look at all those notes from them

*leaning back in a rocking chair of a saloon patio, taking a long drag from a cigar* boy howdy, homestuck? i remember those days… days ‘em herds of homestucks grazed this pass far as the eye could see. them notifier would strike two, three times a day and the stampedes would cover the land. all of ‘em looking for a little piece of fame. notes came easy back then. first one to make them jokes got tens o’ thousands of em, and so we was all prospecting from them updates. then one day the droughts came, and one by one they all gone. over n’ over til there wasn’t none left in the land and it all dried up. yessir i remember those days.

I want to talk for a sec about something that struck me as odd in episode 3

“A few hundred more souls looking for a new home”
“A few hundred more soldiers in the fight against the Galra”

That is a weird line coming from Shiro, not gonna lie. These are refugees they’re talking about, the majority of them probably just regular civilians with no military training. And Shiro’s here assuming they’re all going to join the war effort? Yeah, I’m sure some of them will choose to join the fight, do what they can to overthrow the Galra and take back their homes, but I imagine a lot of them would prefer to live quietly on Olkarion. And who could blame them? They’ve been displaced by the Galra; if they’re coming to Olkarion that probably means their homes have been destroyed, they have very few possessions and in many cases have probably also lost family members or are injured and need care. A lot of them are probably also traumatized by what they’ve been through/what they’ve witnessed. Refugees typically are just looking for stability, a safe place to live, a chance to rebuild their lives far away from war and oppression. Not looking to join an army.

I mean look at them

Old, worn clothing, some of them hunched over, tired, a mix of old and young. These aren’t soldiers. Coran is treating those people like they should be treated: simple refugees looking for safety. Shiro? He’s treating them like… pawns? Or something? Also note that Shiro is never shown directly helping these people, we only see Allura, Hunk, Lance and Pidge.

This implicit assumption on Shiro’s part that all refugees will join the fight is in direct opposition to what he told Keith in season 1

“That’s not how a team works. People have to want to be a part of it. They can’t be forced”

Is Shiro really so desperate for allies that he’ll draft refugees into the war effort without a second thought? He’s seen how big, how powerful the Galra empire is, and he sees how big the Coalition is and he doesn’t like their odds so he’s pulling resources from everywhere he can think? Or could there be something deeper at play here?

Tips for Writing Spell Incantations

Keep it simple. I like to memorize my incantations. It just keeps the spell moving smoothly. So keep it simple, keep it short.

Rhyme. Rhyming helps me get in the witchy mindset. It just feels more like magic to me. It also helps with memorization. Some paths (Wicca, mostly) believe that rhyming binds a spell and increases its chances for a desirable result.

One word can be an incantation. Words can help focus a spell and direct its energy, but the magic itself comes from within you. Repeating one word or phrase over and over again is definitely a good way to approach spell work. For example, my general curse spell simply requires the repetition of the phrase, “Pain, Panic, Dread.”

Find a multi-purpose ending. I was raised Catholic, and while I’m no longer part of the faith, I definitely got into the mental habit of saying ‘Amen’ after a prayer, which to me signaled the end of my Important Communication with Higher Power. So when I started practicing witchcraft, I wanted something that would signal the end of a spell. While I don’t do this for every spell, I tend to end most of them with either, “Let it be done” or “So mote it be.” Note that the latter is a Wiccan phrase, not a general witchcraft phrase.

Find inspiration. Lyrics, poems, and lines from plays or book are all great places to look for words for spells. So if you’re not much of writer, don’t sweat it.

Incantations don’t need to be spoken. If you don’t want to speak, or if you can’t, you can think it or mouth the words. Or, if neither of those work for you, you can also write it down, or go a step further and turn your incantation into a sigil (though I don’t recommend this if you’re using other sigils in your spell).

BUT, if you do speak your incantation, play with your voice. I whisper or hiss for curses, I speak normally for other spells, I sing for glamours and love spells. The way you speak can influence your spell as a whole.

Be confident and comfortable. Whatever you end up saying during a spell, make sure that it is true to you and your craft and that you are comfortable saying it. This is your spell, and you should be proud of it :)

a. Stop making excuses for yourself to do the things you really want and love to do.
b. Spend your time wisely and productively.
c. Keep learning. Every day is a new opportunity for you to grow.
d. Save as much as you can. Save for a long-term goal. Do not save today and spend it later on for unnecessary things. Value your money. You don’t know what the future holds.
e. Stop complaining. Stop ranting. Start appreciating whatever you have right now. You just have to realize that life is about acceptance, being contented and making the best out of the things you have since you have more than enough.
f. Keep in touch with your old friends. They helped you to be the person you are right now. Plus, you are all growing old. It’s nice to look back at those funny moments you did back then.
g. Spend a lot of time with your parents. No matter how busy you are with your work, other activities or friends, make sure that you still lend some of your time to talk or laugh with them before the day ends.
h. Forget the past but learn from it. Live in the present and make the best out of it. Be ready for the future.
—  redserpentfortytwo, Eight Notes to Self I have to Live by Everyday

Imagine Kaneki saving every piece of paper and notebook Hide writes on from now on. Kaneki has stack and stack of notebooks and loose papers that he likes to look through every now and then and smiles, remembering what made Hide write those messages.

One page reads, “I’M NOT A FUCKING TRUMPET PLAYER" and Kaneki chuckles, thinking about what they were talking about to make Hide write that. Though, finding that memory was not difficult.

Hide saves many of his notebooks before he reunited with Kaneki. Not because he found them sentimental or valuable, but because he tended to hoard things without much thought.

Kaneki looked through those past notebooks first when they spent time together, desiring nothing more than to connect to Hide, to understand what he was doing during all those years.. Kaneki reached for another old notebook, and Hide tried to pry it away, embarrassed about Kaneki reading things from the past and worried that something lies in the notes that will cause Kaneki pain.

He flipped through pages until he read,

“Snitches get stitches." 

and  

"I swear to God I’ll make it look like an accident”

Kaneki looked over at Hide at that one while Hide tried to do his best to whistle, doing his best to feign innocence . Flipping from page to page, Kaneki laughed but his heart also broke at the things he read. One message stuck with him, even now. It was messy and hard to understand, like Hide struggled to finish/ The scribble read:

My face
It hurts more than normal

“Ah-” Kaneki, looking over at Hide, couldn’t gather the courage to ask him, does it still hurt…even now?

In typical Hide fashion, he read the concern clearly written on Kaneki’s face. Reaching and grabbing a half used notebook, undoubtedly part of Kaneki’s future collection, and began to scribble. 

Not anymore. It was when they were fresh.

Hide made a potion, circling his face with his index finger. Kaneki let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding. The weight of guilt will always remain whenever he looks at Hide’s scars, but the thought of knowing Hide is still in pain even now would have broken something inside of Kaneki that would have been irreparable. 

