yes i was obsessed but i was a fifteen year old girl

My opinion on the “James vs Snape” issue.

I love the HP fandom, but I just hate how in this fandom Snape gets more love than he deserves, meanwhile James Potter gets more hate than he will ever deserve. I can’t believe that it’s 2017 and people still believe Snape was a hero and James was a terrible person.

James Potter was a jerk when he was a teen and yes, he bullied Snape. But he was 15, and “a lot of people are idiots at the age of fifteen”. Tell me that you weren’t an idiot sometimes at that age, I dare you.

If he was such a bad person, then why was he totally okay with Remus being a werewolf? He loved his friends like nobody else, and it’s canon. He became an unregistered animagi so that his werewolf friend wouldn’t have to suffer through the full moon alone.

Do you realize that when James Potter used Levicorpus on Snape, he had already been planning on becoming a death eater and had been trying to out Remus as a Werewolf? This is actual canon from DH.

You have to remember that even if James was an idiot, Snape was no saint either. Remus even said that Snape “never lost an opportunity to curse James”. In fact, it’s mentioned by anyone who talks about the marauders and Snape that the animosity and hexing between them was mutual, so don’t tell me that only James hexed Snape.  We don’t actually know how one-sided Snape’s bullying was. But if what Remus said it’s true, then it was mutual. Even if Snape’s worst memory is true as told,  this happened after he was openly associating with pureblood supremacists, dismissing the use of dark magic as ‘a joke’. 

You need to remember that James despised Dark Magic, and he couldn’t even just say the word “mudblood”. He was the complete opposite to a pureblood supremacist.

He grew up and became Head Boy. He matured, and did it enough for Lily to fall in love with him.

After school (possibly even in his final year), James grew up, and became part of the Order of the Phoenix as soon as he left Hogwarts. He realized what a douche he was to people and changed for the better. He joined the Order because there were innocent people dying for no reason, and he knew he could fight and help. He joined because he loved Lily and he wanted to make sure there was a future for them, a future where they could live happily ever after. And then he died trying to protect his family. He faced Lord Volvemort wandless, unarmed, so his wife and their baby could escape. James Potter was many things but he was not an idiot. He knew that facing Voldemort at that point would be the last thing he did, but did it anyway. He decided that Lily’s life, and Harry’s, was more important than his own. 

You have to rememeber that literally everybody from Hagrid to Lord Voldemort thought James Potter was a good and brave man. 

On the other hand, Snape called the girl he was ”in love with” a mudblood infront of the entire school. He directly verbally abused her with a racial slur and became involved in a movement that wanted to kill her and eradicate her kind. He chose to shatter their friendship because his ego was hurt that a girl was helping him, even though she probably was the only person who was nice to him. 

His treatment of Petunia was terrible. He’s been bullying people since before he even went to Hogwarts. Since he was little, he thought muggle-borns and muggles were inferior. 

He created a spell that could kill his enemies when he was at Hogwarts. And after that, he finally joined a terrorist organization that wanted to kill people like the woman he was supposed to be in love with. He probably killed and tortured people. He was a loyal Death Eater for multiple years.   

Snape may have loved Lily, but his love for her was selfish, seen in the fact that he was willing to let her husband and her infant child die. Actually, I don’t think he loved her. He was obsessed with her. Or at least, he loved the idea of her that was on his mind, not the real Lily Evans. If he had really loved her, he would have tried to save her family, knowing that she would suffer if they died. But he was willing to let a baby and an innocent man die if it meant he could save Lily. If it meant he could have her. 

And when Lily died to protect her child, he realized that he made the wrong decision and “changed”. He became a spy, and I know it was hard. I understand that. I acknowledge Snape’s efforts as a spy and his contributions to the war. In the end, he turned out to be a brave man who tried to rectify his mistakes. But that doesn’t really change how a terrible person he was.

He abused his students, he bullied them. He targeted Neville, knowing he already had self-esteem issues, knowing what happened to his parents.  He threatened to poison his pet. He consciously targeted someone he perceived as weak, to the point where he became Neville’s worst fear at age 13. A fucking teacher was his biggest fear, not the people that tortured his parents into madness. Don’t you see how fucked up is that?!

Snape body shamed and insulted Hermione, who was an intelligent and hardworking student (just like Lily). He made her cry. 

Yes, he tried to protect Harry, and saved his life more than once. But he also verbally abused him, a neglected, abused, orphan who had done nothing wrong but look like his dead father. A father that he didn’t even know, by the way. Snape mocked and insulted him at every turn. Snape did everything that he could to make Harry’s life miserable because it was his way to have his revenge against James. This is not a 15 years old boy bullying another, it’s a fucking 30 years old man abusing a kid because he couldn’t let it go his hate about a dead person.

He tried to have an innocent man killed because of what happened when they were 16. Yes, Sirius was an idiot for that, I’m not denying it, but he didn’t coerce Snape into doing anything. He just gave him information. It means that Snape, on his own, decided it would be a great idea to sneak into the Shrieking Shack just to prove that Remus was a werewolf. 

He caused Remus to lose his job after spending years suffering in poverty. He deliberately made Remus’ students to write an essay on how to spot and kill a werewolf, to emotionally attack and possibly out him as a werewolf. He later did out him to the entire wizarding world, just because he was angry because Sirius didn’t die.

After seeing the abuse Dursley’s inflicted on Harry, he thought it was funny and felt no sympathy. Harry was fifteen. The same age that Snape was when he was (supposedly) “bullied”. He didn’t care about the abuse, he didn’t see himself in Harry. He thought  it was funny. Fucking funny. 

Usually, people at 15 are jerks and bully each other. But teachers aren’t supossed to abuse kids. 

James Potter was a jackass, but he didn’t join the equivalent of a magical nazi organization when he left Hogwarts. He didn’t experiment with dark magic and he died protecting his family. He grew out of it. He was a good person in the end.

Snape only betrayed Voldemort because he was chasing after Lily. He only left the death eaters because he wanted to protect Lily, if Neville was the chosen one, he would remain in his position as a Death Eater.

So sorry if I prefer James over Snape all the way.

The first time is serious business - Older!Damian Wayne x Reader

#10. Making love for the first time. Only slightly NSFW, mostly fluffy. And not great…Thank for the compliment by the way :), hope you’ll like it :

(My master list, by the way : Right here )


The first time he saw you, he was barely ten years old. You were in the same class than him in Gotham Academy, and he noticed you right away because your uniform was old and had clearly been used before. He guessed pretty fast that you were one of those kids from poor families that his father gave a scholarship to, which meant, you were a smart one. 

“Smart”, didn’t even do justice to your intelligence. He never met anyone (that wasn’t his father or brothers) like you, you were extra-brainy, sometimes he even thought you were almost as astute as him…But not only, you were also full of wit and quick responses, and so damn brave. You were a short one, and yet, when he saw you get bullied by sixteen years old, he didn’t even had time to react and come help you that you already shot your foot to one of the guy’s crotch mercilessly. And then kicked his face. The two others bullies were so stunned, they just ran away. They ran away from a short ten year old girl…You were amazing. 

He pleaded to his father so that you wouldn’t get fired from school for kicking that guy’s ass, and Bruce was so impressed with you, and how his son defended you, that he pressured the school into keeping you. 

-I know it’s thanks to you I’m still here, so…yeah, thank you dude. 

-I didn’t do anything. 

-Lier. I know who your dad is. I know it’s thanks to him I have the opportunity to be in the best school of Gotham. And I know he convinced the school’s board not to fire me. My guts are telling me you’re the one responsible for your father’s intervention. So…Thanks. 

And that’s how you became friend with him. You quickly guessed he was the night vigilante “Robin”, and it wasn’t really a big deal. Maybe it was your child’s brain telling you that a hero, with all the costume wearing a people saving, such as him was just wicked cool, that you thought it really wasn’t a big deal On the contrary, you thought Damian was like, the coolest guy you ever met. After Batman and Nightwing of course. He made it his life goal to show you he was better than them…and it made you slowly fall for him as the years went by, and as you grew up together. 

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Only Us (Part Four)

Originally posted by lauraharrier

Pairing: Peter Parker (Tom Holland) x Reader

Summary:  What happens when the reader saves Spiderman…while he’s saving you? (things have changed but fuck it I’m still using this summary cuz idk)

Word Count: 2170

Warning(s): Swearing

Additional Notes: If you would like to be tagged for every part of this series let me know by commenting or something else idk

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3 

“Not your best Y/N.” Mrs. Linden passed me placing my recent algebra test on my desk. I turned it over revealing my score. I groaned internally as I read it. D-, I hated algebra. “See me after class.” She added before carrying on giving the rest of the students their tests. I cowered furrowing my eyes at the paper as the end of class drew closer. The bell rang out signaling the end of the class. I stood up as I grabbing my test walking to the front of the room. The rest of the class slowly made their way out of the classroom. “Y/N.” Mrs. Linden nodded sitting at her desk. “I had asked you if you would attend tutoring lessons. And obviously you haven’t taken me up on that offer.”

“I don’t really have time—”

“School is very important Y/N. You need it to get further in life.” She responded. I opened my mouth to reply before she started again. “That is why I am giving you no choice. Ned has agreed to tutor you—I believe he talked to you already.”

“Yeah he did.” I responded.

“Good.” Mrs. Linden smiled and stood up. “Meet him in the library. He should be expecting you.”


“This is the only option Y/N Y/L/N. You will fail unless you start getting better and it seems like you aren’t putting forth any effort. So this is your only option.”

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How to love and hate a Potter

A Christmasy thing written in the middle of Spring. I had this idea for a long time and it took some time to finish. I dunno how many words does it have but it is pretty long and with a bunch of grammar errors i bet and with a plot that doesn’t make too much sense. It’s my first Drarry one-shot and English is not my main language. Keep this is mind while reading. Warning! It is long.

The Potters.

 Always finding a bloody way to enter Draco’s life and never leave. Always there to torture the Malfoy Heir and make him develop an obsession for a Potter. First, Harry bloody Potter, The Boy Who Lived, The Golden Boy, that Scarhead -and Draco has an awfully long list of nicknames fitting the raven-haired man- sneaked into Draco’s mind and now they got to his son. To his own son, to his pride!

And what’s worse is that Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy is shagging the latest Potter conception.  

