i wrote this as

Lucas Sinclair S2 Appreciation Post
  • Is the only one who actually works to get money for Dragon’s Lair
  • Fact: has the best poses when the boys are getting their pictures taken in their ghostbuster costumes
  • Calls out Mike for assuming he should be Winston because he’s black
  • “TooOOotALY toooobuuularrRRR”
  • When Dustin thinks he’s discovered a new species, Lucas’s first instinct is to show Mr. Clarke + when Will thinks it may be from the upside down Lucas suggests they take D’art to Hopper = the only sensible child in this show. Don’t be afraid to ask for help kids!!!
  • THE ICONIC DOOR KICK !!!!!!! !!!!!!1111!!!!!!!!11!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!
  • Somehow makes jumping out of a dumpster look cool
  • Oh man, Caleb McLaughlin’s acting when he asks Max “how do you know about El?”
  • In that one line he conveys how much Lucas: 1. misses El, 2. cares about El, 3. wants to protect El, 4. is sad that El’s gone, and 5. feels guilty for not saving El. (asdjskafsdfh am I reading too much into this?? I’m sorry his friendship with El is just A Lot™ for me.)
  • Goes to his dad for love advice (seriously the only one that has any faith in adults) and listens to him (thank god there’s at least one healthy biological father-son relationship on this show)
  • After he tells Max about Eleven, he says, it feels “like yesterday” that they lost her. (Seriously FIGHT ME if you think El disappearing didn’t affect Lucas (or Dustin!))
  • Is such a good listener when talking to Max on the roof of the bus. He lets her pause as long as she needs to when she’s thinking about what she wants to say and when she finishes speaking, he doesn’t say anything right away because he’s processing what she said and wants to give a thoughtful, comforting response instead of saying the first thing that comes to mind.
  • Binoculars
  • Bandana
  • Wrist rocket
  • Most characters are lucky to get one (1) iconic accessory. This boy has THREE.
  • He also puts the black paint gunk stuff (i dont fucking know what it’s called ok??) under his eyes because when he’s gearing up to fight upside down monsters he commits to the Look™.
  • Anyone who kicks Billy Hargrove in the balls is a hero to me
  • Doesn’t let anyone talk shit about his girlfriend’s driving skills. Mike: she’s only driven in a parking lot. Lucas: “That counts!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1!!!11!!!”
  • Practices asking Max to dance. so. many. times.
  • Still manages to fuck it up. #RelatableAF.
  • His hesitation to put his hands on Max’s waist. Someone help this boy, he’s so nervous.
  • His face after Max kisses him is so precious. I can’t even describe it. Gifs don’t do it justice. Just go back and watch the whole snow ball scene again, you know you want to anyway.
  • In conclusion, Lucas Sinclair continued to be a icon in season 2 and idk how anyone couldn’t love him.

Friday nights are the worst part of this job, Bitty thinks as he ties the required half apron around his waist. Normally, he avoids these shifts like the plague, but Dex had called in sick and no one else had been able (or willing, Bitty adds wryly) to cover for him. After all, Dex is the only one who even remotely enjoys working on Fridays; the rest of them would much rather be on the other side of the bar, thank you.

His shift started all of five minutes ago, right at seven, but the bar is already getting crowded and between the warmth pouring through the air vents and the hot press of bodies at the bar and on the dance floor, Bitty has to pause after sliding a man his scotch to roll his sleeves up. Before he can even properly even them out, though, a woman is tapping her long nails against the polished wood and rolling her eyes, the picture of impatience, and Bitty rushes to her service with a forced smile. People come and go like that almost faster than he and Lardo can serve them, and the next time Bitty gets half a second to breathe, he’s startled to realize it’s already one in the morning. No wonder he’s so exhausted.

Thankfully, the crowds have mostly dissipated, feeding into the hipper surrounding bars, so he feels no regret as he shoos Lardo out from behind the bar and reassures her that he can handle the rest of the shift alone and to get back home to that girlfriend of hers. The two had just moved in together, and though Bitty didn’t have much experience with that sort of thing, he could imagine how eager she must be to get home. She goes willingly enough, proving his point, but nods toward a man sitting at the bar Bitty hadn’t noticed before.