Moving closer, hip to hip, Kaneki lifted Hide’s mask, which he always wore even on casual days, revealing his scarred lips and placed a gentle kiss. He never lifted higher than his lips; he left Hide to decide when he wanted to fully remove the mask. Despite Hide feeling hideous under the mask, Kaneki saw the beauty that has never faded, but he wanted Hide to take his time to fully accept himself, just like Hide did with Kaneki. 

Kaneki’s hot breath on his permanent damaged skin always sent goosebumps up Hide’s spine. 

Pulling away, Hide wasted no time to shot off one of his remarks.

The kiss!! It’s like Spiderman!!

Blinking twice, Kaneki let out small chuckles, gently hitting Hide’s shoulder. Even without a voice, Hide never loses his playfulness and humor.

Automated Responses

So, I’m a bit of a nerd. I admit it. When I first got into this sugaring thing several years ago, I was lost. I stumbled around, was taken advantage of several times, I had lots of dates blow up in my face (pun intended). And I really got nothing out of it. So, this second time around, I wanted to make sure I didn’t waste my time.

My solution? READ
I purchased lots of books (on my Kindle) on sugar babying (if that’s a verb). Taylor B. Jones’s book. The Liedra Lawson book (even though it’s now laughably dated). The Ho Tactics book (personal favorite). Among others. I read this shit out of these last summer and go back to them frequently.

And one of my favorite tips from all of them, specifically Taylor’s book, is automated responses.

Before, I used to spend so much damn time answering messages and talking all about myself when most men would NEVER put that much effort into responding to me. It was exhausting! It made searching for a sugar daddy even more of a job than it already felt like. I was not having it. So, I came up with a system.

1) On my profile, I specifically state that men must a) tell me their name, b) must share their private photos with me before requesting mine, c) must state why they think we’d be a good match based on my profile. If they do not do all three, I simply send back a message stating “Hi __blank___. Please see my profile for tips on messaging me and requesting my private photos. Thank you and have a happy __whateverdayitis___.” That is #AutomatedResponse1.

2) When they do follow instructions –Keep in mind, those that don’t, will NOT get a response from me. If they won’t take the time to do three simple things, I know they won’t take the time to be good SDs. Very easy way to weed out fakes! –anyway, I respond with a more lengthy automated message. A) I tell them thank you for their message. B) I write something person from their profile that caught my attention. C) Then I ask 5 questions that I expect them to answer. My questions are i) what are they looking for in a relationship/how many arrangements have they had? ii) what’s they’re relationship status. iii) why did they want a sugar baby in the first place iv) what are their likes -sports, movies, food, etc.. And v) what is their budget for an arrangement. After all, if their budget is too low, then I don’t want to waste anyone’s time here.

Also note, those men who don’t want to answer question 5 about budgets, have always consistently ended up screwing me over. So now, if they don’t answer or say “Let’s talk about it in person”, I write them off. Fuck anyone who won’t take the time to answer my questions, number one. And number two, if they don’t have a budget in mind or don’t want to tell you what it is, they don’t have one. They just want to fuck you for free. Which I’m not about.

I’ve learned a lot with these automated questions. A guy might seem really nice and then as soon as I send this message, he’ll call me all sorts of names simply for trying to get some basic info from him. Or likewise, a guy will seem on the cheap side but when he answers, will pleasantly surprise me with his ideal arrangement budget. It’s a quick way to get info. I keep these questions in a Google Doc and simply copy and paste them into messages and change only subtle things, depending on what I read in my POTs profile.

I’ve found this really helps streamline the process of messaging guys back and getting as much info with the minimal amount of effort. Please feel free to take my questions! Remember, if he won’t answer the questions, he’s not worth your time!

@bitchycollectionfury-78be5e8b here ya go, thanks, this was fun to write ^-^ nice to write about people being dumber than you are to make yourself feel better

-

McCree was…

He was…

Well, he was definitely not panicking, that was what he was not doing, because Jesse McCree was one cool customer that could take things as they came and laugh it off.  He’d survived the foster care system and his weird adopted father and his overly intense adopted sister.  He’d survived losing his damn arm, alright, and everything that went down that made it necessary to bundle a young Jesse up and whisk him away to the houses of strangers rather than leave him at home.  And by the end, he’d survived everyone that had thought they could make judgment calls about him without even trying to get to know him, every teacher that had shaken their head and decided some idiots couldn’t be helped, every classmate that had turned their nose up at his accent – a vestigial limb left over from a childhood in the south – or his manner of dress or his sense of humour.  After all, it hadn’t been as bad as all that.  He’d wound up with a great family (he’d die for Gabe and Sombra), and plenty of friends.  He’d learnt to let people go.  Some people just would never see past his shaggy hair or his loud mouth or the cowboy hat he refused to “grow out of”.  Fuck ‘em, that’s what Jesse had learnt.  Shrug your shoulders, turn your back, and go find people that matter.  There had been a time when he couldn’t do that.  There was a time when he’d been living back with his birth family that every disappointed look the teacher had sent him when he’d acted out in class had been like a slap and every report card returned home had been… well, not just like a slap.  There’d been a time when he’d hated everything about Gabriel Reyes, but mostly the fact that he was forcing him to confront a brand new school with people that stared and laughed and huddled among themselves in the cliques they’d formed years back, no space for a new, pushy, desperately loud kid.

Then things had changed.  Then he’d made friends, real friends, and found out what people could be like – what he could be like.  And suddenly the people turning their nose up didn’t matter any more.

R-ight.

And so that was why, as Jesse McCree sat in school library across from Hanzo Shimada, he definitely was not panicking at all.

Even if Hanzo Shimada was hot as sin, with long, dark hair cascading down his back, the most intense eyes Jesse has ever seen, and holy fuck those biceps.

The guy did archery apparently.  Archery. Who the fuck did archery unless they were preparing to run off in some goddamn fantasy movie?  Jesse had never even really given archery much thought as a thing people did – it only really existed in historical documentaries and the Olympics – but now when it was nearly thirty degrees outside and Hanzo Shimada was sitting two feet away from him in a tank top, Jesse was really, really thinking about archery.  And how it must take a lot of strength to constantly be drawing and holding a tense bowstring if you wanted to aim with any degree of accuracy.  And how that sort of strength made it look like your arms and shoulders had been carved from fucking marble.  Especially when one of said statuesque arms had a sleeve of vibrant, blue tattoos running all the way down it.  Jesse could get lost in a bicep like that, with or without blue dragons staring back at him, but the dragons definitely didn’t hurt.

