i had just finished it when i realized they had already made a gifset like this

anonymous asked:

Please, please, please~ a compilation of jealous jongin or sad jongin because someone is touching my man or territorial jongin bc have to protect what's mine. Or anything that ticks jongin off because no other man shall have kyungsoo's attention but him. i love you. omg thank you

i love u too anon! and ur welcum heheh, anyway, lets get started (since prob this shit is gonna be long im gonna put this keep reading option from now on bc some ppl have complained lol sorry about that)

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thebeckyford  asked:

Thanks for the heads up! I've removed the .s so let's see if this works a second time! :) Hi! So I saw you're taking prompts and I'd like to submit one please :) it's based on this gifset: quant-um-fizzx*tumblr*com/post/116549499149 of Oliver boxing with the atom headset and basically I'd love an olicity au where Oliver teaches Felicity to box. Thank you!!

A/N: I apologize for how long it took me to write this and I’m not even sure it’s any good. I’m not quite happy with where I ended it but I didn’t know what else to do so hopefully you still like it! :)

tagging: amellthirst lieutenantsmoak queenollies sorrywhatever kcntclark wifeysmoaks oliversjonas curtlazars smoakinamell dropoutboys pansexualsmoak olicitykisses snowssmoak queensagents


Growing up in Las Vegas, Felicity had seen her fair share of boxing matches. She might not have been old enough to watch them live at the time, but since her mother worked a lot of the events as a cocktail waitress they got the fights for free on pay per view. Felicity would sit at home in their little studio apartment, eyes glued to the screen as she watched to men beat each other to a bloody pulp. But instead of being grossed out or uncomfortable by watching it, she was fascinated.

Which is why she was now standing outside Verdant Gym, duffle bag in hand. She had been living in Starling City for a few months now, having moved there after finishing college because of a job opportunity. When out at the bar one night with some coworkers she heard some people talking about a boxing gym downtown. Apparently the owner used to be really good but then he got into some boating accident that ended his career. Most people fall off the deep end after something like that, but this guy hadn’t. He might not be able to step into the ring himself anymore, but that didn’t stop him from teaching others that aspired to; something that Felicity really admired.

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what we dreamed

So, a little while ago stilesstilinskidaily posted this gifset of the moment when Stiles was at the party hallucinating his father.

And I said: Gee, there should be an angsty story where the Nogitsume takes over the sheriff and gradually becomes more and more awful to Stiles. That’s an angsty idea, I’ll write it after I finish the D&P sequel.

But then today, I had a miserable day for a wide variety of reasons and the sequel of D&P is currently at a fluffier point and very difficult to write and I wanted to write ANGST. So I did a bad thing and let myself write the angsty fic instead.

Here’s Part 1 (of ??)


            “I don’t know,” Stiles said, miserably wringing his hands together. “I guess… a while?”

            “Think,” Deaton ordered and Stiles couldn’t help but flinch away from the tone. “We need to know when this started, when the Nogitsune took him over.”

            Stiles took a breath and tried to focus but-

            He couldn’t do this. He didn’t want to think about this.

            How could he have been so stupid? To not even realize that a freaking monster had taken over his own father? He was such a screw-up and-

            “Stiles,” Scott’s voice was gentle and Stiles looked up at him instinctively. “You can do this. Just… tell us when you first noticed something was different. The first time he acted… not like himself.”

            “Th- there was,” he started and then stopped. That was so long ago, before it got really bad. Maybe he just wanted this to be the Nogitsune. It was just so… hard. It had been so gradual and Deaton seemed so sure that none of this could be Stiles’ real father but maybe it could and this was all just wishful thinking.

            “In May,” he started, staring at his hands instead of Scott’s face, which he knew would be etched with hurt. Scott didn’t know it had been that long. “I broke a mug…”

            As always, Stiles made a latch ditch effort to catch the mug as it fell even though prior experience told him it was too late. His arms, which had been flailing around so rapidly a moment before had no chance of catching the object as it tumbled through the air and then landed with a smack on the ground and shattered into at least four different pieces.

            Well, four big pieces. Probably countless different pieces if you included all the shards that were doubtless everywhere.

            “Shit,” he muttered, reaching across for the paper towels without moving his feet. He really should always wear at least socks when he was in the kitchen. He wished he could say this was a rare occurrence but… well, Stiles had never been coordinated and hitting his growth spurt and shooting up almost five inches in the past year alone hadn’t done him any favors when it came to not… breaking everything.

            “What that the one with the kittens?”

            Stiles jumped so hard, he almost hit another glass. He hadn’t known his dad was standing there.

            “Geez, Dad,” he said, holding a hand to his chest. “We’ve talked about this. No using your cop skills to sneak up on me!”

            He looked over, expecting to see his dad smiling fondly or perhaps already heading to the closet where they kept the broom and dustpan.

            “It was,” his dad said, not looking up from where he was staring at the pile. Stiles frowned a bit in confusion.

            “Uh, yeah,” Stiles said, bending over to big up some of the bigger pieces. “Sorry.”

            “That was your mother’s favorite,” his dad suddenly said and Stiles froze.

            They never mentioned her. They didn’t even talk about not talking about her. It was just an unspoken agreement between the both of them. Six years ago, she had died and for a little while, his father would speak of her but only when he was drunk and then he stopped drinking and they stopped talking about her.

            It wasn’t so much of a rule as an agreed-upon habit. A coping mechanism that both of them strictly upheld.