But Draco would rather not think about that.

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One Year | A Gaston Story (Chapter Sixteen)

Gaston (Luke Evans) X OC

Summary: Gaston made all the wrong choices in life, and when a dramatic fall from the Beast’s castle leaves him wounded and near-death, he thinks it’s the end of his time. Suddenly, an old beggar woman appears at his side and heals him back to his normal self but gives him one year, and only one year, to find true love before his time on earth and the town’s memories of him come to an end.

Prologue | One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve | Thirteen | Fourteen | Fifteen | Sixteen

Tags: @harleyscheekheart ; @jordyhaley ; @gawston ; @araceli91103 ; @the7thsilence ; @blackxthexbeast ; @hobbithorse19 ; @epicfallenismine ; @imoyu-trashblog ; @naildiva87 ; @dracsgirl ; @girl-next-door-writes

In the deepest pit of the forest outside of Brussels was where the trees warped and twisted ominously, stripped of almost all their branches throughout the years, and forever guarded the uncharted land. A thick layer of fog clung desperately to the coal-colored trunks that made all visibility almost infeasible, and as the darkness of nightfall blinded the forest’s inhabitants, the moon hovered above as its beams fought with the thick canopy of branches and leaves. Further in the shadows was the ruins of a stone stairway, its steps leading to nowhere in particular, with a thick, overgrown coat of ivy that dug into each step.

Underneath its archway, Vayle and Tom appeared in midair with a single SNAP! At once, the witch grasped Tom by his vest and threw him to the ground with ease, the back of his head almost colliding with the sturdy wall of the stone arch. She watched as his stubby fingers wiped the sweat off of his brow that dripped down his full cheeks and into the strands of his amber beard. Tom’s expression had changed dramatically since he lit the tavern on fire, his confidence now faltering as Vayle loomed over him. As usual, her eyes were narrowed while her pupil was just a simple pinpoint against the blank canvass of her eyes.

“Don’t hurt me,” Tom instantly pleaded as his back pressed against the brittle stone wall.

“Oh, shut up, I’m not going to hurt you yet.”

As the old woman turned her back to the cowering man, she contemplated her options. Tom was an imbecile, he had completely destroyed their cover, and with Dick now in the hands of the nearby town, there was no doubt in her mind that he had confessed Vayle’s identity and intentions to Gaston. Knowing their plan, the hunter would be stalking them soon, the desire for the hunt and the battle expanding within him every day…and that was precisely what Vayle had hoped. If the witch was forced to remain silent for the next few days, then she would patiently await for the Beast that still lurked deep within Gaston to awaken. His confidence, his temper, his primal instincts: those would all be his downfalls in the end. Vayle knew her daughter couldn’t completely change Gaston. He was too proud of a man, too damaged from his past, and eventually, everything would resurface. All that Vayle needed was time.

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Dear John.

A/N: This is the 4th backstory to the imagines rewrite, that & the previous backstories can be found here. This has some angst but for the most part it’s just sad. At this point the Winchester men haven’t seen the reader for almost 8 months. Everyone’s age is going to be changing throughout this part

Dean’s age-14

Sam’s age-10

Reader’s age-20 months

The boys raced up the steps of Bobby’s house, each time they stopped by they hoped that you would be there. It had been nearly 9 months since Meredith grabbed you and left the motel room and they hadn’t heard from you since.

They didn’t even bother knocking on the door, they swung it open, hoping to see your face but they were crushed when they were met by Bobby’s sad stare from the couch.

“Come on Sam, let’s grab our stuff from the car.” Dean said dejectedly. The boys walked back outside, passing their dad on the way in.

John let out a sigh and Bobby stood up and walked over to his desk, “Still no word?” he asked.

Bobby grabbed something from his desk, an envelope, and walked over to John, “She wrote you something.” Bobby spoke quietly.

John ripped it from Bobby’s hand and opened the letter,

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Ain’t No God Where We’re From, Darling

Read On AO3 Here

“You want to release a group of the world’s worst criminals, complete with weapons, and try to get them to work for us.” Idly, Shiro wonders if he’d accidentally ingested a hallucinogen earlier in the day. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“No,” Allura’s voice is disturbingly calm. “I want to temporarily let out a group of incarcerated people I think could be useful for us, under heavy supervision.”

Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender

Relationships: Shiro/Lance, Lance & Hunk & Pidge

Characters: Shiro, Allura, Keith, Lance, Coran, mentions of Hunk & Pidge

Written for Shance Week. Day 2: Hero/Villain. Suicide Squad-esque Serial Killers AU.

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[one-shot, prompt fill] playground chocolate, high school milkshake

Title: playground chocolate, high school milkshake

Rating: PG

Warnings: nothing :O

Genre: romanceeeeee

Pairing/s: phan phan phan

Characters: amazingphil, danisnotonfire, catrific, kickthepj, jack and dean, troye sivan, phil’s mum

Summary: prompt fill for this – “we get fake-married when we’re in preschool and we’re in highschool now and i have a massive crush on you and you have no idea and then one day i try to ask you out but end up proposing by accident and you’re so shocked you say yes and suddenly everyone thinks we’re getting married again and helping us make plans and making a fuss but we haven’t even had our first kiss” au

A/N: written for elyssa philgogh’s birthday! Happy birthday chickadee Jollibee party watch him whep watch him neh neh

A/N 2: I altered the prompt so phil isn’t the one to ask dan out yes listen just read i tried v hard

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Dearest (joker x reader) 4

Y/N’s curiosity got the better of her when she went exploring by herself in an old insane asylum. Little did she know of the murderous psychopath lurking in the shadows, obsessed and determined to break her and make her his.

Chapter 4

Slightly explicit content

All my friends are heathens take it slow

Wait for them to ask you who you know

Please don’t make any sudden moves

You don’t know the half of the abuse

I sang along with the music playing in my room. I had been laying in bed for hours, just staring at the ceiling, reflecting on everything that has happened the last week. After my encounters with Mister J, everything seemed so meaningless. All of my classes became even more boring than they were before. I felt dead as I sat there, mouth dry, squinting at the fluorescent lights glimmering at all the pale, lifeless faces sitting at their desks. I was sick of dragging my pencil up and down, back and forwards about things I knew I would have absolutely no use for in life. But that didn’t matter, that wasn’t up to me. I was an eighteen year old girl who was expected to play by the rules and always have a smile on my face.

You’re lovin on the psychopath sitting next to you

You’re lovin on the murderer sitting next to you


I sighed, looking at my alarm clock, which read 1:40PM. Shit. I had English lit class in 20 minutes. I grabbed my stuff and grabbed my bike, making it just in time. I found it so hard to concentrate in class. I really tried to, but my mind refused to listen and it persisted to wander into my typical daydream-state. Fifteen minutes into the lecture, I felt my phone buzz in my pocket. I bent down, grabbed it and clicked into my messages. ‘’Do you miss me?’’ I knew whom this was from.

There was no doubt. But how? All sense of evidence or logic stood against it. How could he know my phone number when he didn’t even know my last name? How could he text from a cell in a straitjacket? The thought of it being someone from school or a family member whose number I hadn’t saved entered my mind for a few seconds. But I could feel that it was him. I don’t know how, but I know that it is.

All of a sudden I remembered what he had told me in his cell a few days ago. ‘’Give it a few days. I’m not finished with you.’’ ‘’Y/N, put your phone down or leave class.’’ My English teacher busted out, giving me the evil eye. ‘’Sorry, ma’am’’ I muttered. I typed in Yes and pressed send as quickly as I could before putting my phone back in my pocket. I tapped my fingers impatiently on the piece of paper I was writing on and waited for the bell to ring. Once it did I rushed out into the hallway and stood next to my friends.

I could hear them talking about something but I had no interest in whatever they were talking about. My phone buzzed again and I put my hand down in my pocket to grab so fast that it nearly slipped out of my hands. I pressed the on-button and read ‘’Come home to daddy’’ and under that text was a picture attachment. My heart started pounding as I went into the inbox, clicked on the picture and waited for it to load. When it did, it felt like everything around stopped. Like my heart started beating slower and slower and I heard a beeping buzzing noise in my ears. It was a picture of my room.

What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck do I do. Even though he kissed me, I feared I would now become his next victim. I mean he would have no problem tracking me down and shooting my brains out. I never even told him my last name and he found my number, my address and now somehow managed to get inside my house. Thank god my mother was at work. English lit was my last class of the day so I either to go home or run and hide in the school basement. But he would most likely find out where I was and I bet he wouldn’t be very pleased with me disobeying his orders. Especially now when he has his hands free.

I finally decided to walk home. I could feel the heat in my cheeks. I loved it though. He was in total control now. There would be no glass wall between us now, no straitjacket, no door for me to escape through if I felt threatened. He could put his hands on me and do whatever he wanted with me. The thought honestly turned me on. The thrill of the rush, of the thought.

As I finally made it home, I put the keys in and turned the lock, opening the door. My house was so quiet. I saw no trace of anyone being here or having been here. As I realized what might happen right now I felt myself growing nervous but also excited. I was a virgin, even though I’d been told I have a very sexual way of being. I wanted to have sex, believe me. I just hadn’t found anyone ‘’qualified’’ for the job. The guys I had messed around with, ended up with me backing out the last minute because I realized I just wasn’t really that turned on.

I half dreaded walking upstairs to my room, considering that’s where he sent the picture from. I opened my bedroom door carefully and slowly. It creaked as it opened before me. There was no one there. I felt this weird combination of slight relief and slight disappointment. I walked inside and stopped mid-room. ‘’Haa-Ha-Ha-Haaaa’’ I heard from behind me. I squeaked and jumped slightly. I turned around, seeing the joker himself, in his full pride. Purple unbuttoned shirt revealing his tattoos, black pants and hair slicked back. He walked towards me with his hands out and a grin across his face like a maniac. ‘’Dollface.’’ He grinned. Something inside of me managed to suppress whatever fears or nervousness when I saw him like that.

