thank you for the support in this year and a half!

My kid does 13K in damage to studio equip, we handle it like lunatics.

[Part 1]

Some background:

I’m an audio engineer and score arranger full time in my self-owned business. It’s how I provide for myself, my fiancée (also CF), and my mother. I record, mix, and master for bands, voice-overs for local commercials, and write music for people’s weddings, college films, indie games, etc.. It was my passion since I was a child and every day I ask myself why I get paid to do what I do.

You know, until today.

I had a woman schedule to come in because she wanted me to record her monologue for an acting class. I thought it was going to be easy enough. I set up a mic and a music stand in the sound booth and got my workstation prepped for tracking. She was supposed to show up at 3:30, so when 4:00 came around, I called her to ask her if she was still coming. It was my last contract for the day and I was wanting to get home to my fiancée, dogs, and dinner.

“Oh, sorry sweetie, I’m going to be there soon. I just had to get my son from ex-boyfriend.”

Uh oh.

4:12, she showed up with her child.

To preface, I’ve never really wanted kids, and don’t really hate them either. But I’ve been childfree of mind for a decade now in league of several bad child experiences in public.

Anyway, I sat her down at the conference table and tried to talk to her about the contract and billing, etc., and just couldn’t because of the six-years-old pile of ovary droppings next to her.

“Mommy it’s cold in here.” “Mommy, I’m bored.” “Mommy, that guy has girl hair.” “Mommy, I want to play on the phone.”

The incessant whining went on for the entirety of the discussion. She did nothing about it. I had an ache in my stomach that this might be a rough session.

I was right.

I showed her to the sound booth, positioned the mic at face level, told her the basics of mic use, and then she floored me with a question.

“Can my son stay in there with you while I do this?” I insisted that he wait in the conference room (across the hall from the control room) because the control room wasn’t a very kid-friendly place considering the 120K of equipment at arms reach.

“But he’s a little angel.”

I shouldn’t have taken her word for it. I SHOULD NOT have taken her word for it. This kid was ANYTHING but. I let him in, told him to sit in one of the office chairs and don’t touch anything. Needless to say, he touched. I queued the recording arm and signaled her to start. She got three lines into her take before I hear a deafening screech and crash.

That little shit machine had just knocked over a $4,000 Korg into a rack with $9,500 of equipment. Completely shattered the touchscreen on the Korg, busted the dials off of half of the effects, and totaled my distressor that I use for almost all the vocals I track.

All of this, by the way, was the room’s length apart from where I told the crotch goblin to stay.

The kid, because of the loud noise, started full-lung screaming. Not crying. Not yelling. Screaming.

The mother, with no hesitation, ran over to the control room and DEMANDED to know what I did to her child. She cussed at me and accused me of hurting her little snot monster. Threatened to sue and even swung at me. When I told her that her precious angel had just racked up at least twelve grand of damages, she said “good”, spit on me, then stormed out, slamming every door on the way. So I pulled the security camera footage and had filed a police report. Grand total: $13,504.25. I also mailed her the bill for her session for good measure.

Of six years in the studio, this is my only truly terrible experience. Fuck mombies. Fuck having children. Thanks for making my vasectomy decision that much easier on me.

[Part 2]

Keep reading

Don’t ever tell me that marching band isn’t important.

I have had so many problems with public schools putting all the emphasis on athletics. When a school’s budget is cut, they don’t choose to take a little from each program. No. They choose to completely eradicate the arts programs, usually starting with the marching band. If you don’t play sports, you’re not a valuable asset, you’re not qualified for scholarships, and you mean nothing. Marching band? Why would we be impressed that you’re in marching band?

Anyone can do that.

Okay, fine. Anyone can do marching band. Anyone can spend hours on the field doing the same forty-second section over and over and over and over. Anyone can hit over 75 precise dots on the field with the correct step sizes, the correct amount of steps, the correct timing, without being so much as an inch to either side, in order and without looking at the yard line markers or the field. Anyone can memorize all of those extremely specific points on the grass and varying counts for steps and then execute them with a shako visor pulled down over your eyes and looking up at the press box the whole time. If you look down at the yard line markers to see where you are, congratulations, you just lost points for the group.

Anyone can memorize eight pages of notes, rhythms, dynamics, phrasing, and tempos. (But of course, before you do that you have to learn an instrument with hundreds of different fingerings and learn how to make slight changes in your lips to change notes and stay in tune.) Memorize all seven and a half minutes of music and then marry it to the seventy-five pages of drill you memorized. Do them both perfectly and at the same time. But you can’t just do what you memorized. You have to do it in perfect sync with everyone around you and know how to make the slightest adjustments to fit perfectly within the group. If you’re an inch to the right or barely a thousandth of a step sharp, it’ll throw everything off.

But anyone can do that.

Then add in the fact that you don’t get any individual credit for doing this. The closest you’ll come to recognition is your identity lumped into “The Such-and-Such Marching Band” as you all march onto the field looking exactly the same. You don’t have a number on your back. You have a uniform intended to erase you and turn you into dot T14 and nothing more.

But, for some reason you can’t explain, you love it. You love throwing everything you have into this ridiculously precise pursuit and then not getting any credit for it. You start thanking people when they call you a band geek. You start taping pictures of marching bands into your locker. You start wearing your band shirt everywhere you go. Because you look at the person in an identical uniform next to you and you know that you’ve done this for them and they’ve done this for you. This is more than just a team, this is a family; and if one person is missing from the form, the show can’t ever be the same. 

It costs so much money, so much time. You’re out there on the field in the blazing sun for fourteen hours a day during summer band camp, out in the street getting frostbite on your fingertips during the holiday parade. If anyone knew what you went through for this, they would wonder what made it all worth it.

And the truth is, what makes it all worth it cannot be described. It’s the camaraderie between you and the center snare, the colorguard newbie, the tenor sax player in the set in front of you. It’s the sunset behind you lighting up the back of your plume. It’s the hazy nostalgia that racks your chest with emotion. There’s something about the family you’ve chosen and the experience you’ve internalized that gives you the passion to throw everything down onto that field like nothing else matters in the world… because in that moment, it’s true. 

Your nerves are damaged from the cold. Your skin is damaged from the sun. Your joints are damaged from marching and marching and marching. You’re physically and mentally drained, your body is irreversibly compromised, you’re broke as hell, and all you have to show for it is a polyester jacket and a couple of blurry photographs.

But sports are what require hard work and dedication, not marching band.

Even though you complained basically the entire time you marched and even though you’re done with it, you pull out those photographs and you remember. You remember your first day of high school band camp when you had absolutely no idea what you were getting yourself into. You remember your first final retreat when they announced your band’s name as state champions, and you wanted to cry with happiness but you weren’t allowed to move, so you just clenched your fists so tight that your fingernails dug white crescents into your palms. You remember coming back the next year and thinking you knew everything as a sophomore, only to realize there was still so much to learn. You remember the band trips you spent months fundraising for, all the lame tourist attractions you visited between performances, and how you wouldn’t trade those memories for all the money in the world. You remember being a junior and getting nervous because people looked up to you now: as an upperclassman, as a section leader, as a friend. And then you were a senior and you cried on the final day of band camp. You remember how your life became a series of lasts. You had to decide which of the freshmen would inherit your band cubby, your lucky bottle of valve oil, your bus seat. You went to graduation but it didn’t mean anything because you still had one last band trip coming up. You didn’t shed a tear when you tossed your cap but you cried like a child after your last parade. You remember on the plane ride home, you expected to feel devastated and heartbroken, but you just felt… empty.

You remember printing out what seemed like the most difficult solo in the world. You remember driving up to your college and entering a room with a chair and a stand and a couple of people giving you skeptical looks. You remember getting an email from the college marching band with your audition results and reading it with tears of joy in your eyes because you realized it was starting all over again.

But marching band doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t matter.

Tell me that it doesn’t matter. Tell me as many times as you want. You could scream it in my face and I still wouldn’t hear because the music we’re making is too damn loud to let anything else in. 

Tell me that it doesn’t matter when I’m standing on the field for the last time, knowing that everything behind me will last forever and that nothing will ever mean more to me than this… and all you’ve got is some money and a jersey with a number on the back.

Do not ever tell me that marching band isn’t important. It is everything to me, and it is everything to millions of other band geeks across the world.

When you refuse to support kids because they participate in the arts rather than athletics, you’re no better than the football player who takes lunch money from nerds.

To all of my fellow band geeks… keep marching, even if the world tells you it’s not worth it. It is. God, it is worth it, in ways no one else but you will ever understand. Continue your band career in college. Audition for a drum corps. Stay active in your high school band as an alumnus supporter. You are all my family. 

Why I can’t and won’t finish watching Iron Fist

Before anyone tries to jump down my throat about being a stupid SJW who only cares about the race angle, I would first like to point out that I enjoyed the hell out of Daredevil, another Marvel Netflix show starring a white man practicing Asian martial arts. It’s all in the execution, guys. And the execution here is garbage.

Let’s start with the martial arts. For the love of fuck, if you just HAVE to get a generic white man to play the lead, the least you could do was get one who was good at traditional martial arts. There are a lot of them. Charlie Cox, one Netflix recommendation over, pulls off some of the best fight scenes I have ever seen in a TV show (also, the man can act, so that helps too). Last month, I watched a red-belt student of mine in a local production of Macbeth. At twelve, that kid has more talent (in the acting and martial arts departments) than this Finn Jones tool.

Jessica Henwick’s form is nothing to write home about but at least she’s better than Jones. And both our action heroes would benefit greatly from some less shitty fight choreography and editing. (Guys, just adding loud ‘swoosh’ sound effects isn’t going to trick me into thinking the sword is swinging faster. I can see it).

To add insult to injury, the show condescendingly tries to make me believe that this pasty-ass piece of mediocrity is a better martial artist than Colleen Wing?? Just has him casually trounce her in her own dojo. With those wibbly-wobbly stances, son? I don’t think so. This is not real life, nor is it good fiction. This is some flabby-ass white guy’s jerk-off fantasy of being super awesome and showing up the hot Asian chick without any understanding martial arts whatsoever.

The acting in this show ranges from serviceable to painfully inept (lookin’ at you Meachum Jr. or whatever the fuck your name is, I’ll have forgotten your whole existence by tomorrow for all the impression you leave). Even the competent performances in this show only serve to remind me of more interesting characters from Netflix’s other Marvel shows. For example, Jessica Stroup’s acting is similar to Deborah Ann Woll’s performance as Karen Page, only serving to remind me that Karen Page alone is a more interesting character with more compelling scenes than half the cast of Iron Fist put together.

