you don't need that to tell us that some weird shit goes down in there

Stiles listens to his dad ask him the same question that comes up way too often, and gets lost counting the dark flecks that scatter across the white expanse of the all-too-familiar hospital ceiling. Here again, and ‘He’ll be fine,’ the doctor says.

His dad wants to hear it from Stiles’ lips, though. Is he okay?

Is he really okay?

His answer doesn’t come as easily as it used to, no quip or snap back like it’s easy come easy go. The feckless lie sticks in the back of his throat, burning away like a hot coal choking the life out of him.

I’m fine.

He’s said it more than a million times, and no super-hearing anybody has heard his heart skip a single beat. Or maybe they did, but that thought doesn’t make it any easier, because that means they’ve ignored it a million times, too. And it should be easy, he’s brilliant at lying straight to his father’s face these days. Stiles knows how to twist a definition to make it true, how to believe in nothing and make it something.

He’s fine.

Molehills out of mountains.
Tip of the iceberg.

Shrink it down until it’s just an ember, a single flicker of pain low in his chest. It burns enough to remind him that it’s there, but cool enough for him to force the words out.

He stops counting the tiny holes in the ceiling, and plasters a bright, brilliant lie across his face.

________________


Keep reading

dan and phil play yasuhati don't stop eighth note: a summary

danandphilgames sad musical notes

47 seconds in and dan is already getting his daily fix of phil staring in

seriously look at that smile

dan mate there’s a camera in front of you how about smiling at us

he’s transfixed

oh no he just acknowledged the camera for a second it’s fine

back to staring at phil

oh now phil’s staring back at him

is this softcore porn

phil is giving some serious hand porn that i know for sure

dan has no time for the slow motion ‘dan vs phil’ meme

“all i know is that’s cute” if you close your eyes it’s easy to imagine dan saying that and pointing at phil

“don’t nose it” “i’ve nosed it”

“you’ve just got the tape on your nose, it’s going to have phil pore dust all over the tape now” “there’s no dust on my pores!” better comebacks phil better comebacks

they’ve just started the game and i already feel sorry for their neighbours

no wonder the dog wondered into their flat it probably thinks they’re in trouble all the bloody time

dan saying literally,,, it’s been a while

whispering oh is this doing anything for you asmr loving folk do you have a nice satisfying tingle

dan’s first attempt and he kills the character wow symbolic

seriously i feel really sorry for the neighbours

forget the lady that’s always having sex in the apartment below she probably thinks dnp like it rough every day holy shit

why is phil so vocal like dan’s high pitches are to be expected but,,,,,, deep voice phil please stick around

“imagine being sat next to a train and someone was just playing this next to you”

dan called him out on it

“thomat the tank engine”

suggestive thomas the tank engine edits ok i wonder who edited this vid the mind truly boggles

“i love thomat the tank engine” yes phil drag him to the pits of hell

dan can’t handle being called out can he

why are they just saying oh

“i’d like to see your failure” i love phil

“i’ve got a tickly voicebox”

see i’m glad i had time to prepare for dan’s piercing scream this time

“our neighbours are going to call the police” i think your neighbours are going to call a counsellor

watch phil as dan moves the character along he’s so invested and so animated

he wants dan to succeed you can see it in his eyes

“this is so tense” he acknowledges the camera before going back into supportive bf mode

i feel like dan should tackle opera he has the voice volume capacity

rip headphone users

phil makes sure to tell us dan has hit 100

“everything’s fine” dan says after deafening more than half of his audience

phil is still very much in supportive bf mode

“i’m the freaking best at this and i was trying to be mildly entertaining” deafening me is not entertaining dan this is why i make you the asshole in fics

“you could do this as an olympic sport” see, supportive bf phil vocalises himself

“watch out lads, watch out girls, watch out musical notes. philly’s in town and he’s got a great set of lungs”

phil’s noises are,,,,,,,, really something

those poor poor neighbours

dan’s calm voice is weird i think because it’s so unused (hint hint nudge nudge danny boy)

“don’t be so loud all the time” dan how dare u

ok phil’s noises are either sex noises or the noises of a dying corpse i’m

is dan crying

“you don’t have to scream, phil” again dan how dare u

dan stop staring

you get those noises on a regular basis let us have this

i mean what

um

the noises suddenly turn distinctly sexual

dan is cringing he doesn’t like to share

“the neighbours are going to think this is really weird” if they’re not already used to it i’ll eat a shoe

oh my god phil are these noises just in the back of your throat

dan stifling his laugh is adorable

up goes the hand

his other hand is suspiciously out of shot

that was a joke

“this is so much harder than yours!” who needs context

i swear if you listen to this video with your eyes closed you’ll interpret it very differently

dan’s little glances i’m

dan stop trying to sabotage him nobody wants your rendition of walking in the air

still loving this angle of phil tho ngl

dan’s face is priceless

“what the fuck is this game” honestly dan a smut writer’s wet dream is what it is

phil’s gorilla impression ok not going to question anything by this point

seriously dan stop trying to sabotage

phil didn’t react to the word vagina

“yes YES! i’ve done it! i’ve done it!”

i would pay to be a fly on the wall in their neighbours’ flat

“i wanted to win so much- oh i died”

“have you just lost your voice?” dan would know tbf

eye contact

“it’s about like…. projecting” again, dan would know

“i thought you’d have learnt this from tatinof” well, what happens on tour stays on tour lads

this game and this video are something else

“oh my god we’re going to get kicked out”

dan throws down the all or nothing gauntlet like the sore loser he is

“phil you need to see my plan” is that what the kids are calling it these days

also why has dan suddenly started enunciating more

oh my god are they actually going to sing

i’ve been praying for a sing it gaming vid for so fucking long

please don’t make it a joke i seriously need this

of course dan makes phil sing their own song

#buytheinternetishereonitunes

this reminds me of the speech jammer challenge

dan can’t speak for laughing this is my aesthetic

that was set up for failure i’m sorry honey

go on phil set him up to fail too

“that was the funniest thing of my entire life”

oh dan’s picking for himself i can’t help but feel this is a little biased

did he do pouty lips and wide eyes

i bet he did pouty lips and wide eyes

oh fuck he’s actually doing this isn’t he

strap yourselves in kids it’s like internet takeover never ended

dan fucked himself over oh no what a shame

the universe doesn’t like cheaters soz about it

pouty baby throws a tantrum, kills desk,,, innocent supportive bf laughs in the corner

look at those meaty arms as he raises them in victory

“well that was something, that was an experience” you’re telling me, phil, you’re telling me

“the game’s over, phil” sore loser dan doesn’t want to be here anymore

dan says hi to google overlord

they might do it again

“it’s not going to be good dan and phil singing, if that’s what you’re looking for” oh COME ON what do i have to do to get a singing game

naturally phil suggests toxic

“i’m so sorry to your ears” thanks dan but i think that would’ve been a good disclaimer to have at the beginning

danisveryLOUD (tru)

ASHOUTINGPHIL (amoaningphil more like)

The "I know I have other things to write but these seem so cool/weird/etc" sentence prompt meme

Because I’m absolute shit and have a habit of coming up with sentence prompts instead of writing stuff I should be working on, I present this list of sentence prompt memes.

Send me a few of these and I’ll write a drabble based off of it, naturally it’ll be a reader insert. Be sure to include which character you’d like.

You can even use them as rp starters/fanfic/whatever.

1) “I’m like 85% sure that’s illegal but sure I’ll help you.”
2) “Don’t wake me up unless there’s a fire and even then don’t.”
3) “I don’t want to talk about them, they give me a headache, and they’re dumb.”
4) “So is that a no on the burning down the place?”
5) “Ok, I may or may not have started an occult.”
6) “Alright but you gotta promise you’re not gonna be mad if I tell you what happened.”
7) “Explain to me what exactly possessed you into thinking this was a good idea?”
8) “Just for that I’m gonna have to remember to kick your ass twice as hard.”
9) “It’s 3 in the morning, why is it always 3 in the morning when you call me?!”
10) “You meme loving fuck.”
11) “You say that like it’s supposed to be offensive.”
12) “Wanna know how many fucks I give? Negative six, you owe ME fucks to give.”
13) “I don’t see the problem…what…oooh you’re talking about the fires.”
14) “I love you but if you play that song one more time I will strangle you.”
15) “Those dead bodies were here before I even got here…well like half of them but that’s details.”
16) “So the apocalypse started and I may have had a hand in starting it, so um sorry?”
17) “If you get arrested I’ll bail you out…pfft let’s be real I’ll probably be in the holding cell with you.”
18) “How the actual hell did you manage to cause this much trouble in 5 minutes?!”
19) “Why is there someone tied up in the backseat of my car?”
20) “This is why you read contracts before you sign them!”
21) “Uh, there’s someone that’s shitfaced at the door and they say they know you, is it cool if I let them in?”
22) “They say this place is haunted…but I think that’s bullshit.”
23) “The amount of alcohol I’d need to drink to make me forget about this would literally kill me.”
24) “Your daddy issues are a real turn off.”
25) “I’m gonna punch you in the mouth…with my mouth…gently…several times….”