Once he was inside my room, he started to circle me, like a predator teasing its prey. ‘’God, how long I’ve wanted to put my hands on you, kitten’’ he purred in my ear as I completely lost all sense of control and let out a soft breath. He forcefully grabbed my chin and turned my face towards his. Then he leaned in and kissed me so passionately I could’ve passed out. His tongue moved against mine and I could taste the sharp metal from his grills. He bit my lower lip several times causing me to moan softly, which caused him to groan into the kiss and grab my hips. Relishing in the fact that he now had his hands free, he grabbed, squeezed and slapped whatever part of my body he could get a hold of. It was so desperate and my mind had turned into a hazy cloud of sex as I let him touch and do whatever he wanted with me. My entire body was tingling and I ached for him to touch me more.  

His hands moved from my hips and started sliding under my sweater and up to my breasts. He slid his hands under my bra and started to squeeze and pinch my breasts. He placed his lips to my neck and bit down whilst dragging has fingers over my nipple. I could feel his cold ring brush over my nipple, which caused me to let out a loud moan, and it felt like my entire body was on fire. ‘’You like that, doll?’’ he asked between bites. I wasn’t able to answer him properly with words so I just moaned for him again. ‘’You’re gonna be a good little girl for me, huh?’’ he asked while he moved his hands down to my ass and squeezed it hard, his fingers harshly gripping my inner thigh. ‘’Yes daddy’’ I murmured softly into his ear.

This sent him over the edge. He grunted loudly and pushed me down on my bed. Before I knew it, he was on top of me, pulling my sweater over my head. I felt the cold breeze hit the skin on my chest and stomach and then he started moving down my body, like a snake. He stopped at my waistline and licked one line up to my nipple. Then he blew on the stripe, all the way down to my waistline again. I felt chills travel down my spine as I arched my back in frustration. He proceeded to suck on my nipple, circling it with his tongue, before he placed it between his teeth and bit it carefully. I was a complete hot mess at this point.

He was about to put his hands down my skirt when someone burst into the room. ‘’Boss, we’ve got company’’ a big guy in a suit said, totally unfazed by the sight before him. Mister J groaned in annoyance as he grabbed my arm and dragged me out of bed. ‘’Time to go, dollface, daddy’s got some business to attend to.’’ You threw your sweater on as he grabbed your waist and threw you over his shoulder and carried you into his Purple Lamborghini.

Here’s all you need to know about men and women: Women are crazy, men are stupid.

And the main reason women are crazy is that men are stupid. It’s not the only reason, but it’s a big one.

And by the way, if you don’t think men are stupid, check the newspaper. Ninety-nine percent of all the truly horrifying shit going on in this world was initiated, established, perpetrated, enabled, or continued by men. And that includes the wave and the high five, two of history’s truly low points.

But as I say, besides knowing that men are stupid, it’s also important to remember that women are crazy. And if you don’t think women are crazy, ask a man. That’s the one thing men aren’t stupid about; they know for sure, way down deep in their hearts, that women are straight-out fuckin’ nuts.

But it doesn’t just happen; it isn’t an accident. Women have good reason to be nuts, the main one being that in the course of life, compared with men, they have far more to put up with; they bear greater burdens. Think of it this way: In the Big Cosmic Cafeteria, as human beings move down the chow line of life and reach that section where the shit is being spooned out, women are given several extra portions.

And please understand, my motives here are not selfish or personal. I’m not saying all this stuff to get in good with women, although an occasional blow job would be nice. But it’s not a requirement. It’s optional. BJO: Blow Job Optional. No, I just think it should be evident to any person who’s being honest and thinking clearly that women carry a lot more of life’s baggage than men.

To begin with, they’re smaller and weaker, so they get slapped, punched, raped, abused, and, in general, get the shit beaten out of them on a rather regular basis. By men, of course, who are stronger. If women were stronger, this wouldn’t be happening. Men would not raise a hand if they thought the balance was more equal; they would back down quickly. Then again, if women were stronger, they would probably be beating the shit out of men just for the fun of it. It’s only fair.

Another major problem for women: They have to look good all the time or at least they think they do. So they’ll be attractive to their male protectors. ‘Gotta look good tonight, Joey’s gonna beat the shit out of me. Maybe I can get a nice kick in the fuckin’ mouth. Gotta look my best.’

And looking one’s female best requires a lot of things. Start with cosmetics. Just think of all the products and procedures a woman is forced to deal with in the world of cosmetics: cleansers, toners, foundation, blush, face powder, lipstick, lip gloss, lip liner, eyeliner, eye shadow, eyebrow pencil, mascara, nail polish, nail polish remover, manicures, pedicures, fake fingernails, fake eyelashes, face cream, neck cream, eye cream, thigh cream, root cream, day cream, night cream, cold cream, wrinkle remover, makeup remover, hand lotions, body lotions, bath oils, bath beads, shower gels, bubble baths, scented baths, perfumes, colognes, toilet water, astringents, moisturizers, emulsions, exfoliants, peels, scrubs, depilatories, body wraps, facial masks, shampoos, conditioners, bleaches, dyes, rinses, tints, perms, straighteners, wigs, falls, rats, extensions, combs, barrettes, bobby pins, hairpins, hairnets, hair curlers, scrunchies, ribbons, bows, debacles, headbands, streaking, frosting, teasing, spraying, moussing, blow drying, cutting, layering, curling, eyelash curling, eyebrow plucking, armpit shaving, leg shaving, crotch shaving, crotchwaxing, leg waxing, eyebrow waxing…

And a purse! A big fuckin’ purse so she can carry all this shit around with her. Especially the makeup, which must be close at hand at all times. ‘Gotta have my makeup. In case I run into Joey and he wants to beat the shit outta me. I gotta look my best. Maybe he’ll punch me repeatedly in the kidneys and the stomach so it doesn’t mark up my face. He’s so thoughtful.’

And, my friend, I hope you’re aware that when we talk about women looking good, we’re also talking about clothing. Clothing is what generates all this shopping shit that occupies so much of a woman’s time. Because the truth is, women have to buy, own and wear an unbelievably bewildering number of garments: Slips, half-slips, camisoles, thongs, panties, pantyhose, stockings, half hose, knee-highs, anklets, socks, leg warmers, garter belts, girdles, corsets, training bras, padded bras, sports bras, nursing bras, push-up bras, strapless bras, Wonderbras, bustiers, teddies, petticoats, peignoirs, negligees, nightgowns, shorties, muumuus, body stockings, blouses, sweaters, jerseys, pullovers, halter tops, miniskirts, maxiskirts, slacks, suits, sunsuits, business suits, pants suits, culottes, capris, shorts, short shorts, hot pants, formal gowns, bridal gowns, evening gowns, street dresses, sundresses, cocktail dresses, housedresses, housecoats, winter coats, fall coats, spring coats, hats and scarves, brooches, pins, necklaces, pendants, medallions, lockets, bracelets, ankle bracelets, earrings, wedding rings, engagement rings, friendship rings, thumb rings, toe rings and (optional, of course) nipple, nose, and labia rings.

And let’s not even begin to talk about shoes. Oh, God! Sorry, girls! I take it back. But at least let’s keep it brief: tennis shoes, sandals, open-toes, slingbacks, mules, wedgies, flats, half-heels, and… high heels. High heels that damage a woman’s feet, ankles, and knees, but make her ass and legs look great, so how can you blame a guy for the occasional rape? ‘Hey, the bitch was askin’ for it, she was wearin’ high heels.’

Now, generally, all this obsession with appearance has one purpose. It’s supposed to lead to romance and it is devoutly wished by some a wedding. A wedding is another one of those good deals women get: The man ‘takes a wife,’ the woman is ‘given away,’ her family pays for the whole thing, and everyone stands around hoping she gets pregnant immediately.

Pregnant! Hey, another terrific treat for the gals! A chance to gain forty pounds, puke in the morning, walk like a duck, get sore tits, and develop a nice case of hemorrhoids. What a deal!

And such attractive clothing. Plus, she can’t get up off the couch without help. Well, it’s her own fault. This wouldn’t have happened if she had taken her birth control pill or used her diaphragm.

Notice: her pill, her diaphragm.

But think of how fulfilling it can be. After all, now she has a baby; a baby she gets to raise practically alone. And if she decides to be a stay-at-home mom, she gets to cook, clean, sew, scrub, scour, wax, wash, dry, iron, do the shopping, drive the van, and entertain the guests.

She’s a housewife! An unpaid, in-family domestic servant. Admittedly, that description is a bit more in line with the old model. The new model is so much better: She ‘gets a fuckin’ job so she can be bringin’ somethin’ in.’ But, somehow, she still winds up being an unpaid, in-family domestic servant after she gets home from the job.

You know, the job? Where she gets paid less than men for the same work, does not rise beyond a certain level in the company and gets harassed all day long by some oversexed moron with a lump in his pants.

Probably better just to stay home where she doesn’t have to be bothered with that pesky paycheck crap, and there’s none of that nonsense about Social Security, pension plans, and unemployment money in case of divorce. Just alimony and child support… if the ex-husband can be located. The ex who probably thought she was looking a little used up and dumped her for someone whose milk glands hadn’t sagged yet.

Can’t forget those milk glands, can we, girls? Tits! Two tits, sticking straight out of your chest; in some cases sticking straight out. Well, for a few years, anyway. Yes, girls, just by virtue of being female, you get to walk around all your life with two vulnerable milk glands hanging out in front of you like lanterns.

And if, somehow, you should get the idea that men don’t approve of the size and shape of those milk glands, you’ll find plenty of social pressure to have them artificially ‘enhanced.’ Such enhancement usually will be performed and supervised by men.

Here’s another physical treat for females: periods! Cramping, bloating, and bleeding five days a month. Fifteen percent of the time. And you can add the time spent with premenstrual syndrome. PMS. Men gave it that name. If women had named it, it would be called, ‘My several days of shrieking and crying and depression, just before my several days of bleeding, cramping, and bloating.’ Men don’t quite see it from that angle. Men experience PMS as a problem for them.

‘What’s the matter, Joey? You don’t look so good.’

'Ahhhh, my wife’s got the PMS.’

Here are some more special female advantages in case you haven’t had enough: pap smears, mammograms, hysterectomies, mastectomies, miscarriages, abortions, labor pains, childbirth pain, episiotomies, stretch marks, and breast-feeding. And postpartum depression. Can’t imagine why she wouldn’t feel good. And just to top it all off, menopause. Menopause! More strange behavior and exciting physical sensations.