I will say that Colleen Wing is quite appealing and I applaud Henwick for making her both tough and charming, not an easy line to walk. If I wanted to be mean, I could point out that she is essentially just a Claire Temple 2.0 in terms of her temperament and her role as shelter and support to the Main White Guy at the point of her introduction. But I don’t actually want to pick on Colleen. She’s cute and I like her.

Now, back to being mean: STOP trying to make white characters look cool by having them speak Chinese (or any language they can’t speak for that matter, though I feel Mandarin generally gets a special kind of mangling for the crime of being a tonal language). It doesn’t sound cool. I hate to have to be the one to tell you this, guys. It makes you sound like a fucking idiot. Okay, sure, maybe you succeeded in making your white English-speaking audience think, ‘yeah, that’s really cool, he must be super smart and badass, I want to be like that.’ But White people, I am telling you this for your own good: you don’t want to be like that. Because as cool as that butchered-ass Mandarin may sound to you, it’s like a band-saw to my eardrums. It brings everything to a cringing, teeth-grinding halt in the middle of what might otherwise be a perfectly good scene. Remember when Wilson Fisk had a conversation with Madame Gao in ‘Mandarin’? That was the worst part of Netflix’s Daredevil. Worse, it made me embarrassed for an actor I greatly admire. So, to whoever decided it was a great idea to have Wilson Fisk show off his Mandarin, thanks dickhead. You wrecked an entire scene for my favorite Marvel villain.

Oh yeah, and if any of you want to try to tell me I don’t know what I’m talking about, fucking come at me bro. I have a black belt and 10+ years of training in traditional martial arts. I am a Chinese-American woman, proficient in Japanese and Mandarin, and I double majored in East Asian History and Buddhist studies.

Oh, did I mention that our protagonist keeps condescendingly spouting mystical pseudo-Buddhist bullshit to everyone he meets? And then throws temper tantrums when they (shock!) don’t take him seriously? God, I hate this show.

If I want to see better acting, I can go see a middle school play. If I want to see better fighting, I can go to the dojo and watch my seven-year-old green belts spar. If I want to hear Buddhist philosophy mangled by self-impressed white people, I can go to the yoga studio next door. 

anonymous asked:

I love your blog your writing is amazing. I was wondering if maybe you could write about Betty and jughead having a secret relationship because they're just not ready to tell everyone but one day Betty goes to school with a hickey and everyone finds out about their relationship.

Thank you so much! You got it!

***

It was the end of spring, cheerleading season was long over but the riverdale high baseball team was having their final home game, so the riverdale vixens decided to dress in their uniforms and support the team.

Spotting Betty walking down the halls in her blue and gold uniform, Veronica smiled.

“Hey vixen, forgot how good that uniform looked on you.” She winked.

Betty laughed “you’re one to talk. You were made to wear that skirt.”

Leaning up against her locker Veronica smiled at herself.

“I’ve got to say it feels good to not have to wear that turtle neck underneath our uniform, I feel free!”

Betty smiled

“Agreed, it feels good to let my neck breathe.”

Veronica nodded in agreement glancing at Betty’s neck, suddenly her eyes were wide and she was tugging the tiny top down even more if possible.

“What the hell! Veronica! What are you doing?!”

Turning Betty’s head to look into the tiny mirror hanging up in her locker, Veronica pointed at her neck.

“What is that?!”

Finally Betty spotted the offending mark Veronica was so concerned about.

It was a hickey.

How had she not seen that?

“Oh, I must have burnt myself on my curling iron this morning! I’m so clumsy, you know that.” She said laughing nervously.

Veronica stared at her with disbelieving eyes

“Sweetie, I know a hickey when I see a hickey. That’s a hickey.”

“Veronica, that’s ridiculous it’s a burn.”

“Betty, I’m your best friend. What are you hiding from me?”

Suddenly, jugheads lazy voice entered the conversation

“Who’s hiding things?”

Both heads whipped around and Veronica reached for Jughead, pulling him towards Betty.

“Look! A hickey! Do you know who Betty’s been seeing? Because I sure don’t.”

Jugheads eyes widened as he caught Betty’s eyes.

He quickly stamped down his panic,

“Maybe it’s a burn, Betty does use a curling iron a lot.”

“Thankyou!” Betty said quickly

“You two are ridiculous. I’m gonna find out , you know I will!” Veronica said before stomping away , leaving betty and jughead alone by the lockers.

“Don’t be mad.” He said quickly

“My neck Jughead! Of all the places!”

He glanced to the heart shaped bruise, marring her skin.

And unfortunately he wasn’t able to hide his proud smirk before she caught it.

Smacking his arm

“Jughead!”

“I’m sorry okay, I got carried away. It was that damn yellow dress last night. You know I love it when you wear that thing.”

She blushed slightly remembering the events that took place in her bedroom last night.

Jughead looked around quickly, making sure no one was looking, before he placed a quick kiss on her lips.

“It’ll be fine .I’m sure no one will even notice.”

That was the biggest lie of the year.

She had already been stopped by Kevin, Cheryl, and Josie and half the football team had been whistling when she walked past commenting on the hickey.

By last period, study hall, she was thoroughly over this day, and ready to go back to wearing her sweaters.

The gang all had this period together. So they usually spent it on a table outside.

Sliding into the seat next to Betty’s , jughead slid his hand under the table and squeezed her knee.
She smiled softly at him.

“Okay” Veronica spoke up “Kevin, Cheryl and I have gone over all possible suspects regarding the case of Betty’s hickey”

“Oh my god” betty mumbled, dropping her head to the table.

Archie poked his head up from his music book

“Hickey? Betty? What?!”

Kevin sighed “well there goes my guess, it couldn’t have been Archie if he didn’t even know about it.”

Archie was now leaning over the table trying to get a look at Betty’s neck

“I’m sorry. What?! Betty what the hell?”

Cheryl pulled out a notebook ,passing it to Veronica

“I had it narrowed down to dilton doiley or trev marrow, but after speaking to them I now know that it’s neither.”

“You asked them if they gave me a hickey?!”

Veronica crossed out something in the notebook.

“Well we know it’s not anyone on a sports team, we totally would have found that out by now, and the smart kids wouldn’t be able to do that kind of handiwork If they tried so they’re out. Who does that even leave us with?” Veronica said frustrated.

Suddenly everyone’s eyes shot to Jughead who was leaning back in his seat smirking with a shrug.

“Don’t ask me.”

Veronica’s eyes widened

“Oh my god.”

Cheryl slammed her hands down on the table

“Shut up.”

Kevin nearly spit out his water

“ Total plot twist.”

And Archie was just confused

“What, what do we know?!”

Suddenly Betty smiled, reaching for jugheads hand.

“Okay, now can we please stop talking about this.”

Jughead nodded

“As much as I enjoy hearing you all talk about other guys leaving hickeys on my girls neck, I’d rather we changed topics, thanks”

Archie dropped his book on the floor with a thud.

“Girlfriend?!?”

Jughead sat up straighter

“Yeah girlfriend. Is that a problem pal?”

Archie just sat back, glaring at his best friend.

“This is total breaking news, Betty Cooper and jughead jones. We have so much to talk about. I’m sleeping over tonight.”

“Me too.” Cheryl agreed.

“Me three.” Kevin nodded

Betty groaned leaning into her boyfriend

He laughed , kissing her on her forehead.

Audition

A NIGHT AT HOME | TAEHYUNG VERSION

WORD COUNT: 3,112

warnings: graphic smut, dirty talk, spanking, slight exhibitionism, squirting

Originally posted by jitonic

masterlist | ask | song 


“Y/N? Are you listening to anything I’m saying?” Taehyung uttered under his breath, dumbfounded that you were daydreaming once again, a reoccurring phenomenon apparently.

“Mm?” You looked up from your plate, eyes immediately locking with his brown feline-like orbs. The contours of his face seemed sharper than usual, which saying something as your boyfriend had a jawline sharp enough to kill a man; he probably thought you were ignoring him.

The two of you were sat comfortably at the dining table, having just eaten dinner. You met Taehyung by accident three years ago in a movie theatre, he saw your sky blue jumper and assumed you worked there, giving that it was a similar colour to the uniform employees wore. As soon as you turned to face him he became overwhelmed by your beauty, and by his impending embarrassment. He apologised profusely and bought your ticket, writing his number on the back of the small piece of paper.

Calling him that night was the best decision you ever made.

Keep reading

YOI Fan Rec Friday

Hi! Thanks for all your recs! A few things to mention this week:

1. I randomly select 20-25 fics to put on this list each week to keep the list manageable! If you don’t see your rec on here, please send it in again! Tumblr also eats asks, so please send in your rec again if you don’t see it!
2. Please look at my guidelines before recommending fics! I will not put fics on the list that violate my guidelines. This is to keep my blog a safe place for anyone and everyone! You can check out my guidelines here.

Without further ado, here are the recommendations this week!

Rec’d by @sacchariwrites :
I Want It All by venoms, Teen, 5k (WIP)
When Katsuki Yuuri misses the podium by half a point and finds himself in fourth place during the 2015 Grand Prix Final, he is ready to give up, but Yakov Feltsman sees something in him and offers to coach him the following season in Russia alongside his idol, Viktor Nikiforov and Yuri Plisetsky, whose next season is his senior debut.

✧·゚: *✧·゚:*    *:·゚✧*:·゚✧

Rec’d by anonymous:
Whenever I Fall at Your Feet by thesleepingsatellite, Explicit, 4.8k
Victor would have been lying if he’d said he didn’t find feet erotic. Feet were the primary tools of his and Yuuri’s profession, the instruments they used to dance across the ice, the supporting foundation of their performances. They were simultaneously punished and treasured. Finally, Yuuri was allowing him to cherish his feet the way that Victor had wanted to for months.

✧·゚: *✧·゚:*    *:·゚✧*:·゚✧

Rec’d by anonymous and anonymous:
if this city will bloom by RennieOnIceCream (Hitsugi_Zirkus), Gen, 8.9k
The story where Viktor accidentally brings home a cherry blossom spirit from Japan, and his life and heart are turned upside-down.

✧·゚: *✧·゚:*    *:·゚✧*:·゚✧

Rec’d by @mixberkaan :
The Rules For Lovers by ADreamingSongbird, Teen, 128k (WIP)
Prince Yuuri Katsuki has a duty to his country, above all else (his desires, his dreams, and his happiness included), and he knows this alliance will help to ensure the safety of his people. That’s the only reason he accepts Prince Nikiforov’s hand in marriage. The pleasant surprise, of course, is the part where they fall in love along the way. The unpleasant one, well…That’s a long story.

