so i throw my hands up

Perfect Timing

“Why do you always stay late and do extra work?” you shifted your head towards your office door and found your work friend leaning on the frame.

“Umm. Because I love my job?” you chuckled at her question and signaled her to take a seat.

“I don’t get why you work so hard? Most girls out there are literally throwing themselves at rappers just to cop that lifestyle.” She motioned her hands animatedly. “and then, there’s you.”

“Well, I’ve got mouths to feed other than mine. It’s a tragedy, really.” You laughed at her frustration over your work ethic.

“Go home early today, please.” She requested you before she stood up and left.

After she left, you went back to finishing your work. The truth was that aside from genuinely enjoying what you do, you hated going home early. You hated having to fight with the rush hour traffic after office hours and these days, you hated coming home to an empty house.

While you were rubbing your temples, your phone buzzed to life and saw Jay’s face on the screen. Excited that he may want to have dinner, you picked up immediately.

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raluxu  asked:

Since you're pretty much my favorite artist (not biased at all, totally pure, neutral train of thought here) how do you get inspiration for your drawings? I bet you worked real hard to get where you are and no way does that skill come easy, right? What do you do when you're trying to draw but everything you do comes out like Doodlebob

     Totally not biased my dude—not at all lmao 
How do I stay inspired—my dude I don’t even know how I stay inspired half the time! It doesn’t come easy, you’re right. A lot of the times I’ve scrapped more ideas than I’ve finished and polished my products, but I tend to keep my mind open whenever I’m not sitting in front of a computer or have a pencil in my hand. 

Reality is what inspires me if I have to narrow it down into one category. People watching, fashion browsing, nature walks even, sometimes interacting with my friends and family members give that boost I need. Often times I find myself getting inspired by other artists too! It’s hard to pinpoint where my inspiration comes from entirely now since I’ve been doing this for as long as I have y’know! 

But when I’m in a serious rut, I tend to just take a break. For me if I force it out, it frustrates me and when I get frustrated, I end up crying. I’d rather just sit back, watch a movie, talk to a friend, listen to music without the pen in my hand and just take a break from drawing. Sit in other reality’s instead of my own little world and find the inspiration from there. Usually that’s all it takes for me to get my head out of my ass and get back into the art game lol 

I throw your name at my bedroom wall
then pick it up and stitch all the letters back together.
I am not sure what else to do with it.
So I just hold it in my hands for a while,
turning it over and over
before putting it back in my pocket
or under my tongue like an acid tab.
I don’t say it out loud like I used to
but I still remember how to
and the sound of it rings in my mind
like a thousand silver bells
or a battlecry,
yes I guess it sounds quite a bit like a battlecry.
I scream it into my pillow.
Loudly, because it hurts.
In the morning I pour it into my bath
and the water bubbles
like the bubbles that form behind my lips
whenever I have something I want to say to you
that I know I will not say.
In the morning,
it doesn’t hurt at all.
I sink beneath the surface
and pretend that I am drowning.
A peaceful death, I’d say.
—  ‘Your Name’ @leatherbounddiaries 

Some of the best things I’ve heard in Heathers rehearsal so far:

  • “Oh no! My shirt, where’d it go?” followed by really slow and awkward finger guns
  • “Free pizza, and we don’t even have to buy it a pussy!”
  • “Those stupid tree thumpers”
  • *dramatically pirouettes and leaps in* “BIG SWORDFIGHT IN HER MOUTHHH”
  • “Aww that seems like a relationship that would last.” “Yeah until one of them blows up” “I guess you could say their love is….. explosive”
  • *Our choreographer screaming like one of those sheep used in parodies back in vintage youtube days whenever she gets frustrated or needs to get people’s attention.*
  • “So you’re going to do a Jesus lift” “A WHAT” “Just put your arms out and they’ll lift you like you’re Jesus resurrecting from the cross”
  • “Welcome to Newsies on steroids.”
  • “Be the closeted gay we all need.”
  • “The first step to any good plan is murder.”
  • “How much bitch is enough bitch though?”
  • “Imagine having to explain to someone like ““oh how’d you break your tailbone?” ““Oh I booty-popped too hard.”” 
  • “When we go off to makeover Veronica, can she still have the monocle, but, hear me out, it’s now bedazzled.”
  • “I have to check the historical accuracy of bedazzling in the ‘80s.”
  • “Okay, but what if we made it gay?”
  • “COSTUME NOTE: SOMEONE MAKE RAM PARTY SLIPPERS!” “What if they’re like bunny slippers, but with tiny party hats?!”
  • “This is Ram, he’s not very nice, but somehow my best friend still wants to fuck him.”
  • “Your whole bio better be about how much you love and respect women or else I can’t help you when your ass is being kicked.”
  • “I paired you guys together because you say he’s your sort of boyfriend later.” *Kurt proceeds to emark in various sexual dance endeavors with multiple other women* “That’s where the sort of comes into play….”
  • “SHUT UP HEATHER” *bursts out crying*
  • Our original Chandler dropped out so our original Duke got promoted to her role and just looks at me and says “Oh my god this is the most Heather Duke thing that has ever happened to me”
  • “That’s a school cheer?!?!”
  • “Real question: WHO HAS A FUCKING LOCK ON THEIR CLOSET?”
  • “What if when she makes you spit up the pills, your wig flies off?” “Oh no you’ve discovered the real reason behind my crisis, I AM NOT A NATURAL BLONDE”
  • “Maybe he should take up knitting or something as a hobby rather than therapedic murder.”
  • “The saddest thing is that’s not even 3rd base”
  • “Veronica, you’re soaking wet!” *cue our assistant stage manager loosing her shit*
  • “My character description is just internal screaming.”
  • “Who needs a dance partner when you have weed?”
  • “I feel bad having to ask but was that supposed to be a dick joke?”
  • “Do I get extra points if one of the pills hits someone in the face?”
  • “I can’t remember the lyrics but I’m pretty sure I’m still gay”
  • “Why didn’t they just throw the bomb and run or something, like why are they so determined to die?” 
  • *recites Blue Reprise as demonic slam poetry because we didn’t have rehearsal tracks yet*  
  • “Veronica, it’s not a phase. I’m just naturally a slightly psychotic bag of angst with great hair.”
  • *music director teaching us Blue* ”They’ll curl up on your face. And purr like-” *slowly looks up from music and proceeds to put his head in his hands* “There’s moments that I evaluate my life and this is definitely one of them.”

And we’re still about 3 weeks from tech week

anonymous asked:

so, um. if you have any particular feelings about labyrinth--specifically Sarah--uh, go wild.

WILD PEACHES  [AO3]

.

The morning after Sarah Williams defeats the Goblin King, she gets up and makes toast. She has to brush some glitter off the toaster—it withers and vanishes at the brush of her fingertips, and she stares at her hand for a long time. 

It mostly just looks like her hand. Even when she turns it over, and sees where she scraped her knuckles against the oubliette, where the shattered mirror cut the back of her wrist. It looks like she fell, or was playing in the street. That’s all.