And in exchange for all this, in exchange for all this abuse from nature, what is the woman’s payoff? Why, she’s allowed to get into the lifeboat first. At least theoretically. How often do you think that really happens? Oh, and let’s not forget, many men are quite willing to hold the door open for her. In fact, some men are quite impressed with their willingness to do this; they brag about it: ‘Yeah, I beat the shit out of her a lot, but when she runs from one room to the other, I always hold the door open.’

I’ll tell you what a bad deal women got: They’re in the majority on this planet, and they still wound up with the shitty end of the stick. That’s how big a hosing they got.

Oh, and one other inequity I neglected to mention; very unequal. But this one works in women’s favor: They live longer than men. And remember this happens in spite of all the shit they have to put up with. So who do you think is tougher? Men or women? Why don’t you guess. And don’t forget, women have the huge added burden of having to put up with men.

—  George Carlin, When Will Jesus Bring the Pork Chops?
High School Crush- Sebastian Stan

Heyyy! Sorry I took forever:( I’m working on the requests guys!!! Hope you like this one, I personally loved it!


Word count: 1.7K

Warnings: None (?)

Walking through the stage, you say your lines perfectly. It’s been three years since you finished your studies. You did the drama career, although your parents were unsure about your decision. You worked really hard and went to multiple auditions and castings. You got little roles on some TV shows and movies, but nothing important. Finally, after three years and a lot of sweat and effort, you got an important role. You were acting on a theater on New York and you were representing Romeo and Juliet.

Of course, you are Juliet. Your Romeo is non other than Sebastian Stan himself. When you found out about it, you almost turned down the role. He is your crush since you were about fifteen years old and you saw him in The Covenant. With twenty five years old, it’s not like you are obsessed with him or anything, but still it was embarrassing when the director told you that he was the other main character in the play.

Sebastian is the sweetest person you have ever had the pleasure to meet. And that just makes it harder for you to stay cool when he is next to you. When the rehearsals started, you were doing fine. It was exciting and funny, but then you started to talk to him and basically to know him better and you couldn’t help but fall in love with him.

You still remember your teenage years, when the walls in your room were full of Seb’s pictures and you had his name written all over your folders and agendas. Obviously, your high school crush evolved and now it was just a normal, adult crush. You though that acting next to him would be difficult, since you can’t stop thinking about him, but whenever you look at his blue irises it’s like he is silently encouraging you to do it and everything just flows.

Picking up your bag and all your things, you head out of your dressing room and into the stage. You go down to the main floor and look at the big stage in front of you. Tomorrow is the opening night and you can’t avoid but be nervous about it. What if you mess up? Or if the audience thinks you are not talented enough?

“What are you still doing here?” You turn around when you hear a voice and smile.

Your eyes meet Seb’s blue irises and you smile when you see his little smirk. He looks really good. His hair is not too short or too long, the perfect length for you to run your hands through it. He is wearing a navy blue sweatshirt, jeans and black boots.

“I was just about to leave.” You laugh nervously and look at the red seats that surround you.

“Are you nervous for tomorrow?”


“Don’t be, you’ll do it fine.”

“What if I don’t?” Sebastian approaches you and puts his hands on your shoulders. “What if I mess up a line?”

“I’ll fix it, I’m an amazing actor.”

“Seb I’m serious!” You try to keep a straight face but his giggle makes you smile.

“Stop worrying, you are an awesome actress and you worked really hard on this role, you are going to shine tomorrow.” Sebastian squeezes your shoulders and you smile at him. “What if we go grab some food and then I’ll drop you at your apartment?”

“Sounds good to me.”

Sebastian takes you to an Italian restaurant and you ask for a pizza. During the dinner, you don’t think about tomorrow at all. Sebastian has this power over you, when you are with him it’s like the whole world just disappears. You can only think about his beautiful blue eyes looking at you, about his nose scrunching whenever you make him laugh, about his lips moving while he talks to you, about his hand running through his perfect hair.

You stuff a slice of pizza on your mouth because you are about to drool right in front of him. Sebastian’s eyes are glowing while he talks about his life back in Romania. You smile widely at him loving how he looks when he talks so passionately and lovingly about something. When he finishes his pasta, he excuses himself to go to the bathroom. You sigh and close your eyes. If you could get up and go with him to that bathroom… You shook your head, trying to scare away this thoughts. You are ten years younger than him, he probably sees you like a little girl.

Sebastian comes back, his smile never leaving his face. You take a sip of your wine, your eyes never leaving his.

“So, someone special coming tomorrow to see you? Maybe your boyfriend?” You choke at his question, you didn’t expect him to bring in this topic.

“My parents and my sister are coming. I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“How is it possible that a beautiful girl like you doesn’t have a boyfriend?” You feel your cheeks becoming red at his words, but convince yourself that he is just fooling around.

“Didn’t find the right guy, yet. What about you? Who is coming to see you? Maybe your girlfriend?” You bit your lip wishing that he tells you that he is as single as you are.

“My mum and my stepfather are coming. I don’t have a girlfriend, though.”

“And how is it possible that a handsome man like you doesn’t have a girlfriend?” You have a big smirk on your face, a teasing look on your eyes. Sebastian lets out a little chuckle and looks at you.

“Didn’t find the right girl, yet.”

You smile and put your elbows on the table, your face resting on your left hand.

“So, you have not been lucky with love?”

“No, I had some serious relationships but it never worked out. I guess you haven’t been lucky, either?”

You have a small smile and you don’t know if the sudden confidence is because of the wine, but you don’t really care right now. Sebastian looks really sexy to you and you lick your bottom lip, dreaming about those big hands all over your body.

“I had just one serious relationship, but the dude turned out to be a dickhead.”

“No one special right now?”

“Well…” You look down and look back at him. “There’s this guy. He is really handsome. Like really handsome. And he is so sweet and funny and caring, almost perfect. I have had this massive crush on him since forever. But he is oldest than me and I think he sees me as a little girl, so I don’t think I have a single chance with him.”

“I’m oldest than you and let me tell you, you don’t look like a little girl. You look like a beautiful, powerful woman. If he doesn’t like you, then he is probably another dickhead.”

You look at Sebastian and you swear the whole world just stopped. Your breath is heavier than usual and you feel your mouth go dry. Sebastian runs his pink tongue over his bottom lip and you can’t avoid your eyes following every movement. A waiter puts the bill on your table and you come back to reality. After arguing with Sebastian about who’s going to pay, he wins and pays for the meal.

Sebastian drives you back to your apartment and he gets out of the car to walk you to the door. You play with the keys of your house, not knowing if you should confess your feelings. You know it’s not the right time, tomorrow is the play and you need to concentrate and to not mess things up, but the tension you feel around him makes you want to throw up. You turn around, almost bumping with him. The yellow color of the streetlights make his skin look darker and you lock eyes with him for the hundredth time during the night.

“Well, good night.” Seb smiles at you.

“Wait, uhm… You remember what I told you about the guy I like? He actually works with me.” Seb presses his lips together, as if trying to stop a smirk. “And he is a huge dork. I’m constantly dropping hints, but it’s like he doesn’t catch any. And I don’t know if he feels the same way about me, if he doesn’t or if he is just a clueless, stupid man.” You look down, but Seb’s fingers grab your chin, making you look up at him.

“I would say that he feels the same way about you.” Your eyes light up and you feel his face becoming closer to yours.

Finally, Seb closes the gap between the both of you. His lips taste much better than what you imagined. He is soft and caring, one of his hands cupping your cheek and the other on your waist, holding you close to him. Your hands are on his hair and you feel like you could stay like this forever. Sadly, you need air and you have to break the kiss, a big grin already on your face.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, my Juliet.” Seb pecks your lips one more time before walking to his car.

Before getting in, he looks at you one more time.

“That thing you said, about having a crush on me, was that true?”

“I saw you for the first time in The Covenant and I felt in love. But don’t get too cocky about it Stan, it was an awful movie anyway!”

Sebastian puts a hand on his chest, an offended look on his face. You laugh and run to him, jumping into his arms. He grabs your waist immediately and you wrap your legs around his waist, kissing his lips one more time.

“It’s really late to drive, you should stay at my place…” Sebastian laughs and pecks your lips.

“We need to sleep today, tomorrow is a big day.”

“We are going to sleep, but we can have some fun before doing that.” You raise your eyebrows and bit your lip, his eyes already getting darker at your proposal.

With your legs still wrapped around him, Sebastian walks to the door of your apartment. You put your feet on the floor and look for your keys.

“I like the way you think, darling.”

Finally, you open the door and before you can answer to him, his lips are already back on yours.

My Feminist Slam


By Marissa Bracamonte

It’s time to explain my rejection

Of society’s obsession

With their twisted invention

That creeping infection

From ideas and injections

That we strive for perfection

And live only for affection

Now have I got your attention?

I don’t want to be perfect

for anyone else but myself.

If I was perfect to anyone now,

No one would ever take me seriously.

Flawed and average as I am already

I’m told I couldn’t possibly understand

because I’m a silly girl

and I shouldn’t be too smart but witty and pretty and strong and sweet and emotional and be in the know.

Then they find the problem in my skirts and bows and ruffles.

I am self-absorbed. I am selfish.

I am the reason everyone here is scared for the future because I don’t care about anything

except for texting and manicures and shirtless bass players

But I was told I can’t be trusted

with the knowledge of the war-ravaged Middle East

and that I shouldn’t worry my sweet little angel face.

I was told that if I’m going to have smooth, tan legs

(Because I like the way they feel)

and if I am going to wear lip gloss and mascara and a pushup bra and high heels

That I have given in, and let myself be brainwashed

because I can’t possibly be doing these things

For myself.


Why on earth would I wear that bright pink Pepto Bismol lipstick?

Don’t I know that boys don’t like it?

Don’t I know that boys won’t like me if I wear too much makeup?

And my whole life is about figuring out what boys like

In this beauty contest where no one explained the categories

Then there’s my high-waisted shorts and combat boots and muscle tanks and beanies and blazers and…


…But I can’t wear my high-waisted shorts or my muscle tanks

(Even though the boys don’t like them)

because somehow, it’ll still distract them,

says the public school dress code.

And girls getting heatstroke when it’s 95 degrees out and they can’t wear decent clothes

is a small price to pay

to make sure the boys get their education.

How dare a girl’s personal comfort come before a boy’s education?

