when I was 17 the first girl I’d ever loved told me if her parents found out about how I looked at her she’d be homeless. we cried for 2 days straight, and I told about concrete counter tops. I told her about dark hardwood floors with at least three knit blankets on every couch. Our bedroom facing west because even though I love the sunrise, you look the best in our bed covered in nothing but the deep purple of sunset. The library that would smell like our books had been there longer than our home had been standing on solid foundation, stone, reliable. Sweet girl, I know they say not to make homes out of people but I don’t want anyone else’s dirty dishes on my counter. I don’t want to take the trash out for anyone else at 11pm. You’re the only person I’d race to kill a spider for in the shower. How could you ever be without a home when every time I look at you I’m building ours.
BSD rarepair week - Day 1: “Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn.” - Margaret Mitchell, Gone with the Wind (because Fuku gave no damns about a gun being held to Mori’s head. Chapter 50 feels hit me in the face man)
And of course, Mori is a doctor and can do basic self-treatment. He may be looking for an excuse of some sort, for something…
He was trying to seduce me into petting him. Now he can seduce the rest of tumblr with his bedroom eyes as well. Just look at this face. That’s the kind of face you see in a senior picture, I tell you what.
I’ll tag @kwamikwami again, because I know she’ll truly appreciate him.
i want to like. make a list of not-str8 historical figures bc ppl are tagging that walt whitman post like “omg wait really” & honestly yall deserve better.
Like, you know who wasn’t straight? Charlotte Bronte, who wrote Jane Eyre. Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky, who wrote Swan Lake. E.M. Forster, who wrote A Passage to India. Marcel Proust. Henry James. Johann Wolfgang von Goethe. Virginia Woolf. Herman Melville. Michelangelo. Leonardo Da Vinci. Socrates. William fucking Shakespeare.
And these are just (a few of) the ones we known about, because there’s a storied history of coded messages in literature that mean we are often looking gay metaphors in the face and not understanding them. We’re there, we’re out there, and I’m so mad that I didn’t know.
We have a history. We have a legacy. WE’VE ALWAYS BEEN HERE.
I, too, liked to shit on stuff other people liked when I was sixteen because let’s face it teenagers are fabulous assholes but honestly I just wanna look at pretty fanart without people busting into the tag like “I HAVE AN OPINION AND I WANT TO HAVE IT AS LOUDLY AS POSSIBLE” like
As you grow, you will begin to understand that not everything is black and white, you can enjoy problematic media, even while acknowledging its problema…nia… Yeah okay problemania, without suddenly becoming problematic yourself, because
(1) you are aware of the line between fiction and reality, (2) you no longer care as much about internet peer pressure (and yes, tumblr’s brand of social justice IS a very toxic form of peer pressure), and (3) you are not an idiot.
Of course you don’t watch The Matrix and think that shooting people is okay because they’re trapped inside a computer simulation. Of course things in the real world don’t turn out like in Disney movies. Of course you don’t read Royal Assassin and then start a letter writing campaign demanding to know who Taylor Swift’s catalyst is. Of course you don’t read a gay romance novel littered with yaoi tropes and then think people act that way in real life.
It’s a story, it’s fiction, and it’s important for you to realize that. YES it’s problematic, but goddamn it so is everything. Ender’s Game is a fantastic book written by a guy who thinks homosexuals should be imprisoned on an island somewhere. J R R Tolkien apparently forgot black people exist. Robin Hobb hates fanfiction. Taylor Swift won’t answer any of my letters!
What makes the story toxic or not depends solely on how YOU choose to interact with it. When I rec cap prince to people, I tell them “be warned there are some pretty gnarly things going on in these books, but it has a really entertaining story.” Then– and this is pretty important– I DONT go out and subjugate the nearest brown person, because that is not the part of the story I identified most with.
(Okay, I subjugate Sabra a LITTLE. but she likes it.)
