okay this is one case in which food is being gendered

Black Girl, NYC

Greetings people. I identify as a Black female who was born and raised in NYC. I am slowly progressing through my study of education and history in college. Other then that, I spend (probably) an unhealthy amount of time reading and writing sci fi and fantasy. But by high school, I got sick and tired of the same story featuring blonds and brunettes saving the day with their straight, lean male heroes so I turned to my librarian seeking something new. She pointed to Octavia Butler and the rest was history. I’ve been seeking diversity in media ever since.

Family life and Culture

I grew as the middle child of six siblings with my single mother and grandparents. Yes, my working-class household fits the stereotype. We even have an absent father *sighs* But, hey shit happens. And with the biological father turns out not to be the best father figure, shit had to go right out the door. Yup. But make no mistake that this is a norm. Most households on my block do have both parents involved in their children’s lives. Our circumstances called for us to have one. That’s all.

The house was full, loud and rambunctious. We made up a good portion of the children on the block (unsurprising) and basically ran it. There’s a whole novel that could be fleshed out of my childhood if I wanted to. Our neighborhood is very tight knit. Next door neighbors were treated like Aunts and Uncles. When summer came around, we were sometimes divided into groups as the parents who were off from work overlooked us while braiding our heads. Blackouts became an all night bbq and sleepover on each other’s porches. Crooklyn by Spike Lee was a good representation of what it was like in fact. Somewhat. Minus the brownstones, plus a couple more fights (lol).

My grandma was a nurse who’s pretty big on us knowing our family history. She made sure to talk a lot about our Gullah Geechee roots. We also had some Dominican culture influence since her closest friend and our Madrina was, well, Dominican. But she is fairly strict on gender norms and how my sisters and I should act especially with brothers. She antagonized me the most growing up because I continued to ignore this. We don’t get along but i can’t say i don’t get why she’s the way she is. She has a pretty dark past. My mother, a latchkey kid of the finest stock, is more laid back and gives all of us free range to make our own mistakes. Most times. Other times, she’d rather lecture us. Depends on our crime.

I don’t know what my grandpa used to do. He retired waaaaay before my grandmother. I also don’t know much about his culture. He’s 1st gen Jamaican who fully assimilated into American culture. Well, beside his food choices. Now, he gambles and goes to church. When I was younger, he used to teach us how to gamble too. And how to cheat and not get caught. We got a lot of free fast food while he taught us. He has gotten more frugal the older he got. And more isolated.

Dating and Relationships.

I don’t date. I have no interest. Well, no, that’s not exactly true. I’ve considered it but I rather have not seek out anything outside of platonic right now. I have a tight knit circle of friends and several other groups of friends I associate with depending on the activity. I’m realizing it seems like I’m using the term “friends” loosely but I swear I’m not. I’m a virgin and I feel nothing about being one until someone goes “*gasp* You’re a virgin really?” and then I end up on high defense saying “So?” Believe or not, that messed with me a lot.

My love life and lack of interest in having one has always been a struggle. In middle school, the group of friends I hung with were becoming more infatuated with love and sex. Yes, middle school, fifth through eighth grade, ages nine to thirteen. But, when they would talked about who’s hot or not, they would look at me funny when I didn’t join in the discussion. Instead of explaining myself, I simply copied other’s reactions and gushed along with them. This instinct followed me through High school til stopped out of annoyance. I became a listener and adviser in their relationships because I really do love stories in many shapes and forms. And I would never turn down hearing a story.


My primary language is English and AAVE. I’ve been living in a neighborhood filled with Blacks and Latinx. Most of my friends are Black and Lantinx. I didn’t meet a white person my age until college. Okay that’s a partial lie. I’ve been in a summer camp that was made up of predominantly white children. But as the only black kid in my age range, I was sorta uncomfortable. I never made lasting friends there. After High School, I spent a year abroad in Tena, Ecuador where I learned Spanish and Kichwa. I still suck at both languages.


Lots of my clothes when I was younger were borrowed or hand-me-downs. Half of them still are. It’s like thrift shopping without the hiked prices thanks to its popularity by rich white people (Thanks rich white people!) All my siblings’ taste varies. In my case, I’m fond of combining loose and tight clothing (tight jeans and a loose sweater/ baggy jeans and a tight top). No makeup. Silver accessories.

I used to have a short bob cut permed. I hated it. But I rather a perm then getting my hair straightened with a hot comb because the back of my neck and big ears would always get burned. It wasn’t until I made a friend with a natural afro that I realized my natural hair was even an option.


Lol I was a nerd with bad grades.


My family practices Santeria, which has historical roots in both Catholicism and Yoruba thanks to slavery (Yay slavery!). However, because the religion is not fully accepted or well-known, I tend to say I’m simply Catholic if asked. Apparently, a Black Catholic is hard to believe. It is assumed all Black folks are Baptists or some branch of Christianity. I have no idea where that stereotype came from. But I can give some guess. (*cough cough* Tyler Perry….).  

As I stated before, I love scifi and fantasy. I especially love urban fantasy involving witches. I blame this love on Practical Magic and Eve’s Bayou, my childhood faves. It’s because of this love that I wish to see more stories with witches of color. And no, I don’t mean that one evil/mysterious southern/Caribbean Voodoo/Hoodoo witch hollywood loves to portray so much. That always plays into the “Black is evil” trope. Give me some damn variety!

I would squeal so hard if the mythology involved in a story isn’t even Eurocentric. I’m not joking. This is serious. When my religion was simply hinted at in the Raven Boys series (It was also a great way of making even more obvious that the character was definitely not white.) and Kenya Wright’s Habitat series, I squealed. All the authors did was write the names of some of the Orishas and I couldn’t help but put my phone down for a moment and inwardly scream with glee. That being said, if a writer does decide to use afrocentric or any religion involving “witchcraft” as a basis, I would personally ask that they make sure is is not a closed religion.

Santeria is, in fact, a closed religion. And while I don’t mind mentions of it in fantasy and even a main character stating they practice it, do not go any further than that. Don’t even research the practices within the religion other than what is public knowledge (And if you don’t have any public knowledge, just ask) Respect that there’s a limit. Anything further spelunking  is consider rude, disgusting, disrespectful and dangerous. There’s things that I don’t even know because I haven’t been properly initiated. And the internet has a lot of these practices exposed when it shouldn’t be so please don’t look into it. Please.


Most of the cooking in the house has been done by my grandmother. Because of her various relationships, our food has always been a mixture of Black American, Gullah, Lantinx and Caribbean influences. It is so good. So, so good!

The only thing I don’t eat of hers is her seafood gumbo because I don’t like shellfish. One of my sisters said I should have my “black card” taken for my distaste. I said she could take it if she can name more black movies than me. She still can’t take it. My other sister wishes we could switch places because she loves crab but is allergic. The crazy girl actually sends her husband to buy some benadryl so she can eat some if we ever have some on the table. Smh. Siblings.  


My family on both sides are quite fond of reunions. On my grandpa’s side, the family uses Fourth of July and Christmas to get together. On my grandma’s side, they tend to host annual summer reunion and send out RSVP invitations complete with schedules of the whole two to three day event. I didn’t mention this under my family life, but both sides of my family are boujee to different degrees. Lots of black sorors and frats members on both sides. I can’t believe that slipped my mind typing.

I’m a little iffy with Christmas. It’s more of a holiday for the older generation and our niece and nephews. The younger generation, however, don’t particularly care for the holiday. For some of us, it’s because it’s not really Jesus’s Birthday and Santa was whitewashed. For others, it’s because we don’t care to feed into the corporate holiday. For most of us, it’s a combination of the two. But we do love getting together when we can. My older sister and I have conspired to celebrate kwanzaa instead for the past two years. So far, it hasn’t grasped the interest of anyone else in the family.


  • Being nerds from a young age, my siblings and I have been called “Oreos” or“Not really black” by kids in school on more than one occasion. We shut them down by fighting. Probably not the best strategy but it was best one I could think of in middle school and below. Made it easier to go back to reading my manga.

  • I got compared to my sisters a lot. It was the absolutely most annoying thing ever. And a major source of my insecurities growing older.

  • Need I address colorism? My highschool was filled with it. #TeamLight v #TeamDark. I was on neither team, because in the region I live, skin color was a pretty long spectrum. I fell in the between. Who came up with this?

  • I’ll admit it. I hate my own tears. They make me feel weak. Which isn’t true…I know. But, it is a mentality I always had. I have depression and PTSD. This isn’t really a secret. I tell people if I’m asked. But have you ever had someone look at you and say, “Really? You don’t seem like the type.” ……

  • I am a black female. I’ve been labelled “Strong” and “Independent” the older I got. By my mother. By my siblings. By my peers. And I get those labels. Even from friends. I loved those labels. I call myself by those labels. I mean, who doesn’t want to be seen as strong and independent? Those are positive affirmations, right? I think they would be. If that wasn’t all the positive labels we could get. Somehow, society has decided we are beings that are incapable of being multifaceted. I was indirectly taught to hate my own tears because black girls don’t cry. You can’t cry and be strong. What a terrible mantra fed to black girl at a young age. So, instead you tell everyone “It’s fine.”

I told my therapist it was fine. Until she told me straight up it was not fine. And it was okay to cry. I don’t like to cry. But I still (involuntarily) did it.

Things I’d like to see less of/Things I’d like to see more of:

  • I’m sick and tired of seeing black and latinx folks being portrayed as only fantasy gangs members. We are not only gang members. That’s a terrible popular myth the media put out there and I hate it even more so when it’s portrayed in SFF genre..

  • I’m tired of having one black person in a novel being described as having skin the color of “midnight.” And he’s (it’s always a he) not even that important to the story

  • I hate how every time someone decides to add a person of color, they have to be ambiguous brown. I’m not saying ambiguously brown don’t exist and don’t need representation but is it really that had for a dark brown skin person to play a major role in a story that’s not about slavery? Speaking of which….

  • Why we always gotta be slaves? Or better yet….

  • Why don’t we exist at all in High fantasy stories? Urban fantasy? Brooklyn wasn’t always the gentrified white town it is now. Still isn’t. How are you erasing people of color from NYC??? We make up way too much of the population to be completely erased

  • Stop racial coding other creatures to surround your white human characters. Especially as the bad guys. That’s just shitty writing. Step up your game!

  • I love Black love

  • I love Gay love. I wish more would follow moonlight’s example and show poc are gay too and gay doesn’t always equal to stereotypical femininity.

  • I love interracial love HOWEVER, can we pair people of color with other people of color as well? I’m starting to hate seeing it always a white person paired with a Poc. Variety damnit!

  • Friendships between boys and girls that don’t transform into love.

  • Friendships between girls that didn’t start out as a rivalry.

  • Different body types besides the skinny and tall. Make a main character that’s fat for once. It’s not a problem.

  • Magical characters of color that aren’t “Noble Savages” or “Wise Monks” that used their magic for personal gain for once instead of waiting for the white hero to come.

  • Nerdy black characters who aren’t 100% competent and cries. One that isn’t in a five token band that always gonna be compare to the white main character. Make the nerd the main character!

That’s all I can think of at the top of my head. But my list really does go on. 

Read more POC Profiles here or submit your own.



Solitude.  The sound of her voice her only company.

Days passed.  Simply.  Easily.  Quietly.

Sometimes she was very busy, the drawers full.  Sometimes it was quiet enough for her to get her work done, and the paperwork filed.

She’d been able to add what she could to her notes to help the officers at Scotland Yard.  A flash revealing the cause of death, or gender of the perpetrator, and she would search the body for the evidence to point the police in the right direction.  A long blonde hair from a jealous wife. The scratches from an angry lover.  Sometimes the entire scenario would play in her head, and she would invite the detective who caught the case into the morgue to “run something by him”.  She was very good at making the officers think they’d worked out the evidence.    

Except for one.

Detective Sergeant James Fraser.  

He watched her like a hawk.  Which made her nervous.  Part of her nerves came from the fact that his eyes lingered a little too long on her. 


She couldn’t remember the last time a man looked at her like that.  Not even her husband.  

He made her feel.  And after Frank’s death she didn’t want feelings.  Feelings hurt.  Feelings like betrayal, and disdain. She’d had enough of those feelings to last a lifetime.

The detective aroused different feelings, though. Feelings long buried in Claire. Longing.  Lust.  He was too damn good looking, that was the problem.  The way his hair curled at his nape.  The small scar at the base of his throat just begging for her lips.  The scruff after a long day.  And the way he breathed the word ‘Aye’ when he was thinking something over  

Aside from the obvious attraction, he was extremely clever.  And he seemed to enjoy bantering ideas back and forth with her.  Claire always was attracted to a keen mind.  