They are entitled to it. It is their right.

How dare we distract these primal Neanderthals

incapable of self-control who will just rape anything with seemingly female parts?

Let them get their education in their sagging pants, flashing their boxers.

Let them wear their muscle tanks

In the immortal words of Cher Horowitz:

“AS IF !”

And of course, the most heinous crime of all –

to fool the boys.

To make them think that my eyelashes are truly so long and full and dark

and my lips are really the color of a New England cranberry bog

And to keep them from knowing that my God-given melon garden is actually more of an apple orchard.

Don’t I know that I’m so much prettier without makeup?

Don’t I know that boys want a natural beauty?

…A natural beauty. Tell me what that is.


Jennifer Lopez.

Yes. A woman you have only seen airbrushed and through a screen

and after a million dollar trainer, chef, and hair and makeup team

is a “natural beauty” and the standard you should hold all women to.

These standards are what allow us as humans to be pigeonholed by society.


Your heavy eye makeup does not make me a bitch.

Your short skirts do not make me a slut.

Your turtleneck sweaters do not make me a prude.

I will not listen to a society that tells me

I must show no less than 43% of my breasts

but no more than 28%

And no woman will breastfeed in public

because that is disgusting and obscene,

Yet breasts are used to sell everything from eyeglasses to motor oil.

Sex does not sell. The objectification of women does,

and you condemn sex workers, when it is you that funds them?

I’m sick of watching you jack off with your left hand and point with your right.

The way no one questions a silver fox that’s half a century old

with a woman only old enough to be his youngest daughter’s immature friend

in every movie, but put in a woman that could possibly be a mother?

Not marketable. Just like a Wonder Woman movie,

but how many more freaking Spiderman’s do I have to sit through?

How many more male orgasms do I have to see in PG-13 movies

while female orgasms make it rated R

As though there’s a difference, and one is more vulgar than the other –

and it’s not even the messier one.

The contemporary movies in which men are sexually assaulted

or threatened with sexual assault

comes to a grand total… of fifteen.

What about the ones where women are assaulted?

More than one hundred… and fifteen.

And in real life, when a 14 year-old boy was recently raped at knife-point by a 20 year-old woman,

Men were the ones who claimed he should have enjoyed it. Feminists were mainly the ones who validated his pain and spoke in support of him.

So if you try to tell me that “feminism is invalid because men get raped too!”


I will not be another piece of this puzzle,

another lily in this Monet

because my body is not a temple

It is a castle with a drawbridge and moat and towers that is guarded by a fire breathing dragon made of Ash that will burn you until you are nothing if you try to lay siege to me one more time.

And you are allowed to decorate your own castle and modify your body

There is nothing wrong with loving yourself

Be vain and unashamed.

No one is more worthy of your love than you.

You are allowed to decide that you are beautiful

And don’t depend on someone else to do it –

Humans are stupid and fickle anyway. They are reckless and unpredictable

and the only one you can control is – that’s right – you.

Stop following the rules and demand to know who wrote them

Stop keeping your mouth shut and learn your own voice.

It’s time to stop letting old, rich, white men decide the fate of our castles.

While over 600 laws circulate dictating what I can and can’t do with my own…


None. None. Circulate on what men can and can’t do with their…

No one wants to let birth control be covered by insurance

so they don’t have to pay for us not being able to keep our legs crossed

But go ahead and get your Viagra on my dime,

no, please, let me pay for your boner. This one’s on me.

Add it to my tab. What else am I paying for?

I’m paying for what the government cares about.

Our government only cares for an unborn child, one with a 50/50 chance of being male or female

Until it is born. Then it is the mother’s problem.

This happens rather than acknowledging the rights of a human they know is a woman

When they’re too busy worrying about what that child could be

rather than what the woman already is,

We are forced to hear about coat hangers and drinking and falls.

And we all pay for it.

Why are there so many restrictions and invasive questions regarding my body?

Why is it that a man donating sperm does not have to have a college-educated penis

but a woman donating eggs MUST have a college-educated vagi-

Oh. I forgot.

That word is obscene.

We teach girls to be ashamed of their bodies before they can understand the drivel they are fed

Just as we tell someone acting stupid and ridiculous that they are being a teenage girl.

Poetry, diaries, girls’ night, squeals of joy and shows of affection and easy happiness is just for teenage girls, and it is laughable and childish.

We make these real-life teenage girls think that they have done something wrong simply by existing.

Teenage girls – any woman – is just too emotional.

Too emotional to be in office, too emotional to make a single rational decision

And any strong, real emotion I feel

You assume I’m just on my period.

How about tonight, when you lie down,

I ASSUME you’re paralyzed and I cut off your legs and arms?

…Did I take it too far?

Assume the ghost of cleavage you see from your twisted spine angle

Rubberneck just to check

Assume I’m doing it for you

While I assume an offensive position.

Why do we use insults like “bitch”, “slut”, “whore”, and “pussy”

to get our angry points across?

Why do insults supposedly aimed at men,

those sons of bitches and bastards,

mostly insult their mothers?

Why does it take twice the time

to find an insult that does not demean women?

Because by then it isn’t even worth trying anymore?

But then there’s a silently terrifyingly question of why

when confronted with the notion of equality, the first thing I hear is


Really? THAT’S what you’re concerned about?

I want respect and equal pay and you want to punch me in the face?

And a boy with an unrequited love has sympathy pouring in for him

but his female counterpart is pathetic, clingy, and sad.

Romantic gestures from her are desperate, and if she thinks his are creepy

She is an ungrateful bitch, and friendzoned him. Just like she does to all the nice guys.


Meanwhile there’s a girl, not wanting to be too available but at his slightest whim

waiting, waiting, waiting

calling, hello? Hello? HELLO?? HELLO???


My name is Marissa Bracamonte

And I am a closeted straight person.

I kiss girls for attention, to fulfill the male fantasy

and when I fell in love with a girl my sophomore year that was 5’4” and spoke two languages and had long brown hair like chocolate that I melted into, melted with my tears,

tears that froze me after she broke my heart the last week of January

That was me fulfilling the male fantasy, begging to be thought of as sexy and daring.

It’s not just me. Any bisexual man is just too scared to step the rest of the way out of the closet

Because no matter what we say we are, bisexual women are really straight and bisexual men are really gay because REALLY all we want, is your dick.

“But not ALL men-”

Stop. Shut the fuck up.

If you try to tell me about reverse sexism or how you want to play the Devil’s advocate,

I will hand you a bowl of M&M’s. 10 are poisoned. Take a handful.

“But not ALL M&M’s are poisoned!”

You know what you do when you say that not all men are like that?

You internalize the misogyny, and you normalize it

and you make it seem like the men that ARE “like that”

are ok, because… Not all men are like that.

You know what you don’t do?

Teach me something I didn’t already know,

and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t act as though you were revealing the secret of the universe to me.

I wonder how many of you reading or hearing this

Mull over what I’ve said, and one word passes through your mind:


Because wanting equal rights for myself is the same as invading Poland. It is the same as genocide. It is the same as the attempted destruction of hundreds of thousands of years of history and culture and people.

Some of you, all of you even, may not agree with me.

That’s ok. I can accept that.

But I want you to remember when your beautiful sister, mother, aunt, best friend, cousin, girlfriend – when you were carving a new human being out of yourself

Because you had been made to believe you weren’t good enough.

I ask you to recognize society’s problems, and remember what they’ve done to us

Now that we’re throwing up and purging ourselves of happiness,

Starving ourselves of sustenance and care,

and cutting ourselves to bleed out hope.

And if you do agree with me,

with anything I’ve tried to say,

Do not be a bystander in this.

No one can fix these things for you

because the attacks are always personal.

They target you

Every Single One – no matter what gender you identify as –

Even the ones that have been told they are not women,

and if they try to say they are, the next question is about tacos or hot dogs.

When do they target you? Every Single Day.

When they show you magazine covers with men in power suits

and women wearing only bras, knee socks, and a practiced wanton gaze.

When a nude photo only boosts a rising male celebrity’s status

but can destroy a woman’s entire career.

When there is makeup for women

and yet we must accept men as they are.

When only the words “I have a boyfriend” will get rid of unwanted attention

because the man won’t respect your rejection.

When women are mocked for going to the bathroom in groups

because we don’t want to get cornered when we’re alone.

When the MINUTE there was a “YesAllWomen” hashtag, there had to be a “YesAllMen” one


When we walk in a parking garage at night

with 9-1-1 dialed, our thumbs poised to call, grasping our phones.

When we can’t take that drink

because we don’t know you, but we know the threat of being drugged.

God, do we know it.


When wearing that top out but not calling you back makes us a tease

When we turn on the radio and hear a man telling us “I know you want it”

When turning a guy down gently is taken as a challenge, not a real answer

When turning a guy down flat out turns you into a prude bitch

When both now come with the option of being murdered

When Men’s Rights Activists are actually killing people and it’s not just a joke and people are DYING.

When giving a fake phone number is safer than just saying no

When I learned that yelling “fire!” was more effective than yelling rape

When people are taught “don’t leave your drink alone” instead of “don’t drug people”.

When we’re taught “how not to get raped” rather than “don’t rape”.

When fashion and cooking are considered female occupations, yet the top earners in the industry are male

When we are put on a pedestal as objects to be adored and revered and made to live up to standards we never could, and yet we are so much more capable than we are given credit for

When we are told that all we can do is be beautiful and be wives and be mothers and then are ridiculed for being vain and wanting to stay at home and having too many kids and we are expected to be able to do it all and. We. Can’t.




And finally. When you wake up and realize

that there are child brides, and honor killings, and human trafficking

and there are girls that are enslaved and unable to go to school or have a future.

When there are mass kidnappings that don’t make national news

and when horrific abductions become subjects of a joke

That is when it starts to matter.

Or if you’re me, and it starts to matter

one February night, on the second date

when you weren’t wearing a short skirt and a tube top and high heels.

When you were wearing combat boots, jeans, a sweater, and a marshmallow coat zipped to the neck

and he locked the car door, and after you felt that first hand,

the rest of what happened just gets stuck in your throat,

and you can’t even say the word, because it doesn’t seem real,

and then you’ll have to accept that it happened to you.

And now… I have to think of myself as a statistic.

