sorry about the writing

anonymous asked:

ily = i love yuuri

Headcanon that Victor isn’t very up-to-date with English texting lingo, and that at some point he asks someone what “ily” means and he mistakenly hears them say “I love Yuuri” instead of “I love you.” Internally, he’s like ‘ahhh that makes sense’ because, yes, everyone in Saint Petersburg loves Yuuri. It makes sense that Mila and Sara would text each other “I love Yuuri.”

So he starts texting Yuuri “ily” and Yuuri starts saying it back. Victor finds this slightly odd but also very endearing because!!! Yes!!! Yuuri loves Yuuri!!! One day they’re talking and Victor makes a note about this and Yuuri has to explain it to him and…. And Victor is shook……

The Second Installment of the Seduction of Lord Vader, as told by A.H. Soka and Y.O.Da

Obi Wan was in Scarif, which was concerning actually. Obi Wan Kenobi, Rebel Operative, Dashing Duke, and Pirate King, should not be within a system of the Empire’s top secret military research base, much less in the very city in which it was located.

Still Vader took his fleet off to check it out and, as was typical when Obi Wan was involved, arrived just in time for the explosions to start. The Citadel Tower, which housed the massive databanks of the Imperial military research initiatives, was in flames. 

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Heechul Recalls His Rebellious Days As An SM Trainee

Super Junior’s Heechul talked about his rebellious days as a trainee under SM Entertainment.

On the March 23 episode of KBS 2TV’s “Happy Together,” Heechul appeared as a guest on the show. While confessing that he was quite the rebel in the past, he said, “When I was 20 years old, I came to Seoul from Gangwon Province. I listened to music every day. I was listening to Kiss’s music, when the teacher said, ‘I told you not to listen to that. I told you to study up while listening to Linkin Park.’ I said, ‘Listen. Rock can’t be learned by studying.‘”

He revealed that this got him into trouble, and the teacher had said, “Don’t talk back to me. Write me a letter of apology.” Heechul recalled that he wrote a letter that said, “I’m not sorry about anything but I’m writing this because you told me to.”

He also said, “I got suspended from practice a lot. They’d say, ‘Don’t come for a while,’ and I’d say, ‘Fine!’ I used to live with Donghae and Yunho at the time, and they would ask, ‘Is it okay that you’re not going to practice?’ I replied, ‘They’ll find me when they need me.'” He added while blushing, “I’m so embarrassed now thinking about it.”

He then said that he was eventually sent down to his hometown because he caused too much trouble. He said that he had initially been worried that the company wouldn’t have him back. However, he revealed, “Lee Soo Man came around himself and asked where I was. They told him I was in my hometown, and he said, ‘Why don’t we have him try acting then?’ and that was how I made my debut. I’m very thankful to him.”

soompi

like in canon, they do witness a lot of violence and suffering, and it’s like. part of their lives. but in the show MOST of the violence and suffering they witness is like. DIRECTED at them. part of a conspiracy to make them suffer. for the first half of the show, it was part of an attempt to drive sherlock to suicide!! and the resolution is like *shrug* it be like that sometimes. that’s not just depressing as hell it is VERY BAD WRITING. 

sorry i don’t usually yell about how mad i am about All This and i know it makes some of my friends uncomfortable like. i’m sorry. 

