men who have ruined my life

@anarchycox has ruined my life by suggesting I think about BruceClintTony. 

  • Clint would have such confidence issues. He’s dating two of the most brilliant men in the world, one of whom is a literal billionaire. He’s not sure why they’re slumming with a carnie who’s only worth something because he’s good at killing men with pointy sticks.
  • Bruce is in awe of Clint because he’s one of the only people who isn’t afraid of The Other Guy. In fact Clint treats the Hulk with the same love and sarcasm that he shows Bruce – “Hulk, darling, could you give me a lift to that building over there? Try not to break it, I need it for a look out.”
  • Because of this the Hulk goes absolutely mental when Clint gets kidnapped by Hydra. Clint smiling through broken teeth when Hulk busts through a wall – “Aw, did you miss me?” Clint being utterly surprised when Hulk cradles him to his chest and says yes.
  • Tony nearly crying the first time he sees Clint working on one of his robots. Not because he’s afraid that Clint will break them, but because he’s talking to them the whole time. “Dum-E stop poking me, I can’t fix your wheel if you keep bumping me.” Clint laughing and responding to Dum-E’s indignant beeps. Clint brushing off Tony’s amazement – “Just a few loose screw. No big deal, Tony.”
  • Tony building Clint an outrageous coffee maker that syncs with Jarvis, so that Clint always has cup of coffee in the morning.
  • Clint suggesting totally mundane dates for the three of them that the other two would never think of. Bruce is hilariously bad at bowling, while Tony is the reigning skee ball champion. 
  • Neither of them will ever play darts with Clint. 
  • Bruce teaching Clint and Tony how to cook. Tony has Dum-E waiting by the fridge with a fire extinguisher and only cuts himself once, while Clint somehow manages to burn the soup. 
  • Tony being amazed that Clint always seems to know exactly what they needs. A cup of coffee will appear at his elbow when he’s working in the lab at 3 AM. Bruce will be starting to stress out and Clint pops up suggesting yoga and incense and probably a lot of sex to get all the tension out.
  • Tony is always excited about yoga because it always ends in sex. 

I’m rambling and I need help because this ship is suddenly consuming my very soul.

Male privilege & a basket of tampons

Years ago, a friend went to a party, and something bothered him enough to rant to me about it later. And it bothered me that he was so incensed about it, but I couldn’t put my finger on why. It seemed so petty for him to be upset, and even more so for me to be annoyed with him.

Recently, something reminded me of that scenario, and it made more sense. I’ll explain.

The party was a house party. One of those parties people throw if they’re renting a good-sized house in college. You know the type—loud music, Solo cups of beer, and somebody doing something drunk and stupid before the end of the night.

At some point, my friend had occasion to use the bathroom. When he went into the bathroom, he was disgusted to see that the hostess had left a basket of feminine hygiene products on the counter for guests to use if needed.

Later, when my friend told me about it, he wrinkled his nose and said, “Why would she do that? Guys don’t want to see that!”

When I suggested that she was just making them available in case a woman needed them, he insisted that they could be left in the cabinet or under the counter. Out of sight, anyway.

I wish I’d had, at the time, the ability to articulate what I can now.

To me, this situation is, while relatively benign, a perfect example of male privilege.

A man walks into the bathroom and sees a reminder that women have periods. And he’s disgusted. He wants that evidence hidden away because it offends his senses. How dare the hostess so blatantly present tampons and pads where a man might see them? There’s no reason for that!

A woman walks into the bathroom and sees that the hostess is being extra considerate. She gets it. She knows what it’s like to have a period start unexpectedly. The feeling of horror because she’s probably wearing something she doesn’t want ruined—it is a party after all. The sick embarrassment because someone might notice, especially if she’s wearing light-colored clothes, or worse, sat on the hostess’s white couch. The self-conscious, semi-nauseated feeling of trying to get through a social event after you’ve exhausted every avenue to get your hands on an emergency pad or tampon, and you’re just hoping to God that if you tie your jacket around your waist—you brought one, right?—keep your back to a wall, clench your buttcheeks, squeeze your thighs tightly together, and don’t…move…at…all—you might get through the evening, bow out gracefully, and find an all-night convenience store with a public restroom.

Or maybe she came to the party during her period, but didn’t bargain for her flow to suddenly get that heavy. Or she desperately needs a tampon, but her purse is in a room where a couple is not to be disturbed. Maybe she doesn’t know the hostess well enough to ask if she can use one. Or she doesn’t know anyone at the party well enough to ask. Or she figures she can make do with some wadded up toilet paper or something.

Whatever the case, she walks into the bathroom, and she hears the hostess saying “Hey, I know what it’s like, and just in case, I’ve got your back.”  She sees someone saving her from what could be a minor annoyance or a major embarrassment.

