kill yourselve

To my fellow Star Wars writers

I think it’s time to talk about Radio Station KFKD.

KFKD (yes, that’s short for K-Fucked) is a concept from Anne Lamott in her book on writing, Bird by Bird. (It’s a great book, incidentally.) It’s an imaginary radio station that plays in every writer’s—nay, every artist’s—ears. In one ear: concertos and symphonies about how insanely talented and special and misunderstood and gifted one is and all the accolades and talk show appearances and words of praise that will be coming one’s way; in the other, the greatest hits of every mistake one has made over a lifetime, songs of doubt, hymns of self-loathing, warning tones that soon the jig will be up and everyone will find out what an utter worthless fraud one is.

As Anne says, it’s nearly impossible to actually write anything when KFKD is playing in our heads.

We all have our own version of KFKD in our heads. We just do. And it sucks. There are some strategies for getting it to shut the hell up, but sometimes it just wants to play and play and play and make us simultaneously doubt ourselves and feel underappreciated and unseen. (Or maybe that’s just me?)

For my fellow writers in the Star Wars fandom, I have one request when KFKD plays for you: please, don’t let it stop you.

We need you. I need you. (No, I am not above appropriating movie references for this plea.) There is a reason that the fandom has multiple trip-to-Bespin stories and Ord Mantell stories and tales of UST and angst and fluff and pregnancy fics and person-in-trouble fics and AUs of various kinds, and it’s not because we’re all looking for the One True Fic that will cure us of every ill. It’s because we need to tell stories, and we need to hear stories. This fandom would be pretty damned boring if there were only one fic about a given subject or a given moment, even if that fic were completely perfect.

We need you even if you’re not sure you’re telling the story as well as you’d like, even if you aren’t held up as the Gold Standard of Ficdom (note: even if you think an author is being held up as this standard, I’d wager KFKD plays just as loudly in their ears), even if you’ve never written anything before and worry it would be horrible, even if your stuff gets fewer mentions because it’s about characters or situations that aren’t as popular, even if you’re toiling away and wonder if anyone, anywhere is reading. We need you.

Don’t let it stop you. Keep writing, keep posting, keep sharing. Please don’t delete it or abandon it.  Someone else will be first, better, brilliant, beloved. It will happen a lot. Share it anyway, write it anyway.

And if KFKD caught you unawares and you lashed out at yourself—try to let yourself gently off the hook. It’s okay. It happens. Keep trying anyway.

Please. I need you.

things i still lie awake at night thinking about:

  • jacobi didn’t know maxwell had a restraining order on her family, or that she’d have any reason to have a restraining order on her family
  • maxwell didn’t know jacobi was scared of ducks
Can We Stop Grouping People?

I seriously hate the mentality Tumblr has created. I mean really. I support equality on all levels, honestly. But what isn’t equality is when people say stuff like, “He’s a white cisgender male. His opinion and speech doesn’t matter. He hasn’t seen what we’ve seen.” And you know what else isn’t equality? When people say, “All black people have done nothing wrong. They are an oppressed people. They need our help, every single one of them. They are all so poor and oppressed.”

Like, can we stop? Not every single minority is a blessed angel who cannot and has not done anything wrong in their entire lives. Not every white person is a spawn of Satan who’s only wish is to use minorities to further their evil plots.

That all being said, minorities are still minorities, and AS A WHOLE need our help. Believe me, I get that white straight people tend to have it better, and are the reason that basically everyone else is struggling. And I want to help. But “helping” isn’t labeling every single person based on their orientation or skin color. It’s actually funny, really, that Tumblr talks such talk about ending racism and judgement, and protecting everyone - but actually just wants to protect minorities, and is totally blind to the fact that there are some honestly awful people in the groups they’re calling saints. And there are people in the groups they scrutinize who legitimately want to help end racism, and sexism, and gain equality, but are immediately shut down whenever they try to talk because they’re white. Or straight. Or okay with their gender.

Ridiculous. Shame on any of you people who claim to support equality on all levels but then turn around and say people aren’t allowed to talk because of their color or sex or sexuality. Fucking ridiculous.

Its so fucked up how fat people even MENTION other people accepting us people ALWAYS come out of the woodworks with some

“Well beauty is in the eye of the beholder!” “You cant make people find you attractive!”

Like yall make the BIGGEST fucking reaches to tell us that we arent ALLOWED to be accepted and loved and cared for.

And no, just cause you say you care for our health and that were “dying” and “killing yourselves” and talk about all these health conditions that yall dont even KNOW we have. Yall love to fucking run your mouths about shit yall dont fucking know about

You’re not ME you’re not my fucking doctor you dont fucking know me or my health history! Stop talking like you know shit!