The thing was though, it wasn’t just that.  Jesse had met hot kids before that were out of his league and it generally didn’t really trouble him.  Whatever, laugh it off, move on.  No, of course it had to be more complicated than that.  When Jesse had first entered this class he’d wound his way through the filling seats until he’d found himself sitting next to a boy whose name he would learn was Hanzo.  Jesse had then immediately had his smile met by a flat stare, and he’d figured, oh well, here was an uninteresting asshole.  A hot one, maybe, but an asshole all the same.  It hadn’t seemed important at the time because he’d already turned to the person on his other side – a girl named Angela who apparently wanted to be a doctor (or a researcher…? Something like that, which involved more of the human body than Jesse wanted to think aobut).  She was friendly and laughed easily.

Everything would have been so much easier if Hanzo had just stayed an asshole. The guy was quiet, sure, but Jesse sat elbow-to-elbow with him three times a week and he slowly began to realize that underneath the prickly, don’t-look-at-me-don’t-speak-to-me aura the guy projected, there was something far sweeter down there.  The guy chuckled at every single one of the prof’s bad jokes and Dr Winston had a lot of them, and they were always nonchalantly that most of the class didn’t realize they’d happened… heck, Jesse usually didn’t realize they’d happened until he heard a soft snort next to him.

(And yes, it was a snort. Absolutely and completely undignified and it made Jesse stare at Hanzo until he’d been glared back into submission by the man, who’d seemed flustered that someone had heard him.  How do you tell a guy that may or may not hate your guts just for existed that you thought his silly snort-laugh was cute?  The answer was you did not do that and focused back on your own notes if you value your life.)

As for Hanzo’s notes, well, they were painfully neat and precise.  But amid the sharp ballpoint and careful diagrams, Hanzo Shimada apparently had a habit of making snide details about the lessons in the margins (Jesse knew this because it was a two hour long lecture and sometimes watching your neighbour writes notes out of the corner of your eye was better than trying to listen to a prof drone on at the front of the class for another hour and a half).  It made Jesse start fantasizing about taking out his own pen and writing a little comment in the corner of Hanzo’s page.  Made him think about getting into some sort of stupid note-passing conversation with him like they were eight year olds rather than college kids.  Made him think about getting to have all those weird, witty little comments directed at him, and then seeing where the conversation took them.  (And, occasionally, it made him think about continuing that conversation out of class, possibly down towards a pub he knew for a chat and maybe, oh just maybe, a date.)

Jesse, however, did not dare try – to write the note, that is, entertaining anything else would have been madness.  Hanzo looked like the sort of person that might try to tear your head off if you messed up his notebooks.

Then, just to top it all off, during their lecture breaks, Hanzo often got calls from what Jesse could only assume was a brother.  And, against every expectation, Hanzo Shimada was sweet. Well, still a bit of a deadpan asshole, but no one who’s a hundred percent bad uses his ten minutes of free time to talk with his brother every single day.

“Don’t look at me, I am not playing wing-man for you in a class I need to ace if I wanna keep my GPA up,” Angela had said.  Jesse had pouted at that – he hadn’t even gotten a chance to ask her, had just glanced at her with maybe a slightly-too-hopeful gleam in his eye during one of the breaks Hanzo had left the room to talk with his brother.

And then the fateful day of the class project had arrived.  Winston had told them just to group up with someone sitting beside them rather than running piecemeal through the class.  Jesse had, of course, turned to Angela only to find she had turned around in her seat and was quickly making plans to team up with a girl sitting behind them named Mei.

Frantically Jesse had spun around, but everyone else was making groups with the people to their left or right who they had been getting to know since day one.  With Angela breaking the system, that meant he had only one person left sitting next to him.

Hanzo Shimada was watching him with an unimpressed face and an eye brow raised.

Traitor, he mouthed at Angela.

You’re welcome, mouthed Angela, the Stealth Wing-man.

And so here Jesse was, sitting in the library with someone who presumably hated his guts and thought he was – what, loud? Obnoxious? Lame? – but who Jesse still pathetically, wistfully wanted to impress.  Life, sometimes, was enormous unfair.  At this point Hanzo hadn’t even given Jesse the time of day, he’d been sitting at one of the study tables since before Jesse had arrived, nose an inch from his phone as he texted someone.  Presumably someone cooler than Jesse McCree.

Jesse wanted to groan.  Or shove his pencil in his eye just so he could get out of this project.  Instead he mechanically started pulling out his books and waited for Hanzo to be ready to start on the project with him.

-

Hanzo Shimada:

WELL??

Obnoxious Little Brother:
oy give me a sec some of us are still in class and don’t want our phone to be taken away
again
besides i’m trying to tell zen about how i, the lowly highschooler, am helping my university-bound brother pick up boys

Hanzo Shimada:
Don’t you DARE

Obnoxious Little Brother:
too late
he wishes you luck by the way and says he has complete faith in you
goes to show which one of us  knows you better eh? not him!

Hanzo scowled down at his phone before he gaze flickered briefly up to the person who had sat across from him.  He’d been painfully aware of Jesse McCree since McCree had arrived in the library and pulled back the chair with a scrape that had made the hairs on the back of Hanzo’s neck stand on end.  So far McCree had made no acknowledgment that there was another person at this table, another person he was going to be forced to work along side for the next two weeks.

Hanzo didn’t know whether Zenyatta had faith in him or if Genji had just been trying to wind him up, but Hanzo certainly did not have faith in himself, not about this.  He had never been good at… people. He made, in Genji’s words, “seriously just the worst first impressions.  Like wow.  So bad,” which just wasn’t fair because when it came to a professional setting, when it was about work or networking, he was fine.  He could move effortlessly through the crowds, introduce himself, chat, plan, negotiate.  He’d been dogging his father’s footsteps since it had been decided he would one day take over the family business and he was a devoted student.  But as soon as it was real people in real life Hanzo may as well be carved out of wood; somehow he always managed to put his foot in his mouth.  Which was why he had fallen so low as to turn to his baby brother for advice, because at least Genji, if nothing else could be said about him, was good with people.

Too good with people, if you asked their father.  Genji was a social butterfly who wasn’t so much a butterfly as a housefly, flitting about around everywhere and getting where at lot of people would probably wish he wasn’t and really not caring who he chatted with or what they thought about him.

Obnoxious Little Brother:
look, just don’t do the Hanzo Special and you should be fine

Hanzo Shimada:
Excuse me??

Obnoxious Little Brother:
u kno, your patented Grunt & Growl technique
don’t do that and assume other people can actually understand you bc they can’t

Hanzo wanted to snap back that he did not grunt or growl, thank you, he was a mature adult unlike Genji, but he found his fingers hesitating on the keys.  Frantically he scanned his memory to figure out if he had grunted or growled at Jesse McCree.

God help him he probably had.  He had almost certainly stared stupidly at him.

