental discipline. And physical discipline. So does a punching bag. James says you hang up cars sometimes.”

Kara nods and Alex kisses her temple.

“Remember what Cat told you, too,” Alex reminds her softly. “About using it. Your anger.”

“Last time I did that I solar flared.”

“But was she wrong?”

“Ms. Grant is rarely wrong.”

“I’m sure she’d be very pleased to hear you say that.”

Kara grins faintly.

“You look a little woozy, Alex.”

“Well, that’s because I am,” Alex sways slightly in her seat, and Maggie stands at the same time as Kara leans, both of them bracing Alex between them, standing her up and maneuvering her to her bed.

“Stay? Both of you? Please?” she asks, her voice groggy, finally giving out, giving in, now that she’s safe, safe, safe.

“Always, Danvers.”

“Always, Alex,” they say simultaneously, and they grin at their newfound simultaneity, and Alex grins even harder, even as she’s falling fast asleep, because her sister loves her. Her girlfriend loves her. And they’re both here, and they’re both safe, and they love her, they love her, they love her.

And god, does she love them.

The Joker x Reader - “See No Evil”

The Joker stole 10 glass vials containing an experimental new substance from The Wayne Industry Laboratories. J was moving the ampules into a new case when one was accidentally dropped and now he can’t see. The doctor said it’s a temporary side effect and it shouldn’t last more than a couple of weeks. You are so taking advantage of the situation even if you’ll pay for it later.

You steal a lot of kisses.

The Joker gets out of the shower with his eyes closed, leaning over to reach the towel.

“Muah,” you peck his lips and back out before he snatches you.

“Stop it, Kitten! It’s really annoying when I can’t see and you just…”

“Muah,” you kiss him again, not intimidated by his complaints.

“Are you serious?! Cut it out!” J steps out dripping wet and you yank the towel from his hand. “Give it back, Y/N! I’m getting mad and I…”

“Muah!” you make him shut up, kissing those soft lips again.

“This is outrageous! I’m the Joker and you just can’t…”


“Dammit, woman, this is stupid!” he takes a few hesitant steps, careful not to bump into anything. He hears you snickering and he knows you’re close. “Give me back my towel or I’ll shoot you, I swear!” J protests, irked.

“Good luck with that; I stashed everything away, you’ll never find your weapons. Hehehehe!” you giggle when he almost touches you but… you elude him.

“Come here, Kitten. NOW! I mean it! If you don’t…”

“Muah!” you steal another kiss and this time you give up, letting him catch you because you feel sorry for him: for once The King of Gotham is pretty helpless.

You start drying his hair with the towel, while he purrs, irritated at your behavior and enjoying being spoiled in the same time. You’re getting groped and pinched as revenge for the repeated offenses against The Clown Prince of Crime. Can’t whine about it since you are the first to admit you deserve it.

“There, done,” you conclude, guiding him towards the bedroom so he can put some clothes on. “What do you wanna wear today?” you ask, leaving him by the bed so you can grab the clothes from the closet.

“My Armani silver suit,” J replies, messing around with his green hair. “You’d better not trick me, I’ll know!” he threatens and you don’t care.

“Sure, whatever you say,” you snort and hear him huff.

“I would! So that better be what I asked for,” he points his finger towards you but he has the wrong direction…Poor Mister J.

“To your left baby,” you give him a hint and now he points in the right direction. The Joker opens his eyes, trying to focus his gaze on something but there is only darkness so he gives up and closes his eyes again.

“Pumpkin, hurry up,” he growls, impatient. A few days passed and he’s till blind as a bat. Yes, this is a pun but can’t share with him; probably would not appreciate it too much for the moment being.

You actually pick the dark purple Armani suit to give to him because you like it better than the silver one. Same fabric and cut, he won’t know it’s a different color.

“J, can you please open your eyes?” you plead.

“I can’t see so there’s no point,” he grouchily mumbles.

“But I like your blue eyes and I wanna see them. Comeeee onnnn, make me happy.”