“Do ye think it could be connected?”  They both stared down at yet another victim in a drawer.

Claire pursed her lips.  Oh, it was connected.  But she hadn’t found the tangible evidence yet.

“Could be,” she said, noncommittally.  

“Och, come on, Claire,” he said, tucking his note pad away.  His head hurt from over analyzing. It had been a long day.  “I’m starving.  Let’s get some dinner.” 

She looked up at him.  “No, thank you.  I’ve got some tidying up to do here yet.”

James looked around the morgue.  There wasn’t a thing out of place. Not a paper on her desk.  “Oh, aye.  I can see that.  Swamped, you are.”  He raised an eyebrow.  She was avoiding him.

Claire laughed. “Okay.  You caught me.  It’s just, I don’t do dinner with people I work with.”  

He threw her a look.  “It’s work, Claire.  No’ a date.”  He took two steps toward the door and stopped. Turned back around to face her, cat eyes narrowed. “Although, I wouldna mind one of those, as well.”  

The vision slammed into her brain.  Heavy breaths.  Moans.  Sweat.  Skin.  Legs gripping his hips.  Big hand cradling her breast.  His mouth hot on hers.  And the feel of him pulsing inside her.  

And just like that, it was gone.  

Claire blushed.  God, she hated this.  Because her visions were never wrong. She was headed down this path like a freight train on its track.  It would take all her strength to thwart it. 

She took a deep breath.  “I suppose it will do us good to talk about the case.” She avoided his eyes.  “Just let me grab my coat and purse, okay, Jamie?”


He watched her walk towards her desk, pulling open a narrow closet to retrieve her things.  Jamie.  No one called him Jamie, save his family.  

He never let anyone at Scotland Yard give him a nickname.  Ever.

Yet, she had just called him by the name he’d had as a wee lad.

He watched her tuck into her fourth slice of pizza. He liked a woman with an appetite. Reaching for the wine bottle, he topped up her glass.

It may have started out hesitantly, but they’d had a good night. Claire loosened up after a couple of glasses of Merlot, and some good, generic conversation. She was born in Oxfordshire, only child, parents died in a car crash when she was five. Raised by an Uncle, who’d also passed.

He shared his family tidbits, the deaths of his parents and brother, the sister he did have and her family. You had to give in order to get from Claire. Once she got some food and wine in her, the conversation became easier. They spoke of work and why she became an M.E. She liked to work alone, she said. She got tired of losing patients, and since she was damn good at diagnostics it seemed like a good next step.

“And why no partner for you, Jamie?”

“Interesting nickname ye’ve given me,” he said, grabbing another slice for himself.

She froze.

Shit. Shitshitshit. “You mentioned it,” Claire mustered her bravado. Looked him straight in the eye. No blinking.

“I did not,” Jamie said, returning her stare.  Just a hint of panic in those amber eyes.

“You did,” she said. “You said your nephew was Wee Jamie, named after you.”

Jamie hesitated. So he had. Two hours after she first used the nickname, but he’d let that go.

For now.

He inclined his head in defeat.  “So, why do ye think my latest victim is tied to the last one?”

An abrupt change in topic was in order. He didn’t want to lose her. He was having a good time. Claire was good company. She was gorgeous.  Sexy.  Now he found himself being attracted to her sharp mind and quick humour.

“They both died of some sort of poisoning. I haven’t determined what, yet. I’m waiting for toxicology to come back for the latest victim, but what I haven’t told you is that their stomach contents seemed similar.  That should give you more information.”

Jamie set his slice down on his plate.  “Interesting.  So I know where I’m starting tomorrow.  On the street retracing their steps.”

They finished dinner sharing stories, some gory, some embarrassing, some hilarious.  Claire couldn’t remember the last time she’d had this much fun in a man’s company. Being married to Frank was not easy.  He was fastidious. Predictable.  Controlling.  He never liked it if she laughed too loud, or talked to much.  

In the beginning they’d gone out to dinner like this, and then with other academic couples.  Those were never fun.  She’d see the grimace cross his face when she said something he didn’t find intelligent enough, or he’d give her the “For God’s Sake Claire Quiet Down” tap on her leg under the table.  

The worst outing was when she spontaneously went along on the dinner where he was “treating his research assistant” as a thank you.  She knew immediately that they were sleeping together.  Sparked quite the argument when they got home. The first of many.    

None of that absolved her from her sin, though.

Jamie seemed to like her laugh.  She could tell.  He’d watch her mouth then grin from ear to ear.  His eyes would get even more cat-like as he enjoyed her mirth.  

He paid the bill, amid protests.  He helped her on with her coat.  He escorted her to his car, not letting her walk home at this hour.

He pulled up smoothly in front of her townhouse.  He was out of the car and around the vehicle just as she climbed out.  

“Thanks for dinner, James.”  She stuck out her hand.

Jamie looked at her hand as if she had the plague.  “James, is it now?”

He reached out and took her hand.  The way a man takes a woman’s hand.  A woman he’s been on a date with.  

Hands.  Stroking.  Wound in her hair.  Tugging.  Heat filled her chest.  Panting. Passion.

She found it hard to breathe.  She could feel the arousal, the heat blossom between her legs.

She twisted her hand out of his and fell back against the car.  

Jamie turned, concern mingled with shock on his face.  He knew immediately what had happened.  

He waited until she caught her balance. And her breath.

“Ye’ve seen us.  Haven’t ye?”  He bent his 6′ 4″ frame down so he could look Claire in the eyes.  

Claire was terrified.  How to answer?  God, dare she tell him?  She didn’t need to, apparently.  Bastard already knew.  She could see it in his eyes.

“We’re good together, aren’t we?” he whispered, eyes dark like a hurricane.

“Yes,” she hissed.  “Yes, we are.”

Open Your Eyes - Stiles (part 3)

Stiles x Reader

Y/N) is the new student at Beacon Hills High School and she has a secret. Being born blind, she was never able to see a thing, until she was attacked by a wild animal. To this day she has never told anyone about it. So will she do it now?

Word count: 2584

Other parts: Part 1  - Part 2 - Part 4 - part 5 -

Originally posted by dylanobriengirl

“What were you thinking!” my mom shouted at me from the passenger’s seat once we got into the car. I didn’t say anything. Not because I was ignoring my mother, but simply because I had no idea what to say. To be honest, I wasn’t sure I was thinking in the first place. And everything because of those beautiful whisky eyes… 

“(Y/N)! Are you even listening?”

“Of course I am, mother,” I said, as calmly as I could. 

“So what did I just say?” she crossed her arms and looked at me with great expectations. I just sighed and didn’t respond. That was clearly enough for my mother. 

“Well, I hope you had enough alone time with your friend up there, because I forbid you to see him.” Soon after she said it, she realised that she made a big mistake with her word choice. “You know what I mean.” 

 I did. But that didn’t even bother me. What was stuck in my mind, was how she said that word: friend. It was so full of disgust. So what? Now I couldn’t be friends with boys? My mom always had problems with me hanging out with the male gender, but it never went this far. Well, then again, I never ran away from a dinner party before with somebody of the male gender. 

 “Fine.” I said, “But I do want to let you know that he was the only person today that did not think I was a freak.” 

“I really do not care now!” 

“Honey!” my father finally spoke up from behind his steering wheel. He gave my mom a stern look, but she totally ignored it. At least he tried. That was probably the only thing you could do with my mom: try. Especially if she was angry. And in this case she was pissed. 

 At home I was directly send to my room. Which was fine, as I did not want to talk to my parents anyway. And if I went to sleep now, I could see Stiles again. 

The next morning, I was woken up by my father for a change. 

 “Wake up sweetie.” he said softly. I opened my eyes and was greeted with my own reflection from my glasses. My dad put them into my hand and I put them on. “There are some clothes on the chair. Put them on. Breakfast will be ready in a bit.” and he left, closing the door behind him.  

I got up and looked at the clothes that were neatly left for me. It was a simple black t shirt with some skinny jeans and a hoodie. I put it on and walked to the kitchen, with my cane in my hand. 

 My mom was already up and cooking. She didn’t say a word to me. Drama queen. I sat down and she shoved a plate of food in front of me. I ate it without commenting. 

 When I was done with my breakfast, dad told me to get the rest of my stuff because we were leaving in a few minutes. I walked back to my room and got my books. I put them into my backpack and with that I was ready. My dad was already waiting for me, so we could quickly leave for school. 

 At the end, I did say a quick “Bye,” to my mom, but obviously she just ignored me. 

As if it became a tradition, neither I nor my father spoke while driving. I started to get used to it. Not talking was definitely easier than making up lies as answers to their stupid and unnecessary questions. 

Finally arriving in the parking lot of the school, I opened the door, but I was stopped by my father: “Do I have to walk you to the entrance?”

“No, it’s fine, a friend is actually picking me up from here,” I lied. 

“Well, than I’ll wait until she gets here.” I wanted to tell him he shouldn’t, but as if on  queue, Lydia’s car drove into the parking lot. I released a deep breath that I didn’t know I was holding. She parked right next to my father’s car and once she got out, she greeted me with a wide smile and a hug. 

 “(Y/N)! Good morning.” 

 “Morning,” I said a bit awkwardly. I did not expect her to be a morning person. She finally let go of me and said a quick hello to my dad. He, in his turn, just waved and drove off. 

 “He seems-”

“Don’t. Just don’t finish that sentence.” I sighed. “Let’s go inside.” Lydia agreed and we walked towards the school. But surprisingly, we were stopped in our footsteps when my father’s car almost drove us over. Lydia stopped my right in time, otherwise I would have been a pancake. He rolled down his window and looked at Lydia. 

“Here are mine and her mothers numbers and out adress. If something happens call one of us. But better call me.”

“Okay, thank you sir.” she said unsure. Of course, my dad didn’t say anything back, just nodded his head slightly and drove off again.  

It was still quite empty in the building. I even think we were the only ones here. 

“So, how was the dinner,” Lydia surprised me with the question. How did she even know about it. 

 “Yeah, Stiles SKYPE’d all of us afterwards and told us about it,” she explained and I immediately started to blush. I started to wonder about what exactly he told them. But, did anything happen actually? 

 “Oh.” I simply said after a while. From the corner of my eye, I could see Lydia give me small smile. We stopped in front of her locker and she put some books in it. Slowly, people started to turn up. 

 “Hey guys,” I heard Malia’s voice from afar. She walked up to us. She was still looking at me the same way as yesterday. Fortunately, she didn’t comment on it this time. She started to talk to Lydia and I tried not to listen. I looked around, without looking like I was actually looking, for somebody else I knew. 

“Scott, shut up,” a voice erupted from the end of the hall. A few seconds later. Stiles showed up through the crowd. He smiled when he saw me, but I obviously couldn’t return the favour. 

 “Hey, (Y/N). You going to your locker?”

“Yes actually. Do you want to join me?” 

 “It would be an honour.” he lightly bowed down and I had to hold in a giggle. Why was he so adorable? 

 Stiles said a quick “hey” to the girls, took my hand and lead me to our lockers. Even though more and more people started to show up in the hallways, it was still empty where we were supposed to be. We stopped in front of my locker and I unlocked it. Stiles was leaning against the wall next to me and just looking at me with a small smile. It was a bit strange, but I enjoyed it. 

 “So, last night,” he said once I closed my locker again. 

 “What about it.” 

 Stiles thought for a second. I could see he was bothered by something. “Uhm, nevermind.” he shrugged and walked to his locker. I followed him with my eyes from behind m dark glasses. As usual, he looked amazing. His dark hair was up and messy. His shirt showed off every feature that needed to be showed off. But what amazed me the most was, how he didn’t notice how good he looked. From the other side of the hallway, I saw two girls looking at him and when he turned around to say hi, they immediately started to blush. And there were plenty of other girls who would react the same. 

 “So, I was thinking,” he said after a minute, “would you like to hang out today, after school?”

“I would love to,” I said, but quickly my smile faded, “But my mom kind of forbid me to hang out with you after, you know.” 



 “Well, I have lacrosse practice today, so if you want, you can come by and we can talk there.” he suggested. 

 “Don’t you need the… I don’t know, practice then.” 

 “Oh no. I don’t really do anything there. I’m pretty bad.” I wanted to say that I was sure he was better than he thought, but right at that moment, the bell rang, so we had to head to class. Just like yesterday, Stiles guided me to the class. And the next one too. And the one after that. And also to lunch. 

We were the first to arrive at the table so we just ate in silence and waited until the rest arrived. 

