genuine notes

listen, jontron has been horrible since GG’s inception. 
i mean that doesn’t make any of the recent and not-so-recent BATSHIT GARBAGE he’s said any less BATSHIT, but i’m just shocked it took him agreeing with Actual White Supremacists and his racist tirade in that debate stream to get people to realize that his ~Ironic Racism/Misogyny/Transphobia over all these years has either transformed into or always was genuine racism/misogyny/transphobia.
(rape mention past this point.) anyway my awakening moment was back in highschool (actually probably 2013 now that i think about it) watching GG for the first time, the iconic sonic 06 playthrough and thinking it was really funny!! i remember my face hurting from smiling and laughing so much. at least until jontron straight up said he wanted to rape a female NPC they ran into. and as a teenage girl AT THAT EXACT POINT IN TIME dealing with sexual assault and rape joke harassment shit from a male classmate, and watching funny videos on the internet to forget about what i was dealing with, that “joke” wiped the smile off my face and i immediately started crying and closed the video instantly and never finished watching the playthrough or touched another GG video until years after danny replaced jon. (and even then i didn’t stick around super long either - my mexican ass can only stand so many ~ironic~ ‘dirty mexican’ jokes and bad ‘accent humor’, even if not as overtly horrible as jon had been.)
anyway my point is that it’s just really funny that people who had been SAYING all these years that “he’s just kidding!! him saying rapey and racist things are just jokes!!!” are for some reason shocked now that it turns out he wasn’t joking at all, as if a totally not racist or misogynistic person would think it’s okay or be comfortable enough to joke about those things to begin with. it’s almost as funny as the fact that jontron thinks him making those kinds of comments has no effect on the audience he seems to crave so badly!!! (read: his non white, jewish, female, disabled, and victims of sexual assault former fans who got tired of his shit. not to mention alienating his ‘heroes’ like neil c. for openly being a pos where neil could see it LMAO.)

TL;DR: jontron has literally always been shit, he’s just been a lot louder about it lately bc he’s managed to weed out all his decent fans and left only his nasty hugbox who never challenge his racist rapey self.

Café Vocabulary in Russian

inspired by this list by @malteseboy

some related nouns:

  • кусок, кусочек (m.) (+ genitive case) – a piece of…
  • торт (m.) – cake
  • пирожное (n., adjectival) – pastry
  • пирог (m.) – Russian pie, similar to English pasty
  • печенье (n.) – biscuit/cookie
  • пышка (f.) (Petersburg only) – donut, Leningrad style. many places have signs advertising that they make them как раньше, “as before”, i.e. like during Soviet times. they look like this:
  • пончик (m.) – donut (everywhere else, any other style) 
  • бублик (m.) - bagel
  • еда (f.) – food
  • напиток (m.) – beverage
  • кофеин (m.) – caffeine
  • чай (m.) – tea
  • чёрный чай – black tea
  • зелёный чай – green tea
  • ромашковый чай – camomile tea
  • мятный чай, чай с мятой – mint tea
  • кофе (m., indeclinable) – coffee {note: for several years now it has been acceptable to use the neuter gender for this word as well, but many people will insist that this is wrong. YMMV}
  • чёрный кофе – black coffee
  • (кофе) латте – latte
  • молоко (n.) – milk
  • корица (f.) – cinnamon
  • варенье (n.) – a kind of Russian jam
  • лёд (m.)– ice
  • лимон (m.) – lemon
  • мёд (m.) – honey
  • сахар (m.) – sugar
  • с молоком – with milk
  • c корицей – with cinnamon
  • с вареньем – with varen’ye
  • со льдом – with ice
  • с лимоном – with lemon
  • с мёдом – with honey
  • с сахаром – (… you get the idea)
  • кафе (n., indeclinable), кофейня (f.) – café, coffeeshop
  • магазин (m.) shop
  • кондитерская (f., adjectival) – confectionary, pastry shop, patisserie
  • пекарня (f.) – bakery
  • пышечная (f., adjectival) (Petersburg only) – donut shop
  • ложка (f.) – spoon
  • стол (m.) – table
  • кофейный столик (m.) – coffee table (also called журнальный столик, a “newspaper table”)
  • выпечка (f.) – baked goods/pastry (general)
  • блюдце (n.) – saucer
  • кружка (f.) – mug
  • [чайная/кофейная] чашка (f.) – tea/coffee cup
  • стакан (m.) – glass
  • чашка кофе – cup of coffee
  • чашка чая – cup of tea 
  • стакан чая – glass of tea

{historical note: traditionally, women drank tea out of чашки or poured tea from the чашка into the блюдце and drink it from there with варенье, while men drank tea out of стаканы with metal bases and handles. now these are mostly associated with drinking tea on trains, where the base helps keep them steady.}

