his clothes are wrong

in-love-and-liberty  asked:

In regards to your last enjy: did Grantaire wear That Shirt with Those Pants again?

haha that would be a very plausible reason for the feelings overflow, yes.

Ferre: “what is wrong with his clothes?”

Reasons why Peter Parker is a Disaster™ with secret identities:

  • Makes his spiderwebs in school, during class, with 20+ students and teachers present.
  • Talks vocally about how he stole Cap’s shield and then got beaten up. In a fucking silent gym hall where sound BOUNCES DON’T U KNOW THAT PETER UR SUPPOSED TO BE A NERD-
  • Anyway
  • Blatantly just fuckin. Jumps over 13 ft. fences bc he feels like it. Is Incapable of just Walking Normally like Normal Humans. Beneath him.
  • “Time to go on my daily patrol!” “hm. Where should I go to change out of my everyday clothes and turn into the mystery hero?” “oh, I know!” A FUCKING ALLEY IN PLAIN VIEW OF EVERYONE COME ON PETER
  • Seems to just regularly wear his suit under his clothes? Because there are no ways that could go wrong. At all.
  • Takes his fucking mask off and sits on a roof to brood over his crush whilst she stands under a HUGE ASS WINDOW WHERE ANYONE WHO JUST. VAGUELY TILTED THEIR HEAD UPWARD COULD CLEARLY SEE HIM.
  • For some reason decides it is a Good Idea to take his school bag with him on missions? And wears his school jacket over the suit? Do you….,.,. sweetie are you trying to get caught here?
  • Leaves both his suit+his web fluid in The Most Top Secret of places,,,, the impenetrable fortress that is,,,.,..,.underneath a school locker.
  • Is Generally A Bumbling Fool 
  • Tony u need to teach ur kid some fucking superhero etiquette what on Earth is this

arrives 2 and half years later with more papercuts

Hey @ximenib!! I heard that you weren’t doing so well, so….guess who I drew for ya!! :D I hope you feel better soon buddy!

DeanCas Coda to 13x04: The Big Empty

Unsurprisingly, the thrill of being on Earth fades after two days of relentless walking, bumming rides, and begging for bus money. Not that Castiel can’t appreciate the sunshine and flowers and corporeality of it all… but about one minute after standing up and taking in the warmth and smells and feel of the world around him, his thoughts immediately turned to the Winchesters. To Jack.

To Dean.

It’s Dean specifically whose name runs on a loop in his mind; whose memories have Castiel’s heart stuttering and blood racing in his veins. By the time he’s walking up to the Bunker door, Cas’s palms are slick with sweat and he’s exhausted despite his Grace, anxiety clawing under his skin. He re-adjusts his new coat and tie about fifteen times, and attempts to flatten his hair into some kind of order. He stares at the door for a good five minutes before gathering enough courage to knock.

It’s Dean who answers.

He’s thinner than the last time Castiel saw him, with dark bruises under his eyes and a paleness lurking beneath his skin that is frightening. He looks haggard, and defeated, and despite all of that Cas is still made breathless. Because he is standing in the doorway whole. Because they are both whole, and living. 

“Give it a rest, Mia. I ain’t buyin’ what you’re selling.”

The door is closed in his face.

It’s amazing, how one sentence can break a person. But no matter. Castiel  knows, logically, that Dean think’s he’s dead. Four days ago, he wouldn’t have been wrong. So, pushing those pesky, unrealistic fantasies of a romantic reunion aside, he swallows thickly, and knocks again. 

Dean answers with a glare this time. “Look, I get that we helped you, but following us all the way out here is just friggin’ creepy, okay?! And invasive! So leave us the hell alone before I decide to do something I regret.” Scoffing, he gives Castiel a cursory look up and down before shaking his head. “Some shifter you are,” he mutters. “You even got his clothes wrong.”

“Dean, wait.”

“I’m really not in the mood right now, okay? So just—”

“Dean, it’s me.”

Dean pauses. Shakes his head. Pauses again.

“You can test me,” Castiel says. “In fact, I insist. But don’t—don’t close the door again. Please, I just—it’s me. I swear it’s me.”

