should we be proud of this

what happened was fucked up but if you were angry at your own friends for being sceptical and / or one of the tens ( probably hundreds ) of people that sent ollie death threats or told him to kill himself then you should not be proud of yourself for ‘coming together in support of a victim’

anonymous asked:

why do u think people hate geminis (im a virgo and people say we’re cold like b r o)

i mean we can b really two faced n fake but i think we should all come together and recognise the real enemy: pisces

i love virgos so much tbh im so proud to b a virgo moon

Nora’s Pizzeria

I recently reloaded Nora (my nickname for my torch-rnn instance on my computer) and joked that I should come up with a data set of pizzas to make truly random pizzas. @deltheor​ delivered with the data set, I ran it, and we made some… interesting pizzas together.

QCzmaast and, Alortk Cherese, and Pizza
Pipperoni Mizza Cart, and Depsyeran-and Mozzarelsarol
Pepperosy Pizza
Pizza Chicken Sausati Pizza
Pizza Grist Chicken Pizza
Targoni Pizza
Lost Pizza with and Rolle Cheese Pizza
Beet Sasadled Ardead Pizza
Pizza Scapsa Chees
Hand Pizza
Pizzatos with-Chicken Pizza
Three Hawil
Pizza Sunders
Pizza Stuffed Pepperoni Pizza
Cheee Pizza
Slops Sausamin Pizza
Spicke Pizza
Pizza Spusato Pizza
Pizza with Samlisan Pizza
Mamh Pizza
Pizza Grott Pizza
Sausage Piz
tm,d and Poptash Chicken Pizza
Pizza Pizza Sto
Pizza Sotpo
Pizza Sliss Rith Sagle Pizza
Pizza Smupte
Rlee Poath and Fried Pizza
Blead Pizza
Topple Pizza
Bapc Dith Pizza
Threly Soumy and Pizza
fxTZEag Pizza
Whicken Pizza
Mini Lorsto,b Pizza
ern Mozzatraryhread-yosbasan Pizza
Mash Chirkes Pizz
Galake Pizza
Sweet Poath Pizzas
Pizza Grilled Pizza
Calat Pizza
Spinagh Bread Pizza
Gricken Pi
Pepperoni Pizza Cart-Micota Pizza
Sushiweg ChisceFin Cheese, and Prilader Bast and Deesh-rots
Final Pizza
Crupke Pikle
Bheet Pizza Skillems
Pizza Flad Swilef Pizza
Papperon-and Pizzages
Mami Piz

anonymous asked:

Hi! Love the prompt list! Could you do the last one with the ninth or twelve doctor? (A female character please) Thanks! 🌹💛

I’m actually quite proud at how quickly I got that one done. (Also it turned out much linger than I expected - almost 1800 words which is usually crazy for my one-shots)

Prompt 13: This wasn’t meant to be a date, but we’ve had such a good time and now it’s 2 a.m. and I should really go home…

I already did this prompt for the Ninth Doctor a while back and you can find it here, but here’s one with the Twelfth Doctor.

You passed by him on campus almost every day. You taught in the same lecture hall one after the other, and his office was just across the hall from yours. You saw him in the cafeteria, too, sitting alone while you talked with other Professors.

You saw him every day, but you didn’t talk directly to him until you accidentally left your office door open while trying to understand a mathematical error in your calculations.

“You copied plus instead of minus.”

You nearly jump at the Scottish accented voice from behind you, turning around to see the Doctor.

It equally annoyed and intrigued you that nobody knew his real name, but it was also a fact all of the Professors here had learned to accept.

“I beg your pardon?” you ask.

“Fifth line from the end,” he says, moving closer to the board and marking your mistake. “You copied plus instead of minus. I believe that should solve the problem.”

“I…” You look at the board, quickly calculating the difference made in your writing. “You’re right,” you breathe out with a smile. “One step closer. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” the Doctor replies. “It’s a simple mistake, you would have noticed it eventually.”

“Probably only after a few hours of hair-pulling,” you laugh. “Stay for a cup of tea?”

“Oh, I couldn’t -”

“Please?” you ask. “It’s the least I could do to repay you for the hair still present in my head.”

“I…” he hesitates for a moment, looking at his watch before closing the door behind him. “I suppose one cup won’t do any harm.”

