he's lost friends

Trying to post this old fan fic AGAIN because Tumblr Mobile keeps eating it up and saying 'something frizzled'

Arryn Lavellan’s hand, that’s what frizzled. And being a vain chap, he is quite concerned about the loss of his limb and how it will affect his relationship with Cassandra. Enjoy some mushy feelzful stuff below!

So, it was done. The Inquisition was about to downsize and become Divine Victoria’s personal guard. Perhaps it would have been wiser to disband altogether, as Leliana suggested - to work from the shadows, while posing as boring, ordinary, law-abiding citizens. But he could never have given that order - not after all that had happened.

He lost Solas, his dear friend and mentor, perhaps even his father figure - he lost him the moment the image he had inside his heart, that of a wise, compassionate, loyal companion was shattered to pieces, and got replaced by a less ugly version of Corypheus (perhaps, this was not entirely true, but for now, he was too blinded by anger at being lied to, and refused to accept the thought that the Dread Wolf was not evil at heart).

He lost his faith in the Creators, something that he had always taken such pride in - like a foolish child, grovelling at the feet of mighty, legendary figures, who in truth turned out to be nothing but selfish, cruel, power-grabbing tyrants, not a whit better than the shemlen oppressors that came after them.

And as if all of that was not enough, he lost his hand, too… With so little remaining for him to hold on to - in every sense of the word - he would not have had it in him to let go of the Inquisition. His Inquisition. The mighty power that he and his friends raised from the ashes and, as good old Thom so wonderfully put it, wielded to shake the world.

The heavy gates of the palace closing behind him, Inquisitor Lavellan squared his shoulders and took a long, heavy breath of nippy evening air. The breath culminated in a short cough; hoarse, scraping, it clawed at his throat as though he had swallowed a large chunk of tumbleweed. By the… wait, he did not have anyone left to swear by, did he? Well, he pondered briefly to himself, there was still Mythal - yes, Mythal seemed like the only one among that rotten bunch with a name worth uttering out loud. So - by Mythal, he was parched! That high-strung speech had really taken quite a tremendous effort - even without all those stuck-up nobles giving him long judgmental looks, and Arl Teagan distrupting his flow of thought by twitching his ridiculous ears.

He could use a drink right now - but it would be probably no use stopping by at the tavern, as the publican had received pretty explicit instructions not to serve the Inquisitor anything stronger than that sickly warm apple cider that the Orlesians had imported, supposedly to cater to (or maybe insult) the Fereldan delegation. Aparently, precautions had to be taken after a certain… incident when, following  the utterly humiliating amputation, Lavellan got drunk and almost burned down an entire palace wing (It was their fault for trying to comfort him! All he ever wanted was to be left alone - but the others just had to keep pestering him, until he lost his temper and cast a wall of fire to make them stay away!).

And because of that incident - which, again, was caused by no-one else but those meddlesome busybodies - he now had nothing to quench his thirst with. There was always water, though - didn’t he see a fountain around the corner somewhere?

Lavellan flinched, imagining himself leaning awkwardly down towards the edge of a stone basin, with nothing but a stupid stump to keep him balanced while he plunged his remaining hand into the cool, bubbling stream… What a pathetic sight he would make - and there were bound to be witnesses, gawking and pointing at the once proud and mighty Inquisitor, who now could not even drink some water out of a goddamn puddle without outside help!

 So, the tavern it was, after all - the cider would have to do. At least they served it in tankards. He could handle a tankard without making a spectacle of himself; and maybe he could sit at a corner table, turning in a way that would block the shameful, useless stub of flesh from view…

‘Hey, there you are!’

Lavellan had not walked two steps down the path to the tavern, when he had to stop, with his path blocked by a familiar short, stocky, and hairy-chested figure. Varric. Got to trust him to pop up, all smug and full of mischief, whenever you were least expecting him - and when you were least in the mood for him.

'I’ve been meaning to give this to you - Cassandra already has one, and she is reading the shit outta it; but I couldn’t possibly leave for Kirkwall without making sure you had your own personal copy! After all, without you, none of this weirdness would never have gotten a happy ending!’

Lavellan blinked in slight confusion, staring down at the small tome that the cordially grinning dwarf was extending to him.

'Remember how during that big old We-Kicked-Corypheus’-Butt party, I told you I was thinking of writing a book about this whole mess?’ Varric asked, as he reached out to flip the tome open, saving the Inquisitor the trouble of fumbling about with only one hand. 'Well, here it is, fresh out of print! I even signed it for you!’

The elf squinted down at the bold handwriting that sprawled across the title page. The message, dashed down in slightly splattering ink, read,

To the one and only Arryn Lavellan.

Hope this will help you always carry the good old days around in your pocket - and you can’t deny that, though weird like the stuff you see when you’ve had too much ale, it was all pretty good!’

As the Inquisitor read the inscription, his lips, which had not been touched by as much as a ghost of a smile ever since he stepped through the final eluvian to confront Solas, slowly slid apart - and this made Varric draw a swift, quiet sigh of relief. But the smile did not last - it faded away the instant the elf, who had begun casually flipping through the book (which the dwarf was still holding up for him), stopped at a random page and began reading more intently.

For the paragraph that he had chanced across ran as follows,

After finally eeling out of the grabby hands of the Council members, I decided to check on the Inquisitor. Last time I saw him, before the Orlesians swept me off (for what must have been the third time that evening!), he was heading towards the balcony with the Empress’ favourite apostate. As a devoted friend, I felt it was my duty to make sure he had not been turned into a frog.

