oh well at least people like these

Still Human

Hey, I actually got this done in time, holy fuck–

Long story short, I wanted to actually write something for the holidays this year, I seem to gravitate towards writing things related to Jon the most, and I’m always a slut for Batman treating his rogues like actual people.

The song, which is what originally gave me my idea, is Wrong Black Mare - Brown Bird.

    Crawling through the open window to land on his back inside, Jonathan Crane would be wondering how the hell he’s still alive if it wasn’t for the literal stabbing pain in his ribs. The knife is still sticking out of his side, feeling like it’s digging itself deeper with every breath. What else did he expect, walking around Crime Alley, especially during the holidays. Cursing himself, the time of year, and the entire city, Jonathan pulls himself up by the window ledge and shuffles into what he assumes to be a kitchen. It’s a beautiful house, really; decent sized, wide doors to different rooms, the walls a pleasant light blue. Unfortunate it’s here on the edge of arguably the worst part of Gotham. Of course, Jonathan has no time to mope about, imagining what it would be like to actually own a house like this. Stumbling back into a wall and pressing himself against it, Jonathan pulls off the burlap and bites down on the sleeve as he grips the handle of the knife. It’s small with a short blade, thank Christ, but it still hurts when he pulls it from his side. Black spots dance around in his vision as he drops the knife and grips the nearby counter, refusing to let himself fall to the floor. Moving his hand to grip around his side, he searches with the other for the needle and thread he always keeps with him. They’re not necessarily meant for stitches, but they’ve done well as just that more times than Jonathan can count. Sitting at the table near by, he sets to the grisly task of stitching up yet another wound himself.

    After a short, messy series of stitches which he’ll no doubt have to redo at a later time, Jonathan leans back in the chair with an exhausted sigh. It takes a moment, but he slowly starts to take note of his surroundings. Consciously, at least. The room he came in through looks to be a living room, the only lights on in the house so far being the sizeable tree in a corner behind a couch. Obviously a family that doesn’t belong in this part of the city. Already there are brightly packaged boxes great and small under the branches, momentarily arousing an almost childish envy in the back of Jonathan’s mind. The only Christmas he’d ever experienced was out in the cold, looking in at Great Granny and her “friends” laughing and drinking. He never liked that time of year.

    As he pushes himself up out of the chair to look through the cabinets for food, the inkling of something being amiss troubles Jonathan. Surely, after all the commotion of falling in through the window and slamming into the wall, someone would have heard him. Yet he hears nothing. Not a single sound. Either the occupants are waiting for him, or– Suddenly, the crying of an infant rings out through the night, causing Jonathan to practically jump out of his skin, dropping the can of beans he’d retrieved from the cabinets. Grabbing the very knife he’d been stabbed with, Jonathan creeps out from the kitchen and towards the stairs, up towards the source of the noise.

    Knife gripped tight and hand resting on the doorknob, Jonathan steels himself for whatever he might have to do to keep himself safe. However, nothing could have prepared him for what’s behind that door; the carpet glistening crimson, splatter marks over the crib and even the mobile hanging from the ceiling, two bodies lying on the floor, an infant in bloodstained clothes between them. Staring at the scene for a moment, he tries to piece together what happened. He’s no detective, after all, but he can make a guess. Jarring him from his thoughts, the infant cries out again, directing his attention. Despite his abundant common sense, Jonathan impulsively avoids the blood as best as possible to pick up the infant, not paying any attention to the red staining his bare arms. The small child almost immediately curls up in his arms, much to the notoriously terrifying and disquieting man’s confusion. Looking at the whimpering bundle in his arm, Jonathan shakes his head solemnly as he exits the room.

    Entering the kitchen once again, Jonathan gently sets the child on the counter to search for something to wash the blood off their face and body. Settling on the washcloth hanging on the faucet of the sink, he wets it with warm water before carefully wiping at the child’s cheek. Responding to the unexpected sensation, the babe cries out, to which Jonathan finds himself gently hushing them. Washing their arms next, Jonathan finds himself at a loss of what to do next. He never took care of an infant, or of children any younger than 18, and he only taught them in university at that point. Picking the child up again, Jonathan walks through the rest of the house, searching for something to change into as his costume is in a state of disrepair. Finding what must be the parents’ room, he sets the babe on the large bed to rifle through the dressers. The only things he could find to fit him is an almost hilariously oversized hooded jacket and jeans. He takes a shirt as well, wrapping the infant in it to keep them warm. Carrying the child out into the living room, he sits on the couch to try and devise a plan of action. However, he is once again interrupted by the child’s cries. Rocking the child in his arms as he’d once seen a mother do in a hostage situation, he’s reminded of a song. Lullabies are supposed to help soothe a restless infant, right? While it might not be traditional, it’s worth a try, he supposes.

    With a resigned sigh, having always had a strong dislike for singing, Jonathan whispers, “mama’s little baby won’t hush down. She’s spookin’ all the hens and the old milk cow. Rest your head in the cradle now, ain’t nobody gonna hear a sound.

    “Daddy laid it all on the wrong black mare, hopped the next train to God knows where. But God don’t go where your daddy’s gone, where the cowards and the fools belong.”

    Able to reach a decision as the babe quiets down again, Jonathan carefully shifts them so as to hold them safely with only one arm, standing up as he continues, “mama waited up on the porch all night, waited up ‘till the morning light. She fed those hens and she milked that cow, then she got behind the old man’s plow.”

    Retrieving the top of his costume and the knife, wrapping it in the already stained burlap to stuff into the graciously large pockets of the jacket, he carefully climbs back out of the open window so as not to disturb the surroundings. Heading straight for the fire escape hanging from an old building, Jonathan begins his quest, gently whispering the rest of the song just loud enough for the infant to hear.

    He can see them, all of them, up there on the ledge. Is Jonathan really willing to do this, just for some insignificant incomplete human? What would he gain? More importantly, how much would he lose? What made him think marching up to the Dark Knight on his own was a good idea? Looking down at the babe he’d tucked into his jacket, he tries his best to get control of his breathing. He’d traveled so far already, managing to push himself all the way to the Narrows. But here he is, frozen in place and questioning whether or not he should just let himself cower under the last steps of the fire escape until they leave and figure out what to do then.

    Making his decision for him, Jonathan hears a voice whisper, “someone’s over there.”

    Cursing under his breath, Jonathan steels himself before climbing the final staircase, unable to keep himself from flinching. He reflexively puts an arm up in the air, the other still cradling the child, when a harsh voice snaps at him.

    “What the hell are you doing?” Red Hood asks, aiming a gun at Jonathan.

    Pushing the gun away, the Bat himself says, “whatever you’re going to do, don’t.”

    Now shaking uncontrollably with fear, Jonathan tries to say something, but finds himself mute. Struggling to take a deep breath, he cautiously unzips his jacket all while being ordered to stop. As soon as the child whimpers at being back in the cold, even Batman hesitates to say anything.

    Lowering his voice, Batman holds out an open hand and cautiously steps towards Jonathan, saying, “let me take the baby.”

    Jonathan instinctively pulls the child away when Batman reaches for them, mumbling something before holding them out towards the vigilante again, this time allowing him to take them from his arms.

    “I found it… In Crime Alley,” Jonathan mutters hesitantly, taking a cautious step away from Batman. “Mother and what I assumed to be brother dead. Carpet stained red, open window downstairs. Fatal gunshots, if I had to guess.”

    Not quite looking where he’s going, Jonathan stumbles slightly as his heel hits the slightly raised cornice of the building, falling backwards before throwing himself forward. Much to his dismay, Jonathan finds his shoulder caught by the Bat’s gloved hand, keeping him from stumbling anymore. His breath catching and cold blue eyes widening in shock, he freezes once again, staring at Batman.

    “I need you to calm down enough to make sense,” he says calmly, somewhat forcefully guiding the criminal away from the edge.

    All of his skillful words and phrases disappearing from his mind, Jonathan blurts out, “it just started crying and I heard it from the kitchen and when I went up there everything was dead except the child–”

    Nodding in contemplation, Batman passes the babe to Red Robin, who tries taking the smallest Robin’s cape to wrap it up. In no time at all, a skirmish breaks out, Nightwing managing to take the child out of the conflict, readjusting the shirt wrapped around its little body.

    Sighing and shaking his head, Batman blatantly asks, “why did you come to me, Crane? Of all people, why me?”

    Unable to answer the question, Jonathan dodges the question and asks, “what’s going to happen?”

    “I’ll hand the baby over to Gordon at the GCPD, along with the address of the home,” Batman says. “Which I still need you to tell me.”

    “Just outside Crime Alley, an unusually well kept house for the area,” Jonathan answers. “And me..?”

    “You did, apparently, enter someone’s house and steal clothes,” Batman reminds him, “and you’re not the most trustworthy witness.” Pausing to think, he finally states, “I’ll leave it up to the police.”

    As relieved as he can possibly be while still in the Bat’s presence, Jonathan exhales and holds a hand to his forehead, looking at the stone at his feet. Batman manages to suppress the smile threatening to creep across his face, very amused by the surreal nature of this exchange. Not to mention glad to have avoided something that could have gone very wrong very quickly.

