who is from and lives in my hometown

5

@vancityreynolds: That’s a wrap on DEADPOOL 2: A SONG OF FIRE AND ICE! Thank you to our beloved Captain, Mr. @davidmleitch… words are too clumsy to properly acknowledge your giant heart and talent. I love my hometown of Vancouver and our obscenely gifted crew. From our PA’s, (who are first in and last out) to our set decorators and prop department, riddling this film with Easter Eggs in almost every scene… Thank you. I already miss being on set. Which is why I’ve decided to continue shooting the film in my underwear from Josh Brolin’s well appointed living room. #MaximumEffort

Lying Is The Most Fun a Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off (Sebastian Stan x Reader)

A/N: I honestly have no idea what this is because I wrote in just now. I figured what the heck right haha (: also I had to rush because of my Lima bean attention span. I may or may not make this into another series (; I hope you guys like it! ENJOY! -Delilah ❤ 

 Warnings: Flirting. Online relationships. Age gaps. Teasing. 

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This moved me.

The author of the writing below is Dominique Matti she is a writer from Philadelphia and this was originally posted on Those People. The author is also pictured in this post:

Because when I was five, my kindergarten classmate told me I couldn’t be the princess in the game we were playing because black girls couldn’t be princesses. Because I was in third grade the first time a teacher seemed shocked at how “well-spoken” I was. Because in fourth grade I was told my crush didn’t like black girls.

Because in sixth grade a different crush told me I was pretty — for a black girl. Because in 7th grade my predominantly black suburban neighborhood was nicknamed “Spring Ghettos” instead of calling it its name (Spring Meadows). Because I was in 8th grade the first time I was called an Oreo and told that I “wasn’t really black” like it was a compliment.

Because in 9th grade when I switched schools a boy told me he knew I had to be mixed with something to be so pretty. Because in 10th grade my group of friends and I were called into an office and asked if we were a gang, or if we had father figures. Because in 11th grade my AP English teacher told me that I didn’t write like a college-bound student (though I later scored perfectly on the exam).

Because when I volunteered in Costa Rica that summer, I was whistled at and called Negrita. Because when I asked my host father if that was like being called nigger, he said, no, it was a compliment because black women are perceived to be very good in bed.

Because I was a kid. Because I watched from the bleachers while the school resource officer didn’t let my brother into a football game after mistaking him for another black boy who was banned. Because the school resource officer maced him for insisting he was wrong. Because I was suspended for telling the school resource officer he didn’t deserve respect.

Because my senior year boyfriend said nigger.
Because I was one of two black girls in the freshman class at my college. Because at meetings to talk about how to attract more black students, someone suggested that the school attracted a certain demographic (sustainable living, farming, general hippiness) and that maybe black people “just weren’t interested in things like that.”

Because my college boyfriend called me a “fiery negress” as a joke when he ordered for me at a restaurant. Because the boyfriend after that cut me off for saying he was privileged. Because I can’t return to my hometown without getting pulled over.

Because when I got married people assumed I was pregnant. Because people who know I’m married call my husband my “baby daddy.” Because my pregnancy with my son was plagued with videos of black lives being taken in cold blood. Because their murderers still walk the streets. Because the nation sent me a message that my son’s life didn’t matter. Because when Tamir Rice was murdered I curled up on the bed and sobbed, cupping my belly.

Because my son heard me sobbing from the inside. Because they don’t care about us. Because when I was 7 months pregnant my neighbor asked me to help him move a dresser up a flight of stairs. Because I am not seen as a woman. Because I am not allowed to be fragile. Because the nurse that checked me in at the hospital to deliver wouldn’t look my husband in the eye. Because the vast majority of people won’t look my husband in the eye.

Because when the doctors put my son in my arms and I saw that he was as dark as his father, I knew life would be even harder for him. Because he will be regarded the same way I was. Because he will be forced to grow up before he is grown. Because strangers at the store think it’s okay to reach into my son’s stroller and touch him without a word to me. Because we aren’t entitled to boundaries. Because they think we are here for their enjoyment. Because people don’t think we are people.

Because my nephew told me he couldn’t be Spider Man like he wants to because Spider Man is white. Because when he was four he said that he wants to be white so that he can go on a boat like the people on TV. Because I couldn’t save him from that. Because I can’t protect my son. Because I can’t protect myself. Because my stomach sinks whenever I see a police car.

Because when my husband leaves the house at night I am afraid he’ll be killed for looking like somebody. Because I worry that if I went missing like the 64,000 other black women in this nation, the authorities wouldn’t try hard to find me. Because I am disposable. Because I am hated. Because we keep dying.

Because they justify our deaths. Because no one is held accountable. Because I am gas lighted. Because I have been told that by speaking about being oppressed I am victimizing myself. Because our murders are filmed and still pardoned. Because I don’t know what it means to let loose. Because doing the things that my white peers do with ease could cost me my life — trespassing in abandoned buildings, smoking joints, wearing a hoodie, looking an officer in the eye, playing music loudly, existing. Because I am afraid to relax. Because I am traumatized.

Because there isn’t a place in the world White Supremacy hasn’t touched. Because I am trapped here. Because the playing field isn’t leveled. Because I love my skin. Because I love being a woman. Because not hating myself is considered radical. Because I’ve been called racist for defending myself.

Because all the major protests are for cis black men. Because I’ve been told that talking about the women who’ve died is taking away from the real issue. Because I get no break from fighting. Because everything is a struggle. Because my anger isn’t validated. Because they don’t care about my pain. Because they don’t believe in my pain. Because they forgive themselves without atoning.

Because I’m not free. Because the awareness of it permeates everything. Because it’s not ending. Because they teach the children that it’s already ended. Because someone will assert their supremacy over me today. Because they’ll do it tomorrow. Because I want more. Because I deserve better.

“On the Night You Were Born”-an Everlark one-shot

It’s definitely been awhile, but it’s @keelaree‘s birthday and I’m coming out for my girl!

Have mercy…I’m still a little out of my writing element…

Summary: A fateful, rainy night brings an interesting patient into Dr. Peeta Mellark’s ER…

Title—but not plot—taken from the famous children’s book.

 On the Night You Were Born

She walked into the emergency room of Panem Hospital, quiet and unassuming. Her thick, ebony locks pulled into a ropy braid that rested against hunched, exhausted shoulders.

In the hubbub of the lobby, packed with late-night drunken injuries and feverish children with their parents, Dr. Peeta Mellark noticed her right away.