  • luke skywalker is terrifying. 
  • no, shut up, come back.
  • you have to understand:
  •  to you or me he may not be; he may be all sunshine smiles and corngold hair and the biggest eyes this side of the galaxy, but imagine you’re Dagger (stormtroopers don’t get proper names), firing at a boy, only the bolts never hit. They sing to the side. You think that there’s something wrong with your blaster, maybe, but none of your friends can hit him either. Finest shots in the Empire, you are, but you can’t hit this boy. And he cuts you down. He wields a weapon whose name you’ve never learned and he cuts you down into smoking bloodless bodies and your friends die before you – only he leaves you. Knocks you out with a blow of the Force – and isn’t that a nightmare of its own, unseen hands blotting out your thoughts – leaves you there in the cooling blood of your squadmates.
  •  Imagine that you’re Cara Ilhyre and you’re a dancer for the Hutt and you hate it, of course you do, but it is a living, a living, and this boy comes in, fresh-faced and young and he says surrender or be destroyed only he and you both know that the Hutt do not and never have surrendered and when he says destroy there’s this grin on his lips, thin and sharp, and he’s kind, of course he is, but –
    • so you’re Cara Ilhyre and you’re a native of tattooine and like many of your specis you are force-touched and you were a girl, once, a very little girl, and your mother told you tales of krayt dragons who slumbered beneath the sands and gentled their young to their pearl-heavy breasts. krayt dragons are tender mothers, she had said, and it was meant to teach you something of the duality of nature, or to fear those with young to protect, or something; but all you can think is this boy, how he smiles as kind as your mother did, once, but you’re convinced that if you were to cut him down the middle you would find dragon-pearls in his ribs and fire instead of a heart
    • the boy cuts downs jabba’s goons like they are nothing, nothing, and afterwards, afterwards, you sense his sorrow. and somehow that makes it worse.
    • because you say, later, to your mother’s ghost (maybe) or to the desert, he knows that killing people is hard and that weighs on him and he does it anyway and –
    • and, you say, it isn’t as simple as: he makes the hard choices. he knew the hutt would fight. he wanted to burn them down, oh he did, and that sister of his –
I’ve spent most of my life chasing the person I want to be. Because 20-year-old me will have better friends, and 25-year-old me will land a killer job, and 30-year-old me will be madly in love. And me 6 months from now will be skinnier, and me a year from now will be more confident, and me some time from now will be better somehow. So much better. For years, this is what I thought. That if I could just wait it out, everything would get better.
     It took me a long time to realize that life doesn’t work that way. Older doesn’t mean happier or easier, and it certainly doesn’t mean better; it just means older. Life isn’t a well plotted screen play, or a checklist, or, God forbid, some waiting room. We have got to stop waiting. Because life isn’t about growing up to be all that we’ve ever wanted; it’s just about growing.
     It’s about love, and change, and crying yourself to sleep when it’s all too much. And working at a burger joint, and kissing your best friend even though he might not like you back, and calling your mom every Sunday because you miss her like hell. It’s fights, and promotions, and hospital visits. And then it’s this: another wedding of another one of your college friends, the third one this year, but this time you meet a groomsman who’s just as down on love and you dance all night. And this: he cries when you say “I do.” And this: a kid with your eyes and his dorky ears.
      Or maybe not. Maybe it’s this: you write everything, everywhere, all the time, even when the prettier kids make fun of you, and the short teacher with the big nose tells you it’s good. Really good. And this: you’re living in a shoebox, by the skin of your teeth, but there’s a bar across the street that lets you read your poetry, and every time you do, someone in the crowd finally knows what it feels like to be understood. And this: your words being published. Your words. Being bought by people who could be spending their money on anything at all. And you sit in your twin bed where you’ve written your entire novel, a dozen empty coffee mugs still dirty on the nightstand, and you scream until your lungs burn.
      It’s all of these things, and bad things, and good things, and the raw realization that it doesn’t get better or worse, it just gets different. It just changes. Always, always changes. And somehow that makes it more wonderful. Because future you may have the friends, and the boy, and the job, but she didn’t get it by waiting around. She is a product of you. Right now, tomorrow, changing and growing every moment that follows. She is kind, and breathing, and beautiful. But she waits for the day she doesn’t have to worry about paying a mortgage bill, and she worries too often about what people think of her. She still doesn’t have it together.
     And maybe that’s what I’ve learned after all this time: nobody has it together. We’re all just here, floundering around in pursuit of being something more. Broken, thoughtful creatures with too much time on our hands, desperate for the companionship of someone who reminds us that we are not alone. We don’t have much of anything figured out. Maybe we never will. But more importantly, I think that’s how it’s supposed to be.
—  ramblings of an overthinker
Chubby body appreciation post tho???

Soft bodies are so?? GOOD??
Big tummies are good pillows and good kissing surfaces.
Tummies with stretch marks?? GOSH, YES??? It’s like nature itself is putting down a trail of lightning that says “KISS HERE PLEASE”

And chubby/fat arms though? Can we JUST? Thighs and stomachs get a lot of love (and rightfully deserved) but can we talk about ARMS??
That cute arm chub that I just want to be wrapped up in a hug and a snuggle in? SO PRECIOUS?? 
People with such soft, cuddly arms that there’s lil bumps and stretches from cellulite?? CUTE??

