this is like a thousand degrees off of what i was making

50 Reasons Why You Should Study

Need motivation?

  1. To get an education. 
  2. To earn a degree. There are barely any jobs that offer positions to people without a degree, or are on the path of obtaining one.
  3. To prove people wrong. That science teacher that said you’ll never make it in the medical field? Make him eat his words. 
  4. To prove yourself wrong. Every student has doubts on whether or not they can be good enough in the classroom. Prove yourself wrong, and always be better than you were yesterday. 
  5. This is a privilege. Regardless of how much you believe that you HAVE to do this, to some extend you don’t. Realize that you have the privilege of an education even being an option for you.
  6. Take advantage of what you’re capable of. Don’t waste a perfectly intelligent mind. 
  7. More money. That degree can do wonderful things to your bank account in the future. 
  8. It’s interesting. Studying can get pretty boring, but there are always those topics that spark your curiosity and motivate you to learn more.
  9. It’s attractive. Not everyone cares for someone who is academically gifted, but a partner who is eager to learn makes me eager to take my pants off.
  10. It’s useful. That random fact that you read in a random textbook can stick with you and really end up helping you out one day.
  11. It’s fun to know useless shit sometimes.
  12. To make your parents proud. This is one of the main reasons I study. My parents have always been aware of my capabilities and have pushed me to be academically better every year. They know I have big dreams, and I just want to achieve them so they can know that their child made it.
  13. To make myself proud. This goes along with number four. Knowing that you accomplished something, however small or big the thing may be, is a huge self-esteem booster.
  14. To be independent. There’s nothing quite like knowing that you don’t need someone else’s job, degree, intelligence, or presence to make you successful.
  15. To pursue your passion. 
  16. To gain knowledge. Whether its in your field, or a completely different one, being knowledgeable is just downright fun.
  17. People will look up to you. Your siblings, your best friends, and your classmates may see you consistently studying, and it could motivate them to do the same. 
  18. To make a name for yourself. “Oh yeah, (insert name here), I know them. Aren’t they like really successful now?”
  19. To become your own role model.
  20. To be able to pay off your student loans.
  21. Because the long nights and excessive coffee will all be worth it. Even if it doesn’t seem like it now. 
  22. To exercise your brain. Your brain is just like a muscle, and like the body it needs to be exercised. 
  23. To improve your hippocampus. Your hippocamus is responsible for memory, and if you study your memorization will become significantly better.
  24. To not waste time doing useless stuff. 
  25. Because stationary is amazing. I could spend a whole paycheck on just pens.
  26. Because notes are actually all so pretty. 
  27. To be productive. I used to spend a lot of time on social media, and although I still do, the amount of time I spend studying and getting stuff done has definitely increased.
  28. So classes will be easier. 
  29. So tests will be easier.
  30. To impress your professors. Get those letters of recommendation! 
  31. So the anxiety of getting a bad grade is sufficiently decreased. I constantly worry about my grades, but studying has helped me not worry so much.
  32. Because coffee exists. 
  33. There is no other atmosphere quite like the inside of a library. 
  34. So you won’t have to retake a class. Failing a prerequisite for your major really sucks, so maybe try not failing the first time around. This also saves you a lot of money because you won’t have to pay for the class again. 
  35. Finals week won’t suck as bad. You’ll be used to studying so when finals week comes around it wont nearly be as stressful as for those students who are now opening a textbook. 
  36. You won’t go to as many college parties. Don’t get me wrong, I am all for socializing and having fun, but a lot can go wrong at a college party very quickly. And there’s no better way to prevent that, than just not going to the party cause you’re reading your economics textbook. 
  37. You’ll get used to FOMO. Fear of Missing Out. Every teenagers nightmare. Eventually, you’ll get used to the feeling. 
  38. You’ll be getting the most out of your college experience. You’re paying for these classes. Might as well try your best to pass. 
  39. You’ll get used to not getting enough sleep. So, if you decide to go to grad school you’ll have that department covered. 
  40. There’s really good study music out there. 
  41. I guarantee there will be at least 5 places on campus, or around you that are perfect for studying, and you’ll want to go there everyday. 
  42. You’ll become a pro at writing essays, or lab reports.
  43. You’ll learn fairly quickly that study groups rarely work. 
  44. You’ll make a lot of friends that are just as passionate about studying as you are. And you will cherish them. 
  45. Beauty and Brains. Don’t you want to fit that description? 
  46. Thousands of students before you have done it, so you can too. 
  47. You can run a studyblr. Aren’t they the cutest? 
  48. You get really good at time management. 
  49. Sleep becomes 5x more satisfactory after a night of studying.
  50. Because you want to. There’s no better motivation for studying, than the motivation that comes from within. 
the millionaire and his lover | jjk

summary: over the course of your lifelong friendship with jungkook, you can’t say that you’ve ever had the greatest ideas, and a fake relationship with the boy you’ve been in love with for years is no exception. 

{self-gratuitous ceo au, friends-to-lovers, and fake relationship trope rolled into one big shitstorm of a jungkook fic}

pairing: jungkook x female reader
word count: 18k
genre: fluff, angst, and light smut
warnings: alcohol mentions, smut
a/n: hello all! i wanted to kickoff my writing on this blog with a bang, so here’s a longish fic on my wildest dreams. 

When you first tell people that you happen to know CEO and multimillionaire Jeon Jungkook, they tell you one of three things:

1: You’re so lucky! Could you introduce me?

2: You must have saved an entire country in your past life.

3: Is he as much of an asshole as the news outlets make him out to be?

What you don’t say, though, is this: You and Jungkook have had history for as long as you could remember. As not only neighbors, but also childhood friends, you happen to know quite a lot about the man who made a name of himself before he even graduated from university. You would also very much like to keep quiet the fact that you’ve harbored a crush on the boy for quite some time now, obvious to everyone whose name isn’t Jeon Jungkook.

Jeon Jungkook is, in one word, brilliant. He is brilliantly intelligent, brilliantly talented, brilliantly beautiful. He is suave and smooth and gets what he wants and if he didn’t possess such a disdain for the tabloids that do nothing but stretch the truth, he would have them wrapped around his finger. Sure, he’s no actor or singer, but he is a celebrity, and a skilled one at that. The media know no boundaries when it comes to a man like Jungkook, painting him as stunning yet rude, rich yet selfish, smart but cold. You know they blow his brief affairs out of proportion, and you know they will never know the boy who fell off of his bicycle in the second grade.

Jungkook is not powerful enough to replace the stars in your sky, but he is powerful enough to rearrange them right in front of your eyes, creating endless constellations that all remind you of him. He is the boy you have cherished since your elementary school days, when he would accidentally drool on your shoulder and throw sand into your mouth, and you are the girl who, despite all class differences, has stuck by him through thick and thin. It is not enough, but perhaps to him, it is.

“Do you ever try to mooch off of his wealth?” People ask you. “I would.”

And sure, every now and then you will ask him for money and he will give it to you, but your intentions are pure and you do not, will not, ever take his generosity for granted. Not when he has so much and you so little. You know what life is like when the world keeps trying to trip you, and a bit of smooth ground is not enough to keep you from forgetting the struggle.

That is, until you get laid off your job due to an influx of new workers, and your next student debt payment is due in roughly, a week.

What?”

Keep reading

First things first: we actually do know what elves called their dicks, because even the glorious JRRT couldn’t keep his hands out of his pants. The poetic term (yes, elves seem to have engaged in erotic poetry) would be
gwî, but for everyday usage
gwib was the preferred term.
Puntl is provided as the coarse, moderately transgressive term, and likely what you would be invited to suck if you went down on a male elf. Alas, due to the ban on the Noldorin language, we have no surviving slang for Fëanor’s johnson.

Second, if we assume that JRRT’s intention is the guiding light for inferred details of the history and function of Arda, we are left with several clues as to the genital features of elves. In early drafts of the Silmarillion and pre-LotR writings that would eventually give rise to the War of the Ring, JRRT called them “gnomes” rather than “elves,” a detail that reflects his internal monologue about them and is consistent with his para-LotR writings about them, including mutilations, betrayals, incest, genocide, colonial violence, and misotheistic rebellion. His mental image during the construction of Ardan history was almost certainly closer to the Rankin-Bass imagery than the Peter Jackson interpretation. Thus we are left to interpret the idea of gnomes– a Paracelsean ideology tied closely to alchemy– and of their Germanic and Norse equivalents, nature and household spirits that include classic Germanic dweorgs (that is, dwarves) but with the added qualification of tallness as a common indicator of worthiness.

I discern here between dwarf-figures of Greek and British mythology, which tend to be lusty, massively endowed pranksters, and gnomes/dweorgs, which are rarely cast in a sexual light. Some textual support could be interpreted for the influence of Pan on the elves, given that Silvan elves (and their Rivendell cousins) are singing, dancing, merry-making, traveler-harassing figures throughout the books. If we adhere to this interpretation, elves are probably packing huge veiny wangs that could put your fucking eye out while you’re trying to slip em the suck.

I feel that it is, however, more likely that JRRT would have viewed his elves as more romantic and less sexual. Certainly they reproduce at an exceedingly slow rate and for an incredibly small window of their adult lives. A Panic elf would be extremely unlikely to live for two thousand or more years and sire no more than three or four offspring. For this reason, we are most likely dealing with the less overt sexual characteristics of a Paracelsean elf, which rules out giant Priapus-style horse cocks that are eternally bone-ready, but leaves us with less to go on than we might need, if we’re gonna pour a giant silicone elf dick.

Ah, but now we’ve alluded to reproductive evidence of elvish sexual activity, and down this road we find some very interesting possibilities. For one thing, the gnomes of Paracelsus were closely related to the concept of the homunculus, and tended to be sexless or at most secondary-masculine (think garden gnomes). We can assume, in combination with the romantic, Victorianistic leanings of JRRT, that male elves were not afflicted with unwanted boners, and found it fairly simple to reserve their sexual activity to intramarital intercourse. Additionally, in the extracurricular writing Laws and Customs of the Elves (LACE henceforth), we find some fascinating aspects of elvish sexuality laid bare. Elves are incapable, it seems, of adultery, which actually
kills them. They are also heavily implied to be incapable of masturbation, and are explicitly hesitant to remarry after the death of a spouse, which carries over into the Silmarillion, when Fëanor’s father seeks permission from the spirit of his mother (who has died in childbirth) to remarry. Clearly, something about their physiology and/or psychology is not compatible in any way with promiscuity, and the consequences of promiscuity can be literally fatal.

