intelligent debate

Libra - Power and Pretty

We associate a lot of Libran qualities with geniality, sweetness, and the feminine expression of the Venus lover. But the sign of Libra is incredibly complex, dual bodied, and fierce. While the Libra can be painted as meek, easily intimidated, and fearful of conflict, there are expressions of Libra that exhibit powerful mental qualities, a furious fight for justice, and great ambition. There are many world leaders, male and female who have their natal Sun in Libra. They are aggressive on the debate floor, intelligent in negotiation, and level headed in their ascension up the career ladder. Libra is ruled by Venus and exalts in Saturn. We have the humanistic judgment of Venus fusing with the disciplined and determined will of Saturn. Libras are a tour de force, and they can be absolutely unmovable and resolute.

The double lined Libra symbol indicates a sign that experiences dual states of consciousness. While we have an archetype that is focused on developing relationships and connecting others, we also have the scales of justice. This is the need to throw oneself into battle so that what is fair and right prevails. Libra is an air sign, and the intellectual capacity of the individual is one of his greatest assets. There is a tremendous verbal acuity and the mind to dominate any debate. He can view the world through multiple perspectives and rapidly absorb information and fact. So we have four critical areas of intelligence expressed through Libra, and this is a secret of the sign’s success. There is socially receptive Venus, mentally astute Air, the fire of Cardinal, and wise, formidable Saturn. Life arenas like politics and law resonate here because the individual emanates tremendous leadership skills, formidable wit on the parliament floor, and a very focused approach to success.

Many female world leaders have their natal Sun in Libra, especially pioneering ones like Margaret Thatcher and Julia Gillard. Many male shock jocks are Sun Libras. There is ferocious dialogue and the reigning in of the Mars duality’s aggression, inferno, and combativeness. Libras stand by what they believe in, and their battle scars tend to be hidden by flowers and jewellery. The individual can be too easily underestimated, and his ability to adapt to the personality required means he can fly under the radar while achieving great feats. Libras are not unequipped for the world, they hold swords of power as they tackle the cosmic balance beam.


anonymous asked:

If you think about it... Lucy/Mina's ship name could = Lina = Lena... who is basically (in part) a combination of both of these characters. She has Mina's intelligence (debatable at times), strive to learn and bad taste in exes +her dark hair kinda but maybe not & Lucy's taste in women ie. best friends, as well as her bravery, intelligence and great fashion sense. Ps. I know their ship name is Westernray I'm just trying to prove a point.

Ahhh I see where you’re going here! There are definitely some shared traits between the three. I’ve simply been drawing Katie puppy-eyed parallels but common traits are also fun to point out!

So what I have gathered from this discourse issss….

That this:

Actually worked out and eventually led to this:

And therefore:

Fact of the day: Lena (Lina) Luthor is the reincarnation of the love child of Mina Murray and Lucy Westenra. Lena is the product of Westenray. Boom.

The gross national product does not allow for the health of our children, the quality of their education, or the joy of their play. It does not include the beauty of our poetry or the strength of our marriages, the intelligence of our public debate or the integrity of our public officials. It measures neither our wit nor our courage, neither our wisdom nor our learning, neither our compassion nor our devotion to our country; it measures everything, in short, except that which makes life worthwhile.
—  Robert F. Kennedy

anonymous asked:

Companions react to Sole mumbling their name in their sleep? <3

I love this prompt. ALL THE FLUFFS!!!! ALL THE FEELS!!!!!! (ノ◕ヮ◕)ノ*:・゚I really hope you like this because I kinda took the topic and ran with it. :3 I’m actually satisfied with this set I think, except for maybe X6 and Curie, but I was kind of running out of steam at that point.

This is all romance, so no ////.

I know it’s not summer but gosh darnit it fits!

Anyways, HOLY CRAPPLES EVERYONE! We went from a little over 100 followers to over 220+ in a DAY!!!! It makes me happy that these reactions make y’all happy. You guys are the inspiration for this blog, and as long as you’re supplyin’, I’m writin’.

Danse: It had gotten late, and Danse could not find Sole for the life of him. Last he saw them, Sole was hammering away at their new suit of Power Armor, but he assumed they were done since there was no clanging coming from the workshop. However, Danse decided to check there one last time just to cover all of his bases. Lo and behold he finds Sole, slouched with their face pressed into the shin of their Power Armor and a drip of slobber rolling down the leg. Danse rolls his eyes and nudges Sole’s shoulder with his knee a little. “C’mon soldier, you can’t fight with a crick in your neck.” Nothing. Danse palms his face and sighs. “Mmmmmm, Danse.” Danse felt his eye twitch involuntarily. Surely Sole didn’t just, “Danse…” … “Uh…” Danse said intelligently. He debated whether or not he should carry Sole to bed or leave them out here because honestly he feels a little weirded out right now if not also slightly aroused. He decided to quickly carry Sole up to bed and then return to his own pillowy palace of safety. He curls into the fetal position and spends the rest of the night staring at his wall trying to decipher what just happened.

MacCready: MacCready keeps the first watch while Sole slumbers away in their sleeping bag. MacCready was happy they camped out on a rooftop; this way he can read his comics by moonlight to keep himself awake. He’s so engrossed in an issue of The Unstoppables that he almost missed a whimpered “MacCready.” He had to perk his ears up for a second listen because he’s not entirely sure he heard something the first time. “MacCready, h-help.” Sole murmured. Their breathing becomes short and labored, panicky. MacCready’s quick to kneel next to Sole, grab their shoulders, and shake them. “Wake up! It’s just a nightmare, everything’s fine!” He tried to beckon Sole from the recesses of their subconscious, and he sighed, relieved, whenever they finally opened their eyes. “What?” Sole asked sleepily. “You were having a bad dream. Understandable considering where we are.” MacCready comments. “You called out for me in your sleep.” He states bluntly. “Oh…” Sole looks concerned but thoughtful with scrunched eyebrows. “I guess… you just make me feel safe.” Sole admits. MacCready blushes in the dark with a shy smile on his face. “Really? Well then, glad to know I’m doing my job right.”

Preston: Preston had to carry his General back to Sanctuary after they were knocked unconscious with a supermutant’s board. It was nothing too serious, but Preston figured they should high-tail it out of supermutant territory before more showed up. Besides, he kinda liked looking at Sole’s sleeping face. They did this funny thing where they tilted their head back and hung their mouth slightly open, snoring softly on the inhale. Preston tripped over a rock a bit while distracted by the view and jostled Sole a little. They squirmed in his arms and then lolled their head into his chest. “Preston.” They murmured, his name on their breathy voice. Preston stopped in his tracks, surprised. A blush crept up his neck when Sole leaned in to lay a hand on his chest. Covering up his embarrassment (from no one in particular), Preston coughs and hikes Sole up a little more into his grip. He keeps his hat down as he ambles into Sanctuary to hide his heated face. He wished that Mama Murphy wasn’t so observant. She teased him about it later.

“Hey Preston, what’s Mama Murphy talking about?” Oh boy.

Piper: “C’mon Blue, urgh, I think it’s time you hit the, urgh, hay.” After losing a round of nose-goes, Piper had the honor of escorting a drunk and unconscious Sole back to their bed. Sole usually doesn’t get so wasted when they drink, but Piper understood why they wanted to get black out drunk that day. The kidnapped villager Sole promised to rescue was gunned down by Raiders right in front of them, and it was all they could manage to tell the deceased man’s family the news. Piper had lugged Sole over her shoulder as best as she could and half-carried half-dragged Sole to their quarters. “Piper.” They groaned. “Right here Blue. Just rest, okay?” She carefully laid Sole down on the mattress which stirred them awake a little. Sole blinks blearily at Piper, on the verge of passing back out. “Piper,” They sobbed, “I didn’t mean to. I just, I just thought, I didn’t want-,” Sole’s speech began to break down into incoherent burbles. Piper leaned down to hug Sole around their neck. “Shhh, hey now Blue, it’s okay. Nobody blames you alright. It’s gonna be okay. Here, do you want me to stay?” Sole nods even though they aren’t fully aware of what’s going on. Piper stretched out beside Sole and cuddled their head to her chest while stroking their hair. Sole continues to mumble her name until they sink from consciousness again.