✧·゚: *✧·゚:*    *:·゚✧*:·゚✧

Rec’d by anonymous and anonymous:
Love and Gelato by flowercrownyuri (elevensong), Teen, 7.6k
Victor’s life consists of three things: taking classes at the local university, figure skating on the weekends, and working at a florist shop downtown. After years upon years of monotony, he’s convinced that nothing can take him by surprise anymore. However, when a new employee begins working at Celestino’s, a gelato shop across the road, Victor’s immediately intrigued. 

✧·゚: *✧·゚:*    *:·゚✧*:·゚✧

Rec’d by anonymous:
Just Hold On (We’re Going Home) by kiaronna, Teen, 10k (WIP)
Where Yuuri remembers the banquet, Viktor forgets, and Yakov Feltsman has his own plans.

✧·゚: *✧·゚:*    *:·゚✧*:·゚✧

Rec’d by anonymous and anonymous:
A Political Affair by ChibiFoxx, Mature, 85k (WIP)
As a young Omega, Yuuri had wanted nothing more than to be able to live freely and pursue his dreams. But with the crushing reality of having an Alpha-dominated government, Omegas were forced to live the life society wanted them to have, even if it meant selling their lives to an Alpha suitor at a young age.

✧·゚: *✧·゚:*    *:·゚✧*:·゚✧

Rec’d by anonymous:
I can be your devil or your angel, baby by hinatella, Teen, 5.1k
Yuuri Katsuki didn’t ask for any of this, and he’s starting to question all of his life choices that lead up to this cursed moment.

✧·゚: *✧·゚:*    *:·゚✧*:·゚✧

Rec’d by anonymous:
do something pretty (while you can) by renaissance, Teen, 14k (WIP)
Everything is going wrong, and it’s all Viktor’s fault. It all started when he got Christophe involved. That was a mistake. But no, it started before then. It started with Georgi and Anya. Even earlier, it started with one small victory that gave Viktor a lot of big ideas. It started when Lilia arrived with her ballet students on the very first day of term. Really, if Viktor’s being honest, it started the moment he met Yuuri.

✧·゚: *✧·゚:*    *:·゚✧*:·゚✧

Rec’d by anonymous:
you think my bruised knees are sort of pretty by fireblazie, Teen, 4.7k (WIP)
In which Yuuri gets drunk at a con, earns the nickname Cake Boy, and promptly forgets all about it.

✧·゚: *✧·゚:*    *:·゚✧*:·゚✧

Rec’d by @sentwithcitation :
The Boy Who Watched by Rosie_Rues, Teen, 12k
In which Victor pines, everybody drinks too much, and Yakov deserves a sainthood for putting up with these idiots. Basically, it’s a decade’s worth of near misses, misunderstandings, and pure obliviousness.

✧·゚: *✧·゚:*    *:·゚✧*:·゚✧

Rec’d by anonymous:
you are the best thing that’s ever been mine by JMonCheri, Mature, 4.9k (WIP)
Wherein famous actors Yuuri Katsuki and Viktor Nikiforov are forced to fake a relationship for mere reasons such as fame, money, and for teenage girls to make thesis long rants about them on Tumblr. A pact is made, then things snowball into a complete mess, and ya’ll already get the idea where this is going…

✧·゚: *✧·゚:*    *:·゚✧*:·゚✧

Rec’d by @dragondoodle0268 :
Painting by Homosexualrussian, TwinDragons0268, Teen, 1.3k (WIP)
After Victor Nikiforov settles into his comfy new Barcelona apartment while taking a break from skating, he goes to many new places, he experiences many new experiences. However, out of all of them, his favorite hang-outs is the art gallery near his residence (as he goes nearly every day). Everyone there knows him by name, he knows each painting, sculpture, collage by heart, but after an overly angry guest leaves, Victor slowly begins to discover that change can be for the better.

✧·゚: *✧·゚:*    *:·゚✧*:·゚✧

Rec’d by anonymous:
will lose my desire for you (never my love) by ken_ichijouji (dommific), Mature, 16k ***Major Character Death
Victor is ten when he leaves home to fine tune his alchemy, nineteen when he meets Katsuki Yuuri, twenty when he becomes a State Alchemist and a husband, and twenty-two when a teen named Yuri Plisetsky begins to report to him. 

✧·゚: *✧·゚:*    *:·゚✧*:·゚✧

Rec’d by anonymous:
That April (you were knowable) by llythl, Teen, 10k (WIP)
“He said there were dead bodies buried beneath the tree,” Victor explains, eyes wide. Yuuri remembers his sister telling him in passing that Victor could not be more typical as a tourist - possessing a charming naivete that was really only charming when it was not doing any harm.

✧·゚: *✧·゚:*    *:·゚✧*:·゚✧

Rec’d by @flyingsuits-blog-blog
You Have Witchcraft in Your Lips by RememberingEmbers, Teen, 4.8k
Victor falls in love with the new cheesecake-on-a-stick vendor at the Renaissance Faire.

✧·゚: *✧·゚:*    *:·゚✧*:·゚✧

Rec’d by anonymous:
Fontaine de jouvence by EdosianOrchid, Teen, 4.7k
Maybe he should have chosen a different place to spend his eternity, calmer and less eccentric than San Junipero but Yuuri has promised himself that he will overcome his anxiety to catch up here all the missed opportunities from his previous life. Besides, it is what his best friend Phichit would have wanted for him.

✧·゚: *✧·゚:*    *:·゚✧*:·゚✧

Rec’d by anonymous:
more than three quarters by alykapedia, Teen, 9.8k (WIP)
“No fair, I wanted to do a review for your new book too!”
Pulling the phone away from his ear, Yuuri Katsuki—New York Times best-selling author and winner of the Akutagawa and Naoki Prizes—squinted at the screen bearing his best friend’s grinning face. 

✧·゚: *✧·゚:*    *:·゚✧*:·゚✧

Rec’d by anonymous:
Take Hold by LavenderProse, Mature, 20k
“I believe…” Yuuri says, pensive. “I believe that when you’re connected to another person so closely that you share a soul, it’s stupid to think that you wouldn’t feel it. How can you not recognize part of yourself when they’re standing right in front of you?” / “That's…I…yes.” Viktor tries to untie his tongue, mouth suddenly arid. “You—I think you would know, yes.” / Yuuri skates onto the ice and Viktor’s soul screams after him, Do you know? Can you see me? I’m here, I’m here.

✧·゚: *✧·゚:*    *:·゚✧*:·゚✧

Rec’d by anonymous:
I’ll be loving you for quite some time by Singittome, Teen, 1.8k
Twenty-eight little stories from Saint Petersburg.

✧·゚: *✧·゚:*    *:·゚✧*:·゚✧

Rec’d by anonymous:
i never could’ve asked for more by flowerbolt, Explicit, 3.1k (WIP)
It’s like having a genie in a lamp.Or such were the tales on the worn-out books he used to have as a child, anyway. Always containing a wondrous spell he never quite understood—though it seems a little unfair on him to have to give something in return, and inevitably even less fair on his benefactor to not have a wish limit in the first place.

✧·゚: *✧·゚:*    *:·゚✧*:·゚✧

Rec’d by anonymous:
Cherry Wood and Golden Robes by Skowronek, Not Rated, 8k (WIP)
When the up-and coming Japanese wizard Yuuri Katsuki arrives in Sochi for his most important duelling competition so far, he expects to flub his duel, embarrass himself, and panic. He doesn’t expect to exceed his own expectations and gain a rival in the process.

✧·゚: *✧·゚:*    *:·゚✧*:·゚✧

Rec’d by anonymous:
The Force Is Strong in My Family by explanationintime, Teen, 1.8k
“The force is strong in my family. My father has it, I have it, and…my brother has it.”

✧·゚: *✧·゚:*    *:·゚✧*:·゚✧

Rec’d by @hystericblue:
Found Myself in a House I’ve Never Been Before by QueenofFennoscandia, Mature, 9.4k (WIP)
Yuuri was almost sure that this was reality. His favorite tea blend could be found in the kitchen cabinet on left, and the teapot was on the top shelf, exactly as he favored. Two important thoughts went through his head. Could he even skate anymore, and more importantly, did any of the people he knew exist?

✧·゚: *✧·゚:*    *:·゚✧*:·゚✧

Rec’d by anonymous:
Unsinkable by terra_incognita, Teen, 18k (WIP)
Victor is a wealthy heir with a lonely soul. Yuuri is a poor dancer with a tender heart. The deck of the Titanic might be a very romantic place to meet your one true love, but it’s not exactly a fortuitous one.

✧·゚: *✧·゚:*    *:·゚✧*:·゚✧

Rec’d by @exile-wrath :
On Our High Horses by Bad_Wolf, Teen, 11k (WIP)
Sara Crispino loves her job, riding the broad flats and hills of her adopted planet on her beloved horse. She doesn’t have to talk to anyone for days, just the cows and horses she herds. Usually the only other person she interacts with is the landowner of half the planet, Yurui Katsuki, and he’s just plain shy. Sara would have been happy to go on like that, one day flowing into the next, seamless and unvaried; except when a group of uppity nobles decide to invest money into the Katsukis’ business. Now while Yuuri is off schmoozing the money, Sara has to play host to an infuriating rich lady who wouldn’t know hard work if it bit her in the ass.

✧·゚: *✧·゚:*    *:·゚✧*:·゚✧

Rec’d by @nagoyadelay :
Setting Sun by LittleLostStar, Explicit, 52k (WIP)
With the world watching their every move, Victor and Yuuri begin trading lyrics in a secret conversation; from playful rivalry to intense seduction, through Savage Garden and San Fermin, their virtual affair unfolds, hidden in plain sight. But the Grand Prix approaches, bringing with it newfound opportunities for Yuuri’s career, and his new life hinges on two things: winning the gold, and staying away from Victor.


Thank you for all your recs! ₍₍ (̨̡ ‾᷄♡‾᷅ )̧̢ ₎₎

The amazing “YOI Fan Rec Friday” banner was created by @omgkatsudonplease! I love them a lot, check out their blog!

“Baby Stark”

Pairing: Tony Stark x Reader

Summary: After returning to New York, Tony is greeted with surprising news that has potential to change his life.

A/N: another one from draft-purgatory. lol i’ve never written for tony stark, and i i struggle to capture his swaggering tone. however, but i thought it would be fun to write for a slightly softer tony stark.

