i'm just going to post this because if i keep staring at it

Domestic Klance Headcanons
  • Lance tries as hard as possible to sleep in for as long as possible
  • this is a difficult task considering Keith is an early riser he doesn’t even need an alarm he just naturally wakes up at 7 to work out or whatever
  • one time lance tried to wake up early enough to surprise keith with a birthday breakfast-in-bed, but of course keith didn’t get the message to sleep in and was already awake
  • they made a mess making pancakes and bacon together instead
  • lance is a neat freak. it annoys the crap out of keith because he never had to clean up for anyone else whereas lance’s mother pretty much programmed him to clean up after himself and his little siblings
  • keith affectionately labels these tirades as The Nag™…brace yourselves, The Nag is coming
  • lance can also cook??? he chops vegetables like it’s nothing and keith is alway afraid he’s going to lose a finger at the speed he’s going
  • they couldn’t decide on a color scheme for their room so it’s just a mismatched mess of soft blues and and calm grays and vibrant red and angsty black and it looks awful. but it’s theirs
  • lance convinced keith to do weekly Couple Luxury Night where they did relaxing at-home spa treatment-esque routines. he told keith it’d be fun but really it’s just an excuse for him to pamper his boyfriend and take goofy pictures in face masks and cucumbers
  • lance always fixes keith’s hair before he walks out the door because that boy does not know that bedheads aren’t acceptable. keith always pretends to be annoyed but his favorite thing is feeling lances fingers run through his hair
  • lance got them really into competitive cooking shows and naturally it turned into a heated cooking war between the two. since lance is 1000x better at cooking (keith can barely peel a potato) keith is allowed to distract him by whatever means necessary. lance is extremely susceptible to neck kisses, side tickling, and obnoxious raspberries
  • lance in aprons with flirtatious sayings
  • keith complying with the aprons’ suggestions
  • lance totally has a childhood teddy bear that he still sleeps with with named tigre (as a child he didn’t really have a clear grasp on the difference between bears and tigers). He is now señor tigre, respect the title, and is appalled when keith calls it ratty and old-looking
  • whenever lance is mad at keith he pretends keith isn’t there and complains about him to tigre
  • when keith needs comfort and can’t get any words out, lance lets him hold tigre—he might be old as hell but he is soft—and just talks to him about anything until keith feels better
  • they have matching red and blue mugs with cute lions on them
  • keith sleeps on the left side of the bed, but always manages to roll all the way to lance’s side by the morning
  • keith also has deathgrip when he’s asleep, so lance had to buy him a body pillow for those nights when lance just wants to sprawl out
  • lance taped a fucking picture of his face to the body pillow the first night keith slept with it and the next morning lance was woken abruptly by keith shrieking in terror
  • lance likes to do voices and impressions all the time to keep himself entertained and uses random objects around the house as props. keith’s reactions range from tired-of-your-shit to must-hold-in-laughter, but most of the time keith likes to film him on his phone so he can watch it again later. he says it’s blackmail material but these are keith’s videos of the lance that only he gets to see every day
  • whenever lance decides to fart in front of keith he turns it into a punchline
  • keith would never fart in front of other people because it’s fucking barbaric but he feels comfortable enough to voice his body’s concerns (oh god lance i have to fucking dump pause the tv i can’t miss gordon ramsay ripping this neglectful chef a new asshole)
  • they have a weekly chore chart with shifting roles, except keith can’t do the dishes because sticking his hands under hot water and touching grimy dishes is a nightmare for him
  • keith never likes to walk around barefoot esp in the kitchen, so lance makes it fun by gifting keith with funky socks. his most recent pair has shooting stars with a moon made of cheese at the ankle. (keith unintentionally called them cheesy and lance keeled over) keith is known at work/school as the serious guy with uncharacteristically fun socks
  • lance likes to blast music but when it bothers keith, he turns it down and sings along at a moderate volume, which keith finds comforting
  • lance: KEITH HAVE U SEEN THE THING
  • keith: did u check between the couch cushions
  • it was between the couch cushions
  • they have a codeword for when keith misses a social cue and says something too blunt or rude, that way they can communicate easily in private and when company’s over
  • they also have a word for when lance is doing something annoyingly repetitive that keith can’t deal with
  • lance is superstitious and it’s all pretty humorous, but he never risks going to bed without saying i love you, even if they’re angry at each other. keith doesn’t understand why they need to say it out loud all the time but he knows it makes lance feel better so he doesn’t ask questions
  • some nights they like to sleep outside on the back porch so they can see the stars together, and they make their own constellations
  • when the Bad Thoughts hit lance, keith just stays with him, cradles him, strokes his hair. keith’s blunt honesty is a solace whenever lance splits
  • when lance dissociates, keith finds a simple activity for them to do together to coax him back like watching crap tv or going for a drive with the windows down
  • lance bought this weird porcelain duck cookie jar and every time keith comes into contact with it he stares it down for a good minute out of suspicion and spite
  • if either of them don’t feel like using their voice at any particular time, they bought mini whiteboards with tons of colorful markers
  • keith really likes to doodle?? its not his passion or anything but lance lets him draw on his skin and loves to show off his “new tattoo” to literally anyone
  • keith really wants a cat but lance thinks cats are too boring and moody. lance wants a dog but keith thinks they’re too high-maintenance and overwhelming
  • when they went pet shopping they became unwittingly enamored with a turtle struggling to eat a tomato. it was inspirational, and they named her Rita
  • they probably start a small garden and grow tomatoes for Rita and lance in floppy sun hats and keith digging gleefully into the earth
  • lance naming their gardening hoe keith and promptly running from an angry dirt-covered keith

im dy i ng I could go on about these dorks and their habits

if anyone wants to add anything more please do I'm thirsty for domestic klance fluff

anonymous asked:

andreil pda around the foxes pleaseee my soul needs it

my marvelous anon, i am here to grant thine request, with a small side of accidental lowkey renison. enjoy <3. also on AO3.


He did it. He actually did it. After months of constant warnings and threats, Wymack finally followed through.

Neil can do nothing but stare at the flyer in his hand, mildly in fear and majorly in shock. A mere thirty seconds prior, Wymack had stormed out of his office brandishing this piece of paper like both a white flag and a declaration of war. He had paused just inside the lounge, making sure to gather everyone’s attention, before striding over to Neil and shoving the flyer in his face.

“This is for last weekend,” Wymack had said. “I already—don’t give me that look, you know exactly what the fuck I’m talking about. I already signed you up. It starts at 8:00 AM on Saturday, and unless you want your ass glued to the bench for the rest of the season, I suggest you be there.” He had then turned back around and disappeared into the hallway, leaving a room full of confused and curious Foxes in his wake.

A full minute passes before chaos breaks out and everyone starts moving at once. Various forms of “What the hell?” can be heard from all corners of the room. Neil blinks as the flyer is yanked out of his hand. He looks up to see Andrew, his eyes scanning the paper. Andrew looks up at him, and Neil’s heart nearly explodes because this look on his face, it looks like the honest-to-god beginnings of a smile. And sure, it’s at Neil’s expense, but he would embarrass the fuck out of himself at every turn if this was his reward. Andrew moves to hand the paper back to Neil.

“Okay, seriously,” Kevin huffs out with impatience as he pushes through his teammates. He snags the flyer away from Andrew who couldn’t be bothered to stop him. Kevin reads aloud, “The Annual Hilton Head Island Marathon…a MARATHON? Really, Neil?! Is this a joke?”

“I don’t know, Kevin,” says Andrew, his voice taking on the persona of a kindergarten teacher. “Did it look like a joke to you?”

Kevin’s only response is to scowl and shove the flyer into Neil’s chest. “This better not affect your performance at our game on Friday. You don’t get to take it easy just because you have to run 26.2 miles the next day.”

By the time Kevin has stormed out of the building, the rest of the Foxes have commenced their team wide freak out.

“Seriously?! He actually came through on that threat?” Dan is caught halfway between being genuinely worried and dying of laughter.

“Neil…bro…what the fuck…” Matt says from somewhere on his left, placing a consoling hand lightly on his shoulder.

“Oh my god, Neil. We have to be there. I have to witness this historic moment. You finally get to put your insane running habits into practice,” Allison is rambling from across the room.

“Wait, what was Wymack talking about ‘last weekend’? What did you do?” Asks Nicky, unaccustomed to being out of the loop.

Keep reading

samwiseofficial  asked:

Hey Alan! I just saw a post about different types of allistics on my dash... one of them was "The 'Ally'™". I'm allistic and I want to know how I can be a good ally, so I thought I'd ask about certain things mentioned in the post so i can avoid doing them! What are person first language and functioning labels and what can I do as an allistic to be an actual ally (not an “Ally"™)? Thanks so much!

okay, first of all, I’m going to assume that you meant [this post]. If not, sorry. Second, I’m not going to get this perfect. I’m viewing this as a bit of a first draft, which (note to self) I will edit at some point.

definitions: person-first language is “person with autism” as opposed to “autistic person”. Please use “autistic person”. I dealt with functioning labels later in this disorganized hell-post. 

So here’s my stab at allistic ally 101

1) You follow the same rules as if you were an ally for any other group: [Here’s a pretty good ally 101 article], but it’s not the end-all-be-all. Keep listening to autistic voices, and if we contradict the rules hold our voices higher. 

Also, above all, rule #1 of allyship is don’t be a shithead–come to conversations with the intention to listen and learn first and treat us like human beings (this is particularly critical with disability rights)

2) Our voices are the important ones: this is important with being an ally to any group, but autistic people often struggle to communicate or express ourselves. Be patient. Ask people how they’d like to communicate and be prepared to be a bit flexible.

Some autistic people use AAC (Alternative or Assistive Communication), and their voices matter just as much as verbal people’s. You don’t have to learn ASL or anything, but don’t assume that because someone’s not communicating verbally they’re less intelligent or competent. And, even if someone can’t communicate using language (or communicate at all) don’t assume that they don’t have thoughts, feelings, and needs.

