and quivers

2

He is the Napoleon of crime, Watson. He is the organizer of half that is evil and of nearly all that is undetected in this great city, he is a genius, a philosopher, an abstract thinker. He has a brain of the first order. He sits motionless, like a spider in the center of its web, but that web has a thousand radiations, and he knows well every quiver of each of them. He does little himself. He only plans.

―    Arthur Conan Doyle, The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes    

Let us be furious. Let us be afraid. Let us tell ourselves everything will somehow be OK and then let us believe it and then let us make it so. If you haven’t come out, come out. If you have come out, come out again and again and again ― to your families, to the officials who have been elected to represent you, to the woman sitting next to you on your flight to San Diego.

Let us be heartbroken. Let us be doubtless. Let us learn and relearn and teach each other our history and let us never allow ourselves or each other to forget. Let us vote. Let us donate our time and our money and our attention to those who may have even less than us and even more reasons to be terrified than we do.


Let us be vigilant. Let us be brave. Let us give ourselves and anyone else as many orgasms as we can muster with our bare hands and our open mouths and our beautiful, quivering bodies and let us understand how radical of an act this truly is. Let us fall in love with ourselves or anyone else at any given moment ― just because we can, just because ― look at us! How could we not?


Let us be rooted. Let us be decisive. Let us refuse to hear “no” but be unafraid to say it. Let us look for moments to offer mercy to ourselves and anyone else. Let us hold those who have wronged us accountable for their actions and their words. Let us not fear righteous anger or the very real power it can have to get things done. Let us know when and how to forgive and when and how not to.


Let us see ― truly see. Let us speak what needs to be spoken. Let us wake up and stay awake today and every day after today. Let us fight alongside one another with our words and our actions and our hearts and let us never stop fighting, even when we’re telling ourselves and each other that the end of the world has finally arrived ― even when the end of the world finally arrives.

— 

Dear Queer America: Here Is What We Must Do Now That Trump Will Be President | Noah Michelson for the Huffington Post

Today is a dark day for our country; Donald Trump will be our president in a few hours. This essay is from the day after the election, but it’s just as relevant. We are here, together, no matter what, and we are ready to fight. 

anonymous asked:

If you're still taking prompts. What if Neil gets a concussion and starts mixing up his languages? I love your writing!

(thank you so much! I had so much fun writing this honestly also HEY apparently language based confusion post head trauma like.. doesn’t happen lmao but lets suspend our disbelief y'all)


It’s USC’s new “problem player” who does it.

There’s a scrimmage for the ball in the last quarter, and Neil ends up bodychecked into plexiglass head-first. His helmet goes loose and bounces away before he hits the floor.

Neil’s 5’3” against the backliner’s 6’5” is like pitting an axe against the base of a tree. Neil’s legs quiver like wind through leaves, and then he’s cut down.

Andrew watches the whole thing unravel, the wind-up and the swing and the bounce. Neil topples onto his back with the brutality of a drop from a moving car, and he doesn’t get back up. There’s an awkward minute of shouting and buzzers and repetitive shrugging from the backliner. Andrew leaves goal just as Jeremy crosses the court to jab a finger in his teammate’s chest.

“We do not fight dirty like that! Jesus Christ Trent, If we’d taken that point from them the win would mean what?”

“Nothing,” the backliner replies glumly, eyes down. Andrew takes it as a prime opportunity to punch him across the jaw with his whole weight behind it.

The guy goes reeling, holding his face and looking down at Andrew with slack jawed disbelief — doubtless surprised to find someone half his size had just loosened a few teeth.

Andrew feels Kevin at his back, and Jeremy steadies Trent by the shoulder as he levels eyes at him. “Can’t we be civil for one game?”

Kevin shrugs, sickeningly sheepish. “You’re in fox territory.”

“How could I forget,” Jeremy says, eyes rolling. He says something else but Andrew’s already turning to find Neil, his unchecked injury like an oven left on - the niggling, panicking doubt of it.

Jean’s crouched at Neil’s side, speaking quietly and firmly with his eyebrows yanked together like pursestrings.

“Get away from him,” Andrew says, dizzy with anger. All the times Neil has defended Jean and the things he’d let Riko do surface and clash in Andrew’s head.

