stacked shoes

anonymous asked:

I have a couple of questions about big lick and you seem like a good guy to ask. First, i dont really understand what it Is? Ive also heard that its all inhumane and abusive, but ive also seen otherwise very humane and knowledgable horse people says that big lick can be done humanely, so? I have no idea what to think of this discipline, i just feel kinda lost.

OK so I’m not a big lick/TWH expert by any means but here are the basics as I understand them:

Some breeds are gaited. The Tennessee Walking Horse is one of them. It’s especially known for its running walk. Originally, this gait was really popular because it was so comfortable to ride, so they were useful plantation horses, and they Looked Fancy. Big Lick developed because of the transition from using horses for work (farming, cavalry, pony express, yada yada) to horses being used for recreation - specifically here, shows. So you have a bunch of people riding their TWHs around trying to look the fanciest, without any actual goal beyond winning and looking fancy. It becomes an aesthetic thing, like a lot of current show scenes (western pleasure, saddleseat, a lot of dressage tbh, halter shows, reining, etc). Welfare and practicality go out the window because you don’t actually have a reason to keep your horse healthy, sane, and sound. Because you don’t need them to do work. You don’t need them to live long, healthy lives. This is why we see such an increasing number of horses being competed as two and three year olds (when they’re still 2-3 years from actual physical and mental maturity), and retiring before they’re even ten or early teens. It’s all about the benjamins and about winning the biggest prize.

So, how do you get the TWH to exhibit a fancier gait? Firstly, bigger shoes and longer hooves. Weight on the legs mean that the legs are lifted higher. And there is a spectrum here, from flat shod but hooves too long:

to moderate pads:

to fucking giant stacks:

These result in a higher-stepping gait.

But where do you go from there? Well, from there you get to the most controversial part of the TWH industry, which is soring.

Here’s an 11 minute interview with a convicted trainer explaining how soring works, but I’ll summarize:

Soring is when you make the front feet hurt, so that the horse is really fast to snatch them off the ground because they’re so painful. There are a lot of ways to sore a horse. I’ve read about putting marbles between the hoof and pad, people putting tacks in there, people over-trimming the sole of the hoof until it bleeds or bruised, adding extra deep nails, anything to make the foot sore. The most well known method (and this is usually what people are talking about when they talk about soring) is putting caustic chemicals on the horse’s ankles, and then adding chains, so that the metal chains bang against their already super painful pasterns.

Those pictures are taken from show screencaps. These stacks and these chains are allowed at the show. They are not just training tools. They are out in the public eye. People just lie about the application of chemicals.

All of this is done to make the horse fling up their forelegs, and step deep under with their hind legs like so:

Here’s another example of the kind of ‘stepping under’ that is caused by soring:

I don’t say this lightly but these horses are crippled. The trainer in that interview says so. He acknowledges that you have to essentially torture the horses to make them ‘walk’. That horses end up dead from the pain. These are animals that can barely stand (and sometimes literally cannot stand) on their own feet. And the end result is this:

Wow so fancy! So flashy! So great! I personally don’t get the appeal, and the appeal doesn’t even MATTER, because it’s about the physical and mental abuse and not about the end result, buuuuuut let me drop this comparison in here:

This^ is Champagne Watchout, who was exhibited flatshod at the 1999 TWH National Celebration, next to horses ridden with giant stacks. I recommend watching this entire video as the contrast between the gaits is unbelievable. It’s an amazing example of the difference between the beautiful, smooth, comfortable and NATURAL gaits of the TWH, vs the clusterfuck that is Big Lick.

My gifmaker stopped working so I’ll leave you with just some pictures of un-stacked, un-sored TWHs.

These^ are the horses that were bred to be comfortable to ride for long distances. Even those last two horses, exhibiting more dramatic movement, look like actual horses instead of dying frogs.

There are so many more issues related to TWHs (historical racism, the position of the saddle and rider and the damage to the back, the riding of two year olds, horses that literally can’t stand, that colic from the pain and die, horses that collapse because they literally can’t walk, the fact that horses are trained to get through vet inspections by being punished for exhibiting signs of pain, the HORRIBLE bits, the owners and judges and trainers all colluding to lie about abuse, god I could go on forever) but these are the very basics and all I’m gonna try and pack in here lol.

If there are any TWH/big lick experts who want to correct me on any points, go ahead, I know my terminology isn’t perfect. But this is why big lick exists and why it’s so horrible, and why literally every riding discipline accused of cruelty goes ‘well at least we aren’t big lick!’. Because big lick is the actual worst.


Harry looked around at the stacked shoes and umbrellas remembering how he used to wake every morning looking up at the underside of the staircase, which was more often than not adorned with a spider or two. Those had been the days before he had known anything about his true identity; before he had found out how his parents had died or why such strange things often happened around him. 

