where does it come from woman

anonymous asked:

In ur extensive knowledge on Astro boy has he ever cried? Do robots cry?

well he certainly does cry a lot in the manga and 60s anime

however in the 80s anime it’s mentioned that robots can’t really cry and that Atom in older issues couldn’t cry because he hadn’t “learned to”..meaning that it’s not something that comes naturally to robots as it does to humans (in the 60s anime they do show him ‘fake crying’ to get out of situations too)

Even in the manga there’s scenes where they show he still hadn’t learned to do it so I think a lot of robot behaviors in general come just from imitating humans and then become more natural to perform with time

In Pluto, Atom mentions that as he kept ‘pretending’ to enjoy food he eventually felt he could taste it so the same could be said about crying

Ironically later there’s a scene with Tenma teaching Helena (a robot woman) how to cry and says the same thing about how in time she will understand how ‘real crying’ feels

..yet later Tenma himself also says that truly advanced AIs are able to lie to themselves to the point they can believe they’re something they’re not or feel things they don’t. I think it’s up to the reader to decide whether Atom and the other robots can actually ‘cry’ or just make themselves believe they can cry and feel things in general because that’s what they’re taught to do

It feels nice

Bucky x reader 

Notes: angst(ish), PTSD, fluff, service dogs, isolation, masturbation. 

Summary: Bucky’s been going through the motions ever since he got back from his last tour, missing one arm. Then he meets a girl while walking his service-dog Ziva at an ungodly hour. She might be the breath of fresh air he doesn’t know he’s been missing.

A/N: Hi guys! This story is a one shot AU.Hope you enjoy it! x

There’s something -everything- so calming about being outside before the crack of dawn; sure, it’s because Bucky has trouble sleeping and wakes up at four in the morning and is unable to go back to sleep, but, still. It’s like the world is his own for a while. A short while, maybe an hour before the first early birds show their faces, but a while at least. Usually long enough for him to clear his head after another short night of sleep, maybe after being awoken by a nightmare.

Having a reason to go outside, is even better, gives him a sense of purpose; even if his German Shepard, Ziva, usually gives him the stink-eye for waking her so early.

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Ok so I’m watching TLD cuz Sherlock is freaking adorable and I’m just now realizing how many plot holes there are. I know everyone has been pointing these out, but this is just insane

  • why does everyone keep thinking it’s Sherlock’s blog? It’s very obviously from John’s POV, and this has never happened before. It doesn’t make sense
  • Why bring in H H Holmes for absolutely no reason other than to serve as Smith’s inspiration? Why do we need a serial killer to have a mentor?
  • why have both John and Sherlock talking to people who supposedly aren’t there, only to make one actually having been there? Why do we need that mirror then?
  • WHO IS SENDING MARY’S POSTMORTEM DVD SPECIALS??
  • who the hell is John? seriously. If he needs to have a serial killer tell him to see that his friend is suffering and in pain, question him on whether he’s actually a doctor, because seriously anyone could see that he needed help. The John we’ve seen until now, in fact any medical professional, would not wait and stand guard while his friend shoots up in the bathroom.
  • why did Sherlock say Smith had the scalpel when he in fact had the scalpel???
  • why blame Sherlock for Mary’s death? I get the whole grief, anger, and need to blame someone, but like. Really. It’s so obvious that Sherlock didn’t do anything
  • WHY DID JOHN BEAT SHERLOCK TO THE POINT OF INTENSE HOSPITALIZATION? THAT WAS JUST INSANE
  • how did Sherlock manage to notice that she was suicidal and alone and has a small kitchen but fails to notice that sHE ISN’T THE WOMAN FROM THE PICTURE HE REFERENCED. RIGHT IN FRONT OF HER
  • why the random shot of people dressed up as aliens, right before Smith filming the commercial?
  • ok this is random, but at 1:09:58, there’s a reflection of the bed in the window, but it looks like in the reflection there’s no one in the bed.
  • why does Smith say that after he’s confessed he can break America? where did America come from??
  • also, when did mycroft’s office go from a huge room, well-lit with comfortable chairs, to what looks like a prison cell, grid on the ceiling, grey metal everywhere, tiny room
  • why did the change lady smallwoods name?
  • also – if the gun Eurus shot John with was a tranquilizer gun, why did it smoke? I do not believe tranquilizer guns smoke. this one is, as we say, the smoking gun that something is up *fingers guns*

anyone wanna add or answer or just freak out with me?

tags under the cut

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anonymous asked:

irene coming to visit and john gets jealous qwefghjk

Sherlock isn’t surprised when the first thing John does upon entering the flat is drop the bag of groceries in his hand.  He looks up from where he’s perched in his chair to find John standing in the doorway, his eyes glued to the woman that’s standing by the fireplace.  

“Ah, good.  You’re back,” Sherlock says, smiling.  “You remember Ms. Adler, of course.”

Irene turns around, all grace and elegance, and gives John a mischievous smile. “Hello, John,” she says.  Her smile widens, and she tilts her head when John doesn’t move. “Aren’t you going to come in?  We’ve just been having a lovely chat.”

John stares at her hard, and Sherlock can see a muscle twitching in his jaw.  He can’t help feeling a bit amused.  It wasn’t as if he could be shocked that she was alive since he’d already deduced that on Sherlock’s birthday.  And his jealousy was now completely redundant considering he’d spent the past two weeks sleeping in Sherlock’s bed, usually very much unclothed.

“What are you doing here?” John asks, his voice hard, and then he looks at Sherlock.  “What is she doing here?”

“Ooh, still so feisty,” Irene purrs, and John’s fists clench.

Sherlock sighs and stands up, handing Irene the piece of paper she’d given him upon her arrival.  She takes it from him, folding it up and slipping it down into her shirt, her eyes wicked.  

Sherlock rolls his eyes at her and turns to John.  “She requires my assistance.  For a case,” he says.

He walks over to John–whose eyes are once more narrowed on Irene–and steps right into his space, raising one hand to his jaw, urging John to look at him.  His shoulders are set in a tense line, his jaw tight, and he lets out a shaky breath when he meets Sherlock’s eyes.

“John,” Sherlock says softly.

“I don’t care if I’m being ridiculous,” John says immediately, his voice low enough that Irene wouldn’t be able to hear.  “I don’t want her here.”

“I know,” Sherlock says.  “She’s not staying.  She’s leaving town again tonight. And, for the record, you are being ridiculous.”

John opens his mouth, but Sherlock kisses him before he can say whatever angry words are on the tip of his tongue.  John huffs, but he doesn’t pull away, allowing Sherlock to tilt his head back and kiss him soundly until John’s hands are curled into Sherlock’s shirt at his sides rather than into tight fists.

“Oh, bravo,” Irene says, sounding highly amused, and John breaks away, tension flooding him again.  “Took you two long enough.”

“You can leave anytime,” John snaps.

Irene walks over to them, every step calculated and every movement flawless. She pauses just next to them and reaches out to run her hand down Sherlock’s bicep, which has John’s teeth snapping together and his eyes hardening.

“Goodbye, Sherlock,” she says, but her eyes are on John, and she winks at him.  “It was absolutely wonderful to see you again.”

Sherlock resists the temptation to roll his eyes again.  “Do go along before John has a fit.”

“Oh, but he’s so cute when he’s all riled up,” Irene says sweetly.  “Besides, I’m sure he’s a fabulous shag when he’s in such a state.”

“Out!” Sherlock orders, pointing at the door.

Irene sighs.  “Fine, fine.  So touchy, the both of you.”  She sweeps out of the door, but not before adding, “I’ll be in touch.”

John doesn’t relax until he hears the door to 221 close, and even then he’s still thrumming with palpable anxiety.  Sherlock steps closer, pushing until John’s back hits the wall, and he kisses him, soft and slow and deep.  John’s fingers thread through his hair, tight and desperate, and Sherlock presses him to the wall with his whole body, surrounding him.

“She means nothing to me, John,” he says into his mouth.

John just shakes his head hard.  “You saved her life.”

You saved mine,” Sherlock breathes, and John goes still.  Sherlock pulls back just enough to look into his face, reaching up to trail his fingertips down one cheek.

John just stares at him for a long moment, his eyes wide, and then he pushes up onto his toes to kiss him again, and this time he’s not trembling with jealousy or anger, only with desire, and Sherlock follows him willingly down the hall and into the bedroom.

“I begged the gods for a sign,” Rhaegar raved, pacing across the room. “I begged the ghosts of Summerhall for an answer, and now they have placed her in my path.”