And soft necks? Necks with some squish on them? Very extra kissable?? And squishy cheeks GODDD I WANNA SMOOSH YOUR CUTE CHEEKS KISS ALL OVER YOUR FACE!!! And when people have chubby cheeks and lil dimples?? Or when they have high cheekbones so when their cheeks are chubby they’re VERY prominently chubby?? THIS IS GOOD AND FANTASTIC??

And THIGHS. My god. Thick thighs are never praised enough no matter how hard one tries. Big, soft laps are so perfect for laying your head on! And stretch marks on big thighs? Cute lightning patterns to trail your fingers over or gently kiss when you’re already laying in their lap?? YES!!
Cellulite on thighs is also so so good and cute!! Dimples in cheeks are wonderful and so are dimples in thighs and butts?? CUTE!!!

Hips with squish over them?? GAH!! I CANNOT HANDLE!!! Please be more confident with your hips (if you feel comfortable) because when you are you give me LIFE!!!

Back rolls?? CUTE and very fun to trace hands over and hold onto during snuggles!! Looks very cute all the time! 

Chubby/fat bodies in crop tops and short shorts?? YES!!! CUTE!!!

Chubby/fat bodies in sweat pants and a tshirt? EXTRA SOFTNESS TO THE SOFT CUTIE!!!

Chubby/fat bodies in swimsuits?? VERY CUTE?? Swim trunks and soft belly is very very good!!
One pieces that cling tight to your stomach or ride up your thighs are still cute no matter what anyone says!!
Two pieces? GOOD!!! You look so cute! Don’t feel obligated to cover that adorableness if you don’t wanna!! 

Chubby/fat bodies in lingerie?? SO IMPORTANT TO ME!!! When stomach is tucked into cute underwear it is very very adorable and when there’s chub over low rise underwear it’s also very very cute and endearing!! THIGH HIGHS?? UGH, MY HEART. I KNOW THAT THEY PROBABLY ARE FALLING DOWN CONSTANTLY BUT THANK YOU FOR WEARING THEM YOU’RE DOING US ALL AN AMAZING SERVICE.

In conclusion:
Softness is good
I will kiss you all over
Holding you and feeling handfuls of squish is amazing
I love you

This set of panels in particular is pretty important to me, because it was stuff like this that kept me from realizing I was aroace for so long, so this was a little difficult for me to write.

When Jughead says “If…I would willingly kiss a girl it’ll be you” I have often seen it taken as a sort of very romantic line, like “I’m ready for you when you aren’t interested in Archie anymore”. However, this is a very common aromantic sentiment. Back when I didn’t know aromanticism was an option, I would mentally figure out which of my friends and acquaintances I would be willing to date, or kiss, because I figured I would have to end up with one of them, and because I thought that’s how crushes worked.

This also plays into amatonormativity, “the assumption that a central, exclusive, amorous relationship is normal for humans, in that it is a universally shared goal, and that such a relationship is normative, in the sense that it should be aimed at in preference to other relationship types”** Once I realized I was aro, I still clung to this internal list of which friends I would be willing to date, because of the whole idea that a relationship is the goal. I didn’t want my friends to end up sad and lonely, and I still sort of assumed I would have to marry someone in the end. Romance is pushed as something more important than friendship, and this is unhealthy for everyone, not just people like me! We shouldn’t base our self-worth on our relationship status, and friendship isn’t “below” a romantic relationship.

So when Jughead tells Betty she would be his first choice if he was interested, this reads, to me, as a misplaced display of friendship. He is telling Betty that he cares about her, that he considers her to be one of his best friends, one of his most important friends, but he doesn’t know how to express that. This is something I had to examine about myself recently, because I realized I was treating romance like a step above friendship, so I thought the only way I could display how much my friends meant to me was to be willing to join them in the “next level” of a relationship. Because friendship isn’t enough.

This, to me, feels a little sad. It’s reassuring to Betty! And a good comic!

It is also so, SO aromantic it hurts.


**I wanted to link to an article on amatonormativity but I didn’t find one that explained it well enough, so if that definition doesn’t make sense drop an ask my way and I’ll go more in-depth!

