this is a thing i'm gonna do now yeah i like this thing

  • what she says: I'm okay
  • what she means: Can I say my shit? Can I say my shit? I've got lots of shit to say. I've got lots of shit to say. I can't fit my hand inside a Pringle can, I have a huge amount of trouble fitting my hand inside of a Pringle can. I can get my hand like four inches into the can but then I have to tilt the can into my mouth but then a bunch of crumbs have accumulated at the bottom of the can so they all go spilling onto my face. What I'm trying to say is the diameter of Pringle cans is way too small. I'll say it again. The diameter of Pringle cans is way too small. Two radiuses of a Pringle can is way too small. If you feel me, put your hands up, Come on! If you feel me, put your hands up! Look at all these hands that are way too big to fit inside of a Pringle can! Your hands are too big to fit inside a Pringle can, your hands are too big to fit inside a Pringle can. You think you can, I know you can't, you think you can. Pringles! Listen to the people, I am sure ninety percent of the complaint letters you get are about the width of your cans?! Just... make them wider?! I've overdone the Pringles thing, sorry. I want to have a daughter. I want to have a daughter so I can finally have someone around the house who can fit their hands in the Pringle can. Yes, I'm still on the Pringle cans thing! Yeah! I'll move on, alright? But that is priority número uno. I don't go to the gym because I'm self-conscious about my body but I'm self-conscious about my body cause I don't go to the gym. Irony can be so painful. That's a Catch-22. Let's do this! I went to Chipotle, I went to Chipotle, got myself a chicken burrito. I went down the line and I got all these ingredients and at the end of the line the guy tried to wrap the burrito but half of the shit inside the burrito spilled out. He still wrapped it. I was like, dude you should have warned me! You're a burrito expert, you should have told me halfway through: "Hey, man. You might be reaching maximum burrito capacity here" Do you fucking think I want a messy burrito? No one wants a messy burrito! The whole appeal of the burrito is that all of the ingredients are contained within the confines of the tortilla. I wouldn't have gotten half of the shit if I knew it wasn't gonna fit in the burrito! Alright? Look I wouldn't have got the lettuce if I knew it wouldn't fit! I wouldn't have got the cheese if I knew it wouldn't fit! I wouldn't have got the peppers if I knew it wouldn't fit! I wouldn't have got half of it! Like, I'm okay with small mistakes, if you've got no more chicken I'll take pork. But I'll blow my dad before I eat a burrito with a fork. I wouldn't have got the lettuce if I knew it wouldn't fit, I wouldn't have got the cheese if I knew it wouldn't fit, I wouldn't have got the peppers if I knew they wouldn't fit. Man, I wouldn't have got half of it, like half of it, like, half of it, like, half of it, like half of it right now,I think it's time I think it's time, I think that we break this down. I can sit here and pretend like my biggest problems are pringle cans, and burritos. The truth is, my biggest problem's you. I want to please you but I want to stay true to myself. I want to give you the night out that you deserve but I want to say what I think and not care what you think about it. Part of me loves you, part of me hates you, part of me needs you, part of me fears you. And I don't think that I can handle this right now, handle this right now. I don't think that I can handle this right now. I don't think that I can handle this right now, I don't think that I can handle this right now, I don't think that I can handle this right now. Look at them, they're just staring at me like, "come and watch the skinny kid with a steadily declining mental health and laugh as he attempts to give you what he cannot give himself." I don't think that I can handle this right now, I don't think that I can handle this right now. They don't even know the half of this right now, they don't even know the half of it. But I know I'm not a doctor, I'm a pussy, I put on a silly show so I should probably just shut up and do my job so here I go. I wouldn't have got the lettuce if I knew it wouldn't fit, I wouldn't have got the cheese if I knew it wouldn't fit, I wouldn't have got the peppers if I knew they wouldn't fit, I wouldn't have got half. You can tell them anything if you just make it funny, make it rhyme and if they still don't understand you then you run it one more time. I don't think that I can handle this right now (Haa!) I don't think that I can handle this right now (Hoo!) If you think that I can handle this right now (Haa!) Right now (Haa!) Now, handle this right, handle this right, handle this right now.Thank you, good night! I hope you're happy.
This is what “balancing the Force” looks like:

I wrote a 25-page paper on Star Wars arguing that “bringing balance to the Force” didn’t mean “the Jedi will be 100% in control” (and of course not the opposite) but bringing the two aspects of the Force into alignment, using Anakin as a case study. Brief recap of my paper:

  • EPISODE I
    • The Jedi literally don’t know that slavery still exists in the galaxy and are shocked when Shmi says “The Republic doesn’t exist out here… We must survive on our own.” So like… the fuck.
    • Anakin asks Qui-Gon “Have you come to free us?” and Qui-Gon says “No, I’m afraid not,” to which Anakin replies, “Why else would you be here?” Here we can see the innocence and goodness in Anakin juxtaposed against the moral ambiguity of the Jedi. They’re there for repairs on their ship - nothing more, nothing less. Witnessing slavery does nothing to change those priorities.
    • The Jedi take a child away from his mother, and when Anakin is (rightfully) scared for his mom, who has been left in slavery, the Jedi are still like well, you know, ¯\_(ツ)_/¯, enforcing the laws against slavery seems kinda like a lot of work so we’re just not gonna get involved. That’s like… not quite what you would expect from the “Light” Side.
    • Anakin is literally a child whose mother has been left in slavery and, understandably, he’s kind of freaked out. Instead of acknowledging Anakin’s pain as legitimate and working with him, the Jedi take an oppositional stance, telling Anakin that “Fear is the path to the dark side” - a phrase that was much more apt in the Original Trilogy than it is here, where Anakin is only nine, and his fears are 100% rational.
  • EPISODE II
    • Obi-Wan asks Anakin if he’s sleeping poorly because of his mom, Anakin basically admits yes, and Obi-Wan says “Dreams pass in time.” Uh, Obi-Wan, I’m sure you have good intentions and all, but the problem isn’t in the dream world. Anakin’s dreams are a reflection of the actual, legitimate, very real danger his mother is in, and Obi-Wan’s response only dismisses Anakin’s fear and drives him further away from the Jedi Council. And, again, the Jedi could have fixed this entire situation by either rescuing his mother or actually trying to stop slavery instead of just paying lip service to the idea.
    • Anakin and Padmé fall in love, and Padmé is like “yo is this, like, allowed to happen for you??” and Anakin says “Attachment is forbidden. Possession is forbidden. Compassion, which I would define as unconditional love, is central to a Jedi’s life, so you might say we’re encouraged to love.” So… Taking a woman’s child so he can fulfill their prophecy and leaving that woman alone and enslaved on a desert planet is compassionate behavior now? Right. Sounds fake, but okay. Also, Anakin is literally pointing out the hypocrisy in that statement - so you can love humanity and people, but you can’t love a person? That’s super weird.
      • Falling in love is like… not really something you can help? Especially not the first time. Just, you know, speaking as the classic lesbian who has fallen for a straight best friend… just saying “don’t do that” is not really going to help. At all.
    • At this point, the Jedi have created a situation where if Anakin falls in love (as he is wont to do as a literal teenager who was not brought up in the Jedi Order of his own volition), he has to keep that love secret or a) risk expulsion from the Jedi and b) prove them “right” that he can’t be trusted. Which, you know, nobody wants to do.
    • Padmé tells him that he “had a nightmare again last night,” and Anakin says, “Jedi don’t have nightmares.” Yo, what the fuck. This kid is a teenager, his mom is on a desert planet and enslaved, and now he feels like he’s not even allowed to have nightmares? Which are not conscious? I get that the Jedi are supposed to have total control over themselves, but first of all, that’s a completely unrealistic expectation to have of anyone, much less a teenager, and second of all, that’s a real fucked up thing to imply on a mental health level. “You’re guilty, even for the pain that your brain is inflicting on you from childhood trauma in situations (i.e., unconsciousness) that you can’t even control!” Yeah, no. There is no way that could possibly go well. 
      • If Anakin is made to feel guilty for being scared or having nightmares or missing his mom from whom he was taken when he was not even ten years old, and Jedi are pointing to those feelings as evidence that he is dangerous and untrustworthy, he is put in a situation where he cannot admit that he needs help and therefore cannot access help. Like, just get the kid a shrink! And maybe rescue his mom! There are ways to address this and help Anakin stop having feelings, if that’s something we really have to do, without shaming him, which is gross and also distinctly unhelpful.
    • Anakin goes back to Tatooine to find his mom, she’s been kidnapped and tortured by Tusken Raiders, she dies in his arms, and he slaughters the Tuskens and vows to become so powerful he will be able to stop people from dying. Which, like, is not ideal - not condoning murder - but he’s also seen his mother for the first time in years, like at least half a decade, and he is a) completely overrun with survivor’s guilt and b) rightfully grieving and c) also rightfully pissed the fuck off that he finally sees him mom again only to have her die in his arms. Like, I’d be pissed, too. And you know what helps with grief? Talking it out!! Therapy!! Friendship!! You know what Anakin doesn’t have? Literally any of those things. He can’t admit that he’s grieving his mom because it would threaten his place in the Jedi Order. The Order’s strictness continues to place him in a catch-22 where admitting he needs help is already condemning him.
  • EPISODE III
    • Anakin beats Count Dooku in part because he is furious that Palpatine has been “captured” and taps into the Dark Side with that emotion. THEN, Padmé’s like “surprise, I’m pregnant,” and Anakin (again, understandably) flips the fuck out. He has nightmares about her dying in childbirth, and guess who he can’t go to for advice or help or even consolation? The Jedi!! Wow, this is going so well for everyone, what great policies we have here.
    • The Jedi Council want Anakin to spy on Palpatine, and Anakin (correctly) points out to Obi-Wan that this goes against the Jedi Code, against the Republic, and asks why Obi-Wan is asking this of him… to which Obi-Wan replies, “The Council is asking you.” So, you know, this doesn’t exactly endear Anakin to the Council, who have already been pretty shitty to him and are now seemingly hypocritical as well.
    • Palpatine says to Anakin, “Be careful of the Jedi, Anakin. They fear you. In time they will destroy you.” and yeah, he’s playing on Anakin’s confusion and suspicions and totally using him as a pawn here, but he’s also right. The Jedi have proven themselves to not have Anakin’s best interests at heart, even if they have good intentions. And they do fear Anakin, so, you know, that whole “non-attachment prevents fear” thing isn’t really working out for them either.
    • Palpatine tells Anakin that the Dark Side can allow you to control death, and Anakin (who, let’s remind ourselves, has watched his mother die in his arms) begs to know how so he can save Padmé should his nightmares come true and she die in childbirth. And, again, since he can’t go to the Jedi for any help with this, he feels he has no choice but to trust Palpatine.
    • Here we get to a real fun sequence of events. Palpatine tells Anakin he’s a Sith. Anakin threatens to kill Palpatine, but doesn’t, so he can maintain the possibility of learning how to save Padmé. He goes to tell the Jedi, who rush into action and don’t allow him to join them because they think his fear will cloud his judgment, ignoring the fact that a) they’re scared out of their asses too, and b) he literally just betrayed someone close to him??? for people who have really been nothing but shitty??? So I feel like Anakin’s doing surprisingly well rn and the Jedi are basically like, “Yeah, great, but also fuck you and stay here.”
    • Soooooooo, Anakin goes to save Palpatine (again, to then save his wife), and in order to save him he kills a Jedi. At this point, Anakin’s like “I’m completely fucked,” which is true (although he’s been fucked from the beginning because the Jedi suck), and he pledges himself to Palpatine because he doesn’t think he has any other option.
    • Okay, then he goes and murders a bunch of kids, so like. That’s not great. Not gonna condone that. This was A Mistake™. I think we can all agree on that. Moving on.
    • Obi-Wan and Yoda see footage of Anakin’s fun murder time and Obi-Wan goes to try to find and defeat Anakin. In order to find him, he tells Padmé what happened and then hides away on her ship.
    • Padmé talks to Anakin, flips out when she realizes Obi-Wan was telling the truth, and as she tries to talk Anakin down from his panic- and grief-fueled descent into insanity he says, “I won’t lose you the way I lost my mother! I’ve become more powerful than any Jedi has ever dreamed of and I’ve done it for you. To protect you.”
      • Side note, at this point I get annoyed because, like, Anakin, she literally Did Not Ask. Buddy, pal, friend, she specifically told you not to do this. I know your heart is in the right place, but like, this really could have all been prevented if you’d just listened to your wife. Why are the women in Star Wars consistently the only people who know what the fuck is going on?
    • Obi-Wan reveals himself, Anakin thinks Padmé betrayed him, and Force-chokes her. So, like, again, the anger is understandable, the Force-choking is not. Not going to defend that.
    • As Obi-Wan and Anakin fight, Anakin says something extremely telling: “From my point of view, the Jedi are evil.” He isn’t lying. He isn’t even exaggerating. The Jedi have fucked him over at every turn. And the point that is being made here is that Anakin descends into madness because he, like the Jedi, lives at moral extremities. He goes mad and gives himself over to the Dark Side because the Jedi have thoroughly erased any possibility of a middle ground. 
      • The utter distrust that the Jedi Council have of “Gray Jedi” and the fact that “Gray Jedi” means both people who walk the middle ground of the Force and people who don’t answer to the authority of the Jedi Council also point to this. We can see this with Jolee Bindo and Qui-Gon, among others. If you walk the middle line, the Jedi will turn their backs on you. (Pro tip: if nobody is allowed to disagree with you, you’re probably not the good guys.)
    • Aaaaaaaaand finally the whole fight ends and Anakin becomes a weird lava-deformed creature of the night and when he finally wakes up and asks Palpatine if Padmé is okay, Palpatine says, “It seems in your anger, you killed her.” So, Anakin at this point a) is consumed with self-hatred, b) has nothing to live for because all of his loved ones either hate him (Obi-Wan) or are dead (Padmé, theoretically), and c) feels like he has no way out of the horrifying mess he’s put himself in. And here the prequels end.

