throwing sparks

ATLA AU

Connor and Zoe are fire nation. Possible children of a noble family. Connor is really good at his firebending when he feeds it with his anger like Zuko, but whenever he’s not angry it comes across rather lazily. He just doesn’t care to find anything else to fuel it. Zoe is the perfect child, and her firebending is nearly flawless, though she has issues with her anger sometimes too.

Jared is Earth Nation. His parents put him through bending lessons and sent him to summer camps for benders. He lies to them a lot and sneaks away to participate in tournaments, which he’s actually pretty good at when he does get cocky/distracted while gloating/making fun of his competition.

Alana’s from the northern Water Tribe. She grew up learning how to heal and any other expectations that would fall under being a waterbending woman. She constantly strives for more though, has that desire to learn and constantly grow, so she spies on the boys during their lessons and mimics them until she masters waterbending.

And then there’s Evan, our avatar. Born an airbender, he is raised by the monks. But he struggles - he is often too anxious to really go with the flow. He masters airbending, of course, or at least the motions. It’s not until he begins learning the other elements that he is able to truly use his powers to the best of his ability.

Fairly young, he’s sent to the water tribe to begin his avatar training. He meets and befriends Alana, who sort of just ends up attaching herself to him, involving herself in the duties of an Avatar. She’s not his water bending master but he can’t say she’s not a teacher. He learns she faces her own anxieties and shows him he’s not alone. They celebrate their wins, and when he leaves to go study earth bending, no one’s even surprised that she just invites herself alone. No one resists.

They’re 14 when they meet Jared, and he’s scathingly sarcastic. He boasts about his skill, sometimes too much, and it gets him in trouble. When Evan gets frustrated with earth bending because it’s SO different from his element, he ends up turning to Jared for help. And Jared does help, in lots of ways. And he helps Jared, who has never really had a genuine friend before.

They make their way to the fire district at 17. They are introduced to the fire bending prodigy Zoe Murphy to be Evan’s master. But somehow, no matter how long and hard they study, Evan’s not learning. He can’t reach down inside himself and find the flame. It’s not that she’s a bad teacher, but she’s not relatable like Alana with her anxiety and Jared with his social isolation.

And then he and Connor find each other. And they help each other because out of everyone, their mental state affects their bending the most. And they get close, and Connor is able to face some of his issues and find a flame that isn’t fueled by fire. And Evan is able to understand that his emotions can feed into his power when he controls them, instead of fearing them.

Additionally, the adorable friendships within the group. Firebending Zoe falling head over heels for Waterbending Alana - they learn to fight together in a beautiful mix of fire and water. Alana and Connor becoming best friends, Alana has seen Connor at his worst and used her waterbending to fix him up when he hurts himself. Jared and Connor being super sarcastic at each other and constantly throwing harmless pebbles/sparks at each other. 

ALSO, Evan stimming with waterbending, it really helps with his anxiety. Watching Connor firebend is also relaxing. Earth isn’t the same because it’s so different from his native element.

anonymous asked:

Ok though, who would win Percy or Jason? Or at least who do you think would win, like if they HAD to fight for some reason. Weapons are included, so is Big Three powers. Begin!

I went off topic because I as a good mother have to support both my sons, but boy oh boy, do I have a lot to say about the caliber of Big Three kids and how that effects Percy and Jason’s relationship.

So in PJO, there’s this vibe about how the Big Three kids are powerful, right? Thalia is fierce and mighty, we watch Percy’s powers develop into something that could devastate half the country, we see Nico summon energy so intense it stops the Titan Lord in his tracks, and we even get to see Bianca take down a skeleton warrior that’s supposed to be impossible to kill just because of who she is. There’s a huge emphasis placed on them because of the prophecy as well, and it’s handled so well in PJO (fun fact: all three of lead a different army during the titan war). There’s this raw power that hangs about each of them, and I really believe that their physical bodies and their reflexes, instincts, abilities, etc, are actually enhanced above an average demigod’s.

We know demigods are above the normal human level, and if you think about it Big Three kids are more closely related to the gods (they’re in the same generation as Athena, Ares, Hermes, etc., while as other demigods are a generation below), so it makes sense that they would be that much more enhanced. I’ve always felt like they looked alike, sharper, more godlike features. I think they all have similar body types and need to eat more frequently than average, because their bodies use up more energy more quickly. And there’s these random tidbits thrown in there about how Percy has heat sensitive vision (TLO, Poseidon’s palace), superhuman physical strength (BOTL, battle with Antaeus), and even a level of superhuman speed (MOA, Kansas fight). And, of course, that 100 yard jump that Percy somehow does, and the fact that he consistently is able to make nine/ten foot jumps. I really think that’s a Big Three trademark. If you think about it, it has to be: we know Percy is able to withstand superhuman levels of water pressure and low temperatures, so his physical body has to be designed differently. I’d assume Zeus’ children can withstand superhuman levels of altitude and air pressure and extreme temperatures, and Hades’ children can withstand the pressure of the earth and high temperatures. Their bodies are more durable, and their reflexes are probably enhanced, and their instincts need to be sharper in order to hone their powers.

MY POINT: Big Three kids are badass, and when they’re really fighting, the only, the only, demigods who stand a chance against them are other Big Three kids.

