look at all those people behind it

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Harry Styles: Singer Opens Up About Famous Flings, Honest New LP
One Direction's Harry Styles goes deep on love, family and his heartfelt new solo debut in our revealing feature.

January 2016. There’s a bench at the top of Primrose Hill, in London, that looks out over the skyline of the city. If you’d passed by it one winter night, you might have seen him sitting there. A lanky guy in a wool hat, overcoat and jogging pants, hands thrust deep into his pockets. Harry Styles had a lot on his mind. He had spent five years as the buoyant fan favorite in One Direction; now, an uncertain future stretched out in front of him. The band had announced an indefinite hiatus. The white noise of adulation was gone, replaced by the hushed sound of the city below.

The fame visited upon Harry Styles in his years with One D was a special kind of mania. With a self-effacing smile, a hint of darkness and the hair invariably described as “tousled,” he became a canvas onto which millions of fans pitched their hopes and dreams. Hell, when he pulled over to the side of the 101 freeway in L.A. and discreetly threw up, the spot became a fan shrine. It’s said the puke was even sold on eBay like pieces of the Berlin Wall. Paul McCartney has interviewed him. Then there was the unauthorized fan-fiction series featuring a punky, sexed-up version of “Harry Styles.” A billion readers followed his virtual exploits. (“Didn’t read it,” comments the nonfiction Styles, “but I hope he gets more than me.”)

But at the height of One D–mania, Styles took a step back. For many, 2016 was a year of lost musical heroes and a toxic new world order. For Styles, it was a search for a new identity that began on that bench overlooking London. What would a solo Harry Styles sound like? A plan came into focus. A song cycle about women and relationships. Ten songs. More of a rock sound. A bold single-color cover to match the working title: Pink. (He quotes the Clash’s Paul Simonon: “Pink is the only true rock & roll colour.”) Many of the details would change over the coming year – including the title, which would end up as Harry Styles – but one word stuck in his head.

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i don’t think tyra banks really got enough credit for what she did with americas next top model. she did some very progressive things way before they became mainstream in the industry. she always casted a very diverse group of contestants, she had people of all different ethnicities and sexualities, she had plus sized models, she had trans women, she had men, she had people with disabilities, and she always celebrated those differences/quirks that made people unique. tyra offered real advice as a working supermodel, and launched tons of careers through that show. looking back on it years later as an adult, ANTM was a great show that never got taken seriously because tyra is a little eccentric. but a show doesn’t run for 23 seasons without a genius behind it and she really was one

anonymous asked:

we knoe dan is phil trash #1 but sometimes we forget that phil's dan trash too,,,,,

people tend to focus on dans fondness for phil more often since he tends to express his affection through words which makes it a lot easier to pinpoint and analyze, but if you take one look at all of those pictures of dan that were obviously taken by phil, it becomes so apparent that phil is literally obsessed with dan and all his beauty. phil is a very action driven man and often expresses his affection for dan through actions, whether that be smth more subtle like multitudes of candids where he can happily hide behind the camera while admiring his bf, or literally calling dan up on stage during an award show to publicly share an award with him that was originally intended to be an individual award. phil expresses his love for dan in a different way than dan does for phil but that doesn’t make it any less significant at all and i start feelin emotions every time i think about it

Just imagine...

The bell rings in Riverdale High, and the students are leaving to head home. Betty is in the middle of them, and suddenly, it becomes harder to walk through the crowd that has gathered in front of the school. She makes her way past all those people, and then, her eyes finally see the reason behind all that fuzz.

Jughead Jones the Third is standing right there, leaning against his dad’s truck and wearing the leather jacket. His arms are crossed over his chest, and his eyes are dangerously looking for her. He smirks as soon as their eyes meet, and she bites her lips in pure excitement as she approaches her boyfriend.

I need to write a fic about this…

anonymous asked:

What's your favourite piece of art and who created it?

It’s like picking one of your favourite children, isn’t it? (I don’t like children but hey, the comparison still works)

So, that’s the most difficult and unanswerable question to ask me, I guess. I can tell you about one piece I love, and why I love it, but keep in mind that it is one of many. It’s a work by Arnold Böcklin, a Swiss Symbolist painter. I’ve seen multiple versions of it, but it’s this one that always draws me in and does not let me go:

It’s called Die Toteninsel, which translates as ‘the Island of the Dead’. This version was painted in 1883 and is currently in the collection of the Alte Nationalgalerie in Berlin.

I don’t know what it is about the painting that fascinates me. I think it’s beautifully painted, the colours and the technique are ‘my aesthetic’, as the kids on the internet call it these days (I’m not old but sometimes I feel like a grandma). The juxtaposition of the figure in white and the darkness of the trees is amazing.

It’s the uncanny feeling of the darkness behind the trees surrounded by rocks that draws me in. What’s behind the trees? Who are those people in the boat? Where do they come from? Where do they go? Why does it look like Stonehenge and some rocks made a baby and it became this island? What’s up with the clouds, is it going to rain soon or will the sun break through? Is there an afterlife? Did Marion Zimmer Bradley encounter this painting and thought “YES this is my Avalon”? Why can’t one understand all about the mysteries of life? What even is life? What is death?