And then there are those who act like wanting to fuck us is a compliment when its NOT. We are not your fucking fetish we are not objects to sexualize and fuck. We are real fucking people with real feelings. Go to hell

And then the bitches who flat out say disgusting awful cruel shit about us. Theyre the big bullies who pick on people because theyre sad about their own lives

No matter what happens, fat people are CONSTANTLY dehuminized. Were not allowed to be human because we’re fat. Were not allowed tonbe happy and free and love ourselves and our lives nevause we’re fat.

We deal with bullshit from our friends and families and even fucking strangers! I had a woman come up to me while i was at a diner with my mom and whe literally said to my face “you need to lose some weight” a stranger! Who i never seen again! How is that okay!

People don’t care about the effects. They dont care if we develop eating disorders, have depression, low self esteem. They don’t care because well, they hate us, and want to dictate how we live our lives because dont like the space we take up

But well, were here, and we will always be here. If you dont like it, look the other way or you can kiss my FAT puerto rican ass

amethyst struggles with feeling inferior to the people around her and they just


got rid of it

“Oh yeah I don’t feel like that anymore”


Edit: Everyone who fucking reblogs this post with that piece of shit response that was fucking shared by Ian JQ himself is getting blocked



Fuck you again Antifa

SO you think that you’re so all good and mighty, that you’re on the moral high ground for getting black metal concerts cancelled? Well have you considered the following truths before your crybaby asses throw your tantrums?


How can anyone be so FUCKING STUPID as to espouse they want to fight against fascism, yet fight tooth and nail to dictate THROUGH VIOLENCE what anyone is allowed and not allowed to enjoy? THAT IS FUCKING FASCIST, you god damn fucking HYPOCRITE MORONIC BAGS OF SHIT.


Take these utmost sincere regards from a homosexual metalhead crossdresser. Learn how to be decent human beings or fucking kill yourselves. 

If you want to ask why I’m so crass and so mad and vitriolic, it’s because you’re scum. You openly and proudly admit to wanting to inflict violence on everyone FOR THE IMMEASURABLY PETTY REASON that they simply disagree with you. And I hate real world violence, I really do. But the way I see it, anyone who hurts people who are doing no wrong, are the ones who truly deserve violence against them. You want to cause harm to the harmless, henceforth you open the door for justified harm to be done to you in self defense. 

There’s a word for people like Antifa and that word is terrorist.
If you have any semblance of truly wanting to be a good person, you’d look within yourself and see how badly you completely fucked that up for yourself.

The Recruit (Chapter 22) - Mitch Rapp

Author: @were-cheetah-stiles

Title: “Day 93″

Characters: Mitch Rapp & Reader/OFC

Warnings: Mentions of violence and sexual assault.

Author’s Note: MASSIVE thank you to @thelittlestkitsune for reading this for me weeks ago and unknowingly talking me off a ledge from scrapping this and re-writing it completely. Thank you, Lau, you are a stunning human being, inside and out.  

Chapter Twenty-One - Chapter Twenty-Two - Chapter Twenty-Three

Originally posted by dylanfanforeverr

Keep reading

Reader is the medic on set of Homecoming and Tom purposely gets hurt to see her.

A/N: I got really unmotivated at the end and rushed to finish it and i hate it so sorry. feel free to request things.

You watched as the new blood made their way towards you, a skip in their step. You couldn’t help but grin at their excitement that you would soon watch wither away from the hard work and never ending hours.

“So, that’s the new Spider-Man?” Your partner elbowed you and laughed. You shrugged your shoulders and smiled back. “He looks like he’s five.”

“We look like we’re five compared to everyone else back at headquarters.” You and your partner we’re the youngest on the force. Only a year out of the Paramedic program. You were lucky enough to get selected to work on the new Spider-Man movie set for the sex few months, though you were pretty sure it was because nobody took two twenty year olds seriously out in the field.

“Ladies,” James, Sony’s human resources director who had brought you and your partner on, lead the group of young faces to your small tent in the back of the studio. “This is our newest star, Tom Holland.” He beamed, definitely over exaggerating to make a good impression. Tom stood a few inches taller than you, his brown curly hair bouncing as he nodded a shy ‘hello’ to you. You offered a hand shake instead.

“This is (Y/N),” James introduced you with a hand on your shoulder,” and Kat. These are the studios Paramedics, they will be assisting with the movie. So any scrapes of bruises come right to these angels, they keep upstairs happy and lawsuit free.” He looked at the man standing next to Tom this time, who you assumed was Tom’s manager. James introduced you next to Toms PA, Harrison, who tom quickly corrected as his best friend.

Just as they were about to walk off James’s phone buzzed in his pocket, he pointed the boys to the snack table before answering his phone running off. You took this as your cue to go back to your table where Kat had already gotten comfortable and wait out the rest of the day.

“Hey, wait, aren’t you a little young to be a Paramedic?” Tom asked, his accent surprising you. You gave a small chuckle before turning back to face him.

