these are the right faces right ann

Chapter IV | Tell Me - A Harry Styles Uni AU

Main Story page is here.

Song for the Playlist - Guys My Age by Hey Violet

Instagrams are here.

Word Count - 4500…ish

“What part of ‘I have nothing to say to you’, do you not understand?” She asked as she stopped abruptly and turned back around to face him.

“No, see I get it, Eden,” he took a step onto the stairs to become taller than her again. “But you’ve got to let me explain to you-…”

“You made it perfectly clear how you felt. Have a great fucking new year, Harry. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to come back down in half an hour to get my food in peace. Goodnight.”

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Hay Fever

Originally posted by harryforvogue

Harry hasn’t been this sick in a while and it’s all because he didn’t treat his symptoms. Now he has his ex taking care of him but he hasn’t had the chance to forget her. He doesn’t know what’s sadder – the reunion or his sickness. Loads of fluff/happy ending. Read part two here:

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I have a know it all Goro headcanon like he ends up researching everyone’s persona backstory so he can get a feel for their real personality

has two volumes of notebooks for Joker’s persona so far

when Joker summons Lucifer Futaba cackles like “Eyyy it’s bishie Satan"and Goro just "Weeeeeell, actually–” you can hear Ann going “Oh boy” right before Goro starts ranting about Lucifer=/=Satan and it’s just a pop culture interpretation!

Ryuji’s voice “no one care” except Yusuke takes notes in case he can use this for his next painting

meanwhile Joker just “Cool cool so tell me do you know why Incubus has big dick but ugly face I thought he’s supposed to be charming women left and right”

and that’s the story of how Goro ends up googling about incubus’ huge dong

One Year | A Gaston Story (Chapter Fourteen)

Originally posted by teryworldwanderlust

One Year | A Gaston Story

Gaston (Luke Evans) X OC

Summary: Gaston made all the wrong choices in life, and when a dramatic fall from the Beast’s castle leaves him wounded and near-death, he thinks it’s the end of his time. Suddenly, an old beggar woman appears at his side and heals him back to his normal self but gives him one year, and only one year, to find true love before his time on earth and the town’s memories of him come to an end.

Prologue | One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve | Thirteen | Fourteen

Tags: @harleyscheekheart ; @jordyhaley ; @gawston ; @araceli91103 ; @the7thsilence ; @blackxthexbeast ; @hobbithorse19 ; @epicfallenismine ; @imoyu-trashblog ; @naildiva87 ; @dracsgirl

Hours after the sun finally descended behind the hilltops, the villagers of this peculiar small town, nestled safely in the valleys of France, illuminated their lanterns on every front porch. Dotted with specks of light throughout the narrow cobblestone roads, the town remained hidden yet approachable as its newest visitors, Gaston and Anne, retreated to their separate rooms for the evening. Contrasting to Villeneuve, the streets were far from deserted in the after hours of nightfall as customers poured into the tavern, interested in elaborate details from Harry the Bartender about the two travelers. Word spread quickly in this town but, unlike Villeneuve, whispers were often laced with curiosity and excitement rather than gossip and tones of cynicism.

The temperature dropped significantly in the evening, but that didn’t stop the tavern’s customers from filing out into the streets as they hummed memorable tunes passed down from generations before them. All singing ceased, however, when three figures, a cloaked elderly woman and two stubby men, emerged from the rolling hilltops and through the entrance of the town.




The villagers welcomed the three strangers with open arms and wide smiles, but the woman pushed by, shouldering them with her impressive strength. Their heads whipped around in pure shock as the old woman continued onward without the slightest apology.

“Bonsoir!” A loud resident stepped in the middle of the street to greet the strangers.

Shut up,” the witch growled to the villager’s shocked reaction.

Although Vayle was pleased with herself for cursing the river, Tom and Dick were progressively hesitant and critical about her powers: Tom, in particular. The witch was cognizant of his intent to court Anne, but unbeknownst to him, she would never allow him to grasp that opportunity: After Vayle seized her daughter’s pendant and performed the spell, ultimately gaining eternal beauty, Anne would die. There was no other way, for it was her beauty that Vayle was seeking.

“I’m just saying,” Tom continued. “Maybe refrain from killing your daughter on the actual journey. I thought we were waiting until they returned to Villeneuve. Right? What happened to all good things take time, or whatever?”

“Right! Yeah, I agree with him!” Dick pointed to Tom, his voice booming throughout the streets.