Most of all: why am I asking myself all these questions when I’m looking at a painting? I can give you an answer to that. Works of art can do something to a person. They can make you smile, cry, but most of all: they can make you think. What I like about this particular work is that it’s a story, and it’s not finished. It’s just a fragment. We don’t know how it started, we don’t know where it will end. It leaves so much to our imagination.

If you’re still reading this, thank you for putting up with the incoherent stream of words that make up my thoughts. I don’t know where they come from either. This is what happens when I get a question that I find hard to answer. I actually do love writing about artworks, even if it’s just something like this. Your questions are always welcome, but it can happen that the answer is a bit… vague. :)

your fave is problematic:

severus snape is extra™ af
examples:

- he billows his cape out whenever he enters a room because the man likes to make entrances
- do we even see anyone else wearing floor length capes the way snape does??
- he only wears black and he wears ridiculously fancy buckingham jackets for no reason other than he likes to
- his speech for harry’s first potions class? talk about poetic and unnecessarily dramatic. sounds like my old essays for english class when I was embellishing sentences to add word count
- #confirmed captivating voice during said speech when he spoke softly and dramatically™ and everyone hung on to every word
- he wrote a poem/riddle as a trap. the man probably was seated in his quarters with a glass of blackberry wine as he thought about writing a poem
- he likes to loom over students and look threatening
- he has no right to speak as eloquently as he does and who does he think he is with all those. dramatic. pauses.
- he’s always scowling to keep people from talking to him like that’s so #relatable
- you never hear him approach. he’s just?? there??
- his entrance when he subbed for lupins class in prisoner of azkaban?? talk about dramatics
- “it. is. I, severus snape.” in dh and he was hiding behind a bloody suit of armor in the middle of the night?? spying and just waiting to make an entrance
- he lives in the bloody dungeons. talk about edgy
- he’s called a bat for a reason you know and it’s because he’s a literal terrifying shadow swooping in from the dungeons with his cloak flared out
- theres no reason for any of this.

tl;dr severus snape is so fucking extra and I love my angry bat of the dungeons so much

Whatever you do, don’t imagine Little Jason Grace coming to Camp Jupiter led by Juno and without even knowing this kid, he’s already being hailed Champion of Juno because yes he’s a toddler with a scar on his lip and watery eyes and he’s crying out “Lia!” though no one knows who that is but Juno brought him here and so he’s not just Jason anymore, he’s Jason Grace, Champion of Juno.

Don’t imagine Child Jason Grace being claimed, lightning striking the earth and thunder booming the minute he picks up a gold sword and marks being burned into his skin because he may be only a child that doesn’t know how to put on armour properly and wears baggy hand me downs but it is Jupiter who claimed him hello, King of the fucking universe, and so now he’s not just Jason, he’s Jason Grace, Champion of Juno, and son of Jupiter.

Don’t imagine Tweenage Jason Grace wondering who he belongs to, what his parents are like, if they would like him, and asking everyone what Jupiter’s like if they know anything, anything at all about his mother, but all anyone tells him is you are a Child of Rome, Jason Grace, and that is all you need to know because it doesn’t matter if he’s not done growing yet and has no idea what his place in the world is yet because he’s not just Jason, he’s Jason Grace, Champion of Juno, Son of Jupiter, and Child of Rome.

Don’t imagine Teenage Jason Grace going on a quest to save the fucking world, not to make  himself seem like a hero, but to prove to himself that he is hero that everyone says he is even if he’s lost his fucking memory and when he comes back expecting a “Hey, look, he’s a person” all there is pontifex maximus, he’s the pontifex maximus, because it doesn’t matter that he’s gone through pain and heartache and blood, so much blood, he’s not just Jason, he’s Jason Grace, Champion of Juno, Son of Jupiter, Child of Rome, and Pontifex Maximus.

Don’t imagine Older Jason Grace walking down a street and hearing Hero of Olympus, he’s a Hero of Olympus whispered behind him, because it doesn’t matter that he’s tired of only a few select people really knowing him and that there’s always going to be a breaking point, he doesn’t have those, of course not, after all, he’s not just Jason, he’s Jason Grace, Champion of Juno, Son of Jupiter, Child of Rome, Pontifex Maximus, and Hero of Olympus.

Instead, just imagine a member of one of the many lares calling Jason in the streets but he’s not calling Jason, he’s calling “Jason Grace, Champion of Juno, Son of Jupiter, Child of Rome, Pontifex Maximus, Hero of Olympus” and Jason, just Jason, breaks down in the middle of the streets-

I’m not just a fucking title!”

10

OMFG!!! THAT’S SO POWERFUL AND POIGNANT AF! How far have these two people come in those 4 months since they met; how much have they matured and grown and how much have their relatioship changed?! From being complete strangers to a point where they would die for each other.

“I’m not leaving without you. I’ll stay by your side.”

