there should be an original set somewhere and it's not mine

Your senior year roommate calls herself Clarity. She’s very small and rumpled and distant, and she goes for long walks in the forest south of campus when she’s frustrated. You aren’t friends, but you coexist peacefully. It’s enough.

The creature on your co-owned Walmart futon isn’t Clarity.

It looks like her. Enough to fool a casual observer, certainly. Enough to fool someone who hasn’t been soldering sterling silver for six hours. But you have, and the truth of silver lingers, and the Thing That Looks Like Clarity is sprouting delicate flowers from the skin of its bare shoulders.

It’s sitting cross-legged and perfectly, terribly still, tracking your eyes as you take all this in. When you sigh and set down your backpack, it says, “Hello, smith. There didn’t seem to be any sense in pretending.”

“Jeweler,” you say, and, “I go by Florence, these days. What should I call you?”

It blinks, languid and slow. “I’m not here to usurp. I’m a… placeholder.”

“It’s still confusing as shit, my guy.”

It considers this at length. Finally, with the air of one who has just solved a great puzzle, it says “Claire. We will know, the two of us.”

“Works for me. Nice meeting you, Claire.”

And that seems to be all there is to say. Your roommate’s been stolen by the Fair Folk, you’re living with a changeling, and there’s not much you can do about either of these things. You scroll through Instagram until it gets tired of watching you and wanders out into the hallway.

So that’s Claire.

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Jeff Atkins x Reader | Friendzone - (Part 1)

A/N: I thought I would post this first because I planned the plot in like 5 mins and currently having writers block for the 2 requested ones but I hope they will be up by next week. Enjoy, like and follow. Requests are not open until further notice. Much love. Send me feedback on what you think so far. Part 2 ? .xx

(Part 2) | (Part 3)

Originally posted by knightlley

Life is great when you know you have at least one loyal best friend. It’s better than having 10 okay friends. I couldn’t have asked for anyone better to have entered my life and that was my best friend, Jeff Atkins.

We in actual fact met because of our parents since we’re both neighbours and was new to the neighbourhood at the time, Jeff’s parents had invited us over to his house for dinner. I was shy to speak to someone who was as handsome as Jeff, I wasn’t one to speak to boys in a hurry and where I came from was an all girls school. Knowing that I’m going to the same school as him also had given me the chills, who knows what’s in stored for me. Though that night Jeff had gotten me to show my bubbly and loud side - we had a lot in common.

Jeff introduced me to his friends which I was glad they were all easy to make conversations with but I didn’t believe they were being genuine about who they say they were.

Through time, I started to have feelings for Jeff as more than a friend. This really did scare me because I didn’t want to lose the friendship we had. Worst case scenario is me telling him that I love him and have been in love with him since the start, all he would say is nothing and probably laugh at me like everyone else.

I thought to myself that I should set my feelings for him aside and just worry about our friendship. Problem is that he has a girlfriend named Jazmin for a while now. He seems to be head over heels for her and well I can’t change that. She was the new girl at our school, Jeff couldn’t stop talking about her and since Clay was her buddy, it was a bonus for Jeff so he had an excuse to talk to her. They’ve been dating for a good 6 months.

Later today our whole school was invited to Jess’ house party. As much as I didn’t want to go Jeff insisted that I come with and of course Jazmin was going to tag along. No hate to her, she’s really sweet and pretty - everything that I’m not - we both had become acquaintances.

It was currently 3pm and the party was at 6pm. I was busy studying and decided on getting ready at 5 since Jess’ house is literally 5 minutes away from mine. As I was just about to get back to studying my notifications went off, it was a message from Hannah asking if I was going. I replied back saying yes and hoped to see her there. I left my phone aside and was finishing off my summaries. My phone was ringing this time, I groaned in annoyance, we’re all going to see each other later today anyway so I don’t see what’s the need for the messages and phone calls.

It was a call from Jeff. “Hello” I answered plainly. “Sup bestie” Jeff enthused. “Busy studying well was until you interrupted me. How about you ?” I asked. “Oh my bad Miss. Y/L/N looks like the next time I shouldn’t bother to phone you at all” he said sarcastically. “That’s fine by me” I giggled. “Anyways I just wanted to know if you need a ride ? I’m just on my way to fetch Jazmin and thought I can pop by to pick you up” he said. “Nah it’s okay, thanks for the offer, though I’ll walk” I said. “Are you kidding me ? Do you know how dangerous it is for you to walk alone at night ? I’m coming to pick you up. No buts. See you in a bit” he said lastly and ended this call. Gosh this boy.

I left my work as it was on my study table and started looking through my closet for an outfit. I finally picked out a cropped black lace off the shoulder top with denim short shorts paired with adidas original superstars. I left my hair as its natural wavy state with subtle make up on. I sprayed on some perfume, grabbed my phone and decided to sit on my front porch whilst I waited. 2 minutes later Jeff parks in front, I jumped in the back “Hey” I smiled. “Heya” they replied back. “I love your outfit” she said as she looked at me through the rear mirror. “Aww thanks, I love yours too” I said and turned to look at her in the passenger seat. I felt Jeff look at me through the rear mirror but he didn’t say anything.

We got to the party and as soon as we got there we 3 had dispersed. Well, I was on my own and I’m sure they’re somewhere here together. I walked into Jess’ house and taking in my surroundings, as close as Jess and I may stay we aren’t the bestest of friends though we’re good enough acquaintances.

I spotted Clay and Hannah talking by the couch. “Aww well if it ain’t my favourite people” I cooed. They’re so cute honestly get married already. “Oh hey Y/N it’s good to see you here other than worrying about your books” Clay said and pulled me in for a hug. “Look who’s talking, this isn’t my first party Jensen. I’m the one shocked to see you here that goes for you too Han” I said. “I thought I should try something different” Clay said. “Same here” Hannah added. “I can tell you both did, loving the hair by the way Hannah" I said lastly and faded off into the kitchen.

All I need right now was a drink though I’m not talking about alcohol. Alcohol is not always the option when you’re sad. I poured myself a cup of Coca Cola and walked back to where Clay, and Hannah was. “You guys want a drink ?” I asked. “Nah we’re good” Hannah smiled and shook the cup in her hand. I thought I might as well sit next to them on the couch but then Jess and Justin beat me to it. They were both clearly pissed drunk but it was more evident on Jess. “Hey Y/N” she waved. “Hii” I waved back at them. She then moved her attention to the suck and blow game happening in front of them. “Hey ! We want to play too” Jess whined. I took a quick look at all the participants and surprise surprise, Jeff and Jazmin were playing too. Can I even stand to watch this ?