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anonymous asked:

MATTHEW SPEAKS FRENCH OH MY GODHSNEJFBSJS

Speaking of their responses regarding Canada, I was furious you know why? Bc Stephanie said she’d been to Mississauga (it’s a town in Ontario) multiple times and you fucking know what? Mississauga is my hometown. I was in Mississauga while Stephanie was. I could have bumped into her and never known.

rpdr asks!
  • 1.) favorite season?
  • 2.) favorite winner?
  • 3.) favorite runner-up?
  • 4.) favorite queen(s) of all time?
  • 5.) favorite runway look?
  • 6.) favorite maxi challenge?
  • 7.) favorite guest judge?
  • 8.) favorite regular judge?
  • 9.) most underrated queen(s)?
  • 10.) favorite makeup queen?
  • 11.) favorite runway queen?
  • 12.) favorite artsy queen?
  • 13.) favorite comedy queen?
  • 14.) which queen do you relate to the most and why?
  • 15.) favorite rupaul song?
  • 16.) if they were to do a season with every past winner, who do you think would take home the crown?
  • 17.) a non-rpdr queen that you'd like to see on the show?
  • 18.) vh1 or logo?
  • 19.) all stars season 1 or all stars season 2?
  • 20.) if you could pick one queen to be your drag mother, who would it be?
  • 21.) favorite lipsync(s)?
  • 22.) what song would you like to see the bottom queens lipsync to on a future season?
  • 23.) who is the ultimate lipsync assassin?
  • 24.) which queen's style is most similar to your own?
  • 25.) have you ever met a rpdr queen?
  • 26.) favorite queen that was eliminated first on their season?
  • 27.) most robbed queen?
  • 28.) are any rpdr queens from your hometown/close to where you live?
  • 29.) what was the first season you watched?
  • 30.) how did you get into rpdr?
[ never will i ever ]

Prompt: Enemies To Lovers
What: BTS Drabble/Oneshot
Genre: Fluff
Pairing: Taehyung x Reader
Wiords: 3k


Summary: Your best friend is an idol and being an idol comes with its trappings. When she tells you that she’s signed up for We Got Married, you’re super excited for her. You are less enthused when you find out who her partner is going to be. Your teenage nemesis - Kim Taehyung

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Y/N!! Open up!! Wake up ya binch!!!” a shrill voice says in a register that can only be described as excited.

You shoot up in bed, the blood rushing to your head quickly causing the room to spin a bit. Squinting at the clock, you register the time, it’s 7 am. For fuck’s sake, why is this dumbass waking you up this early. Sometimes her enthusiasm is irritating.

You contemplate going back to sleep, debating whether it’s worth to let your best friend murder you for a few more hours of sleep.

Then you hear another frantic knocking spell.

“Y/NNNNNN…. get your lazy ass out of bed or I’m going to open the door with the spare key hidden in….”

“Oi!!!” you shout from inside the apartment, “We don’t need my whole floor knowing where I keep my spare key!!”

“Then open the damn door!!!” Jang-mi yells back with gusto.

Your curse the day you became friends with Park Jang-mi. Your life had never been the same. She seems to have taken the motto “Carpe Diem” as a personal goal. Your weary soul needs rest.

Grumbling you put on your comfy robe over your pajamas and make your way to the door.

You barely have the door unlocked when Jang-mi comes barreling in. What infuriates you the most is that she looks the picture of perfection, hair done, make up perfect. “Yah, why do you look like you’re going to an award show at 7 fucking am” you say in a sulking tone because you both know there’s no malice in there.

“Excuse me did you forget? I’m an idol, I always have to be the picture of perfection. One wrong HQ fansite picture and my career is donezos” Jang-mi replies in a sickly sweet voice, which she knows gets on your nerves

“Ugh man I will never understand you guys’ world” you replied, rolling your eyes, standing in stark contrast to your best friend, with your messy hair, bad breath, and sleep crusty eyes.

“ANYWAYYYY, the reason I came here at this god forsaken hour is that I have big news and you’re the first person I wanted to share it with!!” she squealed warmly.

“Umm ok, it sounds important, let me put a pot of coffee on.” you say. You need the life giving liquid if you want to stay awake for this conversation.

“Yes please, coffee sounds amazing” Jang-mi replies as she walks towards the couch in your lounge, settling down comfortably with her legs spread out.

“Idol my ass.” you say under your breath and chuckle, but you’re secretly pleased that your best friend has a place where she can be herself; away from prying eyes.


Setting down two steaming mugs of Sumatra’s finest on the table, you look over to your best friend curiously. “So what exactly is it that made you almost break down my door at 7 am?” you finally ask

“I’m getting married!!” she yells out and your head snaps from the cup to your best friend. The shock must be clear on your face because she hastily continues, “Not real life married, relax. If I was dating anyone, you’d be the first to know duh.” she says with annoyance as if it’s a fact.

“I’m still lost, you’re getting married….?” you ask again.

“You remember I told you about the conversation I had with my manager? About raising my profile? The group’s becoming more popular, but I just need the extra push. Finally he’s found me the best thing!” each syllable came out faster and more excited than the last. This is clearly something she’s thrilled about, you think to yourself.

“He managed to get me on We Got Married!!” Jang-mi finally lets the cat out of the bag, throwing her arms in the air in celebration.

“Whaaattttt??!! We Got Married??? Omg, I love that show soo much!! Aaaahh, I’m so excited and so jealous of you wench!! That’s amazing! Perfect for your career and image!!” you can’t help squeal along with your best friend.

The show is one of your absolute favourites, despite your curmudgeon appearance, you are a romantic at heart. You know the relationships on the show are fake but you can’t help get carried away with the mushiness of it all! Blame it on the editors!

“Wait till you hear who my “husband” is going to be! You’re going to be yelling your lungs out with joy. I’m pretty sure I’m gonna get a lot of hate mail soon.” she says with a smirk, clearly not fazed by the possibility of dealing with crazy fangirls.

“Oooooh, who is it? A fellow idol? An actor? Don’t leave me hanging!!” you say in an agitated tone to your best friend who is now walking over to your fridge, undoubtedly to make herself a snack.

“Oh no one special, just a member of probably the most popular boy band these days.” she says smugly, enjoying how your face has contorted with distaste at her coyness.

“Please tell me it’s not Chanyeol, I will kill you with my own hands. DON’T BREAK THE BRO CODE!!!” you practically yell at her.

“Omg chill, I’m not getting fake married to your future husband. It’s actually V, umm, Taehyung from BTS.” Jang-mi finally tells you.

You splutter out the sip of coffee you are taking, almost choking on the liquid. Jang-mi runs to you when she sees you struggling a little for air.

“Are you ok? Take it easy, don’t inhale your drink.” she laughs as she rubs your back.

Your eyes are mere slits as you look at your best friend, “Who did you say was cast as your husband? Taehyung? As in Kim Taehyung from Daegu?” you manage to say through gritted teeth.

“Uh huh, that’s his name, not sure about his hometown. Why? You’re not a fan? I thought you loved BTS’ music?” she says worriedly with a hint of confusion.

“A FAN?? There’s no way in hell I would be a fan of the guy who made my life a living hell in middle school. He’s such a jerk!! The absolute worst!” your words are coming out fast and angry, which scares your best friend.

“Calm down Y/N, what are you talking about? I’ve met him a few times at music shows, he seems like a sweet guy, always polite and friendly. You went to middle school with him? Maybe you’re confusing him with someone else.” Jang-mi looks at your skeptically.

“Nope, it’s him alright, I’d recognise that stupid face and that dumb rectangular smile anywhere.” you say as faded childhood memories come back to you in pieces.


6th Grade:

“Haha look at Miss Greasy Pigtails, she’s so slow, she wouldn’t even win second place if it was a two person race!! Next time, you should just partner with me, at least you won’t embarrass our class like this.”

7th Grade:

“Hi Miss G.P., did you even look at the mirror before coming to school today? That flower headband looks stupid on you. Look everyone, Y/N’s trying to be a pretty girl but it’s not working awww.”

8th Grade:

“Your shoes are sooo old and gross. If you need shoes, tell me my uncle owns a shoe store, I’m sure I can get Miss G.P. a discount.”