4 months ago in his company’s underground garage, MH teasingly told BS that she should die rather them him, now he is on the rooftop using every last bit of his strength to save her and get to her while a bomb is attached to her body; until his hand is all bloody, torn by the chains that keep him from BS. And when it all fails he is willing go with her to the abyss or afterlife or whatever follows after death, all the while protecting her until the end in the only way he can - soothing her, telling her not to cry, not to be afraid, repeating that he won’t leave her over and over again, no matter how much she begs him to save himself. Which is the complete opposite of that happened all those months ago - a heartwrenching irony.

“We’ll go together.”

People fear death mostly because there are things they cling to, things they don’t want to lose - those are the reasons for living; but Min Hyuk’s reason is behind those doors, Do Bong Soon - the center his universe revolves around. So he decides to go with her because he has nothing and nowhere to return to. How would his life look without Bong Soon? He would return to his infinite loneliness and spend every day of his life looking at her portrait in his closet. It was her who saved him from that loneliness, she refused to leave him alone so many times and he isn’t leaving her alone either; he isn’t returning to that loneliness ever again.

I once saw a high school teacher lead a simple, powerful exercise to teach his class about privilege and social mobility. He started by giving each student a scrap piece of paper and asked them to crumple it up.

Then he moved the recycling bin to the front of the room.

He said, “The game is simple — you all represent the country’s population. And everyone in the country has a chance to become wealthy and move into the upper class.”

“To move into the upper class, all you must do is throw your wadded-up paper into the bin while sitting in your seat.”

The students in the back of the room immediately piped up, “This is unfair!” They could see the rows of students in front of them had a much better chance.

Everyone took their shots, and — as expected — most of the students in the front made it (but not all) and only a few students in the back of the room made it.

He concluded by saying, “The closer you were to the recycling bin, the better your odds. This is what privilege looks like. Did you notice how the only ones who complained about fairness were in the back of the room?”

“By contrast, people in the front of the room were less likely to be aware of the privilege they were born into. All they can see is 10 feet between them and their goal.”

“Your job — as students who are receiving an education — is to be aware of your privilege. And use this particular privilege called "education” to do your best to achieve great things, all the while advocating for those in the rows behind you.“

Rescue •P1•

Avengers x Reader

Summary: reader is getting a tour of her new job at the Avengers tower, but happens to be the only one who notices an oncoming jet, about to crash into the building.

Word Count: 1767

Warnings: I don’t even think I swore :o

A/N: Hey guys! I know a took a bit of a break from writing. Thank you to those of you who were supportive. That meant a lot to me. Anyway, I’ve had this idea for a while, and I felt like getting it down, finally. I’ll turn into a mini-series and go off there based on feedback. It’s mostly an Avengers fic, but there will be subtle Bucky parts, too. Enjoy💛

“And finally, the backup IT quarters. This is where all the out-of-building tech goes on, like our jets, safe houses, comms. It’s also a backup for our in-house systems. Makes things a lot easier.” Roland says.

Our small group nods in awe, twirling around, gazing at all the Stark technology like we have been since the beginning of our tour. “Many of you will be here, managing things that occur outside of the building.” Roland, our guide, continues, beginning to walk through the quarters.

We follow him like lost puppies, all seven of us. In our short introduction to each other, I had gotten three names: Henry, Mya, and Dania. I hadn’t gotten a chance to speak to the others, but I hope to soon. I want to have a good relationship with my coworkers.

We pass by a row of beeping silver computers, all with what look to be radars on them. In the centre of the radars are large, slanted As on top of a blueprints of different buildings, signifying the Avengers buildings. There’s nothing on the radars.

Roland clears his throat and I see him straighten his posture.
“Good morning, Mr. Stark.” I immediately stiffen, whipping my head from the computers to the group. Walking out of a glass room, a man with a manicured beard and a cup of coffee in his hand nods at Roland. It’s him.

“Mornin, Roland. These the rookies?” Tony fricking Starkloosely gestures his mug towards our group. His presence has earned the same reaction from the rest of us as mine, everyone staring wide eyed and silent. I grip the strap of my large purse.

“Yes, sir. Just giving a tour of their new workspace.” Mr. Stark nods, giving us each a look. When his eyes reach mine, I swallow and nod in respect at him.

“I don’t bite, ya know.” he cocks an eyebrow at us, sipping his steaming coffee. Still, none of us move. The blond-haired boy that can’t stop rubbing the back of his neck is the first to speak.

“It’s an honour, Mr. Stark.” he croaks. We nod, a few people—myself included—murmuring our agreements. He smiles like he’s praising a child for saying the alphabet and turns back to Roland.

“Hey, you mind checking the supplies for B12?” he asks. Roland nods curtly. I lean back into the row of computers and feel the heel of my hand press into something. I swallow and ignore it, pushing off. I can’t turn from the conversation while I’m the presence of Tony Stark. I’m not that stupid.

Roland looks like he wants to say something, but before he does, he turns to us.

