this isn't at all what you asked for

anonymous asked:

Asdfghj but imagine GS asking He Tian about his brother being all awkward and embarrassed (he's just a teenager and he was saved by a hot older dude let him live) and He Tian getting immediately defensive omg I'd live for this plotline

‘So … your brother’s kind of–’

‘What about him?’ He Tian cut in, words sharp and echo-less in the apartment.

Guan Shan glanced at him. Swallowed. ‘You seem …’ He ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek, searching carefully for nuance and sentiment. ‘You don’t get along, I guess,’ he finished.

He Tian breathed a low laugh, turning the page of a magazine. ‘I guess,’ he said dryly. 

‘He looks like you,’ Guan Shan said. An insouciant shrug. A chewed pen breaking down between his molars as he worked on his homework. ‘A bit. A lot.’

He Tian’s eyes narrowed. ‘You mean I look like him.’

‘Maybe, yeah.’ Guan Shan paused. ‘I just–’

He Tian sat up suddenly, legs swung over the side of the bed, magazine abandoned behind him. His hands were laced tightly together, hanging between his knees. His knuckles were white.

‘I get,’ He Tian said, ‘that he helped you yesterday. Saved you. When that guy was …’ He Tian looked away. The sky was a hazy grey of fading lights and high skyscrapers, and He Tian was all shadows on his bed. ‘But you don’t owe him anything. He’s not–He Cheng’s not special for doing that for you, all right? He’s not a fucking hero. Never has been.’

Guan Shan looked at him carefully. ‘You’re saying you would have done the same? If you were there?’

Of course I fucking–’ He Tian broke himself off, words snatched away like brittle ice shards breaking apart. ‘But I wasn’t. And he was. So I guess that’s all that matters, isn’t it? He Cheng the saviour. He Cheng who’s older and taller and knows what the fuck he’s doing and–’

‘He Tian.’

What?’

Guan Shan opened his mouth. Closed it. He pulled his legs out from beneath him, and moved steadily over to where He Tian sat on the edge of his bed. He ran his fingers through the fringe of He Tian’s hair, and let his hand fall on He Tian’s shoulder, feeling a tight knot of muscle and warm skin beneath his palm. He could feel He Tian’s steady breath, strained and carefully orchestrated.

‘He’s older and he’s taller and maybe he knows what the fuck he’s doing. But he’s not you, all right?’

He Tian looked away. ‘You don’t know what he’s like.’

Guan Shan’s fingers slipped beneath He Tian’s chin, and pressed in until He Tian’s head was turning again, dark eyes tilted up and boring in, unrepentant.

Guan Shan said, ‘But I know you.’ He shrugged. ‘He’s fucking–I mean, he’s hot, yeah, but that doesn’t mean I’m in love with him.’

There was a silence of hitched breaths and heavy heartbeats. 

‘You’re in love with me?’ He Tian said, quiet.

‘That wasn’t what I said.’ 

A slow grin, serpentine, made its way across He Tian’s face. His fingers were wrapping around Guan Shan’s wrist, his waist, skin hot and searching. 

‘Oh, I think you did.’

How I feel when @guyinlovewitheremika is answering asks :)

So I’ve seen fics where Sportacus goes into heat but what if…

What if elves had mating dances.

Hear me out on this. In spring male elves collect flowers and feathers and ribbons and anything colorful and pretty and they weave it into a shawl and wear it around the one they’re courting and just dance around. But its not just normal human dancing. It’s acrobatic and flashy like birds to show off all the pretty stuff they found and what they can do with their bodies like how high they can jump and how flexible they are and how strong they are.

