‘The Columbine High School class of 1999 had it’s picture taken on the bleachers of the gymnasium, with close to four hundred kids packed together like one big, happy family. Up in the far left-hand corner of that picture were Eric, Dylan, and me.
Zach Heckler and Robyn Anderson were up there with us. We learned we would be doing two different poses: an “official” or serious class photo and a silly one. Since he was offering us the chance to do a “silly” picture, the photographer figured we wouldn’t do anything to screw up the serious one. We were instructed to hold still for the extended exposure of the picture, so all of us gave our best “serious looks” to the camera.
When it came time for the “silly shot,” Eric donned his KMFDM hat, and he and Dylan both put on shades. Eric suggested that, since we were having a camera pointed at us, it would be cool to point imaginary guns back. So the five of us pantomimed doing exactly that.
It seemed like a funny thing to do. I never thought twice about it.’
- No Easy Answers: The Truth Behind Death at Columbine by Brooks Brown and Rob Merritt
Humour the Human (Alec Volturi x Reader x Jane Volturi)
“Geez you two are no fun.” You sighed watching the twins that were standing in front of you with no expression on their faces. They were told by Aro to ‘humour’ you to keep you out of their way. Babysitting was not what they enjoyed doing, especially with humans. “Aren’t you two teens? I would have though you were more…active… than this.” “We have no time for games.” Jane said. “Surely you two enjoyed doing something? Something that didn’t include torture or anything else less sadistic?” You tilted your head. “No.” “Never?” “Never.“ “I refuse to believe you two haven’t made a fort or something.” The twins gave you a blank expression and it dawned on you just what was being implied. “You two have never built a fort!? You two haven’t lived yet! Can we make one!?” Jane and Alec were about to refuse when their masters words reminded them what they were supposed to do. ‘Humour the Human.’ Before any objections would be made you got up excitedly and forced the twins to follow you.
“BOXES! We need boxes!” You exclaimed, forcing the twins to help you find boxes. Once you had several boxes displayed in front of you. You clapped your hands together. “So for our walls I’d say we need about three of these giant ones stacked on each other. After a few minutes you finished the walls.
” Right you two, get in.“ The twins gave you a pointed look making you rethink your request. "Please?” You added. The two sighed in unison and you punched two hollow boxes to the ground leaving the box on top balanced. You wiggled your way out of the fort and grabbed A LOT of pillows.
"Why have you got so many pillows?” Jane questioned. “Ammo.” you replied. “Ammo?” Alec asked.
That was when the secretary was heading down the hall. She was at a perfect distance, you pressed your finger to your lips in a hushing motion. You readied yourself as the clicking of her heels got closer. The twins furrowed their brows what on earth were you doing? Then you threw the pillow and with perfect timing it hit the oblivious secretary. She stumbled with a squeak but recomposed herself. You had ducked down so all she could see were the twins blankly staring at her. She flinched when she caught their gazes and strutted down the hall once more.
The twins looked down at you to see your wide smug grin. They felt the urge to laugh and seconds later they noticed how all three of you were stifling laughter. The three of you burst out laughing at the simplicity of the entertainment (whilst Jane and Alec also laughed at the discovery of how to play around with humans). You three spent the next few hours doing repeating the process and taking turns to collect the pillows.
Because they live so long and can go so many decades without having any children around, Elves are inordinately fond of children. I know that’s a pretty popular headcanon, but here’s my spin on it:
Even the most serious and solemn of Elves will drop their stern facades to make a child of any race laugh.
There is a story that on one occasion, some delegates from Lake Town were unable to leave their children at home and brought them to a trade meeting in Mirkwood. Instead of making them wait in a separate room, the Elven King Thranduil had seats put at the meeting table for the children.
Throughout the discussions the children would burst into giggling fits, even after their parents asked them to be quiet. The Men of Lake Town, embarrassed by these interruptions, apologized for their behavior and suggested that they be sent away. To their surprise, Thranduil told them that there had not been any children in his halls for more than 500 years and he found their presence pleasant. So the discussions went on, childish giggling included.
After the trade agreements were made, the Men asked their children what made them laugh so much. The children claimed that every time the Men looked down at the trade documents, the Elven King’s ears would start wiggling!
No adult could ever confirm that the Elven King did this, although some Rohirrim children would report that his son had particularly wiggly ears when they saw him in Helms Deep.
