It’s embarrassing how long it takes Louis to recognize his own song. Niall had sung it as a bright, hopeful love song, and that’s honestly how Louis had always assumed it should sound. But this new voice, slow and rough, stripped of any backing instrument, has infused the lyrics with just the tumultuous mix of fear and defiance that Louis can remember so clearly from the night he wrote them. It’s not a comfortable thing, to feel like someone is singing all your secrets back to you.
Louis is a songwriter trapped in a lie that could ruin his best friend’s career. Harry owns a record store, distrusts everyone in the music industry on principle, but loves Niall Horan’s newest album. A modern retelling of Singin’ in the Rain.
November 14th. In the coffee shop, the man in the Make America Great Again hat smiles at me, so I take this as an invitation.
“Pardon me, but I have to ask— do you think Trump’s ideologies keep every person in this country safe?“
He doesn’t hesitate.
“Ma’am, I can’t get wrapped up in identity politics, all I can worry about is how I’m going to feed my girls.”
At my 40th birthday party, an acquaintance asks why we have “so much Mexican art in the house.”
“It might be because I’m Mexican,” I say.
“No,” he laughs, “you’re not Mexican.”
“Yes. I am.”
“No,” he continues, reassuringly, “and if you are, you’re only, maybe, 17%.“
The winter air stiffens between us. An old, familiar pain.
There was a time when I would have thanked him.
The early years, when I wanted only to pass, to rid myself of my last name— the dead giveaway, its muddy lineage
crawl out from the burying shame that held me down every time my father picked me up from school in our shitty car, his bushy mustache & brown face magnified by the sun.
A local white woman posts a photo of her new tattoo: a Mayan god etched eternal on her flesh. When I point out the disrespect, she assures me she speaks Spanish fluently, spent three years in South America.
For the next six hours, I argue with her friends. They demand I quit being so divisive. Judgemental. Close-minded.
“We have a racist running for President, and you’re complaining about a tattoo?” asks the white boy, who spray paints murals all over this city with impunity.
O, to be permitted the luxury of only worrying about one thing at a time.
O, to be white in America, to wake up knowing every god is your god.
When you never see yourself, you search for yourself all the time.
You know the white girl in the sombrero isn’t you. The bro dude in Calavera makeup isn’t either, not the ponchos and glued on mustaches, not the lowrider Chevy in the Disney movie or the hoochie-coochie sex pot on the Emmy award-winning television show.
Maybe you are only this:
the scorched bird pulled from the chimney, covered in soot. Not the actual bird, its velvet sack of jigsaw’d bones, but the feeling of recognition.
The ash of knowing.
A white comedian tells this joke: “I used to date Hispanics, but now I prefer consensual.”
The audience laughs. And you do, too. Until the punchline hardens, translates into a stone in your throat.
You swallow it, like you always do.
You don’t change the channel, but you also can’t remember a single joke she tells after that.
A few months later, the comedian’s career blows up. She’s so real. So edgy. Such a hardcore feminist. When someone writes an essay on her old stand-up routines— noting her blindspot when it comes to race,
her response is:
“It is a joke and it is funny. I know that because people laugh at it.”
If two Mexicans are in a car, who is driving? A police officer.
How do you starve a Mexican? Put their food stamps in their work boots.
What’s the difference between a Mexican and an elevator? One can raise a child.
What do you call a Mexican baptism? Bean dip
How do you stop a Mexican from robbing your house? Put a help wanted sign in the window.
What do you call a Mexican driving a BMW? Grand theft auto
What do you call a Mexican without a lawnmower? Unemployed
What do you call a building full of Mexicans? Jail
How do you keep Mexicans from stealing? Put everything of value on the top shelf.
What do you call a bunch of Mexicans running downhill? A mudslide.
Why don’t Mexicans play Hide ’n Seek? No one will look for them.
What does a Mexican get for Christmas? Your TV.
What do you call the Arizona man shot to death by his white neighbor, screaming, “Go back to Mexico!” Juan Varela
November 29th. For weeks, I’ve avoided eye contact with strangers. My face is a closed curtain. My mouth, the most decorated knife. I pay for groceries, grab the receipt & let my half-hearted thank yous trail like smoke. I no longer want to see who refuses to see me.