Just imagine Sportacus bird-flirting at Robbie.

anonymous asked:

May I ask a question that doesn't include this one?? What do you think of the whole deal with Felix and some of his friends standing up for him, stating that he's not antisemitic and he was just joking and all of that??

i have zero sympathy for pewdiepie, or anyone who chose to defend him. even if he’s not personally antisemitic (which is.. debatable), he’s still contributing to a worrying trend of antisemitism not being taken seriously, and normalizing hateful speech towards jewish people to a fanbase of millions of young, impressionable people

anonymous asked:

random but always relevant: you know how a lot of people go on about how viktor speaking russian in bed with yuuri would make him blush and be such a kink (which yes, same, and very important lol), but what about yuuri speaking japanese, either if it just slips out or if viktor asks him to, i just can't at yuuri whining 'kimochii' ('that feels good') or 'hayaku!' ('faster!') etc, as viktor tries not to come just from hearing yuuri's whimpering voice *eyes emoji*

On that first plane ride to Hasetsu, Victor split his time between telling the lovely old woman sitting across the aisle from him about how he was on his way to find the love of his life and tripping over his own tongue while he sounded out the words in the Russian-to-Japanese dictionary he’d picked up at the airport. The pages were crammed with chaos: alphabets broken and bent into new shapes, words that had fifty different characters with one meaning, L’s rolling into unfamiliar R’s that barely found purchase in his mouth. When he finally saw Yuuri, the declaration the kind woman on his flight had helped him prepare—Iしてるの君—had turned tail and fled, leaving him to take the coward’s way out by switching to English and rattling off something about being Yuuri’s coach. That night, ensconced in his little room, he read his dictionary from cover to cover by the light of his phone, whispering every word aloud until the first rays of Japanese morning crept in to goad him into getting off his ass and trying again.

His trusty dictionary has seen some things; its pages are crinkled and ripped, dogeared into deformity, and the cover threatens to just up and disintegrate if he so much as looks at it wrong. It’s been his only line of defense the past year, a wrecking ball wielded in the face of countless cultural barriers, and he knows it so well that he could probably recite every single word by page number and line. Except one.

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No Place Like Home

The future is a different country. Sometimes it’s hard to find home. 

A What If Peggy (with the Serum) was in the ice with Steve AU (Steggy Secret Santa gift for @bisexualhayesmorrisons)

Note: This is… slightly more melancholy in tone than I’d really intended, especially at the beginning, but I hope you enjoy it regardless. Also, this is not compliant with Peggy’s backstory in S2.



“I’ve gotta put her in the water,” Steve said, looking at her as she fiddled with the radio, trying to get someone on the line.

She didn’t acknowledge the words. She focused on the panel in front of her, but her shoulders were tense and the red nails of her empty hand bit into her palm. They had both looked at the instruments panel. It didn’t take fluency to know that whatever Schmidt had pressed earlier had locked them on course to New York. There wasn’t any choice, and they both knew it. The plane had to go down, and the only way to accomplish that now was to do it manually.

“Peggy?”

She looked over at him, her hair mussed and falling in her eyes after the fighting with Schmidt. She watched him with resignation for a moment. She’d always known there was the possibility that they might not live to see the end of the war, but right now it was overwhelming. She sighed and went still, when Steve reached out to take her hand, gently pressing his gloved fingers against her clenched ones, prompting her fingers uncurling to wrap tightly around his. Some of the tension ebbed away from her frame, but there was a fear there that wouldn’t be assuaged with a mere touch.

“If I could just find the bloody frequency-” Peggy grumbled, adjusting the radio panel with her free hand. There was a pop and crackle before static.

“I’m sorry, Peggy.”

She sighed. “I know.”

Ice stretched across the horizon, a white blanket. There was a moment of regret and pain for all the things neither of them would get to see now. All those plans and promises they’d both acknowledged but never quite made were going to end here in the cold. When Steve let go of her hand to take hold of the stick, Peggy laid her hand on top of his and nodded.

Together, they pushed, sending the plane careening down toward the ice below.

“I guess we won’t make that dance after all,” Steve said, looking at her. He laughed, a sad chuckle that sent a lance through her heart. “Probably for the best, I would have hated to step on your toes.”

Peggy was tempted to laugh. Of all the things for him to worry about- even if it was for nothing. “Far worse things have happened to me than you stepping on my toes, Steve.”

