and a little unnerving

Having grown up in DC, statues of various dead guys on horses are basically background radiation, or they were before I became Hamilton trash and started noticing them again. Now it’s like every time I turn around there’s a Founding Father looking at me like I personally disappointed him, and it’s getting a little unnerving.

Although: as a result, I sort of want to write a magical realism thing where that can really happen. Where if you do something they would have disagreed with strongly enough, the statues climb down off their columns and lumber down Mass Ave to the Russell Building or the Capitol, where they stand on the sidewalk, arms crossed, glaring into the window of whoever’s just introduced legislation that offended them. They don’t speak, or attack anyone, or damage anything– well, they do tend to bump their heads on low-handing streetlights, sometimes, but that doesn’t count. Mostly they just stand there, mournful, accusing, for everyone to see.

Sometimes lawmakers can talk them around, convince them they’re not actually betraying the political ideals of their predecessors. Politicians who are good at this tend to have much, much longer careers than the ones who aren’t. Politicians who piss off the wrong statues seldom get reelected.

George Washington rarely budges, and when he does it’s front-page news, nationwide. Madison’s always been easier to talk around than most. Hamilton spend more time off his plinth than on it, but he cools off fast. Jefferson holds grudges, to the point that hardly anyone worries too much about making him mad. 

It’s not just politicians, either, and they don’t always come to life in anger. Joan of Arc’s bronze horse will shiver to life in Malcolm X Park, sometimes, and carry her off to join protest marches, when she thinks their cause is just. Gandhi walked with Iraq War protestors. The Spirit of American Womanhood, outside Constitution Hall, danced on the day that Roe v. Wade was decided, and when Obergefell vs. Hodge went through, Eleanor Roosevelt taught a clumsy Lindy to Baron von Steuben. 

Lincoln has only risen from his seat once since he was put there in 1922, and that was to nod in solemn approval at LBJ from the White House lawn.

Some cities rarely put up statues, and many have taken theirs down. Paris has a great many artists and writers memorialized, and curiously few politicians. In London, during the Blitz, Nelson shinned down his column to help dig people out of collapsed buildings, until he was broken to pieces himself; he stands atop the column again today, reassembled, but has never moved since. In the last months of the Soviet Union, a desperate Communist Party had the statues of Moscow chained in place. These days, Monument Avenue in Richmond is punctuated with  a long series of empty plinths and bare columns. 

But DC keeps theirs, and keeps building more.

les amis working in a book store

Enjolras: just sits there and watches, mostly; it’s a little unnerving. Very very good at figuring out what kind of book you’ll like and pointing you in the right direction. even if you claim not to like reading, he’ll figure something out for you, thinking you’re going to give it a chance.

Combeferre: will never tell you if a book is good or not. it depends, yknow? there’s no bad book, really, only bad times to read it perhaps. “but is it well written?” you ask, wanting a clear answer. “that depends on what you’re looking for,” he replies. “I can’t say for sure if a book is well written or not…”. hypocritically, is super picky about good writing himself.

Courfeyrac: you don’t know how he does it, but you came in for a paperback and you end up leaving with a shelf worth of books and an invitation to come over for apéro, his door is always open if you need it. it might be because of his verve, or his gorgeous eyes, it’s hard to say.

Feuilly: will recommend you books about the history of Poland, or Italy, or Greece, or about any other countries currently under oppressing regimes - even if that’s not really what you’re looking for. It’s always à propos, though, isn’t it? You’re looking for a thriller? this book is about the partitions of Poland. it doesn’t get more thrilling than that, and you’ll learn about important parts of history!

Bahorel: knows everyone. This book? He knows the author, they’ve shared a beer that one that. That one? Yeah, he met the author at a family party. The tallest, so he can reach the higher shelves. Unafraid of a barricade of books toppling over him. Unafraid of anything, even the latest cheesy bestseller.

Prouvaire: sets himself in a corner and plays the flute (and violin, and guitar, and whatever he’s been learning that month) to entertain the customers. He will also always reccomend you read books in their original language. Even if you don’t read that language. He’ll suggest you learn it.

Joly: is really into the newest trends in health, self-help, or borderline esoteric books. He writes to his favourite authors and invites them to come and speak and sign books at the store sometimes. Makes tea for the customers, and brings blankets to the cozy reading corner on cold rainy days.

Bossuet: tried to publish his own book, but somehow, despite his talent, manage to lose all the money from it because of a crooked publisher. Will self-publish next time, maybe, when he gets an idea (it’s been 10 years). somehow always gets the  customers that talk about their entre life stories to him, but he doesn’t mind.

Grantaire: probably knows the book you’re talking about, because he’s read it, but then he (accidentally or not) spoils it for you at the register. can’t shelve books to save his life - he always gets distracted.