Anyone is everyone.
December 1st. I keep waking up. There isn’t anyone white enough to stop me.
Pantomime the living until the body remembers: wicked bitch. Bloodwhirl. Patron Saint of the Grab Back.
Still. Still. Still. Still. Still. Still here.
I etch my own face upon my wicked flesh. I am my own devastating god.
As we all know
(or have heard), college is a seriously hands-on-deck, time consuming
experience, no matter what you study. That’s not to say that it’s all
stress-inducing, all the time, but it requires a different kind of time
management and focus than what you’re used to in high school. The difficulty of
it all can sometimes be a little overwhelming/disheartening, which is why it is
always important to find different ways to stay motivated and on-task. Here are
some of the ways I keep myself going when I’m so close to quitting:
1. Picture the end-game: this is a classic. Whenever I’ve
studied so much that I’m close to tears, I remember my goals. Short-term first,
then long-term. I think, “Okay, no, you can’t give up because you told yourself
at the beginning of this semester that you wanted all A’s. You have to keep going
for those A’s.” and afterwards I follow it up with, “And why is it that you
want those A’s? Because you want to get into a kickass med school!”
2. Think about others/build expectations: sometimes, just thinking about yourself
isn’t enough. I have my slacker periods when I think “So what if I don’t do
well in this test? I’ve done well enough in others”, or “I’ll do better in the
next one”. I try to remember that I’m trying to build a relationship with the
professor during this class; it gives me an extra ‘oomph’. I may exaggerate that relationship sometimes, but
it helps to think that the professor is used to work of high caliber from you,
and that he/she expects you to do well. This one works well for me because I
don’t like disappointing people, and I take meeting expectations as a personal
3. Be competitive…with
yourself: don’t, I repeat, don’t compare yourself to others. You get
nothing out of it. If there’s something you learn from the studyblr community,
it’s that everybody learns and executes in a different way. Personally I’ve
found that competition in classrooms does not motivate me, because it’ll just end up making me feel bad whether I do
better or worse than others. But competing against myself? Much better. I try
to push myself to do a little better than I did last time, or start revising a little
earlier for the next test. When I compare my new results with older ones, it’s
a learning experience even if I don’t do better. It helps me understand myself
and my needs a little more.
4. Take a break: when people tell you that you can’t
stop or you won’t get everything done? THAT IS A LIE. A breather is necessary
as heck!!! If you’re feeling overwhelmed or anxious, you won’t learn as well or
be as productive than if you’re dedicated to your work. Sometimes I’m okay with
just a few minutes of closing my eyes and listening to a favorite piece
of music, other times I need something a little longer like a 20-minute episode
of The Office. I try not to let it extend much more than that though, because
from personal experience, the longer you put off starting up again, the harder it
Pro tip: I’ve been talking to first year medical students recently
to get advice for next August (for those of you who don’t know, I’ll be
beginning my medical studies then), and one of them told me, “Listen. Everyone
has their relaxation thing. I love hanging out and being with people, and
sometimes I’m so fixated on the fact that I can’t go out and have fun with my
friends because I’m stuck studying that I throw 3 hours away just staring at my
book. I’ve learned that it’s better to just get that thing you want to do out
of the way, and then go back and study. You’ll be happier and feel a lot better
than you did before.” (WITH DISCRETION, OBVIOUSLY)
5. Stationery: ah, yes, like most of you, I am
obsessed. Sometimes all it takes is just finding the perfect pen and paper for
what I have in mind to keep myself going.
6. Get involved in the studyblr community: at first, just observing to get ideas
about things you want to try is enough to give you an extra boost of
motivation, but when you feel like you’re starting to slack off again, try
getting involved. Try posting some of your own revision notes or stationery
pics! Honestly this community is one of the most warm and welcoming ones out
there, and it is super inspiring to get notes and messages from people all over
the world who encourage you to run that extra mile, do that extra work to reach
I hope this
serves as useful, and good luck studying to each and everyone of you. Aim high
and keep going!