He smiled sadly. “We could have had the band play something slow.”

Peggy woke gasping, a sharp prickle running across her skin like needles. It was a feeling of ice in her veins. She had dreamed of the crash before, the feeling of the wind and the cold and the searing pain that followed. It was never the same twice, sometimes she dreamed of other horrors: of the Schmidt’s red skull laughing as the plane went down in flames and the feel of blood pooling at her feet and covering her hands.

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In Memoriam

Killian doesn’t understand what’s wrong.  The lad was fine twenty minutes ago, and then he saw something on his phone and now he is all morose.  When he tries to ask Henry what could be the matter, Henry sulks off into town.  Killian shrugs, writing it off as another youthful outburst–until he sees Emma drying her eyes in the kitchen.

“Love, did something happen? Is it your parents? Are you hurt? Has anything–”

“No.  No, Killian.  Nothing like that.”  Emma smirks a bit, glancing down at her phone and then taking a deep, shaky breath.  “It’s… it’s hard to explain.”

“Well please do make an effort,” Killian slides his arms around his love, the creases in his brow only deepening as Emma buries himself in her shoulder.  “With you and Henry both so upset, I can hardly keep from being agitated myself.”

“It’s just… we just saw online.  Someone very important to both of us just …”  She looks at the ceiling briefly, trying to clear her eyes and at the same time figure out how to explain it.  “Princess Leia passed away, Killian.”

He blinks.  “The woman from the moving picture show?  I had no idea you were acquainted.”

“We weren’t.”  Emma examines Killian’s face, letting out a soft sigh as his eyes remain blank and confused.  “It’s… it’s a story.  Like the others, but not real–at least, not that I know of.  But it’s an important story and it means a lot to Henry.  and me.”

Killian nods deeply, recognition finally crossing his expression.  He draws Emma into a closer embrace.  “I’m so sorry, love.”

“You know–in the year we were gone, in all the fake memories… Henry and I watched that every year on his birthday.”  She laughs a bit into Killian’s shoulder.

“Really?”

“Yup.  All three of the originals.  We’d stay up late, eat junk food, and fire off quotes at each other until we fell asleep.  It was one of the ways we grew closer.”  She shakes her head.  “I suppose it wasn’t real anyway.”

“To both of you, it was.”

“Before… before that, even when I was young… those movies told me what it was like to be a hero.  To be brave.  Even–even to be a princess.”  She looked back at Killian, raising her head.  “Before I knew I was royalty, Leia taught me the kind of royalty I’d want to be.  I wish I could tell that to the woman who told her story.”

“I wish that too, Emma,” Killian whispered.  “But I know beyond a doubt that your story would do her proud.”

For all my CS fans–especially the ladies–who are in mourning.  May you have confidence that your story would do her proud.  Keep being the amazing princess you are, and may you receive comfort today.

you know, those positivity posts about how you should ‘just write for yourself!’ are great and all but

writing is hard.

writing is really hard.

the physical act of putting fingers to keys and asking my brain to translate into language what i see in my head is hard.

coming up with ideas is easy, but tying them down into reality, making sure they make sense to those who don’t share your headspace, that’s really hard.

and sometimes i just think about the fact that

i wouldn’t lose out if i didn’t write

i’d still have all these awesome ideas in my head, still have all those neat little twists of phrase for as long as they pleased me, still have the emotion and the joy of having this little story, all my own in my own head, there to play and replay and alter and enjoy whenever i want it

i wouldn’t be put out if i didn’t write

what i’m trying to say is, i don’t write for myself

ever

it’s too much work, too much pain for too few advantages, and that’s just not me

i’m not that hardworking, i don’t love the labor for the love of labor itself, i don’t have that much effort to give for something so redundant

i write for other people, always

because what’s the point of wrangling down my ideas into states other people will understand if not for them?

so, you know, thank you

thank you for taking the time to read my ideas; thank you for taking the time to share in them, to whatever extent you do; thank you for being here and being willing and able to engage with me, and these little ideas i wrangled down into reality beyond my own headspace

you’ve made all that pain and all that trouble so, so worth it

thank you ♥

lurkeymclurker  asked:

Can you tell us about the Empires propaganda machine?

