idk they should have change his head's angle or something like that

Different Side of Me

You smoothed your hands over the fancy dress you wore, double-checking how you looked in the large mirror your boyfriend bought last year. Speaking of him, you heard him calling out for you.

“Y/N! Are you ready to go?” His head popped out from the doorway, his eyes immediately going towards where you were in your shared bedroom.

You breathed deeply and smiled tightly, “Yeah, Spence. Let’s go.”

You and Spencer Reid, your boyfriend of nearly two years, were going to meet your parents for dinner at a five-star restaurant they chose. This would be Spencer’s first time meeting your parents because you never really got along with them and you were incredibly nervous about how it would go.

Spencer, sensing your distress, reached his hand out for yours as you walked out of the apartment and towards your car, squeezing it before rubbing circles on the top of your hand with his thumb.

As you both settled in the car, you took another deep breath, flipping the visor down in the car so you could check your makeup once again.

“Y/N,” Spencer chuckled, “you look beautiful. Stop worrying, you’re psyching yourself out and that’s just going to project negative scenarios in your head. It’ll be fine, okay?”

You sent him a smile, “You don’t know what my parents are like.”

He looked at you once more before turning his attention to backing the car out of the spot it’s in. “If you love me, they’ve got to at least tolerate me, right? You and your parents share similarities, not just DNA, but mannerisms and other traits, so statistically, they must have to like me somewhat.”

Spencer was pleased with his deduction, but you knew the truth.

You were nothing like your parents, behavior wise. They were incredibly judgmental, hateful, snobby people who kept you on such a tight leash all throughout your childhood and teen years that you vowed to be nothing like them when you moved out. You kept up with your promise all these years, but they got worse with age, you were able to tell from the weekly phone calls your mother made sure to implement.

They were still trying to control you, even in your adulthood. Which is why it wasn’t surprising when they demanded to meet Spencer, and then chose what date, what time, and where. Spencer was okay with it all, as he was just excited to finally meet the people who raised the girl he loved. But you knew the night would end in emotional disaster. It always did.

Before you knew it, you guys had made it to the restaurant and were quickly escorted in while the valet parker parked your vehicle.

You held your breath while stepping in, with Spencer letting the hostess know the name of your party—Y/L/N.

“Of course, right this way. They’ve ordered already as they’ve been here for twenty minutes, but I’ll get someone right out to take your orders,” the pretty hostess smiled at you both as she led you to the table your parents were at.

Twenty minutes? You couldn’t believe it. You made sure you and Spencer got here ten minutes early. It was barely 7:20 and you knew for a fact that your mother told you 7:30 pm.

As you were thinking this, you and Spencer had arrived at the table. The hostess smiled once more and wished you all a good time before leaving.

“Mom, Dad. You guys said 7:30, the hostess told us you had already been waiting twenty minutes?”

Your father tsk-ed, “C’mon, now, Y/N. First time seeing us since the holidays, and the first time we’re meeting your boyfriend, and the first thing you say to us is an issue with the time?”

You bit back a comment and forced a smile on your face, “This is Spencer Reid, you guys. He works for the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI as a profiler. Spencer, these are my parents, Y/M/N and Y/D/N.”

Your father stood up and reached a hand out towards Spencer, “Nice to meet you.”

Spencer glanced at you briefly before opening his mouth, “I, uh, don’t actually shake hands. The amount of pathogens passed is astounding. It’s actually safer to kiss, you know.”

Your father’s hand was still extended for an awkward moment before he and your mom exchanged a look and he sat back down in his seat next to her. You and Spencer sat down in the seats across from theirs and quickly opened your menus.

As you and he were perusing the options, your mom cleared her throat. “So, Spencer. What is it you do exactly for the FBI?”

At the mention of his name, Spencer set the menu down and looked up. “Well, I’m part of a team that analyzes crime scenes and unknown subjects in an attempt to help police catch them before they commit another crime.”

Your father cocked his head to the side slightly, “so you study criminals?”

Hearing the judgmental tone that you’ve become so accustomed to, you broke in. “Spencer’s amazing at his job. He has 3 Ph.D’s, actually. He’s a genius and saves lives.”

“I’m sure,” your mother said, raising her eyebrow at you.

“Well, what about you, Y/N? How’s your job going for you?” your father asked.

“It’s great. I just got another client, actually.” You were a book editor and absolutely loved your job. Your parents, however…

“It still astounds me that you took such a trivial job. You had so much potential, Y/N. You did amazing in science, you could have become something so much more useful,” your father said.

“He’s right. There’s still time for you to change your mind, you know. Your father’s company is hiring and if you take some college classes or start going for an engineering degree, you’d be sure to find a better paying job there.” Your mother offered.