All Hands on Deck (m)

Summary: You go all day with a budding heat between your legs and return home with the idea of taking care of it yourself however, when Taehyung arrives home a few days early from a business trip, you decide to let him join- but only after you make him watch. 
Pairing: Taehyung x Reader
Genre: Smut, Romance
Warnings: PWP, masturbation (w/ toys), foreplay, dirty talk, multiple orgasms, teasing, oral sex, edging, etc.
Rating: M
Word Count: 6,119
A/N: This is a (sort of) sequel to Helping Hand

Originally posted by taestiny

From the very first moment you woke up, a hunger and a desire incurable by normal food settling low in your belly, you had known the day would be nothing but long and tiresome. The alarm had not gone off, (no doubt caused by your late-night phone call with Taehyung in which you had fallen asleep to the sound of his voice before you could reset your alarm), leaving you with nothing but twenty minutes to rush through your morning routine and no time at all to spend five extra minutes in the shower quenching the heat and ache working its way through your system.

You had made it to work on time, thankfully, but your day had not improved. Instead of an eight-hour shift full of nothing but paperwork and a few phone calls, you had been forced to sit in on several meetings, all the while ignoring the way pleasure thrummed through you as you clenched your legs just a tad tighter. It was possible the ache between your legs was due to almost having to go a week without sex however, you knew it was mostly caused from the dream you’d been deeply invested in when the sun and the birds outside had pulled you back into consciousness; the dream had been rough hands sliding across your body, teeth and tongue scraping over sensitive skin, pulling small gasps and moans until you were nothing but a desperate mess beneath his touch.

Keep reading

18| Pas De Deux

Pairing: Jimin x Reader
Genre: Ballet au, Romance, Angst
Warnings: None
Wordcount: 3782

Masterlist | Prev | Next

Minjee yanked her pointe shoe off with everyone watching. Her face was bright red, and at breaking point. Almost the whole class was laughing. Even Eungkwan had a covert smile on his face. You nearly felt sympathetic. Because of Jimin and Taehyung, Minjee had had a pretty hard class. But not really, she totally deserved it. Besides you couldn’t be a saint. She hadn’t cared when it had been you.

She spun around to face you, her eyes venomous. “You’re gonna pay for going and crying to the seniors.” She spat. Her eyes roved around your class, who tried to stifle their giggles. “Shut up!” She snapped, and stormed out the door, her gum-covered pointe shoe swinging dangerously from the ribbons. Seohyun hurried after her.

“Those men are legends.” Yuna said, shaking her head in disbelief. She glanced at you. “Were you in on that?” She sounded curious, not accusing.

“Nope, though it seems like the sort of thing Taehyung might do.”

“Oh my god, (Name)!” Hyeun squealed. “You’re so lucky being on first name basis with them!” She grabbed your hands and jumped up and down excitedly. “And they did all this for you!”

Yuna and you exchanged glances. “Minjee’s pissed.” She said with a grin as the two of you sat down. “Though it might not have been the best idea to ruffle her feathers just before the review.”

“Aw, come on Yuna!” Hyeun exclaimed. “Jimin’s already ruffled her to oblivion. God, he was terrifying.”

Yuna nodded. “He had a very good point though, for all of us.”

Hyeun sobered, her eyes turning regretful as she picked at the knot of her pointe shoe.

You glanced at your phone. “I better get going.” You said, pulling the drawstrings of your shoe bag and standing up. “I have to get to that ballet store before it shuts.”

“Wrystone?” Yuna asked. “What fo - oh, right shoes.”

You nodded, not quite able to keep your irritation off your face.

“Wait a sec.” Hyeun mumbled as she began rummaging around in her dance bag. Eventually she pulled out around 25000 Won and held it out to you.

You frowned. “Hyeun I can’t…”

She shook her head. “Jimin was right. We had no authority to do that to you. And now you have to get a whole new pair of pointe shoes which you shouldn’t have to pay for. 25000 Won won’t pay for all of it, but I’ll try getting some of the others to chip in” Hyeun gave you a shy smile. “We’ll pay you back.”

You hesitantly took the money. “Thank you, Hyeun.” You said sincerely. Maybe Hyeun could be mislead, or made  judgements without thinking them through, but what person hadn’t gone through a stage like that?

She grinned, once again her normal self.

“See you later!”


The bus stop was about a hundred yards down the road from Amour you found out from Mrs Cope, the receptionist who you’d discovered behind a massive stack of fabric receipts and post-it notes. She’d handed you a bus timetable and a map, before writing that you were ‘out of house’ on a little whiteboard.

You looked at the bus timetable as you headed up the stairs. The buses were infrequent. As far as you knew, Amour was in a pretty secluded area, and most students probably didn’t bother going in that often. If you wanted to see Jiwoo as well as get your pointe shoes, you’d have to catch the bus that left in ten minutes and miss lunch.