“Aren’t you a little old to still not have hit puberty? You’re playing a fifteen year old at what, twenty one? I wouldn’t criticize me age, bud.” You crossed your arms and raised an eyebrow at the now smiling star.

“Fair enough.” He laughed. “I just think it’s really cool, is all. I’m glad we’ll be in young, spry hands.”

“Yeah, Tom is accident prone.” The blonde one that was introduced as Harrison nudged his friend earning his a small glare.

“No I’m not.” Tom defended. “I am the most graceful person you’ll ever meet.”

“Uh huh.” Harrison glanced over his shoulder to the fast approaching James. “Well, time to go, I’m sure we’ll see you around, (Y/N), and you too Kat. Good to meet both of you.”

“Yeah, good meeting you.” Tom smiled at you one last time before leaving.

“He’s cute.” Kat called from behind you, not looking up from her phone. “And his net worth is like five million dollars. One of us should totally marry him.”

“Yeah, good luck with that.” You laughed.

Filming had finally started on set sending new faces your way every day. You had met all of the cast by now, hearing the same lines over and over again by the HR rep about lawsuits and liabilities. You smiled through it all, getting acquainted with Laura, Jacob and Tony.

It was a quiet job, safety was Marvel and Sony’s number one concern. Rigging was triple checked each day, there was no stair too high or fall too deep. You found that you spent most of your time reading or playing on your phone.

So it wasn’t a surprise that Harrison found your feet up and eyes closed in your ambulance the first time they needed you.

“Uh, (Y/N)?” Harrison knocked on the door, stirring you from your dream. You whipped the sleep out of your eyes quickly and jumped out of the vehicle.

“What’s up?” You asked.

“Kat needs you,” He pointed towards the studio. “Tom hurt himself.”

“I thought he said he was the most graceful man I’d meet?” You laughed, walking to your medic tent.

“He’s full of shit.”

You walked up to Kat shining her small flashlight into Toms brown eyes. He was sitting on the cot in his Peter Parker outfit that fit him loosely. When she spotted you the flashlight turned off causing him to blink a few times before looking at you making you notice the red bump already forming on his forehead.

“What happened?” You asked Kat.

“I fell and hit my head on a prop.” Tom answered for her. You looked at him and rolled your eyes.

“What happened to that grace?” You grabbed the ice pack that Kat retrieved from the freezer and gently applied it to his injury.

“It was a graceful fall.” He smiled up at you making your heart skip a beat. He looked so innocent while playing Peter.

“There are like, six cameras that could show you otherwise.” Harrison spoke behind you.

“Fuck off.” Your new patient mumbled.

You sat with him while everyone else went on with their business, following the protocols enforced by the studio. Check for concussion, palpate the cervical spine, and check for any other injury. Tom asked you questions as you went.

“Well, I think you’ll live.” You tapped on your phone, messaging Harrison that Tom could go back to work now that the swelling had gone down.

“Are you sure? It was looking pretty rough there for a while.”

“As long as you don’t get your ass kicked by anymore props, you should be fine.” You took one last look at his forehead, your hand running over it and then through his hair causing his eyes to flutter shut.

“I’ll try my best.” He laughed and stood up, giving a quick stretch. His toned muscle peaked under his shirt reminding you he wasn’t the innocent fifteen year old he played.

“I don’t want to see you back here, Holland.” You warned as Harrison talked up.

“No promises, darling.”


Week after week Tom had kept showing up with small bruises and cuts that could be fixed with a simple band aide but to avoid lawsuits you had to sit with him, sometimes for hours, making sure he was okay. You weren’t complaining, he was great company. You were both fans of Marvel, Tobi was your favorite Spider-Man and Tom couldn’t be mad because he was his too. You both enjoyed the same music and you often found yourselves killing time by singing to your favorite songs. He even attempted to show you how to do a backflip once but he had slipped making him stay an extra hour in the tent with you.

“I have never met someone as clumsy as you, Tom.” You smiled, putting as icepack over his bleeding nose.

“I’m usually not this bad, I swear.” He laughed and leaned his head back to attempt to stop the bleeding.

“Uh, what are you doing?” You tilted his head forward again, your hand brushing the back of his neck. He looked at you confused.

“My mum always told me to put your head back to stop the bleeding.”

“I mean, sure, if you want to drown in your own blood. Is your mom a trained paramedic?” You raisned an eyebrow in question.


“The head down, Holland.”

There was a long silence as you filled out the paperwork that came with treating a patient. Admittedly, Tom felt bad that he had to watch you fill out what seemed to be like the most boring piece of paper every time he ended up in the medic tent. And admittedly, he ended up here on purpose.