You didn’t even bother putting a polite smile on your face. “We’ve been over this. I don’t want to be an engineer or go back to school. I’m happy with my job and I’m tired of arguing with you about this. Can we just not right now? You guys are here to meet Spencer.”

You glanced over at your boyfriend, when speaking his name, and could see the confusion and frustration in his eyes.

“We spent so much money sending you to the best private schools and paying for your college education, and this is how you repay us? You won’t even entertain the thought of—“

You cut your mother off, “First off, I’m paying you guys back for my college education. Second off, I don’t have to entertain any thoughts. Stop trying to control me, you don’t have any power over me. I’m my own person and an adult and you both need to accept it. Okay?” You finished your rant with a sharp tone and looked at your parents with disdain.

Your parents exchanged another look before starting yet again.

The waiter hadn’t even come by to take your and Spencer’s order yet and this was the third time your parents were going to try and insult your profession. You were just glad they weren’t going after Spencer. You understood why, though. They didn’t care about him. They just wanted to make sure you knew what they thought of you and how they felt you failed them.

Your mother opened her mouth, “I just don’t understand, Y/N. You could be so much more and do so much better. How are you content with your life?”

“What?” Spencer cut in, his rage clear on his face.

“This doesn’t concern you, Sam,” your father announced.

“This does concern me. Y/N is my girlfriend, the love of my life, and her feelings are important to me. How could you both sit there, insulting her career and putting her down? She’s worked so hard to get where she is. She’s a senior editor at one of the best publishing houses here. She confers on textbooks, fiction, non-fiction, everything because she’s that good at her job. She’s incredibly intelligent and passionate about her work. She’s generous and kind and everything you two seem to be lacking. She’s able to brighten up any room she walks into. I’ve never met anyone like her in my life and doubt I ever will. She’s unique and loving and caring and selfless. I stupidly thought you two and her must have shared some personality and behavioral traits, but now I’m glad I was wrong. You should feel ashamed of yourself for putting Y/N down. She’s just—she’s magnificent and if you can’t see that, then it’s your loss and I’m sorry you both will never realize how charming and wonderful she is.” Spencer finished his spiel with disgust and anger still coloring his face.

“And for your information, my name is Spencer, “ he added, before turning to you. “Would you like to stay or go home?”

You looked over at your parents, the pair of them shocked at Spencer’s outburst. “Home,” you smiled, the first genuine one of the night. “Home sounds amazing.”

He reached for your hand as the pair of you stood up and walked out, without another word to your parents.

As you made your way inside the car, you glanced at him. “Thank you, for all of that back there.”

Spencer looked confusedly at you, “Y/N. Don’t thank me for that. I’m sorry I didn’t believe you or take your words for truth when you said you didn’t get along with them well. I’m also sorry you had to live your whole life with them. I love you so much, and I meant every single word I said back there. They don’t deserve to have you in their lives if they won’t appreciate you like you deserve to be.”

You were overcome with such strong emotions that this beautiful man in front of you would defend you so easily, you didn’t know what to do. You settled for leaning over and kissing him. He placed a hand on your face, angling you deeper into him.

You pulled back slightly, letting your forehead rest against his. “It was pretty hot seeing you so riled up, though.”

Spencer laughed, “your family brings out a different side of me, what can I say?“

love is coal | the missing pieces

or, an entirely un-necessary  companion in Hobi’s perspective to “the constant changing state of us.” perhaps read that first.

3,006 words | A TRIFECTA (comedy/drama/romance)
featuring bff yoongi
warnings for language

in case u wanted more dialogue idk sorry guys

Originally posted by sweaterpawsjimin

Hoseok blinks at Yoongi, the cogs in his head unmoving.

“But she hates me,” he finally says after a long silence.

Yoongi sighs. “No, she doesn’t hate you. I think she thinks she does, but I know she doesn’t. She hates that stupid shit from high school and she holds a grudge like no one else. If she hated you, she’d never even do me the favor of being in your presence when I want to hang out with both of you.”

“She told me my laugh sounds like two pieces of styrofoam squeaking against one another.”

The simile makes Yoongi laugh and roll his eyes. “She’s dramatic.”

“She should have majored in theatre instead of business,” Hoseok responds dryly. “If she doesn’t hate me, I’ll eat my hat.”

“Well, let it be one of your bucket hats, then, you’ve got too many of those.”

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thank you

fandom: naruto
characters/pairings: sasuke/sakura
rating: t
prompt: thank you
a/n: unbeta’ed as always. post-chapter 699. heavily inspired by the sparrowkeet series’ twelfth chapter, by audreyii-fic, though somehow not like it at all? idk man

In which everyone has a lot to say, except the one who actually matters.