Jean looks up, unconcerned with Andrew’s warning. “Something is wrong.”

Andrew puts himself between Jean and Neil, stepping right where Jean’s hands are splayed out on the floor so that he recoils. He leans over Neil and watches his open eyes, the frost of confusion on them.

“Get up.”

Neil finds him, like he’s squinting through smoke. “Je ne peux pas.”

Andrew grabs his shoulders, unamused. “Try again.”

“It was something else a minute ago. Something slavic?” Jean says. Andrew ignores him.

“Andrew,” Neil says urgently, eyes bloodshot and unfixed. “Je suis fatigué.”

“Don’t sleep,” Andrew warns. He pulls Neil to his chest and drags him upright by his armpits.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Trent calls from a few feet away, his team congregating behind him like disappointed parents.

“We’re benching him for the next couple of games,” Jeremy adds seriously. “You deserve better.”

“You touch what’s mine again and you lose a hand,” Andrew says airily.

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King

King

Fic Summary: There’s nothing like showing John who’s in charge when you’re trapped in a small closet. Constantine Oneshot Masterpost.

A/N: Honestly, I have no reasoning for this other than I really wanted to write it. Fic Song

Fic Rating: NC-17

Fic Pairing: John Constantine/Female Reader

Fic Warnings: Language & Smut

Originally posted by kingjohnconstantine

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vegetasgirl2799  asked:

Hey could you do an Subaru x reader where the reader doesn't like how her thighs are big and Subaru tries to make her feel better.

(Hope you enjoy!)

You sat on the edge of your bed, staring at your bare thighs, rubbing them absentmindedly. They were so big, so disgusting. You hated them. They were floppy and rubbed against each other. Were they always like this? Tears formed in your eyes and your bottom lip quivered. You tried to compose yourself but it just made it worse. You started pinching at your thighs, trying to find a way to get them to be smaller until you drew blood. You sighed, finding your attempts useless and stupid so you laid down on your bed. You closed for a moment then opened them to see Subaru standing over you, looking down at your thighs. “Why are you hurting yourself?” he asked in a stern tone.

“I-I wasn’t. I was… just pinching my thighs and accidentally took it a little too far… sorry…” Tears formed in your eyes again and you sighed.

“Why? Don’t you like your thighs?” That made you lose it. Tears fell down your cheeks as you stared up at him with a hurt expression. He sighed, realising what he had just done and knelt down, rubbing your thighs, a small blush on his cheeks. “I like them. Boney legs aren’t that nice so I like yours. They make good pillows and they’re…. sexy,” as he said the last few words, his blush grew darker. He laid his head on your thighs, holding your waist. “I love every part of you.”

vine

bringin this back cause no other vine makes me laugh like this

There is so much one could say. Take everything that follows as provisional. I may change my mind or mood. This is just where I am at right now. And I’m tired. It’s late.

In truth I didn’t hate all of it. I kind of wish I did. Because the glimpses of stuff that felt like they worked were still building on the relationship - the heart of the show.

The synchronicity between John and Sherlock, the constant checking on each other. They were sexy as hell in moments. This felt like a new them. Tighter. Sure of each other. Without a quiver of doubt. But the coldness of the episode - the abject callous cruelty. It was so bleak.
For the first time this is an episode I don’t like the thought of revisiting and it retroactively taints the entire story before it. All the way back to ASiP and makes the whole thing tragic and under a dark looming cloud. Really horribly tragic.

There were seeds there of the unfolding love story - of them moving on into a new happier more secure place together and all it was was glimpses. Clearly there. But overwhelmed with this horrifically morbid tale. In which a family finds redemption in sitting together in an ultra maximum security prison. With no real chance of healing. No way to ever get back lost time.

All our emotional energy was being told to go to that story but meanwhile Martin and Ben have never been this in sync. It feels a shame to think if there’s no more to follow we don’t get to see them play crime fighting lovers. For flashes of it you could see it. How it would work.