“One cuppa coming right up,” you say as you put the kettle on.

“While we’re waiting,” he says, sitting down on the sofa next to the wall, “would you mind telling me what you’re working on?”

You smile as you launch into an explanation about your project, your thesis, and the problem you hope the calculations you did today would solve.

One cup quickly turns into a whole kettle and then to a second and a third as the two of you work together to solve the problem. By the end of the day, you’re significantly closer to a breakthrough in your research, and the Doctor talks about spending the rest of the week avoiding his assistant Nardole.

“Same time next week?” you offer.

This time, the Doctor doesn’t even hesitate.

“Same time next week.”

Your meetings turn into the highlight of your week. Between students asking questions you’ve answered a hundred times before, grading quizzes and dealing with the administration pushing their nose into your research, you know you have a few hours of quiet with the Doctor.

Sometimes, you meet in your office. Sometimes, in his. Occasionally, he’d help with your project.

Mostly, you talked.

“Your wife?” you ask, looking over the pictures on his desk.

“Yes,” he replies, cleaning dust from the frame with his finger. “And… my granddaughter.”

At that, your eyebrows rise in surprise. You force then back down, and try to keep your voice as even as possible when you speak.

“How come I never met them?” you ask. “I thought I’d seen everyone who come visit you.”

“They, er…” Once again with the hesitation that seemed to be involved every time you ask a personal question. “They died,” he finally says. “A long time ago.”

“Oh.” You swallow hard, uncertain what to say. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” the Doctor quickly says. “I’m fine. What about you?”

“Not much to tell,” you say, smiling sadly. “Single child. Patents passed away a few years ago. Not married,” you add with a sigh. “When your life are on the fast track… there’s not much time for any of that.”

“I didn’t want to say, but you do look a bit young to be a professor.”

“Not a professor,” you reply. “That’s what the project is for. But if administration won’t leave me in peace long enough to work on it…”

“Leave them to me,” the Doctor says. “I’ve been here long enough to know how to make them leave you alone.”

“How long have you been here?” you ask him. “I mean… some people say fifty years. Some say you’ve been here since the university opened. Nobody can tell what you’re lecturing about.”

“Well,” the Doctor starts, “you could always come and find out.”

You pause, looking at him in confusion. “What?”

“Come to one of my lectures,” he says.

“I can’t,” you immediately say.


“I’m busy,” you reply. “I have my project, my classes, visiting hours.”

“Tuesday between twelve and two,” the Doctor says. “My lecture’s just after yours, and I know you’re free.”

“You know?” you repeat, pieces falling into place as you remember something from the week before. “You had Nardole follow me.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.”

“And if I did?” he asks. “Just one lecture. You won’t regret it.”

You look at him with a smile as the students file out of the lecture hall. Some have come forward to ask him questions, so you wait patiently by the blackboard.

He sure loves to hear the sound of his own voice, you think to yourself. It’s a good thing you love the sound of his voice, too.

When the last question is answered, he turns to you with a curious smile.

“So?” he asks. “What do you think?”

“Time and relative dimension in space,” you read out.

The Doctor’s smile turns into a smirk.

“Yes…” he drawls. “I believe I said that already.”

“Oh, shut up,” you laugh. “My point was that it spelled TARDIS.”


“The box in your office,” you say. “That’s how you call her.”

For the first time since you meet him, the Doctor pauses with complete shock.

“What?” he asks.

“I said that’s how you call your box -”

“No, no, no,” the Doctor says. “You said that’s how I call her.”

“Well…” you start. “I heard you talk about the box as a ‘she’ before, and I know she has a name. I mean, who am I to judge? I had a roommate who called her pen ‘Max’, a female box isn’t that much of a leap.”

Of all the responses you expected, the Doctor smiling at you wasn’t one that came to your mind.

“Listen,” he said, “there’s a bar on the other end of campus, that I play at sometimes. Do you want to come today? I’ll play a few songs, but we can talk in between.”

“Are you…” you start carefully, overly aware of the ring on the Doctor’s finger. You know he’s a widow, but the ring still being present means he’s still grieving. “Are you actually asking me out on a date?”

“What?” All of the sudden, the Doctor looks alarmed. “I… well, no, I… as friends,” he clarifies. “Would you like to join me tonight as two… colleagues going to a bar together.”