9th Grade:

“Soo…crying over Se Joon? Pfft what did you think, you’d confess to him and he’d confess his undying love for you? Toughen up princess.”


“4 years. 4 years of relentless taunts and teasing. He was horrible to me. I repeat, the absolute worst.” you said as tears started pricking at the corner of your eyes. “I will not let me best friend go through that man’s torture, he may seem sweet and angelic on camera but I know what he’s like in real life, I won’t let you go through what I did!” you say with determination

“Calm down Y/N, that was a long time ago, I’m sure he’s changed since then. Everyone does stupid shit when they’re kids. From whatever I’ve seen, he’s a perfect gentleman.” she says to calm your fears.

“The devil does not change his colours. I’m telling you, he will make you cry. Can’t believe I ever used to like him….” you trail of as a different memory bubbles up in your mind.

“Wait, you used to like him? This just made it more interesting! What happened? He rejected you and you became an anti-fan?” your best friend seems to be enjoying your discomfort at this particular memory.

“No…it just… I was going to confess my feelings to Taehyung, even though he was always such a jerk to me, so to gather some courage, I went to talk to our mutual friend Se Joon about it, asking his advice. Se Joon and I had a really positive conversation and he said I should go for it. I mustered all the damn courage I had and went to find him. Only to see him tongue deep with a girl from our class. After that I just…never mind. My dislike for him isn’t because of this, it’s because of his nasty attitude. He was quite foul with me for a few weeks after this incident and then came grade 10 and he left for Seoul.” you realize that you have rushed through the story without a beat, so you take a few deep breaths to calm down.

“Anyway, none of that matters, what matters is that I will not let you be treated badly by that man! Please tell me you’re going to reconsider this fake marriage thing. Or find another partner. Someone who won’t treat you like dirt.” you all but plead your best friend.

“I don’t know Y/N. I’ve all but signed the contract, the two of us are meeting at the broadcasting company’s HQ today at 5. I think it’s too late to reconsider.” Jang-mi tells you patiently.

“Noo, please you have to believe me, it’ll be an unpleasant experience for you! I want to protect you from that!” you say impatiently, you have to save her from this experience, you love her too much.

“I’m a big girl Y/N, I can take care of myself. I don’t think he’s as bad as you make him sound. I have to go now, I have a schedule before the meeting.” she says with a hint of annoyance in her voice.

“I’m sorry Jang-mi, I just don’t want anyone to treat you anything less than spectacular. You deserve the world. Anything less than that and I will hunt down the man and end him myself.” you reply sheepishly, knowing that nothing would come out of arguing with your best friend.

“Oh god, you’re such a pile of mush. Fiiiine, you can come with me to the preliminary meeting and if you feel like anything’s off, then I will reconsider it!” she replies with a grin on her face.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea, I haven’t seen him in what, 7 years? But for you, I am willing” you reply with a sigh.

“Good, don’t be late, I will text you the address, and dress nicely. Think of my reputation.” Jang-mi chuckles before picking up her things and exiting your apartment, leaving you to your thoughts.

“Well, well Kim Taehyung, what a strange world. Can’t believe I’m going to see your idiotic face again.” you say to no one in particular.


5 PM, MBC Broadcast Station

“Shoot, can’t believe I’m running late, Jang-mi’s going to kill me” you mumble to yourself as you race from the subway station to the address your best friend texted you hours ago.

You’re out of breath and your hair’s a mess when you finally arrive at the front desk of the building.

The receptionist eyes you uncertainly till you say, “I’m Y/N, I’m here to see Park Jang-mi, she’s expecting me.”

She checks a list and says, “Ahh yes, they’ve been waiting for you, right this way.”

You follow the receptionist to the corridor with the elevators and she turns to you, “Straight up to the 8th floor, the meeting room is right opposite the elevator.” her tone is brisk and efficient and she’s already heading back to her desk before you can mutter out a thank you.

You step into the elevator and your nerves have taken a sudden hold of you. What will it be like? To see your tormentor after 7 years? He would have to be nice to you right? He was in public.

The ding of the elevator makes you jump out of your skin a little. You are here. This is it. Time to face the dumbass head on and prove your point to Jang-mi.

You clear your throat as you enter the room, expecting it to be filled with crew, managers, PDs etc but to your surprise it’s just the two of them.

Jang-mi and him.

He is making her laugh, and your war mode switches on automatically. If he’s making her laugh, this will be an uphill battle.

“Hi Y/N!! You’re finally here, I told you not to be late but your punctuality is a lost case.” Jang-mi says as she spots you standing at the door.

“I’ll make introductions, Tae this is my best friend in the entire world - Y/N. Y/N says she already knows you personally so I don’t think I need to introduce any further.” she finishes with a laugh.

“Oh really.. and how does the lovely lady know me….” his voice trails off as he finally turns to look at you, recognition dawning on his fate.

“Do mine eyes deceive me? Is it really Miss Greasy Pigtails??” Taehyung says with a childlike excitement.

You roll your eyes, pointedly ignoring him and speak to your best friend instead, “See I told you… it’s him alright. He’s already started to show his true colours.” you say flatly, glad your point is proven without you having to do much work.

“It’s just with you Y/N. Something about you just riles me up. I can’t help it. How have you been? It’s been a while. Are you well.” his tone is soft as he asks about you.

You’re taken bit taken aback but you decide not to let him faze you. You’re here on a mission. You quickly take a seat next to Jang-mi and across from him.

“We’re not friends, Mr. Kim, let’s do away with the niceties. I’m just here to convince my best friend not to get fake married to you.” you say in the coldest voice you can manage.

“Well well Miss. G.P. I don’t recall giving you permission to be in charge of my dating life.”

“This isn’t real Taehyung, it’s a TV show.”

“Why, are you mad that I may end up dating your friend for real?”

“Oh please, I’m just worried she’s going to be stuck with a complete and utter ass for the next 6 months.”

“Well if she’s managed to stay friends with you after knowing you this well I think she’ll do just fine”

“I knew it, you haven’t changed. Always the disrespectful brat.”

“Correction, only you bring that ass out of me; so take responsibility.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry Miss Jang-mi you’re a wonderful person but I don’t think I’ll able to do the show with you.” Taehyung finally says to your best friend.

Getting up from his seat, he looks at you for an instant and opens his mouth to speak.

“Are you free tonight around 8?” he says to you as he takes out his phone.

“Yes. Why?” your eyes narrow in suspicion.

“I’ll pick you up around 7:45. There’s this place I want to take you. Wanted to take you there ever since I moved here. So be ready on time. Your number hasn’t changed has it? I’ll text you.” Taehyung says airily as he starts to walk away from the two of you.

“Wait, what’s happening? Are you asking me out?” you ask him, utterly confused by the happenings of the last two minutes.

He stops in his tracks and walks over to where you are sitting. He places one hand on the arm of the chair you’re in and leans down close enough to you that you can count his eyelashes.

“If you think that after 7 years of being apart,  I’m going to let you slip away again, you’re mistaken love.” his voice is soft and melodious. His proximity and his little confession is making your poor heart beat a thousand beats per minute.

He smiles his signature rectangular smile at you and gets up to leave.

He’s near the door when he turns to you again and says, “I’m glad I found you again, Miss G.P. See you at 8.” with these words he’s disappeared out the door.