Deacon: Sole and Deacon had holed up on the second floor of the Kingsport residence beside the lighthouse. The two laid back to back on one of the beds since the other one was a little bloodied after their scuffle with the Children of Atom. Sole had already drifted off, but Deacon remained on high alert, supersensitive to the way Sole’s breathing caused his shirt to rub against his back. “Deacon…” He tensed reflexively, “Yeah?” When Sole didn’t answer he turned around to face them, and Deacon realized they had mumbled his name in their sleep. His heart started to pick up its pace, and he felt compelled to place a warm hand on Sole’s upper arm. Sole rolls over unconsciously and nestles into Deacon’s chest. Deacon freezes with his arms awkwardly angled over Sole. They’re so close… Too close, part of him thought, but he finally relaxed his embrace and placed his chin tentatively on top of Sole’s head. Deacon wasn’t sure why Sole called out to him in their dreams; maybe they needed comfort? A secret voice inside of Deacon hoped that Sole just wanted to be near him. “I’m here.” He whispered, “And believe me, I’ll be here long after you get tired of me.”

Nick: Nick had told Sole to go home already, or at least get some proper sleep on his bed. It was two in the morning, and Sole was passed out on the other side of the desk across from Nick, using a case file as a pillow. Nick just chuckled and continued his note taking, agreeing with himself to tuck Sole into bed after finishing with this folder. “Nick…” “Hm?” Nick looked up. Sole was still dreaming, so they must’ve been talking in their sleep. “Ahhh… N-Nick.” Sole’s cheeks looked red, and Nick had a hard time convincing himself that Sole was just flushed from the summer heat. “Okay, time for bed.” He announced, shaking Sole’s shoulder with his hand. “Wake up kid. Time to move to the bedroom.” Sole blinks awake and looks at Nick. “Aw, why’d you wake me up? I was having such a great dream.” Sole complained breathily, yawning. “Is that so?” Nick comments. He’s thankful that he cannot physically sweat or blush. Sole rubbed their eyes and smiled at Nick. “Thanks for making sure I didn’t sleep the whole night out here. I don’t think my back could take it.” They said. “Sure thing. Sweet dreams.” Nick could barely look at Sole as he bid them goodnight, but he also couldn’t focus on his cases anymore.

Cait: “Well, can’t say you didn’t try eh?” Cait smirked at Sole who was both grinning and teetering on the edge of consciousness. Hey, they’re the one who wanted to know what it was like in the Combat Zone. Cait cackles and helps Sole to the infirmary Curie’s set up, and the little scientist makes sure to give Cait a good scolding before leaving the two alone. Cait watches Sole’s slow breathing. They still had that stupid grin on their face. Cait had never met someone who was so happy to lose to her, but then again Sole was different in general. “Hehe, Cait.” Sole giggles unconsciously. Cait rolled her eyes even though she was smiling. She leans over to ruffle Sole’s hair in their sleep. “Ah, I just can’t resist your charms when you’re like that. You’re such a dork.” Sole started smiling with pursed lips and cracked open one sleepy eye to give Cait a smug look. “Hehe. You like me.” Sole taunts. “Augh. You’re impossible you are.” Cait scoffs. “You look well enough to me now. I’ll be off then.” Sole whined as Cait left, but Cait just smiled, and she reminded herself as she walked away, that she’s too proud to turn around.

Curie: Curie was so excited! She was able to find an ECG machine in near working condition, and with a little help from Sturges she had it functioning in no time. Now to find someone to test it out on! But so far no one was willing to let Curie stick electrodes all over them. Some villagers had even begun to complain that she was working for the Institute and wanted to hijack their brains. Finally, a desperate Curie stumbled upon a sleeping Sole. Despite the logical warnings her brain flashed at her, she wheeled the equipment into Sole’s room. Curie delicately pressed the sticky electrodes to Sole’s wrist and ankles, flicked on the machine, and waited for the data to roll in. Everything seemed steady. “Curie.” Sole murmured. “Oh, a spike in the readings!” Curie exclaimed quietly. “Curie.” Another spike. Curie noticed Sole this time. Did they just say her name? How interesting. What could it mean? How was it that her name was able to make Sole’s heart rate increase? Curie blushed at the implications. “Curie?” Sole sounded more awake this time. Uh oh. “Curie… what’s… going on?” Curie whipped her head towards Sole like a radstag in headlights. “Oh! Uh, zis is nothing! I was just, I-“ Sole and Curie stare at each other for a moment, both severely confused. Suddenly, Curie rips the electrodes from Sole and barrels out of Sole’s room with the ECG paper fluttering behind her. “Weird.” Sole said before collapsing back on the bed.

Hancock: Hancock convinced Sole to spend an entire day just relaxing with him. As part of the agreement, Sole got to choose where they spent the day, so they both ended up sprawled on top of a blanket in Sanctuary’s forgotten playground, lazing about under the summer sun. Hancock left the hard chems at home, and instead brought with him a single packet of cigarettes. He wanted to be sober so he could remember his time with Sole. After basking for a few minutes and puffing on his cig, Hancock heard a soft snoring beside him. He looked down to see Sole conked out on the blanket. He chuckled, took a puff, and contented himself with studying Sole’s dreaming face. They smiled in their sleep: a small but real smile, which was nice to see for a change. “Hancock.” He watches their lips form his name. A corner of Hancock’s mouth quirked upwards, and he instinctively reached down to touch their face. It felt soft against his corded and leathery skin. The tickling sensation made Sole smile wider, and that made Hancock feel like singing. He settled for humming instead.

X6-88: X6 sat in Sole’s room. He didn’t ask to be there, and Sole certainly wasn’t expecting him, especially since they were fast asleep. He reclined in the chair beside their bed. He felt like he needed to be close to Sole for some reason, or maybe he was just bored. He watched the steady rise and fall of their chest with satisfaction. The Institute’s future was laying there; His future was laying there. “X…” Sole whispers. “Hm?” X6 sits up a little straighter, but Sole was still asleep. “Interesting,” X6 mutters to himself. He places one of his hands on top of the one Sole has spread out beside them, and Sole unconsciously wraps their fingers around X6’s. “Well, I guess I can’t leave now, can I?”

Star What? Part Three

Summary: After making some new friends and going through a stressful school week,  Peter and Ned finally convince you to watch Star Wars.

Part One  Part Two


Word Count: 3568

A/N: Finally glad to be back writing this story again. Sorry for such the long wait! Hope you all like this side adventure. Movie nights are important! Let me know what you think! 

Originally posted by tomarvelicious

The next day you went about your routine as usual which included waking up at the darkened hour of 6am, packing the same lunch, and riding the same dirty subway to school. Approaching the trashed station and waiting for the subway to arrive you scrolled through your phone reading different news articles about the incident last night. One claimed the Stark Industries transportation semi hadn’t been found but one of the drivers was put into custody all thanks to Spider-man, the town’s new crime fighting superhero. The whole situation took New York by surprise as Stark Industries wasn’t easily messed with. It was the talk of the whole city. No one knew who the masked hero was but rumor had it that he was pretty young according to locals who’d had encounters with him; they said his voice was high.

You’d seen a few videos on YouTube of him when you were procrastinating homework. One where he had ceased an attempted robbery last week was trending. Idiots. Who thinks squirt guns could pass as real guns.

The change in air indicated the subway was close. Once the train arrived and the doors opened you stepped onto the platform. You were obligated to stand due to the abundance of people but you were diffident to it. It was a talkative Tuesday morning; a few businessmen were having an intelligent debate, some old women were happily sharing stories, and another group of teenagers were laughing giddily at something on their phones.

You smiled and put an earbud in listening to your favorite song at the moment (it always changed) and waited out the remaining few minutes until the stop at Midtown. Deciding to text Peter, you needed to find a way to give him the chem worksheet.

Heya! When do you wanna exchange the chem worksheet?

I finished it last night.

Within a minute he responded as you made your way up and out of the subway, back onto the street, as you neared Midtown.

Shit. I did it too just in case. We can compare answers? English?


Soon enough, both you and Peter were situated in first class of the day, English, comparing the question answers on the chem worksheet. For the most part, you two had similar answers, you only had to change a few to match his.

“So?” You asked curiously, waiting for the bell to ring and for class to start. “You intern for the Tony Stark? How’d you manage that gig?”

Peter ran his hand through the curls of his hair and nervously tapped his foot. But Flash was the first to speak for him.