When I made it back to the ball room, I discovered that it was jam-packed with fidgeting, whispering masked nobility of all shapes and sizes - well, mostly of shapes and sizes that prevented me from seeing what in blazes was going on to get them so excited. Most of them were so enthralled that even the trusty old 'Didn’t I see Commander Cullen pass over where?’ did not work. All the same, some of them did get distracted, fluttering off so that I could elbow my way towards the front lines. And when I did, the only reaction I was capable of was a loud whistle.

There was only one couple on the dance floor, and it drew the gazes of everyone for miles around like an generous spoonful of honey draws bees and wasps. Well, you could hardly blame those stunned onlookers - it’s not every day that you see a tattooed wild elf not only make his way into the palace, but also save the empress and (more importantly!) knock all their socks and garters off by dancing first with the Grand Dutchess, and then with a (somewhat) blue-blooded Nevarran lady!

That’s right - the show-stealer was none other than my good friend Lavellan, sweeping Cassandra off in a fast, rhythmic dance that echoed her ecstatic heartbeat. Apparently, after we cleaned up the Grand Dutchess’ mess, she had had time to attach the skirt to the dark-blue dress-slash-light-armour-piece that the Inquisitor had tricked her into buying in Val Royaux - and it seemed to me that every rustle of the cloth against the floor was accompanied by intense crackling, as the air around every Orlesian lady electrified with envy.

 Lavellan’s partner did not mind the whispering Orlesians one bit, completely lost in the elf’s deep amber eyes - but Lavellan himself, though halfway towards that dreamy, unresponsive stupor that came over him when he spent a long enough time with Cassandra, was still alert enough to hear my whistle. For a moment, the Inquisitor turned his head to face me - and when our eyes met, I gave him a silent thumbs-up, which he returned, while still supporting Cassandra’s waist with his free hand…

'I worked extra hard on the lovey-dovey bits,’ Varric confessed, 'Do let me know if you hear Cassandra squeal while reading them. Giggles would be nice, too. And please tell me how she reacts to the description of that birthday present of yours - you know, when you hid naked in her room and…’

Lavellan did not let him finish. Jerking his hand off the book as though it had stung him, he turned on his heels and marched off without saying a word. As, utterly flabbergasted, Varric gaped at the elf’s withdrawing back, he thought he saw his shoulders twitch.

'He wanted to, you know,’ a soft, sing-song voice breathed into the dwarf’s ear, as a lanky, pallid boy materialized at his side.

'Hey kid!’ Varric exclaimed. 'You not back to the Fade yet? I admit, I’m gonna miss your riddle-talk…’

As it was usually in his manner, the 'kid’ ignored him, and went on,

'Sunlight warming the white stone steps as they sit side by side, unravelling tangled threads of confusion. It was all a joke, a trick - your trick - but he wanted to make it real. He wanted to propose - no, not wanted; wanting. He has been wanting. For a long, long time. But he kept putting it off, storing it away, a little pure thought, hidden in his mind like a tiny glass marble in the furthest cupboard drawer. But it grows now; it swells and burns - a coiling clot of hurt. He feels broken, useless and worn; an empty, bent-in flask, with good wine all spent. He thinks that if he does it now, he will tie her down… An old ball and chain… He fell in love with the fire inside her heart, and he is afraid of putting it out. The light burns for the Seekers, for order restored; she should be out there, helping, building, inspiring - not baby-sitting a cripple…’

The dwarf shook his head.

'That stupid, stubborn elf! I did not write a wagonload of mushy scenes with these two only to see him break it off! You know what, kid - I am staying until this is sorted out!’

And so he stayed. They all did. Days went by, and the people of Halamshiral could still see the Iron Bull sitting languidly in the tavern chair, his legs stretched forward, shaking his head condescendingly as his second-in-command made tentative attempts to woo the resident bard; they could still hear loud bursts of laughter, as Warden Thom Rainier and Sera swapped stories of their escapades; they could still catch glimpses of Commander Cullen racing through the parkland with his Mabari, and Lady Josephine busily bustling off somewhere with a stack of important-looking papers tucked away under her arm. It was rather odd, they said to themselves, after dodging yet another pie thrown at them by the cackling blonde imp in a tattered red blouse. One might have expected a few of the Inquisition’s representatives to remain in Orlais, given that now they were bound to the Divine (who, incidentally, devoted suspiciously copious amounts of time to discussing something with Lady Nightingale is dramatic undertones). But, from the looks of it, the entire lot of them had decided to linger!

Whatever was keeping them, the Orlesians wondered. Didn’t Rainier have his duties at Weisshaupt; didn’t the Bull’s Chargers have to go out there and make a living as mercenaries; didn’t that Ambassador Pavus intend to head off to Tevinter as soon as the Exalted Council was over? And whatever was Seeker Pentaghast up to, sweeping as she did through the streets, accosting random merchants with emphatic gestures and brandishing what looked like a long and messy shopping list in their faces?

Nag as they did at the bewildered citizens of Halamshiral, these questions all slipped past Inquisitor Lavellan, who for days on end forcibly buried himself in paperwork, to keep his mind off the persistent urge to scratch an itch in his left palm - only to end up grasping at thin air and cursing furiously under his breath… and also to try and forget the dreams he kept having: a jumbled, painful mess of colours and faces, among which he could sometimes discern Solas, mocking him for being such a gullible little pawn in his game, or Cassandra, turning away from him in fear and disgust. The latter was the reason why Lavellan avoided the Seeker as much as he could in his waking moments. Whenever he caught sight of her, or thought he heard her voice, he remembered, with vivid precision that made his stomach knot painfully, the last kiss that they shared in front of the eluvian, after reassuring one another of their love. It happened so recently, and yet so long ago - back when he still had two hands to hold her, and comfort her, and protect her. And now - now that kiss, and all those words they said, for all their tenderness, meant nothing. Absolutely nothing. He had become a disfigured monstrosity, and she would never love him the way she used to; she would pity him, perhaps, as a devout Andrastian like her would pity any crippled beggar that had wandered into the Chantry seeking shelter - and he was too proud to accept pity. He would not take alms, thank you very much.