McCree… glowed, though, and Hanzo wasn’t sure what to do with that.  He spoke so easily.  All it had taken was one glance from McCree on the first day of class for him to apparently decide that Hanzo was a lost cause.  Before Hanzo had managed to scrounge up a single coherent, reasonable thing to say to the sunshine bright, smiling boy who’d sat down next to him, said boy had turned his attentions to the much more receptive form of Angela Ziegler, the girl sitting to his right.

McCree was loud and raucous and ridiculous and he wore the stupidest hat Hanzo had ever seen but god help him he wanted to see McCree smile at him, rather than catch glimpse of it from the corner of his eye while he laughed with someone else.  He wanted to have McCree attention at some point other than when he’d made a fool of himself with his ugly laugh or by seeing McCree stare judgmentally at his notes.

Obnoxious Little Brother:
at the risk of sounding too much like a disney movie have you tried just…. being yourself???
(this was zen’s suggestion btw i’m personally pretty sure being someone other than yourself would be a step in the right direction but you never know maybe disney knows whats up)

Hanzo thought about what McCree had looked like when they had been forced to choose partners.  He had wanted to be anywhere than with Hanzo. The look he had shot Ziegler when she had found a different partner… the helpless, defeated look when he had accepted that the only person nearby not taken was Hanzo.

No, being himself was definitely not going to help him here.

Hanzo Shimada:
Never mind I’ll figure it out

What he was going to do was pretend that Jesse McCree was just some other random student, keep his head down, get this project done with the least amount of fuss, and move on to his next set of class next semester and hopefully forget that McCree existed.

“Shall we get started?” he asked briskly, pocketing his phone and pulling out his own book.

McCree’s face was despondent and it sat like a stone in Hanzo’s gut.  He would rather be anywhere than here.

“Might as well,” said McCree.

Dear Mags

[Also on AO3 in my one-shot collection Mean Peach Mojito]

She finds the first one when she’s at the DMV.

She’s been here for hours. She’s finished her book. She’s swiped an abandoned newspaper and solved half of the crossword before she gets stuck. She’s too proud to text Alex for help, so now she’s just opening and closing all the apps on her phone, aimlessly trying to pass the time without going ballistic about how slow this process is.

She opens her notes app, and about halfway down the screen, tucked between old grocery lists and weekend to-do lists and her list of books to read, she sees a note that starts with “Dear Mags.”

And she’d have remembered writing a note to herself. She scrunches up her face as she clicks on it.

“Dear Mags,” it says, “I don’t know when you’re going to find this. You’re about to get on a plane to Texas for that alien policing conference.” Maggie’s eyes widen a little as her nose wrinkles in confusion. That was a couple months ago, just a few weeks after she and Alex had kissed for the first time.

And the only person who calls her Mags – the only person with access to her phone – is Alex.

Dread drops, hot and dense, into her gut. It can’t be a breakup note, right? Not a breakup note, not from months ago, not just tucked into her notes app? That would be insane, Maggie knows that, but her heart is both frozen up in her throat and roiling down in her gut as her eyes fly over the screen.

“I know we haven’t been together very long, but there’s something I want you to know. I’m not sure when is the right time to tell you, so I’m chickening out by writing it here. Just know, whenever you see this, that it was true when I wrote it and I know it’s true today when you’re reading it.”

Maggie holds her breath as her thumb moves, both too quickly and not nearly quickly enough, to scroll down the page.

“I love you.”

Maggie tries to release her air, but her breath stutters.

They haven’t said it yet.

She’s wanted to for a while, but she hasn’t had the guts to do it.

And fucking Alex Danvers had the guts months ago.

“Just wanted you to know. I love you, beautiful girl. Come back soon. I miss you already.”

And now Maggie’s crying in the DMV.

An older black woman next to her hands her a tissue. “I’m sure they’ll call your number soon, sugar,” she tells her.



She finds the next note in the middle of the grocery list Alex had typed on her phone last night, while Maggie was giving her a shoulder massage.

“Eggs
Milk
Sesame bagels
Amazing tortillas
Gross cheese
I love you
I wonder every day if your dimples are a gift from god
When you smile at me I feel like I can fly
You’re so amazing
Also this massage feels excellent
Frozen broccoli
Pizza dough
Baking powder
Chili powder”

She, trying to be a good snake person, spends the night five minutes creating the right lighting to send a picture of her dimples to Alex.

It turns out the frozen food aisle is the best for that, the light from the freezers dancing gently on her face.


Keep reading

jk and tae both HATE jimin

listen here, im here to prove to all of you once and for all that these two despise jimin. like, you’ll see in just a second how the hate rolls off them in waves. anyways, starting off with the maknae

Originally posted by equitas

listen to me, this is exactly how i look at someone i hate

Originally posted by jikookdetails

LOOK. jk’s giving us all pointers on how to show your hatred towards someone through your eyes. take notes peeps.

now, THIS is how you do it. look at him shoot hearts daggers with his eyes. anyways, let’s move on to tae bc im already losing it

Originally posted by kthish

tae be like…”jimin get your frickin small hands away from me. i dont like you jimin, i dont like your small hands either i dont find them cute at all”

Originally posted by tayonge

tae: “wow, i hate jimin with every fibre of my being…” look at those daggers hes shooting at jimin. damn. can you feel the hate yet?

Originally posted by locotaehyung

what you’re seeing above is NOT vmin cuddling. fuck no.

Originally posted by chimtae

dont even get me started on this jealousy…thing bc thats a separate post can you feel me rolling my eyes yet

Fourth Period - Part One

A/N: Just a tiny, tiny, tiny, Teacher!Baekhyun series I have been working on.

How long will it be? Two to three parts, most likely.

An AU of this nature was requested what must’ve been two months ago, I apologize for taking so long to provide. Finding time to write has become increasingly hard with school starting back up for me and activities that are centered outside of school.

I am trying my very hardest, loves. Please be patient with me.

Stay safe, alright?


“Any boys catch your eye, Y/N?”
“Dad, I’m a senior, there’s no face I haven’t seen yet.
“Because all of a sudden your school doesn’t take Freshman in anymore.”

You made at a face at the inclination of you dating a freshman. Not only was it illegal, you weren’t going to get yourself involved with a kid who only wanted an older girl because he was sick and tired of going after girls with underdeveloped tits.

“Hey, Y/N, my friend said you’re in one of his classes.”
“Chanyeol, there’s endless Parks in my school, he probably-”
“He said you had our trademark ears, no mistake could’ve been made,” your brother joked with you.

Chanyeol’s teasing caused you to cup your ears with your hands as to hide them while you pouted.

“What’s wrong with my ears?” Your dad asked, clearly offended, while the rest of your family just laughed at him in turn.