“Pfft, no way, Parker.” Flash intercepted, causing both of you to turn your heads towards the front of the class where he sat in a yellow-collared shirt. “He’s never even seen him. He just makes up the whole internship to get attention.” He rolled his eyes, a few others joining in to laugh.

Peter just sunk down in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest, trying to block out the negativity. It looked like he was used to it.

There was no way you were just going to sit on the sidelines. “Flash, why are you so rude to everyone?” You retorted. “You weren’t part of this conversation to begin with. Why join in now just to be mean to anyone and everyone it seems?” You were fed up with his attitude, always picking on someone.

His attention focused on you know and his attitude changed. “Not to everyone.” He winked. Someone show this boy the door. You thought

“No.” You mouthed, shaking your head at Flash angrily.

“Now, now everyone. Settle down.” Mr. Eberle interjected. “Do I need to call some parents?” He lifted an eyebrow, scanning the class. “Thought so…now as I was saying yesterday, the rhetorical situation in regards to the piece I handed out yesterday-” You drowned him out and quietly continued your conversation with Peter.

“Just ignore that jerk.” Peter’s face lit up at your comment and he straightened in his chair. “Tell me about the internship? What’s it like?” You pushed, trying to change the subject.

“Y-you wanna know about it?” His tone was surprised but still worried.

“Of course! Not everyone gets to intern for Tony Stark!”

For the rest of English Peter talked animatedly–well as much as he could without getting caught by Eberle–about what he did for the internship. He was so passionate about it. He said he couldn’t give out much detail but you learned that he got to help design equations and formulas to test (and “maybe hopefully possibly”) build weapons or armour or tech for the Avengers. One of his models was being tested right as he spoke he claimed, which was why he had to stay late last night.

“I mean, it does take up a lot of time, but it’s what I really want to do. I get to make a difference.” He finished.

Seeing someone so loving about a topic made you fill up with happiness for him. “Peter, that’s amazing. I wish I could find something that I’d love to do as much as you love what you do for Stark Industries.”

He was beaming now. No one had showed as much interest for his internship except Ned and May and, well, May was May. “Really? Thank-thank you!” He smiled and gained some confidence, “Wanna sit with Ned and I at lunch today?”

“Sure.” You reflected a smile back.


Lunch soon became your favorite part of the day. Usually sitting alone or wherever there was an empty seat was stressful so having a confirmed daily spot was a nice change of pace. The first time you sat with Peter, Ned, and Michelle was that Tuesday and it was a bit quiet and awkward (except for Michelle since you knew her a bit) but after the rest of the week, you were positive you’d gained some new friends. You fit in perfectly. Michelle, or as she now liked to be called MJ, had known you in middle school and she accompanied you to detention when you had it but she was more of an acquaintance rather than a friend. As you got to know her more and more you realized she was relatively similar to you and shared the same interests, cliquing almost instantly.

It was Friday and Ned, Peter, and you had plans to binge watch Star Wars tonight. You still hadn’t seen it and Peter wouldn’t let you live. His constant teasing caused you to finally cave in Spanish, another class you shared along with Ned.

“Okay okay! I’ll watch it! Now shush and do your work.” You laughed, shoving Ned’s arm. He gave Peter a high five, both of them bringing their arms down in a fist celebrating their victory.

“You two are such nerds.” You joked, filling in a worksheet.

Ned turned to look at you dramatically. “Okay but so are you for being friends with us.” He argued.

Looking taken aback you sarcastically replied, “I have no friends,” placing a hand on your chest for dramatic affect, trying not to crack and laugh.

“You sound like MJ.” Peter commented, which Ned followed with a “She does!” revelation. The three of you burst into a combined laughter.

At last, the school day came to a close and the week was over. The endless homework was really taking a toll on everyone. Closing your locker, you made your daily walk back to the subway to go home, putting your earbuds in as you went through the motions, smiling.

Staring out the subway windows was one of Peter’s favorite pastimes. The blurred concrete walls were so entertaining. Yeah right.

After what seemed like an eternity, Peter let out a heavy sigh and fell onto his bed, sinking into the mattress. Finally. The week was over. He had two days to relax. Well, maybe relax: him being Spider-man and all. He still had to figure out the reason of the most recent heist on Stark Industries. It was all so complicated. Why diamonds? What was in the truck? He thought, running his hands through his hair in annoyance. And what type of weapon could have injured that man’s hand so swiftly? He huffed in frustration, tightening his grip on his curls. It had been four days since the event and it had been four days of silence. It was infuriating. What were they waiting for?

That wasn’t his problem right now though. His main concern was to get ready for the Star Wars marathon. Peter was still bewildered at the thought of the possibility of someone having never seen Star Wars. He laughed to himself, looking down and shaking his head as he convinced himself to let the whole Stark heist go for the time being. Peter jumped off his bed and grabbed the CD’s from his desk drawer, shoving clutter aside to get to them.

Tossing them onto the messy bed and changing into some more comfy clothes: A navy hoodie and some fitted sweatpants, he decided to call Ned to get some ideas for food.

Peter made his way to the kitchen as his phone was ringing Ned. He scanned the fridge and pantry for ideas. May wasn’t the type to cook or bake. Her meatloaf proved it. They usually ordered out so the pantry wasn’t that full.

“Yo!” Ned answered, “What’s up dude? I was just about to come over.”

“Hey, hey!” Peter smiled, “I-uh, I have a problem. What snacks should we get? Also, for dinner, will Pizza be okay?” Peter continued to rummage and move aside boxes of stale pasta in hopes of finding some decent snacks.

Ned chuckled, “Why is this a problem? You know I’ll eat literally anything. I’ve been to your place a million times. Probably more times than you’ve actually seen Star Wars…which is a lot.”

Peter paced around nervously. “Well, yeah. I know that for you, but like, I don’t know what (Y/n) wants.”

“Ohhh.” Ned realized. “I see how it is.”

Peter’s face flushed. “No! No! That’s not-”

“Okay then what is it?” Ned pushed, already knowing the answer.

Peter settled his elbows on the countertop, leaning over. “Shut up. She’s just a friend, Ned. I just met her, like, on Monday or something.”

Ned laughed on the other line “Okay, sure, spider-boy.”

Man, Ned. It’s Spider-man….Just get some good stuff at the corner store on your way over.” Peter finished.

“Yeah, okay. Hey! Did you find out any other stuff about the whole diamond robber Stark robber dudes?”

Peter had explained his experience to Ned right after it had happened on Monday. As he crawled into his room via window, Ned was already waiting for him finishing up another LEGO project on his bed.

“I called you about three times you know.” He had stated when Peter swung back into his room, sweaty and disheveled.

“Yeah.” He gave a small laugh, “About that. Um, I dropped my phone in a lake.”

As it was Friday now, Ned was filled in on the whole story. How the man’s hand had been mysteriously shot, how he tried to find the car mirror, hoping evidence of a bullet or something had been lodged in it. Peter hadn’t found anything in the lake unfortunately. Even though Peter tried to leave out all the embarrassing details of his horrible cover story that miraculously worked, he couldn’t. He told Ned about the phone call and how he was dangled off the bridge when his web tore. Luckily, you hadn’t been too suspicious of the whole encounter and didn’t question him much after that Monday.

A few minutes had passed and Peter’s memories were put to a halt. A few knocks on the apartment door signaled that Ned had arrived. Peter opened it with a smile as Ned had a few overflowing grocery bags full of various snacks such as: chips, popcorn, and ice cream.

Ned plopped the bags on the counter, quickly stashing four pints of icecream in the freezer.

“Is this enough?” He asked. “I didn’t know what to get so I kinda just got everything. A lot of people looked at me weird on the way over here.” He laughed.

“Ned, yes! It’s perfect.” Peter reassured. His mood was being lifted as each minute passed by. “Come on. Help me with the blanket fort!” The two friends rushed to find as many pillows and blankets that the apartment held, racing the clock trying to make a good fort before you came over to witness the chaos that was Star Wars.

Your subway ride home wasn’t at all eventful. If anything, it was the same as the ride you took to school. Everyone was buried in their smart phones, not caring about the world that was whizzing by, hypnotized by their media. You had your earbuds in again, listening to your favorite playlist and minding your own business.