A super-powered version of the FAHC is an awful, unstoppable thing. Powered humans are rare, sure, but not unheard of; the Fake’s aren’t the only group out there defying reality in broad daylight. What makes them so remarkable, so formidable and distressingly hard to combat, is the way they use those powers. The way each member has taken their gift and twisted it, pulled and torn and stretched it to unforeseen territory, used their powers in ways no one else has even dreamed. Ways most could only imagine in their worst nightmares.

Ryan might be the most obvious example, the clearest illustration of the perversion of abilities, power turned on its head and used against its intention. He’s inspired them all, one way or another, to push their powers to the limits, into shapes they don’t belong in, powerful and strange and noticeably tarnished. On anyone else Ryan’s gift would be one of healing, of hope and restoration, empathetic and inherently altruistic. Its not a power most would associate with a life of crime, outside perhaps a medic, definitely not one most would pick for a mercenary, for the infamously deadly Vagabond. Ryan though, he’s never been one to let a little thing like reason set him back, never felt constrained by expectation, and he wasn’t about to let his powers derail his goals. Ryan has taken the ability to heal and broken it down into stages, approached inexplicable magic like a scientist, methodically identifying how to extract the exact elements he was after. He has the power to heal, yes, but what can be healed may also decay, that which can be stitched back together may just as easily be disassembled; it is no more difficult to displace blood than it is to correctly route it. With a touch Ryan can stop hearts, can rend tissue and implode organs. He can push natural reactions into overdrive, can encourage minor ailments into unstoppable disease, convince various systems to shut down without exposure to extreme circumstance. The only limit is Ryan’s own bountiful creativity, and while it might not be what people expect from the Vagabond he wouldn’t swap his abilities for anything.

Jeremy can change his density at will. Becoming immensely dense has some obvious uses in their world; bullets literally bouncing off his skin and fists that can shatter bones with a single punch, but becoming unnaturally light has just as many applications. Jeremy can change his weight mid-jump to achieve inhuman distance, can fall from great heights without a parachute, can climb sheer walls and hold his entire body up on the tip of a finger. There is no weight Jeremy cannot lift, no wall or door that can keep him out, let alone cuffs or bars to contain him. If Jeremy does not want to move there is physically no way to make him, and if he sets his sights on destroying something little can be done to stop him.

Geoff can communicate telepathically. This comes in handy when getting a hold of his crew, so long as they are within his range he can speak to them comms or no, but they are not the only ones he can speak to. All it takes is some connection, long term emotional links allow for greater distance but as long as Geoff is looking at someone he can get into their mind. Can sneer at police officers, whisper threats to rivals, force unsuspecting strangers to have the most peculiar thoughts and terrify anyone who tries to stand in his way. While Geoff can only really scrape through the top level of someones mind, more emotion and direct thoughts than any deep secrets, it is no great difficulty to convince people that he sees a lot more. Let them feel him poking around, quote a few stray thoughts back at them and suddenly not only do his victims believe he sees all but they are much more likely to think loudly about the very things they hope he doesn’t notice. Geoff can push images as easily as word, useful when sharing a story but even more so as a form of torture; he can fill minds with his darkest thoughts, plague dreams with images from his nastiest nightmares, provide a personalised hell that is impossible to escape from.

Michael controls heat. It’s a power people tend to fear, think it synonymous with mastery over fire, imagine sparking fingers and raging infernos. Which, to be fair, isn’t wholly inaccurate, but is hardly the extent of Michael’s power. He can create fire sure, can raise the temperature to extremes in pinpointed locations to ignite a room, but he doesn’t need to. Michael can press heat straight into a body, can warm someone up or cook them from the inside out, can burn slowly or kill in an instant. His powers extend to objects too, he can melt metals, boil water, absorb and deflect heat, and set off explosives. While people don’t associate it with him the way the do fiery rage, what can go up can of course also go down. Michael can drop the temperature, can produce dangerous frost and sharp ice shards, freeze someone in water and induce frostbite with a simple touch. Michael is completely unbothered by extreme temperatures, can render himself undetectable on thermal imaging cameras and change the temperature of objects so suddenly they shatter. Even those who flee aren’t safe; careening into danger as roads are  suddenly coated in black ice or bubble and melt beneath flaming tires.