In a Dwavish legend so old and obscure that almost none still know it, back in Durin’s time, several Dwarflings travelled through Lothlorien with their families. The young ones went to explore the forest on their own, and accidentally stumbled upon the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn out on a walk.
The young Dwarves were awed and intimidated by their regal figures, and shied away from them. But, according to the myth, The Lord and Lady began imitating each other, speaking in affected voices and calling one another by the wrong names. They kept up the charade until the Dwarflings were fairly rolling with mirth!
But that legend is far too ridiculous to put any stock in, right?
In another story:
King Elessar has on rare occasion told a tale from his younger days in Imladris, when settled by a fire in the company of those familiar enough to call him “Aragorn.”
He tells of being a small child, still shy of his foster father, despite his mother’s assurances. He had been playing on the stairs of one of the paths when he spotted Lord Elrond approaching, dressed in his splendid robes. Aragorn hid alongside the path and watched as he approached. To Aragorn’s amazement and delight, when Lord Elrond reached the stairs he rucked up his robes and pranced up them. He must have spotted the child well before then, because he gave wink to Aragorn’s hiding place before continuing on his way, leaving the child desperately trying to muffle his snickering behind.
If Aragorn has had enough to drink, he may even perform a demonstration, that looks something like this.
“Brendon,” you narrowed your eyes. “You have to get dressed.”
“I am dressed,” he insisted.
“Church clothes,” you rolled your eyes. “Come on. It’s Easter.”
“Fine,” he sighed. “Is a suit too much?”
“Just put on some nice pants, a dress shirt, and a bowtie,” you insisted, watching as he changed out of his casual t-shirt and jeans. You had worn something a bit fancy for the occasion. “You’ll look just fine.” Your parents had invited you to bring your boyfriend over to their house to go to Easter mass and get brunch. You hadn’t been too thrilled with the idea, especially since you and Brendon weren’t particularly religious or well behaved, however, it wasn’t like you could decline. It had been a while since you had brought Brendon to see your parents, and a family breakfast was a bit overdue.
“Do we really have to behave?” Brendon whined like a little child. “Can’t we have a little fun?”
“Maybe just a little,” you admitted. “But please be on your best behavior for my parents?”
“You know I always am,” he rolled his eyes and placed his lips on yours. “Now come on, let’s go get some Jesus.”
“Don’t start singing your Jesus Loves Me More Than He Loves You song,” you laughed. “I don’t think the pastor would enjoy that.”
“I’ll try to control myself,” Brendon joked.
Surprisingly, Brendon was well behaved all throughout mass. Well, except for the occasional silly faces he shot at you or when he’d sometimes change around the words in the hymn in an attempt to be funny. But he sang nicely and was reverent, and after mass was over, both of your parents were smiling at him. When you went to the restaurant, your parents were already there, having ordered coffees for all of you, menus placed at your seats. “It was nice of you to go to Church with us this morning,” your mom beamed at Brendon. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages.”
“It’s been a while,” Brendon nodded, obviously nervous. “Christmas I believe.” It was funny to see him so shaken up. With a big ego and never-ending confidence, you’d think there was nothing that could scare him. However, your parents seemed to do the trick every time. You held his hand and gave it a squeeze, watching as he relaxed his shoulders.
“Oh my,” your mom widened her eyes. “It has been a while, hasn’t it?”
“It’s okay,” you dad reassured. “We’re just glad to have you here.”
“How have you guys been doing?” you wondered.
“Good. How about you?” your mom asked. “Brendon?”
“Uh, I’ve been doing good,” he swallowed uncomfortably.
“Still doing the music thing, I assume?” your dad raised an eyebrow.
“Oh yes,” Brendon gave a weak smile. Your parents knew him as a singer, but only saw the jazzy fancy side of him. They never knew about the sexy punk rock singer who got up and headbanged on stage every show. Instead, they saw the piano playing, tuxedo wearing, smooth singing, Frank Sinatra loving gentleman who performed live music for weddings or private shows.
“We saw your new music video,” your mom grinned. Brendon froze. “Death of a Bachelor? Right?” He instantly relaxed his shoulders.
“Uh yeah,” he replied. “That’s the one.”
“Very nice,” she answered. “I like it.”
“I’m glad,” he responded. God that could’ve gone so wrong. You stifled a laugh, probably thinking he had thought of Emperor’s New Clothes or Don’t Threaten Me With A Good Time. “It was a lot of fun to record and sing.”