Later, after, in all the holonews segments and all the long ‘net articles furnishing further analysis, they—and here ‘they’ is vaguely defined, reporting is is too scattershot in a galaxy marked by lightyears and hyperlanes—will not be able to pinpoint the place where they went wrong. Where it was all tipped from earnest republican v. separatist reporting to laying the groundwork for imperial v. everyone else. When they stopped, or when their blades met with armor they couldn’t pierce, or—

But by then it’s too late. It’s too late, the Empire is already wound itself through every word spoken and every reference made; it’s in everything, a dark undercurrent of emotion and justification—don’t you love the Republic? don’t you care about other galactic citizens? don’t you want to follow the laws and reward those who have justified their existence as you have justified yours? you have worked so hard, the day is long and the rewards few, why would you give those to others? why would you share?

(’Sharing’ is a dirty word, under the Empire. To each according to his strength, that is the Imperial motto. But ‘strength’ is a narrow gate, and it cuts many off at the knees, the ankles, those unguarded places—)

There is no question that human beings are afraid of difference they have been afraid of that since whatever primordial swamp they crawled out of but—they have always put it aside, they have always at least pretended to the idea of recognizing other species, the claim of xenos to homeworlds. the equal right of existence. Et cetera. Never mistake how hard human beings will try, when confronted with tentacles, if there is profit or benefit in ignoring any difference.

But humans also reproduce like orburs in spring, and they colonize, multiply out into the galaxy like a plague. Like a—spore. Like something biological and not, because nothing in nature moves without regard to the animus they generate. And they are a tetchy species, measuring everything in relative value. It doesn’t matter if—

Luke does not stop to question the holoradio adverts he hears, the faded propos papering the Toshe public hall, saying ‘JOIN THE EMPIRE TODAY! FLY FOR THE EMPIRE! BE BRAVE BE TRUE BE STALWART!’ Anywhere is better than here, right? Get closer to that bright center and anything is better—

(It is still hard to find that bright line between the Republic under the tyranny of the Clone Wars and the perpetual state the Empire embodies. That is just how these things go.)

Leia is on the first line of defense for the Rebellion, she watches propos and listens to senators argue, quoting lines from holodramas—ironically, but also as illustrations. (She learns very young that a well-told story, even fictional, has quicker legs than one badly told and true. She disapproves, but that is the way of things.) It is amazing how many late Republicans would have supported he Empire despite explicitly stating they did not support the Empire, its agents, or any move toward a less democratic structure of government. It is amazing how weak it makes them seem, given what she knows about the inner workings of the capitol. It is—

Han is good at finding cantinas where, if the Imperial propos cut into he grav-ball match, everyone groans aloud. He smiles a little against the curve of the mug as everyone curses out the poor bastard who has to—

(Han always feels a little bad for him. Her. Whoever—he knows what it’s like to have your neck under someone’s boot, to know you don’t really have choice in this. At least he’s busy smuggling, can’t be much a spokesperson that way.)

The Resistance does not have the access the Empire does, but the Rebellion has feed hackers, holonet ‘ware corrupters. The Alliance blasts every inbox with public reveals of complaints, salaries, donations. Saw Guerra’s people de-encrypt transmissions, and release them to the ‘net in vicious anarchic fashion. (Make of it what you will, that Tarkin sent a transmission to Krennic saying ‘stop being so gentle on your workforce,’ after Krennic’s 12-hour days resulted in its first overworked, dehydrated, malnourished death.)

Regional reporters dump their findings onto the holonet, saying, look at what the governor is doing, we buried the jedi but we found, we—

look, they say in unison. look at this. you are not alone. you are not crazy. something has shifted, something significant has changed and you are not alone in thinking this. We are here, together, and this is dangerous, this is—

you are not alone. you are right, your perception of the world is—there is an objective reality, and they depart from it. you are right. you are sane. it is the galaxy that has gone insane in the interim.