At night, it was usually very quiet. Everyone else was asleep, expect me. Being on Midgard wasn’t what I had actually wanted but here I was, almost forced to stay because of my brother Thor. He and his little avenger friends had a secret mission, which left me tagging along unwillingly. At least I got some sort of a room, which I was in now. It was small. There was a big bed, a nightstand and a few books.
It was really late but I kept hearing whimpers. They were distracting my reading so I got up to check whatever it was. Hopefully they wouldn’t nag their heads off tomorrow since I left my room. I wasn’t a pet tho, so I assumed I got some freedom here.
Quietly, I opened the door which led me to a hallway. It was dark, the white curtains covered the windows and no lights were on. Then I listened. First I heard absolutely nothing. As I thought it was simply my mind, I heard it again. It came from the room on the opposite of mine, Y/N’s room. She was a spy, for all that I knew. Actually, Y/N was the only decent human here who treated me nicely.
Was she crying?
I walked behind her door and knocked gently, hopefully not waking anyone else up. Night time was great because I didn’t have to interact with some of those gormless muppets. She didn’t seem to react on the knock. So I listened closely, quite honestly not expecting anything special.
‘‘Loki’‘ my name left her lips softly and I thought I heard it wrong. Had I done something? This filled me with confusion so I opened the door and walked in, expecting to see a human woman crying into a pillow, her H/C hair messy and eyes bloodshot. Instead, I found her perfectly asleep in her bed, the sheets a little messy. She shifted her position so she was laying on her stomach and her hand squeezed the sheet.
Obviously she wasn’t crying. If she would’ve been quiet, I wouldn’t have stayed. But she did mention my name so I was also intrigued. Did I frighten her? Was she having a nightmare as well?
I wasn’t sure what was going through her mind but there was only one way to find out, magic. Casually I walked over and then sat on the edge of her bed. It was a little bit smaller than mine, which was surprising. But her room was bigger and it smelled like redwine and perfume.
As I sat down, I looked at her hair and focused, closing my eyes as well. Not too long after I caught onto her dreams and they played before my eyes. There were no murderous monsters chasing her, no blood covered rooms or ghosts in her dreams, oh no.
Y/N’s dreams were much dirtier. I could see a candlelit, fancy bedroom. Y/N was on the bed, above a man and she was riding him. She was moaning loudly and it seemed quite intimate. It took me about two seconds to make sense of this all.
My eyes opened and her dream vanished from a sight. A mischievous smirk appeared on my face along with a chuckle. She was dreaming the dirtiest of dreams about me. I was both surprised and honored.
‘‘What..are you doing?’‘ I heard a sleepy voice, making me look back at Y/N: She had woken up now and she had noticed me. Y/N turned on her back and then looked out the window, noticing it was still night. This would be fun.
‘‘Oh, I couldn’t sleep and then I heard interesting sounds coming from your room, darling. I just came to check if everything was fine’‘ I shrugged and kept my smirk plastered on, happy that I knew what I now knew. Y/N’s cheeks seemed to heat up a little bit.
‘‘Did you have sweet dreams?’‘ I asked her and then took a look at her body, finding it hard not to. Y/N was a beautiful woman, undeniably. She was wearing a black nightgown and a golden necklace around her neck. ‘‘I-I don’t-’‘ Y/N got flustered which I liked. I could keep questioning her a bit, since this was more interesting than the midgardian book I was reading.
‘‘I assume you like candle lights’‘ I added and that put it all together for her. Y/N’s pretty eyes widened and she nearly gasped. We had talked a lot during the few weeks we had been here and I had never seen her this flustered, shy and even embarrassed. She was quite cute like this, lost for words.
‘‘Did you look into my dream?’‘ She whisper-yelled at me and threw her blanket away from her. ‘‘Maybe I did, love’‘ I answered quickly, causing her to throw a pillow at me. As I put the pillow away, I noticed that Y/N was standing in front of me. Did I piss her off? Oops.
‘‘Loki! You..urgh- that’s..so unfair!’‘ She stomped her foot on the floor. That was a sign for me to stand up as well. ‘‘Well a little magic here and there never hurt anyone’‘ I let out a light laugh. Y/N couldn’t even look me in the eye. ‘‘But- Damn.. this is awkward’‘ Y/N breathed out quietly. At least she wasn’t yelling so that was good.