3) Nothing about us without us: knowing an autistic person doesn’t make you an expert on autism. BEING an autistic person makes you an expert on autism. If you see anything claiming to help autistic people that doesn’t prominently feature Actual Autistic People, don’t support it (unless Actual Autistic People are telling you to support it, see #2)

This goes double for any charitable organization focused on autism which leads me into point number 4 (also from here on out things are a bit smaller-scope, that doesn’t make them less important):

4) Autism Speaks is trash: [and] [here] [are] [some] [sources

If you want to support charities try ASAN and The Autism Women’s Network

5) Please don’t try to “cure” us: I’m dealing with some internalized ableism with this one, so let me turn you over to  Anya Ustaszewski who in [this article] writes:

My autism is part of who I am. It is not something “extra” that can be taken away from me to suit the agenda of an intolerant society. My abilities, challenges and perception of the world all go hand in hand. If I were to be “cured” of my autism, the person that I am would cease to exist.

so yeah cure = bad, acceptance and accommodation = good

6) Celebrate the things that make autistics unique: lately, tumblr has gotten a lot more stim-positive, but stimming isn’t solely a pretty, paint-mixing or slime video (in fact, stimboards are rarely tagged and can overstimulate the SHIT out of me). 

A lot of time, stimming is viewed as ugly, distracting, loud, disgusting, or socially unacceptable. Support your local autistics, don’t expect people to stop stimming and try not to stare or comment (many autistic people have to work very hard to reclaim stimming after childhoods of expecting to suppress it entirely).

Also, try your best to support different cognitive styles and processing issues. Try to keep your websites accessible, provide image transcripts, try not to make posts that are entirely text in images (like screenshots of twitter posts), and help to subtitle videos if you can. <- these things also help d/Deaf people and anyone who accesses the internet via a screenreader

7) steer clear of stereotypes: I’m not rain man or that dude on the big bang theory or your cousin’s dentist’s sister’s younger brother’s son. The ‘idiot savant’ stereotype is almost never true and puts unreasonable expectations on autistic people. Also, not all of us are good at math or science, have incredible memories, etc. Fitting or not fitting stereotypes don’t change the fact that every autistic person is human and deserves rights and respect.

8) functioning labels are fake: never listen to anyone who describes autism as “high” or “low functioning”. Every autistic person has struggles, and putting labels on functioning basically sorts people into “can be ignored” and “subhuman”. [here’s about a million posts about why they suck because if I put it all here this post would be five times as long]

9) ABA is trash: this is trigger territory for a huge number of autistic people, so [here] and I’m not going to say anything else just take my word on this one

10) If it has puzzle pieces on it, run: if you’re looking to see if a group is okay, look for the rainbow infinity sign. The puzzle piece is a huge red flag. Please don’t support anything with puzzle pieces on it. Please. I’m begging you.


Okay that was WAAY longer than I meant it to get, sorry. Also, I’ve missed a bunch of things, but I’ve been working on this for an hour and I don’t have the energy to add more. I’ll throw this in #actuallyautistic and hopefully someone else can add anything important I missed.

Malec Goodies Part 2

As always, if you know the author and want to give me a hand, please tag them :)

Never Better by satonawall

Three times Alec offers to give Magnus a backrub + one time Magnus asks for one.

No matter what by @hufflebee

Alec often thought about kissing Magnus.

Whenever Magnus would casually touch him, a hand of his arm, an arm wrapped around his shoulders, Alec would be overcome with warmth, feeling each touch throughout his entire body. Each touch left him wondering how his body would even contain him if Magnus ever kissed him.

And whenever Alec thought about this, his mind barely registered the world around him, barely aware of anything existing but Magnus. Which was a wonderful thing, a beautiful world to have his mind focused on, a world consisting of only Magnus.

Still, their English teacher didn’t really appreciate it.

Now and Forever by EmilyRLightwood

Magnus and Alec like to get down and dirty, but they are also totally soft for each other, even in the throes of passion.

Nulla Salus Bello by Nia_dAstarte

Long after Magnus is back in his own body, long after he goes again suavely about his business as High Warlock of Brooklyn, he still wonders what Alec was thinking. Coda to 2x11.

Oblivion by  @heartsalmighty

Alec stood up, keeping a careful distance and being sure to move slowly as he approached. “Magnus, I am so sorry. For everything you had to go through.”

Magnus’ eyes never moved from the spot on the floor he was staring at. He shook his head slightly, eyebrows furrowed deeply. “That agony rune…” He paused, taking a moment to swallow. His face was drawn in so much pain that Alec had to look away for a moment. He immediately punished himself by digging his fingernails into his palm. It was selfish to worry about his pain. He had certainly inflicted more than enough on Magnus that he had to atone for. “Made me remember things that I spent…centuries trying to forget.”

Off Duty by KouriArashi 

“I’m talking about an actual day off,” Magnus says, and Alec’s blank expression doesn’t change. “Off duty. If something goes wrong, they call someone who isn’t you.”

“That’s … not really a thing that the Head of an Institute gets,” Alec says.

One Easy Answer by @ameliacgormley

Magnus warned Alec he wouldn’t ask again.

And he didn’t.

Alec called off his wedding, but the next day walked in on Magnus with Camille and hasn’t spoken to Magnus since.

Now, months later, relations between the Shadowhunters and the Downworld are growing increasingly turbulent as the Downworld blames Jace for Valentine’s massacre of dozens of Downworlders.

It’s up to Alec, as Head of the New York Institute, to forge a peace that could save thousands of Downworlder and Shadowhunter lives—even if it means re-evaluating everything he once thought mattered.

Our Battles Choose Us by @thepinescentedair

Alec shakes his head and rubs his palm over the white scar of the faded deflect rune permanently inscribed on the left side of his neck. He wishes he had his stele or his bow or even his sword. Anything would be better than facing an unknown foe nearly weaponless and certainly powerless. He wishes a lot of things. “Keep your head and don’t get cocky, Izzy. We stick together, remember?”

Isabelle nods and stares at the door, weapon hanging loosely from her hand at her side. “You and me against the world, Alec.”


Or, after the Downworlders rise up against the Shadowhunters, the United States is quarantined off. Downworlders capture Shadowhunters and force them to fight in arenas for entertainment. Alec and Isabelle do their best to stay alive in the ring despite everything that has happened in the year since they were captured, but what happens when they try to escape?

Please, believe me by @katychan666

After swapping bodies, Magnus needs to make Alec believe that he isn’t really Valentine. Alec needs a bit of a push, but after hearing him out, he’s prepared to believe him.

Please, tell me what I can do by Shipper_Soprano

Aftermath of 2x12 “You Are Not Your Own”

Public display by @simonlewhiss

He’s going to cuddle with his boyfriend if he wants to, because he just put his body through hell for these people. They can tolerate seeing Magnus’ fingers in his hair.

Rainy Morning or the One Where Magnus Checks Alec’s Phone by @mfika

“Alec sat up quickly, keeping Magnus in his lap as he closed his fingers around Magnus’ wrists, kissing his fingers in a lame attempt to hide the embarrassed blush that covered his cheeks. At that, Magnus relaxed. No, Alec wasn’t faltering in his trust, he was just embarrassed by something and Magnus was now making it his mission to find out what that /something/ was. “Alexander, you screeched. That’s highly unlike you,” he grinned, amused.”

Ruin Me (Gently) by @thesorrowoflizards

It involves spells gone wrong, smutty smut, and a second virginity.

Keep reading

you turn away (like i’m not here at all)

this came out way faster than i expected and way longer than i planned but anyway, this is based on this video by @vp-dot-png so credit to them for the basis and thanks for letting me use it (also if you listen to the song from the video - ‘phone down’ by lost kings ft. emily warren) - it’s like 10x better). i really needed a distraction from my current main project so this was really fun to do

[read it on ao3]


Lance finds Keith sitting in the dark in the computer room, the harsh blue light of his tablet casting shadows across his face. He stands in the entryway for a minute, watching Keith tap insistently at the screen, his legs folded underneath him and his hair unruly. He’s still wearing his paladin armor. Lance sighs and tugs his jacket tighter around himself.

“Keith,” he says. There’s no response. “Keith.”

Keith doesn’t jump, just twists around to glance at him, his gaze sort of vacant. There are dark bags under his eyes, the boy having barely slept in weeks (a fact Lance can personally confirm), his cheeks are sunken, and his face is paler than usual. “Oh, hey,” he says absently, turning back to the tablet screen.

Folding his arms across his chest, Lance steps into the room and leans against the wall. The boy in front of him looks so very different from the one Lance knew. Thought he knew. There’s something off about this the boy here, something vague and distant, like his whole existence is blurring around the edges. Something’s missing, like that one puzzle piece you realize you lost only after you’ve completed the rest of the puzzle.

He knows what’s happened to Keith, what’s happened to all of them, and he gets it, he does. Loss does horrible things to people. But he wasn’t prepared for this, for how hard this would be. For how much things would change. For how much Keith would change.

(He thinks he’s probably changed quite a lot, too, having been thrust, yet again, into the role of protector. He’s used to taking care of people, but this is different.)

He’d expected it to be better, now that they at least have a lead on Shiro’s whereabouts. It’s not much, barely more than a rumor, but it’s still a lead. And yet, Keith is still obsessing, like he’s been doing for weeks.

Lance sighs again. “What are you even doing in here?”

“Working,” Keith replies shortly.”You should try it sometime.”

“You don’t have to be an ass, Keith,” Lance says levelly, forcing himself to keep his voice casual. Forcing himself to stay calm. “We’re just worried about you.”

Keith’s fingers still on the tablet, but he refuses to look at Lance. “Who’s ‘we’? You’re the only one bothering me right now.” He tucks a strand of hair behind his ear and his fingers go back to tap-tap-tapping.

Stop it, he thinks, wishing he had the courage to say it out loud. Stop treating me like I don’t mean anything to you.

“The others are worried about you, too,” he says instead, stepping towards Keith. “They just don’t have the energy to deal with your bullshit.”

“And I assume you do?” There’s a certain level of malice in Keith’s voice, a certain bite that used to be quite rare for Lance to hear, especially directed at him.

Whereas Lance is usually all bark and no bite, Keith has plenty of both and no qualms against using them.