“Which friend was it, honey?”

Chanyeol had a lot of friends.

As a child who had grown up playing baseball, it was only natural for him to join the high school varsity team when the opportunity arose. Only thing was, he was recruited in eighth grade.

Being the youngest on the team (and also one of the best), he was welcomed into the team with open arms and was seen as a little brother in the other player’s eyes.
Chanyeol spent a majority of his time around boys that didn’t match his age, meaning he had friends two, three, four years older than him. There was an abundance of options when it came to a friend of Chanyeol’s and it was impossible to pinpoint who he was talking about unless he gave you some clues.

“Byun Baekhyun.”

You almost choked on your peas.

You weren’t lying when you told your father there were no boys on your mind, because the one on your mind was a man.
And also your teacher.

“I- I thought you meant a student…”
“Nope, I told some of my boys on the team to scout you out but he was the only one who got back to me.”
“I don’t need you sending your boys to spy on me at school. Having you as the new baseball coach is enough, I don’t need more freakishly tall boys up my ass in the halls.”
“Y/N, language.”
“Someone needs to keep an eye on my little sister while I’m out in the athletic department, god knows you never go over there.”
“You have baseball and I have music. It’s not like you ever come to the music wing.”
“As a matter of fact, I do. I visit Baekhyun all the time.”

Your fork almost slipped out of your hand at the mention of your teacher, your heart fluttering as the memories of your first class with the man rose to the surface of your mind.

You couldn’t push the sight of him rolling up his sleeves before beginning our warmups, the way he unbuttoned the first button of his shirt midway through the period when it got too stuffy, and we can’t forget the way his beautiful fingers dash across the black and white keys of the glossy, deep red piano at the front of the room.

You took a large gulp of my water and hoped you family couldn’t see you sweating profusely.

“How did I come up in conversation?” You tried to push for more information as slyly as possible.
“We were eating lunch when he brought it up, said you were going to be taking voice lessons with him.”

In your school, it was mandatory for all kids enrolled in choir or any other singing group to receive private voice lessons. They could either get them outside of school from a teacher of their choosing, or they could stick with a teacher from your school.

There were three music instructors who focused on singing and they took a certain amount of students organized alphabetically.

Baekhyun seemed to have been stuck with “M” through “R”.

“Okay, you guys are on clean-up duty,” your dad announced to you and Chanyeol.

The two of you groaned in unison at the thought of sorting leftovers and scrubbing plates.
Some things never change.


“I want everyone to hold up two fingers, like this.”

He gestured, we mirrored.

“Now open your mouth, enough to fit those two fingers inside and keep them there.”

The class did as he said.

Baekhyun gave us all a note to sing, watching as our mouths got used to the objects keeping it from closing, as well as giggling at how ridiculous everyone looked.

That is how wide your mouths should be open when you sing, if not more.”

We all nodded our confirmations, waiting for the next set of instructions from our teacher.

Instead, Baekhyun strolled over to his seat in front of the piano, his fingers resting on the keys as he counted silently. He had a habit of only mouthing counts to make sure we kept all of our attention on him.

As if anyone would want to look away.


By the end of the week, all anyone was taking about the new, very attractive choral instructor. You either wanted to be him, or get with him. Everyone and their mother were after this guy.

“Legend has it, a single glance will have you questioning your sexuality.”

You laughed openly at your friend’s comment, the two of you referring to the well-dressed man sitting opposite Chanyeol in the athletic office, the glass windows allowing both of you a good view of them munching away on the lunch your brother had run out to get for them last minute.

You knocked on the glass once, hoping to get your brother’s attention.

There was no indication that he had heard you, so you tapped a couple more times.

This time, you got a reaction, but not the one you had wanted. Instead of your brother turning to glance at you with a fake look of disgust, Baekhyun had whipped his head around at the sound of your fists, and stared at you with curiosity stitched into his expression.

You sucked in a breath to pull yourself together, offering a soft smile to your teacher before jerking your head in your brother’s direction.

Baekhyun got the hint and turned towards Chanyeol, slapping his knee before telling your brother something you couldn’t figure out, but were convinced it was along the lines of “your annoying, unattractive, short ass sister-”

“I’m not getting you out of gym class again, Y/N.”
You scoffed at your brother’s statement.
“That’s not why I’m here, and I asked you not to tell anyone about that,” your murmured before continuing, “I came to get a ride home.”

“No can do, shorty,” Chanyeol ruffled your hair, much to your disgust, “I got practice in ten minutes.”
“Practice? It’s not baseball season yet, football hasn’t even had their first game.”

“Pre-season, baby.” Baekhyun threw his arm around Chanyeol’s shoulders and pulled him down to his level. “Your brother here’s gotta keep the boys in tip-top shape.”

He glanced at you for a moment before his eyes rested on your friend.

“It was nice seeing you two. Y/N. Yeri. Next lunch’s on me, Yeol.”

If your brother wasn’t staring at you, your eyes would’ve been glued to the sight of Byun Baekhyun’s ass.

“Hey, Y/N, I’m gonna run before I miss my bus. Uh, bye Chanyeol,” your friend dashed away as you watched her sway her hips a little more than extra.
Yeri had had a crush on Chanyeol for years.

“Can I come to practice with you then and get a ride once it’s over?”

Chanyeol considered this as he shoved a couple things in his bag, packing up for the day.

“Are you sure you don’t mind sitting on the bleachers for two hours?”
“It’s better than sitting on the bus for half of one.”

Your brother laughed, understanding your hatred of the bus-ride home all to well.
“Come on, let’s head out. I can’t wait to see how much the boys try and show off once they hear you’re going to be watching them.”


Chanyeol was ruthless.

You had grown up watching your brother come home from practice whining and groaning about what his coach had everyone do, but you had never seen what he had gone through to receive the muscle soreness throughout his arms or the gross, yellow bruises scattered across his legs.

You would’ve been crying if you were to attempt half the exercises Chanyeol was putting these boys through, but they were laughing and joking and basically playing grab-ass the entire time. Completely carefree.

Chanyeol had started with laps, forcing the boys to run around the track eight times (which was equal to what, two miles?). You pretended not to notice how to boys would pick up their pace significantly whenever they reached the side of the track you were sitting by.
After that round of torture, they were told to find a spot against the fence for wall-sits… that lasted five minutes.

Not once did these boys complain, even after Chanyeol made them grab their bats, drop them straight down, pick them back up, drop them, pick them up, drop them… all because #94 (you didn’t know his name) threw his bat too hard when they were playing a small game of their own.

If Chanyeol’s coach was anything like he was, I could see why he came home so beat up.
I could also see why the team hasn’t lost a game in fifteen years.

“They’re good, aren’t they? Your brother is doing a good job.”