The card started from Zach to Sheri, to Monty to another blonde, to Jeff. I don’t even know his this boy couldn’t hold onto that card for a few seconds longer. It fell from his lips and he was quick to connect his with Jazmin. “Excuse me” I told Clay and Hannah. They know. I walked out to the front yard and sat on the staircase, I tried not to cry from the pain but I was weak. A tear dropped onto my thigh, I quickly wiped away my tears in hopes that no one sees me crying - I don’t want to cause a scene - their was a hand placed on my shoulder. I looked back to the person and it was Zach. “Hey are you okay ?”

screencap/icon coloring tutorial

this is waaaaay long overdue, but i hope this helps someone and if you have questions feel free to ask me here

you’ll need to have some knowledge of the tools in Ps, but if you’re a beginner i tried to make this simple enough that you can understand, too :)

i’m going to walk you through how i colored this cap (and how i make icons from a screencap like this):

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I would like to thank @leaalda for making these amazing banners.

This is an effort to spread the word about all fan fiction writers in our little fandom. If you would like to be featured or nominate a writer, please contact me. Please reblog this post if you can and check out some of @raptorlily work!


1. First things first, if someone wanted to read your stories where can they find them.

You can find all my work on my Ao3 profile.

2. Tell us a little about yourself.

I’m in my early twenties taking my first Bambi steps out into the Real World and wanting to walk them right back.

I’m quirky and friendly and although it’s not apparent always, it is in fact difficult for me to sit still.  I do my best thinking when I’m pacing or jogging.  I walk and tumblr (or Ao3) a lot. It’s probably doing terrible things for my posture.

I collect rocks from everywhere I’ve been in the world. I have a picture folder on my phone dedicated to fat, baby animals.  I have an obsession with things that go vroom!

3. What do you never leave home without?

My phone and my water bottle full of cold tea.

4. Are you an early bird or a night owl?

It depends. By default, though, I’m an early bird.

5. If you could live in any fictional world which one would you choose and why?

Honestly, none of them. There’s always some apocalyptic doomsday crap going down in all the interesting fictional worlds.  I’m an escapist but I’m not that much of an escapist, you feel me?

6. Who is the most famous person you’ve ever met.

Curtis Joseph. He jokingly jumped into a round of beach volleyball with my friends. I had no idea who he was until people started running up and asking for his autograph. I also have had a few run-in’s with my country’s Super Star Prime Minister.

7. What are some of your favorite movies/TV?

Almost Famous, Princess Bride, Goodfellas, When Harry Met Sally, Scarface… those are just some that come to mind. If I see them on TV, I’ll stop and watch them no matter how many times I’ve seen them.

TV shows at the moment are Ozark, Suits, Walking Dead, Riverdale and Game of Thrones. Twin Peaks is on my list too.

8. What are some of your favorite bands/musicians?

I have bands of the moment. Lately, I’ve been jamming to the Børns,  Imagine Dragons, Lana del Rey, the Struts, Portugal. The Man,  and Young and the Giant.

Rolling Stones, Queen, and the Scorpions, though, those are my follow-forevers.

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Time to celebrate surviving three weeks of hiatus with a new prompt! After coffee shops, space and royals, we can’t wait to see what you come up with for:

SINGLE PARENTS

We’re sure you’re all familiar with this one, and there’s certainly a lot of possibilities to explore! There’s no rules on setting, so you could do a real world AU, or explore the possibilities within the canon. Or do something more exotic! The choice is up to you - as long as someone’s a single parent, it all fits, so go wild!

Again, usual reminders apply; please tag your works #shaumondays in the first five tags, and tag any triggers. If you could tag any otps and brotps somewhere in the post, that would also help us a lot with sorting! Also remember you can tag us @shadowhuntersaumondays within the post if you think it might go missing, and if something hasn’t been reblogged and you think it should have been, don’t be afraid to get in touch!

We accept all types of fanworks that you could dream of, but please remember that all content should be created originally by you. This challenge has been incredible, and we can’t wait to see you rise to this week’s challenge. As always, if you’re in need of inspiration, you can check under the cut for prompts and ideas. If you have questions, ask them here, and remember fanfics posted on AO3 can be added to this collection if you wish! Happy creating!

Love, the SHAUMondays squad

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The Sidra Coffee Shop

So I saw this post http://greenfire2908art.tumblr.com/post/156678536994/sjm-said-in-an-interview-that-feyre-would-be about Rhysand flirting with Feyre and I thought I might write it. Sorry if this turns out bad, another writer could do a better job than me. Hell, someone probably already has. Anyway I hope you enjoy!


It was Sunday morning and I was in my favourite coffee shop, The Sidra. It was named after the mighty river that ran through the centre of town. It was said that when we were invaded, the river rose as if in answer and wiped out the forces of the invading army and saving the city. You could see the river from my view of the window seat, it was an image I was trying to capture desperately in my sketch pad. 

I took a sip from my smoothie before grabbing my pencils and shading the jasmine flowers that bloomed along the riverbank. The whole atmosphere was pleasant, sitting in the rather rustic coffee shop, a faint moody dancing around the room, quite Sunday morning chatter in the background. I was quite content to spend the rest of the day sitting on the little wooden bench sketching. 

I had just finished capturing the image of the cafe chairs that adorned the edge of the Sidra, imagining how it would have rose. It was something I wanted to paint, I could almost imagine wolves jumping out of the very river itself and taking soldiers to their watery graves as they fought to protect their city. When a shadow fell across my page causing me to jump.

Startled, I turned to face the most beautiful man I had ever seen. He had silky black hair and a muscled chest, from what I could see of how his shirt hugged his body, but it was the bright violet hue of his eyes that enticed me the most. 

“Hey,” I started. “Can I help you?” I was a little confused at why this man was here beside me, I really did want to finish this drawing but he seemed to have other plans.

“Well, darling, as it is you certainly can. I was just admiring your drawing skills from that table over there,” he gestured behind him, “and felt that you should know that it’s  almost as gorgeous as you.” 

“Um… Thank you, I guess,” I was unsure of what to say so I took a sip out of my strawberry and dragon fruit smoothie. 

“Also, darling-,”

“Feyre,” I interjected.

“Well then, Feyre darling I was wondering if you have wifi?”

Who the hell was this guy, asking if she had wifi. All I wanted was to finish my sketch in piece.

“No,” I said and I turned back to my drawing.

“Well,” he drawled from beside me. “That is disappointing because I thought I felt a connection. I’m Rhysand by the way.”

“No sorry, no wifi here. Though I’m positive your friends must be missing you,” I said as what I hoped was a subtle dismissal. Apparently I had no such luck.

“Your jumper is perfectly stunning, did you know that?” He comments. 