The hostess gets it. The woman who just walked into the bathroom? She’s either going to see that the person throwing the party is super considerate, or she’s going to be whispering thanks to Jesus, Krishna, and whoever else is listening because that is a basket full of social saviors.

But to the guy who wrinkled his nose, it’s still offensive that those terrible little things are on the counter, reminding his delicate sensibilities that the playground part of a woman is occasionally unavailable due to a gross bodily function that he should never have to think about.

In the grand scheme of things, it’s a tiny thing. It’s a tiny annoyance for the man, and a more significant but relatively tiny courtesy for the woman. After all these years, my friend has probably forgotten, but I never have.  As a woman whose life is partially governed by a fickle uterus that can ruin an evening faster than a submerged iPhone, his story has stuck with me.

How can you be so offended by a small gesture that has zero effect on you, but could make such an enormous difference to the person who needs it?

It occurs to me now that this is a small but effective illustration of how men and women see the world. It’s part of the same thought process that measures a woman’s value through her bra size and her willingness to have sex with him—that everything about us is displayed or hidden based on how men perceive them or what he wants to get from us. Unattractive women should be as covered as possible, while attractive ones shouldn’t be hiding their assets from male eyes (or hands, or anything else he wishes to use).

A woman who isn’t smiling is an affront to him because it detracts from her prettiness, despite the fact that there might be a legitimate reason for her not to smile (or more to the point, that there isn’t a legitimate reason for her to smile). Her emotional state is irrelevant because she’s not being pretty. It’s the line of thinking where a man blames anything other than cheerful sexual consent on the woman being a bitch, being a lesbian, or—naturally—being on her period. Everything we do, from our facial expressions to our use of hygiene products, are filtered through the lens of “how it looks to a man.”

It’s the line of thinking where a small gesture from one woman to another, an assurance that someone else understands and will help her without question or judgment, a gesture which could save a woman’s evening from being ruined, is trumped by a man’s desire to see an untainted landscape of pretty, smiling women with visible cleavage and vaginas that never bleed.

And people wonder why we still need feminism.

Morning Light

Filthy smutty smutty smut. That’s all this is.

Please enjoy and send me your feedback! I love hearing your thoughts!


When I woke up, I could feel his breath hot and heavy on the back of my neck; his arms were tightly secured around my waist. My back was pressed to his toned chest; his left thigh was trapped between my own. He was snoring lightly. There was a little light coming through the crack in the curtain. I guessed that it was still pretty early morning.

I rolled over in his arms to face him. There was a beam of light illuminating his face. His eyes were closed, eyelashes fanned across his cheeks. His lips were parted slightly, but there was a trace of a smile there. I petted my knuckles down his jaw line before leaning forward and pressing a light kiss to his soft, pink lips. He stirred in his sleep and his eyes fluttered open slowly. I kissed the corner of his mouth and leaned back again. When I opened my eyes he was regarding me thoughtfully, a sleepy smile spread slowly across his lips. I grinned and nuzzled my nose against his.

“G’morning,” he greeted, his morning voice deep and raspy, vibrating the air around my mouth.


“Sleep well, love,” he asked. I nodded my head.

“Mhmm,” I purred, “How about you,” I whispered as I traced his plump lips with my fingertip.

“Much better now that I’m here with you,” he replied quietly. I looked into his bright green eyes as I smiled again and he smiled back at me. I wrapped my fingers around the back of his neck and pressed my lips to his. The hand on my waist pulled me flush with him. I was wearing a t-shirt and panties but he was fully naked as per usual. I placed my palm on his bare chest as he closed his mouth around my bottom lip, gently sucking before releasing it.

I felt his cock stir against my leg as his hand made its way up my shirt; his fingertips gently ghosting up my stomach. My tongue flicked out and licked at his bottom lip before pressing my mouth back on his. He rolled over on top of me and I welcomed the weight of him, having been too long since I had last felt it.

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PotC: Dead Man’s Chest  {Sentence Starters}

  • “Hide the rum.”
  • “You smell funny.”
  • “Do you fear death?”
  • “Never mind! Let’s go!”
  • “Dirt. This is a jar of dirt.”
  • “You know you can’t read.”
  • “You want me to find this?”
  • “Enough! This is madness!”
  • “Why is the rum always gone?”
  • “I’m here to find the man I love.”
  • “If you don’t want it, give it back.”
  • “I’m listening. I’m listening intently.”
  • “Now you’re not making any sense at all.”
  • “How much do you know about Davy Jones?”
  • “Come to join my crew, lad? Welcome aboard!”
  • “You look bloody awful, what are you doing here?”
  • “Come to negotiate, eh? Have you, you slimy git?”
  • “You hired me. I can’t help it if your standards are lax.”
  • “Life is cruel. Why should the afterlife be any different?”
  • “Do excuse me while I kill the man who ruined my life.”
  • “I’m deeply flattered, but my first and only love is the sea.”
  • “I got a jar of dirt, I got a jar of dirt, and guess what’s inside it!”
  • “I love those moments. I like to wave at them as they pass by.”
  • “There will come a time when you have a chance to do the right thing.”
  • “No! This is barbaric! This is no way for grown men to settle… oh, fine!”
  • “No doubt you’ve discovered that loyalty is no longer the currency of the realm.”
  • “I expect, then, that we can come to some sort of understanding. I’m here to negotiate.”
  • “My tremendous intuitive sense of the female creature informs me that you are troubled.”
  • “Let’s just haul out our swords and start banging away at each other! That will solve everything!”
  • “Do you fear… death? Do you fear that dark abyss? All your deeds laid bare, all your sins punished?”
Heartlines - Part 1