But even though Lavellan fled from Cassandra whenever their paths crossed, it turned out that he would not be able to hide from her forever. For one day, as he was poring over his papers, trying to figure out which Inquisition resources to give up and which to spare for countering the Fen Harel cult, he was distracted from his task by a polite cough. Lifting his head, he saw Leliana, standing on ceremony at a respectful distance away from his desk, with her forehead furrowed and her expression very sombre.

'Whatever is the matter?’ the elf asked gruffly.

'Cassandra wants to see you,’ the Spymaster reported. 'It is urgent’.

Lavellan stiffened in his seat, studying Leliana’s grim, almost ashen face. He had never seen her like this before… except maybe when she prayed in her tent in Haven, shortly after the old Divine had died. Oh dear heavens… Whatever had happened to Cassandra?!

His heart racing so madly that he felt deafened by the ringing in his temples, Lavellan jolted to his feet, knocking back his chair, and cried out incoherently,

'What… Why?’

'You had better come in person,’ Leliana responded, in the same solemn manner. 'You will find her here’.

She pointed down at the sketchy plan of the royal residence and the surrounding streets, laid out before the Inquisitor. Lavellan glanced down at it hastily and, jerking it out from beneath a rustling heap of paperwork, rushed off, too busy chanting, 'Please, please let her be safe!’ to hear the Spymaster exhale loudly, as if she had been underwater all this time, and let out a burst of laughter.

When he arrived at the place that Leliana had marked on his map, he felt more than slightly disoriented. He was pretty certain that this was supposed to be a dead-end back alley; he had gotten a pretty good idea which passage led where during his trotting hither and thither in search of Qunari spies - and yet, this particular alley looked nothing like what he remembered.

It was as if he had wandered into some sort of ornate pavilion, with a light, web-like wooden grid overhead, barely visible beneath twisting plant tendrils, heavy with brightly coloured blossoms. Frowning and twirling the map as best he could, the elf stepped forward - and choked a little, as the air had suddenly grown dense with some sort of heady smell, which seemed to somehow originate… from the ground? As he glanced down at his feet, he realized that, all along both sides of the path through the greenhouse, there were small, round incense candles, placed neatly in two parallel lines, at equal distances from one another - except in one place, where the line was broken… by an enormous jar, which stood perched against a flower pot.

Gradually beginning to give up any attempts to figure out what was going on, Lavellan approached the jar and peered inside. The curious vessel turned out to contain cookies - large, round cookies with chunks of chocolate stuffed generously into them. Lavellan clenched his fists… fist, dammit! He would never get used to his left hand being gone!.. and gave the jar a frustrated kick. Sera and her crazy pranks! Of course! He knew something was off with this street! But… He drew back from the jar, running his fingers thoughtfully through his hair. But why would Leliana condone her behaviour - and even take part in the prank herself? And what did Cassandra have to do with any of this?

His intensive pondering was interrupted by the sound of a voice coming out from the other end of the alley-turned-greenhouse - a voice that shot through his heart and stomach like a shard of red lyrium. Her voice.

’..And I shall love the still, my dear,

Till all the seas go dry,

Till all the seas go dry, my dear,

And all the rocks melt with the sun…’

She was pronouncing every word of those lines with great care, like a diligent student reciting her homework; but under the surface, he could feel her voice strain with emotion. Still puzzled, he walked forward, drawn towards the sound like a moth to a flame, feeling slightly dizzy with the incense smell - and then stopped, swaying slightly, as she stepped out of the greenish darkness, and embraced him before he could stumble and fall down. But he jerked free of her grasp, as it finally dawned on him what this was supposed to mean. She was reenacting his very first attempt to properly court her - only with roles reversed; and by doing that, she giving him a cruel reminder of how sweet, how idyllic everything was once.. when he was whole. Granted, that did not quite explain the cookies - but, damn it all, he did not care about the cookies any longer!

Perhaps it was the inebriating influence of the incense, or the overwhelming torrent of memories that flooded his mind - but instead of snapping angrily at Cassandra, as he expected himself to, Lavellan suddenly burst into tears.

'Why are you doing this?!’ he sobbed wheezingly, staggering a few steps away from Cassandra. 'Why are you mocking me?! T-taunting me with the past?’

'I am not!’ she exclaimed in protest, as she attempted to catch hold of his only hand; he thought he could see concern in her eyes, but he still pointedly turned away.

'I am trying to show you that things are not any different now from the way they were back then!’

'You are wrong,’ Lavellan said through his teeth, continuing to draw away from her every time she attempted to look at him. 'Everything has… changed…’

'Not everything,’ Cassandra objected firmly, finally weaving her fingers through the elf’s. 'You are still you, and I am still me. And I will stay true to my promise to always be there for you’.

'I will be a burden,’ the elf breathed, still not daring to look into the human’s eyes. 'You wanted to accomplish so much…’

'And I will,’ she said. 'With you beside me’.

He could tell by her voice that she had to be smiling; his heart jolting slightly, he finally brought himself to look at her face, to see if it was so - and proved himself right. She was smiling - one of the happiest, purest smiles he had ever seen light up her face.

'You… You are not disgusted, are you?’ he whispered, feeling flushed and breathless as she drew closer to him, their faces almost touching. This must have been how she felt, that night in the grove near Skyhold, when he surprised her with poetry and candles.