“You know, Keith, I’m not sure I do,” Lance shoots back, and almost feels bad for it. But damn, maybe he isn’t up for this right now. Their last mission ended only hours ago, he hasn’t slept in forty-eight hours, and he hasn’t even bothered to eat yet. He’s tired, so very tired of living like this. He spends practically every minute of every day waiting for the other shoe to drop and it’s exhausting. “I just -”

Keith cuts him off, finally jerking around to glare at him. “You just what, Lance? Did you need something or are you just here to -”

“Would you stop?” Lance shouts, frustrated tears prickling in the corners of his eyes. “You’re acting like a goddamn brat, Keith, and it’s getting ridiculous.”

“Oh, fuck off, Lance,” Keith snaps back, running an angry hand through his hair.

“I’m worried about you!”

“So what, you think you’ll just give poor little Keith the ‘we care about you’ speech and earn your Good Samaritan points for the week? News flash, Lance, I don’t need your worry.”

Keith turns away from him again, and Lance can’t do anything but stare at him. Lance opens his mouth, closes it again. Clenches his hands into fists and buries his fingernails in his palms. Breathes in. Breathes out.

Says, “Look, Keith, I know you don’t want to hear anything I’ve got to say right now.” He ignores Keith’s not-so-subtle scoff. “But I can’t just sit here and watch you self-destruct.”

Keith doesn’t even respond.

Lance barrels on, gesturing wildly. “God, Keith, I wish I could leave you alone. I wish I could just walk away and let you fall apart, but I can’t! Because you’re falling apart and I’m trying to hold this goddamn team together! You’re not sleeping, you’re not eating, and I get it, Keith. Shiro’s gone and we’re all hurting.

“I know he’s important to you and I know you’ve lost him before and I know you’re in pain, but this is important, Keith. You’re gonna kill yourself if you keep up like this.” Lance is crying by now, hot, angry tears streaming down his face. And he aches, he fucking aches, because this has been going on for weeks. He’s always been good at taking care of other people, but he can’t take care of someone who’s not willing to let him.

“We need you, Keith,” Lance says, pleading, begging for Keith to give him something here. “I need you.”

And that’s it - that’s all he’s got. He’s poured his heart out, he’s given everything he has to this boy who won’t even look at him, and there are no more tricks up his sleeve.

But Keith still doesn’t even acknowledge him.

And Lance knows he’s being selfish, he does. He doesn’t mean to be - his biggest concern here is that Keith is okay, that the whole team is okay, but buried underneath that is his desire for Keith to just talk to him. It doesn’t have to be about Shiro or his feelings or anything like that; he just wishes they could go back to talking and laughing and making dumb inside jokes and just being together.

He wishes Keith would at least look him in the eyes.

“Are you even listening?”

Keith waves his hand dismissively and mutters, “Whatever,” and Lance can’t take any more of this.

Throwing caution to the wind, Lance marches forward, grabs Keith’s wrist, yanks him around, and smashes their lips together in a bruising kiss.

The last thing he sees before his eyes shut is Keith’s eyes widening in shock. The kiss tastes of salty tears and the bloodstains of their latest battle. Their noses bump together and their teeth clash, but Lance doesn’t care. He buries one hand in Keith’s hair, uses the other to tug Keith closer by the collar of his armor. Keith’s free hand hovers at Lance’s shoulder, and then the tablet clatters to the floor and his other hand comes to rest on Lance’s hip.

Lance feels something loosen in his chest, like he can finally breathe again.

Keith pulls away after a moment and Lance has to force himself not to follow.

They’re inches apart, both breathing heavily and staring at each other’s lips. And Lance says, “Can’t you just…take a break? Come to bed. We can talk, or - or not talk! Whatever you want, Keith.”

He’s finally getting somewhere, he thinks. Keith is looking at him, really looking at him, without a hint of the iciness Lance has grown used to. There’s no distance between them, right now. For the moment, they breathe the same air, exist in each other’s space.

Lance is only just thinking, I missed this, when Keith steps back.

Keith’s expression hardens and his eyes grow distant once again; he turns away, pulling his hair into a ponytail as he does, saying, “Lance, I don’t - look, can we talk about this later?”

Lance makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat. He’s been free-falling ever since this whole thing started, and Keith is supposed to be there to catch him.

Thing is, Keith is there. He just hasn’t noticed that Lance is falling.

With a noise somewhere between a sob and a laugh, Lance rakes his fingers through his hair, practically yanking strands out of his head. He should just let him go. Surely it would hurt less than this.

But his feet are moving before he can stop himself and he’s yelling before he even knows what he wants to say.

“What could be so goddamn important, Keith, that it can’t wait until the morning?” Keith turns to him in surprise, takes an almost automatic step backwards, effectively trapping himself between Lance and the table behind him. “We have a lead already, you can stop obsessing for five minutes! You’re scared and upset, I get that, but you can’t take it out on everyone else! On me.”

“I didn’t -”

“It doesn’t matter if you meant it, Keith!” Lance throws his hands up in frustration. Keith is looking at him like he’s the one who’s unrecognizable, even though it’s the other way around. “Shiro’s gone, but we’re still here. I’m right here and it’s like you’re looking through me.”

“Please, Keith,” Lance says softly, lacing his fingers through Keith’s and holding their hands up between the two of them. Keith’s eyes follow the movement, skirt over Lance’s face, and finally settle on a spot just above Lance’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and doesn’t sound very sorry at all. He sounds far away, even now. “You should go to bed.”

“Like you care about my wellbeing.”

“I do.” He says it so fiercely that Lance almost believes him. Keith bends to pick up his tablet, pulling his hand out of Lance’s, and when he stands back up, his shoulders are hunched. “I hear you, I do, I just - I can’t do this right now.”

“You’re hearing me -” Lance shakes his head in disbelief  “- but you’re still not listening.”

Keith scoffs and says tiredly, “I really don’t have time for this right now, Lance.”

Lance rubs at his eyes with his sleeve, sniffling, and thinks back to before. Before Shiro disappeared, before Keith started shutting him out, before all of this. He can see Keith’s bright smile, saved just for him, and he can hear Keith’s laugh, the unrestrained one that he only lets Lance hear, bubbling up in the confines of one of their bedrooms.

He stares at the collar of Keith’s armor  for a long moment. Closes his eyes. And gives up.

“Fine,” Lance says, lets his arms drop back to his sides. He blinks back a new wave of tears, sets his jaw, lifts his chin, and tries not to let his voice waver. “Let me know when you decide to stop treating me like something stuck on the bottom of your shoe.”

Despite himself, he can’t bring himself to move without giving Keith a chance to reply. When he doesn’t, Lance turns jerkily, unsteadily on his heel. He makes it halfway to the door before pausing.

He’s a little hysterical and more than a little pissed off when he calls, voice sing-songy and silky sweet, “Or, y’know, don’t! Whatever floats your boat, Keithy-boy!” He looks over his shoulder to find Keith leaning on the desk, tablet lying a few feet away from him, forgotten.

“I’m done,” he says to the back of Keith’s head and walks out of the room.

He doesn’t see Keith turn at the sound of the door opening, and he doesn’t hear Keith say his name as the door shuts.

Lance isn’t sure he would’ve looked back anyway.

anonymous asked:

tw for sexual harassment, but how would the guys react if they were out with their SO and they come back from the bathroom or something to find their SO being harassed by someone who's getting a little closer than they should? I'm sorry if this makes you uncomfortable