The toast comes out burned, and Sarah stares at that too. Eventually, she slumps down against the cabinets and cries, wracking sobs that send her dad and Karen rushing into kitchen. They check her forehead for a fever, put their hands on her, and keep asking, “Are you okay? Sarah, please, tell us what’s wrong…”

Eventually, her dad drags her into his lap and cradles her against his chest, like he did when she was little. Her legs are too long to really fit anymore, but Sarah hugs him around the neck anyway. “It’ll be okay,” he says, keeps saying. “You’ll be okay.” And Sarah—doesn’t laugh, because she can’t, and doesn’t have the words to express what—how—

(None of her stories ever talked about this. What did Sir George do, the morning after he slayed the last dragon in England? Did Tam Lin eat breakfast, or did he sit there, shivering, wondering if his hands were different, having been claws and wings and scales?)

Afterwards, she leaves the burnt toast outside on the back porch. Not an offering. Maybe a reminder.

.

It’s Didymus she sees the most often, mostly because he’s the one who invites himself rather than waiting for an invitation. He comes for tea, but even if there’s no tea—which there isn’t, usually—he comes to tell Sarah stories. She learns to love poetry because there’s no escaping it with him. (She won’t read Idylls of the King until Brit Lit in college, but she ends up scrawling a lot in the margins; Didymus’ telling of events had been much more interesting.)

Once, she falls asleep like that, her hands tucked behind her head with Didymus curled up and sleepily reciting from the crook of her elbow. “So tender was her voice, so fair her face—though I don’t think he was looking at her face, my lady, pardon me for saying so—”

Sarah buries her nose in his fur. Didymus always smells of rosewater, and a crispness she thinks is just…the Labyrinth. She falls asleep trying to place it.

She wakes up with a wild fox in her bed, animal-black eyes frightened and flat, teeth bared. The fox is whining, and she’s tempted to throw herself across the room, to get away from this wild thing and its teeth. It takes a monumental will to keep herself still and her breathing slow, even; like she’s still asleep and unafraid. 

It takes her longer to swallow, and start humming one of the songs he taught her—a knight’s round, he’d said. She’s shaky at first, but the fox’s ears flick forward. It cocks its head, and slowly, the teeth disappear behind its lips. 

She almost laughs when noses at her throat curiously, butting its head against her jaw like a cat might.

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You’ll always have a home- Jughead Jones

Pairing: Jughead Jones x Reader

Warnings: Angst, kissing, like a makeout kinda part? Is that even a warning?

Description: Jughead seemed off lately, with Jason’s death, and the drive-min closing, reader can tell something is off, but cant really pinpoint what