The dorm room was empty by the time you got there. You were glad, another confrontation with Minjee was not on your agenda. You opened up your trunk, the stench of horrible wet, stained clothes hit you. Those idiots…

Holding your breath you dove an arm in searching for your wallet. After a while you finally found it, typically it was at the bottom.

The sticky stuff dripped from the wallet. It looked like porridge. Quickly you shut the trunk with your elbow and hurried to the bathrooms. You ran your wallet and arm under the tap, feeling nauseated. Jimin’s words had put them so clearly in the wrong that you found yourself even more repulsed than this morning. How could they have done this when they didn’t even know whether you’d 'ruined the review’ or not? Why hadn’t anyone thought about what they were doing?

You took a deep breath. Maybe Jimin had changed that.

You turned off the tap, only just realizing that running water on your credit card and banknotes might not have been the greatest idea.

Then you changed into the clothes Dawon had given you. Black tights, a short blue and black tartan skirt and a long sleeved dark blue v-neck. She’d even managed to find you a pair of knee high boots and dark blue leg warmers. You smiled. Leg warmers seemed to be essential to Dawon. Last of all, she’d included a black jacket. Quickly you pulled off your hairnet and hair ties, slipped your wallet into your pocket and rushed out, knowing you had wasted way too much time.

By the time you got out the double doors and down the steps, it was raining. You sat of in a sprint seeing as the bus was beginning to take off.

“Hey!” You yelled, waving your arms frantically. The bus suddenly swerved onto the side, just a few metres from the bus stop. You hurried up to it, breathing hard as the doors hissed open.The bus driver looked at you grumpily as you fumbled around for money.

You finally handed him some coins. He raised a displeased eyebrow. What? Oh no, there was a glob of oatmeal stuck to one of the coins. “Sorry.” You said, and replaced it with another, the bus driver grunted, and you quickly moved in. The few other people on the bus gave you irritated looks.

You shuffled into one of the back seats, staring out the window at the lashing rain. A tiny smile came to your lips. It felt so normal. Aside from the dressy clothes and oatmeal, you were used to running after the bus. Before you’d gotten your Honda a few months ago, you’d spent many mornings running after the school bus, then guiltily walking back into the house and asking your mom or dad for a lift, or, if you did manage to stop it, clambering on to the amused looks of other students. It was funny to think that only a few months ago, ballet had just been a cherished hobby.

The jolting stop of the bus pulled you out of your thoughts.

You quickly got out, carefully avoiding the flooded gutter. You hurried under the awning of a shop, avoiding the pouring rain, and walked along. Wrystone, it seemed, was nothing more than a few shops and a tiny park, maybe two blocks on either side of houses, it was kind of cute. The ballet shop Dawon had told you about was pretty easy to spot. It had a hanging sign, like the ones outside old English taverns, with a painting of ballet shoes, and the words:

Sung & Sons

Dance Emporium

You went in, a bell tinkling with the door. The shop was warm and well lit. Surprisingly, there were a few people milling around, even though Wrystone seemed to be in the middle of nowhere. Maybe people made long journeys to get here, it would certainly be worth it. It was like Dawon’s room, just more orderly and much, much bigger. Practise tutus hung from the ceiling, and clothing racks full of black leotards were scattered about, along with great barrels of packeted tights. A mother was trying to pull two little girls away from the mannequin of a sparkling fairy tutu.

But there weren’t just ballet things. On short shelves were rows and rows of tap shoes and tango shoes and jazz shoes and dance sneakers. Glittering ballroom costumes and unitards filled more clothing racks. On another shelf was a collection of dance class CD’s, music sheets and books.

There was another stand with hooks, on which hung every colour of bandeaus and crocheted hairnets and bobby pins known to man. At the very back of the shop was the biggest collection of pointe shoes you’d ever seen. The entire back wall was concealed by floor to ceiling shelves, each one stacked high with pointe shoes.

“Freed of London?” Came a voice from behind. You spun around.

A man with greying red hair and a goatee beaming down at you. He had old, circular glasses, and he wore a grey and red pinstriped waistcoat over his shirt. A badge pinned to it said:

Mister Sung, owner

You frowned, confused for a second, then realised what he meant. “Oh, yes.” You said nodding. “I use, Freed pointe shoes.”

“Mmm.” He nodded, pensive. “I thought as much. I can always tell, you see. You have the calves for it, you and I am guessing your feet are not as wide as some. You’re from Force de la Beauté?”

You smiled, narrowing your eyes. “How did you know?”

“Ah!” He clapped his hands together. “Your eyes, my dear, your eyes!” He chuckled at your bemusement. “You look terribly tired, you know. I am supposing you’re in need of something specific?”

You nodded. “Pointe shoes, actually.”

“Splendid!” He clapped his hands again and began leading you through the store. You marvelled at a beautiful collection of tiaras sitting in a glass case you passed. “Now, I’m sure your past the studio brand, yes?”