“Oh.” You can feel heat rising up your cheeks. It was a stupid thing to ask, that much is clear, but you couldn’t help but hope. “If that’s so then, er… yeah. Sure. Colleagues.”

The Doctor nods, and you can see that he’s almost as uncomfortable as you are. Nervously, you clear your throat.

“I should go now,” you say. “Visiting hours and all.”

“Right,” the Doctor says. “Yeah.”

“Oh,” you add just as you reach the door. “I forgot to tell you - I know what you’re teaching about.”

“Really?” the Doctor asks. “And what would that be?”


The night at the bar was lovely, if a bit awkward. You thoroughly enjoyed your conversations, as always, and it was nice to find out about the Doctor’s hidden talent with a guitar.

By the time you leave the bar, it’s way past when you planned to return home, and the Doctor insists escorting you home. In return, you insist on him staying for a cup of tea when you arrive.

“That last song you played,” you say as you take off your coat and put the kettle on. “How’s it called.”

“‘I Don’t Remember’,” the Doctor replies, and you smile.

“A beautiful name for a beautiful song,” you tell him before frowning as you see him look around with a troubled expression. “What is it?” you ask. “Something wrong with my flat?”

“Not wrong,” the Doctor says. “It’s just… sad.”

“Well, what about your place?” you question. “Is it also… sad?”

“Feels so, lately,” he replies. “More than ever.”

The two of you are silent for a few moments before you speak again.

“I saw you took a student,” you say. “Potts, right?”

“Bill, yes,” the Doctor nods. “She’s a good student.”

“She smiles when she doesn’t understand,” you note.

“Yeah…” the Doctor smiles. “She does, doesn’t she? A rare breed.” He looks at the window as rain starts falling and the smile drifts off his face. “I should go. I still need to get to the other end of campus…”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you say. “It’s past 2am and it just started to rain. You going back to your place doesn’t make sense. Stay here. I can take the couch.”

“No, y/n -”


You grab his hand and freeze, your eyes traveling down to look at his fingers - or, more accurately, what isn’t on his fingers.

“You took off your ring.”

“Yeah,” the Doctor says. “I did.”


“I…” he sighs. “I loved River. And a part of me always will love her. But… she died. A long time ago.”

Suddenly, you’re overly aware of how close the two of you are. You can hear his heartbeat, faster twice than any you ever heard before.

“I really should go,” he mutters.

“Doctor?” you whisper.



You don’t know if it’s his lips that find yours or the other way around. As you slowly lead him away from the door and towards your bedroom, kettle long forgotten, you decide that you don’t care.

The next morning, you wake up to an empty bed and a note on your night shed.

Sorry I couldn’t stay, Nardole called and apparently something came up.

You don’t bother to hide the smile on your face as you pull out your phone and send a short text message.

Same time next week?

Barely moments pass before you receive a reply.

Same time next week.


Meet Mexico’s unlikely hero: a 7 year old labrador named Frida.

Frida is part of the special Canine Search and Rescue Group that works with the Mexican Marine, and prior to yesterday’s earthquake she had saved 52 lives in Honduras, Ecuador, Haiti, and Oaxaca.
She started her training when she was two years old, and she hasn’t stopped making our country proud ever since.

After the 7.1 earthquake that happened on September 19th, Frida was quick to get to work, and she has been able to rescue 12 lives so far, aside from locating the bodies of more than 20 people.

Merlin deleted scenes otherwise known as:

“Julian, it’s just too gay, we’ve got to cut it, I’m sorry.”

Minneapolis Show

Seán, thank you so much for such an amazing night last night! I can’t tell you how much it meant to me to actually see you in person. You should be so proud of the show that you and everyone that has helped has put together, and I’m so proud of you for everything you’re doing. I hope you had as good of a time up there on stage as we did watching you. Thank you so much. ❤ @therealjacksepticeye

It’s crazy to me that after all Taylor has been through, all the anxiety she expressed feeling before and during writing Reputation because of forces and judgements out of her control, she still has it in her heart to trust us one hundred per cent? She called the Secret Sessions a sacred space, and now I totally understand. There was a bond in that room that didn’t even need to be spoken. She’s so right though, you can’t know if you can trust someone…..until you trust them. So unless we break this trust, it’s here to stay. We should feel bloody proud of what we’ve got going, here. It’s one of a kind, for sure.

