shrug of the shoulder

Pretending

Sometimes, as an INTP, it’s so much easier to pretend to be ignorant about something than it is to try to explain what I think about it to people. When people ask me my opinion about something, I’d rather pretend that I know nothing about it then try to explain the thirty-seven sides of the story that I can see. Also, once I start explaining something I generally think of points that I hadn’t thought of before.

So, if I shrug my shoulders when you ask for my opinion, then, for your own sanity, don’t ask me again!

anonymous asked:

Dialogue List: 11! Reader telling Reggie 😫😭🙈😍

“Why are you pushing me away?”
“Because Reggie,” you answered, pushing past him in the hallway. He quickly followed, “I don’t want to deal with you right now.”
“What did I do?” he pleaded, grabbing your arm. You yanked it out of his grip and continued moving.
“If you don’t know what you did,” you responded, “then we have another problem.
”(Y/N),“ he grabbed both of your shoulders and turned your body towards him, forcing you to stop in the middle of the hallway. “Please, tell me.” You shrugged his hands off your shoulders but made no move to leave.
“Because you’ve been terrible to my friends, Reggie,” you finally answered. “It’s bad enough that when we started dating, none of them approved. I wanted to prove them wrong and show them that you’re not a bad guy. That’s kinda hard to do when you’re always being a dick.”
“I’m not that bad,” he argued. You rolled your eyes and began to leave. “Wait!”
“What, Reggie?”
“I’m sorry,” he apologized, stepping forward and holding your hands in his. “I shouldn’t be such an asshole to your friends. I’m sorry, and I’ll try to be better.”
“Promise?” you asked meekly. He smiled and nodded, pulling you into a hug.
“Promise.”

maawi  asked:

Was my robe this pink and fluffy yesterday morning, Mace wondered calmly, while some part of his awfully sleep-deprived brain screamed in horror.

Was my robe this pink and fluffy yesterday morning, Mace wondered calmly, while some part of his awfully sleep-deprived brain screamed in horror. Then he shrugged and dragged it over his shoulders anyway, dismissing it as a lingering dream he’d soon wake from, and then have to drag himself through his whole morning routine all over again—this time for real. 

The last three days had been entirely surreal as it was: doors sliding back and forth entirely without reason, as if startled by a puff of air; lifts traveling up and down repeatedly between floors without stopping, experimenting with rates, then dropping down to the lowest levels no one had even used in years; the bloody announcement system blaring music at 0300—music that should have died in a Hutt hole on Nar Shadda, for Force’s sake. Council meeting minutes had been committed to datapad by hand, but mission details and rosters were, more often than not, inaccessible. 

The commissary food, remarkably, had been much improved. Mace absently considered decommissioning the droids altogether, then wondered if there was any way to preserve whatever particular bug had been spawned in their coding. 

Coding. Right. 

A few days ago, Tahl had approached the Council with a request to ‘make some changes’ to Temple security, with the assistance of Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker. They had argued, convincingly, that the system should have been updated years ago—several times, in fact, since Obi-Wan had first hacked it with Tahl’s help at the age of fourteen. Anakin, now twelve, had managed the same in under three hours, entirely unassisted. They also added that if the Council did not allow them to make changes, they’d go ahead and do it anyway, since obviously nothing was stopping them. Eventually they—begrudgingly—owned up to the fact that Anakin’s exploits had not gone unnoticed, and in fact Master Jocasta Nu was out for blood since half of the Archives had apparently winked out of existence (not erased, just temporarily inaccessible, gods only knew why). 

The Council had been persuaded by the argument, and assigned a Master-Padawan pair of Shadows to ‘assist’ (to oversee, and possibly control the potentially destructive trio, to mitigate disaster). 

The Council really should have considered the character of the Shadows in question; as it turned out, the two could give Tholmé’s entire lineage a run for their money. 

No one had heard from all five of them in the last three days—no surprise there, as some had had about as favourable a reaction to the various malfunctions as Jocasta Nu herself. Mace also privately suspected that the Padawans and Initiates had taken advantage of the chaos to unleash a truly wild array of various pranks. 

Mace was beginning to think this morning dream was getting a bit too long. He hadn’t run across anyone yet, but no one seemed to notice the robe, or just gave it an arch glance in passing and said nothing. Honestly everything was too blasted normal. 

Finally he turned the corner to the residence hall that currently housed the Kenobi-Jinn lineage. Qui-Gon, it appeared, was just stepping out of his quarters as Mace approached, and looked up with some apprehension at the sense of an approaching Council member. Mace was just thinking he ought to find time to pay the man more casual visits when he saw Qui-Gon’s diplomatic mask slam down tightly over his features. Some mischief was surely afoot, then. 

