10 Signs You’re an Introvert

1. You find small talk incredibly cumbersome.

Introverts are notoriously small talk-phobic, as they find idle chatter to be a source of anxiety, or at least annoyance. For many quiet types, chitchat can feel disingenuous.

“Let’s clear one thing up: Introverts do not hate small talk because we dislike people,” Laurie Helgoe writes in “Introvert Power: Why Your Inner Life Is Your Hidden Strength.” “We hate small talk because we hate the barrier it creates between people.”

2. You go to parties -– but not to meet people.

If you’re an introvert, you may sometimes enjoy going to parties, but chances are, you’re not going because you’re excited to meet new people. At a party, most introverts would rather spend time with people they already know and feel comfortable around. If you happen to meet a new person that you connect with, great — but meeting people is rarely the goal.

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Masterlist Links

After all my links disappeared, this is how I’m doing my Masterlist. 

Avengers Preferences

Bucky Barnes

Steve Rogers

Peter Parker

Wanda Maximoff

Pietro Maximoff

Natasha Romanoff

Loki Laufeyson

Other Avengers

- Thor
- Tony
- Bruce
- Clint

Matt Murdock

Wade Wilson


-Charles Xavier
-Erik Lehnsherr
-Peter Maximoff
-Hank McCoy
-Warren Worthington III
- Alex Summers
- Sean Cassidy


-Dean Winchester
-Sam Winchester
- Castiel
- Lucifer
- Crowley
- Balthazar

Star Wars

- Kylo Ren
- Cassian Andor
- Bodhi Rook

Doctor Who and Sherlock

-Tenth Doctor
- Jim Moriarty
- Sherlock Holmes
- John Watson
- Mycroft Holmes

The 100

- Bellamy Blake
- John Murphy
- Clarke Griffin

Harry Potter Universe

- Fred Weasley
- George Weasley
- Newt Scamander
- Remus Lupin
- Sirius Black


Lexa Soccer AU manip

Request for @thessclexa and her fanfiction “A Game of 90 Minutes” (Hope you like it!)




*I do not own the original picture*

Update Lexa Soccer AU manip here:

The walk to the first lecture class was full of wonder and excitement, if one didn’t account for the faces of the almost-dead seniors who wanted no part in campus life anymore.

Still, Lexa was receiving her fair share of stares, her presence not nearly as prominent as it was back at Arkadia. Yet.

Lexa was wearing a typical crisp white collared shirt and tight black jeans that almost gave her a formal sort of look. When Clarke had questioned it, she’d replied “I have a meeting with the athletic director and the university president.”

Clarke didn’t even seem fazed.

She, on the the other hand, had opted for a simple tank top, flannel, and torn jeans. The morning and later afternoons could be chilly, though, so Clarke opted for Lexa’s famed letterman jacket.

Okay, maybe that wasn’t entirely why she’d chosen a jacket with Lexa’s name plastered across the back.

Lexa smiled as soon as she saw Clarke wearing it, and hadn’t stopped since. The two of them walked through the main campus quad together, linking hands, taking in the sights and sounds of their supposed home for the next four years.

made with so much love for @clexa-hsau‘s sequel. I hope you guys like it!

Niki, thank YOU for always inspiring me and believing in me when no one else would.

anonymous asked:


this could go in a number of angsty directions but I think we all need a little healing from the last episode. hope you like, anon!

Clarke is running as fast as she can. Through the dinner lines, past the bewildered workers. They do not understand her haste, but all that matters to Clarke is that Bellamy Blake is laying all the way across camp, drugged and injured, and she is not there with him.

She had waited all evening for him to wake up, and just as he was coming to consciousness, she’d been called away. An attack on the Eastern Front, they’d said. It looked as if armies were moving in. The moment she found out it was a false alarm, she’d turned around and booked it back.

Clarke feels the radio dig into her waist as she runs. She’d used it to speak to her mother just minutes ago, who had instructed her to keep Bellamy awake at all costs. Despite the heavy painkillers he’d been given for his concussion – potential concussion, Clarke reminds herself – it’s crucial to keep Bellamy conscious.

At last, Clarke bounds into the medbay. Miller catches her eye as she approaches. He’s standing next to the head of the bed, and Monty is perched at Bellamy’s feet.

“Is he awake?” Clarke asks, out of breath. The question is needless, she realizes. Bellamy’s eyes – though heavily lidded – are open.

Miller says, “He’s only responding to Monty’s voice.”

Bellamy does, in fact, appear to be blinking sluggishly at Monty. “Keep talking to him,” Clarke directs. “We have to keep him conscious.”

Monty gives a curt nod. To Bellamy, he says, “Can you hear me, Bellamy?” There is no response. “Bellamy, can you understand me?”