Green eyes play across his face, but if he’s searching for duplicity, he’ll find none. Staring back, Cas waits for Dean to come to a decision, finally muttering a “wait here”, before closing the door for a second time. Left alone, Cas feels his shoulders slump in relief. Dean will test him, and then he’ll know. He’ll know and Castiel will finally go home.

They do holy water first and iron first, saving silver for last. Even when both other tests have been completed, Dean hesitates at the third, looking at Cas’s big blue eyes and biting his lip. Castiel rolls up his sleeve and holds out his arm. “Please,” he murmurs. 

Dean quickly slices the silver blade in a shallow cut on Cas’s forearm, watching with wide eyes when the skin easily knits back together. 

The knife drops to the ground with an almighty clang. 

Dean’s hand comes up to shakily cover his mouth as his eyes, red-rimmed and shining, remain trained on Castiel’s. “No,” he murmurs. “Uh uh, I’m dreaming. I’m—I burned you. I’ve finally cracked, I—”

“No,” Castiel urges. “It’s me. It’s Cas.”

“I know who you are, dumbass.” Tears spill onto freckled cheeks as a huffed laugh is startled out of Dean’s chest. His hands twitch at his sides. “It’s really you.”


They’re hugging. Dean has launched himself at Castiel’s person, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and cradling the back of his head. His shoulders shake as he buries his face in Cas’s neck, and of his part, Castiel holds on as tightly as he can without causing harm. He blinks rapidly in an effort to dispel his own tears and leans heavily into the warmth that now surrounds him from what feels like all sides. 

“Cas,” Dean mumbles, his voice thin and watery. “Cas. Castiel. Cas.

“Dean.” Castiel doesn’t mean to turn his head, just as he doesn’t mean to lean in when Dean pulls back to see what’s happening. He does, however, mean to kiss Dean Winchester within an inch of his life when it becomes clear that this is a thing he’s permitted to do.

So he does it.

Castiel kisses Dean thoroughly. Methodically. Pressing little demonstrations of love to his mouth before deepening it to something wanton and wet. Cas’s heart tumbles against his ribcage, and his cheeks heat, and Dean runs a hand through his hair in a way that is so different from that creature in the empty that Castiel almost sobs anew. He kisses Dean with everything he is, and Dean whimpers. Freckled hands cup Cas’s cheeks.

From the war room, Sam holds Jack’s shoulder, keeping him in place. “Just… wait a sec, okay?“ he says, staring up at the pair pressed together on the threshold. “They need this.”

“They love each other,” Jack observes.

"Yeah,” Sam nods. Blinking rapidly, he looks at the child beside him and smiles. “They do.”

TAGS: @musingsdeme @jdragon122 @zolaliz @patrcolvs @natmoose @casolantern @high-on-netflix @dramaqueenrolf @lanaserra (If you want to be tagged in my codas, please let me know!)

Is Will Byers Gay?

@byelertrash wrote a great analysis of Will Byers’ sexuality. I wanted to add to it – this is a sort of long post, so bear with me. 

I was looking for a script of the pilot online, and while I couldn’t find the shooting version, I did find a version of the pilot when the show was still called Montauk. It’s really interesting to look at all the differences: for one thing, Steve’s character is still what the Duffers intended him to be in the first place — a shallow asshole, he and Nancy have sex basically right away, and from what I remember, Barb dies.

There are lot of minor dialogue changes, but there was one discrepancy that caught my eye, from the scene between Joyce and Hopper when Joyce first reports Will’s disappearance. 

In the actual scene (i.e.: the one that aired), Joyce says “[Will’s] got a couple of friends, but you know, kids, they’re mean. They make fun of him, call him names, they laugh at him, his clothes…” Hopper then says, “His clothes? What’s wrong with his clothes?”, to which Joyce responds, “I don’t know, does it matter?”

The Montauk pilot makes a critical change. When Hopper asks what’s wrong with Will’s clothes, Joyce responds saying it’s because they’re too colorful. Here’s a screenshot:

I initially thought this part of the scene was an allusion to the Byers’ poverty; that maybe kids laughed at Will’s clothes because they were hand-me-downs or unfashionable or worn out. But I really don’t know what else about colorful clothing kids could take issue with, apart from the fact that it could theoretically imply homosexuality. I’m not sure why the Duffers removed the line (though I imagine it’s probably a matter of subtlety) and I’m not sure what it means as far as the canon is concerned. But I thought it was interesting.