The lethality of sex can, I feel, be best comprehended as an immune function similar to rH incompatibility between mother and fetus. It would, from an evolutionary standpoint, benefit a male elf (
ellyn) to be certain that his offspring are actually his own, since their gestation and childhood are protracted and may consume a great deal of resources. This may have resulted in a gradual evolutionary arms race, in which an ellyn might conjugate not only his genetic material but also a dose of antibodies and/or chimeric B-cells, which are keyed to attack all sperm without his specific antigen set. In return, the female elf (or
elleth) might perhaps develop her own antibody/B-cell dosage, but this begs the question of how to confer them to the male, since transmission of microbes from vagina to penis is much less reliable than the inverse. I am getting a horrible idea and I will refer back to this concept in a moment.

So assuming that extramarital sex results in autoimmune-induced death similar to anaphylaxis in mechanism, we ask ourselves: what about the other compelling aspect of elvish sexuality, that of interbreeding with humans? Leaving out the question of DNA compatibility– which is demonstrated in canon, and which we must accept as legitimate if we are to consider this topic at all– we have a disturbing question to address. We have multiple incidents throughout the history of Beleriand and Middle-Earth of elven/human offspring,
all of which occur between a Man and an elleth. Given that the two species are capable of creating not only hybrids but
fertile hybrids (Elrond produced three offspring), it is foolish to imagine that in all of Ardan history there was never a potential ellyn-woman romance that resulted in offspring, unless there was something preventing reproduction between ellyn and woman that did not exist between man and elleth. The safest bet is not that all ellyn-woman romances remained chaste– anyone who’s met a teenager can tell you better than that– but that ellyn-woman sexual activity is
incapable of producing offspring.

This is extremely unusual, as the most obvious reason for sex-discriminant infertility is more likely to favor female humans than male humans. Human ova contain mitochondria, while human sperm consume their mitochondrial power for motility and do not confer mitochondrial DNA to their offspring. Either something is happening on an immune/cellular level, which would seem to conflict with our immunological theory of lethal adultery, or something is happening on the mechanical level– something which is, perhaps, related to the transference of female immune material to the male partner.

Perhaps, to put it crudely, the
ellyn just can’t get it up.

In humans, the penis consists of several structures of erectile tissue which cradle the urethra between them. This specialized tissue is capable of interrupting venous return, creating penile engorgement and thus erection by trapping blood within the corpus cavernosum. This tissue is
notoriously indiscriminant about stimuli, making it easy for male humans to ejaculate without even the participation of another human. Elves, on the other hand, can’t even masturbate, an activity so universal among species with external genitalia that it’s almost unimaginable for a species capable of poetry to be incapable of wanking. And yet human males can couple with elven females. This implies some weird-ass shit, so I suggest you pour yourself that drink right now.

Male elves achieve erection by external constriction. To have sex, they need some biological equivalent of a cock ring. Whether their penises are “innies” or just flaccid except during intercourse, they are incapable of restricting venous return on their own… and yet the elven vulva must be compatible to some degree with penetration, or else man/elleth coupling wouldn’t produce offspring. One may, if one is willing to consider extreme possibilities, entertain the idea that the elven vulva may exhibit some mechanical trait that assists the ellyn in achieving erection by constriction, by restricting venous return through strangulation.

Something that would not put off human males universally, although it might make man/elleth couplings more rare and account for the relative scarcity of elf/human offspring.

Something that would make it impossible for an ellyn to penetrate a woman, or to achieve orgasm and ejaculation with a human female.

Something that would even allow the ellyn to contribute internal disposition of antibodies and B-cells reliably, potentially through urethral penetration
of the penis.

The elvish vulva, my friends, consists of outer labia, inner labia, a vaginal vestibule opening on a penetrable vaginal canal,
and a set of tentacles.

In elven intercourse, the vulval tentacles constrict and penetrate the flaccid penis, simultaneously permitting/inducing erection and depositing immune bodies deep in the genitourinary tract, most likely the bladder, where they can swim up the ureters to the renal anastomosis and infiltrate the bloodstream. The erect elvish penis is then able to deposit its genetic– and immune– material within the vagina. Human females, having no corollary to these tentacles, can arouse a male elf and even engage in non-PIV sexual activity, but can never obtain genetic material from male elves, and therefore no ellyn/woman pregnancies occur.

For human females, this means you can have a hot elf boyfriend that can never get you pregnant, but he’s likely to leave you eventually for somebody who can actually get him off. Male elves probably got the fuck
around in Middle-Earth, since they could chow down on human pussy for decades before settling down with a nice elleth who would get knocked up as soon as they exchanged fluids.

For human males, this means that you’re totally capable of landing a hot lady elf, as long as you don’t mind her tentacles crawling up your dick every time you shark her in the ass while she’s asleep, and as long as you don’t mind that she can
totally cheat on you and in fact might have chosen to fuck you specifically because she can screw around behind your back without breaking out in a fatal case of hives.

Aragorn was one kinky-ass fucker.

And if you read all the way through this drunken, giggling spiel, the silicone elf dick you’re looking for is of normal to generous proportion, but it’s strangled up and down with simulated tentacles, or at least constricted by a really tight cock ring.


I thought way the fuck too much about this. I consulted the LACE about this. Fuck every last one of you for goading me into this nightmare of grisly overanalytic humiliation. I hope all your girlfriends catch you.

—  SomethingAwful poster “elise the great”, in the “Ask me about making horrific silicone fantasy dildos!” thread 

anonymous asked:

Do you think they're going to end up killing Shiro just like in the original?

I really don’t, and my answer has surprisingly little to do with how much I like Shiro and am rooting for him. I have a lot of thoughts on this so I’m going to break them into categories.

This turned into a monster of a post, but, hopefully that’ll help people sleep at night a little better?

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

As a fellow millennial, I feel torn by the 'entitled millennial' trope. I am fortunate, in that I had a family who I stayed with while attending school and who helped with expenses. But I also busted my ass, and got an engineering rather than a philosophy degree, and I've been working since my freshman year... and I have savings, and don't feel like I'm doomed to poverty. And it is frustrating to see people who never tried to make a budget complaining that it is impossible to make better choices

It’s not impossible to make better choices.  It’s impossible to make choices that are good enough to ever replicate the last generation’s middle-class standard of living, no matter how hard we work and how little we spend.  Not hard, impossible.

You could save ten thousand dollars a year - extremely difficult when rent is high and pay stagnant - and still be middle-aged before you can make a down payment and elderly before you can pay off a house.  Oops, except now you have zero funding for your retirement or your children’s educations.  Can you save twenty thousand a year?

Unless they’re buying two iPhones a month, casual consumer spending is not the reason our generation can’t afford major investments.  (And neither is philosophy degrees.  People going to college believing they’re in training for the lucrative position of professional philosopher is not a real problem.)

Also, “poverty” isn’t quite the right word for what I’m talking about.  I don’t mean people who are insecure day-to-day in having a place to sleep or enough to eat.  I mean people who are quite comfortable now, but will never be able to retire.  And they will pass nothing on to their children, who will also never be able to retire.  As long as we’re able to stay employed, we might never experience material deprivation, but we have no wealth and no security.  And that’s a big, deep, generational problem that can’t be escaped by getting a STEM degree and not buying Starbucks.

Cold As Ice

Originally posted by v-writings

Peter Parker x Shy Reader

Request: Yes

Summary: After discovering their powers and wanting to save a troubled citizen, the Reader is left to dealt with the consequences, but ends up finding out a certain secret from a certain spiderling instead.

Word Count: 3,180 (omg)

Warnings: Language, cuteness, discovery of powers, fluff, fight scene, shy!Reader, *slight* assault scene, suck-ass ending (bc I’m trash and I suck at writing), (Please let me know if I missed anything).

A/N: For some reason, I had such a hard time making a summary for this ?? Hopefully the anon that requested this thinks it’s okay. :// I’m slowly moving through all my requests (I have a lot lol). Anyway, let me know what you think as always and enjoy reading!


Walking into Midtown High, you cautiously grudge towards your locker in order to get your books for today’s classes.

These past few days have been strange, to say the least.

Despite it being almost the end of the school year and the hot weather finally arriving, you somehow felt cold to your bones.

Instead of wearing short sleeves and shorts, you started dressing in sweatshirts and pants.

Maybe I’m getting sick…?

Maybe it’s just the chills…?

You kept making excuses like that, but the coldness never seemed to go away.

It’s been happening for a couple weeks now, but you didn’t know what to do.

You didn’t know what this was.

Well, not until today.

Keep reading

Evil Yours, Now Evil Mine // Kai Anderson

Originally posted by gabbiesworld


A/N: I’m selfishly relieved to be writing Kai again. I feel like I write him better than the rest of Evan’s characters. So! This is based off a request where someone wanted Kai to meet a girl whose only fear was her own mind. I also had countless requests for rough Kai.

Side note: This fic is my absolute pride and joy.

This is specifically for my homegurl @fragilelikeabomb0106 <3 And myself. Because I’m a Kai whore.

Warnings: SMUTSMUTSMUTSMUTSMUT! And language.

Keep reading

Cookies

Pairing: Y/N and Harry

Word Count:  4800

Warnings: None

Requested: Yes

Prompt:

“Harry,” Y/N says softly.

She rests her head on his lap as his long fingers comb through her hair. Her eyes are on him and she’s playing with the hem of his hoodie that she had stolen out of his closet. Harry tears his eyes away from the screen and looks down at her, her lip in between her teeth.

“Yeah,” he says.

“Couldn’t you go for a warm cookie right now?” Y/N asks, and Harry laughs. He’s perfectly content without a cookie, but he knows Y/N wants one, and he couldn’t possibly say no to her.

“We have no cookies to make,” Harry says, “we’d have to go on a hunt and we aren’t even dressed properly.”

“So,” Y/N shrugs, “everyone we know is most likely drunk or high at this time of the night, please Harry,” she sits up on her knees, batting her eyes, her lips in a pout and Harry knows he’s about to go for a late night cookie hunt in his pajama’s.


Y/N was the only one who noticed him.

She had noticed the boy hiding behind his book in the back of the classroom, the boy who people pushed past in the hallways to get where they needed to go, who they shoved in the lockers in an attempt to pass him, she noticed him.

Harry loved Y/N, like really loved Y/N. Not just the type of love that people have for their friends and families, no, Harry wanted to marry Y/N. He wanted to wake up besides, fold the laundry together, have little silly arguments over who walks the slowest or who left the fridge open, he wanted to run to the grocery with her-he wanted her.

There were times when Harry truly and honestly believed that Y/N felt the same way. The way she smiled at him, the way her eyes lit up every time she saw him, the way she laughed too hard at his jokes, he believed she felt the same way. But when Y/N mentioned her boyfriend Harry’s heart dropped. He felt his stomach twist and the lump in his throat form, and for the first time in his life he just really wanted to punch a wall.