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Can i borrow your notes?

Jimin Fan Fic 

It was late in the evening when I got a text from my classmate Jimin. He was an odd one id have to say but maybe it was because we had just started talking to each other. I’m sure he’ll open up soon but I’ll admit he is gorgeous and I may have thought of him pressing me against the wall a few times during class and don’t even get me started with his music.

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ok so this took approximately six hundred years to put together but i present, for your enjoyment, my star wars fic rec, including: stormpilot fic recs, hanluke fic recs, jedistormpilot fic recs and various gen fics/one shot pairings. i’ve been around fandom for a loooooong time so i’ve developed a habit of being picky with my fics so rest assured that everything included in this list comes with a big ol’ stamp of approval

this list will be added to/edited in the future as the fandom grows, so if ur fic isn’t on here don’t despair, and if any of you want to suggest fics to be added then go ahead, my ask box is always open! (UPDATED: 4TH APRIL, 2016)

stormpilot has the most fics in this rec but feel free to peruse the rest (the stormpilot recs are last, so scroll all the way dowwwwwn if u want those), and i hope u enjoy! (side note: i put stars next to the fics i REALLY love so those ones come with my super special recommendations)

[p.s there is no r*ylo in this because i do not support the ship at all lmao bye]

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silently the senses abandon their defenses

Elorcan fluff. Cause i can.

It’s cold. At night, the little tent Molly and the troupe had put at her - their - disposal is cold and damp, turning so right after the summer sun’s last rays hide behind the hills and forests on the horizon.

Elide twists and turns, trying to settle in a comfortable position, the bedroll doing nothing much to warm her bones, or to keep the rocks and grass on the ground from digging into her sides. The slight chill combined with the dampness of the earth more often than not mean that she’s in for a night of throbbing ankles and stiff bones. Oh, joy.

The tent is far too small for a fire and Elide only has so many layers to keep warm. Her mangled ankle throbs in protest at her wriggling.

It’s never quite so cold when Lorcan is there, Elide ponders idly; he occupies the space in a way she never could, and for all his brutish and mean-spirited bravado, the man is a furnace and he makes the nights a little more bearable.

He’s taken to coming to bed after she falls asleep and leaving before she wakes up in the morning. She wonders if Fae do not need quite as much sleep as humans do.

A part of her is glad that he does not bother her any more than necessary for their ruse, she is truly glad, she thinks while clutching the thin sheet closer around herself, trying to burrow her face more thoroughly in the supposed pillow.

Another part, a small voice in the back of her mind, whispers that she’s always wanted to have someone to trust, she’s wanted to have someone trust her in return. She’d like to be able to close her eyes at night and never fear, never fall asleep clutching the little throwing knife she’d nicked from the performers’ set, which currently resides underneath her makeshift pillow; never go sleeping with an eye kept open, just ready to jump at any sound, any possible danger.

Elide does not remember what it’s like to not be aware of the danger, afraid the very echoes of steps on stone floors.

But there are no stone floors here. No grates or walls, either.

There is only the rippling grass against the soles of leather boots, the moan of howling gust of wind in the open sky and the crackling of small fires in the night. Elide forces her muscles to relax.

She sometimes thinks that trust is yet possible, except no, not really, not when she’d rather eat glass than tell anyone about the tower in Perranth and Morath and the fear crawling down her spine when anyone mentions Terrasen; the fear that there’ll be no one to receive her home, that she’ll be nothing more than another camp follower, useless and left to be discarded at the first turn.

And it doesn’t do to dwell on such things, it really doesn’t. Elide seldomly lets herself float in the state of unease that lies between sleep and awakening, rarely lets herself feel the fear that has accompanied her for so long.

Not since the witches, though. Since escaping Morath, she’s painted herself with conviction and cunning, used up every drop of attention and every memory and slight of hand in her possesion. It’s been hard, so hard, and Elide can’t decide which it is: is she hiding the little girl behind a mask of strength, or has the bitterness, the anger required to turn people’s minds to her favour and against themselves always been there?

Always lying in wait, prowling its cage like the wicked beast she sometimes fancies herself to be.

Her train of thought is interrupted by the tent flap opening, canvas flipping in the night breeze. A shiver comes up her spine, making her shoulders tremble as Lorcan closes the tent behind him.

The demi-fae does not fit inside this tent, Elide knows. He can’t make more than a step in each direction, can’t stand with his back or shoulders straight for fear of raising the entire thing off its hinges, tearing the flimsy fabric, or simply remaining with his head outside.