What I’m trying to say here is that the Jedi aren’t perfect, and they don’t always use the Force for good. (See: “slavery is cool, we guess.”) Their emphasis on shutting out your emotions is ultimately what drives Anakin to the Dark Side because they allow no room for mistakes and therefore erase the possibility of Anakin ever getting help. Or, you know, compassion, which is supposed to be the Jedi version of love. So… The Sith suck. But the Jedi also suck. Not as much, for sure, but they are definitely guilty of some real fucked up things.

Now for the fun part!!!!! Rey, in Ep. VII, wins her battle against Kylo when she gets pissed. You can also see in that scene that when he’s overpowering her, you can see both the red and blue light reflected in her eyes, and when she closes her eyes and thinks “use the Force” and opens her eyes again, you only see the red.

What that piece said to me, and what this trailer and the poster say to me, is that “balancing the Force” means recognizing that emotions are not evil unto themselves, that you can love people and use that love to fuel goodness. Rey has the potential to balance the Force because she has already proven that she can harness emotion, be driven by emotion, and still use that for the Light Side.

Anyway, I fucking love Star Wars, meta is great, Rey can kick my ass any day, and if I’m right and these trailers are backing up my theory I am literally going to lose my mind.

One Last Thing

12x12 coda almost a week late (oops)

When they get back to the bunker, Dean is surprised to see Mom head toward the room they’d assigned to her all those months ago. He assumed she’d leave as soon as they were safely back underground. He’s still staring down the hallway after her when he hears Cas sigh.

He turns to find him slumped in a kitchen chair, his hands in his lap and his coat closed enough to cover the blood and black…goo on his shirt. He’s staring down at the table with a crease between his brow.

“You OK?” Dean asks gruffly as he takes a tentative seat perpendicular to him.

“No.”

Dean balks at the honesty but doesn’t say anything. He leans forward and folds his hands on top of the table. Somewhere in the direction of Sam’s room, a door opens and closes.

“I shouldn’t be alive,” Cas continues, still staring at the table. “I would’ve never…”

Suddenly Cas’ eyes pop up and past Dean as Sam enters the kitchen.

None of them say anything as Sam grabs a cold cup of coffee. Dean and Cas look at each other. When Sam leaves, Cas’ eyes find the table again.

“I wouldn’t’ve…said what I said,” Cas continues, hesitance clear in his tone, “If I had known…”

A couple of seconds pass before it clicks for Dean. “That you weren’t actually gonna die?”

Cas nods minutely.

Dean leans back, runs a hand up through his hair and then drops it to his knee. “Look, man, you know I ain’t good at this. But you are family, so…what you said…it’s not–it doesn’t–you’re not trying to take it back, are you?” What the fuck–that’s not what he meant to say at all.

“No, of course not.” For some reason, Cas sounds angry. “It’s just that I–nothing.” He quickly turns his head to the side, the way he used to do when Dean had hurt his feelings.

“Cas,” Dean says softly. He waits until Cas looks at him. “I was scared to death when I saw that…what that spear did to you. I can’t lose you, man. So, uh, tell me. Whatever’s on your mind, spit it out.” It’s too harsh, too casual, but anything else wouldn’t be Dean.

“I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

“What?”

Cas squints at him. “It was a declaration made because I thought it was the last chance I would get to tell you. I couldn’t die without telling you that I…that.”

Dean leans forward again and wipes his hand over his mouth. “You, uh, you didn’t make me uncomfortable. You know I’m not–I’m not very good at the whole, uh, love thing, but I know it’s there. I know we’re–you know, we’re good.”

Cas squints harder and leans forward so they’re only inches apart. “You knew I was in love with you?”

Hold on.

“That’s not–you didn’t–that’s not what you said, man. You didn’t say that.”

“Dean.”

That’s his “quit being a dense idiot, Dean” voice.

Dean huffs a nervous laugh and stares at the table. “Yeah, uh, this would be a hell of a lot easier if you had died.”

Now Cas is laughing, too. “We are terrible at this.”

Dean lifts his eyes shyly. Cas is studying him.

“Do you remember…” Dean stops and sucks in a breath. He shouldn’t be talking about this. “That day in the cemetery, when we all thought I was gonna die.”

Cas nods once but doesn’t say anything.

“I wanted to, uh, say something.” Dean smiles and scratches the back of his head. “Actually, I didn’t. I wanted to–to kiss you.” He winces in embarrassment.

“I’m glad you didn’t.”

Dean looks sharply over at him.