{grammatical note: sometimes you will hear other forms, such as стакан/чашка чаю. this is grammatically irregular and more informal— yandex translate gives the translation as “cuppa” :-) }

some adjectives (all listed in masculine form):

  • свежий – fresh
  • слабый – weak
  • крепкий – strong
  • сладкий – sweet
  • горячий – hot
  • холодный – cold
  • качественный – (high) quality
  • вкусный – tasty 

some verbs (not all forms given):

  • выпить чашку кофе – to have/drink a cup of coffee
  • есть/поесть – to eat
  • пойти на кофе – to go get a coffee
  • купить - to buy
  • платить/заплатить за (+ accusative case) – to pay for
  • заказать – to order
  • сидеть/посидеть (в кафе, за столом) – to sit (in a cafe, at the table)
  • пить/выпить, попить– to drink (попить is more like “to sip”)

some phrases:

это место занято? – is this spot taken?

счёт, пожалуйста – check, please

давай пойдём в кафе! – let’s go to a café!

Fic - Big Hero 6 - “let it rain (let it pour)”

well it’s been months and months since i posted any new fic so why not break the ice with a dose of good old-fashioned rarepair angst

for my dearest @wuffen – sorry i’ve kept you waiting for so long

Title: let it rain (let it pour)
Characters/Pairings: Robert Callaghan/Tadashi Hamada
Tags:  Established Relationship, Pre-Canon, Rain, Angst and Feels
Summary:  They’ve turned the couch to face the window so they can sit together and watch the rain.

Read it on AO3.

anonymous asked:

What if Jamie wasn't an outlaw when he met Claire and Jamie could court her properly? How would Claire react to that when if she was still trying to get home?

Anon asked: what do you think it would have happened if Jamie and Claire didn’t have to get married? Do you think our hero could have find a way to marry the Sassenach or at least, make her fall in love with her without all the amazing sex?

Mod Note: I genuinely did not intend to continue this story (despite many requests), but I am finally bringing one of my first Imagine pieces out of the archives to explore these intriguing prompts! A bit of a slow burn on this one, but hang in there with me! -Mod Bonnie


Hail Mary

Part I  Part II


Part III

The canteen hit Jamie’s jaw squarely with a sharp THWOCK.

“A mhic an diabhoil!” he snarled, looking wildly around and finding the culprit at once. “Damn you, Murtagh, what in God’s name was that for?!”

“To see if I could get yer gob to close all the way,” the usually-dour clansman said with a smirk, arms crossed. “A wee brown-haired lass seems to have broken your hinge this morning.”

Murtagh saw the canteen coming and ducked, laughing as it clattered against the nearby tree. “Careful, ye wee smout—that’s the good whisky!”

Despite Jamie’s annoyance, the corners of his mouth were twitching as he returned to finish unlashing the bundles from his saddle; and, conveniently, returning him to the sight of Mistress Beauchamp carrying a bedroll to the place she’d claimed for her lean-to.

The man was right: Jamie hadn’t been able to stop looking at her all day: sidelong as they rode; catching her eye as they stopped for water; training his gaze on back of her head when she nudged her mount past his on the road to speak with Ned. Always and completely: she was all he saw, this day.

He had been drawn to Mistress Beauchamp from the first—when she mended his shoulder; when he held her at Leoch; but now…Christ, he was all but consumed by her; and how could he not be? Having slept with her in his arms? Remembering the scent of her hair? Now knowing the shapes of her under his hands; what it was to hear sounds of desire from her lips as she moved against him, seeking?

And above all, to know that she had stayed. Aye, she had slept in his arms, but any lass might have done the same with any man, to save her own life….but upon waking this morning, she was flustered, had made to rise, and yet at the barest suggestion, she had stayed there in his arms for nigh on an hour, waiting for the rest of camp to awaken. They both had assumed pretense of sleep, but neither of them had allowed themselves to drift away. Her breathing had stayed quick; he could feel it, warm and shallow at the base of his throat. She surely had felt his heart thudding away, with her ear resting so near it.

No, they hadn’t slept; nor had they spoken. They’d held one another

And there, at the last, he’d brought one hand—shaking—to softly, gently, slowly come to rest on the curve of her head. She’d gasped and made as if to—say something? Move?  Christ, touch him back?

And just at that moment, the camp had come alive. Before he could blink, she had gotten to her feet and the day began as it always did. Boiling water; folding, packing; bannocks and whisky; back on the long road through the glens; all just as it was every day.

But today, he couldn’t stop looking at her.

At Mistress Beauchamp, who had slept in his arms.

But God, he had to stop thinking about her. She was the finest woman he’d ever met —but he could offer her no future, as a wanted criminal. None. He wouldn’t subject her to the dangers a life with him would entail. He had to stop thinking about her.