She fights the urge to turn around to him as he sits on the ground and takes off his boots, slips his doublet from around his broad shoulders and throws it in a corner of the tent.

Dressed in nothing more than his undershirt - the last one he owns, most likely, after the bartering he’s done in the previous days - and his trousers, he lays on the ground, not bothering to address her in any way.

Elide is far too tired to process her level of awareness in regard to her supposed husband. Not that he’d much played the part any more, not since the attack. The thought of it strikes a chord deep in her gut, the tightening near her heart urging her to close around herself; pull her knees close to her chest and hide her head under the bedsheets, much like she’d done long, long ago, to no avail.

“What?” a gruff word in a tone settled somewhere between question and command, Lorcan having been no doubt aware that she wasn’t sleeping. The man could count her heartbeats and the silences between them, Elide chastises herself, of-bloody-course he could tell whether she was sleeping or not.

“Nothing,” she says, her voice surprisingly clear. She doesn’t need to see his face to know that his eyebrow is raised in mock challenge. And mild annoyance.

Elide huffs and turns around, spotting the outline of his face in the darkness of their tent. She scowls at him half-heartedly, knowing he could see her better than she does.

“What?” he asks again, not bothering to hide his annoyance. He is barely a few steps away, sprawled on the mottled ground. There is no way to step around him towards the tent flap. Gods, he could nearly keep his legs outside.

The mental image of his toes hanging from the tent entrance makes Elide snort. What lack of sleep does to people.

“Aren’t you cold?” she asks suddenly, some part of her brain seemingly up to something. Her tone would almost be menancing. Almost, if only she hadn’t yawned the last word out.

“Why?” he begins, turning on his side towards her. “Feeling generous with the extra blanket?”

“I was just asking. Basic consideration,” she feels the need to add, “some people do have that, you know?”

A snort. “Who told you that?” a slash of a grin that seemed made to gobble men up.

Elide angles her eyebrows at him in a way that should translate to - really? - but who knows what her valiant husband makes of it, so she better leaves it off at that, she decides while rubbing at her eyes.

“Are you?”

A sharp twist of her head in his direction. “What?”

“Cold. Are you cold, Elide?”

He’s taunting her. Gods. The bastard. The pause between her reaction and ber opening her mouth to respond accordingly tells him everything he needs to know, though.

“I don’t have blankets to give you,” he replies. Part of it is smugness, the other something she has no intention of desciphering. Not this late.

“I don’t need blankets,” she huffs, indignately. And if she does need blankets, it’s none of his business. It’s not her fault her limbs become ice cold at night. She hasn’t had the luxury of a proper comforter since before Morath.

“Then?” Is it physically impossible for him to shut up, for once?

She almost stutters, the idea ridiculous, “Just…” Anneith save her, “ugh. Just come a little closer.”

He startles then, and looks at her. “Closer?” he asks, incredulity etched deeply in the word.

“Yes. Closer. You are warm,” with that, anger at her weakness makes her flush and she turns her back to him before he can catch a glimpse of her expression.

He seems to ponder it for a while. For long enough that Elide starts wondering if he’s heard her at all, but then he scoots over, indeed coming closer to her.

The change in temperature was already noticeable, and Elide curls in on herself, before she murmurs, “Closer,” her thoughts louder than her voice.

For a moment, she thinks he’ll not comply, but then a strong arm wraps around her, pulling her against the hard plains of his chest. That, and Lorcan’s breath on the back of her neck, make the hair stand up on her arms, goose pimples errupt on her skin.

Gods above, the man is a furnace. A living, breathing furnace, she tells herself as warmth floods her, starting from where his arm rests over her waist, the two shirts she wears being a useless barrier against the heat radiating off him, and going all the way to her her toes and fingertips, all the way to the roots of her hair.

He’s pulled her close enough, but not flush against him, and for that she’s thankful. Elide doesn’t want to think about what they look like, her almost touching his chest, curled like a kitten in the bedroll, a rough hand splayed in the folds of her shirt, under her breasts, but above her belly.

Lorcan shifts for a bit at her back, for a second seeming almost fidgety, in a way he’s never been around her before. His other arm sneaks underneath her head, pillowing it and bringing her closer to him.

Through the haze that settled over her mind, a haze that tastes like candlelight and earthen blooms, and roots in the autumn dusk, Elide realises that, as near to him as she is, he must be getting a mouthful of her hair, so she cranes her neck and turns her head to look at him.

“Hm?” he questions her look, the hum reverbrating through his chest and her back, making her toes tingle and curl. That might be the look in his eyes, too, the way they seem almost molten and soft, but she doesn’t pay them too much attention.

