ugh i'm so out of practice

I was scrolling through @obianidalasuggestion‘s blog, and this prompt about Anakin being a blanket thief was the cutest thing I’ve read this week (and possibly this year), so naturally I had to write for it. Mods running the blog, I hope this is okay, since I’ve given credit? I’ll take it down straightaway if it isn’t, for whatever reason! 


When Padmé slides the door open to her apartment, she is greeted by the sight of Anakin and Obi-Wan tucked against each other on the couch, apparently sound asleep. 

They have both barricaded themselves tightly into one corner, never mind that the piece of furniture in question was not designed for more than three people, and would certainly, by all laws of physics, be unable to fit two grown men in the corner.

That is not even counting the mound of blankets on the other end; there are currently at least twice as many blankets as people in the room, Padmé notices with a somewhat exasperated sigh. Anakin is currently clutching three woollen ones to his chest despite the fact that it is now spring and even Padmé has foregone her usual velvet robes for Naboo silk. Obi-Wan, who is nearest to the open window, is still wearing a cloak, although the fastenings have come loose, draping most of the bottom part across the floor.

She moves to pick it up and adjust it more comfortably around her lover, but is stopped by a small stirring of movement from Anakin. He isn’t quite awake enough to notice her presence yet, although one eye squints blearily at his surroundings before closing again. Padmé watches in fascination as he instead paws at Obi-Wan’s cloak, succeeding in pulling it to himself, as if he didn’t already have enough blankets.

Half an hour later, Obi-Wan wakes up complaining about the kriffing temperature control before realizing he’s not in the Temple, and that his outer robe is now thrown onto Anakin’s face. Padmé, watching from the other side of the room where she is working on a datapad, grins, expecting a blackmail-worthy blowout from this.

Instead, Obi-Wan only tugs his cloak off Anakin, and with a sigh, tosses it over the back of the sofa, safely out of his lover’s reach. He seems to sense Padmé’s amused annoyance and smiles in apology, folding the robe and levitating it into its proper place in the bedroom.

“Inappropriate usage of the Force, Master Jedi,” Padmé comments, turning off her datapad in favor of walking over to him. “You’re letting him get away with that?”

Obi-Wan snorts ungracefully and wraps an arm around her waist. His lips are warm against the side of her head. “He used to levitate all of my extra blankets into his room when he was younger. It’s no use stopping him, Anakin is a public menace when he’s cold.”

Padmé resists the urge to roll her eyes, because of course Anakin would do that, and resolves to give him a serious talk later about what would happen if he tried that with her.

It turns out that later never comes, because by the time Padmé thinks to check on Anakin again, he has not only somehow covered himself again with Obi-Wan’s robe, but has also stolen at least one more blanket and two of Padmé’s embroidered quilts.

Padmé find the sight a lot more adorable than she should and merely settles for taking a holopic for further evidence, unable to bring herself to wake him.

Did you know I’m all up for posting those no-context scenes from fics in progress? That’s what’s happening here. Only difference, this fic probably won’t evolve past the set few scenes I have written out, so I’m just posting it for… something I guess? 

This fic’s working title was Branded – that was going to change, I just didn’t know to what. So that’s what I’ve been calling it for… months. This scene is from one of those mid-climaxes, whatever those are called. That’s all the context I can give without ranting forever.

Tagging: @kerrtrash @ponkita @nemo-ne-impune-lacessit @amicitonia @alicemoonwonderland @roses-and-oceans  @for-lack-of-a-better-world @onpanwa


Reyja crosses the room and sits in her chair stiffly, turning away from the other occupants with a scowl on her face.

The silence stretches on. None of them know what to say to her – what is there to say? What could possibly be said? They can only wrack their brains. Noctis stands and begins to pace.

Reyja lets out a frustrated huff, breaking the silence. She sends a glare to all of them. “Stop looking at me like that – like I’m made of cracked glass. I don’t need your pity.”