Harry scrunched his nose, sneezing, and then adjusting his glasses. He shut his locker, pressing his back against it as a bunch of freshmen ran past him. He gripped his books, searching for Y/N and when he saw her, he couldn’t help the smile that came on to his face. She looked up from her phone as someone moved past her, shoving their shoulders into hers, she rolled her eyes and smiled at Harry.

“First last day of high school,” Y/N cheered, stopping in front of the boy in a sweater vest, “and then we are off to adult hood, can you believe it?”

“Yeah,” Harry chuckled.

When Y/N first heard Harry speak she was shocked. She sat next to him in her math class of junior year, and if she was being honest she picked the seat to cheat off of Harry. She had been doodling on her notebook when the kid in front of her slid his chair back (a little too hard) and hit their table, Harry had scoffed, mumbling “what a dick,” and Y/N had tried to not giggle. She had expected his voice to be much higher and even a little nasally, but it was deep and filled with an accent that was certainly not from her hometown.

“I mean Harry, we are going to graduate and then hopefully I’ll go to college, but you for sure will and I’m going to visit you like all the time even if you go to school half way across the world,” Y/N says.

Harry smiles, because with Y/N he knows she’s not kidding. Y/N had never backed down on a promise, and before Jason came along, him and Y/N were attached at the hip. Y/N would always be at the Styles’ house hold, baking cookies with Anne, doing her nails with Gemma (and if she wasn’t around she would make Harry get her toes), watching the game with Robin, and relaxing with Harry. His family loved Y/N.

She was Harry’s first friend and they were all happy when Harry started to come home with a smile on his face. He would go on to tell them about Y/N, and how cute she was, and how she sat with him at lunch, or how she had doodled on his paper, how they played little games of tic-tact-toe and Y/N believed that she was a pro when really Harry let her win. Anne was more than eager when Harry came home asking if it was alright if Y/N could come by and watch a movie, “as long as you keep your door open,” Anne had smiled, making Harry blush, “she’s just a friend mum, wouldn’t like me like that anyways.” That night after Y/N left with some of Anne’s cookies and an invention to come over whenever she pleased, Anne had turned to Harry as he cleaned up the popcorn, “I think she likes you like that,” and Harry had simply ignored her comment, because she was Y/N, and he was just Harry.

“You’ll go to college,” Harry says to Y/N, smiling at her.

Y/N’s cute, like really fucking cute,” Harry had whispered to Gemma once when he had one too many drinks. Y/N wasn’t even there, but he couldn’t stop thinking about her, how she always smiled at him, how she just loved to cuddle up against him and watch a movie they’ve already seen eight hundred times. Gemma had laughed at brother, claiming he had said that once before and ushering him to put a quarter in the swear jar.

Y/N’s pink lips formed into a pout. She then sighed, blowing a strand of hair out of her face, and Harry took a second to admire her. She had on a pair of white shorts and birks (which Harry loved to refer to as Jesus sandals and he loved how Y/N would roll her eyes at the comment) their school’s mascot printed out on her blue sweater, and her hair pulled up into a ponytail and wrapped by a blue scrunchie.

“Yeah, community college,” Y/N says.

“Hey, community college isn’t bad, you can graduate and still get a degree, or go for a couple years and then transfer, or take a gap year, or not go at all, do what makes you happy,” Harry says.

Y/N groaned, “I don’t know what makes me happy Harry. I’m not school smart, I’m just above the line to graduate, and like I can’t waste thousands and thousands of dollars figuring it out, you’re lucky you know? You know what you want to do, but I have no idea,” Y/N sighs, her eyes light up for a second, “can I just like be your nanny, and you can buy lots of dogs and I can live in your guest house and take care of them.”

“I’m a cat person,” Harry corrects her, his eyebrows scrunch up as he looks at her, “wait, let me get this straight, you basically want me to buy you a dog and then pay you take care of the dog I would buy for you?”

“Dogs, as in multiple, and you like dogs,” Y/N says bringing her coffee to her lips.

“I like them when they aren’t mine,” Harry stated.

Y/N shrugs, “I’m just saying when you become a rich and famous song writer that’s what we can do.”

“Oi, are you just using me for the future possibilities of dogs?” Harry asked.

Y/N nods, a teasing smile on her face as Harry laughs. It’s moment like this that Harry really just wants to lean over and press a kiss to her soft lips, when he wants to wrap his arms around her and tell her how much her loves her and then kiss her forehead, but he can’t. He remembers that when he sees the tall brunette wrapped his arms around Y/N’s waist from behind, kissing her cheek and making Y/N bite her lower lip.

“Good morning!” Y/N grins, turning to hug her boyfriend, “how was your morning Jason? You remember Harry right?”

Harry hated Jason, he always had. Ever since freshmen year when Jason seemed to make it his life mission to make Harry’s life terrible. Jason would subtly shove Harry into a locker, spill his drink on Harry’s work, remark on his clothes-anything that would get under Harry’s skin. But the worst thing Jason had ever done was take Y/N from Harry. All summer it was hard to make plans with Y/N, and Y/N wasn’t one to leave her friends for her boyfriend.

It was already difficult for the two meet, Harry didn’t like Y/N’s friends (they always seemed to whisper about him) and her friends didn’t like him. Y/N had managed between the two groups, spending most of her time with Harry, but when Jason came along Harry hardly saw her. He would watch as Jason would claim that Y/N didn’t love him if he didn’t spend time with her, forcing the girl into leaving Harry for him.

“Right,” Jason’s blue eyes flicker to Harry for a second and back to Y/N, “you’re coming to my game tonight right?”

“Oh, I can’t! It’s Harry’s sister’s birthday and we’re having a little party,” Y/N explained, “Harry and I have to pick up the last of the decoration and cake after the school.”

Jason frowned, stepping back, “you’re my main support and you’re not coming to cheer me on? Are you serious?”

“Jason, please, not now,” Y/N whispered, grabbing his hand.

“No, fuck you, you always prefer to hang out with this-what even are you man? A sweater vest-really?” Jason turns to Harry, smirking at him.

“Leave him alone,” Y/N says, “I’m sorry Jason, but you’ll have other games-“

“Clearly you don’t fucking love me or even care about me if you’re missing an important day of my life to hang out with this loser,” Jason snapped, “fuck you Y/N. Don’t talk to me.”

Jason turns and Y/N turns to Harry, “I’m sorry H, I’ll catch up with you later,” and then she turns on her heels running after Jason and calling his name, pleading for him to slow down and listen to her.


“Hey,” Gemma smiled grabbing a chip out of the pink bowl, she nudged Harry slightly with her hip to grab his attention, “where’s Y/N?”

Harry rolled his eyes, “her boyfriend threw a fit that she was missing his game and Y/N went with him, she did say she was sorry and will take you on a spa day, and something about giving you your gift later on.”

“I hate Jason,” Gemma sighed, “he’s emotionally abusive.”

Harry shrugs, grabbing a soda, “I guess.”

“He is, he always threatens to hurt himself if Y/N says no, or claims that she doesn’t love him and that’s not healthy, she deserves better-she deserves you,” Gemma says.

“She doesn’t like me that way, plus I’m going away for college and Y/N will make new friends and forget all about me, it’s fine really,” Harry stated.

The party had turned into a slump, Gemma’s friends left early, and Gemma didn’t mind-she herself was not a people person. She joined Harry in the living room eating the chips and salsa as she watched her heartbroken (even though Harry wouldn’t admit it) brother sit on the couch as think about Y/N.

“Y/N’s a nice girl, she’s just a bit oblivious and a people pleaser, I don’t even think she likes Jason she probably just feels bad breaking up with him,” Gemma says.

“Hey, where’s Y/N? I wanted to show her what I just planted,” Anne asks, walking into the living room with a trash bag.

“Boyfriend’s game,” Harry answered.

“I don’t like him that much,” Anne says, “is that bad? I liked that other guy more-what was his name? Neil?”

“Niall,” Harry corrected.

“What happened to him?”

“Moved back to Ireland,” Harry says.

“Now why haven’t you asked her out?” Anne asked.

Harry stands, “I’m not having this conversation again, good night,” he runs up the stairs, closing the door to his room.

Harry can’t help the smile on his face when he sees Y/N’s name on the screen.

Y/N: This is so boring and we are losing as usual and I hate it and I wish I was there and I’m really sorry please don’t hate me

Y/N: I’ll take you to get breakfast before school

Y/N: Nah forget that I’m not getting up earlier than needed but let’s get a late lunch after school

Y/N: Want to nachos

Y/N: That’s nacho your call we are getting them

Y/N: Ha

Y/N: Ha

Y/N: Ha

Y/N: Why aren’t you laughing

Harry: I didn’t see this till now but after school works for me.

Y/N: Don’t put a period it makes you sound all serious and mad

Harry: Sorry

Y/N: I miss you 

Harry: I miss you too

Y/N: I feel like I haven’t seen you in weeks can I come over after wards? Pleaseeeeee

Harry: Why are you even asking?

Harry tosses his phone back on the bed, running to shower and get some what decent before Y/N comes over.


Y/N sits on his bed, her legs crossed in front of her, laptop on top and her hand in Harry’s bag of Cheetos, “I think I want to break up with Jason,” Y/N stated.

Harry froze from his desk, the pen in his hand slipping out of it and his heart began to beat fast. He wasn’t sure if what he heard was real, but he knew he liked the statement, “what?” Harry asks, turning in his chair.

Y/N shrugs, “I want to break up with Jason-I just don’t have fun with him you know? It all feels so forced, and I really was going to wait till we graduated and then I wouldn’t have to see him again but that’s too far away. And anytime I’ve gotten some kind of courage to do it he gets upset and tells me he’ll hurt himself.”

“You know he won’t,” Harry says.

“I think I do, but it’s a risk and I can’t be the cause of someone hurting themselves Harry, I can’t,” Y/N says, sliding her laptop off her legs and on to the bed.

“Then I think you should break up with him and if he makes a comment like that you can go tell someone, we can go together to guidance or call his parents-Y/N what he’s doing to you is not okay,” Harry says.

Y/N groans, tossing herself back on Harry’s bed, “it’s just so hard Harry.”

“Y/N, does he like-does he hurt you?” Harry asks, his voice just above a whisper.

“No, God no, he’s never laid a hand on me, one on one Jason’s really sweet,” Y/N says, rolling on to her side and looking at Harry.

It’s small moments like these, when Y/N lays in his bed with her PJ’s on, that he wishes he could cuddle up with her and just talk about pointless things. It’s when Y/N is so comfortable in his room, on his bed, that he wishes she was his, and he was hers.

“I think you should break up with him,” Harry repeats.

Y/N doesn’t respond that time, instead she just lays her head on her arm, and Harry turns back to his work.


“Y/N,” Harry calls down the hall, making the shorter girl stop and turn on her heels. He runs up next to her and Y/N giggled, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair that curled over Harry’s forehead, “thanks,” Harry says, the heat rising to his cheeks.

