damn why is there a limit

Every Fandom Ever
  • first off, screaming. why do we scream so much? no one will truly know
  • sHIPPING EVERYTHING. THERE ARE NO LIMITS. also, ship wars
  • headcanon where everything’s the same except everyone’s gay
  • crying and sobbing to an intense level (we have no chill, i swear)
  • oh the references… so many references. and MEMES. WHY ARE THERE SO MANY MEMES
  • “I NEED THE NEXT SEASON/BOOK/ALBUM/GAME/ETC.”
  • fanfiction… we’ve all been there
  • having a tumblr obviously
  • your husband/wife not being real (why are fictional people so hot??) also i’ve adopted multiple sons?? *sees a smol bean* “I’m adopting it”
  • super protective about your fandom
  • i want merch. but it’s so damn expensive??
  • “lolol im trash”
  • knowing all of the words
  • wanting to go to conventions and concerts but CAN’T
  • scaring our non-fandom friends…
  • being broke.
  • desperately wanting to be with them (as in fictional characters, celebs,and etc.)
  • having pride. just being really proud of this weird ass community
  • giving yourself weird titles (Examples: a Trekkie, phan)
  • having this huge loving family on the internet. honestly, i think it’s the sweetest thing, that we’re able to bond over this thing that we find meaningful. 

Originally posted by stitchholdsmyheart

Note: i’m not trying to be rude, just poking at my own fandoms. i also understand different fandoms have their own quirks. Hope you found this amusing~ admin daria

3

1 / 25 / 50

Critical Role Episode Intro Evolution (6/9) - Liam O’Brien as Vax’ildan, Half-Elf Rogue

“I tell you, we will have the finest furniture in all of Ferelden.”

He had to admit he had zoned out of much of the chatter as they drank. Pointless small talk about drapery, and carpets and-

“Particularly the desks.”

“Oh, the desks are good, so I hear.”



“Sturdy is what I have heard.”



“Mh. Well, Cullen has the largest out of us all…desk that is. Perhaps we should ask for his consideration?”

He glanced up, suddenly aware of a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. “It’s, er…a desk? A fine desk? No complaints.”

“But Commander, do tell.” Dorian’s smirk grew to a positively mammoth grin, curling at the edges as he leant forward. “Tell us your thoughts on just how sturdy a desk should be.”



And he froze. 

Maker, how could they possibly know…

He couldn’t help the colour that had started to rush to his cheeks, deliberately refusing to meet the eyes he knew were locked on him, awaiting his response. A quick, sideways glance to Dorian once more confirmed his worst fears - the smug bastard knew.

Andraste, preserve me.

“You’ve gone a very adorable shade of magenta, Commander. Something you’d like to impart upon us?”

“N-No!” He managed to splutter, forcing himself to look at the assembled parties around him. “I have n-no idea what you are…to suggest…nonsense!”



“Really?” Bull’s deep voice cut in. “I heard some most interesting news floating around camp this week.”

“Did you really? Why, I wonder if it was the same news that managed to reach my ears too?”

There was a chorus of sniggering, and Cullen began to twitch, starting to rise to his feet.

“I should really get back to-“



Bull’s hand on his back caught his armour, pushing him back down in his seat. “No, no, Commander. Five more minutes. Indulge us.”

“Would someone like to tell me what I am missing here?” Cassandra was staring over her flagon, an eyebrow raised, and Dorian’s shit-eating grin grew wider.

“Yeah, Curly. It’s rude to leave the lady out of our discussion.” Of course Varric would be supporting this.

“I do not think it is gossip that the Lady Seeker would be even remotely interested in!”

Gossip? Are you saying there is no truth to it, Commander?” Smug bastard.

“Would someone care to explain to what exactly is going on?” Cassandra’s patience was wearing thin.

“My Lady Seeker, we were simply passing through the barracks earlier this week when we happened upon some interesting information. A scout by the name of Jim-“

Jim?!”  That damned scout. He would swing him from the tower when he saw him next.

“Happened to be passing along the ramparts when he saw a most flabbergasting proposition…Imagine, the dear Commander and the Herald of Andraste…testing out the very limits of our fine desks…”

“Perhaps that is why…“ Holy preserve him, not Josephine too. “There was a most interesting comment from our dear Inquisitor, enquiring as to why Commander Rutherford had a very large hole in the roof of his personal quarters that had not been repaired.”

There was silence, and Cullen wholeheartedly agreed that if a rift were to open above him, and a demon to seize him, he would have gone willingly into the Void.

“Curly? Anything to add to that, or have we got the story covered? I do like to be thorough. Remember, the Maker is watching and knows your heart, and all that jazz, so no lying.”

He saw the dawn in Cassandra’s eyes as they shifted to him, and he felt the sweat on his palms under her scrutiny. Maker, he hadn’t been this embarrassed since he was a mere boy, and damned Mia had told his parents about…

You and the Inquisitor?”

It was a fruitless endeavour to continue to pretend now, and he gave in with a heaving sigh, mumbling into his flagon as he drained it.

Sweet Maker, I need more wine.”

The table erupted into a roar of laughter and shouts, and he laid his head against the table, burying it beneath an armoured arm, Dorian’s slap to the back stinging even through the armour.

It was going to be a long, long night.

A Little Like Whiplash

(based on this, part two of this, Russian translations under the story itself) 



Jonathan isn’t generally a judgemental person. He likes to think that he sees the best in most people, even if they don’t deserve it.

For some reason, he’s never been able to do that with Yuri Plisetsky, the Russian bombshell that nobody knows or cares to know because he’s terrifying and has a tendency to be an asshole.

He has the distinct impression that Yuri, despite clearly not being a scholarship kid (he’s wearing designer everything, and he drives a Maserati; there’s no way that he came to Portland State for any reason other than that he wanted to), would rather be anywhere but here. He sleeps through the two classes that he shares with Jonathan, and for some reason, the professors allow it. If he was a bit less of an antisocial shit, though, Jonathan would probably have a crush; for all his faults, Yuri is one the most attractive person that he’s ever seen outside of magazines with his immaculately braided, waist-length hair and pouty lips and perfect eyeliner (Jonathan is sure he’s the only one that’s noticed that last bit; the subtlety of it is the reason it’s so damn perfect).

The first time he ever actually says anything, it’s one of those days that the professor decides, for whatever reason, not to show up for class. Until the fifteen minute limit passes, the class hums with a low buzz of noise. Yuri, predictably, is asleep.

Jonathan has a few friends in this class, Anthony and Thomas, and they’re chatting quietly about the baseball game on Saturday. Somehow, the topic shifts to that one asshole that’s always sleeping through class.

“Fifteen minutes!” The girl by the door calls out, and the class gets up.

“I’m just saying, why pay for the classes if you’re just gonna sleep through them?” Anthony says, shouldering his bag and heading for the door.

There’s a snort from behind them. Veronica. Jonathan really doesn’t want to deal with her right now; she’s even worse than Yuri, if only because she isn’t quiet about her disdain for the rest of them. “You know they only accept applications from people like him because he’s part of a minority, right?”

When she sees Jonathan’s raised eyebrows, she mistakes his irritation for curiosity. “Come on, don’t tell me you can’t tell. He’s a goddamn fairy.”

He’s wondering if outing himself here and now would make the situation better or worse when there’s an angry “Huh?” from behind them. The loud bang that follows terrifies all of them, but particularly Jonathan, Veronica, and the other two. Jonathan hadn’t even noticed that Yuri was awake, much less that he was nearby. Now his foot is against the wall, not even an inch from Veronica’s head (flexible, Jonathan can’t help but think). The look on his face pumps shards of ice through Jonathan’s veins.

“There is nothing wrong with being gay,” he growls.