This is sort of stripped away in HOO. There’s no emphasis at all placed on Big Three kids. It’s not even discussed how like “Wow Zeus broke the oath twice and there’s absolutely no reason the Great Prophecy couldn’t have been about Jason.” Jason can fly and Hazel can do underground stuff, which is cool, but I felt like it was dummed down. To some extent, I headcanon that this is because Percy, Thalia, Nico and Bianca were born from their father’s original and therefore most concentrated forms (even in boo when the gods finally get over the split the greek form is the one that wins out, because it’s the original and therefore more powerful.)

But I’m also of the opinion that Hazel and Jason have less raw power than Greek Big Three demigods because Rick was worried about overshadowing everyone else. (which they would have, imagine if jason and hazel were on par with nico and thalia…. they definitely would have stolen the show. but it’s also bad to just make them lamer so other demigods can shine. here’s a wild idea: don’t make them big three. problem solved. but alas.)

Funnily enough, Percy is getting more powerful. and by funny i mean why, since he really didn’t need any more. UNLESS we run with the concept that Big Three kids get much more powerful as they get older, which is super fucking cool. Consider the way Dionysus, a son of Zeus, became a god just by sheer force of will? Like, not that I think all Big Three kids will do this, but if they really wanted to, they could. I think that’s why Zeus is so willing to offer godhood to Percy—easier to monitor someone with that kind of power if they’re bound to the same laws/regulations as gods are. In many ways, mortals have a lot more freedom than gods. Hazel compares Percy’s aura to a god (he hasn’t showered, slept, or eaten in days at this point and he’s wearing dirty torn clothes too so i can only imagine what he looks like when he’s prepped for battle).

And there’s all these references to how the grass starts shriveling at Nico’s feet when he doesn’t want to do something, Thalia shocking people when she’s pissed, Jason throwing sparks when he gets emotional, Hazel’s curse, Percy destroying the plumbing. So. When the Big Three kids fight? The forces of nature respond.

We joke a lot about how Annabeth can beat Percy up and whatever it’s cute and funny, but honestly? Think of the level of power that Percy is holding back. Think of those few references where he says he doesn’t want to stop (ahklys, the stables in botl). Imagine the level of self control it takes to reign in power like that.

I can basically guarantee you that every Big Three kid feels that way. It must be really hard to fight without using your powers, which feel like such second nature to you that they happen without your conscious direction, like an extension of your body, in tune with your emotions. Think of trying to spar with a non-Big-Three demigod, and having to regulate your powers.

AND THEN. IMAGINE. SPARRING AGAINST OTHER BIG THREE KIDS.

You don’t have to hold back, because they can take it. Their body is designed the same way yours is. Their reflexes, strength, speed, durability is all on par with yours. You can let loose.

Think of how good that must feel.

Percy and Thalia start to do this in ttc, but are interrupted by the Oracle. But man, Percy never would’ve threatened anyone but Thalia with the whole lake. But Thalia? Thalia can take it. It’s why their relationship was so good., because it operates this way on an emotional level, as well. They see the worst of each other, because they can take the worst of each other. I feel the same way about Percy and Nico– they gravitate towards each other, because Percy gets what it feels like to have that much power contained in your body.

All of this to say, that I’m sure Percy and Jason’s relationship functions the same way. They use each other as mutual punching bags, because they can. Because they’re equal in virtually every arena, because they can let loose without having to worry about going to far and pushing too hard. When they fight, the forces of nature respond. And it’s probably a sight to see.

anonymous asked:

Firefighters AU. Imagine person A is <b>really</b> bad in the kitchen and keeps burning things and person B is the firefighter who keeps showing up and save the day.

“Aw, spaghetti, no,” Clint protested. He’d only gone to check his email for like five minutes, a huge stockpot of water shouldn’t boil away in that amount of time, but based on the blatting sounds coming from his ceiling and the roiling smoke clogging up the hall, that’s exactly what had happened. Either that, or he’d left a loaf of bread on the stove again and turned on the wrong burner. He’d done that, too. 

It couldn’t be microwave popcorn, this time, because he hadn’t put popcorn in. He was pretty sure, at least. Exhaustion had a way of having him running on autopilot. He knew he was tired, he had three part time jobs, all of which worked him a precise 32 hours per week because that was the most amount of hours he could have without qualifying for any sort of company health insurance. Not that he needed the insurance, but he would have liked some fucking overtime pay for the amount of hours he put in. 

It wasn’t the first time it had happened. It probably wasn’t going to be the last time, but it might well be the last time here. The fire department had been very clear, last time; one more house fire in this building and Clint was going to get fined. 

A fine was going to mean he couldn’t pay rent; which meant he was going to lose his nice comfortable loft apartment, and– 

God, the smoke was thick

What Clint needed was a fire alarm that would shut itself off when he yelled, “hey, I’m cooking here!” at it. 

His head was spinning lazily. The walls weren’t quite. Right. 

And the air was really, really hot. 

This wasn’t a cooking fire, Clint realized, suddenly, a few wisps of burned crumbs. Or even a more substantial cooking accident, like melting the stockpot onto the stove trying to make turkey broth. This was… an actual fire? 

Clint went to his knees in the hall. 

If it was an actual fire, even if it was something in the kitchen, and he’d left it on, at least the fire department wouldn’t be able to fine him. That was a good thought. His eyes were blurry, tears streaked his cheeks. Lucky was under his hands, whining. The dog bit hold of Clint’s tee shirt and tried to drag him down the hall. 