“Morning, Qui-Gon,” Mace called. “I’ve been looking for your Padawan and Knight-partner, and one rather tall wily Noorian, is there any chance you might have seen them?”

Qui-Gon coughed lightly. “Mace, what are you wearing?”

Mace stopped, then carefully dared to look down. 

Robe. Hot—practically neon—pink. Fluffy. 

Alright, so he was awake, then. Finally, someone showed a reasonable reaction. 

“Actually, that’s exactly what I wanted to talk to them about,” Mace said, a little too casually. “The laundry looked a bit bright this morning. I wanted to know if the laundry droids had lost their collective sanity, or if Skywalker had somehow managed to release hallucinogens into the water.” 

Qui-Gon nodded, like this was the most normal thing he’d heard all year. “Definitely the laundry.”

“That brings me to the second question,” Mace said, looking up again, managing to sound almost plaintive: “why couldn’t it have been purple?”


crack fic? have a crack fic. blame @obaewankenope​ for crack fic. 

1 + 5 sentence meme (aka saner cannot count) | send another

ignitesthestars replied to your post “Do u think you’ll be able to get it done by this weekend”

MAN i really don’t understand why these people are up on your dick constantly about this chapter, have they never…read…a fanfiction…before?

shit can take a while people, settle down

im so spiteful on your behalf about this always

i appreciate the spite hahaha

i wish i was a faster writer or was more okay with just publishing my shitty first drafts and shrugging my shoulders at the quality, but…… i am not lol

the weirdest thing about a lot of the common criticisms of millennials i see is that they all seem to boil down to:

you are soft. you believe the world should be kind. you expect people to treat you fairly. you think your needs are important, that you deserve to be listened to, that you shouldn’t be hungry and frightened and in pain. 

and people are seriously SO OFFENDED by this. like, how dare you. how dare you believe the world might be a good place, how dare you believe you should be treated well just for existing. life is pain, princess, anyone who tells you different is selling something, now wipe that smile off your face, shut your mouth and go suffer like i did.

and it’s just like… i have a kid. if she grows up expecting better treatment than i experienced as a young woman, i’m doing my job. i know the world isn’t perfect, but random cruelty isn’t something we should just shrug our shoulders and accept, and it’s so fucking weird how angry people get at youngsters who refuse to do just that.

3

#goD these two #peggy’s literally on the edge of her life #running away from people she works with #some of which she probably even trusted #who are after her for crimes she hasn’t committed #and they don’t even bat an eyelid #all of them instantly go to find her so as they can lock her up #they don’t even think about if Peggy is actually not guilty #even though Peggy has done countless of things to prove herself trustworthy #and then here’s Angie #precious cinnamon roll Angie Martinelli #(who doesn’t even fully know about her friend’s double agent ‘job’ #and the reality of Peggy’s life) #deciding at this very moment #that she is going to protect Peggy #she’s going to lie to FEDERAL AGENTS #put her life and job and home at risk #because Peggy is in trouble #and she’ll be damned if she’s just gonna watch that happen #if Peggy’s life is on the line #then so is hers #Angie Martinelli is Peggy Carter’s shield just as much as Peggy is hers #and I love it so so much

Imagine finding out about Jughead’s living situation and offering to sneak him in your room every night so he has a place to sleep

“I-I don’t think that would be a good idea Y/N.” Jughead said, with a hand gripping the strap of his backpack. “What if your parents find out?” 

You shrugged your shoulders, and let out a sigh. “Then they find out. But I don’t care. I would rather get in trouble than know you are out in the street with nowhere to go.”

A smile crept up on his face as he took in every word you spewed. 

“Now lets go to Pop’s. Get you a burger and fries.” You muttered. “Don’t worry, its my treat.” 

Jughead chuckled to himself, shaking his head as he quickly glanced around before looking back at you. “I don’t know what I would do without you.” 

You both started toward your car, your arms crossed over your chest. “You know, I ask myself that same question. I am pretty great.” 

Originally posted by dailyriverdale

Humans Are Weird

Oh gosh, guys, what if humans are the only known species to have brain farts!!

It was the second time in two minutes. Human Sergei came onto the third floor’s common, only to stand in the doorway with a blank look on his visage before turning around and walking back out.

“Do you think he’s ill?” I said to Crewmate Thrifsk Sark.

She shrugged, the translucent ribbons of skin protruding from her shoulders rippling. “Crewmate Human Sergei is a strange one,” she replied. “I’ve learned to ignore his behaviour during leisure hour.”

The muscles in my lower visage clenched and I turned back in time to see Human Sergei arrive a third time. Far from a blank expression, though, he wore one of irritation.