Once you reached your apartment and greeted you mother, you told her about your plans with Peter and Ned. You dropped your bag on your bedroom floor, letting go of the troubles of the week, and put on a comfy sweatshirt, pocketing a pair of fuzzy socks to put on once you got to Peter’s apartment. You were happy to get out, excited even. It was a nice change to make some new and real friends. Experience with toxic friendships helped you appreciate true friends; you were glad to get away and start fresh.

Conveniently, Peter only lived a few blocks away from your complex so getting to him was easy. Fixing your hair, using the reflection of a car window, you headed into the brick building and up to his floor. It only took two knocks for Peter to open up, his features lighting up when he saw you.

“H-hey! Ned and I just got everything set up for the movies. Come in!” He said cheerfully, opening the door wider for you to step in. His hair was messy, you noticed. It looked nice. You thought.

“Thanks! Uh, do I need to take off my shoes?” You questioned, starting to slip them off your feet.

“Nah, it’s good. You can walk all over. It doesn’t matter.”

“I brought snacks too!” Ned chimed in from across the room.

“Oh, hey Ned!” You called back, still deciding to take off your shoes. “Cool.” You responded to Peter.

Peter’s apartment was very bright and warm. May had a few decorative pillows and paintings as well as some plants and succulents scattered around. It was very inviting and homey feeling. You smiled contently.

“You better not disappoint me, Parker.” You cautioned, “Everyone always seems so hyped up over this franchise.” You commented, admiring a jade plant next to the kitchen window.

He scoffed. “Trust me. It’s the greatest series of all time.”

Peter motioned for you to follow him. He led you into what you assumed was the living room, only there were sheets, blankets, and pillows covering the couch and TV. It brought you back to your childhood. Making pillow forts and finding creative ways to get the sheets to stay up was always fun.

“Peter?” You half laughed, half questioned in surprise. “This looks great, wow.” You beamed, starting to explore the fort. It wasn’t in the best shape, a few dips in the sheets here and there, but there were countless blankets and pillows filling up the fort that made up for the design flaw.

“You like it?” Ned chirped as he poked his face out from under another sheet.

“I mean yeah! It looks really cozy. Now even if the movies are bad I can just fall asleep!”

“Ha ha. Real funny. But seriously, I don’t see how you wouldn’t like them. I’m gonna go grab the snacks.” Peter stated, exiting the living room.

Soon enough, the three of you were situated inside the blanket/sheet fort and you were about halfway through the first movie: You were settled on the far left and to your right was Peter then Ned. It took a while to start the film as Ned and Peter were arguing over which order to watch the movies: release date or storyline. It was confusing but you thought the winner was production order. Either way, you were pleasantly surprised. The movie was pretty decent and you actually liked it. By now, the boys had eaten a bag of Doritos and half a bag of popcorn. You were happily sharing a bowl of chex mix with Peter.

“You guys ate those so fast!” You whisper-yelled when there wasn’t any dialogue going on in the movie.

They chuckled, peering over to see your shocked expression. “We’re growing.” Peter sassed sarcastically, earning him a long eye roll from you.

“Shhh! This is the best part!” Ned interjected excitedly. You threw a piece of chex mix at him in response.

“Rude! Don’t talk during movies.” You joked

Peter twisted his head in faux disbelief, “…aaand you’re talking?” He quipped back, an impish smile spread across his features.

Moving your foot to shove his you added a playful “Shut up.”

You brought your blanket closer and settled back down to finish watching the movie. You shifted so your were on your right side, half laying down. The warmth of the blanket spread through you quickly and soon enough you were getting drowsier and drowsier by the minute. Your fuzzy socks didn’t help either as they felt like clouds on your feet.

“Don’t fall asleep on us now, (Y/n).” Peter said, amused.

“Hmph?” You let out a breathy sigh. “I’m not.” You lied.

Just then May knocked on the wall as if it were a door, balancing two pizzas. “Pizza.” She mouthed and placed the steaming boxes on the floor.

“Thanks, May!” Peter silently mouthed back.

Aunt May gave a thumbs up in return as she began to exit the room, only to turn around again, peering into the blanket fort. She pointed at you, mutedly questioning Peter, her brows knit together.

Peter ushered her out of the fort, avoiding giving her a response. May obliged, rolling her eyes on the way out.

You shifted upwards and forced yourself to wake up. The three of you grabbed slices of cheese pizza and went to town. You were stuffed after you forced yourself to eat two and a half slices. All the previous snacks you’d eaten had filled you up quite a bit. But, it was the weekend, so you let it slide. Although, that’s when the food coma settled in and you fell asleep for real this time. Unbeknownst to your knowledge, your head had made its way Peter’s lap.

He stiffened at first once he realized what happened but quickly relaxed as he noticed you had fallen asleep. The second movie was almost over and it was getting pretty late–well for a sleep deprived student with vigorous advanced classes late.

Peter nudged Ned, raising his eyebrows. As Ned’s attention to the movie was pulled and he took in the scene, his only response was a smirk and a slow nod. Peter threw his head back in frustration. That wasn’t the response he wanted. Or was it? He didn’t know.

“Do I wake her up?” He whispered to his right.

“I dunno, dude. How long has she been asleep?”

“I don’t know!” He panicked a bit, having never been in this situation before. He licked his lips nervously. “I’ll wake her after the movie is done. Yeah, yeah. Okay.” He settled, rubbing the back of his neck.

Ned chuckled, focusing on the movie again.

It was quite an awkward position for Peter. There wasn’t any comfy place to rest his left arm that wasn’t on you. His attention had neglected the movie as he was so concerned about where to put himself. It was difficult. He tried crossing his arms to avoid touching you head, but it got tired quickly. He couldn’t put his arms backwards since there wasn’t anything to support them. His only option was to put them around you. He cringed. He didn’t want to wake you. What if you weren’t comfortable with this? His thoughts swarmed his mind. He wanted to be polite. After all, you’d basically just met.

Peter resulted to gently laying his elbow behind your back and he let his forearm drape over your waist very lightly. His other arm stayed still mostly but eventually he couldn’t help himself from playing with your hair. He softly looped it around his fingers, cautious not to pull too hard. He tilted his head down, his attention focused on you now. Your eyelashes fluttered and your chest lifted up and down slowly. Peter smiled, a small amount of heat rising to his cheeks.

The credits scrolled by on the bright television screen, signaling the end of the movie. Ned grabbed the remote and ejected the disc. The darkened room was left in silence. Subconsciously, your body noticed the change in atmosphere, and you started to wake up.

“Oops.” You realized you had fallen asleep. Turning your face to Peter you smiled. “I guess I’ll just have to rewatch the second one then?”

The three of you laughed, accepting that the movie night was over and that you and Ned had to make your way back home.

Part One  Part Two


Live and learn (Spiderman: Homecoming)

This was a prompt from AO3.  Warnings for bullying, underage drinking, and emeto.

Peter flushes the toilet and hauls himself up on his knees.  The nurse’s bathroom is a lot bigger than the other single-user restrooms in the school.  Cleaner, too.  Which is a nice change of pace.

It’s a struggle to get his feet under him, and an even bigger one to stumble over to the sink and splash his face.  He’s having a hard time remembering which knob controls hot water and which controls cold.  Peter splits the difference and turns them both on.  The tepid stream doesn’t do a lot to make him feel refreshed.

He eases around the bathroom’s door and sits heavily on the cot where his backpack’s already stationed.

“Did it help?  To get sick?” The nurse asks, peering over her glasses at him.

“Nuh,” Peter grunts.  “Not…really.”

She squints at his slow speech.  “Call your parents, then?”  The nurse evidently has Peter’s information pulled up on her computer.  “Or, your aunt?”

No, no, she can’t do that.  She can’t call May.  If May ever finds out, he’s going to be dead…

“I’ll, uh, I’ll call,” Peter enunciates, pawing in his backpack for his phone.  “My, um.  Emergency contact.”  At least that’s what he hopes he said.  The wires linking his brain to his mouth don’t seem to be passing along signals all that well.

“Ok,” the nurse says, a little doubtfully.  She opens a Sudoku book, but Peter has a feeling she’s still watching him.  Or at least listening attentively.

Peter’s fingers are shaking, but he manages to blink through his blurred vision and find the name he’s looking for in his contacts.  He presses the call button and holds the device to his ear, silently praying please pick up, please pick up, pleasepleaseplease

“You’re at school.  Why are you calling me?”