'Do you really think me so shallow? So ungrateful?’ Cassandra asked, wrapping her arms tightly around him. 'When I saw you writhe in pain as your Mark burned, my heart stopped… I thought I would lose you - but the Maker brought you back to me, again, and I could not be more thankful’.

He was not certain how the kiss happened - perhaps she concluded her little speech of encouragement with it, or perhaps he began it earlier, interrupting her; but before either of them knew it, the lock of their embrace grew even stronger than before, and their mouths crashed forcibly against each other, their breaths melting into one endless, scorching sigh.

It was Lavellan who finally broke away, panting slightly; jerking his head, as though to shake off the last remnants of the kiss’ enchantment, he frowned and said,

'Dammit, Cassandra! You made me want to…’

'Why didn’t you?’ she asked him calmly. 'I would not have protested’.

He gestured meaningfully towards his empty sleeve.

'How can I hold you? Touch you? It would have been awkward and fumbling and…’

'You would have found a way,’ she reassured him, smiling again. 'You have always been a crafty little elf. And so full of yourself… I rather miss that Arryn - and I…’ she paused for a moment to search for the right words. ’… I demand that you be full of yourself again!’

Lavellan did not say anything for a long time, allowing Cassandra to take hold of his hand again and steer him towards the nearest bench (there were benches here, too? How on earth did they get here?). When he finally broke the silence, he spoke through a smile - a rather strained smile, tinged with sadness, but a smile nonetheless,

'I wish I could reproduce that Tevinter time magic and go back to the Temple of Sacred Ashes to smack my younger self on the head, for constantly insulting the amazing woman he was fortunate to have at his side’.

'She was not that amazing back then,’ Cassandra said quietly, while fumbling around her in search of something that apparently kept eluding her grasp, 'She was harsh and unforgiving towards a certain elven mage… Ah! There it is!’

'What is it?’ Lavellan asked, watching her pick up a small, tattered, leather-bound book that she must have misplaced during the kiss.

'It’s something I want you to see,’ Cassandra replied, suddenly sounding a little flustered, 'It was… Cole’s idea, actually. He… sensed your pain, and came to me…’

'He wanted you to make me read poetry?’ the elf raised his eyebrows in bewildernment. 'How is that supposed to help me?’

'It is not… exactly poetry,’ now Cassandra’s tone was more than slightly flustered - much, much more. 'Just - look. I wroteit down because… I… I thought it would give my words more weight… I - I suppose…’

Glancing up at Cassandra, Lavellan saw that she was no blushing so deeply that her face almost seemed darker than her hair. Deciding to spare her from further embarrassment, he took the little book from her and spread it out on his knees.

Just as Cassandra said, it was not a volume of poetry - rather, it seemed to be some sort of journal or notebook… Only its pages were completely blank, save for two words, spelled out in gigantic letters, so that each of them took up the entirety of its respective page,


And that was it. Nothing but his own name. This did not make any sense! Although - wait, was that a comma after 'Lavellan’? Yes, definitely: a comma, not a period. This had to mean that there was more!

Catching the corner of the page between his fingers, Lavellan flipped it over - and sure enough, there were two more words, the very same words that he had been meaning to say but could not, shackled and silenced by his own uncertainty and fear and shame,



'I must say, it was quite impressive how you put that lovely pavilion together at such short notice!’ Josephine said, taking a delicate sip out of her goblet.

Rainier coughed loudly and stared down at his hands, the tips of his ears reddening.

'I, uhm… I suppose I am good at this sort of thing, m'lady…’

'And to think your lumbering gang almost ruined such craftsmanship by lugging all those flower pots around!’ Dorian clicked his tongue in mock reproach, as he allowed Bull to pour him another drink.

'Hey, watch it!’ the Tal-Vashoth retaliated, with a big grin. 'They pulled it off like darn professionals! Sneaking around in the back alleys, past all those Orlesians, not dropping a single pot! And Dalish making those vines crawl all the away up above with her m…’

'Mighty gardening abilities!’ Krem hurried to cut in. 'Yeah, we had good training in sneakiness during your birthday, chief!’

'Did any of you make sure that the candles were perfectly symmetrical?’ Divine Victoria joined the conversation, lowering herself on one of the couches around the chess table with as much grace as her long robes allowed. 'Everything has to be immaculate for such an important occasion!’

Sera snorted.

'Candles schmandles! I might have knocked over a few when I was stuffing the jar  - but I put them back… I think. At least I didn’t start a fire or anything’.

'I’d say that candles are far more important for setting the mood than your cookies, my dear’, the Divine remarked, pursing her lips.

'Absolutely!’ Dorian agreed. 'I picked out the scents myself! This handsome nose is the only one you can trust around here!’

'They have been in there for a while now,’ Cullen remarked nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. 'Do you think the plan came through?’

'You worry too much, Commander!’ Leliana smiled. 'You should know better than doubt either Cassandra, or the Inquisitor! Focus on more important things, like what you are going to wear for the big day!’

'Big day indeed,’ Josephine sighed, 'I feels as if we invited half of Thedas!’

'You know that Cass will be mighty pissed if the finds out that you are throwing a party, right?’ Sera pointed out, picking up a frilly cake off the saucer on the table and stuffing it inside her mouth.

'She does seem the type to hate huge weddings,’ Rainier added.

'Yeah… And she hasn’t even seen the dress yet,’ Varric concluded with a chuckle.