Noctis whirls on his heel, fists clenching at his sides as a growl rises in his throat. “We’re just trying to help you! Why can’t you get that? It’s not pity–”

Reyja, unfazed, stands and stalks closer to the agitated prince, her own voice a low growl. “And why should I accept help from you? Should I be honored that you even consider me worth the time, Your Highness? Why do you even bother?” She takes a step back, ignoring the prince in favor of glaring at his friends. “Why do any of you? Did you conveniently forget who I am just because you’ve had a glimpse of the shit I’ve gone through? Hello,” she spits, eyes fiery and fists clenched, “remember me? Lapdog of the Chancellor? Political enemy? Imperial scum? Does that ring any bells?”

“If I may–” Ignis fixes his glasses upon his nose, staring unflinchingly at the distraught soldier in front of him. “You’re wrong. Regardless of your past, it’s clear that your loyalties lie elsewhere from Ardyn and the Empire. You aren’t allied with them by choice, merely by circumstance.”

“Does that even matter? No one asks about that – no one wants to know their enemy’s motivations. No one cares. It never matters why you stand, only where. It’s a hopeless endeavor.” Reyja regards all of them with disdain, shoulders slumping in defeat. “If I pointed a sword at your prince right now, you’d have to off me, no matter which side I was on. The only thing that changes is how quickly you’d do it.”

Prompto doesn’t stand, doesn’t even look at her, but answers all the same. “That’s true. If you tried to hurt Noct, we wouldn’t hesitate. We couldn’t. But…” He pauses, motioning with his hands, trying to find the right words. “I trust you not to try. I trust that you genuinely don’t want to hurt him. Yeah, you’re part of the Empire, you work with the enemy, but I know you don’t want to hurt Noctis. You don’t want to hurt any of us, really.”

Gladio leans forward in his seat, resting his elbows on his knees. “Ain’t hard to tell. You cover our backs in battle like it’s your job.”

“It is.” Reyja deadpans, a frown on her face.

Noctis shakes his head. He has the audacity to even look a little smug as he turns back to Reyja. “Ardyn only told you to come with us. He never said anything about having our backs. That’s all you.”

Reyja’s frown deepens. “You know that’s exactly what he said, right? ‘The prince is not to be harmed’ and ‘help him help his friends.’ I’m under orders. I’m not being altruistic.”

Ignis sighs, straightening his posture more and regarding her in an almost tired way. “That may be so, but you should still accept our help.”

“And why is that?” she asks, raising a brow at him.

“Because we’re being ‘altruistic,’ as you put it.” Ignis crosses his legs and leans back in his chair, relaxing slightly. “We want to help. You may side with the enemy, but we’ll know you as an ally.”

Reyja’s eyebrows furrow as she stares at him in slack-jawed silence. She takes a breath to speak, but shakes her head and closes her mouth. She can practically feel the expectant gazes of the other three – at this point, Ignis is reading something on his phone, apparently done with conversation for now.

Reyja breaths out a sigh, but it comes out as an exasperated laugh. “…Dumbasses.” Her shoulders slump and a small smile pulls at her lips. “Fine, you win.”

anonymous asked:

Kasamatsu walking past a group of girls who don't notice him and hears them talk about how scary and violent he appears to be :( but then his crush who is also there defends him :) and he's all pleased... sorry if it's too specific

Normally, Kasamatsu had very high morals about eavesdropping on a conversation. Today however, he was being a little lenient on those standards. After all, it wasn’t every day that you heard a conversation start with your own name. Curiosity piqued, he hid around the corner to the front lockers, ears straining to hear more of the conversation.

“He’s just so brash sometimes,” a girl was commenting, her voice a little high.

“Oh, I agree,” another one said. “Did you see the way he treated his ace the other day? Practically barbaric, if you ask me.”

From the context of the conversation, Kasamatsu knew it wasn’t going to be a good one. Maybe he should leave before he heard more of something he’d regret. Scuffing his shoes against the floor a bit, he started to make his way toward the gym.

“No way!” The third voice had been louder and much more commanding of attention. It forced Kasamatsu to stay put for just a second longer. “I think he’s a great leader type. You can’t just have people doing whatever they please all the time and he knows how to keep people in line.”

There was a bit of silence where none of the girls spoke. Kasamatsu could feel a bit of heat making its way to his cheeks. He didn’t exactly know who it was that had spoken up for him, but he was finding himself more and more intrigued. He needed to figure out her name, just so he could think about it for a little while.

“Didn’t know you were such a masochist, ____,” the first girl teased.