Tumblr wants you to reject imperfect stories the same way it encourages you to reject imperfect people. Stick your head up out of the fog and realize how dangerous that is. How long until they come for whatever makes you happy? How long until they come for you?
Don’t read or watch things you don’t like, or that make you feel uncomfortable. But there’s no reason for you to police others, and no reason for them to police you. Let it go. Go find something that makes you happy and hold onto it.
Alright. Real talk. Where is this boy's modelling career hiding at? He looks fucking flawless in every shoot, how has he not been approached yet. And, to quote John Mayer Liam's 'body is a wonderland'.
You don’t just come in here and talk about Model Liam and John Mayer’s Body is a wonderland and fuck me up, no. But seriously, Calvin Klein has one fucking job????? And it’s not like this is recent, because aside from the emotional ROLLACOASTER these pics have been and like I actually have tags like ‘Where are Liam’s modelling contracts’ so you like, asked for this
To quote Mayer, “Something about the way the hair falls in your face” fjnfklnlfkf
But Liam’s been serving them model looks since the start
He’s just walkingin trackies and a tee but that poise
Rmr 1Dday, birth of unofficial Model!Liam
jhnfjkfnhkj HE’S ON STAGE
I need ta send this Pap a fruit basket for this capture!!!!
Us: I’m glad that neo-nazi fuck, Richard Spencer, got punched in the face. Punch nazis.
Some troll: The National Socialist German Worker’s Party hasn’t existed since 1945 so your use of the word nazi makes no sense. Checkmate. Gotcha. #kek
Us: You obviously know what we mean, and you’re just being purposefully ignorant and trying to get a rise out of us or make us look like we have no idea what we’re talking about. And if you’ll also note we use the term “neo-nazis,” just as much, if not more so and tag for both - but it doesn’t matter because YOU. KNOW. WHAT. WE. MEAN.
Someone who completely missed the point: Well ACTUALLY that obvious troll is right, you do use the word “nazi,” as opposed to “neo-nazi” sometimes. You’re coming off like an idiot, maybe you should be more specific with your words here. This is the real issue at hand.
Positive and not so positive headcanons of pre-voltron Lance because I cant think about anything else while walking home:
he’s one of those irritating guys who catcalls you on the street but he’ll always help an old person carry their stuff or give them their seat or walk them across the road or smth
he smiles back when children or babies look at him and he makes funny faces to make them laugh
he always gives to homeless people even if it’s the last money he has
when he has a chore to do he complains, a lot, the whole fucking time
but he does his best and does a pretty good job
he’s ridiculously competitive (fucking canon) and the sorest loser you’ll ever meet.
he literally will not speak to you for a week and holds petty grudges (“you thought I forgot about the time you humiliated me at scrabble?” “Lance that was fucking two years ago” “YOU CANT HEAL A BROKEN PRIDE WITH TIME, PIDGE”)
he’ll make fun of what you want for christmas but will secretly buy it and hide it in your room
he’s very sentimental and everything everyone has given him is stashed in a box hidden in his closet (or under his bed) and he has a scrapbook with all the movie tickets and stubs and stuff
he does nice things to his friends but hides it under an insult or a joke or smth
like holding the door for them (“I’ll get that, since youre small, you probably cant hold it open”)
or staying behind them when walking and watching their back
or buying them drinks when he sees them exhausted (“since I’m the awesomest friend in all of friendville, I figured I’d get you this, be grateful peasant”)
he will walk on the side nearest to the road while walking on a sidewalk in case an accident happens
he gets jealous easily when his friends gets friendly with another person (“hey lance wanna go see this new movie?” “why dont you go ask youR NEW BEST FRIEND???!”)
he’s a “I’m the only one who can insult my friend, anyone else will have to deal with me” person
harshest critic on cooking food (“ugh, my sister who hasnt even been toilet trained can probably make a better lasagna than you”) hut probably can’t even cook
he probably carries a first aid kit at all times because of how many times his siblings get scratches and stuff
he’s a shock absorber, whenever theres an argument, he puts all the heat on him (by laughing out loud or pulling a joke) because it’s better if theyre mad at him than at each other (being the 2nd child in the family made him that way)
I’ll add more as boring days go by. I hope this isn’t somehow offensive or anything.
