the second blue is even a

jcogginsa  asked:

Opinions on: The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles

They’re fun! I however am not, because Leo - easily the second least-rad of the bunch (possibly even LEAST rad given even dorky-ass Donatello teamed up with Jack Kirby that one time and rides a bike rather than a friggin’ scooter) - is definitely my favorite, because

1. He’s the one who’s occasionally serious (Raph doesn’t count because his rage is typically played for laughs), and therefore best provides 8-year-old me an access point to take the 2003 cartoon Very, Very Seriously, and

2. He has swords, which are the best, and also

3. His mask is blue, which is the best color.

Sorry.

Take Your Gatekeeping and Shove It.

So, this past weekend, I took my 11-year-old daughter to SuperCon to meet her favorite actor (and favorite Doctor), Peter Capaldi.

She wore a little blue TARDIS-decorated dress and some Doctor Who pins, and she nearly cried with joy when Capaldi greeted her for the photo op. He was a consummate gentleman and such a sweet and enthusiastic person.

An hour or so after the wonderful photo op experience, she and I were sitting at a table in the food court area.

A burly, older man plopped down nearby.  He looked at my little girl’s outfit, smiled, and said, “Do you even KNOW anything about Doctor Who?”

WTF, dude?

I was too stunned for a second to even respond, so he started right in with the ‘quizzing.’

“Who are the Doctor’s biggest enemies, and what planet does he come from?” this stranger asked.

Now I had moved past shocked and right into indignant/angry/protective mode.

“I don’t want her to be quizzed on something she loves, because I don’t want her thinking she has to prove ANYthing in order to be a fan,“ I told him.

Looking at my daughter, I said “You don’t owe strangers explanations or information, ok?“  She said OK and looked relieved.

Still he pressed on, patronizing grin and all: “Oh, I just want to be sure parents are raising their kids right.” Then he turned to my daughter again and asked “Who was the first Doctor, then?”

I cut him off right there. “No. I don’t want her quizzed. At all.”

Dude blinked in disbelief, sighed, and left about a minute later.

“Thanks,” my daughter said. “He was making me feel awkward.”

I held her hand and looked into her eyes. “Some men think they can have power over you by making you prove yourself. You never have to do it. They’re just insecure and pitiful, so they want to make you feel like it, too.  It’s not only about fan stuff, and it’s not always just men, but be careful not to fall into that trap, ok?”

That crap isn’t harmless fun. It sets up a pattern of approval-seeking, self-justification, self-doubt, and fear of exclusion that is very dangerous for children (particularly girls).

Fuck that.

TL;DR:  Do NOT come at me, my little girl, or anyone in my vicinity with your condescending, gatekeeping bullshit.

The next time, I won’t make the mistake of even TRYING to be polite.

Originally posted by tum-binha

Evening Dress

c.1850-1855

During the 1850s in France, there was renewed interest in eighteenth-century literature, art, and architecture and nostalgia for the lost world of Louis XV and his mistress Madame de Pompadour, who symbolized gracious living for the aristocracy and newly rich bourgeoisie. The resurgence of interest in rococo artists included reissues in England and France of engravings after the ornamental designs and paintings of Jean-Antoine Watteau. The fabric itself, a Jacquard-woven silk produced in Lyons, reveals the derivative nature of mid-nineteenth-century textile design, which often used elements copied directly from prints of the work of well-known artists.

For the fabric of this ball gown, two images by Jacques-Philippe Le Bas after Watteau have been combined. It is likely that the fabric was originally meant to have been used for furnishings, probably for a bedroom or boudoir (dressing room or private sitting room). The silk’s swing design would have been considered provocative for the time since it had long been associated with love-making and seduction. The gown was possibly worn originally by a member of the demimonde such as an actress-or by a naive young woman. The choice of the swing theme was especially appropriate for an evening dress, in which the wearer would want to appear demure yet flirtatious.

Philadelphia Museum of Art

arrives 2 and half years later with more papercuts

The Minyard-Josten Pros’ Coming Out

Or, That Time Andrew Got Pissed And Posted The Video That Broke The Internet

  • Years down the line, our boys are both pros and Neil is getting annoyed at all the press conferences that get derailed by either the Josten-Minyard rivalry or whether he is or isn’t in a committed relationship as some gossip magazines have been implying
  • he’s not allowed to deal with it, though
    • he’s actually not allowed to say anything to the press that his coach and PR team haven’t approved of
    • he calls it bullshit
    • he only ever antagonized a dangerous yakuza criminal once
    • people really can’t let anything go, in this sport

Keep reading

let’s hone in more about lance, leadership in general, and keith’s leadership (vs. shiro’s), culminating in his overall feelings about keith’s departure. 

first of all, i’m not someone who wants to see lance as the black paladin. i think his narrative is very much about him realizing his intrinsic worth. validating his idea that he must lead in order to “contribute in some way” would be detrimental to him in the long run. what i want to see is lance recognizing how essential his is to the team as he is now.

that aside, we know that lance does possess strong leadership traits. 

we’re introduced to lance when he’s leading the garrison trio. although that simulation was a disaster, what it did showcase was that lance could quickly identify what the problem was and who could best fix it. he also applies this to himself; he tends to fill any role that needs filling at the time. 

time and time again, we’ve seen evidence that lance is very, very perceptive, both of people’s emotions and of his surroundings. this is a very useful skill not only in a leader, but also in a support character such as lance. 

when keith is leading, in one particular instance, it’s lance whom the team follows, not keith.

even when the team is technically following keith, without lance’s guidance tempering keith’s impulses, the team isn’t confident in his judgment. 

furthermore, it’s lance, not “shiro”, who delivers the pep talk to allura that saves voltron. 

essentially, lance is perfectly capable of leading, but in the end, the black lion does not choose him. 

Keep reading

Everyone has different personalities hidden inside of them. It’s no secret. We are all formed of smaller galaxies, that we take out and put on as coats whenever we see fit. It’s no shame. I have that. We all do. It’s no strangeness.