“Harry, you need to lay off the gel, I like your hair when it’s natural,” Y/N says, “anyways what’s up?”

“I was wondering if you wanted to come over on tonight? Mum and Gemma are going out shopping and I hate being alone in the house,” Harry says.

“Hey, Y/N, is this guy bothering you?” one of Jason’s friends, Tyler, asks, stepping in between the two.

“Tyler stop,” Y/N says, placing a hand on his arm, “he’s my friend.”

“It’s okay,” Harry says softly, “I’ll talk to you later.”

“No you won’t,” Tyler hissed, shoving at Harry’s shoulders.

The action causes Harry to stumble back into the lockers, dropping all his books. Y/N gasps, quickly bending down to his side, “what the hell Tyler? I said I was fine, he’s my friend,” Y/N snapped.

Tyler steps forwards, his foot hovering over Harry’s glasses for a second before he steps on them, Y/N frowns, “sorry,” Tyler chuckled, “clearly I didn’t hear you.”

He turns walking down the hall and Y/N grabs the glasses, looking at them. She frowns looking back at Harry, “I’m so sorry Harry-really I am.”

“It’s fine,” Harry grumbles, sitting up and rubbing his forehead, “thanks,” he grabs his broken glasses from Y/N and sighs.

“Let me help you,” Y/N says.

“I’m fine,” Harry retorts, standing and making his way down the hall.

Y/N stands with a frown, her grip on her bag tightening as she stares at the boy stumbling down the hall.


When Harry opens the door Y/N is taken back. He stands with a towel wrapped around his waist, wet curls stuck to his forehead and chest exposed. She had never seen him so naked, so wet, and she finds it slightly hard to breath. Harry pushes his hair back, and crosses his arms, Y/N had never really noticed his biceps up until this moment and she can’t help but stare.

“What are you doing here?” Harry asked.

“You invited me,” Y/N says softly, diverting her attention back to his eyes, and she notices his glasses are gone, “are you still mad at me?”

“I’m not mad at you, just not in the mood,” Harry stated.

Y/N holds her arms up, in them lays a brown paper bag, “well I come with Chinese food, and movies, and love,” Y/N says softly, a small smile on her lips and Harry can’t refuse. He steps aside and she quickly makes her way in, he shuts the door behind her, “where are you glasses?”

“Getting fixed, I just put on some contacts,” Harry shrugs, “I’m just going to get dressed.”

Harry wonders off into his room and Y/N sets the food on the counter. She’s singing softly to herself when Harry comes down the stairs, he leans against the wall, propping himself on his shoulder and watching her. He’s wearing her favorite shirt, a simple grey shirt with the Pink Floyd logo on it, and some plaid lounge pants. Y/N turns giving him a smile.

“I like your hair without the gel,” she says, pouring some rice on to his plate, “’s nice.”

“Thanks,” Harry says.

“What did you do before I came over?” Y/N asked, pulling out the container with the eggrolls.

Harry pulls back a stool by the island and sits on it, “nothing, worked out, showered, then you came,” Harry shrugs.

He looks different without his glasses and hair pulled back and Y/N likes it. She likes the glasses, and his other style as well, but she loved this Harry the most. The Harry that was relaxed.

“I, uh, broke up with Jason,” Y/N says, keeping her eyes on the food in front of her.

Harry turns his head quickly (a little too quickly and he’s surprised he didn’t break his neck), Y/N avoids his gaze as she bites her lower lip. She looks a bit disappointed but Harry’s trying his hardest to not show his happiness. He hated Jason and he hated that Jason had taken Y/N away from him.

“Oh,” Harry says softly.

“Anyways, I guess I’m back to square one,” she says, handing Harry his plate and grabbing her own, “back to being single dog lady.”

“You have me,” Harry says.

Y/N smiles, plopping down on the seat next to him, “for now, until you find someone as amazing as you and you fall in love with her and I only see you once a month,” Y/N joked.

Harry chuckled digging his fork into his rice, the heat in cheek started to rise. Harry just wanted Y/N, not anyone else.


“Harry,” Y/N says softly.

She rests her head on his lap as his long fingers comb through her hair. Her eyes are on him and she’s playing with the hem of his hoodie that she had stolen out of his closet. Harry tears his eyes away from the screen and looks down at her, her lip in between her teeth.

“Yeah,” he says.

“Couldn’t you go for a warm cookie right now?” Y/N asks, and Harry laughs. He’s perfectly content without a cookie, but he knows Y/N wants one, and he couldn’t possibly say no to her.

“We have no cookies to make,” Harry says, “we’d have to go on a hunt and we aren’t even dressed properly.”

“So,” Y/N shrugs, “everyone we know is most likely drunk or high at this time of the night, please Harry,” she sits up on her knees, batting her eyes, her lips in a pout and Harry knows he’s about to go for a late night cookie hunt in his pajama’s.

“Okay,” he sighs, rubbing his eyes, “let’s go get some cookies.”

Y/N smiled, standing and grabbing his hand. Harry stumbles behind her and grabs his shoes.

The ride is silent, Y/N has her knees to her chest and Harry rolls his eyes, “it the air bag came out your legs would break,” Harry stated.

“Well then, drive safe,” Y/N says. She’s scrolling on her phone, picking a song to play when she looks up and over at Harry, one hand rest on the wheel, the other on the gear shift, his eyes focused on the road in front of them, “Harry,” she says, and he hums softly, “have you ever kissed anyone?”

Harry keeps his eyes ahead of him, “no,” he says.

“I wish I saved my first kiss for someone I really cared about,” Y/N says softly, “I always wanted it to be on my wedding day, or at least with the person I would marry but instead I kissed someone when I was drunk.”

“I want mine to be with someone special,” Harry says.

“Is there anyone you have in mind?” Y/N asks.

“Maybe,” Harry shrugs.

Y/N gasps, “Harry, you like someone and didn’t tell me? I tell you everything!” Y/N says, turning in her seat to look at Harry.

Harry blows a raspberry in the air, and he knows he’s gotten himself in a hole, “’s nothing for you to worry about,” he stated, “we’re graduating and I’ll probably see her once a year if not I’ll probably never see her again.”

“You don’t know that, oh Harry! Who is she? Come on, I’ll set you up,” Y/N says, wiggling her eyebrows, “I bet she’s amazing.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Harry says.

“Why?”

“She doesn’t feel the same way, I know it.”

“Well who is she?” Y/N asks, Harry stops in front of the red light and turns to look at Y/N. His eyes are soft and his lips in a frown, and Y/N knows.

She looks away, her eyes dropping to her lap, her lips forming into her own frown and she’s thankful that her hair falls like a curtain, blocking Harry’s eyes from her.


“What kind of cookies do you want?” Harry asks, he’s the first to break the silence.

Y/N stands behind him, picking at the sleeves of his hoodie. Her eyes on her feet which are covered in Harry’s too big shoes, she looks up, “do you really think that when we graduate you’ll never see me again?” she asked.

“There’s chocolate chip, sugar, pumpkin,” Harry mumbles, reading the different kinds.

Y/N frowns, “Harry, just because we graduate doesn’t mean we can’t be together.”

“Ah, oatmeal, that’s your favorite, right?” he asks, grabbing the yellow package, “and we’ll grab a chocolate chip one for me, oatmeal is shit.”

“Harry,” Y/N snaps, grabbing his arm, “stop ignoring me.”

“I’m not, I’m picking cookies,” Harry says.

“You can’t tell me you think we’ll never talk again and expect for me to be okay with that!” Y/N yells, she takes in a deep breath and she’s thankful that no one is in the store besides two workers and an older couple, “why would you ever think I would want to leave you?”

“I never said it was you,” Harry says, brushing past her and down the aisle.

“You didn’t have to, and you have no idea how I feel about you, so you don’t get to say that I would never like you, and you don’t get to act like I’m going to leave you the second I get my diploma,” Y/N says, the lump in her throat started to form and she tried hard to swallow it.

“Because you’re you, Y/N,” Harry says, turning to look at her, “you’re great, and when I leave you’ll make amazing friends and forget all about me, I’m studying back in London and my family will most likely follow me back, and you’ll stay here.”

“That’s not true-“

“But it is, girls like you, don’t like boys like me. The only reason we’re friends is because you needed help passing your class and then you felt bad for me,” Harry says, “I’m not fucking stupid, I know.”

“I’m friends with you because I like you,” Y/N says.

“Great, okay, now let’s go pay for these,” Harry huffs.

“Do you really like me?” Y/N asks, her voice is soft and she looks so small standing there. Her eyes watery and Harry knows she’s still upset.

“Y/N, let’s just pay for the cookies and go bake them, I’m tired,” Harry says.

“Harry-“

“Just drop it okay! It doesn’t matter, we aren’t going to be in contact with each other once I graduate we won’t see each other anymore.”

“I like you too,” Y/N says, sniffling, “I really like you. I like spending time with you, and being with you, and I knew I had feelings for you but I didn’t think you would feel the same way,” she says, “and I thought you would know by now that you’re my best friend and no matter where you go it doesn’t change that.”

“Y/N-“

“It just feels like-like that as point you’re the one who wants there to be no contact between us when we graduate, so I’ll make it easy on you, just don’t talk to me anymore,” Y/N says.

Y/N starts walking ahead of him and Harry frowns.

“Y/N, come on,” Harry sighs, running behind her, “let’s not fight-“

He stops when he sees Y/N tear stained cheeks, “how am I not supposed to be upset when my best friend is dead set on never seeing me again after high school,” Y/N cries, hiccups slipping past her lips and Harry feels his chest tighten.

“Shh, come on, let’s go to the car,” he says softly, tossing the cookies on top of the ice cream and walking out of the store with her.

He helps Y/N get in the back seat and he slips in besides her. Y/N muffled sobs fill the car as she sniffles and uses the sleeves of Harry’s hoodie to wipe her eyes, “hey,” Harry whispered, wrapping his arms around her, “sh, it’s alright.”

“No it’s not Harry, you made it clear-“

“I was being an ass,” Harry cuts her off, rubbing her back, “I’m sorry.”

“Do you really believe that?” Y/N asks.

Harry shakes his head, “I don’t know Y/N, I never believed that you would even talk to me.”

“I don’t want us to end,” Y/N says softly.

Harry closes his eyes, resting his head on top hers, he can smell the coconut shampoo and he closes his eyes, “I’m in love with you,” Harry admits, “and I guess I kept telling myself it was okay that you didn’t feel the same way, because in a couple months it wouldn’t matter.”

“You don’t know how I feel, you never told me,” Y/N says, she scoots back, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hands, “and I wish you had told me sooner, because I feel the same way Harry.”