Instant embarrassment had a red faced Kasamatsu practically running in the opposite direction of the girls. Despite the fact he hadn’t even been involved in the conversation, he could already tell it was heading in a direction he’d rather not be around for.

Still, now he had a name to a voice. The next step was to find her face.

The Ruby Sea

Since fleeing from Kugane, their days had been spent laying low and doing what they could to gather supplies. Furthermore, they had no solid way to cross the Ruby Sea - while Eleanor of the Confederates covered their ruby tithe, the Riskbreakers didn’t have a ship of their own.

And they still hadn’t heard a thing from Sylvan Rain. Nor could they risk sending her a message and endangering them all. Edge just hoped she was all right - though as she was the most powerful of their number, he supposed he really shouldn’t worry too much.

Arae'sae, A'zaela, and Ivaan learned of a particular island where they could possibly find passage to Othard, so their party headed there, traversing through a tunnel to discover a hidden Kojin village along the seabed.

Edge found himself educating the others on the ways of the Kojin, having learned everything he could of the Far East long before they traveled there. While he did know of an underwater village, actually seeing Tamamizu and walking along the ocean floor, a magicked dome the only thing keeping them alive, served to remind him how little of the world he had yet seen.

“They’re merchants, and value trade,” Edge had told them, after they took some time to meet the locals of Tamamizu. While Edge had initially spoken to several Kojin in an attempt to borrow a ship so they could cross to Othard, he soon learned of another method - swimming.

Predictably, the others expressed disbelief at his idea, but he put on a smug grin and revealed what he had learned - that the beast tribe had knowledge of a blessing that allowed one to breathe underwater as if it were air. From there, they had to make a choice: stay in Tamamizu safe and hidden, but unable to find Sylvan, or continue on to Doma to find Vegnagun and complete their mission to aid the Doman Liberation Front? Or perhaps go somewhere else to lie low, to spare the Kojin any further ravages of war? Disaster seemed to follow them since they had come to the East…

As wonderful as the Kojin’s gift sounded, such a blessing had a catch, of course. In order to receive the gift of the kami, each of them had to offer up something in return. The Kojin were merchants and valued trade, after all, though they all had to think of what they could give of their meager belongings and supplies.

Edge looked through his pack, rummaging through all of the clothes he brought along with them to the Far East. He couldn’t bring himself to travel light, but he supposed if something had to go…  When the Kojin told him something “valuable” had to be traded, his first thought was his wedding band on his finger - he even saw A'zaela glance at it, perhaps wondering if he would do it - but he clenched his fist tightly. Not that.

A flash of yellow in his bag caught his attention and he pulled it out, unveiling his Temple garb given to him a few years back when he finished his training as a Monk by a former Fist of Rhalgr. Since then, he had accomplished many things, grown as a man and joined the Riskbreakers, fighting to oust the Garleans from Eorzea. He had learned and trained among the shinobi of Revenant’s Toll, putting his strict regimen of Fist training behind him in order to learn a new art. Nowadays, daggers and ninjutsu were his weapons of choice, and looking down at his Temple garb, the thought made him a little sad. He felt like he would be giving up Ala Mhigo, giving up some of what made him the man he was.

He clenched the clothing in both of his fists. Hadn’t he already given up Ala Mhigo, leaving Rhalgr’s Reach behind to fight a different battle in the Far East? After having failed to spread the dying art of the Fist of Rhalgr, taking up the way of the shinobi instead?

He had gotten married in this clothing.

Ashe was still in Gyr Abania, continuing the fight that he did not. Raised in Little Ala Mhigo, living as she did, doing everything she could to survive - his wife was more Ala Mhigan than he ever was. His relatively privileged upbringing in Ul'dah had seen to that.

Maybe that was okay. Maybe Ashe could be his link to his homeland, his reason for fighting for its freedom, while he did everything he could to fight for Doma’s. A battle on two fronts. Separate, but united.

Their party had decided to find somewhere else to lay low - the Azim Steppe, in northern Othard. There, they would rest and regroup and regain their strength.