I woke up when I got a call from my best friend

saying he was in jail, he was gone

asking me why we never went out again, what went wrong

And I woke up when I realized there’s another girl like me.


One I’ll never meet and apologize to

for not being brave enough, strong enough, and for letting it get to me

when the first person I told told me

that I must have been asking for it

And I was fifteen years old.

I realized that when you promote changes

trying to teach women to change their behavior

what you really say is –

“Let him rape the other girl.”

The drunker one, the one wearing less clothes, the one on the worse side of town,

and she deserves to be safe just as much as I do.

I don’t want to condescend

but if this is a means to the end

I’ll say what I have to

To make them understand… it’s not just about 23 cents.

It’s about normalizing and internalizing

It’s about seeing the t-shirts that sum it all up in

“Cool story, babe. Now go make me a sandwich.”

It’s about when a meaningful fight,

One that has spanned centuries and civilizations,

becomes nothing but something for late-night hosts

to mock in a monologue.

It’s about words like Feminazi

becoming part of our vocabulary.

It’s about the depression that society’s in

As well as one in eight of our teenagers.

It is about us losing our humanity.

And it’s about being too numb to stop it.

I know I’ve said a lot here

But believe it or not,

There’s so much I haven’t mentioned.

Any questions?

over the years

i’m in fic mood right now. also i get pissed off at people that are mad for craig hurting either thomas and tweek, so i decided to write a fic from craigs POV, starting with when he was a lil bean, 12 years old, fell in love with tweek and him getting hurt over and over again until he can’t take it anymore. i hope that when u read this you finally understand his decision bc i’m on full on mom mode. i’m gonna defend him /this is kind of long. 6k+, since it’s going from when they’re 12-20 years old. also i didnt reread it lmao/

warning: it’s sad. everything kind of is. dont complain later i warned you :D

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Pitching Your Story

I’m going to tell you a story from Gen Con this weekend. It’s a story about anime, about obsession, and about selling books. Also, I’m going to embarrass myself on the internet and it will all wrap around to writing advice.

My friends and I, as we often do, had found ourselves discussing anime, and Yu Yu Hakusho specifically (not sure how at the moment, though I have a couple of suspicions).

And then one of my young friends says, “What’s Yu Yu Hakusho?”

(She’s fifteen. Too young to have seen it. I’m getting old and I’m still in my early twenties)

Anyway. A little about me and Yu Yu Hakusho: I still have a Kurama plushie and pictures of Hiei and Kurama hanging above my bed. I own most volumes of the manga, and the very first manga I ever owned were volumes of Yu Yu Hakusho. I made my mother and grandfather make me a Botan costume in high school despite my general aversion to pink. My friend went to an anime con without me when we were in high school, and the souvenir he thought of was a Yu Yu Hakusho movie (and yes, I still have it). The first crushes this aro girl feigned were for characters from Yu Yu Hakusho.

I could go on, but here’s the important point: my love for this show was palpable. Everyone who knew me in elementary school or middle school or high school knew I loved it. And I was now charged with the task of explaining something as nonsensical as nineties anime to someone without making myself look insane for loving this silly, silly show.

Those of you who have ever attempted a query letter may see where I’m going with this now. For the rest of you, yes, this is basically the task you’re given when trying to pitch a book to agents and editors, and frankly, even readers.

So I’m walking there next to my friends, completely overwhelmed with my love for this show, and my extensive knowledge of it, trying desperately to boil everything down to something short and succinct enough to interest a normal human who didn’t spend their critical years obsessing over it.

There were many seconds of silence.

Another friend says, “Spoiler: the main character dies.”

And I laugh. If you’ve seen the show, you know why: “That’s not a spoiler alert. That happens in the first episode!”

I fall back into silence, but our young friend has found something to latch onto. “Wait a minute,” she says. “How do you have a show where the main character dies in the first episode?”


If you cannot even fathom how to pitch your book, this story you have poured your heart and soul and years of your life into, start with that. What’s the spoiler in your first chapter? What’s going to make someone ask, “How can you have a story if that happens?”

Bonus points if the question is, “How can you have a story if that happens right away?”

Preference #14 - Seeing More Than Just My Sister - Requested




“Hey baby, could you go out and get more coffee?” My sister called from the ensuite bathroom in her dorm room. I was visiting her at college, which meant she was using me as her personal assistant all over again. Lucky me.

“Yeah whatever…” I called back getting up off of her futon. At least it meant I would see something besides her untidy room for a change. I grabbed money from her wallet. Her coffee. And I headed outside pulling my coat back on. At least hopefully this way her boyfriend had the chance to show up and they could get it on leaving me to explore this place. I had wanted to go here originally and when she heard, she just had to apply and get in. It was still my dream school though.

I wandered until I found the campus Starbucks and I went inside feeling my nose begin to thaw and fill with the smell of coffee. I looked at the coffee bags and grabbed a couple of the ones she liked before going to the counter. I ordered a hot chocolate extra hot and paid before going to the end of the bar.

“You know they say coffee stunts your growth, shortie.” A guy sitting at the table near the bar said with a cheeky smile. He had a messy fringe falling in his face still damp from the snow earlier.

“It’s not for me.” I said maybe a little sharper than I needed to. His eyes widened in surprise before a cocky smirk spread over his lips.

“Aww… Little girl hasn’t adjusted to coffee yet?” He said in a condescending voice.

“Oh just bite me.” I snapped letting him get to me.

“I’d be happy to…” He said trailing off expecting me to give my name.

“Y/N. And don’t even touch me.” I said crossing my arms.

“Ashton. But that looks like it’d be fun.” He said with a pout. I narrowed my eyes into a glare.

“Oh yeah? Too bad for you.”

“You know what the trick to banter is?” He said leaning closer to me over the counter. My heart gave a heavy beat but I masked whatever I was feeling.


“Sexual tension.”

“What are you? A hormonal fifteen year old?”

“Hormonal twenty year old actually.” He said sounding proud of himself.

“Ah… You sound like a grandpa now.” I said.

“And how old are you?” He asked.

“I am eighteen.”

“So you’re legal.”

“And so not into you.”

“If you’re oh so not into me, why are you still talking to me?”

“It’s fun bantering with you.”

“I hope that’s you admitting there’s sexual tension.”

“Um, no.”

“A man can dream.”

“Is this a wet dream kind of thing now?”

“Wouldn’t you like to find out?”

“Uh, still no actually.”

“Ah come on, say you want the challenge. You’re bored anyway, am I right?”

“What’s that got to with you?”

“Absolutely everything, since I’m bored too… Why don’t I take you out to campus?” He said. I had nothing better to do actually, so I found myself going along with him. He gave me a tour of the school, his own personal and private tour I needed to feel lucky about going on. At some point, he lead me into the music department practice rooms. He’d steadily become less of a jerk over time and I found that I was enjoying myself with him. He was funny and confident and smart but also a bit geeky and awkward. Honestly, I probably liked that he was a bit awkward best…

“And this is where I pass my time, writing songs no one will ever hear.” He said broadly sitting behind a drum kit.

“Why won’t anyone hear them?” I asked sitting on another stool.

“’Cause I’m not famous, if you didn’t notice. Not exactly plastered on billboards.”
“So? Let me hear something. I’m someone at least.” I shrugged.

“You kind of need more in a song than drums, you know.” He said turning a bit pink.

“Yeah, but you can’t have a song without drums.” I replied.

“Why would you want to listen anyway?” He asked looking at me through narrowed eyes. My heart started racing. I knew it was a bit foolish but I also knew I was getting a massive crush on him in only a couple hours and all I had been thinking about for the past little while was if he would try to kiss me.

“I don’t know, maybe I just want to hear you.” I said shrugging.


“Why do you care?”

“I’m asking the same question.”

“I just want to hear you.”

“Maybe another time.” He said deflating on the drum stool.

“How do you know they’ll be another time?”

“Because I’m going to get your number and call you. Then I’m going to go out to wherever you live and pick you up and take you on a date.” He said standing up and walking toward me. I felt my heart doing gymnastics tricks in my chest.


“I don’t know, I like you.”


“Because you’re the best banter I’ve ever had?” He shrugged. He was right in front of me by then, less than a foot away.

“Is that really an answer?”

“It’s really my answer.”

“I can’t get anything more romantic than that?”

“Oh very funny, real comedic.”

“Oh come on, just sweep me off my feet; it won’t be hard.” I said leaning toward him.

“Well… I suppose I could manage that.” He said letting his hand rest against my cheek as he bent toward me.

“I believe you could yes…” I said and he smiled coming closer.

“Alright…” He said coming closer. Not even a second later, I felt his lips softly pressing into mine.


Finally I managed to slip away while my sister had another hissy fit in her dorm about how the décor just didn’t go together. That was not my problem but I felt a bit bad for her roommates. They had to deal with her type A personality now.

I tugged my hair up into a ponytail going to the park in the middle of campus with a soccer ball under my arm. I had to get the stress of the day and my sister out somehow before I went to family dinner later. That was not going to be fun. My mom would be tearing up and my dad would be more stony than usual and my sister would send her food back four times because it just wasn’t good enough the first few times… I never understood her obsession for details but hey, she would finally be out of my hair now. Or at least out of trying to fix my hair all the time.

When I got to the park I found a flat corner area of it and sat on the grass. It was itchy but I would get up in another moment, I just needed to tighten my laces. I brought my headphones up into my ears playing rock music loud. I pushed myself up and began going around dribbling the ball between my feet.

I didn’t want anyone to approach me but someone of course had to…

I felt someone tap my shoulder. After I composed myself after jumping three feet in the air, I turned around…

To see a really hot shirtless guy with fluffy brown hair and toned muscles and when he saw my mouth fall open a bit, he flashed a cocky smirk.

“You want to go one on one with me?” He said running a hand through his hair. I was distracted for a second imagining running my hands through it before I answered.

“In soccer?”

“Nah, I was thinking rugby.” He said with a killer smile.


“No, I was thinking soccer too…” He said laughing. “I’m Calum.” He said holding out his hand. I shook it feeling just a bit awkward.

“I’m Y/N, nice to meet you.” I said letting some of my awkwardness show but he just chuckled.

“Alright, the goals should be there and there.” He said pointing to two sets of trees. I nodded tightening my ponytail. I may be awkward but I was also competitive.