He couldn’t stop thinking about her.

“Ye did a good thing, Jamie, lad,” Murtagh said, yanking Jamie back once more from grim reverie, deep brown eyes watching him. “Keeping the lass last night as ye did. You’re the only one that could ha’ done it for her properly.”

“Aye,” he coughed, “well, I… she….” He cleared his throat uncomfortably, unfurling his tent canvas.  “I’m glad to’ve been of service to her.”

Murtagh made a noise somewhere between a chuckle and a harrumph.

“And what’s that supposed to signify?” Jamie snapped, tugging at his stock. Hadn’t Claire nearly frozen to death last night? Then why, by Bride and all the saints, was the gathering evening so bloody HOT?

“Haud yer wheesht, lad,” Murtagh, now chuckling in earnest at Jamie’s discomfort. “Your secret doe-eyes are safe wi’ me.”

“Not doe-eyes…” Jamie muttered, feeling all of seven years of age.

“Hey.” Murtagh’s hand clapped warm on his shoulder, his eyes suddenly soft and unusually earnest. “She’s a fine woman, Jamie, Sassenach or no’.”

Aye, Jamie thought, watching the wind lift her curls into life as she rifled her wee medicine box, then made for the wood with a basket in hand, she truly is. And I can’t let myself want her.

And then the messenger rode into camp.


He waited until it was nearing sunset, when he knew she would be out gathering her wee herbs before the light went. He made for the loch under the pretext of needing a piss, seeing Murtagh watching him knowingly. Jamie knew without asking or telling that his godfather would keep an eye on the other men and prevent any from venturing in the same direction. He said a prayer, thanking God for the gift of this protector that had watched over him all his life, and continued down the path.

Sure enough, as the woods opened out into the waning crimson sunlight, he found her seated on a low boulder, looking out upon the loch, basket at her feet.

Seeing her, her unbound curls wafting sweetly in the breeze, his throat went instantly tight.

Christ, how could he do this?

Knowing her…. How could he not?

He cleared his throat and sang out with an attempt-at-cheery, “Take care no’ to fall in.”

Her head turned sharply, surprised, but a begrudging smile was already tugging at her lips. “Ned’s nowhere in sight—I think I should be safe.”

“Good,” he laughed—God, how it delighted his soul to laugh with this woman— “Best stay well shot of him.”

“But he’s such a darling!” She pursed her lips to hold back her mirth. “I’m not sure I can refuse him if he comes calling!”

“Well, do what ye must, lass,” he grinned, “I’ll be standing by to hold ye, anytime.”

She made a small sound of kind acknowledgement but looked away, suddenly shy.The silence rang between them so acutely, Jamie could hear the voices from camp, many yards distant.

“I’ve gotten some good news, Sassenach,” he said, feeling the letter in his waistcoat pocket. “I’ve…been pardoned.”

NO!” She leapt to her feet, mouth open and excitement dawning. “Oh, Jamie, that’s wonderful news!” She grabbed one of his hands in hers and squeezed it hard, practically bouncing with her enthusiasm. “God be bloody praised!!! I’m so thrilled for you! Whatever happened to bring that about?”

They sat on the boulder and he explained, grinning from ear to ear, the contents of Colum’s letter. Unbeknownst to Jamie, his uncle had been exercising all his considerable influence to get the accusations against him dropped. By some miracle, he had succeeded, and had sent a messenger at once to share the glad tidings.

Jamie read between to lines to gather that His Grace the Duke of Sandringham had been more than instrumental in getting the matter quietly resolved and Jamie’s outlaw record expunged. Jamie could just imagine the foppish gent drawling: “Anything for my DEAHHRRRR Jamie,” in those thick, unctuous tones, wet eyes glittering with anticipation.

The Duke’s predilections were well known, and such attentions had made Jamie supremely uncomfortable at the time of the man’s last visit. However, God bless him and all his house, if such affections had just saved Jamie from a life of flight and ultimately the noose. 

And ten times the blessing to him if it meant Jamie’s honor was now completely unhindered…that he was completely free to….

“What have ye been gathering, then?” he blurted, feeling his wame clenching in anxiety.

“Good Lord,” she laughed, startled, “you suddenly want to talk about herbs after such splendid news!?”

“My life is my own again,” he said, shrugging, “I want to talk about anything and everything.”

“Cress,” she said affably, nudging the basket with her foot. “Didn’t manage to bring back any last night, after all, what with one thing and another.” 

She paused suddenly, furrowing her eyebrows. She was leaning on her hand, the fingertips just inches away from his plaid on the rock. 

When she spoke, her voice was soft and full of feeling. “Thank you again for…for everything. You were so—wonderful about it all.”