You looked to the right of you and the bleachers, eyes widening when they settled on the image of Baekhyun, dressed in a pair of jeans paired with a white shirt that he must’ve changed into at the end of the day.

You nodded a couple times, obviously flustered but trying hard to hide it.
Knowing this was an opportunity to make a good impression on the man, you took a deep breath before facing him.

“I didn’t know baseball was so… hardcore.”

Baekhyun turned to face you once he realized you were speaking to him, and laughed at your obvious expression of surprise.

“You should’ve seen the guy Chanyeol replaced. I was stuck with him and his drills for four years and now I can’t even look at sunflower seeds anymore.”
You raised your eyebrow, pushing for more of an explanation.
Baekhyun refused to comply, shaking his head in a way that expressed his comical distress and turning back to face the field.

“Makes me glad I don’t play a sport.”

Your eyes hadn’t left his face after he turned away from you, now focusing on the way the one visible side of his face turned up in a genuine smile.

“You have music, that’s enough.”
“Says the man who managed to do both,” you pointed out.

He laughed at this, a mental victory for you.

“And yet, look at which one I ended up choosing, the one that, arguably, took me somewhere.”

Thinking back to a few weeks ago, when Chanyeol had been offered the job you had been watching him fulfill before your eyes, you vaguely remember Chanyeol’s pride at assuming he was picked over Baekhyun. Your brother hadn’t known at the time that both were “tied for first place” (as always), but seeing as how the latter was employed by the same school in an entirely different area, Chanyeol was the obvious option.

“Chanyeol seemed devastated when you turned down that college in America… what was it? Vanderhills?”
“Vanderbilt.”

Baekhyun’s demeanor changed with your mention of the University. Within a single moment, it was back to normal, minus the slight somber tone in his following confession.

“Only one student from our school would be accepted by Vanderbilt, but both Chanyeol and I applied. Even though we were both seen as the best-”
“They chose you. Probably because of your music, right? You had something extra?”

Baekhyun turned back to face you, gifting you with a dazzling smile that was probably another reason that university overseas wanted him so badly. He would’ve been used all over their brochures.

“I guess I’m the reason you didn’t have your brother for four years, right?”

You shrugged in your seat on the cold bleachers, rubbing your thighs to generate more heat.

“That also makes you the reason I got to visit the Grand Ole Opry and Graceland during visits to Chanyeol.”
“Anything so my students can have some more exposure.”

You returned the smile he was presenting you with, hyperaware of the blush rising to the surface of your cheeks.

Your teacher broke the eye contact, unfortunately, and glanced uncertainly at the very bleachers your ass was planted on.

There were six levels of the bleachers, each one higher than the other, with space for about ten people on benches that were interrupted by stairs to the higher levels. Once the stairs stopped, the bleachers resumed and it worked like a pattern for thirty-two feet across.
Plenty of room for any spectator to sit back and enjoy the game.

So why did Baekhyun decide to plop his ass down right next to yours?

“I could see your shivering shaking the entire set of bleachers, I had to hold them down myself,” Baekhyun defended his actions.

You giggled halfheartedly, mind still racing over the fact that the hottest man you have ever seen is sitting merely inches away from-

“When does the practice end?” You were ripped from your thoughts, reaching for your phone to check how much longer these boys had before they were home free.
“One more hour of torture and they can rest.”
“Yes, they can rest just to wake up sore the next morning.”
“At least I can keep my throat from getting sore.”
“Don’t jinx it, maybe I’ll drag everyone out here tomorrow and start rehearsal with a mile or two.”

You recoiled from your teacher, one hand splayed over your heart in a mocking manner.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

Baekhyun didn’t bother coming up with a snarky reply for your joke, he just settled on laughing and almost rolling off the silver bleachers in the process.

“With those acting skills, I’m surprised the drama department hasn’t recruited you.”

You smile sheepishly, neglecting to mention that the drama club instructor actually has asked you to join multiple-

“I’m going to have to head out right now, I’m expecting some sheet music to get delivered today… and no,” your face scrunched in a pout, “you’ll find out what the songs are when everyone else does.”

You flashed him a playful scowl that you both knew you could only get away with because this man sitting next to you was your brother’s best friend.
And your teacher.
He’s your teacher, Y/N.

Baekhyun stood up and made his way to the end of the bench, stopping his feet as his hand made contact with the makeshift stairway railing.

“They’ve got another hour, you said?”

You nodded once, not really sure where the hell this was going.

Baekhyun glanced out onto the field for a moment, obviously considering something, making a decision.

“Come on,” he ordered, “grab your stuff. I’ll give you a ride home.”

Your eyes bulged outwards as your mind followed suit, going completely blank.

Baekhyun could sense your confusion, your slight panic, and decided to try and save his own ass before you pictures him as some old man luring a little girl into the back of his car to look for his dog.

“I won’t let you sit out here for another hour. Who knows, your brother might even make you drag the equipment inside.”
The two of you looked over to the field, where bases and bats and balls were organized in stacks and buckets.
“Sure, Chanyeol might be a little upset that you won’t suffer any longer,” he laughed as he spoke, “but I think he’ll appreciate one less thing on his plate.”

I silently agreed, appalled by the amount of responsibly resting on Chanyeol’s shoulders myself.

“Yeah, okay. That would be really nice. Thank you, Mr. Byun.”
“Seriously? ‘Mr. Byun?’ I even tell my students to call me Baekhyun!”
“Mr. Byun has a nice ring to it,” you teased, slipping past your teacher to make your way down the stairs with a bounce in your step that could only be from the promise of alone time with Baekhyun.

The two of you walked towards the teacher’s parking lot at the back of the school in silence, your body in front of his despite you not actually knowing where Baekhyun’s car was parked.

Once the sound of feet pounding on sidewalk was replaced with the sound of feet on gravel, you turned to face Baekhyun, arm outstretched towards the parking lot that was close to empty.

Your teacher seemed to understand the gesture and sped up his strides in search of his vehicle. You took advantage of the opportunity to stare at his ass.

‘It is totally unfair that a dude has a better butt than me.’

“Here we are, your majesty.”

You snapped your attention back to Baekhyun’s smiling face, hoping to God he didn’t catch you checking him out, and looked over at the car to Baekhyun’s right.
Only, it wasn’t a car. It was a motorcycle. A full-blown motorcycle with sparkling silver handlebars, smooth leather seats, and navy blue detailing.

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

But, oh no, Byun Baekhyun was certainly not kidding. He was already retrieving his helmet from where it was lodged underneath one of the seats, busying himself with tightening the straps.

Your teacher let out a huff of amusement at your reaction to the gorgeous bike, although he seemed a bit offended at your astonishment.

