counting to three

the-angry-hufflepuff  asked:

Imagine Sherlock finding a little kitten on a case. He takes the kitten after Lestrade finishes arresting its owner for three counts of murder. John wasn't on this case and is startled to come home to a consulting detective sitting on his chair, feet pulled up with him, a tiny grey kitten on his knee. He certainly didn't expect the deep, solemn voice of his flat mate announcing "His name is Schrodinger and I'm keeping him."

OH MY GOD okay this first of all warms my entire soul, I just got a puppy and honestly having a tiny animal in the house to care for is the best thing ever and I feel that both John and Sherlock are not above feeling this exact way about kittens! ALSO: this made me think of the fic Colors by Quesarasara!! AMAZING fic but also the cat situation in that (don’t wanna spoil it for anyone who hasn’t read!)

anonymous asked:

you antifa guys are actually more hateful and violent than any neo nazi group in the 21st century. its fucking disgusting and you should be branded as terrorists just as much as the KKK

AWe’d usually just block you, Anon, but we’re going to use your message as a reminder of where the violence is coming from in 2017.  Off the top of our heads, here’s what the year has looked like so far:

January 20, 2017: A right-wing extremist shoots a protestor at a Milo Yiannopoulos event at the University of Washington. 

January 29, 2017
: Alexandre Bissonnette walks into a mosque in Canada during evening prayers and opens fire, shooting 17 people and killing six of them.

January 2017: Over 40 Jewish centers in the U.S. receive bomb threats.

 February 22, 2017:  Adam Purinton tells two men from India to “get out of my country” then shoots both plus a bystander, killing one.

February 28, 2017: a mosque in Toronto is set on fire by arsonists.

March 12, 2017: a mosque in Ypsilanti, MI. is set on fire by arsonists.

March 20, 2017: James Jackson arrives in Manhattan with a sword and stabs the first black man he sees to death.  He later tells authorities he “intended to kill as many black men as he could.”

March 24, 2017: Yelling “I hate Muslims!” a man in Minneapolis stabbed a Somali man in an attempt to kill him.  

March 26, 2017: A racist mob attacks a 15-year-old Polish boy in Gloucestershire and, when a local Asian shopkeeper tries to intervene, attack him as well with crowbars and baseball bats, then attempt to run him over with a car.

March 31, 2017: A 17-year-old Iranian/Kurdish boy is nearly beaten to death by a mob of eight people in Croydon after he revealed to them that he was a refugee.

April 6, 2017: A Charlotte store is set on fire by an arsonist who leaves a warning message for the shop owner that he “did not want any refugee business owners and that they would torture the owner if they did not leave and go back to where they came from,” according to police.  It was signed “White America.”

MAY 5TH: EDITED TO INCLUDE:

April 30, 2017: A  white man storms a pool party in San Diego and shoots four black women, two black men, and one Latino man while allowing white attendees to leave.  One victim dies while the other six sustain critical injuries.


MAY 10TH: EDITED TO INCLUDE:

May 5, 2017: A man walking his dog on South Beach in Miami is confronted by two men who call him a “fucking faggot,” then attack him, beating him unconscious.  At one point in the attack, one of the attackers shouts  “all faggots need to die and we’re going to make sure they do!”

MAY 18TH: EDITED TO INCLUDE:

May 14, 2017: Vandals spray-paint hate graffiti on the home of a black family in upstate New York before attempting to set the house on fire while the family slept.  Although the family escaped unscathed, their garage burnt to the ground and their house suffered some damage.

May 17, 2017: A homophobic mob break into the home of a gay couple and shoot and stab both men to death.  

MAY 23RD: EDITED TO INCLUDE:

May 20, 2017: University of Maryland student and member of the “alt-Reich” facebook group Sean Urbanski walks up to 22-year-old Richard Collins III, who is black and who Urbanski does not know, and stabs him to death in an unprovoked attack. 

May 27th: EDITED TO INCLUDE:

May 24, 2017: A barrage of doxxing, rape threats, and death threats received by trans comic book artist Sophie Labelle forces her to cancel an appearance and event at a Halifax book store, which also received bomb threats and threats of attacking the event.  Labelle is forced into hiding.