“Thank you,” I simply stated before turning back to my drawing. After about five minutes he walks away. Muttering a short goodbye as he left. I turned back to my drawing an odd feeling surrounding me. I sort of did a double take, today was turning out rather odd. 

It wasn’t ten minutes before I was disrupted again. What the hell was with everyone this morning? Why couldn’t I just be left in peace I thought. 

“Well hello, gorgeous,” he whistles.

I made a point to ignore him, carrying on with my attempt to capture the rest of the perfect image before the rest of the public rose from their beds. He just sits down next to me. He’s wearing a black hoodie and jeans.

“Nice outfit by the way, you look absolutely delicious.” 

“Thanks,” I reply. This was the oddest Sunday morning I had ever had. I took another sip out of my smoothie letting it wash around my mouth before trickling down my throat.

“Like you just walked off the runway,” he goes on. 

“Thanks,” I reply curtly. “Again.”

He throws some more odd compliments my way before heading off in the same direction that that Rhysand bloke had gone in. I turned around catching the tail end of their conversation. There were five of them in total.

“…way, she didn’t even blush. I’ve never met anyone who has resisted my manly charm that easily before.” The hoody guy states.

“Well Cassian, it seems you own Amren ten bucks. I told you she wouldn’t give you her number,” Rhysand drawls.

“Cough up boys,” the small one says. Her quick silver eyes flash over and meet mine and she smirks. 

“Nah ah ah,” Rhysand smirks like the cheshire cat. “I made no bargain or bet.” 

“No but you did say you would get her number and it seems you failed,” the blonde one perks up.

“Look,” he growls. “I’m just interested in her okay, lets not make a big deal out of it.” He picks up his coffee and takes a gulp. It’s black, the worst kind of coffee in my opinion. When I drank it I felt like I was choking down tar. So those men were trying to flirt with me? God, I feel so stupid.

I finish with my drawing, the crowds now to thick to properly capture the original image and pack my stuff away. I walk over and pay the bill, I’m about to leave when a thought strikes me. I may as well have a little fun with this situation they have given me. I stalk over to Rhysand, grab a napkin scribble my number down as he stares at me, fold it up and shove it into his chest before pecking him on the cheek and sauntering towards the door. 

Right before I set foot out of the cafe I turn around to see the whole bunch bent over double laughing all except Rhysand who is grinning from ear to ear and the small one, Amren, who catches my gaze and smirks at me knowingly. With that I walk out of the cafe and down the street, a small part of me hoping for a call from the gorgeous, violet eyed man I had just encountered.


I take no credit for the idea behind this piece, that should go to @greenfire2908art. I hope you enjoyed reading it. I’m sorry for the poor quality of writing I wrote this at midnight and now can’t be bothered to reread it and edit my mistakes. Yep, I’m lazy like that. I hope it’s somewhere near what you hoped for @greenfire2908art sorry if it’s not up to the right standard. I thought I’d give it a go though anyway. 

Out Of Nothing At All - Fourteen

You’d lain in bed together for a while longer before deciding to move. Upon checking your phone you saw that Hotch had text you, telling you both not to bother coming in today. You didn’t have a case so it was just going to be another paperwork day.

You called him anyway, updating him on your situation and asking him about the possibility of being excused from field duty and staying behind at HQ until you officially went on maternity leave.

With you being pregnant, technically the Bureau had to do anything they could to assist with the pregnancy in case anything were to go wrong which they could be held liable for. You both knew this and Hotch agreed with your request telling you he’d been sourcing a replacement anyway, another female from Andy Swan’s unit and that he’d speak with them about her taking over sooner than planned. You thanked him profusely, another load taken off your mind.

With the day ahead of you now free, you and Spencer decided to start working on the spare bedroom. You didn’t particularly want to spend tonight alone either and although last night had been fine, it wasn’t a good idea for you to get too comfortable sharing a bed. You knew that you would eventually have to spend the night alone, but you prayed that any cases that came up in the next few weeks would either be local, or that Reid could work from HQ too. You’d mentioned this to Hotch as well who had said it would need to be assessed on a case by case basis, but if you and Spencer were prepared to foot the cost of a commercial flight if Reid was needed in the field, then something could be worked out. Spencer wasn’t normally involved in many of the take downs anyway, so could work just as well via video link from the office.

You showed Reid the spare rooms, the smaller one directly next to yours would of course be the peanuts and the larger guest room with its own en-suite could become Spencer’s.

Reid drove JJ’s car back first thing, collecting his own from her house and picking up a few more belongings from his apartment before heading to the local home depot for storage boxes. The guest room had kinda become your dumping ground for your Gramp’s memorabilia along with old crap that you never used but didn’t have the energy to take to the tip. If you could box up your grandfather’s stuff, then you could shift some of the crap into the smaller room for now so that Reid would have somewhere to sleep. It was a huge job though, one that you regretted starting almost immediately.

It didn’t help that Reid was so interested in the stuff you had of your grandfather’s, like old scripts and film cells and stuff, insisting on asking you about everything.

Three hours had passed and you were exhausted. You slumped on the floor with a bottle of water, leaning against the bed next to Spencer who was quickly thumbing through yet another script he’d found, complete with all of your Gramp’s notes.

“Which one’s that?” you asked him.

“Jackal,” he replied, not even looking up, his finger running quickly down each page. It always amazed you watching him devour the written word so quickly.

“Ahhh. That’s my favourite.” It had been a sleeper hit at the box office but had won a fuck ton of awards including an Academy Award for best original screenplay.

“It’s mine too actually.” Still not looking up.

“Hey Spencer….. You know the little girl at the start.”

“The one who escapes from the Jackal?”

“Yep….. That’s yours truly.”

And now you had his attention. “Really? Oh my god thats awesome! You must have been what? Eight?”

You nodded and explained how you’d begged your Gramp’s to take you to work with him again. You loved going with him, even though he couldn’t always spend an awful lot of time with you when he was directing. He’d set you up in your own mini directors chair in front of one of the monitors and you’d just sit mesmerised. Most kids would have found the constant repetition of the same takes being filmed over and over again boring, but you’d loved it.

On this particular day, the production had run into issues. The actress playing the younger version of the protagonist in the opening scene had been pulled from the movie at the last minute, her parents suddenly finding issue with the content. The producers had seen you sitting there, quietly observing the panic, and made the suggestion to your Grandfather. He’d been reluctant to begin with but had approached you and asked whether you thought you could do this. You could and you did, so excited to be involved. You hadn’t been allowed to actually watch the full movie until years later, due to its rating and it had been so strange seeing yourself on screen.

“So why didn’t you continue with it then?” Spencer asked you.