—————————————————————

The first time I could tell something was off was when I mentioned the coffeemaker. It was funny how something as simple as the mention of a coffee pot was the spark of my curiosity towards the situation.
“I swear to god, you drink so much coffee, I’m just going to get you a pot for your birthday so you can save some money.” And there it was, the slight twitch in his shoulders and the split second of a tense look on his face before he began laughing along. It was so quick, I was surprised I even caught it, but I did.
 I never asked about Jughead’s home life. He always steered clear of it so I figured it was a touchy subject. I wondered why I hadn’t been invited over in… well…. ever. Then I started putting together the bits and pieces of information and realized: I hadn’t a clue what roof Jughead was sleeping under at night.
Obviously, it was time to investigate.
And I had the perfect opportunity one afternoon.
“Shit, I forgot my textbook at home.” Jughead muttered, his head ducked down and searching in his schoolbag.
“We can walk to your house and get it if you want.” There it was, the tense-up. Jughead froze in his tracks for a split second before regaining his composure and kept walking. To anybody else, it would have looked normal, but I wasn’t anyone else. I was his best friend, and he was the boy I was in love with.
“No, it’s fine. I can just use yours, right?” Jughead looked at me with almost pleading eyes, and I didn’t want to egg him on any longer. I wanted him to open up and tell me the truth, not shut me out.
“Yeah, of course.” I smiled up at my friend and he smiled back reassuringly. Deep down, I knew something was wrong.
And a week later, I began to confirm those suspicions.
“Can you believe they’re shutting down the drive-in?!” Jughead screeched at me one morning as I walked up the front steps of our school.
“Wait, what?” I gave him a confused look.
“Yeah! Apparently an “anonymous buyer” gave the mayor an offer she just couldn’t refuse” Jughead through his hands up in dramatic sarcasm before scoffing and folding them over his chest angrily.
“Juggie, I’m sorry you’re going to lose your job, but- “
“it’s more than just my job, y/n!” Jughead paused for a second. I watched his Addams apple move quickly as he gulped down words that were threatening to pour out of his mouth. “It’s, it’s, it’s a special place! It’s special to us! I took you there when you first moved here! Remember?!”
“Yeah.” I laughed, thinking back to the memories of Jug and I sneaking up to the film roll room and watching through the peek hole while Jughead made sure the tapes were switched out on time.
“hello?! Earth to y/n?” Jughead waved his face in front of me, and I brought myself out of my quick trip to the past, listening to Jugheads rambling about the drive- in.
Jughead brought it up later to our friends as we ate at pop’s, inviting Veronica, Kevin, Betty and I to the last drive in on Friday. Of course, they all agreed to go, and we all planned who we would drive with. I decided to walk with Jughead, and Kevin was taking Veronica. Betty was going to go with Archie.
“I’m going to go to the mayor again and see if I can convince her to keep the drive- in.” Jughead told me as we began to part ways that night. I grabbed his sleeve, pulling me back to him.
“Jughead, why is the Twilight drive-in so important to save?” I asked him, my voice soft and full of concern.
“It’s my job, y/n! I thought that might be an important thing to try and save!” Jughead’s words dripped with sarcasm as he yelled at me. He never usually got angry like this.
“Ok, I’ll see you at school tomorrow, good luck.” I spoke softly as I backed away slowly. I watched Jughead’s face go from angry to apologetic and walked away before he could say anything.
Jughead and I didn’t really speak much for the next few days. We still walked to class together, and he walked me home. He told me that the Mayor just wouldn’t listen to him or give his words any consideration, so I tried going to her myself the day after he did to change her mind.
“Hello, miss- “I opened the door to her office slowly, speaking with the politest tone I could manage.
“Miss y/l/n, I’m sorry, but the drive in is closing, and that’s final.” The mayor cut me off with a firm but somewhat polite tone.
“I’m sorry to bother you, this is just really important to Jughead. I just wanted to at least try and change your mind.”
“That’s quite alright, miss y/l/n.” The mayor smiled at me, staring at me for another moment before speaking again.
“Jughead is… special. He doesn’t have a lot of friends, certainly not any that would at least try to help him with something like this. I’m sorry I can’t save the drive in. I wish I could, for your sake and Jughead’s, but… “The mayor sighed, rubbing the side of her head with her thumb and forefinger.
“Thank you for your time.” I nodded, beginning to exit the Mayor’s office.
“Y/n?” I turned to the sound of the mayor’s voice. “Jughead is lucky to have a friend like you.”
“Thank you, Mayor.” I exited the office, my shoulders heavy.
The night of the drive-in, I rode to the lot with Kevin and Veronica, meeting up with Jughead. I found him by the snack counter and smiled as I watched him talk aimlessly with the boy in the booth.
“Hey, Jug.” I greeted my best friend and the boy he was talking to.
“Hey, y/n/n.” Jughead wrapped an arm around me, hugging me tightly. I wrapped my arms around his waist, my head leaning against his chest.
“How are you feeling?” I asked him, my voice muffled by his shirt. Jughead shrugged before looking down at me with a small smile on his face.
“Could be better, but you’re here, so I guess I’m not under a complete raincloud of doom.”
“Oh, so just a small one then?” I teased, grinning up at him.
“Yeah, it’s kinda just lingering somewhere behind me, ready to open up and strike me with a lightning bolt at any given moment.” I laughed at Jughead’s comment.
“Are you gonna come lay with us on the truck?” I asked him, a pleading look on my face. I grabbed his hand and began tugging him toward Kevin’s truck.
Jughead sucked in a breath before giving in. “Fine, Fine, I guess I’ll be angsty and depressed in the back of the truck instead of in the film room.” I jumped happily before intertwining Jughead’s hand with mine and pulling him towards the back of the truck. Veronica and Kevin sat curled up in blankets and scooted over so Jughead and I could sit next to them.
“Ah, it’s the official partners in crime, the tag team, the endgame, the- “
“I thought Archie and Betty were endgame?” I cut off Kevin before he could throw another couple reference at jughead and I.
“Yes, but that was before he got vocal with our music teacher.” Kevin grinned at his subtle pun and I rolled my eye.
“Ok, no Archie, no Ms. Grundy, no endgames, let’s just enjoy the drive in while we can, alright?” Veronica handed Jughead and I a blanket. I climbed in to Jughead’s lap and rested my back against his chest and he wrapped the blanket around us, his arms going around my waist under the cloth.
“Thank you,” Jughead whispered in my ear.
“For what?” I whispered back, grabbing the popcorn Veronica handed me.
“The mayor told me you stopped by to see her.” Jughead whispered to me. I turned around to face him and he was looking up at the big drive in screen, the lights reflecting off his face and casting shadows under his eyes and chin. He looked painstakingly beautiful. Jughead’s eyes flickered down to look at me and he smirked a bit before looking back up at the screen.
We stayed almost the whole night, watching movie after movie. The only time Jughead left was to go switch out the rolls as the credits came after the end of every showing. He would re-appear five minutes later, and I would lift the blanket as he hopped over the side of Kevin’s truck and resumed his prior position, his arms wrapped around me and his chin on my shoulder. At 4 in the morning, the credits to the last movie rolled, with only a few cars left on the lot. Veronica and Kevin were leaned against each other as they snored lightly, and my back rested against Jughead’s chest. I looked up at the mesmerizing boy. He had a hard look on his face and his jaw was clenched, his eyes glossy and shiny, the credits from the screen reflecting off his pupils.
“Jughead?” I spoke softly, my eyes on the raven-haired boy. He kept his gaze on the screen ahead of him. “Jughead, the construction people will be here soon, we have to go.”
“You guys go, I’m gonna hang around a little longer.” Jughead pulled away from me, climbing out of the truck and disappearing around the side of it. I turned to my friends, shaking them lightly to wake them up. Kevin woke first, carrying a still-sleeping Veronica around to the passenger seat and lying her in it. I grabbed my blanket and my backpack and swung it over my shoulder and waited at the driver’s side of the vehicle.
“Aren’t you and Jughead coming?” Kevin asked me, walking around to the front of the car where I stood.
“No, Jughead said he wanted to stay a bit longer, so I’ll wait with him.” I hugged my friend before he climbed in to the driver’s side.
“Hey, if you guys do it in the film room, I want details.” Kevin grinned devilishly before starting the car and driving away. I just shook my head, laughing at his comment. I made my way to the wall of the film room and leaned against it, folding my blanket. I pulled the bag off my shoulder, sticking the blanket inside.
 I waited for Jughead for another hour or so, playing on my phone mindlessly. I figured he was soaking up what he could of the film room before Mr. Andrews’ company teared it to shreds. The drive- in was his favorite place in town, besides the chock-lit shoppe.
I watched as the sky started to get lighter and I checked the time. 6:08 A.M. It wasn’t like I had never pulled an all-nighter before, and I wasn’t going to leave until I at least made sure Jughead was alright and home safe. I leaned back against the building, hearing birds chirping as the sun rose. Minutes later, I heard a voice from the other side of the building, and I turned my head, kicking off the wall with my heel and poking my head slightly around the corner. I saw the back of Jughead, and he was facing a man that looked familiar. Jughead had what looked like a camper bag hanging off his back, a poster sticking out of it.
“They’ll tear that booth down, too. Raise the whole place, send it to the junkyard.” The man in front of Jughead spoke, a smile playing on his lips.” And us with it.”
“Yeah, maybe they’ll save it. All the pieces. Store it in the town hall attic and rebuild it in a hundred years. Wonder who the hell we were.” I could almost picture the bittersweet smile on Jug’s face.
“Hmm.” The man smiled a bit more before his face became serious.
“So where are you gonna live now?” My heart stopped, a million emotions and realizations hitting me like a bus.
“I’ll figure it out dad, I always do.” I watched Jughead walked past him, walking towards the entrance of the drive in. I snuck around the other side of the building, making my way towards the entrance. I managed to beat Jughead to it and stood at the gate, my arms crossed as I waited for the boy I loved.
Jughead came around the corner, stopping in his tracks when he saw me. He had what looked like a busted look in his face as I stood there, a blank expression matching the hurt, worry, and concern for the boy.
“Y/n… what are you still doing here? I thought you-?” Jughead asked me, hoping I hadn’t caught on to what was going on.
“When exactly were you planning on telling me that you were homeless?” I cut him off, my tone of voice coming off as if I were a concerned mother. Jughead opened his mouth, trying to find the words to speak, but gave up, closing it instead.
Juggie? Really? I’m your best friend! We tell each other everything? Why would you keep this from me? More importantly, why aren’t you staying with your father? Is he homeless too? Did he kick you out? What is going on, Forsythe?! Tell me!” I paced back and forth as I rambled, before turning to look at Jughead. He looked down at the dirt underneath his shoes, His hand wrapped around the strap of his bag. I waited for an answer, my arms spread wide in front of me as I stared at him. Jughead said something that I couldn’t make out.
“What?” I spoke, encouraging him to repeat himself. Jughead lifted his head, the rims of his eyes a dark pink and tears falling down his face. My face dropped quickly, my heart clenching tightly as I looked at the broken boy in front of me.
“I said,” Jughead lifted his sleeve to wipe his running nose.” I don’t have a home.” His voice cracked slightly and more tears fell down Jughead’s face as he dropped the bag from his shoulder.
“Jughead.” I dropped my bag as well and quickly ran to the boy, trying to keep my tears from falling as I wrapped my arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. Jughead wrapped his arms around my waist, burying his face in to my neck and quietly crying. We stood there for a few minutes, my one hand rubbing his back and my other pulling off his hat so I could run my fingers through his hair, doing everything I knew in my power that could soothe him.
“Jughead, Hey, Jug.” My hands cupped his cheeks, rubbing the tears away from his eyes while mine began to fall freely.” Listen to me, you are not homeless, ok? And you will never, ever, be homeless, as long as I am alive and breathing.” I stopped for a second to inhale quickly, my nose stuffed.” You are going to come with me to Pop’s, and I’m going to buy us breakfast, and then we are going to go back to my house, and you’re going to take a shower, because lord knows how long it’s been since you’ve had one,” Jughead chuckled lightly at my statement and I also let out a breathy laugh.” And then you’re going to crawl in to the guest bed, and you’re going to get some sleep, because it literally exhausts me every time I see those bags under your eyes. And you’re going to stay with me, ok?” Jughead nodded silently, knowing that this was a losing battle.
“And this never. Happens. Again. You got it? God, Jug, something terrible could have happened to you. We’ve got a murderer waltzing around town, do you know how easily you could have been killed?” I scolded, more tears falling down my face. I backed away from Jughead, going to grab my bag. “I don’t know how I can ever survive without you, ever! I would have dropped dead if anything ever happened to you! You’re the most important thing in this entire world to me! I don’t even know how- “Jughead grabbed my arm, turning me to face him before leaning down and planting his lips on mine. I stood still for a second, processing the shock of the gesture before wrapping my arms back around his neck and pulling his body closer to mine. Jughead wrapped his arms around my waist, his lips moving against mine. After a few moments, we pulled apart, my chest rising and falling as I caught my breath.
“Jughead, I- “Apparently, Jughead wasn’t done, because he pressed his lips to mine again, taking my breath away once more. We stood at the gate of the drive in for a little while longer, Jughead pushing me backwards until my back was against the fence and his body was pressed firmly against mine. We broke apart when we heard a man clear his throat.
“Uh, we’re gonna have to ask you to leave the premises.” The man spoke politely.” Construction begins soon.”
“Oh, sorry sir.” I apologized quickly, fixing my hair that Jughead had his fist tangled in moments ago, and grabbed my bag. Jughead did the same, grabbing my hand and leading me away from the drive in and down the street towards Pop’s. We stopped at my house so we could drop off our bags and began our trek to the 24-hour diner.
“Hey, Jughead.” I looked up at the boy as we walked hand in hand to the diner. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” Jughead looked down at me, smiling warmly.
“No, Jughead, I- “
“I know, and I love you, too.” I stopped walking, causing Jughead to stop as well. Jughead looked down at me and I leaned up, pressing another kiss to his lips.
Jughead and I made it to the diner soon after, spotting Archie, Betty, Veronica, and Kevin at a booth. When they saw us, they invited us to sit and Archie and Kevin grabbed chairs from another table.
“So, did anything happen in the film room?” Kevin wiggled his eyebrows at me as Jughead and I slid in to the booth. I slapped his shoulder before glaring at him.
“Nah, nothing happened in the film room.” Jughead paused momentarily before speaking again.” It happened outside the film room.” Kevin’s mouth dropped open wide.
“You kinky fuckers!” Kevin hollered. The table laughed as I turned red in embarrassment. I felt Jughead’s hand grab mine under the table and I smiled, my fingers intertwining with his.
He would always have a home, and it would be with me.

