or maybe it was someone else entirely

What is the $10 Revolution?

The $10 Revolution is an idea to transform the relationship we have to online media. The idea is this:

Set aside $10 of your budget a month. Just $10.

Then use that $10 to directly support creators you enjoy in whatever way you see fit. Maybe that means donating $1 to 10 different creators’ Patreons. Maybe that means subscribing to someone on Twitch for $5 and using the rest as a direct donation. Maybe that means giving the entire $10 to your favorite creator, and letting everyone else go.

But imagine the change if everyone set aside $10 to support their favorite online creators. If everyone who watched that tiny YouTube channel supported with $1. If everyone who read your favorite webcomic gave $1 a month.

Suddenly, an artist who has 300 fans has a legitimate source of income.

A YouTube channel with only 1000 subscribers might be able to sustain itself.

And the reliance on the ad-free model of media, where creators have to make clickbait to even have a chance of being seen, starts to end.

The $10 Revolution is not an idea, but a call to action.

Set aside just $10 a month, and ask your friends to consider doing the same.

Let’s see what we can do.

#10DollarRevolution

I’ve only ever fallen in love twice: with big city and small town.
     I met big city at a bar (of course), and he offered to buy me a drink (of course), and then I didn’t see him for three whole months. That’s just how big city works. But when he called, I was young enough to think the nervous pit in my stomach meant something good. Big city was older than me, and richer than me, and had a white collar  job with a personal assistant. He liked to talk about important things like finances and politics and himself. But that was ok because big city was cool. He showed me all about the world, like smoking and fucking and staying out too late. Before I met him, I was small and shy. I had bangs. Big city liked that about me, he said. Liked that I was so much more than I seemed. And then, five weeks later, he told me he loved me, and I believed him.
     But big city was also fast and sharp and full of dark alleys where men in trench coats auctioned off black magic. Full of prettier people and power. I was only 19 at the time, just a kid, and big city took everything I had, chewed it up, and spat me back out on the concrete. He smiled with all of his teeth and told me we’d had a fun run. I went to therapy for weeks, and big city was engaged six months later to a woman with a loud mouth and no bangs.
     But I’ve fallen in love twice. 
     And small town came along just like big city, only many years later. He asked for my number at a bar and laughed too loud when I said no. I thought it was because he was cocky, but I found out later that he always laughs too loud when he's nervous. And God was he nervous. But I said no, and he laughed too loud, and then I didn’t see him for three whole months. Until his friend and my friend got engaged and we had to moonwalk down the isle at their wedding. He offered to buy me a drink, and I said yes, but only because it was an open bar. One drink, two drinks, three, four fivesixseveen. We talked about our families, and did the YMCA, and passed out in my hotel room.
     And small town held me when I cried and owned a little cafe that did well enough to pay the bills, and small town smiled. He let me tell him about the world. He liked holding hands and Harry Potter. Small town talked dirty and shut down the cafe some days so we could spend all afternoon naked in bed. And we held each other just as tight. Small town met my parents before saying I love you and when he said it, he really meant it. He smelled like warm bread and pine trees, and when small town talked, it was about important things like good books and insecurities and the future.
     And here’s the thing, being with him wasn’t anything like being with anyone else. It was like coming home after traveling the world. Knowing all the rooms by heart. Laying in your childhood bed and thinking, this is it, kiddo. You fucking did it. And maybe for you it’s big city or small town or someone else entirely. I think maybe we fall in love everyday, but sometimes it's different. Sometimes it’s everything. Just trust that it’s out there. Please, please. Just wait for your homecoming.
—  everything I know about love
the bike shorts incident

Zimbits | Fluff & Crack | 3.2k | AO3

Bitty gets a series of texts from Jack just minutes before their shared class is due to start. Bitty is alarmed for several reasons—Jack’s preference for sending single texts, and the fact that Jack is normally in class before Bitty at the top of the list.

Jack 9:56 Are there seats in the back row?

Jack 9:57 Can you move to the back row and save me one

Jack 9:57 Near the door on the east side

Jack 9:57 Please

Jack 9:58 ??

Bitty isn’t sure what’s going on, but he gathers his stuff quickly, dumping it into his bag, and heads to the back row near the specified door, trying to type as he goes.

Bitty 9:59 I’ve moved. Got a seat for you. Everything okay?

Jack 9:59 Is anyone near you?

Bitty looks around.

Bitty 10:00 A few people further down the row, and about five rows in front. Teacher just walked in and is setting up.

Bitty looks around to the door, holding his phone in case it buzzes again with a message from Jack.

The teacher calls the class to attention and there’s still no sign of Jack. It’s not like him to miss class. Bitty wants to go out and find him to see what’s going on, but he can’t now that the teacher has seen him. He gets out his books and pen again, and focuses to the front, keeping his phone visible on the desk just in case.

He keeps an ear out for the door, and just as Professor Miao begins her lecture, he hears it opening. It’s almost like Jack was waiting until he knew she’d started.

Jack sticks his head through the gap and looks around nervously. He meets eyes with Bitty, who raises eyebrows at him, trying to get some clue as to what Jack’s been texting him for. As Jack pushes the door open slowly, and hurries quietly in, practically tiptoeing over to the seat Bitty has saved for him, Bitty thinks he knows what Jack’s been worried about.