Moreover, the entire scene itself is EXTREMELY loaded with meaning. It initially confused me, because I wasn’t sure why Joyce would bring up her son’s perceived homosexuality at that particular time. It didn’t seem immediately relevant to his disappearance. But, I think the Duffers wanted to hint that Joyce was worried about her son because he’s already a target. It’s important to note that Hopper asks about Will’s sexuality — when Joyce says that Lonnie used to call Will a fag, Hopper asks, “Is he?”. Later in the show, Troy says that his dad speculates that Will is dead; probably killed by “some other queer”. So, it would appear that even other adults are aware of Will’s perceived homosexuality, and that to some extent, it’s a topic of speculation and gossip in the town itself, and not just at Will’s school. So, I think Joyce, in this scene, is trying to explain to Hopper that Will’s disappearance isn’t just symptomatic of his age — she’s trying to explain that he’s queer, other people know it, and that makes him vulnerable. 

It’s ESPECIALLY worth noting that Joyce says “he isn’t like you” to Hopper right after he mentions “screwing Chrissy Carpenter”. This probably means that Will isn’t the type of person to skip class at all, but it could also mean that Will isn’t the type of person who would skip class to do something like screw somebody. Perhaps it’s because Joyce, who we know is very close with Will, has never observed him express romantic or sexual interest in anyone. One possible interpretation is that he hasn’t had those feelings yet, but another, more probable one, is that he has, but a) is confused and scared by them, b) knows that it’s unacceptable to have same-sex leanings let alone articulate them, and c) is already worried about being a ‘freak’ and an outcast, and therefore chooses silence. (But I bet you Joyce already knows this about Will, that’s kind of what I think the subtext of the “I was so proud of your rainbow ship” scene was…)

If you need anymore evidence of this, throughout the show, Lucas, Mike, and Dustin all express romantic interest in someone. Will, however, never does. There is only one instance where Will is paired with someone at all, and he neither initiates it nor seems too enthusiastic that it’s happening. Will’s own romantic inclinations have been unaddressed thus far, and I think that’s intentional. If the Duffers were really concerned with portraying Will as straight, the girl he danced with at the Snowball would have been introduced earlier in the show, if briefly. They would have included some shot of him looking at her longingly, or added a small subplot where he laments how being “zombie boy” has affected his romantic opportunities. And I’m almost certain they would have had him ask her. Instead, the girl is a rando; we don’t even know her name. We’re meant to be uninterested in her. The fact that she asks Will to dance is absolutely critical, because it means we have yet to see Will’s own romantic impulses – we only see someone projecting theirs onto him.  also Will doesn’t lament his romantic choices because he already has a crush on Mike.

Now, of course you could make the argument that assumptions about Will’s sexual identity don’t necessarily have any bearing on his actual identity. I would agree. But I don’t know why a) Will has repeatedly been targeted for being queer when Lucas, Mike and Dustin, all outcasts, have not, b) why even adults seem to be aware of this rumor, and c) why Joyce feels it’s necessary to bring up in a meeting with Hopper about his disappearance. And of course, there’s this clue from the pilot script, which is, IMO, unquestionably about him being gay.

Again - I’m not arguing that the speculation itself proves that Will is gay, I’m arguing that it seems like too much of a conscious effort on the Duffers’ behalf to amount to nothing. It seems that the Duffers are developing Will’s storyline, by planting subtle hints at his sexuality. They did it in the first season by belaboring everyone’s speculation about his orientation, and in the second season by emphasizing his close relationship with Mike. (I could write an entire tumblr post about the way their relationship in the 2nd season was shot alone). 

I think it’s especially possible given the fact that we have yet to really get to know Will as a character independent from the supernatural trauma he’s had to survive the past two seasons. If the Duffers are going to keep the show fresh, and I imagine they will, they’re going to change things up, which means we’re going to get to know Will in a different way. Dustin, Lucas, and Mike all have had romantic storylines, and each of these have deepened our understanding of and love for them. It would be repetitive and boring to yet again introduce a new character to be a love interest for Will, so in lieu of that, we may get more evidence to Will’s sexual identity. I am NOT suggesting that we will get Byeler, and I doubt we will see Will “come out” (because he’s 13 and this is 80s Indiana), but I don’t think that doesn’t mean he’s not canonically gay. It just means that we have to wait and see. 