youtube

tfw you double a quad combination and so you then throw in a quad-double and a triple axel and end up with a season’s best high score 

I want to take you to the movies and i want to pay for your ticket i want to buy a large popcorn for us to share so that i have an excuse to touch your hand and i want to look at you whenever there’s a joke so i can see you laugh and it will warm my heart. i want to stand outside the theatre at midnight while you wait for your dad to come get you and i want to here you talk about the movie i want to see the combined light of the coming soon posters and the moon on your face.

I want to take you to the beach. i want to put up the umbrella while you laugh every time i think it’s in the sand but falls over a few moments later. i want to see you dive headfirst into the water, i want to stand there in awe of your bikini clad confidence while i stand in my oversized t-shirt and shorts. i want to hold your hand as we walk in the surf i want to feel the water hit my ankles, i want to swim out as far as we can go and see who can hold her breath the longest.

i want to rake leaves with you, with our little brothers… i want to listen to you talk about how much you love him, i want to watch your eyes light up, i want to grab your arm and pull us into the giant pile of leaves. i want to collaps laughing beside you as the sun starts to dip below the horizon i want to notice the leaf in your hair and laugh as i brush it away.

I want to take you ice skating, at the rink they set up in the park next to my house. i want to hold your hand because it’s been so long since i’ve worn a pair of skates. i want to fall on my ass and then on my back because i’m laughing so hard, i want you to land next to me. i want to give you my coat and take you home when you get cold. i want to make you hot chocalate and throw marshmallows for you to try and catch in your mouth. i want to cuddle in front of the fire underneath a huge blanket and tell you how cold your hands are.

i want to take you to the fair at the end of summer. i want to win you something at one of those games tables. i want to scream and giggle with you while we ride the zipper i want to swear that i’ll never do that again but know that i’ll be back next year. i want to eat cotton candy while we sit on a bench watching people walk past us. i want to get stuck at the top of the ferris wheel with you, i want to talk about how small everything looks from up here i want to tell you that no matter how high i got i’d still be able to pick you in a crowd.

I want to take you stargazing. I want to climb onto my roof with a blanket and a bottle of wine. I want to listen to the leaves rustling beside us and i want to listen to your wine drunk ramblings about how the stars are so beautiful. i want to show you how even though we are so very small in this universe i couldn’t feel more comfortable and significant lying here with you.

i want to go shopping with you. i  want to find the dress shirt i need in ten minutes but stay in the store for hours because you can’t decide between the hundreds of dresses you see. i want to sit in the chair outside the dressing rooms. i want you to show me every dress, i want to tell you that you look amazing in every single one of them, half because i want to leave this chair but also because you do look amazing in anything you wear.

i want to take you to the school football games. i’ll have to bring my camera i want to end up having just as many photos of you as i do the game. i want to kiss you every time we score, and because that doesn’t happen very often at our school i want to kiss you every time the other team scores. i want to end the night drinking that crappy hot chocolate that’s really just chocolate syrup and boiling water.

i want to meet your parents because they’re so much more accepting than mine who will still think we’re just friends. i want to hold your hand under the dinner table. i want to pretend to be casual and confident when really my heart is racing my stomach is doing backflips and i can’t catch a breath.

i want to hold you in my bed. i’ll be the big spoon because i want to protect you and keep you warm. i want to put my laptopat the foot of my bed so we can watch movies. I want to play with your hair and kiss your neck. i want to feel you breathe against my chest. i want to pile as many blankets as i can find on top of us. i want to let you fall asleep on my chest. i want to stay awake for as long as i can because i want to savour that moment i want to memorize the curve of your body and the smell of your hair and the rythm of your breathing. i want to only sleep when i can no longer hold my eyes open and dream of nothing but you.

i want to take you on cheesy dates and hug you so hard that you forget everything wrong with the world. i want to kiss you so hard you forget to breathe.

but most of all i want you to want me

We adopt a goddess

A small check in with the party that adopted the time stream and has been carrying it around in their pocket. Our situation now is that the other day we had one of our final sessions and it was really intense end game vibes all around. We had finally reached our goal, a cage in the Far Realms to lock away the goddess of destruction for another 10 thousand years when everyone’s favorite elf sorcerer spoke up:

Sorcerer: Why are you even doing this?
Goddess: Because I’m lonely…
*sorcerers eyes light up in excitement and 10 or more minutes of story explanation takes place*
Sorcerer: So basically just put you conscious inside these stones and we’ll carry you around so you can experience the world. Welcome to the party and how have we’ve adopted a goddess
DM: *throws hands up in the air* I expected nothing less from you guys

Rude customer always pays in handfuls of change. Not anymore!

I work overnights in a gas station in a particularly bad part of town. So from 11pm-6am I use a pass through drawer to make transactions so I don’t get shot or robbed. This one asshole shows up a couple times a week and gets at least 20 dollars in gas, and maybe 10-15 bucks in other stuff.

How does he pay? By just dumping a handful of change into the drawer, making me pick it all up. Even if I have my hand out, he’ll go under my hand and throw it in the drawer.