Elide notes blankly that her head barely reaches the crook of his neck, nevermind that some strands of hair do curl around his chin. In the shadows, it’s hard to tell whose hair it is.

She shakes her head in answer, bringing her hands up and combing her fingers through her hair, laying the messy locks over her shoulder. Elide feels pleasantly fuzzy, and she whispers “Nothing,” but then adds on second thought, “Sleep,” as she tangles her feet with his, rests her hands over his forearms and falls asleep in a cocoon of warmth.

[drabble] Stop and Go

A quick drabble inspired by something I saw on the way home today.

AU. Misawa. Where Eijun jumps out of Haruichi’s car to give his number to the guy in the lane next them. Yes, in the middle of traffic.

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i don’t know like just think about it

yamaguchi trying so hard to hide his super huge crush on tsukishima because he is 1000% sure tsukishima would think it was uncool

but he also doesn’t want to hide his feelings so he resolves to tell tsukishima anyway

but how? how to tell his best friend and the person he looks up to the most that he has feelings for him? especially when it could mean losing that person.

and then across the gym he sees hinata and kageyama arguing like they always do. kageyama angrily looking down at hinata. hinata angrily glaring up at kageyama. their bodies close and their faces closer. and he thinks


he spends the entire rest of practice working up the nerve to ask hinata how he did it (of course hinata, he can’t imagine talking to kageyama about this when the boy can barely manage to even give out a compliment without looking like he wants to eat his own tongue), and finally he sees his chance when kageyama finally leaves hinata’s side to talk to sugawara about something.

so he goes over to hinata, slower than he normally would because he’s sitll trying to work up his nerve and when he finally reaches him he’s just like, well this is it.

and so he asks hinata how to confess to someone and hinata doesn’t really think about the question, he just hones in on the fact that yamaguchi likes someone and he starts hassling him trying to find out who it is.

and they’re sitting there crouched on the gym floor and yamaguchi looks to see if anyone else is close enough to over hear and no one really is but he’s still nervous so he just points at tsukishima.

except tsukishima is standing near enough several others that hinata gets it totally wrong and yamaguchi has to finally just come out and say it’s tsukki he’s talking about, it’s tsukki he likes, it’s tsukki he wants to confess to.

and hinata is very quiet for a very long time and yamaguchi’s heart is pounding in his chest because he’s terrified he just made a huge mistake admitting he likes a boy and he’s wondering if maybe he should have just lied about who it was or not even bothered saying anything at all

and hinata’s head slowly turns toward tsukishima and he says “but” points at tsukishima “why?”

and yamaguchi tries to say something, stammers, and prays that no one looks over and sees how red he is or walks by and overhears them

and hinata just keeps pointing

“but why

and yamaguchi decides it’s a good time to try to beat a retreat but then hinata says

“i mean i could understand if it was nishinoya-sempai, he’s so cool. or asahi because he’s the ace and he gets that grwar look on his face when he does a really good spike. or even ennoshita he’s at least nice. but- but–” and he stares at tsukishima, turns his head this way and that like if he looks at him from a different angle it’ll change what tsukishima is like as a person but it doesn’t so he just keeps pointing “but why

and so yamaguchi points at kageyama and says “yeah? well–why

and they spend the next several minutes going back forth arguing about the two shitty personality teammates they have feelings for and it isn’t much more than just “but why” “why” “yeah but why” in hushed whispers until daichi notices they aren’t doing anything and yells at them to get back to helping with cleaning up the gym

and after they’ve finished, after everyone’s showered and changed and is on their way home, hinata and yamaguchi find excuses to hang back and leave together to finish their conversation

they walk along quietly for a bit and finally hinata just comes out and says “so you want to confess to tsukishima” and yamaguchi can still hear the silent unspoken but why

and he just shrugs miserably like “yeah”

and hinata just says “oh” because he’s still trying to picture what yamaguchi could possibly see in tsukishima because he has the personality of a moldy sponge or one of those really gross super deep underwater sea creatures, and he can’t no matter how hard he tries wracking his brain so he just asks why yamaguchi asked him and not someone else like sugawara, who seems like he’d be good at that kind of thing.

and yamaguchi tells him it’s because of him and kageyama.

and hinata’s like “but I didn’t confess to kageyama?”

and yamaguchi is just like BLOWN AWAY like really did hinata just tell him that kageyama confessed to him?

and WOW NO hinata’s like “definitely not” and they both try to imagine kageyama confessing to someone and they remember his scary smile and it spooks both of them

hinata admits that he and kageyma are just friends, nobody’s confessed to anyone, kageyama doesn’t know how he feels and he doesn’t know how to tell him

and poor yamaguchi who’s been waiting all this time for an answer is just like “oh”

and then idk maybe they form a We Have Crushes On Teammates With Bad Personalities Club or something and it brings them a little closer together and sometimes when they pass each other at school or in practice they just point at the other’s crush and say “but why” and nobody understands what’s going on and everybody thinks they’re maybe both losing it a little as a result of spending so much time around tsukishima and kageyama

Quirks we made into perks.