What the hell? 

The shirt ripped and Lucky barked frantically before erupting into some terribly painful sounding dog-coughs. 

Come to think of it, Clint was coughing, too. 

The floor was nice. Cooler. He laid down. 

(there’s a readmore line here; I always post to A03 within an hour of this post going live, so you can find it there along with my other fic)

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i pull another star, this white thing, from the darkness above. Beallara Tahoma Glacier petals and Rhaphidophoridae fill the space where this one hung.

i roll the star around in my fingers. it is cold, burning. it throws little sparks. i crush the star and it is like paste. a sticky dough in my hand.

i lick my fingers, i put what was once the star in my mouth. i roll it around with my tongue. it is sweet, burning.

my wings twitch. someone’s coming, and my mouth is bleeding again.

i hide behind flowers & insects.

Daddy's Gun

She could feel the cold barrel of the gun as it pressed underneath her chin. It was a pretty weapon, a large purple revolver with solid gold embellishments and a crowned skull emblazoned on the side. Red rubies winked in the eye sockets, glimmering as Dr. Harleen Quinzel felt the tears began to roll down her cheeks.

“M-M-Mr. J…” she stammered.

“Shut up,” he growled.

“P-P-Please… please don’t kill me.”

“I said shut… the fuck… up.” The metal jammed harder into head, rapping against the bone of her jaw.

Oh, the irony was rich. She was the one that had brought him the revolver, after he’d asked her for a machine gun during their last session and she’d told him she had no way to get it. He’d dictated a phone number to her, asking her to repeat it back to him three times to ensure she would remember it. He told her to call the number and say the magic words, the rest would be handled.

She’d frowned.

“The magic words?”

“Abracadabra!” He’d said with a theatrical flourish, then threw back his head and cackled with delight at the joke.

She’d called the number and spoken the magic words - abracadabra - into the phone when a male voice picked up, only to be greeted by a swift ‘click’ in her ear.

“Some joke,” she’d grumbled.

The next day, the gun arrived on her doorstep.

It was packaged in a shiny silver box with a red foil bow, looking like nothing so much as a fancy Christmas present. A simple golden tag read, ‘For J.’

She’d brought it into her apartment quickly, unwrapping it in the front hallway to find the magnificent purple gun winking up at her. It had felt warm when she lifted it, feeling the satisfying weight of it in her hands.

She had done it. She had actually done it.

And sneaking it into Arkham hadn’t even been hard. She wore metal tipped stilettos in that day, and all the silver jewelry she owned. Tucking the gun between her legs before she got out of her car, she held her breath as she passed through the metal detector and it went off. Giving the security guard a sheepish smile, she kicked her toes against the ground, throwing up sparks, and then held out her arms, which were covered in bracelets and rings. After taking an additional look at her layered necklaces and dangling earrings, he distractedly waved her through and went back to reading his newspaper.

Now she was pressed up against the wall in the solitary room where they had their sessions, the muzzle of the semi automatic jammed into her throat.

His straightjacket was a puddle of white fabric on the floor; she’d freed him from it the moment the door closed behind her, as she had done a hundred times before. The first time they kissed over the table, he’d had it on, which thrilled her, the sense of power, of control she had over him; she had a feeling he’d sensed that, because the next session he demanded she release him after the guards left. And how could she say no to him? She would do anything for him.

But today, after she pulled the gun out, he’d pounced, taking it from her outstretched hand and pinning her against the wall in one smooth motion. Once they’d begun… SEEING each other, she’d demanded there be no cameras or recording devices in the room, going straight to the board of the asylum and claiming it violated doctor-patient confidentiality. They’d reluctantly agreed as long as she wore a panic button which, naturally, she’d stopped carrying months ago. It was just her and the Joker for the next 90 minutes.

Would she be dead within the next five?

“Please, I did everything you asked me to,” she whispered.

“You did EVERYTHING I asked you to, sweet little Harleen.” He eased up on the pressure, moving the gun from side to side, tracing her pulse as it jumped around her throat. “And Daddy is very proud of you. I knew you had it in you.”

“So, what are you…”

“You question me?” He snapped, cutting her off. The gun pushed into her chin again.

She tried shaking her head, but couldn’t move.

“No, Mr. J.”

“Tell me how you got it in here.”

“I wore jewelry, so when the detector beeped-”

“Not that!” He bristled and she pushed back into the wall as far as she could go, trying to ease away from the revolver. His grip tightened and the gun followed her. “WHERE did you hide it?”

“Oh.” Despite herself, Harleen blushed. “I… I…”

“Yes?” He grinned, the metal grill shining in the dim fluorescent light overhead. Just looking at his silver smile made her feel dizzy with attraction, despite his orange Arkham jumpsuit and the fact that he was holding a gun to her head.

Or maybe because of it.

The longer he held it, the less afraid she felt; if he hadn’t pulled the trigger yet, surely he wasn’t going to kill her? The fear began to drain out of her, replaced by a peculiar tingling in the pit of her stomach.

“I- I hid it in between my legs,” she said in a quiet voice.

He clucked his tongue like a hen. “What a naughty little girl you are, Harleen.” He nuzzled the gun against her chin as gently as a lover buries their face in the crook of their beloveds neck. With his free hand, he trailed his large, square palm through her hair and down her torso, until he reached the hem of her tight pencil skirt.