I let some people see the summer rain in me, the warm coffee in me, the dusty old books, the smiles that feel like warm sunshine on my face. That’s the galaxy full of bright stars you just want to dive in.

I let other people see the hurricane, the wolf blood, the sharp bites and whiskey smirks. That’s the galaxy not many explore, the side you don’t venture into because you want to.

I perhaps have thousands of little universes like these that I bring out whenever I feel like it. I am not a chameleon, I don’t adapt to what’s asked of me. I just like to think that I’m not simple enough to be defined by one single thing.

But every galaxy has its black holes. The one thing you don’t talk about, the one you keep hidden and pretend it doesn’t exist.

I feel like the person I become when I get close to the black hole isn’t who I am. I see it as another person, completely separated from me. I keep her in a locked room. Or perhaps I don’t keep her, perhaps she has caged herself there, in a prison of her own making.

She is sad. She is a weeping sky. She is angry. She is an unmerciful tsunami. She is mad. And she scares me.

I don’t let her out. In fact, I think I have no control over her whatsoever. She comes out whenever she wants and she does what she wants once she’s out. She cries, she yells, she laughs, she scares. She scratches on the walls of my mind as a warning before she erupts. But she doesn’t stay too long. She never does. Maybe she just gets lonely in there, all by herself, and wants to make sure I haven’t forgotten her.

We all have universes, stars, dangerous planets and black holes. Perhaps I am made of books full of raindrops and hunger and feathers and broken wings sparrows. Made of going but never leaving. Of had enough’s and trying too hard. Of cigarette smoke and poison and storms. Of poetry and spilled ink. Of shy mornings and midnight thunders.

But do I ever think that makes me original or special or different?

Not even for a second.

—  writinghurricanes, shades of blue

A little AU meet-cute based on @billypoindexter‘s prompt (someone else may have already done it, but I haven’t written any zimbits in forever):

So I was watching Say Yes to the Dress yesterday and Corbin Bleu and his fiancé (now wife) Sasha Clements were on it and when they asked how they met Sasha said they met in a grocery store and she kind of recognized him, and figured he was an acquaintance whose name she had forgotten. So she goes “Hey!! How are you?” and they chat for a bit before she realizes that she knows him because he’s famous.


Bitty was rounding the end of the cereal aisle, rechecking the grocery list to see if he’d gotten everything and wondering what was wrong with the state of public education in New England that none of his roommates had apparently learned basic penmanship, when he ran into someone.

“Oh my god, I am so sorry!” he exclaimed, and suppressed the wince as his accent reflexively came out full force. (It was partly the apologizing, and partly that he’d learned people were more forgiving if they thought he wasn’t from ’round here. He’d decided to embrace it; if he couldn’t get rid of the accent, it might as well be good for something.)

“No, no problem,” said the person, and then Bitty actually looked at him and felt that familiar terror of countless small-town grocery runs with his mother, where they ran into someone that he knew he was supposed to know, but could not place for the life of him, let alone remember an actual name.

“Well, hey!” he exclaimed, racking his brain frantically for the reason this guy looked so familiar. Surely he’d remember someone who looked like that. Lord. There was nothing, though, so he let autopilot take over. “How have you been?”

Tall, Dark, and Handsome blinked at him. (How could Bitty have forgotten eyes that blue? What even was wrong with him today? This was ridiculous.) “Uh, okay, actually. Yup. Everything going well.”

“Well, that’s great!” Bitty glanced at his list again. “Hey, can you read this? I genuinely can’t tell if this is supposed to be English.”

The guy obligingly took the paper from him and squinted at it. “Provolone, I think.”

Bitty took the list back and stared at it for a second. “I think you’re right. Honestly, Holster.”

“I was just heading toward the deli myself.”

“How perfect! I really kind of hate shopping by myself? But this was just supposed to be a quick in and out, or at least it was until I realized I apparently live with chickens in human guise who never learned to write properly.”

By the time Bitty and The Guy checked out and parted ways half an hour later, Bitty still hadn’t recalled his name, and by then it was clearly too late to admit it.

Oh well, he’d probably remember later, when he was trying to fall asleep.

~*~*~*~

“You know,” he called pointedly from the kitchen, “y’all could make yourselves useful and help me put all these things away.”

“Yes! Bro! Did you see that pass?” Holster yelled instead.

“Beauty,” Ransom answered, and then there was the sound of a high-five.

Bitty sighed and stuck his head around the corner to see what they were yelling about now.

SportsCenter, as usual, was on, playing highlights from the Falconers’ game the night before. As Bitty watched, it switched from the on-ice play to an intermission interview.

An intermission interview. With the guy from the grocery store.

Jack Zimmermann.

“Oh my god,” Bitty said for the second time that day, hands to his cheeks, which were indeed burning up.

Holster looked over at him in concern. “Bits? What’s wrong? Why do you look like a tomato?”

“I just spent half an hour casually grocery shopping with Jack fucking Zimmermann because I thought he looked familiar and I didn’t want to admit I couldn’t place him. Oh my god, I could just die.”

Ransom and Holster exchanged glances and then they were on him. “No shit! What’s he like? What did he buy? Tell us everything!”

“I can never shop there again,” Bitty said faintly.

“Hey, wait, you didn’t say you were adding an end table to the background!”

Carl the Animator: “You’re normally not so stringent about interior decorating.”

Ted the Animator: “Carl, the blue suit guy interacts with the scenery. I already had the cels drawn for a future scene of him, even closer to the sofa.”

Carl the Animator: “…and?”

Ted the Animator:And, that means his one leg was partially-obscured.”

Carl the Animator: “Oh. Well, it should still look pretty normal, right?”

Ted the Animator: “…no, Carl. No, it does not.”

Carl the Animator: “Hmmm.”

Ted the Animator: “There’s no time to re-do the scene, so I guess it’s staying in the episode.”

Carl the Animator: “Look, having a second leg is totally overrated. He can be a pirate now!”

