sorry i'm dumb and i was sleepy

anonymous asked:

So, what would you say the difference is between Error (being an error) and Fatal, being a virus?

I have a couple of ideas I’m still researching and planning out and other things I don’t want to spoil, but one thing I’m very settled on is Fatal_Error’s ability to adapt, learn, and change. And I mean that in relation to him being a threat. That’s certainly not to say that errors can’t do that - I mean, there’s so much about errors that we don’t know yet. That’s why I try to keep things open and not solidify any information that I can’t 100% confirm. I think that ya’ll will find that while he has extra characteristics that make him more virus-like, Fatal has a lot more in common with errors (and Error) than he thinks he does.

Davey would be a little bit pretentious about how he doesn’t listen to pop music but really he just wouldn’t listen to the radio that much or anything
One of the other boys would be like ‘Okay but have you even listened to any pop songs lately?’
He’d be like 'I… Yes? Maybe? No I haven’t’
So everyone would start playing their favourite pop songs for him and it’d turn out that he’s a huge fan of Taylor Swift

blakesdoitnastier  asked:

Send me prompts, she says, WELL OK I'M IN. Bellarke, obvi, are locally famous bartenders who have a weird psychic connection and they do all these drink gimmicks like matching drinks to customers personalities and throwing things at each other/catching them without even looking up, etc. but Clarke is tiny and Bellamy is huge so one day after celebrating Clarke passing her bio final, she gets a lil schwasted and he gives her a piggyback ride home where she cuddles into him the whole time ;)


[AO3] [FFN]

Tonight is not their usual kind of night at Grounders.

On a normal night, he and Clarke race to see who can pull a pint faster; they makes bets about what kind of drink a customer is going to order, and the loser does the mopping after they close; when things are slow, they juggle a likely dangerous number of bottles between them.

But none of that’s happening tonight.

Tonight, Clarke is not the one tossing him bottles or spinning tins down her arms. Tonight, Clarke’s the one slamming empty shot glasses down on the bar and calling for another.

“You’re not Thor,” he tells her, but fixes her another shot of whiskey anyway.

“Obviously,” she sneers at him. “Thor breaks his cup when he wants another.”

“If you break anything, I’m telling Kane and it’s coming out of your pay,” he warns her when he catches her eyeing the stack of empty shot glasses speculatively.

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