Y/N places her hand over his, sniffling still, “I want to be with you, and I’m taking a gap year anyways, and I’ve always wanted to travel you know? I don’t think we should let college stop us from being together Harry,” Y/N says, “I don’t want anything to stop us from being together. You’re my best friend.”

“I don’t want you to say this because you feel bad-“

“I’m not, I’m in love with you Harry,” Y/N admits, biting her lower lip and letting her gaze fall to her lap, “and I want to be with you. For once, don’t over think it.”

Harry’s hand comes under her chin, “I think any fight is worth it as long as you’re with me,” Harry says softly.

“Promise,” Y/N asks.

Harry nods, “I’ve never done this before,” Harry whispered when she leaned closer.

“That’s okay,” Y/N whispers back, “I’ve never kissed anyone I’ve loved either.”

Y/N’s lips are soft, and her touch is gentle. Harry finds that it’s not hard, because nothing with Y/N is ever hard, she makes things easy, and he’s more than grateful for her. He likes how soft her lips are and how she’s careful with every movement, he likes how her hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, and he realizes that he really fucking loves Y/N.

4

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Lena Luthor wasn’t usually a nervous person.  She could command an audience, she could dominate the boardroom, but right now?  She was panicking.

Honestly, Lena never really thought her friendship with Kara would reach a stage where she was slowly being introduced into the group, one by one.  Maggie had been first.  She and Lena had long since discussed the whole Maggie-arresting-Lena debacle, Maggie spending the better part of ten minutes apologising before Lena could get a word in edgewise.  She and Maggie had hit it off fairly quickly, bonding over their mutual love of Italian cuisine and various scientific magazines.

Keep reading

Exploitation is not Freedom

By Sandra B. Latham

Freedom is a word that is used so often, and yet so rarely understood. 

The most toxic of these misrepresentations are those which conflate freedom and liberty, the greatest of all values, with the perpetuation of exploitation and injustice. One of the most pernicious elements of this so-called freedom is the relationship between employers and employees. 

To pay your employees what you wish, to treat them as you wish. To produce what you will, in whatever way you will, using the means and materials you prefer. To sell at whatever price you wish, to interact with the market as you please, to yield the greatest profit. These are the sorts of things that the “right” sets up as “freedoms.” And yet I never see the same attention given by those same “freedom-loving Americans” as the freedom to unionize, to strike and picket, and to make decisions within the workplace. 

If the worker owns themselves and their own labor, surely they have the freedom to bargain with it; it is their own property after all.

I see two justifications for this: the freedom of association between employer and employee, and inequitable compensation for risk.

Regarding the freedom of association between employer and employee, this is another area in which “freedom” has a very deliberately obscured meaning. Because employees have a right to quit, the freedom to leave, they’re not slaves. The conclusion, then, is that the employer and employee have a relationship of free association.

These are ridiculous notions. In reality, those with capital and the capacity to offer employment have far more power than the individual employee. At the same time, individual wealth is distributed in such a way that the vast majority of people are reliant upon employment for survival. The individual employee has no right to a job – after all, that would be an “infringement on the employer’s freedom.” But the employee must always eat, must always have shelter, will at one time or another need health care. You would never allege that, were you to rob a man at gunpoint, that it was a free exchange because he had the “free choice” to keep his wallet and be shot or to give it up and be safe. And yet, when it comes to basic human survival, capitalism paints just such a picture. 

Thus, “freedom of association” is only freedom when every citizen is guaranteed the right to shelter and food, either through resource distribution, universal basic income, robust social programs, regulations ensuring a living wage, or any of many other possible solutions.

If survival is not independent of work, then the working relationship cannot be considered truly free. And if the working relationship is not free, then it is exploitation.

And yet, most freedom-loving libertarians would balk at these solutions, as they so often revile regulations, price caps, minimum wages, laws against retaliation, and other legal protections. If you believe that the employer-employee relationship is a truly free association, then such outside interference is an immoral infringement on those freedoms. But as discussed, this is incongruent with the ever-present human need for the means of survival.

This is a separate rabbit hole I would like to examine in more depth in the future, but suffice to say at this point that I consider every living person entitled to the means of survival.

For those who acknowledge the imbalance of power between employers and employees, this is primarily excused by framing the greater power on the employer side as compensation for risk. To a limited extent, many people will agree the trade-off is fair: A guaranteed monthly salary, secure and consistent, can absolutely be less monetarily valuable than a risky business venture, which may result in nothing or may result in a large profit. An entrepreneur who uses an equity loan to start a small business has a lot more at stake than an employee of theirs, and it’s only fair that they reap a reward for the risk.

Most Americans accept some amount of wealth inequality as acceptable or even ideal, but as it stands the current level of inequality is staggering, far beyond what is warranted as compensation for different degrees of risk, hard work, and education. So while this argument has at least basis in sound logic, in practice we allege that the wealthiest Americans deserve to exploit workers and take literally all of the wealth for themselves. It’s not possible for me to believe that somebody at the top – even executives with schedules that leave no time to sleep and demanding responsibilities – can possibly contribute tens of thousands of times as much as a person on the ground running machines, taking orders, and cleaning toilets. 

Furthermore, in addition to the wealth imbalance, there is a massive imbalance in authority that is socially ingrained but not economically necessary or socially positive. The ability to manage another person’s time and behavior, ultimately to play king within a set domain based on assets, is portrayed as a “freedom” when it serves no positive purpose in society except to use authority as a form of psychological compensation.

As a worker, I have zero interest in upholding the Freedom to Starve – whether it’s my supposed freedom to starve by walking away from exploitation or employers’ freedom to starve their employees.

Edited by: @theliberaltony

You can find Sarah B. Lathum on Tumblr here

viserys-last-of-his-name  asked:

So...racism in ASOIF. Pretty blatant, no? His clear equation of whiteness with beauty? The manner in which lands of color are always sexually...open. GRRM tries, sometimes, he really does, but there's some unhealthy shit there right? Could you give your thoughts on that, or link to a time when you have? Thank you! (Yes, I know my name is misspelled.)

Blanket statement before I start on this one: you can love a story to pieces and still point out its flaws and blind spots, including the racist kind. If we only consumed non-problematic media, we would consume no media whatsoever, but we still gotta be honest with ourselves about where our faves fall short. ASOIAF is my very favorite thing (shocking, I know), yet aspects of it are disappointing, and this is one of them.

For me, what really crystallized the problem with how GRRM writes the Dothraki and the Ghiscari especially is when I read some insightful people comparing that writing to how the author frames the wildlings. Personally, I think GRRM does some of his very best writing with the Free Folk. Throughout the series, the author lavishes attention on their individuality, their rich and sad history, their multi-faceted ideology and how it plays out in each of their unique life stories, all geared toward making Jon—and us—feel for them. Not just intellectually understand that they are human beings like anyone else, but feel it, in his and our bones.  

I want to really emphasize individuality, because it’s important—putting faces on the monolithic swarm changes Jon’s entire worldview over the course of ACOK, ASOS, and ADWD. That’s not just a band of stinking wildlings howling for blood, not anymore. That’s Ygritte, kissed by fire, who loved and was loved, lost and was lost. That’s Tormund Giantsbane, the only one of Jon’s many dads who doesn’t project anything onto him, but simply enjoys his company and wants him to be happy. That’s Mance and Gilly and Val, people that I care about and feel I have come to know. “This is a whole people come together.” One of the worst among them gets a POV; Varamyr Sixskins is the most stomach-churning face we ever wear, but by his prologue’s end, he’s a thoroughly fleshed-out villain, his life story told. I understand him, and my understanding of the wildlings as a whole is richer for what his story communicates.

This is good storytelling, in other words. Really good. Not flawless, but overall, it’s an engine of empathy and humanization with a big-picture political aim: the wildlings are people too, and that means we have to stand with them against the Long Night.

“When the cold winds rise, we shall live or die together. It is time we made alliance against our common foe.” He looked at Jon. “Would you agree?”

“My father dreamed of resettling the Gift,” Jon admitted. “He and my uncle Benjen used to talk of it.” He never thought of settling it with wildlings, though… but he never rode with wildlings, either. He did not fool himself; the free folk would make for unruly subjects and dangerous neighbors. Yet when he weighed Ygritte’s red hair against the cold blue eyes of the wights, the choice was easy. “I agree.”

It’s stirring stuff, and a model to be studied. Those who were initially barbarians in our POV’s eyes are humanized…

…when they are white. When they are not white, the humanization drops off to a glaring and significant degree. Jon and Dany are paralleled throughout the story, but this is one very telling difference: the cultural Other in Jon’s story gets a human face, while Dany’s (to an overwhelming if not 100% complete degree) stays a swarm. This is true whether said swarm is being presented negatively…

Four of the men seemed to be named Grazdan, presumably after Grazdan the Great who had founded Old Ghis in the dawn of days. They all looked alike; thick fleshy men with amber skin, broad noses, dark eyes.

…or positively.

She trotted, then cantered, then broke into a gallop, her braid streaming behind. The freed slaves parted before her. “Mother,” they called from a hundred throats, a thousand, ten thousand. “Mother,” they sang, their fingers brushing her legs as she flew by. “Mother, Mother, Mother!”

You can definitely see parallels between Dany’s assimilation into the Dothraki in AGOT and Jon’s rumspringa with the wildlings in ASOS; @racefortheironthrone makes that case here. But the difference is that in Dany’s story on the Dothraki Sea and in Slaver’s Bay, there’s so rarely even the pretense of individualization. I challenge anyone to describe to me the characterization of Dany’s bloodriders—give me a paragraph on what makes Aggo and Rakharo different. (You would be able to with Mance v. Tormund.) Tell me about Hizdahr zo Loraq and Reznak mo Reznak as human beings. (You would be able to with Ygritte and Varamyr.) Where is the Tormund of the Dothraki? Where is the Ygritte of the Ghiscari? They are not there…or rather, they are, but GRRM doesn’t bother showing them, and seems more than a little disinterested in the people he does show. He finds “the human heart in conflict with itself” in so many other parts of the story, yet not here.

This is where Jon ends up RE the wildlings:

“I am the shield that guards the realms of men. Those are the words. So tell me, my lord—what are these wildlings, if not men?”

This is where Dany ends up RE the Ghiscari:

It was a city of strange men with strange gods and stranger hair, of slavers wrapped in fringed tokars, where grace was earned through whoring, butchery was art, and dog was a delicacy.