Ray can multiply himself, a series of duplicates capable of drawing fire and completing simple tasks. They were once mere mindless echoes of his actual self, near translucent and noticeably different if you looked closely enough, quickly giving birth to the term Ghost Ray when describing them. They didn’t stay that way though, Ray quietly practising and practising until they not only solidified but he could split his conciousness between them, could act as all bodies simultaneously and be in half a dozen places at once. It’s disconcerting, the way they all look real now. The way they all are Ray now, will fade away like they were never there when Ray lets them go, or when they die, but until then he can be in any and all of them at once. It bears thinking about, considering some die. Considering one stays. Considering the way Ray doesn’t like to talk about it, practises late at night and sends his selves off on private missions, laughs and deflects and fades away.

Jack can manipulate the wind; her jets are always boosted and her cars caught and righted before they can ever spin out, while any who pursue her find themselves shoved off the roads. She can deflect bullets, catch plummeting bodies and stir up various weather phenomena. As though this was not enough Jack’s power over the air allows her to create small vacuums, granting her the ability to suck oxygen from a room. To steal it right out of lungs, suffocating her opponents without lifting a finger to touch them. Alone she is more than dangerous, but Jack has always worked best with others. Her powers are particularly effective when combined with Michael or Jeremy; catching Jeremy up and hurling him like a canon ball and taking ice or flame and whirling them into deadly tornadoes. She can, just as effectively, force them all to calm down when things start getting out of hand; wind separating fights, extinguishing fires, airless pockets keeping anyone from storming away in a huff, and being sudden drenched by rain provides a wholly undignified end to any petty squabbles.

Gavin’s power is all about luck. It’s not the most exciting power at first glance; he can see probabilities, split-second calculations that manifest in inexplicable feelings, knowing just when to duck, when to take a detour, when to blow off a meeting and stay home instead. It’s not a power most people would associate with violent crime, rather imagine lotto winnings and effortless celebrity, but most people aren’t Gavin. It was simple intuition at first; shoot now, trust him, buy the ticket, check your phone. But Gavin, being Gavin, pressed for more. Worked out how to manipulate his own luck instead of relying on chance, concentrating on what he wants so his powers bend around him, gift evolving from simple suggestions into something else all together. When Gavin assures himself that all he needs in the world is to shoot his way out of a situation there is no way he will be unlucky enough have a gun run empty, when he needs to make a purchase he will never have the misfortune of running out of money, when he settles himself as the frontman of the FAHC none will be lucky enough to resist his charms. Now that he knows how to push, the limits of Gavin’s power are completely unknown – the least visibly impressive and yet the possibilities are as astounding as they are impossible. He needed a worthy crew, so he found one; they desired power, so they got it; it would be unlucky to die, so they don’t.

“Don’t bother,” he replies grimly, “I said I wasn’t interested in this. If we fucked, sorry for leading you on, if we didn’t, I don’t know why you’d want to be associated with me anyways.” And Harry wants this conversation to end right there, now that he’s said his piece, so he looks back towards Y/N and says, “These are organic grapes, no?”

The girl gets the hint, leaving with a huff and Y/N tuts her tongue at him.

“You’re so mean, Harry! What if she really liked you?”

Harry shakes his head, “She liked my cock not me.” He says apathetically, and Y/N’s face turns towards sheepish like it always does when the mere mention of his escapades comes to head (which it doesn’t often, but he knows Y/N has ears and she hears things), “‘sides, she was rude to you. I don’t like that.” He straightens out, “Did you take your medicine?”

or

Harry doesn’t really like people, but he likes Y/N

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things you should definitely 100% not think about when you think about philip shea (except do because philip shea is perfect and you should always think about him)

- Okay, first of all, don’t think about how Philip was literally almost shot and actually did literally beg for his life for a moment and allowed himself to be scared about that for approximately .5 seconds before sucking it up and remaining seemingly calm for pretty much the rest of the show (except for when he realized tommy and tracey were in danger. because philip shea cares about other people. but once they are gone, he accepts it quickly and moves on. that is philips’ like number one skill. accept and move on. don’t think about why that is).