As he approaches, it strikes him just how familiar the man looks, although Bitty can’t quite place him. Maybe they’d had a class together in college or something? Just in case, he plasters on his usual easy smile and leans on the bar across from him. “Hey there, sugar. We’re almost closed, but you’ve got time for one last drink if you want it.”

It looks like he’s been nursing a glass of water for a while now, but the man’s bright blue eyes flicker up to Bitty’s face, then down to his name tag and seem to grow even brighter. “Just, euh, an orange-lime relaxer.”

Bitty sets to work, watching the man as he shakes the drink. “You look awfully familiar, you know that? You didn’t happen to go to Samwell by any chance, did you?”

The man hesitates for a moment, so quick Bitty barely registers it, then nods. “I graduated a couple of years ago. I think we had a class together my senior year? Psychology, Biology, and Politics of Food.” Maybe it’s the way he sounds hesitant to admit it, or just the soft cadence of his voice, but it clicks.

“Oh! That’s right! You were on the hockey team, weren’t you? Seemed like half the class was just y’all, all rowdy in the back.” Bitty can’t shake the fondness from his voice as he slides the highball over, pressing a lime wedge onto the rim. “I had half a mind to march back there and tell y’all to hush, a time or two.”

The man’s fingers brush Bitty’s as he reaches for the glass. “Right, yeah. That was us. I always wanted to talk to you too, but–” He goes to squeeze the lime wedge over his drink, but it slips between his fingers and launches itself at Bitty, leaving a wet spot on the rolled cuff of his shirt. “Shit, guess I’m not so good at pickup limes, eh?”

The joke earns a fond little smile and eye roll as Bitty dabs at the spot with a napkin. “Well, mister, you’ve certainly won me over. Now drink up and shoo so I can get this place cleaned up, you hear?” But the words held no venom, and he stayed there leaned on the bar chatting until well after close. When Jack finally excused himself (for Bitty’s sake more than his own), he left with the bartender’s number tucked away in his front pocket.

Try everything that seems interesting to you.  Don’t worry too much, and when you do worry, at least make it fun while you do it. Surround yourself with as much love as you can, and try to put some good into the world while you’re here because life is short.
—  Misha Collins

Shaw’s Biggest Fan

The Roof

It seemed odd that when Erik was most upset, he would not seek solace at his piano or pipe organ, which he saved almost entirely for venting his loudest emotions, but would venture to the very top of the Opera Populaire instead. If he wanted to be alone, there was no better place than locked away in his dark room in the dark house on the dark lake beneath the opera, yet it was as far opposite as one could go that his blackest moods always brought him.

Perhaps he couldn’t stand the cloying, damp atmosphere of the fifth cellar at such times. Perhaps the cold, clear air helped calm him. Or maybe he just enjoyed looking down on everyone from a secluded pedestal. She had no idea. All she knew was that it always surprised her to find him there, and that the best thing for them both was probably to just let him be, no matter how lonely his dark silhouette looked against the pale gray sky.

But she had never been very good at doing the best thing.

And so she closed the door behind her and began to slowly walk towards that tall, forbidding form, crossing her arms against the chill wind that whipped across the roof. He couldn’t have known it was her, surely, but he still didn’t move; the door hadn’t even been locked. Something shifting uneasily in her gut told her it was a very bad sign, and that she should tread quite carefully–back the way she came no doubt, added the small, sensible portion of her mind. But her heart disagreed as per the norm, tugging her forward steadily. Intuition and its insistent whisper that something was dreadfully wrong seemed to second the foolhardy notion that brought her to stand close behind him and call out softly, “Erik? Are you all right?”

To her great surprise, he answered. His voice was soft and hoarse, and his hands opened and closed at his sides like claws as he spoke.

“Tell me, my dear, which do you dream of more often: flying or falling?”

There was something unnerving in that gently scraping murmur.

“Well….” She swallowed and took a step closer so that she could see something of his face. His head was tilted down, and his eyes seemed to look far, far away. “Both, I suppose,” she replied quietly, trying to quell the tremor in her voice. “Why do you ask?”