The latter is never countered within the text itself. We are not shown how Dany is wrong. This is a problem. (I say that even while worshipping at the altar of Dany X ADWD and recognizing that moment’s place within her personal arc; vast, contain multitudes, and so on.) But this failure of empathy, imagination, dramatization, and humanization did not occur in isolation. This is a major problem with the genre as a whole, and it’s honestly one of the reasons I’m generally much more of a horror and sci-fi guy than a fantasy guy. Those have their own issues, of course (because, again, everything we create does), but fantasy’s history lends itself to a particularly colonialist-nostalgia-tinged take on things. That is far too big a subject to summarize here, and of course concerns our relationship to all media, not just fantasy stories. So, given that a picture is worth a thousand words…Peter Jackson knew to cut Tom Bombadil, but he didn’t know to cut this:

So when I say that the way GRRM has written this fantasy story speaks to a racial blind spot, I am not making a problem up out of thin air because I want to be mad about something, as is the all-caps accusation every single time anyone brings this up. I am saying that this is yet one more nail, and that while GRRM has addressed many of the genre’s tropes and cliches with style to spare, he has also proved willing to take some disappointing and well-trodden shortcuts.

Star spangled brushwork

Summary: You need help painting your apartment, and the weather and Bucky Barnes are both hot. Sniping and sexy times ensue.

Characters: Bucky x Reader
Word count: 3,220
Warnings: NSFW, 18+ ONLY. Seriously. If you’re not of legal age, go away, this is not for you.

A/N: It’s my first attempt at smut and smut is hard (no pun intended). Any advice and/ or feedback is always more than welcome. 

MASTERLIST

Originally posted by maddiekittenlover

After years of saving pennies, working multiple jobs, and one too many nights of boxed wine and Ramen noodles, you had finally, finally, saved enough money for a down payment to buy your own apartment. Sure it was small and on the top floor of an elevator-less building, but it was yours, and that’s what mattered.

In a bid to save money like a responsible homeowner, you also decided to paint the place yourself, and with a little cajoling and a little blackmail concerning that time you filmed him singing ‘Beauty and the Beast’ while he made a PB&J, Bucky grudgingly agreed to help as well.

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Writing Characters with Enhanced Senses

Characters with extraordinary senses come up a lot. Maybe your character is of supernatural or alien origin, or maybe they were just born with a genetic quirk. Maybe they have a sensory disorder that only makes their hearing seem extraordinary. There are lots of reasons why a character might have extraordinary senses and a lot of different ways those senses might be put to use, but here are some of the drawbacks you might consider when writing a character who has a super sniffer, excellent eyesight, or high-quality hearing!

Sight:
If your character has super sight, chances are that they can see farther and more clearly than anybody else, which is pretty cool except that the human eye can still only really focus on one thing at a time…so your character might want to be careful not to get distracted when they’re, say, crossing the street. If they’re watching a burglary occur a thousand yards away, they might not notice the car that just whipped around the corner behind them. Other super-drawbacks might include heightened sensitivity to light, color, or movement - and you have to remember that nobody can see three-hundred-sixty degrees at all times, so your character is probably going to have a blind spot (unless they’re an owl). Also, they may frequently look like they’re staring off into space when they’re really just watching something very intently.

Hearing:
Have you ever been standing in a crowd of people who are all talking at the same time? Now imagine if you had super hearing! It can be hard to pick out individual pieces of information or even follow a single conversation when you can hear everyone in a six-block radius…and it’s not just conversations. You can also hear every car, every pet moving around, every jingle of a key, the air moving through the vents, and so on and so forth. This is another one of those abilities that may make it look like your character is just really easily distracted - it’s not that they don’t want to pay attention to their friends, it’s just that they’re playing “name that tune” with a radio four blocks to the southeast!

Smell:
Think about your shower routine, whatever it might be. How many scented products do you layer on your skin? Soap, shampoo, conditioner, lotion, deoderant, maybe perfume or cologne, shaving cream or aftershave - the list goes on and on. If you had a super nose, you might be able to smell every single layer a person was wearing, and that kind of assault on the nose could be eye-wateringly overwhelming. Consider your reaction to someone wearing strong perfume! There are a lot of other types of smells in the world too, from cut grass and shoe polish to rotting garbage…and a lot of bodily functions have smells too: passing gas, excrement, or urine, menstruation, or sweating, for example. Your character might even be able to smell disease. This type of character might have to wear a mask or a scarf over their face to dull their super-sense, which might give them an odd appearance, but just imagine how much weirder it would look to be standing on a street corner sniffing at the air when all anyone else can smell is car fumes.

Taste:
What’s the strongest flavor you’ve ever tasted? Maybe it was something fishy, or spicy, or sour. Everyone’s answer is bound to be different, but imagine if every single thing you ever ate or drank tasted that strong. Eventually you might get kind of tired of it and start preparing food that is more bland, right? Alternately, imagine if nothing ever just tasted like itself to you: you’re eating a french fry, but instead of tasting “french fry” you’re tasting potato, salt, oil, the metal of the fryer, the latex in the gloves used to scoop them into the paper tray, the paper tray itself…that would be pretty overwhelming! The major drawback to super taste is that your character might have trouble eating out or eating in front of other people. When you taste a lemon, your face puckers up…just think of how much more sour it would taste with a super tongue!

Touch:
Did you know that every day you suffer a million tiny hurts and your brain just ignores them so that you can keep on functioning normally? If you had an enhanced nervous system, that might not be the case. Think about the number of tiny things we ignore every day: actions like walking, scratching, accidentally biting your tongue, or blinking could hurt pretty bad if you were super sensitive to touch! People with super touch might have a hard time getting comfortable all the time, and they might have to deal with not liking the feeling of clothes, being annoyed with air moving over their skin, or being extra-sensitive to physical contact. If a hug felt to me like someone was trying to break my ribs, I’d avoid them too!

So what are some things to keep in mind when writing about characters with extraordinary senses, other than drawbacks? Here are some things to consider:

  • Set limits. Your character shouldn’t be able to see past the curve of the earth - that’s just silly! Likewise, if they can hear something happening through the entire planet, you may want to rethink. Consider things like range and clarity when you’re setting limits on super senses: how far away can they see things and how clearly can they see them, for example. When it comes to touch, this is a little more tricky, and you might want to think more about the direct effects of pressure on the character: how much pressure does it take before it hurts?
  • Enhanced senses require enhanced brainpower. I don’t mean that they raise your character’s IQ level, but consider how much effort it takes to sort through and process sensory information. If your character’s brain can’t handle it, they might be in a constant state of sensory overload.
  • Speaking of sensory overload, that might happen to your character sometimes anyway! Everyone faces extreme situations in their lives where their brains just can’t keep up with the workload, and the threshold for that point is probably lower for people with super senses. If you’ve got a character with super hearing and four people are trying to talk to them at once, they might experience sensory overload and have to go recover for a while, so do your research into sensory overload and what to do to help them.
  • Finally, their super sense is going to impact how they experience and relate to other people. Maybe your character doesn’t remember a person’s name or face but they’ll never forget her voice. Maybe they just can’t even be in the house with Great-Aunt Helen because she always wears the same musty old perfume and it gives your character a headache. Maybe your character appears to be constantly zoning out when really they’re just looking closely at peoples’ jewelry. How your character perceives others, and how others view your character, is going to be impacted by their ability - count on it.

If you’re writing about a character with super senses, I hope that this has been helpful and maybe even inspiring to you, and I’d love to hear your thoughts too! Thanks for reading, and good luck!

-Kyo

darkempressinfinitemind asked: How did you get into freelance?

The short version? Accidentally!

Longer version? It started with a friend hiring me to ghost write their memoir (before either of us knew what ghost writing was. Also he apparently had this awesome life before he knew me and never bothered to mention it before the idea of writing a book came along. Who knew? Random happenstance). I became more confident in the idea of writing for others, and then was referred to the site Peopleperhour.com by a friend of mine, who was trying to pick up freelancing.

I applied for my first job there, and it was literally months before I got any bites. My first bite ended up paying me $3 an hour. I was desperate, so I took it. It gave me a reference, and I got a better job, and a better job, and a better job, until I had enough references to apply for REALLY decent jobs. Fast forward, and here I am with my own Wordsmithing business.

But you want advice, don’t you?

  • Find a Freelancing Website

There’s Elance, PPH, and a wide range of others. Pick one that works for you (or multiple) and start drumming up your profile there. Get samples out so people can see your style of work.

  • Get Reviews at All Costs

Get people you know to write reviews. Take low paying jobs to get reviews. Take whatever jobs you can and get reviews, because they really are everything to a beginning freelancer. I started out with a GED (not even a high school diploma) and still got high paying jobs, because no one needs to see your credentials – they just need proof that real life people have given you a test run.

Degrees and all that? They’re to prove you know your stuff; that someone has tested you and written off on it. Reviews are the internet’s new degrees; be willing to invest some time and effort into them.

  • Take Any and As Much Work as You Can

Not only for the reviews, but for practice. There’s a new song and dance involved with freelancing that you won’t find anywhere else. Big companies are paying millions on Big Data to figure out what little nuances make customers happy. You don’t have Big Data, and you’re up against thousands of freelancers just like you – you have to figure out the key to standing out by hand.

Getting as many jobs as you can early on gives you a chance to test the waters and find your stride before you’re dealing with big clients that are less forgiving of your fumbles. You’ll learn something new from every job so you really ARE the top professional you claim to be.

  • Claim to Be a Professional

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I should give you advice about being honest and doing the leg work before you get started. But they say to dress for the job you want, not the job you have. So act like the professional you want to be, not the one you are.

If you’re 18 and this is your first freelancing job, make your profile and all your correspondences look like you’re 37 and have been freelancing for 10 years (don’t lie, just be indirect. Talk like you’re older. Say you’ve been freelancing for several years, even if you’ve only been freelancing for a few months. If you’re living at home with your parents and the topic of family comes up, just call them “family;” the client won’t know if you’re a married mother of five or are talking about your dad). People will look right over you if they THINK you’re not capable, without even giving you a chance to show what you can do. If you take away that first – sometimes incorrect – assumption, your foot’s in the door and you can prove yourself.

Then after you have 300 five-star reviews and a client list as long as your arms, you can reveal yourself as 20 with three years’ experience, and people will believe you’re a prodigy. Then you’ll get hired for being the talented young professional who IS their target audience, so you’re perfect to create a product FOR their target audience.  

  • Be Ready to Put in More Hours

Once you’ve been in the game a while and have established yourself, you can make your weekends sacred with no work stuff. But before then, you need to be on call all the time. What’s going to make you stand out against the rest in the beginning is timeliness.

If it’s a toss-up between you and someone just as qualified, the client will decide on whoever replies the fastest and most coherently. Reply to messages as soon as possible. Talk back and forth on the weekends. Offer as tight a deadline as you can for every project, and if you can deliver early, deliver early. Once you have your reputation and your reviews, then you can tone it back to the same level as any other job; you work on your work days, and you’re gone from the planet on your off days.