If listening to night vale for like the past four years didn’t shape my cryptic, existential, and borderline nihilistic sense of humor then man idek what did

  • What she says: I'm fine
  • What she means: Troye Sivan left youtube without any sort of goodbye. Like I know he's growing up and away from that quirky and cute 19-year-old, I still feel we were a part of him and maybe even got him started. Now he's blond and acting all older and I know I should be proud and there for him it's just he kinda just pressed the whole delete button on his past life and I'm not okay with it but I still love him.
The Butler is indeed trying to tell us something, and it’s not about the wine collection.

The Butler sends us down ahead of him to check the cellar. He gives us a short headstart. We discover the smashed (empty) bottle but nothing else seems amiss. The Butler then is seen sprinting into the room, and it’s clear he was already running before he rounded the corner. He can’t possibly have seen the bottle before he started his mad dash. 

He quickly sweeps up the glass shards while very dramatically wailing about how upset Mark would be by the mess, “…if only he were still alive!!” 

I think the Butler is giving us a hint twofold: 

Mark is still alive, and he’s somewhere in that cellar.

I’m betting there’s a hidden door/passage of some sort in the wine cellar, behind which Mark is being held prisoner. The broken bottle is the Butler’s decoy prop should anyone question why we both went down to the cellar–we heard a crash. He’s howling so loudly as we leave to make sure we get his point, as well as to keep up the appearance of grieving servant, so the killer(s) don’t find out he knows Mark isn’t dead and make him the next target.

God I love murder mysteries.

anonymous asked:

Your blog is like that one friend who throws kit kats at people's head which is to say Great and I Have A Dependency On It

this is such a specific metaphor i love it

  • *lance voice* “you guys should build the mice a mouse voltron. like a little voltron action figure that could kick your ass. that’d be so cute”
  • how betrayed do you think coran was when red chose lance
    • i mean! he’s proud! of course he is!
    • but like… lance didn’t even have a cape on :/
  • allura, after meeting the paladins: “are we… friends now?” shiro: “if we say yes will you let us live” allura: “ha! good one new best friend”
  • pidge’s current concern is that green might be salty at her for being a dog person
  • hunk toggles between “hype man” and “most embarrassing best friend possible”
    • hunk: [supports lance no matter how bad the comeback]
    • also hunk: “oh is this about your handcuff thing-” “I DON’T HAVE A HANDCUFF THING”
  • hunk: “i dunno about this man. jumping out of planes is dangerous. they say one in five people don’t even make it to the ground.” keith: “??? what do you mean they don’t make it to the ground??? where do they go???”
know it all — p.p.

summary : may parker can’t fathom that you and her nephew aren’t dating yet- she can’t wait forever, you know, and she knows it’s going to happen eventually. when has may ever been wrong?

word count : 3k

author’s note : long time no see?? LOL sophomore year is successfully kicking my ass but i wrote this and it’s semi long so?? 

   May Parker prides herself on a lot of things- namely, her stunning resilience in the face of immense adversity, and the way she just seems to know things. She can’t help it, it’s her not so lame superpower and she uses it on Peter all the time, much to his annoyance. She earns a roll of the eyes whenever she says something out of the blue, so profound Peter can’t help but contemplate its credibility for the hours that follow their interactions. She knows things, she does, and she knows that you and her nephew are as meant to be as her and Ben were- are, she chastises herself sometimes- and she knows it so truly in the deepest recesses of her heart that the fact that you and Peter aren’t together is something that goes right over her head. 

   “Peter, hon, when’s your girl coming over? I miss having other ladies in the house,” she says one day, interrupting the silence that had settled upon the pair  as Peter recited the periodic table of elements so naturally in his head in preparation for a quiz the following day. Peter loses track somewhere between lithium and beryllium or maybe it was phosphorus, he doesn’t know anymore, when he hears May call you that, his girl, and he shakes his head at her wildly. “What? What’d I say?” May points her wooden spoon at him, and Peter’s reminded that she’s Italian for the fifth time that day. 

   “May, she’s not- she’s not my, like, girlfriend,” he stresses each syllable the word carries, practically throwing his pencil across the table when he turns his chair to get a better view of his aunt as she prepares dinner- pasta, again, because she claims it’s the only thing she can’t possibly mess up. “You know that! Y/N’s been my best friend forever.” 