“Senator?” the holonet reporter asks, when Mon Mothma falls silent, and she is smiling down at the podium. “Senator, if you could—”

“According to the study conducted by the Galactic Agency for—” she begins, and the briefing room falls so quiet she is afraid she has lost them. But there is a holonet reporter in the first row who has pressed her hand to her mouth, even as her eyes are wide, fixed on Mon’s face; and out of the corner of her eye, Mon can see Leia Organa (so much Bail and Breha’s daughter, even now) pressing her lips together, her eyes shut. And this is good. They are good, they are better. Here is the study. Here is the definition. Here is the closest she knows how to get to objective reality.

She justifies. From the root word, meaning justice. Meaning to make right. Meaning, more than what is what is available on the surface, more than what is unquestioned. More. 

So much more.

2

I Can’t Think Straight (2008)

Context: Leyla, a Muslim British-Indian woman, is coming out to her mother, telling her “I’m gay.” Her mother reacts with horror and disgust, telling her “You’re up to your neck in sin” and going so far as to ask “Who did this to you?”

But it’s this scene that sums up the reality of LGBTQ+ desi youth. Our parents may very well love us and want the best for us, but the absolute bottom line is: our parents do not want us to be happy. They want us to be appropriate, to be respectful, to have children and well-earning careers, to fit into the mold of heteronormativity and gender roles, to be religious and pious. But no, they do not want us to be happy. Happiness doesn’t fit into it. To them, happiness is indistinguishable as a separate characteristic because according to them, doing all of these things should already be making us happy. The ideal created for desi children is that they shouldn’t strive to do what makes them happy, but what makes them “good.” Unfortunately, under this context, good is defined as anything that isn’t seen as immoral or out of the norm. 

A woman who is not straight is rejecting her role as a wife, and to a lesser extent, her role as a mother. She is rejecting the notion of subservience to men, of obedience and inferiority. Under our current system that is hugely patriarchal, a woman who does not submit is a threat. 

Now, I’m not saying desi parents are bad parents or hate their children because it’s pretty clear this happens in nearly every other culture in the world. But I am saying that desi parents do not make their children’s happiness a priority, they make their children’s success a priority: successful careers and marriages and children = successful lives. So if you ask a desi parent “do you want your kid to be happy?” they’ll immediately say “yes, of course.” But if you add on “do you want your kid to be gay if that makes them happy?” the answer will be a lot less positive.

This movie tackled Leyla’s sexuality and coming out to her parents absolutely head-on with no coyness about it. She goes straight up to her mother and admits that she’s a lesbian. But her mother’s reaction is really the thing that most “coming out” stories try to gloss over, or sugarcoat, or just in general avoid. Her mother admits with frank and brutal honesty the truth that all LGBTQ+ desi kids know: our parents would rather see us miserable and straight than queer and happy.

What Did You Do Over The Summer?

For @bananannabeth <3

Annabeth shifted uncomfortably in her seat, she could feel the eyes of the students on her. Her history teacher’s question rang in her ears; “What did you do over the summer, Annabeth?” It was such a simple question, a formality of sorts, five others in her class had been asked the same and their answers all of the same tune. 

“Nothing. I pretty much just stayed in bed the whole time.” 

“My dad and I went camping for a week. It was the worst experience of my life. I do not recommend it.”

“I stayed here.”

“Same.”

“I played video games and worked.”

She couldn’t very well say that she defeated Mother Earth and saved the entire world, everyone would think she was joking or crazy. Everyone except Percy. 

Annabeth looked to her side at the empty desk where her boyfriend always sat, her pulse quickened and she squeezed her hands on her lap. She exhaled audibly through her nose, “oh nothing interesting Miss, I visited a few friends and met up with some relatives. You know, the standard stuff.”