The Joker mutters something you can’t understand and does as requested.

“There you are!” you cheerfully smile and go towards the balcony so you can get the blanket from the sofa.

“I’ll have you know, Doll…” J clearly has a speech in mind he wants to clear out. Yet…

“Baby, I’m over here, you’re looking in the wrong direction.”

“Huh?” he puffs, antagonized with the interruption.

“To your right…More…More…There, now you’re facing me.”

You don’t know how come he has no sense of orientation. Can’t he hear your voice?!

“I’ll have you know, Doll…What the hell was I talking about?” he stops and debates.

“I have no idea, but I’m taking you to out spot on the hill so we can enjoy the nice weather.”

“I’m not going, I have stuff to do and…”

“Muah!” you kiss him again to shut him up.
“Dammit, cut it out!” and he doesn’t fight it too much as you haul him away. “I remembered what I wanted to tell you: quit bugging me with dumb things and don’t take advantage of my temporary lack of vision!”
“Of course, baby,” you are fast to agree.

I’m the Joker and…”

“Muah, yes, I know,” you smirk, tired on how stubborn and feisty he is.

“Stop kissing me every 5 seconds for God’s sake!” your boyfriend snaps, tugging on your arm.

“A-ha,” you reply and sound unconvincing.


You brought food and grape soda to the little picnic and now J’s sitting on the blanket, fidgeting with his jacket. He takes it off and continues to fuss:

“When are we going back? We have to go on that heist tonight.”

“You’re not going anywhere, are you kidding me? You’re blind,” you move around so you can put the food together.

“I don’t care, I have to go. You’re coming so you can be my eyes.”

“I’m over here,” you cup his face and turn it towards you since apparently he’s addressing the tree you’re both under. “We have to postpone, it’s too dangerous. We’ll have to wait until your eyesight is back, alright?”

“This sucks!” he determines with such pathos it makes you shrivel. You know he’s frustrated; definitely not used to being like this. “It’s so dull, why am I even here?” The Joker sulks, rubbing his eyes. “I can’t even see. How’s the view?” he lets himself go on his back, staring at the sky he can’t discern.

“The view is…breathtaking,” you announce, hovering over him, not even paying attention to the landscape. He’s so handsome in that suit and green shirt.

“Well, I can’t tell so it sucks for me,” he grumbles some more, having no idea you gaze at him.

“I very much enjoy the scenery,” you reply, amused J has no clue you’re talking about him.

“Well, good for you, Princess and I must…”
“Muah!” you lean over to kiss him since he’s sooo grumpy. But this time he kisses you back without commenting on it. “Isn’t this romantic baby?” you moan in his ear, glad you get to spend time together.

“I wouldn’t know, Doll, I can’t see crap,” J pouts.

“I’ll let you know I look very pretty today. I have a rose in my hair,” you take his hand and let him feel it, aiming to cheer him up. “Say something romantic J ,” you suddenly urge your boyfriend.

“Like what?”

“Say you love me,” you bite on your lip, waiting.

“Is it obvious I’m rolling my eyes? Can’t really tell since I’m blind.”

You kick his knee with yours.

“Yeah, it’s obvious! Say it!” you repeat, pulling on his sleeve.

“Uhhhh…I love you.”

“Woowwww, can you put more soul into it?! You sound more enthusiastic when you order your coffee,” you affirm with a displeased grimace.

“I really love coffee, that’s why. You…Mehh,” the Joker admits, being a complete jerk since he’s a bad mood.

“Good, because I don’t love you either,” you push his hand away from your rose and start reading on your book. “I should leave you here and call the cops. Or just signal Batsy,” you bite on your cheek, flustered.

“Pffttt!” he scoffs, confident you won’t.

“Wanna eat now?” you bitterly ask, bugged by his attitude.

“No. What are you munching on?” he wants to know since he hears the repeating crunching noises.

“Pretzels, you want one?” you offer him the choice. You return to your reading and after a few seconds you realize you still hold the pretzel right in front of his face.

Duh, he can’t see.