“What? Am I not cool enough to drive a motorcycle?”
You shook your head quickly, eyes still locked on the spokes of the back wheel, trying to figure out why they resembled a hexagon with an extra line segment coming out from the center.

“I… I’ve always wanted to ride a motorcycle,” you admit to your teacher, finally looking back up at his face that easily rivaled the beauty of the bike.
“Then today is your lucky day,” Baekhyun replied, handing you the helmet he was previously adjusting.
“Where’s yours?” You questioned, slipping the helmet over your head before securing it.
“I’ve only got the one and I don’t need you getting hurt. Chanyeol would probably kill me if he knew I was doing this, regardless, gotta make sure I get you home without a scratch.”
“I’m not a car,” you mumbled.

Baekhyun swung his leg over the side of the motorcycle and planted his butt on the front end of the seat, leaving room for you on the back.
You stayed where you were, basically standing in the middle of the parking lot, arms crossed over your body defensively.

“Aren’t you coming?”
“Isn’t it dangerous?” You asked Baekhyun, visibly terrified.

Baekhyun cocked his head to the side and gave an amused smile as he thought about how cute you were acting.

“Don’t worry,” he assured you, “just hold onto my waist. I’ve got you.”

You blushed at his words, glad that the helmet shielded the rosy tint of your cheeks. Not that Baekhyun would’ve noticed otherwise, he had turned away from you the moment he felt the heat from his words rising to the surface of his own cheeks.

“This is like a weird romance movie,” you joked, doing as Baekhyun said and gently wrapping your arms around his small torso.
Baekhyun laughed and flicked a few dials, adjusted a few levers.
“I’m not sure Korea is ready for a romance movie about a teacher and his student.”

Your mouth stayed shut as your mind screamed that you were more than ready for a romance like that.

“You ready?”

Baekhyun’s head turned on his neck so that he could view your helmet-clad head, smiling at the way your neck struggled to keep everything upright if the way your head was bobbing back and forth was any sign of a struggle.

“I hope your parents don’t hate me for this.”

3

Favorite Doctor

“Imagine being Harley’s psychiatrist and the two of you have become really good friends. When the Joker finally comes to rescue her, she refuses to leave without you.”

Requested by Anon: “Can you do one where you are Harleys psychiatrist and they get along like best friends would your in the middle of a session and the door breaks open revealing the joker right before they leave Harley askes to bring her psychiatrist and then you make up the rest plz and thank you”

Warnings: Mentions of Murder

-/-

Your pen glided across the paper as you took notes, each word carefully chosen as you listened to the blonde across from you speak. The sessions you had with her were usually light-hearted and “fun”, but you needed to remind her that therapy was about dealing with issues and this girl had a lot of them.

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Soooo :D after you all requested it (about 3 ppl did - but just let me exaggerate in peace) here is part 3 of Isak and Even doing trust excercises <3 
it starts up right where part 2 ended so if you want to read those first: Part 1 / Part 2 

When they stepped back from each other Isak looked over to Magnus and Vilde. Vilde had a frown on her face that changed into a too bright smile when she caught his gaze. Magnus looked a bit deflated when he saw how close Isak and Even had been. The other two had stopped close in front of each other when both decided this was as close as was comfortable, but there was still a hand length between their bodies.

They had been pretty happy with themselves (especially when most of the other couples had stopped a meter or further away from each other) until their eyes landed on Isak and Even. Who were obviously trying to morph into each other to be closer, toes stacked, noses pressed against each other, touching from chests to knees.

Even shot Mags an encouraging smile as the woman – maybe Lille? – announced the next test.

“Everyone, take one of these scarfs,” she said as she went around and handed each couple one of the colorful fabrics.

“I want the light blue one,” Even stage whispered to Isak who rolled his eyes with pure fondness.

“You’re a child, Even.” But nevertheless he hurried over to where the women was and plucked the light blue one from her arm (this got him a rewarding cheek kiss).

“Blindfold your partner and take your place behind them,” came the instruction. Even raised his brows at Isak and grinned.

“So, nothing new there,” he said as he turned his back to Isak who snorted at his words.

Magnus gave a high pitched “What?” at that which got ignored by the other three.

The next exercise was to guide your partner just with your voice through an obstacle course that the woman – Laura? God, he knew it had been something with L – placed on the ground in front of them.

While the woman talked on about how important it was to completely trust your partner for this Isak rested his hands on Even’s hips and his chin on Even’s shoulder. Even leaned into him a bit and tugged on one of Isak’s hands. He understood the gesture and wrapped his arms around Even’s middle.

When it was time to start Isak placed a quick kiss to the shoulder his chin had been resting on and untangled his arms from around him.

“Ok, go one step forward. For the record, we are talking about normal human-sized steps.” Even laughed and took a relatively moderate step forward.

“Don’t do any of your long spider steps.” This got Isak an offended scoff.

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even though my last edit got stolen (which is why this one features my url) i decided i wanted to make another

when i saw the reposted gif, with all those notes, i decided that i wanted to see what people had to say. and even though some of it was ignorant and hurtful and scarring, most of it was overwhelmingly positive. most of it came from people like me, starved for representation and so, so excited by the idea of something that they loved (disney or mermaids or both) having a character that looked like them, even if it wasnt real

there were also a lot of arguments about her race? she was supposed to be me, so she is multiracial, which leaves the door wide open. if you look and see you, you can see whatever you want

Popular

Summary: Y/N and Peter have been best friends since childhood, but when they enter middle school, Y/N joins the popular crowd and leaves Peter behind.

AN: this may become a series lol

Peter Parker x Reader

// Masterlist //


Originally posted by gryffinclaw-in-wilde-times

I ran as fast as I could and hid behind a tree. I peeked from the side to see if he was following me and saw no one. He was right behind me. I thought. I faced back and waited for Peter to call out for me. I went to peek behind me again. Nothing. I turned back and -

“Boo!”

“Ah!” I let out a high pitched scream. Peter Parker was hanging upside down from a low branch and laughing his brains out. “Peter! That wasn’t funny!” I crossed my arms.

Peter swung down from the tree. “Oh, come on Y/N. You have to admit that was pretty funny.” He gave me a grin, showing off the loss of his two front teeth.

“For you.” I said, still pouting. I turned around and walked away from Peter. 

“Hey! Y/N! Wait!” Peter yelled out. I stopped and waited for him to catch up. He stood in front of me. “I’m sorry for scaring you.” He looked down at his shoes.

“Okay!” He looked up and I gave him an equally toothless grin. “Let’s go play another game! I’m thinking…tag! TAG YOU’RE IT!” I tapped his shoulder and ran off, laughing. 

“I’m gonna get ya Y/N!” 