“Thank fucking god.”  Whoops.  That wasn’t supposed to be out loud.  The nurse looks across the room, giving Peter a hard glare, but then a kid with a nosebleed bursts through the office door and otherwise occupies her attention.

“Ok, weird,” Mr. Stark says.  “I’m guessing something’s wrong?”

“I don’t feel good,” Peter slurs.  His stomach is flapping back up toward his throat.

“So call May.  She’s your legal guardian, so I assume she does the tissues and the thermometers and stuff.”

“I can’t,” Peter says.  “I need yooooou.”  He doesn’t mean for the last word to stretch into such a whine.

“Jesus Christ, kid.  Are you, like, drunk or something?”  Tony laughs.

Peter doesn’t say anything.  He works through a burp that tastes somewhat like a cloud of May’s hairspray.

“Kid?” Tony asks.  Concern edges his voice.  “You…you’re not fucking serious.”

“Um.”  Now’s not the time to recount the thing.  The nurse is in the room.  Plus, the details are kind of fuzzy.  “Can you just…” Peter hiccups, bringing a fist to his mouth to press down the accompanying spurt of nausea.  “I don’t feel good.”

“I’m not your parent or guardian.”  It seems odd coming from Mr. Stark.  He’s never been one for rules.

“But…but can you…?”

“Hack your school’s recordkeeping system and write myself in as your emergency contact?” Tony says, maybe around a chuckle.  “Doing it as we speak.”

“Thanks…” Peter sighs.

“Ok.  I’ll be there in 15 minutes.  Where are you?”


“Oh, shit.  And she doesn’t know?”  Tony’s definitely laughing now.

“’M sick…”

“Yeah, yeah.  Coming,” Tony says.  “Stay put.”

“Ok.”  But the line’s already dead.  He drops his phone onto the cot’s plastic mattress and buries his face in his hands.  But then his stomach starts flipping again and he decides it’ll be better if he can see the horizon.  Except the nurse’s office is more like a box than a boat, and it ends up doing nothing for him.

The nurse has on latex gloves.  She grabs bloody tissues from the floor and tosses them into the trash.  “You ok?” she asks him.  “You got someone coming to get you?”

“Mm.”  Peter nods.  Swallows.

“If you wanna just sit in the bathroom, that’d be ok.”

It seems pretty passive-aggressive of her, and for some reason it really pisses Peter off.  He rolls his eyes, which makes his head hurt.  He picks his phone up again and pretends to be playing with it while he stares at the fuzzy outline of his reflection in the shiny black screen.

He doesn’t pay attention to how much time passes, so it’s a surprise when Peter hears a familiar voice calling out, “Alright, kid, let’s go.”

His head snaps up, bringing a ring of vertigo with it.

Mr. Stark takes a step toward him, but the nurse inserts herself in the empty space.  “You need to check in, sir,” she says firmly.

“He called me.  I have to come get him,” Tony explains, pointing vaguely at Peter’s slumped form.

“ID, please,” the nurse commands.  She takes the drivers’ license Tony proffers and walks back to her computer to check the name. “Anthony Stark,” she murmurs.  “Really?  You’re his emergency contact?  I thought, just his aunt…”

“Yeah, well, I got added pretty recently,” Tony says, a little too loud.  “But things with May are moving…pretty fast.”  He raises his eyebrows suggestively.

“Ugh,” Peter can’t help from groaning at the unwelcome mental image.

“Alright, Pete.”  Tony snatches his ID back from the nurse.  “Let’s get you home.  I don’t know how we let you leave the house this morning with that flu you’ve got.”

“Yeah, yeah…”  Peter tries not to stagger as he shoulders his backpack and finds his feet.

“Yep.  Here we go.”  Mr. Stark grabs a handful of Peter’s shirt at the back of his neck and steers him out of the office.  Once they’re clear of listening ears, he hisses, “I’m parked right out front.  As soon as we’re in the car, you’re telling me everything.”

The afternoon sun is blindingly bright.  Peter’s head already hurts, but the piercing rays of light ratchet the pain up a few notches, reigniting the nausea all over again.

“Ok, here,” Tony opens the passenger door of the silver Audi and practically shoves Peter inside.  He sits there uncomfortably with his backpack still on until Mr. Stark slips into the driver’s seat.

“You’re allowed to be comfortable,” Tony says.  “But really, kid?  You smell like jungle juice.  What the fuck happened?  You’re, like, so much smarter than this.”

“Sorry,” Peter says weakly.  Tony starts the car, and Peter hides a burp behind his hand.

“That’s not what I asked,” Mr. Stark redirects.  “You don’t even drink at parties.  Why were you drinking at school?”

“Didn’t…didn’t mean to,” Peter mumbles.  His stomach starts fizzing as soon as they leave the curb.

“What, did somebody set you up?”  Tony’s looks at Peter with an expression of indignant fury.  “How’d that happen?”

Peter swallows and searches for words.  “You know…uh, those Mexican sodas?  In the glass bottles?”

“Yeah…?”  Tony seems unsure of whether it’s part of the story or a drunk ramble.  Come to think of it, Peter’s not so sure himself.  “Did somebody give you one?”




“Are you asking me or telling me?” Tony demands.

Peter inhales through his nose, willing the urge to vomit back down.  “Telling you?”

“Fuck, kid…”  Tony shakes his head.  “Why did you think that was a smart idea?  To take it?”

“It was in Spanish class?”  It comes out a little garbled.  There’s way too much spit in his mouth.

Tony gives a singular laugh.  “That thing had to be straight alcohol, cause you’re seriously fucked up.”

Peter’s jaw is numb.  He should say something, but the words won’t come together in his incoherent brain.  He opens his mouth, maybe to just hum in agreement, but a retch tears up his throat instead.

“Whoa, whoa, ok,” Tony shouts, hastening to pull over.  It’s too late, though.  Peter’s lap and the leather seat are already coated.

He holds down the next heave until Tony drags him halfway out of the car, scaring a few pigeons as he throw up all over curb.

“Breathe, alright?” Tony instructs, patting Peter’s shoulder.  “You’re gonna be ok.”

Peter grunts.  Coughs.  “I’m fucking stupid.”  It comes out bubbly and barely intelligible.

“I’m…not gonna debate that,” Tony says.  “But do you feel like we can get going?  I’m taking you to the tower.  You can spend the night, dry out a little.”

“What about May?” Peter croaks.

“You’re…going on an educational retreat,” Tony says.  “Cause you’re learning from this.  Like it or not.”


Ben, you simpleminded twatwaffle, where do I start?

1. NO RELIGION needs to be debated.  They’re all equally valid.  Whether you think that level of validity is “They’re all bullshit,” “They all have some truth,” “That’s not what I believe but it’s real to them,” etc, is not important.  What’s important is that you realize that every.  single.  world.  religion.  is running on the same “facts” you have - a longstanding tradition, usually based on a book written centuries ago and translated a thousand times, written by some guy who claimed to have divine inspiration and everyone went with it. 

2. You cannot have an “honorable” or “intelligent” debate about something that cannot be proven if your only research is reading books by guys telling you what you’ve already made up your mind on.  You cannot pull up a study and say “Okay but this evidence says that THIS is the real way to be a Christian.”  You have nothing objective to fall back on, just interpretations of interpretations of translations. 

3. The best way to genuinely learn about a religion is not to read a book by someone biased against it.  It’s to go to a house or worship, engage in some educative activities and talk to the people there.  NOT with the mindset of gathering information to prove wrong, but to learn about their beliefs and why they have them.  This, of course, assumes a genuine interest in educating yourself rather than feeling smug about being right, which, Ben, I must admit, you don’t seem that interested in.  The Bible feels pretty strongly about that, though.  I mean, I’m sure you’ve read II Peter 1:5-8 more times than I have, but just in case you’ve forgotten:

For this very reason, make every effort to add to your faith, goodness; and to goodness, knowledge; and to knowledge, self-control; and to self-control, perseverance; and to perseverance, godliness; and to godliness, mutual affection; and to mutual affection, love.  For if you possess these qualities in increasing measure, they will keep you from being ineffective and unproductive in your knowledge of our Lord Jesus Christ.

And I mean, all you want is for people to learn from all the smart-ass shit you claim to know better than them, right?  You’re educating people to lead them away from sin, not simply being smug about how you’re doing it right and they aren’t, correct?