“Um, why don’t you guys take a look around?” he smiles, “Just don’t touch anything.” Everyone slowly scurries off, but not before peeking in astonishment at the billionaire in our presence. Roland turns back to him and begins discussing something privately. I chew on my lip nervously and realize I’m the only one left standing. I should do something. I begin to pivot on my ankles in search of something to look at. I look down at the table of computers, each of the radars the way they had been when I saw them. There’s nothing on them but the constant circles exiting the centre point. My eyes pan over the room, at the bluntness of it all. At all the seriousness. The Avengers rely on so much just from this one room. It’s almost terrifying, knowing I’ll soon be one of those few people that the Avengers rely on. I even get a silly little thought: like we’re almost the silent heroes. The ones helping the Avengers behind the scenes when they don’t even know it. I shake my head at the thought. Hell, I’m just tech support.

I’m about to push off the table and look around when a mark on the computer in front of me catches my eye. I look down at it and furrow my brows. A small triangular shaped icon is heading for the tower. The side of the computer flashes with information:

Jet A2

438 MPH

Passengers: 3

Contact: 1489 MPH

I tilt my head curiously. The jet belongs to the Avengers, as it’s registered into the system. I frown as I realize something. That’s odd. They should be slowing down. I look at the building in the centre of the radar and recognize the blueprint, bird’s eye view of the building as the same one I’ve seen at every fire emergency map in the tower. The computer must be monitoring this building. 1279 mph until contact. I swallow.

They should be slowing down.

I frantically look at the screen. The jet isn’t heading to the landing site on the east of the building. It’s coming in through the west, by the bio labs. They’ll collide right into the side of the building. A wave of terror runs through my stomach. They don’t intend on landing. They plan on crashing.

I back up and look to Roland and Mr. Stark, still conversing.
“I just think that my office is a bit cramped…” Roland gestures. I need to tell them, but I can’t seem to find my voice. I inhale and straighten up.

“Um.” I blurt. They turn to me, cutting their conversation off. I close my eyes for a moment and open them again. “There’s-there’s a jet coming in.” I breathe. Tony stark smiles and nods his head.

“Yeah, that’s probably Cap coming back from Wakanda. Don’t worry ‘bout it.”

“But—” I begin, but he’s already turned away, walking into the glass room with Roland. I exhale in frustration and look back at the screen. 924 mph until contact. I shut my eyes and take a deep breath. I need to do something. I need to do something now, because there’s less than three minutes until contact. I have to change the jet’s course. I pan my eyes through the room, looking for the jet control. Computers flash and think and whir. The room is too big to go searching for the jet control system. There’s no time.
My hand reaches out and digs through my black purse, past my makeup bag, notebooks, and all my toiletries. My fingers reach all the way to the bottom of the bag to the most important thing I carry in it. My skin brushes metal and I pull it out. My USB, a small inconspicuous thing. I step to the computer and jam it into the open port on the side of it. The virus is in effect immediately, a pop up appearing on the screen, asking whether or not to accept the program. I press “Ok” and drag the window of the radar to the corner of the screen with the mouse. Pulling up the program, decrypting codes to get through the firewall, it takes less than twenty seconds to get to the control panel of the jet. A blaring alarm begins to erupt from the speaker above my head, making me wince. But I’ve done this before. I’ve heard similar alarms before. I’ve learned to drown them out.

“What are you doing!?” a voice says in panic behind me. It’s Mr. Stark. I curse under my breath as I pull up the destination of the jet. I’m so fired.

The destination is the tower, the forty-second floor bio labs. I begin to look for a place to redirect it, looking back up at the radar. 334 mph until contact. My breath hitches. Forty-five seconds. I whip through locations for the jet to land at, noting that the jet needs to be at least forty miles away from the building to keep it from being effected. It’s already too close and too fast to be able to land at the tower. It’s going to have to crash land.

I don’t miss the commotion behind me as Mr. Stark realizes the alarm isn’t just because I’ve plugged a virus into his system, but because a jet is about to level the building. He approaches a panel of computers, but they’re just static. “The system is comprised.” he says grimly, stunned.vI chew on my lip, cringing. Thirty seconds. I take a deep breath until I spot a public water park. I quickly do a background on it, making sure it’s still closed and no one is on the property. I breathe a sigh of relief as I redirect the destination of the jet to the water and bring its speed down. Gasps erupt around me. I look up from the computer and see that diagonal to us, an aircraft’s smoke fogs the window. My eyes widen. That was too close.

I feel a pair of eyes on me. Ripping my gaze from the window, I realize Mr. Stark is staring at me in shock. My jaw clenches. The adrenaline is still in my system.

“There’s gonna be a crash landing in the Westward Water Park. The property is clear, but there’s still people on the jet.” I say. All evidence of uncertainty has disappeared from my voice, the same for my head. I turn back to the computer and reopen the virus, backtracking its effects. The sound of static on the computers seizes, and once I’ve uninstalled and blocked the program, I unplug the USB and return it to the bottom of my bag. The room is silent as I catch my breath that I hadn’t noticed I’d been holding. Mr. Stark clears his throat.

