I just want to talk about how very Niall this photo shoot is.
He’s not trying to be someone he’s not, he’s not trying to be something he isn’t, he isn’t trying to emulate anybody else, he’s just- Niall.
He’s Niall Horan, and so is this photo shoot. From just lounging around casually with a guitar in his lap, to wearing casual clothing – that looks so fucking delicious on him, to getting up mid-interview to investigate where a random noise is coming from, to putting his crazy sock obsession on full display on the fucking cover of the magazine. His down-to-earthness is all over this, and that’s so incredibly endearing to me.
It straight up hurts my soul that there are people out there blind to this woman's beauty.
So she has gray hair. So fucking what. Most of us out there are going to have it someday, and hell. Some won’t even make it out of their 20’s without it.
Tell me something. Does the color of your hair define who you are as a person? Because it absolutely shouldn’t. I’m sorry, but the very idea that it would is bullshit.
Melissa McBride, from all accounts, is a wonderfully genuine person. She’s well loved by her peers, and she has this amazing talent that allows her to speak a thousand and one words without saying a word. She’s creative and kind and a precious gift to The Walking Dead fandom. Her portrayal of Carol Peletier has transcended genres and made people that would normally shun shows like TWD take notice.
And oh, yeah. She has gray hair.
But you know what else she has?
A special sort of chemistry with her costar Norman Reedus. A sparkly kind of something that is pretty rare on television because in the absence of unambiguous evidence of the true nature of their characters’ love (and it’s love, dammit…fight me), she’s drawn you in. Admit it. Even if you balk against the very idea of romantic love between Carol and Daryl, you cannot deny they are special to each other.
And why shouldn’t they love each other like that?
Oh, I forgot. It’s the gray hair. That somehow renders a person a used up has-been around these parts. That negates any desire to have a loving emotional and yes, sexual connection with the person they are closest to in the entire post-Apocalyptic world.
Melissa McBride and her character are fucking gorgeous, and you know why? It comes from within. Don’t get me wrong. Both of them rock the gray hair like nobody’s business–I can only hope I do the same one day, and thanks to MMB, I’m not so afraid of it anymore, but even if they didn’t, I’d still look up to them for so many reasons that I won’t go into right now.
I’m not even going to address the absurdity that she’s somehow not a good match for Norman’s Daryl because she has gray hair and therefore, she must be old. They’re literally the most age-appropriate couple in theory on the entire show besides maybe Carl and Enid. They’re contemporaries. And you know what? They look absolutely gorgeous together, but that’s not even the best part. Their chemistry is a thing of beauty, and Carol’s and Daryl’s hearts? Know each other. They recognize each hard-earned beat.
So don’t come at me again with this ageism fuckery. Because it makes me sad that the people in my fandom can be so shallow, for them and for this adorable lady who deserves nothing of this.
Look at her.
Y'all should be ashamed of yourselves, and I feel…I just feel sad that this is a thing.
Stepping off my soapbox now. I can’t take the credit for the gifs of this lovely human. That goes to the gif-makers. I hope you don’t mind my borrowing them.
“Is Bruce in here?” Tim figured he might be— Bruce spent a lot of time in the children’s wing of Wayne Enterprises. There were a dozen or so kids in daycare most weekdays, and Bruce liked to hang out.
Tim liked to hang out too. They had nice snacks, and he’d known most of the kids since they were toddlers. And sometimes naps were mandatory.
“Conference call,” Damian told him. (For someone who claimed to hate naps, snackfood, kids, and humanity in general, Damian also spent a lot of time in the children’s wing.) “I don’t know where.”
He went back to what he was doing, which was arranging a set of pewter soldiers into a complex model of a battlefield, presumably for the benefit of the preschooler sitting next to him.
“The Battle of Issus, 333 BC.”
“Right, obviously.” Tim decided he was curious, so he settled down on the mats to watch. Damian finished his model; he pulled a marker from the art table and used it as a pointer.
“Okay. This is the Macedonian army, outnumbered but in the better tactical position, south of the Pinarus River. Their leader is Alexander the Great. And this—” He pointed to his enemy line. “—is the Achaemenid Empire. They’re about to lose.”
Damian tapped his marker on the Macedonian right. “This is the companion calvary, Alexander’s elite force, and they—” he cut off when he noticed his pupil digging in the toy bin, clearly distracted. The kid came up with a battered Transformer, which he set behind Damian’s lines.
“Elliot. Alexander did not have robots.”
“But,” said Tim, rummaging through the box himself, “did he have wizards?” He pulled a bearded magician out of the tub and held it up for Damian to see.
“You know he didn’t.”
Tim passed the wizard to Elliot. “But what if he did?”
“How would that go?”
“Abracadabra, Alexander!” Elliot yelled, gleefully smashing through Damian’s entire left flank.
“Damn it, Drake.” Damian sighed in frustration— not quite the rise Tim was hoping for, but still something. He dropped Elliot’s discarded robot back into the box.
“I don’t know what you were expecting,” Tim told him. “Elliot’s four. He’s too young for— what is this— military history?”
“He was doing fine before you showed up.” Damian started to re-erect his soldiers, but he gave it up after Elliot came in for a second pass. “Which is typical, isn’t it?”
“Thank you.” Damian crossed his arms. “Fine. I’ll bite. When is he supposed to learn this kind of thing?”
“High school? Maybe never.”
“That can’t be right.”
“Have I ever lied to you?”
“Frequently.” Damian rolled his eyes. “I’m getting a second opinion.”
Damian checked the room for potential allies. “Thomas?” he called over his shoulder, “You learned military strategy as a kid, right?”
Duke looked up from the book he was reading to a pair of kindergardeners. “Just you, man.”
“Told you.” Tim fished a bag of plastic ninja from the toy box and arranged them pointedly into a row. “How are you still surprised by this kind of thing?”
Damian glared at him. “Okay, first of all? I’m not a— hold on a second. Elliot!”
Elliot froze with a large, plastic dinosaur held aloft over the battlefield. He drew it sheepishly back to his chest. “Sorry.”
“Not in the calvary wing,” Damian told him. “You’ll scare the horses.”
“Here?” Elliot pointed to the front of the phalanx.
“Aim for his center.” Damian turned back to Tim. “Anyway. Why are you still talking to me? I thought we had an agreement about unnecessary contact.”
UGH! WHERE ARE THE STUPID SAUCES WE JUST GOT ‘EM TODA- [freezes (and not because he was in front of the fridge,but from realization on what’s on the menu.]
“mustard or mayo,mustard or mayo,mustard or mayo,mustard or mayo,mustard or mayo?”
“GET OUT OF MY FRIDGE!!!!
SERIOUSLY,CAN A SUPER COOL SUPERVILLAIN NOT EVEN GET A NORMAL GENUINE LUNCH WITHOUT FUZZY WEIRDOS POPPING OUT OF EVERYWHERE?!”
[As Wander runs off giggling because of the nutritious,adorable,surprise,totally anonymous lunch made with love he left there,despite Haters’ choice of NOT chasing him down,the overlord has yet to realize that his nachos and sub sandwich- as well as..well… Everything else that’s not safely covered- is covered in orange fur…]