“Got it. Ready?” I said taking off my iPod and putting it with my sweatshirt off to the side. He nodded taking off his headphones.

“I’ll warn you, don’t get distracted by my rippling muscles.” He said with a wink. I rolled my eyes trying to play it off like it wasn’t going to happen when I knew it was far too possible.

“In your dreams.” I countered going with him to the center of the tree field we’d outlined.

“Winner gets the other a smoothie.” He said with one last super cocky smirk.

“Deal.” I said squatting down my eyes zeroed in on the ball.

We played against each other hard. Of course he started off going easy on me until he realized I was so not going easy on him. Then he went hard on me. It was as if we were getting it on all or nothing except it was over a smoothie.

When I was going to score while he was chasing relentlessly after me, I tripped on a root and sprawled out onto the ground. Tears sprung to my eyes as I looked at my leg; an angry scrap went all the way up my shin littered with specks of dirt while my ankle whined in protest to movement. I dug my teeth into my lip hard; I didn’t want to cry, not in front of Calum. Not in front of him. I rolled over onto my back pulling my leg up to my chest inspecting the wound as I tried not to cry. I sniffed gently wiping off the wound.

“Hey…” I heard as Calum threw himself onto the ground next to me. I flinched.

“Sorry I tripped.” I whispered bringing my legs even closer to my chest.

“Not like you brought me down too, and I am sorry you tripped. Don’t say sorry for this kind of stuff.” He said gently moving until he was in front of me. I smiled weakly still struggling to keep my tears in.

“It hurts.” I said in the quietest voice I had and he leaned closer to my face.

“You’re trying not to cry, huh?” He whispered smoothly raising his hand to my cheek. I felt my eyes widen as my lips trembled.

“It hurts.” I repeated, just loud enough for him to hear.

“I’m sorry sweetheart, here, let me look at it.” He said dropping his other hand to lay warmly over my skin. The most absurd thought entered my head for that moment; I hadn’t showered and I was still sweaty so why did he have to touch me when I wasn’t clean smelling like my soap and shampoo?

“What do you know about wounds?” I said trying to calm the choking tears in my throat, trying to keep them locked up there.

“Maybe I am a pre-med major.” He said gently stretching out my leg with his warm palms.

“Maybe I don’t believe you.” I said sucking in a breath as he touched the scrape.

“Yeah, you shouldn’t; I’m undecided.” He said with a chuckle. “But it looks good to me.” He said. “Do you want me to walk you home?” He said and I shook my head.

“Home is pretty far. I’m just visiting my sister…” I said pulling my leg back into my chest.

“I can take you back to your sister.” He offered.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” I asked sniffing again.

“I want to be with you right now.” He said simply.

“I’m sorry I fell. No one had even scored…” I said and he started laughing.

“Honestly, you think I care about the score?” He said shaking his head.

“What do you care about?” I asked suddenly.

“Right now I care about you and making sure you’re ok, then maybe getting some food.” He said leaning closer to me.

“Ahh, you’re hungry?” I asked leaning back; the pain was going away.

“Maybe, just a bit but I’m usually hungry.” He shrugged.

“Ah well thank you for the game…” I said moving to get up.

“No wait. I will take you back and I won’t leave to let you give me sustenance for my troubles of walking you home.” He said confidently. I sighed as he helped me stand up.

“Alright, what do you want to eat?”

“I don’t know… Maybe I want to eat you?” He said leaning toward me as I supported my weight against his arm.

“Eat me?” I asked.

“Yeah, like this.” He said leaning in and suddenly his lips caught mine.


“Yeah whatever, I’ll go to Gamestop to get the present for your boyfriend.” I groaned heaving myself off of my sister’s bed in her room. She thanked me profusely. She wasn’t one for videogame stores but I didn’t mind them therefore, when it was her boyfriend’s birthday present, I got the money to get him a videogame and other stuff. I shoved my hands deep into my pockets as I walked before I entered the store in the strip mall down the street. I went into the store and started looking around.

I wasn’t the biggest gamer. I was just passive about it. Sure, I’d play but I wouldn’t like lust after playing… I would just do it if I was really bored. I definitely didn’t fit with the gamer title.

I picked up the title my sister told me to get and realized I had enough to get him a really cool controller so I added that in. I walked around to the counter, passing a worker up on a ladder. That turned out to be a big deal.

Just as I passed the ladder, I heard something bang above my head.

“Watch out!” I heard someone shout just before something hit my head. I felt my body sink into the ground as my eyes closed and the world faded away.

“Hey, hey, wake up please…” I heard someone saying close to me. My body felt like lead, heavily sunken on the floor. I didn’t think I had broken anything but my head hurt a bit.

“What…?” I said in a low, groggy voice. It took more effort than usual to open my eyes but seeing a boy a foot from my face with bright red hair woke me right up. Damn. He was cute.

“Thank god you’re conscious. I keep telling them not to trust me on the ladder; six feet of clumsy giant is never good above people’s heads. Not to mention, I constantly drop things…” He said shaking his head as he pressed his hand into my forehead. “You don’t have a fever at least.”

“Why the hell would I have a fever from getting hit in the head?” I counter glaring at him. He turned red although he didn’t match his hair at all. It’d be hard to get that color naturally on skin…

“I don’t know!” He defended.

“And at six feet, aren’t you already over people’s heads?” I continued rubbing my head. I finally felt the cold from the ice pack he had been holding on it.

“Can we rule out that you have a concussion if you’re so quick on your feet?” He said with a sigh.

“I don’t know… What fell on me?” I asked sitting up a bit. I was glad when my head only pounded a little, not enough to make me want to pass out again.

“Only an xBox box… You should be fine but you went down…” He explained. “Do you know your name?” He asked holding me back from sitting up anymore.

“No, I totally forgot the name I’ve been using for eighteen years.” I said with an edge. “It’s Y/N.” I said and he chuckled.

“Pretty sharp, huh? I’m Michael. I’m sorry I dropped that on you…” He said and I shrugged.

“Don’t worry. I think I’m fine. How long was I out?” I asked looking around. I wasn’t in the store that I’d fallen in but I could hear the same noises through the door at the end of the couch I was on.

“I barely got you into the break room before you were conscious again.” He said.

“Glad you didn’t kidnap me.”

“Nah, I don’t play like that. I just play video games…” He said laughing.

“Ah, I figured, since you work here and all.” I said with a smile.

“Oh so you can be friendly?” He said laughing.

“Sorry, I’m used to being defensive…” I shrugged.

“Makes sense, I did drop a box on your head.”

“And you said sorry.” I said making a point that it was the end of that.

“So you’re not mad?”

“Not really… I drop stuff on myself all the time…” I said with a shrug.

“Hey same!” He said a little louder than he had been; I winced.

“Loud.” I said scrunching up my face.

“Oh sorry…” He said frowning.

“It’s ok.” I said.

“I really am sorry.”

“I really don’t mind. It’s ok.” I said and he gave a soft smile.

“Why don’t I give you something to make up for it?” He said and I raised my eyebrow in question.

“Like what?”

“Well, I can’t let you get your game and controller for free but my shift is almost over. We could go out.” He said thinking.

“Out where?” I said and he deflated.

“No idea.”

“Sounded almost like a date for a second.”

“It could be a date…” He said trailing off.

“What? I just meant you!” I said in a voice that was protesting the idea a little too much.

“It’s cool if you don’t want to just respect a man’s pride…” He said looking down.

“No, it’s not that I don’t want to…” I said looking for words.

“So if I wanted to kiss you, what would you say then?”

“I wouldn’t say anything…” I said slowly.

“But you wouldn’t reject it?” He said imploringly.

“No, I wouldn’t reject it.” I said slowly. He slowly came closer.

“So since I want to kiss you, I can?” He said his face now inches of mine.

“I’m not gonna say no or push you away…” I responded.

“Will you kiss me back?” He said coming closer.


“Would you let me kiss you again?” He asked.


“And kiss me back again?”


“And do it all multiple times?”

“Yes…” That seemed to be the last of his questions…

He finally brought his lips to mine…

And yes, we did kiss multiple times after that, too.


I groaned flipping my hair over my shoulder as I stared at the pile of clothes on my sisters bed. No way all her crap would fit in this tiny dorm room but I didn’t want to be around when she realized she couldn’t keep her entire shoe collection with her partly because if I said that she’d just say that I just wanted the shoes for myself… Which I do but she doesn’t need to know that…

“Hey, where’s the rest of the clothes?” My sister said coming in.

“You left your spring outfits at home, remember?” I said trying to keep the exhausted sigh out of my voice.

“Oh right… Is this everything?” She said gesturing to the pile of stuff. I nodded.

“Yeah…” I said trailing off.

“Alright, can you take the boxes down stairs?” She said and I nodded picking them up. Now, I’m not big or tall so once I had all of them in the easiest way to carry them, I could hardly see as I slowly tiptoed my way down the stairs. Or at least I was heading down the stairs until, at one of the landings, I crashed into someone else and my butt met the stairs. Painfully. And the boxes slid everywhere.

“Crap, sorry! Are you ok?” The guy said from the position he landed in next to me. He had quiffed blonde hair and a black lip ring and blue eyes and I had to suck in my breath just to make sure breathing still worked…

“I’m good. Sorry… I couldn’t see through the boxes… Are you ok?” I said rubbing my arms. He smiled faintly, turning a bit pink.

“I’m good. Here. You helping someone move in or are you attending?” He said picking up some of the boxes.

“Helping my sister move in but she’s about to start her dramatic breakdown and I want to disappear for a couple hours… Anyway you don’t have to help me…” I said reaching for the boxes.

“How about I help you out more than with the boxes?” He said and I raised my eyebrows. His face was pinker than it had been before but he didn’t give me any of the boxes.

“What do you mean?” I said taking his hand when he offered it to help me get up.

“My family, we just helped the younger of my older brother move in and we’re heading out to dinner; I think my mom wouldn’t mind if you came…” He said scratching the back of his head tugged his hair. I felt tingles through my arm where he’d helped me…

“I couldn’t possibly…” I said clutching the boxes toward my chest.

“I’m inviting you. Here, we can take these down stairs and we’ll go meet my family. If you still want to turn me down, then you can.” He said with a flash of a confident smile. I felt my mouth open a bit but the stranger feeling was my head nodding.