 The Wrong Strain by @colubrina

Everyone knew what veela were. Veela were magical creatures, breathtakingly beautiful, who captivated men with a single look. It would have been nice to have been that strain. Instead, Hermione Granger was infected by another. Instead of captivating all men, she was captivated by one. She’d die without him. She was already in almost constant pain.

Butterfly Wings

Lance and Hunk had been roommates for almost a month now.
Hunk had been surprised by just how well him and the loud happy go lucky guy had gotten along.
It was almost like Lance decided the two would be friends and that was that.
From the way the two acted around each other you would think they had been friends for years.
There was a kind of comfortable intimacy that few had.
However there was one thing that Hunk had always been a bit worried about.
Lance had never changed in front of him.
Most would just assume that Lance was a shy guy.
But not Hunk, Hunk knew Lance and he was anything but shy.
Plus he couldn’t shake the feeling it had something to do with their first meeting where Hunk had admitted to being bisexual.
Now every time Lance took his pile of clothes to the bathroom to get changed, Hunk felt a stab of anxiety.
“See you in a bit buddy.” Lance said as he left the room to change into his Pjs.
“H-hang on a second.” Hunk stood up from his bed. He was pale and his hands were shaking.
Lance realised something was wrong and placed his clothes down. “Hunk whats wrong?” He asked in concern.
“I… Im going to ask for a room change.” Hunk stared at his feet. He expected Lance to laugh maybe even get mad.
What he didn’t expect was silence.
Hunk looked up and suddenly felt like his heart was in a vice.
Lance was staring at him in shock with silent tears falling down his cheeks.
“L-Lance?” Hunk reached out towards him but Lance stepped back.
“Fine! If that’s what you want!” He snapped grabbing the pile and running from the room slamming the door behind him.
Hunk stood there in shock for a moment with only the sound of his own heart beating.
He had never imagined such a reaction. He thought Lance would be relieved to be rid of him not… Upset.
Hunk spied Lance’s clothes left abandoned on his bed and sighed. He’ll need them…
Even if Lance was mad at him Hunk wouldn’t let him spend the night without his pjs.
He picked them up and headed to the closest block of bathrooms.
“Lance you forgot your-” Hunk cut off when he saw Lance.
He was shirtless and his back him showing pale blotches covering his pale skin.
Lance spun round in surprise showing his chest and arms were also covered in the pale patches.
His eyes were wide like a deer caught in headlights.
“H-hunk…” Lance sounded so small and vulnerable that Hunk didn’t hesitate to grab him and pull him into a bone crushing hug.
“So I’m guessing this is why you never changed in front of me?” Hunk asked softly.
Lance nodded burying his face in the crook of his neck. “I couldn’t bare if you laughed at me.”
“Why would I laugh at you? It’s just Vitiligo right? Your ok?” He asked.
Lance was quiet for a moment before nodding “yeah it’s Vitiligo … not many people know what it is.”
“Yeah well my dad has it. And here I thought that you didn’t want to change in front of me because I’m Bi”
Lance looked up before before bursting out laughing “dude why would I care about that, I’m pan.”
“Oh” Hunk started laughing along with him.
“So we cool dude?” Lance asked after a while.
“Yeah, your not getting rid of me that easily.”

He Let Go

Stan closed his eyes. Bill would be back any minute now. They’d switched clothes. There was nothing left to say. But if this was going to work, Stan had to truly become his brother, not just put on the mask.

He knew he needed to give Ford as much time as he could when Bill entered his mind. He hadn’t been consciously aware of it last time Bill traipsed through his mindscape, but he knew what a twisted up tangle his head was. Nothing at all like his level-headed brother.

Stan had to clear it, all of it, if they stood a chance of pulling this off.

So Stan closed his eyes and—

He let go.

Years of anger and anxiety. More than half of his life. Thirty years of agonizing over a journal and a heap of scrap metal.

It’s gone.