“If you waited until you were on the brink of death to kiss me, I would’ve killed you myself.”

“You waited until your deathbed to tell me you lo–”

Cas cuts Dean’s argument off with a kiss. It’s just a tentative press of lips, but Dean still lets out a needy, embarrassing whimper as it happens. When Cas pulls away, Dean mumbles, “Nuh-uh,” and grabs him by the cheek to pull him back in. His hip is digging into the edge of the table, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care.

It’s sloppy and too fast and Cas is breathing heavy and whispering, “I love you,” over and over right against Dean’s mouth and it’s all too much and not nearly enough.

Later, in the pitch black of his room, lying breathless next to an angel, Dean tells Cas that he loves him, too.

accidentally?

Based on this prompt I said I’d fill a few days ago:

boss: “know why I called you in here?”
me: “because I accidentally sent you a dick pic”
boss: “accidentally?”

yup.

(on ao3)

“You need to stop pining after people you haven’t even spoken to,” Lydia says one day, probably because Derek—er, Mr. Hale, their boss—has just stepped through the front door of the cafe where they’re having lunch, and Stiles has trailed off mid-word to watch him walk up to the counter. In Stiles’ defense, he’s never seen Mr. Hale outside of the office before, let alone Mr. Hale wearing a leather jacket over his dress shirt. God, and Stiles thought the tailored suits were bad enough…

Anyway.

“Uh, I have too spoken to him,” Stiles says indignantly, tearing his eyes away from Derek’s broad back across the room. “One day I was coming out of the break room and I almost walked right into him and he said, ‘Excuse me,’ so then I said, ‘Oops,’ and he smiled at me. Kind of. A little bit. I mean, I interpreted it as a smile. There was some prolonged eye contact.”

Lydia abruptly stops stirring her fat-free latte to stare at him—one of those Oh god, it’s worse than I thought kind of looks. “That’s it?”

Keep reading

  • ---Outside Keith's Room---
  • Lance: Hey, Keith? Buddy, you in there?
  • Keith: Go away Lance.
  • Lance: //Enters anyway//
  • ---Inside Keith's Room---
  • Keith: I don't want to talk Lance, just leave me alone ok?
  • Lance: Hey, nobody's seen you since breakfast, who said anything about talking? I came to make sure you hadn't died or something.
  • Keith: ....
  • Lance: But we could always talk since I'm here now anyway. //Sits on the bed//
  • Keith: Lance-
  • Lance: C'mon man, everyone's worried about you. You barely show your face around the castle, and whenever you do you avoid everyone like you're on some kind of stealth mission.
  • Keith: //Scoffs// Nobody is worried about me, and I'm not avoiding everyone... I just...
  • Lance: //Frowns// Keith, we're a team, if you're upset, we all feel it. The whole team's out of whack. Just talk to me - despite what Pidge might have told you, I am great with feelings and junk.
  • Keith: I don't - It's just - Ugh, it's just easier not to see everyone judging me, and hating me if I'm not around them, ok?! I don't care what you say, I've seen the way they look at me - and I look normal now, but what if it gets worse? What if I do start going purple? Or I sprout fur or something stupid like that. How would they look at me then? I'd be just another Galra....... Lance, I don't think I should be on the team anymore.
  • Lance: Wait what? Are you kidding! You think you should be off the team? The team that the Red Lion chose you for? That's crazy! Keith, you've saved everyone's butts loads of times, what would we do without you? How would we form Voltron? And you know, keep the universe safe?
  • Keith: You'd find someone else-
  • Lance: There is no one else Keith! *You're* the Red Paladin. So what if you're Galra? ... Well, sure, there's the whole being a member of the race that's 'trying to take over the universe, destroy entire civilisations and trying to kill us all the time' thing but-
  • Keith: Great, that makes me feel much better.
  • Lance: Well when I say it like that it sounds bad, but that's not all you are. You're Keith first, before any of all that. It's just been a bit of a shock - it's raw you know? Everyone will come to terms with it, trust me... Like I don't know if you've noticed, but Hunk's pretty much got an alien girlfriend
  • Keith: What?
  • Lance: Sure, nobody's judging. And we've all seen Shiro's badass glowing arm thing - also Galra I might add. Does it make us think any less of him? No way! And I'm also convinced Pidge is part computer, I just don't have any proof yet.
  • Keith: //Smiles//
  • Lance: Allura's probably gonna take a little longer than the rest of us, but she's still hurting, and hey, she's like over 10,000 years old, she just needs to get with the times. Like, Galra Keith? Whatever, am I right?
  • Keith: ...... //Chuckles// Thanks Lance.
  • Lance: So don't worry, just come back to the team, we miss you. We've all got our little hang ups and stuff, so it's ok
  • Keith: Yeah, everyone except you - you're perfect
  • Lance: Uh-
  • Keith: - ! //Flustered//
  • Lance: //Flustered as hell//

anonymous asked:

I'm not one of those who blames Harry for what is happening rn, but man, I'm side eyeing the fuck out of Jeff. I dont know what restrictions Harry still has and all that, but this is some terrible shit tbh. Like, all these rumours about premiering his music before Dunkirk... that would be terrible!!! It would so undermine and overshadow his role in Dunkirk. Terrible business decision. And now the timing of this registration... it couldnt be worst tbh. I really hope Jeff knows what he's doing

I agree with you, and also, I’m going to go on a bit of a rant because I can’t not. I just honestly think everything related to Harry’s solo career is absurd right now. Harry has been almost entirely cut off from the fandom pretty much since hiatus began. I think that’s fine, and honestly, and I know we’ve all missed him, but I think Harry (possibly even more than the others) needed that time to himself. I think it gave him time to recover from such a tough schedule with One Direction, I think it gave him a break from the fan service and BS that really seemed to have burned him out, and it gave him time to focus on Dunkirk, which was obviously something outside of his comfort zone that required his full concentration. But Jesus Christ, man. This is beyond ridiculous at this point.

We’ve gotten countless media sources, celebrities, and others in the industry talking about his debut album. And because he’s not talking, all of these people and sources are talking FOR him - and we don’t even know which of the things they’re saying are correct and which are completely false. And blah blah blah yeah, obviously the media is gonna talk about solo Harry regardless, but you’re lying to yourself if you think that his team couldn’t have shut up some of the people who have run their mouths about solo Harry at this point. And if the media is going to always make claims about his future music, both true and false, why wouldn’t he just speak for himself? Why wouldn’t his team speak for him? Why have they allowed this to happen for so fucking long? And don’t even give me that bullshit about oh, they just want to keep anticipation up - because at this point, that tactic doesn’t even make sense. I honestly don’t even know how solo Harries are alive right now considering they get hyped up for his music every two days based on what so-and-so said to the media. It’s fucking EXHAUSTING and it eventually burns people out to be constantly disappointed when they’re promised that something is about to happen and then it doesn’t. I’ve seen a lot of burnout in this fandom in the last week alone on the solo Harry front, and that’s so sad to see because things could have been so different.

If they’re gonna have a dude from Columbia come out here and tell me that an album is nearly done, and then have Grimmy say he was about to hear the album, and then have a touring company registered like a tour is gonna be in the works sometime soon when they haven’t said jack shit about ANYTHING, that’s beyond frustrating to me. You don’t have to give every fucking detail but god, not even a confirmation that the album is coming? NOTHING. Nothing at all.

Louis kept up fan service pretty consistently last year and eventually dropped music. Liam posts updates about his album progress to his social media, and yeah, his album still isn’t out, but there also haven’t been fifty people saying to the press every four days that it’s almost done. Niall was active on social media and kept up fan service last year before dropping his single as a surprise. Harry has done none of that, and I’m not saying that Harry has to do it the way the other boys did, but this is….really yikes. I don’t understand what the fuck his team is playing at, I really don’t. I know that Harry is the most famous in the band and I know that his music is the most anticipated, but he is not some untouchable artist with a shitload of street cred where his album is guaranteed to top at number one. I know this fandom might want to think that’s the case, but it isn’t. He is not Beyonce with numerous successful albums and decades in the industry. He has never put out solo music, and not only that, but we don’t have even the vaguest clue as to what his solo music would SOUND like at this point because again, we’ve heard nothing from his team.

The way this is being executed screams lazy and arrogant to me, and Harry is neither of those things, so I want to know what the deal is. To have this buildup for over a year with everyone else talking about it except for the people whose voices count the most and just expecting fans to be there, still waiting and ready and foaming at the mouth whenever you choose to drop music even though you never bothered to say anything about it….that doesn’t rub me the right way at all, I’m sorry. And listen, knowing this fandom and how much solo Harries have stayed pumped, it might work for them, it, but god, that is just….I don’t understand how people can respect that method of doing things. Us, the fans, as future consumers of his music, as the people who ensured that Harry is in the position he’s in today, deserve better than this. I know that fandom entitlement is a thing and we don’t deserve a lot of things that we think we deserve, but are people really gonna try to act like having confirmation of an album from Harry or his team is asking too much? Wanting some respect, and some clarity, and some basic fucking facts (for example: Are you coming out with an album? When is it coming out?) for Harry’s FIRST SOLO ALBUM EVER after over a year of almost complete silence from him (and silence about his future plans long before that) is perfectly reasonable, especially considering how much we’ve been jerked around about Harry’s solo career for like five years now, and quite frankly, anyone trying to suggest otherwise is fooling themselves. Harry’s team may not be able to control everything the media or other artists do or say about solo Harry, but they can (or at least, you would think they would be able to) control their own behavior, and at least so far, it seems like they’re just letting everybody else do the work for them (and do it messily at that, considering how many lies and ridiculous speculation has been published and passed around over the past year or so).