That pissed me off like you wouldn’t believe, so I started being rude back to him. I don’t give him his stuff until I pick up each coin piece by piece and then count it all out and put it in the drawer. I’m talking like $30 in quarters and dimes and nickels so it takes a good five minutes.

One time I was doing it, he says “Come the fuck on man, I’m in a hurry!” I just said “Yeah?” and kept going while he huffed and puffed and swore and paced back and forth.

After 5 or 6 times of this, he started paying only in bills. I win :)

Tweeter and Skeeter.

This is long, be warned. I live in a lowish income neighborhood. My little section is pretty nice, but if you go a few blocks in any direction, it gets pretty shitty. That means I’ve had a few run ins with skeevy meth heads and small time thieves.

This started when I moved in to my house. I noticed that on trash pick-up days, people would go up and down the alley where the trash cans go and dig through looking for recyclables. One of them was a guy I called Old Bob.

Old Bob lived a few houses down. He said he collected to buy presents for his grandkids. I don’t think the kids liked pints of Dark Eyes vodka, but he was harmless. So I started bagging up my cans separately so Old Bob didn’t have to dig through my trash.

Then, there were Tweeter and Skeeter. They would roll up and down the alley in a junky old truck with no exhaust that belched blue smoke. They looked like the after pictures from Faces of Meth. After they saw in was bagging cans for Old Bob, they started grabbing them. This didn’t sit well with me.

The next time I saw Old Bob, I told him I would leave my stuff just inside my yard, up against my shed, where you couldn’t see the bag from the alley. This went on for a month. Then, I heard and smelled Tweeter and Skeeter rumbling down the alley. I didn’t think anything of it, then I heard the rattle of a bag of aluminum cans being thrown into the bed of a truck. Those fuckers had gone into my yard to grab Old Bob’s drinking money. That shit would not stand.

I went to the hardware store; I bought a cheap pair of locks and some latches. I put the latches on my trash cans, I would unlock them when I left for work, which was about 15 minutes before the trash truck came down the alley. I also gave Old Bob a key. By this time, we were becoming downright neighborly. I would chat with him and have him help me around the yard and throw any spare cash his way.

After a few weeks, I heard Tweeter and Skeeter again. I heard them stop, then rattle the can lids, then drive off. I came out the next morning and the fuckers had pried the latches off my cans, and stolen the locks, too.

Now I was pissed. They were stealing Old Bob’s drinking money, and they had fucked with my shit. I stopped keeping cans separate, and started dumping used cat litter over everything.

Tweeter and Skeeter would still roll up to my trash area, but they weren’t willing to dig through shit to get anything. Old Bob was still helping me around the yard, so I would hands him bags of cans when he was over, in addition to the extra cash.

Everything was quiet for a few months. Then, we had a bad storm and the gutters on the alley side of my shed got messed up. They were in OK shape, but the underlying board and gotten torn up. It was too late in the day to do anything, but I figured Old Bob and I could take care of it the next day.

That night, I was woken up by Tweeter and Skeeters damn truck. But before I could throw pants and shoes on and chase them off, they were gone. So were the gutters on my shed.

Needless to say, I was fucking livid. After I calmed down, I went to Home Depot to get a new gutter. As luck would have it, I heard the fucking meth-mobile start up in the parking lot as I was walking in.

I wasn’t about to confront them directly, since I like having all of my blood and internal organs on the inside. What in did do, though, was get a good look at their liscense plates.

They were expired (of course) but the layer of soot from burning oil had obscured the sticker. You wouldn’t notice it from more than 5 feet away.

Finally, I had a way to get back at them. I called a relative who knew a few of the local PD. They said the address on the last registration was a house that had since been burned down in a meth lab fire. They never caught the cooks, but they going to keep an eye out for the truck. If nothing else, they would get a ticket and have to put current plates with a real address on them.

I was OK with this, but I wanted blood. I got my wish when the city did heavy trash pick-up.

I put an old grill in my back yard and scratched “Not Trash”, on the underside, along with spraypainting the smokestack white. Sure enough, Tweeter and Skeeter saw it and couldn’t resist. Once they had done that, I spent a few hours on a Saturday driving around the shittier parts of my neighborhood until I spotted my grill sitting in a yard.

I called my buddy with the police contacts and told them where they could find Tweeter and Skeeter and their un-registered vehicle, along with a stolen grill.

A few hours later, Tweeter and Skeeter came home to a few cops waiting for them. Since scrapping from heavy trash pick-up had been good to them, they were caught with a not insignificant amount of Meth and a lot of precursors to make more.

Tweeter has to serve out a 5 year sentence in prison. He also pinned the lab fire on Skeeter, who will be serving 10 years along side him.

Old Bob still helps me out, too.

keyed.

Originally posted by jiminnieseyesmile

3.8k words

members: jungkook, oc - reader

genre: fluff

warnings: language

You were sick and tired of your attractive idiot neighbor blocking your driveway.

a/n: i felt like writing this weekend and this happened surprise surprise. this is what happens when i’m buzzed off of two venti macchiatos please leave me feedback TT


“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

You blocked out the angry voice shouting at you from your neighbors now open door. The hurried footsteps were getting closer but you pretended you didn’t hear, continuing to drag your key along the shiny black BMW blocking your driveway. Before you could reach the back tires a hand grasped your wrist, turning you around to face your irritating neighbor.

“Oh! Hey there, neighbor,” you grinned, innocently eyeing your neighbor head to toe. He was dressed casually with his hair tousled as though he’d just woken up. His jaw was tense as his hands tightly held your wrist, nothing but anger found in his eyes. You weren’t sure of his first name but had seen him a few times in silent passing. He was relatively new to the neighborhood, keeping to himself along with his roommate you caught quick glimpses of as well. The two had moved in a month ago and you kept to yourself as well, not bothering to play nice and whip up a housewarming desert you couldn’t even properly bake. It wasn’t until a week ago that you realized your neighbors weren’t exactly your cup of tea. They had people over constantly whether they were attending their overcrowded house parties, movie nights or simply staying over till the sun came back up. It seemed whenever the two had guests around their parking lot quickly become full, causing a new issue to arrive. You noticed the brunette, tall one seemed to have a kick out of parking right in front of your light blue beetle making it impossible for you to maneuver around his pricey sports car. The parties seemed to hit an all time high and you constantly found yourself trapped in your own driveway. You left sticky notes on his windshield, kindly asking him to stop blocking your spot and occasionally he would but it wouldn’t take long for him to fall back into his routine. It wasn’t until he made you late to your job earning you a lengthy lecture from your boss, that you felt you’d had enough, storming outside to drag your keys along his prized possession.

Your decision making skills weren’t the best when you were angry.

Keep reading

Stalker

rompts: Combination of this one-shot where you’re batmom and just came back from a long business trip and all the kids missed you & when you get home you get shot by an unknown outside the manor in front of Damian who felt something was off? If we survive it’s up2u AND THIS one where Batmom has a stalker? And maybe she doesn’t want to tell Batman right away because she thinks she can handle it?

Requested by: @imagination-factory

AN: Warning there will probably be tears, but not for the reason you think …

Words:1089


          “My boys!!!!!” You open your arms as the boys run forward. You’re nearly driven to the ground by the force of four hugs. You make sure to hug each of your sons individually, before they begin fighting for your attention.