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psycho 01 / taehyung

Originally posted by bossybishqueenbaozi

summary: ‘’scared of me?’’

note: okay so I got inspired to do a imagine of y/n and taehyung because of the japanese version of blood sweat & tears 

warning and a note: this story has some sexual harassment in it so if you are uncomfortable with reading this kind of story please stop right here, i understand this might be hurtful to some people but this is just my crazy imagination and I’m sorry if you have ever experienced anything like this and I also wish this doesn’t happen to anyone ever, i know that taehyung isn’t like this in real life this is just a story

ALL OTHER CHAPTERS CLICK HERE!

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The moon signs when they’re emotional

Aries: I’M GOING TO PUNCH A WALL!!!!!! WHY DOES EVERYONE HAVE TO BE OUT TO GET ME???? CAN’T I LIVE??? I’M SO UPSET AND WHY DOES NO ONE CARE??? MY EMOTIONS ARE THE #1 PRIORITY RN!!!! *blames someone else for their problems* (5 minutes later is over it)

Taurus: why life wHY?????? I didn’t want to mOVE today let alone CRY *crawls into a hole full of blankets and sobs into a bag of chips*

Gemini: oh lol whatever idk why my eyes are wet but I’m just gonna ignore this and hope it’ll go away tomorrow

Cancer: I just love to fEeEeEeL things :(((((( I’m going to cry and think about the reasons why I’m crying and maybe look at old pictures and write a poem and cry more *eats an entire carton of ice cream*

Leo: I can’t cRy in fRonT of PEOPLE!!! I have too much pRiDe!!!!! *throws head back and struts their stuff* (10 minutes later they have a dramatic emotional show just for the benefit of everyone else)

Virgo: am I actually feeling this or am I just projecting my feelings into this moment so that I can get them out? what do these feelings mean? what does the fact that I’m questioning my feelings mean? is that another feeling? is life even real? I hate myself I’m so INCOMPETENT *hysterical crying*

Libra: nOOOOO this means cONFLICT!!!!!! I can’t have this in my life!!!!!! maybe if I hold this in nothing will happen. I definitely won’t bother anyone else about it because that would be tOO MUCH FOR ME I can’t put burden on others

Scorpio: *has straight face* this is just another case of the darkness inside my soul

Sagittarius: haha WHATEVER!!!!!! gonna go run away from this bc who needs this kind of drama in life?!?!?! not me!!!!!!!! I’m fiiiiiine those aren’t tears it’s just a piece of dust in my eye

Capricorn: I need…to pull…myself…together….must…look…like…everything…is…normal… *has mental breakdown alone*

Aquarius: emotions???? I don’t have emotions lol what are those??? I’m aBOVE that so I’m just going to focus on the fact that society is so corrupted or something!!! there are way more important issues that MY feelings

Pisces: I…just CAN’T deal with life anymore…I need to eScApE I’m drowning in my own tEARS *sobs*

i know this is cliche af but i want a plot where muse a is broke as hell and does little jobs to get by and gets hired to spend a summer at some rich family’s estate and do some stuff around the house. meanwhile there’s muse b who is a part of the family who owns the estate and leads a lifestyle of lavish parties and thoughtless spending, and is entirely different from muse a. still, they keep bumping into each other, and eventually end up growing close to the point where muse b sneaks muse a into fancy parties, and muse a takes muse b out to know the seedy little bars hidden out of the view of the wealthy or for motorcycle rides in the dead of night because they keep this relationship under wraps? and maybe there’s even some angst and jealousy when muse a runs into an ex they never thought they’d see again or muse b is flirting with someone else at a party muse a is working at. this could be so much fun tbh

Gemini and Pisces don’t necessarily deceive you with their changeable personality, but there can be truth in the moments they spend with people, in that perspective, in that minute. It isn’t that it is a lie. They see something in the people around them to adapt to, to connect to, and maybe it is something else with someone else. It is a changeable truth. It doesn’t mean that the moment with you isn’t authentic. Unless they do it knowingly which is another thing entirely from these trickster archetypes, but when sincere, it isn’t a flaw. Being adaptive and changeable IS a personality itself.

Finding Closure (Part 6)

Summary: AU. Reader left behind a hometown full of misery to make a new home in Brooklyn. A death in the family forces her to briefly return to the place that has haunted her dreams and memories for three years. Will she finally be able to move on, or will a figure from the past change everything?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 2,366

Warnings: angst, language, introspection, fluff. I’m a chump.

A/N: Happy 4th, America and Happy Birthday Steven G. Rogers! I hope everyone likes this ending. I’m a chump. The gif only sorta fits. He’s so cute.  This is the final part for my submission for @sgtbxckybxrnes’s AU Challenge. My prompt was innocent enough: 28 .“____ is not a real word.” “Yes it is!”

Part:  1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6

Originally posted by coporolight

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Something that’s been fascinating me the longer I look at it.

Throughout ‘06 (and previous games as well) Shadow’s always had a predictable reaction to someone or something threatening him - he drops into a battle-ready stance, usually with his fists out, ready to start throwing punches:

It’s not surprising - Shadow fights, it’s what he does.

But I’ve been looking at his body language during the confrontation with Silver and it’s completely different:

He drops to the ground and doesn’t bother getting up for a good five seconds, despite Silver being an immediate threat.