So we went outside and tossed the boxes before we walked back into the dorm heading toward the boy’s wing.

“So I am the youngest of three, my older brothers are more manly than I am but I’m better at math, still the baby. What I really want to do is music…  I play guitar… What about you?” He said as we let all the bustling new students push their overflowing carts into the elevators. We had to wait a while before an elevator came along that had enough room for us.

“I just want to write maybe I don’t know… I have just one older sister and she’s the queen. I’m probably not even the princess compared to her. She gives my parents a lot to deal with so I didn’t… I wasn’t the one that got to ask for a lot so well maybe my parents will notice it more now… Anyway, that’s a lot to unload onto a stranger, sorry. Oh and my name is Y/N.” I said leaning against the elevator wall. We were alone…

“I’m Luke… It’s nice to meet you and it is easier to unload on strangers…” He shrugged.

“Not everyone is a stranger anyway, just the weird ones…” I said just commenting to myself.

“Hence strange strangers.” He said and I laughed.

“They are quite odd, those strange ones…” I added. I heard his laugh. I liked his laugh. I wanted to hear it over and over again. It was the first of many things I found I liked about him. I liked his smile. I liked his eyes. I liked his mom. I liked his brothers. I liked his voice. I liked the things he said. I liked nearly everything about him.

The biggest thing I didn’t like about was that he probably didn’t feel the same way about me.

“Alright, I’ll walk you back. Where are you staying?” Luke said as we finished dinner with his family.

“Do you know the area that well?” I countered with a laugh erupting over the table.

“I can find a hotel; phones have GPS.” He said rolling his eyes.

“I can just call my parents.” I said and he waved at me dismissively.

“No, I’m going to walk you.” He said with a keen determination.
A few minutes later I found myself walking along with him on the streets of campus.

“So… What music do you like?” He said suddenly.

“Oh popular music, but I can find something good in everything.” I shrugged. “You?”

“Good Charlotte inspired me and I like rock.” He said and I smiled.

“Nice. And you said you play guitar right?” I said and he nodded.

“I could play for you sometime.” He said looking at the ground as we walked, a blush once again sweeping his cheeks.

“How could you ever reach me again?” I said in a sadder voice than I wanted to.

“I could get your number now.” He said and I sighed.

“Yeah… But we could live at opposite ends of the country.”


“Hmm.” I said.

“Hey, I’m bad with this stuff ok?” He said as we got onto the elevator.

“So am I.” I said with another sigh.

“You’re being more of a downer, are you ok?”



“Once you get me to the door, it’s goodbye.” I said as the elevator opened and we began the slow walk to my hotel room door.

“No it’s not.” He said as I stopped outside the door.

“How can you be so sure?” I said looking into his eyes.

“Because….” He said and he leaned in. I felt his lips brush over my cheek. “It’s only goodnight.”

Tales of a Stalker

When I was 15, I moved across the country to go to a specialized charter art high school. The move itself was very difficult and it was definitely a bit of a culture shock. My previous school was an art school as well, but it was less specialized and the visual arts courses were basically the classes that student with behavioral problems were put into to get an easy A. Of course, because it was less regulated, there was so much room for weebs who wanted nothing to do with the mandatory drawing exercises and only attended that class because they thought that it was a class where you could just draw manga all day. My mom and I felt as though it was necessary to switch to a school where visual art is taken more seriously since I had decided that I wanted to actually become an artist for a living.

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bianeydna  asked:

I woukd live it if you told me about actor Geno meeting his favorite player Sid :)

it’s pure coincidence that geno’s newest film is on location in pittsburgh, but once he’s there, he can’t help needling his pa for the chance to go to a pens game.

“should enjoy city! see sights, learn about culture,” he says, trying his most winning smile at her. it was super successful in the last movie in the series, when he was gaining the affections of lupita while also juggling international espionage. that smile got rave reviews.

jen just rolls her eyes at him. “you want to go to the pens game?”

"exactly,” geno replies, biting his lip and widening his eyes at her, because while jen is tough and responsible and geno’s favorite pa ever, she also can be a total sucker if geno tries hard enough.

jen sighs. “i can get you tickets,” she says, reaching over to thwack him on the shoulder, “if you do that interview with gq that you’ve been putting off for the last two months.”

“fine,” geno sighs. he hates gq interviews — not only are the questions terrible, the reporters never seem to fall for his go-to get-out-of-interview-free strategy of pretending he doesn’t understand that much english — but this is his chance to see sidney crosby in person, and, well. geno’s not going to let that chance pass him by.


in an interview right after geno’s hollywood big break, someone from people asked him who his favorite celebrity was, and geno, having just watched the penguins play the kings the night before on an honest to god tv instead of a shitty internet stream, was too stupid to lie.

“sidney crosby,” he says, without even thinking about it, only realizing his mistake when the reporter frowned at him.

“who?” she’d asked, and geno had winced and started talking about the newest fincher film, and the subject had been dropped.

now, though, geno’s not some twenty year old in a supporting role in a film that blew up in cannes. he’s better at taking interview questions and saying the right things about other actor’s work, and if someone asks who his favorite celebrity is, he knows to answer with someone eminent, like meryl or stanley tucci. 

he doesn’t ever let on that his answer hasn’t changed since he was nervous in a cafe talking to a people reporter. geno’s still, as jen would unkindly put it, “sort of obsessed” with sidney crosby, and when he stands up against the glass at consul in a jersey and baseball cap, it’s to watch in awe as the best hockey player in the world skates lazy loops around and flicks pucks into the net.

jen pulled through for him and got him a perfect ticket, right up against the glass, and geno spends the whole game entranced. the pens are playing hard, crosby getting an assist on kunitz’s goal fifteen minutes into the first, and geno’s happy enough to be here to not even care when some girls approach him during the second intermission.

“excuse me,” one of them says, probably not over fifteen, “are you — i just — are you geno? malkin?”

“yes, is me,” geno says cheerfully, because the pens are winning and sidney crosby is skating like he’s never been injured.

“i just — could we get a picture?” the girl asks, and geno nods, because why the hell not?

he realizes why the hell not when, right after the game — the pens handily beating the senators 4-1, crosby with two assists and a goal so pretty geno could cry — his phone buzzes in his pocket.

“that picture of you is trending on twitter,” jen says, business-like. “they’ve pulled up that interview from the beginning — you know, the one where you say your favorite celebrity is sidney crosby?”

“oh,” geno replies, even as people give him a side-long look as they file out of the arena.

“you are aware you’re wearing his jersey?” jen asks, half-laughing, and geno frowns.

“is just sports game. shouldn’t be big deal,” he replies, and jen laughs again.

“yeah, well, you and big deal go together like peanut butter and jelly — oh shit, i think that’s — don’t hang up, okay? i gotta take this.”

geno waits, holding his phone up to his ear as he slowly makes his way to the parking lot when jen clicks back on.

“okay, that was pens media, who wanted to know — how do you feel about meeting sidney crosby?”

“are you serious?” geno asks, and jen hums in affirmation.

“they want you to come in tomorrow, which works for us because you don’t have to come in until 9 pm anyways. apparently, it’s not just you — crosby really likes your movies, they asked about it for that #asksid deal they did last month.”

“oh,” geno says, blinking hard, “oh, okay.”

“you can watch their practice, apparently,” jen tells him. “now get back to your trailer. if you don’t sleep, i’ll kill you myself.”

“bossy,” geno tells her, and then gets in the car to drive back to the set.

if, once he’s back in his trailer, poking at his laptop on his bed, he finds the #asksid video and watches as sidney crosby stutters and laughs about how “i watched death would be kindera couple of times. i guess you could say he — geno malkin, i mean — is one of my favorites” a couple times on repeat, well. no one will know.

The Sketch Book Keeper

Altair probably should have been paying attention to his class, an art history class that focused on the the North African Moors and other various Medieval Islamic art movements. It was totally over specific but it was one of the only Near East culture classes Altair’s school offered along with an anthropology class or two, and a basic language class. So here he was. And he really should have been taking notes for his flash cards. But he wasn’t. Instead he had his half sized sketch book out and his pencil with the red lead he liked and was doodling his classmates.

Or rather, he was doodling one of his classmates. Just one.

Keep reading

okay, i need to clarify something.

there is NO evidence that james potter asked lily out every second of every day at hogwarts. no. for all we know, SWM was the first time he asked her out. and considering his ego, i sincerely doubt he would have asked her out again. if there’s one thing everyone is always harping on, it’s about how arrogant he was. do you really think that someone so very arrogant would repeatedly allow himself to be rejected?

james, at fifteen, probably wasn't in love with lily. he liked her. he thought she was pretty and clever and witty. he asked her out, she refused. he was upset, his pride was wounded. he probably tried to play it off by treating her as if he’d forgotten all about his asking her out, as if he’d only asked her out as a joke or on the spur of the moment. and he continued to show off in front of her, so his ego could recover from its battering. but did he drown in pain and angst? no. did he forever obsess about lily till she finally said yes, like some sort of whiny arse? no. 

i’m pretty sure he dated other girls. he was one of the most popular guys in school. good-looking, clever, a quidditch player, a prankster. he probably even forgot about lily. he was a well-adjusted teenager, goddamn. he didn’t pine away for her till she came round. 

and stop attributing his entire transformation in seventh year to lily. anyone’s allowed to have their own interpretation, of course, and you can decide that it was partially inspired by lily. but to say he wholly changed for her? changed to please her? it was their seventh year, they were growing up, the war was becoming more intense. sirius was facing issues with his family, remus must have been growing more and more worried about how he would fare after their time at hogwarts, his haven, ended. his parents were growing old, and we’re not sure when they caught the disease they died of. it could’ve been in seventh year. but even if it wasn’t, as the ringleader of the marauders, as the only son of a prominent family of blood-traitors, james had a lot on his plate. he grew up. 

And that doesn’t even mean he stopped mischief entirely. it doesn’t mean he became a stick-in-the-mud, even if he was head boy. we know dumbledore had a sense of humor, after all. all that lupin said was that he stopped hexing people for the fun of it, aka he learnt that there’s a line between humor and cruelty. 

so, conclusively, the fanon version of james potter is very different from the canon version. james didn’t sexually harass lily, guys. asking someone out every day after they’ve made their wishes clear is definitely sexual harassment.