my awkward friends

You will pry Shouto and Momo’s best friendship headcanons from my cold dead fingers I love them so much. Give me these two getting together for coffee on a regular basis and just talking about life. Give me them pining to each other about Deku and Kyouka respectively and the other like, “oH MY GOD THEY’RE IN LOVE WITH YOU TOO JUST GO FOR IT.” Give me them studying together and talking about their quirks and bonding over being recommendation kids idk?? Give me This. 

So im going to be drawing more shance now because @sir-scandalous has opened my eyes to the beauty of this ship. Also freaking love his art so why not tag him in my first shance piece lol

3

when do you think lexa started having feelings for clarke?

happy birthday @hedawolf  (ノ◕ヮ◕)ノ*:・゚✧

the worst kind of cultural differences are polite kissing differences…. they make everything awkward… 

when you kiss with one cheek but they’re european so they go for the double kiss and you leave them hanging awkwardly… when they’re from somewhere that does three kisses and it’S FUCKING WEIRD WHY THREE, when they’re from somewhere in i think northern south america? where they actually put their lips on your cheek and you’re left feeling gross like why did u do that that’s wet and disgusting… when they’re from somewhere where they don’t kiss at all and you go for it and they kinda jump back and it’s awkward af….the worst…

anonymous asked:

If you wanted to i'd love to see Gav using his charm and wiles to get the others lads out of trouble somehow, maybe flirting them out of some kind of mess or something?

Michael and Jeremy have been dealing with a particularly unpleasant crew, forced into a fake civility every couple of weeks when they go together to collect shipments or demand payments. It’s the sort of thing Gavin would normally be involved with, at least in the early days of establishing a relationship, but no one really wants him near this one at all; the crew in question is incredibly unstable, more mercenaries in an ever-shifting arrangement than anything like the close-knit loyalty of the FAHC, and their leader is absolutely the worst of them. Some smarmy bastard with a stupid name neither Jeremy nor Michael deign to remember – Taylor or Tristen or Troy – he’s always intentionally rude, stopping just shy of openly mocking the Fake’s with an arrogance that even his own people seem to despise.

It would be so much easier to just kill him and move on but no matter how much Michael and Jeremy argue Geoff won’t have it. Something about relations, how for all Toby(?) is an asshole he’s got enough power, a nasty enough crew, that it’s smarter to just wait them out for now, get whatever they can out of them before it all goes south. Which is easy enough to say when Geoff’s got very little to do with them, but nonetheless Michael and Jeremy suck it up, go to every dealing with clenched teeth and itchy trigger fingers, and life goes on.

After one such meeting, maybe three months after this unwilling relationship began, Michael and Jeremy drive out to meet Gavin for drinks, Jeremy tuning out as Michael rants the whole way to the bar because all he wants is a beer or twelve, wanted to just go to their normal dive but Gavin had insisted on coming out to this fancy yuppie shithole. It’s still full of crooks but mostly the rich, stuck-up variety instead of honest thugs, the kind of place that likely only stocks pretentious brews, but Gavin offered to pay so here they were.

Gavin’s already there when they arrive, leaning carelessly against the bar, all fake flirty smiles and inviting angles as he holds court, surrounded by half a dozen admirers - though two in particular seem to be jockeying for his attention. Thing One had just turned to growl something at Thing Two when Gavin notices his Lads coming through the door, lazy showman grin brightening into something more genuine as he shakes off his fans and flounces over. The group is less than pleased, more than one throwing absolutely filthy looks that have Michael sneering nastily back while Jeremy not-so-innocently flexes beside him, neither making any effort to hide their weapons and quickly sending the one idiot who tried to follow into a hasty retreat. Gavin just laughs, grabs a tray of beers before towing his boys back towards a booth.

That should really be that, except apparently Gavin’s not quite finished with whatever game he’s playing. It’s clear his focus is still on Thing’s One and Two rather than the conversation happening around him; he asks all the right questions, hums sympathetically in all the right places, but nothing gives away Gavin’s drifting interests quite as much as the palpable feeling of having his undivided attention.  Michael asks, Gavin ignores him in favour of throwing an all too familiar smile towards the bar, and Jeremy groans, thunking his head against the table and wishing he’d just gone home.

It’s not genuine interest, there’s nothing honest in the way Gavin’s eyes narrow, nothing sweet in the sharpness of his grin, which is just as well really because Gavin certainly knows how to pick them. Thing One is gorgeous in a poisonous kind of way, tight black clothes and blood red lips only accentuated by the wicked looking scar curving across her cheek. Thing Two isn’t quite so put together but is no less imposing, big and blonde and definitely armed.