His voice is different than Jonathan would have expected; maybe it’s a bit stereotypical, but he’d expected a low tenor, rather than a mezzo baritone, and his accent is there, but not nearly as thick as Jonathan expected. He stalks out of the room dangerously, and the entire class just stands there in shock for a moment.

Next week, when Veronica stops coming to class and he hears that she’s been expelled, Jonathan is sure that it has everything to do with the rich guy sleeping two seats behind him.

“Jonathan, there are only three people in your group for the upcoming term paper,” the professor says, jolting Jonathan out of his thoughts. It’s true; he, Anthony, and Thomas are planning on working together, since there were an odd number of people in the class. Now that Veronica is gone, that’s not true anymore. “I’m assigning Yuri to your group.”

Fantastic, Jonathan thinks, glancing at Yuri.

He looks up blearily and mutters something in the most snide, sarcastic voice Jonathan has ever heard– yoroshiku onegaishimasu –before dropping his head back on his arms. That didn’t sound like Russian, Jonathan thinks, packing up to leave.

Thomas nudges him. “Dude!” he whispers. “He speaks Japanese? What the hell? And I think that was supposed to be polite, but it sounded like an insult.”

“He can also hear you,” comes from behind them. Yuri has apparently given up on sleep since class is over, and has his phone in his hand. The one that isn’t texting reaches behind him and tugs on something that releases the bun he’s sporting today, letting the waist-length braid fall down his back. He leans his face in one hand and stares at his phone boredly. “You three aren’t the most oblivious people I know, but you’re definitely in the top twenty.”

Jonathan doesn’t know what to say, really. The hottest, laziest guy in class is in a group with him for a paper that’s worth twenty percent of their grade, and their first conversation has gotten off to the worst start possible.

“So,” Anthony says awkwardly. “When do you guys want to meet up?”

“I’m only free on Tuesdays. Yuri, I’m pretty sure you only have class twice a week? Maybe we can meet up for lunch,” Thomas says, trying a friendly approach.

“I can’t meet up on my days off. I have training. It’s a paper on the Japan’s involvement in World War II and how it affects today, right?” Yuri asks, still looking bored.

“Yeah. What do you mean? Do you practice all day on every one of your days off or something?” Anthony sounds mildly teasing, but there’s an undertone of disbelief there.

Yuri looks at Anthony, as if he can’t believe he would ask such a stupid question. “Um, yes? What else would I be doing?”

None of them really has a response for that. Yuri doesn’t look like the athletic type, really. He’s lean, almost willowy; not skinny by any means, since there’s definitely muscle there, but it’s not the build Jonathan would expect from an athlete who practices as much as Yuri claims to.

“Anyway, I’ll deal with the history part,” Yuri says, standing up and stretching. Jonathan tries not to stare at the thin strip of skin that appears when he does. What? He may be an asshole, but Yuri is gorgeous. He’d have to be dead not to notice. “I’ll have it to you by… Tuesday, right?”

“I can do Tuesday,” Jonathan says, not really sure what’s happening anymore.

“So can I.”

Yuri blinks and glances at the table searchingly. “Right,” he says, picking up a sticky note he’d left there and scribbling something down. “Here’s my number. Text me your emails and I’ll send you my part of the project. Bye.”

He walks out of the room, phone already at his ear. “Beka! Vy prikhodite na obed segodnya?

Jonathan looks at Anthony and Thomas, not totally sure what just happened. “So who’s going to pick up the slack on his part?”

That’s not actually necessary, it turns out. Jonathan sent Yuri his email out of courtesy, but when he rolls out of bed on Saturday morning, he finds four pages of 12 point Times New Roman font on Japan’s involvement in World War II, complete with instructions to let Yuri know if there’s anything else that they want him to do (but he won’t be doing the whole damn thing, he doesn’t have time for that).

Except for a few grammatical errors, there’s almost nothing wrong with the work. Jonathan is floored. Maybe this is why the professors let Yuri sleep through class. It’s disrespectful as all hell, but from the way he writes, it’s almost like he doesn’t need to be there at all.

When he’s awake and recovered enough to send a reply, he does. He lets Yuri that there’s nothing wrong with the work, and that he’s looking forward to class on Wednesday. He’s not, but it’s the polite thing to do.

Apparently, Yuri doesn’t planning on extending the same courtesy. “Can’t make it,” he says again, looking bored as he taps away on his phone.

This time, Jonathan actually speaks up. “We could meet up after you’re done with practice or something. It actually works out better for me and Anthony, since we have class on Tuesday.”

“That would work, I guess, but I’m going to be in Japan on Tuesday.” The tone of Yuri’s voice doesn’t change, despite the bomb he’s just dropped.

Why the hell would anyone just up and leave for Japan in the middle of the semester? No matter how rich Yuri is (and he’s definitely rich; they may not know anything about him, but he’s definitely a rich Russian of some sort) it makes no sense. He’s going to miss at least three days of class even if he’s only going to be in Japan for one day, which Jonathan highly doubts. He doesn’t care how pretty or smart this kid thinks he is, there’s no way for him to pass his classes with the way he acts.

“Then cancel it.” He doesn’t even realize that he’s saying the words until they’re out of his mouth, and by then it’s too late.

The look that Yuri fixes on him is as dangerous as it was that day with Veronica. “Fuck you.”

Jonathan backpedals. “I didn’t mean–”

Yuri’s phone rings, cutting him off. The ringtone in itself is enough to cause all three jaws to drop; it’s some classical thing with a boys’ choir singing in what sounds like Latin. Yuri sneers at them, and Jonathan can’t help but think he may have fucked up pretty bad. “Just send me whatever part you want me to handle for the presentation and I’ll do it. Tell me to cancel my trip again, and I won’t do my bit. I’ll still pass without this stupid project.”

He gets up and stalks toward the door, picking up the phone. “Yeah, yeah. I’m on my way to the parking lot now. Shit! Would it kill you to wait a minute and a half, Dad? I said I’ll be there in a minute! Katsudon, get your husband off the goddamn phone when he’s driving. Do you want to die?”

Yet again, there’s this feeling of not really knowing what’s happening by the time Yuri is out of sight. I’ll still pass without this stupid project, he said. That’s almost impossible, unless he has an A in the class. Which he shouldn’t, because he sleeps through it. His participation grade alone should have dropped him to a B unless he’s gotten A’s on every single assignment. There’s no way.

“I need a drink,” Jonathan mutters, and there are murmured agreements from Anthony and Thomas both. “You guys want to go to Shizuku?”

“I’m down.” Anthony says. “Hell, I’ll pay. My treat, after all of that bullshit.”

It’s not even ten minutes to their favorite restaurant by car, but they figure it’ll be easier to walk. There’s no point in driving three cars to get to one place, and none of them are keen on getting their cars out of the student lot right now, since it’s nearly rush hour.

It takes them about thirty minutes to get there, and it’s blessedly empty when they do. There are only a few occupied tables. Still, it seems louder than it usually does, Jonathan notices as they’re waiting to be seated. There’s one table in particular that seems to be making more noise than the rest of the restaurant combined. That makes sense, he thinks, eyeing the back of a silver-haired man’s head. There are a lot of them. At least six, it looks like.

Posmotrite na kotenke, Beka! Eto tak milo! Posmotrite na svoikh malen'kikh lapakh i khvoste.” That voice… it sounds way too happy to be him, but given how the day has gone, Jonathan wouldn’t be surprised.

The silver haired guy moves slightly. It looks like he leaned his face on his hand. “Yurio, don’t be rude. You and your friend aren’t the only people at this table, you know. Richard and Estephania are here too, and they don’t speak Russian.”

“It’s fine,” the person on silver haired’s left says. She has long, dark hair that swishes when she shakes her head. “It’s funny to see Yuri so excited about something for once.”