Ten years before that. Living on the streets, barely scraping by. Doing…anything to make it another day. The fear, the uncertainty, the walls he’d put up in his mind to protect himself. Every dirty trick he’d learned, every sleepless night freezing out in his car. Sweating in seven different prisons in three different countries. Debts that haunted his every fake name. Every alias that pulled him further from his childhood. Every worthless feeling Stan had had in those ten years—

Gone. Packed away and cleaned out. No more.

His childhood. His only happy days—truly happy, barely overshadowed by an oppressive father. When they had each other’s backs and were ready to take on the world together. Every high-six. Every bully punched. Every shared joke. Every time they worked on the Stan O War. Every moment he regretted going to the gym that night in 1972…

Stan let it go.

More recent memories—Wendy and Soos were gone. Every enemy was gone. His parents were gone. The kids were gone, great as they were. He cleaned out every thought of every person from his mind, whisked away and untangled from the twisted set of locked doors in his head.

Stan was gone.

He let it all go, his mind was clear.

A blank space with a single door.

A clean slate.

An organized mind.

Stanley was only back for a few days, a few short weeks, before he threw himself away again.

Before he killed his mind.

Before he truly became Stanford Pines one last time.

Stan didn’t feel the bitterness well up within him at one more form of trickery. At discarding his face and name and putting on Ford’s one final time. He let himself have the last comfort of a single door. The room he spent the last thirty years in, staring at the walls, trying to figure out what he was doing. The space that belonged to both of them. The room that was his in a house that was not. He took refuge in that final doorway where he hoped they’d defeat Bill.

His mind was blank.

Not much different from usual, he thought to himself.

Opening up his eyes again he gave a small, sad smile to his brother who was eyeing him with concern.

“At least this time I got to say goodbye,” Stan said.

“Stan, I’m still here. I’ll still be here after this is over,” Ford said in return, eyebrows coming together to crease in concern. It was a strange look to see his body wear, Stan thought, even knowing his brother was under the veneer of his every day appearance.

“That wasn’t who I meant,” Stan said softly.

And all of a sudden there was the sound of screaming and struggling and Bill came back, and what happened next was mostly a blur as he called out, saying he’d strike a deal.

He held his brother’s hand out to shake, a steady, confident, hand. He’s pulled too many scams not to have a con artist’s touch of authenticity to his actions. He felt fear slice through him at the way Bill entered his mind. But not once did he falter.

Stanford would never falter. I would never falter.

He was spun around and brought to his knees at the force of Bill entering his mind.

And as blue fire filled the room, and his hand tingled with energy from that single earth-shattering punch, Stan smiled at their success. He knew he may not be around to enjoy it, but he was glad he was able to bring it about.

Stan allowed himself to be taken by the flames.

He closed his eyes and—

He let go.

Dream A Little Dream of Me

A Bucky Barnes One-Shot

Character Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Word Count: 1908

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Sex, swearing, and oral (female receiving). 

Originally posted by bucha-nan

Bucky’s eyes popped open at the sound of his name. He sat up in bed and looked around the dark room. Nothing out of the ordinary. He scrubbed his hand down his face and pushed his hair back off his forehead. Maybe he had been dreaming…

Buck… o-oh…”

He turned his head to look at you sleeping next to him. Or, maybe you were the one who was dreaming.

He flipped on the lamp that was on his bedside table and laid down facing you, propping his body up with his elbow. He smiled when a soft moan left your lips. You were on your back, blanket twisted around your body. Your legs were moving restlessly and your hands were clutching at the sheet.

Bucky reached over and started to slowly pull the blanket away from your body. He pushed it to the end of the bed and scooted closer to you. Placing his flesh hand on your stomach where your tank top had ridden up, he leaned down to your ear, “Tell me what you want sugar.”

You whimpered, still asleep. He looked down to where his fingers were now tracing the edge of your panties. Your muscles jumped underneath his fingertips. He continued his exploration, lightly brushing his fingers over your navel. He pushed your tank top up even further, stopping just below your breasts.

“Come on doll face, wake up.” He said, bringing his hand up to cup your cheek. His thumb grazed over your lashes and along your cheekbone.

“Hi.” He whispered softly when your eyes fluttered open.