“That’s it!” he shouted. “Can someone please tell me what I came in here for?”

His demand was met with shock, and all six of the crew present in the room immediately surrounded the human.

“Are you injured?”

“Are you sick?”

“Why can’t you remember?”

“Someone fetch Medical!”

“I AM FINE!” Human Sergei bellowed. “I just can’t remember what I came in…! OH! Wait!” His exclamation startled me and I fell back a step. He beamed at me. “Medical! Chief wants you in the sick bay, Dorg. There was a malfunction with one of the stasis pods.”

“Swirling gasses, is anyone hurt?” I squealed, grabbing my crewmate by his arm and dragging him out of the common. “Is it occupied?”

“No, no. Nothing like that. It’s just smoking a little.”

A stasis pod was smoking?!?

“How did you forget that a stasis pod was smoking?” I demanded.

Human Sergei lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug as we ran. “Blame it on the brain fart, man.”

head canon time: kent’s older sister plays in the nwhl and kent hella looks up to her (you know she still regularly picks him up and physically moves him if he’s annoying her). whenever her team plays and kent has time, he turns up to watch. and when kent starts dating tater he brings him along as well. nobody is surprised by that. however, nobody is expecting the wave of people that follow because tater is friends with everybody plus he’s able to make it to more games as the falconers are a lot closer than the aces. so whenever kent’s sister plays a home game, there’s a gaggle of Very Invested and Loud russians and falconers. the visiting teams are always slightly bemused at the absurd amount of nhl players at the games; their opponents just shrug their shoulders and go, ‘oh, those guys? yeah i guess they just like good hockey.’  

also: the chirps the guys get from the players are brutal. tater is delighted. he’s even more delighted when he and a few other of the falconers get invited to a pr practice session. and you bet he’s absolutely elated when kent’s 5′4″ sister checks him so hard into the boards that he goes flat on his face. one photographer crouched nearby gets a truly brilliant shot as he goes down. kent has it framed on his trophy shelf.  

My mother and I were walking around Marrakech one night and saw this guy with an enormous Egyptian vulture. The animals kept by street performers are almost always very unethical, but my mother wanted a photo of it. The guy shrugged and suddenly plopped the giant bird on my shoulder with zero warning. This is a face of deep concern and uncertainty masked with an uncomfortable smile.

Priorities (Smut - Jeep sex)

Request: A massive amount of people wanted more car sex, so here we go. 

Word count: 3,021

Priorities (Smut – Jeep sex)

“Are you kidding me?” You whined as Shawn put the last bags of food in the trunk.

“Sorry love”

“You seriously want me to get in the back because your guitar has to be on the front seat?” You stared at him, honestly thinking he was messing with you right now.

Keep reading

I can’t believe I have over 50 followers!

Here is a thank you fic:

“Why is it always the air lock?!” Lance grumbled from the corner. He pulled his jacket tightly around him in an attempt to stop the violent shivers that racked his body.

“Relax,” Keith brushed him off, “Coran and Pidge will have us out in no time.”

Lance nodded. He knew that, realistically, but it didn’t stop him from wanting out now. He was cold, tired, and had a monster of a headache–it had been a long day.

“I know,” Lance muttered. “I’ll feel better when we can get out of here and warm up,” he admitted. “Sorry for complaining.”

“You’re cold?” Keith asked. 

“You’re not?”

“No,” he replied, “I’m actually a little toasty. Here,” he shrugged off his jacket and put it around Lance’s shoulders. Lance wanted to protest, but it was warm from Keith’s body heat, and felt so nice on his back…

“Thanks,” he said tiredly. “If you get cold, though, take it back. I don’t want to be the reason you freeze to death in this ice box of an air lock.”

“Are you seriously that cold?” Keith asked, sounding surprised. He studied Lance’s features and noticed the slight pallor of his skin, and the slight slick of sweat on his forehead. Lance was also shivering fiercely. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Fine,” Lance shrugged, “A bit of a headache,” he admitted, “but I’m good.”

Keith let the subject drop, for now. However, now that it was silent, he noticed something else about the blue paladin: his breathing was off. There was a slight congested crackling in the bottoms of his lungs when he breathed, and Keith hadn’t noticed Lance trying to nonchalantly clear it away until the air lock had fell silent. Now, however, he could hear the stifled coughs that Lance was fighting with. His mouth was closed, and the sound his lungs were making with each heave of breath was alarmingly wet. 

“You’re sick,” Keith asserted. There was no hiding it now. 

“It’s just a little cough, Keith,” Lance argued. His voice sounded raspy and painful. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I was just going to try to sleep it off,” Lance admitted. “Then we got stuck in here, and I figured you had bigger things to worry about.”