Elia pressed her mouth in a thin line to keep from snapping at her husband. If she had been a wilder woman, a heartier woman, she may have fought with her whole body and not just her eyes.

“It’s her. Can’t you see?”

“My eyes saw you place a crown of flowers in the lap of a maid of fourteen,” Elia replied cooly. “Most men would apologize for inflicting such an insult upon his wife, the mother of his child.”

“She is the one. The one I must return to, if…” He paused, looked at her as if just recognizing her presence in the room. “Never mind. It is too soon to say.”

“To say what?” Elia asked, her cold voice foreign even to her. Elia was usually warm like the sun, but today her husband had brought out the cool steel of a spearpoint in her.

Rhaegar kneeled at her feet. “I apologize, Elia. I meant no harm; it simply had to be done.” He reached for her hands, which she briskly pulled out of reach.

“Yes, I’m sure the ghosts forced your hand,” Elia returned. “Or was it the gods? Remind me again, husband, your wife understands so little.”

“You mock me,” Rhaegar said not with an edge of offense, but in that sad, somber way that he had perfected. “I understand. I have insulted you. But I swear it, Elia, one day you will comprehend what I have done and what I plan to do.”

“I pray that day comes soon, for if Oberyn does not gut you, then I’m certain either Lord Stark or Lord Baratheon will do the honors before this trip is through.” Elia surprised herself at her own frostiness; this unhappy woman was not a woman she recognized, for she was a woman Elia often refused to welcome. She rose from her seat, back straight, and perched herself on the bed instead, where her daughter lay peacefully asleep. She pushed away her dark hair away from her face, and watched how her daughter’s eyes darted beneath her closed eyelids. “Please leave, husband. You’ll wake Rhaenys.”

To his credit, her husband left the room soundlessly.

The insult, Elia decided, she could forgive. It was Rhaegar who looked like a fool, not her, and it was his reputation that would pay the price. What she could not forgive, however, was how Rhaenys gasped and clung to her dress when Rhaegar rode past her and towards the Stark girl. No, she could not forgive Rhaegar for how he made their daughter’s eyes widen in shock, how her jaw dropped, for even their child had understood the unkindness Rhaegar had performed.

She did not even ask why her father had done such a thing. She always asked why.

I do not mind if it is only you and I in the world. Elia pressed a hand to her stomach. You, and I, and this.

Little Sour Hearts

this would be the Holster/Esther Shapiro 6k Valentine’s Fic literally no one asked for. enjoy <3


Valentine’s Day 2013 – Freshman Year

Holster doesn’t believe in Valentine’s Day. It’s some Hallmark Holiday based on a Christian saint of some sort, and it’s an excuse to be sickeningly sweet with someone you love, and a good day to have just dumped your significant other the night before so you can go to the single’s bars and get wasted. For Holster, it’s always been a day to gorge on chocolate. It always was in Juniors and he doesn’t see any reason to change now that he’s in college.

“What are you doing for Valentine’s Day, bro?” Ransom asks, buttoning one of his nice shirts and holding up a couple different ties to judge their relative colour.

“Being bitter,” Holster says. “What are you doing?”

“Girl from my bio class,” Ransom replies.

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anonymous asked:

Hi. Sorry my English really bad. I see your thread on twitter about poc. Can me (white girl) say 'SH has much POC' so i not have to say 'sh have one chinese man, one half mexico half lebanese woman, etc.' Or is it mean to say? Please educate me!!! Thank in advance.

Okay, I’m going to clarify the proper use of the term people/person of color (POC).

Where does POC come from?
It’s important to note that the term of color came from people-first language so it would not be quite right to say POC women or POC actors. It’s not the worst if you do this but it’s still awkward in the “ATM machine” sense. You should instead say women of color or actors of color.

When can you use the term POC?
POC is a great term to quickly encompass all non-white people, especially when referring to instances where they appear as a group like your example with a diverse cast containing many different races and ethnicities. Using it in that case is 100% fine. 

When should you not use POC?
When referring to individuals or to media that speaks directly to a specific race, it’s important not to throw it under the umbrella of POC. Magnus is an Asian* bisexual; Moonlight is about a gay black man. These characters and stories speak specifically to certain groups, so designating it as overall “POC” media erases the individual race/ethnicity for whom the characters/stories speak to.

*Truthfully, even “Asian” is a bit of a large umbrella because Asians are a huge diverse group within themselves. Issues that affect East Asians do not always overlap with those that affect South East Asians do not always overlap with those that affect South Asians. For example, my sister, a SE Asian who is very light, does not have same difficulties moving through airport security as her husband does, who is South Asian.

Why is it not okay?
This erasure is significant because for several reasons:

1. It leads people to assume that POC can be interchangeable. And when people feel that one “POC” can stand in to represent “diversity” for all POC, it results in them thinking they’ve done enough to cast one or two brown people and call it a day. So when I talk about how I don’t have a lot of rep, I get given a long list of non-white characters as if to say, “You have these, why are you still complaining? Isn’t it enough?”

First of all, even with the entire list of POC it isn’t enough to make up for the number of white characters that have dominated media for decades and second of all, once you reduce that already small list to their individual races/ethnicities, there’s even less.

2. It results in people not understanding the specific stereotypes that apply to certain races/ethnicities. For example, Magnus is especially susceptible to desexualization and feminization as an Asian man so things that are okay to talk about with him (i.e. being very…large) would not be okay to do with a character who is a black man, as black men are frequently hypersexualized.

Why do POC sometimes use the term POC instead of their race then?
These questions spawned after Harry did, in fact, use the term person of color and I want to clarify that a person of color using that particular term to stand in solidarity with other people of color is completely different than white people using it to lump us all together. For those of us who aren’t white, I think it was clear to us what he was doing – underlining the importance of any LGBT+ POC being recognized over white LGBT+ – which is a nuance I guess gets lost when you are outside the community.

So yes, some of us under specific circumstances will choose to use the identifier POC rather than our specific race for purposes of solidarity. However, as I said in that thread, white people cannot stand in solidarity with us. They can only stand beside us as allies. So it carries completely different connotations when used by them. It only serves to throw all POC under the same umbrella.

Anyway, I hope this helps clear things up; I realize it can be complex and especially on social media platforms where people like to type shorthand, it’s easy to just throw it in wherever. And frankly, some of us are guilty of this, too. But basically, just remember that while diversity of all kinds is important to all people of color, each race/ethnicity has unique issues to overcome and unique experiences they identify with. So the continued use of POC as an umbrella perpetuates the idea that one “POC rep” is enough for all of us and meant to be shared among us, which is a concept that really needs to end if we are to further push diversity in media.

Fight or Flight (Elorcan) pt 2

So this was originally supposed to be two parts- I might do a third, though. We’ll just have to see ;) 

Lorcan was, frankly, surprised he had been invited to Whitethorn’s bachelor party. He wasn’t even in the wedding party-he and Rowan hadn’t been THAT close in a long, long time, and he knew he had been invited out of common courtesy, since Aelin the bitch-queen hated his guts. He wasn’t too fond of her, either. Okay, he wasn’t fond of her at all. 


   Yet he-and Vaughan, Fenrys and Connall, who weren’t in the wedding party either- had been cordially invited to whatever the hell Rowan had planned. Lorcan, thankfully, hadn’t seen bridezilla or any of her tittering bridesmaids; undoubtedly because they were already doing whatever Aelin had planned for her bachelorette party. There were only two days until the wedding- it would be easy to avoid her for that long. Tomorrow, he’d rest up from the hangover he planned on procuring, and then only wish her congrats on her big day before he, hopefully, never saw her again. Or at least for a few years. 


    The men in Rowan’s wedding party were alright, he supposed- he knew Gavriel, of course, and the best man, his son Aedion. Chaol Westfall was a little pompous, but Lorcan would never see him again so that didn’t matter anyways, and Dorian Havilliard was sort of like a puppy dog, but calm enough that he wasn’t a problem. That didn’t mean Lorcan was having a good time, though. It was barely nine and he already wanted to get hammered enough to forget about the awkwardness in the atmosphere. 

    But at least the tension wasn’t between him and anyone else- at least, not yet. 
  

  "Any particular reason the witch didn’t get her ass up here, Dorian?“ Aedion drawled. 
   

 The raven haired man fixed him with a steely gaze, but Gavriel’s son didn’t back away, even at his father’s long suffering sigh, the sigh that used to be reserved for only Fenrys. "Manon," Dorian said pointedly. "Couldn’t make it. She sends an incredibly expensive wedding present, though, and we all know that will satisfy Aelin." 
  