The first time was an accident, he wasn’t watching where he was going, but he loved the way your fingers grazed his skin carefully as you examined him. He loved the way your face looked as you were concentrated on him and only him. He loved the way your hand ran through his hair. And most of all he loved the way you talked to him like he was a pain in the ass, because he was, but no one else other than Harrison had the guts to tell him that.

“So, uh,” You broke the silence. “What does your mom do?”

“She’s a photographer. She’s damn good too.” He pulled out his phone and slid through her Instagram. You leaned over his shoulder, so close he could feel the warmth of your body. He tried his hardest not to breath you in but that was just another thing he came to love about you.

“What about your mom? What does she do?” He tried to focus on anything in the room other than you.

“Oh, I don’t have one. My dad is a carpenter though.” You smiled, going back to the paperwork in front of you.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t know.” Tom mumbled sheepishly.

“Oh, no, she’s not dead or anything.” You shook your head, “She just left when I was young.”

“So no siblings then?” He leaned back, making sure to keep his head tilted down so you wouldn’t scold him.

“An older brother. What about you?” You couldn’t focus on your paperwork anymore so you discarded in on the table and made yourself comfortable next to him.

“Four younger siblings. In fact, I bet Paddy would love to play with the sirens on your ambulance when my family comes to visit next week.”

“Tom, an ambulance is not a toy.” You frowned at him. “It’s a complicated piece of machinery. You don’t just play with the sirens. They’re for emergencies. I can’t believe you don’t take my job seriously.” Tom’s eyes grew wide, afraid he offended you. He sat up next to you, beginning to apologize.

“I’m just fucking with you, calm down.” You laughed. “Of course we can play with them.” You moved his hand, taking away the bloody rag and icepack. “Looks like you’re done bleeding. You should go get cleaned up and go back to work before you get in trouble. Again.” You hopped off the cot and Tom’s heart sank, already missing your warmth next to him.

“Oh, yeah.” He mumbled.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, I’m guessing. You know, when I worked in the field I had quite a few reoccurring patients but you are definitely my most frequent.” Tom winced at the word patient, reminding himself that this was just a job for you.

“I’ll try to be more careful tomorrow.”


Tom sat on his hotel couch, thankful it was much more comfortable then the cot he constantly found himself on. He fiddled with the cold beer in his hand while Harrison played with his phone, both of them ignoring the TV in front of them. Usually Tom would be focused on the latest cooking competition but tonight, Harrison noticed, his mind was somewhere else.

“You okay, mate?” He turned down Gordon Ramsey’s voice. Tom nodded but Harrison wasn’t having it. He threw his phone at his friend, finally getting his attention.

“What the fuck. That hurt.” Tom rubbed his arm.

“What’s wrong?” Harrison asked again. Tom sighed, rolling his head back in defeat.

“It’s (Y/N).” He pushed the beer up to his lips and took a drink. He enjoyed how the liquid made his head feel and how it could get her out of his head for just a little while. Usually.

“What about her?” Harrison’s brows furrowed.

“She only thinks of me as a patient. She’s only nice to me because it’s her job. I don’t know why I made myself believe she could actually like me. She’s so smart and I’m so, I don’t know.”

“You’re Spider-Man.” Harrisons knee knocked against Toms, “You’re Tom- Fucking- Holland.”


Tom stood in front of your apartment door hesitating but he knew Harrison would kill him if he came home without asking you out, so he knocked.

You looked through your peephole, confused at the view.

“Tom?” You asked opening the door.

“I’m hurt.” He blurted out causing you to instinctively look him up and down. He didn’t look injured, if anything he looked better than usual.

“What? Come in, where are you hurt?” You started running your hands over him carefully as soon as he entered your living room, you could feel him tense up under you. “Why didn’t you go to the hospital, what’s wrong?”

“No, uh, it’s my lips.” He muttered. You looked at him confused. It was now that he was realizing this was the first time he had seen you out of your uniform. You were in sweats and a large tee-shirt, probably all ready for bed but you were still so beautiful.

“What?” You asked again.

“I need you to kiss them better.” Your brain was still in medical mode but you quickly realized what he had said and you could feel the blush spreading across your face. “That sounded a lot better in my head” He admitted. You bit your lip holding back a laugh. You closed the gap between you two and pressed your lips gently against his. When you broke apart you ran your thumb over his lip and smiled.

“I think you’ll live.” You whispered.

September’s here. National Suicide Prevention Week. As much as I wish I looked more like my profile pic 💀 and six feet under. Don’t kill yourselves ya’ll. I still need you in my lives, you put a smile on my face and I hope I put one on yours. Please reblog this to spread awareness. Society needs to know what we deal with. Naive motherfuckers. 🥀

- Promethean Dread

Block this person

Please block the-danica-lee.

Im on mobile right now so i cant ban her from the blog, but shes been reblogging posts and adding transphobic commentary. Her whole blog is about being anti non binary. She also tells people to kill themselves.

Protect yourselves.