“Hey, guys,” I heard Scott say once he arrived at the table with Kira. They sat next to each other, opposite of Stiles and I,  and to be honest, I was so jealous of how cute they looked together. Stiles started to talk to his best friend and without realisation, he put his arm on the back rest of the chair I was sitting on for support. I knew it was no big deal, his arm wasn’t round me it was just behind me. But I just couldn’t help but smile to myself at the thought of being embraced by… 

 “(Y/N)?” My thoughts were broken by somebody calling my name. 

 “Huh? Sorry, what were you saying?” I asked, whoever had called me. 

“I was asking if you know anything about lacrosse.”  Scott repeated himself.

 “Uhm, not really. I don’t know anything about any sport.” I said a bit unsure. I felt so stupid. So… alone. Nobody knew what it was like to be like me. No one could relate or genuinely say: “I know what you mean” or “I know that feeling”. Because they don’t. I mean: How many people that are born blind, get attacked by an wild animal and get their sight back. But of course, they don’t want to be turned into a science experiment, so they still have to pretend to be blind. Only this time, they also have a gigantic scar across their face. 

 “That’s okay. I will tell you everything about it,” Stiles said with a big smile as he, this time for real, put his arm around me and gave me a sideways hug. I thanked him and hugged him back. I gelt everybody at the table looking at us. Together with Lydia and Malia that had just joined us. I could see that Malia was trying very hard not to stare at me like she did the day before, because she only looked very quickly at me and Stiles and never made “eye contact” with me ever again. It made me very uneasy. There was definitely something about me that she didn’t like. 

The bell rang and I walked with Scott, who I shared my next lesson with, to the classroom. He was very sweet, but nothing compared to Stiles. 

“What do you think?” 

“Of what?” I answered his question with another one. 

“Beacon Hills, School, S-” he coughed, ‘uhum, us.” 

“Everything is great. Except for the fact that my mom hates it that, for the first time in my life, I’m making friends.” Scott clearly did not know what to say. Who would blame him?  After sometime, he finally managed to say something: “I’m sure she’ll get over it quickly.” right at the point that we stepped into the room. For reassurance, I sat down next to Scott. 

The class was very boring. Just like the other teachers today (and yesterday) clearly heard of what happened at ECON, so nobody had asked me to introduce myself or put my glasses off. I was officially the creepy new girl that even the teachers were afraid. Just what I wanted to be. 

After the last lesson of the day, I was dragged outside by Lydia to the bleachers of the lacrosse field. Malia was sitting behind us and I could feel her eyes drilling into the back of my head. 

 “(Y.N)” Stiles yelled my name. I immediately felt my cheeks heat up. Fortunately, the girls didn’t notice it. Or at least, they didn’t comment on it.  

Stiles walked up to us and he sat down next to me. I don’t how or why, but he managed to look even amazing in a simple, old, grey shirt and some track pants. In his hands, he held his lacrosse stick. As he sat down, he accidentally poked me with it in the leg. 

 “Sorry,” he apologised. I told him that it was fine. “You wanna hold it? Like, know what it actually is that I poked you with. Wow, that sounded terrible.” 

“Yeah, sure.” I laughed at his rambling. He handed me his stick. It surprisingly felt lighter than what I imagined it would feel like. Which was still a bit heavy, but it was doable. I put my hands on the top of the stick, where the net it, and felt it. It felt rough and old. A bit worn out too. 

 “You probably have to get a new net. This one feels a bit old,” I told him. Stiles did not seem to be amused by my comment. 

 “HEY KIDS, LOOK OUT!” suddenly somebody shouted from the field. I looked in front of me just to see a small white ball rushing towards me and getting bigger and bigger. Without thinking I swung with the stick and expecting to get hit in the face, I hud behind Stiles, but nothing happened. Instead, people started to cheer. I sat up straight again and looked at the stick that I was holding. This time, there was a heavy, white lacrosse ball in it.  

“Hey, girl. That was amazing. Can you throw it back now?” the coach yelled. 

 “I don’t think she can!” Malia yelled from behind me. 

 “I probably could with some help.” I looked to Stiles with a little smile. We stood up and he put his arms around me, embracing me completely as we held the lacrosse stick together. He showed me where my hands had to be positioned and then turned me to the right position so I would actually throw it in the direction of the coach. Unfortunately, then he let go. I realised there was some wind rushing to the the left, so I swung a bit more to the right. Everybody watched the ball as it flew through the air. It passed coach, but landed perfectly in the net of a stick that was laying on the ground. 

 The small audience on the bleachers erupted in cheers and yells. It actually scared me to realise how many people saw that. “Oh my god! Did I hit somebody?” I asked Stiles, looking a bit a scared. His expression changed very quickly. Before I was looking at him, he seemed to be extremely confused, just like Malia yesterday. As soon as he looked at me, he gave me a wide smile and hugged me. 

 “You did absolutely great.” 

 “That doesn’t really answer my question. I have a feeling that you would be extremely amused by me hitting any person on that field.” 

 “True. Sadly, no. You didn’t hit anyone. In fact, you threw the ball straight into a net of a stick. How the hell did you do that? Are you like Daredevil or something?” 



Two Shirts

Title: Two Shirts – Warmth Series Part 2

Characters/Pairing: Dean x Reader, Sam

Word Count: 1600

Reader Gender: Female

Warnings: None that I can think of.

Summary: Tomorrow came, as it inevitably does, and now the reader has to think about her relationship with Dean. But what will happen if they have to share more than a bed?

Author’s Note: Okay guys, here’s part two of the Warmth Series! I can’t thank you all enough for the amazing response the first part of this got and I hope you guys enjoy this just as much! There will be either one or two more parts of this series, depending on how many words it takes me to write what’s left of the story. If you want to be tagged in the next few parts of the please add yourself to This List or send me an Ask. Feedback is appreciated, and enjoy!

P.S. I’m going to stop using the Pond Taglist soon so if you’re on there and want to keep getting tagged in my fics please add yourself to my tag list. Thanks!

Two Beds - Warmth Series Part One

If you would like to read any of my other fics please check out my Masterlist!

*Gif is not mine, all gifs used on my blog are from Google Images.*

     It was tomorrow.

     When you’d opened your eyes this morning you became acutely aware of the unfamiliar weight still around your middle, Dean’s muscled arm caging you in in a way that - despite your best efforts - wasn’t unwelcome, but you knew had to be stopped as soon as possible.

     Getting involved with a hunter was dangerous and only ever ended one way: badly. He’d die and leave you alone, or you’d die and leave him, and no matter what happened someone was getting hurt – whether fatally or not. You couldn’t risk emotional attachment or compromise your ability to think rationally – which would most certainly happen if you had a relationship clouding your judgment.

     Mercifully Dean woke up and rolled over at that point, stretching his arms and yawning. Then he flung a pillow at Sam to wake him up.

     And now here you were, sitting in the back seat of the impala and heading back to the room with the beds - the two beds – ready to do it all over again. You promised yourself tonight you would be stronger, promised tonight you would keep your distance and stay away from the man on the other side of the bed, from the man you loved despite your best efforts not to. But you knew the truth. If he pulled you close, if he offered his warmth, your fortitude would crumble and you wouldn’t reject him.

     You never could.

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unfinished teen wolf hp au

i wrote this literally years ago and i’m never going to complete it, but i figured i’d post it here in case anyone was interested :)

A flick seems like too much- really, there is no point with the way the wrist had to bend to accommodate the second swish. He pulls out his wand, the grey tint of mountain ash turning near silver in the candlelight of the great hall, and performs the spell without the flick, “Aureus!” His quill obligingly turns into solid gold, and he turns it back to scratch out the last instruction in the book. McGonagall does this thing with her eyebrows when he screws around with the spells, and this is going to be awesome.

“That’s a fifth year spell, you utter freak,” his bag is pushed aside onto the floor so Jackson can slide in beside him. “Wait two more years.”

Stiles grabs his bag to save it from the dirty, dirty floor and places it on his other side, “We can’t all be Charms nerds like you. Speaking of, how’d your meeting with Flitwick go?”

Jackson’s sneer turns into an almost smile, “He offered to teach me dueling in exchange for being his research assistant.”

He hits him in the shoulder with his transfiguration book, which judging by Jackson’s glare may be too heavy for that, “Shut up! That’s amazing - there are seventh years who’d kill some small children to get that opportunity.”

Jackson’s smile dims back into a frown. He glances across at the other tables in the great hall, “I’m sure those rumors will start soon enough.”

Stiles nudges the other boy so he looks back at him, “Well, I think it’s great, and well earned. You’ve done our house proud.”

He makes the face he does when he’s pleased but doesn’t want to show it and starts loading his plate with food. “Did you go to the tryouts yesterday? I didn’t see you.”

Stiles opens his book so he can get back to taking notes, “Why put myself through the second hand embarrassment? Besides, there’s only one chaser spot open, and it’s not like Ethan and Aiden are going to choose someone bad.”

“They chose you,” he points at Stiles with his fork.

He sticks his tongue out, “I’m a brilliant seeker, or at least I suck less than everyone else. Forget that, come with me to Gryffindor tryouts, that’s going to be intense. And brutal. Danny lost all of his team except for Scott and Heather.”

“All the easier to crush them,” Jackson snorts.

Stiles copies down the spell to turn a raven into a writing desk, not sure when he’d ever feel the need to use it, but that’s hardly the point. “Danny Mahealani is the nicest, friendliest person ever, except on the Quidditch field. He runs the Gryffindors way harder than twins do us.”

Jackson rolls his eyes, “Literally the last thing I want to do is watch you and McCall panting after each other for three hours. We’ll kill them in the first game, and every game after, and that’s all that matters.”

“Speaking of,” he waves across the hall, and Scott’s already scanning the table to catch sight of him. They exchange a few eyebrow waggles and suggestive hand gestures, the same system they developed when they were eight, and he starts to pack up his things. “I’m going to have dessert at the Gryffindor table, want to come?”

“No,” he says, although he’s looking a little too intently at his mashed potatoes, “I don’t actually enjoy getting detention, you know.”

Stiles hikes his bag over his shoulder, “Do you know that you don’t have start a duel every time we sit with the Gryffindors?”

“Yes I do,” Jackson scowls, “because one of those bastards will run their mouths about me, or you, and then I’ll have beat some manners into them. They could at least pretend to be civilized and say those things behind our backs. House of muggleborns, they were never taught any honor.”

“You don’t actually have to do anything when they say something about me,” Stiles points out, “and we’re Slytherins, we don’t have honor.”

“I have honor,” he stabs his chicken as if it’s personally offended him.

Stiles is pretty sure that’s the other boy’s answer to both of his previous statements, and he makes a point of sighing dramatically as he drops his bag back onto the bench. “Don’t move, I’ll make Scott come over here.”

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foreverblueraven  asked:

Prompt: Lucy drops by the DEO regularly and is SHOOK at how quickly Maggie becomes a part of life there. Where Lucy ends up in their dynamic is your call

So you said you wanted more feels. You got ‘em. Fair warning, Lucy feels ahead. 

Lucy Lane Loves Leather and Pain

    Major Lucy Lane (never Lucille, shut the fuck up, Danvers) was the younger sister to a legend, an internationally renowned journalist, married to a goddamn superhero (and Lucy is very much bitter that she had to figure that one out on her own, as if she was never told because she spent so long with her father, no, she had to figure out that Clark and Kal were the same person). Major Lucy Lane lost her boyfriend to not one, but two goddamn Supers.

    Major Lucy Lane spent a good portion of her life being jealous as hell. What does it take, she’d wonder, to actually be seen for myself.

    It didn’t help that those damn supers were so nice. She tried to hate Kara. Kara Danvers was a giant ball of sunshine who stole her boyfriend without trying to at all, and then to find out she was Supergirl on top of everything, well that was just swell. And she had always gotten on better with Clark than with Lois, even before the Great Family Blow Up.

    Lucy wanted to be seen as something other than the lesser member of her family. After everything went down with Myriad and almost sending Danvers Sr. and not-Hank Henshaw to CADMUS, she figured she and the elder Danvers had a lot in common and could relate. After they got over the whole arrested-you-and-had-you-carted-off-to-an-experimental-black-site-that-later-turned-out-to-be-the-home-to-domestic-terrorism thing. Alex said she was over it. Except for when she wanted to win, in which case, Alex was kind enough to hold it over Lucy’s head.

    Alex held a lot of things over Lucy’s head, and often literally, because Alex Danvers is an asshole and thought short jokes were funny.

    It took time though, for Lucy to really make it past the spiky Agent Danvers persona. Kara was easy, Kara accepted everyone with open arms until you literally proved you had no hope for redemption, and Winn wasn’t far behind. But Alex was cautious, Alex didn’t trust people, and it didn’t matter how many drinks they shared while complaining about super siblings and falling short, Alex held very much of herself at bay.