[I’ll add more as time goes on, feel free to add some!]

anonymous asked:

i am pretty unsure about dd/lg but if it's two consenting adults how is it pedo or something? I mean if we're talking about two consenting adults is it bad? maybe I am missing something, I don't know, I just let two adults do what they want with each other in the privacy of their own home and don't attack them for it but maybe there's more to it than I know? not hating on you i'm just very confused

Imo, the concept of DD/LG is pedophilic in nature (and no, I’m not saying it is pedophilia, but I’m saying its elements sure do resemble/mimic it). It sexualizes childish behaviors and mirrors CSA (child sexual abuse) to an extent where people who have been sexually abused have said the concepts/dialogue/etc of these relationships are almost exactly, if not exactly, what they experienced. It’s essentially roleplaying pedophilic scenarios. People like to dismiss this with, “Humans are just weird! Kinks are just kinks! It’s just a fantasy!” but I think it’s important we ask ourselves why we’re interested in these fantasies and these kinks. We’re critical of our behaviors in every other aspect of our lives (or, at least, to some extent, we should be), so I don’t see why we would drop that when it comes to sex.

I know a lot of people try to downplay it by saying, “You’re offended over people calling their partner daddy!” but anyone who has been on a little’s blog for over 3 seconds knows it goes way beyond that. Littles go out of their way to act child-like, going so far as to mimic baby talk, and daddy doms treat them like they’re children. I don’t think that’s inherently wrong, if it’s non-sexual (I’m not against age regression by any means), but when you then add a sexual layer to that dynamic, it becomes really sketchy. I think we should encourage people to examine their kinks, especially when their kink is having sex with someone intentionally acting like a young child. (inb4 I  hear the “we don’t have sex in little space!!!” argument, let me remind you the word “cummies” [an attempt at making cum/orgasms sound child-like] exists because of this community //barf. And don’t even get me started on the “DD/LG isn’t inherently sexual!” argument, because breaking down the Daddy Dom part of the acronym should be enough to shut that shit down.)

Like, Idk, man, I just think when someone wants to roleplay a parent (aka ~daddy~) having sex with their kid (aka ~little girl~), it’s natural to be like, “Huh, that kind of reminds me of pedophilia a lil tiny bit”

But, honestly, if it was really between two consenting adults in the privacy of their own home, I wouldn’t give two shits. I wouldn’t be able to, because I wouldn’t know about it. It would be between them, in their own homes. How could I know about it?

However, that’s not the case. It’s not always between two consenting adults (there are many underage littles and there are many of-age adults who support them being littles), and if everyone’s DD/LG relationships were kept in the privacy of their own homes, people wouldn’t see it every time they go into the princess or kitten tag. There wouldn’t be accounts of others seeing these people practicing it in public. But alas, here we are.

I have issues with DD/LG in general, but more than that, I have an issue with tumblr’s DD/LG community. They cry, “safe, sane, and consensual!” all day long, but the second someone doesn’t want to be associated with their kink blog (the second they don’t consent to being a part of that kink blog), they get upset about it. They don’t respect anyone’s boundaries unless that person is comfortable with their kink, and no one should have to be comfortable with any kind of kink, period.

And I realize I’m generalizing here, and that not every single person in DD/LG is like this. I have met a small handful of very understanding/kind people in the community who get why they need to flag their blogs and why people don’t want those types of blogs interacting with their posts, but lemme tell u those people are few and far between.

Anyway, sorry for the long winded response. I could probably write essays on this shit (especially since there are so many other points I haven’t addressed, survivors using DD/LG to retraumatize themselves as a coping mechanism and people being easily groomed into abuse because of this ~lifestyle~, for example), but I would really prefer not to because this shit is triggering as hell.

If you want to learn more about why I and many others feel this way, here are some blogs I recommend:

@ickyddlg@not-my-daddy@dave-strider-against-cgl@child-abuse-isnt-sexy​ 

Hope that answers your questions!

the nurse who loved me

Say hello to the shrinking in your head:
you can’t see it, but you know it’s there, so don’t neglect it.

Sam walks into a bar.

There’s a hunt. Werewolves, maybe, or ghouls. He and Dean have been working the case and he’s still not sure which it is, which is kind of a worry. Either way—he knows what works. He sits at the bar and pops his neck, shrugs his shoulders, but it’s just out of habit. He’s not sore anymore, not tired. A relief, after the long months of feeling so shitty with the trials. He can have a beer now without puking, while he waits for Dean to get back from interviewing the sheriff, and hell, he’s going to indulge. Been long enough without.

The bartender’s tall—maybe as tall as Sam is. “What do you need?” he says, and he’s not smiling.

Sam’s dreaming. There’s a hunt, he thinks, and it’s something—it’s pulling at his attention. Angels, and he doesn’t know why he’s so scared of them, why there’s some kind of hollow yawning dread pulling open the pit of his stomach. He looks at Castiel and feels no warmth, feels nothing but pure skittering terror and he

Sam walks into a bar. The light’s dim, the bar long and dark and familiar. Bars are all the same, in the end, and he takes a stool close to the end, leans his elbows on the counter. He wants a drink. The bartender stands in front of him, silent, and Sam says, “Hey, just a pint of whatever’s on tap,” but the bartender doesn’t move. He’s tall. Maybe Sam’s age, or Dean’s. He frowns, sits up a little more. Thinks, maybe the guy didn’t hear him, and he says, “Hey, buddy?” because it pays to be polite even with assholes, and the bartender leans his hands on the counter, looks right into Sam’s eyes, and

Sam spreads his thighs wider, stretches out against the plush leather back of the armchair. Dean’s mouth is—god. He’s almost too sensitive, but the soft thorough cleaning he’s getting is just so good he can’t find it in himself to complain. Rough hands smooth up over his belly, pet over his hips, and when Dean goes to pull back Sam picks his head up off the chair back with an effort, cups the back of Dean’s head and runs his fingers through the soft short hair. “My turn, isn’t it,” he says, and he’s drowsy but he really is more than willing, only Dean picks his head up and licks his lips and grins, and maybe it’s not the wide pleased got-the-cream smile Sam’s used to but it’s pleased enough, and he says, “Nah, I’m just feeling greedy, Sammy,” and he leans in and kisses Sam, soft, quick enough that Sam finds himself leaning forward, wishing for more. Dean’s already zipping him up, though, neatening him away. Sam wishes he would look up. He wants to see Dean’s eyes, and he doesn’t know why Dean isn’t

Sam walks into a bar and the bartender looks right at him. It’s like he was waiting. Sam sits at the bar and leans on his elbows, asks for a beer.

The bartender looks at him.

Sam drinks his beer, cold bitter at the back of his tongue, and the bartender looks at him. “What do you need?” the bartender says.

Sam puts his pint down and shrugs. “I’m good,” he says, and it’s the truth. Nothing hurts, and there’s a hunt, and Dean’s healthy and happy, and everything is as it should be. Not like this guy needs to know that, though.

“Of course,” the bartender says, slowly. He talks stiffly, awkwardly. “You are—happy.”

Sam frowns a little, though he smiles, too. “Yeah, buddy,” he says, and toasts the guy with his beer. “I’m good.”

There’s—blood, oh—oh, shit, there’s so much—blood purling out from between his fingers, a weird lucky shot and Dean’s crying out, yelling his name across the awful reeking basement, and Sam wavers, shocked, stares at the blood on his fingers for a weird moment thinking, he didn’t expect this, that this terrible dusty place and this stupid ghoul would be the end, after everything, and he falls to his knees and feels the blood warm against his chilled skin and thinks, Dean—

Sam walks into a bar. There’s a hunt. There’s something—wrong, maybe, but he can’t quite put his finger on it. The bartender is gripping hard onto the brass railing. “Whatever’s on tap,” Sam says, and the bartender looks up at him with weird grief on his face, something so vivid that Sam startles still, for a second, frozen half onto the bar stool, and the bartender says, “I am sorry, Sam Winchester,” and Sam thinks what, he thinks how do you and he also thinks why but then the bartender squeezes his eyes closed and bows his head and

There’s time missing. Miles go by and Sam isn’t—he doesn’t remember them. Dean’s worried, he can tell, even though all he gets when he talks about it is dismissal, lots of ‘oh, the trials,’ and ‘you just need more time to heal,’ and, well, Sam loves him but Dean talks a lot of bullshit, a lot of the time. He’ll crawl out of Dean’s bed and go take a shower and then blink at himself in the mirror, completely dressed and brushing his teeth, and have no idea what happened in the interim. He’ll go for a jog and not remember a thing. He looks at himself in the mirror and he’s okay, he recognizes himself, but sometimes, sometimes he’ll open his own eyes and there in the split second when his eyelids part his eyes spark unfamiliar and he thinks

Sam walks into a bar. There’s a hunt, he knows there is. He just—can’t remember the details, right now.