  • Follow Your Heart – But Follow the Money First

I’ll let you in on a little secret. I hate web copy. Detest it. A client can have the coolest website idea ever, but having to don my promotional hat and describe their services to a target audience is tedious and unfulfilling as all get out. What I enjoy is blog writing, where I get to explore a concept and tell it (sometimes) in my own voice. I love product descriptions even, where I get to sharpen my description skills to be later used in fiction. But guess what? Web copy writing pays well, because it is difficult and it’s in huge demand.

Here’s a quick insider look at the market: Today, every style of business in existence needs a website. That means web designers are the key holders in a world full of locked doors. They’re making a killing, but every website needs CONTENT. They’re cranking out 15 websites a month but they’re just blank pages without some writing to make them REAL. That’s where my industry comes in, the Tonto to their Lone Ranger, to make their home pages, their about pages, their service pages, etc. so their website is a real website. So long as online business booms, web designers are Sauron and copy writers are the one ring to rule them all.

That’s where the money is. So even if I really hate web copy, I’m good at it. That’s what pays the rent, grows my business, and keeps my employees’ checks signed – giving me the financial security I need to then ALSO do things I like. Ghost writing, book editing, blog writing, working on my own stuff.

If you want to make it in freelancing, you need money for bills. But you also need money to prove to your freelancing site that you’re worth promoting. Be willing to do jobs you’re not crazy about, so you can grow to the point of having enough income to afford doing what you really love.

  • Embrace the Uncertainty

One of the hardest things about freelancing is the irregularity. One month, you’re swimming in cash. The next, you scrape by. At the beginning of the month, you only have one project; at the end, you have 10. I’ve been at this for years, and I still have a mini panic during summer when I’m sure this is the year that my career finally ends. But it never has.

The upside to this uncertainty is you’re never sure when great things are going to happen. The security of a 9-to-5 lets you know exactly how much you will make, but robs you of the chance for those surprise miracles where a massive client falls in your lap and pays your rent for four months within two weeks. 

Take faith that a slow month is giving you a chance to rest up for when that tsunami of work comes in. Having a new client every week is giving you a chance to have fun before you have one client for an entire year (which can get boring at times). Freelancing can be a science, but you still need a little faith. It keeps you on your toes, it gives you unexpected bonuses none of your 9-to-5 friends can count on, and it gives you freedom.

Breaking into freelancing is slow going at first, but so long as you’re good at what you do, you will break in. There’s seriously never been a better time in living memory for it.

Hope this was helpful!

The Value Of Just Shutting The Fuck Up Sometimes


A few weeks ago, I was doing an interview with a reporter and she was asking about almost every weird GamerGate conspiracy theory that had come up about me in the last few years. I’ve honestly forgotten more of them than I remembered at this point. She didn’t seem to understand why I’d never addressed most of the accusations which had ranged from whose dick I touched to literally murdering people. She said in researching me for the piece, she’d only ever found the weirdo accusations but not my version of events, and seemed to not understand why I wouldn’t just say what actually did or didn’t happen.

I can’t blame her for being curious. I think whenever we hear something wild, especially about someone or something we care about, we want to know answers. Lord knows if you’re the one being lied about, it’s a natural impulse to want to set the record straight or give your side of anything.

Sadly, that’s extremely short sighted. No one thinks about what might happen next.

It’s been over three years of being accused of all kinds of shit from all kinds of people, and if I’ve learned nothing else, I’ve learned the importance of restraint and the responsibility that comes with having a large platform and gigantic visibility. It makes me feel like a kaiju where any small movement could potentially tip over a building. I’ve written a bunch in my book about how engaging with bad-faith accusations and signal boosting them just to refute them can easily backfire and ingrain false information in people’s minds even further. That can sometimes just come down to a math problem - if someone with an audience of 50 makes up a rumor about you, if you respond to it with your audience of 500, more people are going to see the false stuff than would otherwise. To complicate matters, there are enough people out there who think that even refuting something at all makes you look guilty. There are people who want you to be guilty because they already don’t like you. Frequently, bad-faith accusations will not be addressed by proof to the contrary, because you can’t reason someone out of something they didn’t reason themselves into in the first place. People are complicated.

But when you put your side of anything out there, the thing that comes next isn’t usually “oh, okay”. The thing that comes next is usually escalation. It’s people digging into shit trying to prove you wrong. It’s invasive, and it can have so much collateral damage.

For example, when people ask me why I didn’t address my ex’s claims about who I did and didn’t sleep with, even when I had the floor, I get why they’d ask. My own desire to keep some remaining shred of my privacy aside, those claims aren’t just about me. I’ve been accused of sleeping with people I haven’t ever really talked to, people who are pretty private in general who just want to be left the hell alone. I don’t have the right to drag them back into a messy situation that involves probably getting stalked and yelled at by nazis just to try and save my own skin, especially since it’s more likely than not that people are just going to believe whatever they want to anyway. Or maybe that’s me being cynical after watching years of people claiming that I fucked someone for a review I never got from a website I already had written for in the past. I honestly have, I think understandably, lost a bit of perspective on that particular point.

This is especially complicated by situations like mine, because I am under constant surveillance by people who hate my guts who are looking for people to hurt, and people looking to feed on “drama”, and people looking for new targets. If you think that’s being dramatic, there are places I know of that have threads specifically about stalking me *to this day* with literally thousands of posts in them. Bad faith actors aside, my audience is in the hundreds of thousands. The responsibility that comes with that is something I take extremely seriously.
It’s something that I encourage everyone else with big online platforms to take extremely seriously too. I think a lot of us internet famous folks ended up here without really trying to, and it’s easy to feel like “well I didn’t ask for this and it’s not my fault if something happens” and while, yeah, sure, you can’t take responsibility for the actions of other people (especially people who are super out there and just looking to hurt someone regardless of whatever you’re doing), I see no reason to not try to minimize harm. A power dynamic doesn’t cease to exist just because you didn’t explicitly seek that power out, or maybe didn’t even want it in the first place. People who have less resources than you will still have less resources than you regardless of how you feel about it.

When there’s a significant power differential at play, there’s harm algebra to be done when it comes to addressing disinformation. It’s not as simple as “just setting the record straight” in public, because once you make something public you give up a certain degree of control that you cannot get back. It might mean putting someone who is already hurting or has so much less than me in more harm than I’d ever face by just taking the reputation hit.

Sometimes there’s situations where I just have to take it on the chin, because nothing happens in a vacuum. Sometimes I just have to let it go, no matter how much it fucking sucks to have people out there tearing into you for reasons that really have very little to do with you, because the collateral damage is too much on too many people to justify any potential repairs to my reputation.

Honestly, it’s really not worth it to me to escalate a situation just to make a frequently pointless attempt at getting people to be more critical of the wild shit they read about me online, especially when it means probably hurting someone else. It’s been years and I still don’t know how to navigate a lot of this. I’ve tried so much already - talking about bigger stuff, proving what actually happened, attempting to prove negatives, responding only with screenshots of fighting game win screens. It’s not like people making shit up about me, regardless of motivation, is a novel occurrence in my life. It’s not like I’ve made the right call all the time - I’ve arrived at this method of dealing with shit after making a lot of *wrong* calls. I’ve been pretty open about being a bad fit for being a public figure of any sort - I was (and still feel) vastly unprepared to handle being a weird symbol to so many people who want all kinds of things from me regardless of if they need a villain or a hero or a symbol of whatever the fuck.

Frankly I can’t live my life around playing whack a mole with whatever new horseshit slithers out of the corners of the internet on any given day that ends in Y, because when I was trying to do that it really almost cost me my life.

A fun side effect of being a survivor of domestic violence is how easy it is to slip back into doubting your own life and experiences to a hyperbolic degree. A fun side effect of depression is feeling like everything you say and do is bad and wrong and that you’re worthless on a regular basis. A fun side effect of my PTSD is flashing back to being in that fucking elevator shaft when GamerGate started and I couldn’t sleep or eat and was convinced everyone would turn on me and I’d be alone forever any time some conspiracy comes up that hits me at just the right angle that it gets under my armor.

But I know that’s squarely out of my control. All I can do is manage what I do with that. I don’t know what else to do other than seek external advice from people smarter than me when something comes up that really gets under my skin or makes me doubt my own version of events even when I damn well know something didn’t happen to help counter the trashbrain filter that the disinformation comes in through because having those issues doesn’t let me off of any hooks. I don’t want to use any of that, or even my status as someone who is frequently targeted with shit that I’m too exhausted to type out so just picture me gesturing vaguely at everything to absolve me of anything. I don’t ever want to think I’m above reproach, so I check in with people around me who will be honest and call me on my shit. When I do fuck up, and I do because I’m a human in an extremely weird fucking situation, I do whatever seems like the right thing to do, not the face-saving thing to do. Sometimes, this is shit that’s done in private. I don’t know why people assume everything has to be handled extremely online. But overwhelmingly more often than not, shit is maliciously made up, and more often than not the only right move that will de-escalate shit and hurt the least amount of people is just letting it go and praying that people will see through it, or they’ll actually talk to me if they see some wild accusation. And if people wanted to look for reasons to think the worst and get the knives out immediately, honestly, I feel extremely done with anyone looking to build people up only to gleefully tear them back down. I’m tired and I’ve watched too many communities devour themselves to want any part of that, and am only interested in working toward a future that’s centered on restorative justice instead of exclusively punitive systems in different settings. I’m tired of enthusiastic disposibility masquerading as community. All that behavior says to me is that I was never safe around you in the first place.  

I know I’m taking a gigantic risk in even posting this to begin with because I know it’s an uncomfortable subject, but it feels like a bigger, longer-term risk to watch my comrades, siblings, and friends all scared and lost on either side of the power dynamic - both as people who have grievances with people with gigantic platforms, and as people who have gained both visibility and the jealousy and hatefollows that come with it. I’m tired of talking about this stuff in dms with other scared people who don’t know what to do. And by no means do I think this is the only way to deal with any of this - this is just how I feel, and how I approach being someone who went from being some random weirdo to being a cultural football. Your mileage may vary. Hopefully I figure out a way that’s less dehumanizing, and if I do, I’ll be sure and let you know. But again, I’m a random weirdo game developer. I’m figuring this shit out as I go, and I lean into my skids and wear my heart on my sleeve and if y'all want to throw me in the trash over being aggressively vulnerable and human at you, that’s ok. You don’t have to like me or support me, and I like trash anyway.

Shit’s pretty fucked up in the world right now (duh), but the very least we can do is really interrogate how and what we use our varying degrees of reach and visibility for. We have to see ourselves as part of something larger and look at our impact instead of just our intentions. For me, sometimes that means that being right doesn’t mean a damn thing and is unrelated to doing the right thing. Sometimes, for me, that means knowing when to just shut the fuck up and let people think what they’re gonna think. And if nothing else, I’ve seen that on a long enough timeline, people tend to figure out who makes shit up without my involvement.