Keep reading

Vanilla #2

Lance went back to his room and showered approximately 5 times, it might have been 6. This stench, this gross disgusting stench, he needed it gone. He needed to wipe away just how omega he smelled and along with it tried to wipe the status, rubbing his skin raw. It was the last shower when he felt it. That familiar nauseous feeling in his gut. That feeling that happens right when you know you’re gonna throw up and red lights start flashing and alarms start blaring and you need to get to a toilet as quickly as possible because you’re definitely going to blow chunks. The toilet was right beside the shower and Lance thanked his stars that he was so close. Of course, Lance knew, there was a god, and it did, in fact, hate him. In his frantic state Lance stepped out of the shower just a little too quickly and he went down, legs flailing and shoulder smacking promptly against the toilet seat. There was a sharp impact against the tiled floor and Lance was gasping for air, surprised he hadn’t thrown up due to sheer impact he made his quickest effort to go over to the toilet.

Within milliseconds, supper was up and out of his system. Tears instinctively rolling down his cheeks. He was, to say the least, the image of pathetic. Huddled over a toilet, convulsing every few seconds to rid his body of more proteins, his shoulder hanging limply, obviously something wrong with it. Lance sat there with sweat plastering his hair to his forehead, his mouth dense with saliva in a desperate attempt his body was making to soothe his throat. And there Lance sat, not daring to move for god knows how long. His tears didn’t stop but it wasn’t because of his sickness, it was because he knew why he was sick. This was his body trying desperately to rid itself of suppressants, trying oh so hard to make him as appealing as possible to potential suitors. Lance had to laugh to himself at that thought, with how pathetic he must look, ‘yeah right, this is sooo desirable.’ He mused himself. Lance sat in the bathroom, over the course of unseeable time, he had mustered a towel to at least cover himself with, but he didn’t stand up, he hardly had the energy to turn off the water of the abandoned shower. The blue paladin was certain there was a decent ass print in the tiles he sat on; or more accurately a decent tile print on his ass.

“Dinners ready everybody.” Hunks voice cooed over the intercom. Lances eyes fluttered open. Had he really been sitting there all day? He had returned to his chambers right after breakfast, was it already dinner? Had he missed lunch? He looked to the artificial luminescence that glowed a nice calming orange. It was evening. Wow. Lance couldn’t move. He wanted to, he desperately wanted to go and converse so he could pretend he was fine, but he legitimately felt as if in that second he could not move.

There were several moments before Lance dragged himself out of the bathroom and several internal thanks that he had decided to put his underwear in the bottom drawer. He remembered that conversation with Hunk who questioned him avidly as to why not the top. To be honest, Lance did it in a joking spite of his friend, but good god was he grateful now and never again would Lance cease to put underwear in the bottom drawer. He pulled briefs up over his legs and enormous mound of effort and then laid in half-defeat over how exhausting it was, and half-victory because despite it being exhausting he did it. Pants were… a slightly different story. He was cold, he wanted the warmth of pants but even his underwear was getting uncomfortably clingy. He put on a pair of PJ pants and decided that he literally had 0 fucks to give what anyone thought of his decision. That being said he threw on a t-shirt he forgot he owned and had somehow made it to his bed. He wriggled uncomfortable, every thread of fabric stretching in every wrong way, especially around his groin. He squirmed for a couple seconds but soon gave in to the constant cling of the clothing. With one mighty heave he stood up, using his bedside table for balance, though he was much taller than the top of it, he convinced himself it helped; however being bent over like this did not and he questioned whether or not he needed to go to the bathroom.

Lance shook his head and stood up straight, proud, strong, slightly light headed, very warm, very cold. Within seconds of trying to regain his thoughts and make himself presentable, he had plummeted to the ground in a heap, blacking out.

There was a soft humming coming from across the room. It was nervous and Lance couldn’t place the song, but the baritone was unmistakable. “H-Hunk?” He let his head flop over and felt his pillow underneath him. His eyes trying to open but shying away from the light. His voice hardly audible and sounding almost foreign.