I was driving home today as I passed by all the places we used to go together. It was in the midst of our bittersweet memories when I realized I took you to all my favorite places.
All my favorite places that I can never return to again.
—  Everything reminds me of you

bucky was 24 when he joined the army

steve was also 24 when he enlisted in the army and still 24 when he became their supersoldier

bucky was 27 when he died, 7 days before his 28th birthday

steve was 26 when he died

steve is 26 when he wakes up in 2011 and 26 during the battle of new york

steve is 29 when he finds out bucky survived and 29 during shields collapse

steve is 30 when he takes on leading the avengers full-time and, a few months later, he is 30 years old and standing in a flying city talking to natasha how that would be a good place to die

Here’s the thing for me. About those scenes with Merle and “John.”

At the start, I couldn’t help but feel a little annoyed that Clint wasn’t asking different questions. Travis clearly had the same thoughts I did–tactically, Merle was playing it poorly. He gave more information than he needed and asked vague questions that didn’t yield practical intel on how to fight the Hunger. 

If it had been Taako, he’d have asked clever questions and been focused on getting info out of the Hunger, on besting it. If it had been Magnus, he would have straight up asked, “how do we kill you” and likely learned at least something from that. But this wasn’t Taako’s or Magnus’s role to play. 

Merle was approaching parley the way it was meant to be approached. Not as a warrior looking for a way to kill the Hunger, but as a diplomat trying to understand it. He approached it with an open mind. To the point where he was eventually able to ask “are you my friend?” 

He asked that of this nightmare entity, this thing that’s caused so much death and suffering–that’s killed him dozens of times. Maybe he’s just that able to open his heart. Or maybe despite the religious ideals he tries to project as a cleric, he’s someone who–whether the person in question is a human, or a god, or a sinister consuming force—just wants people to like him. 

Whatever the reason, he was able to look at the Hunger and try to reason with it. To talk to it earnestly about the value of life, and hope.

It didn’t listen. And when it didn’t listen, I actually believe Merle was disappointed. That for a moment he had hoped the Hunger could be better. Instead, he told the Hunger off, and said he didn’t want to see him anymore. 

And the Hunger is sad. For the first time in who even can guess how long, the Hunger feels sorrow, and regret. Because for a moment he had a friend, and then he lost that friend. Because of his own actions.

Merle didn’t learn how to kill the Hunger, he didn’t learn any information that could help them slow it down or get to the Light of Creation faster. But what he did hurt it more than any weapon ever could. 

I rewatched The Avengers today and I finally realized why Steve is such an ass. I can’t believe I never understood before. 

Steve literally crashed a plane into a glacier over the Tesseract. He lost his best friend and the opportunity to be with the love of his life over the Tesseract. Of course he’s pissed off and unwilling to help when Fury comes to bother him about the fucking Tesseract.  

This is the same fight he fought during WWII. It’s the fight they told him he won when they defrosted him. Of course he’s mad. Probably betrayed and frustrated, too.  

I was always disappointed in The Avengers for depicting Steve this way and now I’m embarrassed because I never understood the reasoning behind it. I’ve seen the light.

anonymous asked:

hi can i ask for some broganes headcanons if it isn’t too much


  • keith is lying down on the trampoline and shiro jumps on it so he can’t get up. keith is screaming the whole time
  • keith: “look at this shiro” shiro: “whipped cream on anchovies? gross, you’re not gonna” -keith inhaling the whole thing in one bite- shiro: “…well you didn’t get it from my side of the family” 
  • they play mario kart and it ends with keith sitting on shiro’s shoulders yelling and pulling his hair while shiro screeches 
  • keith: “shiro i love you do you know that?” shiro: “lmao new phone who dis” 
  • keith: “shiro i love you you’re my favourite brother” shiro: “i’m your only brother you snake” 
  • shiro ran a minecraft gaming channel when he was 11, and in all his videos you see 3 year old keith waddling around in the background and biting the heads off barbies 
  • shiro: “keith if you don’t stop jumping on my bed i’m going to commit fratricide” 
  • keith is lactose intolerant and tries to drink 3L of chocolate milk in one go while shiro cries and tries to wrestle the bottle away from him 
  • they both tie their hair into little floofs at the front and laugh until they cry because it keeps bounces around
  • 16 year old shiro lets 8 year old keith sit at the front of his motorbike while they drive down the highway, and keith shrieks from laughter because he’s never been so happy 
  • when he gets in the flight simulator for the first time it feels exactly the same, a rush of exhilaration that makes his head spin and his nerves light up like they’re on fire 
  • shiro takes him up on their roof to show him stars and teach him about constellations, and keith falls asleep with shiro stroking his hair 
  • he looks up at those same stars when he’s alone in the desert, and cries because he lost his best friend 
  • when keith first started kindergarten, shiro walked him to his class and wiped away his tears, kissing his head and saying ‘i’ll always be with you, ok buddy?’ 
  • when keith first started at the garrison, shiro walked him to class and ruffled his hair (much to keith’s embarrassment), saying again ‘i’ll always be with you, ok buddy?’ 
  • he didn’t mean to lie 
Reggie Mantle x Reader: Flower Power


A Reggie x Reader where the reader starts giving Reggie a flower each day and he’ll wear it in his hair and lots of fluff please?


A/N: This one was so cute to write, so I hope you guys enjoy. Also sorry for being a bit slow on uploading requests my cat likes to bother me while I write. Tomorrow I’m going to be busy, so don’t expect much tomorrow sorry. Also the reader will be a Lodge in this imagine and is moving in to Riverdale with her family after what her dad did.

Words: 1207

Summary: Reader is new to Riverdale and she hears all these rumors about Reggie Mantle from her sisters (Veronica) friend Betty, but she believes in goodness in everyone even Reggie.