- Don’t think about how he somehow got to the city in the middle of the night and then didn’t even risk going inside. Don’t think about how he just curled up on the couch outdoors as if this was a common, acceptable place for him to sleep and passed out, alone, after almost being killed.

- Don’t think about how he goes from saying “I’m done. can’t go back, can’t go back there” to accepting he can’t live with him mom again in approximately ten seconds. He doesn’t argue too much about it. Doesn’t beg or plead or threaten to run away. Just says “I know” and gives his mom cigarettes and then sits and comes out to her because she wants to hear nice things about him and to him, lukas liking him back enough to kiss him is a nice thing.

- Don’t think about how when given the opportunity, Philip will sit next to a man who has almost definitely abused him and just do nothing but pretend the guy likes him.

- Don’t think about his honest confusion when he asks “Why not” after Lukas says he didn’t have sex with Rose.

- Don’t think about how Philip is so calm and willing to do or be whatever the person he loves (read: his mom and Lukas) needs him to be. I mean, yes, he tells Lukas no that one time and calls him on his shit other times, but really, overall, the kid is willing to put himself on the line for those he cares about: “Had to be cool for my mom—I can be cool for you to.” “What do you want me to say? I’ll say whatever you want.” Ugh, he just—he tells Lukas not to drink the hand sanitizer but then three seconds later he does the same thing, no questions asked, because Lukas tells him to. Don’t even get me started on the whole Rose debacle.

- Lukas freaks out when Philip hands him a condom, Philip minimizes it and says “It’s okay. it’s okay, it’s fine” coaxes him back down and no more pressure to do anything. Philip tells Lukas he told his mom about them, Lukas says “There’s nothing to say” and Philip just nods quickly, “Okay.” Doesn’t argue. Doesn’t call Lukas on anything. Just says okay and then offers to take Lukas into the city cause he thinks that will help him.

- Philip won’t get Lukas drugs, but he will help Lukas look for things to sell when he asks and go with him to the pawn shop and wait outside while he does it.

- And, like, I’m not saying this to say Philip is a pushover or weak, he’s not- he’s just contained. All the time. He is the stable one. The calm one. He is careful not to push too much. He thinks of solutions and waits to see if they will actually be listened to but is very, very cautious with actually being assertive with his ideas/wants/needs. He is just so much more attuned to everyone else.

- Oh, ALSO, don’t think too much about how Philip overheard Gabe and Helen arguing about him and chose to step out and put himself in that line of fire anyway. He could have just hung back and waited a little. Or, fuck, run off until things cooled down. But Gabe was being yelled at and they were arguing and so he decided to step in. Cause Philip wants to keep everyone happy.

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Every mistake turned into a habit, so every apology meant nothing.

best case scenario: it’s nothing.
he dropped his bag to help someone out,
it got moved out of the way,
he’ll turn up and start bitching about tears and dirt stains,
you’ll tell him to shut the hell up, even though he won’t listen,
he never listens,
and you’ll hang on to every word as he keeps talking.
(this is unlikely. he wouldn’t set that bag down,
wouldn’t abandon any of his things even if
the world was burning)

next best scenario: someone stole it.
he’ll be battered and bruised,
because no one got that bag without a fight,
and you’ll tell him what a fucking idiot he is.
he’ll make some joke,
he always does,
and you’ll remind him again of how much you hate him.
he’ll remind you of how much you don’t.
(this is slightly less unlikely, but be realistic—
he wouldn’t give up any of his things even if he were burning)

okay, next best: he ran.
“best” is a relative term here,
“best” implies it’s anything good but really your chest
has never felt so fractured and the ground is tilting and everything is
wrong.
maybe he ran. is that why he asked you to let him go?
why he insisted he be set free?
(this is even less unlikely. it borders on likely, be honest.
he’d throw all his things to the wind if he felt like he was burning)

next best: he was taken.
you know he’s perched on a throne of lies,
buried in his own secrets of a past he tried to torch.
he isn’t safe, he never was, never was going to be,
no matter what you had to say about it.
stopshakingstopshakingstopshaking thisisn'thelping—
you hate him. you hate him so much. you hate
that you hurt for him.
(this is likely. this is very likely.
he’d never let his things go unless you were burning.)

worst case scenario: he’s dead.