The rest of the meal went nice. You ate and chatted with your parents, and Brendon talked about some old musicians with your dad and some favorite wines with your mom. When it was time to go home, you both relaxed while driving home, turning on the radio and singing along. “Wasn’t too bad, right?” you inquired.
“What?” Brendon asked, confused.
“My parents?” you reminded. “Was it bad?”
“Oh, not at all,” he laughed. “I was just, I don’t know, frazzled I guess. Nervous.”
“You did fine,” you reassured.
When you got home, Brendon took off his shirt, yawning and walking into the kitchen, laughing when he saw the bowl of boiled eggs on the kitchen counter. “You made eggs?” he chuckled. “What are we going to do? Decorate them?”
“If you want,” you suggested. “I’m going to.”
“You’re silly,” Brendon shook his head and giggled, picking one up and taking a Sharpie into his other hand. You sat beside him, picking up a Sharpie and an egg as well, trying to think of what to draw. Instead you doodled little swirls all over it.
“What are you doing?” you narrowed your eyes. “Drawing a dick probably.”
“How did you know?” he laughed, showing you his egg and you rolled your eyes.
“So mature,” you smirked.
“Yours looks cool,” he raised his eyebrows. “I guess I don’t have the artistic talent like you do.”
“They’re just swirls,” you shrugged.
“Doesn’t mean it doesn’t look awesome,” Brendon pointed out. He added some finishing touches before setting his egg down on the counter. “Viola! What do you think?” You stared at the poorly drawn dick on the egg and sighed.
“I hope that’s not a self-portrait,” you teased.
“Hey!” he cried and you both laughed.
“There we go,” you smiled, finishing your egg and capping your Sharpie. “Happy Easter.”
“Speaking of,” a moment of realization came to his face. “I forgot I bought you something!”
“Really?” you narrowed your eyes. “Come on, it’s Easter. Nobody gives Easter presents.”
“Still-” Brendon insisted. He raced to the room and then came back holding a box of Peeps, a bag of jellybeans, and a chocolate bunny. “What do you think?”
“I think I love you,” you giggled. “Thank you.”
“Happy Easter baby,” he smiled, placing a kiss on your forehead. “I love you.”
Here’s the last part. First of all, I would like to thank everybody for the support you have given me. What started as a silly one shot became this, and I would have never finished it without your kind messages and encouragement.
Keith works out, Lance ogles happily, Pidge tries to analyze the nature of their PDA ... she swiftly regrets all the things.
Some very kind people have sent me some very kind asks and made me feel better about being sick lately — and suddenly, my fingers were doing a thing on the keyboard? This thing, specifically? Just, everyone is so very nice, and I hope you like this silly little one-shot about silly space boys :) (Special shout-out to the anonymous person that called out this idea before I posted! Such amazing psychic powers! :D)
“But seriously, if my calculations are correct — shut your mouth, Lance, they are always correct — then Keith is initiating fifty two point seven percent of the times you make me want to invent brain bleach.” Pidge pauses to push her glasses up her nose. “Keith, care to offer some insight into this?”
“No.” Keith resumes lifting weights. Really, discovering the Castle’s weight room was one of the worst things that could have happened to Lance — now his boyfriend split his free time between training simulations and tossing around heavy things/running on treadmills.
The Red Paladin had become a gym rat. The Blue Paladin was not surprised.
Also, Keith didn’t need more muscles, as Lance didn’t need that kind of heart attack. Even if watching those biceps strain was … nice.
“My boo is just too hot to trot for my banging bod,” Lance says proudly, flexing his own (not quite as big but still very impressive) biceps.
Keith stops lifting weights so he can face palm. Pidge stares up towards the heavens in supplication.
“That’s going in my notes as one of the top five worst things you’ve ever said. Maybe top three.” Pidge actually takes out her computer to write it down.
Keith, with his face still buried in one hand, points with his other and says, “I don’t know if I can kiss that mouth at all today. That was horrifying.”
“Fifty two point seven percent, querido,” Lance cheerfully reminds him. “Ain’t nobody buying what you’re selling.”
Keith shoots Pidge a despairing glance. “I mean, was the pining that bad, really? Would it be so terrible to go back to that?”