Jonathan gets a partial view of someone with dark hair and a very serious face. It’s almost scary how quickly he realises that he’s being looked at, and he looks Jonathan dead in the eye. The man nods once, then looks away without acknowledging him further.

“Beka? What are you looking at?” A head of blond hair comes into view, and Jonathan finds himself looking directly into the eyes of Yuri Plisetsky.

I fucked up, Jonathan thinks immediately, watching the mirth drain out of Yuri’s eyes almost instantly, replaced with irritation.

“Johnny? What is it– Oh, shit.” Anthony hides behind a menu.

“If you’re stalking me, I swear to god I will shove my silverware up your respective asses,” Yuri says, looking dead serious. “I have more than enough stalkers.”

That’s cause enough for Jonathan to pause and wonder what he means, but then the strangest thing happens. Instead of looking even remotely alarmed, the way any normal person would, the three people with their backs facing toward Jonathan, Anthony, and Thomas all turn at a totally normal, unhurried pace. Two of them, the silver haired man and the Asian looking man next to him, are even smiling.

“Hello!” the silver haired man says, waving. “Are you Yurio’s friends? Here, come sit with us! We’ve never met any of his friends from school before.”

Who the hell says something like that after hearing him call us stalkers? Jonathan thinks, feeling out of his element and way too overwhelmed. There’s really nothing to do but accept, so the three of them walk to the table as a group.

“Ya dumal, chto u vas ne bylo druzey v Amerike,” the serious man says to Yuri quietly, probably trying not to be heard.

Yuri looks murderous. “Ya ne.”

There’s a split second war between Thomas, Jonathan, and Anthony as to who is going to sit next to the scary serious guy. Jonathan loses. It’s fine. He’ll take scary serious guy over angry Yuri Plisetsky any day.

“My name is Otabek. Yuri is my best friend,” scary serious guy says, holding out a hand.

Jonathan takes it hesitantly, but Otabek’s grip isn’t anything but polite. “Jonathan. That’s Thomas, and that’s Anthony. We take American History with Yuri.”

“My name is Victor, and this is my husband Yuuri! Not your Yuri, we call him Yurio,” the silver haired man says. The Japanese man next to him blushes, and Jonathan supposes that he’s the other Yuuri.

“I will shove my knife shoes so far up your ass, Nikiforov, that you won’t be able to sit for a year,” Yuri warns.

“Yurio is our son. We’re so glad Yuri is actually making friends at school, I was worried for a while. I’m sure you know how tricky he can be sometimes,” Victor continues, ignoring the incredibly violent threat as if it happens every day. What the hell did Yuri even mean by knife shoes, anyway?

“You shut the fuck up, old man!”

It doesn’t surprise Jonathan in the slightest that Yuri has two dads; it explains a lot about the whole incident with Veronica earlier this year. What he is surprised about is the fact that Yuri’s dads seem so… nice.

Jonathan isn’t sure if that’s pleasant or terrifying.

“Victor and Yuuri are my figure skating coaches,” Yuri mutters, sounding like he’d rather be doing anything but this.

“Wait, you’re a figure skater?” Thomas asks, looking intrigued; seriously, how that guy manages to be so laid back all the time is– wait, what?

“Is that what you keep missing meetings to practice?” Jonathan asks. Suddenly it all makes sense: the lean muscle, the crazy flexibility and precision it would require to nearly kick someone in the head, the whole random flight to Japan.

The entire table erupts into laughter, even the Hispanic woman and the other man that they haven’t been introduced to yet.

Yuri turns bright red, looking both flustered and annoyed. “Oh, fuck off, all of you. Especially you, Katsudon! You have no right to laugh after what happened with these two.” He points aggressively at the two people Jonathan and the others don’t know.

The Japanese man, Yuuri, is the first one to manage to stop laughing. “I’m sorry, Yura. I’m laughing because I know how you feel.” He turns to Jonathan, Thomas, and Anthony, still smiling brightly. “He actually medalled at the Olympics last year. He’s won gold for Russia several times, as well.”

Jonathan isn’t the only person at the table with his jaw dropped. The waitress comes by and sets waters in front of the three of them. Even when she leaves, he still can’t figure out what he’s supposed to say. He’s pretty sure that earlier today, he just told an Olympian medalist to cancel a trip to what was probably a competition at the last minute. He wants to die of embarrassment, even if he had good reason.

“He probably didn’t mention it because he’s too angry that he let that Canadian get gold and he only got bronze,” Victor teases. He slings an arm around his husband. “Still, my son and my husband on the podium at the same time! It’s any man’s dream. I’m so proud!”

There’s a scraping noise on the table. When Jonathan looks down, he sees that Otabek slid over a phone with the screen open to a news article about men’s figure skating and yep, there’s Yuuri. And that’s definitely Yuri, but he looks… different. Happy. Jonathan looks from Otabek to Yuri to the article, then back to Otabek. He knows he’s panicking, because there’s nothing he can really say to make himself feel less awkward but maybe someone calm like Otabek can help him out.

Otabek gives him a thumbs up.




Translations (let me know if I need to fix any, I don’t speak Russian) 

yoroshiku onegaishimasu - Japanese - I look forward to working with you (yes, he’s being a sarcastic little shit here)

Vy prikhodite na obed segodnya? - Russian - roughly translates to “we’re still on for lunch today?”

Posmotrite na kotenke, Beka! Eto tak milo! Posmotrite na svoikh malen'kikh lapakh i khvoste. - Russian - Look at the kitten, Beka! It’s so cute! Look at its little paws and tail.

Ya dumal, chto u vas ne bylo druzey v Amerike - Russian - I thought you said you don’t have friends in America.

Ya ne. - Russian - I don’t.

anonymous asked:

Sanvers reunion after Alex almost got launched into fucking space!!

She didn’t go with Alex because she knows Alex.

She knows Alex will be more focused if Maggie is safe. Knows she will be less likely to get herself killed if Maggie is safe.

She hates it.

But she knows her.

And anyway, there are other refugees to keep safe.

And that’s the point of a power couple, right? Stronger together, but sometimes ride or die means riding solo on different parts of the same mission.

So she kisses her like she loves her – because she does, god, how she does – and she tries not to think about the kind of danger Alex is strutting into while she makes rounds on every alien in National City she knows, warning them, smuggling them out when necessary.

She has a few bruises of her own by the end of the day, but that pales in comparison to the pain that shoots through her core when Susan Vasquez calls her with a tight voice and shaking hands.

“Maggie, it’s Cadmus. They’re launching a ship with the refugees into space. Alex… Alex is on the ship.”

She doesn’t hang up the phone so much as she drops it, and she only bothers with her helmet because of muscle memory, and she only pays attention to red lights so she can swerve away from creating four-way crashes, and she forgets what speed limits are because Alex, Alex, goddammit how could she have ever let her go alone, Alex.

“What’s happening?” she demands, and Vasquez won’t let her into the control room. She takes Maggie around the waist and she holds her and she pins her arms to her sides and she rocks her when she breaks.

“Supergirl’s up there with her. She’ll save her, Maggie. They’ll both save everyone.”

“Then why won’t you let me into the damn control room?” she chokes with a wet rage she hasn’t felt since the massacre at the bar.

“I – “

But a cheer rises up, then, and Vasquez chokes out a dry laugh and lets Maggie run out of her arms.

“They’re okay? She’s okay?”

J’onn’s face is in his hands but he nods at the sound of her voice, and she takes Winn into her arms and doesn’t complain when he lifts her off her feet and spins her around.

She does complain a little when he damn near drops her, and Susan has to run over to stabilize them both.

But only a little.

She doesn’t let go of Winn’s hand until the troops return.

The troops, of course, being Supergirl, Alex, and a ship full of refugees, brutalized for being their very selves, abducted and maimed and hunted to satisfy the agenda of xenophobic supremacists who would surely add Winn and Maggie to the list of deportees, gladly, after finding that both of them had dated, had loved, aliens.