Spoilers: N/A

Warnings: Reggie and Reader cuteness overload.

Moving was hard, moving away from all your friends and everything you’ve even known and starting from scratch was harder. Your mother Hermione always talked fondly about her time at Riverdale. She and your father grew up there and since your mother had some property there, you were now moving from the radiant awake city that was New York.

What made it easier was your sister Veronica, she was the more stylish one, and you were only a few months apart. She was your partner in crime, you don’t think you could survive without her.

You moved into Riverdale in the middle of the downpour. The chaos of a murderer on the loose and the beloved quarterback Jason Blossom life came to sad end.

Veronica made friends with a sweet girl named Betty in the summer and Betty introduced you to her friends. Kevin had no filter which you loved, Archie was complicated (but he was good at music and hoped to join the football team when school started a bit of a cliché). Jughead Jones the Third he claimed, was a bit of a mystery, but a great writer.

One day you were all hanging out in the park, when you saw him alone with his dog.

“Who’s that?” you interrupted the conversation and pointed at the tall figure with luscious black hair.

“That’s Reggie Mantle” Kevin answered.

“Reggie” you cheered and Veronica gave you a smirk.

“He’s kind of a player (Y/N)” Betty chimed in.

“So is Veronica, that doesn’t mean I can hate and judge my sister” you chuckled as she gave you a nudge in the shoulder as the group laughed.

“He’s also a bully” Jughead spoke while typing away on his laptop.

“Sorry that he bullies you, but bullies do have a reason for bullying even if it’s not the best argument, they have a reason” you reasoned.

“Why’d you think he bullies me?” Jughead retorted as he lifted his eyebrow.

“Oh, just a hunch” you replied with a smile on your face “I’ll be back” you shared with them as you stood up from the bench and walked towards Reggie, not wanting to be empty handed you picked up a daisy from the grass.

“Cute dog, does it have a name?” you gestured at Reggie.

“Vader” he answered as you reached your hand out to give him the daisy as he gave you a puzzled look.

“I come in peace” you reassured as you placed the small flower on his right ear.

“My name is (Y/N)” you pointed out as Vader was running after his tail.

“Reggie, you new around here?” he questioned as he fixed the daisy in his ear.

“That obvious, or is it the fact that in small towns everybody knows everybody” you chuckled.

“Well that, and you’re talking to me” he implied with a small smile.

“Well, I don’t know you and if I listened to what everyone had to say I could miss out on some great things” you claimed with a smile on your face and he chuckled.

You and Reggie actually became great friends. He confided in you on things he’d never say to anyone, you would even go jogging together every morning and you made sure to always have a flower for him, and he always sweetly placed it in his ear. He also promised to leave Jughead alone.

Tomorrow was going to be your first day at Riverdale High. Your mother, Veronica and you occupied the dinner table as Smithers brought you your food.

“So mija” your mother spoke “I heard you have been hanging out with Reggie Mantle a lot” your mother directed at you.

“Yeah, I have, he’s a really great guy” you claimed.

“Rumor has it-” your mother was cut off by you.

“Rumor has it what?! Mom, I cannot stand it when people label people before getting to know them. We are who are, not what people say we are. I am not a corrupt money taker like people claim because of my father’s mistake. Reggie is who he is, he shows a different side to the world and it is a privilege to know the real Reggie. Besides he just lost a friend to a murderer on the loose in your beloved Riverdale mom. I don’t want to hear any more of this.” You ranted and dropped your fork, now at a loss in your appetite because of your mother.

“I’m sorry (Y/N), I- I was out of line, and you are so correct” your mother concluded and Ronnie took your hand in hers.

The school day was about to start and Betty was assigned to show you and Veronica around. Betty pointed you to your first class as you scanned the hallways for Reggie to give him his flower of the day.

“Do you really think he’ll take your flower in front of the whole school and his neanderthals?” Ronnie questioned you as Betty gave you a small smile.

“If he doesn’t, then you were all right. I wasted my time getting to know a great guy who was too scared to show his true self to the world, and I’ll never speak to him again.” You proclaimed.

You left Betty and Veronica and made your way to Reggie who was at his locker with his posse.

“Hey Reg” you spoke up a bit nervous because you were really hoping he wouldn’t turn you down because you enjoyed hanging out with him.

“Hey (Y/N)” Reggie turned away from his posse.

“Hmm, you’re wearing a cap” you gave him a sad smile.

“That’s okay” he answered with a chuckle as he placed the flower on the hole of his snapback.

You couldn’t help but place a huge smile on your face as he showed of his flower of the day for all the school to see.

Later you were home alone your mom was working at Pops and Veronica was trying out for the River Vixens with Betty, since Smithers had just stepped and you jumped when you heard the doorbell ring.

A bit scared since you were binge watching Criminal Minds and there was a murderer on the lose you grabbed a bat and opened the door.

“Whoa! (Y/N) you can but the bat down it’s just me” Reggie removed the bat from your hands and dropped it as you let him in.

“What you got there?” you cheered at the bouquet of flowers Reggie had in his hands.

“Um” Reggie scratched his head as he still had his flower of the day on his forehead clinging from the snapback “I- I was hoping you would accompany me to the homecoming dance this Friday” he confessed as you took the bouquet.

“Oh my god” you gasped at the bouquet.

“Yeah um it has every single flower you have given me” he concluded as you pulled him into a hug.

As soon as he let go you planted a kiss on his soft lips and mentally thanked the universe for letting him into your life no matter what anyone said.

“So that’s a yes” Reggie cheered as you both let go.

“For you, a thousand times over (This is a quote from The Kite Runner)” you smiled.