“Where?”

Her eyes widened. Swallowing, she moved her smaller hands down to meet his. Grasping his one hand in between both of hers, she gently pushed it under her skirt, to where the gun holster lay smooth against her inner left thigh.

“There.”

It was a simple loop of leather that she had picked up in a pawn shop in one of the seedier parts of Gotham. A pouch could be clipped onto the circle, and the gun fitted snugly inside.

“Don’t ask, don’t tell,” the clerk had remarked as she paid for it in cash. He’d told her how to work it - “Ya just belt it on ya leg and put the piece in” - then sent her on her way. It rode high up her leg, sitting just under her lace underwear, and she could feel the Joker’s long, white fingers as they skimmed over her skin.

“Oh, God, you’re so GOOD,” he breathed, rubbing his hand over the leather around her leg. Without loosening his grip on the gun, he leaned in, hungrily covering her mouth with his.

The tingling sensation in her stomach intensified, spreading throughout her entire body. Whenever he kissed her, it felt like the world stopped. Nothing mattered, nothing at all, except his kisses. And in a way, the gun made it even better, the complete and utter control he had over her in that moment, and the complete and utter trust she had, the faith she had that he wouldn’t shoot her.

He wouldn’t shoot her. She knew in her gut, in her BONES, that he wouldn’t shoot her.

No longer the slightest bit afraid, she threw herself into the kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck. The tiniest misstep by either of them and she’d certainly be dead, heightening the exhilarating pleasure of the moment. He kept his rock solid grip on the gun, his other hand moving higher and higher between her legs. She gasped as he touched her thin panties then curled his fingers into the fabric, ripping them. She could feel moisture running down her legs as he stroked her, and her body quivered with pleasure.

“Move your hands,” he moaned into her mouth. Instinctively, she knew what he wanted her to do. Drawing back and staring him in the eyes, she placed both of her hands around the gun at her chin. Perfect trust. Total love. Her small, warm hands wrapped around his large, cold one, with his finger on the trigger.

He growled and bit her cheek. Working the fingers of his other hand faster and faster, he brought her to a pulsating climax. She pressed her lips together to avoid crying out; she didn’t want the guards to hear and investigate. Instead, she turned completely inward, eyes rolling into the back of her head as she crested on wave after wave of sensation.

She wanted to moan in agony when she felt the barrel of the gun leave her throat. Her hands fell, limp by her sides, as he took the weapon away.

“No…” Before she could stop herself, the word slipped out of her mouth. She opened her eyes to see him staring at her in surprise. Lips red as a cherry, hair glowing emerald green in the light, he had an otherworldly beauty. She just wanted him to POSSESS her. It was frightening in its ferocity.

“So you like Daddy’s gun?” He asked in a low voice. It was almost like he couldn’t believe it; like he’d been expecting to scare her, and he was the one that ended up scared by her reaction.

“Y-Yes.” Her voice shook. She had liked it. She could still feel the ghostly imprint of it pressed under her chin.

He pressed the cold metal against her chest, the side of it, this time. She could feel it, heavy against her sternum, before it slid lower, across her stomach, and lower still.

“How much do you like it?”

Harleen knew what he was asking her, but couldn’t bring herself to answer. They had already done things in this room, but this- this was unspeakable.

His free hand drifted up and curled tightly in her hair, jerking her head backward.

“I asked you a question, little girl.”

“I love it, Daddy,” she admitted truthfully, cheeks burning. His own eyes rolled up into the back of his head in pleasure at her words.

Slowly, carefully, he nudged the gun into the waistband of her skirt.

“Do you belong to me?”

She looked at him with tears of love in her eyes. “I do.”

The metal was cold as it nosed its way between her legs, and her body tensed against the wave of pleasure she felt. He was USING her. Depraving her. Claiming her in a way she never had been before.

But he was gentle as he worked the gun in and out of her body. He kept one hand in her hair, holding her up against the wall as her knees buckled and shook. He kissed her face, her nose, her eyes, murmuring as his lips passed, whisper light, over her skin. She moaned softly and he pushed his tongue into her mouth.

“You have to be quiet, baby.”

She sucked his tongue like a pacifier to keep from wailing. The pleasure was so keen it felt like a sharpened knife pricking her all over her body. She trembled against the brilliant heat rising inside of her, swelling and bright as she suddenly shattered into a thousand pieces. She was clinging to him, sobbing and grinding her hips and working her body against the gun and it felt so good, so so so GOOD, better than anything else had ever felt before, and he was laughing, quietly chuckling into her ear, and whispering about how she was SUCH a good little girl, such a mad little girl, and she thought that if this was madness then she wanted it.

She wanted it.

He held her as she came back to her senses, still pinned up against the wall in the solitary room. The gun was nestled between her thighs, and she swore she could feel it pulsating wetly.

“No one has ever loved my gun as much as you do,” he said, and she glowed with pride. “We’ll have to get you one of your own, won’t we? Can’t have you running off with mine to have FUN.”

“Yes, Daddy.” She flushed at the desire that rose within her again at his words.

The door suddenly swung open.

“Times up, Dr. Quinzel- oh shit.”