The bartender looks like he’s been crying, though Sam doesn’t notice until after he’s already asked for a pint, and by then it’s too late—he sits there, awkward, while the guy goes through the motions, pouring off the foam, setting the full glass carefully in front of Sam on a neat square coaster. “Thanks,” Sam says, trying to pass it off as normal.

“Do not thank me,” the bartender says, voice a deep scrape. He leans on the brass rail, right in front of Sam, looking into some middle distance. Sam takes an awkward sip—cold, bitter hops lingering in the back of the throat like sorrow, and it’s hard to swallow it down. The bartender closes his eyes. He says, “I am not sure of my course.”

Sam puts the glass down, cups his hands around the cold solidity of it. “Nobody is,” he says. The bartender blinks at him, and hell, Sam’s half-surprised himself, but this guy doesn’t expect him to be Agent Rose, or a hunter with the answers. They’re just two guys, talking.

“Do you not think—“ the bartender starts, and swallows. He folds his arms over his chest, standing stiff and straight. “I thought, always, that there must be a plan, for all of us. That there must be meaning. Now, I am not so sure.”

Sam shrugs. He and Dean have had this conversation, in various ways, half a dozen times. He always feels like he comes to a different conclusion. “I don’t know the answer to that,” he says, semi-honestly. “I think, all you can ever do is what you believe is right.” The bartender looks directly at him, and Sam shrugs, again. “I mean, what’s the alternative?”

There’s a pause, and the bartender nods. “Of course,” he says, but quietly, like he doesn’t mean for Sam to hear—or like it doesn’t matter, if he does. Sam sips his beer and the bartender nods, and meets his eyes. He seems taller, brighter. His shoulders square out and for a second Sam sees him—pure, strong. Beautiful, and that thought’s a surprise but the bartender earns it, somehow. He smiles at Sam and it’s—beautiful. He says, “Thank you, Sam Winchester,” and all Sam can see after that is light.

(read on AO3)

Don't Make It Weird pt. 7

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, Eren thinks to himself as he stares at the bottle. His heart thumped heavily in his chest, skipping a beat or two when Levi stares back just as shocked.

The tension and silence continues to build and Eren finally breaks his eyes away from Levi’s gaze and down to Mikasa’s. She looks at him expectantly but also just as shocked and confused as Eren. There’s a look on her face that said, “don’t do what I think you’re going to” and despite as much as he wanted to, Eren’s first kiss with Levi wasn’t going to be because of a cliche game of spin the bottle.

Yes, Eren did plan on kissing Levi. At least once. Maybe right after he graduated high school and is about to move away to college so Levi wouldn’t see him again and end up forgetting about Eren’s existence.

Armin is the first to move, leaning forward and giving it a gentle and “accidental” flick when “trying” to reach for the chips. The bottle moves an inch to the left and is now pointing at Mikasa. He’s somewhat okay with that and his friends out simultaneously let out sighs of relief.

Eren moves forward with a little smile and presses a kiss to Mikasa’s cheek like he had done plenty of times before. It wasn’t the first time they shared some kind of affection like that before. And all strictly platonic. Eren was way too gay for it to be anything more. They’ve had conversations about it.

Without another look, Levi goes back inside and Eren hated himself even more for the disappointed feeling that spreads throughout his chest. They continued a little longer before moving to play truth or dare, which, honestly, Eren fucking hated that game. But they played anyway, yet, it didn’t last because Sasha and Connie ran back to the pool for a splashing contest.

He loved his friends and the fact that they were fucking everywhere when it came to plans and activities and while he did want to join them in the pool, Eren had other thoughts that were occupying his mind. He couldn’t help but think about what it would have been like to actually get a kiss from Levi during spin the bottle. What everyone’s reactions would have been. What Levi would have done if Eren had made the first move on him. Surely, both Mikasa and Levi would have disgusted reactions and he wouldn’t be allowed back to the house, but would it have been worth it?

“Why do you look like you’re constipated?”

Eren looked up, rolling his eyes at Jean’s slightly concerned but mostly amused face. “Fuck off.”

“Jesus,” he snorted but sat next to Eren anyway. “I was merely asking why you look like you need to take a shit.”

Eren grumbled to himself as he pulled his knees tighter to his chest and rested his chin there. The silence between them was comfortable and Eren was more than grateful for it. He knew that Jean wanted to pry and to ask questions until Eren gave up but he didn’t. Not this time.

“You know, it’s kinda obvious how fucking in love you are with Mikasa’s dad.”

Eren whipped his head to stare incredulously at the boy next to him. “Huh? What? No I’m not.”

Jean laughed, raising his eyebrow. “You’re a bad liar.”

With a groan, Eren fell back and covered his face with his hands. “I didn’t fucking mean to make it obvious. What the fuck else are you supposed to do when you spin a bottle and it lands on your fucking crush?

“Kiss them.” Eren replied with a harsh punch to Jean’s shoulder. “Why don’t you just tell the guy? It’s probably just as awkward for him as it is for you.”

“You know, I like hanging out with Mikasa and being here. I don’t exactly feel like ruining that,” Eren deadpanned. “And if he’s noticed, he hadn’t really said anything or done anything so… maybe he hadn’t. Fingers crossed.”

Jean didn’t say anything, instead looking over him for a moment. “Do you actually ever plan on saying anything?” he asked and Eren flicked his eyes to meet Jean’s.

With a shrug, Eren replied, “maybe when it isn’t illegal for us to be together.”

“Is he even gay?”

Eren let out a frustrated groan and sat up, throwing his hands up in the air. “I don’t know, Jean. Why are you asking me so many questions? God. You’re so nosy.” He stuck out his bottom lip in a slight pout and turned away from Jean as he chuckled, patting Eren’s shoulder.

“We just worry about you. Maybe you should try finding someone your age.”

He snorted. “Yeah, you’d like that wouldn’t you?” he grumbled but Jean didn’t say anything. He just shrugged, a little grin on his face before he stood up and walked back over to the pool. Eren was surprised when he did, however, look over his shoulder and give Eren a small wink before jumping in.

Standing up, Eren brushed himself off and made his way inside, shutting the door with a sigh. He wasn’t really sure what he was doing in the house, just knew that he needed somewhere to be alone for a few moments. Deciding on the bathroom, Eren rounded the corner to the hallway but stopped at the sound of Levi’s voice coming from his office.
“I’d love to.” Eren was frozen. “Yeah, I like seafood. Seafood sounds great—no, we don’t have to worry about Mikasa. I can send her across the street with Eren if I need to.” His heart did a stupid flip at the sound of his name on Levi’s tongue and he found himself listening even more despite knowing he shouldn’t. “Saturday works, yeah,” Eren could practically hear the small smile in his voice. “Okay, cool, then I’ll see you then. Bye, Erwin.”

When Levi hung up, Eren took that as his cue to rush to the bathroom before Levi could see him or say anything. His heart sunk to the bottom of his stomach, an ache filling his chest instead. He knew it was stupid to be upset and jealous that Levi —from the sounds of it— was going on a date, but Eren couldn’t help it.

Sliding down the door, Eren sat on the ground as he chewed on his nails for what seemed to be forever.

Maybe Jean was right. Maybe he should look for someone his age.


Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 8

superpuppywoman  asked:

Hey! A question, if you don't mind.. What exactly does the whole alpha/omega/beta thing entail? I'm very confused lol, I've read a couple of fics with it but I just don't have an understanding of the concept :/

AIGHT *cracks knuckles* friend, you came to the right place. i love explaining ABO to people! i’m going to try to keep this on a need-to-know basis, but the biggest thing is that people do sooo many variations on this trope that this is a rough approximation at best.

at its basis, ABO (alpha/beta/omega) is a trope that came out of the supernatural fandom in the early 2000s (or so?) that essentially gives people certain types animalistic qualities, and this creates the context for a biologically-obligated D/s type situation. WAIT before you go about getting turned off by the animalistic qualities thing, let me explain. First: there are three genders in ABO society, and typically these can all be both male and female; you can think of these as sort of secondary genders (with vocab words bolded cause literally what am i doing with my life @ this point):

Alphas

  • the DOMS BOIII
  • are physically bigger, stronger, and more aggressive than the other genders
  • have a rut, or a period during which they’re rlly rlly horny 
    • usually just a few days, sometimes up to a week
    • sometimes fuck or die, or otherwise just v uncomfy to endure without an omega
    • the frequency of ruts depends fic to fic, usually once every few months
  • have a highly developed sense of smell (in some fics, enough to tell if an omega is pregnant, or in distress) and also produce their own alpha scent 
  • you’ve probably already heard about the thing that makes them really fucking weird, but here it is: alphas have knots
  • knotting is when (and there’s no elegant way to say this, christ) the base of an alpha’s dick swells up as they come inside an omega, thereby locking them together
    • typically the knot goes down (and they stop… coming) after some time– can be an hour or more, depending on the fic
    • size of knot varies individual to individual, fic to fic. plum to grapefruit. god help you if you got the grapefruit
  • temperamentally tend to be v aggressive and confident– they make good execs/CEOs/presidents and typically hold power in a lot of ABO societies
    • like omegas, they have a hindbrain and a forebrain, forebrain being essentially human rationale, and hindbrain dictating animalistic sexual drive. hindbrain becomes most active during rut
  • also like omegas, alphas usually present, or start displaying alpha characteristics (slang: “pop a knot”) when they go through puberty 
  • female alphas are sort of the grab-bag of the ABO universe; i’ve read them written with anything from a full on dick to a retractable dick to no dick at all and just alphalike behavior at large. some fics pull them off better than others. i still think they’re rad

Betas

  • pretty much us
  • the boring ones, usually VASTLY outnumbering the coexisting alpha and omega populations
  • one thing that does vary is their perception/treatment of the alphas and omegas– sometimes they’re completely oblivious, and sometimes they can smell omegas when they’re in heat, though it doesn’t affect them the way it does alphas
  • also often dictate the political/social standing of alphas and omegas; betas can treat these genders as anything from freaks to gods
    • a huuge subtrope in ABO is the repressed omega plotline, where either society is struggling to emerge from a traditionalist society in which omegas are seen as nothing more than property, or is still in the midst of this 

Omegas

  • sub sub sub sub
  • strangest of the bunch by far holy shit
  • have the ability to carry children, regardless of gender (that’s right: MPREG)
    • idk. mpreg is its own animal fam im not gonna get into that shit here
  • major key: self lubricating (yes, even the men, you know what this means)
    • their natural slick is involuntarily produced, and often has a highly potent scent that drives alphas nutzo
  • have a heat, the partner to an alpha’s rut; similar rules apply, but they need to be fucked, instead 
    • have an extremely strong in-heat scent during that drives alphas to want to mate with them ‘
    • heats leave omegas incapacitated, very feverish, and weak, requiring an alpha to “help” them through it
    • accordingly they aren’t always in their right mind during heat, and that’s when noncon type shit goes down 
    • heats usually end after frequent knotting, or pregnancy 
  • the nape of an omega’s neck is a v special and important place !!
    • if bitten here by an alpha, according to most fics, the alpha will create a claiming bite and form a bond with the omega. usually these bites are depicted as a wound or scar that never fully heals, showing their ownership of the omega in a permanent way
    • in some cases, i’ve seen a mental/metaphysical bond form via bite as well
    • if pinched, held, or bitten here, an omega will also completely boneless. think kittens, or puppies ((this s l a y s me when authors include this))
  • tend to usually be cast as superemotional, mentally vulnerable, and predisposed towards dependent behavior 
  • can take suppressants to prevent heats and pregnancy; often, prolonged use is dangerous and results in negative health affects 
    • another classic subtrope: the rebellious omega. usually a professional who wants to keep their job/achieve a position not afforded by their omega status so they hide their gender, and it comes back to bite them in the ass

wow ok so that way waay more than anyone wanted to know. yikes. can you tell i like this trope???? but yeah! if you have any more questions, let me know!

some fic recs for reference: star wars, star wars, spn, gradence 

archiveofourown.org
Juxtaposition - Chapter 2 - ShariAruna - Batman and Robin (Comics) [Archive of Our Own]
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
By Organization for Transformative Works

Characters: Tim Drake & Jason Todd & Damian Wayne
Additional Tags: Swearing, Minor Violence, Dysfunctional Family, Hurt/Comfort, Domestic Fluff

Chapter 1


It becomes a habit much more quickly than he likes to admit, and for a lot of different reasons that are not just because I’m bored and I have nothing better to do tonight, which is usually what he tells Tim when he calls him to ask if they’re okay with him coming over.

Tim always says yes, of course Jay, we’ll wait for you, and never even comments on the fact that Jason has his own keys and he doesn’t really have to ask him anything at all. He lets him live in his fake denial and Jason is kinda happy that way, or at least that’s what he says to himself everytime he opens the door of Tim’s apartment with his arms full of grocery bags.

Tonight, as many other nights, Tim and Damian are sitting at the opposite sides of the kitchen table, laptops open in front of them and piles of books framing their space like walls of two rival forts on a battlefield, a matching frown on both of their faces. Tim’s wearing his reading glasses and gnawing the top of his pencil with a focussed expression, and Jason knows he’s been working non-stop for hours now. Damian, on the other hand, is perched on the edge of his chair, fingers playing with the cord of his headphones, watching the screen of his laptop with glassy eyes, and Jason knows he’s bored out of his mind and just pretending to be working because of Tim.

He scoffs both at them and at himself, because really, if he’s noticing these kind of things already it means that he’s spending way too much of his time with these two shitheads. And that’s not okay. For a lot of reasons. He has a very long list of them somewhere.

“Alright, enough with this shit”, he says while walking into the kitchen, loud enough to snap Tim out of his working trance and for Damian to hear him despite the outrageous volume of his iPod. He has no doubt they’ve noticed him the moment he’s set foot in the apartment, they both probably just didn’t believe necessary to acknowledge his presence in any way. The brats.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

I'm going to be a freshman in the fall and I'm kind of worried. I was wondering if you could give some advice? OR if there was advice you would have wanted to tell your past self, what would it be?

Oh goodness. So, I went to UT Austin and I do indeed have some grand wisdom to hand down. 

Where to begin:

  • BACK EVERYTHING ON YOUR COMPUTER UP EVERYWHERE. Use Google Docs. Use flashdrives. The cloud or whatever. I literally once had my laptop blue screen of death crash the night before an essay was due and I had to start from scratch because I hadn’t saved it anywhere else. Holy crap please back up your files. I got 2 hours of sleep. 
  • Go out of your way to talk to people when you have a little down time. It can be intimidating to make friends in college, but being lonely on a huge campus sucks. 
  • Get your textbooks from Amazon. Used. Always used. And wait until you actually go to class the first day to buy them. You never know, but sometimes professors change the book list at the last moment. (I once bought over a hundred dollars of books I didn’t need. It sucked.) 
  • Ok, this one is REALLY important- learn the signs for alcohol poisoning, and if you are ever at a party and see someone who is not in good shape call a god damn ambulance.Even if you are underage and drunk as hell, CALL THEM. MANY college towns in the US have laws where you can not be arrested for illegal substance use if you have called for medical help. (This goes for any drug use really) This is a worst case thing here, but really, really, really, do not just assume someone can sleep off an overdose.
  • If a professor says that you can’t finish the essay the night before: believe them. 
  • If you are struggling with a class, email your professor and see them during their office hours. Really. They know how to do well in their own class, and just having a face to put with your name goes a long way sometimes. 
  • Find the best cheap hole in the wall place within walking distance of where you sleep and treat yourself. 
  • Even if it seems tempting: Adderall and all nighters are really not the best way to prep for a test. (Spacing studying over several nights with juice / coffee breaks is far more effective at getting the info into long term memory) 
  • Try a new hobby! Hoola hooping, or D&D, or Fire Dancing, or Salsa dancing, or slam poetry. Find out what bizarre and interesting groups meet in campus and go to a few. I played Quidditch for a while and went to Electro concerts in the park. They also played free movies every week on one of the mall lawns. College is full of weird things: embrace them. 
  • No matter how bad your allergies are: NEVER take two Nyquil before a lecture. You will not stay awake. (I did this. Why, oh why did I do this?) 
  • One of the best ways to do a study guide, especially in your big lecture classes, is to create a Google Doc and share it with EVERYONE who is in that class (many colleges have course email lists set up.) Pop the blank study guide into the Google Doc and then EVERYONE (all 300 of you) can contribute to it. Collaborative learning at its best. 
  • Be prepared to have terrible group partners in group projects. Prepare for the worst. Prepare to do everything by yourself. (It is also ok to let the professor know if a group member is just unable or unwilling to help.) 
  • If your campus has an art collection on it/art shows/an art gallery: Go to it at least once. Its more fun than you would expect. You will also feel very mature and cultured and smart. You should feel this way. It is a good feeling.
  • Find your favorite spot on campus. (Mine was the court yard of the old architecture building. It had a reflection pond and ivy on the walls with these purple flowers and it was always so quiet.) Go there to read or study or nap when the weather is nice.
  • Buy about 4 times more pens than you think you need.
  • Sporting events are optional. I never liked them, but some people really dig it.
  • If you are on campus with a handheld video game system, there is a decent chance people will walk up and ask you about Jesus. (I had this happen to me MULTIPLE times while playing Pokemon.) Just…be aware of the possibility.
  • FOOD CARTS ARE YOUR FRIEND. Find tasty food carts.
  • On that note: do not forget to eat.
  • When writing an essay, make sure you understand the formatting your professor wants. APA and MLA are not the same. Also, there are websites that will generate works cited in any format you need for free online. (I used easybib)
  • There will be days when you feel overwhelmed and frustrated and you want to just give up and not do anything ever again because college is made of stress and vodka shots. It’s ok to feel this way. Take a small break. Take a walk. Go to your favorite spot on campus. Eat at your favorite food cart. 
  • Do not drink Four Loco. That shit will literally kill you. (Mixing energy drinks and alcohol, especially if you drink several of them increases your risk of alcohol poisoning because the caffeine will suppress your body’s natural defense to over-drinking: making you go to sleep.) Also they taste like luke warm donkey piss. Do not drink them. 
  • It’s ok to feel homesick. (I did) It’s ok to go home every other weekend for the first two semesters. (I did) It’s ok to call home multiple times a week (I did.) It’s ok to spend a friday night in pajamas, watching netflix, and doodling on your arm in purple ink. (I did.)