  There were a few chuckles of agreement, but Lorcan was reeling at the name- a name Marion had spoken fondly of on the plane ride there. Shit- no. He was just thinking this up because he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the woman he’d met the day before. Hadn’t been able to stop regretting not getting her damn number. Manon must have just been a common name that he’d never heard before. 
  

  Fenrys groaned from where he and his twin lounged in the leather couch of the private section they’d secured for the time being. "Does that mean her perky little cousin isn’t coming either?” He whined. “Gods, what I would GIVE to have another encounter with Asterin-" 
    

"Don’t be a pig, Fenrys,” Connall rolled his eyes, grabbing the bottle of brandy Vaughan handed his way. 
  

  Asterin. Manon. Both names Marion had mentioned. Before he could open his mouth, Fenrys asked the question weighing on his mind for him. “Who exactly is in the wedding party if they aren’t?" 
    

Aedion took a swig straight from one of the bottles and counted off on his fingers, "Lysandra, Aelin’s best friend,” by the flicker in his eyes, she was something to him, too, but he didn’t elaborate, “Evangeline, Lysandra’s foster sister, Nesryn Faliq, another friend-” a sly glance in Westfall’s direction at that, “And our adoptive sister Elide." 
   

 Lorcan felt his heart sink just a little bit. No Marion. Perhaps it was just a small world and Marion knew two of Aelin’s friends, but not Aelin herself. He poured another glass for himself, again cursing himself for being a prideful idiot and not asking for her damn number. Now he was never going to see her again. 
-
  

  Aelin got strippers. Of course she did. Elide shook her head fondly as they clambered back into the limo, all of them laughing. She wasn’t shocked at all that her sister had gone all out as one of her last days as a ‘free woman.’ She had made several jokes about being 'put in shackles’ in two days, but Elide knew she didn’t mean it. She was hopelessly in love with Rowan, and everyone knew it. 
    

Faintly, Elide felt a little stab of jealousy, but she pushed it off. She wouldn’t think about the fact that she’d never, and might not ever, feel the love both her siblings felt. And she definitely didn’t think about the super hot stranger she’d met on the airplane. 
   

 Aelin’s phone buzzed and she drunkenly pulled it out, gulping down another glass of champagne. She and Lysandra were already wasted, along with Ansel, who had joined them, and Nesryn was getting there, but Elide had only nursed one beer and one glass of champagne, and didn’t plan on drinking any more. Vernon had been a drinker, and an abusive one at that. The blonde gasped, leaning on her and practically shoving the screen in her face, though she was waving it so fast there was no chance of actually reading it. 
   

 "Dorian texted,” she slurred. “They just-hiccup- got to the Sea King. Let’s crash it?” Everyone else cheered, so Elide just went with it. She was sure Rowan wouldn’t mind his fiance showing up drunk and throwing herself at him. 
    

They arrived at the Sea King-a bar downtown that they loved to frequent. Rowan wasn’t much of a club guy, though Aedion had forced him to go to one strip club-something Aelin wouldn’t appreciate in the morning- and Elide was sure he was more than comfortable to end the night at a place he actually knew. Aelin led the charge in her scandalous red dress and hot pink 'I’m the fucking bride’ crown that she found just hilarious, and Lysandra and Ansel paraded after her, Elide and Nesryn taking up the rear. 
   

 It had been a while since she’d been to the Sea King, but Elide knew it well- it was classy, for a sea themed bar. She knew Rowan and her siblings wouldn’t go to it probably at all if it wasn’t. And the sea embellishes were subtle, too- no obnoxious sea wall paper or tables made out of boat parts, thank the Gods. The bridal party moved towards the back, searching for the men, and Aelin didn’t seem apologetic at all as she looked into sections occupied by other people. 


    Elide knew her sister had found Rowan because she very loudly announced, “I’M HERE TO TAKE MY FIANCE HOME." 


    "You’re really already hammered?” Aedion complained. “It’s barely past midnight!" 


     "And how the hell did you track us down?” A slightly familiar voice-Vaughan she recalled- asked. Someone must have pointed at Dorian, because there were groans of his name. 


     “What?” The Havilliard defended. “It was getting boring." 


     "Are any of you sober?” The voice of Chaol asked, and Nesryn appeared in front of her in the doorway. 


    "Elide is,“ she said, gesturing backwards with her head. "She’s barely had anything to drink." 


    Aedion, Aelin and Rowan knew why she didn’t get drunk, but no one else did, and because she didn’t want to bring the mood down, she teased, "One of us has to keep track of the rest of-” she trailed off as she entered the section and there was Lorcan, lounging on a leather couch with a glass of some liquor in his hand. 


    Shit, shit, shit. 


    He started at the sight of her before his eyes narrowed, putting two and two together. Nesryn had called her Elide, not Marion. Her cheeks went red at being caught in her lie, and everyone noticed. But they thought she was flustered for a whole other reason. Aelin was too drunk to go all 'protective big sister,’ but Rowan and Aedion immediately zeroed their attention in on Lorcan. Fuck. Fuck. FUCK. 


    “I need another damn bottle,” he grumbled before he was hoisting himself up gracefully and stalking past her, down the hall to the bar. She waited two seconds, paralyzed, before she hurried after him. Better to deal with him then all of her friends and family. 


    It took her a little longer to get to the bar with her limp, and he was already at the bar, waiting for his bottle, a 50 on the counter in front of him. She slid into the bar stool next to him, and he glanced over, a cutting smile on her face. “Fancy seeing you again, Elide.


    She sighed, putting her head in her hands. "To be fair, I never thought I’d see you again." 


    He shook his head. "You talk with me for two and a half damn hours about books and music and whether cats or dogs are better, yet you can’t tell me your real name? How can I even be sure the rest of the shit you spewed out was real?" 


    "It was,” she said roughly before her shoulders sagged slightly and she shook her head. “I’m sorry. I just.. don’t trust men easily. And I thought we were only going to dispense with pleasantries, not talk the whole time. I DEFINITELY didn’t expect to end up at the same wedding." 


    He studied her for a moment. "You mentioned an abusive uncle…” he paused. “This really isn’t any of my business, but… did he…" 


    She knew what he meant. "No,” she shook her head. “He never tried that. But there were, uh, a couple of guys who worked for him that almost did.” Bile rose in her throat, and she swallowed it down, shrugging a shoulder. “But they didn’t, so it’s fine." 


    "It’s not fine,” he said stonily, and how hadn’t she noticed how tense he had gotten at the words? 


    “You’re right, it’s not,” she agreed. “But it was years ago.” She glanced back towards the hall, half convinced Rowan or Aedion would appear within a few seconds. “You do realize they think we had sex, right?" 


    The grin he flashed her way was predatory. "I like it when you blush." 


    She glared at him half heartedly. "And here I was, about to ask if I could make up being an idiot to you." 


   "I’m listening." 


    She bit her lip. "There’s a 24 hour breakfast place down the street.. I mean, if you like breakfast food. And don’t want to return back to-” there was a shout followed by what could only be Lysandra’s cackling, “whatever that is." 


    He was already pulling back the 50 and withdrawing from the bar. "Breakfast food at midnight with a beautiful woman or watching your sister grind on my former colleague?” He asked, totally smirking when her face flamed red again at 'beautiful woman.’ Bastard. “I don’t know how I’ll ever choose." 


    She withdrew from the bar, too, knowing his answer. "I didn’t peg you as the joking type." 


    "To be fair, I’ve been drinking. And with Fenrys and Aedion all night." 


    "Okay, touche,” she allowed, glancing again towards the hall. 


    “They’re just going to think we’re having sex again." 


    Not that it was any of their business who she slept with, anyways. "I don’t care,” she tipped her head up defiantly. “I want Belgium waffles.” His chuckle chased her out into the night air, and, despite the chill, she felt warm.

anonymous asked:

How would the Sakamaki brothers and the Mukami brothers react if their s/o sent them nudes

Shuu : “Heh…lewd woman, to think you’d finally show your true colors by text message…”

Reiji : “Hgn- She’ll get tied up in the dungeon when I get home!”

Ayato : “C…chichinashi…where the fuck does those boobs come from?!”

Kanato : “It looks so soft…”

Laito : “Ahh…Bitch-chan…how should I suppress my urges till you come back?”

Subaru : “Wh…what the fuck?!” 