A/N: If any of you ever feel like this, just remember. You are not alone. It may seem like it, but I promise, people are fighting to break down the door to reach you again.

I do not own Teen Wolf or it’s characters. Sadly.

Anon said: “Hi! I was wondering if you could do a pack imagine but like love interest with stiles where you get really depressed and ignore them for a good week and after a while they finally like break through your parents and get in your room and your just sitting the looking emotionless and silently crying and they try to talk to to you but you don’t respond you like don’t even look at them and they sit with you idk you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to tho”


You heard them all down at the front door, your parents trying to send them away for the millionth time, but this time Stiles slipped past them and up the stairs, distracting them long enough that the rest of the pack slipped in as well.

Stiles skidded to a stop just inside your door, soon followed by Scott, who held up his hand to stop the rest of the members from entering the room.

The pack hovered in the hallway, blurry in your peripherals as you kept staring straight ahead, not even acknowledging them. A tear slipped down your face as you blinked, and you wanted to curse at it, because you knew every supernatural nose instantly could pick up on your emotions now.

“Y/N?” Stiles came and knelt on the floor in front of you, taking your hands in his, and while you didn’t turn your gaze to him, you saw his disheveled appearance, the lack of sleep evident in his features, and creased with worry.

Scott sat beside you, and wrapped an arm around your shoulder gently, looking down into his lap. “Hey, guys, can, uh, can we have a minute?” He looked into the hallway to the eager faces of the rest of the pack, and you barely made out their blurry nods in your peripherals once again as the tears started to swirl everything.

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Scott McCall, wingman extraordinaire

survivablyso asked you: If you’re still open for prompts I’d love to see Scott playing wingman/yenta for Stiles and pushing him towards Derek. + fujosht’s excellent prompt “idk HOOKUPS IN GRINDR OR SOMETHING”

“So I got you a Grindr profile,” Scott says, and Stiles says, “What,” and Coach says, “MCCALL AND STILINSKI!” and makes them change seats.

When they’re leaving class, Scott says, “I’m gonna need a better picture of you, dude,” and pretty much pushes his phone into Stiles’ face. The flash goes off. Scott looks at the screen and sighs. “No. A good picture. Like…”

He grabs Stiles’ wrist and drags him along, outside. “Here should be good,” he says, squinting contemplatively at the brick wall. “Nice neutral background, and natural light always looks better. Um, let’s try…” He ruffles Stiles’ hair with one hand. “Yeah, that works. That’s good. Here, gimme your backpack, you look way too jailbait. Don’t want to attract the wrong type of guys.”

“Scott,” Stiles says as he shrugs off his backpack. “Scotty. What are we doing?”

Scott frowns at him. “Getting you laid, of course,” he says. “Okay, now smile, but not too much, and try to kind of glance up through your eyelashes—”

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unapologeticallyuntidy  asked:


This is so cute and idk what this is that I wrote, but I hope you like it!!


“Hufflepuff is going to slaughter us.” The words were simple, matter of fact, and absolutely, unfortunately true.

James spit on the ground. “Piss off, Padfoot.”

“I’m not joking, Prongs. Creswell is a better seeker than we expected – look at what he did in their last match. He’s going to fly circles around –”

“I know, Padfoot, Merlin, I know!” James stopped in his tracks and ran his hand up his neck, fingers locking around his hair. It took Sirius several more steps to realize that James wasn’t next to him anymore.

“Look, James, I’m sorry. We’ll talk to everyone, keep them on Creswell. If the kid gets knocked off his broom from high enough –”

James cut him off again. “No, we’re not knocking out their seeker. Just…just give me a bit, okay?”

Sirius didn’t move. “You sure?”

He exhaled deeply. “Yeah. Yeah, just head back. I’ll meet up with you later.”

Without looking to see if Sirius would leave, James turned around and headed back to the Quidditch pitch.

He flew around the entire pitch five times, taking each curve at a different angle, gripping his broom so tightly, he knew he’d be digging splinters from under his nails later. He ran diving drills, tossing a quaffle into the air, then dipping his broom downward, each time catching it with his toes slightly grazing the grass below. He chucked the quaffle into each of the three massive goalposts, then whipped around them, never letting the ball hit the ground.

An hour and a half later, James made his way back to common room, his breaths hitching in his worn lungs.