But if this was the big finale why not go there now? Just say it. No more subtext. It works. These two really work. And instead they had to pull Mary in again when we’d already had her “blessing” on the relationship in TLD. Why bring her back from the dead again? It felt like we were being told to focus on the “boys” but it was pulling us to look at her. Which is what kept happening - the thing to watch was them. The center of the show but we were expected to put our emotional investment elsewhere. When it was screamingly obvious that John is now family to Sherlock. His family of choice. Non negotiable. And so we weren’t allowed to revel in that. Enjoy that after such a long arc of pain since TRF. Instead it was even more pain.
And meanwhile they were right there. Partners. In cahoots. Creating a new life.
That speech of Mary’s - it felt like it was meant to be an olive branch of inclusion to all kinds of fans. But it didn’t feel groundbreaking. It wasn’t historic. And they could have done it so easily. It would have taken very little to have visually acknowledge the clearly shifting relationship in an unambiguous textual way. There were multiple missed opportunities.

I feel like we were on the brink but lacking the necessary conviction. The calm surety and boldness. It could have worked. In spite of the plot holes and other critiques there were lines and pictures we were missing that could have so easily been there.

What a lost opportunity.

Ever since Arrow started Oliver Queen has shown that his quiver has no limits in term of uniqueness, with arrows of all forms being shot. Here’s a full list of the specialty arrows he has just in case:

The OG Arrow- This arrow is the one that Oliver uses the most on his night escapades. Classic arrow that Oliver Queen created by hand from Season 1.

The I don’t give a shit about privacy Arrow- A common arrow that Oliver uses is an arrow not used for deadliness, but to record conversations. Notably used in ‘Honor Thy Father’.

The who needs speed to scale buildings Arrow- One arrow I believe Oliver uses out of spite because Barry Allen can run up buildings and he cannot, is the grappling hook arrow that Oliver uses to… basically be Spiderman at times while also guaranteeing him speedy (pun intended) arrival from rooftop to the ground in one piece. Used on a consistent basis.

The I don’t need Felicity Smoak because I’m petty Arrow- Yes. I’m aware Oliver used this arrow in the pilot but the joke is there. Anyway, Oliver uses this arrow to hack into Adam Hunts bank account in order to steal money from the corrupt short bald man. Used in the pilot.

The keep away from Star City’s drug dealers Arrow- Literally the most odd arrow Oliver has used is this one. An arrow that contains a syringe that injects people with what it contains. Most commonly found as a use in the Season 2 finale to avoid killing Slade’s men much to Nyssa’s dismay. (She still thinks killing the super soldiers would have been more fun.)

The DOESN’T JUST MAKE YOU DIZZY Arrow- A form of flashbang/stun arrow used to disorient victims. Malcolm Merlyn hates this arrow particularly as one exploded in his face. Then he blew up half the city. Jeez Malcolm.

The Firestorm Duo Arrows- A pair of arrows that almost represent Firestorm, Oliver has used both an incendiary arrow and a flame burst arrow.  While one is used in a non lethal format (burning through locks) the other is used to produce a distraction to snipers in the episode ‘Betrayal.’ 

The C4 Arrow- This arrow follows the basic premise of a pound of C4, Oliver shoots the Arrow and uses a remote detonator to detonate it in a fiery explosion. Used as a distraction and a method of breaking and entering. 

The Night Night Motherfucker Arrow- This one is something that Oliver likes to use instead of risking damaging his bow by bouncing it off their skull. Similar to the syringe arrow, it injects its victims with a tranquilizer that knocks them unconscious. Quentin is still pissed off at Oliver for using this on him more than once. 

The I Love Base Jumping Arrow- This one is just amazing. Oliver managed to make an arrow that HAS A GOD DAMN PARACHUTE BUILT INTO IT. Like…. dammit Cisco.

The Magic Shield Arrow- He shoots it and it spreads wide….latching onto corners, protects from bullets…. what tech… CISCO!!!!

And finally, The Rocky Balboa Arrow- Shown in the gif along with this post, Oliver has been known on occasion to go full DIY on his arrowset, removing an arrowhead and instead placing a boxing glove on the tip of his arrow. Non lethal. Not legal in a sanctioned boxing match.

Hope you enjoyed this list, next one will feature the arrows Oliver has but has YET TO USE.