Edge handed over his Temple garb to the Kojin priest and took his first full breath of the sea.

anonymous asked:

Last summer I worked at a garden center. One time I was off work but stopped by to grab something I'd forgot and the moment I walked through the gate this lady inside shouted "DO YOU WORK HERE" at me. I'd literally just came in the entrance, I had no apron on, and wasn't dressed like I worked there. So I said no, then a coworker came out and was like "oh hey I thought you were off today?" I practically ran to the break room and hid until that lady left. But seriously I'm off work leave me alone.

Ugh I hated that. The worst is when you’re on break or leaving work (I’m carrying my bag, I’m on my phone and have headphones in) and someone approaches you despite the fact that there are like ten other employees available

anonymous asked:

If you're still taking prompts, maybe #31, phlint? :D love your writing, as always!

31. “I can’t keep kissing strangers and pretending that they’re you.”

(This is loosely based in a Soulmate AU where their name appears on your skin around puberty and then people join the online registry which finds your match and puts you in contact with your soulmate.)

“I can’t keep kissing strangers and pretending that they’re you, Clint!”

“Why–what? Why the hell are you going around kissing a bunch of strangers to begin with!?”

“Because I can’t kiss you!”

“Okay, I know I’m generally pretty slow on the uptake, but that–there doesn’t sound like there’s any logic involved right there. I mean, if there is, okay. Sure. Just, gonna need you to explain that one to me.”

“Clint, you’re my soulmate. I know we aren’t really in a relationship or anything yet, but I still love you, and I’ve never even seen you, for fuck’s sake!”

“I told you I wasn’t ready to meet yet. You said–you’re the one who said that was okay! That you didn’t mind waiting. So don’t try and put this on me, or whatever–”

“I know, Clint. I know. And I meant it. I will wait for you, however long it takes, I’ll keep waiting my whole life, even if we never meet. Just–look, would it be okay if, maybe, do you think you could send me a picture? It doesn’t even have to be a good one, just…something. So I know.”

“Know what? That all your stupid declarations fall apart when you see what a sad sack of shit the universe paired you with?”

“You’re not–please don’t talk about yourself like that, Clint. You’re wonderful.”

“So you need some picture to narrow down whatever fucked up criteria you’ve been using to pick out strangers to make out with?”

“Clint! For all I know, any one of them could’ve been you because I don’t have any clue what you look like!”

“Well maybe I don’t want you to know!”

“Okay. Okay, Clint. That’s–I don’t understand, necessarily, but I promised I’d wait ‘til you were ready. On all accounts. I may be a little frustrated right now, but nothing’s changed in that regard.”

“Good. Cool.”

“Yeah. Cool.”

“Hey, Phil?”

“Yes, Clint?”

“No more kissing strangers, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Or, like, not-strangers.”

“Okay?”

“Or, well, you know. No more kissing anybody that’s not me.”

“O-kay…”

“Your kisses are mine. I get exclusive rights from here on out. Soulmate privilege, or whatever.”

“Sure thing, Clint. From here on out, I’m saving up all my kisses for you.”

“’Cause you love me?”

“Warts and all.”

“Aw, Phil! I don’t have warts!”

“So you say.”

“Whatever. You’d totally love all my warts anyway.”

“I totally would.”

“Ugh. How’d I get stuck with such a sap of a soulmate, anyway?”

“You’re just lucky I guess.”

“Yeah. The luckiest.”

anonymous asked:

damn dude i'm so in love he was already on the bleachers for football practice, like usual, and i was walking past w my bff to the buses, like usual, and cause its like ninety degrees out he had his shirt off and he shouted out my name and waved to me super enthusiastically (me specifically) and i looked so damn good today too wearing my favorite outfit and i waved back and smiled and honestly i have barely stopped smiling ugh ive fallen hard i just had to tell someone

!!!! THIS IS ADORABLE WOW

hold-my-hair-back  asked:

I know it'll be a bit before you can get to this, but I have another Jay and Elliot request! I love all of your OCs, by the way. I hope you don't think I only like these two. I'm just a tad unhealthily obsessed with these two. Okay, so what if Elliot and Jay get into a fight and one of them (whichever of your choosing) doesn't want to speak up about feeling sick because he doesn't think the other will care because of their argument? Ugh. I'm going to start dreaming about these two, I swear. <3