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: When Reader moves into Avengers Tower to finish her PhD in safety, the last thing she expects is to have something in common with the shy insomniac Bucky Barnes.

A/N: hi guys! so this is my first ever fic posted on tumblr! i hope you guys enjoy it, there’s a bit of set up in this part but i promise there’s more bucky action in the future! if you have any feedback pls hit me up, i appreciate any comments :) thanks for reading! t xx

Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 5APart 6Part 7, and Part 8

Part 1

It’s not the first time you’ve been in the common kitchen at Avengers Tower, but it is your first time as a resident. Finally, officially, with your last box of sci-fi novels rescued from the wrong removalist van, you’ve moved into the Tower. The coffee from Tony’s state of the art machine has never tasted so good.

Tony rarely uses the kitchen for breakfast (he’s never around before noon) but today he’s made an exception. He’s not feeling so out of character as to put on actual clothes, and so while you’re in your usual pressed best, he is un-ironically wearing a matching Iron Man pyjamas set.

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Silver age fluff (or an attempt at it) for @pluckyredhead, set during the Mike Murdock debacle. 

Foggy wedges the phone under his chin as he fumbles a bottle of scotch. “Nel—oh fishsticks—son.”

“Bankrupt the firm yet?” an amused voice asks.

“Matty! Spot any flying saucers up there at Carter College?”

“I didn’t spot much of anything, Foggy,” Matt says wryly, “but the lecture went well.”

“Bring home any co-eds?” Foggy jokes, but it’s flat as soda left on the coffee table the morning after a shindig. He sighs. “Matt, I think I might hate your twin brother.”

Matt snorts. “But he’s the life of the party.”

“Not any party I want to go to,” Foggy grouses, hooking his finger under the telephone cradle and taking it with him while he paces. “He’s–he’s a clown. And a cad. I know he’s Daredevil, but–saints alive, Matt, it’s hard to believe he’s related to you.” He sighs again. “Aw, don’t listen to me, I’m just bellyaching. So when are you coming home?”

“Miss me already?” Smirking tone.

“Every day.” Foggy says without thinking, then blinks. “I mean.”

“You mean what?”

Foggy hesitates as he watches ice cubes swirl in the glass of scotch. He’s seen more of Mike Murdock than Matt in the last weeks, and he’s also been under the thickest, blackest, most jealous raincloud of his life. He’s not so much of a fool that he thinks the two have nothing to do with each other.

He thinks of the obnoxious tilt of Mike’s grin, a funhouse mirror reflection of Matt’s charming, genuine smile, and jumps in with both feet. “I mean. Yes. I do mean. Matt, I miss your face when you’re not here.”

“You can just look at my brother’s,” Matt said, dryly.

“Mike can take a long walk off a short pier and hug an octopus,” Foggy says, and Matt makes a sharp, surprised bark of laughter. “And you’re dreaming if you think I could get by without you in my life.”

“Fog…” Voice startled. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re an enormous heel sometimes, Matt. But you’re still the best man I know, and if I didn’t have you, I’d. My whole life would be.” He breaks off. “You’ve ruined me for all other men, Matt. Your brother included.”

Matt clears his throat six or seven times. “Have you been drinking?” Matt asks, airy as a falling anvil.

“I sure am holding a drink. I put some ice in it. I’m watching it melt.”

“Do you mean it? That you love me like you said?”

“Love? Who said anything about love?” Foggy says lightly, but he can’t keep his voice even, and he coughs. “Yeah. I mean it. I used to think that, you know, if it wasn’t going to be you and Karen, or you and some other amazing lady, it’d be you and me. Sometimes that meant two crotchety old bachelors having a drink at the end of a long day, sometimes it meant something else.”

“Something else like. When I come home, I come home to you.”

“Yeah, something like that,” Foggy says, trying to keep the wistfulness out of his voice.


Foggy knuckles his eye socket. “Yeah?”

“Look outside.”

Foggy stares at the receiver like he’d never seen a telephone before, then drops it and runs to the window, and standing at a payphone, in a circle of streetlamp light, his face tipped up towards the window of Foggy’s apartment, is Matt.