At that point, Vayle couldn’t endure their complaints any longer, so she pivoted her body to face them as the apprehensive villagers disappeared into the shadows.

Do not speak of that here, do you understand me? I’ve had it with both of you. Anyone can be listening. How stupid can you be?”

“You’d be surprised,” Dick muttered as his eyes traveled to a mug filled with ale that rested on a table outside of a tavern. Without a second thought, he grabbed the mug and placed it to his lips.

And stop your drinking!” Vayle backhanded the mug out of Dick’s hands, watching as it fell to the cobblestones. It was unclear whether the man was preparing to open his mouth in order to protest or weep.

“Well, don’t waste it!

Vayle continued walking, having no interest in either of their debates. “You both need to keep a clear head,” she spoke ominously, “We must stay ahead of them.”

Tom and Dick had no choice but to follow her lead, hunching their shoulders and stalking into the shadows. Little to their knowledge, someone else had been following them: She, too, was a stranger to the village but maneuvered her way through the streets unseen while stepping into the shadows and hiding behind cottages. Cloaked in a thin garment of midnight-black, she was camouflaged by the evening’s darkness, but her face was just barely visible underneath. It was wrinkled with time, years of stories and spells swirling throughout her complexion, while her right hand gently held onto a blood-red rose.

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I’ve seen love go by my door
It’s never been this close before
Never been so easy or so slow
I’ve been shooting in the dark too long
When something not right it’s wrong
Yer gonna make me lonesome when you go.

Dragon clouds so high above
I’ve only known careless love
It’s always hit me from below
This time around it’s more correct
Right on target so direct
Yer gonna make me lonesome when you go.

Purple clover Queen Anne lace
Crimson hair across your face
You could make me cry if you don’t know
Can’t remember what I was thinking of
You might be spoiling me too much love
Yer gonna make me lonesome when you go.

Flowers on the hillside blooming crazy
Crickets talking back and forth in rhyme
Blue river running slow and lazy
I could stay with you forever
And never realize the time.

Situations have ended sad
Relationship have all been bad
Mine’ve been like Verlaine’s and Rimbaud
But there’s no way I can compare
All those scenes to this affair
Yer gonna make me lonesome when you go.

Yer gonna make me wonder what I’m doing
Staying far behind without you
Yer gonna make me wonder what I’m saying
Yer gonna make me give myself a good talking to.

I’ll look for you in old Honolulu
San Francisco, Ashtabula
Yer gonna have to leave me now I know

But I’ll see you in the sky above
In the tall grass in the ones I love
Yer gonna make me lonesome when you go.

anonymous asked:

Fitzsimmons + 1 since I apparently love angst?

Well i hope it fulfills your angst needs hahah! enjoy nonnie!

1.“If you had asked me to stay, I would’ve.”

Fitz sat on a park bench by himself in between tall trees. Birds flitted between the trees and families and couples were having picnics in the grass. There was a fountain near by that some of the smaller children were playing in.

Today like everyday for the past year he was replaying the last time he saw Jemma Simmons. They had fought. Ever since the bloody framework nothing had been the same. He remembered Jemma screaming at him and him yelling back at her.

“Do you want me to leave?” She had asked.

“You deserve better!”

“But I want you!”

Then Fitz had said something that he would regret till the day he died. But he believed it was the only way he could save Jemma from himself. “But I don’t want you,” he shouted. The picture of her fallen face was burned into his memory. Even as Fitz thought about it now, tears were beginning to well in his eyes.

After the fight she bought a plane ticket. Jemma returned to England. She said she was going to stay with her parents. And those words were the last she spoke to him before closing the door behind her.

Fitz was now in Paris, France doing some business for shield. He was working as a representative to a French ambassador. He was enjoying his time in Paris. It was all so beautiful. There were so many old buildings, paintings and streets. It was as if he had entered another world. Yet, he couldn’t help but think of Jemma around every corner. They had always talked about going to Paris together.

Fitz soon left the park and began to make his way towards Notre Dame. The streets around the church were filled with artists selling their work and men selling old copies of books. He enjoyed walking down them during the afternoon.

So Fitz with his hands clasped behind his back began to walk over the Seine on a large bridge. However, as he did something gave him pause.

There at the end of the bridge was a woman. The dress she wore looked familiar. In fact so did her hair. But sunglasses covered her eyes so he couldn’t get a very good look at her face. But as Fitz drew closer he completely froze mid step. No, it couldn’t be. How?

