most decidedly

Headcanon that modern au Sasuke is most decidedly Not Athletic. He does well in school, and likes reading, and video games, and listening to music, but sports are a Hard No. This is a stark contrast to his jock boyfriend Naruto who gets middling grades, but is on varsity everything and could totally bench press The Sauce if he stayed still enough.

Chanukah Prompts- Holsom

Rating: Gen

*** 

First Night- Holsom
Character A is missing their family but can’t go home.  Character B calls Character A’s family to get traditional recipes, and surprises A with food and possibly a menorah.  Bonus points for crappy hand-made menorahs.

***  

Adam had been in a mood all week, though Justin couldn’t quite work out what was wrong.  He’d been consumed with his pre-mid-post finals meltdown for a lot of it, but the crisis had passed, his exams has been sat and turned in, and now he could unwind and be the attentive boyfriend he was under normal circumstances.

Only Adam wasn’t really feeling it.  Justin crept up to the attic to find Adam on the bottom bunk, face down, though it was clear from the tension in his back, he was awake.

“Bro, do you need anything?  Are you sick or…”

“Mm’fine,” came the response, muffled by the flattened pillow.

Justin sighed, because Adam was most decidedly not fine, but he knew it wouldn’t do any good to pressure him about it.  Adam was a stubborn bastard, worse than Jack most days, and Justin had long since learnt not to push.

“Okay well…I’ll leave you to your uh…laying down.  If you need me, I’ll be in the kitchen finishing off whatever pies Bits left for us.”

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what if this big online hockey game came out, and, given that they’re characters in the game, the falconers are given first dibs on characters in the first ever open games.

except, jack lets slip to the samwell mens hockey team that the games are going on.

so in the free character choice, the falconers get beaten out

first is jack, goes to pick himself but as soon as he clicks himself a little red cross comes up, the cheery little character already taken, pick someone else! message popping up in the corner. shitty texts the group chat two seconds later, jack your hockey butt is transcendent in this game

he picks poots instead, bc poots isn’t in the room and he doesn’t look like he’s gonna be playing

marty picks thirdy, thirdy picks guy, guy just shrugs and picks tater

kent, inexplicably in this au, picks marty, because all the falconers are going fast so it’d be more fun to be on a full team, he rationalises.

lardo picks kent, and when kent sees himself pop up on screen he just sort of lies on the floor for a bit because damnit

ransom and holster pick the aces’ d-men, ready to back lardo up even though they know she kills it at these games

tater points at the screen excitedly, says he’d always wanted to be a goalie, and picks snowy

snowy just shrugs and picks sidney crosby

There is something very unsettling about this fandom, a Sam Heughan fandom, it would appear at first glance, where a LOT of so called fans are extremely unhappily critical of Sam, and yet all seemingly unwilling to leave his fandom

Wouldn’t the normal thing to do if one is disenchanted of their enamoured, will be to ditch such previously mentioned enamoured and JUST MOVE ON?

This obsession about the man’s every move, every action, every association is most decidedly not normal. The interpretation of his every word , quote, photograph, wink, nudge and winkle, is just off the Richter!

Sam Heughan is an ordinary man, made of flesh and blood, made more special by his extraordinary talent, amazing good looks, surreal stage presence, apparent humility and good graces.

If those are not enough for some, ditch him! Find somebody else who could meet your standards.

Otherwise, LOVE HIM, WISH HIM WELL, BE HAPPY WITH HIM and FOR HIM.
But do not spread this poison that is eating at your souls, to others, who happen to accept him just the way he is, for as long as he shares with us his amazing talents, humour and joy.

There you go, I said my peace, may make a difference, may not, haters will hate. Peace out. I might delete this later.

The Insignificance of Clichés

Just texts, just meetings, just custody.. And this is just following through with another cliché.


Sentimental. Conventional. Romantic. Yes, perfectly valid descriptors, amongst the list of things that the Consulting Detective is most decidedly not. Yet here he sits, at a candlelit table in the high-end restaurant. And as he waits for The Woman to join him, the suit-clad Sherlock Holmes fidgets with his tie, feeling uncharacteristically nervous.

It all started with the sound of a familiar text alert. A few quick deductions and a short cab journey later, Sherlock found himself in front of a shop in Mayfair. He’d considered it odd that Irene would direct him to such a specific location with her code, mere days prior to her arrival in London.

But one look at the window display and he knew exactly from whom the text was really sent. That boy is getting dangerously good, thought Sherlock, not without a sense of fondness and pride. Inside his mind palace, a pair of wide blue eyes blinked at him under unruly dark fringe, an innocent grin hiding any hint of mischief.

Despite his son’s clear wish, however, could he actually do this? Would he? Would they? Mocking echoes of the strong views he’d once held, of that aloof disdain for the specious and irrational, were drowned out by the sound of pattering footsteps across the mind palace halls. Footsteps that met a clicking of stiletto heels and ended with soft laughter like chiming bells.