‘‘It doesn’t have to be awkward’‘ I replied quickly, causing her to tense up. ‘‘Loki..’‘ She said my name almost happily until she looked angry again. ‘‘You idiot! You’re just playing around’‘ She hissed and raised her arms up in the air. I was quick to see what she did so I grabbed her wrists and pulled her closer.
‘‘Remember who you’re talking to, kitten’‘ I reminded her with a darker voice, making her look at me. Her eyes were filled with a dozen emotions, shame being quite evident. But there was also lust in there. ‘‘Loki, what are you doing?’‘ She asked me shyly and eyed my hands that held her wrists. I studied her closely and noticed how easily submissive she was.
‘‘Whatever do you mean?’‘I teased her and turned us around so I could make her sit down on the bed. She barely put up a fight as I controlled her movements. Perfect. ‘‘Are you going to make fun of my dream?’‘ Y/N asked me and it made her look away. She was quite flustered now. Something about her made me feel different. I didn’t want to make fun of her dream.
I actually quite enjoyed her dream.
I let go of her wrists and then I grabbed her jaw, making her look at me. Our eyes met and I noticed how she slowly started affecting me, making me want to do all kinds of things to her delicate body. ‘’Oh I won’t make fun of it dear. I got other things in mind but it’s up to you whether you want it or not’’ I let her know a little of my plans. My other hand touched her bare knee and I traced my finger on her skin, drawing goosebumps.
Y/N gulped but she didn’t back off either. ‘’And based on your exclusive dreams..’’ I spoke up again, now letting my fingers touch her thigh. Y/N separated her legs a little bit, almost magically so I could get better access. ‘’..you wouldn’t mind it one bit’’ I finished what I was saying, hoping for a positive reaction.
Only now it came true to me how much I desired someone to touch and someone to be touched by. These past few weeks had been so long and boring and all along this woman slowly woke up my sexual dreams. Now it was pretty obvious she felt the same.
I let my palm rest on her thigh and I waited for her reaction. Y/N smiled and then nodded, looking at me very intensely. ‘’I won’t mind’’ She answered. Suddenly she grabbed my hair and pulled me in bed so I was on top of her smaller frame. Our lips met and that was the beginning of a blissful night. Also, neither one of us cared about being quiet anymore, because for that moment it was just her and me.
This is based on a prompt that went through shittycarryonaus at some point I think? And people were saying they wanted to see it done but as far as I can tell nobody ever wrote it. AU where there is only one bed.
it was never really fine, Baz hated
me from the moment we met, and now I was expected to spend the next eight years
sharing a bed with him. Turns out there was a downside to having the biggest
room in Mummers House, since it wasn’t originally supposed to be for students
and apparently no-one had thought to bring in two separate beds, and no matter
how much I bugged the Mage, it never seemed to get done. Eventually I just
It was fine in first year. We were eleven years old and it was a huge double
bed. We’d curl up on opposite sides with our backs to each other, pretending
the other one wasn’t there. Once we stopped fighting over it and Baz stopped
trying to intimidate me into sleeping on the floor, it was easy enough to get
used to it.
You know, come to think of it - The Stan Twins really are dressed into color schemes that… I’d almost say don’t quite match their personalities?
Here, look at them with me here for a sec.
This is not just an excuse to look at them either.
Which, I know nothing about color theory, so that’s not really what I’m talking about.
-Stan’s outfit: Practically all black, with very little points of white, red and brown. -Ford’s outfit: Mostly beige and red, and about half dark colors.
Black can generally be off-putting and well - think about Robbie, another character who wears all black. Goth aesthetic aside, I’d say it fits with his aloof and closed off nature. Then that beige is definitely lighter and… I’d almost say more ‘pleasant’ a color.
This is veering into personal opinion, but it’s like the lighter color scheme is more welcoming and ‘open’ as opposed to the all black.
Which, although both characters are multi-faceted and everything - please don’t ever get me wrong on that - I’d say Stan has the more welcoming personality where Ford is in general more closed off, at least upon first impressions.
We have also briefly seen both of them in their opposite color schemes though.
-Ford in all black.
-Then Stan in a beige/red color scheme.