2

I’m CRYING….. Ok so I have the rvb fan guide and it has donut’s journals! What I didn’t expect was that there would be multiple instances of donut referring to grif in a flirty/romantic way. Who knew that DONUT of all people would have a thing for dirty ass grif????? Also this means that grif officially had like half of red team pining for him at the same time…. Grif you freaking heartbreaker XD

7

PART II

PART I. Bechloe AU in which Chloe went undercover to get Beca Mitchell under arrest, and failed miserably after falling for her. But when it was time to fulfill her mission, everything went wrong.

Those six months Chloe was undercover were also spent in Beca Mitchell’s bed. Quite efficiently if you ask her, but Chloe never forgot about her mission, not even for a second. Not when Beca was gentle and sweet, with her soft smile and stormy blue eyes. Not when for the first time their night was full of love and tenderness, instead of animal lust and craving for each other’s body. Not even when Chloe let the damn four-letter word slip into the conversation. Chloe knew from the moment she laid her eyes upon Beca Mitchell, she was doomed to fail.

To those who say Jonerys will never happen in the books, just a quick reminder Dany has been dreaming of him, even if she has not seen his face yet…

Lying abed in her narrow bunk, she found herself wondering how it would be to have a man squeezed in beside her in place of her handmaid, and the thought was more exciting than it should have been. Sometimes she would close her eyes and dream of him, but it was never Jorah Mormont she dreamed of; her lover was always younger and more comely, though his face remained a shifting shadow.

Daenerys, ACOK

He was who he was; Jon Snow, bastard and oathbreaker, motherless, friendless, and damned. For the rest of his life –however long that might be– he would be condemned to be an outsider, the silent man standing in the shadows who dares not speak his true name

Jon, AGOT

The flames crackled softly, and in their crackling she heard the whispered name Jon Snow. His long face floated before her, limned in tongues of red and orange, appearing and disappearing again, a shadow half-seen behind a fluttering curtain.

Melisandre, ADWD

Jon’s face and presence is often referred to as being in the shadows, he’s always been the outsider, watching the Stark children play and even if he did play himself sometimes, he tried his best to avoid irritate Lady Stark, so he kept it to himself, as the bastard he was pained to be. 

Melisandre’s visions of him, from R’hllor himself is described as Jon’s shadow hidden…It’s not SO subtle how he’s always referred to be hidden there. 


A quick reminded that when he died, she listened to Ghost’s cries…from across THE NARROW SEA…

“Jon fell to his knees. He found the dagger’s hilt and wrenched it free. In the cold night air the wound was smoking. “Ghost,” he whispered. Pain washed over him. Stick them with the pointy end. When the third dagger took him between the shoulder blades, he gave a grunt and fell face-first into the snow. He never felt the fourth knife. Only the cold … “

Jon, ADWD

“Off in the distance, a wolf howledThe sound made her feel sad and lonely, but no less hungry. As the moon rose above the grasslands, Dany slipped at last into a restless sleep.“

Daenerys, ADWD

These chapters happen at the same time, how can Daenerys Targaryen, in Meeren, listen to Jon’s murder at the Wall, North of Westeros, if not for the bond they have…without ever meeting. Call it soulmates, fate, whatever you want. Martin does not use words he does not think necessary nor he adds information that the story does not need. If you ever read one his books, you’ll know he’s sharp and everything means something, even the puzzles and riddles thrown our way. Daenerys heard his soul, Ghost’s cries (perhaps his own, warg ones), and she felt sad over it, not even knowing why.


A reminder that when Dany was at the House of the Undying, she only saw important, relevant things. Not only to herself, but to the realm: the rape of Westeros, The Red Wedding, the madness of Aerys Targaryen demanding to burn Kings Landing, Rhaegar and Elia talking of Aegon and his promised song, the fake dragon (Faegon, am I right?), Hardhome, what her son’s future would have been like, White Walkers, Rhaegar’s murmuring a woman’s name right before he died (we all assume is Lyanna’s, I guess we’ll find out eventually), and there are others, but to me it means a lot that one of these visions is:

a blue flower growing from a chink in a wall of ice, filling the air with sweetness.

Daenerys, ACOK

Oh, she also sees the red door of the house she loved and she remembers growing up, and she believed it was in Braavos. She only had important sights for the realm and herself, yet she sees a blue flower growing at the wall (if you don’t think this means Jon Snow growing at the Wall, we can’t be friends and you can’t even read this, bye! JK haha…but come on, Lyanna is said to have loved winter roses, which are blue…the same ones that composed the crown Rhaegar Targaryen crowned her with, as The Queen of Love and Beauty at the Tourney of Harrenhal. Jon lives, works, serves at the Wall, it doesn’t get any more obvious than this, y’all…only if Martin wrote she saw a ‘hot northmen with gorgeous hair at Castle Black, really…”). 

(whoever did this second gif, thank you so very much, this is beautiful <3)

So not only does this shows how important Jon is to the realm (remember how her visions are all important, not only to her but also to Westeros? *inserts my theory of them both being AA* But he’s also important to her, the flower is not just THERE, it also fills the air with sweetness, it pleases her. Do I need to say more? 


This one is very meaningful if not very telling, to me. They both feel alone, like something is missing. One can even say “they feel alone cause they are alone”, but they were not. It almost feels like there is someone out there, a better match. 

Beneath her coverlets she tossed and turned, dreaming that Hizdahr was kissing her … but his lips were blue and bruised, and when he thrust himself inside her, his manhood was cold as ice. She sat up with her hair disheveled and the bedclothes atangle. Her captain slept beside her, yet she was alone.

Daenerys, ADWD

Jon wondered where Ghost was now. Had he gone to Castle Black, or was he was running with some wolfpack in the woods? He had no sense of the direwolf, not even in his dreams. It made him feel as if part of himself had been cut off. Even with Ygritte sleeping beside him, he felt alone.

Jon, ASOS

their story is a never ending parallel.