    Looking up again, Jonathan tentatively implores, “if I could be so bold… Might I ask you one last thing?” With a nod from Batman, he ventures, “could you possibly inform me of the convict’s identity once he or she’s found?”

    “You know I can’t tell you that,” Batman says, calm but firm.

    “Then I expect you to give whoever did this hell, or I’ll find them and do so myself,” Jonathan replies bitterly, his expression hardening as he turns to leave.

    Not making any move to stop him, Batman makes one final statement, saying, “don’t get yourself into any more trouble, Crane. I can’t give my word for someone who abuses it.”

    Watching the gaunt criminal disappear out of view down the fire escape, Nightwing comments, “y’know, out of all people, Johnny Crane is the last I’d expect to rescue a baby.”

    “Somewhere, some part of him is still human, Dick, no matter how much he denies it,” Batman says, knowing full well Jonathan was still listening to them.

    Early Christmas morning, Karen Keeny takes a drink of her coffee as she retrieve her mail from the small P.O. box at the top of the staircase. Entering her apartment again, she shifts through the usual bills and other miscellaneous mail. It all seems to be the usual stuff until she comes to a blank envelope. Feeling all the color rush from her face, Karen lets herself fall into an old armchair, staring at the sinister object. While this particular method hadn’t been used prior, she couldn’t help but get the sinking feeling this is yet another message from him, blaming her for his life and condemning her to a life of torture by his hand for something she couldn’t control.

    For a good 10 minutes, she sits staring at the envelope in her hands, debating whether or not to open it. At last, a morbid curiosity wins over and she opens the probable vessel of her torment. Expecting to find something horrible like a scribbled note proclaiming his responsibility on the corner of a missing persons list, what she finds instead brings tears to her eyes nonetheless; a small note accompanying a newspaper clipping with a picture of a smiling baby girl and a mugshot. The clipping read;

“CROW’S CHRISTMAS: Renowned Villain Rescues Child?“

    Gotham’s Dark Knight stopped by Commissioner Jim Gordon’s rooftop last night with a surprise little bundle of joy in his arms. When questioned about the baby girl’s origin, Batman shocked Commissioner Gordon not by the answer of a suspected murder in a home near Crime Alley, but the terrible Scarecrow AKA Jonathan Crane being the child’s savior. He even went as far as to vouch for the serial killer, Gordon says, strongly advising him not to arrest Crane is a manner that “made it clear he didn’t have a choice.”

    Investigating the possible locations of the self proclaimed ‘God of Fear’ given by Batman, Gordon lead a small squad of officers to find Crane while a larger team was dispatched to investigate the crime scene, the address of which also being supplied by the Caped Crusader. In a warehouse just outside of the Docks, Commissioner Gordon managed to get the ambassador of agitation to sit long enough for a talk. Crane, obviously shaken and fortunately armed only with a knife that he gave up willingly, told the Commissioner how he had stumbled into the child’s home, crawling in through an already opened window, to seek somewhere safe enough to attend to a knife wound in his side. Taking care of his injury, Crane decided to search for food in the silent house, until the sound of a crying baby startled him. Entering the baby room upstairs, he found the mother and older brother dead on the floor with the child still cradled in the mother’s arms. For some unexplainable reason, “completely unorthodox and against every instinct I had to just forget I saw any of this,” Crane picked up the child and cleaned the blood from her face and arms. He made up his mind shortly after taking a jacket and pair of jeans from the parents’ bedroom, leaving the house to confront Batman and his associates on a rooftop. He asked for him to take the child to Commissioner Gordon, leaving shortly after with barely any information on what had transpired. When offered protection for handing over information, especially with such willingness, Crane fled from the warehouse. The Commissioner elected not to follow him, and arrived at the crime scene shortly after.

    The man behind the murder of Laurel and David Ackerman was caught early this morning. A nearly homeless man and long time “drinking buddy” of the victims’ husband and father Philip, Carl Wallace Langston confessed he had drunkenly shot and killed Laurel and David over a dispute with Philip. Ackerman had been gambling with Langston at a bar a week prior and lost, owing Langston several thousand dollars. Ackerman disappeared soon after, where still being investigated, and Langston grew furious. Finally, around 8 o’clock last night, Langston murdered Laurel and David in a drunken rage. Crane’s blood was found on the open windowsill and on one of the kitchen counters, but nothing else was found to link him to the crime.

    Tears running down her cheeks as she read and reread the clipping, Karen is so overcome with emotion that she almost forgot about the very short note attached. Carefully removing it from the clipping, she placed both objects on her dresser, repeating the note’s words over in her head;

    “Dear Mother, I’m sorry for the atrocities I’ve committed and for the one that I’ve become. I will never ask for your forgiveness. I do not deserve it. Please refrain from wasting it on me. - J.C.”

Another set of sentence prompts!

“No, you don’t deserve ice cream!” 

“Please stop calling it your lair.” 

“I want a lion.”

“I’ll be the guard dog.” 

“Do you HATE happiness?!“ 

"Okay, I got a pla- oh." 

"What are your thoughts on giraffes in turtlenecks?”

“ARE YOU ABSOLUTELY BONKERS?!" 

"’We’re not going to die’? We’re not going to die?! Well it bloody feels like we’re about to die!”

“At least breathe in between bites!”

“You’re strangely nonchalant for someone who almost died a minute ago.”

“Who are these people?!”

“That was definitely my finest hour.”

“You are not going to have a good day.”

“Use the little scanny thing.”

“Ow, you shot me in the face!”

“Behind you!”

“Listen, it’s for science.”

“I didn’t even have to do anything.”

“Dude, this is romantic as fuck.”

“I’m in your mind…” “Great, just what I needed, more useless crap in there.”

“Anyone want to sing along?”

“I can save you.” “No, you can’t.”

“I don’t want to be rude, but you’re here to do an actual job.”

“Are you humming?” “It’s my theme song, I need it for confidence!”

“Let’s talk dirty to each other.” “Babe… we’re at work. Remember? Professional. Behavior. Please.”

“That looks infected.” “It’s fine.” “You’re dying.” “Well… that’s fine too.”

“Crickety crack, that’s really wack.”

IMPORTANT REMEMBER THAT

YOU ARE

A pedophile if you are sexually attracted to REAL LIFE prepubescent children

A rapist if you force sex or anything of a sexual nature onto A REAL LIFE person without their consent

A abuser if you physically beat A REAL LIFE person or emotionally abuse someone

YOU ARE NOT

A pedophile if you ship characters together that are younger or a ship something with a age gap

A rapist if you ship something considered “problematic”

A abuser if you post/draw/write about a ship that is considered “problematic”

AND LAST BUT NOT LEAST

Understand the difference between FICTION vs REALITY.
One thing Anti’s like to say to counter people who ship “problematic” thing is that

“oh well if you want representation in fiction or that when a /insert thing here/ is wrong you get all upset!!! See fiction does effect reality”

I need you all to know that yes shows or books and things like that do effect reality to a point, but just because things CSI or Criminal Minds or any horror movie ever made exists doesn’t mean that all of a sudden crime and murder just started happening more. Why should I hate and not support things like Killing Stalking just because it shows “problematic” things?
This is where the fiction vs reality thing comes in to play.
Just because you see a movie/show/video game or anything do something
IT DOESN’T PEOPLE ARE GOING TO DO THOSE THINGS
Yes there are very very impressionable people out there who see something like GTA and are like “yup I’m gonna steal a car now” but just because a few people are stupid doesn’t mean we should censor everything and act like art is something that must be moderated.
If someone sees some fluffy fanart of JD/Veronica and genuinely thinks that their relationship is something completely healthy and normal then they probably take a second and then learn some things about the real world.
Does this mean we should get rid of that nice fluffy fanart because a few people are too stupid to understand that’s not how things actually work?

N o

We shouldn’t punish and shame and hide art because it doesn’t fit into a few peoples ideal.
Everyone has the right to draw or write anything they want as long as they can tell the difference between their art and the real world.


FINAL POINTS

You don’t need to have been raped or abused previously to ship “problematic” things because its a “coping” method.

Understand the difference between lines on a paper or pixals on a screen from a living, breathing, actual human being.

Don’t tell someone to “kill themselves” or that their “rapists” “abusers” “pedophiles” because they ship something you don’t like.

Don’t tell people who just say they don’t ship something that their “attacking people” or anything like that.

If someone ships something you don’t like or you see something that triggers you
BLOCK THE PERSON
BLOCK THE TAG
B L O C K
That mechanism exists for a reason.


Ship what you ship.

Don’t ship whatever you want.

Just don’t actually hurt or attack anyone

Stop being dicks to each other and just get on with your life.

Why You Should Be Reading Chang Ge Xing

So what is Chang Ge Xing?

Chang Ge Xing is a Chinese webcomic by Xia Da that is also published in magazines in China and Japan.

It is set during the Tang Dynasty (618-907 CE) in China and Central Asia and follows the adventures of Li Chang Ge, a princess of the ruling Li family, who sets out on a quest for revenge after her uncle kills her family and usurps the throne.

Okay, that’s neat. Now why should I read it?

Alright, here goes. First of all….