144 guys who have ruined my life (in alphabetical order) - Jean Dujardin (46/144)

What if I told you guys that even as a trans guy, I don’t wear my binder during sex? That I sometimes skipped binding on hot days because I overheat easily and could literally die. That I am okay being topless in front of my close friends. AND HO GET READY FOR THE BIG ONE. That I still cosplay female characters even after coming out.

Does that make you uncomfortable? I’m sorry, but that’s my life.

Saying that trans guy has to be dysphoric 24/7 in order to be considered valid is just as bad as when cis people say that you have to try and pass or you have to get top/bottom surgery. Both are equally unwarranted and disgusting. It also once again gives into the sexism against ftm who constantly have to prove themselves because god forbid they do anything slightly feminine (like let’s say, pose sexily in women’s clothing, binder or not) and are suddenly thrown under the bus for “not being real men”.

Wanna know what gives me dysphoria? When you guys call me lazy because I chose to skip binding on a hot day. When you guys think it’s weird and “kinda gross” that I still will put on the female cosplays. When you guys tell me maybe I would pass more if I didn’t have colored hair, wore makeup, or constantly showed off my curves.

You don’t get to dictate our lives or how we feel. As for my fellow trans men who do struggle with dysphoria and don’t like seeing these kinds of behaviors those like me, YOU can surround yourself with the things YOU need to get by, just as I and other trans guys will do. Unfollow, block, ask for content to be tagged, have a discussion instead of a screaming contest, IT REALLY ISN’T THAT HARD.

But sure, just keep ruining someone’s life by threatening their career, misgendering them and sending them death threats that’s cool



One tree hill means the world to me and it will continue to mean that world to me. But not because of the show runner, because of the strong, extremely talented ladies who didn’t want to have their careers unfairly ruined, show cancelled or disappoint their fans. I will watch the show because I love the characters and how the actresses portrayed them. 

What breaks my heart the most is that One tree hill used to be the little show that could, a place where everything’s better and safe. But apparently it wasn’t. 

I’m heartbroken for all these actresses but inspired by the strength. The show runner might have written the characters but the actresses brought them to life. 

anonymous asked:

Fics are amazing and authors who write them are amazing. But they ruin you for real life boys. I too want someone nice and sweet and loving and who will take care of me when I need it. But boys in my age group can't even keep a houseplant alive for a day. I still read though.

Fantasy is wonderful, that’s for sure.  But, even at its best, it can’t compete with the depth and richness of a real person who loves you, whatever form that takes.  Young men often have some growing up to do, true, and I remember being young and frustrated with my dating pool, too, but I have found them, in large part, just as able to be nurturing and caring and self-sacrificing as anyone else, and just as emotionally complex when they have the chance to be. 

So much of what I write, when I’m writing the relationships between the characters, is based on what I observe of the men in my life.  My brother and his friends, in particular.  If you like my Steve and Bucky, they are reflections of my brother and his best friend (probably why I can’t ship them, lol).  I can’t keep a houseplant alive, either, but if you do want a relationship, don’t judge them against a standard where the writer gets to control everything about a situation and character.  Let yourself be open to their wonderful qualities, because most of them really do have a lot to offer.  This site will convince you that men are trash, and there are definitely some truly awful ones, but I know so many wonderful men who can’t keep houseplants alive, but will love you completely and fully, just as you are, and that’s still an amazing feeling, I promise. 

To my first boyfriend:
You wrote me a love poem once
About how loving me was like a war
You knew you’d never win.
You knew I hated you;
I can still hear your voice
“If you’re not going to pass out, at least pretend for me”

To the second boy I dated:
I don’t blame you for how young you were
I was your first for everything
I know you won’t forget me
Just like I won’t forget your unkissed lips
Or the handwritten love letters I found on my birthday
between you and another girl.
Or how you called me ‘something to do’ while you waited for her.

To the love of my life:
We worshipped each other like sun gods
We shared a soul, I think.
You held my skeleton body
With the exact amount of care I needed.
I held your skeleton heart, too.

To the boy I dated after him:
You told me you loved me on our third date
You cried outside my front door
For hours when I left you
Your tears did not destroy the hidden cameras I found in your room,
My fists did that.

To the man I fell in love with who I did not want to date:
You were the first person I ever heard
Talk about internalized misogyny.
You showed me how to unwind
The knots I had grown inside me.
I loved you like an addict
Once you told me you were always trying to fill the hole that heroin left in you
I guess I was just another drug that didn’t fill the void

To the man I considered marrying:
You wrote me poems on everything you could find
You left them on pizza boxes and napkins.
Sometimes you took days to answer a question
Because your thoughts were so bright
You needed time to sort them out.
You never did get the hang of making shade
When you drank you couldn’t see me
I knew you never would the first time you punched me.