Jamie felt his chest swell. “Think nothing of it, lass. You’ve saved my poor hide more times than I can count these past weeks. It was about time that I should do ye a service in return.“

“Did you get any real rest? I’m afraid I must have given you a dreadfully uncomfortable time. ”

“Och, dinna fash, lass. It was just fine.”

It was the best night of all my years, mo ghraidh.

“Mistr—”

No. Not Mistress.

Claire?”

Even sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, facing forward as they were, he could see her straighten and stiffen at the tone in his voice.

“I find meself—” he said, trying to force his lips to move at his bidding, but finding them slow and wooden,  “—that is—”

Help me, woman. See what’s in my heart. Surely ye ken it already.

Thank the Lord it came out sounding calm and clear:

I care for you, Claire.”

She stopped breathing. The breath actually left her, for more heartbeats than Jamie knew. The absence of it—that rhythm of her that he’d memorized, he now realized— was like whisky thrown on the fire within him, the flames roaring instantly up in fear and anticipation. He wanted so desperately to take her face in his hands so he might look into her golden eyes while telling her all his heart…but his hands were shaking and he didn’t think he could get out the words if he moved.

“I care for you as I’ve never cared for anyone in my life,” he said, mustering his courage only by focusing only on the wonder of the person beside him. “Your wit, your courage, your pigheadedness,” he laughed, his whole body glowing with sudden warmth. “The–” He clenched his hands in his lap, staring at them as if they held the proper words. “– life in you Claire, is unlike anything I have ever encountered. I havena been able to get ye out of my head since the first day we met. And then last night…”  

He heard her lips part and a long intake of breath, then a soft, inscrutable, “Jamie…”

“I ken I’ve perhaps no business saying such things. Even though I’m no longer a wanted criminal, I’ve no great wealth, and perhaps I’m nothing you ought to trouble o’er.“ He shook his head, hard. “But surely…surely ye ken as well as I what there is between us, Claire.”

He screwed up his courage and turned to face her. She was staring down into her lap, hands clasped. Her lips were pressed tight, her expression, for once, unreadable.

“I canna believe I’m alone in feeling it…this…whatever it is between you and me.” He laid a hand slowly and tenderly atop hers, his heart pounding.

She jumped when his hand touched hers, and with a jolt, Jamie saw that she had been twisting her golden ring round and round her finger.

Jamie stood at once and raised his hands in a gesture of apology. “Forgive me,  lass….”

Fraser, you dolt, have ye no sense to spare a thought for what the lass is going through?

“I’m so sorry, Claire,” he repeated. “I—I ken—that ye still grieve for your departed husband.”

Her lips went tight and Jamie saw her blink several times, hard.

“It…. isna right that ye should forget him, or even try to. If ye loved him, he must have been a good man. But I–I should–”

Courage, man. COURAGE.

“…It would be my honor to see to the care of his wife.”

Finally, she looked up, sharply, her eyes wide. She spoke in barely a whisper. “What?”

Will you marry me, Claire?”

She simply stared at him, in utter shock.

He went to his knees in front of her in the oath-giving posture, relinquishing all caution and all fear. He exhaled heavily with the relief of letting the feelings for her wash over him. “I care for you—"

I love you, he wanted to scream.

“—and now that I’m a free man, I wish to give ye everything I have. My name—my clan—the protection of my body….Claire, they’re all yours, now and forever.” He reached for her hand, trembling, dying to touch her. “If you’ll have me.”

“No.”

Jamie felt as though she’d pushed him backward into the icy lake. He opened and closed his mouth, unable to find the words for the pain ripping through him.

“I’m sorry, Jamie. I can’t marry you.” She bolted to her feet, took up her basket, and made quickly back toward the camp.

“Claire—please wait—I–”

This couldn’t be happening. This just couldn’t be.

He rose on shaking legs and tried to follow, reaching for her arm. “Sassenach, stop, please—I’m sorry if I was too—I just thought we—”

She threw off his hand and faced him only long enough to say coldly:

You were mistaken.”


Mistaken.

It should have been a night of celebration; should have been the most joyous occasion of his life–to know he was a free man, could go home at last. 

But it was hell, every moment, her words tormenting him as he played each memory he held of her over and over in his mind, every time they had ever spoken, touched, laughed, or cried together, culminating in the breathtaking intimacy of the previous night. Was it lust deluding him? Was it pure, lecherous desire for her body that had colored these memories and called them love?

No.

NO, damn it all!

He knew his heart. And hers—Christ, it danced across her face so freely, that—No, he was not mistaken.

Perhaps she was frightened; perhaps it was too soon.

But he was not mistaken.

It made seeing her flitting about all evening, smiling and pouring whisky liberally all ‘round the fireside — the collective mood of festivity ostensibly in honor of his pardon — all the more galling. She laughed and joked with the lads, chatted at length with Ned Gowan over documents, and generally charmed the whole camp with her golden eyes and glorious smile…everyone except him.