Story

Chang Ge Xing weaves a wonderful story about revenge, personal growth, and the effect history can have on the people living in it. The writing holds a deep compassion for its characters and for people in general. Both the protagonists and antagonists are multi-layered characters with valid goals and points-of-view.

Plot

Xia Da is a goddess of plotting. The storyline travels its way across China and Central Asia with twists and turns that are entirely unexpected, but also clear and well-executed. Chang Ge’s journey has an excellent mix of adventure, action, character drama, and intrigue.

Characters

Li Chang Ge:

Chang Ge is a competent badass with the mind of a political chess-master. More importantly, however, she is human and thus very capable of both triumph and failure. Aspects of her personality (such as her skill at lying and keeping track of multiple identities) can be both the key to her success and her most fatal flaw.

She is above all else a (covertly) compassionate person.

Ashina Sun:

Sun is a general of the Eastern Turkic Khaganate (think central Asian nomadic kingdom) and the adopted son of the Great Khan. He is a straight-forward, loyal guy with a deep dislike of intrigue. Sun starts off as basically a jerk (large active armies are rarely enlightened places), but grows into a thoughtful, mature person.

He likes to make impulsive decisions, to the distress of his subordinates.

Mimiguli:

Mimi is a young Uighur woman who Chang Ge saves from execution. She hides a tragic past behind her care-free demeanor. There is more to this gal than meets the eye.

Also she and Chang Ge are kind of a thing.

Mujin:

Mujin is Ashina Sun’s very put-upon subordinate. He is very organized and observant. He and Sun have known each other since they were kids.

Qin:

Qin is an old trickster who pledges himself to Chang Ge’s cause. He has served in shadows of many lords over the course of his life.

Jin Dan:

She is the renowned mistress of a Daoist temple that Chang Ge visits. She is very wise and acts as a mentor towards Chang Ge.

Ashina She Er:

He is a clever general in the Turkish army and the nephew of the Great Khan.  She Er intends connive and manipulate his way to the Turkish throne. He and Sun are enemies.

Li Shimin/Emperor Taizong:

Li Shimin is Chang Ge’s uncle and the object her revenge.

There are also a whole bunch more characters that I could wax poetic about, but I’m trying to keep this post at an acceptable length.

Art:

The art in this series is incredible. It’s super detailed and lovely.

I mean…..

CHECK

IT

OUT

Seriously, Xia Da must have sold her soul to attain this kind of talent. She is a god-level artist.

History:

Chang Ge takes place in the background of real historical events such as the Xuanwu gate incident and the uighur/khitan/xueyantuo rebellion against the Turks in 627. The series pays close attention to historical accuracy in both plot and setting. Actual historical figures are included in the narrative alongside the fictional characters.

At the same time, Xia Da knows how to balance fiction vs. fact. She keeps the conflicts clear and concise while also throwing the occasional bone to history nerds such as myself.

So yeah, this comic is incredible and you should go read it.

I will hold on to you

@emmagrangergood sent me a prompt 💙 :)

Okay, so I’ll admit, I had my difficulties with this prompt :D (which I’ll put at the end, so you guys can be as oblivious as our boys :D) That’s why it has taken me ridiculously long to get to this ask. I thought of maybe doing something about Auror partners and a fake relationship thing… Maybe I should have gone with that :D Anyway. Another idea hit me when I was listening to Taylor Swift’s new album on repeat ever since she released it and there’s this song and I love it so, so much and so… yeah… here we go :D

It’s also on AO3 :)


He didn’t want to move. There was so much pain. Pain everywhere. His arms, his legs, even his toes felt sore. And thinking, thinking felt like someone was drilling a hole in his head. This really wasn’t fair. Ron never got hungover. Was this the universe’s way of creating balance? Punishing Harry for Ron’s dumb luck?

He tried to sit up, regretting it immediately. His stomach definitely didn’t agree with moving. At all.

“Ugh, I’m never drinking again,” Harry mumbled to himself, slowly sinking back down.

“You say that every time.”

Startled, Harry turned around much quicker than he should have. The room started spinning, making him extremely queasy. His eyes wouldn’t focus properly, but he could make out a naked torso beside him. Pale skin. Blond hair.

“Oh, it’s you. For a moment I thought I would be forced to have a really awkward conversation with one of our friends.”

“Which one of our friends?” Draco asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I don’t know.”

“Are you telling me you were so drunk, you would have slept with Blaise? Finnigan? Thomas? Theo?” He paused. “Longbottom? Weasley?”

Harry wanted to laugh, but he was afraid of what his stomach would do then. So instead, he settled into a more comfortable position, putting his hands underneath his pillow.

“God, can you imagine? Besides, you were supposed to keep an eye on me. You know what happens when I drink.”

“I do know. Why do you think I’m here?” Draco said, shaking his head in mock disapproval. It made Harry frown.

“You sleep here almost every night. I don’t even remember the last time you slept in your own bed.”

“Is that a complaint?” Draco said in a challenging tone. Harry wouldn’t have needed to see his face to know there was a smirk on his lips.

“Yes. You’re very clingy in your sleep,” Harry replied with an answering smirk.

“Excuse me, I was under the impression you liked that. Well, if you feel that violated, I’ll just sleep in my room tonight.”

Please don’t.

It was on the tip of Harry’s tongue. He bit his lip to prevent him from embarrassing himself. It was bad enough he had feelings for his flatmate… Okay, at this point, Draco was definitely more than his flatmate. He had become his best friend. He couldn’t ruin that by blurting out something stupid. No.

“Seriously though,” Draco grumbled as he threw back the covers and leaned down to retrieve his clothes, “I can’t believe you were thinking about sleeping with one of our friends. Who, by the way, are all in committed relationships. It would have caused so much drama!”

“I wasn’t thinking about sleeping with anyone!”

Now that wasn’t exactly true. And it became harder and harder to hide it every day. Literally. Draco, running around the flat in just his pants or simply a towel, really wasn’t helping this whole situation either.

“I know you weren’t,” Draco said with a grin as he buttoned up his shirt. “I guess you’ll stay a virgin forever.”

“Hey!” Turning beet red, Harry grabbed one of the pillows and threw it with all his might. “Take that back!”

“They should call you ‘The Boy Who Stayed Abstinent For The Rest Of His Life’.”

If only Draco knew! But even if Harry decided to tell him, he wouldn’t even know where to begin. Just thinking about it made him so nervous, he felt like throwing up. Oh, wait, maybe that wasn’t nervousness… Yeah, it definitely wasn’t nervousness.

“Ugh,” Harry groaned, pressing his face into the mattress.

“Five more minutes, Sleeping Beauty. Then you’ll have to come and help me clean.”

“How come you don’t feel sick? You had more to drink than me!”

“Easy. I’m better at everything,” Draco chuckled with a shrug. Harry rolled his eyes and pulled the covers over his head. Going back to sleep wasn’t an option, though. He’d feel awful afterwards, he knew it. Reluctantly, he manoeuvred himself into a sitting position.

Getting dressed took about ten minutes longer than it usually did. Not only because his stomach protested to this kind of activity, but because he couldn’t find any clean socks.

Harry’s heart instantly began beating faster. Socks. Oh Merlin! He nearly felt assaulted by the memory his mind was suddenly springing on him. It had been such a disaster!

“Draco,” Harry whispered. “Draco, wake up.”

The blond let out a grunt and buried his face in the crook of Harry’s neck.

“Let me sleep.”

Harry chuckled, ruffling his hair. He didn’t want to wait. He knew it was childish. Christmas morning was tomorrow. But he wanted Draco to have his present now.

Christmas had always been a little sad for Harry. It hadn’t even been the fact that he’d had to watch Dudley open his ridiculous amount of presents each year. Well, that too, because it had been a reminder that there was no one in this world who cared for him. At Hogwarts, it had changed. He had come to spend Christmas with his new family. And being with the Weasleys was one of the best things Harry could have imagined. He hadn’t thought it could get any better than that. That was before Draco had joined them.

“Accio present,” he muttered, careful not to move around too much. A moment later, the messily wrapped present flew into his waiting hand.

“Draco,” he whispered again. “Merry Christmas.” He held the present to Draco’s ear. Maybe the crinkling would pique his interest.

“What’s going on?” Slowly, Draco opened one eye and rested his chin on Harry’s chest.

“It’s your Christmas present.”

“You’re supposed to give me that tomorrow. Has nobody taught you how Christmas works?” Draco froze, realising what he had just said. “I didn’t mean it like that, I-”

“It’s okay.” Harry’s smile was genuine and he felt a warm trickle down his chest when Draco gave him one in return.

“Alright, you impatient child. Give me my present.”

Harry watched anxiously as Draco took his time with the wrapping paper. For Merlin’s sake, how long was this going to take? When Draco’s hands stopped moving and his expression became puzzled, Harry stopped breathing.

“Socks. You’re giving me socks?”

Harry pressed his lips together.

“They’re… fluffy socks.”

“Seriously? Socks? The most boring present ever?”

It was hard not to feel hurt.

“And this couldn’t have waited until tomorrow because…” Draco looked at him expectantly.

“I was too excited,” Harry said sheepishly, trying to hide how tense he was. Well, what had he thought Draco’s reaction would be? Of course he’d think it was weird. And boring. Draco had no idea what these socks meant to Harry. What he was trying to say with them.