“Yes.” You said. You’d only been en pointe for three years, and you knew very little about the different brands of shoes. However you did know that Freed of London had studio shoes, for beginner pointe dancers, and then another range for the more experience dancers.

“Classic Pro.” You told him.

“Aha.” He said. “A nice design, you know. Not for the fainthearted, mind. They don’t have a beginner’s support.” You reached the back shelves. A two metre barre was secured to the ground right by it, and a bench. Mister Sung climbed up one of the shelf ladders with surprising agility. You sat down on the bench and began taking your leg warmers and boots off. “I’m curious Miss?”

“(Surname)” You supplied.

“Miss (Surname), as to why you need another pair of pointe shoes so soon. You see, we have been delivering three pairs of pointe shoes for every Amourian danseuse each month since Jinho signed a contract with us all those years ago. You must be a very fierce dancer to warrant a fourth pair in such a short amount of time?”

“I arrived late.” You told him as he shifted through the many packets of pointe shoes. “My old pointes were a few months old.”

“They died, then?” He spoke as if they were relatives, not just shoes.

“Yes.” You said. If he liked pointe shoes that much, then getting into what actually happened didn’t seem like a good idea.

“Ah, the time we cobblers take to make them.” He grumbled fondly. “Only to have you stamp them out in a single performance. Now, what are your measurements?”

You told him the measurements you had memorized after your first fitting. He eventually came down with a pair, and you slipped them on. Without any ribbons, they were loose, but using the barre you were able to follow Mister Sung’s instructions. “Every pair is slightly different, Miss (Surname).” He said, kneeling down to check the shank length. “And so every shoe must be tested. All these silly people buying pointes on the internet. Now please climb up to pointe.”

One foot at a time, you stood up on your platforms. You gritted your teeth against the added pressure. Until the toe box had moulded to your own toes, it was going to hurt more than usual. The fact that you weren’t wearing gel pads probably made it worse. “A nice arc there, Miss (Surname).” He said approvingly while gently squeezing the toe box.

The image of Taehyung twisting Minjee’s foot this way and that came into your head, and you tried not to giggle. How Minjee possibly thought that Taehyung had any knowledge of pointe shoes you did not know.

“Well, these seem to fit you perfectly well, Miss (Surname).” Mister Sung stood back up, and you went back down to flat. “I take it you’ll be needing ribbons and such?”

“Yes please.” You said, putting your boots back on.

He grabbed the necessary packets and took them to the counter. As he put your new shoes back in their plastic and tallied up the total, you looked at the beautiful jewellery boxes next to the till. Each one had a different ballerina on it. One was wearing a deep blue tutu, her arms in an oval above her head, her leg out behind in an attitude. You ran a gentle fingertip down her figure. That would be you tomorrow.

“Beautiful little pieces, aren’t they?” Mister Sung asked.

You nodded, still staring at the tiny dancer. Tomorrow. You gulped and snapped out of it, reaching into your wallet for your credit card. You handed it to him.

“Thank you.” You said as he gave you the plasticbag.

“It was good to meet you, Miss (Surname)” He gave a little bow.

You smiled and bowed back. “And you too.”

You left the warm store, and began walking again, digging the map out of your pocket. Miss Cope had circled the next bus stop you’d have to go to, to get to the hospital.

You got there with ten minutes to spare, and ducked into a nearby cafe to get a takeaway chocolate. You didn’t trust yourself to do nothing. You couldn’t have a nervous breakdown in the middle of the street.

Having waited for your chocolate you got out just in time for the bus, and managed to pay without any oatmeal. The hot creamy chocolate, managed to calm you the rest of the way.

The hospital, Seoul Hospital, was a fancy modern building, ten storeys high. You hopped out of the bus, with excitement. You were finally going to see Jiwoo! You hurried through the automatic doors and away from the rain.

Immediately you were enveloped in the white cleanliness and quietness. Doctors and nurses walked about purposefully, walking past patients as if they didn’t exist. If any of the few people in the main reception spoke, it was in hushed tones.

The receptionist registered you and told you where to go. The orthopaedics ward was on the fourth floor. You took the elevator up. It was a great relief from Amour’s endless stairs.

The fourth floor was almost identical to the bottom, and you quickly navigated your way through a maze of shiny white corridors. Jiwoo’s was the second to last on the right. You knocked gently, though your excitement was mounting.


You pushed open the door. “Oh my God, (Name)!” Jiwoo sat propped up with pillows on a bed in the centre of the small, generic hospital room. Her hair was in a messy ponytail, and there were bags under her eyes, but she grinned widely.

You quickly shut the door behind you, trying not to squeal. “How are you?” You asked as she pulled you into a one sided hug. You pulled back quickly, not wanting to hurt her. Her left arm was in a cuff and collar, but she was still smiling.

“I’ll do. How are you?” She grabbed your hand. “You have to tell me everything that’s happened since I left!”

“But you’re the patient.” You began, but she shook her head.