May 26, 2017: Two men intervene on a MAX train in Portland when they witness another man verbally abusing two Muslim women with an Islamophobic tirade.  The Islamophobe responds by pulling out a knife and stabs three people, including the two men, killing two of them.  

In case you have trouble counting, Anon, that’s three four five shootings, three four arsons, two three four seven stabbings, two three mob beatings, and over 40 41 bomb threats by bigots, Islamophobes, nazis and racists so far this year.  Eight Nine Eleven Twelve Fourteen people are dead because of these bigoted attacks and fifteen twenty-one twenty-two were severely injured.   But it’s anti-fascists that people should be worried about, right?

“you should be branded as terrorists just as much as the KKK“ 

Really, now?  Anti-fascists are as much terrorists as the KKK, a terrorist organization which murdered over 3000 people in lynchings, arsons, bombings, etc. over its 150-year history, are we? 

Maybe it’s time you learned about the logical fallacy of false equivalence, Anon!

  

Pidge Gets Her Period

I don’t care how many times it’s been done, it’s my turn.

  • We open with Pidge lying on her side on a sofa, glaring miserably at nothing.
  • Keith sits on the sofa across from her, arms crossed in silent solidarity.
  • Lance walks in. 
  • “What’s up with Pidge?” “She’s in pain.” “What, did she eat Coran’s cooking?” “I’m on my period, Lance.” “…oh.”
  • Lance walks out with a thoughtful expression.
  • Pidge and Keith continue their companionable silence.
  • Allura walks in. She’s exceedingly curious about human menstruation and has dozens of questions. 
  • She gets kicked out of the room two minutes later.
  • Meanwhile, Lance has found Shiro, who is tinkering with the castle as faaaaar away from Pidge as he can get.
  • “It sucks that she’s in pain, man.” “I really don’t want to talk about it, Lance.” “I mean at least my sister always had some pain killers on standby.” “Can we change the subject?” “She said the cramps were like having someone scrape the inside of her belly with a meat cleaver.” “I’D RATHER NOT THINK ABOUT PIDGE’S BLEEDING UTERUS LANCE”
  • Lance is quiet for a moment. “I’m gonna go entertain her,” he says.
  • Shiro watches him leave. The door slides shut. He shudders in horror.
  • Back in the Period Room, Coran has been exiled for telling Pidge that a paladin of Voltron could surely handle some measly cramps.
  • All is peaceful. In the background, we hear the sounds of Hunk preparing a meal in the kitchen.
  • Suddenly, Lance’s head emerges slowly from behind Keith’s sofa. He narrows his eyes at Keith. Pidge watches this without a word.
  • Lance produces a random feather and uses it to tickle Keith’s earlobe. Keith tugs at his earlobe, but he doesn’t turn. Pidge smiles.
  • Lance’s head appears again. This time, he gives Keith bunny ears. Pidge coughs to hide a laugh. Keith frowns at her, paranoid, but when he looks behind him nothing’s there.
  • Lance’s head again. This time, an air horn. He raises his eyebrows. Pidge shakes her head as subtly as possible. Lance nods. He counts down with his fingers. Three. Two. Pidge covers her ears. One.
  • AIRHORN NOISE
  • Keith: MOTHER F—- *TACKLES LANCE*
  • Pidge dies of laughter while Keith shakes Lance vigorously and Lance laughs along with Pidge
  • After her cramps have subsided, Pidge thanks everyone for being supportive of her (in their own ways). But she and Lance can’t look at each other without cracking up for at least a week.

so it seems like there are four specific types of ghosts: humanoids, intelligent beasts, monsters, and regular fauna.

humanoids are probably younger ghosts, still holding onto their previous identity. their forms more or less match their living personalities and their desires and methods are very specific.

intelligent beasts, such as wulf and the residents of the far frozen, are probably native born to the ghost zone. maybe real world creatures that got stuck in the ghost zone and evolved to adapt to their new environment.