His elbows resting on the metal railing surrounding the large helicopter landing pad, Tony Stark skims his eyes over the beautiful aerial view of Manhattan. A relaxed smile perks onto his lips as the familiar clamor of the concrete jungle sinks in. “It’s good to be back,” he hums to himself, taking in the majestic view carved around the Avengers Tower.

After rapping his knuckles against the metal railing, Tony saunters down the glass walkway leading into the tower, the eery silence reminding him that everyone is on a mission. He’s about to greet F.R.I.D.A.Y. when a smile enters his view, one that he isn’t expecting.

She sits on the counter of the bar, her legs elegantly crossed despite the restrictive nature of her pencil skirt. The sunlight streams into the room through the glass windows, creating a natural glow about her. A coy smile perks onto her lips as Tony’s drinks her in, his lower lip getting caught between his teeth as his eyes dance up her legs and body. She’s the most alluring girl he’d ever seen -he’d thought so two years ago when they first met, and he still thinks so now- and it’s one of the many reasons why he’s infatuated with her.

“I thought I told you not to wait for me,” He grins, glad that she ignored his request.

“I couldn’t wait until dinner, and I wanted to be here when you arrived. Is that such a crime?” (Y/N) hops off the counter and saunters towards him. She cups his cheek in a way that makes Tony feel like he’s the only person in the world.

“Well, counselor, I recommend -” His words are cut off as (Y/N) yanks the lapels of his jacket to bring his face towards her for a kiss. Tony laughs against her lips, but the laugh quickly gets drowned out by a rough growl as she lightly bites his lower lip. A smile creeps in around the edges of her kiss as she slides her hands down his muscular back. A nip of teeth, a glide of tongue, and she easily has him under her spell.

It’s only a matter of time when the need for oxygen brings the kiss to an end. Tony gently knocks his forehead against (Y/N)’s. “Remind me to always bring up a counterargument, because baby, I could get used to that,” he drawls.

(Y/N) laughs, a devilish glint lighting up her eyes. “Welcome back to New York, Mr. Stark. It’s been a while.” Her hand dangerously inch south as she brings his ear to her lips. “That was a little preview of what’s going to happen tonight.”

He feigns exasperation as (Y/N) playfully smacks his ass but twirls out of his arms before he can do anything. A low noise escapes his throat as she shoots him a sexy smile over her shoulder while kicking off her “ball-busting stilettos”, as she calls them.

Tony leans against the wall and watches (Y/N)’s shadow dance in the glow of the sun. Two years into the relationship, and he still gets butterflies. His fun, beautiful girlfriend, the skyline of the most magical city in America, wonderful weather - his life is perfect and Tony wishes it would stay this way for a long time.

“As much as I love pencil skirts, I need to change,” (Y/N) announces. “I have workout pants in my bag, but could I borrow a shirt or sweater?”

“Baby, at this point, you’ve stolen over half of my comfortable clothes. Why do you even bother asking?”

(Y/N) smirks and plants a kiss on his cheek before sashaying towards the door of Tony’s private apartment. Before she opens the door, she turns to him. “T, I have something to tell you.“

"Mmhmm,” Tony hums, pulling out his phone from his pocket.

“I probably should have told you, but I was kind of scared of how you would react. I thought it would be wise to tell you when you were back in New York.” She hesitates for a bit, her fingertips drumming against the doorframe. “Promise not to freak?” she asks, a slightly icy look glazing her eyes.

A small alarm rings in his head, but Tony maintains a calm expression. “I promise. Did you max out my credit card?” he jokes.

(Y/N) rolls her eyes but relaxes a bit, which pleases Tony. “No, and I never will.”

“My wallet thanks you, baby. But what’s up?”

“Tony.” She swallows. “How do you feel about becoming a dad?”

Keep reading

Happy Birthday Hailey

It’s the wonderful @victuurificrec aka Hailey’s birthday today! She does an incredible amount for the fandom and if you don’t know her blog, I suggest you definitely check it out asap. She puts a huge amount of effort into everything that she does and she’s been an incredible supporter of my fic for a long time. So to say thank you and Happy Birthday to Hailey, here’s a little birthday themed Viktuuri ficlet to show my appreciation. 

Happy Birthday! xx



“So, you’re telling me that all this panic is just because you can’t decide what to get Viktor for his birthday?” Phichit asked disbelievingly.

Yuuri groaned, resting his head in his free hand as he clutched his phone with the other. It was stupid, he knew. Calling Phichit in a panic after almost a full week of constant worrying and doubt over something that Viktor probably wouldn’t even care much about but he couldn’t help himself.

“I’ve been living with him for a year Phichit. We’ve been together for even longer. Last year he told me he didn’t really celebrate much but this year it’s different. We’ve been together too long for me to not give him something, I just don’t know what.”

Keep reading

Lock and Key (M)

*I am so tired*

Requests: Anon asked “Can you make like a dirty y/n imagine of Jimin please??” + @bangtanofarmys asked “ FUCK FUCK FUCK OMG FINALLY SOMEONE’S REQUEST IS OPEN. Ok I want to request a rough Jimin smut, with daddy kink and stuff BECAUSE IM SO TIRED OF BEING REQUESTED AND NOT REQUEST T-T “ you’re so cute wtf 

Word Count: 10.8k bc I don’t know when to stop


Another mundane day has come to pass, your best friend’s arm slung over your shoulders as you soak up the blinding sunrays on your skin. The sun pressed harsh kisses on your delicate skin, a definite burn accompanied by heavy sweating was just the peak of your day. You could barely remember the words of your professor, zoned out and ready to slump into your couch for two days.

Anthropology was fun when you still had your first year jitters, excited to be in university and getting a degree in something you loved. Now, a few weeks into your second year, you wished the years would just pass by.

Distracted by your internal monologue, you barely caught the bus on time, the driver ready to zoom through traffic and you waved your hand out wildly to catch his attention. You stumbled into a seat, the bus moving no less than a second after you got on.

Mindlessly watching the street signs while numerous people leaving and entering the bus, you get off at the stop near your house. You kick off your shoes, dropping your bag on the shoe rack and you heard a broken sob.

“Mom? Dad?” You went into the kitchen, followed by a set of sniffling before going into the living room. Your father held your mother in a consoling way, her hands clinging onto his red sweater. She grabbed a tissue and blew into it.

“Mom? Why are you crying? What happened?”

Keep reading

dancing-thru-clouds  asked:

I would like for you to tell stupid tourist stories? Your story-telling style is very engaging.

First of all, thank you very much!

Since flattery will get you pretty much anywhere, allow me to tell you The Tale Of Jar-Jar.

The First year my family moved to Colorado, my family decided to take the annual summer camping trip to Yellowstone, now that we were on the right side of the rockies for it.  So we pile into the car with all my mom’s immortal camping gear from the 70′s (srsly, I still have the Colemann stove and cooler.  They work perfect)  and Cody,The Gentleman Shepherd.  

Due to Wyoming looking mostly like the ugly parts of Mad Max, we got onto the wrong highway and arrived after dark.  Cody waited patiently in the backseat rather than set up in the rain.  Gentlemanly.

The next morning, Mom is doing something miraculous with the Colemann and there is a breakfast of pancakes, eggs and bacon.  The sun is shining.  The birds are singing.  All is serene and beautiful. 

Then the people in the next site pull up.   They arrive in a Brand-spanking new Ford Pickup towing a trailer that looks like it was salvaged of a 50′s atomic test field.  The Husband emerges first and…

I don’t like judging people based on appearance but Man, when a dude walks out of a pickup wearing a confederate flag hat, and half of a mullet one tends to make assumptions.  

The eldest child came out next, a boy of about 12, with a rat-tail.
Followed by his brother, a boy of about 10, with a rat-tail
Followed by his brother, a boy of about 8, with a rat-tail.
Followed by his brother, a boy of about 6, with a rat-tail.
Followed by his brother, a boy of about 4, with a rat-tail.

The wife finally emerges, looking like death warmed over and carrying a boy of about two, with a rat-tail.  It is unclear if she has poor posture or if she is pregnant again.  The Boys capable of standing all immediately do so at the border of our site, staring covetously at my bacon.

Finally, with a loud plop and wheezing noise, comes thier dog, for a given value of dog.  Pugs are not terribly healthy-looking creatures at the best of times, but this poor thing looked like the canine equivalent of a Hapsburg.  One eye was so bulged as to be permanently wall-eyed, and his jaw jutted out in front of him at a distressingly kapakahi angle. 

“C’mere Jar-Jar!” hollers the Husband.

“Good God.” muttered my father.

The adults proved over the course of the next hour to be loathsome creatures- Husband was constant’y screaming at the boys the “fuckin’ get me the thing, you little-”  then getting mad when asked for clarification on ‘which thing?’.  The Wife was a non-stop stream of complaint- the sun is too hot, the shade is too cold, the tent is too far, the birds are too loud, and everything is awful, I’m going to complain to the ranger.  Eventually they got their camp set up, and Husband cracked his first beer of the day as we finished locking the bear box and leaving to hike.  It was about 10 AM.

We return some hours later to a very animated discussion between Wife and the Camp Supervisor about “I have rights you know!” vs. “Ma’am, we are under an extreme fire danger warning, and Fireworks have been banned in the park for ages.”  Jar-Jar, eager to avoid any outbursts, has scuttled under our bear box, wheezing in agitation.  Cody, ever gallant, positions himself between Jar-Jar and his mistress, doing his best impression of a Real Shepherd Who Isn’t Scared of Mice and Snowflakes.  Husband is unseen, but there are several beer cans in the fire grate.

That evening’s campfire, normally a time to listen to nocturnal wildlife and the Quiet noises of wild places, is instead a time to listen to drunken racist jokes, a sobbing toddler and Husband screeching “SAY AI WANNIT” whilst dangling scraps in front of jar-jar, until the dog stood on his legs and danced, garbling “Ai-Wa-War”  in a voice that sounded less like a bark and more like late-stage emphysema, before collapsing on what looked like sore joints.

Late that night, my parents discuss packing up and looking for a site in Teton down the road over the sounds of half-assed drunken sex.

The boys, in spite of their parents, are well mannered, intelligent and engaging to talk to, and seem content to frolic in the woods around the site, examining rocks and plants and the occasional insect.  Dad has a nice time telling them about the Yellowstone supervolcano whilst their parents have vanished to parts unknown.  Jar-jar remains off-lead and un-collared the entire time, huffing and puffing as he tries to keep up.  Still, five boys is perhaps too much attention for an elderly pug, and the too-hard petting and pulling of ears and tail and suchlike is tolerated with an exasperated whine and vacations under our bear-box. 