So the strangest thing happened today. Whilst on my daily commute to university I decided to re-watch Episode 7 of YOI on the train to get some screencaps for edits. And I noticed that a girl from the seat across from me was intently staring at my screen so a little unnerved and embarrassed I tilted the screen a bit. But then she started staring even more.

After 5 minutes I realised that she wasn’t judging me but was probably a fan of the series too so I looked at her and gestured for her to sit next to me so she did and we shared headphones and watched the episode together.

We didn’t communicate or talk and at her stop she got off.

It was just so bizarre!


((welcome back to the reverse au, everybody!! ♥♥ as always, em and i pour a lot of love into this, and hope that you all enjoy what we do. thanks for following the blog, and i hope you enjoy this little fic! ♥))

summary: Victor learns his coach’s boundaries quickly, desperate to touch every inch of Yuuri’s skin.
word count: 2k
rating: teen
✮read on ao3✮reverse au fics✮reverse au art
→my blog→em’s art blog

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Finally, new content! This week was a good one. I not only gave myself some long overdue girl time, I also went outside for the first time as Jessica. All I did was drive around on a rainy night. I knew that people could see me, though, and it felt empowering, if a little unnerving, to present as female in public. My housemates were very accepting, and they made me feel comfortable.

I’m thinking about going out to a show this weekend as Jessica. I’ll definitely update you all if that happens :)

By the way, that is my actual hair! I feel like it’s finally long enough to wear in girlmode. I know it’s not the most feminine style, but I’m going to keep it androgynous so I don’t look weird in guy mode.

It all seems like a dream to her. 

The way she’s met him on the battlefield again, this time in the midst of war.

The way she’s avoided his maneuver of samurai, having no puppets at hand. 

The way he’s stood still as he fully recognizes her, his eyes just widening just a little. 

The way Kankuro spoke to him, he’s paid little mind to the younger puppeteer. His look - wholly unnerving - on her.

The way he’s carried a sense of melancholy, the same kind she’s seen on him before – right at the end. 

He speaks little amongst the chaos that surrounds them; The life his village has forced him to led, the life he’s never quite escaped. 

He speaks of regrets.

But as she runs to catch one last glimpse of the man she’s never quite known, the man that looms like a shadow over her failures, her achievements- 

He speaks of peace. 

She isn’t able to hold him the way she’s intended; He’s fading away too fast, and a sense of panic overcomes her, her eyes filled with fresh tears.

But right as he disappears into nothingness, the corners of his mouth twitch, and his ghost-like touch envelops her.

“Thank you, Sakura.”

A fever dream.

Thumbs up for partings

Finding Balance [Part One]

Author: smutandahalf

Characters: Reader x Stiles


Word Count: 1,684

**Hello my lovelies! Here is the real beginning of the story, the prequel isn’t necessary but if you’d like to read it you can find it here **

Originally posted by writingissatansworstnightmare

I focus on the loud music blasting from my headphones as my feet pound against the dirt trail. I don’t know how long I’ve been running for, I didn’t really have a distance in mind when I set out, I just needed to get out and find a release for the intense agitation that’s been swirling inside of me all day.

           My thoughts get away from me and start to drift to him and I grit my teeth. He’s always there, every time I turn around. Smirking at me like he knows something, like he can see right through me. I clench my fists and run a little harder. As if that wasn’t unnerving enough his constant flirting and touches don’t make it any better. Even though I refuse to acknowledge him, a shiver goes through me every time his hand brushes against me- intentionally or not. It’s like there’s something inside of me calling to him, something I’ve been trying so hard to keep buried within me.

           I slow down, changing my pace to a slow jog as I turn my music down to slightly so that I can hear my breathing over it. I try to focus on my breathing, at evening out the pants of air that are shoving its way out of my airways. There’s a crack behind me followed by the snapping sound of a few branches breaking and I feel my heart spasm in panic as I pick up my pace again, not even daring to look back. I let my ear buds drop out of my ears so that I can hear whatever is coming up behind me and I try to remain calm when I realize it sounds like it’s gaining on me.

           I begin sprinting, silently berating myself for going so far out into the woods in a town that I know has an absurd amount of vicious supernaturals drawn to it constantly. An arm snakes around my waist and I shriek as I lose my balance; sending both my pursuer and I stumbling down the hill through the dead leaves and dirt. I land on my back, the force knocking the wind out of me and I lay there gasping for breath.

           “Where are you running off to so fast, kitten?”