Filled with a sudden warmth and tightness in his chest, and before he could stop himself, Sherlock pushed the glass door open and stepped into the shop. He was raised to be a proper gentleman. And if he were to spontaneously book a dinner reservation as well, that would also be completely insignificant and not associated with sentiments.

Irene’s company at the table does the opposite to alleviating Sherlock’s unease. Red lips and teasing smirk, she looks breathtaking in candle light. Solemnly he stands and approaches her seat. His left foot stepping back, Sherlock carefully bends his knee and lowers himself to the carpet. Heart pounding, hands shaking, and gaze intent, he holds the small velvet box open.

anonymous asked:

Frye twins - Jacob rescuing Evie for once

I CHEATED A LITTLE/A LOT ON THE SENTENCE LIMITS… SORRY… I REALLY LIKED THIS ONE THOUGH!

He hears the light splash and instinct tells him to turn, and sure enough, there’s no Evie on the boat anymore. Even as he sprints to the edge, wobbling a little as he moves and hacks and stabs at Blighter’s who try and stop him (their dad never taught them how to fight whilst in motion, which in hindsight, Jacob thought was a bit bloody silly of him), he sees no bobbing head in the water, and figures out that perhaps his sister has been caught in the undertow. That, or the surprise of her mistake has locked her ability to move.

There’s no time to spare, aside from making quick work of the bastard who knocked her in, and he dives. The boat sails on, leaving him behind and the scrap with Blighters for the new shipment of goods is now most decidedly over (sorry Ned, better luck next time).

He can’t see and it’s fucking foul, and freezing, shocking him up and panic is splitting and painful as he swims down and feels nothing, teeth tightly clamped together. But then he hits a limb with his hand, an arm, and thinks that’s good enough and grabs and pulls upwards, kicking with all his might. Jacob and Evie burst through the film of muck and grime with coughs and curses, Jacob feeling the weight of his clothes trying to take him back down to watery hell and so grabs his sister’s collar and pulls them both to terra firma.

They say nothing until boots find gravel, and the shock of it, the silliness of it all, strikes Jacob and he just laughs. His sister, paragon of poise and grace and lethality, just fell into the bloody Thames…

“You… daft pillock.” he mutters fondly as he thumps her back, helping her expel the last dregs of crap and duck-slime, grinning with four parts relief and one part total mirth.

Evie is finding the situation significantly less hilarious, glaring and throwning him off her, although the effect is ruined with the shivering, and the way she fights to pull leaves out of her hair. 

Do me a favour and shut the f- oh god, what is that smell, is that me? 

the-detectives-blogger  asked:

*pokes mycroft repeatedly*

            Mycroft Holmes most decidedly did not squirm { and yet, as those nimble fingers descended upon him in a relentless onslaught and without offering much of a prospect of mercy, he found himself writhing out of reach without hesitation, features contorted into a grimace of pure agony }. To have it be known that he was not without weakness - particularly in front of a man already so very unaffected by all and any attempts at intimidation - would have been fatal

            “
You will put an end to this childish behaviour at once!

“The Sweetest Kind of Bravery”
Summary: in which Mitsuhide is insecure and things escalate.

In Mitsuhide’s line of work, there is a line that shouldn’t be crossed.

It is drawn, indelible and stark, on the ground before his feet. Across his vision. Against his skin. And he is never more aware of it than when he’s with his partner.

There is nothing gentle or slow about what he feels for Kiki. She is built of ice and diamond and the strength of a thousand of the royal family’s best and brightest. She has eyes like the sky before a rainstorm, deep and intelligent and almost-purple. She is sarcastic and glib and she likes watching him flounder, trip over himself, blush.

She is a million little things, and so much more, and Mitsuhide is in love with her.

And that is most decidedly across the line.

He’s probably too obvious about it. Subtlety isn’t exactly in his nature; he’s too exuberant, too emotional - Kiki’s exact opposite, maybe. If she is a winter’s morning, blindingly brilliant and sugar-spun and cold, he is a summer afternoon.

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Nights and Days and Coffee: Zutara Week Day 6: Coffee

A/N: Whoops I forgot to post this on the proper day anyway here’s a lil fluffy ficlet about zutara and coffee (modern au kinda because why not)

Ao3

——

Katara was most decidedly a night person.

Days, she found, were just filled with too much. There were too many people going from here to there. Too many sights, sounds, smells. Too many things to do. Too much hustle and bustle for her liking.

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Walk a Mile in My Shoes

Wintershock Firsts Day 10- First Bodyswap


“Shit, shit, shit.”

Darcy grunted at whoever was swearing and rolled over in bed, trying to go back to sleep.

“Darcy, wake up.”

The last bit was said with an emphatic shake to her shoulder but Darcy burrowed deeper into the blankets and realized a few things all at once.

-The voice talking sounded just like hers did on Jane’s audio note recordings.

-Judging by the feel of the mattress, she was on the wrong side of the bed.