The second night, Husband was furious about something, cursing up a storm and throwing things and generally having a tantrum.  The eldest boy said something to him and he bore down on him, hand raised and screaming something about ‘useless pieces of shit.”
-When they were interrupted by my mother stepping into their site, all four feet eleven inches of ill-contained fury, staring him down.

“I was wondering.”  She said, eyes not moving from him. “If I could borrow some matches.”
“Ours got wet.” Dad added, immediately behind her, less as support than restraint.

I remember how ghastly quiet the woods got for a moment there, watching the scene unfold from behind Cody, the only sounds the campfire and crickets.

“Uh, yeah.  Matches.”  The Wife muttered, and it was enough to get Husband to back down.

“You have lovely children.”  Dad continued.  “Very smart, very polite.”
“You must be so blessed.” My mother adds, only slightly spitting the word.

My parents take the matches and talk a bit longer but I couldn’t hear.  Husband gave up, flopping down in his chair, but not before giving Jar-Jar a kick.

The next morning, as my family was packing up to head down to Teton instead, The Eldest boy approached us, concerned.

“Sir?”  he asked dad.  “Have you seen jar-jar?”

We hadn’t actually, his gravely groveling notably absent that morning at breakfast.  My sister and I went on a search with the boys through the camp, but to no avail.  We did find Wife, complaining to the campground host that there were too many wild animals around.  In the National Park.  Saddened and trying to give the boys some hope that perhaps jar-Jar had not been eaten by the coyotes, we left.

On the way out the main gate, we ended up behind a Buick with Florida plates, driven by a couple well into their octogenarian period, at about seven miles per hour.  As they stopped at the checkout gate, clearly asking for directions, a dog climbed up to sit in the back window.  A fat, lop-sided, wall-eyed little Pug, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

And that’s the story of how Jar-jar escaped the Hell family to Florida.

Whipped…boyfriend!!!

***

“Boo!”

Y/N isn’t expecting for Harry to be surprised much, at least not for sneaking up on him.

“Y/N, love! I’ve missed ye’ so much, kitten!”

He tucks his phone into his back pocket before wrapping his arms around her waist and picking her up, a grin so wide and a feeling so comforting that nothing in the world could ruin the moment.

“Missed you loads, too, H!” She whispers into his hair, the feeling of his breath on her neck soothing her instantly.

Harry pecks at her neck before setting her back down, his eyes scanning over her every feature. His heart melts at the way she looks up at him, and when he sees her stand on her tip toes, he leans down to press his lips to hers.

It’s a playful exchange of kisses, with Y/N’s hands gripping at the sides of his printed shirt, and Harry’s large hands cupping her face. Kisses with open eyes and big stupid smiles. Kisses that don’t last longer than three second before their lips separate only to press together again. And in between them, Harry whispers ‘missed ye’ too much’ and ‘I love you’ in broken phrases.

Missed. Kiss. Ye’. Kiss. Too. Kiss. Much. Kiss.

He nudges his nose against hers lightly before pressing one last kiss to her forehead and wrapping an arm around her neck so it dangles over her shoulder as they begin to walk.

“Didn’t tell me ye’ were comin’ for a visit, love.”

Not that Harry minds, at all. He just would’ve liked to have been the first person she saw, not some random cabbie or whoever picked her up at the airport.

“Thought it’d be fun to pop by unannounced. Jeff pitched the idea after he overheard Mer talking to me over the phone. Said you could use a little company in that empty hotel room of yours.”

She bumps his hip with hers, giggling for a moment at the famous half smirk he gives her.

“Hm, well if tha’s why ye’ came here then I reckon we should get t’ tha’ empty hotel room, ehh?”

He’s stopped dead in his tracks, moving to stand in front of Y/N to look at her directly. And Harry can visibly see her tense up, the playful look she’d been sporting a few seconds ago gone.

“Y/N-” he begins, eyebrows furrowed into concern, only to be cut off.

“I’m sorry, H. I know it’s taking forever, but it’s just-” and she’s trying so hard not to disappoint him. She knows they’ve been dating far too long for intimacy not to be part of the relationship already, and it makes her mad that she can’t let herself love him in that way. Not because she doesn’t want to, she knows they’re meant to be together, she just doesn’t feel ready yet.

“No. No, kitten, you’ve got nothing t’ apologise for,” Harry’s hands rub at her upper arms soothingly, hoping to assure her that he’s okay with it, “m'not ever g'na rush this. I want ye’ t’ be sure when the time comes that you want it as much as I do.”

“But I know that it’s frustrating and-”

“-and m'g'na wait as long as I’ve got t’. M'not g'na love ye’ less b'cos of it. Jus’ wan’ ye’ t’ be sure, love.”

He gives her that smile. That toothy smile that can make all their problems fade into nothing. And so she smiles, too.

“Tha’s m'girl.”

***

“Well would ye’ look at this lovely picture.”

A 'wuh-PSSSH’ sound follows the comment, a voice too familiar not to notice.

“Still whipped, mate?”

Harry just smiles, unwrapping his arm from around Y/N to stand up and greet his friend in a proper hug.

“Oh, look at this,” Y/N can hear Harry coo before she’s even got the chance to slip out of the booth they’re currently sat at, “Freddie’s here!”

And to say he completely disregarded Louis at this point would be an understatement, he might as well be invisible now.

Harry stretches his arms out, and Louis complies at letting him hold his one year old.

“Nice t’ see ye’ too, Harry. I’ve been great, thanks mate.”

Harry pays the sarcasm no mind as he sets the baby on his hip, and instead smiles and coos at Freddie who looks up at him with happy eyes.

“Don’t worry, did the same to me earlier.” Y/N laughs at the thought of Harry having left her side with out a second thought to hold who she came to find out was an adorable little baby girl named Ruby.

Louis welcomes her into a hug, whispering a low 'outta have kids then’ in her ear.

And that warms her heart. To think that one day, she’ll be lucky enough to welcome a lovely little human that’ll be a mix of her and Harry, she honestly can’t wait. But now she feels even more guilty.

But Harry smiles at her adoringly, baby Freddie in his arms chuckling and trying to grab at Harry’s short but now longer hair.

“I see you two are still disgustingly sweet as usual,” Louis comments.

Just the way Harry looks at you, it’s unreal and anyone who knew you both would swear you were meant for each other, even before either of you realised it. And that’s exactly what your friends thought. Seeing Harry look at you the way he did at the many dinners and house parties everyone would gather for definitely added to those thoughts.

And you two have been practically inseparable ever since New York. You were glad Harry had gathered up the courage to find you that night, don’t know if you’d be in this position if he hadn’t. You were glad he was hell bent on not leaving that hotel room until things were cleared up because “really miss m'best friend. Tell me wha’ I did so I can fix it, kit'en.” And you were glad he’d said those three words that solidified the fact that he was there to make sure you were his, even though you had been all along.

“Will be. So long as this one will have me,” the press of Harry’s lips to Y/N’s has Louis grunting in pretend distaste.

“Better get going, don’ wanna interrupt Harry still being whipped.”

Harry hands Freddie over with a pout.

“Still no complaints though.”

***

To say everything is going perfect would be an understatement. Harry’s music is being praised and appreciated and Y/N can’t explain how happy it makes her that Harry’s happy. His performances are nothing short of amazing, and she loves seeing him gush over “they were singing along, babe! Just a great feelin’!”

She’s been flying back and forth along his side during all this. New York, London, Paris, and then back to New York. And Harry loves sharing this with her. He loves having her watching him from the side lines, singing along as she claps and gives him thumbs up and blows kisses at him for support. He loves getting off stage with so much adrenaline and kissing her so hard because Harry doesn’t take anything for granted, no. He’s thankful he’s getting to do what he loves and even more with his better half by his side.

“A'right. How do I look?” His jazz hands and that big smile plastered on his face are indication of just how hyped he is for this.

“I’ve never seen anyone pull off black better than you, H!”

And it’s true. Harry can pull off any colour. Blue, red, yellow, pink; you name it! But black. Black gives him a sexy sort of mysterious sophistication.

“Think so?” He looks himself over in the mirror, content at his choice.

Y/N looks at him through the mirror from where she’s sat on the couch of his dressing room, nodding a yes as she gets up to stand on the furniture.

“Please no stage diving today?” She’d be all for it, if it weren’t for the fact that he’s already tried it and it didn’t go as planned. She really doesn’t want him or any of the fans getting injured.

Harry only chuckles and nods in embarrassment as he strides over to stand in front of her, his head tilting up just a bit to look at her since she’s standing on the cushions.

“M'serious, Harry!” But she smiles anyway, arms lazily slung over his shoulders and around his neck. She brings a hand to tug at the hairs at the nape of it as Harry sets his at either side on her hips, thumbs rubbing at her hipbones.

It’s the last listening party before the album is released, and Harry’s pretty sure the second he mentions stage diving, Jeff will have him pulled off stage. Or carried because it is Jeff after all.

“I’ll try not to, kit'en.” Harry doesn’t know why it was a good idea to do it in the first place. But he had all that adrenaline and he was just so excited. Y/N of course had scolded him and slapped his arm after he got off stage because, “you could’ve broken something Harry!!” But he’d kissed the small amount of anger away.

“I’ll be watching from the sides?” Every time before a performance or an interview she says that, and every time she does Harry smiles just as big.

***

“Congrats, Ni!!!!!”

Finally, after a few months of all the boys doing their own thing, everyone’s finally got a chance to gather up at a small venue for Harry’s pre-launch party. Jeff had asked Y/N for help in terms of invitees, and it’d be outrageous not to have Liam, Niall, and Louis attend.

And so Niall is the last to arrive, and the moment he walks through the door, a very tipsy Y/N can’t contain her excitement at finally reuniting with another one of her friends.

“Oí, have enough drinks for the rest of us have ya?” Niall just about tumbles back with the sudden weight of her body as she throws herself at him, but he catches her in his arms and steadies her.

“You’re late mister,” she’s slurring just a bit, words somewhat coherent.

“Does 'arry know you’re drunk??”

He wraps an arm around her waist for support, in fear that she might be too over her head to even walk with out tripping and falling.

“Drunk? M'not drunk,” she pokes at his chest, and Niall only now notices the red cup in her hand threatening to spill over his shirt, “you’re just sober.”

He lets out a lively laugh. Drunk Y/N is something else, and he’s only ever seen her like this when Harry’s not really paying attention to her.