          You listen to the bickering as it turns from who your favorite is, to who’s the best baker of all things. Each boy takes a bag, and starts heading towards the house. Taking a deep breath, you smile at the man leaning against the door frame.

          Bruce is dressed in jeans and a sweater, a look you prefer to his usual suit. He looks relaxed and happy, something that never fails to fill you with joy. You open your arms again, as he begins walking towards you with his usual smirk.

          When he finally pulls you in for a hug, you take a deep breath, breathing in his scent. He’s big, and warm, and contrary to popular belief, quite cuddly. “I missed you.”

          He just laughs, “I missed you more. The bed is incredibly cold without you in it.”

          You just smile, as you begin walking towards the house. You can hear the boys arguing inside, when all of a sudden your steps falter. Not understanding what’s going on, you start to fall, and as Bruce catches you, the first tingles of pain hit you. And then it’s a searing pain. Sound disappears, and your eyesight starts to go fuzzy. The last thing you see is Bruce’s face, before everything goes black.  

          You wake up to something squeezing your arm. Your mouth is dry, and your head is fuzzy. Opening your eyes, you’re grateful that the lights are dimmed low. Turning your head to the side, you smile at the sight of Bruce. His eyes go a little wide, before he moves forward. He crouches down next to you. “Hey,” he whispers before pushing hair back from your face.

          You voice cracks a bit when you speak, “What happened?”

          “You were shot, by a man who appears to have been stalking you for quite some time. He escaped, but Jim is on the case.” You let out a small groan. Bruce runs a hand over his face, having gathered the meaning, “You knew about him?”

          You nod, “He kept showing up wherever I was. He sent flowers and food. I had my assistant throw everything away. Security went through everything too, there was nothing harmful in any of it, but I didn’t want to take a chance.”

          Bruce just nods, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

          “It all started after the Joker had escaped a few months ago. You and the boys were so stressed; I didn’t want to add to that.”

             Bruce’s hand covers yours, “You come first.”

          You give a small smile, “I honestly didn’t think he was a threat.”

          Bruce finally leans in and kisses you, “Next time, please just tell me when you have a stalker.”

          “Deal.”

          It takes a week before the doctors let you out of the hospital. The bullet had just barely missed your spine, and had hit a major artery on its way out. It was only Bruce’s knowledge of how to slow the bleeding that had kept you alive.

          The boys baby you over the next few days, they won’t even let you carry a bowl of soup. About a week after you get home, Jim alerts you that your stalker, and would be killer, had been caught. Caught in a room with pictures of you pasted everywhere. After several psychiatric tests it became clear that he had created a delusional relationship with you after you had complimented him for some computer work he had done in your office.  

          Apparently, you having left the country on the business trip was what set him off. Not being able to see you or observe you had driven him into a more violent psychosis. In the end, he’s sentenced to a stint in Arkham. That doesn’t reassure you, or your boys.

When he turns up dead in his cell one morning, there’s a lot of shuffling in the house. Eyes cut to Jason more often than they should, the curiosity is there but no one is brave enough to actually ask if he had done it.

You do your best to block it from your mind. You know Jason’s code is different than the others. You know he kills, but no one has ever killed for you before and that makes you a little nauseous.

About a week after the murder, you come home to what should be an empty manor. Bruce is at work, Tim and Damian are at school, and Jason and Dick were on a mission. So when you enter the Manor and hear frustrated screaming, you’re more than a little confused.

You follow the sound to the back yard to find Damian attacking a tree with a blade. He’s going at the tree as though it had demanded he go back to the league. As you get closer, you stop at sword’s length away and say, “Damian.”

He freezes mid swing. Slowly he turns to face you. And that’s when you notice. He’s thinner than he should be, there are dark circles under his eyes, and he won’t meet your gaze.

You move forward slowly. Stopping in front of him, you take the sword from his hand, and when you place a hand on his shoulder, he shrugs it off. “Damian,” you whisper. You do it again, and this time he gives into the touch, before the tears start rolling down his cheeks. He collapses into your arms, and you gently sink to the ground with him, tossing the sword to the side.

“It was me.”

You run your fingers through his hair, “What was you?”

“It was me who killed him.”

You freeze, “What?”

He straightens a bit, “I killed the stalker. Todd was going to do it, but I beat him to it. He found me in the cell, he’s the one who got me out, and cleaned up.”

You take a deep breath, “Oh, Damian.”

You pull him closer and you let him cry, “It shouldn’t bother me. I’ve killed before. I killed the entire time growing up, so why does it bother me now? Why?”

You’re not quite sure what to say, “Oh, my baby.”

“I couldn’t let him hurt you again. I can’t lose you. You’re my mom.”

You don’t say anything else, you just pull him in closer, and let him cry.

Take The Trade: Part 1

Author: @sincerelystiles
Pairing: Dylan x Reader
Word Count: 2,836

Warning: THIS IS VERY SINFUL OH DEAR LORD

A/N: big fuckin thanks to the girls for encouraging me to finish this and being super supportive. i’ve been working on this for the longest time and it’s finally here, so enjoy mother fuckers x x

LISTEN TO THIS ON REPEAT!!!!


Originally posted by gabalecki


I throw the phone onto the couch, groaning in annoyance and stomping my feet like a child as I wander to the kitchen, huffing once more to catch Dylan’s attention. “What’s wrong?” He asks, his back still turned to me as he assorted popcorn and candy into different plastic tubs.

My shoulders slouch and I climb onto the island, crossing my legs and pulling an unsatisfied face. “Everyone’s busy, they can’t make it.” I grumble under my breath with furrowed eyebrows. Friday night was game night, everyone came over to my place to eat junk food, play stupid board games and get completely wasted. But, everyone decided they’d be busy this week, which couldn’t have been any more inconvenient.

Keep reading

prejudice in fantasy lit and the use of metaphor

reallybigshadowhunterstvfan said:

what can you say about making Simon a shadowhunter, Mrs Clare? it seemed odd to me that after a whole series of battling for equality between species/races, the downworlder had to become a shadowhunter. not only he basically ceased being a minority, he also became a part of a privileged community, and it just didn’t sit well with me.

Just for the record — I’m not Mrs. Clare; there is no Mr. Clare. I am married, but my pen name is not my husband’s property. :-) 

I think this is a very interesting question that brings up a ton of issues, but there are some aspects of it I’d love to clarify — for instance, I am puzzled at calling Simon “the Downworlder.” Is he more a Downworlder than Magnus? Things like that actually are really important when discussing stories — if he were the only Downworlder in the story, that would be one discussion, but he isn’t, and therefore his story does not speak for the experience of all Downworlders or even a small fraction. 

I am sorry you were surprised negatively by Simon’s story in TMI. Simon never wanted to be a vampire — he always hated it, and unlike Raphael and Lily, he never joined the community of vampires but instead spent all his time with Shadowhunters. Being a Daylighter had already changed him from being any kind of regular Downworlder, as did bearing the Mark of Cain: both made him even less “the Downworlder” and more of an anomaly. It also separated him from the other Downworlders, who treated him with distrust. In my experience, very few readers expected Simon to remain a vampire, given that it was something he never wanted or got used to, and that it was not his dream. More on that in a bit.