Your echo of “See you at 8.” hangs in the air as your hear a loud rumbling laugh come from best friend.

You don’t know how it happened but it was certainly wasn’t what you had expected.

Kim Taehyung had just asked you on a date.


7 years ago:

“So what do you think So-mi, should I tell Y/N how I feel? I don’t think she’s getting the dumb hints I’m dropping.” Taehyung says nervously to his friend

“I don’t think that’s a good idea Tae. Look, she’s going over to confess to Se Joon I think. I heard she has a huge crush on him.” So-mi replies

“What? No. That can’t be true.” he says angrily, not willing to believe the piece of gossip.

“Look at them, look how they’re smiling and laughing. Looks pretty legit to me. Oh she’s coming over here. We should congratulate her.” So-mi said smirking towards Y/N’s direction

In a flash Taehyung has his lips on So-mi’s and his soon his tongue follows when he sees Y/N approaching. He knows she can see them.

Her confused and defeated face is the last thing he remembers.

Photographer! Bryana

Words: 2.2K

Warning: So this is girlxgirl action, SMUT WHOA TURNED MY STRAIGHT FRIEND ON. I got requested this a load of times!! VIBRATOR, EATING OUT AND SCISSORING.

Summary: You’re a photographer for a agency in which Bryana Holly is modelling lingerie for and you’ve had a crush on her for a while so you tell her and she acts all shy and cute as she’s never been with a girl.

You’ve been waiting for this day to come for a while, the day that you finally got to take some photos of Bryana Holly. You were a famous model photographer to say the least, you’d always admired how beautiful Bryana was and the way she acted so calm and natural in different living spaces. Her body was effortlessly flawless and it was a dream to take photo’s of her. 

The setting for today’s shoot was morning, which meant I had to get up early to take photo’s under the sunrise. I had gotten up and had a shower, using my herbal essence shampoo. I dried myself off getting changed into jeans and a grey sweatshirt, it was a bit baggy but it made me look good so I didn’t really care. I grabbed a hold of my camera and making my way to my front room. Since the shoot was going to be set in my house. My house might I say was pretty big, being a first class photographer and not an annoying paparazzi. I had a pool, I had a small cinema with a popcorn maker. Three bedrooms, four bathrooms and kitchen and a large living area.

But I was lonely. Apart from the occasional hook-up or the maid who comes three times a week, it was a lonely place. Sometimes I even preferred going back to my hometown and not LA, in my small cosy apartment. I walked into the front room seeing my maid Emma looking at some boxes. 

“Whats in them?” I asked placing my camera down

“Costumes for Byrana Holly, oh look at you Y/N”

“I know, I can’t wait” I smiled, Emma grinned wiggling her eyebrows at me. Ok so I may or may not have the biggest crush on Bryana and since Emma was the only person I want to socialise with she knows. She walked out the room, grabbing the bin bag as she walked into the kitchen. The company for the pictures had mailed me a bunch of outfits for Bryana to show off and so I opened the box. There were 5 sets of lingerie in the box. Blue, white, black, red and orange.

I heard my doorbell ring and my belly erupted in butterflies which is weird because no other model can do that to me. I walked over to the door and opened it, Bryana was stood there with a black bag and a pair of black loose dungaree’s and a striped shirt.

“Wow Y/N this place is beautiful” she grinned, I stepped aside letting her walk in and maybe checked her out whilst she was looking around. God she was beautiful too.

“Thank you, right shall we get right too it, do you want a water? coffee? tea? Have you had breakfast?”

“I actually had pancakes before I came, I would love a tea though, milk and one sugar” 

“Ok” I smiled, I walked into the kitchen and told Emma what I wanted. I walked back into the front room and Bryana was looking at the lingerie set’s. She pulled out the white one smiling.

“Can we do this one first?” she questioned, how could I ever deny that face.

“Yeah of course” Emma brought in the two teas placing one on the table near Bryana and giving mine to me as I sat on the sofa. Emma said goodbye to me and Bryana as she left work for the day.

“Is it ok if I just get changed here”

“Yeah I can go if you like” I said going to stand up

“No, no I’ll need help putting them on” she beamed, undoing the buttons on her dungarees and pulling it off. She pulled off her striped shirt and was left in a skimpy pink lace set. I bit my lip looking down at my tea, please don’t get fucking horny was the only thing running through my mind, I tried thinking of other things but when I looked up next Bryana was closer to me with her boobs out and fiddling with the bra. I could feel myself getting wet and she looked at me smiling.

“Could you help?” she asked, I pounced to my feet, placing the tea down on the table and gently grabbing the bra, accidenlty touching my hand with hers. I placed the bra under her boobs and she turned around so I could strap it up. 

“Thank you” she blushed. I grabbed the camera and we got started. With each lingerie set we moved from the kitchen to the bedroom, all over my house. If I don’t say so myself Bryana looked good bent over my kitchen counter and leaning against my windows. In total I took around 250 shots and that is a hell a lot more then I do for other models. I also tried to make her laugh seeing as when she laughed she still looked incredibly beautiful.

We were now sat in my bedroom with Bryana in a white see through dressing gown and she was wearing my favourite lingerie, the orange one with white frilly lace around the edge. Her hair was slanted to one side as I scrolled through the pictures of her.

“Do I look ok in them?” she said hiding away her face

“You look stunning Bryana, aren’t you used to taking photos like this?”

“Really you think I’m stunning? and yeah I am well…not for my favourite photographer ever” she said, tilting her head at me

“Favourite photographer ever huh?” I smirked, biting my lip.

“Uh duh, you take the best photos of me”

“Anyone can take good photo’s of you, you’re breathtaking, its like taking a photo of a masterpiece” 

“You think that?”

“Yeah, I er..kinda have a crush on you so I would know that you look amazing” I said slightly blushing, I looked at Bryana and she was smiling her white teeth on show. She let out a laugh the crinkles around her eyes appeared and she place a hand on my knee. I raised an eyebrow at her and she stopped laughing. 

“Wait really? You have a crush on me?” 

“Yeah, I mean you’re beautiful, hot and I just love everything about you” I said turning off my camera and placing it on the side table. I looked at her and she was all flustered her hands were twirling with the end of her dressing gown. I sat up pulling away the dressing gown and lifting up her chin, making sure her eyes were focused on me. 

“You ok?” I asked, she nodded her head and leant forward kissing me. I was taken back but managed to pull myself together closing my eyes and kissing her back. 

“Y/N, I’ve never been with a girl but I want you, I want you so bad” she whispered lifting her head up and giving me a slight eskimo kiss. I pushed my lips to her and she wrapped her arms around my neck. I ran my fingers over her cheeks feeling the smoothness of her skin. Her lips were so chapped and she tasted of oranges, due to the lip balm she had chosen to wear. 

“You sure?” I mumbled against her lips, she sighed whilst smirking taking off her white dressing gown and piling it on the floor. She was left in her orange lingerie which was such a beautiful colour against her slightly tanned skin.  I stroked down her sides and pulled her onto my lap, where I continued to kiss her pretty pink lips. I felt her hips slightly grind into mine as she licked over my lips. I let out a moan, stroking over her ass and lacing my fingers under her panties, not taking them off but pulling at them.