Once he finally does stand up, he turns his back on Silver entirely for another five seconds to check on Sonic, even though Silver is still clearly looking for a fight.

Silver readies himself to attack, and all Shadow does is casually uncross his arms.

Shadow kicks the shit out of Silver, sending him flying, and then proceeds to stand and watch with his arms hanging, looking unconcerned.

I’ve always thought Silver was actually a better rival to Shadow’s physical strength than Sonic - Sonic has Shadow beat when it comes to speed, but every time we see Sonic and Silver face off Silver wrecks Sonic’s shit.

The only reason Sonic ever survives their encounters is because someone else runs in to stop the final blow.

But Shadow clearly doesn’t think so. His body language during the entire scene suggests that he hardly sees Silver as a real threat. Shadow will adopt a fighting stance for some of Eggman’s weakest robots, but not for Silver.

I’m wondering if this doesn’t have something to do with his previous hostile encounters with Sonic, actually. Shadow knows that Sonic can use Chaos Control - not to the same level as himself, perhaps, but he was able to do it with a single, fake emerald in SA2, and that’s impressive enough. Maybe all Shadow sees here is some young, hot-blooded hedgehog who’s being deceived by Mephiles (since Silver originally mistakes Shadow for him), and figures he’ll wear him down to the point where he’s learned his lesson.

And then this happens:

Silver, in desperation, copies what he just saw Shadow do - hold out the emerald and yell “Chaos Control!” - and accidentally opens a portal with Shadow’s help. Shadow’s first words to this are:

He sounds shocked. And after this happens, he immediately offers Silver a temporary alliance to go back in time and take on Mephiles. That’s my theory - that Shadow originally saw Silver as a nuisance at best, proceeded to be impressed by his abilities and resourcefulness, and realized he would make a better ally than an enemy.

Idk, I just really like this scene.

Deserve.

Summary: Car rides filled with tension are never easy. 

A/N: I’m back. I’m sorry it’s been so long. I just needed to gather my thoughts but this plot has been sitting in my head for ages. I just want to thank all of you for the support and love on my last story, made me get tears in my eyes. I’m having an incredibly hard night (reference my personal blog @finallybreathee as to why) but here. here’s me trying to clear my head. Hope you guys enjoy. This probably isn’t shit but oh well. 

Pairing: Bucky x Reader 

tags: @thewintersadie @sad-af1121  @bxckyfxcknbxrnes @serzhantkris @melconnor2007 @buckywithegoodhair @abovethesmokestacks –hoping to one day be as amazing as you all.  (I know I’m forgetting like 20 of you but I honestly don’t know where your messages went so pls message me again if you wanted to be tagged xoxo) 

Originally posted by veronikaphoenix

The silence in the car is starting to get to you. You’ve been driving in this car for god knows how long, the trees were all starting to look the same and they were just all becoming a constant stream of green. You know you should say something, anything, but you refuse too. You’re too sad and you’re too exhausted and honestly, if you opened your mouth you’re afraid sobs will come out instead of words. 

You turn away from the window and glance at the driver, the person responsible for your current distress, and the love of your life. He’s a vision. Even with his jaw strained and his grip on the steering wheel a little too tight. Bucky Barnes is still hot as hell and maybe even hotter now that he’s mad at you but you refuse to admit that out loud. 

You turn back to the window and sigh. How are you supposed to get past this? How are you supposed to be ok?

Maybe he’s better off with someone else. Someone who isn’t a problem to him. Someone who doesn’t piss him off. At least that’s what he suggested an hour or two ago.

It was supposed to be a simple mission. Gather intel at a local bar and get back home so the team can further put information together and create a plan of option. Except, you’re a screw up and simple never goes as planned. Safe to say Bucky lost his entire shit the moment you two got out of the bar alive. 

He just had to remind you that you weren’t good enough. That he made a better team with Natasha. He just had to bring her up. 

You love Nat. You love her like a sister. You two are probably the two best female spies to ever exist and you were constantly paired up with her over the years. But Natasha is always one step ahead of you. 

Natasha is and will always be what you are not. She is grace. She is beauty. And she was Bucky Barnes’ love not so long ago. 

That fact haunts you. The love of your life and your best friend have a past that you might never live up to in the present. They still have chemistry. When they work together it’s like seeing two dancers find each other in a ballroom waiting to sweep everyone off the dance floor because all eyes will be on them. 

Your heart hurts. Your eyes are tearing up again and you are doing everything in your power not to sniffle out loud because you do not want Bucky to see you this upset. 

“Y/N…I’m..I shit, Y/N please look at me.” Bucky’s rough voice snaps you out of your daze only to realize the car has stopped. 

You refuse to look at him. Refuse to even utter a word because right now you are doing everything in your power to keep yourself together. 

“Look, doll. I’m…fuck, will you please look at me?” 

You turn to him only to that his lips are turned upside down and his blue eyes have turned into a molten grey. You try and keep yourself together but now looking at him you can’t. So you try and make your escape but before you can even grab for the door handle, Bucky’s tugs you back into him. 

You feel his arms wrap around you. Holding you, rocking you back and forth and the warmth is almost overwhelming. You melt into him and you let yourself break. You start sobbing and Bucky’s grip on you turns tighter. 

You barely register through your sobs the “I’m sorry’s” that are coming from Bucky because you’re barely even registering that you’re crying this hard. 