“Here,” you feed him and he eats it, but still objects.

“You don’t have to feed me, I’m perfectly capable to…”

“Here’s another one,” you shove it in his mouth so he’ll zip it.

I’m the Joker and…”

Even if you’re mad at him, you steal another kiss, hoping he will shut it down.

“Muah,” and before he can retaliate you resume: “Want me to order you business cards that say I’m the Joker?”

“Stop being sassy, woman, and give me another pretzel!” he grumbles in a low voice, scooting over towards you.


“Hey, baby, if you can find me you get a bonus tonight!” you playfully giggle, trying to light up the atmosphere. J’s been moping around and didn’t move from the couch since you came back from the picnic.

“What’s the bonus?” he grins, instantly interested.

“To your right J. More…more. That’s it, now you’re looking my way.”

Why is he so hopeless when it comes to this?!

“Oh, you will love it! Find me first and you’ll have the time of your life.”

“I’m not in the mood for games Y/N. Just com’ere.”

“Nope, you’ll have to find me mister Jaayyyy,” you whine in a high pitch tone.

“Kaayyyy, you’ll see what happens to you. I’m the Joker and…”

“I already ordered the business cards for you, I am sure you can use them,” you snicker, teasing him. You know he’ll take revenge but at least he’s out of that accursed apathy.

“Did you really?!” and he gets up, taking  a few steps ahead and stumbles on the coffee table before you can warn him. “Goddammit!” J furiously kicks the table.

“Are you OK?”

“No, I think I twisted my ankle,” he reaches down and you rush to help.

“Jesus, baby, I’m so sor…”
“Got’cha!!” he fastly snatches you, trapping you in his arms.

“Hey, no cheating!” you try to unsuccessfully escape.

“Says who?” J purrs, fighting to unbutton your shirt with one hand and still holding you captive with the other.

“J…J…J !” you stop his fingers and want to laugh.

“S-stupid buttons!” he angrily stutters, trying harder, violently pulling on your shirt with all his strength. You try to keep his hand in place.

“J…J…stop! These buttons are just sewed to the fabric for decoration, they won’t unbutton.”

“Shit, not seeing anything sucks!” The King of Gotham has an outburst of frustration and it makes you miserable. You wish you could help him but there is nothing you can do.

You look into his blue eyes that just can’t focus on yours and whisper:
“Why can’t you see yet?”

“I don’t know Pumpkin, it irritates me,” and you know The Joker means it.

It’s a blessing he can’t notice how worried you are because it shows all over your face; it would make things worse.

“I’m sure your vision will return shortly…yes?” you encourage him while he continues to struggle with your bra now.

“J…J…J! This bra has a front clasp.”

J stomps his foot, not knowing if it’s funny or the opposite.

“This is stupid!” he grumbles, totally fed up with his current situation. I’m the Joker and…”

“Please hold it together until we get the business cards, ok, baby?” you elbow him, hoping his attitude will change.”  He frowns, then smirks and lifts you up in his arms.

“Actually that’s not a bad idea. Tell me where, Doll.”
“Straight, left… more to your left. Stop! Right…straight…couch! You made it back to your bonus spot! Can you find what you need without seeing?”

You get dropped on the couch while J snarls, licking his lips.
“I know exactly where everything is, I don’t need my eyes for that. I made it until now, hm?”

You smile, refusing to answer the question, pulling him on top of you:

“You definitely deserve the bonus, you got mad skills, I’m telling you.”

“Sure do,” he growls, starting to get irked by your comment so he bites your lip as revenge.

“Auch! Heeey, behave!” you sulk, biting him back.

“Told you I know where everything is,” he triumphantly brags as you take off his Batsy t-shirt.


Two more weeks pass and your boyfriend is still blind. You are starting to get really worried, especially since his mood is worsening. You actually feel sorry for both of you. You stay awake most of the nights, going on the balcony to reflect on what should happen next: should you kidnap more doctors and bring them over to one of the hideouts so they can examine J? Should you take over a clinic and transport him to the location for another eye exam?