She hiccups and continues with a pout, “he’s over somewhere. With some girl,” she motions her hand around and nowhere in particular, again, the drink sploshing around in the red cup.

Harry hadn’t meant to leave her alone, he’d been pulled away from her side by someone he can’t even recall the name of, because that’s how out of it he is. So he’s been handed drink left and right, downing them with out retaliation because he doesn’t wanna seem like a downer. And although he really should go find his Y/N, he doesn’t think she’d mind if she’s having fun too.

But she’s not. At least not as much as she’d like. All she wants is for Harry to kiss her and hold her hand, because they’re both affectionate drunks, and it’s always a plus to annoy their friends in that way. But she hasn’t seen him in a while. Last she caught a glimpse was about an hour or so ago, when he was being led over to a group of people she doesn’t really recognise, and it made her notice how out of it she is. She doesn’t remember inviting half the people in the room, but the little attention Harry seems to be giving her has her drinking with out a purpose.

It reminds her of when they were only friends. In the same circumstance, she’d drink the night away in hopes of erasing the imagine of Harry smiling wide, eyes crinkled because some girl was whispering god knows what in his ear. He’d be hunched over just a bit to give the girl better access as she mumbled and giggled. And Harry would nod slightly before moving to whisper something back, face too close to her liking. But it, too, was always nothing, because shortly after she would have to turn away. Try to hide the fact that yes, she might have been staring at Harry for much longer than she’d ever admit to. And when he’d catch a glimpse of her doing just the same with a guy, giggling and whispering and smiling like crazy, he’d make his way over. Weaving his way around dancing bodies to get to her. And he’d smile that drink infused crooked smile of his before whispering something like “let’s get ye’ home, pet,” and leading her out of the place with his palm to her lower back.

So yeah, this sort of reminds her of old times. Only this time, they’re actually dating and he’s nowhere to be found.

***

Harry doesn’t remember getting home. He doesn’t remember taking of his clothes either.

In fact, the last thing he remembers is Y/N kissing at his neck and tugging at his pants.

And..oh no. If that’s how…if they were both drunk and-ah shit! Neither of them were suppose to be drunk when it finally happened. Harry wanted to make sure she would be okay with everything going on. He would have wanted to whisper how good she was taking him. Wanted to assure her that he was there with her, that all he wanted was to make her feel good. Harry just wanted to make love to her the right way.

And now he doesn’t even remember half the night.

So he bring his hand over his face, because not only does he not remember, he also doesn’t recognize the room he’s woken up in.

And then he looks beside him at the body under the white sheets.

He doesn’t recognize the person he’s woken up next to.

That’s not his Y/N.

rollingstone.com
Harry Styles' Revealing New Album Doc: 10 Things We Learned
Read 10 things we learned from Harry Styles' new Apple Music album doc, from why he cut his hair to what it felt like to regain his private life.

Following the release of his self-titled debut, Harry Styles has given fans an inside look at the process of making the record in a new Apple Music documentary titled Harry Styles: Behind the Album. The 50-minute feature shows Styles playing the complete album for the first time in between recording sessions with his band and producer Jeff Bhasker in Jamaica and London. While the 23-year-old has been extremely candid about his life in the year following One Direction’s hiatus, he opens up even further here as he details the process of writing and recording Harry Styles. Here are 10 things we learned from the film.

1. Styles first performed the album all the way through at the legendary Abbey Road Studios.
The live scenes from the film show Styles fronting his new band at rock’s holiest ground: Abbey Road Studios. Not only was it a convenient location since he lives close by, but the site also held a special significance for the lifelong Beatles fan. Styles notes the “aura about the place” that drew him in.

2. He relished the opportunity to live a totally private life for a full year.
For five years, One Direction was the biggest band in the world. They sold out stadiums on their back-to-back tours while fans and tabloids followed their every move. Having spent his teenage years in the harsh spotlight, Styles was able to slip away from the immense fame he experienced – living quietly at home with his family – and retreat to Jamaica to make music. As he put it, he “made myself get bored.”

3. Don’t get it twisted, though: He loved being in One Direction.
“When you leave a band, a boy band, you feel like you have to go the complete other direction and say, ‘Don’t worry everyone, I hated it. It wasn’t me,’” Styles explains before noting that his experience in and out of the group was filled with nothing but real, genuine love and appreciation. “I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for that band.” As positive as the experience was, the young artists felt a lot of pressure to get bigger with each album and tour, and Styles is glad the group’s first phase ended on a high note. Having that experience has allowed him to feel like he can pursue a less intense, maybe even smaller career than what he did with One Direction.

4. Cutting off his long hair helped him to make a fresh start.
For the latter half of his time in 1D, Styles became “the one with the long hair,” as he views it. During their Made in the A.M. era, his long tresses fell below his shoulder and became an important part of his look. In the documentary, cutting off his hair is a symbolic, momentous occasion that helps him enter a new era of his life and career. Still, he tries to not dwell on that too much during the interview scenes. “I was about to personify my hair, but then I decided not to,” he jokes.

5. He gave collaborator Mitch Rowland a handmade guitar.
One of Styles’ main collaborators on the LP is Mitch Rowland, who joined the band by chance. Rowland had been working at a pizza shop before teaming up with Styles, Bhasker and the rest of their crew, and he ended up co-writing every song with Styles. In a tender scene from the documentary, the singer shows his appreciation for the musician by giving him a gorgeous handmade guitar. As his own thank you, Rowland offers Styles the guitar he had been playing throughout the process of creating the album after playing his own “farewell solo” on it.

6. Jeff Bhasker helped Styles grow as a songwriter.
Styles has nothing but compliments for the superstar producer whom he credits with helping him grow as a songwriter. For Styles, Bhasker’s encouragement and support was an integral part of the writing process for his solo debut. According to him, he had written several duds early on, and instead of dismissing the tracks entirely, Bhasker found “the good bits” and they continued on with those.

7. “Carolina” was the last song written for the album.
Bhasker was looking for a rocker with a good melody to round out the album, so Styles served up the riveting, early-Sixties-ish “Carolina” to fulfill the producer’s order. “It was the little bit of fun we had been wanting but didn’t have,” Styles says of the song. It is also the only song in the documentary that Styles confirms to be about a specific person whose name is in the lyrics. Sleuthing fans have connected the song to a fan named Townes whom he had met once when she was 17 years old. According to Styles, he has seen her once since writing the tune though he did not reveal to her that he had written a song about their one-time encounter.

8. He remains diplomatic when it comes to writing songs about other people – and having songs written about him.
“To have been part of a moment that means something to someone enough for them to write a song about it is a huge compliment,” Styles reveals. He is careful not to name names but he is confident that the people he sings about on his debut solo album will be able to connect specific moments mentioned in the lyrics with their personal experiences. Asked about the times when the tables have been turned on him, Styles offers a coy “no comment.”

9. Seeing a gospel choir record backing vocals for “Sign of the Times” made him emotional.
One specific moment during the recording process that left a major impression on Styles was the experience of sitting in the room as a gospel choir recorded massive, angelic harmonies for his first solo single “Sign of the Times.” In footage of Styles experiencing this moment, he clutches his face and even runs up to hug the soloist towards the end of the session.

10. He had to have a prosthetic version of his face made while filming his first music video.
After photos from the set of the “Sign of the Times” video leaked on Twitter, fans shared spooky images of a man wearing a prosthetic version of Styles’ face while flying in the sky. The Michael Myers–esque mask was created in case Styles needed a stuntman for the video, which features him flying through mountains and over the sea while singing the song.

Pretty

You and him had been friends for years.

Your mothers were best friends throughout high school and college, so naturally you were around each other from birth. You’d seen each other through the good and bad. You were inseparable. He was your best friend, your first kiss (at 12 years old, you both just wanted to see what it felt like and decided to use each other), your other half. Him and you. You and him. That’s the way it always was.

You were often teased by other friends about your closeness with him. Constantly affectionate with one another; kissing cheeks or hugging waists. You never questioned it. He was familiar, comfortable. That’s the way it always was.

He was always a magnetic, it came naturally to him. People just gravitated towards him. He was consistently pulled to you instead. You watched as your crowd of friends cheered him on while he chugged a beer. He glanced around and met your eyes, seeing you sitting at the bar with a full drink. Excusing himself from the crowd, he made his way over to you.

“Oi, love! Wut’re ya doing? Supposed to be getting drunk with me, yeh?”

He’s grinning at you with his perfectly straight smile, eyes cloudy from alcohol while still bright just from their natural color. He was beautiful and that was never lost on you, often having moments of just admiring his beauty. This being one of those times.

You laugh at him. “Don’t think anymore can get as drunk as you are right now. How many in are you?”

“Not even drunk yet, love. I’ve only had 2 beers. I plan to have many, many more and I plan to have them with you.” Raising his hand to catch the bartender’s attention, he ordered another beer for himself. “What’s with ya tonight anyway? You a’right?”

Truthfully, you were just exhausted. Only tagging along on this night out because you couldn’t resist him and his persistent begging. You longed for your sweet, soft cotton bedsheets and 3 fluffy pillows.

“I’m fine. Just tired. Not all of us have massive energy like you.” you reply to him.

He laughs. “Not massive energy, just tryin’ to drink away my problems and what not”

The bartender sits his beer down in front of him. Muttering a thank you, he turns towards me more, “Care to join me?”

You look at him with confusion. What problems could he possibly have? You decide to ignore his comment, you catching the bartender’s attention this time. “Martini, please.”

He smiles at you once again, proud of himself for enticing you to down drinks with him. “There’s ma girl!” he says.

An hour later, it’s past 1AM, and you were both far from sober. Standing outside the bar, holding onto each other for support, you tried to catch a cab home.

“Stooooooop!” He yells at a passing taxi. Far too loud but far too drunk to care. “Neva’ gonna stop for us, love.”

“Wanna just walk? I mean, my apartment is like 3 blocks from here.” You say. You’ve never been one to wait and the cold night air wasn’t helping the waiting situation.

“Sure, let’s gooooooo!” He yells again, grabbing onto your shoulder for leverage.

Him staying in your apartment was never a weird thing. He slept there often, almost more than he did as his own apartment. He even his own side of your bed.

Stumbling into the door, he throws his shoes off by the coffee tables and dives onto the couch. You chuckle at him and heads towards the kitchen for two bottled waters.

“Here drink this, you’ll need it in the morning.” handing him the bottle. He looks up at you with red, squinty eyes and says “What an angel you are.”

You roll your eyes, opening your own bottle to down the cold liquid. “What can I say?”