I’m just really frustrated because I don’t understand why his team is doing this and why they’re giving this impression of not knowing what they’re doing (e.g. the Full Stop website) or just not caring (e.g. [the metric for success] “is just existing”). With a lot of the Louis bullshit, even without knowing the exact details of what’s going on, you can usually figure out quite quickly that a) they’re actively trying to fuck him over and b) why they’re actively trying to fuck him over. The involvement of the stunts tainting everything Louis does also makes the intentions of his team clear (though no less infuriating). But this stuff with Harry? I don’t understand it and can’t even begin to imagine why things are being done this way. I don’t think it’s fair to the fans and I think it’s doing a huge disservice to Harry, his music, and if the rumors about when he’s dropping the music are correct, his acting career. I just really, really hope that there’s a huge change soon because I’m really cringing at what I’m seeing so far. I wish I understood any of this, but I don’t and watching it all happen is exhausting.

Alright, some of my word vomit is out. If people disagree with me, that’s fine, but this is my opinion. And no, I don’t think negatively of Harry or anything like that, I’m just not pleased with how things are being handled by his team (just as I’m not pleased with how Louis’ team is doing things) and I need to voice that.

Written for the @nurseyweek prompt: “challenge.”

“I keep better time during hockey season,” Jack tells him once. “Easier to track a life in wins and losses than in idle days, eh?”

And Nursey can definitely relate, but he definitely doesn’t say so. Not when Bitty gets that look on his face at overhearing the conversation, like what Jack’s just said is the saddest thing to ever be uttered. The hockey robot who can’t quite human the way he should.

The thing is that Nursey is his own kind of robot, if he’s honest with himself. Which he tries not to be anymore. “Honesty” usually packs a punch that he would rather not suffer through if he can help it.

Robot Nursey is very good at projecting the appearance of a person that is the polar opposite of the person all of his internal thoughts and emotions want him to be. He can compartmentalize nearly any situational response that goes against this outward ruse. And he can neatly divide his own life up into a series of challenges that his careful mask has faced, and a collection of coping mechanisms to go with them.

Loving Dex has somehow become both.

Keep reading

Paper Planes (Lin-Manuel x Reader)

Summary: Soulmate AU where if you throw a paper plane out your window it always makes its way to your soulmate. You can’t write your full name, your location, or any contact info, anything else is fair game. It’s up to fate to bring you together.

Word Count: 1,775

Warnings: Zero proofreading. It’s strictly fluff though so you’re safe here.

A/N: This was such a cute idea and also reminded me of that one Disney short. You know the one. Also, I will jump at any opportunity I can to write sappy love notes and Lin’s messy handwriting. Please don’t ask me about logistics of this, I have no idea what happens if your window is shut and your soulmate throws a plane, I’m just here to write fluff.
___________________________________

Your parents had told you the story all through your childhood. They would always weave you intricate tales at bedtime about how you might meet your soulmate. Your favorite stories always had a prince playing that role. As you got older the stories evolved from fictitious plots to questions and conversations. 

You received your first letter from him at seven years old. It took you by surprise when the paper plane made of blue construction paper landed on the floor of your bedroom. You scrambled from you bed to scoop it up and inspect it. You unfolded it carefully, flipping it over.

‘ Hi! My name is Lin! ‘

You yelped as if the paper itself had spoken and ran into the living room where your mom was preoccupied with a book. She seemed to notice your panic because her eyes immediately left the pages to study your face.

“They wrote you, didn’t they?” she asked wryly with a twinkle in her eye. You squeaked out a yes, shoving the blue paper towards her. She unfolded it to see the note before chuckling. “Well, are you gonna write them back or not?”

You spent the entire night debating and when your mom came into your room to kiss you goodbye before she left for work she saw you sitting on the floor surrounded in papers. 

“For them or from them?” she asked with an amused smile as she leaned against your doorway.

“For.”

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

A fic that's just Sanvers making out on the couch since the show obviously won't let them. (I'm Salty) lol

“Hey pretty lady,” Alex greets from the couch after Maggie’s key scrapes the lock and she steps inside, and she looks up from her reading and smiles, watching.

Because she told Maggie that she thinks she’s starting to get used to this whole happy thing, but god, she doesn’t think she’ll really ever get used to Maggie coming to her apartment like its her own home after a long day at work; doesn’t think she’ll really ever get used to the way Maggie’s smile lights up the entire night when Alex’s words wash over her ears; the way Maggie freezes slightly and licks her lips and her eyes flash when she sees Alex in nothing but a henley and pajama pants and glasses, god, those glasses.

And Maggie? Maggie doesn’t think she’ll really ever get used to coming home to Alex Danvers, feared and renowned for her ruthlessness, being soft and domestic and vulnerable and relaxed, in her glasses, laying on the couch, waiting for… her. For her to come… home.

So she shrugs off her jacket and she tosses down her gun. She kicks off her boots and she makes sure her eyes never leave Alex’s, because she doesn’t want to miss any nuance of the way Alex watches her, the way Alex’s eyes widen slightly when she takes off her jacket, when she strides over to the couch.

Alex’s couch.

Their couch.

The way Alex gulps slightly and immediately tosses her bioengineering journal to the floor when Maggie says, “May I?” and Alex nods so Maggie straddles her and Alex gulps again.

“I missed you today,” Maggie whispers, stroking Alex’s cheek, and Alex immediately reaches up and mirrors her activity.

“Yeah?” she flirts.

“Yes, Danvers, I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.”

“Show me.”

Maggie blinks.

“Show you.”

“Show me how much you missed me?” She says it like a question, because it is a question, because she still does need to be shown, not just told, because she still can’t wrap her mind around the fact that someone like Maggie would miss her, would like her, would love… her.

Would come home to her.

“Oh, Alex,” Maggie shakes her head, and she leans down and lifts her glasses, resting them on top of Alex’s head, so she can kiss her eyes, her nose, her temples, her forehead. She kisses her cheeks and her chin and, just when Alex’s contented sighs turn into small, needy whines, she kisses her lips.

They both sigh into the contact, into the kiss, because it’s only been ten or so hours, but god, that’s ten or so hours too long.

Alex parts her lips and runs her hands over Maggie’s hair and Maggie takes the invitation, slipping her tongue softly, gently, slowly, into Alex’s mouth, nearly moaning in relief at Alex’s response, the way her hips roll of their own accord, the way one of her hands wanders down Maggie’s back and grabs at the back of her shirt, making sure she doesn’t let go.

And she won’t.

God, she won’t.

“You good?” Maggie pulls back slightly to ask, because Alex had propped a pillow on the couch’s ledge while she was reading, but couches aren’t always the most comfortable places to be laid down and kissed senseless.

Alex answers by pulling her back down into a kiss, and Maggie does moan softly this time, Alex’s tongue teasing her lips before traveling down her jawline, down to her throat. Her teeth graze Maggie’s pulse point and Maggie’s entire body trembles.

Alex freezes but Maggie shakes her head. “You don’t have to stop.”

So she doesn’t. She marks Maggie’s neck like she knows Maggie likes, and she lets herself get lost in the sounds Maggie makes, the way she smells, the way her skin tastes, in the way Maggie’s hands travel haphazardly across her entire body, always reaching for more, groping at Alex’s breasts over her shirt, making Alex sigh and gasp and smile into her ministrations before shifting to return her lips to Maggie’s mouth, and Maggie kisses her back eagerly, desperately, hotly.

“You are so fucking beautiful, Danvers,” she murmurs in between kisses, in between Alex’s hands exploring her body like a randy teenager, in between her own hands doing exactly the same.

“Yeah?” Alex asks, pausing, and Maggie pulls back to look her in the eyes, in her perfect, perfect eyes.

She smiles softly and tilts her glasses back down from the top of her head onto her face, and she smiles deeper.

“You are the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen, Alex,” she reiterates, and Alex melts up into her body.

“I love kissing you,” Alex whispers, because she doesn’t know what else to say, doesn’t know how else to respond, to the intensity, the thing that looks a lot like love, in Maggie’s eyes, in her voice, in her hands and in her lips.

“Well that’s good, Danvers. Cause I love kissing you, too,” Maggie chuckles sweetly, leaning back down to kiss Alex gentle, kiss her slow, kiss her always.

She makes a map of Alex’s mouth with her tongue, a guide to Alex’s lips with her own, a prayer to Alex’s breathless sighs with her thumb on her cheek, her hand on her waist.

She almost whispers that she loves her, but decides, for now, to show her instead.

And it works – the way her lips part for Alex’s, the way she pays attention to and fulfills her every need, the way she makes out with her like she’s never been made out with, and god, nothing’s ever felt this perfect – because, who knows how long later, Alex’s eyes are glistening and her lips are quirked into a shy smile when she asks, “So you’re saying you missed me. Cause that’s… that’s what I’m getting.”

Maggie chuckles and her heart thrills at the game that’s become their own.

That’s become their coming home.

“Of course, you’re not gonna go crazy on me, are you?”