The woman turned and looked in his direction. She too froze and her mouth opened slightly. When she removed her sunglasses Fitz could see now that he was right. There standing at the other end of the bridge was none other than Jemma Anne Simmons. After a moment she began to walk towards him. She was slow and hesitant.

Fitz began to move too. They met in the middle of the bridge with Notre Dame beautifully standing to the right of the bridge. “Hello,” Fitz said his voice cracking. He cleared his voice and then said it again.

“Hi Fitz,” Jemma said giving him one of her radiant smiles. “How have you been?”

“Busy,” he blurted out. “Shield has me here on work.”

“Oh. My parents brought me here on holiday.”

Oh,” Fitz said mimicking Jemma. “That’s nice.” He slipped his hands into his pockets and starred down at the stone bridge beneath his feet.

“I-I’ve missed you,” whispered Jemma.

Fitz then felt something coming from his stomach, something that felt like anger. “Really?” He hadn’t meant it to come out so haughtily. Or maybe he had.

Jemma looked very offended. “Yes really. It’s been a year Fitz.”

His hands turned to fists in his pockets. “You made your own choice Jemma,” he growled in reply.

“You made the choice for me Fitz.”

Fitz could hear both of their voices were beginning to rise. Of all the in Paris, how were they in the same place at the same time? “I just wanted what was best for you Jemma. I admit that I pushed you away. I didn’t want you to leave, but you did anyway!”

“If you had asked me to stay I would’ve!”

Fitz stood still starring at Jemma. His breaths were coming out heavy and his heart was pounding. The feeling of longing overwhelmed him. Then Fitz made a decision to do something that he himself considered a bit reckless. But right now he didn’t care.

Fitz closed the space between them and took Jemma’s face between his hands. She moved forward just as he did. Their lips crashed together. Maybe they should have been worried about the fact that they were on a public bridge. Truly, Fitz forgot where he was. All he cared about was the feel of Jemma’s body being pressed against his.

Finally, they broke apart and Fitz rested his head against Jemma’s. Both of them were breathing heavily, but stilling holding onto each other.

“So,” Jemma panted. “That happened.”

“It’s been too long,” Fitz laughed. “I’m sorry Jemma. I am so so sorry. I was being an idiot.”

“Don’t call yourself that,” she insisted. “And I’m sorry too.”

“Can we get some coffee and talk?”

Jemma looked up at Fitz with a cheeky grin. “How about we get some tea instead?”

send me a prompt :)


Reflections on Janis Joplin

“The thing that really got me about Janis the most, was how liberated she was. She stood in that power even though it was kind of that platform of blues of being completely tormented, that enabled her to just stand there and let it go at a time when woman were not doing that…she just came out in the completely undone, unwrapped way and I think spoke right out of a woman’s soul. Directly.” - Ann Wilson

“The thing about Janis is that she just looked so unique, an ugly duckling dressed as a princess, fearlessly so. Seeing her live (Blossom Music Center, Richfield, Ohio 1970) was like watching a boxing match. Her performance was so in your face and electrifying that it really put you right there in the moment. There you were living your nice little life in the suburbs and suddenly there was this train wreck, and it was Janis.” - Chrissie Hynde

“I remember thinking that Janis Joplin sang like Mae West talked. When I first heard the primal scream in ‘Piece Of My Heart,’ I was hooked. ‘Cheap Thrills,’ Janis ‘Live’ with Big Brother And The Holding Company, was one of my all time faves. During the ‘whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa’s’ in ‘Combination Of Two,’ I couldn’t help but go to the mirror and pretend I was a wild woman like Janis, in a rock band.” - Joan Jett

No Pain, No Gain *Soulmate AU

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Prompt: Soulmate AU where if one gets injured, the other one feels the same amount of pain, but without the injury. This only stops when they meet each other.

Warnings: Uh, none that I can personally think of. If you see something that should be a warning, let me know. 


“Look, I’ve come to terms with it,” I say as I urgently burst into the lounge, making my way to the coffee machine. “I’m not meant to have one and that’s okay,” I say with a small smile crossing over my features. 

I grab a styrofoam cup from the countertop and pour myself some of the caffeinated liquid. Thinking that I won’t have time to prepare my perfect cup, I gulp down the coffee, desperately wanting it to kick into my system. Once the final drop enters my mouth, I sigh in content and throw the cup away. I turn around, leaning myself against the counter as I look to my coworker who took a seat at the table. 