Ruki : “Such a perverted Livestock…it’s as if she wants to be punished…”

Kou : “Wah…M Neko-chan…I should give you something in return then~”

Yuuma : “Heh…nice Sow…I’ll fuck you up right away…”

Azusa : “Such…a pretty body…I want it…all to myself….”

Imagine pranking the team with Loki

a little Loki x Reader

Word Count: 582

AN: So just looking for a short break from the angst bc I’m hurting inside. Hope you like it loves


“Loki, hush!” You giggled from behind a wall while Loki continued whispering about how this was your idea.

Which it was.

But it was just too good for Loki to turn down. The God of Mischief not mischievous enough to think of this prank himself? So it was easy to persuade him. He practically bounced at the idea of pranking the avengers, and with you right there with him, they wouldn’t throw him back in a cell. You were all currently staying at the tower, considering several threats that might need the team to move immediately, so it was easy to prank all of them at once.

“Wait for it. Tony’s alarm rings at 7.” You told Loki, who wouldn’t stop talking about how they were taking so long, “Here it comes.”

Silence

Loki spoke up, again asking about the team’s sleeping habits, “It’s 7:05. What happe-”

“Loki! Y/N!” You heard a voice that sounded like Steve yell… from Tony’s room. “You’re both dead!”

A very irritated but sleepy looking Steve comes storming out of Tony’s room before you hear another voice yell, “Guys, something’s happening!” It was Natasha’s voice, coming from Clint’s room, “I’m a woman! Guys, I’m… Nat?”

You giggled harder and watched as ‘Steve’ stormed off to yours and Loki’s room before 'Natasha’ came out of his room.

“What’s going on?” Bruce’s body came out of Natasha’s room looking concerned before she looked at everyone and sighed, asking, “Where are they?”

“Guys! There’s a hole in my chest.” Wanda came out running in Tony’s body. “I’m concerned. Stark, how does this work? What if I get a heart attack?”

“Does that mean I die? Loki! Y/N!”

You and Loki started laughing and hushed each other behind a couch when Bruce’s body came over to pull you both up. You both smiled sheepishly before you burst out laughing looking at everyone, Loki following.

Clint’s body came out running of Bruce’s and looked frantic. “Guys, I’m not in my body how is this happening!” He looked over to Nat in his body and started shaking her shoulders. “Clint, give me back my body.”

Nat gently pushed him off and tried to explain, “Bruce, it’s happening to all of us. Loki and Y/N here were pulling a prank.” Clint’s body seemed to relax knowing it was just magic and not some disaster from the lab before Wanda’s body came out of Steve’s room.

“Guys, I’m -”

“Loki and Y/N prank. But, I mean, come on. You got boobs, I got you.” Tony, in Steve’s body interrupted. “Y/N, seriously. You give me his body.”

“What’s wrong with my body?” Steve spoke up in Wanda’s body.

“It’s not my body. You might be buff, cap, but rippling pectorals won’t give you my good looks.” Tony replied and Steve huffed before Tony turned back to you and Loki, “Now, get us back to normal before I throw you back in a cell.” He said before turning around to leave.

Loki groaned and looked to the ceiling and you giggled at him. “You too, Y/N!” Your mouth fell open and Loki smirked down at you before wrapping his arm around your waist and kissing your cheek.

“As long as your there with me,” He whispered and you shoved his face away causing both of you to giggle.

“Come on, Loki. There are camera’s in the cells. That wouldn’t be too appropriate,” You replied with a wink and Loki chuckled before following you to the living room.

Possible references to ‘The Ones Who Walk away From the Omelas’ in the BTS ‘Spring Day’ teaser

Since I know a big part of you have never read ‘The Ones Who Walk away From the Omelas’ (by Ursula K. Le Guin), I wrote a small summary of things I noticed were quite directly referencing the book. All quotations are from TOWWAFTO (that’s a mouthful).

With a clamor of bells that set the swallows soaring, the Festival of Summer came to the city Omelas, bright-towered by the sea. The ringing of the boats in harbor sparkled with flags. […] I incline to think that people from towns up and down the coast have been coming to to Omelas during the last days before the Festival on very fast little trains and double-decked trams, and that the trains station of Omelas is actually the handsomest building in town, though plainer than the magnificent Farmers’ Market.”

Setting: a beautiful town by the sea. A summer festival that people come to attend from other towns. 

Keep reading

I want a fanfic where Sonic from the games meets the version of himself from the Archie era where he was written like a douchebag.

“Late!Penders!Sonic does something really mean to Tails*

Game!Sonic: That’s it, I’m kicking my own butt.

———————————————

Elsewhere:

*Vanilla lecturing Rosemary about how much of a shitty mother she is and coming as close as this sweet woman possibly can to physical violence after comic!tails vented to her about all the abusive things she’s done* 

A thought on the recent discourse

Recently we as a community have had discussions about whether or not women, LGBT+, and minorities are unwelcomed or treated as inferior at game stores and tournaments.

I think it’s safe to say that they are; to deny it is narrow-minded, yet many people have denied it. Their denial comes from willing ignorance and funnel vision, an idea that if they don’t see discrimination, it must not be happening.

What I think they fail to see is that discrimination is often invisible or hard to diagnose. It can be seen in a guy commenting on a woman’s appearance, and though others may see his comments as innocent, she may feel uncomfortable or even unsafe. It can be seen in the subtle ways that game store owners interact with minorities, and perhaps always siding with white men in game disputes. It can be seen in friends calling each other “f*gs” as joking insults, unaware of the hurt their words do to the people around them. It can be seen in the way men react to being paired with a woman in matches at FNM–exhasperation at being paired with a girl, or laughter while assuring friends that he’s guaranteed a win. Or perhaps petty behavior as the result of a loss. And there are so many other ways that I have never seen because I am only one person with limited experiences.

What matters in these interactions is never the intent of the speaker but the feelings and experiences of the person on the receiving end of it.

And that may be where some of this disagreement stems. Some argue that men have to deal with jerk players as much as women, but those people fail to acknowledge how it feels to be a woman surrounded by men who treat her poorly when she does something wrong–or worse, when she does something right.

I don’t know that I’ll ever convince someone to change their perspective and truly acknowledge the struggles that other people experience that can be so hard to define or explain. I hope that good comes from the discourse.

What I want to end tonight with is the reminder that kind and loving voices always outnumber unkind individuals. The discourse I saw today was fueled by a handful of narrow-minded individuals and dozens of people unwilling to let those individuals get away with their short-sighted rants.

Please remember that when you go to your LGS. You may be in the presence of people that seek to keep you out of the community, but there are far more people that want to open the community to everyone, and it’s the voices of the majority that are resonating with Wizards.

Our community needs work, there’s no denying that. But stay positive and always be vigilant. Look around for kind people; you will certainly find them. Remind them of what it means to you that they are there, and help them be even better at being inclusive. Speak out against the unwelcoming and stand firm in your convictions.

It’s changing, and will continue to do so.

The snowball part 10

Okay so here is part 10 but because I am lazy, instead of me providing the links to the previous chapters individually, here is a link with all the chapters on the one page, just scroll down to the chapter you want :) xx


Rhys and Feyre sprang apart. Rhys shrugged his shirt back on while Feyre stared at the ground, red faced. By the time Feyre had the nerve to look up, Amren had already left the room.

“I should probably text Tamlin.” Feyre said, hurriedly leaving.

Rhys bawled up his fists, cursing how stupid he had been as he watched the back of Feyre disappear down the hallway. He left Mor’s, knowing Amren would look after Feyre and decided to give Feyre some space to sort out her feelings with Tamlin.

Back in Feyre’s room, Feyre had just finished sending Tamlin a message when Amren came in, sprawling onto Feyre’s bed face down.

“Tough day at work?” Feyre asked politely.

“Was alright. I’m more depressed over watching two people, who can’t admit their feelings for each other, make goo goo eyes all day behind the other’s back.”

Feyre nodded like she understood. “Mor and Az.”

Amren raised a surprised head. “Those two?” She asked incredulously.

“Of course. It’s obvious they’re pining after each other, who else could it be?”

“Talk about in denial. Azriel and Mor are definitely who I was referring to in this situation.” She smirked at Feyre. “Seeing as you seem to understand so much about this mutual pining after someone, what advice would you give Mor?”

Feyre’s face grew dark. “I’m not sure I’m the person to be giving advice on love at the moment.”

“Oh put aside that tool for one moment Feyre. If you were in a similar situation, how would you save yourself some time and move forward?”

“I guess if I was sure that they felt the same, I would be honest and tell them how I felt.”