It was late; James thought his way to the dormitory would be uninterrupted.

He hadn’t counted on Lily being in the common room.

“I should knock off points for you being out past curfew.” Lily looked right into his eyes, a small upward twitch in the corner of her mouth.

James broke the eye contact. “Evans, I don’t have the energy for this. We both know you wouldn’t knock points from your own house.”

“Ohhh-kay.” James could still feel Lily’s eyes on him and he was suddenly aware of how sweaty he was under his uniform.

“I’m sorry,” he sighed, pulling his sticky uniform away from his equally sticky skin.

“For being rude or for this strip-tease you’re about to give me?”

He looked down. The common room fireplace cast shadows across his now bare chest.

“I’m not about to apologize for perfection, Evans.”

She responded by throwing a pillow at him. James caught it, a laugh escaping his throat as he tossed it back to her. For a moment, he forgot about the inevitability of his failure as a Quidditch captain. All he knew was Lily’s eyes, bright and wide and very obviously running over his exposed torso.

A moment passed like that, until something in Lily changed. It was subtle, but James saw her tense, sitting up at least an inch taller, and now only meeting his eyes.

“So what has you in a mood?” she asked, the teasing tone noticeably absent.

James crossed over to the sofa, slouching sideways into it, facing Lily. “I’m about twelve hours away from getting destroyed on the Quidditch pitch by a team that hasn’t touched the Cup in the last six years.”

Lily’s lips tightened. “Creswell’s that good?”

“You heard?”

“Sirius came through here a while ago mumbling something about Creswell and a bat bogey hex?” Lily’s upper lip twitched into a small smile. “I don’t know, it was all a bit jumbled together.”

“We’re not hexing Creswell.”

“Good, ‘cause you know I’d hate to have to take points from my own house.”

“You would never!”

This back and forth between them was beginning to feel natural. It was still new, but over the last few weeks, James found that he and Lily both were falling into it more easily, more frequently. Again, he found himself grinning back at her.

“You never know, Potter! I’m unpredictable.”

“I would never use that word to describe you.”

“You would if Creswell suddenly took ill tomorrow. I’m thinking jelly brain jinx?”

James leaned into the sofa, vaguely aware of his aching muscles, but focused on the image of a perplexed Creswell walking onto the pitch.

“Unfortunately, my dear, predictable, Evans, you’re going to sit in the stands tomorrow and watch a perfectly un-jellied brain Hufflepuff beat us unmercifully,” James said dully, closing his eyes as his mental image of Creswell changed back.

A pair of lips was on his and James was breathing her in, all lavender and vanilla; it was that sudden. By the time he had gathered his senses and opened his eyes, Lily was on the other end of the sofa again and a mischievous light had taken over her expression.

“You never know.”

And she winked.

Why I think T!ffany isn't a good rolemodel

Okay. We all know that $NSD is Korea’s national girl group and with that their name that literally means Girl$’ Generat!on implies that they are somewhat expected to show an ideal for the girls of the generation today. Because of 9/30 I think that they shouldn’t be looked up but I can’t generalize them all since I do not have enough receipts to do that and there are a few members that still can redeem themselves. There’s only two that I can actually say that shouldn’t be role models but I do not yet have enough evidence for the other so let’s start with this one first.

More under the cut!

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OTP Christmas Challenge Day nine- Wearing ugly sweaters

Dean doesn’t come back from the case that night, calling Sam and letting him know he’s staying in a motel closer to the site, so Sam and Gabriel have the night to themselves. Gabriel pleads until Sam agrees to let him order pizza (“Yeah, and uh, every vegetable you got on the other half; my friend’s a loser nerd plant-eater.” “Hey!”) and they spend the night researching. After their day off, Sam wants to put in an evening’s work, and Gabriel is content to keep him company.

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ghost au?

The Iron Bull dies in a tremendous battle that shakes the foundations of more than one nation and sees him interred in a thousand years of rubble. It’s off-putting, because being a ghost wasn’t really something he’d anticipated dealing with. Not a part of the teachings he was raised on.

There’s a kind of nice moment when his old crew finds the place and pour one out for him, but mostly it just makes him feel lousy. They look so deeply, genuinely heartbroken, but he can also see that they’ll heal. The way they lean into each other is telling. It’s nice; reassuring. 

There’s a moment when they’re rolling out, Dalish pauses mid step and turns to look back, almost as though she’s seeing him. Bull lifts a hand, but she doesn’t wave back. Nuts, he thinks.

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Maya and Ranger Rick are engaged, and Lucas doesn’t want Short Stack to throw cake in his face, but he also wants to be the person she loves most in the world (just a bunch of fluff.)