“It’s just sad, you know. You’re missing so much by giving up,” she says as she leans forward in her chair and rests her arms on the table. 

“It’s not giving up, Ann. It’s focusing on myself and others around me,” I respond. “I’m happy with that. I wish you would just understand that,” I finish. 

A moment of silence passes before Ann nods and rests her head on the table. I take a deep breath and roll my neck, attempting to release all the built up tension that’s been building up for the past several hours. I hear a few cracks and instantly, my entire body feels better from the release. My hands find themselves on the back of my neck as I lowly start humming to myself and move around the lounge in a dancing manner to the slow, melodic beat I created. 

“I don’t understand how you still have all this energy,” Ann says, just barely audible for me to hear. 

I giggle and continue to move about the room. “It’s the caffeine,” I calmly say. My arms are now moving as freely as my feet.

It’s now Ann’s turn to giggle. “You’re insane,” she says as she stands up and walks over to the coffee machine. 

“Is it insanity or blissfulness?” I ask. 


“Well, that’s one woman’s opinion,” I say, stopping to look at her. My small smile from before now a little bigger. 

Just as quick as the smile came, it was gone. A sore pain took place on my right arm. Soon, the same pain took place over the rest of my body. “Ow, ow, ow,” I whisper, quickly making my way over to a near by chair to sit down. 

“Are you okay?” Ann asks, quickly finding her way near me. She kneels down so she’s now eye level with me. 

“It feels like I’m someone’s punching bag,” I say. My left hand begins to rub my right arm. 

Ann grows a wicked smile on her face. “Do you think?”

“No, no. This has happened before,” I say, my teeth gritting together as the pain continues to happen. “Since I was baby even, so unless you’re saying he, she, or them is a ninety-something years old, I doubt it,” I say, now glaring at her. Ann was always very adamant about me finding my soulmate and there were always those days when she crossed the line. 

“I think that’d be very comical,” she says, trying to her keep hopes alive. “Would you like some ice packs? To numb the pain, I mean?” she asks, now sympathetic. 

I nod and she walks over to the freezer to grab some. “Turn on the news, please,” I say, remembering that every time I feel pain, there’s always some sort of world disaster.

Ann gives me a confused look, but she does so anyways before making her way back to me. She hands me the packs she could find as the TV screen comes to life. We both turn to see that my instincts were, in fact, correct. 

“Son of a gun,” I say, watching the events unfold. “We should head down the ER,” I say as I put down the ice packs and stand up.  

“Attention to all doctors and nurses available, please head down to the ER immediately,” a voice over the intercom says while our pagers go off at the same time.

Ann and I look to each other and run out of the lounge. We soon find ourselves among our other coworkers who are looking on to our Chief of Surgery giving us a brief summary of what to expect for the next several hours. 

“I would expect nothing less,” I say just under my breath, trying to mentally prepare myself for upcoming traumas. 

The Chief finishes his speech and we all disperse to prepare our stations. Only minutes later the sirens of the first arrivals are in hearing distance. The doctors rush out while the nurses, including myself, stay back, anxiously waiting. 

“I hate the waiting game,” I whisper in Ann’s ear. 

“I do, too,” she responds.

We give each other one last look before the first few of injured souls come through the door. Along with several other nurses, I run over and find a doctor and now patient to help. We rush over to one of the stations and begin our work to keep the patient alive.  

All of the sudden, a loud thud was heard just outside the doors. Without hesitation, I make my way over to the hospital’s doors when I suddenly feel like someone stabbed in between my ribs. I grip my side and bend down in pain. My teeth are grinding against each other as I let out an unsettling groan. 

The stabbing-like pain becomes the least of my worries when an explosion happens, causing the walls to shatter which sends the doors to come off their hinges and send me backwards. One of the pieces from the wall landed on my right ankle. I instantly knew it was broken, if not shattered, from the impact. 

My vision started to fade in and out, but I saw a black figure grabbing his ankle as if it was broken. I wanted to move to help him, but due to my predicament, I wasn’t able to. I have to settle for the next best thing. 

“Hey, are you okay?” I say as loudly as I can. At this point, my vision has made everything blurry and I can’t make out any of their features. I could barely tell if they were even looking my way. 

The only thing that gives me any indication they heard was the fact that the black, blurry spot got bigger and bigger. They were heading over to me, but any contact with them would be short as I began to feel my eyelids get heavier and heavier. 