Let’s see how many beatings I can fit into one post.

~~~

Roadhog

  • Whoever’s harassing you isn’t harassing you for long
  • They’re too busy getting thrown through a wall one-handed by a big angry hog-man
  • Doesn’t care if he’s causing a scene in a public place; he usually does that just by being in a public place
  • He checks to make sure you’re okay, then goes to pummel the guy to a pulp
  • No one’s willing to interfere because Mako’s terrifying as all fuck and, y’know, a few bystanders think the creep deserves it
  • After he’s done he wipes his hands clean and proceeds to silently fuss over you
  • Brushing his fingers lightly through your hair, gently feeling your arms and body for any bruises or signs that you’ve touched or hurt
  • Then he simply picks you up and hauls you home to vocally fuss over you and pamper you
  • Apologizes for leaving you alone several times, as well as grumbles about people like that creep being one of the many reasons he hates society

Junkrat

  • Again, the creep’s not bugging you for much longer after Jamie notices
  • He’s on the guy in a second
  • Marches right up to the guy and decks him in the face, then catches him by the shirt collar before he falls to the ground
  • Proceeds to threaten to fill every crevasse in the man’s body with dynamite, then keep him locked up in a shed like that for a special occasion
  • Like a firework party
  • Then he shoves the man, who stumbles and curses, away
  • Then he finally goes back to you to confirm that you’re okay
  • When you assure him as much, he continues on with the date or activity as if nothing happened, though he’s got a tighter hold on you than usual
  • You get extra stolen gifts and special gentle cuddles when you two get back home

McCree

  • Manages to keep his cool but just barely
  • Slowly saunters over and gets all close you, wrapping an arm around you while putting him between you and the creep
  • Then he gets close into the guy’s face and uses his free hand to show him the precious Peacekeeper he’s hiding under a long jacket
  • He just quietly threatens the guy
  • “Now you better be gettin’ along before you start up some real trouble, ya hear?”
  • Needless to say, the guy backs off
  • Then Jesse hugs you close to his side and takes you to your favorite place to make you feel better

Genji

  • Anyone who sees a buff robo-man coming their way at even the most leisurely of speeds better check their blessings and make sure they haven’t done anything in the past five decades to make someone send of ninja beast after them
  • So, I mean, when the guy creeping on you backs away a little bit when they see Genji marching over to your side, they’re not the dumbest person alive
  • But they’re still a creep and they’re going to suffer for it
  • Genji walks right by you and up into the guy’s face, and then keeps walking
  • He pushes Creepster back a fair way, until he eventually hits something to stop him from moving farther away
  • Then he gets a face-full of emotionless Genji (which is terrifying, let’s face it), who’s letting every threat he can think of go
  • Threats of him, his family, his entire clan hunting this guy down, even if he runs forever and literally falls off the face of the earth
  • He’s not a fan of his past but he sure as well will use it to terrify a shitty man back into his place
  • Then he thumps the guys back against the wall and walks back to you
  • He takes your arm like a gentleman and leads you out of there

Hanzo

  • Tbh, what he does is pretty simple
  • His dragons are just as protective over you as he is
  • So he just walks over and wraps his arms around you from behind
  • Rests his chin on your shoulder and looks the man dead in the eye after asking you quietly if you’re okay
  • Then his arm starts glowing and there’s a very vague reptilian shape made of blue light encircling his arm
  • Oh, look, there’s two of them now and the shapes are gradually getting bigger as the light slowly gets brighter
  • Of course, he doesn’t acknowledge this and just keeps giving the guy a deadpan stare, who’s now fidgeting and glancing at his arm every few seconds
  • “So, can we help you or are you going to leave my partner and I alone now.”
  • He does not phrase it like a question but as an order

Soldier 76

  • He literally just walks up to the guy
  • Puts a hand on his chest
  • Lightly pushes him back
  • “Unless you want your lights knocked out, you better be getting your ass out of here.”
  • And if the guy decides to push back, Jack keeps his promise

Reaper

  • He doesn’t do much right at that moment
  • He asks you to confirm the guy is harassing you, then he decks the man in the face in a knock-out punch
  • Then he takes your out of there
  • However, once you’re in the safety of home and relaxing, he goes back to hunt down the douchebag
  • The man shows up on the local news missing a couple days later

Zenyatta

  • He’s a pleasant guy, so he’ll start out asking pleasantly
  • Carefully sliding himself between you two and asking him to leave, as he’s making you uncomfortable
  • If the man persists and tries to move forward, Zen puts a hand out, stopping the dude from making any headway (dude, he’s a robot; you bet your ass he can stop you with one hand)
  • Not to mention the orbs around his neck are whirling a bit faster and glowing lightly
  • “Sir, I asked you to leave. I will not ask you again.”
  • If the guy still doesn’t move, he gets a little push that causes him to fall on his ass (again, robot = stronk)
  • Then Zen lightly slips an arm around you and escorts you out

Reinhardt

  • All he has to do is walk up and whoever’s bugging you will stop and run for the hills
  • If they’re really stubborn (and are one of those people who thinks they can take an old guy, even if it’s a 500+ pound old guy who has several visible battle scars), they run off with their tail between their legs when he picks them up by their torso and quietly growls a threat into their face
  • Then he goes back to German teddy bear Rein and sets up to finish your date/whatever activity you guys have been doing

Lucio

  • He gets a little rowdy but doesn’t actually put up his dukes
  • He puts on a scary face (yes, even our precious frog bean is capable of doing such a thing for someone he loves) and gets a bit pushy with them, trying to get them to back off
  • If they get pissy enough to swing a punch, then he kicks their legs out from under them
  • Then he grabs you and starts to leave, hollering that if they try it again they’ll get a lot worse
  • He buys you your favorite treat to make up for the incident, all the while apologizing profusely for leaving you alone and allowing that to happen

I should probably warn you that: 1. The idea is very old; 2. I mostly write stuff so I can push character limits, and here I clearly pushed too hard. Basically, expect lots of OOC.


Title: Think Before You Speak

Fandom: MommaCQ (belongs to @alainaprana)

Wordcount: 983

Warnings: OOC; mentions of injury and hospitalization; blatant angst.

Summary: Error hates the hospital.

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empressarisu  asked:

Do you know that post about an uber driver surprising passengers with puppies inside their cab? Because I dreamed about it last night but with victuuri. Like, driver!victor with makkachin and his pups at the backseat, then passenger!yuuri enters and victor just stares at him bc wow what an angel??? 'pls marry me we'll travel the world and raise these puppies together???' Lmao it's just so cute too bad i woke up right after that it's such a nice dream ;//

On Victor Nikiforov’s Uber profile it says: prefers passengers with pets.

Yuuri doesn’t have a pet with him, but he does need a ride, so he figures ‘prefer’ is going to have to be the operative word in this situation. Phichit hadn’t been able to give him a ride, something had come up, so he’s leaning against the brick wall outside of a diner. There are waves of rain beating down on the sidewalk in front of him and a tiny, maroon awning is his only savior.

When he sees a white convertible pull up, he squints, wondering if this could possibly be his driver. Deciding to take the risk, he hurries into the rain and peers into the window. There’s a man inside, too blurry to make out, but he’s waving to him, so Yuuri opens the back door.

And…

(No, this can’t be the right car.)

“Come in, you’re going to get soaked!” the man calls, and there’s a playfulness to his voice, an invitation.

“You have dogs,” Yuuri blurts, as though the man doesn’t know that there are currently five brown poodles habituating the back of his fancy convertible.

The man–Victor, Yuuri reminds himself–nods. “That one is Makkachin, he’s the oldest. And that one is Spot–do you see the spot on his back?–and that one is Bella, she’s the troublemaker, and then that’s Charlie…”

“Right, okay,” Yuuri blurts, and he gets into the car, shutting the door behind him. A dog lays down on his lap. He can’t buckle his seatbelt.

“Where are you heading?”

Yuuri swallows. “Um, doesn’t it say in your, uh, thing?”

Victor looks at his GPS. He’s definitely attractive, Yuuri notes. “Yes, I suppose it does. Just trying to make conversation.”

“Oh, right, sorry. Um, I can’t get my seatbelt on.”

“Oh, Makka!” Victor scolds, looking over his shoulder. “You can just push him off, it’s fine. Just be gentle, please.”

Yuuri tries to push the dog off, but he whines and keeps his head on Yuuri’s thigh. He doesn’t have the heart to try again, so he just prays that Victor is a good driver. “So why, um, why the dogs?”

“Why not?”

(Fair enough.)

Victor turns a corner and Yuuri holds onto Makkachin, trying to keep him from slipping. “Aren’t they cute?” Victor asks, sounding hopeful.

“Yeah, they are,” he admits, patting Makkachin’s head. “Are they all poodles?”

“Yes!”

“I used to have a poodle.”

Victor frowns, looking at him through the rearview mirror. “They’re very loyal dogs. They like riding around, meeting passengers. I’ve never seen Makkachin take as much of a liking to one as he has to you, though.”

He blushes and ducks his head. “Really?”

“Really. In fact, it’d be a shame if he were to never see you again after this ride, so maybe you should give me your phone number. So that you can visit. For the dog’s happiness.”

(Well, that escalated quickly.)

He tries to figure out whether or not Victor is asking him out.

But, it’s for the dog’s happiness, after all.

“S-Sure. I mean, I do need rides sometimes….”

“You’ll be my priority customer,” Victor promises. “Now hold on.”

“Haha oka–what?”

They swing around a tight corner, Yuuri is thrown against the door. The dogs don’t look at all disturbed, they maintain their places and pant happily at the man in the front seat. “Sorry about that!”

He clutches his heart. “Yeah… Yeah, no problem.”

“Wow, you’re even cuter when you’re flustered,” Victor muses, watching the rearview mirror again.

Yuuri, on the other hand, watches the road. “Look out!”

He glances down at the road, swings their car to the right. “Don’t worry, it’s fine.”

“D-Definitely fine,” Yuuri repeats, unsure.

Then, they’re at his stop. “See you soon?”

(For the dog, Yuuri thinks.)

(For the dog, and for that man’s stunningly gorgeous eyes.)

“Sure. See you soon.”

Tired of hiding

This one is for the lovely anon who sent me the prompt. I really really hope it lives up to your idea and how you imagined it. *crosses fingers* *worries*

(Note to everyone else reading this - the idea and most of the storyline isn’t mine)

Summary: Baz starts going to an LGBT+ club at Watford, Simon finds out and it changes the way he sees Baz

Warning: homophobia (well… kind of. It may all just be a big misunderstanding)

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sometimes I think about bisexual Harry Potter, and about how it could have changed so much of the story, and right now I’m thinking about how it could have related to Dudley

like, when Dudley laughs and sneers at him at the beginning of OotP. “Who’s Cedric? Your boyfriend?” Dudley asks Harry with an ugly grin on his face.

And Harry breaks down and cries, because yes, Cedric was his boyfriend, and now he’s dead. Dudley just stares at him, pale with shock. Harry has never cried like this in front of him, not once in all these years. Harry always has a witty come-back, thinks he’s so bloody smart, and this is something Dudley can’t deal with.

And then the Dementors come, and it makes Dudley see the kind of person he is. Harry protects them, and even though Dudley can’t see the dementors, he somehow knows that it wasn’t Harry who did this.

Harry of course expects that Dudley uses this new knowledge of Harry against him - he packs his bags, waiting patiently to be kicked out as soon as Dudley tells his parents they got a raging queer living under their roof - but nothing happens. 

In the next few days, Dudley is quiet and withdrawn. Harry thinks it’s because the dementors scared the crap out of him, and he’s glad, because Dudley’s friends are never there anymore, and Dudley seems to be too lost in thought to be violent.

The night before Harry gets picked up by the Order, Dudley walks into Harry’s room unannounced and completely startles Harry. This never happens. Dudley looks pale, even scared. Everything about this is so absurd that Harry forgets to put his guard up like he usually does around Dudley. He watches his cousin closely as Dudley sits down uncomfortably on Harry’s chair, his eyes nervously darting around the room.

“When did you know?” Dudley asks eventually. It’s obviously tormenting for him to say it.

Harry is confused. “What do you mean?”

Dudley looks like he might choke on his tongue, trying to get the words out. “That you’re - you’re -”

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Steve wakes alone. Again. He sighs and rolls onto his back, staring up at the ceiling and hating how cold the other side of the bed feels. He had hoped when he went to bed the night before that maybe Danny would come around, that he had calmed down and Steve wouldn’t have to wake up to an empty bed. He should have never got his hopes up.