Only Supergirl and Alex come back to the DEO, of course, and Winn kisses Maggie’s cheek, hard, before sprinting off the moment he gets a text from Lyra telling him to meet her at the bar.

When a cheer erupts from the agents in the hall, Maggie sprints, too.

Straight into Alex’s arms, and Alex lifts her off her feet – more effectively than Winn – and pulls her in for a deep, breathless kiss that has J’onn averting his wet eyes and Susan whooping and all the agents clapping and Kara somehow laughing and crying at the same time.

Maggie pulls back first and starts checking over Alex’s body with worried hands before Alex has even put her down yet.

“Are you hurt, are you – you – fucking space, Alex!”

Because suddenly the laughter, the relief, is gone from her eyes, and only sheer terror fills them. Alex splutters and Maggie shakes her head and yanks Alex down for another hard, long, desperate kiss.

She’s the first to pull back. Again.

Space, Danvers! That wasn’t part of our deal!”

“Deal was, you help me save everyone – “

“Alex – “

“They needed me, Maggie, my father – “

“Yeah, I know, I’m proud of you, babe, and I’m in love with you for exactly that, but damnmit, Danvers, I need you too!”

Her voice is thick with tears and her eyes are shining with them, her face a map of defiance, of rage, of relief, of agony, of love, of loss, of fear, of hope, and the agents who were laughing and cheering moments before are now being shooed away by Supergirl and Susan, because the kissing was fun, but the confessions are private.

“You… Maggie you’re… you’re…”

“Not exactly how I wanted to tell you,” Maggie chokes, not meeting Alex’s eyes, her arms wrapped around her chest now, her jaw set, now, her heart shredded with feeling an infinity of different things at once, now.

Alex stares at Maggie’s downturned face for what feels like a millennium – which is how far away she could have been from her, forever, if her sister hadn’t saved them all – and when she can’t bear it anymore, she touches her index finger to Maggie’s chin and gently – gently, so gently, and god she’d almost forgotten what a gentle touch feels like in the last few hours – lifts Maggie’s face up to meet her eyes.

“I’m in love with you, too, Maggie. I… If Kara hadn’t saved us, I… my only regret would’ve been… I’m in love with you, too, Maggie.”

For a long moment, neither of them moves, and for a long moment, neither of them breathes.

“Ally,” Maggie breaks the silence, and this time, her kiss is soft, her kiss is open, her kiss is tender and firm and healing.

Her kiss is forever.

“Alex. When you get a moment to disentangle from Detective Sawyer, I need to speak with you upstairs.”

J’onn’s voice makes them jump apart, but they stay in each other’s arms.

“Acknowledged, sir,” Alex’s voice trembles, but her eyes keep locked in Maggie’s.

“They’ll want to question me, too, I imagine. It might be a few hours.”

“I’ll be here. Always.”

Alex smiles softly and squeezes Maggie’s hands and starts to walk away, though it makes her body ache.

But Maggie pulls her back, and Alex hears her breath hitch.

“I’m home, Maggie. I’m home. I’ll only be upstairs.”

“Not in space.”

“No, not that far upstairs.”

They share a watery laugh.

“Nerd.”

“Your nerd.”

“No one else’s, Danvers. No one else’s.”

Attic notes, post-bomb blast:

Hi, everyone. Yeesh.

We’ve been through it, huh? I’ve missed you. I think we’ve all missed each other.

Despite the difficulty we’ve had these past few months—and despite my sudden and untimely disappearance (sorry… where tf did the time go?)—the Johnlock conspirators remain the most dedicated, passionate, interesting, smart, diverse, and brave group of individuals I have ever encountered, and never would have encountered without the power of the internet. We live in a terrible, horrifying, dystopian future, but it is also beautiful, because we have the technology to connect to each other and come together to share, think, and create… like this.

When wondering how the Sherlock fandom could lead me to such a perfect storm of people who understood how I related the world, it wasn’t difficult to figure out why. Sherlock is a story of an intelligent, isolated outcast whose heart wants to help individuals out of compassion for their lives, despite his social ineptitude. He is a character with his own sense of justice, a disregard for public opinion, and a love for his work that protects him from the vulnerability of opening up to others. We are, after all, what we eat. And the message that unites everyone in TJLC is not that Johnlock was going to happen in series four, but that love is the center of the story. Love will conquer all.

And they do mean ALL.

At the BFI & Radio Times Television Festival on April 9th, Mark Gatiss said of the fourth series, “The only heretical thing is modernizing it, the rest we try to go along with the stories.”

We all know how they really feel about these stories. So what is he talking about?

The closet.

Series four is inconsistent, confusing, jarring, illogical, contradictory, genre-reliant, chock full of lies, and timeline-fucked because so is canon. To create an entirely faithful adaptation, Watson’s unreliable frame narration, which serves to obfuscate his relationship with Holmes, (and as Moff often brings up in regards to HLV, to protect the liberty of a guilty party) must be faithfully adapted, too. In doing so, Sherlock itself becomes a thesis on the true nature of canon that, let’s face it, currently doesn’t exist outside of our oft-ignored echo chamber. And our compulsory-hetero society is such that Mark and Moff have the opportunity to play out the exact same social masquerade ACD played all over again, but finally, finally, with a groundbreaking rug pull that ensures Sherlock Holmes goes down in history as a gay icon, always has been always will be, make no mistake.

As much as Sherlock is a love story about a kiss that will leave all others behind, its supervillain-sized obstacles represent the supersized figures that have stood against the homosexuality of Sherlock Holmes for over a century: CAM (Mass media and surveillance), Mary (heteronormativity), Mycroft (The British Government), Moriarty (Cultural anxieties that gay love is dark/salacious/perverse). M, The Black Lotus, and The Spider signify the different ways in which they interconnect… and there’s much more to say on this subject. But let’s get some of the water out of this living room.

We were wrong. That’s it! We were wrong. I have issues with how series four was handled, and am infuriated by some of the choices that have been made. But in the end, part of the reason why the devastation was so devastating was that we weren’t prepared to be wrong. Not even wrong about the conspiracy! Just about January! This show takes too! Fucking! Long! To air!

Come to think of it, that probably should have been one of our central tenets:

  1. They lie.
  2. The show is gay.
  3. Sherlock has been imprisoned for 100 fucking years and this has been planned for 7 so shut the fuck up because all hope and suffering are relative when you simply surrender to the relentless march of time and the cruel indifference of the universe.

Series four was way, way, lower caliber than what we’re used to from the show we love. But our reading of the narrative still makes sense. I don’t care what anybody says—it does! It makes perfect sense! It makes better sense than the mess casual viewers just swallow like warm paste—like so much other television these days! TJLC is a community full of active viewers, who are able to really see what’s happening on screen, what it means, and pick it apart. We’re attuned to picking up these messages and are practiced at it. Though we definitely honed our skills with our elephant glasses, the ability to look at media with a critical eye and understand what is being said to us is more important than ever in the digital age.

Keep reading

“The fuck are you wearing ?” - Wolverine x Reader

I saw a deleted scene from Reel Steel where Hugh Jackman is shirtless and then puts on a shirt, and besides the fact that he’s incredibly sexy, I couldn’t help but think…”What the fuck is he wearing ?” cause that shirt is…I don’t know I just find it funny. So…Here we go with a short and shitty Wolverine thing, because…Yeah. Boom, here, hope you’ll like it

(My masterlist blog here : https://ella-ravenwood-archives.tumblr.com)

_____________________________________________________________________

It was still rather early in the morning when you felt Logan’s side of the bed shift, and you groan as he slipped the arm that was under your head away, and stood up. You slowly opened one eye. In the light of the rising sun, you could see his naked silhouette gathering some clothes from his wardrobe. Damn he looked good. You wanted him to come back to bed…

-Logan, honey, it’s like - you quickly looked at your alarm clock- 6 am…Oh my god it’s 6 fucking am ! It’s Sunday, and you’re up at 6 am. The Hell is wrong with you ? 