“Hey, hey, hey. Keep your eyes open,” a calm, deep voice whispers. 

I shake my head. “Too much pain,” I respond. 

If he was under any type of pain, he didn’t sound like it at all. “I’ll get you out from underneath, okay?” He asks and I somehow manage to muster up a nod. “What’s your name?”


“Y/N,” he says. I can almost hear the smile in his voice. “I’m Bucky.”

winterywitch  asked:



okay. yusuke and akira

- honestly? akira was a little jealous that yusuke was so adamant on choosing ann as his Inspirational Model. and ann didn’t even want to do it, so like… hey.. akira’s right here… he’s got a pretty face and can pose…

- oh my god akira wants to take care of yusuke so bad. even though akira lives in a shitty attic, he would gladly let yusuke sleep in his bed and cook curry for him and take care of him. yusuke doesn’t take care of himself at all (neither does akira honestly but he notices more in other people than himself, haha) and yusuke desperately needs food and loving

- akira wonders if thinking yusuke in his Fox outfit is hot makes him a furry /no

- akira thinks about yusuke saying “You look magnificent.” like 20 times a day

Rashad and Emma

Shout out to Bruno for having them do rumba. Much appreciated. Also, he’s got some great thoughts and commentary if he could reign in the crazy a bit. 

Woo. That one made me feel all tingly. That was absolutely gorgeous. It was so smooth and just… I don’t even know! It was exactly as Carrie Ann described. She was 100% right. It was so refined and so perfectly performed. 

It was hot and steamy, but just the right amount of it. And it was passionate and emotional and beautiful and that little smile he had on his face that came out every once in a while. Good grief. It was just stunning. It was absolutely perfect in every way. 


DAREDEVIL | S2 | Karen Page moments 18/50

Why do you always do this? Why do you put Matt in the driver’s seat when you can do this yourself?

Matt and I are partners for a reason. 

There’s some things that I’m better at, and there’s things that he’s better at.

also i really do believe that the ACLU’s defense of ppl like ann coulter is not out of sincerity but more out of a necessity becaue if they take any offense with people such as them, they are enabling themselves to get censored.

first off, they have not legally defended speech such as ann coulter’s, but rather, they don’t take action against speech such as ann coulter’s. And i do recognize that at it’s core, the ACLU is a liberal organization. hell, cold war-era ACLU higher-ups were pretty much all anti-communists, even if they did defend the civil rights of communists sometimes.

However, the ACLU is a legal organization that defends the civil liberties of people in america, and in the past, they have legally defended LGBT, minority, and women’s rights in the face of discrimination, abortion rights, and prisoner’s rights. that’s all they do. The ACLU is not an instrument that is used for radical change, but instead, an organization that defends whatever small victories we have had over the past couple decades. 

this has proven that they clearly do not sympathize with people like ann coulter and actively fight against people like her who work through the framework of the state. however, if the ACLU ever pursued legal actions against ann coulter types’s language and their own political expression, and to be clear, legal actions are the only thing the ACLU can do, i can only see one of two things happening:

1. they fail, and the entire ordeal puts a strain on them financially, and a law firm that’s mostly volunteer based like the ACLU really cannot afford that. and let’s be real, this is the more likely option of the two

2. they succeed, and speakers such as Ann coulter, Milo Yiannopolous, etc. are now capable of being censored. however, this has now created legal framework for the state to censor, and once we award the state that power, they will no doubt censor those who fight for change and liberation moreso than they do already. and in trump era america, where the state is now ESPECIALLY unsympathetic towards oppressed people and are just waiting to violate their own civil liberties, they will do whatever they are allowed to do to do this. 

overall, i guess what i’m trying to say is don’t hold the lack of options that the ACLU has against them, as that would limit the resources that they have, and in trump era america, we cannot afford to turn on organizations that keep the state and capitalists in check, because both parties are more than eager to undo our victories.

tl;dr: although the ACLU refuses to take action against right wing speakers, it does this becaue they realize that trump-era america is not the best time for a more stringent 1st amendment, and turning against them for this is a bad idea because they are admittedly one of the few legal organizations that actively defend civil rights victories.


I Have Loved You Since Series: Moments



Moments. It was moments like these that calmed you, that made you feel secure with yourself and your life. You laid in bed and watched his chest rise within every breath he took, something not very out of the ordinary when you woke before him. There was always something new you found to love, whether it’d be a tiny freckle or a bit of some peach fuzz, you admired him wholeheartedly.