“Right.” he says, turning back to the panels. My eyes look around the room, trying to be okay with everyone’s gaze on me. They don’t know what happened, I’m sure, but they’re trying to understand. “Roland, get them outta here.” Mr. Stark says. I turn to leave when his next words make my heart sink to my stomach. “'Cept for you.” He doesn’t have to clarify who he’s referring to. I stop in my tracks and pivot. The new employees scurry out of the room, giving me wide-eyed, “You’re screwed” looks. I purse my lips and look down as Mr. Stark flicks through the jet’s status. It’s evident once it’s crashed, as alarms begin to beep and ring from his screen. He silences them.

“I’m sorry.” I say quietly. My voice echoes through the room, making it project louder than I spoke. “I didn’t know what else to do.” I look up, but he doesn’t seem to be listening. “Are the people on the jet okay?” I say nervously. He turns and shakes his head, but not in response to my question. It’s more like a shake of surprise.
“Person.” he says. “Only one. One very big, green person.”

Tags are open :)

Bucky Tags

@cassandras-musings

Touka, always left behind, longingly looks out the window waiting for those she loves to return… But she is bathed in a almost warm, calming colors. She has faced her past, learned from it, yes that pain still lingers, but she will always be there for those who need her. Giving people comforting warm when one is in need of it.


Kaneki, always hurt by those he loves, curls up in a ball to try to hold in all the pain he doesn’t want to world to see. Depressing, chaotic colors surround him. Unlike Touka, he doesn’t learn from his past, keeps making the same mistakes, lieing to himself, the pressure of the world on his shoulders. Fear and Anxiety.


This is how I see these two new artworks done by Ishida. It still seem like the both of them still have a lot of room for growth. Here is to hoping that when the Touken talk FINALLY happens, it will most definitely be worth the wait.