Keep reading

This line if anyone doesn’t know comes from Tony and Fury’s conversation during Age of Ultron. The conversation where Tony says that the vision Wanda gave him, is the future. He blames himself. 

This is not just the end of the path the group started them on, Tony claims all responsibility. I started us on. This idea that Tony tries to push off the blame for his actions, is honestly baffling. Tony consistently accepts blame for other people’s actions. 

Let’s go through some of the movies and see where Tony takes responsibility. 

In Ironman 1 we see Tony Stark, talking with Yinsen in Afghanistan. He’s scaredd, confused, and in pain. Despite all of that, one of the first things he notices about his kidnappers, they have his weapon. Which he finds absolutely jarring because he only sells his weapons to the US military. 

He is absolutely shocked that these terrorists have his weapons, because Obidiah was the one selling to them behind his back. However, he takes responsibility for his weapons getting in the wrong hands, and sets out to personally destroy every stockpile of weapons.

He took full responsibility for something that was not his fault. 

What about Age of Ultron.

The entire movie in Captain America civil war, is Tony attempting to make up for what happened. Notice he again says my fault. He has taken every bit of blame, he doesn’t blame Wanda for what she did to him, or for what she did to help Ultron with his plan. He doesn’t blame Bruce for helping him study the scepter. He doesn’t blame Ultron because ultimately Ultron’s actions were his own, he was a sentient being. Tony takes all of the blame on his shoulders, and supports the accords as a way of preventing further tragedies like Ultron. 

Tony consistently accepts blames for things he was only marginally connected to. Other people expect him to, and he gets blamed for the actions of others regularly.

Example:

This man blamed Tony Stark for the crimes Howard Stark committed against his father. Tony is expected to pay in blood for crimes that are not his own.  

Or what about 

Who after years of planning, and evil deeds blames Tony for all of it. A drunk celebrity said he would talk with him and then didn’t. I understand maybe Aldrich was devastated, and dealing with depression. However, his crimes are still his own, he still chose to commit them. He has had years to get a good therapist, he chose to develop a serum that kills people, and causes them to explode. 

This is not Tony’s fault, this is Killain’s. He made the decision to be a villain. 

Now let’s look at some of the other Avengers accepting responsibility for their actions. 

Well, that doesn’t sound like accepting responsibility for unleashing the Hulk onto a city of innocent people, and completely disrupting Dr. Banner’s peace of mind. She has to have accepted blame at some point, Captain America wouldn’t let her get away with this type of thing, would he?

“She’s just a kid.” Oh, of course well at least he accepts responsibility for his own mistakes.

“Did you know?” 

“I didn’t know it was him.”

“Don’t bullshit me Rogers, did you know?” 

“Yes.”

Well he admits that he hid the truth for years after having his own lie waved in his face, not exactly taking responsibility.

What about Clint, he’s well known for considering the consequences of his actions. Mr. Clint “They’re considered.” Barton.

Oh no wait here’s another example of someone breaking the law and then blaming Tony for their own crimes. Wow the Aldrich Killian parallel I never wanted to make with one of my favorite comic book characters.

Now, all of the original team Cap is guilty of refusing responsibility for their crimes. What about Natasha? While we haven’t seen much of her origin Story she is supposed to be known for clearing the red off her ledger, and while we never see her take blame for much in canon, I blame Marvel’s shitiness with female characters and screen time. 

Or Bruce? Bruce is the only original Avenger we see taking blame for things other than Tony. He’ll take blame for any event the Hulk was involved in, that’s why he leaves at the end of AoU, because of Johannesburg. He still blames himself for breaking Harlem, despite the fight being necessary to protect people. 


Tl:dr this idea that Tony never accepts responsibility is really baffling to me, because team Cap never seemed to accept responsibility for anything they did wrong. Whereas Tony is constantly accepting blame, and working to improve himself and the situation. 

Meet Fionn Whitehead, the Lead of Christopher Nolan’s Highly Anticipated Battle Epic ‘Dunkirk’

Bale. DiCaprio. McConaughey. And now, Fionn Whitehead.

The 19-year-old Brit (whose Irish first name is pronounced “Finn”) joins elite ranks as the lead actor in a Christopher Nolan joint, headlining the acclaimed filmmaker’s upcoming ensemble war, Dunkirk.

At this point Whitehead doesn’t have clearance to say anything about his character, Tommy. But if you happened to catch the intense seven-minute tease Warner Bros. unspooled on Imax screens in front of Rogue One, you’ll recognize him as one of the two poor chaps charged with hauling a stretcher over a decimated dock as enemy warplanes whiz by overhead. (While plot details on the film are also scant, we have WWII history to tell us the film is about the 1940 rescue of Allied soldiers cornered by the German army on a French beach.)

“It’s a suspense thriller,” Whitehead told Yahoo Movies. “It takes you there and you see this world through my character’s eyes and ears. And it kind of explores what it would’ve been like to be there at that time, on sea, land, and air. It’s all about survival, and the human urge to survive.” Whitehead was in Los Angeles this week where we got to know the fresh-faced star of Nolan’s fiercely intense-looking battle film. Here’s what we learned:

Dunkirk will mark Whitehead’s movie debut. The actor, who grew up in an artistic household (his dad is jazz musician Tim Whitehead) on the southwest edge of London in Richmond, performed on stage at the National Youth Theatre and Orange Tree Theatre, and was in the process of applying to drama school when he booked the lead role in Him, a three-part U.K. miniseries about a teen with supernatural powers. The casting director for Him referred Whitehead to agent Sophie Holden, who put him in contention for Dunkirk.

His hair almost got in the way of his dream role. Whitehead auditioned for Dunkirk over an extensive three-month period, with Nolan present at every tryout after the first. “For Him, they made me grow my hair out, and then they’d straighten it out every day because I’ve got quite curly hair when it grows out,” Whitehead explained. “And I remember turning up to do one of these auditions and I had this straight long hair, it just looked so ridiculous. And they’re like, ‘Um, Chris has asked if you could push your hair out of your face this audition.’ So they gave me a tub of wax and I’m slicking my hair out of my face in this ridiculous fashion.”

He was put through the ringer before production even started. “I was quite scrawny when I started out, so they saw that and realized that they might injure me in the whole process of shooting,” Whitehead laughed. So the upstart was dispatched to Dunkirk (where the majority of filming would be completed on location) two weeks early to work with the stunt team. Along with costars Harry Styles and Aneurin Barnard, Whitehead was put through a boot camp of sorts. “I did a lot of circuit training, did a little bit of boxing, did some weapons training. Then I went to the beaches and I was swimming in full war gear, which once it got waterlogged was about 60, 80 pounds. Running up the beach with stretchers with weighted dummies on them. It was quite a lot.”

Speaking of Mr. Styles… The One Direction singer also makes his film debut in Dunkirk, and Whitehead had nothing but props for the pop star-turned-actor. “He’s a lovely guy. Really hard working. There was no preferential treatment, and he didn’t ask for any. He was just a great asset to the team, one of the crew, no differentiation.”

The grueling shoot put things in perspective for the young actors. “Physically it was quite demanding,” Whitehead said of the five-month production. “So the toughest part was just keeping the energy up. Every night, as soon as my head hit the pillow, I was out… But that made it easier to step into the shoes of these people, knowing what they had to deal with and how they kept going.” Despite somber subject material, the cast tried to keep things light by riding bikes around set and playing the occasional game of rugby. They also learned quickly, though, not to pull any woe-is-me moves. “Any time any of us complained, somebody would say, ‘Well, at least you’re not actually there.’ And then everyone would feel so guilty and be like, ‘Oh yeah, sorry. I’m just going to crawl into a hole.'”

Whitehead abstained from fanning out over Nolan. Make no mistake, the actor was over the moon to work with the director of Memento, the Dark Knight trilogy, Inception, and Interstellar. “He’s so present as a director,” Whitehead said. “He’s behind every shot and he creates this family-like vibe on set which really puts you at ease. It’s a very collaborative environment. I was quite apprehensive going in but that was gone straightaway because you’re in this safe space where you feel comfortable to try different things, and encouraged.” But he made it a point not to geek out over the filmmaker. “Nah, I kept it in,” he said. “I tried to play it cool.”

And I still have the mug.

fortheluvofmerlin replied to your photo “Sometimes the sunlight hits my hair juuuust right and I am so fucking…”

-wants to hear story like we’re BFFs despite having only found out about this blog two weeks ago- -sits on seat’s edge- -big eyes- Yeeeeeesss?

So, as some of you know, husband and I long distance dated over the ocean for almost a decade before we were able to be together for keepsies. It was an…interesting, period of time. I certainly got to see more of the world than I ever thought I would, and I also learned I was capable of far more than I ever gave myself credit for. Like travelling 4000+ miles on a plane every six months despite a severe fear of flying, which I still possess to this day. But I also learned something else as well, which is that love is like tea. It can be dark and sweet, light and floral, invigorating, soothing, warm, cold, sometimes even bitter. But when you’re down and out, there’s no better feeling than the knowledge that for at least the next ten minutes, you can cradle warmth between your hands, take a sip of respite, and the rest of the world can go fuck itself. 

Other British people know what I’m talking about, trust me, love is like tea.