“Exactly.” Amren said with a smile. She quickly changed the subject. “So have you texted The Tool yet?”

“Just then. I had to make sure he didn’t come looking for me again.”

“So, Rhys told you?”

“After he tried to hide it, but yes.” Feyre paused. “I never thought he would hurt anyone else.”

Amren reached out to touch Feyre’s arm. “He can’t hurt you again either, if you don’t let him.”

“Amren I have to go back.”

“No you absolutely do not.” She said matter of factly.

Feyre got up off the bed and began pacing. “He’ll only get worse the longer I’m away. He still loves me Amren, plus he’s helping my family. They’d be starving without his help.”

“Feyre, just because someone loves you, doesn’t give them the right to control you, to do whatever they damned well please with you. That’s not love. Besides you work now. You can support not only yourself, but your family too.”

Feyre didn’t respond, just increased her pacing.

“You have a lot of people around here who care about and love you Feyre. Don’t give that up for someone who wants to keep you locked away.”

Amren got up silently and left the room.


The next day Feyre woke up late again and made her way down to the living room. She found Rhys once again waiting for her.

“My god, don’t you have a home?” She said with a yawn.

“I’d have more of a home if your beloved hadn’t tried to burn it down.” Rhys muttered.

“He did what?”

“Oh, nothing a little bit of water and new paint won’t fix.”

“Rhys.” Feyre said sternly.

“It’s in the past Feyre, I’d much rather focus on today and the beautiful woman I am presented with.” Rhys said back to his cocky self. “Get dressed, we’re going out.”

“Where?”

“Does it matter? We’re getting you out of the house and getting some good food into you.” He grinned.

“I don’t know. What if we run into Tamlin?”

“I highly doubt Tamlin would stoop to coming to my part of town.” Rhys said with a curl to his lip.

Feyre took in Rhys’s fine clothing and the way elegance and richness seemed to drip off of him. She raised an eyebrow in disbelief as to how anyone could think that Rhys came from anywhere but a nice neighbourhood.

“You don’t look like someone who exactly lives in the slums.”

“Oh I don’t. I just live in a highly cultural place, which to some may seem less than ideal if you’re the snobby and elitist type.”

“And here I was, pegging you for being both snobby and elitist.”

Rhys let out a surprised laugh. Before making a motion that suggested to Feyre that she should start getting ready.


When Feyre found a warm enough outfit borrowed from Mor that would do, she met Rhys outside. She had left her face free of makeup because she simply couldn’t find within herself the energy to apply it, and under no circumstances did she want Rhys to think this outing was some sort of date.

When she made it outside, she realised that she had never seen Rhys’s car before. Perhaps because he did not have one, as Feyre took in the sleek black motorbike now parked in the driveway of the house.

“Absolutely not. Nope. No way. Come back with a proper car.” Feyre began to back up towards the house.

Rhys flashed her a grin so wide he reminded of her of Cassian when he was about to play an especially bad prank. “Oh Feyre Darling don’t be like that. Haven’t you ever wondered what it was like to fly?”


Rhys seemed visibly excited and happy to find that persuading Feyre to get on the motorbike hadn’t been as hard as he thought it would. She had climbed on the back behind him gingerly, before placing cautious hands around his middle to hold on. When Rhys took off, she let out a startled yelp and wrapped her arms fully around him for grip.

“Prick!” She yelled in his ear which he heard, even through his helmet and the sound of the rushing wind which drowned out his roaring laughter.

He drove them downtown to a place Feyre had never been before. It seemed separate from the rest of town. Like its own separate community. A sign informed her that they had passed into a neighbourhood called ‘Velaris’.

They stopped at a cluster of stores which led into more of a main street further down. Feyre tried patting down her helmet hair self consciously as people turned to stare at them.

To her surprise, Rhys barely ran a hand through his slightly mussy hair before striding over to a nearby man, who he shook hands with and greeted warmly. Soon, everyone around them began greeting Rhys.

It wasn’t long before Rhys caught the curious, but not rude, glances being thrown at Feyre. He waved her over and began making introductions. Feyre expected the people he was talking to, to be businessmen, people he worked with, but they turned out to be every day people from all sorts of professions. She met a baker, a plumber, a single mother, and a chef, before Feyre couldn’t keep track anymore so just resorted to smiling and nodding. Despite herself, Feyre found she enjoyed talking to these friendly strangers.

Rhys took her down the street through stores, exploring the area. They even had an artist’s studio where people could go to learn to paint. Rhys politely asked if she would like to go in but Feyre, maybe a little too quickly, refused. Shrugging, he had walked them on to a more residential area. The people around there, Feyre noticed, had darker hair and more tanned, olive skin. So similar to Rhys it was almost like a family resemblance.

“This is the Illyrian community. Where I grew up.” Rhys said almost shyly, and Feyre understood what Rhys was offering up to her.

They carried on in silence until they came across a group of older men angrily discussing something.

“Wait here.” Rhys told her quietly, before slipping on a mask of calmness and heading over to the men.

Feyre tried to wait patiently. She really did. But something about Rhys made her more reckless, not wanting to obey orders given to her this time. She heard the excited yelling of children nearby and went to investigate.

Six children played a game of hockey in the middle of an empty street. Feyre watched them quietly until one of the boys scored a goal and cheered so obnoxiously she laughed aloud. Six heads swivelled to appraise her in the unabashedly way children stare at strangers. The one who had just scored held out a spare stick to her.

“Would you like to play?” He asked.

“I don’t know how to.”

“That’s okay. Jesper doesn’t really know how to play either, but we let him anyway.” A different boy responded, as another, presumably Jesper, hit the other’s shin with his stick.

Feyre laughed. “Okay but I’m warning you now, I’m more of a liability than an asset.”

Feyre mostly played defence, allowing the children who could only be around ten years old, to score without making it look like she was going too easy on them.

Feyre was grinning ear to ear, enjoying playing a simple game so much she nearly didn’t notice the group of raven haired girls huddled nearby, watching the game with interest. She stopped to walk over to them.

“Do you play?” She asked them, holding out her stick.

One of the girls reached out for the stick shyly, fingers just about to grasp it, before it was ripped out of both her, and Feyre’s hand. One of the boys had snatched it away sulkily.

“Little girls don’t aren’t allowed to play hockey.” He said crossly.

“And what are they supposed to do instead?” Feyre asked.

“Girly chores. Boring stuff.”

“You let me play.” Feyre said crossing her arms over the injustice.

“That’s different!” The boy insisted.

Feyre leaned down to loudly whisper to the girls conspiratorially, “It’s only because they know you’ll beat them.”

“They won’t beat us!” Another boy chimed in.

“Prove it then. You have enough sticks.” Feyre said challengingly.

Not wanting to admit defeat, the boys rushed to arm the girls with sticks and set up the game for more people. Feyre watched happily as the girls were allowed to join in and cheered loudly when they scored a goal.

The loud clearing of a voice sounded from behind Feyre had her whipping around so fast she nearly fell over. Rhys was standing a few paces away with a mischievous glint to his eye and a knowing smile. Sheepishly, Feyre made her way over to him.

“I’ve been trying to get the girls more involved in sport for weeks, and you stroll in here like it’s nothing.” He laughed.

“Yeah, well I’m assuming you haven’t had to deal with as many bull headed boys as I have, or it never occurred to you to use how sensitive your male egos are.”

“Sensitive are we?”

“Yep. Sensitive Illyrian babies. The lot of you.”

“You’ve been spending too much time around my cousin for my liking.” He winked at her.


By the time they met up with the others in a nearby restaurant for dinner, Feyre was buzzing with an unexpected lightness. She laughed and ate so much at dinner she felt sick, surprising Mor and Amren who had not seen her eat since arriving at their home.

“Don’t worry Feyre, Mor’s cooking does taste better than it smells.” Amren joked.

But then the dinner turned more serious as Azriel asked about why the neighbourhood seemed more tense than usual. That was when Feyre realised she had never asked Rhys about what the group of men had been arguing over.

All laughter drained from Rhys’s face as he spoke. “Notices were dropped in everyone’s letter boxes. The building of the factory is going ahead, they managed to find enough investors.”

“Factory?” Feyre asked, aware that this was maybe well above her head and none of her business, so was pleasantly surprised when Rhys answered her honestly.

“A big company bought land nearby to start building a monstrosity of a factory.”

“I don’t understand, won’t it provide jobs?” Feyre asked confused.

“Once it’s built, it will pollute all the land and water around it. The company denies it of course but our own sources tell us it could be catastrophic.” Azriel added.