You really don’t know how to go about it because no matter what you suggest, The Joker replies with: ”No need to; anytime now.” Why?…Who understands his logic? He’s infuriated about it himself but refuses to act.

*Another morning in Paradise

“What do you want to wear today, baby?” you happily ask, scraping the leftovers of your patience in order to maintain a positive atmosphere.

“One of my white shirts and black pants,” The Joker coldly responds.

You decide you’ll give him a purple shirt since he didn’t wear the color in about 2 days and you miss seeing it on him. You take out the hanger.

“I said white, Pumpkin, are you deaf?”

You want to put it back when it hits. You slowly turn around, dropping the shirt.

“You…you can see??!!”

J has that diabolical twinkle in his eyes and sucks on his cheeks, satisfied with himself.

“Yeah, isn’t it obvious?”

Like, you bore him so much with your inquiry.

“Since…since when?!” you keep on repeating words because you are more than baffled.

“Since yesterday morning, jeez, calm down. Why are you so worked up? I started seeing some shapes and it just got better and better.”

You’re speechless.

“And…and you didn’t bother to tell me?!” you whimper, vexed at the revelation.

“It was fun to see you struggle,” and his crazy laugh fills the room.

“Fun?!” you fight to keep the tears in, full of indignation. “Fun?! Do you know I didn’t sleep in 2 weeks, worried sick, trying to find a solution for your problem?!”

“Well, that’s your fault, Princess, not mine.”

You mouth opens and no sounds come out.

“Wha’?” J stretches, indifferent to your rant, starting to walk towards you. “Aren’t you glad I can see? Com’ere!”

“You…you…are the worst boyfriend ever,” you justly conclude, sniffling, sneaking by the wall towards the elevator.

“Thanks, I’m trying.”

“It’s not funny!” you cross your arms on your chest, outraged at the whole situation.

“Good, because I’m serious.”

“You…you’re horrible!”

You really want to be excited and go kiss him or something but your mind says no.

“Pumpkin, where are you going?” The Joker raises his voice.

“I don’t know!” you flare your hands around, upset as you can be, actually telling the truth. You want to be out of there.

“Y/N!!!” J angrily shouts when you press the button for the elevator. You refuse to give him the satisfaction of paying attention to his tantrum. You hear him slam drawers.

“Baby Doll!!!!” he screams even louder and you finally look his way.

J holds one of the vials with the experimental substance he kept hidden after selling the rest.

“Nobody leaves me!!! I tell you when you can leave, got it?!”

You get startled.

“What is that?!”
“You know what it is!!! You’re not leaving me!!!” he pants, enraged you’re not obeying and backs out on the balcony, locking the glass sliding door on his side.

“Hey, what are you doing?” You stump towards the closed door, having a bad feeling.

“You can’t leave!!!” he punches the glass, placing the ampule under his shoe.

“Wha…What are you doing?! Don’t!!! Hey, I’m not leaving, OK?”

“You’re lying, I can always tell when you lie,” The Joker taps on the glass, staring at you.

“I’m not lying, stop it! Open up!” you beg, agitated, trying to kick the door open.

“No,” he replies, surprisingly calm all of the sudden. He steps on the vial, breaking it to pieces and you watch horrified as the thin vapors crawl up his body.

“Close your eyes!!!“ you shout, imploring and he shakes his head in negation. “This is childish, stop it! Close your eyes!!!”


“Why are you doing this? You won’t see for weeks again!” you start bawling, still pounding on the glass.

“Keeping up with my worst boyfriend ever reputation,” he growls with his eyes opened despite your efforts to change his mind. “You’ll have to be my eyes again, you can’t leave.”

“For God’s sake, I was just going for a drive so I could cool down!!!” you keep on crying and he feels his eyes starting to burn. You feel so sorry for yourself having to deal with him blind again.

“Don’t care, you can’t leave me,” he smiles and slowly blinks. Your image is fading bit by bit and after a few more seconds he’s in complete blackness…again. Courtesy of his awesome boyfriend material expertise.