“My days have consisted of painkillers, get well cards and hospital food. Not that intersting. Tell me how the review preparations are going! What are the costumes like? How’s your solo? Have you spied on Master Kang’s class yet? Get me up to date!”

You laughed. “Fine, fine…”

And so you began. You described the costumes to her, right down to the smallest detail, and how you’d been absolutely terrible dancing in your tutu, and how Master Kang’s class was apparently doing a pas de deux in the middle of their piece. You told her how Madame Choi had asked Mister Ghim to alter the ending to make the music more dramatic.

That was all you could say without telling her about everything that had happened with Minjee. You didn’t want to worry her. You could see how tired she was. She couldn’t sit right up for long, and sometimes the slightest wrong movement made her gasp. However she knew something was up when you fucked up and accidentally told her about Mister Sung, the extremely enthusiastic pointe shoe seller.

“Wait! You’re planning to break in a new pair of pointe shoes by tomorrow?” She scrunched her face. “Why?”

You sighed, tracing the seam of your tights. “Minjee and I had a bit of a fall out.”

She grinned. “Because you were best buds before.”

“Totally…well, you know how me and Eungkwan were doing the lift as well?” She nodded. “I didn’t realize it at the time, but I bashed my head, and so I got a concussion.” You paused, looking at her.

She gave you a pained look. “I asked if you were okay. You should have told me, I’ve been wondering about that.”

You shrugged. “You were looking much words. I didn’t feel it at the time anyway.” She gave you a disapproving look, but nodded for you to go on.

And so you told her everything, from the awful tech class the next day to Jimin taking you to Doctor Hill. She laughed when you told her about the posters, but you’d been vague about Jimin and your’s argument. You just said that Jimin had been patronizing, and that you’d gone and messed around with the choreography to prove him wrong. She scowled when you told her about Minjee and everyone turning against you. You told her all your frustrations, your sadness this morning, and your trunk.

Jiwoo, who always saw the best in people, had scowled. “Minjee and her little group should be thrown out onto the street.”

You also told her what Jimin had said, though you couldn’t say it quite so elegantly, and then what Taehyung had done.

She laughed until the jiggling of her shoulder got too much. “I should send them a thank you card.”

The two of you sat in silence for a minute or two, Jiwoo digesting all that you’d told her.

“How’s Kwangsik?” She asked.


She shook her head sadly. “Doesn’t he know it wasn’t his fault?”

“I tried to tell him.” You said. “He danced with Yuna today, when Jimin put Dongwon with Jongsoo, and I think Jimin talked to him.” You sighed. “He doesn’t think you’ll forgive him and we haven’t been told much about your condition.”

Jiwoo looked down unhappily. “The surgery went fine. I mean, it was scary beforehand, but they’ve managed to get it all back in the right place, it’s just (Name).” She looked at you, her eyes filled with tears. “They’re saying it might never join back together correctly.” She swallowed. “I can’t dance with a messed up shoulder, (Name). I might not be able to dance again.”

“Oh Jiwoo.” You put your arms carefully around her.

Not being able to dance. Never dance again…

She cried into your shoulder. You couldn’t think of any words of comfort, only that it wasn’t for certain, and you knew that wouldn’t help.

The two of you stayed like that for a long time.

“Jimin was here earlier.” She said eventually, wiping her cheek with the back of her good hand.

You pulled back. “Really?”

She nodded. “I didn’t tell him, about the – ” She took a breath. “The possibilities, but he got injured as well when he was in first year. He injured his leg, and had to take three months off.”

“And yet he’s still at the top.” You murmured.

“I know, right? He said that he was really depressed at the beginning, but he said that he realized that just because he couldn’t do ballet didn’t mean he couldn’t still learn it.” Jiwoo seemed to perk up a little.

“He said that I should watch as much ballet as possible, see how the professionals do it and he said that he used to torture himself through hours of theory and choreography. Jimin said it gave him time to think about why he did ballet. ” She gave a small smile. “I know it’s not…smart to – to get my hopes up…but I want to do those things. I should make the most of all this, you know?”

“I understand.” You said.

There was an attentive knock on the door, and a nurse came in. “Visiting times are over, Hun.” She gave you a polite smile, and shut the door again.

“Right, I’ll tell you all about the review as soon as I can.”

She smiled. “Could you tell Kwangsik I said 'hi’? And for him not to worry.”

You pulled your boots back on. “Of course.”

You gave Jiwoo one last hug. “And don’t you worry about anything, 'kay?”

She grinned. “Just so long as you have Taehyung and Jimin to ward off Minjee…(Name)?”

You turned at the door.

“Thanks.” She said.

You smiled and left.

Your mind was full of thoughts as you went back down the way you came. Poor Jiwoo. You could only imagine the idea of never being able to dance. It was horrifying. But Jiwoo was strong and young. That might give her more of a chance?