Writing #4

Non-binary Sirius!
-
Sirius entered the common room. They could see comfortable sofas, armchairs and pillows absolutely everywhere, and a main fireplace. There were windows looking out on the grounds, and they could see the grass and flowers still sprinkled on the ground, and the lake they had just come through. Looking back into the room, Sirius observed portraits and books. Then they saw the two staircases.
Two.
Presumably, they thought, one leading to the girls’ dormitories, and one leading to the boys’…
“Hey!” a loud voice exclaimed, interrupting their thoughts. Sirius turned around to see James smiling widely and looking around excitedly. “I had no idea it would be this big! Look, there’s where we’re not going to do our homework, and that’s where we’ll plan pranks, and here…”
James’ voice faded as Sirius started to panic. There were TWO staircases. And they were NOT a boy, or even a girl.
Shit. Shit shit shit. They had never come out to anyone about who they truly were. What if they had to put on a huge fake smile and just go up the stairs to the boys’ dormitories with James? What if the stairs rejected them? Sirius had heard rumors about stairs turning into slides if you weren’t the right gender. The staircases to come up here were already hectic, so they were ready to believe anything. Even worse, what if they WERE allowed to go up? Would that mean… that they weren’t actually non-binary?
Fuck, now Sirius was questioning their entire existence. What if this was what people would think it was: just a phase, or a way to rebel from their parents? No. They weren’t a boy. And they weren’t a girl. They were… somewhere in between. They still hadn’t figured it out yet, but Sirius still cringed when people called them by he/him pronouns. This wasn’t the time to think about how much they hated that, though, because James was tugging on their sleeve and leading them to Remus and to the staircase.
“James, I- James…”
“What is it? Come on, I wanna go see the size of the beds!”
“I- I don’t…”
Sirius was looking around frantically, trying to find an excuse to extend their time in the common room. They were trying to smile as if everything was fine and they had just spotted something cool behind James’ shoulder, but James could see how worried Sirius looked.
“Hey, man, what is it?”
Sirius grinded their teeth.
“Um, well… don’t you want to go explore the castle first? Right, Remus?”
Sirius looked around James at Remus. Remus had seemed the sort of person they could trust, a kind individual who laughed softly and looked at everyone with a certain happiness.
“Uhhh… I guess?”
“Exactly! Let’s go- let’s go explore!”
“But, Sirius… Didn’t the headmaster tell us to go to bed?”
“Well, Remus, this’ll be our first bit of rule-breaking! Are you guys in?”
“Are you okay, Sirius?” James asked, concerned. “You look nervous about something.”
“Of course! I’ve just never gotten out after my bed time, is all!”
James and Remus exchanged looks.
Suddenly, Peter, another person Sirius had met on the train, showed up and planted himself in front of James.
“H-hey James! I heard we were in the same dorm! Wanna go see?”
“Yeah, let’s go see where we’re placed, Sirius, then we’ll sneak out,” James promised, then turned and started up the stairs with Peter. Obviously, the stairs didn’t reject them and they went up a bit further before sticking their heads into a doorway and loudly exclaiming.
“Wow! You’ve gotta come see this!” James called.
Remus, still downstairs, turned his head to look at Sirius for a second before yelling “We’ll be up in a second!” and grabbing Sirius by the bicep. Remus brought Sirius into a darker part of the empty common room and sat down on an armchair.
“What’s going on, Sirius?”
Sirius moved their eyes up from the ground but kept their head down. They rubbed their nose and ran their hand through their hair.
“Is it something about not wanting to be in a dorm with us? You can tell me, I won’t be offended,” Remus said as he took his turn at looking down at the carpet.
“No, that’s… that’s not it at all. I just, uh… I…”
They were going to have to tell Remus. With no preparation, no ideas on how how to break it to him, no courage. They had not planned on coming out this way at all. They just couldn’t do this, they couldn’t tell him about not being a boy or a girl. They were rocking slowly on the sofa cushion now, thinking this over, and a silence established itself. They could tell Remus was going to give them as much time as necessary to tell him what was wrong. But Sirius just couldn’t do it! They had only just met Remus and they actually didn’t really know what he was like. What if he had grown up in a homophobic and transphobic and everything-phobic family like theirs? What if he had opinionated retorts? What if he completely rejected Sirius? What if he told everyone?
Sirius had too many questions and too many doubts. They just couldn’t do this.
“I’m- I’m sorry. I can’t tell you right now.”
Remus was looking at them strangely. Sirius could almost see the cogs turning in his mind, trying to figure why they wouldn’t want to go up the staircase.
“Oh. Oh! Is it… I don’t know if you’ll find it’s weird, or offensive, that I thought this could be the reason why you don’t want to go up there, but… are you trans?”
Taken aback, Sirius looked up surprisingly. Their brows were high on their face.
“Um… that’s…”
“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry, oh my gosh. Uh- well- um, I’m sorry-”
“No, it’s… it’s fine… it’s just that that’s not exactly it…”
Remus’ naivety had saved them. He must have been brought up in a really positive and accepting family to assume that Sirius wouldn’t be at least disgusted by his assumption. Remus definitely hadn’t seemed grossed out himself at potentially having a transgender roommate, so wasn’t that a good sign? He had just seemed so worried that he had offended Sirius, not that there was anything offensive about being trans. Sirius was smiling now.
“No, it’s just that I- I’m not trans, I’m… I’m non-binary. I’m… actually not sure what I am, exactly, but I’m just- I’m not a boy. So… I don’t- I don’t know where to go.”
Remus was open-mouthed, but his expression disappeared quickly to be replaced by a warm smile.
“Oh. Okay, well, I just- I wondered if you were nervous for the same reason as me, because I’m- I’m trans and I’m really scared the stairs won’t let me up.”
They were both grinning nervously now.
“That… that problem is still there, though. And James and Peter are expecting us…” Sirius trailed off, and they both started panicking again about where they had to go, or if they even had beds for themselves.
Sirius picked at some strings coming out of the armchair they were sitting on. There seemed to be only two options: stay down here and wait for Peter and James to ask them a million questions, or try to go up the stairs.
“I don’t doubt that you’re a real boy, Remus, so you would be able to go up, but I’m… I’m not. There’s no staircase for someone that’s neither a boy nor a girl.”
All of a sudden, a voice “tut-tutted” behind Remus. Sirius looked up to see a portrait of a person wearing period clothing and a large hat, waving their finger.
“You just have to look for it, Sirius,” said the person in the portrait.
“I… who are you?”
“I’m Sarah. Unfortunately, in my time, I was not allowed to change my name, so people usually treated me as a girl, when I am not one. I was faced with this same problem when I came to Hogwarts, dear. The staircase reveals itself to those who need it, and it will offer you a choice: you can choose a special room, just for you, or you can choose a pathway to friends whom you know will accept you. I chose the staircase to my best friend’s room, and he ended up being… not who I thought he was. But Remus here, he’s a boy, and you already know he is accepting of any gender. He will be able to go up the boys’ stairs, and you will find the special staircase.”
“I…”
Sirius was surprised. They had never heard of non-binary people in olden days. They would have to talk more to this Sarah to learn about their experiences.
“Where is the staircase?”
“I told you, dear, you’ll find it on your own, once Remus has left the common room,” Sarah said, and then they turned to Remus. “You’ll be able to go join your friends upstairs, sweetie.”
Sarah smiled warmly and promptly walked out of their portrait.
Sirius was still wide-eyed. A portrait had just directly spoken to them and told them what to do. The portraits at home just fired off curses and insults.
“So…” Remus smiled. “I’ll see you upstairs?”
“I… yeah, I… I guess.”
Remus put a hand on their shoulder and then walked to the boys’ stairs. He took a deep breath and climbed the first few steps. Nothing happened. He grinned, looked at Sirius one more time, and disappeared up the steps.
Everyone had gone up to bed now, and Sirius was alone. They looked around the room, trying to find a clue, but they didn’t have to search long before hearing a “click” between the two normal staircases. They turned around and saw a wall separating, revealing a small set of steps leading up to a source of light. Sirius gathered their courage and made their way to the other side of the room and up the stairs. The wall closed behind them.
They were in a small lounge, chairs and couches everywhere, and they could see an open door. Beyond that door was a room containing a few beds and a sink. Everything was decorated lavishly, and everything was clean and non-dusty, although this room didn’t seem to be used very often. But what caught their attention was another, spiralling set of stairs, leading up into the ceiling. They guessed that whichever friend they thought of, this staircase would lead them to them. Sirius was ready.
They concentrated hard on Remus, with his messy light brown hair and warm, amber eyes, and started up the stairs.