“Probably.”

Maggie licks her lips and shakes her head slightly and kisses Alex again, again, again.

“Perfect.”

mrjakeperalta  asked:

holy fuckign,,, I'd like to thank god and also jesus,,,,, and u,,,,

IT’S DONE 3 HOURS LATER LMAO

HERE IT IS…………..THE SMALL BOOKSTORE AU

The most beautiful woman Jake has ever seen in his entire life is standing on the sidewalk outside of the bookstore across the street from Sal’s.

He’s staring, his slice of pepperoni pizza frozen halfway between his greased-up paper plate and his mouth (which is currently hanging open - either in preparation for this bite or due to his sudden and forceful mesmerization, he’ll never really know), and Charles hasn’t noticed yet. Jake’s hyper-aware of him, of the buzz of his voice, reduced to a low hum in his own ears now; to his left, Gina is slumped over, visibly bored with the conversation and thus completely invested in her phone.

Good, Jake thinks rather weakly. One less person to notice.

The woman across the street appears to be scrubbing one of the front windows meticulously, and in some distant part of Jake’s mind he recalls the business that previously occupied that very stoop - a tattoo parlor with a penchant for filling the windows with bumper stickers. The woman keeps having to toss handfuls of long, glossy black hair over her shoulder; as he watches, she finally appears to get sick of it all and ties it all back in a messy bun down near the nape of her neck, and the wisps of hair she misses curl lazily against the long column of her neck.

She is completely and utterly breathtakingly beautiful, and he hasn’t even gotten more than a glimpse at her profile.

Keep reading

butteredonions  asked:

Micro fill? A la Routine Maintenance, Shiro's arm is troubling him again - but this time it's entirely the mice to the rescue.

Shiro scowls at his prosthetic, thoroughly fed up with it.

It’s been bothering him all morning, ever since his morning solo session against the Gladiator. He’d blocked a strike from the robot using his arm, and with some extremely bad luck, the robot’s staff had managed to catch him just beneath the connection point and right on one of the prosthethic’s panels.

At the time it hadn’t felt like much. He’d been wearing his armor, and while getting hit so close to the point where metal met flesh always stung, he’s gotten used to that brand of pain by now. He’d finished his training session, showered, and moved on with his day without thinking twice about it.

But he’d started to notice an odd rattling sound inside the prosthetic, and around the same time it had become less responsive. And as the hours pass, the sensation gets worse. He can’t flex his metal fingers very well at all, now, and the whole thing feels like it’s starting to get heavier. The remains of his right arm are starting to throb, and the whole experience is just downright uncomfortable.

He thinks something had probably been shaken loose, or gotten stuck on the inside of the prosthetic, around the point where the Gladiator had hit him. And normally this wouldn’t be too much of an issue, when safely on the ship, and not in the middle of a mission. The easiest solution would simply be to go to Hunk for maintenance, just like any time it needs serious work beyond routine cleaning and care that Shiro can’t handle himself.

Unfortunately for Shiro, Hunk is planet-side for the day, doing some major supplies shopping with Coran as he stocks their kitchen. And Pidge, the logical second choice for arm troubles, had also gone planet-side to get a few technological upgrades for her computer. Keith is still in the Castle, not particularly interested in the market crowds, but he’s no engineer. Shiro has no intention of making him help with this, even if Keith probably would in a heartbeat.

So Shiro does what he can to deal with it himself. Hunk’s shown him some of the more useful tools he can use for his prosthetic, and given him his own set to store in his room for emergencies. Using them and Hunk’s lessons, he manages to pry open the panel on the upper bicep of the prosthetic, and his probing fingers can definitely find a few loose wires, and something that feels like it’s jammed into a gear. That probably explains the lack of mobility, or maybe it interferes with the function that lets him move such a heavy piece of equipment easier. The weight of it is starting to get painful.

Unfortunately, although he’s identified the problem, fixing it is something else entirely. He struggles to plug the wires back in properly, or to remove the lose bit of metal jammed into the gear. But it’s an awkward angle, trying to reach into the back of his arm at all, much less trying to fix or replace things by feel alone. He curses, but he can’t quite manage it no matter how hard he tries.

A loud squeak at his foot makes him start, and he winces when he pinches one of his fingers in the metal panelling of the prosthetic. The blue mouse at his foot lets out an apologetic-sounding chittering noise.

“Uh. Hi,” Shiro says, raising an eyebrow. “Did you…did you need something?”

The blue mouse—Chulatt—squeaks and shakes its head ‘no.’ The yellow one, Platt, skitters up next to it and points at its mouth, then gestures to Shiro.

“I…eating?” It shakes its head. “Oh, wait, I didn’t eat.” He glances at the clock—it’s past lunch time. “Yeah, I’ve uh…I’ve been a little distracted.”

The red and green mice have managed to crawl up on his bed to sit next to him, and stare at the arm balanced carefully in his lap. The red one, Chuchule, points at the arm and then gestures at his shoulder, before demonstrating with few massaging motions on Plachu next to him.

“No, I don’t need that right now—well. Maybe later, but now it’d be sort of pointless.” Shiro shrugs one shoulder awkwardly. “I’ll just have to wait until Hunk and the others get back, I guess. This thing’s a pain to lug around when it’s not working.”

The mice exchange glances, and then as one swarm up his torso, darting across his lap or shoulders to the prosthetic.

“Wait, no!” Shiro hisses in alarm. Letting them help with massage therapy is one thing—he doesn’t want to explain to Allura why one of her precious mice has gotten fried or cut up or who only knows what else because it was trying to fix something only a trained engineer should be working on.

He tries to cover the gaping open hole in the prosthetic with his free hand, but the mice are nimble and quick. The blue one has already slipped inside, tail whipping through Shiro’s fingers, before he can stop him. Shiro curses. “Get out here right now!”

The mouse doesn’t listen. Which just figures, really.

Platt crawls up on his shoulder and pats his neck in what Shiro assumes is supposed to be a reassuring way, as Chuchule and Plachu shove his fingers aside and also crawl into the prosthetic’s interior. Shiro scowls, but there’s really nothing he can do to get them out at this point. If he sticks his fingers in there to try and drag any of them out, he’s afraid he could shove them into other components that could get them hurt or killed. He’s still not sure how he’s supposed to explain this to Allura, or anybody else, for that matter.

There’s a sudden loud buzzing noise and a snap, not unlike a little crackle of electricity, and the whole prosthetic seems to jerk for a moment. Then it settles, and to Shiro’s surprise, he finds he has a little more mobility in his fingers. A second buzz-snap and another sharp twitching motion, and his whole wrist flexes much better than before. He stares incredulously.

Chulatt and Platt both crawl out of the interior of the arm, and Plachu sticks its head out and waves its tiny paws to Platt. The largest mouse bounds down to the opening in the arm, and its back half sticks out of the paneling as it shoves its head and front paws inside. There are several loud squeaks, and Platt’s tail wiggles back and forth as it seem to tug at something. Then there’s a sudden grinding noise, and the mouse snaps backward, falling out of the prosthetic’s open panelling with a squeak. Shiro barely manages to catch it in his left hand, and blinks when he spots the metal shard in the mouse’s teeth. The arm, to his surprise, feels lighter again, and he realizes the mice had pulled something out of the gears to let it function again.

Plachu crawls out of the prosthetic’s interior and up Shiro’s shoulder as well, looking smugly satisfied. Shiro sets Platt down on his lap, and probes carefully inside the arm with his fingers. The loose wires that had been there earlier aren’t loose anymore, and must have been plugged back into their original ports. He’s careful not to venture too close to the whirring gears, but everything seems alright inside, as far as he can tell.

“Uh…good job,” Shiro says, impressed, as he glances at the mice arrayed around him. He carefully closes the panel, and flexes his arm experimentally again. Good as new. “Thanks.”

The mice squeak, clearly pleased with themselves. Platt has a more immediate interest, and gestures at its mouth again.

Shiro laughs. “Okay, okay! I’m guessing nobody’s fed you, if everyone but Keith is planet side. Fine, let’s go get a late lunch. But I’m warning you, it’s just going to be food goo. I can’t do anything fancy, okay?”

The mice don’t seem to mind. They crawl up onto his shoulders for a ride, and Shiro heads for the kitchen, flexing his fingers again now that he can once more. He’ll have Hunk look it over again later just to be safe, but in the meantime, this isn’t so bad at all.

andreil happy fics! ♥

basically, I’ve spent the previous week going through the AFTG tag (yes, I went through all the 1250 works) on ao3, because I needed more content, official or not. and since it was so freaking hard to find some quality happy content™ (bc apparently y'all like to suffer that much —which, to be fair, I should have expected and I can #relate), I thought I could make it easier for anyone else seeking it and share it here! 🎉

so this is a recommendation list with my favorites ones so far; they’re all from ao3, and if you find any of your works there and want me to remove them from this list, just message me and I’ll remove it. if you have any recommendations for me to add here, message me too! ♥ I haven’t read anything from ff.net or tumblr just yet, but I plan on doing that later this week.

they’re not all entirely happy and they’re not that happy either, but then again that’d be hard considering the amount of trauma and tragedy the authors have to work with (thanks nora). but!!! they’re happy enough to make it to this post, so yeah! you’ll probably gonna enjoy them.

right now there are more oneshots, canon-ish, mostly set right after TKM or a few years in the future. I might add an AU and multi-chapter category later, so keep checking for updates! and don’t forget to show appreciation for the authors by leaving comments and kudos! ♥

Keep reading

Put That Body On Me

pairing: daveed diggs x reader 

request: none, i’m just thirsty for diggs like the rest of the world

summary: reader’s goes out to the bar with her friends after a long day and she catches daveed’s eye

warnings: NSFW, smut, swearing obviously, alcohol

words: 3076

a/n: so this is 100% inspired by ed sheeran’s shape of you, that got me in the mood for my first smut fic. i need to thank @diggs4life a million times for being such a great help, and i hope you enjoy!


