anonymous asked:

so you literally don't know how mythology or culture or history or its ties to storytelling work that's pretty goddamn amazing but what did i expect from this fandom. 'myths are fluid and not predefined' has to be one of the most educationally unsound and academically dishonest and flat untrue pieces of that special tumblr brand of pretentious pseudo-intellectualism soaked discourse i've seen in quite some time. go read a book, or a hundred, please, for all our sakes.

look at this fucking turbo nerd getting their panties in a twist over people having harmless fun reinterpreting mythology however they want

With Me

Will lingered in the hallway, watching the firelight lick over Hannibal’s arms, his face, the book in his hands. He made no motion, did not go to him and sit beside him on the sofa. He stood, breath held tight, wrestling with himself. He wanted to go sit there, but-

“Will,” Hannibal’s eyes looked up, then flicked towards him, turning his head to find him in the doorway, “come, sit down.”

And he’d been trying so hard to avoid detection, standing down wind and everything. Still, Hannibal had invited him, no point resisting now. He stepped forward gingerly, making his way consciously into the room. Here came the tricky part.

There were many seats to choose from, a sturdy rocking chair, a winged arm chair with its own ottoman, and the sofa, of course. Without looking too deliberate, too tense, without warning Hannibal, he hoped, he measured his steps and sat down next to Hannibal. He sighed with the cushions, making himself lean back in the posture of relaxation and stared into the heart of the fire, unblinking. He felt Hannibal start, pause, felt his eyes skip over the page, onto him, then back, afraid of being noticed for his watching.

“What’re you reading?” Will asked when he was sure Hannibal had read the page fifty times but not taken in a word of it.

Hannibal’s fingers hesitated over the page, trying to read for him. “The Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám,” he let the pages fall open towards Will, “In translation, unfortunately. I plan to learn Persian to read it properly.”

“All that for a book of poetry?” Will mused, tilting his head back.

“It is beautiful,” Hannibal explained, “and deserves to be understood in its native tongue.”

Will nodded thoughtfully, “Well, that’s one project for the future.” He winced; they hadn’t discussed the future yet. At all.

“Yes…” Hannibal hesitated, feeling the elephant in the room, “if I find myself with enough time on my hands to-” He silenced abruptly as Will’s arm came down around his shoulders.

Will gulped, feeling like a high schooler on his first date, all stilted movements and anxious energy. Keep calm, relax; it wasn’t as though they weren’t both mature adults who had done this a million times before with other consenting adults. There should be no problem, no awkwardness, and yet… his heart beat in his throat like a bird thrashing at its cage.

Cautiously, Will stroked his thumb against Hannibal’s shoulder, almost to remind himself it was there, real and solid. Hannibal jumped, nearly dropping his book, “Will, your arm-” he fumbled, trying to turn to Will without turning in to Will and finding the proximity made this almost impossible. To look him in the eye he’d have to get closer.

“I’m nearly healed,” Will swallowed, his voice sounding high and foreign, “besides I should be stretching it anyway, so I’m not so sore. So the muscles… heal the… the way they’re supposed to.” He tried not to watch Hannibal, curving into him, pressing against him. He tried to focus on the fire as Hannibal gave in to the position Will had put them in with the softest sigh. It couldn’t be done.

Hannibal turned his head to reply and found his cheek brushing against Will’s shoulder. His eyes closed instantly, his lungs involuntarily inhaling. Will felt his bicep tense with nerves, there was a painful yank at the still closing wound, but he gave no sign of pain, transfixed on Hannibal.

“Physical therapy,” Hannibal returned abruptly, lifting his cheek, voice rough and low, “will be the hardest part of the healing process. It will be… lengthy and very painful for some time.” He licked his lips, trying to open his eyes all the way and failing, “You should still be resting.”

“I can sit here.” Will felt his hand come around Hannibal’s shoulder, palm flat against his arm. His body decided before he did that he wanted Hannibal closer.