She’d spoken to him only once, when she offered him drink— “For you, Mr. McTavish?”— but she wouldn’t look at him.

She didn’t even know his real name. She didn’t want to know his real name.

He had wanted to drink, but hadn’t—couldn’t allow himself the escape of oblivion. This was his penance, to survive the long hours of the evening, watching her; the longer ones of silence and desolation, seething, hurting, long after the rest had fallen into their deep whisky-slumber. He needed to think with a clear head—to feel this, to understand.  

Christ, if he could only understand why…! If she felt for him as he for her, why deny him so cruelly? Claire was shrewd, but he’d never known her to be that. Surely she had some reason. Surely, if he could only speak with her…

In the dead of night, the grief and the pain nigh unbearable, his ears pricked up. Someone moving surreptitiously about camp.

Clasping his dirk, he slowly sat up high enough to survey the clearing. Geordie, supposed to be on sentry duty, was sound asleep and Jamie gave a silent prayer of thanks to see Claire moving quietly in the direction of the loch.

Tomorrow, they would reach the crossroads and meet once more with Dougal and the rest; there would be more folk for her to tend; more folk to observe their behavior; to hear about their unorthodox night together. He HAD to speak with her tonight.

He followed quietly, but when they were far enough away to be out of earshot of the sleepers, he spoke. “Sassenach?”

She jumped and whirled, and he instantly raised his hands palms forward. “I’m sorry—” he whispered. He came slowly toward her. “I’m so sorry, lass, I didna mean to frigh—” 

He froze, seeing her clearly now in the moonlight. “…You’re running.”  

It was not a question. She was wearing her traveling cloak, and the bundle she clutched clearly contained her medicine box. Her eyes were wide and her nostrils flaring with deep breaths. She was pointed toward the road, in the opposite direction of the horses.

“And on foot?” His voice was flat. Dead.

She shrugged stiffly, tensed as though ready to bolt. “Didn’t want to risk waking the men.”

“Where?” he croaked. Why?, he wanted to scream.

Her eyes were defiant, wide with alarm and determination. “Back to where I came from—same place I’ve been trying to go since Dougal took me captive.”

“Ye canna just go, Claire,” he said, trying to sound dismissive.

Her face was stone. “I can. I will.”

“Claire, I willna let ye do this.“

“Didn’t realize you were my jailer. What are you going to do, clap me in irons?” She was backing slowly away from him and his desperation was mounting with every pace.

“It’s wild country out there! Wolves and—brigands, and—” He was petrified, heartbroken, grasping at straws to keep her from vanishing. “At least–let me accompany you to your destination—see you safe!”

A sob rising in his throat. Christ, dinna leave this way.

A hoarse gasping as he reached for her.

“Please, mo chridhe–”

Ice in her eyes. “I don’t need your ‘protection,’ Mr. McTavish.”

A knife in his gut.

‘…the protection of my body, Claire…
…yours, now and forever.’

The sound of his heart breaking.

She was leaning into her frenzied defiance. “I did have a life before I fell into your lap, you know!” She realized what she’d said, blushed, and stammered angrily. “I mean—into the–hands of the whole bloody clan. I had a LIFE,” she repeated, “and I’m far past due to return to it!”

“Aye,” he said, low and precise, shaking with anger. “you’ve made it exceedingly clear that there’s nothing whatsoever keeping you here.”

She had the grace to look abashed. “Jamie…” He saw the muscles of her face and throat working furiously; the regret in her eyes. She even took a step toward him and made to touch his arm. “Jamie, please, I’m so…so sorry for—”

He shrugged back from her touch and skirted silently around the edge of camp. She followed him, hissing out his name, but he did not slow his pace until he reached the horses. He located her mount and unhobbled it, leading it a hundred yards away from the others, picking up saddle and gear as he want.

When she at last caught up with him, he plucked the bundle from her arms, fastening it perfunctorily to her saddle.

“Jamie, wait—”

Her face was upturned to him, so white and so perfect it made the pain writhe within his chest. He marshaled his features into his mask of impassivity and gave a cordial nod. “I wish ye the best of fortune in your life, Mistress.

She reached for him, pleading. “Jamie, listen, I—”

He pressed the smaller of his dirks into her hand. “Goodbye, Claire.”

And without a backward glance—though he wished to throw his arms around her and beg her, beg her not to leave—he turned on his heel back toward the fires, listening first to the silence, then the jingle of harness and the sound of hooves going quietly off into the night.

He didn’t sleep that night. He couldn’t. He lay awake, breaking apart, wrapped in a blanket that still held the scent of her hair.


[to be continued]

I feel like it’s important I post this now.

Do I like the WWE product entirely? Fuck no!