Not to disrespect Ygritte, cause I think she was necessary to Jon’s growth. She was a great character and I do believe Jon loved her, at some point. But just like Daenerys, this love was not a choice, it was almost like a survival choice, they made the best out of a bad situation. 

He had to be with Ygritte, or Mance would have killed him, he would not believe Jon had really deserted the Night’s Watch. Ygritte wasn’t Jon’s act of rebellion, like I once read at a meta, no, she was, at first, his sacrifice/way to fill his mission. But somewhere along the way, he fell in love with her, she was strong, funny, and she awoke the sexuality in him. Again, he had to be with her, to prove himself, but it also wasn’t like he didn’t like it. 

Daenerys loved Khal Drogo? Yeah, but it was as forced as was Jon and Ygritte. One can say it was even worse for she did not go willing, she was pushed into it, sold like a slave, to get her brother an army (we do have to thank karma cause his army never came, boo-ya, sucker!). She was given to a stranger, a savage (comparing to her culture; it’s funny even to see the parallel here, both had to be with people that are considered savages, wildlings where they come from) in return of an army, and she made the best of her situation, she learnt his language, his manners, bore his child (even if the baby never came to live), she fell in love with him cause for the first time in a very long time (or forever?), she was treated with care and love (the way Drogo knew how to love) by the man in her life. 


A sweet reminder of how Daenerys thinks of her family and how she would have married Rhaegar’s son, had he lived. Rhaegar’s son, who’s Jon’s daddy again? 

Plus, we’ve seen on the show that Jon was named Aegon Targaryen too, we do not know if he will have the same name on the books but I honestly do not think they would change something so important. 

So, just another beautiful “easter egg” to ya:

Five Aegons had ruled the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. 

There would have been a sixth, but the Usurper’s dogs had murdered her brother’s son when he was still a babe at the breast. If he had lived, I might have married him. “

Daenerys, ADWD

Who says you still won’t, sweetie? Hold on, Melisandre will bring him back or he was warging Ghost, let’s just wait a bit longer, okay? 


Their journey is a never ending parallel, and their path is clearly to each other.

I don’t think the history is called ‘A Song of Ice and Fire’ without a cause, Jon may be blood of the dragon, but he’s also a Stark, and Daenerys is a Targaryen through and through…

*the lord of light aka george r.r. martin speaks through melisandre*

I’m back to reading the books and even if I’m still at AGOT, I just felt like making this, had a really bad day and making this made it a little better. 

What are your thoughts? <3 

8

“ Don’t you lecture me, blue-box man flying through time and space on whimsy. All I’ve got, all I’ve had for thirty six years, is cold, hard reality.“ ||| “ You left me alone for ten years! Don’t tell me I can’t be angry

8

                                         ‘Oh the bitten mouth, oh the kissed limbs,
                                     oh the hungering teeth, oh the entwined bodies.

DeanCas Coda to 13x04: The Big Empty

Unsurprisingly, the thrill of being on Earth fades after two days of relentless walking, bumming rides, and begging for bus money. Not that Castiel can’t appreciate the sunshine and flowers and corporeality of it all… but about one minute after standing up and taking in the warmth and smells and feel of the world around him, his thoughts immediately turned to the Winchesters. To Jack.

To Dean.

It’s Dean specifically whose name runs on a loop in his mind; whose memories have Castiel’s heart stuttering and blood racing in his veins. By the time he’s walking up to the Bunker door, Cas’s palms are slick with sweat and he’s exhausted despite his Grace, anxiety clawing under his skin. He re-adjusts his new coat and tie about fifteen times, and attempts to flatten his hair into some kind of order. He stares at the door for a good five minutes before gathering enough courage to knock.

It’s Dean who answers.

He’s thinner than the last time Castiel saw him, with dark bruises under his eyes and a paleness lurking beneath his skin that is frightening. He looks haggard, and defeated, and despite all of that Cas is still made breathless. Because he is standing in the doorway whole. Because they are both whole, and living. 

“Give it a rest, Mia. I ain’t buyin’ what you’re selling.”

The door is closed in his face.

It’s amazing, how one sentence can break a person. But no matter. Castiel  knows, logically, that Dean think’s he’s dead. Four days ago, he wouldn’t have been wrong. So, pushing those pesky, unrealistic fantasies of a romantic reunion aside, he swallows thickly, and knocks again. 

Dean answers with a glare this time. “Look, I get that we helped you, but following us all the way out here is just friggin’ creepy, okay?! And invasive! So leave us the hell alone before I decide to do something I regret.” Scoffing, he gives Castiel a cursory look up and down before shaking his head. “Some shifter you are,” he mutters. “You even got his clothes wrong.”

“Dean, wait.”

“I’m really not in the mood right now, okay? So just—”

“Dean, it’s me.”

Dean pauses. Shakes his head. Pauses again.

“You can test me,” Castiel says. “In fact, I insist. But don’t—don’t close the door again. Please, I just—it’s me. I swear it’s me.”

Green eyes play across his face, but if he’s searching for duplicity, he’ll find none. Staring back, Cas waits for Dean to come to a decision, finally muttering a “wait here”, before closing the door for a second time. Left alone, Cas feels his shoulders slump in relief. Dean will test him, and then he’ll know. He’ll know and Castiel will finally go home.

They do holy water first and iron first, saving silver for last. Even when both other tests have been completed, Dean hesitates at the third, looking at Cas’s big blue eyes and biting his lip. Castiel rolls up his sleeve and holds out his arm. “Please,” he murmurs. 

Dean quickly slices the silver blade in a shallow cut on Cas’s forearm, watching with wide eyes when the skin easily knits back together. 

The knife drops to the ground with an almighty clang. 

Dean’s hand comes up to shakily cover his mouth as his eyes, red-rimmed and shining, remain trained on Castiel’s. “No,” he murmurs. “Uh uh, I’m dreaming. I’m—I burned you. I’ve finally cracked, I—”

“No,” Castiel urges. “It’s me. It’s Cas.”