    DADT was very much a thing during her career in the military. Her father was a general. Lucy’s attraction to both genders was something acknowledged after nights of heavy drinking or contemplative staring into the mirror, it was never something she actively pursued. That would have won her no favors with her father, the only family that hadn’t died or picked up and left, and he was all she had. When she broke from him, she suddenly found herself with friends and a new city, a new confidence she didn’t know what to do with.

    Alex Danvers had always pinged her radar as less than straight, although her interactions with Maxwell Lord were nothing but pure entertainment for Lucy. The disgust on her face when Alex mentioned he once tried to feed her was priceless. Alex Danvers held everyone at bay, but over time, after her teams moved to the city base and they were relegated to once or twice a month bar meets, Lucy found herself wanting more than just friendship from the taller agent. She was beautiful, brilliant, perpetually single, and she understood.

    So Lucy invited her out for drinks.

    Alex invited Vasquez and Kara out for a girls’ night.

    Lucy tried a fancy dinner, but an alien rampaging downtown ruined that one.

    She tried cooking dinner, but that turned into another girls’ night.

    Lucy wasn’t sure if this was Alex Danvers’ attempt to let her down gently, but it was really beginning to piss her off. Danvers wasn’t like Kara, she clearly couldn’t be wooed with food. And there were always drinks involved, so a nice whiskey wasn’t going to get her point across.

    Lucy was beginning to think she needed to flat out ask Alex if she wanted to make out when the cop started showing up. She got the joy of hearing Alex bitch about the cop who tried to steal her crime scene at the airport. Lucy got to hear about the alien bar from everyone who got to spend time there, but she could never seem to make it.

    And the cop. She got to hear about the cop so often.

    Lucy is a jealous person.

    Lucy freely admits that.

    Alex Danvers doesn’t make friends.

    Alex Danvers is finally friends with Lucy, even if the oblivious asshole never opens those goddamn whiskey deep eyes and notices the bisexual waving a pride flag in her goddamn face and asking her out every twenty minutes.

    One could maybe see why Lucy was less than thrilled to hear about Alex having a new friend. A pretty friend. A smart friend. A brave friend.

    Hello, Danvers, all that and a much better uniform is sitting right in front of your goddamn face. Would like to maybe sit on your goddamn face.

    A cop friend who apparently was Alex’s gay awakening and excuse me what the absolute fuck I have been throwing myself at you for the last year.

    For someone so damn smart, Alex Danvers was a goddamn dumbass.

    And Pam was supposed to be on Lucy’s side, okay? Legal and HR are supposed to be tight, they are not supposed to give clearance to a crush’s crush okay they are supposed to make the other woman’s life impossible that what HR and Legal do.

    Lucy always seems to miss meeting the cop when she visits. Which is odd, because no one ever shuts up about her. Winn goes on about how she saved his ass and she’s almost as awesome as his new bff Lena. James, her ex boyfriend who knows her a little too well and just smirks. Sweet, oblivious to her own bisexuality, ray of sunshine Kara Danvers is, of course, gushing about the woman who makes her sister so happy and she’s so helpful even if she eats weird healthy food. Even J’onn likes her, and he’s Alex’s Space Dad, no one is good enough for his favorite child and he’s said as much to Lucy’s face as nicely as possible.

    It’s a Friday night when Lucy finally manages to ditch Major Lane early enough to catch beers in town with her friends. Well, she could have ditched the Major, but Lucy looks damn good in her uniform and she’s fairly confident the cop will notice, even if Agent Oblivious doesn’t.

    She does.

    The cop is hot. Like, wandering the desert for forty years hot.

    But that’s not important.


    What’s important is that Agent Alex Danvers sees Major Lucy Lane enter an alien bar in full uniform and looks her up and down, eyes wide, like she’s never seen Lucy before. Like she’s pairing the uniform with the sweaty body she spars with on Tuesday mornings, the one she pins down with a laugh only to get flipped on her own back because Lucy takes nothing lying down, not even her massive crush on the most oblivious woman on the planet (Kara, of course, is the most oblivious alien).

    “Lookin’ good, Major.”

    Lucy smiles, wide and full of teeth, “I look even better out of uniform and you know it, Agent.”

    Alex isn’t the only one looking Lucy up and down. Not that Lucy’s complaining, because it’s nice to see she can still make a first impression. But the girlfriend (because that’s what she is) is less pleased at the laughing bear hug that Alex gives Lucy. Full body contact that literally lifts Lucy off her feet, smelling of leather and lavender and ozone from that damnable space gun of hers. Lucy takes her chance to wrap her arms around Alex’s neck and let herself fall into it. She likes feeling like she was missed.

    Alex finally sets her down and spins her to face the hot cop, hands strong and warm over the dress blues. “Maggie, this is Major Lucy Lane, the desert’s biggest pain in the ass. Luce, this is Detective Maggie Sawyer, NCPD Science Division.”

    The woman’s dark eyes stare her down. But she’s unsure about something. She’s trying to project a confidence she doesn’t feel, and Lucy might have missed it if she didn’t see the same thing in Alex every time Kara or J’onn was in trouble. Jesus, Lane, is that your type? Leather and bravado?

    Not that Lucy blames herself at all.

    They make it look hot.

    Sawyer reaches out a hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

    Lucy shakes it. She’s jealous, not a bitch. “You too. Alex talks about you so much it’s like I know you already.”

    Alex dips around Lucy to reach for her drink and throw it back.

    Maggie smiles, slow and wide, and Lucy knows she’s fucked when she realizes the devil wears leather and sparkling fucking eyes are you for real. “Is that right, Danvers?”

    Alex chokes a little, wiping clumsily at her mouth. “Pfft.”

    Three beers are dropped off by a bartender that the three women barely notice. Lucy plays with the neck of her bottle before taking a swig. It’s just the three of them, and Alex and Maggie are leaning into each other, not even holding hands, and Lucy kind of wants to deck the detective.

    “So, Sawyer, I have to know…”

    Maggie and Alex both pin her down with curious stares. It’s just the three of them, and it’s about to get real awkward, because fuck it, Lucy wants to know. Because she’s Lucy, because she’s petty, because she’s jealous, she waits until they both go to take a sip. Lucy smirks. Go big or go home, Lane.

  “How did you get her attention? Because I’ve been asking her out for a year.”

  Maggie takes a slow, slow swallow, her eyes darting between Alex and Lucy, considering, a small smirk beginning to pull at the edges of her mouth.

  But Alex?

  Alex spits her beer all over an alien looking for a fight.

  He found one.

  And Lucy finds herself incredibly impressed turned on with the way these women got creative with pool sticks.

title ⟶ Here Lies You
summary ⟶ For some unknown reason, you are now Min Yoongi and Min Yoongi is now you and neither of you can figure out why or how you frequently switch places. 
pairing ⟶ min yoongi x reader 
words 11.8k
genre ⟶ humor, fluff, kimi no na wa!au
warning mentions of death
playlist here

a/n: this was honestly such a spur of the moment fic, but I couldn’t help myself after getting the idea to write it. special thanks to @stormae for listening to all of my ideas. I decided to dedicate this one to @inktae & @minful for being the amazing people they are, and I think it’s safe to say we all share the same amount of love for this movie. 

“I meet you. I remember you. Who are you?”

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anonymous asked:

About trans women and womanhood thing. Like about how less people id as trans women, it's something I've noticed happening a lot lately too to the point a lot of people who I did know as being trans women are now nb and a lot go by 'they/them' now. I'm very interested on your thoughts on it which is why I asked, I'm just not very good at understanding complex writing

yeah that’s exactly what i’m talking about. it’s weird, right? like, bear in mind i’m just idly speculating here and you should take everything i’m saying with a grain of salt, but i’ve noticed there’s a lot of overlap between

(1) people who are vocally reidentifying out of trans womanhood

(2) people who think the holdouts in trans lesbian separatism &/or ‘baeddelism’ are the antichrist. more specifically, that they’re all white supremacists, rapists, generally regressive, and somehow equivalent to TWEFs despite the two social histories and positionalities being totally different–i’ve even heard the word ‘misandrist’ a few times. and like, i have some pretty serious objections to transsep politics, but i’ve never once seen any of those claims substantiated in more than two years of knowing many many people who identify or once identified that way.

(3) people who think it’s somehow reprehensible not to prioritize men–trans or otherwise–in their feminism or gender criticism (there’s a parallel there with the demand for ‘nuance’ in writing tossed around by some kinda TWEFy bloggers here), some of whom go as far as claiming ‘transmisandry’ is somehow a thing, and that it’s trans women who propagate it

(4) people who want to get rid of transmisogyny as a way of analyzing gender relations, claiming it’s just ‘transantagonism plus misogyny’ and completely ignoring intersectionality for this one specific case and only this one specific case. i’ve seen a number of disidentified trans women claim that ‘transmisogyny’ implies that trans women don’t face misogyny like cis women do and are therefore lesser…which is, like, ridiculous on its face.

(5) people who are really into the callout scene and are not only okay with destroying a person’s life based on something they read on the internet, but also seem oblivious to the fact that all the people targeted by intracommunity ‘callouts’ are–without exception–lesbian or sga trans women

(6) people who demand ‘accountability’ in those situations without making it possible or even specifying what that means, and who apparently prefer carceral or punitive justice over restorative justice

(7) self-described MLMs (lmao) who’ve never read any marxist theory

(8) people who tacitly or explicitly believe that nonbinary identities are (somehow) more radical than womanhood of any kind, which is pretty much just garden variety mogai identitarianism by another name.

like i’m not necessarily saying this is all being consciously orchestrated, but it feels really suspicious that it’s happening at the same time as a global rise in literal fascism. like, it feels like people are willing to give up anything–their identities, decades of social theory built for them by people like them, etc–and appeal to or align themselves with people higher up the social food chain if it means they won’t be facing that alone. or at least, like, that they’re willing to make completely unreasonable sacrifices in the name of coalitionism without expecting or receiving any in return. though, again, this could all be my paranoia talking.


Pairing: Sam x Reader

Word Count: 3 500

Reader Gender: Female

Warnings: Swearing, Violence, Blood, Reader and Sam get kidnapped.

Request from Anonymous: Hey! Could you do a Sam x reader where she is quiet and he’s mistaken it for shyness. Sam and the reader get kidnapped and she turns in to some witty, sarcastic, sassmaster until Dean helps them escape. Thanks!!

Author’s note: Okay Anon, I hope this was what you were looking for! I wasn’t sure why the reader was supposed to act shy all the time so this is what I came up with, and I hope the “sassmaster” parts are sassy enough! I’m personally very shy and being witty doesn't really come naturally for me, so I hope I did it justice. And just as a side note, the final part of Angel Rising will be up next week!

If you want to read more of my fics you can find my Masterlist Here

*Gif is not mine, all gifs used on my blog are from Google Images.*

        Your hands gripped the steering wheel of your white VW Bug as you sped down the highway, heading towards a sleepy little town where you were supposed to meet two other hunters Bobby was forcing you to work a case with. You didn’t really like the idea of working with strangers, especially in a dangerous situation where you needed to trust the people you were hunting with, but you had to admit you were grateful for the backup. You’d taken out nests by yourself before, but never one this big, and it would be nice to not have to constantly be looking over your shoulder.

        Once you’d arrived in the town you pulled into the fist motel you saw - just like Bobby had instructed – and parked beside a black Chevy Impala, which you wouldn’t have actually been able to spot if you hadn’t looked it up, but no one needed to know that. Then you stepped out of your car, straightened the skirt of your yellow sundress, and walked up to the door with the number 12 stuck to its face, which was directly in front of the Impala. After you knocked on the door you braised yourself for the impending looks of confusion and doubt when these hunters saw you, but it’s okay, you were used to it.

        You heard shuffling behind the door and then heavy footsteps on the ground as one of the hunters made their way towards you, the door then creaking open on its rusty hinges and revealing a tall – no seriously, tall –man standing in the doorway. He had slightly wavy brown hair that almost came to his shoulders, green eyes that were just bordering on brown, and impressive muscles that you could see under his straining plaid shirt. And wow, was he attractive.

        “Can I help you with something?” The handsome man said, giving you a warm smile and keeping half his body hidden behind the door. He probably had a gun.

        “Uh, yeah, I’m the hunter Bobby sent,” you said in a quiet voice.

        “You are?” He looked shocked, but you weren’t surprised.