4. Here’s the thing about Christianity, Ben.  Every single person who ascribes to it falls short, every single day.  Whether you consider yourself falling short of God’s hopes, expectations or demands, you are nevertheless disappointing him.  The Bible has a lot to say about arrogance, Ben, and it is the very height of arrogance to assume that you have knowledge of which sins offend God on a greater level than your own. 

Since you believe in salvation as reward for faith in Jesus rather than for good works, I’m going to assume you really enjoy the book of Romans.  So I’m going to flip over to Romans 12:3 for a sec.

For I say, through the grace given to me, to every man that is among you, not to think of himself more highly than he ought to think; but to think soberly, according as God has dealt to every man the measure of faith.

In other words, Ben, get your head out of your ass and attempt to look at yourself objectively instead of getting so full of yourself.  Instead of comparing others to yourself and looking at how they fall short, instead perhaps wonder if you’re out of your depth and falling short of the ideals you have set for others.  The Bible talks pretty clearly about how quarreling, jealousy, anger, hostility, slander, gossip, conceit, and disorder (II Cor. 12:20) are common afflictions to befall ministers (that career path you claim an interest in).  Proverbs assures us that the arrogant will not go unpunished (16:5). If you looked at yourself truly objectively, with genuine self-awareness, would you like what you saw?  I wonder.  

Before you lecture (excuse me, “debate”) others about the shortcomings of Catholicism, your job is to examine yourself.  Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother’s eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye?  (Luke 6:41)  You know as well as I do that you sin daily.  You behave in a manner unbecoming to the Lord, whether you are prideful, or angry, or lustful, or lazy…but somehow is is the sins and shortcomings you yourself feel you do not commit that you find grievously offensive and in need of stamping out in others.  Why is that?  Why do you feel the need and desire to separate Christianity between those you feel are doing it wrong and those who are doing it as you are?  Why do you wish to create what amounts to religious civil war?  All fall short of Christ’s expectations, but rather than build a brotherhood in that, in rejoicing in Christ’s love and grace and sharing that with one another, your instinct is to call others out and say “He sinned worse than me!”

What, Ben, is Christlike in that? 

PS Go reread I Corinthians 13.  You quoted it at your own damn wedding. 

Imagine being the clumsiest elf in Rivendell and “accidentally” spilling food on the company, much to the amusement of Elrond and Lindir.

Words: 1,083 || Lindir/Female Reader || Based on ImaginexHobbit imagines here and here ||

A/N: So this is a drabble I’ve been meaning to do for a while now, but because I’ve been stuck doing exams (DAMN IT I HATE YEARLIES), I haven’t been really able to write it out. So this is told from Lindir’s perspective (because Lindir is my precious baby elfling i love him) and, well I hope you all enjoy it :) (or at least more than the new tumblr update *puts on shades and heelies into the sunset*)

It was known to all races through all the ages of Arda that Elves, the eldest of the Illuvitar’s children, were the most graceful and ethereal beings to have walked the earth. The most fair, the wisest, the most learned of all the races.

In poor Y/N’s case however, well…she left a lot to be desired.

No, no she was fair. Lindir most definitely thought Y/N was fair, wisdom was debatable, intelligence not wanting, her script was flawless owing to her position as head scribe. Yet over the thousand-odd years he’d been her friend, he found himself consistently assisting her in regaining her feet after tripping over her own robes or walking into an arbour or helping her piece together various pieces of broken crockery and on the one occasion Y/N had somehow managed to knock over not one, not two, but four of Lord Elrond’s heavily stacked-bookshelves.

It was rather endearing if it weren’t for the fact Erestor would not stop talking about every time he was left blushing after brushing past her fingers when helping her stand. No, Erestor and Feren of Mirkwood had a wager; Feren had wagered that Lindir would never come to his senses and ask to court Y/N, while Erestor (having a little more faith in his scholarly friend) believed that he would eventually get around to it (and by eventually, Erestor stated that it would be at least the beginning of the Fourth Age of Arda).

But Lindir doubted he would ever see the Fourth Age even dawn, as he was currently subjected to three-days’ worth of torture in the form of hosting the company of Thorin Oakenshield. The supper thus far had been amiable to start, the brooding leader of the Dwarven company seemed reasonable to some extent, unlike his unruly companions (with the exception of course of Mr Baggins).

“Did you see that, mellon nîn?” Y/N asked with her usual excitement, bouncing on the tips of her toes as she gently tugged on the collar of his crimson cloak. “It was forged by the High Elves of Gondolin! Do you think, perchance, that your Lord Elrond would let me glimpse it?”

“Careful,” A smirk threatened to appear upon his stony countenance, already thinking of all the accidental possibilities. “You might cut yourself or, as impossible as it is I think you would be capable of it my talented friend, somehow snap the blade.”

Me, my dearest Lindir? No, you must be dreaming.” She swayed and rested her beautiful head upon his shoulder before straightening again, nearly falling off the step but catching herself just in time as she was beckoned by the head of Imladris’ kitchen, uttering something about his ruse of refusing to serve the usual end of week venison to spite the youngest dwarves who had ransacked his pantry. Or something along those lines, even his ears weren’t able to hearing anything as the Dwarves had now begun a rowdy tune, the oddly-hatted one even stood upon the newly-polished table. Lindir hated to think of the task of repolishing it.

No, when his father had offered him into an apprenticeship as Lord Elrond’s advisor, he had been expecting tough nights filled with paperwork, not having perfectly edible food flung at him by Dwarvish children and quite honestly he was simply going to have to insist upon his early retirement. Perhaps that little villa by the quiet stream in Lothlorien would be appropriate? Provided of course that Y/N agreed to come- No, he was simply not allowed to think about the possibility of living with Y/N, starting a family, correcting antique scrolls on the ramifications of warfare and their economic impact upon trading with Men while Y/N ran her enchanting fingers through his hair… no that was simply too much for him to handle.

Although, Lothlorien did have a great deal less staircases and doorways than Imladris…

He watched now with fascination as Y/N’s brows knitted together in slight confusion, holding a bowl of bitter-greens salad in her arms. Perhaps he should have been much more attentive to the ugly dinner guests, rather than Y/N’s delicate features, as a well-aimed tart had landed upon his previously-pristine robes.

There had only been one other time in his life that Lindir had ever felt like raging about like an Orcish beserker, and that had been the day Lord Elrond had informed him he would be responsible for minding his twin elflings for the duration of his Lord’s stay at Mirkwood.

This particular situation was a definite second.

In hindsight, he should have truly been keeping a close eye on Y/N as she spontaneously tripped over the hem of her gown, though there was something unnatural about the way she had dumped her bucket of salad over the beardless-dwarf’s hair and the way she apologised after somehow bumping into Gilwen carrying the goblets of wine, causing the younger elf to spill them over the dwarves, a blonde-haired dwarf was in particular sopping wet. No, Lindir found it positively hilarious that with miraculous grace that had never been granted to her before, she executed an elaborate dance of pretending to trip over cobblestones and wipe plates of foods off tables and onto laps, hastily apologising with half-concocted excuses and continuing in her revelry with her playful smirk.

“Oh, I do apologise, I have quite a… reputation as the clumsiest elleth to walk this earth.” Y/N orchestrated her light and joyful face into that of a sombre one, the sort appropriate for hearing that one’s rival was dead but internally dancing for joy knowing that one had now inherited their position as head scribe. Y/N deeply curtsied to the fuming dwarfs before hastily making her retreat, sure to hold her heavy skirt above her feet as she skipped up the stairs, throwing a hasty yet mischievous wink over her shoulder.

“Well, I found that display rather enjoyable, what say you, Lindir?” Elrond found himself eating his lips, desperate not to allow the sound of his laugh escape.

“Aye, my lord, it was indeed-“

“Of all the elleths you had to find yourself in love with, it had to be that one, didn’t it?” Elrond turned to him, the uncharacteristic cheeky glimmer in his eyes reminded Lindir all-too well of his chaotic twin sons.

“I-uh, yes, my lord…” Lindir glanced once again in Y/N’s direction, where she giggled with Gilwen, her skirt revealed to be stained ruby-red with the wine. “Bless her clumsy heart.” He added with a fond smile.

