how long ago was this

anonymous asked:

seeing that pic of him and D makes me realise how not long ago that was and also the fact that I'm supposed to believe he went from one chick to another just like that? The more I think abt it the more I think it's less meant to look real and more meant to look like he wants to be closeted

“The more I think abt it the more I think it’s less meant to look real and more meant to look like he wants to be closeted”

i’m convinced ot is trying to pre-emptively pin the blame for the stunts on louis by deliberately encouraging the wild houis uprising

it’s not meant to be believable it’s just meant to trap louis even deeper in the bullshit ‘he’s choosing this and wants to be closeted’ nonsense so when the stunts end ot can wash their hands of it all and leave louis to deal with the fall out.


never be afraid of who you are; who you are is always shining.

anonymous asked:

In summary of all those things, Hamilton was human and he made mistakes. Stop saying that he deserves to be tortured in hell- that's rude.

I am more interested at the fact that someone out there still feel determined to prosecute someone that died like how long ago

anonymous asked:

I don't know how long ago you were answering questions but if you still are what is one of your fondest memories with Sirius?

yes, i am still answering questions! that’s kinda hard to choose, but one of the things that comes to my mind is back in first year right after the full moon. he didn’t know i was a werewolf yet, but he did know that i was sick. we were new friends, but he came to the hospital wing and wouldn’t leave my side. that’s kind of when i noticed how cute he was, and by the end of the term, i was basically head over heels in love with him. so yeah, i like that one

don’t ever let yourself believe that you are ugly when comparing yourself to a white person, western beauty standards are ridiculous and warped. your skin is beautiful. your eyes are beautiful. your features are beautiful. your hair is beautiful. you are beautiful.

Kent has routines. He’s naturally a superstitious guy, but nowhere close to being excessive by hockey standards, but something changed after the incident with Jack. He starts to have these little routines. His therapist said it was probably because he’s seeking some semblance of balance, which Kent thinks is a load of shit. So he cuts his peanut butter-Nutella sandwiches diagonally and never horizontally (who the hell cuts sandwiches horizontally?) So maybe he pets Kit no less than ten times before a game. So maybe when he wakes from another nightmare about finding Jack on the bathroom floor, he doesn’t go to sleep until he’s counted to ninety. It’s not a big deal.

He still waits for the fallout when Tater starts sleeping over more often, when he tries to find his sweatpants but all he finds, to his annoyance, are Tater’s socks and jeans made for giants. He wait for Tater to abandon him, or maybe not abandon him but still for the impending freak out looming like an eternal storm because Tater is not part of his routine.

But it doesn’t happen.

They make peanut butter Nutella sandwiches together, licking chocolate off their fingers and cutting their sandwiches diagonally. Kit curls into a ball and rests on Kent’s stomach while Kent uses Tater’s lap as a pillow while he reads some Russian classic, Dostoyevsky, probably, or one of those dead Russian literary greats whose names remind Kent of keyboard smashing (“Kenny, this is Eat, Pray, Love.” “Oh.”) on their couch like he’s lived there for ages, and not only every so often when their schedule happens to match up. And when Kent shoots up in bed, shaking from another bad dream, he feels Tater reach for him from his left, blindly, tiredly, and say “Shh, is dream. Shh.” And Tater kisses him on the jawline, alternating between sides, exactly 7 times, because “is lucky number. No more bad dreams.” Like it’s a routine.

When he kisses Kent tonight, he’s visibly tired, so he ends up mouthing at Kent’s jaw like he’s a fish gaping for water.

“What the hell are you doing?” Kent says. Tater’s lips are moving very gently along his skin, and it’s getting ticklish.

“Tired,” he says, and finishes his kisses with a real one, complete with an obnoxious smack. “There. 7 kisses. Eh. More or less. Good enough.”

“90’s a luckier number.”


“Got me pretty far, you know. Have the trophies to prove it.”

“7 is better. More lucky.” Tater saves this into Kent’s hair. “90 I think is little bit ok.”

“Oh yeah? What do you know about luck?”

“Lots,” Tater says, rubbing Kent’s arm gently. “I’m lucky man.”

“How so?” Kent says quietly, his eyes nearly sliding shut again. “You don’t–“ He yawns. “You don’t have a Cup.”

“Not yet,” Tater agrees. “But have hockey. And Kent Parson. And Kit. And sandwiches cut in…” He gestures vaguely, his hands flapping gently like birds, like he can’t quite grasp the word, then says something in Russian, a slow, full rumble that Kent adores. “You know.” He waves his fingers again, mimicking a shape.

“Triangles?” Kent prompts, huffing a laugh in Tater’s throat.

“Hah! Yes. Triangle sandwiches. Most lucky shape, I think.”

“Okay,” Kent says, his heart so, so full, and snuggles back in to Tater’s arms. “If you’re so sure.”