“It must be very nice to dream of flying instead of falling–always falling–through an endless, burning darkness. It hurts dreadfully, though there is never a bottom. Do you suppose that it what hell is like?”

Erik paused, and she didn’t know if he was waiting for her to speak; she didn’t know if she could have.

“Often one wishes there was a bottom,” he continued in that oddly detached, hollow way. “Perhaps that would end it.”

He shifted a half step closer to the edge over which his gaze seemed fixed. They were already far too close to the side for her taste; this step brought her heart right into her throat, and his next words froze it there. “It couldn’t be half as painful as falling, could it?”

His name left her as a panicked yelp. She clapped a hand over her mouth, but he didn’t seem to have noticed at all.

“Erik,” she amended in a purposefully soft, coaxing tone. “Can we…can we please go home now?”

His chin pivoted a slight but encouraging inch in her direction, away from the frightening drop so near their feet.

“Home?” he hummed distantly, almost too quiet to hear.

“Yes,” she said over a gulp. “Let’s go home, Erik. Please.” And then slowly, tentatively, with every muscle in her body tensed, she crossed the meter of space between them and gently wound her arm around his. A tense span of breathless, waiting seconds passed, and then she leaned into his side with a shuddering sigh.

She saw his head cock like a bird’s out of the corner of her eye. “Are you cold?” he asked in a voice that loosened her shoulders a little.

Her cheek nuzzled against the softness of his sleeve, and she nodded. Never had she been colder than in the moment he took that step closer to the building’s edge. It was the kind of cold that sat in her bones now and made her feel like she might never be warm again.

That same cold seized up within her when, without warning, his arm slipped from hers. Her hands shot out to grab at his clothes desperately, and it occurred to her that she could not see a thing through all the tears suddenly in her eyes, nor hardly hear the sigh he gave for how loudly she was breathing. He stood there and let her clutch his clothes and cry her tears quite patiently for a minute. After that, a handkerchief was delicately wiping over her face as he tutted at her, and she would have laughed had she not been sniffling still.

“You silly girl,” he chided gently, dabbing at her cheeks. “I was only getting my cloak for you.”

And then it slid around her shoulders like a black, sheltering cloud. He pressed his kerchief into her hands in lieu of his clothes, which he smoothed down with a sniff.

By this time she was feeling a little better, and it only increased when he reached around and pulled her close against him.

“Come. I feel a chill descending; it looks like rain.”

But she didn’t care much about the chill any longer. Tucked into his side like that, she was quite comfortable again. It was as warm as could be under his cape and his arm and his once-more watchful gaze, and warmer still the farther away they got from the edge of the roof.

She decided, as he led them away and talked of hearth fires and suppertime, that she would never let him go up there alone again.

And she never did.

Angsty Romantic Cliches I’m a Slut For 

  • Holding their partner’s unconscious/dead body
  • Sobbing into their partner’s shoulder/chest
  • One of them is hurt and the other falls asleep in their hospital room
  • The other losing their mind when their partner is hurt/killed and charging into battle recklessly
  • “I thought I lost you” hugs
  • “Don’t go where I can’t follow!” 
  • One is mind controlled and forced to fight the other
  • The other refusing to harm them and getting seriously injured as consequence 
  • The person coming to and seeing what they’ve done
  • I could go on about this trope alone for 5 hours
  • A last desperate “I love you!” 
  • A tearful, hard kiss before battle, bonus points if its a confessional kiss
  • “Please, I don’t know what I’d do without you.” 
  • Bandaging each other’s wounds
  • Both of them injured, and waking up beside each other
voltron airline au