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you know what i’m absolutely down for in the new star wars movies? stupidly attractive people behind masks. we already had the kylo ren thing and i personally was expecting darth vader face so that was a shock. and like rey was a little unnerved by that

but you know what i want in episode viii

i want rey and captain phasma to get into a fight and rey like uses the force and crushes phasma’s helmet a little

so she just rips the helmet off and throws is to the ground

and rey freezes and starts sweating like “oh shit she’s attractive”


title: dresses
relationship: pike/keyleth (pikeleth)
words: 2.5k
warnings: none
summary: keyleth and pike spend a quiet afternoon treating themselves.

There’s time for rest after the dragons.

There’s also time for uncertainty. They spent so much time pushed into a time crunch as they struggled and rushed to save everything, the sudden freedom of not having the weight of the world bearing down on their shoulders is a little unnerving, to say the least. So maybe that’s why Pike takes Keyleth’s hand one morning after breakfast, her mouth curved upwards into a smile. “You wanna do something with me today?”

And maybe that’s why it’s so easy for Keyleth to return her smile with a squeeze of the cleric’s hand. “I’d love to.”


Man’s Best Friend

They say dogs are man’s best friend. I’m not sure I agree. I’ve never been big on dogs and the feeling seems to be mutual. They’ve never liked me.

Even dogs I’ve never met snap and snarl at me just for walking by them. You can understand why I don’t like them much then, right? It’s a little more than unnerving when a dog’s teeth are inches from your flesh and it has a murderous look in its eyes.

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anonymous asked:

Why Grell doesn't like Ronald that much?

I guess it’s just that Grell would prefer to be in the company of someone else (probably Sebastian or William) rather than be partnered up with Ronald here.

So I don’t think Grell really dislikes Ronald, they are just bickering a little.

And Ronald is a bit unnerved by the fact that Grell gets so easily distracted while Grell doesn’t like that Ronald constantly is mentioning their work.


The next couple of weeks were a strange kind of dance. It reminded Connor of the videos he’d used to watch in elementry school when his science teacher was off sick. The substitute would roll in a big old box television on a metal stand, wheels creaking under the weight, and the kids would all sit around it and watch documentaries about exotic Amazoniam birds. Connor remembered watching the brightly-plumed males dance and flutter and flaunt around their prospective mates, amazed and a little unnerved; now he felt the same as those birds. Knowing that Elijah obviously wasn’t completely opposed to his affections, Connor began to flaunt and show off. Elijah would watch from afar, sometimes appreciatively, but whenever Connor took a step forwards, Elijah took a step backwards again.

It was moments like those when Connor remembered what India said. You’ve just gotta tell him. He can’t read nonverbal cues to the point where it’s ridiculous. You have to tell him.

They’d recently invested in a small, portable television set. It helped alleviate Connor’s stress after his longer shifts, and gave Elijah something to do when he wasn’t busy kicking the knees out from beneath some corrupt pseudo-charity online. Sometimes, though, they’d end up flopped on the ratty old sofa together, knees unconsciously knocking together every now and again, hands lying side-by-side. If Connor was lucky and Elijah was feeling particularly touchy-feely, Connor would find a blond mop of hair on his shoulder or a heavy weight across his lap.

This was one of those afternoons. Elijah, his feet up on the coffee table, leaned almost his entire weight against Connor’s side.

“Uh,” Connor began when Elijah got distracted and begun to fidget with his shirt. “Can I ask you somthin’?”


Connor licked his lips. “See… you know I like you. Do you like me too? I mean in that way. A more-than-friends way.” This was making him… incredibly uncomfortable. But when Elijah turned those big green eyes up towards him he was reminded just why he was suffering that discomfort.

“Well…” Elijah sighed, scratching behind his ear. “I dunno. I suppose so. I mean… I don’t not like you. I enjoy talking to you and I like it when you touch me.” His palm pressed against Connor’s chest, making his organs shift inside him. “I don’t… um. Could I show you, maybe?”


    The door to the Shimada home (the other Shimada home) closed with a crash, and a figure who was currently shrouded in the shadows of the unlit living room slumped against the wall beside it.

Flicking the light switch on, Mercy’s exhausted sigh could be heard across almost the entire household. Even though she, Genji, and their children were on vacation, her responsibilities as Overwatch’s most prominent medic still hounded her. She had just come home from yet another “extremely urgent” virtual meeting, one that was thankfully the last.

“Genji! I’m home!” She called out happily. But there was nothing in reply. A little unnerved by the lack of a response, Mercy called out to their children.

“Valentine? Taro?”

Still, the only answer she heard was the silence.

By this point, Mercy had crept towards the kitchen, where she found the most peculiar thing. There was nobody to be seen, yet a pot was on the stove and whatever was in it smelled good. However, the mere fact that it was left there irked her. 