-And considering there weren’t any boobs to compress her arms down against, something was terribly, terribly wrong.

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Family Portrait

For one of her art classes, Acacia has to paint her family in a pose she thinks describes their personalities. Problem is, her teacher is heavily Pro-Nat. The fix for Dipper? In exchange for all of Acacia’s ice cream privileges for the next three days, Dip makes some paints to use so that whenever the teacher looks at the painting straight on, it looks like a normal family with only humans in it. But out of the corner of his eye the family is at its most terrifying. He resigns after finals.


On AO3 // On FF.net


Once again, shout out to tonithelibrarian for editing! :)

Dipper was floating over the Library, most decidedly not watching and waiting for Henry’s truck to come down the lane of course not he wasn’t that overprotective.

Finally, the truck came trundling out from between the trees, pulling to a stop outside the Library and letting out four of his favorite people in the world.

The younger two triplets darted into the house, laughing, while the oldest trailed behind her father, kicking at the dirt morosely.

So, being the good uncle he was, Dipper flipped over and drifted down to see what was wrong.

“Hey there sweetie, what’s got you so down?” he asked, dropping to hover upside down in front of his niece.

The side of Acacia’s mouth quirked up, but she remained stubbornly angry. She stormed up the stairs at the back of the Library to flop down huffily into the old couch that still sat there, huffing and crossing her arms, letting her backpack thud onto the porch.

Even the thud sounded indignant.

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One Man’s Hell: Part 3

“truth or dare.”
“i’m waitin-”
“no one tells me what to do!”
“you got yourself in the middle of something global.”
“your concern is touching.”
“you can’t save the whole would. you can’t even save yourself.”
“you have to!”
“oh, you’re down and you’re not coming back, huh?”
“do you think i get my thrills living vicariously?”
“do you think i don’t know hurt?”
“you never had a clue.”
“i need you to be here.”
“i’ve been sweeping all the channels for hours.”
“i am most decidedly not okay.”
“he’s our missing piece. he’s at the centre of this. find him for me- wherever he is.”
“we have a guarantee from the world bank to finance this project in your country.”
“that’s your best?”
“i competed professionally in aikdo and tae kwan do.”
“all those innocents.”
“you held out hope to people who had none.”
“give me one good reason why i shouldn’t throw you to the street.”
“he’s no worth it.”
“you weren’t there.”
“you’ve stopped him.”
“they’re coming to pick him up.”
“it’s no enough.”
“i’m sorry… ”
“he’s all yours.”
“how about a caribbean vacation?”
“what kind of vacation were you expecting?”
“sun. sand. tall drinks and taller surfers.”
“is that really what you want?”

“It’s alright. Emma, it’s alright.”

No, Killian Jones, it is most decidedly not alright when you make this face immediately after saying that.

I mean, he is obviously in so so much pain and all he can think to do is to reassure Emma, to let her know that it’s okay, that he’s fine. Even when he’s obviously not. He just wants her to be ok and get the darkness out of her, to make sure that she has the potential to be happy before he goes.

Like, literally between the time that his cut began to sting and the time he ended up on the floor, he’s already accepted that he’s about to die. He doesn’t have much time and he’s in so much pain but the thing he does is that he reassures her, even now. And he makes sure that with the few words that he does have left, he tells her the important stuff. That it’s ok if he goes, that they’ve lived their future and now she has to make her own, even if it is without him and someone tell me why I decided to watch this again?

*crying*

Like it’s really scary that “things are great!” has become like a liberal talking point when no, things are most decidedly not great for a vast majority of people who don’t like, write New York Times articles.  It’s a great example of whatliberals think is the economy.  Like, fantastic, the urban creative economy has recovered from the recession, that doesn’t mean shit to the 90% of people who don’t work in it

the neighborly thing to do

Summary: John thinks his night couldn’t get much worse when his neighbor, the one he’s been crushing on for six months, knocks on his door asking if she can use his shower to get ready for a date.

Nine/Rose AU

Rating: K+ // Word Count: 1597

Note: This is for the absolutely lovely and amazingly fantastic @fleurdeneuf who just so happens to have a birthday today!! Since smut wasn’t cooperating with me, have some adorably awkward, oblivious, and smitten Nine :D love you!

AO3

John practically jumped out of his skin when the knock at his door echoed through his flat. It was a Friday night and he was already a drink in and had a pizza in the oven and was most decidedly not expecting company.

He pulled on the blue jumper he’d left on the back of the couch and ambled over to the door, hoping that he wasn’t going through the effort of getting off of his sofa for a salesman. He swung the door open without the pretense of peering through the busted peephole and promptly froze as he caught sight of who was on the other side.

Definitely not a salesman.

Instead it was his neighbor from across the hall, the one who he’d been crushing on since she moved in six months ago despite the fact that he rather thought he was well past the age of having crushes. The blonde from 4D was apparently his exception.

“Umm, hi,” she said, biting her bottom lip as she took him in.

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