Elleth: Female elf
Mellon nîn: My friend
Imladris: Rivendell

Tensions are high right now. I get it. We are trying to understand how America voted a guy from a reality TV show into our presidency. We are wondering what drove people to vote for this candidate who has hurt people we love. We are grasping to understand why this outdated system is still in place (in case you were wondering, Trump is president from his electoral college wins, but Clinton won the popular vote). I turn around and am surrounded by people who don’t understand, who are fearing for their lives, who are crying and can’t stop because they’re afraid.

Things looks bleak right now, but we can’t lose hope for a better tomorrow. That’s why I’m posting good things that came out of yesterday’s election.

Catherine Cortez Masto is now the first Latina senator to ever be elected.

Tammy Duckworth, a disabled war veteran and Asian American, was elected as senator in Illinois.

Kate Brown is the first LGBT governor ever in Oregon.

Minnesota elected IIhan Omar, a Somali-American woman, as a lawmaker for their state.

Kamala Harris was elected, and she is the first black, female senator since 1999.

The future of tomorrow, millennials, did not support Trump in this election (at least, most of us didn’t.) If this jaded attitude towards politics that many millennials have is demolished (aka, not voting), we can fix the mistake we made yesterday in the future.

Things are not going well right now, but hope cannot be lost. Change has bursts and setbacks. We are possibly entering a setback for the next four years, but we can (and will!) fight against it. Stand up against bigotry when you see it in your communities. Offer safe spaces for your POC and LGBT friends and family. Call your representatives and let them know what you stand for. Have intelligent and crucial debates with people who disagree with you. Don’t let your rights be taken away without fighting back.

I’ll be with you.

Sharing your Faith: a how NOT to story

Christians, I understand you want to share your faith, why it’s important to you, and why you are concerned for those that don’t share it. 

But let me give you a suggestion: THIS is not how you reach your community. 

This was a “Christian Science Study Center” in Colorado Springs.  It was smack in the center of town and at first glance looked like an internet cafe/study center.  But then this GIANT pedestal with a GIANT Bible was in the window with a sign that says 

This Week’s Bible Lesson: Everlasting Punishment”

I’m not sure why some Christians seem to think that threats of pain and torture will make us decide for ourselves that their God is “Loving and Merciful”, but seriously… this is not how to reach out to people of other faiths to share yours.

Honestly, it’s damn scary that people think that THREATS are the way to get people to come to their way of thinking or change their mind. What kind of logic is that? Do you conduct other areas of your life this way? 

If I assaulted you with signs and notices and billboards that had threats basically saying “Come to my religion or face eternal punishment and torture” would it suddenly make you say “oh of course, clearly that’s what I should do?” OR would you make the assessment that my religion was clearly fanatical and dangerous? 

Now I’m not saying Christianity is fanatical or dangerous. It isn’t. Christianity is just another religious perspective, and I will never invalidate someone for their Beliefs.  I really do encourage interfaith discussions and interfaith action on social issues.  I enjoy talking to Christian friends about their views and having intelligent debates on theology.  So do not take this as “Christian-bashing”. It’s not.  Each individual person is their own person and their personality is not dictated by their religion. 

My only point is to any Christians that think THIS is a valid approach to other people of different beliefs… STOP.  It doesn’t have the effect you want. It’s damn creepy. 

Talk to me like a real person.  And mention your religion’s positive qualities…Tell me about what it provides for you as a person. Tell me how it makes you better. Tell me your passion that you have for helping others and embodying the love that your Christ taught. Please avoid making threats or essentially telling me to “convert- or else”. 

last time I made a serious post about transphobia in the LGBT community I had to deal with transphobic backlash for months and quadrupled the length of my block list. y’all aren’t looking for intelligent debate you’re looking for someone with anon enabled to spew hateful ignorant shit to, and I’m not gonna be your fucking scapegoat for it

I missed my meds last night and im sick and cranky and running on a microscopic amount of patience, so like, with all due respect, which is none at all, Bite My Ass

I’ve gone to many Flat Earth websites and forums to try and understand the logic. I’ve tried to evaluate their data without bias, and at every turn it ends one of two ways. Denial, or metaphysical explanations. There is no rational, intelligent debate to be had at that point.

There is no shame in questioning things. That is the very foundation of science! However, science doesn’t end when you reach a conclusion you like. You don’t get to brush aside evidence that opposes you by blindly claiming it as fake. You don’t get to assert that just because I haven’t been to space or high enough to see the curvature of the Earth means your right. You have to explain the nature of why that object behaves the way it does. Why is it that Mars is round, but Earth is not? Why is Earth the exception? The facts of science are repeatable.

One group says FE is flat, one says it’s a bowl shape. One group claims there is a Firmament, or dome over the flat Earth. Some say satellites are fake, others say they are hovering in midair due to a magic wind with no explained source. Not even the people in the FE movement can agree with one another about how it works.

The very nature of these ridiculous claims would mean that nearly every industry in the world would have to be in on this lie. Hundreds of thousands, millions, or potentially billions of people having to swear to secrecy to protect… nothing. To live in a boring, tiny, unimaginative world with a glass ceiling and no infinite universe to marvel and wonder about.

anonymous asked:

Might not be a job for fans to do damage control, but a lot of the industry execs are calling out fans and insulting them and Louis. It would be helpful if fans respond to them with logical and measured tweets to explain what happened and show that not all fans are bad or rude or will use death threats. In the end, this will reflect better on Louis - that fans are at least having a positive dialogue with people who decide to play Louis' songs on their stations or not. Too much damage already =(

Hello again Anon

I think we may just have to agree to disagree on this.

I truly believe I could write something articulate and charming enough to have Stephen Fry himself weeping in admiration, yet still be dismissed by the person I am addressing - They having been subject to a barrage of variations on ‘choke’, ‘die’, ‘stfu’ and so on prior to my effort to communicate with them. Even if they bothered to read it, which is highly unlikely.

As a fan of Louis I know that the lazy ill-informed prejudices apply to me. `I am not a teenage girl, blinded by hero-worship devotion, a slave to my hysterical hormones, and with an immature and unsophisticated brain unable to appreciate ‘real’ music or to hold intelligent debate.  Indeed I am the polar opposite of many of these things, but you cannot reason with people who will not listen, have no motivation to engage, or who have closed minds.

There are many things I can do to support Louis, even if they appear futile at present. I will continue to do those.

There are also things I may be persuaded to do if I feel they have real value or can make a difference. Taking on the beast that is Twitter-sphere is not something I feel is realistic, achievable or provides the sort of help I think Louis needs right now.

There was a point, during The Rise, when it became abundantly clear to the disreputable denizens of Los Santos that unless drastic measures were taken the Fake’s were going to succeed in their play for the city. Some of those with a vested interest in maintaining the status quo, who wanted the city for themselves or at least the patches they’d carved out as their own, negotiated a deal. A temporary truce between a handful of the biggest names in the area. An alliance to bring down the ragtag upstarts before their unprecedented domination completely took hold.

It was a bloody uprising that had taken them all by surprise. The FAHC had slunk into Los Santos, established themselves well enough to bully their way into a modest little bit of territory but not nearly enough to draw attention, to cause alarm. Wouldn’t have been any different from any of the dozens of little gangs that rise and fall on the fringes of the godforsaken city if not for their leader. The infamous Geoff Ramsey, fallen so far from grace. 

Slumming it in Los Santos, Ramsey appears to have collected what could charitably be called a crew. The only other member of any notable worth is Pattillo; a powerhouse in her own right but too blindly loyal to see the sense in walking away from Ramsey’s downward spiral. The rest of the group is less inspiring. They seem to have contracted some nameless mercenary, a big guy who’s always wearing a ridiculous fur-lined coat and an ever-changing cheap plastic party mask like he thinks he’s some kind of Hollywood villain. That’s pretty par for the course with mercenaries though, melodramatic bastards.  

The other three unknown wonders appear to have been recruited right out of school; bright eyed, bushy tailed and babyfaced, a cacophony of garish bravado, unrefined talent and misplaced pride. Ramsey’s pet British import is a nosey brat with sticky fingers, the short-tempered Jerseyite can’t keep his cool long enough to let his perpetually bloodied knuckles heal, and the wanna-be sniper is more invested in feigning disinterest and painting his guns ironically vivid colours than he is in being more than a halfway decent shot.