It’s all his fault. If he had just told everyone that they were dating like Danny had asked him to he wouldn’t be left wondering if he still even had a relationship to be worried about. Instead, he let his fear get the better of him and denied he was dating anyone right in front of Danny just so some random waitress wouldn’t know he was gay. He feels like punching himself for his own stupidity.

His phone rings before he can sink any further into his self-loathing and he crawls out of bed as Duke tells him about a new crew of drug smugglers that HPD just got wind of.


He leaves a bag of malasadas on Danny’s desk and waits for him to come in, watching out of the corner of his eye as Danny walks into his office and pushes the bag out of the way. At least he didn’t throw them away today, so that’s progress.

“We got a case,“ he says, knocking quietly on Danny’s still open door.

“I’ll be right there,“ Danny tells him but he still won’t look at Steve.

“Danny-” he starts. He knows that he needs to say something, that he needs to at least try and apologize, but he can’t get the words out. He doesn’t know how to start to apologize for denying everything that they have together. In the end, he doesn’t get the change because Danny cuts him off, brusquely saying “I’ll be out in a minute, Steven.”

It takes three long days but finally they track down their smugglers. He and Danny still haven’t talked but between the long nights running leads and the early mornings where Steve has nothing to do but realize how lonely he is without Danny, they haven’t had any time to themselves. He makes a promise to himself that as soon as this case is over he’s going to talk to Danny and do whatever it takes to make things right.

When they find their smugglers packing a new shipment of drugs on the docks he’s eager to start the takedown. SWAT follows his lead, Danny still right by his side even though he still refuses to speak to him, and Steve’s barely through the door when the gunfire starts. He takes cover behind a forklift, seeing Danny and one of the SWAT guys dive behind a stack of crates. The rest of the SWAT team retreats and regroups outside the doorway, waiting for a lull in the shooting to try their entry again.

He shoots at the smugglers, giving the SWAT team enough cover fire to make their way into the warehouse. He’s forced to duck down when the smugglers reload and start shooting again, but he hears at least one guy go down and a couple others start running away. Chin, Kono, and Lou should be around the back, cutting off their only other exit to the building.

He’s reloading when he sees someone climbing up onto the gangway above the warehouse floor. The higher vantage would make them all sitting ducks and he’s moving on instinct, climbing up the ladder after the guy and praying that he doesn’t get shot in the process. As soon as his feet hit the walkway he’s running, bringing the guy down in a full body tackle before he can get a shot off. The guy struggles and manages to hit him in the face with the butt of his gun, more by luck than actual intent, but he’s no match for Steve’s training and the resulting fight is quick and easy.

He disables the gun and zip ties the guy to one of the railings before making his way back down the ladder. He has to wipe blood out of his eyes on the way down, the hit may have been a lucky shot but it still did some damage, and no sooner have his feet touched the ground than Danny’s in front of him.

“Come on,“ Danny growls at him, grabbing by the arm in a bruising grip and dragging him out of the building. There’s a couple ambulances waiting just outside and Danny forces him to sit on one of the bumpers, ordering him to stay. A few seconds later, he returns with a wet towel and a bandage and starts wiping away the blood from his face.

Steve’s not sure how he manages, but somehow Danny gets his wound cleaned up and covered without actually looking at him. It’s killing him that this is the most intimate Danny’s been with him for almost two weeks. “Danny,“ he whispers, not caring how desperate he sounds. He’s tired, and he aches, and he just wants Danny to talk to him.

He reaches out, grabbing Danny around the waist and pulling him closer. Danny stiffens, but he doesn’t resist so Steve keeps pulling him close until he can wrap his arms around Danny’s waist and press his forehead into Danny’s bullet proof vest, just above his heart.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice cracking, and he surprises himself with how broken he sounds.

“People will see,“ he hears Danny says coldly like he’s daring Steve to pull away.

“I don’t care,” he admits and is surprised to find that it’s the truth. What does it matter what people think about him when the only person who’s opinion he cares about is Danny’s? He was so stupid to fall into those old habits of constantly denying who he was. Now, seeing the consequences of that, seeing how alone he is without Danny in his life, in his home, he can’t bear to lie any longer. He’ll shout it from the rooftops if he has to, anything to make Danny happy again.

He dares to look up and sees Danny staring down at him softly, his blue eyes full of relief. There’s a smile starting to pull at the corner of Danny’s mouth and Steve can feel the tension leave Danny’s body as he accepts Steve’s words as the truth. Danny’s so close that Steve can see the faint freckles spattered just under his eyes and he can’t resist. He reaches up and pulls Danny into a kiss, right there in front of the team, SWAT, HPD and their perps and for the first time he doesn’t give a second thought to what their reactions will be.

“You still have a lot of making up to do,” Danny says, breaking the kiss but not bothering to move away.

“I look forward to it,” Steve says and kisses Danny again.

Peonies

The five times James gave Lily flowers and the two times he didn’t; or, How Lily Evans fell in love with James Potter.

read on AO3

1972

On her first Valentine’s Day at Hogwarts, Lily received lilies from five different people. She loved them because she knew her friends and that one boy from Hufflepuff had good intentions. She knew they thought it’d be cute to give Lily the flower she was named after. Everyone always thought it would be.

After going through it for so many years, Lily should have seen it coming and warned them. Perhaps she could have worn a sign around her neck starting a week prior that read: I do not like lilies.

But despite how unoriginal the flowers were, she carried them around proudly all day. They were beautiful after all. And she may have woken up too late to shower that morning so their sweet perfume was welcome.

That night she sprawled on her back on the floor by the fire with Mary and Marlene. They giggled about all the couples they had seen that day and the boy who had given Mary chocolates. Suddenly, James Potter’s face was looming above Lily’s.

“What on earth are you doing, Potter?” she exclaimed, bolting upright and nearly smacking her forehead against his. He muttered something incoherent before dropping a flower into her lap and bolting toward the boy’s dormitories.

“What was that about?” Marlene asked. Still lying down, she and Mary couldn’t see what James had given Lily.

“Nothing,” Lily said as she slipped the perfect pink peony into the billowy sleeve of her robes. How he knew her favorite flower was a mystery to her. But even more mysterious was the heat spreading across her face and the pounding of her heart. Stupid James had given her some sort of prank flower that made her feel sick. That had to be it. There was no other explanation.

Still. She kept the flower between the pages of one of her transfiguration books.

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i know everyone just heard ‘adam birkholtz has sisters’ and ran with the little sister headcanons and i love them all but also what if adam birkholtz was the baby of the family???? hmmm???

(thanks @kantperson and @tictacbergerac for letting me rant abt this on twitter)

LEAH, age 32, surgical resident

  • bc she’s so much older than holster she’s like a really weird sister/aunt/mom hybrid and adam LOVES HER. 
    • simultaneously So Cool and A Giant Nerd
    • saw holster’s snaps of getting high watching the golden girls and was like “ADAM >:(”
    • adam: “LEAH U BOUGHT ME MY FIRST BOWL CHILL”
  • their parents are real :/// because leah never really dated and she ~should be thinking of settling down~ and then the other birkholtz children will be like: “hey ur kid is literally a brain surgeon could u maybe not??”
    • (leah is gay? maybe? but she’s focusing on her career and can’t really be fucked abt it tbh)
  • (leah’s siblings watch A LOT of grey’s anatomy. they call her mcdreamy and she HATES it and they will NEVER KNOW that christina yang made her decide to go to med school)
  • leah hears adam’s stories about ‘his bro ransom’ and just kind of sideeyes her phone.
    • “adam. adam honey. that’s gay”
    • “YOU’RE GAY”
    • “uh.”
    • “my friend shitty says i gotta let u come out at your own pace but is there somethin u wanna tell me?”

DELIA, age 29, resident nurse

  • she and leah are best fucking friends ever
    • (delia is the only one who knows abt leah’s monster crush on christina yang and she knows this bc they watched her last episode together and cried)
    • they work at the same hospital. the patients love them but they get REALLY CONFUSED bc someone will tell them “dr. birkholtz” is gonna treat them and they’ll be like “wait u mean delia? she was just in here she brought me this afghan?”
  • delia crochets like a motherfucking boss. she makes sweaters appear the way bitty cranks out pies. eric bittle, from GEORGIA, thanks god every day for delia’s blankets that are just everywhere in the haus
    • holster just casually gives people his scarf/hat and will be like “keep it dude. i have five more at home and i’m expecting a care package next month”
  • delia has been dating the same guy since high school and they’re engaged. holster gave this dude the shovel speech ten years ago. he still had fucking braces and delia can’t wait for leah to tell the story at the wedding.
  • holster and delia aren’t actually that close but they have an unspoken ‘i would absolutely die for you’ bond.
    • when holster’s home, they watch bad sitcoms together. specifically, ones cancelled in their first or second seasons. they compare notes re: whether or not they deserved to be canceled and how they might have been saved

MURIEL, age 26, personal trainer and professional hockey

  • muriel and holster are tight. it’s 50% a being-the-closest-in-age thing and 50% a diehard bond of hockey love.
  • the family joke is that it’s a good thing holster’s a boy bc obviously their parents were scraping the bottom of the barrel of girls’ names
    • (insert trans holster hc here)
  • muriel took ice skating lessons from ages 4-6, and when holster turned 4 and started learning baby hockey basics, muriel defected
    • muriel is a goalie. muriel is six feet tall and 190 pounds. muriel could end your life and you would thank her.
  • she left for college the same year holster left home to play in juniors. it was fucking awful and she transferred her sophomore year to be closer to his billet family.
  • she may or may not be a Jack Zimmermann Puck Bunny tm
    • (when holster told her abt samwell, she was like !!!!!!!. holster was NOT HAPPY.)
    • she helped him move into the haus and met jack for the first time and her entire brain stopped working.
    • literally she was carrying a giant tub of holster’s whey protein and she just. stood there staring at jack. like a NERD.
    • “UM???? HI. CAN YO U PLEASE. COULD YOU SIGN. UM…. COULD YOU SIGN THIS PROTEIN POWDER PLS I WILL BUY ADAM MORE LATER”
    • holster and shitty were there. a smh tradition was born.
  • MURIEL PLAYS FOR THE BOSTON PRIDE OKAY?????
    • her teammates call her murray because they love her
    • shitty has season tickets. he skypes holster from every single game. they cry a lot.
  • after she won the isobel cup she brought it down to samwell and was like ‘,:) are u intimidated gentlemen?
    • (she immediately became a fucking nerd again bc jack was there and asked for her autograph)
    • “MURIEL SIGN MY ARMPIT!!!!”
    • “ADAM STFU”
    • “PLSEAS??? I’LL SHAVE!!!!!”
    • “ADAM I H9 U”

ADAM, age 24, econ student

  • has really fucking awesome sisters
  • is the undisputed spoiled brat baby of the family

Inspired by @mindyourhelm‘s post and my angsty brain

She shifts onto her side again, resolutely avoiding looking at the other side of the bed. She can feel the cold, empty spot from behind though, a slight breeze gusting across her neck where his comforting breath should be. She squeezes her eyes closed, trying not to imagine strong arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her close, heat spreading along her spine right through her, warming her all the way to her heart.

A lone tear slides across her nose, making a trail across her face and dropping onto the pillow. She presses her lips together, willing her chin to stop trembling and blinks until her vision has cleared enough to stare at the alarm clock. 3:47am. Her phone sits silently on the bedside table.

She’s grown soft. The girl who could sleep under bridges, in a room full of fidgeting foster kids, on the hard plastic mattress of a jail cell, she can’t sleep in her own king-sized bed under a thick, downy comforter. She’s grown soft and she didn’t regret it, doesn’t regret it, because he dismantled her walls one by one and made himself a home inside, only now he’s not there and having no walls doesn’t keep the warmth in very well when the source has disappeared.

Pressing her hands to her eyes, she sits up again, swinging her feet one at a time onto the cold wood. She should put on socks, she thinks, but there’s something comforting about the numb weight of her toes sliding across the floor.