“Always sure.”

anonymous asked:

a concept: malec doing the forehead rest thing

i found this so fucking deep in my prompts and man… fuck. they actually did it

but consider that now that they’ve done it, it becomes something they can’t help but do more often. they find themselves resting their foreheads together, breathing each other in, clutching at each other. they do it before kisses, noses brushing and staring at each other’s mouths before the space is breached and magnus’s lips press against alec’s. they do it after kisses too, when both of them are running a little hotter and their breathing has picked up, mouths wet and slightly swollen. they pause and rest their foreheads together and soak this feeling in. alec starts breathlessly laughing and magnus follows suit, until laughter becomes the desperate need to kiss again.

they do it in the morning, standing in a warm shaft of sunlight, both of them a little groggy and out of it, magnus curling his fingers around the back of alec’s neck and pushing his body close, just letting their brows rest together and breathing in the smell of coffee as they try to wake up.

it happens after hugs the most often, clutching each other tight to say hello or goodbye or thank god, you’re still here. they can’t help that it happens after moments like that, because now it just feels right. in the middle of the institute or in the loft or on a busy city street, it doesn’t matter where, they’ll hit each other hard, wrapping arms around each other tight, alec’s face pressing deep into magnus’s shoulder as their hands press into shoulders and backs. and then when they’ve gotten their fill of holding on as tightly as they can, they pull back and press forehead to forehead, eyes closed, feeling each others warm breath and savoring each other’s presence.

and other times it’s even sweeter really, their eyes crinkling, both of them laughing. maybe it’s in bed or maybe it’s in the study or maybe it’s on the balcony. one of them saying something that’s made the other laugh and they just grab at each other, their bodies bumping and then it’s forehead to forehead, shoulders still shaking and just holding onto each other, smiling in a way that says one thing and one thing only. i love you.


“That’s a huge forehead.”
“Look who’s talking.”

I was listening to The Wombats’ Be Your Shadow nonstop while sketching this. Sexy-ish bonus edit under the cut!

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cut content - germ’s gramma

Six mistakes mankind keeps making century after century: 

  • Believing that personal gain is made by crushing others
  • Worrying about things that cannot be changed or corrected
  • Insisting that a thing is impossible because we cannot accomplish it 
  • Refusing to set aside trivial preferences
  • Neglecting development and refinement of the mind 
  • Attempting to compel others to believe and live as we do

–Marcus Tullius Cicero

Pairing: Kuroo/Kenma

“What do you want for your birthday?”


12:00 a.m.
From: kenma

happy birthday

Three seconds later, Kuroo heard a knock at his window.

Looking up from his phone, Kuroo saw Kenma crouching patiently by the glass, head bowed with his hair hiding his profile. Kuroo didn’t bother with the lights; he threw the covers aside and opened his window, playfully clicking his tongue as he rubbed an eye tiredly. It was never fun to be woken up, especially not after an exhausting day, but this was Kenma and Kuroo would split the earth open for Kenma, so getting out of bed really wasn’t too hard to do.

 “What,” he teased. “All the way here just for me?”

Kenma huffed and hopped off the ledge. “No.”

But the moment Kuroo closed the window and turned around, Kenma was hugging him, arms around his waist and face buried in his chest. Kuroo’s laugh was a bit breathless from the way Kenma was tightening his grip, but it didn’t deter him from bowing to kiss the top of his head before threading his fingers through Kenma’s hair. “You really didn’t have to come all the way here, you know,” Kuroo murmured quietly, smile as much in his voice as on his lips. “We’ve still got school tomorrow…” 

“I wanted to say it in person.”

Kuroo loosened his embrace a bit when he felt Kenma start moving, couldn’t help but smile to look down and see Kenma looking up, chin to Kuroo’s chest. “Say what?”

Kenma blinked.

“Happy birthday.”

Kuroo laughed. “That’s hardly–”

“And I love you.”

Kuroo and Kenma didn’t officially start dating the way most people seemed to. They fell into it; it just so happened that their fingers would always lace together when they could, that their naps together would stretch out even longer, and that when Kuroo kissed Kenma for the first time, Kenma’s nose wrinkled but he murmured ‘again’ and Kuroo had never obliged so quickly.

They didn’t become a thing; they had always been together and had one another and as they grew up, their relationship began changing without either one of them realizing it but not hindering the progress when they did. At some point, the warmness of being with each other turned into a racing heartbeat and fluttering in stomach and realizing that it was mutual was possibly the only thing better.

Then one day Kuroo mumbled ‘I love you’ into Kenma’s hair and while he didn’t say it back, Kenma did look up and kiss him in a way that told Kuroo everything he’d ever wanted to know. 

Kuroo blinked several times before he felt the warmth begin prickling the back of his neck and cheeks, groaning and bringing a hand up to his face, heart racing but unable to look Kenma in the eye at the moment. “Jesus, if you–just like that–kitten–”

When he felt a cool rush of air, Kuroo dropped his hand in surprise and looked over to see Kenma kick off his shoes and step onto his bed. But before Kuroo could get in with him, Kenma reached a hand out and pressed it to Kuroo’s chest to stop him. He gave a lazy, lopsided smile and Kuroo just stared, brow furrowed. 

But before he could inquire why Kenma was standing instead of lying in bed, he understood when Kenma, for the first time, had to bow to kiss him.

Kuroo’s eyes closed instinctively and took a step forward, rested his hands on the other’s hips. It was a foreign feeling to have to tilt his chin upwards and dryly realized this was how it had always been for Kenma. The thought brought a smile to his lips that their gentle kiss allowed and Kuroo unintentionally shivered when he felt Kenma brush a few strands of hair behind his ear, leaving him with a shudder when he pulled back. 

“And that,” Kenma murmured, half smile coupled with half-lidded eyes, “works better in person too.”