“Oh, Genji… leaving the stove on again. Hopefully whatever he’s cooking hasn’t burned up.” She absentmindedly thought out loud, walking over to where his kitchen handiwork was currently cooking. She was usually the one to prepare their food, but on days like this where Genji knew she was getting home late…

Let’s just say that her husband could most definitely cook, and cook well.

Mercy had just reached her hand out to check what was in the pot when she felt something wrap around her, just above her waist. She let out an ear-piercing shriek, whipping her head around to face her attacker only to find…

”Welcome home, Angela,” Genji half-whispered, smiling mischievously. Mercy’s shock quickly dissipated upon seeing his face, and of course, the familiar warmth of his arms around her waist.

”Genji!” Mercy pouted in playful annoyance, before letting out a giggle and entwining his hands with her own. “You scared me, härzli.” She smiled.

“Surprises make life more memorable,” Genji replied, twirling her so that they came face-to-face. He leaned on the rectangular island in the middle of the room, which in turn let Mercy lean on him. He savored her presence, the feel of her hands against his, their foreheads close to touching, their hearts beating along the same quick rhythm. Genji always felt like such whenever he was with his angel.

“Oh, really?” Mercy replied quizzically, raising a brow at him. One would almost think that she was annoyed, if not for the ghost of a smile playing along the corners of her lips.

Genji nodded back.

Or, well, he tried to.

Not long after she had spoken, Mercy leaned forward, catching his lips with hers mid-nod. A startled Genji could do nothing but (of course, was more than happy to) return said kiss, eventually gaining enough of his consciousness back to pull his wife even closer and start kissing back, the warmth of their contact a welcome reminder that his love had come back home. The two stayed like this for a little while, getting lost in the sweet silence and making the most out of each other’s presence, before they slowly broke away as one.

A little breathless after her “surprise”, Mercy was the first one to speak. It was quite understandable, really, as Genji was still speechless.

“How was that for a surprise, mhm?” She smirked, bright blue eyes gazing into her husband’s brown ones.

“… That was quite a nice one.” Genji smiled back, hand reaching up towards a few strands of Mercy’s blond hair that had fallen over her eyes, tucking them behind her ear. Touching his forehead to hers, he spoke again.

“Will I be getting more of those in the future?”

“Definit-…” Mercy’s upbeat response was cut short, her attention being directed elsewhere. More specifically, to the pot on the stove. Which had smoke rising from it. And a strange… burnt odor.


“Genji! The food!” She exclaimed.

Her husband stared back, a lovingly carefree expression complete with playful eyes suddenly replaced with wide, startled ones as he was dragged back into reality.

“… Oh. Right.”

And that was the story of how the Shimada family ended up having to go out for dinner that night.

I totes did not write this because of that picture I saw on @ribbonshalos‘ page.


Seriously though here’s some random Gency because this ship is freakin cute and amazing too.

(Also, Valentine and Taro are Ribbon’s characters. Most of my stories will be set in that wonderful AU. Where ships become reality. ^.^)

anonymous asked:

I would love to see the three of them bonding down in Tony's workshop playing with the bots.

Tony felt like he should have seen this coming somehow. He had worked for weeks to get Steve to bring Bucky to the workshop so that he could look at his arm. He hadn’t really understood why Steve had been so reluctant. Sure, Bucky had been a little unnerved by JARVIS for the first few weeks he was at the tower, but they’d gotten along great ever since then. And the tech that he kept in his mechanics workshop was way different than JARVIS, thank-you-very-much.

Eventually Steve relented, and Tony was practically vibrating with excitement as he led the two of them downstairs, ready to get down to business and build a bionic arm…

When Dum-E found them.

And now Tony was relegated to a corner while Bucky cooed over the bots.

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How do you break up with your dead boyfriend?

Swagger Bishie! 

I’m really into the idea of Danny having a weird crush on Dash, and ending up (as Phantom) kinda showing off and trying to return the crushfeels that Dash has on his ghostly side. 

And so Dash is like HELLYEAH that this superpowerful cutie is totally into him and it’s great for a little while… 

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Gif is mine

Imagine being the one who first discovered the Borg corpse in “blood fever” and the doctor helping you to get over your anxiety. 

Requested by Anon~

“There’s nothing to be afraid of, you know.” The Doctor gently assured. “It’s just a corpse. It can no longer hurt you.”

You exhaled a breath, glancing past the hologram to briefly look at the body of a Borg drone on the biobed. It certainly looked dead. You weren’t afraid of that specific drone. But stumbling upon it when you were least expecting it rattled your nerves a little. You averted your eyes. “I know. It’s still a little unnerving, though.”

The Doctor gave you a sympathetic look before placing his hand on your shoulder, steering you towards the Sick Bay doors. “Then I suggest you stay away from Sick Bay for now. And when all this is over, if you want to talk about it, I’ll be here.”