I felt Bryana’s hands come underneath my shirt and pull it over my head. She let out a small giggle as she chucked it on the floor and got back to kissing me. I ran my fingers through her hair and resting my hands at the back of her head, pulling her head back away from me. I sucked under her chin and down her neck, I let go of her hair moving my hands to her waist as I sucked gently onto her neck. I felt her pulse hammer in her sweet spot and I licked over it hearing a small moan come from her. She rutted her hips against mine and I felt small waves of pleasure shoot down to my core. 

“Trousers need to be off” she whined. I pushed her lightly of me, giving her a small peck and standing at the end of the bed. She laid down underneath me as I undid my zipper, pulling my trousers down my legs. I knelt down on the floor and dragged Bryana’s body closer to my face, inhaling her scent. I stroked my hands up her thighs and I pulled down her panties down to her knees and dove straight to licking her pussy. Her legs quivered as I pulled them down the rest of the length of her smooth tanned legs aimlessly throwing them. 

I licked up her pussy tasting her juices on my tongue, I wiggled it in between her folds and she squirmed beneath me lacing her fingers through my hair. I curved my hands around her ass, throwing her legs over my shoulders. I sucked onto her clit and flicked over it. She tugged on my hair, turning me on even more as I lightly grinded into the bed. 

“Y/N I-i want your fingers” She moaned, I circled my tongue around her entrance and reached one of my arms back around resting next to my face. I detached my lips from her pussy and I thrusted one of my fingers into her. She cried out, pushing my face further into her pussy. I licked over where my finger was sliding in and out of her pussy and nuzzled my head. I heard Bryana let out small gasps as she grinded into my face. I added another finger, feeling her pussy flutter around my fingers. I bit my lip watching her hands clutch the bed sheets and her legs tense, squeezing around my face. 

“You going to cum princess” I asked, she let out a whine covering her face with her hands as I licked my lips, curling my fingers in her. 

“I’m cumming” she whimpered, I pumped my fingers into her at a faster pace and watch her high take over her. Her legs quaked and she let out a squeal of my name. I pulled my fingers out of her the remains of her high glistening over my fingers. I stuck them in my mouth and close my yes, she tasted amazing. I climbed onto the bed over her, she still had her eyes shut. I kissed over her eyes and pecked her lips, watching her lips turn into a smile. I reached under her unclasping her bra and her brown eyes peered up at me. I threw the bra and licked over he nipples, tugging at them. Bryana had nice light brown nipples, that were soft and I tugged at them.

“Y/N let me make you feel good” 

“You make me feel good” I moaned, licking up her body and over her jawline. I sat up unclipping my bra and Bryana’s hands came to my boobs rolling my nipples as I grinded on her pussy. I felt her open her legs as I threw my bra away, I reached down sliding off my pants and placing my pussy directly onto Bryana’s. She let out a whimper as I thrusted my hip onto hers. I felt my juices mix with hers as our wet pussy’s rubbed against each other’s. I reached down pinching Bryana’s nipples as she grabbed a hold of my hips.

She roughly grinded me into her as I leant down and licked over her lips. I reached over into my bedside table and grabbed my vibrator. Bryana quirked an eyebrow as I switched it on. It vibrated in my hand as I dragged it down her body. I licked over the vibrator and put it in my mouth as I swivelled my hips on Bryana’s pussy. I coated the vibrator in my saliva and took it out my mouth. I leant down, pressing the vibrator in-between our pussy’s. My legs trembled and Bryana bit her lip. 

“Fuck” she whined, grasping harshly of my thigh and digging her nails in. I leant down, leaving the vibrator in between our folds as it sent my pussy throbbing and I tucked my head in the crook of her neck. I licked the shell of her ear and bit down on it. Feeling the vibrations pulse in my inner walls and over my sensitive bud making it swell up, along with my puffy lips from kissing and sucking on Bryana’s pussy. 

“God you’re so beautiful” I groaned, sucking on the spot behind her ear and nibbling onto her neck. I lifted my head up moaning as Bryana sucked on my nipple. I felt my high approaching and Bryana’s faces was struck in pure pleasure. My legs trembled and I pushed harder against the toy making Bryana shiver. My high washed over me and Bryana wrapped her legs tightly around me cumming all over the toy. I climbed off her and switching off the toy placing it on the floor and looking at Bryana.

“So how was that?” I asked stroking up her body, her brown eyes looking into mine.

“Fucking amazing”

Pop punk is a young man’s game. Pop punk is a young white man’s game. Pop punk is a young straight white man’s game. Pop punk is a young straight cisgender white man’s game. And from The Descendents to The Story So Far, young straight cisgender white men have been writing songs of heartbreak and middle class suburban angst for decades.

At first glance, I’m the ideal consumer of pop-punk. I’m a white dude from the suburbs who looks 21 on a good day and gets read as straight most of the time. I even have a tattoo of a piece of pizza (holding a sword above her head. I call her Piz-Ra: Princess of Power). But I haven’t always been a dude, and I definitely have pretty much never been straight. My suburban upbringing was always complicated by living near the poverty line for good chunks of my childhood, and as I near 30, my relationship to my hometown has become much fonder than I ever imagined it would be as a teenager.

But despite all these qualifiers, I still love pop-punk, and it’s a genre I’ve managed to find a small piece of a home in. A big reason for that (aside from the obvious nostalgia we all have for the music we love when we’re young) is The Wonder Years, a band that has made me feel seen in a genre that overwhelmingly does not see people that aren’t young, white, straight, cisgender men (although, luckily, that tide has started to shift a bit more rapidly in recent years).

I first listened to The Wonder Years in 2012, not long after their second album, Suburbia, I Have Given You All, And Now I’m Nothing, was released. I was living in rural Iowa, 9 months after graduating from college and being rejected from a veritable slew of PhD programs (which, sidenote, has been a fantastic thing in the long run, but definitely didn’t feel like it at the time). It was the early weeks of a year-long AmeriCorps program that eventually would have me traveling and working all over the upper midwest. I had come out as transgender a couple years before, and I was navigating a world that did not see me the way I saw me. But to be fair, I still didn’t know how I wanted to be seen, if I wanted to be seen at all. I forget how or where I found The Wonder Years, but I heard the opening track to that album, “Came Out Swinging,” and knew immediately that this band was going to be important to me. I was being seen during a time where I felt like a ghost in my own life. I’ve stuck with them ever since, and as all of the members are only a couple years older than me, I’ve felt like I’ve been able to grow up with them.

Later today, I’m going to write a bit about why TWY’s brand of pop-punk is important in a more general sense, and why I think they’re the best band in the genre today. But throughout the week I’m going to be saying a bit more about how I’ve entwined The Wonder Years’ evolution with my own. They’ve helped me figure out what kind of man I want to be, wrestle with my complicated feelings over my hometown, face my struggles with mental health, and so much more.

Italy: Nutella, Football, and a Raging Job Crisis (Alternatively: I Need Your Help)

This is mostly a recreational blog, but today I am posting something personal. Please, have the patience to read this, maybe you’ll find you can help me in some way - whether it’s through empathy, an idea, a reblog, or perhaps even a job opportunity.

Keep reading

provider-of-guardians  asked:

If you're taking requests, dipifica with 35? :D

35. Why are you looking at me like that? 



 “And then I had to chase off a gnome who have been living in the Manliness Tester for about a month!” Pacifica said. 