But Love is also a choice. Oh hormones and attraction play a part in it sure, but those won’t see you forty years down the line once the excitement of infatuation dwindles. Heck it might not even see you four. But love, to us at least, is a conscious decision to say “this is the person(s) I love, sometimes it will be hard, sometimes we will annoy each other, but for now, every day, one day at a time, I choose to be with you until such a time that I do not or cannot.”

Not terribly romantic I admit, and doesn’t quite roll off the tongue the same way as “till death do us part”. But when you’re staring down the barrel of a 14-hour flight and your valium hasn’t kicked in and the only thing playing on the tv embedded into the chair in front of you is static, it’s oddly comforting to know you still think it’s worth it. 

Anyway, I was flying over here to spend three months with him, living in his apartment. We reasoned that we should try and spend more time together than an odd week here and there if we were going to make a big decision soon about whether or not to carry on seeing each other, or whether or not we should part ways amicably and save ourselves the hassle of immigration (and they say romance is dead). So I quit my jobs, upped sticks and moved in with someone I’d only ever met ten times before, but was pretty certain I was deeply in love with but needed to be certain I could live with. It was fun, and we soon found a domestic rhythm to our lives that we hadn’t even realized we’d been desperately missing until we had it.

And then the time came for me to go home and the night before I tried to smile over the dinner table like I wasn’t being suffocated by the weight of a tangible grief and impending loneliness pressing in around me, and the rising sensation in the tips of my fingers that if only I could reach out and push back hard enough, I could slow down time and have one more minute with him.

Later that night I went to bed with my laptop and watched movies while he sat up, scribbling at his computer desk. I didn’t pay it much heed, this was fairly normal for our routine. As much as we like each other’s company, we are fairly independent of each other. We had to be, given the nature of our relationship. And secretly I was glad to have some time alone to cry and collect myself before he came to bed.

The next morning I woke up, and for a brief moment was so happy to find him beside me, before I remembered I was due to get on a flight in six hours, and it could be another year before I saw him again. 

But I got up, tried to hold myself together and because I wanted to email my friend who was picking me up at the airport, reached for my laptop. Which was when I found, this:

[A flashcard covered in hearts and a little sun which reads:
Morning My Dear Let Us Play a Game (Which May Seem Queerer) Find Me In The Spot Where Your Face Is Clearer, Walking Down Our Only Hall Will Get You Nearer, Helo oh Help I seem To Be Stuck in the…]

“Mirror doesn’t rhyme with nearer!” I shouted as he ran into the kitchen, happily picking up my little card because I secretly loved the little poems he would leave around the apartment for me, scribbled on scraps of paper, in the fog of bathroom mirrors and wedged between books.

“It does if you’re American.” was all I got in return, before the kitchen door shut and I went off in pursuit of the rest of my poem. So I grabbed my phone so I could take pictures and post them on LJ later because I thought it would be cute and worth keeping, toddled off to the bathroom, opened the medicine cabinet and:

Aha!

[A flashcard covered in balloons which reads:
Hidden Under the Letter Horde, Here You Have Fought Many With Bow and Sword, Word, Work and Play This Place Adores, Goodness I will be Found Under the…]

For a brief horrible moment I thought he actually meant the never ending mail pile on his side of the office, which had become a common point of contention for us, but then the rhyme clicked in place and I realized he was referring to my Lord of the Rings archer character and I ambled off to the computer desk in the main room.

Snapped a pic for posterity and lifted it up to find:

[A flashcard covered in little flames which reads: It Is So Dark And Hot In This Cove, Here I Can Only Wish For A Sight of A Cookie Grove, Find Me Quick so I Can Flee Like An Animal Drove, It Is So Dark and Hot In This Evil…]

“Honey…oven doesn’t rhyme with drove!”

“STOVE, IT’S A STOVE!”

“…yea okay get out my way”

[A flashcard which reads: Crap! I have Moved, What A Disgrace, Now I seem To Be In A Vast Knowledge Base, Words Upon Words Which None Can Be Erased, Come Quick I Am Hiding In The Top Shelf of The…]

At this point I was starting to become aware that this was not my typical poem hunt, and not just because there was so many of them, but because he was adamantly staying out of my way, barricaded in the kitchen. Nevertheless I turned to the book case,

said “FUCK” because all those shelves were double stacked, and began digging. And there, hidden in a copy of Terry Pratchett’s Feet of Clay on the page that reads “Words In The Heart, Cannot Be Taken” was…

[A flashcard with no decorations that reads: Yay! You Have Found Me, I Shall Cry WHOOPEE! I Knew You Would Do It All You Needed Was Tea, And Now I Must Say I  Love You More Than I Could Ever Foresee, Fiona my love, will you marry…]

And that’s when I turned round and he proposed with a mug of tea.

We were apart for another year after that. But it’s now been eleven years since we started dating, and with the clarity of hindsight, I’d do it all again.

Do You Miss Me (at all) Sherlock x reader part 1

A/N: This took me forever to finish! For the love of god, I struggled with this hours and days! So, this will be two parted, and apologizes for not posting fanfics for awhile, I’ve been busy with other things (also tried to figure out how to continue the heartless, there will be a new chapter of it soon enough, hopefully) also this was supposed to be out at Friday, but I couldn’t get myself to finish this since this basically a dialogue done by shouting and fighting. But anyway, hope this is good in some sort of weird way.


Here’s a link for the next chapter http://all-fandoms-fiction.tumblr.com/post/157287362239/do-you-miss-me-at-all-2-sherlock-x-reader


You had been in a relationship with Sherlock for over four months now and not to get you wrong, you did love the high functioning sociopath even if it got rough. For example he barely told you he cared for you more than as a friend. It had taken him all his might to tell you that just that once when you started dating and you were as surprised as anyone would’ve been in that situation. To hear Sherlock Holmes, the detective incapable of understanding sentiment or compassion, say he loved you was enough to make you faint, but you didn’t. First you thought it had to be a trick, to test an experiment and one specific kind had slithered in your mind. He was probably testing how you felt about him, even having his own suspicions of you having feelings for him. Maybe he was waiting for your pupils to dilate, testing your pulse? Then he did something that nearly gave you a heart attack. He had kissed you. From there on you two had started dating, but it took some time from him to convince you he really liked you and it wasn’t for a case or a test.

It had been just once he had said he loved you, from that on everything had gone down hill. You knew he wasn’t into opening his heart, which you had become aware of that second he had opened it to you, but you couldn’t but wonder had he come to his senses of you and realized he had only fancied you for short amount of time and the feelings had died by now. At bad days he seemed he barely even acknowledged you were in the same room. He was snarky with his comments, nearly making eye contact and ignoring you at times. It wasn’t anything John hadn’t ever experienced with Sherlock but you couldn’t stop thinking that you would be even slightly privileged to be treated in better way than that.

Sherlock had been buried with work, now on his list at the top was a new case that hadn’t made any progress and it frustrated him. He was tense and easy to piss off. You were the same, but for other reasons. His acts had reflected on you, his now nasty personality and way of ignoring you made it impossible for you to stand him.

The two of you had just come back to Baker Street from a crime scene and you were fuming of rage. Once again you had been pushed aside and treated like you knew nothing. Even Lestrade, just like Sherlock always said, was capable of sensing the situation. Even the police inspector was able to make out Sherlock was doing a lousy job as a boyfriend. You couldn’t forget the wide eyes and the blank, puzzled stare he gave to you two when Sherlock pushed you, no, he literally pushed you more than once aside and kept telling you to keep quiet as your suggestions and deductions would just embarrass him, you and everyone around.

You stomped up the stairs to the flat, Sherlock following after you. You stayed close to the door leading back downstairs while Sherlock went to sink in his chair. He released a long heavy sigh and closed his eyes in disappointment. He muttered how useless the visit had been and how it had only cost his precious time on the case in hand. The crime scene you two just witnessed had, as he said, obviously nothing in common.

”Did you really have to do that?” You questioned after waiting enough, listening to Sherlock muttering and complaining about the case. Your hands were crossed over your chest and your right foot was tapping the floor in an impatient way. To this Sherlock answered with lowered brows and watched you in confusion. You huffed and looked away. ”Embarrass me in front of the whole Scotland Yard?” You corrected. Sherlock only rolled his eyes and went to correct you. ”There was nearly even half of the Scotland Yard present.” Sherlock shifted in his seat. ”I wouldn’t worry about them. They barely know anything so you being incorrect now and then wouldn’t make them any better than you.”

You could hang onto that statement, he had almost praised you just now and it was the best you had got from him for since he had been burdened with this particular case, but then again you didn’t need to settle for this. This wasn’t enough to wipe all the bad comments he’d made in the past though you weren’t even sure was there anything he could do, a one single act that would calm you.

”To you that was the entire Scotland Yard.” You pushed persistently. He had said it himself countless of times. The people in Scotland Yard that had ever worked with him were the only people that counted if you asked for his opinion.

”Well, yes, but obviously it wasn’t exactly the whole Scotland Yard.” Sherlock placed his fingers under his chin, resembling his mind palace position but he kept his eyes open and on you. He eyed you suspiciously, trying to deduce what you were going through in your head, but judging by his expression he had no idea what made you so pissed. ”Is something bothering you?”