Suddenly he sits up, looking at you with the tiniest smile. “You look pretty.” reaching over to touch your cheek, “H’ve yeh always been this pretty?” his words slurring together.

You laugh. “Well, I have always had this face.” Without thinking, you lean into his touch. His hand moving more towards the nape of your neck. “Pretty much stuck with it.”

“It’s a nice face, I quite like it.” He trails his other hand down the bridge of your nose. “Like ya lips too. Always ‘ave.” His fingertips running over your cupid’s bow.

You stare at him, observing his actions. “Is that so?”

“D’ya remember when we were 12 and we kissed each other in my room?” He lets out a snort, “Tried to be sneaky because our mothers were just downstairs.”

You remember the memory quite well, it being one of your favorites. You were both so nervous but he did everything he could to make your nerves go away, cracking a joke before it happened to make you laugh. “I remember…”

“Don’t have to be sneaky now, do we?” His fingers now running along the length of your collarbone. Touching you so lightly, you could barely feel it. “We can kiss all we want, can’t we?”

“You are so drunk.” nervously laughing, you pull his hands away from your neck. “Don’t even know what you’re saying”

“I know exactly what i’m saying, love.” He now replaces his hands with his lips. The feeling of them, igniting something in you you’ve never felt before. “Know exactly what i’m thinking too.”

Scared of what his answer may be, you cautiously ask, “What are you thinking?”

Looking you dead on in the eyes, he answers with, “Thinking of how i’d love to make you cum, love.”

Choking on noise in your throat, you look away from his eyes. What is happening? What is going on right now?, you think. This can’t be happening.

You quickly realize that it is in fact happening when he grabs you by the nape of your neck once again and lightly brushes his soft lips against yours. “Let me kiss ya, please…..been dying to all night long.”

Had he really? Your best friend had been thinking about kissing you all night long?

You simply nod your head and his smooth lips are against yours in no time. His lips moving slow, taking his time. You move your hands into his soft hair, tugging a bit as he deepens the kiss.

“So pretty, love…..so, so pretty.” He says after pulling back for air. “Gonna let me kiss you all over? Make you feel good? Make you feel pretty?” His hands running across your chest in a silent plea for permission.

“God, yes. Yes. Make me feel pretty.” He moves his lips to your neck, while his hands lower to your belt buckle. Unraveling it from your belt loops, he pops the front button open, slipping his warm fingers into the band of your underwear.

“So wet already, ‘aven’t even touched ya yet.” You barely have time to be embarrassed before you feel his fingers on your most intimate place. Your best friend. With his fingers in your jeans.

“Don’t tease me, please.” You whine, desperate for him to touch you more. He grants your request, slipping a finger in, pumping slowly enough that you feel the ridges in his middle finger.

You moan. “Thought you were gonna kiss me?” He looks at you with a smug smile, adding another finger as he replies, “Where do ya want me to kiss? Tell me.”

Known for being teasing in general, you don’t know why you didn’t think he would enjoy being a tease in the bedroom. “You know where I want you to kiss me.”

He kisses your cheek. “Here?” He moves to kiss your lips. “Or here?” Moving down to your stomach, “Oh, I know. Right here?”

Bucking your hips towards his mouth, he places a kiss on your clothed center. Earning a moan, he looks up from between your thighs, “That’s the spot, innit?”

“Yessss” you moan, unable to hold it in. “Kiss me there, please.”

“Anything for you.” he says, pulling your dark jeans from your legs, your underwear long with it. He places your foot on his shoulder, kissing the inside of you thigh.

He takes a light lick at first, making you clench. The tip of his tongue giving attention to your sensitive folds, before lowering his head and attached his lips to your nub.

“Shiiiit” you moan once more, giving up at holding them in at this point. “That feels so good.”

He adds his finger back into the mix. Your muscles clenching at the feeling of such pleasure. You were close and he had barely started.

“You taste so good, wanna stay down here for days.” You meet his eyes, and you remind yourself to take a mental image of this moment for future references. He looks beautiful, he looks comfortable, he looks at home between your two thighs.

His finger speeding up, and his mouth attaching to your most sensitive area. You feel the familiar burn in your stomach approaching. “Fuck i’m gonna c-cum, oh my god.”

Sucking even harder against you, he spurs you on, “Come on, give it to me. Cum for me, beautiful.”

You eyes roll back in your head, your ears suddenly going deaf. You can’t hear him, all you can feel is the hard wave of your ecstasy crashing over you.

You feel him pet your forehead as you wind down from your high. Feeling his sweet kisses against your cheek. “Was I pretty?” you ask, grinning lightly.

“Fucking beautiful when you cum, love.” He says, grinning back. “So fucking pretty.”

anonymous asked:

ur post about fic & racism in the supergirl fandom really got me thinking (especially about my own biases so thank you) but also like, how there’s this incredibly pervasive but subtle new form of racism I haven’t seen b4 in other fandoms? Like on one hand u have this loud condemnation of how racist monel is & how he was a slave owner blabh blah but no corresponding attention given to the existing Black characters. 1/4

I get wlw not wanting to write m/f fic but a lot of the fandom doesn’t reblog (or make) any of the gifsets, they don’t meta for him they don’t call for more screen time for Mehcad. Same for M’gann. SO many posts talking about how awful monel is compare him to Lena and strangely don’t mention the Black female character who also came from an oppressive society to become a hero? And there are like, idk, 4 people? Who write or post wlw fic with M’gann in it? 2/4

Same with Maggie. A huge segment of fandom decided Floriana is white (even tho hollywood clearly won’t cast her in roles for white women) so they use that as an excuse to exclusively stan the very light skinned white wlw. And the way it carries over to the characters, like, okay Flo is white? but Maggie is absolutely treated like a woc in how parts of fandom aggressively ignore her & find ways to demonize her character while overtly supporting lighter skinned characters ¾

And that same part of the fandom doesn’t ever seem to create content for Lucy or Vasquez either. IDK this isn’t something u can probably explore with stats but ur post really got me thinking and it just feels really gross now bc I see all these posts condemning racism but there’s still this extreme perpetuation of privileging white characters at the same time? & I haven’t seen this particular trend in fandom b4 4/4

Oh, anon, this made my day. I have a bunch of notes waiting in a doc to address the whole Mon-El thing with regard to the racist undertones and the rhetoric used by the show to frame his storyline, and I will do my best to write it before the season comes back again, because I genuinely think they tried to aim high and just … missed completely. (But I make no promises because my thesis defense is on Tuesday.)

To your first point re: fandom attitudes – I was surprised in the early half of S2 when so many people came out of the woodwork making posts in the main tag like “wait, why did they get rid of Kara/James??” because, oh right, nobody acted like they cared for almost twelve straight months. If y’all were so okay with this ship, where were you to acknowledge its social significance when it was canon? Where are you now? Why hasn’t there been an outpouring of tweets week after week at the execs and the writers for sidelining an interracial couple in favor of what we’re getting, especially since the storyline literally handwaved away human trafficking and slavery as minor plot points?

Not only that, when there’s unrealized potential for a non-canon ship there is typically an outpouring of fic in response, and while there’s been a statistically significant amount of new Karolsen fic in S2 because it’s pretty easy to top zero percent, the writing there is not keeping pace with any of the other dude-involved pairings. 

And you’re right, anon: it is not possible to prove anything with stats. HOWEVER, thanks to the addition of these new characters for S2, I *am* at the point now where it’s possible to see correlation between character race and fan engagement with different pairing choices. And the bias is there, whether it’s in the het pairings, the femslash, or even the m/m pairings. The whole reason I started tracking fic outputs in the first place was that any attempt to have this conversation last year devolved into yelling and finger-pointing because “you have no proof!” that racial bias is a thing. Except, yanno, all the POC who live with it daily saying that it’s a thing. Well, congratulations y’all: your choices leave digital footprints behind that are pretty easy to follow and chart for everyone to see.

This isn’t actually a new problem, by the way – racism and preferencing of white pairing happens a lot, in almost every fandom. The only difference maybe is that I’ve experimented with quantifying it, which is not something that people usually do when they study fandoms or fan behavior.

It pains me to no end that M’gann has been so overlooked, because her story has just as many dark character beats to it as Lena’s, if not more, plus the added bonus of her sharing a sense of “otherness” with Kara in a way that few other people can. And there is no way the disinterest in that pairing isn’t about race, because there are a whole bunch of ships from S1 between white women who’d never even met each other in canon that have more romantic fics than M’gann/anyone.

And the nonsense about Floriana, which I’ll remind everyone again was started by a white girl, had a demonstrable chilling effect on interest in Sanvers as a pairing. Like. I can actually show that on paper. And you’re absolutely right with what you said above, which bears repeating: Maggie is absolutely treated like a woc in how parts of fandom aggressively ignore her & find ways to demonize her character.

There’s also a treatment of Floriana herself that reminds me uncomfortably of how people went out of their way to demonize Naya Rivera’s personal life whenever she reminded the world she was black instead of just “very tan.” And a lot of the rhetoric people are using to talk about Floriana’s racial heritage is almost verbatim the same as what you’ll find on white supremacist discussion boards about Italian people. I’d love to think this is an accident, but I’ve made some people pretty angry for pointing this out in the past, so I suspect it’s at least partially deliberate.

Lucy was another case that drove me insane, for two reasons:

  1. The vast majority of femslash fans flat-out ignored her as a romantic choice even though there were a whole lot of good reasons to ship her with either Kara or Alex, and a whole lot less negative reasons not to. (And it’s not like Supercat was already dominating the scene before Lucy’s character was introduced. That ship only became popular after the movie Carol came out during the winter hiatus of S1.)
  2. People had the same fight last year about whether or not Lucy counted as a WOC and ultimately insisted that the answer was no. But then people kept on ignoring her anyway like somehow dubiously legal boss/employee relationships, potential treason, and incest were more logical bases for attraction.

Also, to the people who have been like “oh yay we could’ve had Dichen as Maggie, a real WOC” like somehow this would have made the fandom love her more – you’re full of shit. If you mean that, why has there been so little fic about Dichen as Roulette? Like, last year there were a whole bunch of shipfics featuring Livewire. There was Kara/Siobhan. And yet … no dark scenarios of Supergirl/Roulette? No Alex ones? There were even a bucketload of those for each Danvers sister + Max Lord, and this fandom isn’t even that into dudes. You’re telling me no one is interested in this kind of hero/villain dynamic with the Asian chick and somehow that’s not also about race?

tl;dr I suspect that a decent chunk of this problem is the result of subconscious bias, but some of it’s not. And what’s really sad about it is that, for all the talk on Tumblr about representation being important, we’re really doing no better as media producers than Hollywood when it comes to race. If anything, we might actually be doing worse.