Dipper chuckled at Pacifica story from work. Ever since she started working at the Greasy Diner, it always seemed like she had some kind of crazy story to tell him and Mabel about. Whether if it was about a rude customer not leaving a tip, broken kitchen equipment, or something supernatural. It was hard to believe that the girl he was walking with was the spoiled rich brat he met at the beginning of last summer.  

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Pacifica asked. 

Dipper looked at Pacifica false confusion “Looking at you like what?” 

“You know,” Pacifica said. “The look you always make whenever you are analyzing something.” 

Dipper smiled smugly. “I have no idea what you are talking about.” 

Pacifica rolled her eyes at Dipper comment. “Don’t be coy with me Dipper, I know you were thinking something. You might as well tell me now.” 

Dipper raised his hands up. “Fine you got me. I was just thinking how different you are from the girl I met last summer.” 

“Oh really?” Pacifica asked as she crossed her arms and raised her eyebrow at Dipper. “Tell me how exactly I am different.” 

“Hmmmm,” Dipper playfully hummed. “Well let’s see. You are working at a place that, while you may complain about all the time, you actually love. You have earned the value of what it’s like to earn money instead of being handed money. Plus you have become nicer, more open minded to things such as trying on Mabel sweaters, going on adventures with me, and have just grown to be a great person to be around.”  

Pacifica couldn’t help but blush from Dipper compliments about her. In all honesty, it have felt like she was truly living and enjoying life for the first time again in what truly felt like forever. Who would have thought that all it would take to change her attitude was to run into two polar opposite twins and having a demonic triangle invade your hometown and cause your family to become bankrupt. 

“Well that’s all sweet Dipper, but you forgot one thing?” 

“What’s that?” Dipper asked. Suddenly, he felt his hand grabbed by another and looked down to see it was Pacifica. 

“That you became my boyfriend.” Pacifica said. This caused Dipper face to warm up as he nervously started to sweat. 


Send me a ship and a prompt. Pick a prompt from here .

When I get married, 
it will be to my best friend
When I get married,
it will be to the boy who lived across the hall from me my freshman year of college
He taught me how to do laundry, all about his hometown, and everything in-between

When I get married,
it will be to a man who understands that I wanted it all
When I get married,
it will be to a man who understands that I began running to cities the day I turned eighteen
When I get married,
it will be to a man who does not stop me, but whispers to me about a foreign concept called love


When I get married, 
I will be standing there in white
When I get married,
there will be this feeling in the air,
everything will be alright

—  m.n // “When I say I do.”

This is what people drink during autumn in Mid-Michigan. Are we just weird semi-alcoholics or do they drink this elsewhere? It’s so much harder to get Apple cider out here in LA and it is also way more expensive. (Someone posted this on Facebook who is from my hometown but no longer lives there which is why the Apple cider isn’t a local variety fresh from an orchard I would guess.)

JIMIN: The Shy Guy
CON: Muzi’s Mysterious Companion

CON, who vaguely resembles a tiny crocodile, is the most mysterious Kakao Friend. It’s rumored that Con magically brought Muzi to life, which explains why the two are always together. JIMIN, surviving only on coffee shop minimum wage and a annoying but cheerful roomate, he barely has any free time to hang out with anyone, giving him the title of a shy person. This shorty was given a crocodile costume as a gag joke from his younger brother still living in his hometown.

sorry if tumblr is the wrong audience for this but i’ve been binge listening to the My Favorite Murder podcast so i called my mom and had her tell me her, and i guess my, hometown murder, which i only ever vaguely heard about when it was happening even though the girl’s grandfather was a family friend who i saw all the time when i was younger. two days before Christmas a few years ago, an eleven year old girl in my hometown was living with her aunt in a converted farmhouse while her mother was in jail. the aunt was working overtime to take care of nine total kids staying with her when an ex boyfriend who she had broken up with a month earlier came back to the house in the middle of the night, took the spare key from where he knew the family kept it, kidnapped the eleven year old from her bedroom and raped and strangled her before trying to burn her body, giving up and driving away. there was a big manhunt for her that went through Christmas day in my hometown and surrounding towns to find her, but after she had been missing for three days the sheriff suggested during a press conference that residents should check their yards and an old couple found her burned body in their bushes… scream. i’m watching a Crime Watch Daily episode about it online now

Back from my Sendai trip, taking little Pi-tan to visit his Papa’s hometown! Sendai is such a nice city and Miyagi-ken is so beautiful! And a big thanks to my Tassie hometown friend, Kiera, for giving us the insiders tour of Sendai! Guys, she actually lives in Yaotome (the suburb)! So jealous! 😭

But more importantly… BAM!!

600 FOLLOWERS!! 🎉

Thank-you so much to all of you who follow me! I love that I have actually made so many friends through running this blog. Being in the JUMP fandom and being able to contribute really makes me so so so happy! 😭✨

Originally posted by yama-jump

I did a give away and stuff for my 300 followers and I’d like to do something again for 600 but I’m so so busy at the moment! So please watch this space! I promise I’ll do something for everyone again soon 💕

Ah! I love you guys so much!! And I love JUMP so so much!! I’m totally having a Hikaru finale concert breakdown… 😭😭 Send help! 

( @gellai for the screen cap, thank-you~😭✨)

ben-xomper  asked:

Wait ... then your name is white in Korean? I did not know we had the same name only in a different language :O...whatever, dont get depressed, as the song says "there is no evil that for good does not come". You are a great artist and a nice person who inspires us to this part of the world, you should feel proud, dont worry and smile :D ♥ ♥ ♥

白, hayang(white) is my korea artist name. recently I’m taking a break from freelance illustrator work for a while. (cuz company work so hard i can’t draw my work.) thanks all words :) 

And The reason I look depressed because …. It’s a bit scary to go back to hometown. I can not explain it properly in English. My dad lives there. (he is not my father now.) Not a good story, but he abused me until I was twenty. I’ll get over scary. Thanks for the lovely message! >:D have a goood day!!! 

Appalachian Subculture: On being gay and Appalachian, by Jeff Mann

Jeff Mann is a widely published essayist and poet from West Virginia. This piece was published in Gay & Lesbian Review Worldwide, September/October 2003, Vol. 10 Issue 5, page 19. 