It’s overwhelming. Loving someone so much but wondering if you will ever be good enough for them. You want to be. You try your hardest to be. But your past tells you that you aren’t. Your constant thoughts tell you that he deserves better. 

You have this dream where you’re in the middle of a forrest and you see the light, you see your path but all of a sudden it disappears. The trees start multiplying around you and you keep running and running trying to find that light only to be stuck in the darkness and wondering if theres anyway out.

That’s how it feels loving someone who you know deserves better. They are the light and you are stuck in the darkness. Stuck wondering if you should keep running to try to find the light again or dwell in the darkness. 

It’s silent again in the car. The only thing that can be heard is hard breathing from both of you and your sniffles every once in awhile. 

Bucky’s the first one to break the silence. 

“I know, I know what’s it’s like to not feel like you deserve something. I know Y/N. I lived through it. I…shit. I didn’t mean what I said back there, I needed you to feel hurt because I was frustrated and I just said the first thing that came to my head but babydoll no– don’t turn away from me, look at me. I love you. I love you so much. You, you are my life. You are my light. You are the best spy I know. You are the one girl who makes me laugh like crazy and makes me go crazy. No one will ever compare to you. No one will ever be you. What Nat and I had is nothing compared to what you and I have. You are everything I do not deserve but everything I am blessed to have. Please forgive me, I didn’t mean it. We both screwed up but Y/N I–”

Your lips crash into him before he could finish. You get it. You get him. You’re sorry too. Sorry for messing up the mission, sorry for doubting him and sorry for not realizing sooner how much Bucky loves you. 

“Did anyone ever tell you that you have a knack for long speeches Buck? Because I’m starting to question your profession. If all fails with the Avengers you could always start being a speech writer, I know a certain Captain who loves giving long speeches would appreciate that”

He laughs into your lips before stealing another kiss and picking you up so you are on his lap now. “I love you so much and I am so sorry. Are we good now?”

“We’re good Bucky. We’re more than ok. How about you drive a little faster so we can make it back to the hotel so I can show you how good we are and how much I deserve you?”

Safe to say you two didn’t make it to the hotel because the kiss Bucky gives you seals the deal and then some. 

anonymous asked:

oh but does lilia talk to yuuri who is falling apart bc they just can't have a baby... and she knows, she knows

OH BOY SO, considering the tone of your ask you might already know this, but I headcanon Lilia being infertile (A fact which she only discovers after years of her and Yakov trying to conceive a child). I know that it might be overplayed, the idea that a strong female character is defined by her ability to have children and is therefore Less Than Human if she can’t, but that’s not how I see it with Lilia. 

I think Lilia wanted to have a child because she wanted Yakov to have a child. I think she watched him for all those years with the kids he coached, knowing that he would make an amazing father–and knowing that the world needed more fathers like Yakov Feltsman. I think that Lilia’s sense of self-worth is very closely linked to her ability to command control of a situation, and also her proficiency in any given task. I think that discovering that she couldn’t have children, didn’t even have the choice to have one, really bothered her and continues to bother her to this day.

So yeah. I can definitely imagine a conversation on the subject between Yuuri and Lilia. Possibly not because either of them really instigated the conversation–Yuuri would be too shy or intimidated, and Lilia isn’t…good with emotions–but because Lilia, for all her flaws, can tell when someone is hurting–especially when that hurt is being broadcast so loud that it can be heard for miles in every direction.

I think it probably starts because Yuuri does something like asks to stay late in the studio, or stays on the ice long after everyone has left, even Viktor. Maybe it even starts because she notices some distance between them, between Yuuri and Viktor who love each other more than anything else in the entire world, and for a moment can see cracks that look just like what began the wide, gaping fissure that would become of her and Yakov’s marriage. 

“He’s doing his best,” she probably says to Yuuri, standing straight-backed and cross-armed as she watches him dance or skate. “For someone who can’t understand what it’s like, he’s doing his best.”

Yuuri stares at her for a moment, and she sees the exact moment he chooses not to bullshit her, and just accepts the fact that she knows what’s going on, and has for awhile. 

“I know,” he says then. “He–he’s trying. And he’s upset too, so I shouldn’t be acting like I’m the only one affected, but…”

“It feels like a personal failure,” Lilia says, nodding. “I know. I wish I could tell you that it stops feeling that way.”

Yuuri bites his lip, looks down at his hands, adjusts his cuff. “I didn’t know that you…”

“You wouldn’t,” Lilia says. “Yakov and I…had stopped. By the time Vitya came to train with us. And we kept our private lives private, so it’s unlikely he would have known even if he’d arrived years earlier.”

He nods, slowly, contemplatively. “Vitya and I aren’t very good at that, are we? Keeping things private.”

“You’re not,” Lilia says, not unkindly. “But you’re young, and you aren’t constrained by the…conservatism that Yakov and I were in our youth. You’re free to show your happiness. And your sadness.”

“Has everyone noticed?” Yuuri sighs, and Lilia sees his deeply-ingrained sense of shame crawl across his face–the consequence of growing up in the society he grew up in, Lilia supposes. It can be refreshing. Viktor has no shame at all.

“I don’t think it’s as noticeable to someone who doesn’t understand what’s happening,” Lilia says. “And the others are so young. They may just think you aren’t feeling well.”