“Erm…. Well, as much as I enjoyed it, I remember seeing the actress on the set. And for a nine year old, she was so spoiled and haughty. Her parents and assistants ran around catering to her every need and she reminded me so much of my older sisters, thinking they were everything but actually being no more important than me. I just didn’t want to become that. I’d have hated to become from sisters or my mom.”

“Y/N, why….. Why don’t you get on with your family? You never really talk about them much except to say bad things.”

“Erm…. ”

“I’m sorry… That’s too personal. Forget it.”

“No its fine… You should probably know. I’ll guess you’ll eventually meet them anyway. So, I’m quite a lot younger than my sisters. There’s a 10 year age gap between me and the one nearest to me in age. I’ve just always……been different to them. My Mom spend a large amount of her childhood in fancy boarding schools due to my Grandfather’s job. He told me once that he regretted it so much because it turned her into a ‘spoiled little madam with ideas above her station.’ And because my Grandparent’s weren’t used to having the amount of money they were suddenly making, she pretty much got anything she wanted.”

You took a breath before continuing. 

“My Mom married rich, I strongly suspect she didn’t love my father. And she did the same with my sisters, using money from her trust find and our Dad to send my sisters to the same school she went to. My Dad was away on business a lot so he didn’t really have a say in what went on. He died just after I was born by the way… I never knew him. By the time I was born, my Grandpa was fed up with seeing her turning his grandchildren into little princesses and put his foot down with me. He told her that I had to go to a normal public school and have a normal childhood or else he’d cut her and my sisters off and they wouldn’t get their trust funds. My mom remarried… For money again, but couldn’t bear to lose her dad’s money so abided by his wishes, although she employed nannies to actually look after me. And because Gramp’s was older and making less movies, he started spending time with me, that he hadn’t with my siblings. It’s all terribly boring but basically they just all have a sense of entitlement which my Grandpa blamed himself for and I don’t feel any sense of kin to them. We’re all totally different in personality. Plus my Mom’s an evil bitch. It’s down to her that I don’t want kids.”

“How come?”

“Because she’s repeatedly told me that I wouldn’t be a good mother and I’m terrified she’s right.“ 

Wow…. Honesty for once. Most of the time you just told people that it didn’t fit your lifestyle. But somehow…. You felt you owed it to him to be honest.

“Your own mother told you that you wouldn’t be a good mother? What the fuck?”

“And my sisters….. To be fair. One of them had a point. I did nearly kill her kid.”

He coughed, “What?”

Fuck it, in for a penny, in for a pound. You’d never told anyone this.

“When I was thirteen we had a family party. My sisters are a lot older than me like I’ve already said, so I’ve got a fair few nieces and nephews. So the adults were all getting drunk and I was left in charge of the kids, supervising them around the pool.” You took a deep breath before continuing. “I looked away for two minutes, texting this boy that I liked and when I looked up, my five year old nephew had fallen in. And he couldn’t swim.”

You could feel the panic you’d felt all those years ago settling back in.

“I couldn’t move, I was frozen to the spot. All I could do was scream until the adults came running. They pulled him out but he’d stopped breathing.”

Spencer reached his hand out placing it on your arm, the motion calming you without you even realising. “They performed CPR on him and thankfully, he started breathing again. And he’s fine…. No ill effects. He probably doesn’t even remember it. But I do. And so do….. they. My Mom asked me what had been so important that I hadn’t been paying attention and when I told her I was on my phone, she slapped me so hard that she split my lip and marked my face. She called me a selfish little bitch and asked me how I’d feel if my nephew had died because I was too busy thinking about myself. And she’s right….. I’m too selfish to think of other people. It’s always all about me. My sister, his Mom, said she’d never leave me alone with him again and that she hoped I’d never get pregnant because ‘god help the poor child that has Y/N for a Mother.’ And whenever a new baby was introduced into the family, they’d laugh and joke and say that I wasn’t to be allowed near them because I’d drop them or something. So yeah…… That’s kinda why I don’t want kids. Because I can’t be trusted to look after someone else’s child let alone my own.”

Spencer was staring at you, his jaw slack, “What did you your Grandpa say?”

“He didn’t. He was away, and I never told him. I couldn’t tell him I nearly killed his great grandchild.”

It felt so strange saying all of this now, after all these years.

“Y/N, you were thirteen. It wasn’t your fault.”

“Yes it was. I should have been watching.”

“You were thirteen. The parents should have been watching, not you. They weren’t your responsibility.”

“It WAS my responsibility though. It was, I shouldn’t have been so selfish. But that’s me. Selfish little Y/N. You’ve said it yourself Spencer.”

“Y/N stop. Your family were out of line, in so many ways by the sounds of it. You know what it sounds like to me? Jealousy and resentment because of the special treatment you got from your Grandfather. They wanted to make you feel bad and they’ve used something that was NOT your fault to do that. It was a mistake, an accident. But it wasn’t your fault. And it doesn’t mean you won’t be a good mother.” His voice was quiet and soothing.

“But I won’t be Spencer, I won’t be. How can I be a good Mom when I wanted to get rid of her….. When I tried to get rid of her.” Your voice cracking now and tears threatening to spill.

“Y/N…. You didn’t though did you. Something stopped you. And you know what? Plenty of women who’ve had a termination go on to have other children and be great mom’s. Thinking of terminating or actually terminating a pregnancy doesn’t mean that someone is a bad mother, it just means that maybe that person wasn’t ready. Maybe circumstances meant that it just wasn’t the right time.” He inched closer on the floor until your shoulders were touching and he moved his arm so it was around your shoulders, pulling you into a hug.

“I’m truly sorry for the things I said yesterday. Now I know, I realise how much I must have added to these feelings. But what happened doesn’t mean anything. I know you’re going to be great at this. Because you’re strong, and independent. You’re opinionated. And how can you say you’re selfish when you do what you do for a living? You risk your life on a daily basis for other people. Hell you’ve even saved mine a few times. You’ll be great at this.”

Tears were freely streaming down your face down…..Christ, you couldn’t wait for these extra hormones to do one. You weren’t normally a crier.

“You think so?” Maybe if he genuinely thought this then maybe it was true.

“I know so.”

“Thanks Spencer,” you whispered, wiping your tears away.

“Nothing to thank me for…… But you do realise you have to tell your family about this. And then show them how good a mom you actually are.”

Now that was a point. This was kind of your opportunity to proof them wrong. And fuck, you loved proving people wrong.

“Will you come with me?”

He looked surprised and taken aback by your question and you were surprised too. But you actually did want him there. 

“Of course. Anything you need, I’ll do.”