“Could we… just… come here,” he mumbled, squeezing Hannibal to him with one long pull.

Hannibal’s last restraints broke. Before Will knew it he felt arms wrapped around him and a face pressed into his collar. Stunned, he put both arms around Hannibal and held him. Hannibal fit into him like a warm, heavy blanket, pressing against him everywhere he felt lonely. Though he’d been alone, he’d never felt lonely… until Hannibal. Only made sense that being with Hannibal could soothe that ache, maybe the only thing that might.

Hannibal’s hands skirted the edges of his bandages, wary of pressing too much, of being too much. Yet, he held tight, squirmed half into Will’s lap, as close as he could possibly get. Will could feel his heart beat, a skittering patter in reckless time, and he was sure Hannibal had no idea Will knew about it. The moment reeked of desperation, and yet… his arm curled tighter around Hannibal. And yet he pressed closer and yearned to feel Hannibal melt against him, melt completely.

Hannibal gave, he shuddered, he kept perfectly silent, but he shook like a leaf. Will held him close and never once thought about letting go. Hannibal gave so beautifully, he pushed and melted and succumbed so perfectly in his arms. This… this was nice. It was actually… really nice, holding Hannibal. He hadn’t expected that.

Will let his head fall against Hannibal’s, let himself breathe in his hair, press skin to skin, rest together like this. He listened to Hannibal breathe and slowly their breaths fell together. He lost track of time and was on the point of sleep when Hannibal murmured something in his ear.


“The fire’s all but gone, we should go to bed.”

The words struck a bell and cracked Will’s eyes open. He was still holding onto Hannibal, smushed together in one corner of the couch. “N-No, don’t go,” his voice croaked, groggy. The implications of it didn’t register immediately, too tired to remember to care too little.

Hannibal paused. “I won’t. But wait here, I’ll get some blankets.” His legs hit the floor and he slowly rose, untangling himself from Will’s arms with unfair grace. Will whimpered, freezing where his Hannibal blanket had been. He closed his eyes and curled onto the sofa completely.

Hannibal returned. He knew he returned because he felt warm again, he felt welcome pressure and weight on the sofa, covering him, slipping up beside him and into his waiting arms. Will’s lips lifted, pleased to be embracing Hannibal once again.

“You’ll regret sleeping like this in the morning,” Hannibal muttered into his chest.

“Won’t,” Will grumbled, one hand stroking idly at Hannibal’s back.

“We could sleep on the bed… still together.”

Will heard the request in his pause. His arms tightened, “Too tired. Drag me to bed tomorrow.” And he hunkered down, pulled Hannibal close, and silenced him for the night with a kiss.


that was a perfect shot, too.

Twice since I’ve been on tumblr, some informative post has introduced me to a new product I hadn’t heard of but actually needed desperately. So I decided to put some of that energy back into the world. 

So I have family in Cincinnati, and so at one point we visited them and tried Graeter’s ice cream. And it ruined ice cream for me forever. Until now, because it’s in grocery stores everywhere now. (My entire family exploded when we learned this).

Maybe you’re thinking “This post is dumb, I [already have an ice cream I like/don’t even care for ice cream that much/don’t trust some rando on tumblr’s opinion on this].”

Let me assuage those fears. 

“I already have an ice cream I like”

Graeter’s is better. It’s so creamy that I sometimes get mad at it, staring at it, willing it to reveal its secrets to me. HOW can it be so creamy? I physically cannot comprehend it. Its flavors are all magnificent. The famous one is black raspberry chocolate chip and it’s the most gourmet shit you could imagine on an ice cream cone, but I’m not sorry to say that my favorite flavor is just chocolate chip, the one in vanilla ice cream. Because the ice cream is so sweet and so flavorful. People hate on vanilla ice cream but that’s because it’s not Graeter’s. 