“No, no, no,” he responds to Riley’s question with an unbelievably fast urgency. “We aren’t doing that.” He stresses the words with confidence, but quiet uncertainty hides beneath the words. He shifts his unsure eyes to the blonde next to him, whose attention belongs to her  nails. “Right, Maya?” he demands, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” she shrugs uncommitted, lazily turning her head on over to him.

“We aren’t shoving cake in each other’s faces, Maya. You said you wouldn’t.”

“Yeah, I said I wouldn’t,”  Maya replies in a casualness that makes Lucas uneasy.


She fakes gasps, holding a hand over her chest, lowering her chin, “do you not trust my word?” she utters in feign shock. “My dear, Lucas, we are getting married, I cannot believe you’d doubt me like this.”

He stares at her; grinding his teeth together, chewing over her words, and he doesn’t get a chance to reply (luckily) because Zay cuts in. “Why do people gotta do that anyway?” he asks, picking up another small sampler cake plate. He sticks his fork in it, his eyes focused on it, rather than the  group, “first off, it’s rude; you go through all that trouble to look great in wedding photos and on your special day and all that, and then the person you supposedly love most in the world plows cake right in your face–not a good way to start of a lifelong loving partnership, you know?” Zay shoves  a forkful of cake into his mouth.

“Ha, Zay, my silly, silly, good friend,” Riley smiles sweetly at him, but it’s not her typical, happy-go-lucky smile. No, it’s a smile rubbed off by Maya. “Maya’s  person she loves most in the world is me.

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1000-alshain  asked:

I need to meta on Han. Like. He is exactly what the Skywalker twins need at every point from the moment they meet and it makes me so happy. He doesn't even intend to be, he just is. Like -- in ESB on Hoth, he's fighting with Leia, but at that point it's exactly what Luke needs bc he's out in the snow and NOBODY REALIZES IT until Leia tries to find Luke to complain about Han being an asshole and I have more but I just needed to write that down for a larger meta post I might write maybe one day






G  U Y S

Let’s talk. About Han Solo. About how damn instrumental he is to everything. About how he’s a great example of “Good” not necessarily meaning “shining white hero”, not necessarily meaning “always moral and right”. How he’s another example of this ongoing theme in star wars, that everyone has the potential or goodness. About how he’s a complex multi-faceted character that no one talks about ever and is so important to the tins’ growth and development. He’s so important. He’s literally exactly what the twins need, as you said, at all times, in almost every way, and it ends up being so damn important to the fulfillment of the prophecy that I’ve given up believing that their meeting of him is anything but … heck, I’m gonna use the word destined. It’s that uncanny. He balances them, in a weird way, like all the spots that they don’t balance each other out Han fills and he does it so perfectly it’s just. I see so much meta about the Skynerds, and I mean you all know I adore the Skynerds, but can we also talk about Han? Because if we don’t talk about Han, then the trashy fanboys will usurp his precious character and turn it into something gross and like rico suave crap and just NO.

This is important to me. So we’re going to start from the beginning, yes, good, thanks. 

Han Solo, in my opinion, is entirely made up of contradictions. In the best possible way.

A List, because I love lists, of some of the most obvious ones:

1.    He is, in most outward appearances, an immoral pirate. Essentially. He does shady things and compromises generally-accepted morals to keep himself (and others, that he cares about) alive. At the same time, he sticks to a personal set of moral standards and values that are really firm and does not go against them. Even when it puts his own life at risk. And, in fact, when others do go against them, it rubs him the wrong way.

2.    He’s constantly presenting himself as selfish and self-serving, when he is in fact one of the most caring and considerate characters I have ever encountered

3.    He’s incredibly confident in his – hmm, how do I say this. More superficial attributes? Like, okay, he’s confident in his skills as a pilot and his smarts and his general know-how and, let’s face it, his looks too. But when it comes to scenarios where deeper things about him like his life choices and his moral standards are challenged (which is like every other day from the moment he meets the twins), insecurity whips out like no tomorrow.

4.    He’s insanely reckless and spends his life hopping from one un-ideal life-threatening situation to another but manages to stay alive against all odds

5.    He’s like the walking embodiment of “can’t commit” and yet is also one of the most loyal losers to walk the earth

6.    He’s grounded, stable, in a way that neither of the twins are (maybe because of age and experience?) but also has deeply-inlaid issues and emotional baggage because of a shitty childhood and a generally difficult life and no emotional support structure to accompany him (until Chewie, probably)

more under the cut because this is super long (I have a lot to say, and its coherency is questionable) and I don’t want to get too many sideeys.

For trashy rambling and long lists dedicated to the complexity of everyone’s favorite space pirate loser, press read more now!

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