        Whenever you were on a hunt you put on what you liked to call your cute girl disguise, because when you’re hunting a monster the chances are the monster is hunting you to, and when you look like a sweet, innocent girl who’s never even seen a gun before, no one suspects you. Hence, why you were wearing such wildly impractical clothing. You also tried to be as quiet and inconspicuous as you could so that you didn’t draw any attention to yourself, but most people usually just thought you were shy. You knew it was a pretty different approach compared to other hunters, and most who met you don’t really take you seriously at first, but you always got the job done, so why change now?

        You nodded in response to his question. “He um, he did tell you I was coming right?” he looked slightly taken-aback.

        “Yeah, no he told us. You’re just, uh…”

        “Not what you were expecting?” you finished for him.

        He let out a breathy laugh, “Yeah, I guess.”

        “I get that a lot,” you said while looking at the ground. “But I can hold my own,” you quickly added. He probably didn’t really believe you, but you always felt like you needed to say it since people weren’t usually convinced just by looking at you.

        He smiled. “Oh, uh, come on in,” the tall man said as he pulled the door the rest of the way open and ushered you inside, immediately setting his gun down on the tiny motel table before shutting the door behind you. I knew it, you thought with a small smile on your face.

        Once you were in the room it suddenly became incredibly clear that they were hunters, with weapons and old books covering every surface, crumpled up fast food bags and empty paper cups in more than one place, and curtains drawn to avoid any unwanted guests seeing the display. You hated to admit it, but even your room looked like this from time to time, but only when you had been working on a case for an extended period of time, and as far as you knew they just got here this morning. You weren’t sure if you should be worried or impressed, but in the end you decided to say that they were just really dedicated, and hoped you were right.

        Sitting on the bed furthest from the door there was a second man with short, sandy brown hair, slightly less muscles than his friend but equally as handsome, and – he looked up – striking green eyes.

        “Who’s that?” the second man asked, as he jerked his head towards you. He must not have been listening before.

        “Dean, this is, uh…” he gestured towards you.

        “Y/N,” you offered quietly.

        “Y/N,” he repeated with a smile, “Well I’m Sam, and this is my brother Dean.” He said while turning back towards the other man. “Y/N’s the hunter Bobby sent to help with the nest,” Sam told his brother. He raised an eyebrow in question but quickly lowered it when Sam shot him a stern look that said don’t say anything. You were grateful.

        After about a half an hour of them briefing you on what they’d found – which was mostly them talking and you just nodding your understanding – you’d decided that you and Sam would go down to the morgue to make sure it really was vampires before you tried to find the nest, and Dean would go and talk to the family members of a few of the victims. That meant that you were going to have to change out of your “cute girl disguise” and go Fed, which wasn’t how you liked to work, but it seemed to be the only way they did it. So you reluctantly agreed and went to the front desk to get a room of your own so you could change.

        When you emerged from your room - decked out in your uncomfortable dress pants, matching gray jacket, and loose pink blouse - you found Sam and Dean standing on the sidewalk, also wearing F.B.I. suits. You thought they looked considerably better in them than you did.

        “Ready to go?” you asked once you’d gotten closer to them, making both men jump. You were really good at being quiet.

        “Jeez Y/N, you need a bell or something!” Dean accused. “You’re like a ninja.”

        You pretended to be surprised. “Is that a bad thing?” you asked innocently. Sam laughed, Dean scowled.

        “It is when you’re sneaking up on me,” Dean grumbled, then turned his attention to your 2008 beetle, which you owned partly because it helped you keep up your girl next door persona, and partly because you actually liked it. But judging by the car Dean drove and the face he was making at yours, you guessed he didn’t feel the same way.

        “Well Sammy, have fun driving around in that chick car,” Dean said while eyeing your bug with disdain.

        “So that’s why you didn’t want to be paired up with the pretty girl!” Sam smirked as Dean started walking towards his Impala, the younger Winchester looking down at you almost sheepishly after he’d said it. Had he just realized he’d called you pretty?

        “Don’t be silly,” Dean said, as he opened the smooth black door of his vintage car. “I also wanted to talk to the girlfriend of one of the vics. She’s hot!”

        “She’s grieving Dean, don’t try to flirt with her!”

        “I would never,” Dean said ad he held a hand over his heart, but you had a sneaking suspicion he was lying. “Remember, we meet back here in 2 hours, don’t chase any leads without me!” Dean called, then before Sam could reprimand him any further Dean pulled the door shut behind him, started the Impala’s powerful engine, and was speeding out of the parking lot in a matter of seconds. It was actually pretty impressive.

        And then there were two.

        You quickly glanced back and forth from Sam to your car, only now realizing that your little beetle might be tight for someone with such long legs. You were right. The drive was about 20 minutes to the nearest morgue - because this town was so small that they didn’t have one locally – and you could tell Sam was uncomfortable the whole time, but he didn’t say anything. You kept the conversation friendly, talked just enough to keep it from being awkward, but the ride was mostly silent.

        When you finally got to the hospital where the bodies had been taken you spent about 40 minutes inside. Sam was with the coroner inspecting the bodies and you were off talking to a few of the ER doctors and nurses that were working the nights the bodies were brought in, and nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Just some standard vampire attacks, bodies completely drained of blood, two curved rows of small teeth holes in the neck where they were bitten, the only thing that was weird was the quantity of bodies. This nest was big, which is why Bobby had insisted that you work with Sam and Dean on this case. You were suddenly really grateful to have them around.

        “Well that didn’t tell us anything we didn’t already know,” Sam said as he held one the hospital’s back doors open for you. You murmured in acknowledgment, then gave him a kind smile and a nod for holding the door. “Well, maybe Dean found something we can use to track down the nest.”

        “Yeah, maybe,” you said distractedly, intently watching a bush on the edge of the empty parking lot rustle suspiciously. There was no wind today.

        “Hey, are you okay?” Sam asked cautiously, taking in your worried expression. You opened your mouth to speak but a strangled sound came out instead, cutting you off as you suddenly felt something cold and sharp bury its way into your neck. You hand immediately flew up to see what it was when you saw one land in Sam’s neck as well, then another.

        Your vision went blurry, your breathing intensified, and you felt your limbs going limp. Sam was the first to his knees, the double dose taking over his body faster than yours, but you were quick to follow. You tried everything you could to fight the drug, but it was no use and in a matter of seconds your head was hitting the asphalt. Then you lost consciousness, a single drawled word slipping past your lips, “Tranquilizers…”

        You woke up slowly, your head pounding and your vision coming in and out of focus. You felt nauseous and disoriented, and you had no idea what was going on, until you tried to move and realized your hands were pulled behind you at an awkward angle. You were tied up. The hospital … tranquilizers … vampires … it was all coming back to you, but what were you forgetting? Sam.

        “Sam? Sam?! Are you there?” you called frantically into the darkness, the lack of light something you were only now noticing, now that you were trying to find someone.

        “Y/N!” His response came almost immediately and you breathed a sigh of relief. “Are you okay?”

        “Yeah I’m good, tied up, but good. What about you? Where are you?” you asked feeling slightly less nervous, just as you sensed someone moving in the darkness.

        “I’m beside you, your eyes will adjust in a minute,” Sam said.

        “I don’t suppose you have any idea where we are? Or how long we’ve been out?”

        “Well, I think we’re at the nest, but I have no idea how long we’ve been here.” You cursed under your breath.

        “So we also have no idea when Dean is going to notice we’re missing?”


        “Well that’s just great,” you mumbled as you tugged on your restraints, seeing if there was any chance you could just wriggle free. No luck, they were too tight. Then without warning the lights in the room blazed to life, causing you to audibly gasp, slamming your eyes shut to avoid the sting of the lights against your still-sensitive eyes.

        “Sam Winchester,” a man said loudly, his voice echoing off the metal walls of the warehouse, which you only got a quick look at before you’d shut your eyes in shock. You forced them open again. “We knew if we hung out at the hospital for long enough a hunter would show up eventually, but a Winchester? That was a pleasant surprise.” The man sneered, staring at Sam like he had just won the grand prize.

        Winchester. You’d known that was their last name, and you’d thought it sounded familiar, but it wasn’t until this very moment that you realized that they were The Winchesters. You suddenly felt a surge of panic. You knew they were good hunters, but they were also wanted hunters. Just about every supernatural creature you could think of had a grudge against them, and now it looked like you were going to get caught in the crosshairs. This just got a lot more complicated.

        “Why are we still alive?” you spat, starring the vampire straight in the eye, not letting the slightest trace of fear cross your face. “What do you want with us?”

        “You? Nothing. We don’t even know who you are.” Of course you don’t, that’s my specialty, you thought. “But if you’re traveling with Sammy here,” Sam tensed at the name, “maybe we can use you to draw out his big brother.”

        “And then what?”

        There was a pause. “Then we turn you.”

        A rage suddenly blazed through you and you violently thrashed against your restraints, bringing yourself as close to the vampire as possible before saying, “I would rather die,” in a completely controlled voice. Then you sank back down to the floor, never losing eye contact with the man. Sam looked completely floored.

       “That could be arranged too, sweetheart,” the man smirked. Then you watched as he turned and walked out of the room, leaving you and Sam alone.

        “Woah, Y/N, what’s gotten into you?” Sam asked, surprised. He sounded impressed, but surprised.

        “Most recently? A tranquilizer dart,” you responded without thinking. You knew that wasn’t what he meant but you were too distracted right now to explain.

        Sam looked even more surprised. “That’s not what I meant,” he laughed.

        “I know, but we don’t have time for this right now,” you said as you scanned the now bright room, looking for any way you could get out of here.

        “We can multitask,” Sam said through a grunt. You looked over and found him trying to pull his hands-free of the zip tie that bound his arms behind his back. That was never going to work, his hands were too big, but now that you knew what was holding you, you could find a way out.

        You sighed at Sam’s statement and decided to spill. “Men are arrogant,” You finally said as you maneuvered your feet underneath you, preparing to stand up. Sam looked slightly offended, but said nothing. “Especially the supernatural ones,” you continued. “They think they’re untouchable, and no one expects the soft-spoken, doe-eyed blonde in the corner to be the thing monsters look for under their beds.” Sam had stopped trying to get free by now and was watching as you shimmied your body up the support post that was holding you.

        “So, you just pretend to be all sweet and innocent, and then what?”

        “Then you attack,” you said as you were almost fully standing. “When you don’t present yourself as a hunter, no one expects you to be one, and you always have the element of surprise. And you should never underestimate the element of surprise.” You said with a smirk. You were standing now.

        “What are you doing?” Sam asked, watching you from the ground.

        “Multitasking,” you said with a strained voice, lifting your arms up as far as you could behind you. Then before you had a chance to change your mind you slammed your hands down as fast and as hard as you could into the metal pole, biting back a scream as your bones collided with the post and the zip tie broke free of your wrists, but not before slicing into your skin.

        You brought your hands forward and examined the delicate skin of your wrists, which wasn’t cut too badly, but was quite red from you pulling on the ties. Then you quickly bent down and retrieved the dagger you had under your pant leg. “I can’t believe they didn’t take this,” you said as you cut Sam free. He was staring at you in shock again.

        “Well you’re right, you did have the element of surprise,” Sam said with a smile.

        You grinned back, then said, “Let’s take down these blood-sucking bastards,” and headed towards the door with Sam. But you’d only made it a few feet outside the door when the same vampire as before and a group of three others rounded the corner and came running towards you. You tried to get away but there was nothing you could do, they were too fast, and before you knew what was happening you and Sam were both pinned to the walls, you right beside the door, and Sam further into the room. How were you going to get out of this one?

        “Where were you going, sweetheart?” the man from before taunted, his foul breath hot and smelling of blood, washing over you. You pulled your face back.

        “I thought we would go get coffee for everyone,” you said sarcastically. “Let me guess, you like those sweet flavored ones?” He jerked you against the wall.

        “You think you’re cute,” the vampire said, while pressing his forearm into your chest.

        “Generally,” you grinned.

        “Well let’s see how cute you are with a set of fangs,” he sneered. You tensed, but showed no outward signs of fear.

“Oh, no thanks. I was a vampire for Halloween last year, it didn’t really agree with me,” you said as you watched him sink his own razor-sharp teeth into his free hand, the blood dripping down his chin as he gave you a wicked grin and started bringing his cut hand towards your mouth. You quickly pressed your lips together.

        “Let her go!” Sam hissed as he fought against the three vampires holding him down. Even he wasn’t strong enough to get out of that, and you both knew yelling at them wasn’t going to get them to stop, but he wasn’t trying to stop them, he was trying to distract them.