JJ Abrams on Rey and Kylo Ren - TFA Commentary

Some very interesting tidbits from JJ Abrams about Rey Kylo

“ And now we go to this scene, where we actually get a very different side of Kylo Ren. Where we see how unlike Vader he is. How tempestuous he is. How uncontrolled he is. […] We were really throwing sparks his way. I think the moment I actually just fell in love with Adam Driver was in his timing of this line. “Anything else?” This is the moment of course where Kylo Ren learns about Rey. And now, these two disparate pieces come together.” - its called fate JJ

“And this idea that she [Rey] won’t share with him here is, of course, because she feels like the only belonging she’s ever going to have is her family and if she leaves she’ll never get a chance to see them. So there was a very powerful idea that what she desperately wanted was belonging, which she’ll get, but just not how she expects.” - you’re right JJ, Rey is going to find her belonging in the most unexpected way

“This whole location of Maz’s, of course, mirrors the cantina from A New Hope, as this Starkiller Base mirrors the Death Star. These were the kind of locations that felt like a given in Star Wars. For example, we looked at it like a Western or a fairy tale. What are the elements that you’re going to see that makes it this genre, this specific genre? You’re probably going to have a castle, and a prince and a princess, if you’re looking at a fairy tale. We wanted to give these sort of, fundamental, not cosmetic, but, sort of, prerequisite elements. These locations in which we can set our new story and our new characters.” - Just before Rey and Kylo meet in a very fairytale-esque forest. He also described Rey as Cinderella and Kylo as a Prince later on. 

“One of the new relationships that we were focusing on was between Kylo Ren and Rey. They’ve never met but he’s heard of this girl. And so, now comes a moment when their meeting is inevitable. […] And now we’re back to our heroine. And this moment where she is about to, for the first time, be confronted by Kylo Ren, a character who she’s going to have a very interesting relationship with moving forward. […] The takes we have of Adam Driver being unable to see in that mask and tripping over these rocks, I think, it just added to the rage that he used in the character. It really is a very specific kind of talent to be able to perform a character when your face is completely hidden. His body language was very specific.” - I wonder what he could mean by ‘ineresting relationship? lol

"This now becomes the first time that you see who’s behind the mask. And because of Vader, I think you expect him to need the mask. That, like Vader, it’s some kind of breathing apparatus, some sort of necessity. But when his mask comes off, you see Adam Driver, and he just looks like a sort of prince.”

“So the idea here is that Kylo Ren’s gotten inside of Rey’s head, sees that she has seen the map and is now letting go of the droid as his goal, and focusing just on her. And clearly you think, well he must be able to just extract the information he wants now. But because he’s taken her, you get a sense that there might be something else going on here.” - Of course JJ, he’s thinking with his dick

“So the two of them, working together in this scene…It was fun to imagine what kind of sounds there would be. And if you listen to what Gary Rydstrom and Matt Wood did for this scene, the kind of sounds of the Force power between the two of them… There’s kind of this war going on. This battle.”

“Well, the planet’s ripping apart.” So, Larry and I decided what if the two of them, in this kind of, operatic moment, actually get separated and the decision is taken away from them and left for another time.”


Hmm, very interesting JJ, very interesting. 

the art of the trade

day three of @platonicvldweek - lions/bonding

2694 words, in which keith and red share a moment or three. s2 spoilers. 

also available on ao3.

      Red believes in equal exchange or nothing at all. Trust for trust. Joy for joy. Hope for hope. But she also deals in wrath, envy, even despair. Whatever Keith can offer her, she will match it, and needless to say, he prefers trading lighter memories, few and far between though they seem. However, Red shows no obvious interest in the memories themselves, but in the act of the trade, and when Keith settles into her cabin to think, her presence presses all around him, heavy and warm. Expectant.

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Car Lifehacks

A lot of people don’t know this, but you can keep your car door locks from freezing up in the cold by using peanut butter. Simply force-feed it to a dealership salesman until he lets you have a used car made after 1993 that comes with a keyfob.

If you get scratches or dings on your ride, you can have them repaired at any number of shops around the area. Simply drive into one, and hand them money. The people working there will repaint your car, often well within the span of both your lifetimes.

Resist peer pressure: sometimes salesmen at the car dealership will see you coming and attempt to copy your clothing and mannerisms in order to infiltrate your life and sell you a car. Most of your best friends may be in fact trying to sell you a Lexus at this very moment. In order to determine the difference between a salesman and a human, a simple pin-prick test can be administered to their fingers. Salesmen only bleed commission.

Instead of throwing your old spark plug wires away, why not weave them into a well-insulated afghan blanket that you can use to keep horses warm? It worked for former President Thomas Jefferson.

Worried about hit and run accidents? Consider buying a dashcam: it’s the best way to spend two hours trying to fast forward grainy video on your phone for the cop at the front desk before noticing that actually it was you who caused the accident, screaming “SMOKE BOMB!” and clocking the cop in the head with a roll of pennies before fleeing.

Never park in a no-parking zone. This can save you up to hundreds of dollars every time you park.