You heard him chuckle as he put on some boxers and pants. You gave him a disappointed pout, because you wanted to check him out some more, and he just smiled at you, giving you one of his sexy wink he reserved for you only.

-I promised Cap’ we’d go on a motorcycle ride today, road trip you know. So we can talk about old times and such. 

You rolled your eyes to the sky, but couldn’t help the smile creeping on your face. To the surprise of many, the Wolverine was actually a great friend. Once you went threw his layers of being a bit rough and broody and a “lone wolf”, he was great to be around. He was always there for his close one, and if someone needed him, wether it was to talk, get drunk, or just hang out…He was up for it. Still, you sometime had trouble sharing. 

Keep reading

Anon Request: Angry “I love you” accidentally blurted out in the middle of an argument. First time saying the L word. McCree, Hanzo and Reaper

Okay, I loved this so very much. I hope you like it, darling! If you have any questions or criticisms, message me.


McCree:

“You’re doing better, L/N,” Gabriel Reyes said, a faint smile on his lips.

“Thank you, sir.” You shifted and stretched your arms above your head, feeling your muscles tense and relax.

“Tell McCree I’ll be with him tomorrow.” Reyes sauntered off as you drifted down the hall, stepping into the kitchen. You caught a glimpse of Jack Morrison as he was leaving, and you shook your head at the strained expression on his face.

You hadn’t noticed your boyfriend until he cleared his throat, drawing your attention toward him.

“Oh, hey! How are you, babe?” You asked as you approached him. When you reached for his shoulder, he leaned away from you, and you frowned. “What’s up, Jesse?”

“Why don’t you ask Reyes? You seem to enjoy spendin’ time with ‘im,” Jesse asked, not meeting your eyes.

“Because he’s training me. I’m sorry if I don’t want him to yell at me,” you said.

“Accordin’ to everyone else, he’s been gettin’ real handsy with ya.” McCree stepped around you, and you narrowed your eyes.

“He’s training me, Jesse. God, why are you acting like this? You know that he isn’t interested in me!” You said, shaking.

“But I don’t know that, darlin’!” He yelled, facing you, “For all I know, he’s waitin’ for ya right now!” His voice cracked, and you realized he was on the verge of tears. His eyes darkened, and he dropped his head, removing the hat from his head. Jesse ruffled his hair and slumped against the counter, staring at you with pained eyes.

“Do you really not trust me enough to know that I would never do something like that?” You asked, your voice straining.

“I love ya!”

The room went silent, and you noticed Gabriel and Jack standing near you, a few other recruits crowded around behind them. You shied away from their curious stares, and Jesse turned his head toward them. Jack and Gabriel were quick to push them down the hall until the both of you were alone once again. Licking your lips, you glanced over at your boyfriend and smiled.

“I love you, too,” you whispered.

Jesse turned his attention toward you, and his eyes softened. You nervously crossed the room and stepped into his arms, burying your face into the curve of his neck. He embraced you against his chest, and you gently kissed just below his ear.

“Sorry, sweatpea,” he whispered, “God, I love ya so damn much.”

Hanzo:

You were carefully tending to your wounds as Hanzo paced the length of the room, silently brewing in his own anger. A hiss fell from your lips, and he turned, staring at you.

“If you hadn’t been so reckless, you wouldn’t be in pain,” he said.

You glanced at him and frowned, turning away from him. Already frustrated, you didn’t want to deal with his judgement, especially when you had kept your friends safe.

“I don’t understand why you feel the need to be so heroic. It will get you killed one of these days,” Hanzo said through gritted teeth.

“I don’t understand why you feel the need to treat me like a damn child,” you growled, refusing to look at him.

“I am trying to protect you.”

You muttered something underneath your breath, silently mocking him, and you flinched when you felt the alcohol seep into your wound. The blood had stopped, but you were terrified of getting an infection. Stretching your legs out, you bandaged your arm and slipped off the edge of the bed, rising to your feet.

“Look, I’m fine. I have all my limbs, and I’m breathing. I don’t get why you’re so upset!” You said, slowly reaching your limits.

“But you could’ve died! You shouldn’t worry about everyone else when your life is on the line!” Hanzo said, struggling to keep calm. In situations like these, he was typically the one that kept a level head, so seeing him upset made you back away.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t think about myself when all my friends were about to die!” You shrieked, your face an unattractive shade of red. Your fists were clenched at your side, and you were trying to keep your breath steady.

He muttered something in his native tongue, shaking his head as he swept a hand through his hair. The dark tresses fell free and fluttered around his face, momentarily distracting you from the argument.

“It’s not that big of a deal, Hanzo! I’m alive, and I’m fine! Angelea has told me that I’m fine and healthy. You don’t need to worry so much,” you said, staring at him.

“I do have to worry about you!” He yelled, meeting your harsh gaze.

“Why?”

“Because I love you!”

Your heart skipped as he let his shoulders fall, nearly collapsing. Chewing on your nail, you approached him and placed your hands on his chest. He shifted and met your eyes, the anger dissipating. Hanzo seemed defeated as you took him into your arms, holding him close.

“I cannot lose you, my love,” he whispered, his face buried in the curve of your neck.

“You won’t, Hanzo. I promise that you won’t lose me. I’m sorry for scaring you and for yelling at you. I-I just didn’t realize how much I meant to you.”

“You are my world, Y/N,” Hanzo said as he leaned back, staring down at you.

After a moment, you smiled and said, “That was the first time you told me that you loved me. It feels so wonderful. I-I love you, too, Hanzo.”

He kissed you softly, his arm curled around your body, and you leaned into him.

“I won’t purposefully put myself in danger again. Promise.”

Reaper:

You understood that Reaper was not an affectionate man, and he had informed you of this when you first started your relationship with him. However, that didn’t stop the doubt that flooded your mind. Sitting on the floor of your room, you were fiddling with the one photograph you had of him where he looked somewhat pleasant, a faint smile on your lips

Black smoke billowed around your feet, and you turned your head, watching as he phased into the room. His shoulders were tense, visibly upset, and you realized that this would not go well. Rising from the floor, you nervously twisted a strand of hair around your finger, worrying your bottom lip. He was already uncomfortable and angry, and you were going to make it worse.

“I need to talk to you,” you said. He grumbled beneath his breath, his words barely audible. You sighed and inched closer to him. “Uhm, do you want to be with me?”

Reaper went rigid, turning to face you. Though you couldn’t see his face, you could feel the heat of his stare, his smoke spilling from the slits in his mask. You stumbled back as he stormed toward you.

“What?” He asked, his voice much deeper than it typically was. A shiver went down your spine as you dropped your eyes.

“It’s just that, well, you don’t always act like how a boyfriend should act and—“

“Do you think I have the time or the desire to spend every waking moment with you?” He asked, his word twisted with venom.

You felt you stomach drop, and you frowned, anger welling up inside of you.

“Well, when you asked me to be your partner, I thought you would at least acknowledge me when I happened to be around you! I thought I actually meant something to you, but I apparently don’t!” You yelled, shaking with frustration.

Reaper turned away from you, and you realized he was about to leave. Tears prickled the corners of your eyes, and you sniffled, your heart racing.

“Can you not realize that I love you?!” You screamed. When you noticed what you had said, your eyes widened, and you swallowed the lump in your throat. Neither of you had said that before, and you were afraid of what he would do. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m just going to go.”

You began to gather your things, your hands trembling, when a pair of arms hooked around your stomach. You froze, tears silently spilling down your cheeks, and the heat of his body seeped into your clothes.

“Don’t leave,” he whispered into your ear. Though he sounded as he always did, there was something in his voice that made your heart ache.