To say it had been a long day would be an understatement. When you woke up, you had a stable job and a boyfriend, but by the end of the night you had neither of those things. Sure, it was just an office job, but it was a way to make ends meet, and you didn’t know yet what losing it meant for you.

Since before you were in college, you’d had a job and it was part of what kept you sane in day to day life. Your company apparently thought you were replaceable though, so they did exactly what you feared most: replaced you with a younger face with fresh ideas. And your boyfriend? He did the exact same thing.

So yeah, your day had been long and you couldn’t wait for it to be over, but your friends had other ideas for the night. Five minutes after you told them about your day, your front door was flung open and three of your best friends made their presence known.

Keep reading

Quote Writing Prompts
  • 1: "Yeah uh - Yeah no, that sounds awful."
  • 2: "Please... Don't leave me here. Don't leave me alone, without you."
  • 3: "So, that went well."
  • 4: "You're awful. I love it."
  • 5: "What the hell do you think you're doing, exactly?"
  • 6: "Is that... lipstick, on your collar?"
  • 7: "Did you do this?"
  • 8: "You know what? This place feels like home."
  • 9: "Oh shit. Am I - Am I in love? That's not supposed to be happening. That's not right."
  • 10: "Who are you? Where am I? What is this? WHAT IS GOING ON?!"
  • 11: "Dear (name), First of all, I'm so sorry. I really am."
  • 12: "I can't do this anymore."
  • 13: "So what, you're just gonna leave?"
  • 14: "Did you honestly think I wouldn't figure it out?"
  • 15: "You really think you can beat me? That's cute."
  • 16: "I'm tired of you. I really am, at this point."
  • 17: "Oh, just digging myself a nice grave, you?"
  • 18: "Shhhh. This is my favorite part."
  • 19: "Hey, can I hold your boobs for a sec?"
  • 20: "I think I may have found a song that accurately describes how I feel toward you."
  • 21: "Is that necessary?"
  • 22: "I don't like it."
  • 23: "I'm getting bad vibes... We should go."
  • 24: "HA! Loser!"
  • 25: "You wear me out, kid."
  • 26: "Is this a joke? This is a joke, right? You're joking."
  • 27: "The washing machine broke, I almost lost my keys, the car got dented, and a wasp got into the house and hijacked the bedroom for four days! Four. Days."
  • 28: "You're the greatest thing that's ever happened to me."
  • 29: "You kiddin'? That's brilliant, c'mon!"
  • 30: "So what do you say to this: you, me, a nice big glass of milk, a thing of cookies?"
  • 31: "My hero."
  • 32: "That was harsh."
  • 33: "You better pipe down. I'm not laughing."
  • 34: "So you're really gonna do this, huh? And nothing I say can change your mind?"
  • 35: "So uh. I noticed you're kinda naked. Is that intentional, or... ?"
  • 36: "Why is there a dog in the living room?"
  • 37: "They mixed up our reservations. One room. One bed."
  • 38: "Oh boy. I'm on the weird side of YouTube again."
  • 39: "You, my friend, are a filthy sinner, and I approve wholeheartedly."
  • 40: "Did you mean like... this?"

anonymous asked:

22. Muffled, from the other side of the door - Stony please and not too angsty hehe. THANKS!

Okay, this is super late nonnie, but thank you so much for the prompt <3 This is my first time writing for Steve/Tony, hope you like it and it’s not too angsty for you!

This is also for @captainstarkreportingforduty​ as a late birthday present, thank you for being awesome and for being the most amazing friend :DD

____________________________________________________________________

“You’re gonna have to talk to him sooner or later, you know?”

Steve acknowledged Natasha’s entrance with a nod before looking down at his sketchbook. He always liked to draw whenever he was upset and today was no exception, except this time the subject of this particular sketch was also the reason for his bad mood, and that didn’t help at all.

“He’s just gonna take what I say the wrong way and we’ll end up fighting again.” Nat approached the couch, nudging Steve aside to make space for herself.

“Well, considering you accused him of a reckless adrenaline junkie, I’m not sure how else you wanted him to take that. Rhodey says he’s been in the workshop for two days.”

Steve sighed and buried his face in his hands, fighting back the urge to march down to Tony’s workshop and check on him. Two days wasn’t even close to the longest amount of time he’d spent absorbed in a project, but he usually had Steve or Rhodey to remind him that food was something he needed every few hours or so to function properly, and he always asked JARVIS to lock them out whenever he was in a mood.

“I know! I just- you know I didn’t mean it like that, Nat.” she smiled, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Of course you didn’t Steve, but Tony can’t see that. When you yell at him for being stupid and reckless enough to take a shot for you, it’s because of you love him, and you can’t stand to see him hurt, especially for you.”

Steve blushed, opening his mouth to issue an immediate denial, when Nat laughed, shooting a knowing look in his direction. “Don’t even bother Rogers, every single person on this team knows you think the sun sets and rises on Tony’s shoulders. In fact, I’m pretty sure you spend most of your time doodling “Steve loves Tony” in your sketchbook when you’re not drawing him in the workshop for the millionth time.” She paused. “Well, I’m not sure Tony knows. Although how that’s possible I have absolutely no clue, considering you moon after him even more than he does for you, and the boy’s got it bad.”

“He doesn’t-I-” Steve shook his head, placing his sketchbook down on the table. “I fucked up Nat. He’s cares so much about everyone on this team and he tries so hard to help people because he still can’t see how much of a godamn hero he is, and then I go off and accuse him of risking people’s lives for his own enjoyment. I just - I can’t stand it whenever he throws himself in harm’s way for me, not when the serum can take it.” He swallowed. “Not when he’s the person I love the most in the entire world.”

“Wow. You finally said it. Steve Rogers everyone, finally back from his swim in the Nile.” He laughed, leaning backwards against the couch. “I knew, I just didn’t want to say it, because that would make it real. And if it’s real that means I have to tell him. I need him, Nat. I love him, but more than that I need him. I couldn’t live with wrecking our friendship over this.”

Natasha met his eyes with a considering look. “And how is this any better? Blowing up at him because you’re too afraid to tell him how you feel, pushing him away when you feel too much at the thought that he might get hurt? We’re Avengers, Steve, we stare death in the face on a pretty regular basis, and if you really love Tony, that’s something you’re going to have to accept. He wouldn’t be the man you love if he didn’t risk his life every day to save others, to save you. Don’t make your love a weakness, make a strength. Tell him.”

Steve let out a breath. “Well what the hell am I supposed to say, Nat?” “Tony, I’m so sorry I yelled at you for being reckless, the truth is the thought of you getting hurt in my place tears me up inside because I’m stupidly head over heels in love with you and have been for months?” He heard a loud clatter and looked up, only to find Tony staring at him, mouth open in astonishment, his porcelain coffee mug shattered in pieces across the floor.

“Steve-” Tony started to speak, but Steve was up in an instant, fleeing from the room in a dead run, his breath coming in short panicked breaths as his world compressed down to an overwhelming feeling of sick dread. Tony knew. It was all out in the open now – no more pretending that the sight of Tony half-asleep and incoherent in the mornings didn’t send his heart aflutter, no more biting down a flood of jealousy at the sight of Tony charming investors at a charity gala… Tony knew and it was all over now.

He turned the corner, finally reaching his room before slamming the door shut behind him. He sank to the floor, face in his hands. He always knew Tony never feel the same way about him, but the look of utter shock on his face when he heard Steve’s words was almost too much to bear, as if Tony had never even considered Steve as a romantic possibility.

Suddenly behind him he heard a frantic knock on the door. “Steve? Steve- it’s me.” It was Tony, his voice desperate. At the sound of his voice, Steve looked up. Oh god, just when he thought things couldn’t get worse, now here was Tony was chasing after him, either to offer him comfort before having the “I just want to be friends talk”, or worse, to break off their friendship entirely. Steve cleared his throat, hoping against hope that his voice would remain steady. “Tony, I’m fine, I just – I just need to be alone for while. It’s fine.” It was absolutely, extremely not fine, but it’s not like Steve could open his eyes and suddenly wake up in an alternate universe where instead of being horrified at Steve’s confession, Tony returned his feelings so he didn’t really have any other options.

“No wait Steve you don’t understand! I-“ Steve sighed loudly. Why couldn’t Tony just make things easier for him? Confessing his feelings and being accidentally overhead was bad enough, now he had to put on a brave face about it. He stood up, his hand on the doorknob, when he heard Tony’s voice from the other side of the door “Steve, I’m- I’m in love with you too. I’m sorry I reacted badly, I just didn’t expect it, and I was thought you were still-“

His words were cut off by a loud bang as Steve threw the door open, and there was Tony standing in front of him, tired and like he did after he had spent days on a project in the workshop, but his eyes were bright, there was a small nervous smile on his face. He was the most beautiful thing Steve had ever seen.