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The Town of Forgetting: VI

Slow Burn!Richie Tozier x Fem!Reader

*Please don’t plagiarize my work, thank you :3*

Summary: It was just a simple “get ready to fight an all powerful evil entity” night with Richie when your dreams are corrupted by IT. When you wake up though, Richie seems to have had the same nightmare. You watch him twitch madly and scream his lungs out as the clown stands over you, feeding on your fear. The problem is, what if this is one nightmare that you can’t wake up from?

Warnings: Blood, violence, lowkey description of mental breakdown, some good wholesome angst and comfort. 

Words: 2,558

Previous Chapter                                                              Next Chapter


“Why are you holding trash bags?” You ask in a bored voice, not looking up from the map of Derry’s sewer system that you were looking at. Without even trying, you knew Richie brought trash bags. The smell was awful, like rotting food and a dead animal or two. “Get them out of my room. Now.”

“Damn lady, chill for a sec,” He mutters while holding a pencil between his teeth. “I’m workin’ ‘ere.”

You snorted at his terrible imitation of an Italian mobster. Although you’d never admit this, Richie’s small impressions and jokes were a bit cute. Slowly, the faded auras above his head were becoming brighter, more colorful. You look up from the multiple charts scattered on your bed and all over the floor, eyeing his work with slight interest as he struggled to cut holes in the bags with a pair of scissors.

“Please tell me those aren’t breathing holes,” You say, scribbling a note on the map of Derry. “I told you, we aren’t gonna fucking kidnap them.”

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Stereotypes

The US has racialized Mexicans & all Latinos so because of it, people think they are their own “race” and has stereotyped them all as being brown skinned, black haired people with certain distinct facial features because the majority of Latinos in the US are racially mestizo Mexican-Americans. Not everyone will agree with me which is fine, this is from my pov. It’s not a good thing tbh especially for Native people because if we’re being honest, the stereotype itself is Native influenced. It’s bad because even though the stereotype is Native influenced, people don’t actually know that so when they come across actual Native people, they assume that they’re Mexican/Latino & not Native. Since they’re seen as their own “race”, if you’re from Mexico or anywhere in Latin America then you can’t be Native because you’re seen as “racially” Latino, I’ve seen it happen before. Mexican is a nationality, anyone of any background can be Mexican so like how one can be Native & be American or Canadian, one can be Native and be Mexican though people can’t seem to comprehend that (some Natives in Mexico don’t identify as Mexican and I don’t think any Native identifies as Latino but they’ll always just be Mexican/Latinos to Americans anyway). 

If an American saw a White Mexican, an Asian Mexican or an Afro Mexican on the street, they would just see them as White, Asian or Black but if an American saw a Native person from Mexico on the street, they would just see them as Mexican/Latino and not Native. So the bad side about the stereotyping and viewing Mexicans/Latinos as their own race is the erasure of Native people in Mexico/Latin America. This post is one of the effects of this. Even though people know about the Aztecs, the Maya & the Inca, many still see them more as “Latinos” and not “real” Natives. There’s been situations where people have separated the two, for example saying stuff like “Aztecs & Indians were here first” or “the Maya grew corn just like Natives” the Aztecs & the Maya ARE Natives but that’s what ignorance and stereotyping causes. *Side note, being Native is not about looks, it’s culture and kinship. When I say Native influence, I mean influence from those who are visibly Native if that makes sense*

All of the people above are Mexican of different backgrounds, they’re not half or ¼ or have a Mexican neighbor, they’re just Mexican

Images: Dreamworks Voltron Legendary Defender © 2016-2017 Dreamworks Animation LLC. TM World Events Productions. LLC. All Rights Reserved

I spent more time cropping this together than I should have, but I wanted to compare these two side by side because they’ve got a lot of similarities personality wise and it shows in how they stand and express themselves. However, that’s not where I wanted to go.

Let’s talk Team Forestfire

Actually I wanted to know just how over sized Keith’s jacket would be on Pidge. I also wanted to see just how tall he is compared to her. I noted several things when I layered their arms/torsos on top of one another to compare them. First that while Keith’s arms are longer than hers and his shoulders are set a little farther apart: Pidge’s arms are the same width as his, also her mid and lower torso are the same width as well, but her torso is shorter than his. Not by much though. So this leads me to believe his jacket would hang longer on her in the sleeves and longer on the torso, but there wouldn’t be all that much extra slack in the width of the torso of the jacket. I like to note that one would only see the tips of her fingers peak out. Separately while on the subject of borrowing clothing/items from each other, if Keith borrowed her glasses he instantly looks ten times more anime. He also looks older. Pidge conversely looks younger without her glasses. 

Also side note: does Pidge need those glasses to correct her vision? They clearly have glass in them, she’s clearly wearing something with a prescription. So what happened did she wear contacts before hand or something? 

Jumping back to personalities now: these two are both exceptionally smart, very stubborn, and are both sarcastic. Although I’d say Pidge more so than Keith. Though Keith is more stubborn than Pidge. They also both have parental issues and authority issues. 

I enjoy comparing these two. So feel free to tack on headcanons, theories, and other observations below. I thirst for theories and headcanons!

So I went with @mvpleleafs​ to the leafs/blues game and we sat three rows behind the leafs bench and y’all, it was a fucking trip and a half I was gonna make one big post but it got too damn long so here’s my leafs p

  • some people look different in person, Auston may look awkward in some photos but he looks good in person (v angular profile tbh)
  • on a related note, Mo looks exactly the same as his pics
  • by the third period you could smell those boys from the third row
  • some guys in front of us were heckling the bench by yelling about how willy looked like joffrey
    • mitch might have heard them and he might have had to stop himself from laughing but im not sure on that i was snickering pretty hard myself
    • he also looks exactly like his photos
  • matt martin was very confused and concerned about the sports photographer taking photos of bad and uninteresting plays
  • we watched kadri almost kill a man right in front of us (sundqvist was okay tho)
    • we then watched him almost get murdered by two blues players
    • (if you saw a girl in a team north america jersey losing her mind in the upper left corner that was me)
  • marner made sure to tap or fist bump all the kids that reached towards the tunnel, even after they lost
  • pretty sure babs missed part of the third period bc his face was in his tablet looking at replays after the goal that wasn’t offsides and during the 4 on 4
  • mitch is a cutie but damn boy wash your damn neck those zits look like they hurt
  • also poor mcelhinney didn’t even play but almost died bc of a puck going over the bench
    • it hit a security guard instead rip
    • that puck might be sitting on my bookshelf right now 
  • when mitch got thrown out of the faceoff circle and  into the sinbin, he looked like a kid who was getting guilt tripped by his mom and felt bad about it, but was trying not to laugh anyway
    • his face had “whelp i fucked up” all over it
  • the bozak line is the only reason those boys are somewhat alive but seeing the matthews flare in person was also very satisfying 
    • bc damn that boys hockey is pretty