Random shit we forgot

*Percy can play pinochle * Clarisse was the first to call Annabeth wise girl in the books *Annabeth knew Percy was big 3 spawn but figured Zeus cuz he us such a man whore *Grover is Percy’s best friend *Chiron brought riptide into school when he was Percy’s teacher Mr. Brunner *Percy was on wanted posters * Annabeth’s eyes change In the sunlight *Grover is Percy’s best friend * Annabeth cried when they had to leave Cerberus waiting for his ball to be thrown *Percy and Grover both almost fell into Tartarus in Lighting Thief *Jason “throws” off sparks *GROVER IS PERCY’S BEST FRIEND

TUMBLRS WHO POST LOLICON/SHOTA OR OTHER SIMULATED CHILDPORN

(feel free to add on if you know any others

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- I had to stop cause I was about to throw up

J.J. Abrams’ audio commentary for the 3D-Collector’s Edition of Star Wars The Force Awakens

So, my copy of the Collectors Edition of TFA was mailed to me on Friday. It’s not actually supposed to come out here until Monday but I had it pre-ordered and thanks to CDON.COM’s early shipment, I got it a little sooner. It’s a 3-disc set that contains the film’s original theatrical release on Blu-ray 3D and Blu-ray + there’s an additional third disc for the bonus material. Although most of the bonus features have already been released in some format previously. The set looks like this:


The most interesting new feature on it though is J.J. Abrams’ audio commentary, that I just finished watching and I wanted to share some things the director commented on it. It wasn’t really all that spoilery about things to come. But, there were some very intriguing things, that he said, that could possibly have some significanse to the discussion about the direction of Rey’s and Kylo’s journey. So now, I’m just going to go through the movie again and write down some things, that he had to say about it. Edit. This actually ended up being quite a long post. And by long I mean really long. So be prepared, you have been warned :)

Second Edit. Here’s a link to a subsequent masterpost with additional quotes from J.J. Abrams.

http://mummiesandlightsabers.tumblr.com/post/155146744799/masterpost-jj-abrams-audio-commentary-for-the

Keep reading

liebroe: wait... what?

alright, for anyone who maybe saw @warriorgays beautiful liebroe aesthetic set and wondered okay, but why liebroe, i want to explain why this is the pairing i’ve always kept tucked away in the back of my mind as something i can’t figure out well enough to write but love in theory:

they’re both very intense, but lieb is constantly throwing sparks and flaring up whereas gene is a low, constant smoulder. i can see them providing one another balance, with lieb telling gene to demand what he needs when it’s really important (and for himself, not just for others) and gene telling lieb when maybe this is a time to chill and process, not start a scrap.

i also love the idea of lieb trying to flirt with gene the way he does with web, that pigtail pulling and making his life impossible, and just getting stonewalled by the flattest expression in the world. but christ, how DO you flirt with doc roe? or if the attention was on gene’s side, him hovering around lieb and making sure he’s alright until lieb explodes like CAN YOU LET ME HAVE SOME DAMN OXYGEN I WON’T BE OKAY IF YOU SMOTHER ME and then kicking himself for it. no matter who makes the first move, it’d be such a comedy of errors until they figured it out.

and finally, the idea of those two in particular feeling out (and i choose those words for an obvious reason) tender intimacy is beautiful to me. i imagine they’d probably not talk much about the sexual intimacy and it’d be quite intense by default, maybe even a bit rough - not violent, just really high intensity. but imagine them figuring out how to touch each other softly, sweetly, what the other finds soothing (a hand through their hair? tracing fingertips lightly over their skin? whispering near their ear?) - JUST IMAGINE. AGH.

okay. so in short, those are the reasons i can’t quite let go of liebroe as a concept. and thank you so much @warriorgays, anyone who was intrigued by this and hasn’t seen that pairing edit please go look.

are you alright? (c.h)

inspired by this video bc calum just looked so sad and tired and i just wanted to give him a big ol’ hug, my poor precious :((

(this is all gonna be lowercased because im too lazy and tired to do all those shifts and shit lololol)

-

as calum sat there between ashton and michael, he wondered how long this interview was going to take. he couldn’t do his day like this. the interview overall was going good until the interviewer took it a bit far. even though it wasn’t mentioned in the video as the boys watched it back, calum still remembered it, as it constantly replayed in his head.

“so calum, word has it that y/n won’t be joining you on the slfl tour. or even to any shows at that,” and there it was. calum’s mouth opened slightly and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his eyes starting to tear and his breathing start to hitch.

“y/n,” michael says bursting in, sitting up, allowing calum to cower back into the seat, “is a very successful person and even though we all wanted her to come, she can be really busy at time. we would really like her to come, but she has her jobs, like we do ours.” michael smiles and he leans back, wrapping his arm behind calum and patting his back, looking at him worryingly. calum smiles and nods his head, staring at the ground. the interviewer smiles and she moves onto the next question.

but, throughout the whole interview, calum couldn’t bother to answer any of the questions, let alone comment on any of the others. he was just too focused on her. too focused on them. he looks at his boot covered foot, resting on his right leg and he starts to zone out, slowly blocking out the boys sounds and slowly started to hear hers.

“calum, i told you i can’t come,” y/n says, sitting in her outfit, ready to leave. ready to leave him.

“but,” he paces about the room, tears in his eyes, his hands roaming through his nappy hair, “i can’t focus without you there.”

“you can barely focus with me there. plus, when i’m there, you normally block me out to be with the boys,” she says, tears falling down her face as she looks down at her glove covered hands.

“thats, thats not true, y/n.” calum rushes to her side, grabbing her knees, the cold touch that lingered through her leggings as she lifts her face up at him. “i can’t be without you. i can’t..” he starts to tear and he bites his lip, hoping to hold back the sob that was building in his throat. y/n takes a hand to his face, wiping the tear that slowly falls down the side of his cheek and grabs his t shirt, colliding into his body, burying her face into the crook of his neck, his face into her shoulder. calum wraps his arms around her, like a child clutching onto its stuffed animal for protection. calum tightens his grip, hoping to stay like this forever. y/n sniffles into his shoulder, inhaling the minty and musky aroma, and she slowly pushes him off, knowing she had to go. she had to leave.