To my father:
You are the reason I have never been ruined
You are the reason I do not carry my losses
For every man who has ever hurt me,
You have been kind and honourable ten times over.
I’m sure I owe you my life at least as many times.

To my brother:
Once when you were drunk
You gave me the wisest advice I’ve ever needed
“Don’t cry over douchebags.”
You have always known exactly what I needed.
And you still deliver.

—  To the significant men in my life | molly burton
Guardians of the Galaxy 2 Sentence Starters

“You look like Mary Poppins.”

“Is he cool?”

“I’m Mary Poppins, y'all!”

“He may have been your father, boy, but he wasn’t your daddy.”

“He says, “Welcome to the frickin’ _.” Only he didn’t use “frickin’."”

“There are two types of beings in the universe, those who dance, and those who do not.”

“Sometimes, the thing you’ve been looking for your whole life is right there beside you all along.”

“_, look out!”

“It’s called a Zune. It’s what everybody’s listening to on Earth nowadays.”

“Does anybody have any tape out there? I wanna put some tape over the death button.”

“Yes, Scotch tape would work… Then why did you ask me if Scotch tape would work, if you don’t have any? Nobody has any tape!”

“You have priceless batteries and an atomic bomb in your bag. If anybody’s gonna have tape, it’s *you*!”

“That’s exactly my point! I have to do everything!”

“We’re all gonna die.”

“I created what I imagined biological life to be like… down to the most minute detail.”

“I don’t need to hear how my parents…”

“Well, you may not be mortal, but me…”

“I’m immortal?”

“And, I could use the light to build cool things like, how you made this whole planet?”

“I’m gonna make some weird shit.”

“_, get out of the way! You’re gonna get hurt!”

“What are you gonna do with your share?”

“Yeah… I was talking about, like, a pretty necklace. Or a nice hat. You know. Something to make the other girls go "Ooh, that’s nice."”

“So, we’re saving the galaxy, again?”

“Awesome! We’re really gonna be able to jack up our prices if we’re two-time galaxy savers.”

“No! No, that’s the button that will kill everyone! Try again.”

“You people have issues.”

“When I touch someone I can feel their feelings.”

“You like a professional asshole or what?”

“Pretty much a pro.”

“Listen to me! You are a god. If you kill me, you’ll be just like everybody else!”

“What’s so wrong with that?”

“I’m sorry. I am so sorry! I just keep imagining you waking up in the morning, sir, looking in the mirror and then in all seriousness saying to yourself, "You know what would be a really kick-ass name? _!"”

“All any of you do is yell at each other. You’re not friends.”

“You’re right… We’re family.”

“I didn’t mean to do a mutiny… They killed all my friends.”

“Ow! My nipples!”


“I’m sorry. I took it too far. I meant trash panda.”

“The beast’s hide is too thick to be pierced from the outside. I must cut through it from the inside.”

“Oh, man. Anyway, before I was so rudely interrupted. At that time, I was a Federal Express man…”

“You didn’t know because you didn’t want to know because it made you rich.”

“I’ve never felt such humor!”

“She just told everyone your deepest, darkest secret!”

“You don’t have to believe in yourself, because I believe in you.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t do none of it right, but I’m damn proud you’re my _.”

“How did you get to this weird dumb planet?”

“So you’re a pet.”

“People usually want cute pets. Why would _ want such a hideous one?”

“You are horrifying to look at. Yes. Bu-But that’s a good thing.”

“When you’re ugly, and someone loves you, you know they love you for who you are… Beautiful people never know who to trust.”

“Well, then I’m certainly grateful to be ugly.”

“You know, it’s a shame that it took the tragedy of losing _ to bring us all together again. But I think he’d be proud knowing that we’re back as a team.”

“What say we steal some shit?”

“Screw you, spaceship!”

“What was your second choice? Scrotum Hat?”

“Hey, fellas. Hey, wait, where you going? Hey, you were supposed to be my lift home. How will I get outta here? Hey! Aw, gee. I’ve got so many more stories to tell. Aw, guys. Oh, gee.”

“Can we put the bickering on hold until *after* we survive this massive space battle?”

“Oh shit. I’m using my wrong eye again, aren’t I? I’m sorry. That was meant to be behind your back.”

“You know, they told me you people were conceded douchebags, but that isn’t true at all.”

“You can fool yourself and everyone else, but you can’t fool me. I know who you are.”

“I know everything about you. I know you play like you’re the meanest and the hardest but actually you’re the most scared of all.”

“I know them scientists what made you, never gave a rat’s ass about you!”

“I’m what’s called a Celestial, sweetheart.”

“I’m Sorry. I can only afford to lose one friend today.”

“Showtime, a-holes!”

“Hey, there, jackass!”

“_, I will see you in the stars.”

“What is your goal here? To get everyone to hate you? Because it’s working.”