Appalachia has a bad reputation, especially West Virginia, the only state whose borders lie entirely within anyone’s definition of the Appalachian Mountains. Moonshine swillers and feuding hicks—these are the images that most people hold. “Hillbillies,” despite today’s politically correct climate, are still regular objects of mockery. City dwellers have been alternately romanticizing and demonizing country dwellers since Greek and Roman times, and American popular culture’s relation to Appalachia is our version of it.
    Several summers ago, some friends and I walked into a Mexican restaurant in Rehoboth Beach, Delaware. The young man who escorted us to our table, noticing my West Virginia Writer’s Workshop T-shirt, asked if we still slept with our siblings back in the hollers. My Appalachian Studies students have heard many a thoughtless comment, to wit: “You’re from West Virginia? But you have teeth! You wear shoes?!” One young woman told me that an acquaintance had been so amazed by her accent that he asked permission to audiotape her speech for the amusement of friends!
    Queer folk and mountain folk have something very important in common: both are frequent objects of satire, hostility, and contempt. Both feel the pressure to assimilate, to blend in “for their own well-being.” Voices from the Hills: Selected Readings of Southern Appalachia (1975), edited by Robert Higgs and Ambrose Manning, is a seminal work in the field of Appalachian Studies, and a quick browse through that volume provides a neat historical overview of attitudes toward the region. The early travel narratives depict violence and hospitality, laziness and industriousness—but it’s the negative qualities that outsiders tend to linger over. From the “local color” writers of the late 19th century to the well-intentioned “War on Poverty” literature of the 1960’s, all the observers have emphasized the exoticism, the otherness of the Appalachian people, as if the region were almost a foreign country or some remnant of frontier society frozen in time. Today’s attitudes continue to be shaped by such media depictions as The Beverly Hillbillies or the infamous film Deliverance, with its inbred banjo-player and toothless rapists.
    ”Hillbilly” and “queer” are two words that oppressed groups have tried to reclaim. They are words that I may apply to myself but that outsiders had better not use to refer to me unless they want an argument. Being a member of both subcultures is often a double burden, one that many mountain people are eager to escape. Gay culture is still primarily an urban phenomenon, while Appalachia, despite its many cities, is primarily a rural region. Making a life as a gay man or lesbian in the countryside or in a small town can be tough; not surprisingly, many young Appalachian gays and lesbians hightail it to the nearest city as soon as possible.
    I certainly did. It was in 1976, when I was sixteen, that I read Patricia Nell Warren’s novel The Front Runner and realized that I was gay. Unlike gay and lesbian youths of today, who have the Internet with its many resources to inform them that they’re not the only ones with same-sex desires, my generation had books, and I devoured them during my high school days in the small town of Hinton, West Virginia, and later at West Virginia University, where I read novels by the Violet Quill writers and relished the luxury of college-town gay life. Appalachia was, at that point in my development, a place from which to flee. With delicious images of Greenwich Village and Fire Island in my head (but not ready for New York), I found part-time work in Washington, D.C., in the summer of 1985 and prepared myself for a new life filled with romantic and erotic adventure.
    Misery is often the stimulus to self-awareness, and I was miserable during that long autumn in Washington. A polite Southerner who hadn’t mastered the fine arts of cruising, anonymous sex, and emotional manipulation, I found myself as unhappy and celibate in the big city as I’d been in West Virginia. I felt like Tantalus, surrounded by inaccessible savories. On top of that, I missed the mountains and my family, and I began to realize how many of my values were thoroughly shaped by rural living and out of step with urban life. For someone accustomed to forests, pastures, and vegetable gardens, D.C.’s traffic, noise, and urban pace were abrasive and often maddening. In the midst of the city I came to realize that I was, inescapably, a country boy.
    Proximity to gay bars and bookstores was not worth the price, I decided, and by year’s end I returned to West Virginia, filled with a new appreciation for my native region. By the time I began teaching Appalachian Studies at Virginia Tech in the early 1990’s, I had changed from a young gay man eager to escape the mountains to a not-so-young gay man proud to be a member of both the Appalachian and gay subcultures. Living in a liberal university town in the hills of southwest Virginia allowed me the best of both worlds.
    For many people, however, claiming and retaining both identities is almost impossible. It’s so much easier to choose one subculture over the other than to deal with the confusions and complexities of balancing both. Those who remain in the mountains often feel compelled to hide or minimize their gayness, while those who leave for the cities try to erase their accents and assimilate into urban culture. The latter escapees face a particular difficulty. In an essay in his book, Appalachian Values, Loyal Jones discusses mountain people’s fervent attachment to place and to family. Gay hill folk are like their straight brethren: they display an inordinate affection for their native places, and they often suffer a bitter homesickness when they flee to big cities.
    Rob is a good example. A bear buddy of mine who had spent all of his life in West Virginia, he recently moved to Washington for the same reasons that I did over fifteen years ago, yearning for a rich and varied gay culture that was hard to find in the mountains. He’s had better luck on the romantic front—his handsome face, friendly smile, and well-built body are useful currency—but whenever I talk to him, whenever he returns to the mountains for holidays, I can hear the wistfulness in his voice. Everything’s so expensive in D.C., he complains. The commutes are long, the apartments small, the sound of traffic ceaseless. Maybe he’ll return to West Virginia and enter a graduate school program.
    I understand. As much as I love to visit D.C.—the Lambda Rising bookstore, the leather and bear bars, the innumerable gayfriendly restaurants along 17th Street—I’m always glad to escape the Beltway chaos and begin my retreat down the Shenandoah Valley. When I exit truck-crowded Interstate 81 at Ironto, Virginia, and wend my way along the tortuous back roads between hillsides of redbud, tulip tree, and sugar maple, I’m always gripped by the peace and beauty of the landscape. It is a loveliness I never take for granted. Perhaps it’s because my father (another literate West Virginian) raised me to be a romantic in the tradition of Emerson and Thoreau. Perhaps it’s because I’m in my mid-forties, happily coupled, and no longer delighted by late-night gay bar culture. Whatever the reason, these days the company of trees, creeks, and hills feels just as necessary for my spiritual health as relationships with other human beings.
    Many gay people continue to migrate out of Appalachia, but more and more I meet gay men and lesbians who are determined to remain in the mountains. Some are natives, while some are urbanites who’ve had more than enough stress and have decided to try something new. Harry is an example of the latter phenomenon. Originally from Staten Island, he’s lived in my little hometown of Hinton for twenty years. How does he manage to live a full gay life in an isolated town of 3,500? He does occasionally make the hour-and-a-half drive to the bear bar in Charleston, and he also attends Radical Faerie gatherings several times a year in Virginia and Tennessee. He always talks up Hinton to the people he meets, telling them of its beautiful mountains and river, its incredibly cheap property. And his strategy has worked. At this point, so many gay men, both Appalachians and outsiders, have bought property in Harry’s neighborhood that it has come to be known as “Harry’s Heights.” I’ve met more gay men in Harry’s kitchen—smack dab in the middle of Summers County, West Virginia, an area rife with religious fundamentalism—than I have in any gay bar.
    One reason that gay mountaineers flee to cities is, of course, to avoid homophobia. Though hatred of homosexuals is found everywhere, it’s sometimes more vocal here in Appalachia, where fundamentalist Christians usually assume that they’re the majority. In the Charleston Gazette, West Virginia’s most prestigious newspaper, the letters to the editor are often lousy with biblical quotations. One Kanawha Valley minister regularly harps on the sinfulness of gays and their supposed predatory pedophilia.
    However, despite this hostility, gay life in West Virginia has expanded and deepened in the last two decades. I imagine many citizens of Greenwich Village, Dupont Circle, or the Castro would be surprised to hear that Charleston, West Virginia, hosts four gay bars, a Mountain State Bear Contest, a Pride Parade, a Mr. Leather Contest, and an assortment of political and social organizations for gays, lesbians, and bisexuals. For those who live in the many tiny towns of Appalachia, fear and isolation are still likely to warp their lives, but in West Virginia cities like Charleston, Morgantown, and Huntington—and their equivalents in other Appalachian states—living a gay or lesbian existence is becoming in many cases much more comfortable than I could ever have imagined during my lonely high school days in Hinton in the mid-1970’s.
    My friendship with Alan reminds me, however, of the restrictions that can still make Appalachian gay and lesbian lives lonely and unfulfilling. Alan is very handsome, lean and muscular, sweet-tempered, intelligent, and gainfully employed. Despite this, he is unhappily single. Yes, Charleston has a gay community, but it’s too small. Only a few weeks in the bar scene and you know everyone, he complains. Disillusioned and bored by the social opportunities the Kanawha Valley offers, he spends his evenings renovating his house or going to the gym. He dreams of better romantic opportunities in Washington or New York or San Francisco, but he never quite seems to go. He reminds me of the many poverty-stricken inhabitants of the central Appalachian coalfields, whose attachment to place keeps them in a region where economic possibilities have dwindled along with the coal industry itself. (Alan also reminds me of how lucky I am to have my lover John. After years of romantic debacles, I’ve been in a healthy relationship for six years, and I’m no longer prowling for erotic outlets or looking for love. It’s easy for me, a homebody who can take or leave gay society, not to resent Appalachia’s restrictions.)
    Loneliness is everywhere, of course, from the Castro to the most isolated hillside hamlet. Much to my surprise, my D.C. friends sometimes register the same complaints that Alan does about Charleston: the gay social world is too hermetic; it’s hard to find someone interested in more than an overnight frolic. But for mountain gays and lesbians who are comfortably coupled, for those who have come to terms with solitude, or those who’ve resisted the media stereotypes that encourage “hillbillies” to hold their own heritage in contempt, Appalachia possesses a rich regional culture that remains distinctive even as many other sections of America have become blandly homogenized.
    The scholar Helen Lewis once claimed that most Appalachians are bicultural, able to operate in both mainstream American culture and their own mountain subculture. That would make “mountaineer queers” tricultural, I suppose, if they are strong enough to wrestle with the apparent contradictions in their identity. That there are tensions and contradictions I was reminded a few years ago when teaching courses on gay and lesbian literature and Appalachian Studies in the same semester. The gay and lesbian students at first regarded me as a “Bubba” or redneck (I drive a pickup truck, have a mountain accent, sport a beard, wear cowboy boots and jeans, and listen to country music), while the locals in my Appalachian Studies class regarded me as one of them until I came out as gay near semester’s end, giving rise to a good deal of cognitive dissonance. I was tempted to quote Walt Whitman: “Do I contradict myself?/Very well then I contradict myself,/ (I am large, I contain multitudes.)”
    The longer I live in the mountains and the more Appalachian gays and lesbians I meet, the more I realize how fortunate are those who master the complex art of balancing several subcultures. I’m also beginning to believe that future generations will more easily work their way through the stigmas and contradictions and will not feel the need to renounce one identity in favor of another.
    My ex-student Kaye is a fine example of the new breed of queer youth. She was raised in a coal-mining family in the small town of Fayetteville, West Virginia. Entirely comfortable with her lesbian identity, she is happily coupled and has little interest in leaving the region. “I like Appalachian gay bars,” Kaye admits. “Folk are pretty friendly around here, and, unlike the bars in cities, which often cater to a specific group of queers, West Virginia’s gay bars, since they’re so few, combine all the gay subcultures: men and women, younger and older, leather guys, dykes-on-bikes, and drag queens. It’s a rich mix.” Kaye also tells an unforgettable story about her years living outside the region. When she and her girlfriend moved to Florida and began socializing in a nearby lesbian bar, they were shunned as soon as the locals found out that they were from West Virginia. It turns out the other patrons took mountain incest jokes very seriously. Since Kaye and her lover were both tall and dark-haired, it was assumed that they were sisters as well as lovers! Unlike many gay people of my generation, Kaye is deeply interested in the traditions of mountain culture. As a student in my Appalachian Studies class, she recognized a kindred soul and gave me such local treats as home-canned corn relish, wild ramps, and creecy greens. Kaye is also passionately involved in such Appalachian controversies as the environmental effects of mountaintop mining and acid mine drainage.
    Everett and Glenn also come to mind. This spring John and I visited the young couple in their log cabin in southwest Virginia, which is set so high on a mountain that it’s only accessible via four-wheel-drive vehicles. Everett grilled steaks, Glenn poured iced tea, and the four of us shared a late lunch on the front porch of the cabin. Far below, the north fork of the Roanoke River rushed along. Across the valley, the fog that forms after a spring rain rubbed its belly along the ridges. Just over the fence, a neighbor’s herd of fat cattle grazed amidst buttercups. A mockingbird chattered somewhere, the porch wind chimes sounded. The rest was countryside silence.
    Everett and Glenn are both Southwest Virginia locals, one from Patrick County, the other from Alleghany County. They like their native mountains, and they intend to stay. They’re part of a widely scattered circle of bear buddies who’ve met on the Internet, friends with whom they exchange infrequent visits. Their families have adopted a “Don’t ask, don’t tell” policy and officially regard them as roommates. What cravings they have for big-city gay adventure they defuse with several yearly trips to bear or leather busts in Orlando, Atlanta, and New Orleans. In between those jaunts, they have that quiet mountainside to come home to. “One colleague says I have two lives,” joked Everett as he doled out slices of his homemade pie. “I’m equally comfortable at wine tastings and Wal-Mart.”
    It’s that juxtaposition of the popular and the sophisticated, the wild and the groomed, the country and the queer, that gives one the sense of living between two worlds. John is due home soon, and I’m about to mix martinis. Some collard greens have been simmering most of the afternoon, and the barbecued ribs are almost done. Tonight we’re going to check our calendar—we have trips to San Francisco, Key West, and Lost River to plan—then watch a DVD of Puccini’s Tosca. Right now, however, I’m peeved, because the radio has just announced that the country music star Tim McGraw is performing at the nearby civic center this coming Saturday, but the event is sold out. The mountaineer in me loves McGraw’s music; the gay man loves his broad shoulders, furry cleavage, and handsome goatee. This double vision is the greatest gift of straddling two subcultures: the world shimmers with twice the meaning, twice the beauty.