But I do enjoy some of it.

And I’m an optimist (I know, it sucks). I hope that things will get better. That’s why I keep watching. And I also find the joy in the small things. There’s always something good in their programs, however small.

I respect the hell out of every single wrestler because I could not do what they do. But that doesn’t mean I love everything they do.

I fully understand that in WWE the wrestlers don’t have the same input and control that they do elsewhere.

My criticisms are all in good fun. I’m not taking this nearly as seriously as some people I see. I make a lot of jokes on here. Everything I say is with a good heart and not meant to offend.

I’m always open for healthy debate and historical review and respectful opinions.

Wrestling is fun. So let’s have fun with it.

If I can make one person laugh with some stupid “live blog lush blog” post, then I feel good about my part in this Tumblr Wrestling World.

Fathoms Below - Part 2 (Mermaids/Pirates AU with Jason Todd)

Part 1

Tagging: @kamuithedragonlord, @blight-incarnate, @avengerdragoness, @birbs-and-the-bat, @just-a-girl-maybe, @axa-vega, @dead-lee-15, @4evahevah, @reddhoodie, @natasha-baggins, @princessnightwing, @just-another-fandomite, @queen-of-all-the-fandoms, @welcometothecity, @fandomdiver, @left-boob-chris, @miraisnotavailable, @robin-writes, @wtfisachoncexx, @fandoms-allovertheplace, @catsandtats1, @shortycraft13, @illeatyoursoulwithmustard, @onmyknees4steve, @cityofdespair9, @jadedhillon, @deltablue202

A/N: I don’t feel incredibly pleased with this part so apologies if it is a bit off. Also, that is a long af tag list lol


Jason was pissed. Well, more than pissed if he was being honest. He had just gotten into another fight with Bruce and it felt as if they were speaking different languages. He just didn’t understand how Bruce could insist he stay in one spot when there was an entire world to explore. The ocean is a gigantic place with myriads of ruins and underwater cities, but Bruce wanted to stay put? Jason needed to wander, he needed to know what adventures and treasures were out there for him to explore. He was aware of the dangers. Not all merfolk are kind, but he knew, if he was given the chance, he could make the ocean safer for all.

Jason swam through a shipwreck. From the noises he sometimes heard coming from the surface, he knew humans must be just as treacherous as his kind was. He sometimes wondered what humans were like and if they felt the same need to adventure that he did. He laughed at the thought. Surely they did, why else would they create these monstrosities to carry them across the water?

Jason reclined on the bow of the sunken ship and looked up. At the depth he was, there wasn’t a lot of light, but that didn’t stop him from watching the world above him glow. He squinted as a dark object came into view. It didn’t move like any sea creature he had seen before and it was sinking pretty quickly. He swam up to it and quickened his pace when he saw what it was.

A young woman, bound in ropes with a rag stuffed in her mouth and she looked to be fading fast. She had been struggling pretty hard when Jason first saw her, but her movements slowed as he grew close. He saw her eyes begin to close as he reached her. As he wrapped his arms around her, he knew he wouldn’t be able to get her back to the surface in time. He cursed as she went limp in his arms.

He removed the fabric from her mouth and cradled her head in his palms. He hesitated as he looked at her unconscious face. Could he really do this? He wondered. What would Bruce say?

His features hardened at the thought. Bruce would let her drown.

“Fuck it.” Jason said before pressing his mouth to hers. He knew the moment she regained consciousness. One of her hands slipped into his hair as she kissed him back, before she realized her situation. She pulled back and gasped for air. He allowed her some space, but didn’t let go. He watched as she took in her surroundings, her eyes growing wide.

“What the hell?” She said as she began to struggle against him.

“Calm down. You are safe now.” Jason said as he held her.

Y/N continued to struggle against his grip. “I’m not going to hurt you, but I need you to stop squirming.” He said gently. Y/N stopped squirming and looked at him. Her eyes took in his dark hair and bright blue eyes. She blushed a little bit as her eyes scanned his torso. Her eyes widened as she took in his scales and tail.

“What are you?” She whispered in shock. She had heard tales of half human creatures that lived in the deep, but she had thought them just stories old sailors tell to pass the time.

“I’m Jason.” He answered, ignoring her use of “what” instead of “who”. He swam back towards the wrecked ship. He set her down on the algae covered boards and removed the ropes from her arms and legs. “Are you okay?”

Y/N rubbed her wrists and thought back to the betrayal of her crew and her almost death. She looked back at the man, well merman, in front of her and noted the genuine concern in his eyes. “I’ll be fine.” She insisted quietly.

“What the actual fuck.” Jason heard a familiar voice say. He cursed and turned around.

“Dick, let me explain.” Jason said quickly. He moved in between Y/N and Dick, creating a protective barrier between the girl he had saved and his angry brother.