You went out into the freezing cold. The rain lashed at you, seeping right through your jacket. You pulled the collar up around your neck, running along the pavement to the bus sign.

Arriving at the bus stop you looked at the timetable, trying to read past the rain. Twenty minutes. Great. You pulled your jacket even tighter, trying to shelter as much of your face as possible. Through your thin tights, your legs were absolute frozen.

You were glad Jimin had given Jiwoo had something to think about. Even if she couldn’t dance, there were so many positions in ballet companies and schools…

“(Name)!” You spun around, recognizing the voice in an instant. A sleek black Porsche had pulled into the bus stop. Jimin leaned out of the window, rain already beginning to drip from his brown hair. His eyes were squinted so he could see through the downpour. “Get in, I’ll give you a ride!”

allalrightagain  asked:

For the emoji prompt: zimbits 😶☂️🐲💥😏🍍💾🤐❣️ (good luck, I just picked cool emojis with no regard to plot)

I pared down some (lol 2/3) of the emojis to  💾😏❣️ 

Jack sifts through his old room, sitting cross-legged on the floor. It’s summer and he’s in Montreal, and with his window open he can hear his dad’s music drifting through, along with Bitty and his mother’s laughter. He’s probably showing the flower arrangements he found on Pintrest, the ones he insisted were ugly and tacky. Jack wouldn’t care if all they had at their ceremony was dandelions, as long as he gets to marry Bitty.

He pulls a stack of shoe boxes towards him. He’s got some old photos stored away, some rolls of undeveloped film from disposable Kodak cameras. 

Somewhere, in all the boxes, are pictures of him as a kid that his father insists they show at the reception. As he looks through the box labelled JACK: 1995-98, he realizes there’s a lot missing. The trip to Disneyland, his first year in an organized hockey league, none of those photos are here. The only photos left are shots that came out double-exposed, or with a finger in the top corner.

With a frown, he goes through years 1999-2003 and finds the same; all the memorable photos have been removed, with nothing but reject shots left in their wake. He bends to look under his bed for any missed boxes, then crawls towards his closet on his knees, poking around with increasing panic.

“Honey!” Bitty’s voice chimes out from the staircase and his footsteps lead him to Jack’s room. “Your dad’s making mojitos, do you want- oh!” He stops dead in the doorway, noticing Jack sprawled on the floor, an arm draped over his eyes. “What is it, sweetheart?”

Jack shoves the large box he found behind his old suits towards Bitty, and it rattles ominously with the sound of plastic.

“What’s this?”

Jack peeks out from under his elbow as Bitty opens it and pulls out a floppy disk, one of the dozens piled in there.

“All my photos,” Jack groans. “I put them all onto a floppy disk and I can’t find the originals.”

“Jack…” Bitty falls next to him, pulling his arm away and lacing their fingers together. “Why would you do that in the first place?”

Jack’s cheeks puff out with the force of his sigh. “I thought they were so cool.”

“Someone must have a computer that can read these,” Bitty says, convincing nobody.

Jack lays there, dismayed, until a small chuckle bubbles out of Bitty. “I’m sorry Jack it’s just - floppy disks.” He brings one up and plays with the sliding metal part. “Remind me not to let you be in charge of saving our wedding photos.”

lmao i actually did it

i havent written in like, almost two years so I apologise for the fact that this is garbage. i also wrote it in like 3 hours.

anyway, enjoy this crappy oneshot karamel fans  pls accept me

(you can also read it on ao3 here)

the world’s stopped spinning (but only for me)

She was okay.

She saw the looks everyone sent her way when they thought she wasn’t watching, of course- the worried eyes, the furrowed brows. The pity.

Keep reading

anthcny-stark  asked:

Hey! What about a Stony department store AU where new guy Steve from Menswear thinks Tony from Electronics is hella cute??? (I've thought about writing this fic, but I'm too busy DX)

I feel you my guy, and I hope you like SteveTony with meddling Sam & Jan!


“If you ask me one more time how it’s possible that he’s ‘that cute,’ I will actually kill you.”

“I wasn’t going to.” Steve says, frowning at Sam.  

“Rogers, that’s the only thing you’ve said in the past half hour. I know it, you know it, Jan knows it, though she’s somehow developed the ability to completely ignore you when you’re whining.”

“Years of practice from boring gala’s,” Jan says, restacking the shoe boxes with amazing speed and efficiency, “Also, Nat told me earlier to tell you that you and Bucky are meeting us at our apartment for a double date.”

“Who’s cooking?” Sam asks, crossing his fingers.


“No offense, Jan, but thank God.”

Keep reading

Oh hey, so I went on a backstage tour of Shakespeare’s Globe...

…and I totally forgot to upload the photos til now.

