i''ve got you

B.A.P are people who don’t judge, don’t discriminate, don’t hate, doesn’t forget values and principles, never forgets morals, tries to actively spread happiness and love in the world, values their parents, values every human and the list could go on.

My point is if you believe in good then stan Bap. I might be biased but I have damn good reasons to be. *proud*

anonymous asked:

Hey, sorry to bother you but I could really use some advice maybe? One of my friends recently has gotten really transphobic, racist, sexist, homophobic, etc.. He's purposefully misgendered people, literally made Orlando jokes, and said that women are inferior then saying that it's just a joke and I'm being a "triggered sjw feminazi". I can't cut him off because I'll either end up with no friends or I'll tear apart my friend group and I don't know what to do.

cut that BITCH out! 

Like, the fuck? tearing the group apart or staying with “no friends”, even tho is sad, is not worth dealing with someones bullshit just because you are afraid of your social life… “mejor solo que mal acompañado” aka better alone that with bad company, dude! 

Like, I get it, is hard, i’ve been there, and because i’ve been there I tell you, that’s a guy you would NEVER been able to trust, and without trust and love theres no friendship. 

He needs to understand that not everyone is going to deal with his bullcrap, much less you, I would personally sing him the whole alphabet (a phrase we use here for basically bitching someone out/insulting them) after he says some of that shit, and if he gets offended play the “it’s just a joke” card, because gosh let me tell you its the best fucking feeling ever… 

But like, i know confrontation is hard, and tbh the best is avoiding any kind of troubles, if he is not good for you, if he gives you headaches, if he has not redeemable qualities in your eyes and its just making you feel uncomfy or bad, why dealing with their bullshit?

You are a sweet, lovely piece of vanilla cake, you don’t deserve that kind of treatment or negativity in your life. 

anonymous asked:

Oh !! Do you have any headcanons for Cherosie maybe? 🍒🌹❣️

-for reasons cheryl doesn’t understand yet, she starts spending more time with josie mccoy. maybe it’s because tina and ginger are gone, maybe it’s because valerie and melody started dating, but the amount of time she’s started to spend in josie’s music room should concern her. and yet, it doesn’t 

-cheryl nearly runs when josie comes to her in tears after her father did god knows what to her self esteem. she isn’t used to this role. she doesn’t even think she knows how to be nurturing. but josie steps into her arms and cheryl finds herself whispering empty threats to her dad the way she knows she’d want josie to do for her. when josie finally calms down, josie kisses her so hard cheryl’s afraid her lips might bruise 

-a few months later and they’re in josie’s room, lips buzzing from all the kissing. she lets josie undress her. her hands shake as she goes to undress josie, too. “you know it’s okay if you’ve never done this before,” josie says. this time when they kiss it’s with softness that makes cheryl’s head spin. “i haven’t done anything like this before either.”

-the first time cheryl tells her is when she’s leaving on tour with the cats. cheryl should be supportive but her head keep telling her that she won’t come back. tears prick at her eyes but she won’t let them fall. “i love you,” cheryl says freely; the first time since jason died. “and now you’ll leave me, too.”

josie shakes her head. “cheryl,” josie’s eyes shrine with tears, too. “i promise i’ll be back.”

-it’s almost five months before she sees her again. josie’s gone for the summer and first quarter, too. they call, they text, but cheryl still feels like she’ll wake up and josie will have been violently ripped away from her.

-there’s commotion at school that day. exasperated teachers try to reel their students back in but it’s useless. people talk, celebrities and the pussycats and josie and-

she pretends like she didn’t wear a pussycats’ tee shirt to school that day. she avoids veronica’s knowing eyes like the plague. she considers sending an acid remark her way but she knows that she’ll only be building a case against herself. 

-when the bell that signals the end of the day does finally let out, cheryl is the first out of her chair. she sends a text to the vixens, practice is canceled, and she knows none of them will question it. she weaves through hoards of students, not bothering to stop when they call out to her. and then she sees it: the shine of metallic cat ears. five months of frustration melt away in the five easy steps cheryl takes to reach josie.