“Don’t bother. You can explain it to Bruce because that is where we are going.” Dick said as he grabbed his brother’s arm. Jason sighed and wrapped an arm around Y/N’s waist.

She clung to him as they made their way to the underwater cave that Jason and Dick called home. When they entered, several other merpeople of various ages and colorings turned and stared at her. Y/N cringed and held tighter to Jason. “Don’t worry, most of them don’t bite.” He whispered over his shoulder. He smirked when Y/N poked the back of his head.

“What do we have here?” A tall merman with dark hair asked. Dick and Jason swam up to him.

“Jason kissed a human.” Dick said, pointing to Y/N. The other merfolk in the room gathered around to watch the encounter unfold. Y/N looked from face to face. Most of them were young, around her age if she had to guess, one of them was small, but his eyes were sharp and calculating. As she studied their faces, familiarizing herself with the group surrounding her, she knew that they were scrutinizing her as well.

“I can see that much, Dick.” Bruce said as he turned to Jason. “What I would like to now is why?”

“She was drowning, Bruce. I knew that if I started swimming to the surface, she would be dead by the time I got her above the water. I was planning on taking her up, but she woke up.” Jason answered truthfully. Bruce nodded before turning to look at Y/N. She shrunk back from his scrutiny and his eyes softened.

“I understand. I am not happy about it, but I understand.” Bruce said with a sigh. “That being said, she cannot stay here, but we also cannot let her leave.”

Let the high A flat be strong ladies. Imagine a firefighter bursting through the flames with a new-born child! Strong yet beautiful, graceful yet secure. Let it radiate from your heart in the most genuine way possible. Don’t lose that image.
— 

Director

Types’ Reaction to Random Emojis

I sent some of my friends a cucumber, door, and computer emoji

INTJ: Cucumber door tv… mac computer! (He was so upset when I said there was no deep meaning)

ENFJ: *sends several heart emojis*

ENTJ: What does that mean?

ENFP: thanks

ESTJ: haha

ESFJ: what

INTP: (several hours later) what

ISTJ: *never responds*

“Well done, Double-Oh-Seven,” Q said as he turned to put the kit on the check-in shelf. Bond couldn’t quite believe his ears.

“I beg your pardon?”

Q looked up from his desk over the tops of his glasses. “Well done,” he said again, and quirked that enigmatic smile of his that didn’t quite reach his eyes but was so much more than a routine pleasantry.

And perhaps it was the perfunctory manner in which the praise was delivered, or perhaps it was the sheer impossibility of earning any type of praise from this man at all, but the words warmed Bond in a way that he hadn’t quite been expecting.

“Thank you, Q,” he said, a genuine note of gravity in the words.

Q stopped, looked up, and smiled in a very knowing way that made James wonder if he’d just committed a very serious error in judgement.

***

“Excellent work, Double-Oh-Seven,” Q said. Bond had returned not only the kit but the asset as well - all in pristine working condition. “This makes two in a row, now, I believe.”

“It does?” Bond feigned nonchalance, hands in his pockets as he watched a minion wheel something under a sheet towards a back room.

Q smirked, caught and held Bond’s eyes for a moment that seemed to stretch out further than it needed to, and then said slowly, “You know very well that it is, don’t you?”

“If you say,” Bond replied, his mouth suddenly dry. What was it about those piercing green eyes that felt as though they could see right through him? He pulled up his swagger, affixing it into place to keep those eyes from stripping him completely. “I honestly don’t recall. It’s not my top priority.”

Q laughed, then, bright and genuine and it lit that classically proportioned face so that, impossibly, Bond found it yet more beautiful.

“For a spy, Bond, you truly are a rotten liar.”

It was in that moment that he decided to pursue the Quartermaster in earnest.

OOOOOOOKKAAAAYYYY ika and cassandra are apologizing for their pettiness thus far in the season and are owning up to their faults which caused the division between the girl vets and are establishing genuine trust by sharing notes on their alliances and miscommunications

+ ika and cassandra and gary are on the same page that bruno needs to go asap

okay so i tried my hand at writing for the first time in Years and idk if it’s any good?? idk its just Neil being introspective more that anything, mostly about andrew,, idk,, pls be nice to me it been so long since ive written 


In his 19 years of life Neil Josten had concerned himself with one thing: survival. He knew the concept like he knew every ugly blemish that marred his torso, like he knew the insistent need to get out of there perpetually lodged in his throat, like he knew the feel of cold steel against warm flesh again again again. That is to say he knew what it meant to survive intimately so. Neil knew how to shoot a man to make him bleed out without fatality and he knew how to kill a man without leaving a trace. The snik of a lock successfully picked, the consuming smoke and fire in his lungs, in his throat, on his tongue, the ricochet of a bullet and the resounding finality of the resultant echo were all sensations Neil had familiarised himself with over the years. Fear was something that had woven itself between Neil’s fingertips, burned behind eyes and weighted down his tongue. Intimacy meant feeling his mother’s heartbeat roaring in his ears on those nights it was too close, it was the back of his mother’s hand and the side of his face when he looked too long, it was Lola’s breath on his neck, hot and heavy.