So I’m only gonna say all of this once, here, so that I never have to say it again and I can point at it any time I’m asked to weigh in on something someone said about me on the internet, because god damn I’m tired and I’d rather spend my time and effort trying to help people and make dope shit than fuss about what people think they know about me.

Electric Heart, Ch. 1

In which Petunia has a Quirk and Lily doesn’t, and that is really the start of everything.

Petunia Evans manifested her Quirk at the tender age of three. It  wasn’t anything fancy, all she did was get the mess she’d made eating off of her bib, and her parents registered it as a ‘Cleaning Quirk’. That wasn’t quite what it was, but she didn’t question it until later. Neither did her parents, as they were busy preparing for the birth of Petunia’s little sister.


Little Lily Evans was a lovely child, and Petunia loved her fiercely. They’d play together, would read hero magazines with riveted attention and obsess over news reports.

“Just wait until I get my Quirk!” Lily would chirp. “I’ll be the strongest hero! My name’s gonna be Tiger Lily!”

“We’ll be heroes together,” Petunia would vow.

“But your Quirk is Cleaning,” the younger Evans would then frown.

“I’ll find a way.” Petunia was young and stubborn in those innocent times. The only thing that would change about that in coming years was her age.

“It’s a promise!” Lily would cheer.

But Lily Evans never manifested a Quirk, and while she still aspired to be a hero, her heart didn’t seem to be in it anymore. But Petunia never forgot that promise, and in her idealistic child’s mind, she never considered the possibility that Lily might.

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god save the queen [ eggsy x reader ] 001

warnings: cussing, mentions of alcohol

words: 1876

summary:  The relationship between Statesmen and Kinsgmen is fairly good, could be a bit better though. Various failed mission in the past has put some tension between the two branches, but thankfully, an olive branch, one looking exactly like (Name) (Lastname), is extended and intended to patch up any fights the Cousins had had. She is sent on a secret mission to London along with her new partner Gary ‘Eggsy’ Unwin to guard some expensive jewels and accidentaly save the world.

a/n:  since tequila’s name isn’t made public, i just call him channing (since that’s the actors name lololol)
also! this is somewhat of an AU where the golden circle hasn’t happened (yet) and the two branches already know each other and have worked in the past.

MASTERLIST KO-FI.  AO3. GSTQ masterpost.

from america, with love 

The ice cold water running down a lone faucet turns hot and pink once it connects with the hands of yours truly. The bathroom is quiet. Usually after training most would be here, relieving themselves after a beating and/or taking a shower to wash away the grime and tension. None of these fall into the category of your current occupation. You hiss softly when the stream connects with raw knuckles, eye the tares in the skin and cuss lowly, as if afraid that someone might hear you. The pale white lights create illusions, they almost make your head spin: everything is so polished it reflects and turns neon. You look up; see your reflection staring right back at you with a confused, tired and angry face.

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Made with Love (Peter Parker x Reader)

Summary: Your friendship with Peter from the beginning to the end. Because the end doesn’t always have to be something bad, it could just be the beginning of something even better. 

Or the one where you become friends with Peter, Ned, and Michelle, meet Spiderman, and have the best birthday of your life. 

Word Count: 4113

Author’s Note: This isn’t a request moreso a present because I’m trash. It was my best friend’s birthday and he loves peter parker so hERE WE ARE OKAY I LVOE YOUC AM also im working on like two cheryl requests and a general riverdale one.Requests are still open! Hope you enjoy! (Sorry for any mistakes)

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Coffee Confessions - Chris Evans Imagine

This is the cheesiest title but whatever XD 

Summary: An ideal fourth date in February? Simple. A cup of coffee and maybe a confession or two that Chris has been keeping from you for long enough. He couldn’t wait another moment to tell you that he saw as the stars aligning for him; the moment he met you. 

Requests? Open - (ask here!)

Here are my two prompt lists if you want to request one from there: Prompt One / Prompt Two  - My Masterlist -  Chris Evans / Steve Rogers Masterlist

Warnings? Fluffy!AF  / CutiePieChris / 

People: Chris / You

“Now, remind me again why we are doing this?”

“Because! Come on, what’s the worst that could happen?”

“I give you something that you’re allergic to and you die on my account and your fans stampede to my house and then they kill me too.”

“You’re quite creative…”

You shrugged and looked down at your dirty boots, “Some would call me cynical.” Chris smiled and just shook his head laughing quietly to himself. “Well, cynically creative it is then.” 

A small smile on your face. He just grins down at you then looks up at the menu.“Okay, well I’m only allergic to two things; Shrimp, and Cats. So if you find a shrimp cocktail on the Starbucks menu, I suggest you divert to another food.”  A giggle flew out of your mouth, making the two dimples on the apples of your cheeks strike Chris’s eye. He looked in your direction as you stared up at the menu above the Barista when he saw the beauty next to him chuckling at his allergies. Chris looked at you, with a spark in his eyes, “What!”

“Shrimp? Really? Interesting…”

“Oh, well Ms. Perfect, what allergies do you have?”

“I’m allergic to men who wear t0o much Axe body spray.” Chris bellowed out a laugh and didn’t receive a wink of attention from anyone inside the cramped Starbucks.

It was a busy Monday morning in Manhattan, people didn’t have time to glare at the happy couple on a weird ‘eight in the morning on Monday’ date.

Slinging his arm over your shoulder, Chris brought you closer as soon as you two finally reached the register. Suddenly it felt a hundred degrees hotter in here than it did a second ago.

When you ordered for Chris you decided to get him an Americano iced, with milk and one sugar. Adding a cake pop to your order, much to Chris’s amusement. He knew that you’d steal it from him later.

“I’ll have a Venti, Iced Caramel Macchiato with skim milk, and one slice of lemon bread to go, please.”

Your mouth must’ve hit the dirty Starbuck’s floor once he finished his order. You looked at Chris and saw he was amused by your expression when he glanced down at you, out of the corner of his eye.

“How the hell did you know that was what I liked?”

“Babe, we’ve gone on three dates and I’ve known you for what, a year now? If it’s mid-spring, and you aren’t wearing a jacket it’s an Iced Caramel Macchiato with skim milk, but you hate the thickness of regular milk, and lemon bread because it’s fucking awesome. No matter how much hate lemon bread gets, you’d defend it to your last dying breath.”

“I just don’t understand why this generation has no respect for lemon bread. It’s disgraceful!” Smiling down at you, he rests his head on top of yours as you two wait for your orders to be filled in the sea of busy Bostonian’s.

“So, what does your daily horoscope say today…” He peaked over and smiled, leaning back so people couldn’t get a good look at his face. He didn’t want to be recognized on your date, he wanted it to be just you two.

“What does it say?”

“Well, Miss. Aquarius, you are having a five-star day- and hey! So am I, the Gentle and Genuinely Handsome Gemini, if I may add.” Rolling your eyes, you put your hand on your hip, rolling your hand forward for him to continue. “It says; Wait for opportunities to come your way. You are waiting for a sign but you will not receive one unless you shoot for your goals. You are going to cross paths with…” He pauses for a second and smiles, leaning back as he looks at you. “What? I’m gonna cross paths with what?”

“The love of your life.” He says quietly.

You stopped for a second, and don’t even care when your name is rung out, “Order for Steve and order for James.”

Your eyes are wide, even while Chris moves to grab both your orders, “It says that?” Chris nodded, bringing you the lemon bread and iced drink.

“Yeah…”

“Well, what does your’s say?”

Chris sighed in content, pulling the door to the streets of Pant Suits and Cabbie’s yelling at one another. As the harsh winter air hit your faces, the breeze takes your hair back. Brushing the curly strands off of your shoulders that we’re covered in a simple black peacoat. “It said, ‘Gemini, you have already met your one and only. Don’t let them walk away without telling them how you feel or it will haunt you. You’ll regret it the moment they turn away into another lover’s arms.’”

Smiling down at you while you two start the short walk back to his apartment, Chris couldn’t help but a breath escapes him at the side of your perfect, pinched pink cheeks and puckered lips from being chapped from the vicious blowing winds.   “Well do you think your horoscope is true?”

“Hell yeah…” Chris answered you coolly, although a wave of anxiety hit him when he paused for a second before shooting a glance at you and quietly repeating you back your question, “Do you?”

You don’t need to look up from your lemon bread to know he’s watching you, you could just feel the love of his eyes bearing deep into your heart, making it pump blood faster every time those blue eyes were looking in your direction. With a small sip of your drink to let the bread go down easily, you reply confidently to Chris, not even skipping a step. “Fuck yeah.”

Smiling at you no longer feels like enough for him, so letting all fucks fly into the wind, he stood in front of you and bent down to land an impassioned kiss on your stinging lips that now just felt numb. Numb with a bee’s sting of love.

Chris was kissing you at the traffic light, not bothering to worry whether the world was watching or not. When the walkers started across the street, your lips parted from each other and Chris guided you along, letting you lean on him as a bit of support. Still in shock of the electricity that now coursed through your veins bled straight into your heart. Your brain was a haze by the moment you two just shared with a thousand other people on the corner of Village Street.

Together, you walk silently now, no longer feeling the need to fill the silence. The sky was blue and the sun had risen high above you two. Feeling his hand reach yours, you hooked your fingers with his and felt them grasp stronger, intertwining his fingers with yours. Chris was clutching onto you as if he was gonna lose you in the bustling crowd. Suddenly it felt like your safety came before his own on the bustling streets.

After a while, when you finally reached his apartment, you two sat down and relax for a second with Dodger begging to play fetch with his favorite toy, a rubber turtle that didn’t bounce that bad but let Dodger get in a bit of a good exercise until you’d take him down to Berrington Park.

Chris suddenly gives you the look of the joker, with a wide grin that could almost appear as sinister.  He was too cute to be sinister, though.  You took a bite of the lemon bread that was barely left. You had one, maybe two bites before it’d be done. Scarfing it down in what you knew would be very unflattering paparazzi photos soon.

“You made those horoscopes up, didn’t you?” Smirking, Chris nods, taking an unauthorized sip of your macchiato. Not that you cared or anything.

“What did yours really say, Chris?”

“It said…I’d  fall in love with a lemon head.” Smacking him on the arm, you giggle before surprising him and bringing him forward with your hand on the back of his head.

“Your such a clown sometimes, Christopher.”

“Some call it more sarcastic or dry.”

A soft smile fell onto your lips as you press them barely to Chris’s. He felt like a feather now laid on his lips. Setting the two drinks on the coffee table, you just barely mumbled into his kiss as those large, beautiful, slightly chapped  lips brought you in, “The Sarcastically Dry Comedian it is then.”