    “You realize you can be best friends with your girlfriend, don’t you?” Peter can sense May’s eyes rolling even though he can’t see her since she’s facing the stove with her back turned. “You two have definitely kissed. You can’t tell me you haven’t.” 

    Peter’s entire face feels hot when she says that, his hands clammy when he presses them together against his cheeks, placing his elbows on the table to prop his head up. “That’s embarrassing, May. Why would you ever ask me that?” He runs his hands through his hair and the gel is so terribly packed on it that the carefully prepared hairstyle comes undone with one swift movement. “We haven’t, in case you’re wondering, which I know you are because you’re nosy.” Peter feels the spoon lightly poke into his back, a playful warning. 

   “Anyways,” May continues loudly, “as I was saying before, your girlfriend should come over for dinner sometime this week. I’m making pasta.” She grins before placing a bowl of penne in front of Peter, his least favorite pasta shape. Peter scowls at the penne but picks up his fork anyway and shoves some in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully for a moment before giving May a thumbs up. At least she was proud of it. “I won’t make penne if you get her to come over.” 

    She knows she’s got him when she sees the slow, unsure nod start. He sticks his hand out, and May shakes it happily. “Only because of the penne. I want bowties. Please,” he gives his aunt his best, brightest, sweetest smile he can form, much like the ones that come so naturally when he turns his gaze to look at you- but May won’t bring that up just yet. “And don’t make girlfriend jokes in front of her.” His utensil stabs into the pasta as he thinks to himself, ‘cause if you keep it up in front of her, she’ll think I’m a weirdo and I’ll never genuinely get to call Y/N that, ever. Honestly, he’d much rather launch himself headfirst off of the Empire State Building than never get to experience kissing you, holding your hand, being with you in all those sorts of hopelessly romantic ways that he daydreams about regularly. He’s doing it again, slipping into that endless reverie he always seems to find himself lost in. But it’s okay. His mind is a chasm of soft loves and sweet words shared between the two of you. It’s a beautiful, long mess of a dream. 

   “You lost, Pete?” May snaps her fingers in front of his face, bemused. 

    “A little,” he sighs in that dreamy tone she recalls her own self indulging in so fondly in her younger years. His gaze becomes hazy again, like he’s on another plane entirely, but she lets him be. For now. 

    Peter knows he’s dressing up a little too much for just a friend. He’s spraying too much strong cologne and gelling his hair excessively and praying you won’t notice the fact that it’ll be dryer than the leaves in the wintertime, but it’s all too much for someone he insists is his best friend and his best friend alone, nothing more and nothing less, certainly not his girlfriend. Never that, right? Peter frowns at his reflection and tilts his head down, rubbing his head in attempt to remove most of the gel that had been a serious mistake in the first place. You preferred his hair curly, anyway. Not that he cared. Not in the slightest. He puts on the sweater that you once said looked lovely on him and he wears his nice jeans, the ones without that stupid hole near the butt cheek that you can’t really see unless you’re trying

   His cheeks flush when May gives a tiny, satisfied smirk upon seeing his perfectly put together outfit. He acts as if no time at all was spent on his appearance, but she knows him, like she knows everything else, and she knows that he’s been holed up in the bathroom for over twenty minutes now trying to see which shirt matched his eyes best and debating the chances of you realizing that this was the sweater you liked the most on him before he put it on and beamed at himself in the mirror. Maybe it was the color or the stitching or the fabric but he was starting to like this one much more, too. 

   “You look very handsome, sweets,” May says to him, squeezing his shoulder as she brushes past him to place a salad on the table. Peter surveys the salad with a strange look on his face. 

   “Why’d you make a salad? Since when does Y/N eat salad?” He raises his eyebrows at her, before adding with haste, “not that I don’t love your salad, Aunt May, ‘cause I do. I promise.”  

   Aunt May places her hands on her hips, peering at him through the tops of her glasses in a way that makes her look too wise for someone as young as she was. “I’m making a good impression, obviously.” 

   “You’ve known her for like ten years now, the time for good impressions is over, May. You missed your chance.”

   “This is the first time I’m seeing Y/N as your girlfriend, though!” Peter lets out the loudest groan imaginable, running his hands over his cheeks and slapping his forehead with great vexation. 