            “Oh God,” Stiles breathed as the full effect of his father’s words hit him. It was her favorite mug. He hadn’t even remembered that. He’d thought that he’d managed to save most of her favorite things in two boxes he moved to the attic to be kept safe but he must’ve missed this mug and he hadn’t even remembered it, except his father did. And now he’d destroyed it. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t- maybe I can fix it.”

            He looked down helpless at the pieces in his hands, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his gut as he realized there was no way he could fix this. He’d knocked it off the table too hard. It had shattered.

            “I’m sorry,” he said again, feeling panic rise in his throat. He had broken his mother’s favorite mug.

            And if she were here, he was sure she would just smile and tell him she would pick a new favorite because that’s how he remembered her but she was dead. She would never have another favorite anything.

            “It’s okay,” his dad said and Stiles wanted to believe it even though he already knew that couldn’t be true.

            “To be honest,” his dad continued, looking down at Stiles with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m surprised it lasted as long as it did with you in the house.”

            Dad was chuckling a bit at his own statement and Stiles tried to pull his lips into a smile because, clearly, his dad was joking and Stiles knew his track record with dishes. It was a fair statement to make.

            That didn’t change the way his throat clenched at the thought.

            “I’m really sorry,” he mumbled again.

            But when he looked up his dad was already gone and he didn’t return a moment later with the dustpan like he usually did.

            So Stiles carefully stepped around the mess he’d made and cleaned it up slowly.

            When he finished, he stared at the pile for a moment longer than necessary, still somehow wondering if there was some way he could fix it. Or a part of it. Maybe he could at least glue the part with the kittens back together and give it to his dad to show him that he did care about Mom too. Even if they never talked about it. Even if apparently Stiles forgot important information like what her favorite mug had been.

            But it couldn’t be fixed. So he brushed it all into the trash instead and told himself sternly that he had to be more careful. He had to stop making mistakes like this.

            “Yeah, that’s… that’s not normal, right?” Stiles made it a question. He thought that must be the first time he had a clear sign, based on the fact that his father had mentioned his mother but-

            “Yeah, your real dad would never say that,” Scott assured him.

            Stiles let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

            That had been seven months ago. 

Fic: Orphan Blog (Chapter 7)

Written by Devon soccercopping and Aimee tatianathevampireslayer

Main Ships: Cophine and Soccercop

Rating: T

Word Count1216

Chapter 1Chapter 2Chapter 3Chapter 4Chapter 5, Chapter 6


By the time Alison had gotten home from rehearsal and finished her homework for the weekend, it was already pretty late. She wanted to check Tumblr, but she didn’t expect to stay on for long. She wanted an early start on Saturday, and that meant getting to sleep early. But first, Tumblr.

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About July 19th 2016

Yesterday Benedict Cumberbatch, my favorite actor ever, and one of my favorite people in the world, turned 40 years old. Since midnight in UK (8pm BR time) both my feeds at Twitter and Tumblr were filled with loving birthday messages from pretty much everyone around the world, awesome pieces of fan art, memories of Ben’s best moments, photos, gifsets, etc. We even tried to make the #happybirthdaybenedict hashtag trend on Twitter. All of that for a man who isn’t on social media and would probably not see it.

Then, Batch of Kindness. It was so cool to see all kinds of acts, from money, clothes, food or blood donations to simple, small gestures to help somebody or to brighten their day. I did my part as well, for the first time, and it felt good. And it was all Benedict’s idea, who was grateful to recieve gifts from his fans, but thought it was better for us to help those who are less fortunate than him (or than ourselves, for that matter).

And then there was Cumberbatchweb​’s annual campaign. Benedict had selected three refugees charities to which the fandom could donate in honor
of his birthday. (I must say I’m still gutted I couldn’t donate, which I wanted to do since last year, because my credit card was rejected for some reason, and PayPal.me isn’t in Brazil yet, but that’s not the point.) Things were doing really great, when an anonymous kind soul donated £ 11,000 to the campaign and until this moment it has collected over £ 22,000. How amazing is that? Each charity will recieve a little over £ 7,000 from the fandom.

What about the birthday boy himself? Benedict finished filming at 4:30am, but he had a room decorated for him, cupcakes and fireworks at night. And that’s only what we got to know, and I can only imagine the amount of love he recieved from his friends, co-workers, from his family.

It’s safe to say Benedict had a lovely day. But, then again, so did I. Never have I had so much fun on somebody else’s birthday, not even on my own birthdat. Yesterday was a normal day at work, but everytime I checked my Twitter I saw people sharing all their love for Benedict, and that was amazing! I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like this before.

Of course every fandom, wonderful as it may be, has its dark corners, and it was so unsurprising to see they were so bitter about the birthday of the man the claim to support… As you may know, Leslie Jones, Patty Tolan from the new Ghostbusters (amazing movie BTW, go watch it!) has left Twitter because of the amount of hate and offence she was getting lately, and she posted a series of tweets to illustrate her feelings, including this one:

“You have to hate yourself to put out that type of hate. I mean on my worst day I can’t think of this type of hate to put out.”

That’s just it. How much does one have to hate themselves to say such horrible things? On Benedict’s birthday, the nicest guy to talk in this world, who did nothing to deserve that, but lead his life as he see fit? The could have done an act of kindness, made someone smile, Benedict’s fans did yesterday. And look how they wasted their time…

What I mean is, yesterday was a special day to me because it made me realized not only how loved and cherished Benedict Cumberbatch is, but what an amazing and loving fanbase he has. I hope he knows it, but I suspect he does already. I do know now, and I feel proud and happy to be part of this.

I’d like to finish this long post by saying, I love Benedict Cumberbatch. E now, more than ever, I love the Cumbercollective. Thank you for the lovely July 19th you all gave me.