You wiggled and faced him, staring up at his mask. Furrowing your brow, you reached and removed it from his face, smiling when you saw the man you had fallen for.

“Say it again,” Gabriel said.

“I love you, Gabriel Reyes. I love you, I love you, I love you.” You stood on the tips of your toes and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“I love you,” he said, and your heart skipped.

got7 making a meal for their S/O | imagine

yugyeom:
- a microwaveable TV dinner for two
- “bone apple titties!” (Bon appetit)
- opens up a bottle of exclusive, pure tree-grown grape juice
- is not getting the succ
- s/o ends up cooking
- yugyeom decides to eat the two meals anyway
- “So what it’s a kids meal!”
- throws a fit since his S/O is disappointed every time he ‘cooks’
- doesn’t know how to operate a stove
- makes his S/O suffer by making them reach for their food

jackson:
- mr. organic
- actually can cook but is too afraid
- screams while frying the food since the oil starts popping
- burns his organic & non-GMO chicken dish
- “is the smoke in the air supposed to be black?”
- has no shirt on while he cooks
- loud because he’s Jackson
- requests for his S/O to call him ‘Chef Daddy’
- pours red wine in a glass out on the patio of Paris
- forces S/O to taste the food just in case to see who it might poison first
- tries to be sexy while he brings out the food but falls over


mark:
- “I’m not cooking wtf.”
- actually ends up cooking
- looks online at some random recipe and throws everything together
- is afraid of high heat and yells “Oh my goodness!” Every time the grease pops
- has on an oversized hoodie as he cooks with his S/O admiring him
- probably made burgers or something simple
- “Say ahh.” he would say trying to feed them
- feeds his S/O because it’s cute
- has a conversation over random things while he laughs loudly

bambam:
- the smell of burnt casserole can be smelled everywhere
- almost burns the house down
- forces his S/O to dab with him or they get no food
- takes out wine so he can seem more adult
- does failed aegyo
- ends up ordering fast food since he can’t cook anything but convenience store ramen
- “So I’m sitting here with barbecue sauce on my titties..” he would say at the table reminiscing what he and Yugyeom were doing yesterday while he eats his food
- shoves food down his S/O’s throat while attempting to do a ‘couples thing’

youngjae:
- “this is youngjae dinner!”
- makes breakfast for dinner
- the setup of the breakfast is in a smiley face
- is very adorable unintentionally
- says 'tada!’ when he finishes it which warms his S/O’s heart
- gives them orange juice and a side of fruit
- feeds them while barely eating
- constantly giving small innocent pecks on their face which makes them blush
- makes their S/O seem like the luckiest person ever
- food is bomb as heck

jaebum:
- “So like…what chu tryna eat?”
- ends up making fried chicken (who would’ve knew?)
- has no shirt on revealing his broad muscular shoulders and body
- always makes his S/O blush and feel 'needy’
- makes his S/O make room for Nora, Kunta, Odd and 12 other stray cats he found on the road last week
- takes glances at them here and there while smirking
- talks about mountains and gives really intense life lessons while they eat
- a true old grandpa cat man
- doesn’t feed his S/O or has time for aegyo since it’s stupid to him

jinyoung:
- steak and potatoes with wine
- his S/O and him are most likely in another country
- lights are dimmed in the fancy dining room
- makes sure his S/O eats before him
- food is cooked to perfection
- admires them as he eats his food
- a true babe
- discusses why his S/O should read books more often
- ends up being savage
- “You know, you can cook sometimes too, right? I’m not about to do every damn thing!”


This text post is not limited to just the members only being with females since I see mainly the members having their S/O as a woman. They are entitled to whatever it is they prefer. 🏳️‍🌈

4
Pools

 this is loosely based off of ‘Ever Since New York.’ as I said, LOOSELY. send in requests! I will write anything you send in! hope you enjoy!


You had a bad year. And the year wasn’t even over yet. You were 21, but being a bartender was not the ideal lifestyle that you wanted, but it worked. Your parents definitely didn’t want that lifestyle for you either. You weren’t living at home anymore, and hadn’t for a while, but they were always down your back trying to push you to be something that would cause tremendous success for yourself. Get an occupation where you were a lawyer or doctor. That was something you were absolutely not interested in. It was June, and you were looking for an escape from your tired old town. So why not go to the city that never sleeps?

Living in New York had been your dream since you were little. Watching those TV shows where the girl from a small town went to the big city. Where the girl got a crappy job and lived in a crappy apartment that still somehow still cost you $1,500 a month’s rent. You wanted the struggle, which sounds idiotic but thinks worked. You did go from a small town to a big city. You did get the job, but it was actually a good one for you. You did get the crappy apartment, which you had a love/hate relationship with, but the money from the good job wasn’t always enough which led to the struggle. You didn’t enjoy or hate it, but you were happier here. But you had been here for a month, expecting to be so excited and full of life- unlike your time in your hometown- but you still felt alone.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

How would RFA and Saeran react if MC is the one not paying attention to them, because she's too preoccupied or upset that they were too busy for her? If this is accepted????

How can anyone not pay attention to these precious beans(for extended period of time, at least). Hope you like these ^_^

Yoosung

  • He had an important tournament in LOLOL
  • Which lasted a whole week, resulting in him completely ignoring MC
  • Needless to say, they are not pleased
  • They just want to cuddle ffs
  • Well, if he likes this damn game so much, he can date it
  • MC is not going to deal with this
  • Well, at least Yoosung’s team won
  • So he finally leaves his gaming area to share this news with MC
  • Yeah, MC is not really impressed
  • Gives him the silent treatment
  • Yoosung starts tearing up 
  • “MC, did I do something wrong?” – no answer
  • Try to guess, you game junkie
  • It took him some time to figure out why MC is upset
  • -“Oh.. honey, I’m so sorry, I promise I’ll limit my gaming! D-don’t be angry with me, please?
  • MC is determined to keep their composure but he has this irresistible puppy look his face
  • It’s impossible to stay mad at him
  • Yoosung actually doesn’t game for a whole week after that
  • Instead he does little things for MC, like cooking them dinner or giving them flowers

Zen

  • MC was drowning in work for their finals 
  • They completely shut themselves away so nothing would bother them
  • So Zen was feeling a bit lonely
  • His text messages were left unanswered, and even the selfies he sent them didn’t get any reaction
  • He knew that MC was using one of those social media blocking apps but he was still upset
  • Then he started to worry
  • “But what if something happened to them? Even if it didn’t, they still should take breaks from time to time, I should go check up on them”
  • So he goes to their house
  • MC is glad to see him but too busy to entertain guests right now
  • “Help yourself to something from the fridge, but please don’t distract me, I have an essay due tomorrow and I need to focus”
  • Zen is very understanding
  • Turns out MC’s fridge is even emptier than Zen’s so he goes out to buy groceries and he also tidies up the apartment a little bit
  • All while giving MC space to study
  • Doesn’t stay the night, otherwise the beast will come out (and distract MC from their essay)
  • He made sure that MC is fine so he’s not very upset now
  • He will definitely catch up on their attention as soon as their finals are over

Jaehee

  • She has a gazillion of cat projects to work on
  • The poor girl runs solely on coffee and energy drinks
  • Naturally, she has no time for MC
  • They don’t even see her: she leaves for work when they’re still sleeping and comes home when they’ve already gone to bed
  • So MC thinks she doesn’t care about them anymore
  • Until one day she somehow gets home from work early
  • But MC completely ignores her
  • She sighs: “I know you must be upset that I have been very busy lately but you know that I have a lot of work”
  • Well, quit your job then – snaps MC
  • Jaehee is taken aback for a moment
  • “I can’t just.. do that… or can I?”
  • Why the hell not?
  • And that’s how jealous MC made Jaehee quit the job she didn’t enjoy and use her abilities for something more rewarding