From a local:

Okay but honestly fuck University of Florida


As a resident of alachua county, I’m helping to foot the bill to let a nazi speak. I’m footing the bill for the extra security that is essentially going to turn Gainesville into a police state. Rick Scott LITERALLY DECLARED A STATE OF EMERGENCY and UF is still letting Richard Spencer speak. People are literally afraid for their lives and UF is letting him speak. Students who pay good money to go to that university are having to choose between going to class and their safety (because class still isn’t canceled, wtf). I literally left my hometown because I’m afraid to be near it right now.


UF doesn’t care about the residents of Gainesville or their students. I’m disgusted beyond words. They would rather put peoples safety at risk and cost taxpayers hundreds of thousands of dollars than eat a fine that’s probably less than the tuition that a single grad student pays.

Good News (For me!)

After my most recent blow-up with my parents, I got fed up and talked to my aunt who lives near Washington DC and she’s agreed to let me come live with her for a while. There are so many more job opportunities in DC than my hometown, I have friends from college who live there, and I think the change of scenery will do me some good. She and my uncle are fairly strict Catholics and have a more structured lifestyle but I think that will do me some good (and I will take 8am Mass over my mother and I biting each others’ heads off).

They’ve been nice enough to not charge me rent, only have me help watch my little cousins as my way of paying my keep (which I’m more than happy to do). Hopefully I’ll still have some free time to do some writing, but I’ll have to do it outside the house because I want to respect their rules and all that.

I’m so excited for this new opportunity (I actually cried when she said yes) and hope the change will help me move forward and be the momentum I need to get out on my own.

Originally posted by dontmesswiththeleprechaun