They both tracked Gavin’s movement across the room like starving dogs, sneering and snapping at one another as they turn back to their place at the bar where they’d obviously been sitting together before Gavin stuck his big nose between them. Jeremy and Michael toss each other a glance, long suffering but confident; it wouldn’t be pretty but presuming it was two on two they could take them. That’s the grim reality of drinking with Gavin when he’s in one of these moods; there’s no saying there will be a fight, but you’ve always got to be ready for the moment he tires of civilised society and pushes someone into violence just because he can.

And Gavin is definitely in a mood, openly playing the two against each other every time he passes on his way to the bar; brushing against one, flashing her a secret little smile, only to make eyes at the other on his way back, the man half rising from his stool as Gavin laughs and trots back to the booth. When Thing One ducks into the bathroom Gavin steals her seat, leans right into Two’s space and orders them each three shots before slinking off again. When Thing Two walks off to answer his phone Gavin’s back to buy One a drink, something straight and dark and far more impressive than his own neon cocktail.

So goes the rest of the hour; it’s blindingly obvious by now, at least to anyone on the outside, that Gavin is driving headfirst into one hell of a fight with no sign of hitting the breaks. His admirers are getting steadily drunker, louder and nastier with one another as they try to compete, and Gavin just keeps throwing fuel on the fire.

It finally comes to a head when, on yet another bar run, Gavin brushes past them both and zeroes in on a third man who’d just arrived, abandoning coy touches and heated looks for his thickest accent and most charming smile. The three at the bar clearly knew one another, the Things had been friendly enough when greeting the third, but the longer Gavin stands there chattering away the cooler their interactions become, shoulders growing stiff and tight as fists clench and voices rise.

Seemingly oblivious Gavin keeps stirring the pot, whispering something to one, winking at another, brushing off someone’s reaching hand only to skate fingers down the other’s arm, until eventually he tosses his head and stalks off in a huff, triumphant little smirk sneaking across his face as an all-out fight breaks out behind him.

Michael, who’d been growing snippier and snippier all night, is fed up with pandering to Gavin’s nonsense when he and Jeremy actually had to work today. He gets himself going on tirade about just wanting to drink and forget the assholes Geoff has them dealing with, not watch Gavin flutter his eyes at idiots and destroy their friendships for his own sick amusement. Jeremy tries to agree wholeheartedly but Gavin interrupts him with an exaggerated pout that quickly bubbles into laughter as he croons back, as infuriating as ever, aw Bois, don’t I always do right by you?

Timing as spot on as always Michael doesn’t even get to snap a reply before an almighty crash has the three of them spinning around just in time to see Mystery Man #3 tripping over the floored bar stool, turning just far enough in their direction to reveal himself as none other than Todd (Tommy? Theo?). He’s reaching into his jacket in a way that has half the bar twitching towards their own holsters but its already over, Thing Two grabbing at his arms while Thing One ducks in from behind, rapid jerky motion of her arm unmistakable as she makes good use of a knife.

There’s shouting now, people moving in every direction as even the bartenders pull out weapons but Michael and Jeremy just turn back to Gavin, eerily synchronized in their surprise, and Gavin smiles. Climbs to his feet and buttons his jacket as casual as you please, all C’mon lads it’s getting a bit too loud in here innit? Like the bane of their last few months isn’t bleeding out on the floor, like Jeremy isn’t still open mouthed in shock, like Michael isn’t choking back laughter all vicious and brilliant, adoring affection so familiar on his grinning face.

Tomorrow Geoff will get a phone call. Will hear that Travis was taken out in some kind of scuffle, died slow and bloody in a bar just outside the city. He’ll hear that it was an inside job, some escalation of a drunken argument between Travis’ people, that their whole crew is in uproar and already splintering apart, not much of a threat to anyone besides each other. Geoff will know that despite their desire Michael and Jeremy couldn’t have had anything to do with it, death witnessed by far too many to be a frame-up, will know that even Gavin, who’d been sniffing around the deal ever since his precious Lads started complaining, can’t possibly have forced Travis’ crewmates to kill him. And yet, tomorrow Geoff will glare at the three flopped all over his couch, faux surprise at the news doing nothing to hide the way they’re as unapologetically self-satisfied as overgrown cats, and will know with the absolute surety of any harried parent that somehow, in some way, this mess was absolutely their fault.

For now, though, three friends spill laughing out of the bar, hopped up on petty vengeance and unmatched camaraderie, on the sweet victory of their chosen reality; the night is young, the city is theirs, and the Lad’s remain untouchable.

eren, mikasa, and armin would be the kind of people to go to the beach at two in the morning just to see the stars above the ocean before the sun rises