Tag: @sgarrett49 @oharchiekinz 

Do you ever think about how during mid S2, Isak had just ran away from home and was just so lost and scared and ended up living in the kollektiv’s basement. He was so scared of going back home, and I can’t imagine how he was feeling. Because he moved out from home when he wasn’t even 17. He was 16 years old. And then during the summer he officially moved in there and took Noora’s old room.

And in another place, same universe and same time, there was Even who just had his whole life turned upside down. With everything that happened in Bakka and feeling like he lost his friends, and just feeling so ashamed. He felt like everything and everyone turned against him. That he was destined to be alone. He just didn’t see the point of it anymore.

But can you believe that the universe told them to just wait? “I know that you’re feeling alone, but you just wait” “just hold on for a little bit longer” “there’s something good coming your way, trust me”

The universe told them to just wait, because a few months later they’d both find themselves at Nissen and their eyes would meet and they’d just know.

And it was like: “then my soul saw you and it kind of went ‘Oh, there you are. I’ve been looking for you.’”
  • Yata, in middle school: *Praying* It's me again. I need someone to be my friend. Someone who won't run away. Maybe send me an angel. The nicest angel you have.
  • Fushimi: *Emerges from spaceship wreckage, laughing maniacally*

Please keep praying for John. He died shielding strangers from the gunshots. And please also pray for his son, Travis who was also shot (in the arm), but continued to help other victims until he had to carry his father out to a hospital where he died from his injuries. Please pray for his five children and one grandchild he left behind. They have now lost both of their parents in horrible ways. Especially pray for his youngest daughter who is only 14 and now orphaned. Please pray for everyone affected by the shooting.

“Good wombs hath borne bad sons.” - William Shakespeare, The Tempest, Act 1, Scene 2, Page 6

Remembering and acknowledging the mothers of some of history’s most notorious serial killers and mass murderers. No one can truly know how they would react to their own flesh and blood committing acts of true horror unless it actually happens to them. Let us hope it never happens to you. But to these women it did. Their own sons went out and committed acts of unspeakable cruelty and malice. In some cases they defended their own son’s guilt in the face of irrefutable evidence out of the blindness of love, others have been brave enough to learn from their son’s acts and speak out, others have understandably hidden from the public eye, and most tragic of all - some of these women were the victims of their own sons.

Clockwise, starting from the top left.

Sue Klebold, mother of Columbine High School shooter Dylan Klebold - On April 20th 1999 Sue Klebold’s son Dylan called out ‘Bye!’ to her before leaving the house unusually early. This was the last word she would ever here from him as later that day he murdered five people during the Columbine High School massacre. Sue is perhaps the most well known of these women, speaking publicly several times about her son and writing a book ‘A Mother’s Reckoning’ about her son and her experience as well as campaigning tirelessly for greater recognition on mental health issues.

Eleanor Louise Bundy, mother of Ted Bundy - Eleanor Louise Bundy gave birth to Ted unmarried. His true father is unknown and for many years during Ted’s childhood he lived under the masquerade that his mother was actually his sister. Eleanor long proclaimed her son’s innocence even during his Florida trials, describing Ted as the ‘perfect son’. Bundy murdered at least 35 women and was executed in Florida in 1989. Eleanor Louise Bundy died in 2012.

Joyce Dahmer, mother of Milwaukee Cannibal Jeffrey Dahmer - During much of Jeffrey’s childhood his mother Joyce and father Lionel were embroiled in bitter arguments contributing to Jeffrey’s descent into alcoholism. Joyce Dahmer stayed in contact with her son Jeffrey during his incarceration, stating that in her weekly phone calls whenever she conveyed worry for her son Jeffrey would answer with comments to the effect of: “It doesn’t matter, Mom. I don’t care if something happens to me.” Joyce Dahmer died in 2000, six years after her son was murdered in prison.

Kathy Harris, mother of Columbine High School Shooter Eric Harris - Kathy Harris has, unlike Sue Klebold, made no media appearances since her son’s murder of eight people during the Columbine High School massacre and his subsequent suicide. Sue Klebold has stated that she had been in contact with the Harris’ since the massacre but would not want to speak on Kathy or Eric’s father Wayne’s behalf. One can only imagine what a heartbreaking experience Kathy has had.

Peggy Brady, mother of Moors Murderer Ian Brady - Described as ‘Britain’s most evil serial killer’ Brady was responsible for the murder of at least five children alongside his accomplice Myra Hindley. Ian was born to his unmarried mother Peggy in Glasgow, Scotland in 1938. The identity of Ian’s father remains unverified and he was given up for adoption to a local couple a few months after his birth as Peggy was unable to raise him alone. The mother and son remained in contact however, Brady even being permitted to leave prison in 2013 to visit his mother aged in her 90′s. Ian Brady died earlier this year aged 79.

Kitty Menendez, mother of Erik and Lyle Menendez - Mary Louise Menendez worked as a teacher until she quit after the birth of her son Lyle. She attended the University of Southern Illinois where she met Cuban emigre José Menendez. The couple married and had two sons: Erik and Lyle Menendez before moving to California. Kitty and her husband José were murdered by their own sons. Kitty was shot in the leg and several times in the arm, chest and face leaving her unrecognisable.

Nancy Lanza, mother of Sandy Hook Elementary School shooter Adam Lanza - Nancy Lanza was married to Adam’s father Peter until their divorce in 2009. Nancy suffered from health problems, having to visit New York for treatment for her MS. Nancy loved art, music and going to baseball games being an avid fan of the Boston Red Sox. On the morning of December 14th 2012 Nancy was asleep in her bed in her pajamas when her son Adam shot her in the face with a shotgun before driving to Sandy Hook Elementary School and killing 20 children and 6 more adults before committing suicide.