“I really don’t,” Keith objected. He reached out to Lance’s huddled, still-shivering frame and rested the backs of his hand on his cheek, then migrated to the back of his neck, and finally resting on his forehead. Warm, maybe too warm, but not hot.

“I think you’ve got a fever, but I can’t really tell.”

“I’m fine,” Lance argued again. “I just want to sleep.” He coughed once more with a closed mouth, and Keith could see what a strain it was. 

“Don’t do that,” Keith scolded, “You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

“I don’t want to get you sick,” Lance pointed out. 

“We’re stuck in an air lock breathing the same air, and you’ve probably got a fever. I think it’s safe to say I’ve already been exposed.”

“Well, I don’t want to increase the risk.” Lane coughed a few more times, still stifling them as best he could, but he was getting a bit desperate for oxygen, if he was being honest. He couldn’t properly clear his lungs this way, and the more he coughed, the more fluid seemed to bubble in to fill up his chest. The coughing got more desperate, and he turned away from Keith to cover his face with his sleeve. He was barely getting in a breath between hacks. 

“Hey, you need to breathe,” Keith commented worriedly, moving closer to the ill paladin and resting a hand on his shoulder. Lance wasn’t listening. His face was turning red with the lack of air. “Lance, can you hear me? You need to get air,” he instructed. Lance blindly shoved Keith off him, Keith fought back, straightening Lance out of his doubled over position to sit up propped against Keith. Lance didn’t put up much of a fight, and as the coughing finally began to subside, Keith felt him go slack so completely that he had to lean over to make sure he was still awake.

“Is this better?” Keith asked. “Can you breathe like this?” 

Lance nodded weakly. Keith could feel the congestion rattling around in his lungs through every short, rapid breath. 

“How are you two doing?” Shiro’s voice asked through the air lock window. 

“Shiro, thank God,” Keith almost laughed with relief. 

“What’s going on? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, but Lance is sick.” He once more reached around the boy to feel his forehead, alarmed to find how much his temperature had risen in such a short time. 

“Hey, Shiro,” Lance smiled, “How close are we to getting out of here?”

“Pretty close, buddy,” Shiro reassured him. “How’re you feeling?”

“I’m okay,” Lance lied. 

“He’s burning up,” Keith informed. Shiro’s eyebrows furrowed in concern.

“Aw, Shiro, don’t look like that. It’s just a cold,” Lance assured, but found himself thrown into another fit of deep coughing. 

“That sounds bad,” Shiro worried. After spending so long in a Galra prison, he knew pneumonia when he heard it. “Like, really bad. We need to get him out of there as soon as possible.” Lance’s breaths were shallow, and Shiro could tell that it hurt to take in much air.

“Will you go tell them to hurry?” Keith asked.

“They’re working as fast as they can, but I think it would only distract them to be worrying about Lance right now,” Shiro admitted. “We’re just going to have to sit tight for a while.

Lance was still trying to stifle his coughing as much as he possibly could. 

“Why’s he–”

“He’s afraid of infecting me,” Keith said. “I tried to tell him not to worry about it, but you know Lance.”

“Yeah,” Shiro smiled. “Lance, listen, you’re not going to get Keith sick; I don’t think what you have is contagious,” Shiro informed, “So I want your only focus to be on breathing, okay? Feel Keith’s breaths and try to match them.” Lance winced.

“I can’t,” he strained weakly, “My chest.” 

“Don’t push it. Just do your best. I don’t like how grey your complexion is turning.”

Keith was sweating in the heat of the air lock and underneath Lance’s fever-hot body. Lance, on the other hand, was shaking like a leaf. His teeth were chattering against the cold, which Keith was sure wasn’t helping his breathing. After a few minutes, he seemed to fall into an uneasy sleep.

“I don’t know how to help him, Shiro,” Keith admitted. 

“You’re doing fine,” he promised. “I didn’t want to freak him out, but I think he’s got pneumonia. The door should be open soon, I’m sure of it.”

And sure enough, it was only a few more minutes before the air lock slid open and Shiro and Keith were able to scoop Lance up and take him to the castle’s infirmary to pump him full of antibiotics. 

“You going to bed?” Shiro asked on his way out the door. “You’ve had a rough day.”

“I just don’t want him to wake up here alone,” Keith replied. “He was so feverish when we pulled him out of the air lock, I doubt he’ll remember anything. I don’t want him to freak out.”

Shiro smiled proudly. “I’ll stay with you, then,” he said, pulling up a chair next to Keith’s. “You did a good job with him.”

Keith laughed out loud. “I had no idea what I was supposed to do.”

“I think that just having you there was enough.” Keith nodded and allowed his eyes to slip closed. As long as he was there, Lance would be fine.