“Hey buddy.” There was instantly a soothing hand on Lances forehead, rubbing his hair from his face. “How ya doin?” Lance finally thanked his eyes for adjusting to the light. Hunk had a concerned expression but still wore a smile. The blue paladin smirked weakly back and he grunted in response. “You gave us quite the scare there bud.” Lance closed his eyes again, finding the darkness less offensive to his eyes than the lamp that hunk had turned on. “Hey, hey don’t fall back asleep.” Lance groaned again “just for a couple minutes I need you to talk to me dude.” Lance shifted under the blankets, just now realizing how uncomfortable he was under so many layers. There was a second of peace as he readjusted but then his eyes flew open and he sat up as his body convulsed.

Vomit flew over the side of the bed, unfortunately, that was right where Hunk was sitting. Lance didnt see the yellow paladin but he heard a patient, and, understandably, slightly aggravated, sigh. Hunk didn’t say anything, he just rubbed circles on his friends back, Lance sat there, hunched over his friend, having just thrown up on him, questioning why he was like this. He opened his mouth to apologize but figured a bowed head would do, to his surprise a small whine came out with it and Hunks hand tensed slightly on his back, but didn’t stop. Alphas didn’t whine, betas didn’t whine, you know who whined? Omegas, omegas whined when they did something wrong. Lance looked down, he didn’t care, not when he was sweating through everything and still felt cold, not when his clothes wouldn’t set, not when his stupid groin kept rubbing cloth in all the wrong ways and he was oh so painfully aware of it.

“This isn’t a bug Lance… is it.” Lance meekly shook his head with 0 hesitance. Hunk was using a strong, still reassuring, authoritative voice, and when Lance flinched at the tone, it only proved Hunks theory. Hunk didn’t like using that voice, it was the voice that omegas listened to, his dominance voice. “When did you run out?”

“5 days ago.” Lances answer came out as little more than a whisper and what noise he had managed to make was course and rough. It suddenly set in that hunk knew and he flung his head up, ignoring the temptation to pass out again, he couldn’t, not now. “How’d you…?” His voice was still weak, but determined.

“It wasn’t hard, but to be fair im observant. Your smell was different, then Shiro and Keith acting far from normal, then you moping in your room all day… then I found you passed out on the floor with a bruised shoulder and a rank-smelling bathroom… the bruised shoulder didn’t really make sense, but I’ll ask later.” There was a brief second of panic in his mind but it melted away, he didn’t care, they’d find out and Keith or shiro would get dominant and… Lance tried desperately not to think of them like that… hunk was sitting here trying to be comforting and Lance, of course, had a hard-on because of these stupid omega pheromones imagining a sweaty Shiro and a desperate Keith pinning him down and- no. Stop. Stop stop stop. His underwear suddenly burned. “Then you woke up and threw up on me, then you didn’t argue when I used the alpha voice… and you whined.” Lance cringed at everything that was happening if he had the energy to, he’d cry.

“Please…” he breathed shallowly. “Please don’t tell them.” Hunks eyes sharpened “coran knows. He’s trying to come up with a replacement for the supplements.” Lance gripped a clean part of Hunks shirt. “Please just buy him time.” Hunk sighed again, Lance was pale and in a weak state, he looked at The man pitifully. Lance almost hated that look, if it wasn’t hunk he would have, he was a paladin of voltron, not some weakling to be pitied. But in his defence, he was hanging out of his bed onto his friend he threw up on, desperately trying to ignore a boner and not vomit… again.

So, yeah, Lance figured, this was a moment to pity.

…to be continued…
Imagine...Dean Making Excuses To Be Close

Originally posted by canonspngifs

Request: I’m so glad requests are open! Can you write one where Dean and the reader are together and she buys a new body lotion and it smells really fruity ( you can chose which fruit it smells like) and Dean just follows her around and makes excuses it to be close to her because he really loves how it smells, something fluffy and funny?