Yuuri clears his throat. “I–um…they put me on some pills…after…um, it’s just to make sure that–everything…” He presses a hand to his mouth, stares at a spot over her shoulder as his eyes go wet. “I can’t…”

“Ah,” says Lilia. It’s worse than she thought. “When did it happen?”

Yuuri drops his hand, swallows hard. “June,” he whispers. “I wasn’t very far along. Ten–um, ten weeks at the most. My hormones aren’t, um, going back to normal though, so they…I’m taking something for it.”

Lilia, who has never been good with emotion, knows that saying, “it’s not your fault,” is the last thing someone wants to hear, but she says it anyway. Because perhaps it’s what he needs to hear.

“Vitya thinks it’s his fault,” Yuuri mumbles.

“Sperm can often be the cause for infertility,” Lilia says. “Low sperm count or weak sperm–”

“You can pour as much water into a cup as you want,” Yuuri mutters. “But it won’t hold any of it, if it’s cracked.” He raises his eyes, and Lilia wishes she didn’t understand the emotion in them–wishes with every fiber of her being that it wasn’t an expression she hadn’t seen in the mirror every morning for years. “I was pregnant. I’m not, anymore. That doesn’t–that doesn’t have anything to do with Viktor.”

“Then let him mourn with you,” Lilia says. “Mourn together and then, when you’ve regained your strength, try again. Gold medalists don’t quit when they fall, Yuuri Katsuki.”

Yuuri’s mouth opens, a look of gentle incredulity which then softens into confusion, and then consideration. He tugs at the shirt over his stomach, another gesture Lilia remembers well from being a much younger woman, and then murmurs, “Thank you, Madam Baranovskaya.” 

“I’ll leave you,” Lilia says, because she can tell he wants to be alone–but he would never say it to her.

“Thank you,” he says again, even softer.

In the morning, Viktor calls both himself and Yuuri in sick.

“What does he expect me to do with their students?” Yakov roars to the rafters of his office. “If that boy is playing hookie–”

“Katsuki had a miscarriage recently, did you know?” Lilia says, cutting off his tirade at the bud. She’s always found his temper to be deeply tiresome.

Yakov stares at her, slack-jawed. “No, I didn’t,” he mumbles after a moment.

“I told them to take the day off,” Lilia tells him then. “They need to mourn, Yasha. They weren’t mourning. We both know what happens when you don’t mourn.”

Yakov sighs, and taps a pen on the desk, and stares at a picture frame that has been face-down on his desk for years, but has never been moved.

“Yes,” he says. “We do.”

Perfect ~ Reggie Mantle x Reader

Request:  Could you do a Reggie x Reader where reader is super outgoing and popular but on the inside hates being out there and can’t change it because it’s a way to hide her feelings? also can you make her lose all her friends at one point (because that’s what’s happening to me. i’m not salty or anything :/) and then Reggie comforts her? thanks. there’s literally no Reggie imagines but he’s hot and cocky. which is perfect. - Anon

Word Count: 1.6k 

Warnings: Depressive thoughts, that’s it I believe?

A/N: Had some trouble, but it is done and up before Thursday! Angst is my fave so I made it kinda angsty-

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A big smile was plastered on your face as you walked down the hallway with your head held high. People said hello to you, noticed you, and you of course, responded back to them. You were known by a lot of people in school, popular is what you were, and the fact that you portrayed yourself as outgoing helped in achieving your status in the school.

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Little Do You Know - Stiles Stilinski Imagine (Part 2)

❁ (not my gif, cred to sweet owner) ❁

A/N: Thank you so much everyone, for all the love on the first part and requests to continue this story, it seriously made me so happy. Also sorry for taking so long to post part 2, I was having some issues with my blog but that’s all good now. Anyway, here’s part 2, finally! I hope you guys like it! Sorry in advance for any spelling/grammar mistakes etc.

[Part 1, 2 & 3] - [Masterlist]


Pairing: Stiles x Reader
Warning: Alcohol use and mentioning, that’s all I think.
Word count: 1855


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I have to confess that there seems to be a persistent fandom perception that Keith’s dad was an awful person and cruel parent or that, at best, he up and ditched Keith willfully for possibly a nebulously well-intended reason.

Which… confuses me, honestly.

Like. Let’s just look at s2e8 and what that told us.

First: Keith still cares about his father. He would not have seen his dad in that scenario afterward. Kolivan states the suit plays on Keith’s greatest fears and greatest hopes. One of Keith’s greatest hopes is seeing his father again. When the image of his dad asks if Keith wants to catch up, Keith’s response, without hesitation, is, “of course I do.” He looks hurt his dad would even consider Keith turning him away.

Look at that face. That’s not just “I don’t understand totally what’s going on here,” that’s “Dad, how could you even insinuate I don’t want you here?”

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Glad Tidings to Strangers

It is not the most prestigious university on your list, nor the most convenient. But when the literature comes in the mail as you wait for your papers, it is the only university that thinks to include a half sheet of campus traditions: a guide to all those odd little things that people expect you to know, like how to buy a subway token or the correct way to wash one’s hands. ‘How thoughtful’ you think. When the acceptance letters and visas come, you go.

