How to Have a Highly Successful Social Reputation When You Have Severe Anxiety to The Point of Agoraphobia:
go to one in three events you are invited to, as long as you are given that invitation over a week in advance to prepare,
tell people beforehand that you have to leave by a specific time due to Excuse (even ‘early morning tomorrow’ works if you inform them immediately upon receiving invitation), stick to this departure time at all costs, regardless of events,
pretend to be Hannibal Lecter when you get there.
you must at all times be amiable and charming so people don’t realize you are a serial killer
you can hang out by the food and compliment it and ask questions about ingredients and stuff
you can focus on making subtle cannibalism puns throughout the night (and yes this does help)
you are interested in people, and learning about those people, because you have that whole ‘choosing victims’ thing going on and also have to think of an ironically beautiful way to kill them
THEY CAN NEVER KNOW YOU ARE PRETENDING YOU’RE HANNIBAL LECTER, so you better use a cover story of being yourself when they ask questions. quickly deflect back to your target conversation partner.
Kaiba: Wheeler you are a worthless dog who isn’t worth anyone’s time. You will never amount to anything you deadbeat and your dueling skills are abysmal at best.
Also Kaiba: *invites Joey to his tournament even after having to deal with his friendship nonsense in Battle City and also claiming he is a shit duelist*
Also Kaiba: *goes out of his way to poke fun at Joey just to elicit a response any chance he can get even if they aren’t in a conversation with each other initially*
Also Kaiba: *answers Joey’s phone-call even though he has absolutely no reason to and is at work, a place he claims to require perfection and efficiency in at all times, while worrying about the state of his company*
Also Kaiba: *accepts every duel challenge Joey has ever given him despite claiming that Joey wouldn’t be a challenge for him and therefore shouldn’t bother*
Also Kaiba: *doesn’t openly show care for anyone but his brother, but still goes out of his way every now and then to make sure Joey doesn’t die stupidly or really get too hurt* (insert gifset and manga screenshots of every time this happens here)
Kaiba: And you’re especially not worth my time, Mutt.
It only took a million years (read, almost 2 months) but here is my coloring for @aquafeles Galra!Keith and Altean!Lance in their Fantasy AU! I learned so many things while coloring this… and I’m pretty proud of it. (I know I’m going to look back at this in 4 months and be like “my coloring was trash” but bah) Thank you again aquafeles for letting me color your awesome picture!!
Bellamy doesn’t believe in any higher power, not really. He also doesn’t believe in fate, or coincidence, or any of those other things that people like to blame random happenings on.
But he will admit that if he did actually believe in any of those things, he would be fully convinced that they were laughing at his misfortune at this very minute which. Honestly, he would be too if not for the stab wound in his side. Stab wounds apparently make the whole laughing thing kind of difficult. Who’d’ve known.
“Would you just hold still?” Clarke huffs as she tries to clean the wound.
“And your bedside manner sucks, princess.”
She pinches the soft skin on the inside of his bicep and he yelps, glaring at her balefully.
It’s not like he wants to be here, sitting on the uncomfortable examination table in the ER, shirt off, and paper crinkling noisily beneath him each time he so much as breathes. No one ever wants to be in the ER, leaking blood all over the place because they were fucking stabbed in a mugging gone wrong, not even if the opportunity lends itself to a bout of truly morbid humour.
Just this morning he was telling his sophomores about the Ides of March and now here he is, living his own version of it. Again, he would be laughing except- stab wound.
Clarke is bent over his side, wisps of blonde hair escaping her braid and looking platinum in the harsh fluorescent hospital lighting. Her eyebrows are furrowed as she goes over the cut with antiseptic, and he hisses once more.
“That hurts,” he grunts, and then flinches again when she goes back in with another piece of gauze. Most of the bleeding has stopped, but there’s still a lazy trickle that she has to keep wiping up intermittently.