She goes downstairs because sitting in that room - their room - any longer, when she’s clearly not going to sleep, feels pointless. Halfway towards the light switch by the front door she pauses, changing course for the kitchen and leaving the room in the dark. The ghost of her four-hours-ago self flicking that same switch off is still too close. There’s nothing (no-one) to see with the lights on anyway.

Her hands fumble in the kitchen cupboard for the tin of hot chocolate powder, spending several minutes clutched too tightly around the bottle of Captain Morgan at the back of the shelf. The shaking of her hand from clenching the glass reminds her to let go and she feels for the tin, pulling it down and setting it on the counter. Every creak of the porch in the wind sounds like it could be a footstep.

Making the hot chocolate is an automatic process, but she still burns her thumb on the pan, tears springing to her eyes at the pain and then lingering too long. She presses her lips together, refusing to blink until the cinnamon is dusted on the top of the milk and she knows they won’t spill over.

The silhouettes of heavy snowflakes dash across the kitchen blinds as she picks up her mug. Her thumb is stinging, heat spreading fiercely from the epicentre of the burn. She focuses on that one glowing spot of pain, letting it drown out her heart. It leads her towards the front door and then she’s sitting on the top step of the porch, pressing her thumb into the snow building on the step below until it’s numb with cold.

Her eyes flick upwards towards the gate in the white picket fence - the same one she rushed out of not three days ago to kiss him and bring him in and feed him her milk dud popcorn until their teeth hurt from the sugar and he kissed the chocolate smears off her mouth as he pressed her into the mattress later that night. She takes a gulp of the hot chocolate but it burns her tongue and the boiling liquid burning a path down through her to her stomach is the wrong kind of warmth.

Pulling her numbed fingers from the snow, she wraps them around her mug and sucks in a deep breath. The thick flakes are slowing and she’s shaking in her thick winter pyjamas, watching clouds of warm air leave her mouth and disappear almost instantly in the chill.

I can’t lose you too.’

The snow has almost stopped and the air is full of deadened silence. Her traitorous ears wait for the crunch of snowy footfall but she should know by now that waiting never brought anyone back for her before.

She’ll just sit on the steps until she’s finished her drink.

anonymous asked:

Sorry to bother you, but would you be willing to write any kind of ideas of headcanons or anything you have about chubby Yuuri?? I'm literally just so desperate for any content because everyone acts like Yuuri has been ripped his whole life and never had problems with his weight, but I struggle with it myself and seeing content about it helps me realize that I'm not alone

No bother at all! Chubby Yuuri is my life!! (this gets a little down in the middle but I wanted to write about how he comes to love his body after disliking it. I wanted to keep it realistic and incorporated some of my own battles with body image)

  • Ever since he was young, Yuuri was just a bit rounder, never losing that “baby fat” that many of the other kids seemed to drop. Not that he ever minded though, that never kept him from doing the things he enjoyed or playing with friends
  • His family was always kind and supportive, and never said anything with the intent to make Yuuri feel less of himself. His parents never tried to stop him from eating because, hey, he’s a growing boy right? And since they’re a little fluffier too, who were they to judge?
  • It was the media that showed him that being fat was a negative. After watching x amount of television, he realized that thin people were regarded as pretty, and the fatter people were the butt of the joke. He smushed his tummy through his shirt. Was he not as beautiful as everyone else…?
  • One night after bathing, he notices his reflection in a mirror, angry red spidering lines creeping up his stomach and along his sides. He pokes and runs his fingers along them, slowly becoming angrier with himself. Tears start to well up in his eyes until his reflection becomes too blurred to make out. He hurries to his room and slams the door, tears falling freely now. Most days, he tried his best to block out when Takashi or other kids at school (jokingly or not) called him ”fatso”, but now their words were ringing in his head. His own ragged breathing His own ragged breathing drowned out the sounds around him, but then scratching and a whimper met his ears. He pads across his room to find Vicchan at the door. After letting him in, he returned to his spot on his bed and pulled the poodle onto his lap as best he could. Vicchan licked away the stray tears on his cheeks, and rested his head on Yuuri’s shoulder, letting him cry into his neck for as long as he needed too. 
  • It was around when Yuuri decided that he wanted to be serious about competing that he found a happy medium with his body. All of the training was building up a lot of muscle, which in turn helped to burn some fat. He still had some chub and a round face though, but it helped when he joked that his abs had a ‘protective layer’ over them. Those days, he didn’t necessarily find himself eating less, just incorporating more vegetables and less of ‘bad foods’. Every night he’d stare at himself in the mirror and try to decide how he felt about his body. He knew he wasn’t thin, but his body felt better. He loved the strength that his body had, even if the other people who were as strong as him looked more of the part. When he poked at the chub, he could also feel the muscle underneath. The more and more he stared, the better about himself he felt, coming to terms with the fact that he could like how he looked while also not having what other’s thought was a ‘perfect body’. It was good enough for him.
  • As his skating career progressed, he would constantly have to work hard to keep what was considered an ideal skaters weight. What was most painful was how easy it was for his body to hold on to that little bit of extra padding and pounds when he let himself slip for a bit, and that began to happen more and more while he was away at college.
  • It was Phichit who really helped him go from grudging acceptance to loving how he looked regardless of weight. When frustrated tears escaped from his eyes because half his clothes were a bit too tight that month, or the scale read a number he wasn’t happy with, or more angry red lines snaked their way across his skin, Phichit was always there to help remind him that he looked wonderful, incredible, amazing, and perfect as always. Over and over and over again until they began to sink in for Yuuri, until he finally started to believe it. 
  • Yuuri noticed after a bit that Phichit tended to hug him more when he was a bit heavier than usual. When he asked why, Phichit told Yuuri that he just loved the feeling of his hugs when he was like that. That Yuuri was so much more cuddly and warm and that he felt like home. 
  • The first time Yuuri found himself in an intimate situation, he felt himself shying away from his lover. Not because he was scared of proceeding, just scared of what they’d think of his body. He had dozens of stretch marks and pudge all around his middle, but they didn’t seem to care. In fact, they seemed to love running their hands over the smooth and grooved skin, pressing kisses to some of the marks and cuddling close afterwards. When he asked later on, they replied that they actually preferred him when he was chubbier, and was equally sexy either way.
  • Later in life, he lets himself be at whatever weight makes him feel happy and comfortable, and for the most part that’s to just let himself be proud to be chubby. After being in his prime, his body just couldn’t keep up with the stress of trying to stay at a lower weight. He finds himself the most happy with whatever his body decides is most healthy for him, and his healthy weight and body type doesn’t have to look like what other’s think it should be. And whenever he’s feeling a bit less of himself, he can always count on his husband to love his every single curve.

I’ve been cracking myself up thinking of like a college au where Dean just took his patronus quiz and he’s pissed because he got some tiny animal like a cat or a fucking weasel (which is what I got wtf jo) so he’s seething to his best friend Cas who is like really indifferent, trying to study during Dean’s rant until Dean asks what Cas got and Cas says “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I haven’t taken the quiz.”

And Dean immediately pulls out his laptop, muttering “What the hell Cas we have to know NOW. Damn Ravenclaws always too busy studying to do the important things…”

“Ravenclaw?”

“Yeah that’s your house isn’t it?”

“I don’t know.”

And Dean rolls his eyes. “How do you not know your house?”

“I haven’t taken that quiz either.”

And that launches Dean into another fit because what kind of self-respecting Harry Potter fan hasn’t been sorted into their house?

“But Dean, I’m not a Harry Potter fan. I’ve never even read the books.”

Dean is positively scandalized. He cannot believe his ears or his eyes staring blankly into the face of a man with no shame or remorse for the poisonous confession that had just escaped his beautiful too-pink lips.

“HOW HAVE WE BEEN FRIENDS FOR TEN YEARS AND YOUVE NEVER READ HARRY POTTER?!”

“I didn’t know it was a requirement?”

“Have you seen any of the eight movies?”

“There are eight?”

“OH MY FUCKING GOD CAS.”

Cas has the decency to put his book down. “Dean, I think you’re overreacting.”

“This is not overreacting. I’m friends with a heathen whose never read Harry Potter. Like you couldn’t even be one of those cheaters that just watched the movies, Cas, honestly?”

“It never appealed to me.”

“Who are you?”

Cas rolls his eyes. “Dean, if it means that much to you, I will take the quiz.”

“Oh no no no. You have to earn the quiz. We have work to do, Novak.”

And so is the story of how Castiel Novak lost a weekend of studying to marathoning the entire Harry Potter series.

When he finished Dean allowed him to take the sorting quiz. And as predicted he was a Ravenclaw.

Dean rolled his eyes at the result. “Typical.”

“Is it really that big of a deal?”

“Is it a big deal?” Dean scoffed. “Getting sorted into Hufflepuff was the second greatest identify crisis of my life, right behind my sophomore year sexuality crisis.”

And Cas looks skeptical but doesn’t argue because he remembers Dean’s sophomore year sexuality crisis and it was quite a mess.

He lets Dean show him to the patronus quiz and tries not to feel anxious as Dean paces behind him like this animated test determines his entire future. 

“I’m an owl.”

Dean sinks onto his bed, a small pout bending his lips. “Oh.”

“Is that bad?” The quiz doesn’t give an explanation, so Cas has no way of knowing if the owl symbolizes something deeper in the Harry Potter universe. Maybe it’s a bad omen.

“No, it’s just… don’t owls eat weasels?”

Cas squints. “I suppose, yes. They eat rodents and small vermin, which would include weasels.”

Dean glares at him. “Wow, thanks, Cas.”

“I don’t understand why you’re disappointed. I’m not going to attack you, Dean.”

And Dean is red now, trying to avoid Cas’s gaze. “I know. But I- I thought we’d be something more… compatible.” He fidgets, releases a resigned sigh. “Makes sense I guess. We’re really different.” Of course Cas is something far better than Dean, something bigger, fiercer, stronger. Something that could easily sweep him up and consume him whole like he was nothing.

Cas shuts the laptop and moves closer to Dean who still can’t look up. “Dean… I don’t know the implications of these animals as you might. But from what I gathered in the movies, they are a pure manifestation of one’s happiest memories. It is not the shape of the patronus that matters, but rather the essence. This quiz made a decision based on a few random parts of my personality, but it never asked me what my happiest memory was. Would you like to know?”

Dean can only nod.

“It was my first day at Lawrence Middle School. I was scared and angry and a group of boys were making fun of my bee socks at lunch. And just when I was at the point of tears, a scrawny kid in a Batman shirt jumped in front of me and poured chocolate milk all over Gordon Walker’s head.” Cas chuckled fondly, just thinking of it. “Then he sat across from me and gave me half of his pb&j.”

Dean is beat red and barely breathing. “You didn’t even like it because of the jelly,” he murmurs because it’s all he can think to say.

“And you stopped putting it on your sandwiches after that so you could share with me.”

“Cas…”

Cas reaches across the small space between them to cup Dean’s jaw and gently turn Dean’s face to look at him. “We may be very different, Dean Winchester, but you have had the single most profound effect on my life since I was eleven years old. You are my happiness,” Cas leans forward, Dean’s eyes glazing over and lips parting, “and I don’t need a quiz to tell me that.”

When their lips meet, Dean forgets all about quizzes and balls of light. He feels Cas’s hand slide to the back of his head, tangling in his hair as Dean’s own hands clutch at Cas’s waist to hold him close, keep their lips pressed together in an endless first kiss.

It’s soft and a little awkward, it’s breathtaking and a bit sloppy, and it’s pure magic.

Jealous

Requested: Can you do one where in y/n is screaming at shawn because shes so mad and jealous but shawn just laughs at her and its all cute and fluffy

Requested: Hey first of all I love your page 😍 it’s the best out here and your writings are sooo good. Can you please do one where Shawn and y/n are shopping and then Shawn mets his ex and y/n gets jealous and they fight but will be together at the end. I hope you understand what I meant. Love you ❤️❤️

Your name: submit What is this?