“I know who you are, dumbass.” Tears spill onto freckled cheeks as a huffed laugh is startled out of Dean’s chest. His hands twitch at his sides. “It’s really you.”

“Yes.”

They’re hugging. Dean has launched himself at Castiel’s person, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and cradling the back of his head. His shoulders shake as he buries his face in Cas’s neck, and of his part, Castiel holds on as tightly as he can without causing harm. He blinks rapidly in an effort to dispel his own tears and leans heavily into the warmth that now surrounds him from what feels like all sides. 

“Cas,” Dean mumbles, his voice thin and watery. “Cas. Castiel. Cas.

“Dean.” Castiel doesn’t mean to turn his head, just as he doesn’t mean to lean in when Dean pulls back to see what’s happening. He does, however, mean to kiss Dean Winchester within an inch of his life when it becomes clear that this is a thing he’s permitted to do.

So he does it.

Castiel kisses Dean thoroughly. Methodically. Pressing little demonstrations of love to his mouth before deepening it to something wanton and wet. Cas’s heart tumbles against his ribcage, and his cheeks heat, and Dean runs a hand through his hair in a way that is so different from that creature in the empty that Castiel almost sobs anew. He kisses Dean with everything he is, and Dean whimpers. Freckled hands cup Cas’s cheeks.

From the war room, Sam holds Jack’s shoulder, keeping him in place. “Just… wait a sec, okay?“ he says, staring up at the pair pressed together on the threshold. “They need this.”

“They love each other,” Jack observes.

"Yeah,” Sam nods. Blinking rapidly, he looks at the child beside him and smiles. “They do.”

TAGS: @musingsdeme @jdragon122 @zolaliz @patrcolvs @natmoose @casolantern @high-on-netflix @dramaqueenrolf @lanaserra (If you want to be tagged in my codas, please let me know!)

Please Forgive Me, Lance

Blue hated this so much. She’d wanted to go back on it ever since the first second she stopped letting Lance in. He looked like he’d cry. That made her want to cry, too.

But that had nothing on right now. It was in the middle of the night, two or three am in Earth time- Lance’s time.

He walked up carefully to her, looking her in the eye for two seconds at most, “Hey, Blue…. Look, I know you don’t want me, but I need to know. Please tell me why you gave me up.”

She’d wanted to. She’d wanted to reach out to her boy, to say, But I do want you. And it’s killing me that I can’t let you come back to me right now. And it’s killing me that it’s hurting you. But she didn’t. She couldn’t.

He continues, “Please, Blue… I want to know why you gave me up. I need to know why I’m not worthy of you. Am I even worthy of Voltron anymore?” His voice cracked, forcing the lion’s heart to follow suit. You are more than worthy. If anything I am unworthy of you. I didn’t want to, Lance, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry.

He’d whispered, “Why can’t I ever be good enough? Why am I always just a fill-in? Why can’t I ever be more than just an extra wheel?!” Blue hated this with every fiber of her being. She didn’t want to push him out. But she had to, for Voltron. Fight now, all she wanted to do was tell the world Fuck Voltron.

He’d dropped to his knees now, shoulders shaking. Little splash noises hit the ground. Blue felt her hypothetical stomach drop the second she’d realized what they were. Tears.

But God, how it hurt her when he sobbed, “Why did you even bring me here?! If you were just going to… to ditch me like that, why did you bring me here at all?!”

I’m sorry, Lance, I’m so sorry. I want you to pilot me, but you can’t. Not right now. I love you so much, but I can’t.

He’d sobbed, “I’m not even meant to be on this team! I want to go home, where I’m wanted!”My baby, you are wanted, I’m so, so sorry I can’t tell you and none of us want you to leave. You’re meant to be here, Lance. Please know that.

A whispered voice of, “Lance?” The former Red Paladin had walked over, Lance frantically wiping his eyes. He’d realized it was too late, just letting tears fall.

Lance whispered, “Keith. I just… why doesn’t Blue love me anymore?!” He latched onto the other’s neck, sobbing. I love you so so much Lance, my baby, my raindrop. She felt bad using that nickname. She felt she didn’t deserve it with how she was forced to treat Lance.

Keith had whispered back, “I don’t know, Lance… I’m sorry. I’m sure she has a reason.” Keith had glared up at her. He loved Lance a great deal, she could tell that by his normally fiery and passionate gaze becoming a cold and unforgiving glare.

After Keith had gotten Lance back to his room, probably to sleep, he’d returned. He had the same stony and cold look in his eyes. He was angry that she’d hurt him. Angry at her. She was angry at herself, too.

He told her, “You hurt him. A lot. I don’t understand why you aren’t fixing it. He’s doubting his place on the team because of you.” I know, and I hate it. I can do nothing.

Keith continued, “I don’t know what came over you, but freezing him out like that has made him so insecure. He doesn’t even think he deserves to be called a Paladin. All because you couldn’t spare two fucking sentences to tell him otherwise.” I wanted to. Go, how I wanted to.

She wasn’t angry at him. In all honesty, under all the sadness and guilt plaguing her, she was glad Lance had him.

“I just don’t get it. He was so devoted to you. I mentioned you once outside his door, and he made sure to tell me that you two were very happy together and that you were his lion only. He loved you-still does-and you don’t even care enough to tell him he’s important?!”

“Why don’t you get it, Blue?! I know how it feels to be abandoned like that. It kills you. It makes you feel like you don’t deserve the ground you walk on, the air you breath. It makes you feel so alone, even if you’re in a room packed with people. You’re hurting him so much, Blue. Do you even care enough to fix it?”

She did care. So, so much. She’d be killed for her Paladin without thinking twice. He was her baby. She loved him with everything.

“He thinks you hate him. I know that isn’t totally true. Because if it were, you wouldn’t deserve to be a lion. I try to tell him he’s important and wanted and loved, but he doesn’t listen. He thinks that just cause we’re dating I’m lying to make him feel better. He talks so highly of you.”