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Why do people who write perfectly nice fics have summaries and author’s notes that read like the most obnoxious Tumblr posts?

anonymous asked:

Don't mind me, just pressing dat like button on all your art. <3 love your stuff!

thats so!! hecKIN SWEET!!!!! tthank u i am Glad u enjoy my art

anonymous asked:

What do you think of kevan speech to tyrion ( when the latter is in jail ) ?

I’m assuming you mean Kevan’s impassioned defence of Tywin, anon?

“Do you think he would allow you to take the black if you were not his own blood, and Joanna’s? Tywin seems a hard man to you, I know, but he is no harder than he’s had to be. Our own father was gentle and amiable, but so weak his bannermen mocked him in their cups. Some saw fit to defy him openly. Other lords borrowed our gold and never troubled to repay it. At court they japed of toothless lions. Even his mistress stole from him. A woman scarcely one step above a whore, and she helped herself to my mother’s jewels! It fell to Tywin to restore House Lannister to its proper place just as it fell to him to rule this realm, when he was no more than twenty. He bore that heavy burden for twenty years, and all it earned him was a mad king’s envy. Instead of the honor he deserved, he was made to suffer slights beyond count, yet he gave the Seven Kingdoms peace, plenty, and justice. He is a just man. You would be wise to trust him.”

- Tyrion IX, ASoS

It explains a decent chunk of Tywin’s psychology, specifically how Tywin’s entire life is overcompensation for his father’s failings as Lord of Casterly Rock. This speech also demonstrates how Kevan feels about Tywin, which is Tyrion’s takeaway from it. (”You love him.”)

But the thing is, we already know that this is terrible analysis of Tywin’s actions. “No harder than he’s had to be”? We saw Tywin give the order to burn the Riverlands. “A just man”? We’re familiar with Tysha’s story by this point. “You would be wise to trust him”? We know who arranged the Red Wedding, thanks. 

What we see here is that Kevan is not the “faithful old mastiff” Cersei thinks of him as (Cersei III, AFFC), but Tywin’s genuine fellow traveller. Note how he refers to restoring House Lannister to its “proper place.” He believes in Lannister supremacy too, and the fact that he sees Tywin’s crimes as proportionate tells us more about Kevan than whether the burning of the Riverlands was remotely justified.

Anakin has always been a strategist

Yes, baby Anakin was sweet and generous and adorable. He was also a kid deeply aware of how he was dehumanized, and willing to use that dehumanization as a tool. Anakin tells Padme straight out that he “wouldn’t have lasted so long anyway if I wasn’t so good at building things.” You can hear the bitterness in his voice. And yet both moments before and moments after, talking to Watto, there’s not a trace of it. Not just that, but it isn’t a blank mask he presents Watto - he’s suddenly a happy kid, easily pleased by a break from his chores. 

That confrontation with Sebulba? Anakin was trading on the fact that even though Sebulba didn’t like him and had the ability to harm him, Anakin was valuable property, property Sebulba didn’t want to pay for damaging. (And it’s obvious the pleasure Anakin takes in baiting him and making him angry, knowing Sebulba can’t retaliate.) He spots Qui-Gon’s lightsaber, recognizes it, and doesn’t say anything until they’re in private.

(He waits to say something until he and his mother discuss, bluntly, the horrors of the slave transmitters with the ‘outlanders’ - people who are from the republic, where slavery is illegal. People who they have indebted to them by offering food and shelter. I’m not saying Anakin and Shmi are running a con, or that Anakin’s kindness isn’t genuine. But it’s worth noting: they’ve set up a situation where people with more power than them are made inescapably aware of how bad off they are, while those people are taking advantage of their hospitality. Then Anakin brings up that Qui-Gon is a jedi - somebody bound by his job to interfere in situations like theirs.)

Anakin was the one who came up with the pod-racing plan, based on his and his mother’s knowledge of their enslaver’s vices. Anakin built a pod, hiding it from his enslaver. He knows exactly what to say to get his mother to agree. If his friends hadn’t revealed his track record, Qui-Gon and Padme wouldn’t have found out he’d never finished a race until it was too late for them to back out.

Anakin is a victim and survivor of slavery, and it shows. He manipulates people, notes and remembers useful information, and is selective in what truths he lets any given person know. Maybe this behavior wouldn’t be worth so much notice in an adult. But Anakin is nine.