To that you let out a sarcastic laugh. Had he really only got that out of you? He really was as magnificent and astonishing as John always said. Sarcastically saying of course. But this time he surprised you by how dumb he was.

”Are you really that blind?” You finally snapped. You humorously watched as Sherlock gave away how offended he was by your statement but without skipping a beat you continued. ”You embarrassed me in front of Scotland Yard! And that’s not all! You’ve treated me worse and worse the further we get down on this case. Hell, you even treat Anderson better than me!” And it was true. He had even praised Anderson today for stating something so obvious and simple that even a blind person would’ve seen it.

”I was being sarcastic.” Sherlock muttered seriously and looked down on the floor, clearly drifting away from the conversation and to his mind palace.

”Well, it wasn’t clear!” You yelled and threw your hands in the air. ”Everybody thought you really meant it. And don’t dare shut me off now!” You took three long steps and put your hands on either side of Sherlock’s armrests on his chair, your face inches away from his. ”Don’t treat me like this!”

”Treat you like what?” Sherlock shot up from his seat, you taking a fast step backwards to make more room between the two of you. He stared back at you coldly. His blue eyes were like frozen and he looked intimidating. Sherlock tilted his head, his eyes narrowing as he questioned you.

”I told you already! You ignore me! Like I don’t exist at all! You always pretend like I’m not there. You put your work first and I feel like I don’t even exist on the list of your priorities! You also have pushed me around, literally, and you won’t let me even speak when we’re out!”

”Stating the obvious shouldn’t be reworded! You want me to let you embarrassed yourself? By pointing out what everyone is able to witness with their own eyes?”

”Oh, so now I’m embarrassing myself? Thank you for saving me, Sherlock, for keeping me quiet when I could’ve said something dumb!” The room was silent for a second, until you took a deep breath. ”Look, you keep me around but make it feel like I am the one clinging on you and following you like a lost puppy, and when I try to advance you, you only shoot me down. You won’t show me I matter!”

”I have told you how I feel about you, do you really need me to do it several times a day? Because you know I won’t be up to it. I am not a man who keeps showering you with all the pleasantries and praises-!”

”I know that and it’s not what I asked!” You snapped back. You were wondering was Mrs. Hudson listening to you two shouting. If she was she was probably worried. Worried what you’d do if this would go further on and how you would end up like. Mrs. Hudson knew what Sherlock was capable of when he was bored or even drugged, but when angered? And with you against him? You couldn’t answer to that either.

”Then what is it? I can’t quit my job and forget all the cases just because of you. Just because of love.” He pronounced the last word with disgust, as if the whole word was ridiculous to even be said.

”I’m not telling you to quit, I’m suggesting you to leave it be when you clearly can’t work it out, not now at least. You’ve run out of clues and there is nothing you can do to make the problem solved. You have to wait!”

”I can’t just wait until another one gets killed!” Sherlock spit out and glared down at you.

”Well, there’s nothing else you can do.” You told him matter of factly. ”Just talking about the case makes you a mess, Sherlock. You don’t eat, you don’t sleep, and how you treat people around you is horrible. Even if you have a problematic case in hand it doesn’t give you the privilege to act like a moron!”

”Oh so I am the one acting like a moron?” Sherlock looked down on you. ”You have done nothing to help me on this case, the reason I keep you around is only because I thought there would be use of you, but guess I was wrong with you. And here you are, waiting for me to sugar coat you with flatter and sweet talk. Like it wasn’t enough I told you once how I care about you.” He had struggled enough by telling you he loved you once, and what were the looks of it he wasn’t going to do it ever again and actually it made you want nothing more than him to never say anything to you.

”I knew what I was getting myself into when I started this relationship with you.  I know it’s hard for you to say how you feel, but I’m not asking you to tell me that. It’s just that you never show it! You never sit next to me, you never walk close to me, and you barely talk to me! If you could just treat me like a human being!” You didn’t let Sherlock answer, you paced around nervously, but not scared. You were infuriated. ”I really thought I wouldn’t be the only one to do things I don’t usually like to do. Like waking up at 3am in the morning to visit a crime scene, or running around London after a maniac without eating for a whole day! I still never complaint! But where I draw the line is when I am treated worse than even the people you can’t stand!”

”Enough with Anderson already!” Sherlock sighed and spin around.

”I’m not talking about Anderson! I am saying you don’t treat me like your girlfriend and even Lestrade saw what was going on today!” You felt bad at thinking about it again, your stomach dropped at the thought of it. ”The way you act towards me isn’t normal, Sherlock!”

”So I’m supposed to be all around you when we’re on a case? Oh, wake up, (Y/n)! I do not show emotions or am I even capable of feel certain of emotions. Love and sentiment do not get me anywhere and there for I keep them out of my life!” You flinched. That was it. You had enough.

”Then let me help you.” You said and went to get your bag.

”What are you doing?” Sherlock asked sounding bored and fed up by your attitude, his brows furrowed.

”Like you said, you rid yourself of certain feelings. There for I’m leaving. Sorry I ever bothered to step into your life.” You said and turned. ”Goodbye, Sherlock Holmes.” And with that you left. You went down the stairs in a hurry and rage, stomping loudly. You heard Mrs. Hudson come out of her flat, now standing next to the front door, looking at you worriedly.

”Are you two having a little domestic?” She asked with a sad and nervous tone.

”Could say so.” You answered coldly and opened the door.

”When are you coming back, dear?”

”I’m not.” You deadpanned. You had stopped at the entrance and were looking at Mrs. Hudson with a serious expression.

Mrs. Hudson gazed up the stairs to the living room. ”I’m sure what ever he said he doesn’t mean it.” She assured you, but you knew better and you also had made up your mind.

”I’m sure he did.” You told, then closing the door and left Baker Street.

Mrs. Hudson was left alone to wonder what had happened. She let her eyes wonder towards the stairs again, whispering sadly to herself, ”What have you done now, Sherlock?”

They all die in the end

Originally posted by jjks

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Sniper!Au / Angst / One-shot

Rated T for mentions of murder, death, mature themes

Word count: 10.5k rip

Synopsis: In his long career, Yoongi had quickly learned how being a professional killer required many do’s but only a few dont’s - just two, to be more precise: nr. 1 never miss your target, and nr. 2 don’t ever get caught.

And yet, after meeting you, it was crystal clear that he had never considered the most important one.

Nr. 3: never fall in love.

Author’s note: Finally!! This is my first request, with the prompts sniper!Yoongi, His beauty could kill you and They all die in the end. To the cute anon: I hope you like it just as much as I enjoyed writing it even tho this is the angstiest shit I have written until now.

Also, special thanks to @inktae and @sugajpg for bearing with my existential crisis about this <3



Yoongi doesn’t really feel ashamed of his job.

Sure, he kills people in exchange of money – good money, to be more precise; but it’s not something that actually bothers him in his sleep. Well, he is blessed with dream-less nights after all, thus he can’t really be definite about it: maybe, if nightmares of blood and screams and horror filled his mind, then he wouldn’t be so serene, so apathetic about it. Maybe, he would feel a decent amount of regret.

But again, that isn’t the case, and so he’s able to look at everyone straight in the eyes, lips guiltless and always curved in a faint smile – they would have been murdered anyways, if not by him, surely by somebody else. At least, Yoongi gives them a quick death.

And it’s not like he targets innocent people anyway – well, as much as someone could be innocent nowadays. Oh no, he usually works for the Mafia, sometimes even for the Intelligence when they need somebody to act outside the law: the flies he has to kill are always the dirtiest ones, buried in some horrid shit up to their neck, and thus with a bullet into their throat they die. Or in their forehead, or between their lungs – it doesn’t really matter, does it?

So no, Yoongi doesn’t really feel ashamed of his job.

Keep reading

💋    HARLEY   QUINN   DIALOGUE    PROMPTS   !

triggering  /  nsfw   may  be  present ,  these  are  taken  from  a  variety  of   different  sources.