I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve him. I’m horrible and awful and I shouldn’t have ever agreed to Black’s plan. I’m going to strangle her. He doesn’t deserve something like me.

He’d finished off with, “You’d think that after all that’s happened, you’d know that mistakes of this scale last a lifetime, and do irreversible damage.” After, he stormed out, leaving her to her thoughts. She was pushing the other lions out at all costs right now.

I hate this so much, and I’ll make it up to you as soon as I can. As soon as Shiro comes back, you’ll come back to me, and I’ll tell you everything.

She felt awful. She hurt her baby. Made him feel like he doesn’t belong. Made him think she hated him.

I’m so incredibly sorry, Lance. I can’t… I can’t let our connections come back, or I won’t be able to take it away again. I just hope Red will comfort you. Please don’t hate me, Lance. Please remember all the times I’ve told you how great you are.

I hate this so much, and I’ll make it up to you as soon as I can. As soon as Shiro comes back, you'lll come back to me, and I’ll tell you everything. Every single word about how great you are. Maybe then you’ll know why I did this. Please don’t hate me.

Please forgive me, Lance.

the spy au that @philosophium ordered !!


Andrew slips through a slit in the crowd, brushing through the sleek trains of expensive gowns, rich wool suits jackets catching on his own. He’s on his second flute of champagne, and the tartness keeps him focused. His attention is on the flavour and the rim of the glass and the warp of faces through it. His earpiece crackles and whispers.

He can see his mark on the opposite side of the room, surrounded by servers and liars and pretty things. One of them is all three, Andrew can tell: a waiter’s vest, a seam of over-applied foundation, and bright blue eyes.

He’s distracting, flighty, a rubber band pulled all the way back. He looks like the memory of a case file, and a name occurs to Andrew one second before Kevin hisses it into his ear.

“It’s fuckin’ Charlie Pilot. Don’t engage, Minyard, we’re not here for him.”

Andrew doesn’t make any effort to reply, just takes another pull of champagne. He’s not really watching the troupes of entertainers or the clockwork security or the velvet and silk blooming under bowing chandeliers. He’s not even watching the man he’s either going to rob or kill, who’s laughing and weedy, red in the face from the alcohol. He’s stuck on Pilot –  next to his target, holding a heavily stocked tray of appetizers, his expression pleasant and empty.

He’ll be an irritant to what should be a straightforward plan, if he keeps hovering. Andrew takes a loaded step forward and the voice in his ear complains.

“Don’t even think about moving in until Pilot leaves. He’s probably doing reconnaissance for Matt. I bet he doesn’t even know about the file.”

Andrew watches Pilot’s face tick, the way he blinks like he’s on a timer, the way he’s worrying the inside of his cheek with his teeth.

“I bet he does,” Andrew murmurs, and he drains the last of the champagne. He plucks his tie pin away from the fabric and drops it in the empty glass, leaving it on a passing tray.

“What— what the fuck Minyard, we’ve lost visuals. Do you hear me? Andrew? Andrew?”

Andrew weaves through the rest of the golden crowd, ignoring the buzz of Kevin’s reprimands in his ear. He finds a new spot on the outskirts of the crowd where Pilot has installed himself.

“Do you know how fucking expensive those cameras are? You’re such a piece of shit operative,” Kevin says. “When you inevitably come back without the intelligence and without our equipment, it’s costing us to keep you around, do you realize that?”

Andrew’s more focused on the way Pilot’s shoulders are turning to face him, the slim line of his tailored pants, that eyelash-thick smudge of un-blended make up.

“Shrimp?” Pilot offers, swaying the tray in his direction.

“No,” Andrew says, but he stays uncomfortably near, feeling along the edges of his boundaries without finding any seams. Pilot’s composure is still and reserved as a frost-ravaged garden.

“Have a good evening then,” Pilot says graciously, turning back towards the host that Andrew should be sizing up but hasn’t even looked at. He glances at him for a sliver of a moment, finds himself uninterested, and looks back at Pilot.

Andrew catches him suddenly by the arm, but relaxes his grip just as quickly, caught off guard by his own impulsivity. His own disguise is just an invitation and sun bleached hair; he isn’t playing a character like Pilot is. He’s neutral for a living, but Pilot is a new weight on his scale, unbalancing him so that he can’t quite settle at zero.

When their eyes meet, the polite, curious waiter snips out of existence. Charlie Pilot stares at Andrew, with eyes like the bluest part of a fire.

“There’s a conflict of interest,” he tells Andrew calmly. “And your interest will lose.”

“I’m not interested in anything,” Andrew says broadly.

“Hm,” Pilot says, unconvinced. “You’re lying.”

“I don’t lie,” Andrew says. He’s always saying it; it’s a novelty that employers enjoy and enemies challenge, amused.

Pilot raises his jaw, mouth twitching. “No, you wouldn’t, would you.” His eyes flicker to the side of Andrew’s face, where Kevin is breathing furiously through his earpiece, then down to the grip he still has on his forearm. He lowers his tray down until the rough edge is pressed to the root of Andrew’s hand threateningly. “You’ll want to let me go, Andrew, or you’re going to end up needing a longer armband.”

Andrew feels genuine surprise squeeze his fingers around Pilot’s wrist. He hadn’t noticed the black fabric extending a whiff beyond his crisp white sleeve. He lets go, and Pilot tucks his shoulders back, satisfied. His hair is too dark to match his freckles, Andrew notes quietly. It is, perhaps, what the make up was meant to cover up.

“You are not going to win, Charlie,” Andrew says. “We’re the more capable team.”

Pilot smiles indulgently. “‘Charlie’,” he repeats, mouth curling around the name. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been Charlie Pilot.” He jostles his tray from one hand to another, and loosens his collar with his freed hand. “And I don’t think you understand how much farther ahead we are than you. If you’re looking for information, we already have it. If you’re trying to find the connections this place has to the Yakuza, we’re the ones undoing them.”

“Who’s we? I don’t remember seeing anything about loyalty in your case file. You’re just a runner.”