~~~

You are out shopping with Shawn in Toronto. It is a rare day that you’re able to spend with your boyfriend without all the craziness and busyness of life getting in the way. “Hey Shawn,” You hear a voice from slightly behind the two of you. Turning, you’re expecting to see a fan asking for a picture from Shawn, but recognition crosses his face.

“Hi Laur,” He says in surprise, a smile spreading across his face, and now you turn your attention to the girl and her friends. You recognize the one in the middle from old pictures you’ve seen on the internet. She’s Shawn’s ex and she’s gorgeous, no doubt. You don’t know how Shawn could possibly choose you over her. You wonder if he ever regrets it, if he ever sees pictures of her and misses her, or wishes he was still with her instead of with you. You always knew she was pretty, but you had never met her in person until today, and it wasn’t even intentional so you weren’t able to prepare yourself.

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lunenn  asked:

I'm not sure if you're taking prompts but what if Scully gave up William with a photo of them together? T.T you would write that so well!

I’m always beside myself with joy when I get prompts. So yes, I take them :D Thank you so, so much for this one. It might not be what you probably wanted, but I hope you like it anyway. 

“It’s you.”

Dana Scully has imagined this moment a million times: meeting her son. She has imagined it even before she gave him up. Before she gave up. Find me, she had pleaded silently with the boy, whose curious eyes were a mirror of her own. Instead he had thrown her a toothless grin, kicked his tiny feet at her, and grabbed for her hair. Her son, then, was not a mind-reader. There was nothing special about him except that he was her son, her own flesh and blood, conceived against all odds; a miracle in its purest form.

She has imagined this. She has dreamed about it when he was two years old and young enough to forgive her. She has imagined it when he was six years old and melancholy propelled her thoughts forward; guilt and a sense of having done right by him preventing her from doing the unthinkable. She’s craved it when he was 12 years old and nothing made sense anymore. Her reasons for giving him up nothing more than smoky clouds, burnt ashes in their enemy’s ashtray. This, now, is not how she imagined it.

“It’s you.” The boy with the same curious eyes repeats. His voice wavers now, for a short moment, as if uncertain. He cannot know her, Scully thinks. There is no reason, no logic in it, and she can’t find the words to tell him this or anything else. His lips pout in the same way his father’s do. His eyebrows furrow in the same way hers do, she has to admit. It’s logical that she recognizes him; his features are her own, are Mulder’s. The boy, without taking his eyes off her, hunts through his pockets and produces a crumpled up, slightly torn piece of paper. He unfolds it, carefully, and Scully gasps. It’s not a piece of paper; it’s a photograph.

“That’s you.” William smiles at her, softly.

“It’s me.” Scully croaks out as she instinctively reaches out for the picture. She had put the picture inside his small bag back then without thinking about it. She figured his new mother would tear it up, throw it away. Scully, even then, knew that sending the photo of her holding a tiny William with him was a risk. A risk, however, that she just had to take. She had wanted his new mother to know, to see, that she, too, had loved William. Never had she dared to hope that William would even see it.

“Hi,” her son, who is already taller than her, surprises her again by reaching out his hand, “it’s nice to finally meet you.” Scully’s hand hovers for a moment before the boy grabs it, shakes it heartily. His smile turns into a full blown grin. Mulder. It’s Mulder written all over his face and reminding her, bitterly, why she’s here. Why she broke the promise she made to herself, to this child, to stay away from him.

“William,” his name feels strange on her tongue; usually she thinks it, mumbles it in her sleep, and when she uses it, it’s not to address him. He eyes her, ever curious, and waits. He knows. He can’t possibly know or understand, and yet he does. “I’m here because… I didn’t want to disturb – to change,” Scully sighs; angry at herself for being here, for not finding the words. She’s furious that this child, her baby, is a stranger. A stranger who shares her blood and who is her only chance to save Mulder.

“You need my help, don’t you? Is it because,” this time he pauses, looks at the faded picture of himself and a mother he never knew. Scully wonders what he sees, what he feels, when he looks at it,“ my father. Is it because of him? He’s not in this picture.” William holds it up as if she didn’t know. She had her mother take that photograph so she could send it to Mulder. Except he didn’t have an address. She decided to keep it until he came home. He just never did.

“Yes, he's… he’s very sick. I- where are your parents? I need to-”

“There is no one.” William tells her evenly. She stares at him. At this boy, who clutches a picture she gave him once, a lifetime ago.

“What do you mean there is no one? Where are your parents?” She hates this word, she realizes, as her eyes find the picture in his hand again.

“My parents… got divorced when I was young. Father died a few years after that. My mother… she wasn’t well,” he pauses and shuffles his feet, “my aunt and I decided to put her in a nursing home.”

“You- you’re all on your own out here?” William nods as if it’s nothing. It’s his reality and the only thing he knows.

“You’re going to think I’m crazy,” he chuckles, running a hand through his auburn hair before he glances at her, “but I knew you’d come back one day. I just knew it. You could say I had a hunch.” Shivers run down Scully’s arms, down her back. She can see Mulder grin; wants to introduce him to their son, who is so much like him, full of hope and ideas.

“I don’t think you’re crazy,” she breathes out and William grants her another smile that lights up his whole face. She hopes he’ll never stop. She doesn’t deserve this, she thinks, but she doesn’t want it to end. “I know someone who… who is just like that. Like you.” She finds herself smiling at the boy; her boy. “I’d love for you to meet him.”

“Then let’s go- you never even told me your name.”

“Dana. Dana Scully.” She thinks how strange it is to introduce herself to her son, but he nods at her. He lifts the picture and examines it closely; his eyes drifting from the frozen image of them and the real her in front of him. He mouths her name, trying it out, before he nods again.

“Let’s go, Dana.” He says, closing the door behind him and walking towards her.

“You don’t need to pack anything? Tell anyone? Your aunt? I understand if you want to see your mother, William. If you want to see her. I don’t know when we’ll be back. We have… time.” They don’t, really.

“I have everything I need right here with me.” William assures her, putting the picture back into his pocket. Then he stops suddenly, his eyes dark, his brows furrowed.

“What is it? Did you forget anything?”

“No, I… are we going on a plane?” Scully nods carefully.

“I’ve never… I mean once. I’ve flown once or maybe twice. It kind of scares me,” Scully is trying to come up with something. Assure him that flying is, statistically speaking, the safest form of travel. She could explain just how flying works. Before she can say another word, though, William starts speaking again,

“Could I… on the plane… could I hold your hand maybe?” He blushes a deep red.

“Oh! Of course,” Scully assures him with a nervous laugh, “Of course, you can William.” And his whole, lanky body relaxes.