“You love me?” his voice came out wobbly and disbelieving, but he couldn’t bring himself to care when Tony grinned and nodded, moving closer into his space. “Yeah, I do.” He looked down before hesitantly tangling their fingers together, sending a curl of warmth through Steve’s stomach. And what you said about the thought of me being hurt because of you tearing you up inside? That’s how I feel whenever you get hurt, so I’m not gonna apologize for taking a hit for you when I can.”

Steve smiled, putting his arms around Tony and pulling him impossibly close. “And why is that?”

Tony laughed, beaming up at him. “Because I love you, jerk.”

3

What was it like when you found out the news that Rostam won’t be in the band anymore?

CT: I had heard that, I’d knew that for a while. I personally felt bummed, I sorta liked the idea of the classic phase being the only phase, the original member sort of thing. Would never put things in his mouth or speak to the reasons why he made that decision. I feel like he had sort of said and brought it up and after this point had more serious talks and heard about it; I love that guy, I hope he does very well, and like I said I just saw him play and he seemed really happy on stage, but yeah that’s all i could ever hope for.

If you look at the tapes from - if you check the books on Bonnaroo ‘14, well then I was getting a little emotional that show because that was fresh for me, and you know this is maybe revealing a little too much, but I’m a bit of a crier, straight up. I just remember playing that show being like “fuck, man”, like this is weird, this thing has been a constant and like this governing factor for my entire adult life is gonna change and like change is weird and change can be painful, and you know, even when there’s nothing you can do about it and even if it’s the right choice for everyone involved. I don’t think I shed tears but I definitely was like feelin’ it. I was feelin’ it. So I have no idea what exists from that show in a video sense. But at this point that was now 2+ years ago, like he’s doing his thing, everyone’s doing their own respective things, there’s still a lot of collective stuff to come, but you know I think Rostam’s happy and he’s doing what he wants and that’s all I would want for him.

Fighting Panic

Requested: I was wondering if I could request a caring Shawn one where maybe you two get into a fight and you leave and then you have a panic attack or something and you call him and even though you two were fighting he still comes over and cares for you? Sorry if that didn’t make sense lol