And you knew that he was telling the truth.

anonymous asked:

i'm not trying to start drama but i don't know anything about s.e hinton as a person and you seem to have info. can you explain how she's rude and why you don't like her? :O

ok so sit tight kids i’ve been working on this for AN HOUR bc i started and i just got angrier and couldn’t stop so i’m putting it under a cut bc it’s long and ranty

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World-building Cybertron: Gladiator romance novels

I love world-building and I have tons of headcanons that have nothing to do with anything but are just funny and cool things I’d like to add. This post is about a sub-genre of Cybertronian novels that I named “gladiator romance”, where true love is priceless and the object of the hero’s affection has nothing else to give.

Semi-academic musings about true love below:

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Well, You Know What They Say About Desperate Times... [Chapter Three]

It was a good thing he didn’t take Mo’s incessant insubordination seriously.

“One of my traffickers from Hong Kong says you spat at him.”

“In the mouth.”

The fiery shade from his hair matched the tone of his skin. He was real burn up.*

Was this kid not even going to try to deny it? Or grovel? Say it was his mistake and he’d never do it again?

They both were in HeTian’s office building next to the speakeasy.
HeTian sat with his hands folded on top of the desk which separated them, and Mo GuanShan stood in the middle of the room without a chair. People didn’t sit in his office: they reported, and they got out. The days when he actually needed a chair were the days it came paired with a knife, as well as someone being restrained in it. His boys had suggested if he needed it when he called for Mo GuanShan to be brought to his office, but he just renovated this flooring so he’d hate to stain it so soon.

The kid whose back was straight as can be and arms unmoving by his sides suggested that the training Meng and the others gave the little booger* went successful, if it weren’t for his brazen glaring eyes.
They were in his direction, but not necessarily at him; more like he was staring down a recent memory.

HeTian sighed.

The kid was beginning to become more trouble than he was worth.

The one he had started a fight with was a handsome white male who was useful in transporting opium from the mainland to California and New York. People just didn’t question entitled blonde haired, blue-eyed white males. They could be strapped so much they’d have to walk with a cane, and authorities wouldn’t give much of a damn.


“Luckily for you, that one had been accused of skimming my uncle’s Triad in California. From the top then, Mo GuanShan. And don’t leave out any details…”


————


____ , I love _____.”

Mo looked up from drying a glass at the English man before him. He may not understand the language itself, but their accents and way of dress was distinct enough.

___ ___ ____ __ pretty.

What? 漂亮*?Was he talking about their canary*? He glanced to the jazz singer on stage in front of the pianist; a unique Chinese-African duo unlike any jazz bar or restaurant had in the entire city. Probably the country. It was ironic, the race known for classical playing, sing jazz with all the bravado of a goddess, and a Black pianist killin’ the keys but in a tux meant for a concerto.

He looked back to the white man in front of him, but his eyes were solely set on the one in front of him. On Mo.


“Can I offer you a drink, sir?”

You can offer me ____ __ your ____…

Shit.

What is this asshole saying?!

He tried to keep a straight face. He was given a crash course in English, but most of the time the customers were either Chinese or just spoke the name of the drink they wanted and whether they wanted added rocks or not. Some would ask about their “special”, for which he was trained to get one of the Triad if they ever said those words, and then they’d lead them upstairs. He was pretty sure they were the buyers or distributors of their opium stock.


“I am…sorry. My English -”

‘Not verry good’?” the man said in an accent that wasn’t his own, and chuckled as if he made a funny joke.


His teeth gritted, “Is not very good. Sir.”


The blonde across slightly widened his eyes, “Oh, ho! ____ __ you! Your English is ______ ____ ____!“

“Thank you,” Mo guessed.
Best to get on with this so he can finish cleaning before the act ended on stage. It was usually when the customers flooded the bar, and this guy wasn’t talking nearly loud enough for his limited English to be of any use.


Hey, Mister Bartender… Why ____ you and I ____?


“Pardon me?”

You know, “getaway”, like “leave”?

Ugh.
“I have work, sir.”

Mo silently hoped this guy would take the hint. He didn’t.

____ __ ____ quick. ____ you and me in the back. I’ll ____ __ ____ your _____? How ____ fifty dollars _____?


Huh? Fifty dollars? Is this guy…what’s the word HeTian used?…'Propositioning’ me? Does he think I’m a prostitute?!

___! Stop _______ __ this chink! He doesn’t understand English!” Another white man stepped in, someone he recognized had been lead to talk shop upstairs, and spoke more to the asshole in front of him, but he stopped trying to get it.


Instead, Mo GuanShan switched into Chinese.
“You tryin’ to give me a fifty like it ain’t chump change, but you should know you British shitstains, you and your shit King wouldn’t be able to afford this Asian ass.”


That stopped the white men in their tracks, confusion etched all over their faces, but a cocky grin crossed over his own.
“Wha~t? You boys don’t understand Chinese? I guess I’m not the only one who can look stupid, ah? Here you are, in your fancy coats, with your fancy gloves, and your fancy shoes… Too stupid to know the language of the establishment you’ve walked your money into.”

The men before him suddenly grew angry. Did they understand him?
No… They just hated to hear and not understand a language that wasn’t English.

One of them grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him forward, but before he could give a threat he wouldn’t even understand anyway, he waited for the parting of his lips…and made sure what he spat aimed right between them.

The man gagged and his companion looked on in horror, but all Mo could do was laugh.


Gentlemen! You look ____! _____ me __ ____slate.

He looked to his right.

Of course it had to be fuckin’ HeTian walking up to the bar, giving a rapidly spun slew of words in perfect English he couldn’t hope to under- wait, did he say the word ‘translate’ earlier?? No -

Within moments, pairs of angry blue eyes set on him.

Well, looks like they understood what he’d said now…

But before the situation could escalate and they all started boffing* each other, Kwon, one of the brunos* standing at the door of the joint, took both the men by their shoulders.


“I think it’s time for you both to leave,” HeTian said in Chinese before switching back to English… But he couldn’t understand a lick of it.

Kwon navigated them to the door as HeTian walked ahead with the occasional twirl of his cane.

“GuanShan, did you understand what HeTian-Xiānsheng said?” It was Au Chi-Kung, bent over from trying to contain his laughter. Mo forgot he had gone to the back room to check on their stock on ice. They were similar in age, Chi-Kung being just a couple years older, so he was closer to him than other Triad members.

“What’d he say?”

The act ended, the patrons applauded the ones on stage, and he had to get closer and have the other boy whisper in his ear:

“He said, ‘Everything in this club is mine. You either buy the merchandise I tell you to buy, or you get the fuck out.’”


————


“What’d ya mean by that? What Chi- I mean, what Au said?”*


Was he…a slave? That he was “merchandise” that could be sold to a white man? If HeTian wanted it? It had bothered him since.