these dorks at 30,000ft 

  • pidge and hunk are engineers
  • pidge driving one of those little buggies on the tarmac: “look at that sign” hunk: “road work ahead?” 
    • pidge: “uhhh yeah i sure hope it does” 
  • allura is captain and shiro is the co-pilot
  • allura over the intercom: “excuse me ladies and gentlemen, mr shirogane just bet i couldn’t do a barrel roll in this plane so i’m about to shut him up real quick”
    • you can hear shiro hyperventilating in the background
  • keith, lance, and coran are flight attendants
  • lance: “let me out of the bathroom!” keith leaning on the other side of the door: “no, you ate all my thin mints. why would you do that?!” 
    • lance: “i wanted to annoy you because i love y- i mean thin mints!!!” 
  • really bad turbulence and keith and lance are screaming and holding onto each other. coran is a seasoned veteran and just glides around while the plane slips and slides
    • lance: “wow coran you’re so good at this!” coran: “yes my boy i’ve seen all 12 episodes of yuri on ice” 
  • allura has a really soothing voice and she forgets to turn off the intercom. everyone hears her singing softly and beautifully and they all pass out
  • coran: “and for lunch ma’am would you like the chicken or the beef?” pidge removing her sunglasses and big hat: “got any vodka?” coran: “miss holt, your disguise is terrible and you’re 5″
    • pidge: “5 foot a bitch
    • coran: “…” pidge: “i was trying to be cool but i just roasted myself”
  • keith: “you’re like a t-rex” pidge: “ferocious?” 
    • keith: “short arms” pidge: -__-
  • passenger: “can i get some water?” hunk: “i don’t work here but sure!”
    • annoying passenger for the 8th time: “this water tastes funny can i have another?” hunk swallowing the water, swishing it around in his mouth, and spitting it back into the cup: “here you go” passenger: >:0
  • lance: “;) hey there handsome” keith blushing: “me?” 
    • lance turning away from the mirror: “…well this is an awkward situation”
  • hunk: “captain?” shiro: “yup?” 
    • hunk: “i’m a huge fan!! can you give me your autograph and some words of wisdom?” shiro: “sure!”
    • hunk: “what are you gonna say? live your dreams? no no, i got it- work hard and be the best”
    • shiro looking him dead in the eye: “the FitnessGram™ pacer test-” 
  • allura: “coran. what are you doing?” 
    • coran passed out in the luggage rack, blinking blearily and looking around: “i believe i’m what the kids would say, lost in the sauce, allura” 

[1991.10.07] Happy birthday to the most talented, hard working, sweet, kind, humble, sexy, funny, cute and handsome boy out there !! i hope you have an amazing day filled with love, happiness and the people who cares about you the most. 

Te quiero muchisimo, mi angelito 💕💜💖🌺💚🎂💝✨🌈💗💐💘💞.  

jeon jungkook is a bright, talented, warm, kind hearted person  who loves his members and fans with every ounce of who he is. he’s got the cutest little button nose and sweetest smile. he wears his heart on his sleeve and has the tendency to cry easily. he’s incredibly shy but has to step out of his comfort zone constantly due to the nature of this profession, and that shit is fucking hard to do. he gives and gives and gives and always talks about how grateful he is to the others for helping raise him and helping him come out of his shell. he loves music and performing and is even working hard to produce and write some of his own. he works so hard and doesn’t give up. but yall have been sexualizing him since he was fucking fifteen, and all yall care about is how good looking he is, and its sickening. just because he’s an adult and works out alot or what have you, doesn’t mean you get free reign to treat him solely as a sex object.  he deserves more than just being viewed as eye candy. if you can’t treat him and respect him for who he truly is, then you dont even deserve to look at him.

Imagine Jack spilling to you what Dean thinks, and practically feels, of you when he reads his mind.

“Wait, wait, wait, wait.” Dean raised a hand, stopping Jack from drinking his beer “How old do you think you are?” he asked, mouth half full as you and Sam shared a look.

“Uh 3 days, 17 hours and 42 minutes.” Jack replied precisely to the question and seeing the look on Dean’s face almost made you choke on your own drink. It was priceless to say the least. Barely at four days old and the young man had already outsassed the older Winchester, well this was going to be fun. Dean just shook his head and took a sip of his beer, Jack watching closely and doing the same at the exact almost moment.

“So-” Jack cleared his throat, looking at you “You are my aunt, right?”

“Uh well-” you smiled “Was, actually. I’m no longer an angel, I fell and after building a vessel things happened and… there is no angel mojo in me anymore. So I am practically human.”

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