As to the question, to me the suggestion that Shadowhunters are “the privileged” and Dowworlders are as a block “the marginalized” — instead of being a complicated metaphor in which they sometimes but not always stand in for people who have had their rights curtailed —  overly simplifies the situation. It is an argument seems to ignore the fact that in fact, humans exist along axes of privilege and marginalization: that people can be privileged in one way and marginalized in another and that when Simon becomes first a Downworlder and then a mundane and then a Shadowhunter, he is not moving clearly from marginalization to privilege, but rather exchanging some types of privilege for others (he remains white as a Downworlder, and is a Daylighter), and exchanging some types of marginalization for others (the marginalization of being a Downworlder for the marginalization of being a mundane-born Shadowhunter and a Jew in a world where Shadowhunters are meant to have one religion). 

Because the argument disclaims spectrums of privilege and marginalization, it also suggests that the world of the Shadowhunter Chronicles is one in which there are no gay or POC or trans people in existence; one in which there is no racism, homophobia, ableism, cis privilege, or bigotry against the neuroatypical. But that is both problematic erasure, and also not true of these books. Downworlders don’t stand in for people of color or LGBTQ+ people because people of color and LGBTQ+ people are in the books; they have not been subsumed into metaphor. (I know the showrunners said there was no homophobia in the Shadowhunter world, only warlock-phobia, but that’s the show, not the books, and it has a different world and world-building. I notice this is a question I get since the show came out, and I sometimes wonder if it’s a question of confusion between the two different universes? It’s easy for that to happen.)

Fantasy prejudice metaphors are complex and confusing and they rarely work as a one to one comparison (in other words, there is a difference between saying that this fantasy situation is reminiscent of this real world thing and saying this fantasy situation is exactly the same as this real world thing. For instance, one of the really interesting things about True Blood is that it made many deliberate parallels between “vampire rights” and GLBT+ rights — referring to vampires “coming out of the coffin” and “God Hates Fangs” on church signs. However, its vampires were also often violent predators who killed and ate people. The argument that Simon “basically ceased being a minority” (while, somehow, remaining Jewish) is similar to making an argument that True Blood was saying that gay people kill and eat their neighbors; I’m fairly sure in fact, they weren’t. They were reaching for a resonance — the echo of a real world situation that would give a layer of relatability and meaning to their points about difference. But they were not creating a literal “these things are the same” comparison or they wouldn’t have had vampires chewing off people’s heads.

So: are Downworlders discriminated against? Yes, sometimes, by Shadowhunters, who are a small specific group. Do they “stand in” for a specific minority group? No, they cannot, because they are accessible as a metaphor to any marginalized group or groups whose rights have been abridged. Also: the world at large does not discriminate against Downworlders because they do not know they exist, nor do they privilege Shadowhunters because they don’t know they exist either. It would be one thing if this was a high fantasy and Shadowhunters and Downworlders were all there was, but these books are set in our world, and the characters experience real-world bigotry, racism, homophobia etc. because of it.

Alec sighed. “Sorry to wreck your vision of our happy family. I know you want to think Dad’s fine with me being gay, but he’s not.” 

“But if you don’t tell  me when people say things like that to you, or do things to hurt you, then how can I help you?” Simon could feel Isabelle’s agitation vibrating through her body. “How can I—” 

“Iz,” Alec said tiredly. “It’s not like it’s one big bad thing. It’s a lot of little invisible things. When Magnus and I were traveling, and I’d call from the road, Dad never asked how he was. When I get up to talk in Clave meetings, no one listens, and I don’t know if that’s because I’m young or if it’s because of something else. I saw Mom talking to a friend about her grandchildren and the second I walked into the room they shut up. Irina Cartwright told me it was a pity no one would ever inherit my blue eyes now.” He shrugged and looked toward Magnus, who took a hand off the wheel for a moment to place it on Alec’s. “It’s not like a stab wound you can protect me from. It’s a million little paper cuts every day.”

 *** 

“He hurt you. It was a long time ago, and I know he tried to make up for it, but—” Bat shrugged. “Maybe I’m not so forgiving.” 

Maia exhaled. “Maybe I’m not either,” she said. “The town I grew up in, all these spoiled thin rich white girls, they made me feel like crap because I didn’t look like them. When I was six, my mom tried to throw me a Barbie-themed birthday party. They make a black Barbie, you know, but they don’t make any of the stuff that goes with her—party supplies and cake toppers and all that. So we had a party for me with a blonde doll as the theme, and all these blonde girls came, and they all giggled at me behind their hands.”

***

If we carry the theory through (Shadowhunters are THE privileged, Downworlders are THE marginalized) that means that Alec, as a gay Shadowhunter, is more privileged than Simon, a straight vampire. That Ty, who would be locked in a mental institution if the Clave discovered his autism, is privileged beyond white, rich, immortal and powerful Malcolm Fade. It’s saying that when Cristina encounters a wealthy, white, straight, misogynist male werewolf in Lady Midnight who tries to force sexual attention on her, she, a Latina woman, is the one who is the privileged character because she is a Shadowhunter and he is a Downworlder (though Sterling has arguably, given that he lives outside the supernatural world, never experienced a whit of prejudice because of it.) So I’m sure you can see where the problem lies.

It also erases Simon’s Judaism entirely. Stating without caveat that Simon has become “part of a privileged community” means ignoring the fact that Simon is Jewish; that he decides in Tales that he will continue to practice, and that he was the only Jewish protag written by two Jewish authors that I’m aware of having been on the bestseller lists last year. He didn’t think about being a vampire as he was preparing to transform — he never wanted to be one or consented to be one, nor was he part of the community, as Raphael constantly pointed out — though he does later think of having previously been a Downworlder when interacting with vampires and Shadowhunter prejudices. He thought of the important thing to him: his Judaism, which he both couldn’t and wouldn’t give up. To me it is personally painful to think that for any reader, Simon’s status as a vampire is more significant than his status as a practicing Jew.

I think sometimes it is possible to invest yourself so heavily in a metaphor that you forget the real world that surrounds the metaphor and the flexibility of metaphors in general. The Shadowhunter/Downworlder situation could stand in for the systemically privileged and marginalized of our world: sometimes it does. However it also can stand in for the way totalitarian governments abuse their own people: there are echoes in Shadowhunter history and current events of the Cambodian genocide, of Stalinist violence against intellectuals and resistors. There are also echoes of police brutality — what Shadowhunters have is the privilege of the Law, specifically: the Law is what allows them to enact bigotry in the name of justice, and when they abuse their jobs, it has resonances of the way police can abuse their jobs and use the privilege conferred on them by their authority to murder and abuse the helpless and marginalized. There are also echoes of the way soldiers carry out immoral orders given by superiors: the Shadowhunters are taught to be obedient to the Clave, and one of the ways we know who our Team Good is in any TSC series that they question that obedience. All of these are echoes and resonances: they are not saying that the Shadowhunters are the police, or the US military, or the Khmer Rouge; the resonances provide context and hopefully add a sense of realism to a situation that is fantastical in its nature.

 (It’s also a wise idea not to so totally buy what the Shadowhunters are selling about themselves. They think they’re special and better and awesome, but the books constantly question and problematize that. Shadowhunters also pay a high high price for their runes and their sense of superiority: they die young and often and experience brutal constant violence and the pressures of a repressive society that allows for little divergence from an idealized norm.)

There are reasons that the Downworlders were never constructed to be a specific marginalized group and their situation was never meant to be limited in its relatability to one situation— for instance, it’s very hard to not look askance at the argument that Downworlders are meant to be specific “race” when you can become a Downworlder and then stop being one: when you can, as Simon does, change what kind of magical creature you are, because there is absolutely no correlation between that and what race or ethnicity means in our world. 