You got the business cards you ordered for him: one side is green, the other one purple. A laughing mouth on the front, I’m the Joker in bold letters inscribed right under. You have to describe the design to him since he can’t see.

“I can’t believe you actually ordered them,” J tilts his head, apparently displeased, holding a few in his hand.

“You can use them; you always like to say you’re The Joker so they will come in handy.”

“You’re so annoying, Y/N.”

“Muah,” you steal a kiss, stretching your optimism on new levels you didn’t think you can reach.

“Cut it out, Kitten, don’t take advantage of the situation!”

“You did it to yourself, baby, sooo…I don’t know what to tell you,” you begin loading guns because you’re bored to the max since you can’t do anything fun for a while. AGAIN. Courtesy of J’s stubbornness.

“You can’t talk to me like this, I’m the Joker and…”

“Told you those business cards will come in handy!” you are fast to interrupt.

“I swear I’m gonna kill you, Doll!” he points out in the wrong direction, what else. He truly is hopeless.

You sigh:

“To your right…More…More…There, now you are pointing my way.”

“I want a bonus,” he grumbles, still pointing.

“A bonus?! For what?!”

“For being the worst boyfriend ever. I think I’ve earned it.”

Wow, who can understand his logic?!

But you abandon your current project and go sit in his lap on the armchair, glaring in his blue eyes that can’t focus on yours. AGAIN. For a few weeks. Courtesy of J’s great ability to take amazingly selfish decisions.
“I should really call the cops or signal Batsy,” you whisper, brushing his green hair with your fingers. “You’re a terrible boyfriend.”

“I am, here’s my business card,” he takes one out of his pocket, placing it in your cleavage after a bit of a struggle.

You silently laugh and kiss his forehead, debating on that bonus. And you decide he should have it.

Courtesy of your awesome girlfriend material skills.

 Also read- MASTERLIST



Are y'all ready for this?

So. First things first. Today was super sluggish at work. I had like 7.2k steps when I got off. It was really weird being so far away from my goal after getting off. But I mean, life happens and my step goal is double what it was last week. After that, I was just anxious and couldn’t focus. I was antsy and needed to expend more energy. And that’s how I ended up at the gym.

I was originally just going to lift for a few minutes to destress, but then I saw the treadmill.
At 20 minutes, I really wanted to stop and go lift, but I kept running anyway.
At 25 minutes, I was pouring sweat so bad I had to take off my glasses.
At 37 minutes, I considered quitting again.
At 45 minutes, I debated jumping up and down, screaming in joy. I was going to shoot for an hour, but I realized I have to work tomorrow and I probably shouldn’t push too hard.

It was my first time running since late April/early May, and I’m so freaking proud of myself for how hard I pushed myself through my run. I averaged 5.3 mph which is faster than I’ve ever ran on a treadmill before. In the second picture, you can see what my heart rate was like during my run. I averaged 177 bpm, which, by the way, is the lowest my heart rate has ever averaged during a run. I feel so amazing and empowered. It’s so crazy.

But that’s not all! After I finished running, I lifted weights for another 45 minutes. In a spur of the moment decision, I decided to max my leg press. 180 lbs a leg, 360 lbs collectively. That’s right boys and girls. My max leg press is 360 lbs coming off no workouts for the last couple months. If I work my ass off, I’ll hit 400 lbs before I head off to college.

But wait, there’s more! The last time I weighed in (sometime in May), I was at 153. I decided to weigh in again today and I’ve dropped 10 lbs. Gosh, I can’t fathom it.

This afternoon’s workout and weigh in is EXACTLY what I’ve been needing to motivate me and relax me. I’m so, so thankful for everyone who’s supported me and continues to support me everyday, I am so appreciative for you. But most importantly (arguably), thank you to my body for not giving up on me. I’ve had such a rough, injury ridden past that my success and strength never fails to surprise me.

So here’s to today, to hitting step goals and new maxes, and here’s to tomorrow and every day after that. Let’s make all of them legendary.

Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Fic: Redemption and Roses

By @torestoreamends

13.7k words, G rated

Astoria Greengrass hates Draco Malfoy, former Death Eater, and all round prejudiced asshole. It takes a year for her to change her mind, and another year to fall head-over-heels in love with him. This is the story of how it happens. 

I had the idea for this fic a while ago. I thought wouldn’t it be cool if Daphne introduces Astoria and Draco at a party, and wouldn’t it be even cooler if she starts off hating him, while he’s besotted with her from the first moment. It’s taken me a while to get round to writing it, but here we are! I will admit, as Astoria fell in love with Draco, I fell in love with the two of them as a couple. I think they’re wonderful, and I hope some of you will agree. 

Massive thanks to @abradystrix for betaing this, and thanks to @platinasi for flailing with me and being generally supportive while I wrote it. You’re both superb human beings. 

Keep reading

“Who is that? Who is that!?” Junior barked. He was up on his hind legs as he pressed his face against the front window which looked out on Kent’s drive way. “Who is that?”

“Who?” Kit said lazily without bothering to crack an eyelid from where she was sprawled.

“Him! That guy!” Junior pawed frantically at the glass. “He’s with Kent. Who is he?”

“Are you really going to bark at everyone that comes to the house?”

Junior didn’t reply, and instead, scrambled down from the back of the couch and dashed towards the door just as Kent unlocked it. “Hey, buddy,” came Kent’s voice from the front hall mixed with Junior’s excited yips.

“I cannot believe you actually got a dog, Parser.” Kit frowned as she recognized that voice.

“What? You really didn’t believe me when I said I adopted a puppy?”

“Honestly, you’re weird enough that I half expected to find your cat dressed up in a dog costume.”

Kent’s snort was audible. “Give me some credit here, Swoops.”

“I am giving you credit.”

The voices faded as they drifted into the kitchen with Junior presumably following them. Kit rolled over onto her feet, debating whether she wanted to hide under Kent’s bed or in the unfolded pile of laundry currently in Kent’s closet.

Unfortunately, she took too long to decide, and Kent and Swoops came into the living room, each holding drink, before she could escape. Junior trailed after them adoringly. Kent, at least, stopped to scratch Kit’s head. She had quickly darted up the cat tree and was currently glaring at them from the top tier.

“So, let me guess, the dog’s named after you too?” Swoops said as leaned down to rub Junior’s ears.

“No,” Kent scoffed unconvincingly. “What would make you think that?”

“Your cat,” Swoops said dryly, “is named Kit Purrson.”

“His name is Junior,” Kent responded in mock outrage.

Swoops narrowed his eyes at Kent. “Kent Parson Junior?”

It turned into a staring contest between them, but it was Kent who broke first. “Yes,” he reluctantly admitted. When Swoops started laughing, Kent threw a cushion at him. “Fuck off,” he grumbled.

Junior had managed to scramble onto the couch with them. He had his front paws on Swoops’ thigh as he gazed lovingly up at him. His tail was an excited blur, not even caring that he was whacking Kent’s arm each time he wagged it back and forth. “At least your dog is friendly.”

“Kit’s friendly too,” Kent said, coming to Kit’s defense. He had been randomly flipping through the channels before landing on a rerun episode of a home improvement show with the host that Kit knew Kent had a crush on.

“Dude, your cat hates me,” Swoops said

“She hates you the least,” Kent reassured.

He was right though. If had been anyone else, Kit wouldn’t even be in the room. Swoops was the most tolerable of Kent’s raucous team mates. At least, he’d never drunkenly tried to roughhouse with her like a dog.

Their conversation drifted to other topics, and soon, Kit got bored and fell asleep. When she woke again, the living room was quiet. Yawning, she hopped down and padded quietly over the couch where Kent and Swoops were sprawled out on the sectional.

She had every intention of pawing her human’s face so he could get up and dish out her dinner, but stopped short when Junior perked up when she got closer. He was nestled next to a lightly snoring Kent, but made no move to leave the warm space.