This became a very long list. I apologize. I hope at least some of it is useful.  

Two wrongs, don't make a right- Eisuke Ichinomiya

I’m in the mood to write angst, so this is what I came up with! @tokyoloveletter inspired & motivated me this time, so a BIG thanks to her! This fic contains suicide attempt & angst, so you’re warned! Anywhoo, hope you enjoy! 💙


For a moment there was insecurity within your self ; and at the second there was reassurance. Being the girlfriend of someone darn popular & rich wasn’t an easy task. They always had eyes on you. Not in the lewd manner, but rather in a cussing one. Knowing that Eisuke himself was in the spotlight of every event he attended ; you were also dragged into the rich world. Even though you were dating since 1 year….

The money, the rich people, the clothes, their style……Nothing matched.

The days which you spent as a happy average woman…..Were more happier…Not that you hated Eisuke….You loved him, but…

You were still not used to the billionaire lifestyle.

You attended parties legitimately everyday, and had temporary fun. Seeing your arms linked with the one and only Eisuke ; and him introducing you to everyone as your girlfriend, made jealousy & anger flare from their eyes. All of the women wanted to be with Eisuke. 

They wanted to be the love of his life. His happiness. But all failed miserably. Eisuke was committed to one woman. The only woman who revolves around his head day & night.

You.

You were still hurt from the cat-calls the women gave you that day. But you didn’t know that one day this was going to affect you badly. And that one day..

Was today.

Two wrongs, don’t make a right…

It was a usual day. You were cleaning the penthouse ; when suddenly the sound of something falling made you jump. “______, get ready within 10 minutes. We’ve to attend an I.V.C today.” Was the only thing Eisuke said, before calling up someone. 

You were actually surprised that he gave you 5 more minutes.. He changed..Maybe? You wanted to argue about how you didn’t like those stupid & unnecessary parties, but you knew he would insist & convince you. Reluctantly changing into the violet dress, you came out of the room , where the make-up artists were expecting you.

 "That dress suits you so much Miss _______.“ One of the artists’ smiled. "Thanks.” You muttered, clearly not in the mood to attend any frickin’ party. Once your make-up & hair was done, you go to the penthouse, where Eisuke was waiting for you.

 "C'mon, ______. You’re 5 minutes late.“ He said with a hint of annoyance. "Shut up.” You mouthed. 

“Did you say something?”

 "No, nothing.“ You both head to hall, arms linked as habitual. The sound of the music was literally echoing till the elevator. Somehow the music & the atmosphere seemed to cool down your reluctance. The instant you enter the hall, everything goes silent.

 'Desert-like’ was the best word to use for this silence. You feel like every eye in the hall was starting at yours. Some showing jealousy, hatred, amazement etc. But then after some seconds, everything goes back to normal. While Eisuke goes and greets the various businessmen & business partners, you wander around the hall, slightly enjoying the party mood, when… 

"Who do you think you are, woman?” A voice snapped behind of you and you turn around….Turn around to only see the faces of the asses you least wanted to crash with. 

 "You asshole, do you think YOU can be Eisuke’s girlfriend & we can get off with it?“ 

 "You’re damn ugly…." 

"I guess an elephant can fit into your size.” The women snapped.

You felt like a goat amidst a group of tigers. ‘God…Eisuke! Where are you when I need you the most?’ A single tear rolled down your cheek.

You slowly backed away ; your brain fogged by sadness, and the feeling that you didn’t deserve to be his girlfriend. You ran as fast as your legs carried you ; ignoring the weird stares of the people as the laughter & rudeness of the women rang in your ears. You quickly run up to the Eisuke’s bedroom ; tears soaking your face as you looked at your reflection on the mirror.

Do I look bad? Am I ugly? I’m fat. I ain’t sexy at all.

Adverse questions & statements fill your mind. Right now, all you didn’t know was one thing: You were knockout gorgeous. You wouldn’t be wrong if you said that the bidders didn’t have a secret crush on you. They all liked you. You were amazing. Inside & out. But you realised that when it was too late. 

Well….Not exactly. Your mind was going in the minus direction. Only negative. You cried ; letting that one year of stagnant sadness pour out in the form of fresh tears. You wanted to kill yourself. Just get lost from this milky way….In fact, this universe. You didn’t want to be surrounded by this sphere of rudeness, sadness, hurt & embarrassment. 

Grabbing the knife from the fruit basket, you placed it on your wrist. You didn’t have the guts to slice it across ; but you gathered up. You closed your eyes ; and were about to slice ; completely ready to handle the momentary pain & then out of the world…..Forever

*Meanwhile……*

“You detective, did you see ______?” Eisuke asked every single soul in the room, but the answer he was getting always was: No. Even the bidders didn’t know. Eisuke felt a drop of sweat trickle down his temple.

 "Where did that woman go? I….just left her for a minute…..And then when I came back….She wasn’t there. WHERE DID SHE GO?“ "The most basic place to search is your bedroom.” First time the Lupin had said something important. I jolt off to my bedroom hoping to find ______ there. But the next sight my eyes are subjected to…

*In the bedroom*

“_______! STOP!” You was about to slice when I hear a voice boom. The knife was immediately thrown across the room. “Eisuke?” He held your wrist and gave you glass of water. 

 "What’s wrong with you? Why were trying to suicide?“ 

 "I…I just can’t do this anymore." 

 "What can’t you do?” Eisuke was getting more & more concerned with every minute that passed. More tears spilled from your eyes. You just couldn’t bring your emotions into words…

 "The w-women…They…keep telling me of how unworthy of you…I’m…“ You managed to tell some shit, even if you didn’t want to. You looked over to Eisuke, who gave you a nod of understanding.

 ”_____. Always remember: 'Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.’ They’re jealous of your knockout hotness. Leave them.“

 Eisuke pulled you in a comforting embrace ; stroking your hair. Your tears dried up, as a sleepy feeling overtook you. 

 What did Eisuke do with those women….

Is an after-story.


Comment below if you are interested to know what Eisuke does to the women. Until then, hope you enjoyed! 😘

anonymous asked:

Hello! I don't know if the prompt is currently open or not, but i have this very itching idea in which Steve is flirting with Tony using language that Tony doesn’t understand so he continue to think that Steve isn’t interested and Bucky is like trying so hard to not punch Steve on the face because "damn Steve, just say it"

I had no other idea than to let Steve speak German bc it’s the only language beside English that I can speak/write without having to fear about mistakes.

So here you go, German speaking Steve.

Du bist wunderschön.”, Steve’s saying right when Tony enters the kitchen to get some much-needed coffee. The brunet stops, frowning.

“What?”, he asks.

Steve shrugs like he didn’t just confuse Tony with a language he doesn’t know. Okay technically Tony knows it’s German Steve’s speaking but he doesn’t understand a single word.

“Speak English to me, Cap”, he adds, stretching to get a cup and satisfy his coffee needs.