He was stirring from his slumber, his nose scrunching every few seconds - something you had always found adorable. You pushed yourself up and swung your leg over his lap, straddling his hips while your hands splayed across his little belly. Startled yet content with who was on top of him, he smiled lopsidedly as his eyes fluttered drowsily, staring up at you. 

“Morning,” he rasped, his voice deeper than usual. 

You smiled, leaning down inches away from his lips. “Good morning.”

His hands lingered along your thighs before they gently gripped your sides, holding you close and feeling the warmth that ricocheted off of you. “You look pretty,” he mused so genuinely. 

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Do you ever just take a moment and think how far Harry has come with himself. Remember on “A Year In The Making” when 17 year old Harry was upset with his vocal performance and purposely looked up hate to make sure he was right about how he felt. Now look at him. He pretty much has a permanent ear to ear smile on his face featuring that beautiful dimple of his. He likes to joke around on stage and check on random people to make sure they are ok. He is so open about his humor and so obviously silly and happy. He is so easily loveable it is ridiculous. Anne definitely got it right saying he has a heart of gold and boots to match. I’m honestly so proud of him.

anonymous asked:

dare I ask about the PSAT & Catholic school story?


so okay, proper context for this story is important, namely that I am: Super Jewish™ 

ok thats it, thats the context

so as many of you know, the PSATs, SATs, ACTs, and other standardized tests of the sort are administered on a Saturday when there’s no school or church conflicts. however, Saturday morning happens to be smack dab in the middle of the Jewish Sabbath, and religiously observant Jews are gonna be in synagogue or sleeping through services or leaving services early to go home and prep for shabbos lunch, but moral of the story is observant Jews aren’t able to attend any Saturday testing periods. 

So this leaves for make-up test days, sometimes given on a Sunday (read: never) or a weekday (read: usually). But these make-up test days aren’t usually held in the locations where the normal Saturday tests were, because most school cafeterias or classrooms that are empty on Saturday are busy being filled with pubescent teenagers eating disappointing school lunches during the week.

This means: 

  • HA HA screw you losers stuck in school, I get to miss a few periods, suck on that, Jeff Miller
  • …….bc I’m sitting in another classroom for four hours doing more school and filling out bubbles

but this means the district must improvise to find testing space. Improvising in my school district apparently meant the most fitting available location for the make-up kids (read: all the Jews) to take the PSATs was the local Catholic high school.

Things to know about the local Catholic private school:

  • their mascot is the Crusaders

thats it. thats all you need to know. super PC, not at all possibly offensive or filled with a history of violent religious persecution, nope.

so all these awkward Jewish kids are waiting in the office before being taken down to the testing room. 

so we descend further and further away from the newer wings of the school and end up in the bowels of an older basement hallway. they open this big-ass metal door with the tiniest metal grate for a window with thick glass (read: this looks like a motherfucking prison door) which is obv super welcoming. but okay, you figure, all the nicer wings are obviously being used (bc thats what they built them for), there are nasty ass dark, abandoned hallway basement classrooms in my public high school that are barely used, too.

so we turn around and look at the room I SWEAR TO GOD, I KID YOU NOT: they were doing a Holocaust unit. 

TO THE NINES this place was decked out in Holocaust this and Holocaust that. There were little shoe box dioramas on the windowsills with little scenarios made of toilet paper people and toy figurines of Anne Franks and concentration camps, little yellow Juden stars hanging on strings from the ceiling. 

So I’m like holy fucking shit, I cannot believe this.

And there’s an element of humor in this too, right? That all the Jewish kids were taken down to a basement Holocaust classroom. So I look around to see if any of the other kids are finding the situation as hilariously surreal as I am and nope, nope, nope not a single one. I am alone in this Catholic freakhouse of circumstance and ignorance. 

So I take my seat and get my no.2 pencils and shit out like a good student and I look up to face the proctor all ready for instructions- little yellow star hanging right above my head, paper doll Anne Frank to my left-when, for the cherry on top, a giant wooden crucifix above the blackboard is staring right back at me.

Needless to say I don’t remember anything about that test or how poorly I did but I did call my mother and tell her get her ass over there as fast as humanly possible to get me the fuck out of there.  And I made sure to make alternate location plans for all future make-up standardized tests

I will carry this story for me forever and I will crack up every time I tell it. 