To your surprise, this was only a taste of the advice yet to come. Freshman orientation is absurdly detailed. The dorm monitors (RAs, they call them) have some new tidbit to share every time you see one. The campus newsletter has published an entire new student guidebook: copies are pushed under every door and stacked up on every countertop. You take detailed notes of it all. Some of the advice is obvious. (Don’t walk in the woods alone at night? What idiot would do that?) Some of it is bizarre. (Throw away perfectly good food to birds?) But you remind yourself that maybe there’s someone else in this room right now rolling their eyes at the idiot who didn’t already know about carrying salt and iron. So you keep your mouth shut, wear the washer-on-a-shoelace necklace they handed out at the Student Union, and follow the rules meticulously.

And you are astonished when you realize this is not just advice for you and the other internationals. This is for everyone, an entire room of equally wide-eyed freshmen. In some places, you feel you actually have an advantage over your more local classmates. You already have a Western nickname to give out and it is a relief to adjust away from “no, thank you” back to “perhaps later.“ 

Its not perfect, of course. People are still people and you still make mistakes. In O-Chem you are overwhelmed to the point where your notes become a hash of English and normal writing. After class you sit in the grass, laboriously working your way backwards, when you feel a breath on the back of your neck. A long finger reaches to touch the places where you couldn’t keep up and your own language bled through the page. "Pretty,” hums a voice you can’t identify as male or female. “Write for me?”

You remember the rules. You’ve studied them. You start to tear off a piece of corner of paper - then think better of it and turn to a clean page in the back of your notebook, reaching into your bag for a better pen. “And what do you offer in exchange?” you say casually. 

There’s a pause, not an unfriendly one. It gives you time to think, to carefully ink out just a few words in your best script: “fa tooba lil ghuraba.” You hear a hum of approval, and it whisks the paper out of your hand. You half expect a scream or perhaps an explosion of divine wrath, but the only thing that manifests is a sprig of something tiny and silvery-pink growing out of your notebook. After seeking more advice, you carefully tweeze the sprig and its paper bed into a tiny test tube and add it next to the washer on your shoelace necklace.

When your cousin’s nephew and his friend receive their papers, you are now one of the lists of names they are given to reach out to. You respond without hesitation. “Come,” you say. “Come. There is no place on Earth that makes such an art of being kind to strangers.”

(Anon)

I tell myself that I want to write about you, but I still don’t really know how to. You’re the person who makes me wonder every day whether or not this is what love feels like. You managed to care for all of these pieces of me, pieces of me that I told myself were worthless and unnatural and out of place, and you’ve done what all of the other loves haven’t been able to do yet. I’m not struggling to survive without you, but I know that I don’t want to live in a world where you aren’t there. I’m not leaning on you to be everything that keeps me standing, and yet I want to hold your hand for the rest of this journey. You don’t make me feel like I need someone to tell me I’m enough, but you encourage me to be the strongest version of myself every single day. I’m just someone else entirely because of you. And now I know that this thing, this maybe-love..This was never supposed to make me jittery and out of control. This was supposed to calm me down. And you did just that the day your smile brought my tornado of a world to a gentle spin.
—  @itsfangirlalex; Please don’t ever let me go.
The Things she Carried

Part 2. The Robot is Back

Dean x Reader

Masterpost with all the parts

Summary: Dean meets a huntress. Well, he would define her a robot. At least until he gets to know her…

Word Count: 2200+

Tag List: @mrswhozeewhatsis @daydreamingintheimpala @mysoul4dean @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @amoreagron @spnfangirl1965 @aristtewinchesterholmes @thisisthelilith @chelsea072498 @skymoonandstardust @apeshit7x @aiaranradnay @anokhi07 @tatortot2701 @jerkbitchidjitassbutt  @mangasia @sharkeeshark @maui137 @electricbluecas @squirrellover1967 @kazchester-fanfiction @gabavaldman @riversong-sam @lavieenlex @mogaruke @zanthiasplace @holywaterbucketchallenge

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asfkjasklfajsfmk HECK

the finale could’ve ended with bearded, battle weary Jack going back to the past and it would be like Aku sending young Jack into the future, and a second later BAM GRITTY, BLOODY SAMURAI POPS IN AND SLICES HIM WITH 50 YEARS AMOUNT OF ANGRY JUSTICE

i wanted to see a very tired Jack, with dark circles underneath his eyes, finally breathing for the first time in his life with no worries because his quest has ended. he’s free. he’s completed his lifelong mission, everyone is safe from the wrath of Aku. he returns to the mines (maybe with Ashi) and frees his parents. HIS PARENTS, MAN. they’re so old and fatigued and then when Jack returns from Aku’s lair, they see this old warrior approaching and confused him with someone else entirely. Jack hugs the hell outta them, crying, and it was then his mother and father recognized those soft eyes that belonged to their little son. they hug for the longest time, and Ashi, standing there and looking down at them. she’s so happy for him, but it didn’t make her stop wishing that she had a family as good and loving as Jack does. Jack could feel it and asks Ashi to join them in the group hug. she’s reluctant, because she’s a daughter of Aku, the being that put them in this miserable life, but Jack didn’t care for that. she saved his life and helped him save the world. Jack looks softly at her and said “you are part of this family now.” and they fricking hug it out while the other subjects cry and cheer for them both.

anonymous asked:

C-could you please not reblog art where the characters are white washed? You recently reblogged one where Lance is borderline but Hunk is pretty pasty. Thank you.

Sigh. This isn’t what I wanted to write about tonight. That said, maybe it’s time.