But Steve likes to be an asshole sometimes, so all Tony gets is another shrug, a grin and another line of foreign nonsense.

Ich liebe deine Augen.”

Tony decides to ignore him.

He’s not sure why but he doesn’t actually think Steve is saying anything mean about him while speaking another language. But still… there’s this tiny voice in his head that insists Steve is only fucking with him.

That tiny voice lately got loud enough to shake Tony’s confidence.

He thinks it’ll be better to leave. So he grabs his mug, only stops one last time to take a hasty sip and then shuffles over to the door.

Ich liebe dich”, Steve calls after him and Tony flips him off. He squeezes past Bucky, who showed up in the door and the last thing Tony hears is a very annoyed groan.

It sounds like it comes from Bucky.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

FAHC!Raywood First kiss? (If you're still doing prompts?)

Okay, so I had a hard time trying to figure out how to approach this one but I think I’ve figured got it now. Thank you for the prompt:

Gavin has a firework guy. He won’t tell anyone in the crew who it is, doesn’t have the guy’s name or number in his phone, and won’t let anyone go with him when he goes to get them, but sure enough, every holiday, like clock work, he has some in the trunk of his car, waiting to be set off. It drives Geoff crazy, and he even tried following Gavin once to find out who this guy is, but Gavin caught on too quickly and led Geoff on a wild goose chase right back to the penthouse. The crew still laughs about it to this day.

Ray never bothers asking because a) he thinks he already knows who it is and b) even if he’s wrong he trusts Gavin’s judgment (usually) and figures if this guy starts giving him any trouble he can take care of himself. That doesn’t stop him from swiping a couple when Gavin isn’t looking and smuggling them out of the penthouse.

He makes a pit stop before heading out to the desert, knowing he won’t make it there first. Ray’s too much of an ‘enjoy the ride’ type of person; a bonafide believer of all that life moves too fast bullshit. He’d rather be perpetually late and see the scenery than exceptionally early and miss out on life’s little moments.

Sure enough, when he gets there Ryan is sitting on the hood of his Zentoro smoking a cigarette. He looks up when he hears Ray’s vehicle approaching, sliding off his car. 

“Those things’ll kill you,” Ray says getting out of his Panto and heading towards the back.

Ryan huffs, but he still takes the cigarette out of his mouth, flicking it somewhere out into the sand, and blows out a puff of smoke. He heads towards Ray, watching as he takes a bag full of fireworks out of the trunk.

“Those Gavin’s?”

“Like you have to ask.”

Ryan smiles, taking the fireworks from Ray, and the two start walking into the desert. They don’t go far, Ryan would never go far from his Zentoro, but they’re far enough away that a stray firework is less likely to crash land into one of their vehicles.

Ray takes the bag back, and Ryan heads towards a rock, sinking down onto it, watching as Ray slowly sets up the fireworks. He’s nowhere near as good at it as Gavin, he’s also never almost blown his foot off either, but he manages just fine, lighting the fuse with no problem.

He rushes back towards the rock Ryan is sitting on, taking a seat next to him, and the two watch as the first firework flies up into the air, exploding into a ball of color. The second one joins it a moment later, and that’s when Ray remembers what else he had bought.

“Fuck. I’ll be right back.” He gets up, jogging back towards his car, returning a few minutes later. “I brought a twelve pack,” he says, holding up a case of Capri Sun.

“I expected nothing less,” Ryan retorts grinning and Ray snorts, sitting back down, opening the box of juice. He offers one to Ryan, but he shakes his head, watching as another firework explodes in the air.

Ray shrugs, helping himself to a juice pouch, jabbing the straw into the little hole. He takes a long drink, watching the fireworks for a few seconds, but his attention strays to Ryan.

Ray’s not sure what comes over him; maybe it’s the fireworks, maybe he finally found that LSD laced Capri Sun he knows exists out there, maybe it’s the company he’s keeping tonight; but for some reason he leans forward to do… something. He’s not sure what exactly.

He’s not counting on Ryan turning at the same time or their heads colliding or spilling Capri Sun all over the place. He swears, jumping to his feet, apologizing when he sees the blood dribbling down Ryan’s lip.

“Shit, dude, that’s, shit…” he shakes his hands, trying to get the juice off of them, but they’re already getting sticky (and there’s probably a masturbation joke that can be made from this situation). “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Ryan replies nodding, watching Ray warily. “What were you-?” he trails off, furrowing his eyebrows. “What were you trying to do?”

Ray shrugs, not really knowing himself. He runs his sweaty palms down his thighs, swallowing past the weird lump in his throat. He nods behind him, voice cracking when he says, “We should probably go.”

“Ray…”

“It’s fine.” He turns, nearly trips over his feet, and practically runs back towards his car. He’s had enough embarrassment for a life time.


Three days later, and some major avoiding on Ray’s part, he and Ryan are on a helicopter, heading towards their next heist. Neither one have said much to each other, Jack trying a few times to start a conversation but getting nowhere, and it’s weird. It’s really weird. They’re not exactly the most vocal members of the crew, but Ray’s never felt awkward around Ryan. That’s never been a thing they’ve had to go through. Even when Ryan first joined FAH and wouldn’t say much to anyone, they’d still sit with a comfortable silence between them.

And he can’t help thinking that he caused this; he caused this with his weird whatever in the desert a few nights ago. If he had just watched the fireworks like a normal person none of this would be happening right now. Probably.

“Alright, we’re approaching the drop point,” Jack says and both nod in understanding. “Don’t die, guys, okay?”

“Way to lighten the mood, Jack,” Ray says sarcastically and he hears Ryan snort. It’s the most normal thing they’ve done since the desert, and Ray craves for more of it. He wishes he could shazaam himself back in time and delete the part of his brain that decided to headbutt Ryan while trying to do… whatever he had been trying to do.

“Okay, jump in three, two…”

“Hey, Ray,” Ryan says from behind him and Ray turns, confused, only to rear back when Ryan leans into him, falling backwards out of the helicopter. Needless to say, it is not a smooth landing.


Two weeks later, Ryan and Ray are pinned down behind a dumpster in an alleyway. They have about two more minutes before anyone can get to them, too many gang members to ensure a bloodless escape, and Ray’s running out of bullets. The odds are not in their favor and he really has to pee.

“If we die…” Ryan starts and Ray nudges him, shaking his head. “No, listen, if we die, I need you to know one thing.”

Ray wants to argue, but instead he goes for humor. “If you decided to sell my organs to the black market at least make sure you get a good price.”

“Look, I’m trying to have a moment here.”

“Yeah, and it’s stupid because we’re gonna be fine. You, me, that stray cat we saw run out into the street when the shit hit the fan. All of us. Completely fine.”

“But if we’re not…”

“Oh, shut up.”

“But if we’re not…” Ryan leans forward, pressing his lips to Ray’s, and time stands still for that moment. Only to speed back up when Ryan pulls away, grinning. He shoves his mask back over his face, checks the clips on his guns, and jumps up, firing in the direction of the gang members, helicopter blades overhead telling them the cavalry has arrived.

Ray sits there, stunned for a good three seconds, but the situation catches up to him and he mutters, “Crazy bastard.” He then jumps up, firing at a random guy, yelling, “YOLO.”

And yeah, maybe he’s a crazy bastard, too.

anonymous asked:

fuck FCUK i don't want you to fail your finals but if you could write some of ben's interactions with poe that would be the Best Thing Ever. Especially after poe being mentally fucked up by kylo because i want my favorite characters to Suffer and you are the best at that.

There’s a double-vision to it, like a holoproj on the fritz—here is Ben Organa, resurrected from Poe’s sepia memories of childhood and two foot taller; there is the shape of Poe’s nightmares, hulking and black, the same voice cracked and bleeding through the respirator. Poe can flick between the two, tracing the space they overlap. Ben has the nightmare’s hands. The nightmare has Ben’s name. They both have the same choked laugh, startled from their throats as though they hadn’t been expecting it. 

(Poe doesn’t like to think about how he knows the nightmare can laugh. It’s—that’s—it’s done. It’s done.)

He goes numb and hollow the first time he hears it from Ben, even in the sun-dappled mess hall on D’Qar, with the remainder of Black Squadron chattering around them—Poe has to force himself to keep breathing, to smile, make some excuse about having to log his hours. He knows how he got from the mess hall to his quarters, how he ended up crouched down beside his bed and sobbing, but he doesn’t remember much of it, muffled by soft grey that won’t hold its shape.

The General, gods bless her, says nothing when he comes late to the briefing that afternoon, flightsuit sticking to the cold-sweat small of his back.