“there’s my girl,” josie says.

“you came back,” cheryl says back.

“i told you i would.” 

-josie cups cheryl’s cheeks and she kisses her, a kiss that cheryl thinks is well worth the wait. she hears the faint snapping of pictures, sees the flashes of lights behind her lids, knows that their kiss will be plastered on social media before it’s even over. but that doesn’t matter because josie is here. josie came back and her lips are even softer than cheryl remembers.

Why are some “leftists” so hellbent in betraying one of the ideas that was at the left’s core since its beginning: secularism. How can you call yourself a leftist and defend theocrats over free thinkers?

Please someone explain; I don’t understand this pro-”religion in the public sphere” left and I want no part in it. 

anonymous asked:

DO AN ENJOLTAIRE AS MERTHUR AU. GO.

I FORGOT I HAD THIS ASK HOW COULD I IT’S SO GOOD 
(Okay let me first say AUs in which any of les amis are royalty weird me out since, yknow, monarchy, so let’s assume Enjolras happened to be born the crown prince of Camelot and absolutely hates it and is determined to dissolve the whole notion of a kingdom when he’s supposed to ascend to the throne or something like that)

Anyway: 

We all know how the story goes: everyone hates the current king for his ban on magic throughout Camelot. Enter Grantaire, a powerful (though he doesn’t realize it) wizard new to the kingdom who hates the king for the exact same reason, and his son by extension. 

A vengeful witch tries to kill Enjolras. Grantaire saves his life, though he doesn’t understand why at the time. The king makes Grantaire Enjolras’ manservant as a ‘reward’.

They can’t stand each other at first. Grantaire’s never been that well-off, and he’s uncomfortable in a ridiculously lavish place like the castle. He throws snark at Enjolras every time he’s forced to dress him or pull his bath water or whatever. Enjolras, for his part, hates Grantaire’s attitude and snaps back every time he prods, saying things like ‘the size of my bed/stable/army is beyond my control’.

The Great Dragon tells him it’s his destiny to protect Enjolras and stay by his side. ‘Two sides of the same coin’, the Dragon calls them. Grantaire wants to serve Enjolras even less, after that.

Then he starts to notice things. The sparseness of Enjolras’ chambers compared to the other rooms in the castle. Enjolras paying the merchants for far more than their goods cost, then distributing it to the children of the town. His camaraderie with many of Camelot’s knights, yet his disdain towards the ones who talk down on the poor. Arguments that happen between Enjolras and his father behind closed doors while Grantaire stands outside (”No one person should be allowed to decide who lives or dies!” “It’s the way we’ve lived for centuries.” “Then the way we live must be changed. When I become king…”).

Grantaire sees a glimmer of hope through Enjolras. Maybe, just maybe, he’s someone who could change Camelot for the better.

Grantaire stops complaining about having to prepare Enjolras’ breakfast or polish his armour, even after Enjolras says he doesn’t have to. Grantaire tells himself he’s only doing it because it takes no effort with his magic. 

If it were up to Enjolras, he wouldn’t have a manservant, but he can’t bring himself to tell Grantaire to leave. He doesn’t understand why–Grantaire is loud, insufferable, pessimistic, and often shows up late in the morning reeking of the town’s tavern. 

But sometimes Enjolras catches a glimmer in Grantaire’s eyes. When he’s reading, or caring for Enjolras’ horse, or when he’s laughing with the knights on the training grounds. The grass seems to stand up taller where Grantaire walks through it. Enjolras knows that’s a ridiculous notion. 

One day, Camelot is swept up in a mysterious drought that left it with barely any water and food (hint: it was magic). Enjolras steals the food that the king has been hoarding away in the castle stores and distributes it to the people. 

It’s the same day Grantaire realizes he now has two secrets to keep: that he’s a sorcerer, and that he loves Enjolras.

Another day, a great beast which seems impervious to Enjolras and his knights’ attacks (hint: it was magical) knocks Enjolras unconscious on his back. When he comes to, it’s only to see an armourless, weaponless Grantaire standing alone in front of the slain beast. Grantaire’s eyes are golden when he turns around and fixes them on Enjolras. 