  • ​❝ Love your perfume. What is that? The stench of death?
  • ❝ Huh? What was that? I should kill everyone and escape?
  • ❝ We’re bad guys. It’s what we do. ❞
  • ​❝ I’m known to be quite vexing. I’m just forewarning you.
  • ❝ You’re cute. You want me? I’m all yours.  ❞
  • ❝ Why, what’s wrong? You don’t like me? Fine. Don’t waste my time then.  ❞
  • ​❝ You got all dressed up for me?
  • ​❝ Why do you eat people? Would you like to eat me?
  • ​❝ I’m bored! I need a victim, a mind to pry apart and spit in. ❞
  • ​❝ You wanna tell me what the hell is going on, then?
  • ​❝ You ever been in love?
  • ​❝ Own that shit. Own it! What’d you think was gonna happen? Huh?
  • ​❝ I’m not much of a joiner, but… maybe we should.
  • ​❝ What’s the world ever done for us, anyway? It hates us.
  • ​❝ I gotta work on my cardio. ❞
  • ​❝ I’ve never seen you laugh before! I don’t think I like it!
  • ​❝ You give ‘em twenty minutes of naughty fun time and they think they own ya!
  • ❝ You think I’m just some dizzy airhead that don’t know nothin’.
  • ​❝ You’re gonna make me do it, aren’t you?
  • ​❝ Anyone who throws boomerangs has some real issues letting go.
  • ​❝ I’m fine. We’re done. He’s a jerk. Whatever. ❞
  • ​❝ I got an itch I thought you could help me scratch, cowboy… ❞
  • ​❝ Oh well, at least I’m going out on a joke.  
  • ❝ I’m sick of people trying to shoot me, run me over or blow me up!
  • ❝ Get your own hostage!
  • ❝ You thought I was just another bubble-headed blond bimbo!
  • ❝ Well, the joke’s on you, 'cause I’m not even a real blonde.
  • ❝ I want to listen to the radio
  • ❝ Gee, it’s amazing the things you find in people’s glove compartments. ❞
  • ❝ Did you see the way I handled those creeps? Pow! Bam!
  • ❝ I’m keeping this one just for myself… maybe.  ❞
  • ❝ I think we can still work it out, don’t you?
  • ❝ I believe I served you with a subpoena once… It was a small subpoena.
  • ❝ Gee, boss, you really know how to put the fun in funeral.
  • ❝ My boss likes me to wear a smile to work…
  • ❝ No more love. No more crime. No more nothing. I’m through…
  • ❝ Take a break and play a while, doo da, doo da.
  • ❝ Oy. Beauty school is starting to look pretty good about now. ❞
  • ❝ Sweetie, go get mommy’s bazooka. ❞
  • ❝ I struggle to make a good home for you and this is the thanks I get!
  • ❝ It’s you. The way you move… The way you… ❞
  • ❝ It’d be a shame to get blood all over my nice new outfit.
  • ❝ Ready for some slapstick?
  • ❝ I had a kitty once. You know, they don’t always land on their feet.. ❞
  • ❝ We’ve got lots of cash-ching! We’ve got so much cash-ching! ❞
  • ❝ Why won’t you tell me how you broke my hypnosic spell? ❞
  • ❝ You wanna play? Okay, let’s play
  • ❝ You’re really sick, you know that, boss?
  • ❝ Well, well, well. Looks like someone’s luck ran out. ❞
  • ❝ Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God! We-we killed him! ❞
  • ❝ Sometimes, to get where you want to go, you gotta be somebody else for a while.
  • ❝ You just can’t forget who you really are. ❞
  • ❝ Just goes to show you, never send a business man to do a psychopath’s job. ❞
  • ❝ It shouldn’t be too difficult. Just follow the mayhem.
  • ❝ If I had a hammer, I’d hammer the evening, I’d hammer in the morning, all over your skull!
  • ❝ Actually I don’t know, I am rarely in it. ❞
  • ❝ I am to busy doing the job you neglected to do. ❞
  • ❝ Well, you should be more careful, [ NAME ].  ❞
  • ❝ To what do we attribute this sudden cheerful outlook?
  • ❝ We got his credit cards; what’s to worry?
  • ❝ Wait! Want to see a movie?
  • ❝ Yahtzee! ❞
True blood son...and daughter - Damian Wayne x Sister!Reader

Summary : Your first meeting with your half-brother didn’t really went well, both of you being quite hot headed…Slowly but surely however, you guys warm up to each other. 

It’s meh, I’m so dissatisfied with my writing lately…hope you’ll still enjoy it :

(My masterlist blog here : https://ella-ravenwood-archives.tumblr.com)

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-Don’t forget I’m the true blood son ! 

-Oh yeah ? That’s funny because you know what ? I’m the true blood daughter ! So your argument is invalid. Do you think before you speak ?

Your father looked between you and Damian, not knowing what to do…This wasn’t going how he wanted it to go at all. 

******************

Your first encounter with your half-brother Damian was…tense, to say the least. One day your dad came home with the boy, and boom, I guess you had a new brother. You were super excited. At least at first. You quickly realized that he wasn’t really…the nicest. 

Even before your father explained where he came from and all, you knew he was definitely your brother. He looked almost exactly like your dad when he was a kid. Almost exactly, because his eyes weren’t blue but green, and his skin was way darker than your father’s pale complexion. Other than that…it was like seeing a mini-Bruce. You hoped he wasn’t like your dad mentally too, because that was gonna be a nightmare…And he wasn’t. He was worst. Oh my god so much worst. 

The first words he uttered to you were full of disdain : 

-You look weak. 

Your father stiffened, ready to intervene. He knew that with you, this could go only two ways : you’d loose all control and fight Damian, or ignore him completely, much like your mother would. Your mother, Catwoman, champion in ignoring people that annoy her since the day she was born. You took the second option, and with a little smile that made Damian fumed, you turned away from him, going back to the work you were doing on the bat mobile before your dad emerged with your brother. Hum. Half-brother. 

But Damian wouldn’t have it. He already met the other batboys, and he made sure they knew that Batman’s TRUE son was home. He went too you, under your father’s gaze. Your dad was still ready to lunge forward between you two. 

-Did you hear me ? 

-Yes.

Damian was confused. Even Dick, who seemed like the most collected one, reacted to his provocations. And here you were, kinda ignoring him, a smug look on your face. He had to assure his superiority on you, and you had to react for it to work !! 

-You look very weak. 

-You already said that. Redundant. 

-You look like you…

-Hey, listen, I know what you did to Dick, Jay and Tim ok ? Won’t work with me, I don’t care about your little need to feel better than us. So here we go, I’m gonna tell you know : hey, you’re better than me. Cool right ? I bet you feel great now. 

-Well at least you know your place. 

Oh damn. You were doing such a good job. You were being so calm and collected, like your father taught you. You should have kept ignoring him, just like your mom did to people she didn’t like…You knew he was eventually going to say something that’d make you mad. And here. “Know your place” ? “KNOW YOUR PLACE” ? How dare he ?!  

You stood up to face him. He was almost as tall as you, even though he was definitely years younger, no more than 10, and you were already (your age). You were kinda short. Like your mom. In the corner of your eyes, you could see your father coming towards you, but you made him understand with your eyes that he shouldn’t intervene. You needed to do this. And so he stopped, and looked at you two. 

-Do you want me to teach you your place ? 

Keep reading

korra-of-the-south  asked:

So Lance seems like the kind of guy who's depressed and hides it. Could you write about Lance having an eating disorder and Keith finding out about it and helping him?

Hey! I’m so sorry I’m late, I wrote this and then my computer decided not to work and it got deleted… And then I put it off for a while. I’m so sorry! (also I’m sorry if this isn’t the best, my own struggles with eating issues stem from my belief that I’m not good enough, and not eating was a punishment) Shitty writing tw??

Eating Disorder TW


People always imagine the fall as sudden, an obvious drop into the deep end that they can see. Lance never fell, at least not like that. No, it was a slow affair for him; the withdraw from everything so painfully slow it was almost as though nothing ever changed. Lance had stopped eating, really eating weeks ago. His frame had grown skeletal, but that was easy to hide. Baggy jeans, baggy coat, and a hell of a lot of makeup. That dazzling smile that never quite traveled past his lips distracted his team from anything else; it was easy to lose interest in someone who revolved around flirting and jokes and stupidity. 

That was Lance; the goofball, the tease. His hands were cold as they traveled up his arm and came to a stop at his bicep. He could feel his fingers trembling as he wrapped them around his upper arm, he could hear that small part of his mind screaming at him to stop, to eat, to get help, and yet… He still couldn’t fit his hand around his bicep and he still wasn’t good enough. He deserved the empty feeling of his stomach, the hollowness that drove away everything else. Lance’s eyes drifted down to his arms and he looked at them. It was only when he was alone that he didn’t wear the jacket that now lay discarded in the middle of his room, his eyes damning his body that was never thin enough, never fast enough, never strong enough, never good enough. He wasn’t worth the team’s time and he wasn’t worth their effort. 

As he pushed himself up, he wondered if that was why his team didn’t realize what was happening. He didn’t blame them, though, for not seeing it. He was just the ghost of a person, already half dead, and it was a surprise they even remembered he existed. The feeling of his jacket on his skin was harsh, and he felt each shift of the fabric on his skin as he made his way down to the dining hall, where the cheerful noises of the others drifted to his ears. His steps were near-silent, a talent he had mastered after many sleepless nights wandering the castle. 

When Lance turned into the dining hall, his body lifted, a smirk forming on his face as he sauntered to the table and slid into a chair. As per usual, the conversations that the others were already deeply engaged in barely faltered, and Lance threw in the customary pun and wink towards Allura that went, as usual, unheard. Hunk and Pidge were deep in conversation, discussing different wavelengths that would be better to use in the case of an emergency. Allura and Coran were debating as to whether they needed to stop for more crystals and other supplies for the castle, a conversation that was mainly held in Altean. Shiro and Keith were talking about weaponry and battle techniques, the current topic being sharpshooting. Keith leveled Lance with a glare as Shiro mentioned Lance’s skill, something that Keith and Lance both huffed in disbelief at. 

Burdened with Keith’s stare, Lance forced down the food goo that sat in front of him before excusing himself from the table and leaving quickly. His hand was at his stomach as he exited, unaware that Keith’s eyes followed him. 