Pilot looks briefly bothered by this, and he juts his chin again. “I’m loyal to whoever’s doing the work that needs to be done.”

“That doesn’t answer my question. Who are you?”

He looks down, at Andrew’s empty hands, at the hip where he’s hiding his gun. His expression is warped and sad when he looks up, like the real filling in his strange costume is finally oozing out.

“You can call me Neil,” he says, and drops the whole tray of food so that it clatters and rolls into the host’s feet. There are gasps and yelps, partygoers dodging and stooping to catch the runaway platter. Andrew looks impulsively down to track its progress, and when he looks sharply back up into the knot of activity, Neil is gone. Of course he is.

He doesn’t have time to think about where he might have disappeared to, just steps neatly into the opportunity that’s been afforded to him. He uses the distraction as a doorway directly into the offices behind the coddled host.

Kevin is asking repeatedly for updates, and Andrew fishes the earpiece out and tucks it into his breast pocket. He likes to be alone for this part, when the most important door closes behind him and everything makes as much sense as a ticking clock.

He keeps thinking of Neil’s reaction to ‘runner’, of the vulnerability trussed up in his persona. He finds himself sick to his stomach wanting to know what his real hair colour is.

He tries every door in the polished row of them, finding all of them locked. He picks the lock on the door farthest from the burble of the ballroom behind him, and cracks into what looks like a room built for business arrangements and drinking. There’s a snifter next to a half dozen tumblers on a cart along the wall, and extensive cabinets under the desk.

He feels his way along the underside of the desk, and opens each drawer, idealistically left unlocked and unprotected. He finds useless information and shady information and heaps of anonymous, unlabeled tapes.

He finds the safe in the floor, facing up patiently under a wingback chair and a panel of floorboard. He stoops so that he’s face to face with it, shrugs his jacket off like a dead skin onto the floor, and puts the heart of a stethoscope to the face of the safe.

He’s sweating, spread out surreptitiously on the floor, but the safe is flimsy. It cracks in under an hour, the party wilting two rooms over, pressure taking him by the hair. Andrew flicks the door open impatiently, unwinding the stethoscope from around his neck.

It’s filled top to bottom with paper, and he reaches for the first file, carding his fingers through the spill of sheets.

Got you, it says. Over and over again, in unassuming little typescript. And on the next page, got you.

Andrew’s fingers flex. The next file is the same, and the next. A million taunting, twirling repetitions: got you. Got this. Got here first.

The safe was already cracked. The list of names was already stolen. Neil’s face winks and swarms when he closes his eyes, furious. If you’re looking for information, we already have it.

He roots around for the bud in his pocket and pops it back into his ear. He leans back, splayed away from the spill from the safe, the stacks of failure. He enunciates clearly into the microphone sewn into his collar.

“We have to find Neil.”

Keep reading

Now or Never (m)

Pairing: fwb!Jimin x Reader
Genre: SMUT / angst 
Word Count: 26k magic
Summary: Road trips are always great. Especially, when spent with your playboy friend with benefits, whom you happen to be in love with.
Author’s Note: There’s literally all kinds of smut scenes in here omg lol But I’m SO HAPPY this is finally done. I’ve been working on this since December 31st, which sums up to like 9 months now? I’ve put so much effort into it, I hope you’ll like it. Enjoy!


“Let’s go to Vegas.”

The sentence still rings in your ears as you grab your black duffle bag, filled with all your belongings, and flee from your grand shared hotel suite. You disregard the fact that you haven’t bid him goodbye, but you’re sure he wouldn’t mind with the state he was in when you’ve seen him last.

Normally, you hate wearing sunglasses at night, your dim surroundings then usually leading to a confused jumble, but you pull them on nonetheless to exude the image of a cool girl. A cool girl is someone who takes life as it is, whose everyday life is an adventure and who doesn’t care about what others think or want.

You’ve nearly perfected that persona since you started seeing him, bent on changing your personality in ways to fit him perfectly. In the end, it still wasn’t enough to keep him hooked.

The shared nights in the motels you stayed at during your road trip with him, or the hot makeout sessions in his new Mustang are burnt into your memories like reminders of your failure. You have nowhere to go, but anywhere else is better than waiting for him to return to the suite with a stranger’s scent to him.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

could you possibly please rec a couple of your fave fics? ♥️

Ok, so I’m assuming: klance fics? Alright, here we go:

texting fics (I love those kind of fics. They almost always seem to nail characters’ personalities and texting style and are so funny to read. The ones I’ll mention now are my absolute fav from this category):

left on read ✓ by hinatashoyo

Ongoing, funny and although sometimes hits a serious area it’s mostly in a light tone. Pining!Keith.

(For me it’s a big plus, because as you know if you follow me, it’s one of my favourite tropes in Voltron fandom)

little numbers by ashtxns

(I guess you have to be logged in user of AO3 to read that one)

Anyway, ongoing and I suspect it won’t be finished but because of it’s form you don’t get a feeling like you’re left hanging. Super funny. Established klance.

and here comes the blushing groom by hiriki

Completed. Keith and Lance are stucked on a planet which citizens believe they are heroes destined to save them. The thing is they have to get married. Aka: Lance, Pidge, Hunk, Allura and Shiro are texting while Keith.exe stopped working. I don’t remember it very well, but I know I had fun while reading. Also, @xxxkaseixxx recommended it to me, so I already knew it’s a good one before starting.

Legendary Station by BleuSarcelle

Ok, so it’s not really texting fic but it’s a first part of a series where second part is texting fic. You don’t have to read that one to enjoy it’s continuation but I’m strongly reccomending it, because it’s a joy, I remember that one quote (about Keith’s mullet) made me laugh histerically at 3 a.m.