Her teacher’s eyes narrowed. A few kids murmured in understanding and she heard their chairs scraping on the carpeted floor as they turned to the front. “Well,” she began, “that sounds lovely. Jordan?”

Annabeth released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding in and dipped her head, silently praying for the day to end. 

i haven’t seen this around among the many excellent theories, so i just wanna toss it out there:

Bigender Pidge. Genderfluid Pidge.

Pidge who is sometimes okay with he and sometimes with she and a lot of the time with both or either, but has days where there needs to be standing on a chair and loud correcting because not that one, not today. Pidge who has gotten used to figuring out how they feel today, and whether or not it matters, and he ends up explaining over and over sometimes because this is important today and other days she was up all night with robots and is too tired and doesn’t bother because today is one of those where each could be okay. Pidge who has a day where it is most definitely she, most definitely a girl day, and seizes the opportunity of feeling sold and real and right to try and explain, try and present, because this feels like the kind of thing that could go on for a while–

and then the next day “she” doesn’t fit anymore and when Lance uses “he” by accident and then tries to backtrack, Pidge tells him, “no, it’s fine”

and then next week, it’s back to “she”, and she’s afraid to explain this again, knows at some point they’re going to run out of patience, and so she just answers to whatever

and eventually the rest of the team might sort of forget, and Pidge is always Pidge but depending on the day or the month or the minute can have to avoid everyone else because hearing them talk about him with the wrong pronouns is too hard.

Pidge knows that she can’t expect them to keep up or deal with switching pronouns on an irregular basis, and isn’t going to try and ask. it can’t be really worth it, can it? he’s used to riding things out, to waiting for them to change, and it’s so hard to explain that sometimes she’s a she and sometimes he’s a he and

is there a point to it, really.

So yeah. Genderfluid Pidge who is too goddamn tired and afraid to explain themselves anymore.

you know what’s kinda freaky? i’ll be reading stuff written by fans of the outsiders and i’ll see fanart and i’ll see the movie and up until i reread the book, i forgot that dally is only 17. he died before he even turned 18. the fandom tends to portray him as this dashing young man with not a care in the world and a malicious streak, but really, he’s a kid hardened by circumstance; he pulled himself into a hard shell to protect himself from everything, at a young age. he might pretend to be cold and unfeeling, but he’s just trying to keep himself safe. and it makes me so sad that people forget that. ponyboy realizing that is some serious character developement for both of them.

Imagine sleeping with Jaehyun...

Anon asked for, sleeping with Jaehyun but. um. Towards the end of writing this I think I realized what they actually wanted…? And I don’t think it was this so.

If you wanted not this, tell me little anon and I will. Write what I think you wanted…

Anyways. This is about to get nsfw prepare yourselves.

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When it comes to Jupiter and luck, it’s not the kind of luck where you sit on your ass and do nothing and expect something. It’s the luck you gain when you decide to be optimistic. It’s the luck you gain you decide to look at the world positively. That’s what Jupiter is all about. When you are open and optimistic, you’re able to accept all the rewards you can get, instead of restricting yourself. The good luck you get from Jupiter isn’t from chance.

That’s why Saturn is usually known as a planet of bad luck. When you’re too restricted and pessimistic, you’re not open to receive opportunities and rewards. When you don’t have faith in the world, the world will ultimately do the same. After all, the 7th House, our one-on-one interactions, is a reflection… What you give is what you get.

That’s why people say that it’s always important to have a positive attitude.

6

“My question is, we all know how the Doctor felt watching you leave, but what did Peter Capaldi- what was his reaction to your leaving the show?” (x)

anonymous asked:

You describe yourself as neutral evil? That's actually really interesting. What about yourself do you consider 'evil'?

WELL OK SO i honestly thought i was 100% straight up chaotic neutral? like i’m not that bad. but then i took like 5 alignment quizzes and kept getting either lawful evil or neutral evil LMFAO i just have a lot of petty hate and like no morals whatsoever my guy