   “Still not my girlfriend,” he insists on insisting, taking the extra plates out of her busy hands and helping to set the small kitchen table. 

   May smooths back a loose strand of hair from his forehead with a kind, teasing grin on her face. “Doesn’t mean you don’t want her to be, kiddo.” 

   He can’t possibly argue with that sort of logic, especially not when his aunt hits the nail right on the head in that peculiar way she has a habit of doing, so he just smiles and kisses May on the cheek. There’s a knock on the door less than a second later, and the pair scramble for the upper hand before Peter beats her to it and nearly flies to grab the handle of it and yank it open so he can greet you accordingly, slightly out of breath with his hair flopping to one quite nicely and a joyous smile making its way across his mouth when he sees you for the first time that day. May hovers earnestly behind him, hands fluttering over her nephew’s shoulders so she can push past him to wrap you in a hug if need be. Sometimes Peter has the impression that May adores you even more than he does; he wasn’t sure if he should be glad for that, or a bit offended that you seemed to return the blatant favoritism with ardency. 

   There was a brief second where your eyes raked over your best friend’s face with soft admiration, hidden as carefully as you could manage. When you met his appreciative gaze you felt the palms of your hands clam up and so you cast your look back to his aunt and playfully pushed past him to give her a hug. 

   Peter, offense overriding his previously somewhat moonstruck expression, backed away from you when you finally turned toward him with your arms outstretched. “Oh, now I get a hug? Interesting,” he rolls his eyes in a teasing manner, unable and unwilling to conceal his little, loving smile that appeared when you pried his arms off his chest and defiantly wrapped them around yourself as you hugged him. “Didn’t seem so interested in hugging me when you were shoving me away to get to May,” he says, craning his neck to stare at you whilst continuing to drag the embrace out for as long as possible. 

   “You’re still my favorite Parker,” you reply, poking his chest lightly. Then you turn away before you can say anything else that could be considered too revealing of certain, carefully concealed feelings that had the possibility of being detrimental to a beautiful friendship that had manifested over the years into something more, but not quite, not yet. “Sort of,” you put as an afterthought, lest he get any ideas about you feeling… something for him. “Anyways, what’s for dinner, May?” You anticipate pasta, and when May announces the dish with a great flourishing of her hand, you grin. Typical, yes, but nothing if not welcomed. 

  Peter, gentleman that he is, pulls out your chair for you, and you let yourself imagine that he’s doing it as a chivalrous boyfriend and not simply a polite friend. He imagines the same, though. Imagines that he’s on a date with you and he pulls out your chair and smiles kindly and lovingly- and he basks in this image for as long as he can. May calls you over then, and the daydream is shattered. You make your way over to her in the kitchen, leaning against the counter. 

   May lowers her voice before speaking, “Y/N, I’m gonna need you to explain something to me,” she starts. You nod, raising your eyebrows at her. “Explain why you and Peter aren’t together yet. Honestly, honey, I just can’t understand it.” She talks with her hands the way Peter does. 

   “Uh- what? I, um, I don’t… understand?” Your voice cracks a little, as if having May practically shove your less than friendly feelings for Peter back in your face wasn’t embarrassing enough. “We’re, um, you know, like, friends.” 

   Her hand waves dismissively, pushing that sentence away. “No, no, see that’s what he said, too! I have to disagree. I know everything, kiddo, and I know that you two are going to make it as a couple, so if that’s what your afraid of, don’t be. Go for it. I see the same thing in him that I see in you right now, and that thing is love. So, I’m going to need you to go make my nephew the happiest kid on Earth and tell him you’re falling in love with him, and you’ll see that he’s going to say the same thing to you. Trust me. Aunt May knows all,” she shrugs in a casual manner, brushing her confidence off, before she steers you around and gently pushes you back toward the tiny dining room table where Peter sits awkwardly fiddling with his thumbs with his lip caught between his teeth. 

   “Hi,” you almost whisper, settling down in your seat across from him. 

   He glances up. “Hey,” he says, smiling again. A reflex, in your presence. He clears his throat, then asks, “So, what’d you and May talk about?” He knows May loves him as if he were her son, which for all intents and purposes he is, but he can’t be sure of her secrecy. He wouldn’t put it past his aunt to let slip “accidentally” that he liked you, loved you, cared for you. 