Jumin

  • He’s a very busy workaholic, and MC is quite used to that
  • But lately it’s been too much; all these business trips, countless meetings, staying late at the office late far too often
  • MC was actually starting to suspect he was having an affair
  • So MC did the most logical thing imaginable – start being distant
  • Which puzzled Jumin a great deal because to him it seemed they were being irrational
  • “Go cuddle with your cat. Or with that girl you go to see when you claim you do extra paperwork late at the office..”
  • “MC, I’m not interested in women. Except for you, I mean. Things just have been hectic at the company. I’ll make it up to you”
  • Takes a couple of unplanned days off to spend them solely with MC

Seven

  • He was having one of his “I don’t deserve to be with them. I’ll ignore them until they lose interest and leave me” episodes
  • Well, two can play that game
  • If he doesn’t want that, MC is not going to bother him
  • Seeing them grow distant, Luciel starts to regret his choices
  • Suddenly completely changes his attitude and starts being super clingy
  • Which annoys MC
  • Until he opens up about how he really feels
  • That he doesn’t deserve them and that’s why he was ignoring them but would like to be with them, if they want it too
  • How could anyone be cross with him after this sentiment?
  • MC forgives him and they make up

Saeran

  • MC was busy with work and didn’t have much to pay attention to him
  • He claims he doesn’t care
  • He does
  • Saeran needs his daily dose of MC’s attention
  • Makes sure to be in the same room with them while completely avoiding contact
  • Just like a cat
  • A lot of hugs happen after MC is done
  • He craves that bodily contact even if he says he doesn’t need it

anonymous asked:

Hi! Do you think you could do a second part to where the reader is a new recruit?? Like my heart can't take it !! Thanks cutie💖

((A/N - well thank YOU, cutie.))

“That was intense.”

You were currently sprawled out on the floor in the training room, waiting for the rest of the recruits to leave before you attempted to stand up. You nodded, your response muffled from your head being buried in a towel that was trying to soak up all of your sweat. Your legs were jelly and your arms burned. You had no energy to speak, let alone trying to get back to your room. Your friend whipped the towel off, your eyes squinting trying to adjust to the light.

“Drink.”

You opened your mouth, your friend dribbling in water from their bottle. You choked slightly, trying not to laugh at your situation.

“Get up, (Y/N).”

You held your hand up, it being gripped by Gabriel for him to hoist you up. Your legs failed you, and you would have fallen back onto the lino covered floor had he not caught you in his arms. Your cheeks tinged pink as you felt the vibrations of his chuckle from his toned chest. Sweat was leaking through his tight fitting vest top, only imagining what it looked like underneath.

“You seem a bit.. broken.”

You glared up at your commander.

“Absolutely not, it was just-”
“Intense?”

You rolled your eyes, regaining your balance. You steadied yourself by placing a hand against his now folded arms, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“Take them back to their room, please. I don’t think they can walk without support.” Gabriel chuckled to your friend.

They hooked an arm around your waist, your arm being flung over their shoulder.

“Same time tomorrow, cariño.” He winked at you.

You frowned at the pet name. What did it mean?

The walk back to your shared room was a struggle. You flumped yourself onto your bed as soon as you could, your entire body screaming with pain.

“He so likes you.”
“Not allowed favouritism.”
“And? I’d kill to be called Spanish pet names.”
“What about Jack?”
“What about him?”

You turned to face your friend, lying on your side and head propped up with your hand, a shit-eating grin spreading across your face.

“Does he not sweeten you up with pet names?”
Honey, he doesn’t need to. I have him right where I want him.”

Your eyebrows raised, smile spreading. A knock on the door brought you from your conversation. You leant over to check the time on your phone while your friend opened the door.

“Is (Y/N) here?”
“Where else would they be, sir?” Amusement laced their voice, giving you time to sit up on the bed to try and see who it was. The door widened and you tried to stand when you saw the swish of royal blue.

“Sir. I-”
“Please sit, (Y/N). Gabriel told me about your training session and was a tad concerned. Do you need to see Angela?”
“No, thank you, Strike-Commander Morrison. I’m not used to the training but it will come in due course.”
 
Jack nodded, his baby-blues flitting over to your friend. A smile twitched on his lips and the rosiness on his cheeks became more defined.

“Very well. That is all.”

He gracefully left your shared room, your friend quietly clicking the door closed.

“He only came here to see you.” You raised an eyebrow.
“I know. He gave me a note.”
“A note? Let me see.”
Absolutely not.”

You pursed your lips your hands behind you leaning on the bed, closely watching their face as they read the note.

“Oh.. my God.”

You leant forwards and made grabby hands towards them. Their eyes widened, the back of their hand dramatically coming up to their forehead.

“He wants.. to.. meet for lunch.”

You burst out into laughter.

“I thought it would have been a love letter or a poem. Is that all it says?”
 
They handed you the note and your eyes skimmed over the scrawl.

Tomorrow. 1300. Café on Broad Street. J x

“Wow. Blunt.”

You handed the note back, throwing your legs up onto the bed and throwing your arm over your eyes.

“He’s romantic.”
“Tch. Whatever you say, love. Wake me up before dinner?”
“Yeah alright, lazy.”

You were shaken awake by hands on your shoulders, eyes snapping open.

“You weren’t waking up.”
“Well I’m awake now.”
“Gabriel wants you.”
“That’s a bit forward.”
“He’s at the door, idiot.”

You scrambled to sit up, combing your fingers through your hair in a vain attempt to look presentable. You managed to stumble over to the door, hanging on the handle so your overworked legs wouldn’t collapse. You took in a deep breath and pulled the door open.

He was leaning on the frame, arms folded and inspecting his fingernails. He was still wearing that damn fitted tank top, clinging to his chiselled chest. Sweat glistened on his defined arms and his dark locks hidden by the woollen beanie.

“Ah. (Y/N).” He lifted his head, eyes narrowed and a smirk dancing across his lips.
“Sir.” You nodded.
“I have a proposition.”

Your brows furrowed, pulling the door to slightly so your friend wouldn’t overhear.

“How would you feel about joining Blackwatch?”

You physically faultered, shock clearly expressed on your face. He chuckled.

“Why- er. Why me?”
“I need someone on my team and I think you would fit nicely. Hardworking. Always pushing yourself to your limits.”

His gazed intensely at you, unrelenting.

“I erm-”
“Think about it. In the meantime, clean up. You’re joining me in my office at 1900 hours.”
“But that’s when din-”
“Dinner starts? Yeah. I know.”

He winked and confidently turned back down the hall towards the main area of the building. You let out a breath you hadn’t realised you’d been holding.

Dinner. With Gabriel. The commander of Blackwatch. Not wanting to one-up your friend, you told them you weren’t feeling well and went to go have a shower. You hoped the scalding water would clear the mist from your thoughts and relieve the aches in your over-used muscles. Once washed, you span the knob round to shut off the water and grabbed a fluffy towel. Patting your face dry you caught your eyes in the mirror. There was a sparkle there you has never noticed before, the corners of your lips turned up in a slight smile.

“(Y/N), I’m heading out to the hall. Do you want anything?”
“No thanks. See you later!”

When you heard the apartment room door close behind your friend, you set out about finding something reasonable to wear. You couldn’t go wrong with black jeans and a ‘nice top’. You span your body in the mirror, deeming your outfit presentable enough. Looking at your watch, you still had five minutes to make it to Gabriel’s office.

You checked both ways down the hallway to make sure it was clear before shutting the door behind you. It clicked shut, the noise echoing. You half jogged towards the offices, trying to untangle your hair with your fingers. You caught your reflection in a passing window, slightly surprised by how decent you actually looked.

You rapped your knuckles on the door to the commander’s office, taming your heavy breathing and pulling down the hem of your top.