         For the briefest second the man holding you down turned his head towards Sam, and at that very moment Dean leapt into the room and lobbed the vampires head off. Then he kicked a duffel bag at you from the hall and went barreling towards his brother, whose captors had all let go of him and started going for Dean.

        Once you had pushed the vampire’s limp body off of you, you immediately ducked down and opened the bag, finding two machetes in the bottom. You grabbed them both and sliced them in an X formation across the throat of a pointy-teethed girl who was charging you, then jumped over her headless corpse and ran towards Sam, throwing him a weapon.

        “Are you guys okay?” Dean asked once you guys had taken care of all the vampires in the room.

        Sam looked at you and waited for you to nod before saying, “We’re good,” then turning back to his brother. “How did you find us?”

        “Your phone,” Dean said nodding towards Sam.

        “But they took our phones.”

        “Maybe, but they didn’t turn the GPS off,” Dean grinned. Wow, these guys suck at kidnapping people, you thought. “Okay, let’s go finish this,” Dean said once he was satisfied that everyone was unharmed, then you all ran out the door, machetes in hand.

        Once you were finished with the job you were all a little beat up, some vamps putting up more resistance than others, but overall it went pretty well – after you had escaped, that is. Dean had taken out a good amount on his way in, you guys got four when Dean rescued you, and all the others were easy once you were together.

        And then there was Sam. As you walked towards the Impala the two of you shared a knowing smile, you having slipped back into your invisible façade once Dean had arrived – though you still totally kicked ass. You knew it wasn’t that big of a deal, but it still felt like you and Sam shared some scandalous secret. He was now officially one of the few people who knew what you’re actually like, and you kind of enjoyed it. You would definitely be hunting with them again.

Facade (pt.2)

Characters: jimin x you

Genre: ceo!jimin || fluff (as of now)

previous part || next part


It is the same restaurant that the two of you are sitting in. Three years have passed since the day he proposed to you on your first date. Three years and fourteen days in fact, as the two of you are here for your anniversary.

The first night as an officially wedded couple had been extremely awkward for the two of you. Besides seeing each other that first time, you had not had the time to sit down with him again as the wedding was extremely rushed. In the span of two weeks, a banquet hall was secured; invitations were given out, dress fittings that lasted until early morning and countless interviews with reporters.

The interviews were the only time the two of you were alone. Or “alone” in the sense of what viewers could see. He would act the part of your loving husband and you would reciprocate as a doting, head-over-heels wife. In every interview, your hands would be stacked on top of each other, like statues that had been carved from stone.

You would answer questions as best as you could and he would smile at you every chance he got. The interview would always end with him looking at you and saying, “I love you.”

All of a sudden, the two of you are standing across from each other on the sixteenth of August. Somehow, 365 days have passed.

Keep reading

Title: Savior
Fandom: Marvel
Word Count: 980
Characters: Warren Worthington III x Reader, Charles Xavier, Jean Grey, Scott Summers, Peter Maximoff
Reader Gender: Female
Warnings: Maybe a slight mention of death? That’s all I can think of.
Notes: This idea has been floating around in my head for a little while and I’ve finally decided to write it. // Reader is Charles’s daughter, aged 18. She has the power of healing and of resurrection. She accompanied everyone to defeat Apocalypse, but only in case anyone was hurt. There, she found a certain winged blond in need of her help. // Let me know if you think I should do a part two. ☺❤

Originally posted by aniskyvalker

       Y/N Xavier walked through the battlefield, kicking rubble out of her way as she went. They had successfully defeated Apocalypse, but they were all left thoroughly exhausted. She had stayed hidden during the fight, due to her lack of combat skills. Once it was all over, she made her way around to everyone, seeing if anyone needed healing, or resurrected. After that, she decided to go have a look at the jet and see how badly it was damaged. What she did not expect to find was a body.
       Panic bubbled up inside her as she ran to the boy, who looked to be around her age, with blond curls and large metal wings. She knew straight away that he had fought for Apocalypse, but so had Erik, and he had changed sides….
       After deciding that everyone deserves a second change, Y/N gently pressed her palm to his cheek and began concentrating. She could instantly feel the energy that it was pulling from her. Thankfully, he hadn’t been gone for long, and she was able to heal his injuries and pull his soul back to his body. The boy awoke with a sharp intake of air and wide eyes.
       “Who are you? What’s going on? What happened? Am I in Heaven?” he asked, staring up at her.
       “You were dead, but I’ve resurrected you, and I can send you right back without a second thought. But, if swear to never fight against us again, I’ll let you live,” Y/N stated, focusing on staying conscious.
       “Not being dead sounds pretty good, so yeah, I swear to never fight against you again,” he replied immediately, a small smile appearing on his lips.
       “Good choice,” Y/N replied, then removed her hand from his cheek, securing his soul back into his body. She leaned back on her knees and opened her mouth to say something else, but instead, swayed a bit, then fell forward onto his chest. His eyes grew wide again, before he carefully stood and carried her back to the others.

       When Y/N awoke, she sat bolt upright and looked around, quickly realizing that she was in her bedroom at the mansion. Her father was next to her bed, reading a book. He perked up immediately, setting his book down in his lap with a smile on his face.
       “Nice of you to join us,” Charles said, his tone a bit teasing, despite the fact that he truly was thankful to see her conscious.
       “How long have I been out?”
       “A day and a half,” Charles responded, leaning back in his chair. “Do you need anything?”
       Right on cue, her stomach growled loudly. Charles chuckled, “You should eat, it’ll help you regain your energy.” She stood up and smoothed out her pajamas, a Metallica T-shirt and plaid pajama pants, and vaguely wondered who had changed her. “Raven,” Charles answered, sensing her concern. She nodded and kissed her father’s newly-hairless head, then made her way to the kitchen.
       “That was Y/N, wasn’t it?” Scott asked, craning his neck to try to get a better look at the person who had just passed by the lounge room.
       “Yeah, she woke up a few minutes ago. She’s looking for food, she hasn’t eaten in over a day,” Jean explained.
       “Is she okay?” the winged blond, whom they had come to know as Warren, asked. He never talked much, so they were all a bit surprised.
       “She’s fine, she just used all of her energy bringing you back,” Jean replied. “She doesn’t get a lot of practice doing that, so it sucks all of her energy when she does it.”
       Warren nodded, then leaned back in his chair again. He drummed his fingers on his knee for a few moments, then stood abruptly. They all turned to him, eyebrows raised. He cleared his throat, saying, “I’m, uh, gonna go see if she needs anything.”
       “He’s got the hots for her, doesn’t he?” Peter asked, one eyebrow still raised.
       “Well, he did ask if he was in Heaven right after she brought him back, because he thought she might be an angel,” Jean said, smirking. Peter burst into laughter.
       “Oh my, God, I have got to give him hell for that later,” Peter commented, still laughing.
       Warren made his way to the kitchen, where he found Y/N on her tiptoes, trying to grab something out of the cupboard. He swallowed thickly, watching intently as her T-shirt rode up and revealed some skin, then straightened his shoulders and walked over. He leaned on the counter next to her and donned his most charming smirk.
       “Need some help?”
       Y/N smacked her head on the cabinet when she flinched, not having noticed anyone enter the kitchen. She slammed the door closed with a glare, but her expression softened when she saw who it was.
       “Oh, I thought it was Peter being an arse,” she said, running a hand through her hair, which was still messy from sleep. “I never learned your name.”
       “Warren Worthington III.”
       “Oh, how fancy,” she replied teasingly. Warren chuckled, and she added, “Especially for someone in an Iron Maiden T-shirt and leather jacket. Looks good, though,” before returning her attention to the cabinet, in an attempt to hide her blush.
       “That Metallica shirt doesn’t look so bad, either,” Warren responded, and she could hear the smirk in his voice. “How ‘bout we go to dinner? I’m pretty sure taking you out is the least I can do for someone who brought me back to life.”
       “Are you asking me for a date, Warren?”
       “Only if you’re agreeing.”
       “I am.”
       “Then I am.”
       The two stood smiling at each other for what seemed like ages, then suddenly Peter zipped into the kitchen.
       “Aw, you guys are adorable.”
       Peter managed to dodge the objects thrown at him, but just barely.


For all the people saying, “just get over it! your candidate lost. it’s over,” this isn’t a sports game where one team lost and now we can all just go back to living like usual with only damage to our pride. This has serious, long-term effects on our lives, our country, and our future… for everyone.

Here’s why I’m scared:

His professionalism:

  • Trump’s anti-Muslim, anti-LGBTQ, misogynistic, and racist rhetoric normalizes hate speech and emboldens his followers. There have already been reports from people being harassed.
  • You might say that these are only words or the media portrays him unfairly, and he doesn’t have control over what his followers do. As a leader, whether it’s of your church, company, or the United States, you have a moral responsibility to lead by example and create a culture that helps shape how people act.
  • I’m scared for every person of color, every member of the LGBTQ community, every woman, and every minority in this country. I’m saddened that they have to live in fear and worry about their families.
  • It’s also an embarrassment to all of the people he represents.
  • He will probably never release his tax statements. He is unqualified to lead a country. He had extreme advantages (like an existing company and money from his parents and the ability to attend an Ivy League school) to be successful in business; therefore, it’s hard to say if he’s actually successful.
  • “The media only focused on this stuff.” Okay, but what about the things that Donald Trump has said directly? The primary sources he’s released about his policy plans.


  • I would not be surprised if Donald Trump defunds or cuts funding for educational and community services like Headstart, NPR, libraries, PBS, after-school programs, academic research, etc.
  • Trump has planned to stop federal loans for higher education, forcing families to rely on often aggressive lenders and volatile interest rates. He also proposed to abolish the Public Loan Forgiveness Program (which I currently use, but I believe/hope will be protected since I’m already signed up). This program ensures that we have a workforce that is giving back to local, state, and national communities through working in nonprofits.
  • Trump will most likely overturn the regulations on the for-profit higher education system which has been defrauding students for years.
  • Trump has proposed basing loans on student loans on income-earning potential which would mean that only the wealthy would be able to afford liberal arts and sciences degrees. This could mean that millions of potential changemakers would not have access to education. Trump also will undoubtedly cut funding for Pell grants that help low-income students go to school.
  • Trump plans to “repeal Common Core,” despite it not being a federal law but a set of standards adopted by over 40 states. Forcing the states to reject it would mean that he’s going against his “power to the states” philosophy.
  • He’s threatened to dismantle the Education Department, limit federal support for schools, and rely on a “market-driven approach” for schools. Pushing charter schools and school choice would weaken our public education system. We have no idea where the money for his “vouchers” will come from.
  • Cutting or not using the Office of Civil rights which protects students through investigations of sexual assault at colleges, examining schools that have high expulsion rates for students of color, and protecting trans and LGBTQ students.
  • Many children of color fear Donald Trump’s presidency, forcing teachers to have tough conversations with their students and distracting from academics.
  • His Supreme Court nomination could help strip back affirmative action policies which help protect minorities from racial discrimination and societal disadvantages.
  • Trump’s ban on Muslims would mean that many Muslim students would not be able to attend college in America, meaning that we’d lose their talents.
  • Trump has advocated for more job-focused education, meaning humanities departments, women/gender studies departments, and other critical academic areas could be cut or defunded.
  • We don’t know. Trump really hasn’t outlined his plan on education, so we have no idea. Personally, I was planning to go back to grad school eventually, but under Trump, I doubt this will be a wise or possible decision.


  • We import $21b of food from Mexico. While I hate seeing tomatoes in January and agree we should localize our food, we don’t have the agricultural workforce meaning food prices could skyrocket (whether because of supply/demand or because of new tariffs). To meet demand and with Trump’s lessened environmental regulations, American agribusiness will continue to grow.
  • The agricultural and restaurant sectors, for better or worse, rely on migrant labor. The “wall” of increased immigration restrictions coupled with deportation means that a labor force will be deplenished (and crops left unharvested). Companies will have to pay for American labor, increasing costs passed invariably passed onto consumers. Another possibility, under Trump’s removal of a federal minimum wage and decreased regulations, is that this job would be left for the poorest, most desperate Americans under harsh conditions.
  • For small scale farmers, who aren’t able to recover from increased costs, this could be devastating. More and more small scale farmers would go under, increasing large agribusiness.
  • Not believing in climate change, an issue that affects farmers, Trump’s regime could leave farmers behind in the cases of increased severe and abnormal weather.
  • I kind of like my food to have strict quality and health regulations. Trump proposed to limit the role of the FDA, and his plan to “renegotiate” trade deals might further limit the restrictions and regulations other countries must pass to import healthy food into the United States.
  • I also like regulations that protect the surrounding environment (including communities) from agricultural pollutions such as waste and chemicals (including antibiotics used in animal production).
  • Decreased regulation could mean even worse conditions for farm animals. Not only impacting animals, this impacts our moral conscience, our communities, and public health.
  • Removing SNAP (“food stamps”) from the Farm Bill means that it’s more vulnerable to cuts, leaving people hungry.
  • Trump is a huge supporter of fast food. Standardizing food means lower quality, reliance on monocultures, and heavily processed food.