Krabby Patty Secret Formula - Revealed!

Hey guys! So today, I will be doing a theory dedicated to our favourite aquatic character from our childhood, SpongeBob Square Pants! Before I start, I have a quick notice to begin with. Due to my hectic workload and exams, I won’t be posting regularly for the next two-to-three weeks. You should probably expect two or three theories per week at minimum. I’m really sorry about this and also, this is my third attempt to upload this because the Tumblr Gods are not on my side today. ): But anyways, thanks for all the love and support I received! So, lets get back to the theory!

Note: My third and final attempt to upload this theory and rewriting this from scratch. Wish me good luck!

Note #2: My fourth time now. Luckily half of it got saved… I am losing the will to live.

SpongeBob SquarePants is an American animated television series created by marine biologist and animator Stephen Hillenburg for Nickelodeon. The series chronicles the adventures and endeavors of the title character and his various friends in the fictional underwater city of Bikini Bottom. The series’ popularity has made it a media franchise, as well as the highest rated series to ever air on Nickelodeon, and the most distributed property of MTV Networks. As of 2015, the media franchise has generated $12 billion in merchandising revenue for Nickelodeon. It has gotten so popular that in 2011, a newly described species of fungi, Spongiforma squarepantsii, was named after the cartoon’s title character.

Originally posted by muvana

A Krabby Patty is a popular burger served at the Krusty Krab. It is the best-known food at the Krusty Krab, and the most famous burger in Bikini Bottom. It’s so popular that the shows protagonist, Plankton, tries to steal it in order for vengeance on Mr. Krab (his former friend) and to improve the restaurants success. Despite his noteable efforts, he is constantly thwarted by SpongeBob and his friends!

After many minutes of research, I have created the “Ultimate Krabby Patty Secrect Formula!”

Ingredients:

Originally posted by achingtentacles

  • Seeded seaweed buns - contains a specific number of sesame seeds, usually there are 11 sesame seeds.
  • Imitation crab meat patty.
  • Cheese,
  • Sea ketchup.
  • Sea Mustard.
  • Sea lettuce
  • Sea tomato
  • Sea pickles
  • Sea onion
  • 2 teaspoons chopped celery
  • 2 teaspoons chopped onion
  • 4-6 teaspoons of vegetable oil
  • 1 teaspoons of thyme
  • 1 teaspoons of raspberry
  • 1 Lb frozen imitation crab meat *defrosted and smashed in a food processor*
  • A tiny portion of “chum!
  • Jellyfish Jelly - in Jelly Patty only.
  • 4 cups of seasoned bread crumbs
  • 1 tablespoons of mustard Dijon.
  • “Secret sauce”
  • Tartar sauce
  • Flour
  • Barnacle shavings
  • Tumeric
  • 1 tablespoons of mayonnaise plus more for dipping sauce.
  • Sea salt and pepper *to taste*
  • Love.

Originally posted by spaz-the-bandito

And, that’s the ever so “secret” formula. One ingredient that’s to be rumoured in the recipe is “King Neptune’s Poisedon Powder.“  But, what if I tell you that that’s not the secret ingredient of a Krabby Patty? What if there is no secrect ingredient and that the whole idea of this was devised by Mr. Krabs to distract Plankton.

Think about it. Mr. Krabs is a money-loving man who won an award for being the “Cheapest Crab of the Year” award. Why would he want to spend extra money on an item so rare that it has never been mentioned (not once) in the show? Plus, it has the name “King Neptune’s” so it is probably going to be expensive. If King Neptune would want to maximise his royalities he would get (in which he would), he would set the ingredient a higher price and we know that Mr. Krabs “loves” buying things. In fact, he sleeps with money under his mattress. No joke!

Originally posted by youngdreamerlove

Until next time!

-sexierthanaheartburn

(I hate playing catch up with my life. after this gets posted, I got to do two more theories - the struggles.)

The Lord of the Wedding Rings: The Return of the King - iguana’s 2017 HELLsinki Worlds recap

This is it guys, the last big competition before the Olympics. So much potential for great skates, great disasters and great distress; this competition did not fail to deliver. Nor did the announcers, who were screaming out names and scores as if it were a wrestling match. And it was, in one way or another. Albeit a sparklier one. For a brief couple of days, we thought Javier Fernandez was gonna win his 3rd consecutive World title and I almost had those memes ready but at the same time I knew coming from behind like a wrecking ball was Yuzuru Hanyu’s specialty. To nobody’s surprise Evgenia Medvedeva broke a record; to everyone’s surprise, she only broke it in the long program. Meanwhile, Wenjing Sui and Cong Han’s blues for koolk brought the pairs crown back to China and Tessa Virtue and Scott Moir purple rained on Gabriella Papadakis and Guillaume Cizeron’s parade. Let’s start the recap!

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

listen you can ship whatever you want but never again compare steggy and stucky, peggy is the single most important person in steve's life, she has motivated him to do everything he does, she has been his only support in life, wouldnt be cap without her and he has never loved will never love anyone else more than he loves peggy, it's nowhere near a radom childhood friend that died in the war, just cause you want to see two hot dudes kissing doesnt mean you will prop bucky and steve's friendship

Wow……I mean I literally said in the post that disregarding the depth and extent of Steve and Bucky’s bond to justify a het pairing is the most thinly veiled example of homophobia in the fanbase and here you are….proving my point lmao.

Let’s break this down shall we:
-“Peggy is the single most important person in Steve’s life” - False. Bucky was. Quote to support- “Best friends since childhood, Bucky Barnes and Steven Rogers were inseparable on both schoolyard and battlefield.”

- “She has motivated him to do everything he does.” - False. Bucky has been his driving motivation throughout all 3 Cap movies. Quote to support - “I won’t stop until all of Hydra are captured or dead” (spoken after Hydra were the cause of Bucky falling)

- “She has been his only support in life” - False??? She was literally around for like 2 years of his life, if that. They kissed one time and never went on a date. Bucky however, literally at times the only support he had. Quote to support - “Even when I had nothing, I had Bucky.”

- “Wouldn’t be Cap without her.” False. He was already Cap. He got chosen to be Cap bc he already had all the characteristics they wanted for their poster boy. It was Erskine who gave him the serum not Peggy. And the moment he actually became Captain America: The First Avenger™ was when he went on a one man solo mission with the sole intention of rescuing Bucky. That’s when he became more than just a “dancing monkey.”, his need to protect Bucky. Quote to support - “What are you going to do, walk to Austria?” “If that’s what it takes.”

- “He has never loved, will never love anyone as much as he loves Peggy.” False. Took him approximately half an hour after her funeral to make out with her niece. Peggy was important to him no doubt, but like previously mentioned, they kissed once, never went on a date, and didn’t really even know each other.

- “It’s nowhere near a random childhood friend that died in the war.” Bullshit lmao. I don’t even have the time. They were best friends who were inseparable. Quotes to support the level of bullshit this statement is - “Thanks Buck, but I can get by on my own” “That’s the thing, you don’t have to. Because I’m with you til the end of the line”

Get to fuck with your transparent as hell homophobia, I don’t have the time for it.

retr0spectre  asked:

Speaking of sexist fighting advice! There's this really great fiction writing advice blog I read years ago, written by a lady, shut down ages ago. But it claimed a few times that there was no way a woman could physically handle a zweihander or the like. I've always had a feeling that's nonsense, but confirmation from a good source such as yourself would be great.

Consider this: the zweihander weighs seven pounds. The display version is ten pounds. If you can lift a backpack crammed with textbooks, you can lift a zweihander. House cats weigh more than a sword.

The issue with the zweihander is length, not weight. It is not a heavy sword. No swords are actually all that heavy, because weight defeats the purpose of the weapon. The heavier it is, then the faster your arms wear out and grow tired. This is a terrible, terrible thing.

Combat is highly frenetic. An easy comparison is sprinting, and it’s not just a regular sprint but wind sprints. You gotta go, go, go. You need to be able to move. So, a heavy weapon is detrimental to the goal of being able to fight as long as possible. Especially when that weapon is designed to give you an edge in reach, and counter pole arms. You want to be able to swing the weapon around for long periods of time because if you wear out first, you’re dead.

Endurance, not strength, is the great necessity for any warrior. So, everything your PE teacher punished you with is what you’re looking for (except dialed to eleven). Once you understand fighting is about going for as long as possible between energetic bursts, combat starts to make more sense. This is also why most action movies feature the pressure cooker, the slow grind down of the protagonist by giving them little to no rest between fights as they accumulate more injuries.

So, when people say strength in regards to combat, they don’t usually mean physical strength in what you can lift. They mean how long you can go, what you can endure before finally keeling over. This gets misinterpreted, mixed in with the confusion by historians about parade swords (which were incredibly heavy and often the only surviving weapons) and we get the beefcake barbarian.

Like all swords, and even shields, the zweihander is awkward to use if you don’t know how to wield it or have never held one before. This has to do with its balance point. Swords feel heavier than they actually are when we hold them because the balance is midway up the blade and that strains the wrist, which strains the arm, and causes the whole thing to tilt forward. Sometimes, the sword even gets dropped. You’ve got to learn how to account for it.

When you’re looking at actual combat considerations on weight, that’s in the armor. Armor is comparatively heavy, the warrior has to get used to carrying around fifteen to twenty or so pounds, or more depending on what gear they’re lugging with them between battles. So, if you’ve got a character going into battle without plate then they’re not going to have those weight considerations. Even if they are, the point of training is to build your body up to be able to handle it.

At the end of the day, its important to remember that, historically, large scale combat has been about being able to get the most bodies on the field as possible. You ran the gamut between trained warriors and farmers yanked off their fields with a hastily cludged together pole arm thrust into their hands. There are plenty of people who went into battle with no freakin’ clue what they were doing. The concept of a military as we know it today is a mostly modern invention.

The mystique of the knight and others like them came with their training, which is… they had some. Whatever they’d have liked us to think, there was nothing different about them compared to the farmers except the money, the (sometime) power, the time, and the “luck” of their birth. In the end, it’s less about what humans can or can’t do but what society corrals them from learning. It’s easier to control your population when only the powerful have access to weapons, educations, and castles.

So, yeah, a woman can use a zweihander if she trains on the zweihander. It also won’t be her only weapon, mostly because one never knows when they’ll have to fight indoors. (That’s a joke, HEMA peeps. I know half-holds are a thing, and it’s not a katana so it can strike straight.)

-Michi

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