“They’re asleep,” he whispered loudly, as if it wasn’t already obvious.

Kit snorted. “I can see that.”

Junior glanced over Swoops who was ungracefully drooling into a cushion. “I think Kent likes Swoops,” he said conspiratorially, as if it was some big revelation.

Kit rolled her eyes, and had to remind herself Junior hadn’t been around the last two years to suffer through Kent’s unsubtle, long glances and the unconscious smiles that lingered whenever Swoops came around.

Both Junior and Kit were quiet as they took in Kent’s soft expression. “I want him to be happy,” Junior finally said.

“Me too,” Kit sighed.

More Kit and Junior adventures here

anonymous asked:

What is one scene (Malec or only Magnus related) that would add to the past episodes? one scene that you think the show is missing?

I would love to see a scene of magnus and alec just talking and laughing together, you know? like not having a conversation about work or their relationship or anything like that, id just love to see them hang out and share stories and get to know each other. like give me a scene of them sitting at the hunters moon, magnus telling alec about the time he managed to convince catarina to sneak into queen victoria’s coronation in 1838 while alec just shakes his head and laughs at his boyfriend asking him how the hell he managed to get catarina to go. give me a scene of alec and magnus walking through central park while alec tells magnus about how he got the scar above his eyebrow “honestly magnus, izzy was just as lethal at 10 years old as she is now” and magnus can believe it, its not hard to picture a tiny izzy insisting on practising with a seraph blade too large for her to hold comfortably and crying when she accidentally let go of it causing the tip of it to cut alec’s skin. like imagine them sitting on the balcony, beneath the stars having a lighthearted debate about whether they should get chinese take out for dinner or order pizza and just stopping and looking at each other while saying “are we really having this conversation right now” and laughing about how domestic they were being. I just want to see them having casual conversations and listening intently to each other because let’s be honest they find each other the most interesting people in the world and god, they’d never want to stop talking to each other.

Now Or Never (Part 12)

Pairing: Arthur (Mr.) Ketch x Reader
Word Count: 1,446
Warnings: Fluff. Smut. Unprotected sex.
Sequel: Part 12/12 of Now Or Never

This is the final installment of the Never Say Never / Now Or Never Story.   I have done this chapter with three time jumps, but they are easy to follow.  You’ll see what I mean.

Thank you again for all of your support, love, reblogs, comments, asks, music suggestions, and artwork.  This story has been one hell of an experience to write and I have never had a project I’ve enjoyed working on so much.

Special thanks to @lucis-unicorn for all of her support, her beta work, her willingness to bounce ideas with me, for the way she endlessly listens to me stress about this project, and just for being there.

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Shit people siding with abusers and abuse apologists say:

  • You can’t blame them for everything (watch me)
  • I’m sure they didn’t mean it that way (oh are u. are u sure. are u su)
  • I’m sure if you talk to them… (mate)
  • You just need to try harder! (MATE)
  • It can’t all be their fault (um)
  • They’re a HUMAN BEING (debatable)
  • You can’t blame them, they’ve had a rough childhood/life (so did I thanks to them)
  • It takes two to tango (do you think tango is on the list of child abuse)
  • You’re abusing them too. (i fucking wish)
  • Think of all the good things they’ve done for you! (yeah why don’t you fight their battles allison)
  • They only want the best for you! (ooh do they. do they really. do the)
  • It’s godly to forgive. (aren’t you being a deity lately jackson)
  • You need to stop thinking about this, it’s unhealthy for you (i bet you said that bc you’re worried about my health and not bc you don’t wanna help me get out of abuse or hear me out at all)
  • They really love you. (get out of my face with your equating abuse with love and confront your own abuse already)
  • They’re just worried about you. (yea about me outing their abuse)
  • They seem like a good person tho! (yea thats whats so terrifying about them I wish they walked around with a scythe and shouted obscenities)
  • You took all of this too seriously. (thanks for not taking my life seriously)
  • You took all of this too personally. (it fucking happened to me personally)
  • It’s time to stop holding on to past grudges (wow i am glad I let you make all my decisions for me surely you have my well being in mind)
  • Think about why this is all your fault. (wow are you trying to woo my abuser to marry you)
  • It couldn’t have been that bad. (u know what i wish i could transfer my symptoms directly to you lets see how bad is it then)
  • They aren’t that bad, give them a chance. (yeah why not give the person who shot at me another bullet what could possibly go wrong)
  • They can change. (yea they’re definitely changing to worse continually)
  • They’ve changed. (buddy i am glad you are not the target of their abuse but could you for a second consider that I am also a human being)
  • It’s because you did “x”! (oh no you got me people deserve to be abused if they do “x”! How did I not consider that before, abuse is totes justified!)
  • It’s because you overreacted. (goodbye i’m not talking to u)
  • You think everything is abuse. (you think its bc i live in abusive environment? nah it can’t be that can it)
  • Think about how they feel! (oh so you too think i exist to cater to their feelings great I’m so happy how I feel is never gonna come up)
  • If you would consider their side for a second. (what do you think i wasted half of my life on jane)
  • They would never do that. (did you not just hear the words out of my mouth telling you they did that)
  • I’m sure they would be nicer if “x” (keep deluding yourself)
  • They’re just having it tough. (and everyone who has it tough gets to have a go at me! I forgot my place is to be a punching bag of the world)
  • You have to love your (family member) abuser. (I did love them.)
Barrio Slums and More ch. 4

Click Here for Chapter 1

Click Here for Chapter 3

Feedback appreciated– Please reblog!– Let me know if you need translations!

It was quiet. And it was awkward. Lance hated that he felt so awkward. Still, he felt that if he spoke, his voice would tremble as badly as his heart was beating. He cleared his throat nervously and leaned against the door, looking at the houses they passed by and listened to the gentle hum of the engine and the low melody of the radio.

“Why’d your brother sound so upset?” he heard suddenly.

Lance looked over at him and frowned. Keith was looking at the road. “I’m not sure. He’s a jerk sometimes, that’s why I like calling him Bobo.” The corner of his mouth twitched and his eyes flitted over to Lance for a few seconds. “So, what brought on the sudden car ride?” he asked.

He was quiet for a moment. Then, “You know how you talk about being more than just this? About being bigger than Houston slums and whatnot?” Lance nodded, then hummed in agreement when he realized Keith wouldn’t see him. “Are you like… ashamed of your past? Like…. Do you want to be more and go off to a big university to leave it behind? Erase it?”

The question had caught him off guard. He hadn’t expected it. He wasn’t sure what he expected to be asked, but erasing his past? “No,” he murmured. “No I don’t think so. I’m proud of who I am. Of who my family is. Despite the lack of education or resources, they each did something. You know, the restaurant, the shop, and whatnot. They’re still able to throw a kickass party when needed. We’ve worked hard and that’s what our past shows.”

“Then what is it that you want to prove by going away and being ‘more’ like you always say?” he asked. His voice was urgent, like he needed Lance to give him a foolproof answer.

“I-I don’t know. I guess I just don’t want to fit in the stereotype too. I mean, my aunts all work in salons or as waitresses besides Tia Carla who owns the restaurant. My older cousins are off who knows where. My mom has worked all her life cleaning houses, my buela used to work fields in Mexico before coming here and doing being a housemaid. Papo worked in the fields too, and he got here and has the shop. I want to show that the hard work means something. I didn’t have to work fields, so I want to keep improving where we come from. I mean, do you know how frustrating it is when you see television series or movies and any time you see a Hispanic person, they end up being a maid or a gardener or a drug dealer or a cholo or some shit?” He sighed and shook his head. “I’m sick of people thinking they know where my life is going just because I come from stereotypes. But I also don’t look down on my family for making an honest living.”

He was quiet for a while again. Like he was mulling over the response. Lance didn’t expect the ride to go that way. With Keith asking questions and Lance ranting, waiting in silence until Keith spoke again.

“At least you know who you are.”

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