“you’ll do amazing,” she says, smiling, starting to get up. calum’s face turns even more worried, his chest rising up and down, his mind filled with “no’s”.

“please don’t leave me,” he says, the tears now falling down his face. his hands start to shake and his legs started to feel weak as he watched her carry her duffel bag in hand.  

“i would never,” she says. she gets on her toes and places a warm kiss upon calum’s tear stained cheek, secretly using her thumb to scratch at her index finger, a habit she picked up, to hide her pain and to keep her from sobbing. she then starts to walk down the cold hallway and out of the door, leaving calum in her apartment, the apartment she was going to leave behind for 7 months. he looks around and something in him just sparked, throwing picture frames against the wall, along with empty, dirty glass cups. tossing pillows and flipping over the couch, punching the walls multiple times, ignoring the physical pain. he just hoped to get rid of the emotional pain.

-

“are you alright?” he saw ashton mouth in his peripheral vision. he didn’t answer. he just didn’t want to talk to anybody, really. he also saw ashton give up, sucking at his cheek, knowing that calum really didn’t want to talk. but it was just too obvious. he knew he zoned out for a whole minute, and the thing that took him out of that trance was michael poking him in the back, smiling at him. he let out a sigh and uncrossed his arms, watching the interviewer start to put up her notebook, knowing this was going to be the end.

“well thank you for having this small interview with us, and asia looks forward to see you on your world tour,” she says, standing up to shake the boys’ hands as they walked back to their dressing room, ready to leave for the next interview/show they had to be at.

“hey cal,” ashton said, running up to calum, who was far ahead of the others, ready to leave.

“yeah what’s up?”

“what’s up? you were as dead as roadkill, mate. what’s wrong?” ashton says, opening the door to their room, watching as calum goes over to his stuff and starts to pack up, ignoring the question.

“hey, i know it’s hard,” ashton says, placing his hand on his shoulder. that was it. calum sniffled and shook his head, tears starting to form.

“fuck man, i just…” he said, his voice cracking, trying not to cry in front of his best mates. he turns around and punches the wall behind him, groaning at the pain, luke coming up behind to calm him down.

“hey man, it’s going to be alright,” luke says, patting calum on the back. calum shook his head and laughed at luke’s cliche attempt to make him feel better.

“it’s never going to be alright.” he said, sighing, continuing to pack up his bag.

“she wanted to come,” michael said, the others going to pack up as well.

“THEN WHY DID SHE LEAVE?” calum yells, not even bothering to hold it in. he grabbed the attention of all the boys and bryana, who stood quietly beside ashton. calum didn’t even notice she was in there. “IF SHE WANTED TO COME, SHE COULD’VE CAME. she…” his slams his hands onto his suitcase and turns around, his legs resting on the table, his hands roaming over his face and through his hair.

“calum,” he heard bryana’s small voice say. he looked up to see her worried, her hand on his shoulder, “you know she wanted to come. she begged to come. but, that school in england is strict. you know that. she couldn’t leave.” bryana was right, but calum wanted her to be wrong. he knew he let his selfishness come through, but he didn’t care. he didn’t want anything more than to sit down with her, her hair constantly falling onto her face, her “sweet pea” fragrance from bath and body works filling his nose as they cuddled together on the plane.

he turned away from bryana and closed his suitcase, zipping it shut. “are we going yet?” he said, all of the others worriedly looking at him. ashton nods his head and they all continue to pack, ready to leave.  

anonymous asked:

Angst #12 + Zen saying it to MC.

He fucked up.

And on top of it all he is fucked up. Completely wasted and beyond any reasoning or anything. Sitting right there on the ground, in front of the bed that he used to share with the person he loved… the person he still loves. But a person that no longer loves him.

He should’ve known better.

He’s Zen, the famous musical actor and he’s never had much luck when it came to love. He always ends up hurting the people he’s with.

Them throwing the framed picture of them off the wall was more than justified. They had every right to scream at him and call him a filthy cheater and an asshole. They were right. He deserved having the door slammed right in his face. He’s called it.

It’s been days since he saw their face flushed with anger and tears at the very same time. The flame of hatred in their eyes throwing sparks at him like daggers and the tears flowing down their cheeks to top it off.

“I’m such an idiot…” he giggles before taking yet another big swig straight from the bottle. He’s been given that expensive whiskey as a thank you for performing at a play. He’s always kept it, not wanting to waste it. But when you are able to waste everything else and treat it with that little care like he did with his relationship, you sure can waste something to get wasted.

That process of thought made him chuckle yet again, even though he could feel the liquid burning in his throat as it ran down his stomach, sinking deep and screaming to get back up again.

He’s finished the entire bottle and it’s a wonder he hasn’t thrown up yet, honestly. It’s the immense self control he somehow still manages to keep. The self control that keeps him to force himself to suffer. Suffer like he made them suffer.

As he heard knocking on the door, he emptied the bottle entirely, taking the last chug from it before throwing it against the wooden door, wincing himself at the shattering of the glass. The person on the other side of it however didn’t seem to mind too much as they opened the door anyway.