Pairing: Dean x reader

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Alec visits “Magnus”

2x12 | You Are Not Your Own | Sneak Peek

a not short, incomplete list of things, experiences, people, etc. that Andrew has no choice but to remember the exact details of (abuse tw) 

  • every unwanted, unwarranted, unsolicited hand on his body that he cant rid the feeling of no matter how hard he scrubs at his skin till its raw and red and sometimes bleeding when he rubs open a scabbed over scar now needing to heal all over again 
  • every insult, every name, every last bully that he’s ever met in his life, he remembers every word of all those exchanges - he remembers back to when he used to care, when those words used to hurt, when he used to try to fight back, to stand up to those bullies - but he also remembers the exact exchange when all the fight left him and he couldnt bring himself to even acknowledge that he was being talked at, sneered at the same way as the last time, but how, this time he just. didnt care. 
  • he remembers the names of all his foster brothers and sisters and mothers and fathers no matter how hard hes tried to forget most of them he remembers their faces and their voices and the exact conversations hes had with some of them, but he also remembers the lack of conversations with others 
  • he remembers every slap…punch, kick, kiss…
  • he remembers how, when he said the right thing, scripted and total lies on his part, how some of his foster mothers would smile at him just the right way so he could pretend for just that second he had someone who cared 
  • he remembers how each and every one of those foster mothers let him down time after time after time after 
  • he remembers every name they called him, ever soft ‘Andrew’ when they first met him, every time if turned from soft to sharp, every time it turned from sharp to silence
  • it’s the silence that cut deeper than anything - that hurt the most
  • till it didn’t hurt at all 
  • he remembers every handshake, every pat down, every uncalled for shove from police or foster families or other authorities in his life 
  • he remembers every time he’d been but in handcuffs and every conversation he’s had in the back of a police car, or lack of conversation on his part 
  • he remembers Cass 
  • he remember officer Higgins
  • he remembers Tilda, he remembers the lack of Tilda 
  • he remembers Drake 
  • he remembers the lack of remembrance, after they started him on the drugs
  • how they messed with his brain, with his memory 
  • how even though they tried to change parts of him, his memory remained, how even through his drug-addled brain, he remembered conversations and people, and sessions with Bee and meeting the Foxes, meeting Wymack
  • he remembers feeling different in this group of people than he ever did in any foster family 
  • he remembers his deal with Aaron, the exact words that were exchanged
  • he remembers Nicky, exactly how he looked after being beat up that one night 
  • he remembers how Allison and Seth had made it clear they wanted nothing to do with him and how he had heard it all before 
  • he remembers Dan, he remembers how, through what little words she said to him, she reminded him of Cass 
  • he remembers her the night they took Matt out to Columbia, and just how close he saw her to snapping 
  • Neil makes it hard to forget Matt
  • and Kevin makes it hard to forget him, but Andrew does remember the promise they made 
  • …he remembers a lot of promises 
  • he remembers Neil 
  • he remembers ever wanted, warranted, solicited touch and kiss and and bite and caress
  • every yes and every no
  • he remembers every word the two of them exchanged after Proust 
  • he remembers Baltimore as if it were yesterday
  • he remembers every question and answer and pause in conversation and every too-fast sentence that one of them just had to get out 
  • he remembers what Neil wore to his graduation 
  • he remembers what Neil wore when Andrew came to visit the year after
  • he could verbally tell you the exact way Neil looks like in his gear, down to the grass stain on the bottom left corner of his jersey and the wrinkles from how he folds his clothes the wrong way and the way the fabric is stretched a bit too much at the back where he hangs his clothes on the hook in the locker room  
  • he remembers the feel Neil’s scars under his fingertips 
  • he remembers the feel of Neil’s scarred face under his palm
  • he remembers the cat conversation and the apartment theyd have to get to accommodate them all 
  • he remembers their first night in said apartment 
  • he remembers every damn time he has to write out a grocery list when its Neil’s turn to do the groceries and how Neil just has to yell what he needs from the kitchen as Andrew throws on a sweatshirt and leaves with a “AND CILANTRO!” being yelled out of the window  
  • he remembers when Neil stopped saying “don’t forget [xyz]” bc Neil realized that Andrew never forgot, just ignored when he wanted to 
  • he remembers every version of their “i hate you” their “100%” their “nothing” their “not wanting anything” conversations over the years
  • he remembers every promise he made and kept to Neil 
  • and every one Neil made and kept to him 
  • and yeah 
  • he still remembers the bad and the ugly and the unsightly 
  • but he has Neil to make memories with, happy and good and better 
  • he has that 
  • and he’s forever grateful that he remembers every “thank you” and soft “i love you” and softer “Andrew”