Let’s start in the ‘heavens’ right up top, where the cast pour libations for Dionysus before each run:

There’s also a bell made by the same company that made the original Globe’s bell, and a trap that goes right down to the stage. Someone fell down there during the opening season and broke their leg, and there followed a spate of leg/foot-related injuries until Mark Rylance called in a shaman, made a little paper replica of the Globe (complete with teeny paper players) and performed a secret ceremony before hiding the whole thing in the rafters. It’s still there, apparently, but no one knows where it is. 

(Spot the gold confetti leftover from Charles Edward’s Richard II… It’s EVERYWHERE.)

View from the musician’s balcony. In the original theatre, wealthy playgoers could sit up here to show off their outfits to the audience. Ditto in the pretty painted boxes to the immediate left and right of the balcony:

Next: backstage. Are you ready? 

(There are grease-stains above those little square windows because actors lean their foreheads against them to peek out at the stage, listening for their cue…)

View from the stage. Imagine the yard filled with groundlings…

The fucking detail…

I wanted to stroke the walls. And hump a pillar. And lie on the stage and cry. But I restrained myself. I am a professional. 

Then we went down into ‘hell’, under the stage, where no one has swept since forever and there is still SO MUCH RICHARD II GLITTER. 

(The tour guide told a great story about logistics of rigging up plastic drainpipes that stretched to each of the four corners of the stage so that Hamlet’s ghost could be lowered down into the trap and deliver his “SWEAR!” lines from different locations without having to scurry about under the stage. It is TIGHT under there.)

Finally: props department. I tried to hide behind a stack of shoes so that I’d get left behind and could live out my days as a little Globe hermit but they found me.

 We got to feel up some of the costumes though - all made by hand with authentic materials and techniques of Shakespeare’s time - aaand none of them can be washed (vodka and febreeze ftw). Each principle actor gets a handmade, tailored outfit of their very own to the cost of about £3,000 each. Rylance’s Prospero robes cost EIGHTEEN FUCKING GRAND. 

Oh look, fancy gloves:

I fucking love the Globe. 

i'm bored so

imma give you y'all some grown stinge headcanons

- He becomes a successful business man when he’s older. He was originally supposed to take on his father’s business, but before his father passed, the business went straight into the ground. He sorted out that mess and started his own which turned out well. (originally i wanted him to be really bad at math but i feel as if that wouldn’t make much sense considering how much i love this successful businessman hc???? idk)

- moves to the big city. He needed to expand his business so he relocated himself somewhere busier

- He has almost 100 pairs of those really fancy pointy shoes. Just stacked in his closet. He wears a different pair everyday.

-He never grows out of his pig phase. Even when he’s an adult, there’s still a piggy somewhere. Like whenever i draw him he has a piggy brooch. He still cherishes his piggy bank and keeps it on display.

- When he grows older he gets a full-sized, completely functional replica made of his small little car with the pig on the hood.

- Switches between contact lenses and his glasses

- develops a bit of a potty mouth in the future

- doesn’t end up marrying/ having kids because he’s afraid he’ll become neglectful like his father was to him. He’s too busy!!!!!!

- feels the need to smell nice all the time. There are bottles of cologne all over his house.

- wears brown or black eyeliner cuz it makes his eyes appear larger. he usually doesn’t wing them because it takes a lot of time and he’s always rushin. he only wings it when he feeling spi cy

- Keeps random objects from everyone because they hold good memories.

-silky undies

- takes bubble baths constantly. has a rubber piggy that acts as a rubber ducky

-Eventually grows out of his ‘mine’ phase but still occasionally nabs things when no one looky (blus he still wants the US stock market lowkey soooo)

- tried to run for mayor in lazytown but no one let him lol stinge n o

- still wears his signature red polka-dotted bow.


I have a vision for 2017 and these are just some things I want to accomplish:

Buy my own car
Boob job
Buy and sell trade/stocks ($$$)
Lose 15-20 lbs
Start a savings for a house
Continue school
Up my credit score to 780+

Learn a new language
Read more books for leisure

Those are all I could think of right now….oh and of course drink more wine, do more squats, buy more shoes, and stack more money 

Fanfic moodboard: Louis Tomlinson from Where Your Heart Is by @anhcor and @tvshows-addict 

It’s the first day of school, and Louis is excited. He’s determined to play it cool though. He already looks like a brown noser as it is and he’s sure it’s the fucking glasses. Or the knitted sweaters. Louis doesn’t know, nor care.

He makes it to his creative writing class ten minutes early, which apparently still isn’t early enough to get a seat at the back of the class. There are roughly a hundred students splayed out everywhere and an easy, warm vibe to the room, which Louis isn’t quite sure he can credit to Professor Winston’s noncommittal teaching methodology or not. Either way, the professor isn’t here yet, which is all that matters in Louis’ eyes.

Now, time to hide.

Halfway through speeding his way to an empty row of seats near the back, he misjudges his footing, and bumps into a table. It makes a horrible screeching noise, and nearly everyone stops talking to stare at him for a fraction of a second, which makes him both want to break out into tears and wish that he didn’t blush so easily.