   You take a sip of your glass of water that Peter must have filled in your absence from the table. You had a tendency to take sips of your drink when in uncomfortable conversations, or conversations you felt nervous in. He notes that. “Oh, um, nothing really… but if were gonna talk about it, I’d wanna do it in, like, private?” You twirl your straw around your drink, mixing the ice in the glass. Peter abruptly stands from his chair. You watch him sling a jacket around his shoulders and throw one of his sweaters at you, which you catch easily. “You wanna go now?” 

   He nods, licking his lips anxiously. “No better time than the present, right?” If you’re going to confront him and crush his heart with a single sentence that stands along the lines of I see you as a friend, he wants it done sooner rather than later. He wants it over with, so he can go back to his suffering in comfortable silence and start an attempt to move past this crush the way he had easily drifted away from his crush on Liz Allan. You fumble with the sweater as you stand. “May, we’re gonna step out for a bit!” Peter announces, opening the front door of his apartment and letting you slip out first. He doesn’t wait for her response before he disappears, too. May watches the two of you leave and feels her heart grow twice its size. 

  You’re standing outside the apartment building ten minutes later in the chilly autumn breeze, thankful for the cologne scented sweater that rests over your body like a warm blanket. Peter’s hands are never cold, and so they linger outside of his pockets as opposed to yours, shoved inside the front pocket of the sweater he’s given you. He reaches for your hands wordlessly and rubs them over his. “You’re always freezing,” he laughs quietly, lacing his fingers through yours with a new burst of confidence that you find endearing as you squeeze his hands. “Hey, wanna know something? You might know it already but, I figure I should tell you myself, if you wanna know.” He swings his hands back and forth, and yours swing along with his. 

   “Yeah, please,” you insist, twisting your head to the side to sweep the windswept hair out of your face. One of Peter’s hands comes up to brush it out of the way, typical and cliche and an overplayed move but none of that matters when the action is being carried out, because it makes your stomach constrict in that funny way and your heart melt into a puddle on the dirty sidewalk. His fingers linger over the softness of your cheek, and he keeps his hand there to see what you’ll say about it. You say nothing, let remain there. “You gonna tell me or not?” 

  “Should I- I could maybe…” he sucks on the bottom of his lip. “Forget it, I don’t know how to speak properly around you like this.” You start to protest, demand he tell you because you won’t be able to stop thinking about this if he doesn’t, but every word dies before it can touch the edge of your lips. Peter has his head lowered down toward you and he’s kissing you, a thought that’s crossed your mind more times than you were able to count but now, it’s happening. Real lips pressed against yours feverishly, shyness forgotten in the heat of the moment. When he pulls away first, it returns and collides with him as if he’s hit a brick wall, and his cheeks burn red. He makes no move to back away, still. “D-Did I step out of line? Was that okay? Do you hate me? ‘Cause if you do we can go back upstairs or you can leave and then on Monday we can pretend that this never happened because you’re still my best friend no matter what even if it’s awkward-” 

   Your hands clasp together around the back of his neck as you yank him down toward you again, and this time you kiss him back. You can feel him smiling so hard it makes it difficult to kiss him, but when you break away to tell him that, he just laughs and smiles harder and keeps kissing you. He doesn’t know how to stop now that’s he had the opportunity. You’re both laughing hysterically and trying to kiss properly and his nose bumps against yours repeatedly, and it’s the most perfect first kiss in the world. 

   He keeps his hand firmly grasped in yours when you go back upstairs to his seventh floor apartment, opens the door for you and everything. May is sitting at the table, turns her head to the both of you and peers at you from the top of her glasses. Peter raises his hand and yours, triumphant. May claps her hands together as he, your boyfriend, declares proudly, “Aunt May, I would like to formally introduce you to my girlfriend, Y/N Y/L/N, who I hope will be sticking around?” He looks to you for reassurance, and gets what he needs from the happy kiss you bestow upon the side of his face. 

   “I told you two I know everything!” Is what breaks the joyous silence, and then the laughter starts again; a perfectly lovely family. 