“Not to mention, houses immediately in the vicinity will need to be demolished to make room.” Said Cassian.

“Anyone left will become sick due to pollutants.” Mor said sadly.

Feyre was shocked. The whole community was about to be ruined. She thought of the children playing in the street, suddenly overcome with disease. “How could this happen?”

“We had hoped to scare off all investors trying to give the company the resources it needed to build. Clearly it didn’t work.” Said Rhys.

Feyre was beginning to develop a horrible feeling in her stomach. Suspicion gnawed at her insides. “What if they didn’t need a lot of different benefactors, just one single, but wealthy, investor?" 

Rhys rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. "I suppose that could work. There are few folk around here that could afford that though.”

Steeling herself for the answer, Feyre asked, “What’s the company?” An old memory resurfaced of Feyre sitting with Lucien after Tamlin had stalked off, stressed over work, where Feyre had asked this very same question.

Feyre felt her stomach drop as Rhys growled a single word, “Hybern”.

Gemma Doesn’t Like You: Part 2

Part 1

Masterlist linked in bio


A month after Y/n’s encounter with Gemma, she hasn’t been seen again. She had cut ties with Harry and his family, meaning she started taking out loans and working every day just to pay off her schooling. Harry had absolutely no access to her. He never expected his last moments with Y/n to be in a three-hour car ride where silence consumed them whole as Y/n wouldn’t even look at him. The memory still haunts him, in his sleep and even when he’s awake, laying on their bed with a glass full of bourbon at 4 in the morning.

He’s changed since then, every bit of him broken and unfixable. He questions his reason for living. With finishing his career and his friends busy managing businesses and living their lives, the only thing keeping Harry going was now gone, had disappeared from his life and showed no sign of return. He saw a future with Y/n, a new beginning to an end with her, and now that it’s over, he feels his reason to live and his future has turned non-existent.

Gemma hasn’t heard from Harry ever since that night, either. She had tried numerous times to explain herself but he simply ignored her, blaming her for ruining his life. She didn’t know exactly what to think, she believed what she did was to protect him, but she started to doubt herself whenever Anne told her he’s been locked up in his house with excessive amounts of alcohol and drinking his pain away. She had hoped a part of him would have learned that she was right and moved onto a different woman, but she knew that was highly unlikely. She was just frustrated, not only with Harry, but with herself as well.

“You and Harry need to talk about things.” Anne demands through the phone.

Gemma rolls her eyes, letting out a slight groan.

“Mum, if he wants to put all the blame on me, he can have fun doing that. However, there isn’t a thing I’ve done wrong and I’m not just going to sit here and-“

“I have never seen your brother more miserable in my life.” Anne whispers, a slight quiver in her voice as she speaks. “He’s not doing well, mentally, at least.”

Anne lets out an almost inaudible sigh, “Gemma, I don’t care what your intentions were, but the outcome of what you did is killing him.”

Gemma takes in a shaky breath, leaning her elbow on the kitchen counter, placing the palm of her hand on her forehead.

"I’m not calling you a bad guy, but please, my Gem, fix this.”

“But mum, I-“

“They drove three hours to see you just for you to deliberately embarrass her in front of her boyfriend.”

Anne’s tone suddenly became rough, not tolerating the fight Gemma has been constantly putting up whenever they discussed the situation.

"I understand you were trying to protect your brother but that is not how you go about it. Now, I will not tell you again, you speak to Harry about this before you lose your brother forever.”

The line goes dead against Gemma’s ear. She sighs, locking her phone before pressing her forehead against the kitchen counter. She knows she has to talk to Harry about this, but a part of her still feels like she can’t allow Harry to stay with Y/n. It’s as if her big sister instincts kicked in. She doesn’t want to see him hurt because of Y/n, but she questions whether she’s the one doing it instead.

“Fine, fine!” Gemma groans to herself, picking up her car keys from the counter, “Guess I’ll have to fix this.”


Harry decides that it’s a good night to go out. A new bar has opened up a couple blocks from his home, and he feels it’s time for him to at least grief outside of his bedroom. Of course he was drunk prior to his arrival, and he went alone, but that didn’t change the fact that this is the most improvement he’s shown since Y/n left.

“Jus’ some vodka, please.” He slurs, struggling to get onto the bar stool properly.

The bartender pours him his drink, which Harry takes a big swig of. He has never been one to rely on alcohol for his problems. He’s always just learned to get over them and to never look back on the situation. But this? This is different. Alcohol is his only way of becoming numb, an attempt to escape his horrifying reality.

If there’s one thing he’s learned, it’s that alcohol actually makes it worse. It numbs him, but the second Y/n enters his mind, there’s no way of getting her out. At least when sober, he can cook, listen to music, read, or write to distract himself from the thoughts of her. But once alcohol is in his system, Y/n is barricaded inside, trapped in his conscious. And in some sick, twisted way, Harry loves it.

Harry lifts his drink up to his lips, looking around the bar for, hopefully, a friend he hasn’t spoken to in a while. He almost gives up on his attempts of finding company when, suddenly, he sees a mysterious woman across the bar. Maybe it’s the intoxication playing tricks on his brain, but she just looks so much like her. He can’t stop staring at her, so much of her reminds him of Y/n. The way her hair flows naturally to her breasts, and how she moves her body almost perfectly like Y/n does. He could swear she’s even holding the same drink Y/n would be, and her lips are colored with a color that reminds him so much of Y/n’s favorite lipstick shade. There is no way it is her, this isn’t her scene, but it’s almost like this woman was inspired by Y/n’s natural, charming looks.

After seeing her, everything became a blur. He remembers approaching her, but doesn’t remember any conversation they might have had. All he can remember afterward was letting her kiss him and asking if her if she wanted to leave with him. And now, he’s making out with her on his bed. His hands roaming her body, tongue battling dominance against hers. He aggressively holds her hips down, squeezing the tips of his fingers into her hips. She moans into his kiss, biting his bottom lip as her hands slide underneath his shirt. She lifts his shirt off his body, Harry panting heavy breaths before going back down to kiss her more. His lips travel to her neck, nibbling on her skin, sucking on her jawline.

His hands travel to her legs, hitching them up so they can hook around his waist. He pins her hands above her head, where she lets out a tiny giggle as he does so. His lips travel down to her chest, chin pulling down the neck of her shirt the lower he goes. His hips move against hers, the friction hot against his skin. He bites down on her shoulder, his hands gripping onto her shirt, ready to discard it from her body.

“Harry” she whispers, nails gently scraping down his back.

The voice that whispered his name makes him come in touch with reality. This isn’t right, this isn’t Y/n. How could he be touching another woman like this? She doesn’t even feel right. Her skin isn’t as soft as Y/n’s. Her hair isn’t as light at Y/n’s, either, and the way she moves against him isn’t as effortless and magnetic as Y/n’s. Her voice doesn’t make his heart race and her touch doesn’t set his skin on fire like Y/n’s always has.

Harry quickly places his hand onto her chest and pushes himself off of her.

No!” he growls.

The woman bounces on the bed, her face twisting with confusion when he begins to aggressively put his shirt back on. He’s already crying, his hands rubbing over his face as he keeps whispering “That’s not her. She’s not her.”

“What the fuck?” she squeals, propping herself up with her elbows and she stares at his back–his way of choosing to not face the situation.

“You need to get out.” Harry cries, his body like a ticking time bomb, ready to explode the second she leaves the room.

He grabs a glass from his nightstand, pouring bourbon from a bottle left there for nights he wasn’t able to sleep, an accessible reliant to help him become numb.

How could he do this? He never imagined himself being that intimate with another woman. Y/n was the only one he’s ever been comfortable with, exposing parts of him nobody else even knew existed. He may be famous, but he was never able to find women he felt stable with. To him, they were temporary, just to keep some sort of consistency in his hectic lifestyle. But he never felt love, never felt a connection with them, not until he met Y/n. She opened him up, discovered parts of him nobody else took time to discover. He never felt so alive the way he did with her, like his job and the entire world he knew meant absolutely nothing without her.

“What?” the woman asked again, sitting up at the foot of his bed.

“Please just get out!” Harry roars, his rage taking over as he throws his bourbon-filled glass across the room.

The woman flinches as pieces of broken glass fall onto the floor, quickly gathering her belongings before making her way out the bedroom door. As she was hurrying down the stairs, trying to fix herself, her body rams into another.

“What in the-?”

“S-so sorry” she stutters, “so sorry.”