I think I’ve made it clear that this is an anti-discourse blog. That includes race discourse. I think it’s a side of fandom that has done MUCH more harm than good, and I would like it to go away entirely. I understand why it exists, and I would never tell someone else how to use their time, but I will not agree and I will not engage.

I think I know which art piece you’re talking about. The artist was using a rather pastel color palette. It looked like the paladins were sitting in a bright patch of sunlight, relaxing and hanging out together in a lovely room. And that’s all. Yes, Hunk and Lance’s skin tones were lighter than they are in the show. But so was everything. It was clearly an artistic choice and I have no problem with it.

I’m sorry it bothered you. But I’m not going to delete the post. Neither do I intend to keep an eagle eye out in the future to avoid “white-washed” fandom art and avoid reblogging it. I’m sorry if that’s an issue for you. Feel free to unfollow me. I’m not going to train myself to look for problems.

I think the entire mentality in recent years of fandom in general and the Voltron fandom in particular to hunt down “problematic” fan creators and punish them is not only awful and damaging and unhealthy, but also dangerous in a way. Most of the things fans are complaining about their fellow fans doing wrong, or even the show itself, are very minor. By searching so hard for things to be offended about, by finding them and reinforcing them with likeminded fans and working yourself up into a frenzy over them, you are TRAINING yourself to be offended. You are teaching your brain to be pleased and satisfied when you find things that upset you, because the rush of energy and anger feels good. And that just makes you find more and more and more.

This is not a good road to go down. It leads to misery. It leads to depression. It leads to believing that the world is awful and only getting worse, and no matter how much you fight it you can never make a difference, because there’s always going to be some other “problematic” thing to get worked up over. And it’s just going to keep getting worse and worse.

It’s the same way I feel about the “microaggression” thing you hear about in the larger American culture. Racism is bad, and I hate it. But someone asking where you’re from? Not racism. Most of those things I see listed as microagressions are tactless and a little rude, but they aren’t crimes. By teaching ourselves that they are, we’re only making things worse and worse for ourselves and for each other. Morgan Freeman said it best. The best way to cure racism is not to seek it out and decry it, but to find commonalities and learn to love each other instead. You’ll never change a racist by yelling “RACIST!” at them over and over until they shut up. That just makes them hide away in likeminded communities and discuss how awful you are and how abused they are and how they’re right in every bad thing they’ve ever thought about you. You change a racist by showing them that we’re all the same, and our differences are things to be enjoyed and celebrated and shared, not sequestered and hoarded and gloated over like gems.

This is something you learn in therapy for mental illnesses like PTSD and depression, by the way. It’s similar to the counseling I got. Part of the problem with PTSD is hypervigilance, the way your brain is constantly on the look out for things that threaten you. The more you notice, the more tense and alert you become, and then you see more. It’s the same thing with the whole fandom callout culture. I worry a lot about kids who come into the internet fandom bright-eyed and happy, eager to share and discuss the things they love, only to be beaten down by these eagle-eyed folks who see problems everywhere they look that need to be attacked. And these kids are learning to fall in with the crowd, because not to do so is literally dangerous to their mental and emotional health.

We need to train ourselves in the opposite direction. We need to learn to accept each other with a few little bumps and bobbles here and there. If you have criticism to offer, do so, but in a constructive way. And if the creator doesn’t agree, accept that. Accept that their work is just not your cup of tea, and move on with your day. You will be much happier and healthier for it, I promise.

One of my fandom friends was basically hounded out of the Voltron fandom with hate messages she got for one of her fics. The reason? Lance wasn’t Latino enough. Because he was singing showtunes with Blue instead of more “Latin” songs, I think was the crux of the complaints. Mind, this was before he was even revealed to be Cuban, so it was based entirely on fanon. This friend of mine is biracial and grew up in a mixed Latino family. Her godson is a gay Latino, and she based the characterization of Lance on him, because he loves showtunes and his relationship with his partner reminds her of Lance and Keith. The persecution of this friend of mine based on her artistic choices in a cute little ficlet about Lance and Blue having fun together still upsets me and breaks my heart. I want it to end.

I’m sorry if this little essay offended anyone. As I said, feel free to unfollow me if my stance makes you uncomfortable. I hold no grudges. But this is something I feel quite strongly about, and I’m not going to change. And congrats if you read this whole thing! It was quite a piece.

Lovesick

Happy Birthday @sincerelydayyy !!!!!  Here’s a little bit of corny fluff to, hopefully, brighten your day. Thanking @mizjoely for betaing this. It’s not season four compliant. Hugs & Love (it’s G rated!) ~Lil~


“I believe that I’m… ill,” Sherlock said as he sat across from his best friend.

“Ill? As in…?” the doctor responded.

“As in sickness, John. You’re a doctor. This shouldn’t be a difficult concept to grasp!”

Calling on his reserve of ‘Sherlock patience’, John said, “I need to know your symptoms. And frankly, I don’t mind helping out but if you really think you’re ill, you should see someone else. It’s inappropriate for me to be your GP.”

“That’s ridiculous!”

“No, it’s not. Patching you up after a case is one thing, but being your regular physician is something else entirely,” John explained.

Sherlock sighed. “Never mind.”

“No, tell me what’s wrong. Maybe I can help or send you to someone who can.”

The detective stood up and paced across the room. “I’m not fond of doctors.”