Painted Hearts (1)

part one; part two; part three; part four;

You watched Yuri in the mirror nervously nibbling on her bottom lip while you wrapped her luscious chocolatey locks around a hot wand to form soft perfect curls. All morning she had been a bundle of nerves for this dinner and despite your best efforts to calm her down, her hands were still shaking. “Yuri, you need to relax,” you told her quietly, scooping another inch of hair up and wrapping it around the curler.

“That’s easy for you to say,” Yuri scoffed, rolling her eyes at you. “I’m about ten minutes away from having a nervous breakdown!” Her hands gripped each other tightly in her lap, the colour completely drained.

Unravelling her curl, you arranged it to frame her flawless face, dropping your hand to her arm and squeezing it reassuringly. “I’m sure the two men your mother has chosen are going to be amazing,” you said unconvincingly.

Keep reading

Touch

Leonard McCoy x Reader

1,666 words

Beta: @trekken81

Triggers: None, but if you find something that should be tagged let me know

Soulmate AU: You thought you were one of the few people born without a soulmate until Jim’s meddling and the touch of a Doctor prove you wrong.

Originally posted by ensignspace


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Kim Jongdae//Collision Course - Part 1

Originally posted by sooranghaes

Summary: You were the typical girl with big dreams who moved to the city as soon as she had the chance, and somehow ended up in the wrong part of town - but you somehow manage to get swept up in an entirely different situation than you’d planned. (1/ 2/ 3/ 4/ 5)
Scenario: mafia!AU/hacker!AU
Word Count: 7,641

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The Hades and Persephone AU no one asked for! 

Iron Flowers

The wards in the Underworld are starting to weaken and Alec has to find the reborn Persephone before it’s too late and Valentine gets out.
But when at-first-glance-mortal Magnus turns out to be the personification of spring itself who doesn’t know his true powers it gets a little more complicated than just restoring the wards in a flash.

Read it on AO3 

OR

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mythover  asked:

Hey there love your blog. Quick question I'm trying to write a fanasty book where one of the main characters use both swords & guns. A katana on his left hip & a short katana on his right aswell as carrying a desert eagle on his person but he lives in a world where technology & magic exist except firearms are illegal. Is it possible to write scene's where this combintaion works?

The “short katana” would be a wakizashi. It’s a distinct weapon in its own right and was traditionally part of a samurai’s accoutrements, though this is probably the least significant issue here.

The combination works in so far as you remember that real people make really horrible decisions in an attempt to seem cool. The Desert Eagle is a very flashy, somewhat terrible, gun. You carry one as an aesthetic choice, not because you want to actually kill someone with it. It’s big, bulky, unreasonably heavy, and stupidly expensive. The only point to owning one is to say, “look at what a badass I could be.”

The katana is a very flashy, somewhat terrible, sword. Stop me if this one sounds familiar; this is a sword you carry as an aesthetic choice, not because you actually want to kill someone with it, but because you want to say, “look at what a badass I could be.”

In both cases you’re talking about items that present the concept of a weapon far more valuable, lethal, and cool, than the real articles offer. With the katana, there’s also all of the associated cultural baggage. The katana is, literally, a holy symbol in Shinto. If your character is carrying one for religious reasons, that’s one thing; but, if they’re looking for “the best sword,” then, it’s a terrible choice.

It’s also probably worth pointing out that both the Desert Eagle and the katana require two hands to wield properly. Desert Eagles have a “floating mag,” meaning the magazine remains somewhat loose in the grip, while locked. If the operator fails to properly stabilize the pistol, this can result in the pistol failing to feed, meaning it won’t properly load the next round into the chamber, and forcing the user to cycle the slide manually. This isn’t an issue if you’re using the pistol as designed, but if you’re trying to fire it one handed, because your other hand is occupied with a katana, it could easily result in a dead man’s click long before the magazine is empty.

There’s a similar issue with the katana, the design works with the idea that the wielder will be using it with both hands. Specifically you use your index and middle ring and pinky finger on your off-hand to control the blade, while using your main hand for power. The problem with wielding one single handed should be immediately obvious; you can flail around with it, but you can’t really get much value from it that way. At that point, you’d almost be better off with a machete, simply because it would offer a more comfortable grip, and would be easier to swing.

While wakizashi are frequently matched with a katana and sold together, they’re not intended for simultaneous use. The wakizashi had distinct uses, mostly so the samurai would have a blade they could actually use in doors, but it wasn’t supposed to be dual wielded with a katana. Think of it like buying a kitchen knife set, sure there’s eight knives in there, but you’re not going to be using all of them together at once.

I’ll add, I’ve got nothing against a character that has a reason to use a katana. If it’s a badge of office, a family heirloom, a sign of their order or training, that’s fine. It’s the idea that “this is the best possible sword ever,” which I object to. It’s a two-handed sword. It’s not particularly great. It has a dedicated martial style, predicated on using very fragile blades, (and historical katanas are exceedingly fragile).