Economic plan:

  • A hiring freeze on federal jobs means that millions will go unemployed.
  • Potentially pulling out of NAFTA. Admittedly, I’m not a fan of NAFTA because of its effects on Mexican food, environmental devastation, health of Mexicans (we export and flooded their markets with HFCS and refined, processed foods), and labor abuses, and I also agree that it should be renegotiated because 15 years ago things were different. However, tariffs would mean that companies would ultimately pass those costs onto consumers, increasing the costs of goods for Americans.
  • It is highly unlikely that American jobs will return for several reasons.
    1. Most companies have a race to the bottom mentality and will find another cheap job market. 
    2. Automation has decreased the number of jobs, not just outsourcing.
    3. Lack of an American work force with the skills needed. 
    4. Lack of an American work force willing to do the jobs.


  • Appealing ACA (“Obamacare”) would mean that millions would lose health insurance. Personally, this could mean me, as I have a pre-existing condition, and without the ACA, I could face higher premiums or outright loss of coverage. 
  • Women’s reproductive health needs may not be met or covered.
  • Again, we have no idea because he hasn’t laid out a plan after appealing ACA.

Foreign relations:

  • Trump plans to “label China a currency manipulator.” America already did this in the early 90’s and it did nothing to slow down our trade deficit with China. Besides potentially violating our commitments with the WTO, this would have serious political and economic effects on our relationship with China and their allies. China could retaliate by increasing tariffs on our imports or sell its holdings of our bonds.
  • Trump’s demagogic speeches and erratic behavior could affect our relationships and diplomacy with so many countries. The damages could be economic or more serious, leading to increases in war or terrorism.


  • Opening up energy reserves and approving the Keystone Pipeline may mean (often short-term and dangerous) jobs, but it will wreak havoc on the environment and speed up climate change. 
  • Even if you don’t believe the countless scientists that say climate change is real, spills and disasters will poison communities of people right now. 
  • Okay, let’s pretend you’re some being that doesn’t need to eat, drink water, or breathe, spills mean lost profits which would be passed onto the consumers.

“Law and Order”:

  • No one really knows what this means. The amount of force and power that it would take to remove the number of people from our country and ban the number of people from entering is unprecedented and troubling.
  • Increased militarization and power to police would increase tension between the police and communities, putting all people at risk.
  • Privatization of the prison system has led to serious allegations of human rights abuses as these prisons focus on profit not people. Cutting costs and corners is dangerous for prisoners but also workers. Understaffing means workers work longer hours to manage these often overcrowded facilities. They are also prone to corruption (“kids for cash”) and increased incarceration rates (primarily people of color). As a society, private prisons do not align with our values of justice and rehabilitation. 
  • Many offenders have trouble re-entering the workforce which increases dependency on social programs. Without the social safety net, people could turn back to crime.

Human rights:

  • All of these policies will have dangerous implications for the most vulnerable in society. Horrible effects on the lives of people of color, women, immigrants, Muslims, people who identify as LGBTQ, people who are in the lower socio-economic brackets, prisoners, the elderly, children, people with disabilities, people who are ill - chronically or short term, and other minorities.
  • Donald Trump has opposed marriage equality.
  • His policies allow for human rights abuses here and abroad. Increased funding for military and damaged relationships could lead to more war.
  • Climate change will affect the world’s most vulnerable populations.
  • Donald Trump has supported waterboarding and other mistreatment/abuse of prisoners. Increased surveillance of citizens, use of drones, and militarization could continue or increase under Trump’s “law and order.”
  • Donald Trump’s running mate, Mike Pence, has a horrible track record for LGBTQA support.


  • They say the biggest fear is the fear of the unknown. We have very little idea how he will lead the country since he has no political experience, poorly laid plans, and erratic behavior and stances on issues. How can we prepare if we don’t know what’s coming?

So, no. I’m not afraid because he used the word “p*ssy” and isn’t politically correct. I’m afraid because this could be the end of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness as we know it. I’m afraid because he doesn’t give a shit about us, acts in his own financial self-interests, and will hand power to large transnational companies that value profit over people and the environment. I’m afraid because this ushers in a terrifying reign of power and a culture of oppression.

Reasons why people on Tumblr hate me

• Only on tumblr is it a bad thing to NOT have a mental illness. People come on here and complain (brag) about their more than likely not real disorders and it’s perfectly, 101% okay, but as soon as I state that I’m glad and thankful that I don’t have a mental illness, I’m an ableist. You heard correctly! I’m chastised for being a healthy and happy person! 

• Only on tumblr is it s bad thing to be cisgendered. People come on here complaining how hard their life is because they are the opposite gender or some other nonexistent gender. This should go back to the previous paragraph where I’m referring to mental illnesses, but I felt that it needed its own paragraph. If someone claims to be __gender when they are 13 years old, they more than likely just like dressing like the opposite sex or like both sexes. At the age of 18 (16 in some places), it can be diagnosed as a real mental illness. Anytime someone reads that I’m cis, they immediately assume I’m “transphobic”, which is completely incorrect; I am not afraid of anyone who claims to be trans. I believe that transgender, and every other gender besides male and female, is caused by a mental disorder, dysphoria, and is nonexistent. I partially believe that agender could possibly be a thing. I also believe that a lot of “genders” don’t exist, for example: “trigender”, there is no “third gender”. Males have XY chromosomes, XXY chromosomes, or even XXXY chromosomes, and females have XX chromosomes. There is no third “Z” chromosome. You are either male or female. This is not being “transphobic”, this is basic biology. By the way, Cis people make up about 99.7% of the Earth’s known population, so wishing every cis to die will wipe out 6,979,000,000+ people of the 7,000,000,000+ people on Earth right now. 

 • Only on tumblr is it a bad thing to be heterosexual. People come on here talking about some edgy-sounding sexuality that either doesn’t exist or already has a name, then I get called “homophobic” when I state that “pansexual” isn’t a sexuality., which is also incorrect; I am not afraid of “the same”. Pansexuality is defined as “liking all genders”… So, you’re bisexual. As stated above, there are two genders. You’re either gay, straight, bisexual, or “asexual”. I only put that in parenthesis because that is an incorrect term that was adopted fairly recently. Asexual means you’re able to reproduce without a mate and make an exact copy of yourself; if you can do that, PLEASE let me know because they would be awesome! 

 • Only on tumblr is it a bad thing to be white. People come on this site and bitch, moan, and complain how white people oppress black people. I admit that segregation was only demolished within the last one hundred years, but what people DON’T look at is how other races where slaves, oppressed, and killed, not just the blacks; in a lot of cases, they were treated worse. Example: Italians who migrated over to America. This was not as recent, but it sure as hell happened. Everyone’s complaining about “while privilege,” which was a thing a few years ago, but over the past two years, it has completely skipped true equality and has nearly switched, but nO ONE sees it! As soon as I state my own opinion that goes against someone else who happens to be black, I get called “racist” where if it were two black people or two white people going back and forth, it’d okay. Now, if I stated my opinion of something and a black person came back and started verbally attacking me, everyone would back that person up because they’re black and I’m white. Yep. It’s IMPOSSIBLE for a black person to be prejudice towards a white person. Just because I’m white doesn’t mean I ever owned a slave. “Well, your ancestors did!”
1) How has that personally effected you, with your clean, running water, cellphone, Internet, bed, roof, and clean food?
2) My ancestors are from Italy. They didn’t own slaves because they were the slaves, but you don’t see me complaining about what happened hundreds of years ago.

• Now, let me just clarify something right here:
• My best friend claims to be genderfluid and demisexual. I met zim when ze was straight/ questioning bisexual and cis-female. Ze told me about how this is who ze is. After three years of such a tight friendship, I could never cut zim out. Ze changed zis name, not legally, because zis parents are up the ass Christians. After months of going along with the made up pronouns, fake gender, imaginary sexuality, and some otherkin shit, I sat zim down and told zim my thoughts on all of these things. I never raised my voice or spoke illy of any of it. I agreed to keep calling zim by zis preferred pronouns and new name because ze’s my best friend. After a year of telling zim this, we are still beast friends. 

• I also had another friend of mine who decided to be trans. I met him when he was still going by female pronouns. He asked me what I thought about the transition and I said that if he wanted to, he should. His father was a more accepting and helped him buy men’s clothing. He still has a vagina, but that’s fine. I later told him my views on “transgender” in a very polite and calm way and he got a but angry. After a few months, he has distanced himself from me and now we rarely talk. 

• When I was a kid, one of my best friends was black. We went through all of elementary school together (K-5) and neither of us thought about our skin color. I didn’t see her much in the summer before 4th grade, but after school started back, she started ignoring me and hanging out with a clique of other girls who were black. Again, I didn’t think anything about skin color at the time, so I was a confused child who was scared because I thought I did something wrong. As the school year progressed, she started making fun of me because I was Italian - I was very tan at the time because this was a time where kids actually played outside for entertainment. Then, the following year in 5th grade, her are her group didn’t talk to me because I was white - I didn’t tan much over that summer. She learned racism and took it out on not just me, but every other white kid in my class.

My Spark Headcanons

…based on fanart, stories and other headcanons I’ve seen around tumblr and the internet…some guest spots from Candela and Blanche. I don’t even know why I made this list, but here it goes:

- Spark met Zapdos at a young age and they bonded because Spark was just so loving of him. Zapdos respected his love for all life and Spark loved Zapdos’s “glittery wings”

- Spark jokingly called his Eevee Donglord and it stuck. He loves his Jolteon and it follows him everywhere.

- His pikachu was named Sparky. Because Lt. Surge said it looked like him.

- It later evolved into a raichu and matched his jacket, which Spark loved a lot.

- Zapdos and Spark trust each other completely. Zapdos knows Spark will get serious when he has too and Spark trusts Zapdos to never let him get hurt.

- Flying on Zapdos is Spark’s favorite mode of transportation.

- Lt. Surge is Spark’s uncle and raised him after Spark’s parents died in the oft mentioned pokemon war.

- Spark loves Blanche, they call him the little brother they never needed, because he drives them crazy but he is the most loyal friend they have ever had in their life.

- Spark didn’t understand Blanche when they explained gender fluid to him, at least at first and often messed up pronouns, but he gets it now and will literally fight you for misgendering his best friend.

- Candela scared the crap out of Spark when they first met, but now they’re a terrible duo getting in the way of Blanche getting any work done.

- Spark taught his pikachu to dab and showed it to literally everyone he met. Much to Blanche and Candela’s annoyance.

- Spark made Blanche notice Candela was into them, Blanche was to into their work to figure it out at first, Spark was always good at picking up those signs, he said it was just insinct.

- Spark and Blanche have secretly high fived when Blanche was kissing Candela, they think Candela hasn’t noticed, she totally knows.

- Spark doesn’t like to battle. He will only fight if you give him no other options or hurt his family/friends.

- This isn’t too say he’s weak. He can throw down with anyone he has ever had to fight.

- Spark is always good at having fun and being flirty with most everyone he meets, unless he’s actually into them. Then he turns into a blushing stuttering mess.

- Spark is pansexual. He literally doesn’t think about gender in partners. He likes people for their heart and soul.

- Spark is oblivious to the fact he is “sexy” it just doesn’t cross his mind.

- His hair constantly stands up and it’s actually a fried mess because he gets electrocuted so often it won’t ever stay flat anymore.

- His favorite food is junk food and he never gains any weight, a fact that angers Candela and confuses Blanche.

- Spark loves to cuddle. With literally anyone or thing. Especially sad looking pokemon.

- People often treat Spark as weak because he’s kind hearted and concerned with others happiness, but in reality he understands that protecting the weak requires strength so he never slacks on training his pokemon.

- Spark loves all pokemon, even weak ones, back home and with Professor Willow, he has hundreds of the same pokemon because he can’t bring himself to part with them.

- He has literally named all of his pokemon and can tell you all of them by name. Blanche believes he has an eidetic memory, she tried to talk to him about it and he just ignored it and brought up this one girl named Edie they’d met five years ago for ten minutes at a store.

- One of the reasons he loves on everyone so much, not that he’ll talk about it or that Surge did bad raising him, is that Spark lost his parents at such a young age and he never wants anyone including himself to be sad again, so he goes out of his way to make everyone feel special.