Gemma turns her head around to watch the mysterious woman walk out the door. Her eyebrows furrow in confusion, utterly lost as to what just happened.

“Harry?” She calls.

The only response she gets back is sounds of objects being thrown and Harry’s drunken slurs. Her eyes widen, quickly rushing up the last bit of stairs to reach where Harry is. When she reaches his bedroom, Harry is throwing the sheets off the mattress. The pillows had already been thrown across the room, the duvets pooled by his feet. He’s muttering to himself, quietly, strings of slurred curses harshly leaving his lips as he drowns in inhumane sobs. Gemma’s mouth hangs open as he aggressively flips the mattress off the springs of the bed, screaming as he does so. This is no Harry she’s ever seen. He’s almost animalistic, but in a more depressed sense, like his violence is derived from desperation and guilt.

“Harry!” Gemma yells, quickly approaching the mattress that has ended up on the floor.

“What the fuck are you doing?!”

Harry watches as she places the mattress back in it’s place, almost throwing up everything inside of him as he looks at it. It was a simple object, meant for comfort and rest. But it was so much more to him. Almost all his favorite memories with Y/n happened on that mattress. Hours of countless jokes, tickle fights, making love, and even stupid fucking fights that they later joked about happened on that mattress, between those sheets, upon those pillows. But now? He’s ruined it. He touched another woman on there, made another woman feel good on the mattress that was meant for him and Y/n.

“I was on there with some other woman” Harry breathes out, gulping once he finishes his sentence. “I don’t even know her name, Gem. I don’t know what I just did.”

She looks up at him. His face is crimson and covered in tears, his hair a complete mess, eyes red and wet, almost trying to hold back all the tears built in them. He’s shaking, almost like he’s lost control of his body.

“Harry, it’s okay. You guys- you guys aren’t together anymore. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Gemma says softly, picking at the sheets that lay on the floor.

She can’t lie, she suddenly feels like a villain when she sees him like this. He almost looks dead as he stares at the bed emotionless. Harry is the last person she’d expect to lose their temper. He was always the strong one in the family. When their parents first got divorced, Gemma had felt so broken. Anne wasn’t much better. They both broke down several times a night, holding onto each other for dear life, as if trying to keep their family together. Harry was the one who helped them through it. Although he felt as if his entire world was flipped upside down, he remained strong, for not only his family, but for himself. This had happened countless times throughout their lives. Whatever came at him, Harry was always able to take it strongly, never showing anybody, including himself, the pain that was inflicted on him.

“How could you say that?” Harry whispers, still refusing to look at Gemma. “I was on our bed with another woman. I did everything wrong.”

Not knowing how to respond, Gemma ignores his comment, blinking her tears away, quickly tearing her gaze from her broken brother to look at the shattered glass on the floor.

“Do you have any plastic bags for that?” She asks quietly, getting up from her spot to look by his nightstand.

“Closet.”

Gemma opens up his closet, looking sadly at the half-filled rack of Harry’s clothes. They are pushed perfectly to one side, as if he felt like he couldn’t occupy Y/n’s. It doesn’t just look empty, but it feels empty, even to Gemma. It doesn’t even look right.

She shakes her head, rummaging through a bin on the floor. As she grabs a plastic bag from the bottom, a small, black velvet box falls onto the floor right by her feet. Gemma’s heart drops the second she sees it, almost afraid of what it actually is.

She hesitantly picks it up, opening it slowly. A sob rips through her, a diamond engagement ring set perfectly in its place. It shines against the dimmed lights in Harry’s bedroom, making Gemma’s heart break.

“What is this, Harry?” Gemma asks.

Harry doesn’t answer, unmoving in the same position, looking at his bed, silent cries and words of guilt leaving his mouth as Gemma speaks.

“Harry, what is this?” she asks, harsher this time, demanding for the answer she needs to hear from him.

He turns his head over, looking sadly at the box, his lips pressed harshly together. He closes his eyes, excess tears running down his cheeks, almost wishing he wasn’t reminded of it. He looks down, his hand traveling to the back of his neck.

“I was going to marry her” Harry whispers, “Wanted to marry her.”

Gemma inhales sharply, her face twisting with guilt as she looks at her brother like he’s a lost puppy. She feels her heart break for him. Not only did he not get the chance to marry Y/n, but it was her own fault that he couldn’t marry her. It was Y/n’s choice to break off things with Harry, and honestly, Gemma couldn’t be happier when she found out they weren’t together anymore. She wanted Harry to move on and find a woman who respected and loved him for who he was, not for his money. But as she looks at him now, alone and emotionally damaged, how could she be happy? He wanted marriage, a life and a family with Y/n, and she completely broke that. She had completely taken away his happiness and future.

“H-Harry, I-“

Her apology is interrupted by the doorbell, making her sigh before putting the ring back in the bin.

“I’ll get it. Just try to clean up, please.”

Harry gives her a small nod before Gemma makes her way down the steps, wiping her sweating hands on her jeans before making her way to the door. When she opens it, her breath is taken right out of her lungs. Y/n is standing there, fiddling with her fingers nervously.

She didn’t expect Gemma to answer, but it was exactly what she wanted. Since everything happened, Y/n felt guilty for not talking things out with Harry. Oh, how she missed him. How every part of her craved him everyday. How her skin craved his touch, how her ears craved his voice and lips craved his. No part of her was able to let him go. She attempted to many times to rid the pain that has inevitably taken over her, but nothing could help her. She was helpless, the pain had consumed her whole and made her into an emotionless woman, unable to feel anything besides pain.

She regretted everything. He was willing to throw everything away for them. He fought for their relationship so strongly, and she just left, not putting up a fight back. Y/n planned on talking to Gemma, however, she didn’t think it would happen so soon. She intended on working things out with Harry before making peace with her, but it seems as though she has to start where she wanted to end.

“Y/n.” Gemma breathes out, almost relieved.

Y/n’s shocked when she hears Gemma say her name. She normally says it with such disgust, like it was poison to her. But something about the way she said it now, and the way she looks at her as she does so, that genuinely makes her believe everything will be okay.

“G-Gemma, I just want to um, want to say that-“

“I know” Gemma interrupts, “I know what you’re gonna say, but you don’t have to say it. I treated you like utter scum, Y/n, and you never deserved that. I know you’re not having Harry pay for your schooling anymore, and that just makes me feel so bad. You work hard, Y/n, you really do. You work harder than anybody I’ve known, and I just jumped to conclusions.”

“Gemma, I-”

“Let me finish” Gemma states, “I was protective of my brother because all his past girlfriends were only with him for his money. I never did anything about it, you know? I just watched it all happen, and when I heard that he was dating someone low income, I just-I just felt like I had to do something. Which sounds so stupid because you love him so much. You cared so much about him and his family that you broke your own heart just so that he didn’t have to choose between you and his family. You have done so much for my brother, and I never saw that, and I’m so sorry, Y/n. I’m so, so sorry.”

Y/n nods, a small smile on her face as she lets out a breath of relief.

“It’s okay” she smiles, “Honestly, I understand.”

Gemma smiles, looking down at the ground before opening the door wider.

“Harry’s um, Harry’s upstairs. You can go in. I’ll leave you two alone.”

Y/n smiles, muttering a small “thank you,” while hugging Gemma for the first time before making her way up the steps.

“Harry?” she calls when she reaches the bedroom door.

She sees him standing in the same place, stiff, tears continuously rolling down his cheeks. He isn’t how she remembered. There is no glow to him, no life left inside of him. There is no bit of the Harry she knew inside this man, instead, all she sees is a broken man, with his soul completely taken out of him.

His eyes look up at her, and he swears his knees almost give out on him the second he sees her in their bedroom.

“Y-Y/n?” He whispers.

“Hey” she says softly, slowly walking towards him, making sure to not step on any of the mess on the floor. “I wanted to talk.”

She moves to sit onto the bed, but Harry is quick to grab onto her arm before she can,

“Don’t-don’t sit there,” he pleas softly, shaking his head, “I just-I just had a woman on there, but we didn’t do anything besides kiss and I know that doesn’t make a difference, and I am so, so sorry, Y/n, but I was drunk and I was trying to help me recover from all of this but it wasn’t working, and I am so sorry but can’t see you sit there right now.”

Y/n lets a few tears fall at his confession, but she can’t blame him for it. It hurts her, it hurts her tremendously to know he was with another girl before she came here. But what else did she expect? When she was gone, she wanted him to move on and find somebody else. She was the one who broke things off, she wanted him to find someone worthy for his family’s acceptance. She just couldn’t blame him, no matter how much it hurt.