Finally, if you’ve got a setting where firearms are outlawed, there’s a few problems specific to the Desert Eagle. I mentioned that they were large and expensive, so let’s break those down a little. First, these are massive pistols. A Mark XIX Desert Eagle weighs just under four and a half pounds. For a pistol that is comically heavy. This is also a gun that is over a foot long. These are large handguns. They are difficult to conceal. If you’re living in a setting where owning a gun is illegal, this is the last thing you want to be carrying on the street. (They’re pretty terrible carry weapons in the real world as well.)

On the current market, with firearms that are legal to buy, a used Desert Eagle will set you back at least $1,200 ($1,400 to $1,700 is more likely, for a gun in decent shape). In contrast, if you’re shopping for a solid conceal carry pistol you can expect to spend somewhere between $400 and $500. Even high grade “tactical” pistols rarely break $1k, unless they’re collector’s items (or SIGs). Most “cool” pistols you see on TV probably cost between $600 and $1k.

If you’re wondering why SIGs manage to command higher prices, it’s because (in most cases) they’re remarkably high quality. I’ve had issues with the American produced SIG Sauer P226s, but in general SIGs are worth the money.

The Desert Eagle really isn’t worth the money. As I said earlier, these are guns you buy to show off, not because you’re looking for a carry weapon.

And, all of this is before you step back and apply the economics for a setting where getting a handgun is illegal. At that point, you’re talking about a gun that could easily cost more than an older model car. Those economics skew against you even harder every time your character pulls the trigger.

Desert Eagles come chambered in a couple different rounds. There’s .357 magnum, .44 magnum, and .50AE. (Technically, there’s also .41 magnum and .440 variants as well.) Gun stores aren’t going to stock a lot, but you can buy them if you’re using something chambered for it. Also worth noting, if you’re dropping the hammer on a .50AE Desert Eagle, it will set you back more than a dollar per bullet. (The current, actual cost in the US is ~$1.35 per round.) But, if you’re in a setting where firearms aren’t easily available, your black market’s going to need to focus on rounds they can actually sell. They may keep a little bit around (and would charge way more than the price I just quoted), but once it’s gone, getting your hands on more could be very difficult. In this sense, it would be much safer if your character was using a firearm that matched to the common calibers in their setting. The reasoning is, that your black market may not keep much .50AE around (if they keep any at all), but they probably will stock 9mm, .45, or whatever your setting’s cops use. It’ll cost substantially more than it would in the real world, but it will be something your character can buy. It also won’t leave behind freakishly expensive shell casings every time they open fire. A string of killings involving a .50AE pistol? That will bring the cops down on their contacts looking for someone who’s been scavenging around the black market for those 12.7mm rounds far faster than a few people who got plugged with a black market .45.

To a lesser extent, the katana and wakizashi have a similar issue. Yeah, sure, they’re cool, I guess, but they’re also memorable. If your character is using a sword (and that’s common in the setting), having the cops looking for someone using a guy with a katana will result in a much shorter search ending at their doorstep than someone with a random non-descript sword or even something like a machete.

If the katana is enchanted, then sure, your character is kind of stuck with it (up to a point), but it’s still a weapon they’d need to be somewhat careful about hiding, and more careful about using.

So, yeah, it’s entirely plausible that you’d have a character who thought all of these were a good idea. If you have a setting where they could actually get their hands on them is a different question.

If you’re thinking they could use the weapons together, then no. They could switch between them, but trying to use them all at once would result in wild flailing, and a malfunctioning pistol.

I can think of, at least, one legitimate reason why your character might carry around a Desert Eagle (or a katana) in a setting like you’re describing, and that’s to scare people. If you’re an enforcer for some shadowy criminal organization, then being able to shove a 14 inch, chrome, monster gun up someone’s nose is an effective option (and yes, the Desert Eagle is a model of handgun you can press into someone without disabling it). But, even then, they’d probably carry something far more practical for times when they were there to kill someone, and not just put the fear of Elmer Keith into them.

Depending on the setting (or the organization they work for), then they might carry and use a katana for that kind of intimidation instead. For instance: If they were Yakuza, it would make some sense. At that point, you might reasonably get a character who used that exact set of weapons for intimidation, and would actually use the katana or wakizashi when provoked.

In general, though, there’s nothing wrong with a character thinking this is all a good idea. It’s not. But, if they could afford it, they might go chasing after that concept anyway.

-Starke

EDIT: As @fox-bright kindly reminded me, it’s the third and fourth fingers on your off hand that you use to control a katana, rather than the first and second. Sorry about that.

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I don’t think there is any single moment in Star Trek history where Kirk and Spock look better — at once grander and more approachable, like statues of the Founding Fathers buying rounds at sports bar — than the moment when they walk along Marina Boulevard. Behind them: The bay, the Bridge, the fog.

Kirk’s still wearing his magenta-maroon disco suit, looking like the communist dictator of Studio 54; Spock’s wearing a karate bathrobe. You can giggle at the buried joke of the movie — they fit right into pre-digital San Francisco — but you can also appreciate how the movie makes them seem so much bigger by bringing them down to Earth.