Clarnell Stage, mother of Co-Ed Killer Edmund Kemper - Edmund was Clarnell’s only son. Clarnell separated from her husband (and Edmund’s father) in 1957 wherein Edmund was moved to Montana to live with his mother permanently. Clarnell exhibited abusive behaviour to her son, forcing him to sleep in a locked basement, calling him “a real weirdo” to his face and refusing to coddle him because “it would turn him gay”. After a span of killings that took the lives of 9 others, Edmund bludgeoned his mother Clarnell to death in her sleep and cut her throat with a knife on April 20th, 1973. He then turned himself in to the police.

Arlene Holmes, mother of Aurora Theatre Shooter James Holmes - Arlene has spoken publicly since her son’s massacre in 2012. She is currently working to increase awareness of mental health issues stating: “The way that I want to honour [the victims’] injuries and their distress is to try and help prevent something this bad from happening again.” She has urged more importantly than anything else that those suffering from mental illness seek help immediately.

Zubeidat Tsarneva, mother of Boston Bombers Tamerlan Tsarnaev and Dzhokhar Tsarnaev -  Zubeidat has long protested her son’s innocence. She has remained unwavering in her support for him and stated in 2013 that America were “the real terrorists”.

Li-Chin Rodger, mother of Santa Barbara gunman Elliot Rodger - Li-Chin is a Malaysian Chinese emigre who met her husband Peter Rodger whilst working as a research assistant for a film company. They had two children: Elliot and Georgia. Li-Chin and her husband divorced in 1998 less than two years after they had moved to Los Angeles from England. Li-Chin saw her son’s youtube videos wherein he complained about the unfairness of females not noticing him. Because of their content the police were alerted, they interrogated Elliot but made no arrest or further investigation. Elliot murdered 6 people and injured 14 others before committing suicide.

Augusta Wilhelmine Gein, mother of Ed Gein - Augusta married George Phillip Gein but came to resent him later in life due to his alcoholism and inability to hold down a steady job. Augusta was a zealous Lutheran Christian, preaching to her son Ed frequently about hell and immorality whilst they lived together in complete isolation on a 155 acre farm they owned in Wisconsin. She would often choose the most graphic old testament verses of the Bible to read to young Ed. After Augusta had a stroke after her husband’s death she required constant care from Ed. She became enraged when Ed took her to visit a nearby farmer to buy straw and witnessed him living with a woman to whom he was not married. Augusta died of a second stroke on December 29th 1945 causing Ed Gein irrevocable devastation - he had lost his one friend and love in the entire world.

Marion Elaine Robinson, mother of John Wayne Gacy - Gacy was abused by his alcoholic father and sexually abused by other members of his family during his youth. He also suffered from a heart condition which Gacy’s father denied existed. Gacy however had a good relationship with his mother. She never doubted his illness and was sure to get him the help he needed. Additionally when he stole at a young age his mother publicly forced him to apologise and return the items. However this led to him gaining the reputation of being a ‘mama’s boy’ and a ‘sissy’. Marion remained in contact with her son even after his incarceration. She died in 1989, five years before her son’s execution in 1994.

Mercedes Ramirez, mother of Night Stalker Richard Ramirez - Mercedes Ramirez had five children with her husband Julian Ramirez. She was a Catholic Christian and raised Richard in the same faith. She and her husband emigrated to El Paso, Texas in the United States from Mexico. She worked in a factory wherein she was exposed to chemicals without a face mask during her pregnancies. Her carrying and birth of Richard was difficult but he was born a seemingly healthy baby boy. Mercedes was devastated by her son’s crimes, travelling to California to speak in court.

Well there you go, I wrote all this and made the image so don’t delete my caption or use it uncredited. We should all take a moment to remember how the atrocities committed by murderers destroy the lives of not only their victims but also all those around them.


“War is terrible. Anyone who tells you different is a liar, and anyone who has not been scared during a war is doolally-taps.” — Jon Pertwee

Trans Lance Headcannon/Prompt*

*this is either going to be a multipart headcannon or a headcannon that I turn into a fanfic later*
-Lance and Keith went to the same high school before attending the garrison
-Lance and Keith were friends in high school before going to the garrison
-the reason Keith doesn’t remember who Lance is is because high school Lance hadn’t transitioned yet
-Lance doesn’t transition until a few weeks before going to the garrison
-Keith is so rude to Lance because he reminds him so much of a friend he had in high school named Lacey
-When Lacey suddenly disappeared Keith had assumed she had committed suicide since he knew Lacey was depressed
-Lacey’s depression was caused by dysphoria and he is now much happier as Lance
-Lance still gets dysphoria and he hides it by being obnoxiously loud and cracking jokes
-flash forward to being in space: Keith accidentally calls Lance Lacey because they just look so similar, he couldn’t help it (plus he really misses his friend)
-Lance breaks down into tears thinking that Keith has somehow found out and his calling him his dead name on purpose
-Keith freaks out because he’s never seen Lance cry like that and why does it hurt him so much to see Lance like that?
-Keith attempts to comfort Lance
-Keith apologizes and tries to explain that Lance looks so much like a friend he lost in high school
-Lance comes out to Keith and explains that he is Lacey
-Keith ends up crying because he missed his friend so much.
-Lance tells Keith that he understands if their friendship is ruined
-Keith tells Lance to stop being such and idiot because they still friends no matter what
- they both end up hugging while crying happy tears
(Sorry if that sucked, it’s my second headcannon ever so please don’t kill me)

(To check out more of my Trans Lance Works you can find them here: Trans Lance Master List)