The story is: Voltron is a Radio Station beloging to Allura and her family and: Black, Green, Yellow, Red and Blue are it’s hosts. The station menagers decide that if all radio hosts specialize in certian topics and have already established base of listeners then Station can be even more popular if hosts would be paired with each other. Turns out they were right. Completed.

dance au fics:

i bet you look good on the dancefloor by xShieru

One of the first fics I’ve read in this fandom. I don’t remember it very well but the general impression is that it was quite enjoyable. Except that…pining!lance was…very extremaley thirsty and I’m not very fond of Keith being pictured as some sex object. The fic is well written, it’s not like Keith is dumb but pretty. It’s just when you see him through Lance’s eyes it may be uncomfortable for some people.

Lance, Hunk and Pidge are dancers who strongly admire dancing duo Keith and Shiro. Some stuff happens, Lance goes on dancing camp and guess who’s an instructor? Completed.

Shut Up And Dance With Me by wittyy_name

I’m pretty sure everyone knows this one so I’ll just say it’s pretty great and if you haven’t before you should read this one and also every other fic wrtitten by this author. Ongoing.

I’m Going To Sweep You Off Your Feet   by Adventures_in_Writing

Ongoing. Shiro and Allura are getting married and Keith - as Shiro’s best man - needs to take some dance lesson because it’s important part of a wedding. So he takes them from Allura’s maid of honor - Lance. There is some actual knowledge about dances so it’s cool. Also, Keith’s a florist.

fanatsy kind of fics:

Gate Keeper by MoonlitPaladin (MoonlitStardust)

Scottish folklore, faes, mystery. Lance has a destiny. Really good writing.

Flirting With Death by drippingpen

Now this one is maybe my favourite. It’s hard to decide but there is something about this story that reminds me of a type of books I used to read before discovering fanfiction.

Ongoing. Keith is Grim Reaper. Lance is his first…client?

Of Lions and House Cats  by Ms_Towa

People with super powers are real and known in public because they all belong to Voltron Alliance. Unless they are Galra.

Keith is a superhero. Lance is vigilante that he has to stop. Lance is also a cute boy he has a crush on. Secret identyties. Pining!Keith. Ongoing

coffe shop au (well not exactly but)

Better than coffee by peralta

Also one of the first fics I started reading in this fandom and only recently completed.

Lance is a college student who tries to cut of his addiction to coffee and maybe switch for tea… Keith conviniently is a hot as hell barista in a bubble tea shop. And also college student, double majoring because he’s awesome and perfect and dead inside.

Voltron cafe by PinkHitman

If you know this blog but didn’t read a fic that goes with it, go read it immediately.

It’s kind of like maid/butler cafe where Lance is a butler and his rival from high school his most frequent client. Very very like v e r y pining!Keith. Ongoing.

kind of nsfw/kinky stuff:

Please Drink Resposibly by enjayas

It’s completed and has lots of additional to this au separate fics. All of them great.

Let’s play a game „How much drunk Lance can remember”? Pining!Keith.

Keith is sure that his feelings will forever stay one-sided since Lance is so obviously straight.

Hot singles in your area by rire

Lance calls a girl who gave him her number execpt that she gave him a Sex Line number. Quite cruel, right? But the person on the phone is actually more interesting than that girl anyway, so.

Keith is Sex Line worker, but he’s soo into this that he talks his clients through while solving a sudoku. At least most of them, because one is special. Ongoing, possibly on hiatus.

Crowd Pleaser by WhatTheBodyGraspsNot

Keith gets a job as a bertender and is immediately strongly atrracted to one of club’s dancers: Blue Rider. Too bad Keith’s taken.

This one may be triggering for some people because Keith is in a realtionship with a male OC character who’s manipulative, controlling and once used a violence to make a point.

I put this fic in „kinky” category but it’s actually a very thought out psychological study, excellent writing, some funny scenes too. Ongoing.

College au:

Not That Bad by varelsen

Actually realistic settings. I remember it very fondly. Mutual pining. Completed.

Keith moves in by averagebear

Slow burn torture. Like, really. Agony, but don’t we love it?

Anyway, title kinda tells what it’s about. Hunk decided that Lance as a roommate is too distracing so he moves out but finds Lance a new roommate so he can pay his rent. New roommate turns out to be Keith, Lance’s highschool rival and bisexual awakening. Another one of those where Keith thinks Lance is straight.

Mutual pining. Ongoing.

and for those I don’t really have a category for:

On Thin Ice by Minadora

Keith is a hockey player that needs to practise some grace so he takes ice dancing lessons in Arena where his brother Shiro is an instructor. Keith thinks that Shiro will be his teacher. ha ha. Ha.

Anayway, it’s lovely. Sadly updates are very rare. But the chapters are long so it evens. Ongoing.

Kismet, Kill me by Jessadilla

*sigh* Probably will never be completed and, unfortunetly, it WILL leave you hanging. So keep it in mind if you’ll decide to give it a try.

But I had to put it on a list becacuse it’s one of the first etc etc and there is a sentence that will probably stay with me forever: „Lance is a person of many acqaintances, but very few friends”. And I get it, I so get it. When you’re charismatic you attract people easily. But only some of them will stay with you after knowing you better.

Keith falls in love at first sight but will he still like that charming stranger who’s actually rude, obnoxious and tactless when he’ll spend more time in his company?

….Ongoing. In theory, but it’s been a year so…

Objects in Motion (When Unbalanced) by Mytay

(Actually check out all of this author’s fics!)

This one is about how on every planet that Paladins visit citizens mistake Keith and Lance as a couple. It happens so often that Pidge decides to collect data and analize it from scientfic point of view. Completed.

I hope it was a helpful list~

Edit: I don’t know how could it happen but I forgot to add one more of my most favourite fanfics:

A Commutual Contract by SKayLanphear

Keith witness Lance’s “death” and that experience traumatize him. Later when Lance is A-okay he still needs to check on him and can’t get any sleep due to terrible nightmares. Turns out sleeping near Lance helps him get some rest at night, when he can always make sure his friend’s alive.

Great writing. Interesting study in depression (Lance) and feeling alienated in group (Keith). Ongoing- and I’m personally dying to know what happens next, because resent events sort of left us hanging.