A/N: not gonna lie, i’ve been procrastinating on writing this, because i had a brain fart. fyi for all you new writers out there, maybe write an outline before writing something. would really help the process, just saying. besides that, enjoy!
You nodded at all of them, putting the pen in the pocket of
the pants you were given. You saw Hamilton’s face drop, and a small snicker
from Mulligan. You stood up, giving all of them a quick glance, finally landing
on Hamilton’s face.
“So, how am I going to get back home?” You asked the men.
Lafayette looked at the others, then shrugged.
“No idea, miss. Maybe we can create this machine you call a
moving paper that you research words on. How you say…?” He asked, waving his
“A computer. It’s called a computer.” You mumbled. “But you
haven’t even created electricity, and the first computer was in the 1900s. So
there’s no way that’s going to happen.” Laurens bit his lip.
“Electricity? What is this electricity?” Laurens asked,
looking at his friends for help.
“And you said 1900s. Does this mean that the colonies still
exist at that time?” Hamilton asked after.
“And why do you speak these strange words, are you trying
to confuse us?” Mulligan questioned, crossing his arms.
“I am very of the confused.” Lafayette sat on the stool
next to Hamilton’s desk, putting his head in his hands. “These English people
are more fusing than the empire.”
“fusing? Don’t you mean confusing?” You helped, and
Lafayette nodded. “Guys, I get it, it’s strange to hear about this stuff.
Honestly, I want to tell you everything, I do. But I don’t know what could
happen. I mean, I told you about a pen, and you guys thought it was witches-“
“That was Hamilton.” Mulligan pointed out, gesturing
towards the man. Hamilton looked at you shyly, glancing down at the floor. You
smiled at him, then looked back at Mulligan. He winked.
“That’s not the point I was trying to make. You see, even
mentioning these things can change the course of the world. I mean, I’ve
watched so many films about time traveling…” You trailed off, looking at the
perturbed men in front of you.
“Are you talking about something like Gulliver’s Travels?”
Hamilton asked, and you nodded, thanking him for the reference. “I want to help
you, Miss Y/N. Anything with what you might need, I am here to help you.” He
stared at you intensely, his eyes never leaving yours.
The five of you talked like this for a while, trying to
come up with the best ideas. Mulligan mentioned a gypsy that he “knew” the
other night, but you dropped that idea, not wanting to deal with any type of
magic. It just doesn’t seem realistic to you. Laurens had few ideas, one was
for you to pretend to be a man while you were staying inside the tent. You
denied that idea too, since it might make you fight in a battle you certainly
weren’t ready for. Lafayette did not have much to say, sometimes interrupting
your chats with random questions. Hamilton paced back and forth across the
tent, his hand under his chin and his eyes lost in his head. You admired how
hard he was thinking about this.
“How about this, Miss Y/N. You go to a fortune teller, and
they may be able to help you find out the answer.” Mulligan pumped his fist in
the air, happy his idea was chosen. You sighed, looking at his antics. “Listen,
this makes the most sense. Since this is, in fact, a supernatural occurrence,
we might need supernatural help. Even if it is a witch.” All the men shuddered
at the thought, besides Mulligan. He was grinning widely.
You told them earlier that they did not have to use miss
when addressing you, but they seemed to ignore your request, continuing to call
you this anyway.
“I have the woman’s address, if you want to write her a
letter.” You forgot that they did not have phones, and frowned. Sending a
letter would take too long, and you needed help as soon as possible.
“No, we go to her tonight. Miss Y/N needs help as quickly
as possible. There’s no time for waiting.” Hamilton replied, reading your mind.