“Getthe fu–HIC–ck away, Saeyoung,” he slurred angrily. “I– tol’cha I don’t… needyour hel’… I jst wanna be ‘lone.”

“Oh my god…” a familiar voice just muttered in disbelief and only then Zen’s eyes, slowly trailed up the figure standing in front of him. It took him a bit to get the blurry vision into focus and not see everything double for a little second. A second enough to make out the familiar features of none other than them. “Are you okay?”

Hyun couldn’t help but laugh at their question. “What’s it look –HIC– like t’ ya? I’m doing grrrrreat!” he laughs while trying to stand up.

They immediately react, telling him to be careful with the shards on the ground as they take a big step across them and walk towards him to hold him. He would’ve easily slipped and fell right into the glass otherwise.

“What’s it t’ ya anyway? Why’re you here?”

“Saeyoung told me to look how you’re doing. He said it was bad, but…”

“Bad?” he asks and laughs again, nearly tripping over in the process once more. “’Tis nothin’.”

“You’re batshit wasted, Hyun.”

“Hahhh… y’know… I missed hearin’ you call me that.”

They remain silent, but the look in their eyes says everything. He disappoints them all over again like the fucking mess he is.

“I’m sorry, y’know?” he slurs between hiccups. “I never meant t’ hurt ya.”

Still quiet as before, they slowly and carefully set him to sit on the bed, one of their arms still around his torso and the other palm placed on his chest for support. “I’ll get you a glass of water. Try to lie down on your side.”

“No!” Zen immediately screams and grabs their wrist as they try to remove themselves from him. “Wait, I gotta tell ya this.”

“Hyun, you’re drunk. All you got to do is sleep.”

“I tried…” he continues and looks at them. His gaze is glazed and he can barely sit up straight without leaning from side to side slightly, like a swing. “I tried… forgetting ya, wanted ya to move on without me… HIC – I… fuck.” he pauses, closing his eyes for a solid ten seconds to recollect himself a little and regain at least some focus. “I thought ya’d be better off without me… but I’m not. Ya know what I mean? Not me being better off without me, me not being better off without you ‘n’ stuff.”

“You’re not making any sense, Hyun, please–”

“Y’ don’t understand. I need ya. I can’t forget ‘bout ya… Please forgive me.”

They stop for a second and pain reflects in their beautiful orbs. They hate seeing him like this. But wasn’t it only more proof of how toxic they were for each other? Of how much misery they caused each other?

“Go to sleep, Zen. Please. We’ll talk once you sobered up, alright?”

It’s likely a promise they won’t keep as they hope he’ll just forget they ever visited him. They’d ask Saeyoung to pretend it was him who helped him sober up and clean up that night. It would be for the better.

Serendipity: Sarah Thomas [ENFP]

OFFICIAL TYPING by Charity / the Mod

Extroverted Intuition (Ne): Sarah believes in “destiny.” She leaves almost everything to chance. Even when she meets the perfect guy, with whom she has instant sparks, she throws their potential love out into the universe by constructing an elaborate test of whether “destiny” wants them together. She’s fine with whatever destiny decides. But later on, as her life starts to settle down, Sarah starts wondering if she did the wrong thing and should maybe help destiny along a little bit. She becomes fixated on the possibilities and itches to explore all of them.

Introverted Feeling (Fi): Unlike Jonathan, she’s not open with her feelings; she hides them behind interesting thoughts, ideas, dreams, and smiles. She doesn’t say things like, “Oh, I really like you too!” But she acts on her feelings all the time. Once she gets an idea into her head (find Jonathan), she becomes fixated on seeing it through, no matter who has to drag along the way. Sarah doesn’t really talk about her complicated feelings with her fiancé, either. She decides to figure them out for herself. She seems to draw the line at adultery (it’s too late now).

Extroverted Thinking (Te): Her grasp on reality isn’t that great (leave it all to chance??) but the idea within her carelessness is a rational one: I’ll put my name and number in this, and you can find it! And here’s how I can find you! So it’s a million to one odds, we’ll leave that to destiny (Ne)! She acts on her feelings; she gets on airplanes, hunts down people’s names, methodically seeks Jonathan. She is somewhat forthcoming when asked her opinion.

Introverted Sensing (Si): After years, Sarah gets stuck on one guy she met one night in New York, a long time ago, and needs to pursue those details after all these years, to feel content with herself. She should have explored them at the time, but… details!?! UGH.

lionheart191-deactivated2015082  asked:

How do you get over being over-critical of your own writing? I try, but sometimes I can't even put out a paragraph it's so bad.

I remind myself that no one day of writing matters all that much. A story is built somewhat like a stalactite - one little drip of mud and grit at a time.

I  remind myself that the first few drafts are just for me. That gives me permission to let it be an ungodly mess, full of shit sentences and crap ideas, whipped into a creamy froth with the occasional bits that do work. Later I’ll winnow out the stuff that was no good. What remains will be (I hope) fun, economical, and lively.

It helps (me) to write longhand. I know no one is ever going to see my longhand draft but me. That’s a free pass to suck.

Also, though, I try and work small. If I think a scene blows dead rats, I’ll stop thinking about the big picture, and just think about the next sentence. If I can get down one sentence that really excites me, sometimes it will throw a spark powerful enough to bring a dying moment back to life.