“Why don’t we… practice?” Scully says, blushing herself now; this is another risk she is taking. Like the picture she left with him all these years ago. It might not turn out the way she wants it to. But she has to try. She just has to. She reaches out her hand to him, leaves the decision to him. He stays quiet this time and she is ready to take it back, to just go on with him in tow, without touching him. But William takes her hand and together they walk towards her car.

This is not how she imagined it. It’s not at all like the dreams she’s had.

But this time it’s real.

anonymous asked:

What proof do we have that Eris is abusive, other than that characters have said he is? Most held a similar opinion of Rhys, what's the difference? That we have a first person narrator who is privy to the backstory of one but not the other? I'm not trying to be aggressive but I want to know your thoughts. I thought showing was more important than telling in storytelling.

Okay then, like, what ‘proof’ have we got for literally 90% of the things in this series???? Feyre is a 19 year old human girl in a world full of immortal fae. You want an eye witness account for everything in this thing, do you?

 How do I know the war happened the way they said it did? Feyre never saw it, she’s only had characters tell her about it. How do I know Rhys actually hated what he did with Amarantha and didn’t just swap sides right at the end? How do I know Rhys’ dad sucked but his mother was a good person, I’ve only heard him tell me about her, I’ve seen it. How do I know Tamlin’s brothers were awful? Never seen them either. How do I know Beron is really that awful either, I mean maybe he’s wearing a mask too and all the characters are just wrong. How do I know Mor is queer? I’ve never seen her with a girl before, I just have her word for it, maybe she lied. How do I know literally anything in this entire series because WE GET TOLD MOST THINGS NOT SHOWN THEM. 

This is what happens when you have a limited first person pov. The character HAS to get told things in order to tell us things like ???? A little bit of common sense please, do you want me to like, historically fact check Prythian for everything that Feyre tells us about it??? 

And tbh SJM has a pretty crappy habit of doing the whole ‘telling over showing’ thing anyway. See: the entirety of the Throne of Glass series, Mor’s powers in ACOTAR (she’s awesome, really, we promise, we just haven’t actually SEEN her do anything), the assertions that Rhys and co are ~the most powerful ever~ have I actually SEEN that? Can I actually see that? No.  Do I really question these things? No. Because I understand that this is the only way I can actually get some information out of this story and if I only went with what I ‘saw’ and disbelieved everything else I’d have literally nothing?? 

And when it comes to the whole Eris thing, like, dude, it’s not just a couple of characters who’ve said he’s abysmal it’s like, wait let me make a list: 

Tamlin: “His father had her put down. Executed, in front of Lucien, as his two eldest brothers held him and made him watch.” That would be Eris. So at best you’ve got conflicting statements here. 

Lucien: “Lucien crossed his arms, leaning against the back of the couch. “I have to agree with Cassian. Eris is a snake.M, yes, Eris, HIS OWN BROTHER. If anyone was going to know Eris was ~not a bad person~ it’d be Lucien. Lucien who lived in that court. Who knew him. Who Eris apparently cared enough to protect/save, according to him. Eris who apparently cares so much about his mother (as we have seen Lucien does SEEN that is SEEN with our own two eyes) Why the hell would Lucien not know Eris was ‘wearing a mask’. Or maybe…Eris really does suck. 

Rhys: “Eris refused to marry her. Said she’d been sullied by a bastard-born lesser faerie, and he’d now sooner fuck a sow. […]Rhys said with soft wrath, “Eris left her for dead in the middle of their woods.” Idgaf how he tries to spin it later, this is what happened.  

Cassian: “You’re working with that prick,” Cassian cut in, whatever catching-up now over, apparently. He moved to Mor’s side, a hand on her back. He shook his head at Azriel and Rhys, disgust curling his lip. “You should have spiked Eris’s fucking head to the front gates.” 

Amren: “Your whole family is despicable,” Amren said to Lucien.

Mor: At Mor, whose face went white with dread. […]Or at Eris, heir to the Autumn Court, as he strolled into the room. 

[…] 

And I had the terrible sense that Mor had gone somewhere far, far away as Eris set down his goblet and said, “You look well, Mor.”

The sight of him triggers actual real panic attacks and flashbacks that we can literally see from Feyre’s POV. Five hundred years after the fact and Mor is still traumatised enough by what he did to her to react like this even after all that time. 

Then we have Feyre’s POV herself. Through her we’ve seen Eris laughing alongside his other brothers as Lucien was tortured and nearly killed. 

“I don’t suppose your handsome brothers know, Lucien,” she purred.

“If we did, Lady, we would be the first to tell you,” said the tallest. He was lean, well dressed, every inch of him a court-trained bastard. Probably the eldest, given the way even the ones who looked like born warriors stared at him with deference and calculation—and fear.

 Ah, yes, that would be Eris actively promising help to Amarantha in order to damn Feyre and continue her reign. Then there’s the way Eris hunts down Lucien and Feyre in the Winter Court, actively harms them both. So that’s like…Basically every single main character in this book who’s told you Eris sucks. 

What’s the basis for believing that he doesn’t, out of interest? I mean what ‘evidence’ do you have that he is actually wearing a mask, what do you have that’s so strong it goes against the testimony of multiple characters? Oh I know! You have Eris’ word for it and that’s it. Wow. So unbiased. So convincing. Eris tells us he’s not really a bad guy and that outweighs the half a dozen people who tells us he is! That’s just. Damn. What logic. Can’t argue with that. 

Also, like, I’m sorry, but Rhys’ arc was done properly, Rhys’ redemption wasn’t a retcon it was a followed-through on plan. There were hints UtM that Rhys was not as black as he was painted (He killed the Summer Court faerie outright rather than leaving him to suffer, he repeatedly came to visit Feyre in her cell when no-one else would, he was honest with Feyre about the treatment he received at Amarantha’s hands (a vulnerability on his part), he told her why he was making her dance every night as well as the steps he put in place to protect her, he sent music to her and saved her life, he saved her life and Tamlin’s with the kiss (which Feyre is aware of), he tried to save Feyre’s life while Amarantha was torturing her) 

Rhys was a complex, morally grey character UtM and it’s possible to show a different side to him and a ‘mask’ because there were always hints of him wearing one. What if Ianthe told Feyre she was actually a secret agent working for Prythian but she was forced to act the way she did to keep her cover? What if Amarantha said she’d only dominated Prythian that way to save it from something worse and she too was wearing a mask and working for the greater good? What if Hybern said there was a bigger threat facing them and he had an ulterior motive to this war (and also, I mean, how do you really know Hybern is that awful, we’ve only ever had people tell us about him, maybe he’s misunderstood too!!!!)  @valamerys wrote this out far better than I could in this post, read it too. 

My thoughts are pretty simple, tbh: SJM decided to “”””””redeem”””””” Eris, likely to have him set-up to take over Autumn, now Lucien isn’t an option for that before what with the whole dramatic lost son of Day thing and she did a crap job of it. Like this isn’t some grand morality based character debate that’s going on here, SJM just handled this poorly. In order to make him seem not so bad she had to undo all of the canon that she’d set in place before hand and offer ‘alternative’ explanations for what happened that we’ve never heard about. 

If she planned this all beforehand, if Eris was always wearing a mask why weren’t there hints of it before? Why didn’t she have Tamlin tell Feyre he got an anonymous tip-off the day he saved Lucien’s life from his brothers (which is what Eris claimed). Why wouldn’t Lucien defend him a little, say at least he cared about their mother/was sometimes kinder to him than the others? Why wouldn’t Rhys say that in the arranged marriage that petrified Mor, Eris was as unwilling as she was, that he argued against it? (Eris would have gone through with this marriage regardless of what it did to Mor if she hadn’t slept with Cassian) Why wouldn’t Eris stay quiet UtM or not show up to watch Lucien’s torture (which he does repeatedly)? Why, why, why, why, why would SJM not do something to show us that there might be more to Eris? Unless this was just a sloppy, last minute retcon to redeem a gross, abusive character who still to do this day petrifies his victim? 

Like, if you consider showing to be of more importance than telling in stories….You’ve picked a mighty weird hill to die on here with Eris. Because this is literally the worst example of telling not showing in this entire series. There is no basis for anything that happens with Eris’ character in ACOWAR and the only thing we have stacked against the evidence of two and a half books is what Eris says and how he personally spins the story like ????

 Idk dude, we can have a convoluted, let’s bend over backwards to redeem this guy and show he was misunderstood and has been wearing a mask so convincing it’s never ever ever cracked even once this entire time, to anyone! Even people who’ve known him for centuries….Or we go with the simpler: SJM really didn’t plan or execute this story very well at all. Which seems more reasonable?  

The Stranger

Pairing: Taehyung x reader

Genre: Angst. Hella Angst.

Word Count: 4.1k

Summary: Everything is fine until you start seeing a strange boy everywhere you go.

Originally posted by bangtannoonas

The first time you see him, you are trying to park your car. You’re late to an appointment and the parking lot is full, leaving you with no choice but to park on the street. Parallel parking is not something you’re fond of, especially when you’re on a busy road in the middle of town and handfuls of people are walking up and down the sidewalk, watching you struggle and laughing at your misfortune.

You spot him right away. He’s an eyesore among the crowd, the only one not dressed for the weather and you can’t help but wonder how he manages to look so comfortable with snow gathering in his hair. The sight of him is so interesting that you can’t help but stare. You momentarily forget about the task at hand because you’re so caught up in watching this stranger walk toward you that you don’t even notice you’ve backed up too far until you feel your car bump against the one behind you.

Panic sets in immediately and you tear your eyes away from the stranger to look and see if anyone else has noticed. Out of all the people on the street, very few have even glanced in your direction. Breathing a sigh of relief, you inch your car up just a bit and reach down to put it in park.

When you look up, the stranger is standing in the center of the sidewalk staring right at you, eyebrows raised, sly smile on his face. You’re not sure what causes you to react so quickly, but you throw the gear shift into drive and speed out of your parking spot like a bat out of hell, appointment be damned.

You take a moment to glance out of the passenger side mirror and it alarms you to realize that the stranger is still standing there, smiling fondly as you leave.

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