It’s strange. He could swear on the life of every citizen in Camelot that Grantaire’s eyes are a deep brown.

“Do you permit it?” Grantaire keeps asking Enjolras. He asks when he wants to leave the castle, or assist one of the knights, or borrow a book. Enjolras tells him he doesn’t need to ask for permission to do anything. Grantaire is his own person, after all. Not that Enjolras could refuse him anyway. Still, Grantaire keeps asking. 

“Do you permit it?” he asks, with a roll of his eyes, when Enjolras asks where he’s going. He’s only going back to his own chambers. Enjolras reddens. 

“Do you permit it?” he asks, shyly, holding a tunic that Enjolras has gifted him for his birthday (which Enjolras went through a lot of trouble to discover). 

“Do you permit it?” he asks, with thinly veiled panic behind his eyes as he holds a letter from his mother with shaking hands. He needs to return to his hometown for a while. Enjolras never wants to see that look on him again.

“Do you permit it?” he asks one day, when he stands beside Enjolras as a dozen archers aim their arrows at him. Enjolras takes his hand and smiles. He wishes they had more time together.

They aren’t shot. As if propelled by an invisible force, all the archers are knocked off their feet and their bows broken. Grantaire holds his free hand towards them. His eyes are golden. It’s all the confession Enjolras needs.

“Do you permit it?” he asks, wanting permission to leave Enjolras’ service. They avoided each other for a week after the incident. Grantaire’s use of magic broke Camelot’s highest law, which Enjolras hates. He doesn’t understand why Grantaire wants to leave. The thought makes his heart clench. 

Enjolras permits it, on the condition that Grantaire stay by his side. It’s not an order, but a plea. No one should be forced to live in the servitude of another, after all, least of all someone like Grantaire.

Grantaire wants the reason for his condition. Enjolras gives it to him in a rush of breath. Grantaire’s eyes go wide.

“Do you permit it?” Grantaire asks, laying a tentative hand on Enjolras’ cheek. 

“Yes,” Enjolras says. Grantaire’s eyes close. Maybe they’re golden. Somehow, when Grantaire’s lips touch his, he can’t bring himself to care.

Grantaire never asks for permission again.

anonymous asked:

1. The fifth time they meet, it is because she seeks him out at the Royal castle. It is several weeks after he allowed her to escape from the Dark One’s dungeon, and she has recovered fully from her wounds. She tries to tell herself to let that be their final interaction – he had the opportunity to end her life, but chose not to, which means he’s moving on from thoughts of vengeance. She should lie low and permit him to walk that path without having to deal with her - the person he blames.

2. She should also be making the most of her second chance, moving on from her old life and family. And yet, if there is one thing she can’t do, it is to let go of her son completely. Facing an existence without seeing him is even harder when another version is so close. So, against her better judgement, she finds herself one evening pushing her dinner to one side, taking a deep breath and allowing her magic to transport her away.

3. She reappears next to a bench set amongst some rose bushes. It is a small, private side-garden, accessible only to those who know both where the door is hidden and also have the key. The bushes look cared for, so she can tell at least someone tends the plants inside. Her instincts told her to come her, so she settles on the bench and waits. A long time passes, her fingers becoming cold from the breeze. Her wounds may be healed but her body is still more tired and sensitive than before.

4. Finally, when the last of the daylight has vanished and the stars have made their appearance, she hears the sound of a key in the lock. Someone enters, closing the door behind them, and then footsteps near. She waits patiently as the person approaches, letting herself smirk slightly when the feet come to an abrupt halt. ‘We’ve spoken before without guards,’ she pushes, when the silence lingers. Henry – King Henry, as she always has to tell herself – moves into view.

5. ‘How do you even know about this place?’ he asks, a curious expression on his face instead of exhibiting fear or hatred. She supposes that is definitely a step in the right direction. ‘I gather you read that book back to front several times?’ she replies, already knowing the answer. He nods, choosing to lean against a statue rather than join her on the bench. He’s dressed in typical night robes for this land – not something her Henry would be seen dead in. She smiles at the thought.