This time, Bellamy lets out a groan. Clarke bites her lips. God, she hopes he’s not in any pain. Please let him be okay.

Monty keeps his voice steady.  "Bellamy,” he says, “I need you to answer me. Can you hear me?“

One slow blink, then another. Then Bellamy opens his mouth. “Yes,” he croaks. 

All this time, Clarke realizes she’s been holding her breath. 

She’s not the only one relieved. She hears Miller sigh, sees Monty’s shoulders drop. He says, “Do you know who I am, Bellamy?”

Bellamy blinks again. “No.“ 

If Monty is surprised, he does not show it. In fact, he catches Clarke’s eyes, mouthing, “It’s the drugs. Don’t freak out.”

“I’m not,” Clarke mutters.

Monty asks Bellamy, "Do you know where you are?”

Bellamy squints his eyes. After a beat, they roll up to the ceiling, lids slowly beginning to droop. Clarke’s stomach clenches, because is he passing out again, oh God—but then he says, “Ship.”

Clarke looks at Miller. “Ship?” Miller mouths, eyebrows lifted.

“He is right,” Clarke mouths back, unsure why she feels so defensive.  

Monty continues, “Can you tell me your full name?”

“Bellamy Blake,” he answers.

"Good. How old are you, Bellamy?”


“Do you remembered what happened?”

Bellamy blinks. He once again looks up to the ceiling, his lids relaxing. With a start, Clarke realizes now he is losing consciousness. “He’s passing out!” she yells.

At her voice, however, Bellamy’s eyes open and snap to Clarke’s. She freezes at their scrutiny.

“Bellamy,” Monty’s voice is quiet, “Do you know who that is?”

His gaze lingers on her face, hard and unyielding. After what feels like a lifetime, his examination softens. “Yeah,” he murmurs.

"Can you tell me her name?”

“Clarke Griffin.”

“What do you know about her?”

Bellamy says, “Princess.”

Clarke is unable to stop the grin that forms on her face. Bellamy, too, is looking at her, a soft smile tugging at his lips. 

Clarke tests her voice on him. She asks, “Can you hear me?”


“Are you in pain?”


Clarke looks at the slight strain in his eyes, the way he holds his right arm. She crosses her arms. “Are you lying?”

A pause. “Yeah.”

She shakes her head. “You’re an idiot,” she informs him. Because he is. How stupid he was to go after that damn moose – falling off a tree in the process – just to ensure that their people would not starve this winter. Stupid, stupid hero.

Clarke knows she’ll have time to yell at him properly later. For now, she says, “Where does it hurt?”

“Shoulder,” he says.

A distant part of Clarke thanks the universe that it’s not his head. She peels back the blanket to peek at the joint. It’s bruised, but not deformed or swollen. “You’ll live,” she says. “I can’t give you more medication.”

“Okay,” he says.

She looks at this boy, hurt and battered and lying about his pain, and the relief that floods her is unreal. “Glad you’re safe,” she murmurs.

The radio suddenly begins to beep. A crackle, then, “Clarke, we’ve got a situation on the Eastern Front. Confirmed movement towards the Ark, over.”

And just like that, her relief dissipates. She looks at Miller and Monty, seeing her own fear reflected in their eyes. 

“Go,” Monty says, “We got it here.”

Clarke nods. She knows she needs to leave, as much as her heart wants to stay. She says into the radio, “I’ll be right there, over.”

Clarke leans down beside Bellamy, locating his good hand to give it a squeeze. “I’ll be back soon, okay? Don’t do more stupid things.”

To her surprise, Bellamy squeezes her hand back. “Okay,” he murmurs. His eyes are heavy, but he still holds the soft smile. “Love you.”

Clarke doesn’t know how long she stares at the boy. She only realizes his eyes have closed when her radio screeches, “We need you here ASAP, Clarke. Over.”

It’s Miller who speaks. “Clarke, we’ll get him awake. You need to go.”

Clarke thinks she nods, she thinks she replies to the radio, but her body is on autopilot. Her feet take her out of the medbay without much of her own input, her heart thrashing in her chest. In the cool night, despite the threat of attack impending just outside their borders, all Clarke can feel are her fingers, still warm from Bellamy’s grasp.

Essays in Existentialism: Jealousy VI

Prompt: Perhaps a continuation of your Jealousy series? Canon S3 universe – Clarke, who is slowly but surely reconciling with Lexa, runs into Niylah in Polis. Lexa observes their interaction. Cue awkwardness and maybe a bit of jealousy. But, of course, Lexa would never admit it since jealousy is the product of weak mind or something like that. :)

Previously on Jealousy

The night was quiet, the hour so late that even those who fought against sleep failed against its power. The curtain danced in the breeze while the cold seeped in under it, freezing the concrete floor, slowly spreading into the room like a disease. It was no match for the bodies in the bed. 

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