He glanced over at you, as if he was asking if this was okay. You nodded,
touching his arm. He blushed at the contact, and you let go quickly.
Right, no touching.
“I agree, but we should wait until morning. You four must
be exhausted, and it’s been a long day. Especially for you.” You looked at
Hamilton. He nodded slowly, turning towards the men.
“Tomorrow morning at four we leave to the witch.”
“Gypsy.” Mulligan corrected, causing a glare from Hamilton.
They all began to walk out, but not before glancing over at me.
“Where is Miss Y/N going to rest? She cannot sleep in a
man’s tent.” Lafayette said. You shrugged, looking around for a blanket. You
saw one hanging up in the corner, and pointed to it.
“I’ll just sleep on the floor, not a big deal.” They all
gasped, shaking their heads quickly. They were all speaking at the same time,
and it was hard to understand everything that was being tossed back and forth.
You barely deciphered what was going on, and watched their ranting to each
Lafayette: No lady sleeps on the floor, not even in
the middle of a war.
Laurens: She can sleep in our tent, Laf. No one
would mess with her if she’s there.
Lafayette: That is the truth, Laurens. Our tent is
very safe for females.
Mulligan: The way you said that Laf made you sound
quite strange. And creepy.
Hamilton: What are you trying to say? She’ll be
just fine in mine! And she met me first, so she’ll be the most comfortable in
Mulligan: She could sleep in mine.
(besides Mulligan): NO!
“Okay, guys, okay! I’m standing right here, and you’re
ignoring me. Hello?” You tried to speak through their arguing, but they talked
You decided to grab the cover you found in the corner of
the room, beginning to make your makeshift bed on the floor. They didn’t notice
you creating the mat on the floor, but their arguing grew louder. You tensed
up, hoping no one heard what they were talking about exactly. After you took
one of the sheets from Hamilton’s bed, you laid on the ground, turning your back
to the men.
“Miss Y/N, right you’ll be fine in here, right?” Hamilton
said, noticing your figure on the ground. You were soon sound asleep, tired of
listening to their talking. Hamilton turned back to the men, smiling. “She’s
safe in here with me, friends. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” They all walked
out the room, Mulligan grumbling something about Hamilton always getting his
way. Hamilton blew out the candles in the tent, making his way to the cot.
He hated leaving you to sleep on the floor, so, while
making sure you were sound asleep, he picked you off the floor, placing you on
his bed. You mumbled something about cupcakes, he has never heard about cups being made into cake, and he pulled
the sheet on top of you, knowing that the nights grew quite cold around here.
He took himself to the floor, laughing softly at the
makeshift bed you created. You were very different, different from anyone he
has ever met. As Hamilton adjusted to the curve of the ground, he faced you,
watching your body lift and fall from the breaths you took. He was interested
in learning more about you, more about where you were from. Of course he wanted
you to go back to your home safety, but he couldn’t help but feel a pang in his
chest. He’s only just met you, and he wanted you to stay with him if possible.
He closed his eyes, dreaming of you and him sitting in the
tent, talking about nothing and everything.
Hamilton opened his eyes, their gaze immediately landing on
the empty cot in front of him. He scrambled off the floor, looking around the
room. You were no where to be found. He panicked, mentally slapping himself. He
should have slept in front of you, he should have been paying more attention.
Hamilton began to shake, scared of what might have happened to you. He heard the
tent door rustle, and looked towards it quickly. You walked in, wearing an
elegant dress. You smiled at Hamilton, and he sighed in relief, his hand
against the left side of his chest.
“Are you all right, Hamilton?”
“Y-Yes, Miss Y/N. I am fine, how are you, did you sleep
well?” You nodded, smoothing down the fabric. He was smiling at you, and you
wondered why he was so happy. He was scanning your figure, looking at your new
“I slept fine. You put me on your bed, did you not?” You
cringed at your poor attempt of speaking how they did in the 1700s. Hamilton
did not seem to notice, but his face reddened.