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Dipper was heroic in order to save his sister 

Mabel was heroic when she stood up to Celestabellabethabelle 

Pacifica was heroic when she stood up to her parents to save the town

Wendy was heroic when she fought the Shapeshifter for Dipper’s journal

 Robbie was heroic when he cared for Wendy’s eye and it was sweet of him to do that 

Gideon was heroic when he stood up to Bill and joined the good side

Soos was heroic when he gave up his high score to save the kids 

McGucket was heroic when he saved the gang from the Society of the Blind Eye

Ford was heroic when he stopped the octopus creature from attacking the family 

Stan was heroic when he sacrificed his memory to save the world from Bill 

And as a bonus, Bill was heroic when he became a statue and left us all alone :) 

So as you can see, the Bill Cipher Wheel characters have done many heroic acts and we should forever remember and cherish them :*)

We love you Dan! I am so proud of him for his latest video where he really opened up. His video really touched my heart because he helped me become the person I am and just hearing what he’s gone through reminded me that no one is perfect and even the people who help us through tough times have their own problems and everyone should remember that.

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Natural - Bill Skarsgard x Reader

Title: Natural

Pairing: Bill Skarsgard x Reader

Warnings: None

Summary: Imagine Bill seeing you interact with little Jackson on set and realizing he wants to have kids with you.

A/N: (Y/s/n) = Your Superhero Name, Y’all little Georgie is everything! And I’m not the one to easily find kids adorable or say I’d want a kid like that but oh dear!

“Are you sure you’ll be alright?” Bill asked with an adorable frown as he looked down at you and you chuckled, rolling your eyes.

“Bill you don’t have to worry about me, I already have an amazing company!” you grinned, turning to look at Jackson who was barely able to hold all of the comics in his small hands.

“You two will get along perfectly fine.” he breathed out with a small chuckle and you giggled after looking at your small fan and then back at your boyfriend.

“We already are.” you winked “Come on now, go be a big scary clown and don’t get all messy with the blood, children are not like eating chicken and you know it. Bones are bigger and there usually is a whole lot more blood, cause you practically eat them alive and yeah.” you leaned in and pecked his lips as he laughed at you.

“You’re so weird.” he made a funny face but still looked at you with adoration.

“But that’s why you love me.” you breathed out, your hands resting on his chest “And if you need any tips on red lipstick I am always here, baby.” you winked with a giggle and he chuckled.

“You are… amazing.” he breathed out, cupping your face before fully kissing you on the lips.

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I think it’s an important detail to mention that Taylor is dreaming through the night, about Joe, rather than being awake at 2am.

“In the middle of the night, in my dreams
You should see the things we do, baby
In the middle of the night, in my dreams
I know I’m gonna be with you
So I take my t

Like, she finally feels secure enough in her relationship, and safe enough, in life, to sleep peacefully through the night and wake up smiling. Not only that, but she’s dreaming of a future with him. She’s no longer dreaming about someone leaving her, just wanting them to stay, or experiencing restless nights. When they’re together, it’s full of contentment and comfort, and that’s all she’s ever deserved.

theo raeken’s character development; a summary

theo raeken was the enemy. he was a power-hungry, egotistical, cold-hearted maniac. all he wanted was power, to be an alpha. we learned theo’s history and what he did, and all do us somehow knew that theo was going to do something else, be someone else.

theo raeken wasn’t who we thought he was. he had been brainwashed form an early age by the dread doctors and we saw that he lacked affection. because of the doctors he lacked friends, he didn’t have a pack. it was obvious theo did want a pack (though he did kill his old pack, but i’ll address that later) and because of that he went after the mccall pack. he killed his old pack because he knew that it would never be had good as what scott mccall had. theo wasn’t a bad guy, he just lacked the affection throughout his life.

theo raeken had changed. after being banished to hell and coming back, we could all sense he was different. he had changed and it seemed like he knew that what he did was wrong. in 6a theo fought with the pack in order to truly show that he had changed. in 6b he fought because it was right.

theo raeken is apart of the pack. though he wasn’t part of the end sequence it showed that he was part of the pack. scott had grown to like theo, to trust him. melissa mccall could now fight alongside him without fear. liam could now be alone with him for hours without needing to watch his back. mason and corey, members of the pack weren’t in the end sequence but we still knew they were apart of it, and it should be the same for theo.

theo raeken had finally found a pack—a family—and with that found a better version of himself. theo seemed to be finally happy with who he was.