monsters are old ghosts - beings that forgot their previous life and can only remember the existence they currently have. their forms have morphed or decayed to match what qualities they value or how they view themselves. their level of intelligence and awareness varies but most of them only hold vague yet strong obsessions (eg; the observers).

the fauna do not possess sentience and often resemble animals from the real world. most likely the ghosts of animals that suffered particularly violent or painful deaths.

deal | pt 1 (m)

Originally posted by sugamysavagebaby

summary: the years spent working hard had really paid off and was it so wrong to want to rub that in a few faces? The cliché mean girls that often teased you for not doing anything with your hair or clothing, wouldn’t it be great to show off someone like Jungkook? High school reunion au + ceo!jeon

word count: 6,366 

part two | part three 


Eyes like ice, cold and calculating narrow over the rim of a wine glass. Soft lips press to the polished glass, the crimson complimenting tan skin. If it weren’t for the soft dent between his brows you would have assumed he had not heard you. He takes his time allowing the wine to caress his palate, eyes closed as he savors the taste.  As always, he makes you wait until the wine glass is drained of it’s dark contents. You ponder on the taste, if it is bitter upon his tongue much like his words.

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what y’all mean it’s already feb??

what valentINES??

LMAO

Victuuri Week Day 3: Dreams, Hope

“When I grow up, I know I’ll marry Viktor! We’ll live in Russia and have a lot of puppies! What do you mean I’ll never meet him? Someday I’ll skate next to him, just you wait!”

I couldn’t get this out of my head and it’s so crappy I’m sorry

@victuuri-week

anonymous asked:

prompt: andreil + emergency room visit

(this is a sequel to THIS ‘I think there’s someone in the house’ fic!)

The paramedics hammer on the door, and Neil looks up, teary-eyed, from where his face is pressed into Andrew’s damp hair. He’s feeling for his breath with the back of his hand, waiting moment to moment for Andrew to die in his arms, silently like he does everything else. Urgency keeps stunning Neil all over again, hysterical defibrillators. The EMT’s are calling out through the wall, muffled but calm.

It feels unthinkably wrong, their absolute evenness and ease outside his door when his life is an exposed neck and Andrew’s death is the whirring blade of a saw.

He realizes that he has to get up to let them in, and it seems as impossible as it would be for Andrew to spring up and answer the door himself. He feverishly wants them to crumple the door to splinters and be inside already. 

It’s a herculean effort to ease Andrew to the ground, like he’s gritting his teeth and cutting off his own leg. He touches Andrew’s clammy face briefly but he can’t bring himself to try and slap him awake. He props Andrew’s bare feet up on the rim of the bath so the blood will flood towards his head, at least.

He feels untethered to his body when he stands, a helium balloon with its usual weight passed out on the bathroom floor. He falls into the wall immediately, adrenaline neck and neck with exhaustion.

He finds his way to the front door without his mind’s help. His head is in the bathroom with Andrew, and he knows that no matter what happens it’ll be there for a long, long time.

The next time he blinks, a man in uniform is holding his biceps and peering down at him seriously.

“—sir? Sir, are you hurt at all?”

“No,” Neil says, lips numb. “Bathroom. He’s in the bathroom. He’s bleeding to death.”

He turns, easily slipping the paramedic’s grip. There’s a procession of them, hefting a gurney and a couple of kits, and they’ve brought all the cold from outside in on their heels. They’re such a foreign object in their warm, messy apartment — uniformed, official, and precise.

It’s deadly, walking in and seeing Andrew spread out in his boxers, blood oozing through his t-shirt from his loose stitches, pale enough to match the porcelain. Neil’s seen enough corpses to recognize what they look like. 

He falls heavily to his knees and puts his head directly to his chest, listening, tears slipping hotly over the bridge of his nose.

“Please,” he slurs. His heartbeat is a tentative thud, a knock from an unexpected guest. “Help him. Now, help him now.”

“We’re going to try our best Sir, but you’ve got to get out of the way,” someone says gently.

He topples backwards onto his hands. It’s a cramped space, and he knows it would be easier if he waited outside, but he also knows he’d rather die than leave them alone with him.