A tense silence proliferated between them and enveloped the office.

HeTian still had his hands folded together, and looked over Mo, but besides that, remained unmoving as if he hadn’t heard what Mo had said.


He didn’t seem he would ever say anything.

But Mo stubbornly didn’t seem like he would be leaving anytime soon.


Are you mine?”

“Ah?”

“Are you?”

Hell no.

There’s your answer.



…..Well what did that mean!?

Mo’s mind sputtered, somewhere between confusion and irritation by the way HeTian unsatisfyingly answers anything. What did he mean? Did Mo have a choice in anything? Just saying he wasn’t gonna do something couldn’t have been enough, right??

Not sure where to go from there and still struggling for words, HeTian stood up from the desk and spoke before Mo could.

“You’ll be needing more English lessons, I can tell you that. You seem to be able to handle yourself with just your words as long as you can speak the same language,” HeTian briefly opened desk drawers just to close them, “Now, where did I leave that book?”


He bent down to get a look in a bottom drawer, but Mo still overheard the low mutterings to himself. “What kind of mook spits in someone’s mouth…?”


Under his own breath, Mo grumbled back, “The same kinda mook who hires a person who spits in people’s mouths.”


HeTian’s head lifted behind the desk, and Mo saw the slow pull of his lips into a genuine smile.

He couldn’t help but reciprocate.

————

*burn up - seething, really angry
*booger - brat
*漂亮 piàoliang (peeyow leeyang) = pretty. It’s a pretty well known English word and one of the first rods you learn in Chinese, so I figured the same was opposite.
*canary - a singer
*boffing - to hit someone
*brunos - hired gunmen or other tough guys
*It’s a more reserved time and I figured that people usually referred to others by their last name, and it was impolite to the refer to someone by their first name if they’re your superior.
*mook - a stupid or incompetent person

I’m encountering a problem here that I hope… I’ve reasoned out so no one who’s native Chinese can point out discrepancies. HeTian, Mo, and Meng, are Mandarin names, while Triads mainly originated in Hong Kong. I justify this because different triads are based in different areas, and can contain Mandarin factions in Mainland China and actually kinda needed them for the opium transportations. I believe Mosspaca is based in a mandarin speaking city, so I kept the names the way they were, but will add more Cantonese names as we go on. The PROBLEM lies with whether it would have been better to have made them from the Tong, which is more Mainland China based, instead of Triad, but I think the Triad is more well known. So if HeTian was a successful Chinese gangbanger in NYC, it’d make more sense of him being Triad. But I need to figure out if the Tong and Triad are mutuals or rivals…

anonymous asked:

do you read the manga for chihayafuru? if so do you know if it's goi g in a chihaya X taichi route or Arata X chihaya route?

What a wonderful random question! Yes, I do follow the Chihayafuru manga though I haven’t been involved in the fandom for years! Nonetheless, I could honestly write an essay about my shipping views in Chihayafuru but I wouldn’t want to bore you with–

You know what? Screw it, I’ll write that essay. ^-^

The first Chihayafuru-related fact you should know about me would be that when I first read Chihayafuru I was young, and I was crazy about Taichi/Chihaya. I believed that Taichi and Chihaya would somehow end up together, one way or another, no matter how improbable it seemed at that time.

I still believe that Taichi and Chihaya are endgame, but the basis for my argument is much more grounded and evidence-filled than it would have been, say, three years ago. Back then, I just had a gut feeling that they would be together, but now I can allude to several scenes in the manga to back me up.

It’s important that I should mention that this is definitely NOT an Arata-hate post, but if you’re an Arata/Chihaya shipper and the idea of Taichi and Chihaya being together upsets you, I advise you not to read my post any further than this. I may be right, but I also may be wrong, and in the end, only Sensei can decide how this series will progress. ^-^

Without further ado, here’s why I think Taichihaya is endgame.

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Welcome to my fan fic rec master post! I have worked for an exceptionally long time to get this together, and the following fan fictions are my favourites from the The 100 writers of this fandom! There were loads and loads to choose from, so it was really hard to narrow them down to this amount. There are about 30 fics here, and are 97% Bellarke, but there are other pairings scattered about: Minty, Wellvan, Clarphy and Bravenlarke being the ones with their own fics.

Take a look and see if there’s a fic for you! They’re organised by genre, and some even have little comments to show you how I felt about them! I have tried to link the authors to their tumblrs, too, but if you spot your fic, or someone else’s, that isn’t linked, just give me a shout and I can fix it! Thanks for reading!

(Each tumblr user is tagged by their fic, if you’re tagged more than once it’s because you have more than one fic here!)


All-Time Favourites

Your Mess Is Mine by monroeslittle @argyledpenguin

Bellarke | 42k

Summary: They left soon after, deciding they needed drinks to celebrate Clarke’s new, awesome ability to hit a ball with a bat. But before they went, Clarke threw an arm around Bellamy’s shoulders, forcing him to duck a little so that she could press her check to his, and snap a picture. She put it up on Instagram, labeling it suck it, Octavia! Octavia liked the photo about eight seconds later.

“I’m glad she’s hard at work,” Bellamy said.

On the T, Clarke made it the background on her phone. It was a really good photo.

modern AU, Clarke grows up with Octavia, and Octavia’s brother.

Comments: Okay, so this was the first ever fan fic I ever read? And I didn’t stop, just kept reading until two in the morning, and this was the fic that sent me down the rabbit hole. I would be angry, but the rabbit hole is absolutely awesome.

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anonymous asked:

I loved your last Spencer X reader fic! I cried a little lol could you do a happy (pregnant) reader X Spencer fic where they are stuck somewhere and the reader goes into labor and spence has to deliver the baby

Ah, thank you, you’re too kind! It made you cry? Oh no, I’m sorry about that!

I was a bit worried about posting it because of how many triggers were in it, but it seems to have been well-received :) Yeah, uh, I can try. I’ve never experienced labour or even seen it happen so I’m literally going off of what Google told me. If anything is inaccurate, I’m sorry!

WARNINGS: BEING STUCK IN A ROOM, MENTIONS OF BLOOD AND EXTREME PAIN. READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION!

THE GIF IS NOT MINE! Our Spencer’s so gorgeous it should be illegal…

Originally posted by toyboxboy

You and Spencer were in the old store cupboard, looking for some cold files that Strauss had wanted. Everyone knew that the door to this cupboard was temperamental, and if it swung shut on you, you were stuck in there until someone opened it from the outside.

You were nine months pregnant and you weren’t even meant to be in work, but Hotch had asked you to do some desk-work to help the team catch up with a lot of paperwork left over from the last case.