—  if you were really amazing you wouldn’t have let him go // es

how many times do you think Yuuri and Viktor had to stop practicing the duet because they couldn’t get the hands off each other? because they were so caught on in the moment that they were kissing in the middle of the rink, desperately holding into each other, like the love-struck idiots they are? 

Okay, can we TALK ABOUT MAGNUS’S DESK FOR A SECOND???

Like yeah, the Malec is cool but I want to scream about this desk until I die. At first glance, it looks very mid-century. Old books, fancy wooden writing desk. Then you look closer and you realize how perfectly Magnus it is. Like on top of this old desk, with antique books is a glaring (almost surprisingly) modern metal lamp. 

Then, the chair. You expect an old fashioned, high-backed chair to go with the already antique feel of the room/desk. What you get? A bright yellow, almost 70′s style chair. And it’s just so perfect?? Because this is who Magnus is, ya feel. He’s this incredible mixture of things he’s taken to and enjoyed over centuries, he’s not static at all. But he also doesn’t leave behind things he cares about, he likes that desk, he likes those books but he ALSO likes that lamp and chair. Like, UGH, even his little pen which is sticking out of an antique pen holder in the center of the desk contrasts the cup of pens he has to the right of that. Like… Jesus, I love him so much. 

It’s You and Me

I can (finally) present to you the finished fic for my fic giveaway, which @bananannabeth won!!! Big thanks to her for a really interesting prompt (which was Percabeth going to highschool in canonverse) and also for just generally being an awesome person. 

Disclaimer: I know very little of the American schooling system. Please forgive any inaccuracies. Also, this is set after Blood of Olympus, before MCGA or ToA. Percy still goes to Goode! Other than that, I hope you enjoy this oneshot!!


“Is that Percy Jackson?”

“Percy…?”

“Percy’s back?”

“Who’s that girl with him?”

Whispers filled the hall as Percy strolled down the familiar corridor of Goode with Annabeth. Heads turned as he walked past, leaving a trail of confusion and whispering in his wake.

Percy’s mind was filled with all his old school friends and memories. He felt Annabeth squeeze his hand and he smiled at her reassuringly. Once again, Percy felt so glad that he and Annabeth were going to spend a year of high school together, especially after the year they’d just had: facing giants, finding new camps…and they’d spent most of it separated.

“Percy Jackson,” someone exclaimed, striding towards him.

Percy looked over at him, trying to place him. For a second Percy didn’t recognise him. But then a casual smile lit up Percy’s face, as Percy’s eyes brightened in recognition.

“Terry?” Percy asked. He clapped Terry on the back as he approached Percy and they embraced shortly.

“Percy,” Terry answered, “long time no see!” He grinned. “It’s great to see you. How long’s it been–a year now?”

“Yeah, must be, mustn’t it?” Percy replied uneasily, messing up his hair unwittingly. He knew this would be the worst bit. “Stuff… happened.”

Terry’s eyes betrayed his confusion and suspicion, but he didn’t press the matter, for which Percy was glad.

“Glad to see you back Percy. How are you, man?”

“Great, thanks. A bit worse now that I’m back at Goode with you though,” Percy joked.

Terry chuckled. “Thanks. I see you’ve brought a friend along too?”

“Yup. Terry, this is Annabeth; Annabeth, this is my friend Terry,” he said, introducing them.

“Nice to meet you, Terry,” Annabeth said, stretching out her hand.

Terry smiled at her then turned to Percy. “This is the same Annabeth? The Annabeth you talked about?” Percy nodded, resulting in Terry grinning broadly. “Well, it’s nice to know she’s real.”

Annabeth raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t think I was real?”

Terry blushed. “Well, you see, he was always talking about you, and–”

“I was not always talking about her!” Percy protested. It was his turn to blush.

Annabeth just laughed. “Well, I’m definitely real.”

“So how come you’re at Goode?” Terry asked. “Did you move?”

Annabeth shared a smile with Percy, a brief but meaningful look passing between them. “We decided to spend our senior year together,” Annabeth said, “so for the first time I’m trying out high school with this Seaweed Brain.” She bumped shoulders with Percy.

“She’s going to love it,” Percy grinned.

“Well, Annabeth,” Terry said. “Welcome to Goode.”

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