“Come in.”

You pushed the door open, not entering when you saw two other figures standing in front of Gabe’s desk.

“There’s a draft. Please close the door.”

You stepped in and gingerly shut it, standing hesitantly by the door. Your hands held the other, fingers fidgeting, worried you’d walked into something you shouldn’t have.

“(Y/N). This is Jesse-” he nodded to the figure on your left. “And this is Genji.” He motioned towards the other. The two turned around, acknowledging you with a nod before turning back to face Gabriel.

“Come forward.”

Your feet moved of their own accord, reluctantly shuffling across the carpet until you were inbetween the two people infront of Gabriel’s desk.

“You lot are my elite team. Look after each other.”

You frowned. You hadn’t accept his proposition. The two nodded scarily in sync, before the one on the left piped up.

“Ain’t they a bit young?”
“No. They are perfectly skilled. Not that you could talk anyway, McCree. How old are you again?”

The last sentence was spoken with patronising malice from the man in front of you.

“You two are dismissed. (Y/N), stay.”

Your hands came up to hug the opposite elbow, your fingers twitching nervously. You heard shuffles of feet before a click- and then silence. Gabriel gestured for you to sit in the chair opposite him.

“Thank you for accepting.”
“I haven’t-”
“You came along when I said to. You listened to my orders.
"Yeah, because what I thought was free food has now turned into me somehow joining the black ops division of Overwatch.”
“You haven’t said no.”

Gabriel leaned forwards in his chair, hands clasped together and resting on desk. Your mouth opened, and then closed. He was right; you hadn’t said no.

“I want you close, (Y/N). You have potential and with a bit of sculpting you’ll be more than ready to become a fully-fledged Blackwatch agent. We need someone like you on our team. I need you.”

You adjusted your position in the chair at his words. Did he just admit that he liked you?

“I’ll get your uniform set up and ready for training in next week. In the mean time, keep quiet about it until we can announce it properly.”

You nodded.

“Use your words, cariño.”
“Yes, sir.”

A smirk appeared on his lips. He opened his mouth to retaliate before there was a knock on the door and it opened wide. Two silver trays covered with domes were carried by one of the kitchen staff and gently placed down on Gabriel’s desk. He nodded in thanks and waited until the porter had left and shut the door before talking.

“I look after my agents, (Y/N). I’d be surprised if you still wanted to stay as an Overwatch agent after this.”

He removed the dome on the tray closest to you to reveal a plate with a mouth-watering steak, juicy steamed vegetables and the softest mashed potato you had ever seen. You looked up at him, eyes narrowed. He wasn’t exactly being subtle with his bribes. You reached your hand towards the tray, only for him to brind the lid down suddenly and for you to retreat.

“You’ll join?”

Your eyes met his cinnamon gaze.

“I would be surprised if I stayed as an Overwatch agent after this.”

His chuckled rumbled throughout the room as he pushed the tray of food towards you.

This should be very interesting.

anonymous asked:

will looks like such a pretty nerd in that fbi photo like, it's no wonder hannibal fell so hard look at that soft puppy *~*

I read your ask and was smothered with the image of Will Graham being a giant comic book nerd (his dad would buy him comics as a kid because they were cheap and Will liked to read and he could walk into a gas station/grocery store and pick one up/let Will choose whichever one without being worried about the price

Will would grow up and save his money from the odd jobs he takes to buy a ticket to a comic convention and get hit on by literally every single person because he really is the prettiest nerd with those curls and those big glasses he wears to avoid any and all eye contact and those gorgeous eyes that change color depending on the light framed by thick pretty lashes–he’s devastating–and all he wants to do is to buy that damn rare comic he heard was going to be sold here, but the social aspect is killing him, it feels like every five minutes he has to step outside and get some air away from all those emotions and then get hit on again

and then when he finally can order his merch online? And he has a stable job with some spare income? He can’t stop himself from buying that limited edition Captain America

and all this culminates in Will living on the first floor of his two story house, Hannibal asking why he doesn’t use the second floor and Will wondering which would scare Hannibal ‘loves classical music and likes to slip French into every other damn sentence and would probably rather die than eat a Big Mac’ Lecter more, Will secretly liking how he felt when he killed or the fact that the reason he lives on the first floor of his house is because every room of the second story is filled wall to wall with boxes of comics.)

(answer: Hannibal asks to read his favorite comic book–because love–and Will word vomits his nerdiness at him at such a rate Hannibal’s pants are off and Will is showing him his favorite panel of bare chested Captain Rogers.)

Pleasure [Roy Harper x Reader]

Anon requested: “May I request Roy with a short s/o fighting crime together. Thanks 😘″

Pairing: Roy Harper x Reader

Warnings: A mention of sex

Word Count: 517

[C/C] = Costume Color

Tag: @speedypan 

WANT TO BE TAGGED?

MASTERLIST


Roy Harper.

Oh how that man infuriated you. You didn’t know how you tolerated him or what you saw in the man, but clearly you were out of your mind or some damn villain had brainwashed you because clearly, he was an absolute ass.

One may think that after a year of dating him, you would warm up to him but that was incorrect. If possible, you hated this man even more. You didn’t even know why you stayed with him, but you were way out of his league–even when he claimed otherwise–and you could do so much better… but in the end, deep down in your heart, you still had a soft spot for the archer. He definitely had charms that attracted you in the first place, and this hate of yours was derived from your love for him, if that made any real sense.

However, even with his lovely charms, he was pushing to the limit.

With what you ask?

Well, with his damn endless, torturous teasing of your height.

Yes. Your height.

You knew you were shorter than average and your boyfriend towered over you, and he used every excuse to tease you. He would put items on the high shelf, send you ‘short friend’ memes and carry you around like you were a kid. It honestly pissed the shit out of you.

And it wasn’t just restricted to domestic life, it was to your vigilante life was well.

“Hey! Short Arrow!” he exclaimed as you two were on the field. You sent him a glare and shot the arrow meant for the enemy to the wall right beside his head.

“It’s [C/C] Arrow!” you snapped before shooting another arrow to the criminals who were trying to sneak away while you barked at him. He only laughed and reached for his arrows to shoot the enemies behind, not even bothering to tell you to duck. The arrows grazed your head and landed straight into the enemy’s limbs, causing them to cry out in pain. You finished them off by knocking them unconscious.

When Roy came down, you punched him. “Ass! Why didn’t you tell me to dodge it?! What if it hit me?”

Roy frowned then grinned slyly. “Don’t worry babe, I won’t ever hit you!”

“How can you know that?” you asked skeptically.

“Well, you’re short, so I can easily shoot the taller enemies behind you!” he answered, “that’s what makes us a great team.”

You flipped the bird at him. “Fuck you Harper.”

“Maybe later.” he winked, then glanced up at the fire escape of the apartment building. “So, you want me to help you up or…”

You glared at him and crossed your arms. “You take great pleasure in this, don’t you?”

“Oh yes, great pleasure.” he agreed, “more pleasure than kicking ass every night.”

You stared at him with a deadpanned expression. “And apparently also more pleasure than sex, because, congratulations, it has earned you a week of none.”

“Wait what?”

You jumped up and climbed the fire escape.

“Wait–[F/N]! You’re not serious are you? Are you?!”

I was wondering why Overwatch skipped Valentines day, but then I realized...

When you look at the runaway train that is the Voltron fandom right now

When you look at everything SU shippers have done in the past, including but not limited to: driving some people to try and take their own lives and chasing some of the artists of the show off tumblr on the grounds of ‘queerbaiting’

When you look at how seriously this damn website takes the relationships of two fictional characters and the lengths they will go to to justify their own view and shut down others, even if it’s the very creators of the content they love

Is it any fucking wonder why Blizzard took one look at Valentines Day and said 'Yeah, we’re skipping that’