- He once dabbed on top of Zapdos, during a thunderstorm, in the rain. He made Candela take a picture. It’s now his computer background.

- He read Harry Potter and cried when Cedric died, though Hedwig was his favorite character in the books.

- He lives with Candela and Blanche now. They’re his adopted family and even though he leaves for weeks at a time, often to hatch eggs, he feels safe knowing he’s got a place to call home.

- He loves hatching eggs because he loves the moment a pokemon sees the world for the first time, he thinks it’s pure.

- His favorite non electric type is Cubone, because he knows what it’s like to lose your parents and he loves his cubone.

- When he was ten he cried the first time he met an Ekans because he thought it had its arms chopped off, Lt. Surge had to explain that wasn’t the case and console him.

- When Spark got scared when he was younger, Zapdos would let him sleep next to him, they still do this sometimes when traveling together.

- Spark has been electrocuted so many times, he doesn’t even notice mild shocks anymore.

- Spark once convinced Candela it’s okay to cry, that it wasn’t weakness to accept your failure or pain, it just made you stronger. He also promised to never tell anyone she cried on pain of death.

…that’s all for now, I’ll probably update this randomly. Ignore my insanity as I love on Spark

Crushes and Crutches: Chapter 2

X-men Apocalypse
Pairing: Nightsilver/Quickcrawler
Rating: idk if you’re sensitive to swearing don’t read it
Warning: Religious topic (I don’t mean anyone offense)
+Homosexuality (boy X boy) in this so if you’re against it, don’t read it dipshit
+I’m not going to type Kurt’s accent because I’m lazy
+Remember this is the first fanfic I’ve written, do not murder me ___________________________________________

It was 6:00 in the morning, and everyone was asleep. Except a certain silver haired teen who was running, in an attempt to clear his mind. As usual, this attempt was futile, but running gave him something to do.

Peter had a crush on his best friend, Kurt Wagner, and this was a fact known to his little group of friends. Well, minus Kurt himself and Scott who was completely oblivious to Peter’s feelings for the blue mutant. Now Peter was stuck sleeping in close-quarters with him. For a week. Which really sucked because he didn’t even know if Kurt was into guys at all, so flirting with the blue mutant would most likely be futile.

Peter sighed and took his goggles off, cracking his neck and observing his surroundings, frowning when he realized he had no clue where he was. He then slapped himself for not paying more attention to were he was going.

Looking around for a vantage point, Peter decided that the top of a very tall tree would work. He climbed up in the blink of an eye and looked around for the lake they were camped by, and spotted it a few miles away.

The mutant stretched and reluctantly decided that he should head back so no one wonders where he’s at. Then movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. But when he looked, he saw nothing, so he shrugged it off, thinking it was probably just an animal.

Placing his goggles back over his eyes, Peter raced back to the camp, enjoying the brilliant colors flashing by. Finding everyone still sound asleep, a devilish grin spread across his face. He grabbed a metal pan and spoon, and silently crept towards the male tent. After making sure Scott’s glasses were on safely, he grinned and began banging the pan and yelled “RISE AND SHINE PRINCESSES!”

Scott let out a small yell, but could not do much else but flop around, still being restrained by his sleeping bag. On the other hand Kurt woke with a start, and teleported all around the camp until he realized it was just a prank pulled by Peter who was doubled over from laughing at that point.

“Y-you shoulda seen your guy’s faces!!!” He managed to get out before returning to his fits of laughter. Kurt, embarrassed and blushing, playfully punched the other’s shoulder “You almost gave me a heart attack!”

Jean then popped her head out of the girl’s tent, and grumpily asked them to keep it down, and said something about beauty sleep. She got a bow and a “yes, your highness” from Peter. Kurt looked at Peter and began laughing, causing the taller mutant to begin blushing and laugh along.

“Hehehe, well, since I’m up, I’m going ask Hank if I can get breakfast started.” He smiled and turned to walk away, then stopped and looked back “and un-tie Scott, he’s been trapped long enough I think.” And with that, he teleported off to Hank’s tent.

Peter let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Man I got it bad…” He then entered the tent to a Scott who looked ready to murder. Giving Scott a smug grin, he joked and said “And for my final act I shall release this wild creature and live to tell the tale!” In retaliation he got a grumbled “You’ll survive if you’re lucky.” And just like that, Scott was loose and chasing Peter around the camp.

The girls emerged from their tent giving up on the possibility of a quiet morning. The group walked over to the campfire where Kurt was cooking ham and potato omelets.

“Ooooo, our little Crawler can cook!” Jubilee exclaimed, excited for the meal. Kurt let out a nervous chuckle “I only know a few recipes, I just thought I’d help this morning.”
“Well, it’s more than most guys know, so kudos to you.” Jean said, earning a confused look from Kurt “What is a ‘Kudos?’” Jubilee giggled and patted Kurt’s back “It basically means ‘good job’ bro.”

“Oh! In that case, my thanks Jean!” Kurt smiled, flashing his pointed teeth. He then turned to Hank “Could you get Scott and Peter for me? I’ve finished cooking.” Hank nodded, and walked off to find the two hooligans.

As Kurt put food onto plates for each of them the girls exchanged glances and Jubilee cleared her throat.

“So, Kurt, this isn’t because I have feelings for you, I see you as more of a brother than anything, but… Do you have a girlfriend, or have you had one?”

Kurt looked up, surprised by the question as he put the pans he was using down.

“Umm, no. I’ve never really thought about it, and even so… The whole blue, devil looking, mutant usually keeps people away.” Kurt answered honestly, feeling no need to lie.

“Oh.” said Ororo “So, another question. What do you think about… Y'know, dating another guy?”

Kurt was once again surprised by the question, but this time he had to think a little longer on how to answer his friend’s question. “Well… You know I’m Catholic. And as religion goes, it’s not allowed.” The girls exchanged disappointed looks.

“But. I, unlike a majority of my brothers and sisters of the Catholic church, realize that God is the one who creates us, and makes us who we are, and if he chooses that one likes the same gender, then we should accept them for how they were created.” Kurt continued, washing the pans he used to cook.

“Okay that’s cool, but would you date a guy?” Jean asks leaning forward a little.

Kurt stops for a moment, biting his lip, and then answers. “Yes, if I truly felt a deep affection towards another male, I would date them.” This answer seemed to satisfy the group of girls who then proceeded to eat their (delicious) omelets.

Little did they know, a certain silver haired someone, had eavesdropped in on their conversation. Said mutant was now doing a little happy dance and the biggest grin on. Now he knew he had, no matter how small, a chance with Kurt. ‘Let the flirting begin.’

End Chapter.

Chapter 1Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5
Silent Night - Original Scott McCall One Shot.

Original One Shot - You and Scott end up being alone in his house after everyone else cancels and you find a way to keep yourselves occupied.

Author : Me

Warnings : Smut, oral, some roughness.

Reader gender: Female

Notes: This is my first smut soooooo, but it takes practice. Hopefully I’ll get better writing more who knows? :)


You plucked your phone from your back pocket and read the message.

Stiles -

Nothing is happening tonight. Nothing at all! I mean Beacon Hills is free of weird supernatural goings on tonight, make the most of it! I am sat reading call of the wild… how often do I even read books? Anyway bye.

You let out a little giggle putting your phone away leaning against the lamp post outside the movie rental shop, as you looked up Scott was returning with a bag full of stuff.

“Did you buy the whole shop or what?” You smiled looking in the bag as he passed it to you.

“Just a few movies and some nibbles, Stiles and Malia are popping over with Lydia and Liam.” He placed his helmet over his head whilst putting his legs over the bike.

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hi my name is vanessa and I'm here to remind everybody what makes Asuna so great.

So as of late, the anime has been messing up Asuna’s character and her relationship with Kirito. And I’m not very happy about it. So here’s a fun thing (with pictures) so everybody remembers what makes her the most special person in the series. 

Okay. Go.

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Does a Polyglot have to be Cultured?

My apologies for being a day late.  My social calendar is super full this month which is awesome but leaves me super tired!  I’ll do my best to archive in the future.

One of the first things you learn in a linguistics class is that language and culture are inherently intertwined.  Thus, when we learn a language, we are often expected to learn or at least explore the culture of the people who speak that language.  But what exactly does this mean?  And how much of the culture do you have to adopt?

The answer to the second question, at least to me, is as much as you are comfortable with.  

Here’s the thing, as much as I appreciate and value other cultures, there are still going to be times where generally accepted ideas in one part of the world are not going to line up with my personal ethics. Example?  I have a number of Saudi Arabian friends.  We laugh, enjoy deep conversations, and support each others’ life choices.  All of them are deeply religious and most of them value a strong separation between the gender roles.  No matter how much I enjoy their food, their customs, or their company, I’m never going to adopt either of those.  Does that mean I should give up on learning Arabic?  

No, because at the end of the day, one’s personal identity does not have to exactly match the cultural identity of any language community.

Let me break that down.  I live in the U.S.  There are a lot of opinions of what it means to be an “American” and what our cultural identity is.  Some would say as a culture we are materialistic and that making a lot of money is a number one goal.  For me, that was never the case.  I never saw money as equating with success- it just didn’t do it for me.  (Nothing wrong with making a lot of money by the way, it’s all about what YOU want out of life.)  Others would focus on our love of freedom, but my version of what it means to be free doesn’t always line up with that of my friends.  I wear yoga pants and mandala shirts in my time off, some of my friends wear bohemian dresses, and others are flannel shirts and jeans.  My point is that despite all growing up in the same culture (same state and everything) we all have elements of unique personal identities that might clash with the generalized cultural identity we grew up in.  "American" isn’t JUST apple pie and baseball any more than Saudi Arabian is JUST Islam and separate schooling.  There is so much more.

So coming back to the first question: What does it mean to learn the culture along with the language?  There are a lot of parts to this so I’ll highlight a few.

First, making use of authentic materials is a great way to get in touch with both language and culture.  Manga and anime are what drove several of my friends to learn Japanese in the first place and help them get a sense of Japanese ideals and even systems without ever having visited there.  (For example, my best friend and I are learning Japanese together and she can explain the whole Japanese schooling system with senpai and such much better than I can.  I’m a teacher for crying out loud!  But she’s read a LOT  more realistic manga than me and picked up on it.)  Films, literature, TV shows, radio broadcasts- they all provide material to learn the language from but they also give insights into how the people of that language community view themselves and the world.  

(**Note** Once again though, you don’t HAVE to like all the media your target culture has.  Another friend of mine absolutely hates manga and anime but lived successfully in Japan for a year and continues to learn Japanese.  To each their own.)

Second, learning basic customs such as how to greet someone or what utensils to use when eating are pretty key to making a good impression if your goal is to visit the country/region where your language is spoken.  My Hispanic friends won’t think any less of you for not kissing their cheek when you first meet them, but they will believe you are more reserved and less open to their hospitality.  Fortunately, my Asian friends have continued to be forgiving about my complete ineptitude with chopsticks… but I’d like to master it before I travel to Asia next year.  Understanding these things helps you get off on the right foot.

Third, and perhaps most importantly, knowing the values and ideologies typically held in your target language community can help you have deeper conversations about many topics, WITHOUT offending new friends.  Knowing the values is NOT the same as adopting the values.  The best example I can give comes from a conversations I have had with Saudi friends who have arranged marriages.  I grew up in a country where such things are looked at as misogynistic and disdainful.  But conversations with these friends have helped give me different insights into them.  I understand there is more choice involved than one would initially think and that many of these people have very happy unions.  Is it the choice I’d make for myself?  No.  Is it something I can respect and try to understand? Yes.  This doesn’t mean I even agree that ALL arranged marriages are okay (I doubt anyone can ever make an argument that will make me be okay with child brides) but it’s hard for me to say it’s all wrong when some of the strongest unions I know come from these scenarios.  (I know I mentioned it last post, but if you think my comments here are crazy, PLEASE go and watch Arranged, a movie about an orthodox Jewish woman and a Muslim woman who both enter into arranged marriages.  It will help make sense of my comments here.)  Even when I do disagree with something wholeheartedly, understanding my diverse friends’ perspective helps us have more direct yet unoffensive conversations about the topic.  I have a Saudi friend who is perfectly okay with the concept of polygamy; I am not.  We can discuss this topic very frankly yet not hold hatred for one another.  At the end of the day, understanding where each other comes from is more important than me adopting his viewpoint or him adopting mine.

Because after all, isn’t that why we set out to be language learners in the first place?  To increase our understanding of the world around us?

Food for thought.  As for now, this Polyglot has got to Peace Out.  Hope this leaves you feeling a little more “cultured”.  :)