“If you think… I take pleasure… in exiling you… you’re wrong. You broke all our hearts.”

"My nipples hurt. Oh, goodness me!”

“You’re the one what killed those men… by leading them down the wrong path. Because you’re weak.”

“I guess I prefer to make people the old-fashioned way.”

“It’s a day for dumbass names.”

“You’re smiling. And for a second, I got a warm feeling. But then it was ruined by those disgusting-ass teeth.”

“Well, dying is certainly better than having to live an entire life as a moronic shitbag who thinks ‘Taserface’ is a cool name.”

“Listen! _ has gotten exactly what he wanted. I should have told you earlier. I am stupid! You are in danger!”

anonymous asked:

as much as i hate her, i dont want her to die. Why? Because if hinata did, her godliness would skyrocket and she'd be worshipped a hundred times more than she is now. You know. The "how dare they kill off my pwecious hinataHimeChanSamaQueen" sorta thing. There's a very well known youtuber who reviewed Naruto and when 437 came out, he was "OMFG THEY FUCKING KILLED HER!!!". Why does Hinata get more praise than Sakura anyway?Sakura at least heals and breaks necks. Hinata just stutters and falls.

that’s actually a good point, anon. nice shout! but on the flip side, naruto probably wouldn’t have been ruined if she did die… like, honestly, i’d be cool with a bunch of grown-ass men crying over a background character getting killed off, if it meant that the series – that i invested time, effort, money, intense emotion and over half of my life (so far) in – was saved, tbh.

don’t get me wrong, i never necessarily wanted her dead. like, damn, that’s a bit ott… but after the shit-show mess of these past few years? hey, i’m game. but let’s be honest, hinata didn’t have to die for any of this bullshit not to have happened. if naruto simply received a different animation studio – an unbiased, competent one that actually does their damn job and directly animates the source material – we’d be fine. 

[1] there’d have been no false representation or depiction, with the hidden motive of brainwashing the mass fandom, thus making them inaccurately despise or hype a certain character/ship over filler content. [2] kishi wouldn’t have been forced to submit to their imposed ideals, that were only supported by supposed ‘popularity’ claims that they freaking forged through their own fabrication anyway! he wouldn’t have been pressured into being their ‘cash cow’ for further content, nor would he have depicted naruto as miserable (out of – what can only be judged as – spite, for not letting him rest or have creative control over his own series).

i don’t know about you, but s/p, the filler/fanon portrayals and the fandom are my main problem… idk, i think naruto could have been spared by just opting with a different, better and actually professional studio. maybe then a great shonen wouldn’t have become the shojo fantasy of a character with less than 40 pages of panel-time being “rewarded” with her infatuation. a ship with an equal amount of pages – that remained one-sided for the entirety of the manga (as validated even by t/l) – wouldn’t have become the only thing left of the franchise. and the series wouldn’t have been reduced to this misogynistic mess.

but i guess it’s easier for people to blame filler/fanon hinata… after all, she is the embodiment of what’s wrong with it – that her anime counterpart is representative of the damn homicide committed by s/p, with the fandom as their accomplices. a fitting analogy, right? 😅

3 One-Eyed Men Walk Into a Bar

Where did I take a wrong turn? Harry thought as he slunk into his seat and readied his physical and mental shields.  Today didn’t start out normal, but this is several steps beyond the pale.

I think the American is about to shit kine. Atticus mused. I’m no happier than he is about this little brawl but really, what matters a fight between yourselves?

“It okay if I sit next to you, Mr. Dresden?” Shadow asked, as if this was not the strangest thing he had seen so far and that was saying something in their line of work.

“Sure thing, Muscles. I don’t mind the company, provided you explain to me just why Vadderung would want to take a piece out of your Mr. Wednesday.”

“He is not my Mr. Wednesday, and I would suppose that it has something to do with a scheme that Mr. Wednesday had that may have ruined Vadderung’s credibility.”

“Hey kids, none of that matters now, yeah?  These three just want a clean fight to settle who gets to give the orders.  Wolves may not fight over who leads, but men sure do and especially men from their time and place,” Atticus cut in.  He had found that asking why was only important when your own life was in the equation; trying to understand every creature’s motivation for every act was a waste of 2,000 years.

As the three men sat down, they all thought about what had set off this event.

It was only supposed to be lunch at Mac’s with an ally. How could I see a fight like this coming about? Dresden asked himself, shaking loose his shield bracelet and pulling his duster close.

I should have known there was something up when Mr. Wednesday asked to come to Chicago and wouldn’t tell me who we were meeting, only where. Usually he can’t resist the snide comment or allusion to someone’s deific origin, Shadow thought to himself, tense and ready to jump behind a rock.

I hope that I get to see just what Odin can do in a close-up fight, so far its only been him throwing a spear from a safe distance, Atticus mused, and I really wish Oberon was here, he would know what jokes to make, though Dresden seems to do that just fine.