“It’s okay, Harry” she whispers, placing her hand softly against his cheek, “I understand, it’s okay.”

He lets out a shaky breath, nodding his head softly, one of his hands reaching up to hold hers.

“I’m sorry I didn’t fight for us,” Y/n cries, “I just walked away and I never gave us a chance. You are the love of my life and I didn’t even fight for you. I did it because I love you, and I couldn’t be the one to stand in between your relationship with Gemma. She’s your sister, and no matter how much I love you, I can’t be selfish with you. I had to let you go so that you can have your family.”

“Oh, baby” Harry sobs, pulling her against his body.

His forehead presses against hers, his arms wrapped securely around her waist. They’re both crying, breaking down for the amount of time they’ve spent apart.

“I know, baby, I know. I just can’t live without you. You’re my everything, you know that? My money, my image, my life means nothing without you. I would give it all up for you.”

Y/n nods, sobbing at his words. She lifts his head from hers, her thumb wiping away his tears before pressing her lips to his. They kiss hungrily, starving from their lack of one another. Every bit of their bodies like magnets, drawn to each other the closer they get.

“Gotta ask you something, baby” Harry breathes out between kisses, detaching himself from her lips and resting his forehead against hers, his breathing harsh and spreading upon her face.

“Fuck, baby, lemme ask you something.”

Her eyes close softly as she nods, biting her lip as she tries to catch her breath between their feverish kissing and died down sobs.

Harry takes in a breath of preparation before kneeling down on one knee, both his hands taking hers in his and running his thumbs across her knuckles.

Y/n gasps, teary eyes staring wildly at his as she begins to process what’s happening. She knew they’d get married one day, however, she started doubting her greatest dreams once they broke up. 

But knowing it’s all coming back to life makes her heart race in her chest. This is what she’s been waiting for- everything she’s been wanting for since the moment she fell in love with Harry.

And it’s all happening in the time they both need it most.

“Oh, baby” she whispers, raking her hands through her hair. Her bottom lip begins to quiver while tears of excitement begin to fall down her cheeks. 

Harry grips her thighs in his hands as he stares lovingly in her eyes.

“Y/n, baby. The moment I met you, I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. You’re the love of my life, you know. You complete me and inspire me to be a better man every single day. And when you left me, I swore to myself that if you ever decided to come back to me, I’d do everything in my power to keep you by my side. So, baby, will you please marry me?”

Y/n’s hand covers her mouth as she attempts to suppress a sob, her eyes squeezing shut.

“Y- yes!” She almost screams, “God, Harry, yes!”

Harry’s face breaks into a smile he’s ever given, jumping from his kneeling position before bringing Y/n into his arms. They both laugh, share the sweetest of kisses, and cry together as they imagine what the future is holding for the both of them. 

anonymous asked:

Hey um, I know you don't do fem! fics but do you know any new crossdressing!Soo fics, perhaps? Thank you so much!

Hey! I can definitely help you with this. Here is where you can check out this list from before. Enjoy!

Red-Hot: One shot (but like a 21k one shot) where Jongin is Kyungsoo’s professor and is always kind of nagging him and Kyungsoo has a job where he works for an escort service, but he dresses as a woman when he does it. Super good.

Love You Like An Angel (Fuck You Like A Demon): Complete 2 chapters Jongin comes to live at Kyungsoo’s families house as a step brother of sorts, and Kyungsoo’s family is trying to keep him pure and Kyungsoo likes to secretly dress up like a woman (I’m doing a terrible job but this story is amazing)

Pretzel store: One shot. They work together at a pretzel store and of course Kyungsoo has a crush on Jongin and the theme is Hansel and Gretel so they have to dress up in the costumes and Kyungsoo gets stuck being Gretel

(right here between your hips) this is where I want to live: one shot mostly smut Kyungsoo loses a bet and has to go to a party dressed as a girl and gets Jongin’s interest

Pics (Or It Didn’t Happen): one shot sequel to fingering it out. Kyungsoo sees his brother crossdressing and starts to wonder what it’s all about

Halloween is a Magical Holiday: One shot. Kyungsoo is a camboy that Jongin likes to watch, (he crossdresses for his halloween show). Later Jongin meets him at a party.

Curtain Call: One shot crack. Kyungsoo is embarrassed because he has been cast as Juliet in romeo and Juliet with his crush Jongin and has to practice in costume.

Coming Home: One shot (warnings on this one) Jongin is in a gang and has come back home and his neighbor’s son has caught his attention

Pretty in Pink: one shot. this one is old but I haven’t recced it before. pwp

Secret Agents on Duty: ongoing (and fingers crossed they will finish) They are secret agents who have to go undercover as a married couple and Kyungsoo gets stuck being the wife

Do not tempt me: one shot nonau, Kyungsoo goes to the SM halloween party dressed like a girl

Whenever I think about the Rey/o discourse, and the whole thing about people being attracted to villains above all, I wonder why, if this is the case, people don’t ship Buttercup with Prince Humperdinck? Because if we go by this logic everyone in The Princess Bride fandom should’ve ditched “boring” Wesley long time ago, and hopped onto the Humperdinck/Buttercup train. Their relationship dynamics are practically the same as with Rey/o.

  • A privileged white guy who has everything, but wants even more.
  • Genocide and random murders of innocents won’t stop him from getting what he wants.
  • Has a torture chamber where he tortures innocent people.
  • Not above abusing and torturing women.

All these bullet points can be applied both to Prince Humperdinck and Ky/o Ren. Yet, I’ve never seen a single H/B shipper. And that movie / book is a fairly popular one, even to this day, even on tumblr. However, for some reason, everyone loves and gushes over the blond blue-eyed “boring” Wesley, who was framed as a heroic protagonist by the narrative - vs. Humperdinck, the main villain of the story… So, where are all the H/B shippers?

Also, speaking of which, Finn gets so much crap from white feminists for “grabbing” Rey’s hand. But I have rarely seen people (including these same white feminists) being disgusted with Wesley’s sexism and very much transparent abusive behavior - for exapmple, a scene from the book:

“I’m very capable of love,” Buttercup said.
“Hold your tongue, I think.”
“I have loved more deeply than a killer like you can possibly imagine.“
He [Wesley] slapped her.
“That is the penalty for lying, Highness. Where I come from, when a woman lies, she is reprimanded.”
“But I spoke the truth, I did, I - “ Buttercup saw his hand rise a second time, so she stopped quickly, fell dead silent.

Sure, they’ve improved that gross scene for the movie adaptation, but Wesley totally does raise his hand to hit Buttercup even there:

How is ^this^ okay by white feminists’ books, but an innocent hand grabbing is seen as some volatile act of sexism and abuse? (A purely rhetorical question, because we all know the answer)

Okay but everyone is focusing on the city of Omelas and the child and the festival but that’s not the point of the story. It’s called The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas. Within the text, the happy people of Omelas go and visit the suffering child, and it is by accepting the the compromise that they are able to live so happily, and without guilt:

“Yet it is their tears and anger, the trying of their generosity and the  acceptance  of  their  helplessness,  which  are  perhaps  the  true  source  of  the  splendor  of  their lives.  Theirs  is  no  vapid,  irresponsible  happiness.  They  know  that  they,  like  the  child,  are  not free.”

But there are some which witness the suffering of the child and can’t bear to experience happiness at its expense. Those people turn and leave, going places completely unimaginable, and they always go alone:

“These people go out into the street, and walk down the  street  alone.  They  keep  walking,  and  walk  straight  out  of  the  city  of  Omelas… Each one goes alone, youth or  girl  man  or  woman… They leave Omelas, they walk ahead into the darkness, and they do not come back.  The place they go towards is a place even less imaginable to most of us than the city of happiness. I cannot describe it at all. It is possible that it does not exist. But they seem to know where they are going, the ones who walk away from Omelas.”

The story of compromise, of accepting the suffering of some for the pleasure of others, ends on the concept of rejection. The true contrast of the story is not between joy and pain. It’s between following societal expectations and being complacent in the face of oppression, and being guaranteed perfect happiness for it, or rejecting the idea and walking away from it, alone.

So what does BTS say? You Never Walk Alone.  When you turn your back on utopia, on the “good” life you were told to live, you don’t have to do it alone. When you deny societal expectations and live freely, you don’t have to do it alone.  When you reject complacency and instead walk into the unimaginable, you don’t do it alone. When you leave Omelas, walk ahead into the darkness, and do not come back, you don’t have to walk alone.