Keith walked down the hallway, feet quiet against the metal floors as he walked towards his room. Lance’s behavior was worrying, and yet he didn’t know how to bring it up. ‘Hey Lance, recently I’ve been noticing your eyes look like a corpse’s and you’ve been withdrawing from the group in a way that makes it seem like you haven’t been. Do you want to talk?’ He shook his head and ran a hand through his hair in frustration. How was he supposed to help Lance when he didn’t even know what was wrong? 

Keith didn’t know, and that was the worst part. He heaved a sigh and turned down into the living quarters. It was then that Keith stopped dead, eyes widening as he heard the faint sound of vomiting. It was then that everything clicked together like pieces of a horrible puzzle. It was then that Keith started running, running into Lance’s room, running past the discarded jacket, running into the bathroom, where Lance was hunched over the toilet, eyes widening in horror as he saw Keith standing there, tears streaming down his face. Lance shook his head as he backed away, hands lifting to his temples.

“You can’t see this. You can’t- you can’t see this.” Lance whispered, his voice shaking. Keith stepped forward, the movement breaking the trance that held them in place, and he rushed to Lance and enveloped him in a hug. Lance was bony; too bony, and it hurt Keith as he ran his hand up and down Lance’s back, tears streaming down the Blue Paladin’s face.

“I’m sorry.” Lance cried again and again as he clenched the fabric of Keith’s shirt in his trembling fists. Keith shook his head and pulled away from Lance, eyes puffy.

“Never apologize for this. Never. Just… We’re going to work through this okay? You’re going to get better because you have to get better.” Keith said, his voice shaking despite his firm tone.

“No I don’t. I’m nothing. I’m not good enough and I’m not worth it.” Lance replied. His voice was flat, broken, and Keith closed his eyes, trying desperately to understand how Lance could even think that at all.

“Yes you do. You’re everything to m- to the team. You’re funny and kind and you’re the best shot of anyone I’ve ever seen, and you know how to crack a joke right when everyone needs it and to give the best advice when someone’s hurting, and you’re so good you’re better than good you’re better than just ‘good enough’ and you don’t deserve to ever think that.” Keith blurted as he grabbed Lance’s face, eyes desperate. How could he explain to Lance how important he was, how much he mattered, when he didn’t even have the words to say it?

“Do you really think that?” Lance whispered. His eyes were lined with silver that threatened to spill over again, and his lips quivered as he forced down a sob. Keith smiled, a chuckle breaking out of him as he pulled Lance into another hug.

“Yes Lance, I really think that. And we can figure this out. You’re going to work through this and I’ll help you and it’ll be okay. It’s going to be okay. I need you to be okay. We need you to be okay.”


Sorry it’s really bad again! Sorry it’s super late! Sorry! I’m sorry! Also thank you for the ask, I hope you like it (or at least don’t hate it, I know my experiences with eating issues/disorders is a lot different than most peoples, so:/). Thanks again, and I’m sorry again!! ahhh

Honestly people who are undiagnosed are so badass like when I wake up every day with lung pain at least I can be like oh CF is getting me again, but they get up everyday like well this is what we’re doing. And at least I know that my condition is killing me slowly and can expect such but they have no idea of what they’re experiencing is chronic or treatable or fatal. That’s balls man.

The one major issue with the Magi origin is that, because the player is dropped into the middle of a brand new world that the character has inhabited all their life, Amell or Surana will spend the entire time wandering around like “new brain who dis?”  I like to headcanon that temporary memory loss and disorientation is a well-known side effect of the lyrium taken at their Harrowing. This is why you don’t immediately know the name and backstory of the hundred or so people you’ve been locked in a tower with for at least a decade. All those templars are just rolling their eyes behind their helmets at you as you get lost trying to get to Irving’s office. They’re like oh, no, here we go again, “You can’t leave the tower, remember? You have to stay here because you’re a mage, okay? You do magic. Your name is Amell. Aaa-melll.” 

This also accounts for some of the more awkward conversations you can have with tower residents:

“Why hello, my dearest and oldest friend who I have known since we were both wee magelings, how are you today?”

“Are we fucking?”

“No. Just… No.”

12x17 I..... liked this episode ?

This is my first post-episode overview commentary because I just was surprised how much I liked this episode. There was still some wtf-ery but generally I enjoyed it and, well, I can’t help but link everything to Destiel these days and the Destiel itself was strong but man, the continued breaking down of the barriers to it becoming canon more textual just keeps coming this season. 

Dabb……

Originally posted by michael-scott-quotes

The women: Ok so I really hope they follow through on the Mary can actually “have it all” and I hope there’s a reason for Kelly’s characterisation like she’s being mind controlled by the kid, but other than that I’m pretty happy with this episode? Kelly textually said she was used. Yes, thank you.

Mary and Ketch - I didn’t…hate it? Ok so it’s a bit weird but only because we have info on Ketch that Mary doesn’t? To Mary he is her trainer, he’s charming, he helped save her boys…. she doesn’t know about Magda, Toni, maybe not even how vicious he can be…. and Mary is allowed her fair share of Winchester terrible sexual partners and she’s a big girl, she can do what and whoever she wants as long as it’s not hurting anyone. 

And there is a clear Destiel-related reason I am 100% OK WITH MARY MAKING THIS DECISION! (see below).

Crowley / Lucifer: I’m hoping this whole thing is just another set up like it was last Bucklemming episode, to be ‘fixed’ later, I’ll give them the benefit of the doubt there. 

Mick: I liked Mick, I wanted Mick to live even though I knew he wouldn’t really. At least now people wont be worried he’s replacing Cas. Oh well. Also, kind of re-cements Ketch as our bad guy. Will he still try to kill Mary? *drum roll*…

Omg the Saileen: They are cute, they HOLD GREAT EYE CONTACT and all the little smiles and flirting while at the same time wow badass hunter couple. And Sam learned more sign language?! And they talked before off screen after Coeur d’Alene and its implied they talked more than that?! Yes please! 

My head canon is that that night she still couldn’t sleep after killing whatisface snobby Brit guy (yeah, another snobby Brit guy, thanks for that), knocked quietly on Sam’s door, he wordlessly offered his hand to her, she climbed into bed with him, they cuddled and he comforted her, that is all. They are so pure and I love them.

They can be a badass hunter husband and wife and just all the cuteness.


Ok so the Destiel: 

Pining!Dean is what I live for in these kind of episodes. Whispers *Thank you Bucklemming*? 

Dean / Cas and Sam / Eileen clear romantic parallels all episode! Dean not deflecting and admitting he is worried to Sam! (Also aside - Dean admitting Mick drank him under the table and not posturing like he’s this big macho guy).

Dean called Cas 4 times… that day. I would also be worried, Cas always calls Dean back. They also text regularly. So yeah. Also the callback of Mick talking about Lucifer being in your boyfriend. Ouch. Also MORE Dean calling Cas away from Sam *satisfied face* - will add this to my already long phone call post ;) 

Ok, so the Mary/Ketch thing…

Personally, Destiel shipper hat on I hope that between the colt and this, when Dean finds out it will really cement his realisations this season about his feelings for Cas. 

If Mary can sleep with who she wants why can’t he? He’s put her on such a pedestal and she’s shown she’s human over and over again, this would cement it for Dean. And if Mary can sleep with someone she doesn’t love, who Dean knows is a psychopath (even if Mary doesn’t), why can’t Dean acknowledge his own pure, healthy feelings of love for Cas? I don’t know if I’m voicing this coherently but I have feelings about this ok. 

This season is just building so much to break down the walls around Dean / Cas: 

1. Dean generally is letting his facade down and letting his real self shine through, see ALL the meta about the whole of season 12 plus the textual whole episode of 12x11 showing us this is what we are meant to be seeing and getting from all this.

2. Cas was / is still thinking about where he belongs. Dean was / is still worried that everyone he loves will abandon him. THESE THINGS TIE IN TOGETHER AND ARE TEXTUALLY TIEING IN TOGETHER THIS SEASON.

3. Sam and Eileen are / could be a cute hunter couple and a great example. Sam doesn’t have to rely on Dean if he has someone else. Dean can move on himself much as a single parent often does once they know their child is emotionally OK. Check. 

4. Mary shows him that he doesn’t have to worry about *shame* on the family. She might even say something to this point about herself if they discuss this (I’m looking at you leaked argument between Dean and Mary in 12x21).

5. Cas has told Dean that he loves him. And yes I will go on record AGAIN to say that Sam and Dean both had an acknowledged, directed, written, face of REALISATION when Cas made the clarification and made clear the first I love you was to Dean alone. Even if it wasn’t (pffff), it was written ambiguously for a *reason*.

6. And….

Originally posted by yourfavoritedirector

It seems Dean is realising now how ‘fragile’ Cas is. He is no longer on the ‘Cas’ll be fine’ band wagon. HE IS NOT MAD, HE’S WORRIED.

There is a reason twitter is awash with - 

WHERE IS THE ANGEL?! 

- every episode since 12x12 (even 12x15 only had marginal Cas and no real Dean/Cas other than both times it was gloriously, clearly, romanticised).

We are supposed to be worried, to be missing him because Dean is worried and missing him and off course this flows through to the show’s narrative and they’re making us feel this (and I’m sure Sam too of course but its not the same).

Dabb. I see you.