He was spitting out words fast, making your head hurt. “I,
I’m sorry for touching you, Miss Y/N. It is improper, and I should not have-“
“Whoa, whoa, slow your roll there, Ham. It’s fine, I am not
warning you not to do it again. I’m, I’m thanking you. Thank you, Alexander,
for lending me your bed for the night. I really appreciate your kindness.”
Alexander smiled at you shyly, looking down at the ground.
“There is nothing that I would not do to please you, Miss Y/N.” You laughed
nervously, playing with your fingers.
“Sorry to interrupt this very intense conversation, but it
is four, and we have to leave before rollcall.” Laurens said, peeking his head
in. He looked at you, and smiled. “You look beautiful, Miss Y/N!” You giggled.
“Thank you, John. Hercules picked it out for me.” You heard
a snorting in the background, and looked at Alexander, a forced smile on his
“Of course, it’s Mulligan, it’s always Mulligan.” Another head popped in, his curls pulled back,
except for one. You smiled at Lafayette, and he winked at you.
“Hurry up and get ready, mon ami. We have to leave.” You decided to let Alexander get
himself together, leaving him in the tent alone. You did not notice the jealous
glare when you mentioned Mulligan, or how his eyes stayed on your dress for a
little too long. Lafayette and Laurens hid you on the way to the tree where you
said that all of you would meet.
Laurens mentioned what type of relationship that you have
with Hamilton, and you just shrugged. “Nothing really, we did just meet
yesterday. I barely know him.” You replied, causing a snicker from the Irishman
leaning on the tree.
“Courting does not take that long, Miss Y/N. By the way he
goes after you, you may be engaged within a week.” Mulligan teased. You rolled
your eyes, shaking your head at him.
“I’m not gonna marry a man I’ve just met. It takes time,
like maybe a few years?” Lafayette widened his eyes at your response.
“Years? Miss, that’s very strange, I have never heard this
before. The longest time I have heard was a few months.” You shrugged your
shoulders. Being married in a few weeks? No way, that’s insane. Well, at least
it was to you. The strange looks that the three men gave you made you guess
that that was a very common occurrence. Hamilton finally came out of his tent,
without his revolutionary uniform on. You then noticed all the men were without
their uniform, wearing what you suppose was casual wear.
You all followed Mulligan to the woman’s address, the
friends laughing and joking along the way. There were few people up this early
in the morning, and the ones you saw gave you all strange looks, their gaze
mainly focusing on you. You felt like an outsider, covering yourself with the
jacket that Laurens gave you. After about a half an hour or so of walking, you
walked up to the woman’s house. Mulligan knocked on the front door.
Within seconds, a woman appeared on the other side. She
glared at Mulligan, hitting him on the arm. Mulligan cursed, backing up at
little from her. She was, very interesting. The ruffles on her sleeves cascaded
down to the floor, her dress long and wide. You glanced down at yours, thanking
the tailor that he gave you one less attention-grabbing.
“Sir, I told you to never see me again. Why are you on the
porch of my home?” She glared at the other men around her, her eyes finally
landing on me. “Miss Y/N, I’m sorry that you have to deal with these men,
especially him.” She nudged Mulligan.
How did she know your name?
“How did you know her name?” Hamilton asked, standing
slightly in front of you. You peeked over his shoulder, glancing at the woman.
She laughed, opening her door wider.
“This man did not lie when he said I could help you. Come
in.” All the men shared a glance with one another, then entered the home. You hoped
that she could help you get back home.
Prompt: Seth And Reader can’t stand each other constantly fighting but it’s cause they like each other.
Whenever Seth Rollins would walk towards you backstage or his theme music would start or you just hear his voice you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. From the moment he turned on Dean and Roman and became the most arrogant person backstage, you just wanted to punch him in the face.