He’s still trying to decide if it makes it worse, knowing who lurked behind the mask. On his knees in the Jakku sand, thinking I hope someone remembers to tell papa, it hadn’t occurred to Poe there was anything beneath the plastiform, just ash and malice and death. Or maybe a clanker, like in the old Clone Wars holodramas, the best kind of enemy—you couldn’t feel guilty about killing a soulless, dickless thing.

(He should have known better. Not even Darth Vader was that convenient, in the end.)

Poe can—he can tell Ben is trying, attempting to respect lines he can’t see and histories he hasn’t lived. Poe can’t count the number of times Ben has swallowed his grin because Poe looked bewildered at a punchline, or reached for Poe’s shoulder only to yank his hand away when Poe flinched. Ben is trying and so Poe tries too, tries to smile and breathe, tries not to hate him. Tries not to see the places where Ben overlaps with the nightmare.

Poe has new nightmares now. The sun-dappled mess hall, quiet and still except for that choked-off laugh.(He spends too long in the refresher these days, trying to scrub phantom blood from his feet, his ankles.)

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Mom, I need help. I follow a lot of writing advice blogs but so much of it is conflicting and I just don't know what to do, if I try to do one thing it kills my idea but if I do my idea Im worried no one will like it :( what do I do?

I dislike a lot of writing advice posts that start with “DON’T DO THIS IF YOU WANT TO BE A SUCCESS” because I’m pretty certain at some point someone told Tolkien no one wants to read about the origin of a language he just invented and also “wtf is a hobbit? Can’t the elves at least have some resemblance to their original mythos?* Ugh fine…”

I’m not sure which blogs you are following, but I can guess at some of their “helpful tips and advice” based purely on what I have seen at a glance. Funnily enough most of them are my pet peeves, both as a writer and an editor, so if you’ll indulge me, lets go on a little ramble, anon.

“Editors hate Prologues and will dismiss you if you have one!”— only the shitty ones do this. The ones doing their job will tell you whether or not the prologue is in fitting with your genre style (yes there are styles withing genres *inception foghorn*) or whether you’re giving away too much foreshadowing and character back story which might be better explored throughout the rest of the narrative as a means of garnering depth and substance. Sometimes the prologue isn’t necessary at all, sometimes it can easily be made into chapter one, and sometimes it can be edited out entirely. Figuring this out is part of the editor’s job. You are not writing to appeal to the personal likes of the Editor, you are writing to tell a story which the editor will then hack apart to find the backbone of and say “here, here is what we need more of”.

Editors hate Epilogues!” — see the above.

Be original, no one wants the same story over and over!” — other than creating a flamethrower guitar, humanity has remained pretty much constant in it’s use of fire. Heat things, cook things, destroy things. We’re a simple bunch, us homo sapiens. We like our fire and we like it hot, and occasionally there might be a flamethrower guitar thrown into the mix which sets out little brains to buzzing. But mostly we’ll be happy in the morning if we can use it to cook bacon with and possibly set fire to the neighboring campsite. That’s why religion is so successful. It tells the same story over and over, validating our existence, our tragedies and our hope. Which is not to say be bland and never try to be experimental or creative. Instead lets agree to use the word “interesting” rather than “original”. By this point fire has been invented and it’s not going anywhere, the original concept idea of fire is very much rooted in human psyche ever since cave people figured it out and quite possibly thought they’d captured something wild. (And it’s that little bit of imagination that makes humans so very special, it’s the same part of us that names stuffed animals and worries about hurting their feelings. We’re great at inflicting the human condition onto perfectly undeserving inanimate objects.) Screw “original”—lets be the ones who make things interesting. Throw some napalm into the mix, or find a way to make fire dance over ice, take the fire and go to the moon if you want to. Just because something has already been done, doesn’t mean you can’t do it over and over again in interesting ways. If that was the case we’d have neither faith nor human ingenuity and we’d still be banging rocks together and peeling bananas with our toes.

Editors make a decision based on the first three sentences!” They might do this, but chances are it’s the editor’s assistant who has just read the exact same opening sequence written by ten different people and hopes to spare the sanity of the publisher who is going to sign off on authorizing your book from subjecting them to one more “she was an average looking girl with luxurious blonde hair and blue eyes the color of deep water, but totally average…so average she’d never get a boyfriend…” (You cannot write an original romance novel. Sex is older than fire and romance probably just as much so from the first moment Grog realized this plant smelled nice and gave it to Grognita and she also thought it smelt nice and let Grog put his feet under the stone table in the cave. You can however write an interesting one that does more than follow “{girl with self confidence issues} + {young interesting man with a dark history and a secret need to be coddled} meet in unlikely but totally likely circumstances, confusion and emotions ensue” equation. Flip the table, have a love triangle that turns into a happy polyamorous fun time for all without one of them being killed off and leaving the ‘true’ pairing to survive. (I once edited a book that did that, the words “our true love can finally flourish” made me vomit in my mouth).)

It’s true, you need to be interesting and engaging from the start to get the attention of your intended audience. But what’s more important is your cover letter detailing the summary of your book, whether you intend it to be a dark fantasy or a rip roaring comedy or something in between. It’s the cover letter that gets read before your manuscript is ever even downloaded. It’s also the promise of future revenue. You want this book to be part of a trilogy? Tell them that, and tell them you have rough drafts planned for those books. Even if they’re only rough drafts on the back of napkins, it’s still technically true. Which is the sum and all of being an author, you’re telling fiction to tell truths, and any editor worth their salt knows this. Side-note to this section as well, most editing companies will dismiss unsolicited manuscripts right off the bat. It has nothing to do with your first three sentences, and everything to do with needing a representative who has a good reputation to stand up, wave a flag and say “hey, this isn’t garbage!” Get an agent, find one who specializes in what you want to write, chances are they already know which publishing houses to send your stuff to.

Readers hate that!” Oh thank god, I’m so glad someone finally knows what every single human being on the planet wants to read, I’m…oh you have no idea what a relief this is, finally I can stop writing what I wanted to write and write one specific trope for the rest of my life, thank you, thank you. /scathing sarcasm (Unless you’re killing off the third character in your romance book to teach a moral story about true love, in which case go fuck yourself, readers really do hate that.)

Don’t worry about spelling and grammar, that’s what editors are for :) it’s content not quality :)” — if you listen really closely you an hear the sound of my sanity shrieking through the void of editorial hell. If someone hands you a bag full of shit, regardless of how great the bag itself is, it’s still a bag of shit. Editors don’t expect you to have gotten everything right by yourself, that is why they are there, for when you’ve read your own book so many times you no longer catch the subtle things like “thought” and “though” or you’ve given up on using comas and resorted to the em dash out of mad desperation. I once received a copy to line edit which was so riddled with spelling mistakes I had literally no idea what  was going on. The response from the author was “isn’t that you’re job? to figure that out?” (complete with spelling mistakes) to which I replied, “no, I am here to take a walk through your garden of words and point out where the roots are being strangled and the pond might need some cleaning out”. Then added on to myself, “not run screaming madly through a jungle being pursued by hornet-bears with a suicidal grasp of sentence structure.”

Editors are not expecting perfection, but they do expect some form of competency that implies sentience beyond a loaf of moldy bread. The majority of good storytelling comes from the actual words, not the idea. To suggest otherwise is like expecting an operatic masterpiece to sound good whilst being sung by a tone deaf goat. So try your hardest, cross your t’s and dot your i’s. It helps more than you’d think.

“No one likes a Mary Sue”— DC comics and Batman would like to disagree with you, but what is really being said here is “no one likes a female hero” which is blatant bullshit. You got yourself a bad ass Amazonian queen who also likes to embroider? Cool, go for it. Male heroes have never had to explain their brilliance. Neither should female. Anyone that tries to put your writing down because the women seem “too over powered” aren’t the kind of people you want to be dealing with.

“You should only ever write what you know.”— Whenever I read advice like this I can’t help but feel like Mary Shelley had some fucking weird anatomy classes I never got at school, and that I’d like to try whatever Tolkien was having. Just long enough to find the Shire and be among people of my own size.

Yes, writing from what you know sounds like good advice, but only so far as you take it metaphorically as well as literally (Like a sort of zen). Otherwise dragons could never be slain and the stars would go untouched. I understand why it gets said, I really do. No one wants to read more “noble colonists meet noble savages and it was a grand old party and nothing bad happened ever”(—every history book ever written). Similarly no one wants to read more fiction appropriated by others in order to claim diversity. It is not the place of a cis straight person to represent the LGBTA community in order to claim progressive thinking on their part. It’s why having cis people portraying trans people goes beyond problematic and into the realms of “people are all different, an idiots guide to using your brain”. By all means we should be allies and make all efforts to be diverse in our work, but we should not seek to take their stories from them when there are so many creators from the LGBTA community who go ignored in favor of mainstream medium, and who would give a far more accurate  account and portrayal of their stories. The same goes for race. In that instance, write what you know is applicable. Otherwise, feel free to frolic with imagination and try not to tread on any toes too much. Common sense and decency will guide you better than any magic star.