 So yes, Simon becomes a Shadowhunter: however, what I don’t see acknowledged here is not just his ethnicity and religion, but the fact that he becomes a Shadowhunter partly because he is aware of the prejudice of Shadowhunters, and fights against the bigotry they show not just to Downworlders but also to their own. He is part of Magnus and Alec’s Shadowhunter-Downworlder Alliance. He continues to work for change from within the system, arguably something almost no one else could do, because there are almost no other Downworlders who have become Shadowhunters. It is odd to me to consider Simon as simply ascending to a height of blithe privilege when he is fact much more like someone who has become a police officer in order to root out corruption and racism in the police, and brings his own knowledge of marginalization (which he still experiences) with him.

That is why Simon in Tales from the Shadowhunter Academy is constantly fighting and bending the rules in the name of his evolving social conscience, though I understand if you haven’t read TfTSA. One of the things about having had a flood of new readers enter fandom because of the TV show is that I’ve seen a lot of arguments based on the idea that TMI is the entire story of Downworlders and Shadowhunters, or the entire story of these characters. I see people talking about characters getting a happy or sad ending in TMI even when those characters go on to feature heavily in the sequel books and could by no reasonable account be considered to have any ending, happy or sad — unless you thought TMI were the only Shadowhunters books that existed rather than a chunk of a larger ongoing mythology. In no sense has Simon’s story ended: you have no idea if he will remain a Shadowhunter or not. Perhaps if you consider the fact that TMI is not a story that has ended for Simon, but rather one that continues, the fact that he has now been two magical species and might well move on to become another will sit less poorly with you? After all, this is not “after a whole series of battling for equality between species/races” this is “in the middle of a whole series of battling for equality between species/races.” Usually the middle of a story isn’t the place it’s best to draw all your conclusions from. :-) 

For my dear Lexi, @caslikescoffeeandfreckles, who wanted a jealous!cas in a college setting and an accidental love proclamation.

destiel, 3k, jealous!cas, light dean/lisa, pining and angst with a happy resolution

Castiel is about to fit his key into his apartment door when he hears the voices: Dean’s gruff baritone mixed with a lilting melodic voice.

Lisa’s voice.

Castiel rests his forehead against the door, shopping bags in his hands lightly hitting the pale wood. He squeezes his eyes shut and wills himself not to be upset that it’s the sixth day of the week that Lisa has been at their apartment. 

He tries not to be bothered that for the last month Dean has been utterly obsessed with this girl: from late night phone calls to taking her to romantic dinners softened by candlelight.

Cas tries to ignore the fact that he’s inexplicably jealous of Lisa.

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Sleepless

Summary: You and Sam both have insomnia, so you find a way to entertain yourselves.

Warning: smut

Word Count: 1550

A/N: It’s been a while since I wrote Sam x reader. Hope you enjoy! XOXO


12:36 AM

Insomnia does weird things to a person.

Under no other circumstances would you be sitting in the library of the bunker, reading about the weaponry forged in fourteenth century Japan to combat a monster that was essentially an ocean-dwelling werewolf.

Yeah. Can’t make this shit up.

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umm AU where harry just went through a really bad breakup in which his douchey ex-fiance leaves him for a huge corporate job offer. which yeah good for him except he was a jerk about the breakup, left him via phone message, and didn’t look back. which sucks all on it’s own but now harry finds himself confused because he’s not nearly as sad as he thinks he should be about it, and frustrated because he has two non refundable tickets for a honeymoon cruise. enter childhood best friend louis, who he calls up the night before while packing and is all like, “ummmm so. how’s a free vacation sound?” and louis’s like “nothing’s free in life harold…. but….. i’m listening.” it honestly doesn’t even take anything to convince louis. most of his protest is just for show because harry can already hear him dragging his suitcase out of the closet. so.

so they arrive at the dock where they’re supposed to board the ship and louis’s like “um so why is everyone holding hands lol” and harry’s all “yeah…. so… funny story… ummmm i got dumped and this is my honeymoon cruise surprise :)” (louis is tempted to throw him overboard. they haven’t even gotten on the boat yet but the sentiment is still the same). but now that louis knows the whole story (which harry tells amidst deep frowns and lots of tears), he is determined to be the best fake™ husband ever. so he signs them up for all the couples activities because “go big or go home styles. or tomlinson. styles-tomlinson? who are we again?” and they end up doing better than most of the couples there when it comes down to How Well Do You Know Your Spouse trivia. it should be embarrassing really, because everyone around the ship already knows them as the dream team and it’s only been 4 days.

cue dramatic confessions, bed sharing that means nothing till it means something, an obscene amount of nautical references, and cameos by the rest of one direction lol

Wait, what?

(based on this) (look, there’s a part two)


Yuuri barely has time to grab his jacket when he runs out the door, much less brush his hair or find a hat. Unfortunately, he’s sure that that means that his hair is an absolute mess. It’s been getting long again, but in between classes and helping Yura out with his routine on the weekends, he hasn’t had much time for things like haircuts. Besides, Victor doesn’t seem to mind it, and Yura likes to experiment hairstyles on Yuuri “so that if it looks stupid, I don’t have to see it on myself.”

It’s not that big a deal, except on days like this, when he sleeps in (thanks a lot Vitya) and doesn’t have the time to really get it under control. He usually meets up with his friends before class, and he doesn’t doubt that they’ll notice, and probably tease him about it.

They notice.

“Yuuri!” Estephania gasps, sounding too scandalized for her words to be anything but teasing. “What on earth happened to your hair?”

Yuuri flushes. “I was running late,” he mumbles.

Richard snorts. “You sure? Because that looks more like sex hair to me, man.”

“Ooh, he’s right,” Estephania coos before Yuuri can protest.

He wonders if it’s possible to die of embarrassment (especially since they’re not entirely wrong). “No, really I–”

“We know, sweetie.” She reaches up and moves his hair around a bit, trying to make it look presentable. “You’re just too easy to tease.”

“You sure you’re really twenty seven?” Richard raises an eyebrow.

Yuuri just smiles at the ground in fond humiliation (apparently it’s not a common emotion, but it’s a little hard not to be used to the feeling when he’s married to the world’s biggest drama queen) and nods. “I am.”

His friends are too much sometimes, he admits. Richard is the embodiment of America in a lot of ways: loud, completely lacking a sense of social norms, a walking personification of testosterone. Estephania is less… everything… than Richard, but she’s very touchy and affectionate in an entirely platonic way that reminds Yuuri a lot of Christophe, only without all of the innuendo. But they’re both loyal down to their very core, and they’re not bad people.

His phone starts ringing, Stammi Vicino playing loudly. Yuuri picks up, keeping his phone away from Estephania’s hands. “Да, Vitya?”

“Dude! You speak Russian too?” Richard looks like Yuuri just smacked him in the face. The school year just started, so they’re all still learning about each other.

Yuuri just smiles, since Victor is in the middle of one of his usual mid-morning crises. “Vitya, calm down,” he says in Russian. “Makkachin is probably out with Yura. You know he takes her for walks sometimes. Have you seen him today?”

He manages to get Victor off the phone just before class starts, flipping his phone to airplane mode since he’s sure that this isn’t the last he’ll be hearing from his lovable trainwreck of a husband.



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