6. ‘Well, when we had that year where we were all sent from Storybrooke back to the Enchanted Forest, and I was separated from my Henry-’ she breaks off, pain in her heart at the similar situations. And yet this time, there is no Snow or David or even Belle around her. ‘We stayed in our version of this castle – the entire pathetic group of people. I would come here every night, just to have some peace, and think about Henry without Snow asking me every five minutes if I was alright.’ 

7. She almost bites her tongue when she realizes she’s mentioned Snow’s name. The death of his grandparents and disappearance of his mother is of course all on her head in his eyes – even if she wasn’t the version to actually perform those acts. Henry crosses his arms, but appears to contemplate what she says. ‘If what is written in the book is true,’ he begins slowly, ‘And I’m not saying that I believe it - it could just be your way of trying to trick me.’

8. He glances sideways at this, and she knows he’s lying – he does believe the book, at least somewhat. ‘If it were true though, you two ended up being close then? You and Grandma?’ She smiles sadly at him, and nods. ‘We forgave each other, and became family. She was always giving me ridiculous hope speeches. Emma became a dear friend too. I miss them.’ He bites his lip, clearly turning something over in his mind. ‘If it was so difficult during that year, why did you leave again? Leave Henry?’ 

9. ‘It’s all there in the book, Henry,’ she says gently. ‘I didn’t have a choice about leaving. And I miss him, every single day.’ Silence falls for a moment. Her hands are getting colder, and she rubs them together slightly. ‘I’m not him,’ Henry blurts out suddenly. ‘I’m not your son. I have no memories of growing up with you, or living in that world.’ She remembers then – remembers mistaking him for her Henry when she lay dying. Maybe that is what made him believe in the book. 

10. ‘I know you aren’t my son,’ she admits, twisting her fingers together. ‘That doesn’t mean you aren’t like my Henry in many ways though. You’re him if he had had a very different upbringing, is all.’ He snorts at this, rubbing a toe into the dirt. He looks very much like a teenager in this moment, and nothing like a King. ‘I’m not trying to replace my son,’ she continues, watching his face closely. ‘And if you want, I can leave and you’ll never have to see me or think about me ever again.’ 

11. He becomes quiet again at this offer, and the silence stretches on so long that she makes a move to stand up and transport herself away. If that is his choice, then she will respect it. But as soon as she’s standing, he holds out a hand. ‘I have to welcome all the nobles in the Kingdom to the castle next week,’ he tells her, in an odd shift in topic. ‘I’m slightly terrified that they won’t take me seriously, considering the fact that they’re all at least two decades older than me.’

12. ‘Overwhelm them with polite steeliness,’ she advises him with a twitch of her lips. ‘I became Queen at a rather young age myself, and found if you’re polite but don’t let them get away with anything, the old curmudgeons learn to respect you quite quickly.’ He nods, and at last smiles back. ‘I know, I read the books,’ he tells her. At her confused expression, he elaborates. ‘Our history books, about your reign. When you weren’t trying to track Grandma down, you were a pretty good ruler.’ 

13. She laughs slightly, and shrugs her shoulders. ‘Helped that a lot of them were scared of me,’ she admits, pursing her lips. ‘Not a prudent route for you to take.’ He drops his chin in agreement. ‘Most of my advisors are terrible,’ he confides with a wince. ‘Half of them don’t know what they’re talking about, and the other half want to run the kingdom themselves.’ She knows that feeling well, and extends a hand out, letting it hang in the air between them for a moment in a gesture of peace. 

14. ‘I understand that, I do,’ she tells him seriously. ‘If you ever need another person’s opinion, I’m always available.’ She feels stupid at the offer, but there is a flicker of relief in his eyes, or so she chooses to see. ‘I come to this garden every night myself,’ he informs her. ‘None of my guards are allowed to disturb me here.’ They stare at each other for a moment, with new-found understanding. ‘Good night, Henry,’ she says, and she sees him smile before she transports herself away.