“You should always try to impart meaning”— this is one of the staple quotes thrown about by literary snobs. “Impart meaning” as though everything you do will somehow shake the foundations of humanity, rather than slide off the side with nary a wobble on the Richter scale. What they really mean in that instance is “beat people over the head with morals and show how witty you are by making these observations” when what a really talented writer ought to be able to do, is slip them in under the radar and make the reader’s brain go “ping” through the subtle art of story manipulation. Tolkien wasn’t writing about the grandeur of war and kings, or even that good and evil is inherent. He was writing about the horrors of war, and that even the sweetest most lovable creatures (hobbits, fyi, who party and drink and eat and fulfill the role of little children in all their innocence)  can be corrupted by the greed of others and that corruption can span across the centuries to hurt the ones you love so you best do something about it now or else.

It was about love, and wanting to heal people. It was about understanding that if you have to fight, do it to defend the people you love. Power and influence fade, but somewhere where the hills are green and the sky is bright, someone is watching for you, so come home. If you missed all that I suggest you go back and read it all again. And again. And every time you do I bet you’ll find new meaning. Because that’s what good writers do. By all means impart meaning, but don’t imagine it has to be something great. It can be about the sum of humanity if you want it, but it can also be little things, like not treading on ants or that it’s okay to cry. You’re not writing to make people think you’re a genius, or if you are, you’re already writing for all the wrong reasons and I’m afraid there’s nothing more I can help you with.

“If you’re not having fun it’s not worth it”— This is the advice given by hobbyists who like to tell people they write but what they really mean is “I like the thought of it but it’s too much like hard work, but I do have clever ideas…” and I have just one thing to say to them. Buuuuuuuullshiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit.

Writing is hard. It is incredibly hard. It’s like trying to pin down the inside of your brain to a storyboard and not lobotomize yourself at the same time. Writing is hard and there are times when you will hate it. There will also be times when the story carries you and it’s immensely fun to ride those waves of heady creating. But behind that wave is invariably a tsunami of self doubt, followed by a drought of ideas, and you’ll lie dehydrated in the tundra of your own work, wondering what ever possessed you to grab your raft and try to make it upstream without a paddle. That doesn’t mean you should give up however. What it means is you pick yourself up, dust yourself down, find a bloody great big stick and you try again. If you do it for long enough you’ll eventually find you can make your own waves. The act of writing is like a habit. If you do it long enough, eventually it’ll become second nature, and more than that, a craving. It’s my one true vice and like a vice, some days it will tear me apart. On other days however, I get to walk with angels. It’s entirely worth it.

So you want my definitive advice about writing and what you should do?

Don’t give up. Do the thing.



(*Fun fact, elves are ungodly vicious bastards, and it wasn’t until about the 19th century that they became less terrifying and more cute and benign. Funny that.)

kayrc  asked:

Ok so I just discovered your blog and am now in love because you put my frustrations in words! Anyway, just wanted to know your opinion on the Dick/Bruce relationship in the Nu52. I ask because they kept the same level of trust and respect but with only a few years of Dick as Robin and you don't get that level of teamwork that they have with that little amount of time of them working together and it makes me want to throttle editors. Repeatedly. These are the things that frustrate me haha.

Oh, hey! Thank you. I think you just summed up my same views, but I’ll add on.

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anonymous asked:

hey emma i'm Struggling to write b/c of mental illness & i really don't know how to get past it. writing is one of my major coping skills and it's just kinda Gone rn and i need advice, if that's alright??

i’ve been trying to answer this since i got it & every time i try i feel like i can never get the words out right, so irony of ironies i stop. but i wanna get this out for u, as poor as any advice i give may be, so i’m just gonna type it out & cross my fingers that it makes some kind of sense. ok:

when i was 17 i stopped writing. i didn’t know what was wrong with me. my brain & heart & body felt like it was trudging through molasses. obviously i was depressed but i didn’t know it yet. in hindsight i can point out that i’ve been mentally ill p much my whole life, but my other constant besides my messed up brain had always been words & then, u know, poof, gone. it was weird to go from a place where there was this word with which i identified - writer - & i have it no longer be true. i didn’t write again, not Really, for something like 3 years. 

then i met my now best friend amy & she did something nice for me & i wanted to do something nice for her in return so i wrote her a poem. then i wrote her another one. & another. a whole series of them. i was fuckin rusty. but i was writing again & i haven’t stopped writing since. its been another 3 yrs, go figure.

i am a much better writer than i was 3 yrs ago but i always wonder how good i would be now if i hadn’t stopped. 

straight up, the idea of muse or inspiration or any of that shit is totally made up. its bullshit. but there is feeling so dead in the heart that anything u put down on paper feels like nothing. even now, i struggle with motivation, & even now i know there is more i could be doing & i feel like i’m failing myself. 

this is my advice, & this is the advice that i wish i could have given to 17 year old me: write through it. 

i know, i know, but listen: 3 years of absolute garbage poetry about how miserable i was would still be more valuable than 3 years of nothing. which is what i have. your words aren’t gone. they don’t leave you. thats the big secret that mental illness is always trying to keep from you. there were so many times during those 3 years where would try to write a poem, see what i had, & fuckin throw it in the garbage.

but there’s 2 things u should remember when ur writing while mentally ill: 
1) it doesn’t have to be good. honestly. writing is Practice & even when ur writing a bad poem that u don’t think is publishable or like, worthwhile to read, its still valuable to u because with Every Poem U Write U Get Better At Writing Poetry 
2) don’t discard anything bc ur brain is a fuckin liar. reading back anything u’ve written while depressed isn’t always helpful in determining what is actually Good. there’s been so many times where i’ve written a poem while in a Bad Spot that i thought was awful that, looking back when i was in my regular Slightly Less Bad Spot, was actually - holy shit, really fuckin good. 

so thats what i mean when i say write through it. ppl w/ brains that aren’t constantly on the verge of self sabotage find writing difficult all on their own, its even harder for people like us. ur gonna push urself twice as hard & be left with stuff u don’t even like. but the worst thing u can do is listen to the part of urself thats telling u that u’ve got nothing left & stop. the words are always gonna be there. they’re not always gonna be beautiful words, but then, they don’t have to be.

to wrap this up, because this is getting sooo fuckin long, i wanna end this w/ a quick lil story. at 20, having started writing again, i was texting my best friend amy about how annoyed i was with myself because all i could write were poems about being mentally ill. & she told me that there was nothing wrong with that, that w/ my poetry about being messed up & depressed & miserable i was creating a platform where other ppl could relate to my experiences & feel less isolated by their own. that even poetry i was writing that felt so pointless served an important unifying purpose. whether or not thats something ur interested in, it is something to consider, that even the bad poetry is poetry that moves something along forward. 

so ya, my advice is “write anyway,” which is probably so-so as far as advice goes but, u know, 

write anyway.

So we finished playing FFXV...

It took us (well, @freyci  to be exact, I was watching and helping her the whole time) 65+ hours to finish (not everything tho) and we have a really strong opinion about the game.

Don’t get me wrong - I love FFXV, I love the characters, I love the story, I love the world they live in and I won’t stop loving and posting and creating - but I’m so utterly disappointed in a few things. 

Feel free to correct me, I would love to talk about it and believe me, I would be the happiest if I were wrong about something!
Beware, it’s gonna be long, though! (Also SPOILER alert)

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pinetreevillain  asked:

If by prompts you mean wing!au prompts....... Jack finally gets around to telling everyone about his wings and is super nervous but everyone is like "yah okay bro" and Lena or someone thinks they're really pretty and Jack gets all flustered or confused. Bonus points if someone suggests they all go flying together and when they get around to doing it Jack is still on the ground and after Gabe prods him enough he eventually goes "I don't know how"

By prompt, I mean anything XD. I like trying my hands at everything, but here goes:



Honestly, with all the shit that has happened in his life, one would think Jack Morrison can’t get surprised anymore.

His comrades have proven otherwise. They took those words and shoved them right back into his mouth.

When Jack agreed to Gabriel’s suggestion, he was nervous as hell. Jack told himself that he should be way too old to care about this shit, especially when it comes to the people who he can trust staring at the barrels of their guns. But old habits can be difficult to shake. Old fears, even harder. For a black bird like him, to achieve anything he has should have been a fucking miracle already. To find a mate that loves him to the very tip of his feather..even more so.

It is natural for Jack to be afraid of what his friends would think. That they might just turn their backs on him after all…

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