Fuckity fuck fuck frick frack fuck.

After a moment, everyone returns to their conversations and averts their gaze as quickly as they were on him, except one.

Green meets blue, and soon enough, there’s a grin. A dimple. Both shoes stacked on the chair in front, a flash of a smile, unruly curls stacked into an unbelievably tall quiff.


I work at an outlet clothing store, and the amount of fuckery I’ve seen… 1. The kid that picked up a fist full of accessories for flip flops (Small, plastic figures) and just dropped them on the floor. When I called him out he ran to to his dad and they left the store without picking it up(I had just sorted them, refilled and cleaned the container). Fuckery. 2. The woman that put her credit card in the machine after I had just started typing her items in. I kindly asked her to remove it. She just shrugged and then it bleeped, loudly and angrily. “ It’s a bit grumpy today? Haha ” Fuckery. 3. The woman that while taking a shirt of the rack made three other shirts fall down, looked at me and said “ You’ll pick it up won’t you? ” and just continued walking around in the store. Absolute fuckery. 4. The man that, instead asking me if we had a bigger size of shoes, made an entire stack of shoes fall down to get out a size 42 only to say “ too small ” and just went away from the wreckage. Fuck you. 5. The children that ran around underneath the racks, and when every single employe asked them to not do that they got mad and told their mother. Who then proceeded to yell at me for being rude. “ Your children could get hurt, they shouldn’t play around with those things. ” “ Why are they not safe? You should be aware that children will play with anything! ” “ Yes but all of us have asked them not to. ” “ I wanna speak to the manager ” Fuckery 6. The group of teens that came in, opened every zipper on every jacket they tried, that carried around a bunch of clothes only to dump it all off at the kid section (ON THE GODAMN FLOOR), that laughed when their friend managed to make a lot of boxes filled with shoes fall (that they didn’t pick up) that each stood by the register with two pairs of jeans, a jacket and a pair of shoes and tried on every single piece of jewelry we had. That took down scarves and giggled over how they didn’t know how to tie them and just left them in a bundle on the table. 5 minutes left to closing, and if the other store had closed the main entrance I would have to let them out through a side door. They look at some bags and then hand over their stuff, as I start typing it in (they were gonna pay for everything together) one tries to take a necklace and slip it down into her purse. Me: Nice necklace huh? Her: what?…. Oh right, really pretty.. *puts it back. And then *deeply inhales* when I say the total sum they look surprised and start talking in their little group. Oh sweet heaven please no…. Girl A: What cost the most? Me: The jeans. Girl B: But the sign says… Me: The sign is only for the clothes on that rack, and as you can see here *shows price tag on the inside of the jeans* this is the price for these. They then decide they don’t want ANY of the items, which means I just removed the alarms and hangers and need to cancel the receipt and get them to sign it so it can go into the books. They all sign and leave, I just look out and feel like dying because I need to fix this before I go home. Then I hear loud banging and those giggles. The main entrance is closed so I grab the key and go out, I ask them to kindly follow me and I unlock the side door. They don’t follow, they just keep standing at the main door and ask if it’s broken. Me: It’s closed, you’re gonna have to… Girl C: Try jumping! That usually works. Girl D: Maybe we’re trapped. Me*has had enough: The goddamn doors are closed now will you kindly get the fuck out?! They notice me and walk out through the open doors, giggling and when I close the door behind them I hear them make a joke about how I haven’t gotten laid in awhile. I hate mankind and want them all to die

Originally posted by fuckyeahdragrace

Say You’ll Haunt Me Pt. 6 (A Kenny Omega Story)

Originally posted by leelakoiwolff

Originally posted by fuckyeahbulletclub

Okay, plans changed again and part 6 is getting posted early. It was supposed to be way longer but I decided to split it up. Part 7 is going to be a little insane and I honestly can’t wait to write it. I’m hoping to get started on it later today. Thank you to @daintymissdevitt for the brainstorming sessions yet again and all of the inspiration <3

Warnings: There is a little blood sharing and dom Kenny makes a cameo. I know I promised smut in part 6 but I swear it’s coming in part 7 and there’s probably going to be quite a bit of it.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

Tags: @sammiielli @llowkeys @iloveenzoamore @ang-78 @legitlunatic @fan-fiction-galore @imaginingwwesuperstars @silverrawrs @tooweirdforlifex @darwarsnoam @alexispoo @shadow-of-wonder @mindsetcalamity @amaranthine-reign @omgmissmillie @skyrina @lifeoutofcontrol @laigy2213 @bulletbaybay @thedeboniardevistation @grungegirlmo @doitwithcole @helluvawriter @allgirlswrestlingclub @sarahmatthews7 @waynscastle @jazzytoosweet @mermaidfett @laziestgirlintheworld @alexahood21 @thathpchick

If I forgot anyone or you want to be removed from the tag list, please let me know!

Keep reading