The first guy kneels down and takes Andrew’s pulse, and Neil shakes his head. They’re too slow, time is feeding directly into a wide open drain.

“He needs an IV. He’s two litres down, at least. You’ve got to—“ A petite woman puts a hand on his shoulder and he shrugs her off violently. “No! You have to listen to me.”

“We know what we’re doing,” she says. “Are you an MD?” She eyes him doubtfully, gaze flitting from his scars to where her colleagues are taking vitals and cutting through Andrew’s clothes.

“Yes,” Neil says wildly. “And he needs an IV. Possibly two. Large-bore, normal saline. He’s not getting any oxygen, and he’s been like this for as long as it took you to gather your meager response team.”

She purses her lips, but she’s a professional. He can see her repressing her anger and it infuriates him. He feels like he’s crashing, over and over again, and he’s watching someone daintily pump the breaks.

“He’s right,” one of the EMT’s says distractedly. “We’re gonna need to get some fluids started, he’s in hypovolemic shock, sats below 50.”

“You want to tell me what happened?” one of the men asks.

“No,” Neil says as evenly as he can manage, reaching out to graze Andrew’s cold fingers.

“Did you do these stitches?” the woman asks, pulling at Andrew’s skin to get a better look at them. He suddenly sees how they must look to them, sloppy and angry red. Neil bends her arm away without thinking about it.

“Don’t touch him,” he snaps. He could break her arm and it would make him feel better. He drops her, disoriented by his own violence.

“There’s no need to be antagonistic,” the first man says. “We don’t want to have to remove you.”

“You really don’t,” Neil agrees. “You won’t succeed.”

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anonymous asked:

hey! i was wondering if you have any voltron angsty lance-centric fic recommendations? aside from your own amazing ones ofc

Mmkay, so I’m what I’m doing here is going through my fic rec tag and just copy-pasting stories where Lance suffers. Some are angst, some are hurt/comfort, some are epic stories where the angst and hurt/comfort might be more of a side dish than a main course. The word count on most of the WIPs is no longer accurate, and some are complete, but I am too lazy to edit. This is taking long enough as it is. But yeah, you asked for it, you’re getting it. Langst recs, maychorian style. Warning: This is long. If you press the read more, be prepared to scroll.

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They are laying in the dark after a long day. Chirrut is supposed to be in his own bed, but once the lights in the hall went out he had gotten up quickly and moved into Baze’s. The room is dark, and all Baze can see is faint light outside reflecting off of blue eyes and small outlines of Chirrut’s face. The rest swallowed by darkness.

Baze’s hand slides up and his thumb finds Chirrut’s warm cheek, his thumb sliding over Chirrut’s cheek bone. “Chirrut,” he says quietly, and without thinking, “I want to marry you…”

There is silence in the room, and after a moment of reflection panic bubbles in Baze’s stomach. Oh Force why did he have to say that? Why did he say that now? “We don’t… we don’t have to, you don’t have to say anything, I’m being silly… unthinking… I’m-”

“I thought we were married?” Chirrut’s voice is confused, comes out as a question.

Baze swallows, looking at Chirrut’s eyes because it’s the only thing he can actually see. “What?”

“I thought we were married.”

Baze’s hand moves again on his cheek. “When would we have gotten married?”

“Two years ago,” Chirrut said simply. “It was here, in this bed… after I got out of the clinic. You told me that you loved me, and that you still did… and you promised you would never leave me. As long as we were living, you would be by my side.” Baze can feel Chirrut’s face move as he smiles. “That sounds like wedding vows to me…

Baze stares at him. "That… Chirrut that wasn’t a wedding, there was no ceremony!”

“I don’t need any ceremonies,” Chirrut said, moving up against Baze’s chest, pressing his face into him. “Mm… it’s the only wedding I need…”

Baze sighed, and then reached up, stroking Chirrut’s head. “You’re impossible, Chirrut.”

“I love you, my love…” Chirrut purred into his chest. “If you want to have a real wedding, then of course we will.”

Baze smiled softly and kissed his forehead. “I love you too…”