Lance has taken a seat directly across from Keith, lifting a set of weights (they were barbells with rocks on either end — Coran had said something about how one could alter the density, thereby making them heavier/lighter, but Lance had immediately gotten distracted by challenging everyone to a weight lifting competition and somehow it ended with Hunk bench-pressing Lance and Pidge, and Shiro trying to throw Keith over their heads? Lance still doesn’t quite understand what happened there).
“I feel like the reason Keith is macking on me in public more is because he’s kinda into the fact that he can,” Lance explains, grunting a little as he tries to mimic Keith’s moves. “I mean, the pining was so real — he had been staring lingeringly at me from afar for so long, and now it’s like, free pass to grope all the time.” Lance winks at Keith, who is venturing to peek at him from between his fingers. “Because you do. Have a free pass. To grope. Put your hands any —”
“I know.” Keith lifts his weights with relative ease, a small smile pulling on his lips. “And yeah, Pidge. Maybe that’s part of it.”
“Part of it?” Lance asks, somewhat breathlessly as he switches arms since his right one was starting to ache from the effort. “Dude. All of it. Your thirstiness is not to be denied.”
Pidge rolls her eyes, jotting down a few more notes from her perch on the jungle gym (like, with actual vines for swinging and bouncy giant lily pads — Lance could not get over how cool Alteans were). “Believe it or not, I actually came to that conclusion on my own — Keith is now thirty six point four percent more affectionate with everyone, not just you, Lance.”
“That’s … really sweet,” Lance says, feeling vaguely proud of both himself and Keith. The idea that he’s making Keith more willing to show his love to the rest of their space family … It’s a little humbling, and a lot of awesome. He can feel his cheeks heating up.
The weights Keith had been lifting are now on the floor as he walks over to Lance, lifting his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face. Lance is grinning at the flash of a still slightly soft tummy (Keith has muscle definition, but there’s a small bit of cushiness around his middle that Lance really loves). Lance stops grinning when Keith suddenly drops into his lap, straddling him on the bench without any warning.
“You’re forgetting something key, Pidge,” Keith is saying, glancing over his shoulder at the Green Paladin, who is looking annoyed and amused in equal parts.
“All right, enlighten me.” Pidge grimaces. “With as little trauma as possible, if you please.”
“I think I’m gonna expire in a minute here, Pidge, mi hermanita querida, would you please spare me the humiliation and not witness this? Keith, whatever it is that you’re thinking —”
Keith covers his mouth with one hand, and Lance tries to speak past it, yelling his objections into the palm of a fingerless glove.
“See, notice how he can still talk?” Keith tilts his head in Lance’s direction, speaking with infuriating calm. “It’s a bit of a problem sometimes. But —”
The hand is gone. Lance is pissed off enough to start shouting, “Hey, you jackass, wail till I —”
Keith’s lips are on his. His mouth falls open automatically, and Lance sort of loses the thread of … reality. Pidge whips them both in the head with a towel, which is when his wondrous boyfriend pulls away, leaving Lance gaping, licking his lips, and contemplating if he should still be irritated.
“Efficient, no?” Keith asks, his dark eyes glinting.
Pidge is glaring at him. “Except for the brain bleach aspect. Which I am going to go work on now. With Hunk’s help, he is one hundred percent behind me on this. There are cameras in here, by the way, not that that’s ever stopped you …” She gets up and walks out, though not before ruffling Lance’s hair and saying, “You’re such a goner, hermano.”
When she’s gone, and Lance is left with nothing but a smug Red Paladin sitting on his thighs, he huffs, jabbing at Keith’s chest. “So you’re kissing me to shut me up most of the time?”
“Not most of the time,” Keith admits, his smirk easing back into a smile. “But Pidge would have probably gagged if I told her the main reason.”
“It’s not the ‘can’t resist my stellar good looks’?” Lance pouts. “That’s a little disappointing.”
Keith presses a quick kiss to his mouth. He’s flushed from exercise, but Lance swears his cheeks get a little bit darker as he speaks, “It’s because half the time I think I’ve made up this whole stupid thing, okay? We got together at a freaking ball. There was a duel involved. And dancing in fancy suits.” Keith waves his hands around for emphasis before crossing his arms. “And we still argue like … It’s fine, but it feels like before sometimes, so I just … need to make sure it’s not. Like before.”