I saw them all, suddenly, for just a moment, through non-Radchaai eyes, an eddying crowd of unnervingly ambiguously gendered people.  I saw all the features that would mark gender for non-Radchaai – never, to my annoyance and inconvenience, the same way in each place.  Short hair or long, worn unbound (trailing down a back, or in a thick, curled nimbus) or bound (braided, pinned, tied).  Thick-bodied or thin-, faces delicate-featured or coarse-, with cosmetics or none.  A profusion of colors that would have been gender-marked in other places.  All of this matched randomly with bodies curving at breast and hip or not, bodies that one moment moved in ways various non-Radchaai would call feminine, the next moment masculine.  Twenty years of habit overtook me, and for an instant I despaired of choosing the right pronouns, the right terms of address.  But I didn’t need to do that here.  I could drop that worry, a small but annoying weight I had carried all this time.  I was home.

Ann Leckie, “Ancillary Justice”

Seriously, this book! A culture without gender binaries! As much as I love The Left Hand of Darkness, it’s so nice to read something further on the subject, that was written during my lifetime. Plus, from the POV of the non-binary character.

Don’t Know What I’d Do- Collab

A/N: This is my very first collab fic, and I have had the honor of collaborating with the amazing belleisnotamazing to write this fic! Hopefully this will be the first of many :D

REQUEST: hey, love your imagines! i’ve been feeling really exhausted and stressed lately with school and such, and i was wondering if you could write a dan imagine where the reader comes home from work / college (whichever you want) and like has a breakdown and dan comforts her and its really fluffy?? tysm ily<3

It’s been a few weeks since you’ve finished your semester finals and it’s that time of the semester when students are more stressed out about what grade they had gotten rather than what they had to study. You’re sitting in class, looking at your paper. An A- is what is written and you couldn’t be more proud of yourself. Considering how hard this class is, you knew how many students would kill to have the same grade as you.

“Wow, an A-? That’s unfortunate. We studied the same material yet I got the better grade, as usual,” rejoiced Anne, your classmate who sits right behind you. You turn around to face her and simply roll your eyes, trying not to get on her level.

“Watch, in the next week you’re probably going to drop the class-”

You had to interject, you didn’t fly all the way to England just to get pissed on by some brat.

“You know what, Anne? Just mind your own business for once. I saw the C- you got on the last exam and I haven’t gotten anything below a B all year so fuck off,” you said as you stormed out of the classroom soon after dismissal.

Still heated after what happened in class, you slammed the apartment door of the flat you shared with your boyfriend, Dan as you entered inside. You’ve gotten so much torment from Anne the past couple of weeks that you just wanted to scream. Dan was so startled by the slam of the door he couldn’t not witness your anger. “Babe, what’s wrong?,” asked Dan from the couch. You were too bothered in your thoughts to pay attention to him. You kept pacing back and forth in the hallway until Dan ran up to you, grabbing you by the shoulders so you could stop. “Hey, what’s going on?,” he said worryingly. You looked at him but you couldn’t seem to find the words. It was only a few seconds after that you burst into tears.

He immediately took you into his arms. “Woah, woah, babe. It’s okay, I’m here,” he said soothingly, stroking the back of your head with his hand. “Whatever it is, I’m here.” He waits for you to calm down a bit, and once your breathing goes back to normal and you’re able to wipe your tears away with your hands he tries again. “What’s going on?”

“It’s this witch Anne at school. She’s always trying to one-up me and shove it in my face if she ever does better than I do. Like I’m some sort of idiot or something. I’ve never done anything to her. I don’t know what her problem is.” You feel the tears beginning to swell again but Dan pulls you close again to set you at ease.

“She’s probably just bored. And jealous. Everyone has their own shit going on and some people don’t have the tools to cope with it and take it out on other people. Think about what she must be going through to feel the need to treat you like that. Pity her. If you feel bad for her it will be easier to ignore her.”

You take a deep breath and nod, “You’re right. If I look at it from that perspective I do pity her. She’s not right for taking her shit out on me but I am a big enough person to take the high road.”

Dan smiled, proud of your quick recovery. He lifted your face in his hands, wiping off the dampness on your cheek with his thumbs. “See? You have nothing to worry about, not even Anne.” The sad sunken feeling in your chest rose. Dan’s reassurance made everything so simple.

“I don’t know what I’d ever do without you,” you said, putting your head onto his chest again.

“I don’t know what I’d do, either, “ he said softly, pressing his lips onto your forehead.