BUT okay like you see what I mean? These colors… I’d dare say fit their personality types more. The tan/beige and red of Stan’s outfit aligns with his more open personality whereas the black of Ford fresh out of the portal is fittingly ominous with the dramatic situation he arrived in. Although, as a whole, does also fit the aloof loner he was initially presented as.
This set of brief moments isn’t the only time we see them in these sort of color schemes though!
May I present, the good young boys:
In my opinion, the color schemes (and outfits) they have as kids perfectly fit their personalities of that moment.
Fun and adventurous with the vivid colors of Stan’s shirt, and Ford’s partially dark covering himself while mostly still having lighter colors - not entirely closed off, but still almost protective in a way.
It just- It’s hard to explain, but it fits them.
I think this can be attributed in part to how each twin presents, or maybe even the unintentional nature within themselves.
For example, despite Stan being a conman dealing with customers he still has since develop a lot of closed off traits such as his gruff demeanor. Where Ford still has this very innate openness to people and interacting with them despite the serious mission constantly in mind and his behavior which he often goes against with his own actions.
There’s also something that could be said for the Sea Grunks outfit which has them wearing a pretty even balance of colors or Stan’s outfit change to the pink sweater when they’re saying goodbye to Mabel and Dipper. I could make a whole post about Stan wearing that sweater from Mabel actually, there’s a ton to say about that.
Alo! Psh, so, CORAN AND LANCE BONDING MOMENT BC YES. This is like the fourth chapter of Don’t Put Out the Glow fic I have in my Ao3, but yeah! You can read it separetly.
The main point here is that Lance is beated up as hell (that happens in chapter 1) and he’s bed resting and the team takes turn to watch over him and take care of him and this time it was Coran’s turn!!
But like I said, *shrugs* you don’t have to, just know that Lance is emotional and beated up bc of their last mission.
Ps. I have the hc that Alteans’s language was …well greek bc I’m not creative enough to come up with cute nicknames in alien language SO GREEK:
kardiá liontarioú (greek) means lion heart. mikró ílio (also greek) means little sun.
Disclaimer: Voltron doesn’t belong to me.
“And there I was: Alone with only my flubber and my tutter with at least fifty hundred Deditions. It was hopeless for any Altean…except for me! I stared at the eye of Death smugly and attacked without mercy. Victory was so close I could taste it, quite literal because one of the Deditions fell into my mouth, I might add. Time became slow and it was as I was in a hurricane and there was no escape but do you know what I did, my boy?”
“What did you do, Coran?” Lance asks quietly, smiling softly at the Altean as he takes a sip from his cup.
“I beat every single one of those Deditions! It was the most satisfying victory of all, my boy!”
The brunet giggles under his breath. “But, Coran, aren’t Deditions like small puppies?”
“My boy! Their piles of cuddles and big shiny eyes could kill an entire army! No one is able to resist their cuteness!”
“You can survive any outside cuteness when you see this face every day, my boy.” Coran says proudly as he points at his own face and he grins when the brunet laughs gleefully.
“Can’t argue with that logic.”
Coran smiles as he watches Lance chuckle softly. The brunet still has a big bump on his right side of his head, the corner of his lower lip is covered in dried blood and his eye is not as swollen as before but still sensitive and red.
Lance still looks bad but the bright smile on his face tunes out every visible injury and Coran can’t be more grateful with the universe for allowing him to see that smile.
“You know,” He starts after a few minutes in silence, voice gentle and longing, his eyes still looking at Lance fondly, “You remind me of my son.”
Lance’s laughter stops abruptly and then turns his head towards Coran, mouth wide open in surprise and then he’s frowning concern.
“Coran –” He starts, voice small and hesitant but Coran cuts him off by standing from the chair and walking towards the brunet, taking seat on the corner of the bed besides Lance.
“He was a good lad. He had his mother’s hair and eyes but besides that he was a mini me.” Coran chuckles, crossing his right leg across his left one and dropping his elbow on it, resting his chin against his open palm, “His mother used to say that we should have named him Coran Jr; saying that it fitted him better with his wild personality and loud upbeat voice.”
Lance licks his lips nervously and then speaks in small voice, “What was his name?”
“Lyon.” Coran replies calmly, “His name was Lyon.”