She had arrived with a chill and a rise in every male’s blood pressure.  She was tall and pale, fairer than fair, and radiated danger.  Dresden recognized her immediately as the Queen of the Unseelie Fae, Atticus saw a very powerful faerie lady but was not worried in light of his amulet, and Shadow saw a woman too pretty to be human and put her on his ‘do-not-fuck-or-fuck-with’ list (a list that seemed to be longer than the contacts list in the cellphone he hid from Mr. Wednesday.)  

“I am here only to observe as the Queen of Winter and a signatory of the Accords.  You three have all signed the Accords, as you well know. I do not know who challenged whom, and it does not matter given the situation.  Therefore, the place of the duel will be Demonreach, Mr. Dresden will provide transportation to the island for all parties, and the weapons of the duel will be anything you may bring to bear.  Until we reach the island, not another word or charm from any of you, or else I will declare for the silent parties!” Mab declared with a certainty and confidence not felt by the mortals in the room.  She turned and made her way up the stairs to a limo that was big enough to fit everyone and leave room for the men to stretch their legs.  The limo made its way from McAnally’s to the docks in record time and everyone made toward the boat without incident.

“Mr. Dresden, perhaps you could tell me how this did come to happen?  I thought you were the local Warden, tasked to prevent such occurrences?” Mad asked stepping onto the Water Beetle.

“Yes, ma’am, but how was I supposed to know that when Vadderung asked to have lunch with me at McAnally’s, he was planning to get into a 3-way fight with himself? I never knew such a thing was possible before today!”

“Well lad, that’s the problem with these old gods, they wear mantles and masks, and splinter apart easily,” Atticus chimed in, rather unhelpfully, “And when a god of war is gearing up for Ragnarok, well, he reaches for any power he can get.”

“That tracks,” muttered Shadow.

“Say that again, big guy?”

“Just that that tracks with Mr. Wednesday’s MO these past few years.  He has been concerned with fading away,” Shadow answered, “It doesn’t surprise me that he would try to kill himself in ritual combat to gain power.”

“And you, Mr. O’Sullivan? You said something about Ragnarok?” Mab asked with the disinterest Dresden had come to recognize as extreme interest.

“Well, I may or may not have kicked off Ragnarok by killing Thor and now my Odin wants to get his hand on every advantage available,” Atticus answered non-plussed. Harry knew he would never quite manage that level of chill, but then again, he knew that Atticus had over two millennia of staring down gods and goddesses to perfect that nonchalance.

“So, to be clear, three versions of Odin contrived to battle each other and somehow roped the three of you into bringing them together, since they could not do it alone?”

“Yes, but, again, not my fault.”

“Looks like.”

“Yep, but I never had control over him.”

“Well, what a relief that you three are NOT the one who could best keep an eye on him,” Mab answered with enough sarcasm and frost to last through the next ice age.

“He already has an eye on himself,” Dresden muttered as he docked the boat and in a clearer voice called out, “Welcome to the Watsup Dock, everyone please disembark in a neat and orderly line with yourself.”

“No, mate, you didn’t make your dock’s name a pun?” Atticus looked over with a disbelieving and horrified glance.

“I did, and it’s a good name.  Makes me smile every time I think of it.”

“That makes it worth it,” drawled Shadow, “Smiles are rare enough in this world.”

Everyone was silent at that, recognizing the truth of the statement and the fact that they had all been through enough to know the truth of the statement.  It was a sobering moment, ruined by Mr. Wednesday trying to swipe a grab at Mab and coming away with chilled hands and her telling him that charms had no effect on her.  All seven of them made their way off the boat and to the open clearing where Dresden had fought against spiders and goons a few years earlier.

“If you have anything to say to each other, or final words for your companions, please say them now,” Mab said with a ring of formality that Dresden had heard only at official Winter events and when dealing with Nicodemus.  That, more than anything, imparted a sense of purpose and finality in all present.

“There is nothing to say, soon they will be part of me and I will fight with the druid in Ragnarok, as he promised,” Odin said with a stern look in his eye.

“All I have done, I have done to prepare for the wars to come, and should I fall, Dresden, my people will still follow you against the Adversary and the Enemies beyond the Wall,” Vadderung said with a grandfatherly smile and a resigned set in shoulders.

“Well I am of the opinion of my more arrogant self, but it is I, not he, who will make it out of this little dust-up and I will regain my pre-eminence in this modern era. Shadow, my boy, I don’t know why you stayed around, but it has been and will continue to be a pleasure travelling with you,” Mr. Wednesday said with his customary cavalier cadence.

“Then, BEGIN!” shouted Mab.