You had held the door open on your hip, but a wave of pain had moved over your lower abdomen, and you had jolted, your body moving away from the door, which closed shut on you. 

You cursed loudly. “Spencer, we’re stuck in here.”

Spencer hummed thoughtfully, his fingers trailing over the drawers as he muttered names to himself.

Another wave of pain went through your body, originating at the base of your bump. Pains had been happening like this since yesterday morning, and you knew that it was almost time to meet your child. 

You moved away from the door to stand next to Spencer, pulling open drawers and rifling through them. 

“Who was it Strauss was after?” You murmured.

“Anderson.” Spencer hummed and pulled a folder out, flicking through it before frowning and putting it back in its place.

More pain coursed through your body, and you doubled over, groaning as water gushed out from between your legs. Spencer was at your side in an instant, his hand on your back rubbing slow, soothing circles.

“Breathe, Y/N.”

“Trying.” You huffed back, glaring at Spencer.

He gave you a one-sided smile, his hands gripping yours. “Close your eyes and breathe with me.” Spencer did the breathing exercises that the maternity classes had taught you, and you copied him, thankful to have someone as calm as he was with you.

Once he felt that your breathing was under control, he took his phone out of his pocket with one hand, the other still holding both of yours.

“Hotch.” 

You could hear Hotch over the line.

“Yeah, we’re stuck in the store cupboard, the one that likes to trap people. Yeah, Y/N’s fine. I think she’s going into labour, actually.”

You could hear Hotch’s voice suddenly get serious.

“W-wait, Hotch. What do I do? What do we do?”

You could see a frown begin to settle on Spencer’s face, and you recognised the look as one of complete concentration.

He listened for a moment longer before he hung up, looking at the floor with the deep-set frown on his face. 

“Sit down and lean against the wall, Y/N. I think the baby might be coming.”

“Oh, you think?” Spencer shot you a look, but, perhaps wisely, chose to not say anything.

“Spencer, I feel the urge to push!” You were panting, and there was a sheen of sweat starting to coat your whole body.

“Close your eyes again.” You followed Spencer’s instructions, knowing that you could trust him. With everything that his brain held, there would be something to do with pregnancy and childbirth in there somewhere.

“Breathe with me, Y/N.”

“I- I can’t -”

Yes, you can. We’ve been through so much together, we’ve survived so much. We can survive this too. Okay, when I say push. Ready?”

“No…” You whimpered.

“Okay, push!”


You didn’t know how much time had passed. You were in a world of pain and all you wanted was for it to just stop. Through the roaring in your ears and the blood pounding in your head, you could hear Spencer encouraging you, though you didn’t know what he was saying.

At some point, you briefly registered the door to the store cupboard opening and medical staff filing in. Spencer took his place beside you, squeezing your hand and pressing kisses to your forehead, pushing your sweaty and matted hair out of your face.

Finally, finally, you heard it, the most beautiful sound you would ever head in your life.

The sound of your child crying, alive and well.

This is plain terrible. I have no experience at all with pregnancy and childbirth etc. so I’ve used Google but oh my… I’m not all that happy with this one, but here you go! 

I hope everything is accurate and as you wanted it! If not, then please don’t be afraid to let me know so I can add in any changes. Stay safe, my lovelies! <3

noxnoctisangelus  asked:

Caroline goes to NOLA with her college cheerleading team(i don't know if they really have cheerleaders in college) and after the win the whole team goes to Rouseau's and of course Klaroline reunion! (would be perfect if there's also more jealous Cami, loved how you wrote her in the previous drabble :)

We got the awesome @accidental-rambler back for some more jealous Cami (#GuestWritersOnFleek)!

Not That Into You

AN: No baby or Hayley, obviously. No SC either.

Forgive me for I wanted to incorporate more jealous Cami but it turned out to be smut. A lot of smut. Really hope you’ll still like it! Nsfw.

Entering the bar, Caroline had a pretty vivid picture in her head of how this night was going to end.

Of all the colleges in the States, it just had to be Tulane that held the big end-of-year cheerleading competition.

And it would just be her friggin’ luck – at the bar afterwards, celebrating their win with her teammates, she ended up at the one place with the most boring bartender talking her ear off. Caroline wondered how it was even possible, the girl had stated earlier (Caroline had been trying in vain to get away for the past half hour) that she was studying psychology and yet, somehow, she was the one who felt like the therapist.

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Happy Holidays! It’s a little late, but I hope you guys enjoy this bit of Sterek Christmas fluff. <3

Stiles finds him in a bookstore in Brooklyn, and it’s like not a day has passed since they last saw each other, even though it’s been almost two years now.

Stiles is riding the high of just having finished up his first semester of college, and has been wandering the unseasonably warm city trying to kill the couple days he’s got before his flight back home for Christmas. The last thing he expected to find inside this hole-in-the-wall place with a chalkboard sign at its entrance proclaiming that the “Soup of the Day” is “Walden Pond,” was Derek Hale.

Derek is folded into a high-backed armchair, hidden amongst the stacks, so completely absorbed in the book he’s reading that he doesn’t notice Stiles at first. Something by Roberto Bolano in its original Spanish. The showoff.

He’s dressed in a soft sweater and rumpled jeans, his hair a little longer than Stiles remembers it. His fingers linger over the page as he turns it, and then absently reach up to scratch against the grain of the stubble along his jaw before settling again in his lap, and Stiles swallows so hard he nearly chokes.

For a very long time, Stiles just stands there with a Chernow biography hanging limply in one hand, frozen and uncertain how to react.

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Captain Swan AU Prompt Series No.1

Prompt credit to the original poster! Getting back into writing for CS after a bit of an absence, so this piece is slightly all over the place, but it’s a first step so…not going to beat myself up about it. Thanks for reading!

‘I totally wasn’t breaking into your apartment I locked myself out of mine and I’m directly above yours so I picked your lock and was gonna use the fire escape and climb in through my window’ AU


Alphabet City

“This isn’t what it looks like,”

Almost as soon as the words were out, Emma Swan wanted to take them back. She was a professional for god’s sake. Awkward, barely legal situations were part and parcel of the bail bonds business, and one of the first rules everyone learnt was that nine times out of ten, it was indeed exactly what it looked like-which was why it was better to never get caught in the first place.

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Some thoughts re: representation and exaggeration of cultures within a globalized, white american-dominated media empire

I grew up consuming American media. Sure, I had some Brazilian books, and Brazilian cartoons (of often mediocre quality) and Brazilian music, but I grew up watching many things a typical 90s American kid did: The Powerpuff Girls, Hey Arnold, Angry Beavers, Dexter’s Lab; I watched Disney films and Pixar films and Dreamworks films, in the height of the animation renaissance. Britney Spears and Backstreet Boys played over the airwaves, trendy and cool, and of course, American.