John raised an eyebrow which Sherlock saw when he turned around.

“Oh not you, you’re fine. And Molly. But she’s different, I suppose her patients are already dead. But I do like her. Doctors in general… I’ve no use for whatsoever.”

John took in Sherlock’s appearance: he was disheveled, perspiring and had a slight tremor in his hands. “Okay, I’ll admit that you do look a little ill. What are your symptoms?”

Sherlock nodded and sat back down. “Sometimes I get a flushed feeling, for no reason at all. Heart palpitations, sweaty palms, dry mouth and an odd tightening in my chest.” He looked almost frightened. “I Googled them… I have a heart condition, don’t I?”

John tried to put together everything his friend had just told him and come up with at least a general idea of what could be ailing the detective. However only one thing came to mind. “Is there any pattern to the symptoms?”

Sherlock shook his head. “No. Sometimes it happens at home or at Barts. It’s happened at Molly’s several times. And once while we were at dinner.”

“You went to dinner with Molly?”

“After we finished the Michaelson case. You were celebrating your anniversary,” he said the last word with disdain. “She was hungry.” He rolled his eyes. “So, what do you think?”

John was still having a hard time believing his ears, so he continued his query. “Do you have any of these problems when you’re running around chasing suspects?” he asked even though he hadn’t noticed anything himself.

“No.”

“This is happening when you’re at rest?”

Sherlock nodded, looking anxious. “What John? What’s wrong with me?”

“Calm down first of all and answer this: does it only happen when you’re around Molly?”

A look of concentration on his face, Sherlock appeared to be searching his mind. Then he stopped and looked up at John. “I’m… not sure.”

Well that seems unlikely, John thought. “Think really hard, Sherlock. Is Molly always around when you feel like this?”

Once again Sherlock seemed to focus, even closing his eyes. He needs his bloody mind palace to help him figure out that he fancies a girl, John mused.

Finally, after some time, he focused on John once again. “Yes. She seems to be a factor… most of the time.” His last words came out slowly.

John leaned forward. “Okay, so what do you think that means?”

Sherlock drew his hands together underneath his chin. John had seen this at least a hundred times… this was it, he was about to figure out his feelings for Molly Hooper!

“I’m allergic to Molly’s perfume,” he said smugly. “I knew it! She changed it last month and even though I told her I liked it, which I do - it’s soft and understated…”

“NO!” John closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. “You’re not allergic to… Sherlock you like Molly.”

The detective gave John his classic you’re an idiot look and said, “Of course I do, John. Everyone likes Molly. She’s kind and generous, intelligent and hardworking. She’s incredibly forgiving and quite possibly the most patient woman I’ve ever known.” He stood up and paced across the room. “She’s loyal and trustworthy and… her eyes… they’re not brown exactly.” He turned to face John but was focused on some point across the room. “They’ve got golden flecks in them, if you look closely…” Suddenly he put his hand to his chest. “Oh my God… I’m in love with her!”

John jumped up. “Bingo… wait, love?” He didn’t think the stubborn git would get that far in their first conversation.

“Yes, John. Of course… It’s so obvious now,” he said, a look of awe on his face.

“Well, yes. Everyone else figured it out ages ago.”

“What?!”

“Yeah, there’s actually a pool.” He thought for a moment. “Damnit. I wasn’t even close.”

“What’s wrong with you people?” Sherlock asked. “You were betting about… What date did you have?”

John looked a bit sheepish. “I thought it would take at least another year.”

Sherlock shook his head the disappeared to his room for fifteen minutes. John used the time to send some text messages, letting the losers know what had just happened. He’d tell Mary in person. Looking up, he saw his best friend grabbing his Belstaff and heading for the door. “Going to Molly’s?” he asked.

“Yes,” he answered tersely as he walked out the door.

John followed. “I already told everyone who won the pool,” he said when they got to the foot of the stairs.

Sherlock whipped around. “You told everyone! Everyone?” He glared down at the shorter man.

“No - no I didn’t mean everyone. I misspoke. I’m telling Mary myself and…”

And?” Sherlock demanded.

“And… Molly’ll know soon enough.”

“Molly was in the pool?!”

“Yes. She must have noticed the symptoms of your ‘illness’ increasing in severity, because just the other day she changed her slot to this week.” Sherlock looked confused. “See, the pool is divided into weekly interv…”

“I don’t care about that, you idiot!” he barked as he stormed out the door.

“Right.” John followed.

“She won? Molly won the pool?”

“Yeah. Anderson didn’t think it was fair to let her in. Said she had an unfair advantage.”

“He’s right, of course. Her advantage is that she’s intelligent!” He held up his hand to stop a cab.

“Are you angry with her?” John asked.

“No. Why would I be mad at Molly?”

“Oh, good.”

“But there will be no betting on any other aspects of our relationship, understand?” Sherlock said as a cab pulled up.

John nodded his head, making a mental note to tell everyone to be careful about the ‘when will Sherlock propose?’ pool he had been planning once this one was over. “Of course, of course.”

“Good.” Sherlock straightened his coat and asked, “Now, do I still look ill?”

John shook his head. “You’re fine. Don’t throw up on her.” He smiled.

Sherlock actually looked slightly concerned before he turned and climbed into the cab.

“Lovesick fool,” John mumbled as he walked toward the Tube.