The real crazy thing about Graeter’s is the chocolate chips, which aren’t chips so much as dark chocolate islands in an ice cream sea. The chocolate is smooth and melts in your mouth and tastes like what the perfect chocolate Roald Dahl described in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory sounded like. Instead of putting in regular chips of the stuff, they pour melted chocolate into the ice cream and stir it around to break it up, so the chunks are big and vary in size and sometimes it doesn’t get broken up and you get a GIANT massive chunk of chocolate and thank the Lord. 

“I don’t even care for ice cream that much”

Then you have refined tastes. A lot of ice cream is meh. Try Graeter’s instead. 

“I don’t trust some rando on tumblr’s opinion on this”

Do you trust….Oprah Winfrey?!?!

Seriously, if you ever want to try a pricey pint of the best ice cream in the world, you can get it at most grocery stores and you should fucking DO IT. 

@thereluctantinquisitor tagged me in this meme, and it sounds a lot of fun! thank you :D 

Rules: Pick 4 colors for your muse, and use gif function to post them! (but I cheat and I’ll do with 5 because they’re the 5 colors of his mood-palette lol)

Tagging: @iseektheholygrail @numin-lavellan @weresquirrel @razildor @lindira


Prussian Blue

Originally posted by relativelysimple


Originally posted by moondarkwolf

Baby Blue 

Originally posted by chaosuhm

Mint green


Originally posted by georgina-kinkaid-blog

anonymous asked:

how or why did you headbutt the floor

i was about….. 9 or so at the time, and i was at school, playing a game with my best friend. (she was my best friend because she had the same name as me. kids.)

the game we were playing was like this: she would move her hand around, and i would follow her head with my hand without moving from where we were sat on the floor. like a snake charmer, but since neither of us knew how to whistle, she just waved her hand about.

this was all fun and games until she, as a joke, slapped her hand off of the floor.

in my infinite wisdom, i decided the funniest thing to do here would be to pretend to headbutt the floor. i’d slam my head down, stop a little distance off of the floor, it’d be great! she’d think i headbutted the floor, except i wouldn’t actually, we’d laugh, it’d be awesome.

i did not, in fact, stop my head in time.

the floor in our classroom, i should point out, was concrete covered with a layer of underlay and then a very short, bristly, kind of ribbed carpet. the high-impact stuff that’s easy to clean, which you want in a class of nine-year-old children.

i headbutted that floor so hard that the bruise that developed had the same ribbed pattern as the carpet.

(i would then go on a few years later to headbutt a four-inch-wide metal doorway while running from a bully, but that’s another story.)

out of war. okay. i think i’m caught up w/ the quotes. sorry for spamming your dash guys ! uni had been killing me so my activity is still sporadic. i might do a starter call later on. hope y’all are having a wonderful day/evening/night wherever you are !

gaswe123  asked:

What do you think of post-pacifist Asgoriel?

I don’t think Toriel will ever be able to fully forgive Asgore, so I don’t think they’re ever getting back together. And judging by Toriel’s behaviour towards Asgore at the end of the pacifist route, I don’t think they’ll ever be on friendly terms again either.
They’d probably learn to get along ok over time though - I think Toriel would at least try to get over her hatred towards Asgore because of Frisk. But I don’t think they’ll ever be friends again (as much as I wish otherwise)

One of the Survivor  contestants just said something to the effect of, “You know Gen Xers, we never give up,” and I honestly have never heard of that being their thing? I don’t think it is.

The millennial team annoys because they seem to blame their every foible on their age. And it’s silly, because most of you can see that one of you is making a bad social game move, so maybe it’s not a ‘milennial trait’ so much as it is this person being bad at Survivor trait.

re: the Superman checks I just ordered

blacksheep33512 said: Is this real? They do that in America??!!!

Oh yeah. The one I posted was one of four images you get: 

The one I posted earlier

and then


And the Superman ‘S’  symbol.  

They’ve got all sorts of cartoon characters. Bugs Bunny. Disney characters. Scooby Doo. Betty Boop. Winnie the Pooh.

And just for you: 

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