Not all of it was American. Sometimes it came from England, or Canada, or sometimes even Australia. But all of it was in English, (or English originally before getting dubbed into Portuguese, which I hated), and it was cool and sophisticated and everything a kid aspired to be.

I was lucky to be a US citizen by birth. I already had what not many kids my age had: fluent English and an exotic pedigree, even if all it boiled down to was my parents being in the right place at the right time for me to be born outside of their nationality. But despite having Brazilian parents, and spending my entire pre-adolescence in Brazil, I valued my American citizenship more than any part of my identity. After all, it was the scene I saw day after day on every cartoon, every teen sitcom, every family movie: American teenagers, almost invariably white, and their school lockers and cafeterias serving awful food and their lush suburban houses with backyards and tire swings. Even urban environments were awesome: New York City, what could be cooler than that?

So it was no surprise that ten years ago, when my mother got a job offer in Washington DC, I jumped at the opportunity to become American. Finally, truly American, not longingly wishful American, but actually living and seeing things I saw on TV.

That was when my perception of reality shattered. It wasn’t that I only had false expectations. I knew the media exaggerated, I knew that the Brazilian TV shows I watched did not really reflect my reality as a Brazilian. But suddenly I was surrounded by people I had never seen before: many, many Asian kids, Black kids, Latin@s, Jewish kids, and many other backgrounds and nationalities arranged into hierarchical racial boxes that were incomprehensible to me.

And I found myself neatly placed into the “Latin@” box.

I balked at this at first. My entire self perception was that I was a White American. But as the years went by and I observed how these groups interacted and perceived each other, which cultural norms they carried and which expectations they placed on each other, I realized I had little in common with White People besides my skin tone, and everything in common with my Latin@ friends. With them, I felt comfortable, at home and culturally connected; with my White friends I always felt a dense, cold barrier, setting me apart from what was “normal”. It did not matter if they were friendly, warm and generous: I loved them as dearly as sisters, but there were many things I simply could not relate to in their lifestyles.

I thought back to my childhood, consuming so many works that had assured me that this was the “normal” I was to attain. I thought about us kids- seven or eight years old, playing Street Fighter, our swell of excitement and pride when we saw Blanka and his little Brazilian flag on the character select screen. I thought about reading Harry Potter, feeling deeply engrossed, in the middle of a thick volume, suddenly gasping in awe when I read the one throwaway line about the existence of a magic school in Brazil. I thought about José Carioca, charming and underappreciated figure of my childhood, and how I was the only kid in my class who had seen The Three Caballeros.

I became aware of a gaping hole in how the media perceives itself and its audience.

It’s easy enough to say that the target audience is White Americans because that’s the core, the “default” of what we perceive Americans to be. But the media now has a global, insidious reach. The messages we pass along in our movies are no longer contained to our own nation; they are spread across continents, watched in movie theaters and TV screens across the world, printed in books in every major language. The stories we write are templated off the stories we hear: I grew up thinking that stories happened to white american teens in high schools, and so those were the stories I wrote too. 

This is why, when a movie like The Book of Life comes along, it’s important to pay attention. A story about Mexican culture: is that niche, or universal? If it is a niche, then how come a story about a white anglo-saxon kid in a neat American suburb is universal enough to be imposed across the entire world as the sort of ideal of what stories should be? What makes that any more accessible to me, as a Latin@, than the Mexican story?

If you say that focusing on a culture outside the White American accepted Story is pandering, self absorbed, or god forbid, racist, you are missing the big picture. When every story we hear is layer after layer of whitewashing and cultural imperialism, we must claw, fight and retrieve our own cultures from below, celebrate them, enhance them, exaggerate them, make them LOUD, because there is no other way for our voices to be heard. If we are different, then we are here to love every part of us that is different, every part of us that deviated from the norm, because our stories have value, and we never hear them, never in the way we hear the White American story.

I am not Mexican, and therefore I can not ever actually know what value this movie holds to my Mexican friends; but I know what it felt to see Rio, to see my nation and culture bright and beautiful, plastered all over the American movie theater for all to see; between the cliches of carnaval and soccer was the essence of my childhood, and the story that never got told in my movies before. I am Latin@, and I feel the culture, especially moreso now that I live in Los Angeles, in a neighbourhood saturated with Mexicans, Salvadoreans, Cubans and many other cultures similar to mine. And our stories will continue to go untold, unless we drag them out kicking and screaming, unless we amplify them and make them our own.

I have no doubt that somewhere out there, a Mexican kid’s life will be changed by this movie. And I want to ensure that it will happen, again and again, many times more.

Masters of the Land of Fiction: Doctor Who Series 9

“Oh, same old, same old. Just the Doctor and Clara Oswald in the TARDIS.”

- The Doctor, The Witch’s Familiar

Doctor Who is and always has been daring. It is a show unlike any other on television, daring to go places and tell stories that no one else would. This is central to the magic of Doctor Who, this story of a madman in a box who can go anywhere and do anything within the limitless bounds of time and space. The courage involved in this has become as much a part of the show as the Doctor and the TARDIS, a truth so obvious it so often gets taken for granted: Doctor Who is daring, and it is infinite, and it is always changing and pushing and trying something new and unexpected and brave.

But this series, Series 9 – Series 9 is different. Series 9 is more.

Because Series 9 is not about the Universe, or about the afterlife, or about soldiers or good men or the search for Gallifrey. It is not about anything as big or epic or dramatic as that. It is, instead, a season of television that exists to tell the story of two people: the Doctor and Clara, and the love between them that shapes and spurs and nearly destroys them. This series of Doctor Who is the bravest one yet, because after years of hiding its character drama within epic timey-wimey arcs and couching it in terms of sweeping philosophical statements, the show gives us a season that is baldly, unexpectedly and unashamedly small.

More than that, though, Series 9 is a season of television that justifies itself. Because, in the end, it is about stories: about who owns them, who controls them, about which stories are the ones worth telling. And as small as its story is, it carries one hell of a message – the inversion, as it were, of a truth we’d learned way back at the beginning of the Moffat era: “we’re all stories in the end”.

Let’s take a look, shall we?

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Tattoo Drarry - Part Two

I HATE TITLES. So I don’t do them. I was going to add an aesthetic to this, but I think I’m too picky to make aesthetics. Sigh. I get too caught up in trying to find something perfect and then just get cranky.

So for those of you who asked for more! Here’s a little more :)

@raykkenoha @sprout2012 @wontyoudieforlove @droomboom can’t think who else to tag sorry… let me know if you ever want to be tagged!!!

The original post was here and both parts are on AO3 - What I’m Missing - or you can just…

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