Lance follows these words until he understands where they’re leading and then … He’s blushing, and smiling, and pulling Keith in closer. “You … you need to make sure this is real. That you didn’t … dream it. Because … I’m that good of a dream, huh?”
Keith groans, burying his face in Lance’s shoulder. “Crap. Okay, backtrack, I never said anything, especially not that stupid, sugary pile of —”
“No, no take backs!” Lance sings. “I … sometimes have the same problem. So, uh, a good chunk of my forty seven point three percent contribution is exactly that.” He smiles up at Keith once the Red Paladin pulls back and sits up straighter in Lance’s lap.
“Yeah?” Keith leans down, his eyes fluttering shut.
“Yeah,” Lance whispers against his mouth … which is when a painfully loud alarm goes off, and they are simultaneously soaked in freezing water as sprinklers kick in. Lance shrieks. Keith falls backward off his lap to the now slippery floor.
“You have rooms. Go get in one!” Pidge yells over the Castle comm.
“Please!” That sounded like Shiro’s voice, a little distant from the microphone.
Lance is laughing and shivering, and Keith is back to being mortified, but they adhere to Pidge’s wishes (who knew what she might pull next? Lance wouldn’t put it past her to space them at this point), and take off running. Keith yanks Lance into the gym’s showers.
“No cameras in here,” Keith says, raising an eyebrow. “And I need a shower anyway.”
Lance is rendered speechless. He wonders if this counts as part of Keith’s fifty two point seven percent of PDA. He wonders if Pidge is all-knowing. And then there’s a shirt coming off, and warm water pouring from a shower head, Keith kicking off his shoes from inside the cubicle. Lance can’t think as Keith’s hands reach for his shorts
… and then pause.
“Yeah, so you just wait right here — you can take your turn when I’m done.” Keith grins and slams the shower door in his face.
Lance wonders if there’s a way to flush a toilet on a space castle to turn the water into a frigid torture. He says as much out loud, kicking lightly at the door.
Keith is laughing, and Lance may or may not adore that sound more than any other in the universe, except for his mom’s affectionate scolding … So, he decides to wait until the Red Paladin is done and then do his best to up his percentage. Forty seven point three percent simply will not do, Lance thinks to himself with a goofy smile.
Random one-shot after Objects in Motion? I think so :) If y’all wanna read about the ball, duel, and dancing, head over there. Thank you to all the wondrous people who have been so awesome to me! You’re all way too amazing for words, but I hope you guys enjoy these above words as a random “thank you!” :D
A quick little one shot I made last night. Tony x Reader about 700 words. Requests are open! Submit something from my prompt list or send me something original. Enjoy!
“You’re sure you bought all the cookie ingredients Tony?” I asked unpacking the shopping bag. I had managed to drag Tony out of the lab so we could try something different. We worked on projects together in the lab like fixing Bucky’s arm or trying to improve F.R.I.D.A.Y, but I thought it would be good for us to get out today. “Of course (Y/N)” He said pulling bowls and mixers from the cabinets. “Can you grab the recipe too please?” I asked tying my hair up. “I had F.R.I.D.A.Y find us the best chocolate chip cookie recipe in the entire world.” Tony said proudly handing me a piece of paper. I kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you babe.” He grabbed my waist before I could walk away and held me for a minute. “We should start making these cookies.” I said pulling away before Tony no longer cared about baking.
“F.R.I.D.A.Y what should I preheat the oven for?” I asked. “350 degrees for 20 minutes.” the AI responded. Tony groaned and snatched the recipe back from me, checking it over. “Let’s do 450 for 12 minutes instead.” I laughed “Tony why? That’s not what we’re supposed to do.” “I don’t want to wait that long for cookies babe” he said striding over to the oven. “You can’t just change the time like that” I said rushing in front of him to stop him. “(Y/N) It will be fine.” He said pressing buttons on the oven. I was trying my very best to hold back laughter as I shouted “Tony No!” “Tony Yes!” He yelled with a grin. “This is gonna work. Just wait babe.” I broke down laughing at my boyfriend as he began cracking eggs into a bowl. “Tony that’s too many eggs!” I yelled. “It’s fine babe.” I could practically hear his smile. It was going to be a long time before I suggested baking again.
I cannot help but find it hilarious how accurate to canon Monster Factory’s portrayal of Boba Fett was; in that they’re a big loser nerd who got incredibly owned in the most undignified manner in the end