Still, disaster or not, more than one group keeps and eye on them at first; Geoff might look down and out but no one just ignores a Rooster. The result of this surveillance is.. unflattering. A series of ridiculously low-level jobs with pitiful takes, messy out-of-sync teamwork, public arguments and complete disrespect; it’s pretty clear Ramsey has no idea how to run a decent crew, not even the kids seem to be scared of him. Even their base is a travesty; where the big gangs have bought up the penthouses of inner-city Los Santos, Ramsey and his menagerie are working with some sort of shoebox apartment somewhere out in the boonies. It’d be downright sad if it wasn’t so funny.

It takes a bit of time to confirm but eventually it is universally agreed that the FAHC were no kind of threat, that Ramsey had totally lost his touch. Eventually everyone stops looking any deeper than the occasional check in following some amusing flop, more a dose of schadenfreude than any true threat analysis.  

So when the ripples start no one thinks much of it; the Fake AH Crew take out and run off a couple of little gangs, not a big deal – the dregs are always snapping at each other, pushing for more territory, if anything the Fakes are overdue. It only makes sense that they’ve started to run bigger jobs, and no one notices the way they’re now pulling them off effortlessly, with no sign of their previous ineptitude, the way they’re starting to make waves.

It’s more or less a fucking tsunami by the time the penny drops, the FAHC crashing in on other crew’s jobs, taking out their warehouses, hitting their bases; maybe whatever dump they’re holing up in isn’t glamorous but the overcrowded rat’s nest of the outer sectors’ of the city prevent anyone from repaying the favour and trailing the Fake’s back home. They’re clawing their way up the ladder with alarming speed, expanding their reach so rapidly it’s nearly impossible to keep track, and Ramsey watches over it all. Dressed to the nines in an extravagant suit to match his shiny new attitude, reserved control and smug satisfaction, already patting himself on the back, celebrating his perceived victory.

Something had to be done. Individual attacks are mounted, of course, but the FAHC have grown wily, have revealed themselves to be more of a threat than any had anticipated. The trust-fund baby stops fumbling and shows his fangs, their loose canon gets his hands on a seemingly endless supply of explosives and out of nowhere the questionable sniper never misses a shot. Indisputably the worst reveal of all, though, is the mercenary. Dropping his ridiculous fur coat and plastic masks for a jacket he wears like a second skin and a skull no one could mistake, his name whispered all over the city like a collective gasp, a shared curse; Vagabond.

So all of a sudden those in power in Los Santos found themselves with a hell of a fucking problem on their hands. It was getting out of control, they were losing everything, so they band together. Four of the most influential groups in Los Santos’ underbelly, usually at violent odds over contested territory but prepared to set it all aside until this matter is dealt with. Until the Fake AH Crew have been taught exactly what happens to upstarts in their city.

The plan, when they settle it, is a basic as can be: divide and conquer. If they can seperate the group, keep the two in charge occupied then tell the rest their leaders have fallen it will all be over. Clearly Ramsey’s got something of the Roosters in him still, and Jack is a goddamn demon when she’s protecting her boss, but the remainder of the crew will surely crumble under pressure.

As horrifying as he is the Vagabond is still a mercenary, is still driven by nothing more than money at the end of the day, and when he hears that his payday is gone his facsimile of loyalty is sure to follow. After that the kids won’t last long, cocky little shits or not once they’re all alone they’ll flee the city with their tails between their legs or die trying, and there there will only be two. Ramsey might have more bite left in him that they’d thought but he’s made no friends in this city, has no nearby allies to fall back on, and veteran’s of the business or not two people can’t hold up against entire gangs for long.

But, of course, it doesn’t exactly work out that way. It’s all going to plan, almost textbook, but the one thing no one took into account was the ludicrous ingenious of Geoff’s ability to play the long game.

See Geoff wasn’t wasting those early months, tiny hauls didn’t bother him at all because the target had never been the money. Geoff had money for days, for years in fact, what he need was a crew. A crew who knew each other’s every strength, flaw and habit, who’d dealt with living on top of each other; forced through sheer proximity to start lowering walls. The little jobs let them feel each other out without much consequence, find their rhythm as a group, test relationships under pressure, boredom and frustration. Maybe they hadn’t looked like much, had been intentionally avoiding showing their true colours, but Geoff made himself a crew who not only worked as one but had come to actually care for one another, trust each other and were, above all else, loyal. That’s the kind of connection no amount of money can buy, no degree of fearful respect can fake, and no mere threat can shake apart.

So when they say Geoff and Jack are gone, torn away right at the precipice of everything they had been working for, the reaction is somewhat less than desirable.  

When the Vagabond hears he doesn’t cut and run, doesn’t consider himself duty-free, an impartial witness to the death of a client. Ryan thinks liars, thinks no chance in hell, thinks kill them anyway. His knee-jerk reaction is to leap into action, relish in the wholesale murder he’s been putting off for months, but he isn’t just the Vagabond anymore. Ryan’s got the Lads to think about, standing a few steps behind him in a move they’ll surely mock him for later but it’s second nature now, trying to keep them safe. For a given definition of safe. The FAHC has given back a part of himself that he’d thought was lost forever, shattered bone-deep loneliness and rekindled joy and security and meaningless affection. Ryan would die before losing that all over again; he might be more than just the Vagabond but Ryan has never been particularly forgiving.

There’s a choked off sound from behind him and in that split second Ryan has a choice to make. Geoff would call their bluff, demand to see the bodies; Jack would tell the Lads to be smart, to think about the flaws in the story; the Vagabond would execute the threat for their insolence before slipping off into the night, but Ryan just takes a deep breath. Smiles his nastiest smile and steps to the side, waving the Lads forward with a jerk of his head, bracing himself for the carnage.

Because rather than breaking their will, when the Lads are told Geoff and Jack are gone they flip their goddamn shit. Gavin loves this crew unlike anything he has ever loved, emotions so fierce he’s surprised even himself, the found family he’d burn down the whole world to keep. Michael breathes loyalty, has always done, but his devotion has never been unquestioning obedience and the FAHC is the first crew who have rewarded his refusal to be a blind pawn; for all he huffs and complains Geoff has always welcomed intelligent debate, no matter how irreverently it’s proposed. And then there’s Ray, who’s learning that having a crew doesn’t require the sacrifice of independence, that leaning on others won’t always be a let down and sometimes coming down from his perch and getting amongst the action is worth the mess; it’s a work in progress but he’s not ready to lose it yet.

It doesn’t matter how implausibly convenient the boasting sounds, how easily calm heads could pick apart the lies; the thought alone is more than enough to have all three seeing red. Things were going to get messy no matter what, but Ryan’s explicit blessing was fuel on an already considerable fire, and they don’t hesitate tear past him and into the fray. Ryan follows, of course, and there’s something almost cathartic in it, an assassin amongst a hurricane of fury, infinitely more efficient alone but surprisingly proud of their merciless bloodbath, an amused artist cleaning up after enthusiastic students.

It’s Ryan who gets them moving again afterwards, when street’s have fallen quiet and there’s no one left to punish, feeling very much the responsible adult as he herds them down the road, a shepherd with a particularly murderous flock.

It doesn’t take them long to track down Geoff and Jack, alive and well and just finished cleaning up their own mess. Geoff’s suit, proudly protected from all but the slightest singeing despite this ordeal of a day, is completely written off when he’s tacked into a filthy hug, Jack graciously allowing herself to be drawn into the mess despite grumbling about her aching ribs as Ray and Ryan stand to the side and share a look that is as much look at what we have as it is look what we put up with. They’re all bloody and bruised and strung out on too much adrenaline and too little sleep but they’re back together, they’re all alive, and it still tastes like victory. Like succession.

With the city’s former top dogs burning in the street, an irrefutable display of terrifying talent to overwrite all past assumptions and a ruthless reputation that’s spreading father in every passing moment, the FAHC couldn’t be in a better position to claim ownership of Los Santos. The infamous City of Saints, safe-haven of sinners, bowing under one supreme power for the first time in it’s less than illustrious history, newfound royalty slipping in like poison and bringing the city to its knees.

20 Interesting Facts About Libra (Part 3)

1. When feeling irritable, a Libra may pull away instead of sticking around and becoming offensive.

2. Libra shows love by taking care of you, protecting you, and showing physical affection.

3. Libras know immediately when someone has foul intent or is using them, but may wait to see how far they go.

4. Libras like bouncing ideas off those we’re close with, but the final say is completely up to us!

5. No one understands Libra, because…

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