After the fight, no one could really say who won and who lost.  Sometime during the scuffle, Mr. Wednesday tried to sneak into the vaults below to absorb the energies of the prisoners, Vadderung and Odin stopped going at each other to stop him from succeeding, and Mab declared the fight void on the grounds of dishonest entry and stated purpose.  

After that declaration, everyone left.  Odin via chariot, sending Hugin and Munin to find Mr. Wednesday, declaring him to be a threat to Odin’s winning Ragnarok (“He has become too obsessed with his self, and lost his purpose here in this America.”) Vadderung and Mab left together by a boat crewed by Unseelie lords discussing strategy for the Outer Gates. The three humans made their way back to McAnally’s on Dresden’s boat and their own feet.

“Well, all’s well that ends well, and this day started with the promise of good food and drink, and it ends with the fulfillment of that promise.”

“Sure, but the fish and chips here don’t beat the ones I had at this little place called Rula Bula down in Arizona one time.”

“One of these days I have to get out of this town and try some of the food you guys and the Winchesters keep recommending without getting shot, stabbed, or threatened.”

The three men made their way to the bar with an identical thought in their head: These guys are good people, no matter who they work with.

anonymous asked:

Have you seen the article by (at)AlanaMassey for melmagazine? Def. Worth the read. About how 1d is a great example of how boys should act and how their respect and joy made her an adult fan

Oh yeah this is a great read, thanks for the heads up!

Hold Your Laughter: Men Could Learn Something From One Direction

This is a blog dedicated to the five boys who ruined my life,” is a Tumblr tagline I read in the spring of 2013. If it weren’t already taken, I would’ve used it for the title of this essay. The tone and inflection of the 22-year-old wordsmith behind the turn of phrase was so clear as to deliver that sense that someone you’re seeing on the internet sees you back. She hasn’t updated the account in more than two years, so there’s hope she’s no longer under the ruinous spell of those five teen boys who ruined her life — Niall Horan, Liam Payne, Harry Styles, Louis Tomlinson, and Zayn Malik — the five original members of One Direction.

I cannot say the same for myself.

It’s been nearly five years since I first fell down a One Direction VEVO rabbit hole, and I still haven’t found my way out. It’s been more than two years since Zayn Malik quit the group, and well over a year since the remaining members went on what many believe will be a permanent hiatus, a belief underscored last week by the unanimously positive reaction to the solo debut of the most beloved 20 percent of One Direction, Harry Styles. And it’s been roughly 16 years since I was the age where it was considered acceptable to enjoy a boy band. Yet here I am, grasping tightly to the ruinous euphoria induced by those five men who were so recently boys together.

The rest of the article is here

anonymous asked:

Olivie I have to tell you I hate you (jk I love you with all my heart) but you have absolutely ruined me for all men! Your Draco and his personality and dirty talk and fucking game have become my ideal and the epitome of everything I look for in a man (plus how they walk that fine line between confidence and cockiness) is just extraordinary and please please please tell me that you base him on a mix of real life men you've encountered otherwise I'm doomed for life (despondently stares off)

he’s an amalgam of people I have known. there are two men who mostly feed into him, and they are:

Man 1:

“We can never kiss,” he said gravely, touching my cheek. “It would be an unmitigated disaster.”

“We could try,” I suggested hopefully, and he smiled, taking my hand and brushing his lips over my knuckles. 

“Nope,” he said, and walked away.

Man 2:

“I”m not really sure what I bring to the table,” I said, indulging in self-deprecating toxicity. I stumbled miserably over my feet, a little drunk as he walked me back to my apartment.

He abruptly stopped walking and turned, staring at me. “You realize you’re incredible, right?” he demanded; with a sense of disdain, as if I had offended him with my ignorance. “Why would I be here if you weren’t?”

I forced a shrug, clearing my throat, lest optimism bleed out of it unbidden. “I thought you were just being a gentleman,” I suggested neutrally.

His brow furrowed, indignant.

“I assure you,” he replied, scoffing. “I am not a gentleman.”

anonymous asked:

Is it really that bad of an idea to use your real name while sugaring? Why is this a general rule? I'm new but I want to find someone I have somewhat of a connection with and I'd feel bad lying to them, especially because I'd rather have one lasting arrangement

Because sugaring is sex work, and many men find that degrading, and will see you as disposable. A “sugar daddy” who turned out to be salt tried to blackmail me with nudes he bought, and threatened to post them on facebook and send them to my family. I used a fake name, so he couldn’t find me and I just blocked him. I didn’t get any red flags in the beginning, and I was shocked when he did this. If he had my real name, it would have ruined my life. Telling a POT your real name from the beginning is dangerous because you really don’t know if he’s trustworthy or not. I would suggest using a fake name in the beginning, and once you’ve built trust with your SD, you can decide if you want to tell him your real name. However, lying is an important tool for a SB, both for safety and financial gain. If you aren’t comfortable lying, that could cause you lots of problems.