Masterlist

Your name: submit What is this?

~~~

“Stop, y/n.” Shawn says, his voice full of anger. “You can’t keep holding it against me. It’s my career, my job, don’t you understand?”

You swallow hard, trying to keep your emotions in check. “I’m not holding it against you, Shawn. I just need to know you’re not forgetting about me!”

“I’m not, I don’t know why you would say that!” He says, his voice just as loud and terrifying as it was a minute ago. You can’t match his tone. You don’t know how to scream back at him, and you don’t want to.

“You’re always busy, and even when you’re not, you’re thinking about all the things you need to get done, which I get, but I feel like you don’t even remember that I’m here, that I’m your girlfriend.” You reply, honestly.

“How could I forget, y/n? I can’t forget, and I don’t.” He spits back.

You only wait a beat before replying, still trying to absorb his last words, “Do you want to?” You ask, your voice full of fear and sadness.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

I'm so glad Kirishima is getting so much spotlight, he really deserves it!!!! And it looks like hes gonna get more, since hes in the main group along with Deku, Uraraka and Tsuyu. I;m so hyped!!!

Honestly!!!!!!!!!!! That’s one interesting group tbh, Kirishima and Tsuyu’s interactions are always incredibly adorable to watch and seeing Kirishima interact for so long with pure and good people is gonna be hard on my heart (I mean, you know I’m 100% a bakusquad fan but they’re all at least in part assholes and Kiri fits with them just right, he can be just like Sero and Kaminari and I love it, but then his interactions with Amajiki have been so pure can you imagine an arc filled with that I’m already crying)

I just hope my other faves won’t completely disappear through this arc haha sigh

Anon said: So which Kacchan quote do you like best “Die your bacteria fucks, dieee!” or “BRING YOUR DAMN TRASH TO ME”?

LMAO SORRY ANON BUT MY FAVE GOTTA BE

WHAT A GODDAMN DISASTER THIS BOY IS

Keep reading

🎶🎶When You Collect Records🎶🎶
  • Hipster: *moves dusty old boxes out of the way* Whoa, an old record player. It looks like it's in working order too! *runs outside*
  • Hipster: Yo, dad!
  • Dad: What?
  • Hipster: We're getting rid of all of poppop's stuff, right?
  • Dad: There's something you want, isn't there?
  • Hipster: There's this old stereo record player in the attic.
  • Dad: What do you need a record player for?
  • Hipster: My record collection.
  • Dad: I didn't even know they still made those things. Can't you just listen to music on your phone?
  • Hipster: Dad, there's a big difference between listening to music digitally and on record.
  • Dad: Fine, I don't wanna get into it with you right now. You can take the record player. You just have to get someone else to take it to your place for you. My truck's full.
  • Hipster: Thanks dad! *smooches dad on the cheek*
  • *later at hipster's apartment*
  • Friend: So, like Patch Adams ends with Patch Adams half-naked in front of a ton of people. I don't know if it was meant to be funny or like a weird sex thing, but like the movie was just a deeply disturbing character study. I can't stop thinking about it.
  • Hipster: That sounds boring. *unlocks door to apartment* Ta-da! Here it is! My new record player!
  • Friend: New? Looks fucking old to me, dude.
  • Hipster: Well, it is old. That's the appeal. And we're going to listen to the new Sufjan record on it.
  • Friend: Is that actually how you say Sufjan? Apparently, I've been pronouncing it wrong this whole time.
  • Hipster: Well, you won't after this record. There's an entire track where he just says his name for four minutes. It's amazing. *plays records*
  • Record Player: *coughs* Hello. Hello! Where am I? Doctor? Hello! Why is it so dark...............................Can I breathe? I can't breath. Oh god, I'm not breathing! Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god! I.....................................
  • Hipster: Uh, that's not Sufjan.
  • Friend: It totally isn't. Is it some guest vocalist? I like the new direction he's going in. No instruments or singing, and long stretches of silence. Very experimental.
  • Hipster: *stops record player* I think maybe we should do something else for now.
  • Friend: Fucking lame! I wanted to listen to more Sufjan.
  • *days later at the record store*
  • Hipster: Yo, I think the Sufjan Stevens record I bought from here might be some kind of mispress.
  • Store Clerk: Really? It's a pretty major album. I doubt there'd just be a mispress like that.
  • Hipster: Yeah, but listen to it. It's not Sufjan at all. It's some girl talking.
  • *hipster and clerk listen to a completely normal Sufjan Stevens album together*
  • Store Clerk: What are you talking about? This is definitely Sufjan Stevens.
  • Hipster: Okay, but it wasn't like that when I listened to it at home! I even listened to it with my friend and he heard the same thing!
  • Store Clerk: Maybe there's something wrong with your record player.
  • Hipster: Hmm, maybe there is.
  • *back at the apartment*
  • Hipster: *turns on record player and just listens*
  • Record Player: ...I'm awake again. Why did I black out? Did I even black out? God, I'm not breathing, but it doesn't matter. Why don't I need to breathe? Am I even alive?
  • Hipster: Can you hear me?
  • Record Player: Doctor. Doctor! DOCTOR! Why can't I move? Why can't I feel anything. Keep yourself together. It'll all make sense soon. Calm down. Just breathe deeply. Fuck, I can't breathe! AIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEE! I CAN'T BREATHE! DOCTOR! DOCTOR! DOCTOR! HELP! HELP ME, PLEASE! I'M STUCK! I CAN'T MOVE! PLEASE HELP ME!
  • Hipster: *turns off record player* It's just a recording, I bet. I can't believe I talked to it like an idiot... *nervously turns record player back on*
  • Record Player: I blacked out again. I blacked out. For how long? Is there even time here? Hell. This is hell, right? Did I go to hell.........................................
  • Hipster: *listens to the record player for hours*
  • Record Player: Negative 6893 bottles of wine on the wall! Negative 6893 bottles of wine! Take one down, pass it around, Negative 6894 bottles of wine on the wall... fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! PLEASE SOMEONE HELP ME! AIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!
  • Hipster: *keeps listening*
  • Record Player: Soul of Christ, make me holy, Body of Christ, be my salvation. God, please forgive me. I'm sorry for all of my sins. Please free me. I'm so sorry. Please. Please. Please.
  • Hipster: *still listening*
  • Record Player: FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! SHITTY DOCTOR! FUCK YOU! LET ME OUT! LET ME OUT! *sobs intensely* FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! FUCK EVERYTHING! Please just let me go.
  • Hipster: *nervously walks up to record player and lightly taps on it*
  • Record Player: ...A knock. A KNOCK! PLEASE HELP ME! I'M STUCK! PLEASE! *record player begins shake violently*
  • Hipster: *backs away in fear*
  • Record Player: HELP! HELP! HELP ME! PLEASE, IF SOMEONE'S THERE, HELP ME! HELP ME! I'M STUCK! GET ME OUT OF HERE, PLEASE!
  • Hipster: *unplugs record player*
  • Hipster: *gets hammer from the closet and begins to break apart record player*
  • Record Player: *drips red*
  • Hipster: W-What? *cracks front of record player open*
  • *rotting viscera falls from the record player*
  • Hipster: O-Oh... *stuffs viscera back into the record player and duct tapes over it*
  • Hipster: *turns record player back on*
  • Record Player: ...I can feel. It hurts. Why does it hurt now? Why does it hurt? Why? Why? Why? WHY!? WHY!? WHY!? *spurts blood through it speakers and begins to gurgle*
  • Record Player: *hops forward* Please just let me go. Please... please. I'll do anything. I just want to see you again. I'm so sorry. This isn't what I asked for. I'm so sorry. *hops forward again and comes unplugged*
  • Record Player: *tips over, bleeding heavily onto the carpet*
  • Hipster: *silently cleans up the mess*
  • *some time later*
  • Hipster: *calls dad* Hey, dad. Oh, nothing. Uh, I just need to borrow your truck, If not tonight sometime this week. I just need to get rid of something. No, no, that's fine, I can do it myself. Yeah, tomorrow morning is perfect. Thanks Love you too. Bye.
  • *the next afternoon*
  • Dad: So, what did you need to get rid of this morning?
  • Hipster: Nothing important. Just some old junk... Dad, what kind of person was poppop?
  • Dad: Well, he was only the greatest man I've known in my life. Really caring, dedicated to his family. When you were born he loved you so much. He was a bit of a loner, though. It took a lot to get him to open up. Even around me and your grandmother. He was a bit like you. Always a huge music lover.
  • Hipster: I see. Was he ever a doctor?
  • Dad: That's a weird thing to ask. Nope. He hated doctors. Didn't trust modern medicine one bit. It's ironic. His cancer probably wouldn't have gotten to him if he did. But, your poppop was always so stubborn.
  • Hipster: Oh, okay then.
  • *some days later*
  • Friend: New carpet?
  • Hipster: Yup, old one was ugly wasn't it. It was time for a change.
  • Friend: That's what I've been telling you! I'm glad you finally came to your senses. What happened to your record player, though?
  • Hipster: That thing? I threw it away. It was busted.
  • Friend: That sucks. Are you gonna buy a new one?
  • Hipster: No.
  • Friend: But you won't have anything to play your records on.
  • Hipster: Yeah, but I buy records because I want to support the artists. They're not really for listening. Besides, lossless is better. FLAC is the future.
The Christmas scene

Sherlock*proud as hell of himself*: Jeanette!  Ah, process of elimination.

Molly entering from the door.

Sherlock:*What the…? Makeup! Hair down! A ridiculous silver bow! Oh No! Under this thick coat there must be …*

Sherlock*shocked*: Oh, dear Lord.

Molly*smiling and shining*: Hello, everyone. Sorry, hello… it said on the door just to come up.

Everybody is greeting her.

Sherlock (rolling his eyes): Oh, everybody’s saying hello to each other. How wonderful! 

Sherlock:*I need any distraction, I don’t want to see this coat taken off, I CAN’T SEE THIS COAT TAKEN OFF!*

John: Let me … HOLY MARY! 

Lestrade: Wow! 

Sherlock (annoyed):* yup I was right, there is a sexy dress under this coat, which means … NO NO NO don’t go there now … just skip it!*

Molly (sweetly): Having a Christmas drinkies, then? 

Sherlock:*ok stay cool and answer with a smile*

Sherlock (trying to sound cool and epic-ally failing): No stopping them, apparently. 

Sherlock (sitting):*yessss the best distraction is John’s blog … let’s see what case he ruined this time*

Mrs Hudson: It’s the one day of the year where the boys have to be nice to me, so it’s almost worth it! 

John to Molly: Have a seat.

Sherlock (laughing bitterly in his palace) : *oh don’t worry about that … she’s not staying for a long time … she got better things to do*

Sherlock: John? 

John: Mmm? 

Lestrade: Molly?  Want a drink? 

Sherlock (huffing): and suddenly everybody is caring about Molly (he rolled his eyes)

Sherlock (trying to distract himself again): The counter on your blog still says one thousand eight hundred and ninety-five.

John (mocking): Ooh, no! Christmas is cancelled! 

Sherlock *like I’m not suffering enough right now!*: And you’ve got a photograph of me wearing that hat!

John: People like the hat.

Sherlock *it’s ridiculous!*: No they don’t. What people? 

Molly: How’s the hip?

Mrs Hudson: Ooh, it’s atrocious, but thanks for asking. 

Molly: I’ve seen much worse, but then I do post-mortems.

Sherlock (crazily laughing in his palace):*oh my god that’s a good one*. 

Awkward silence

Sherlock (wide eyes): *alright maybe not for everybody’s taste*

Molly (apologetically): Oh, God. Sorry.

Sherlock (finally looking to her): Don’t make jokes, Molly.

Sherlock (eyeing her sexy dress and feeling his heart sinking)

Molly: No. Sorry. 

Sherlock (eyeing her bags and feeling his heart sinking more and more):*a present wrapped in the same color of her lipstick, this is worse than I thought*

Molly to Lestrade: I wasn’t expecting to see you. I thought you were gonna be in Dorset for Christmas. 

Lestrade: That’s first thing in the morning, me and the wife. We’re back together. It’s all sorted. 

Sherlock (beginning to lose control): No, she’s sleeping with a P.E. teacher.

Molly: And John. I hear you’re off to your sister’s, is that right? 

John: Yeah.

Molly: Sherlock was complaining. 

Sherlock (looking to her disappointed): *come on now that, was private between us*

Molly: … saying.

Sherlock (rolling his eyes and whining): *yeah yeah whatever, why are you even still here asking everyone how you’re doing, don’t you have a (mocking) date you need to attend*

John: First time ever, she’s cleaned up her act. She’s off the booze.

Sherlock (having an irresistible urge to ruin everybody’s day and letting himself): Nope. 

John: Shut up, Sherlock.

Sherlock: *ok time to put Ms Hooper out of her misery and let her reach the (mocking) date in time*

Sherlock (faking sweetly): I see you’ve got a new boyfriend, Molly, and you’re serious about him. 

Molly: Sorry, what?

Sherlock (boiling inside): *oh don’t play shy!*

Sherlock: In fact, you’re seeing him this very night and giving him a gift.

John (trying to stop him): Take a day off. 

Lestrade (putting a glass in front of him as another desperate attempt to shut him up): Shut up and have a drink.

Sherlock: Oh, come on. Surely you’ve all seen the present at the top of the bag  perfectly wrapped with a bow. All the others are slapdash at best.

He stood up suddenly, wondering which lousy wrapped present was his. 

Sherlock: It’s for someone special, then. 

Sherlock (blood began to heat): *more special than me*

He picked the gift suppressing the need to toss it in the chimney.

Sherlock: The shade of red echoes her lipstick either an unconscious association or one that she’s deliberately trying to encourage. Either way, Miss Hooper has luuuuuve on her mind. The fact that she’s serious about him is clear from the fact she’s giving him a gift at all.

Sherlock (fire surrounding him in the palace): *she’s putting effort in this relationship, she’s serious about it, it means she’s over me*

Sherlock: That would suggest long-term hopes, however forlorn; and that she’s seeing him tonight is evident from her make-up and what she’s wearing.

Sherlock (confused): *HOW IN THE HELL’S NAME DID I MISS THAT?! WHO THE HELL IS THIS MAN AND WHERE DID SHE FIND HIM?*

Sherlock (playing with the card of the gift): *now let’s see what is the name of the new psychopath you chose this time, I hope he won’t be worse than Moriarty.

Sherlock: Obviously trying to compensate for the size of her mouth and breastssssssssss … 

Sherlock (reading the card for hundred times, checking the name for thousand times): *Sherlock, my name is Sherlock, Sherlock is my name, this is my present, it’s me the luuuuve in her mind, god help me she’s putting three kisses, I’m the romantic attachment, love Molly, she loves me, me she loves, and  I just (suddenly freezing in the palace)  … ooooooh dear lord*

Molly (getting him out of his thoughts with her voice that felt like a knife stabbing deeply through his heart): You always say such horrible things. Every time. Always. Always. 

He tried to run as fast as he could, he wanted the floor to swallow him in this moment, but she was hurt, his Molly was hurt because of him, again.

Sherlock:*be a man and fix what you just ruined* (he admonished himself roughly)

Sherlock(trying to find his voice): I am sorry. Forgive me. 

He never apologized before, but the words didn’t feel weird, he was sincere.

Sherlock: Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper.

She was very near, he could smell her perfume and the cookies she was baking, he couldn’t resist.

He leaned down to kiss her slightly on the cheek, he never imagined he would kiss her one day, there was no need to do so before or even now, but he just did, he wanted to, nothing could prepare him for the warm he felt around his heart, she was soft and warm, she was closer than ever, it felt good, it felt right.

 An erotic moan heard around the room, pulling him away from his alien thoughts.

Molly (terrified): No! That wasn’t …  I didn’t …

Sherlock (trying to pull himself out of this path and forgetting what he just felt, deleting it from his palace but failing, he convinced himself because it was new): No, it was me.

Lestrade (surprised): My God, really?! 

Molly (still terrified): What?!

Sherlock: My phone.

He thanked The Woman internally for the perfect rescue in the prefect time.