God I always love writing Jay and Elliot. Hope you enjoy this one! I whipped it out just before going to my cross country practice so I haven’t had any time to edit haha


He’d woken up more tired than when he’d gone to bed, and the day hadn’t gotten much better after he’d left his room. His stomach had started to feel distractingly heavy around noon, and by the time he was heading home, he was sure he was getting sick. His usual brisk walk to the bus stop was slow and difficult, and he’d misses his usual bus before getting on a second that kept lurching to a halt every few moments in the stop and go traffic. Elliot hadn’t bothered to look at any of his texts; he’d just focused as hard as he could on not being sick in the middle of a crowded bus. It was close a few times, but he felt a little better once the ground he was standing on was still.

More than anything, Elliot was really just eager to see Jay and then relax for a little while. Maybe they could just put on a movie and cuddle, and maybe the sick feeling Elliot had would just pass in a couple of hours. Even if it didn’t, Jay would be there, probably complaining, but certainly helping.

His hands shook a little as he unlocked the door, but he managed it, and quickly collapsed into a nearby chair the second he’d shut it again. Even just standing on his feet was making him feel a little dizzy, which wasn’t helping his stomach.

“Jay?” he called out. No answer. Maybe he had headphones in or something. Elliot had seen his car parked outside. “Jay? You there?”

After a few more seconds of silence, he braced himself and stood up, taking a few deep breaths. He wasn’t going to throw up yet, he was almost sure, but it was starting to feel like a matter of time. He found Jay sitting on the couch in the living room on his laptop, no headphones in sight.

“Hey,” Elliot said.

Jay didn’t lift his eyes from his screen. “You’re late.”

“Yeah. Sorry about that.”

“You could’ve texted.”

Elliot was surprised to see a hint of worry on Jay’s face, and he felt a stab of guilt. He should have remembered to stay in touch. It had just been the last thing on his mind.

“Sorry, I totally forgot to,” he apologized. “I will next time, I promise.”

“Oh, next time?” Jay replied, raising his eyebrows. “So you will be 28 minutes late again sometime in the near future?”

Elliot flushed. It seemed like Jay was in the mood to fight, and that was about the last thing Elliot wanted to do right now. His stomach gave a little flip and he sat down on the couch too, eager for another chance to rest. Jay scooted away from him.

“Hopefully there won’t be,” Elliot replied patiently. “Just, you know, sometimes that stuff happens, so next time I’ll make sure to tell you.”

“Who am I kidding? Of course there will be,” Jay said dismissively. “Have you ever not been late in your life?”

“I missed the bus,” Elliot explained. “And there was lots of traffic. I said I’m sorry.”

“You missed the bus,” Jay repeated. “I should keep a tally of how many times you’ve used that one.”

“Okay, buses are really inconsistent. It’s not my fault.”

“Then maybe you should get a car.”

“Well maybe I would if my parents were paying every cent of my tuition,” Elliot snapped. He regretted his words the instant he said them, as any vulnerability left in Jay’s cold expression vanished. He rested a hand on his stomach absentmindedly, hoping it would make him feel a little better.

“Sorry,” Elliot said again. “I just mean I would if I could.”

“Mmm,” Jay replied noncommittally, still not even looking at him. “Where’s the bread?”

“The bread?”

“You are not serious,” Jay muttered. He switched his tone to overly patronizing, glaring at Elliot the whole time. “Yes, the bread, that I asked if you would buy in a text that I sent roughly two hours ago? Did you legitimately not check your phone during that time, or were you just ignoring me?”

“I didn’t see it. Sorry,” Elliot replied softly. Even talking too much was making him feel worse, and arguing wasn’t helping at all.

“You’re 21 years old. How exactly do you survive being the most irresponsible person on the planet?”

Elliot forced a light laugh, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat. Jay probably didn’t realize the effect he was having, but some combination of his words and Elliot’s climbing shakiness and nausea were making him feel a little like crying.

“That’s not a joke,” Jay said sharply. “Really, it’s just astounding.”

“Can you please just stop?” Elliot burst out. “I’m…”

He paused for a moment, trying to think if he should tell Jay he was sick or not. Things like that never exactly made Jay any calmer, so maybe it was better to just focus on the fact that he wasn’t in the mood for this.

“I’m really tired,” he continued. “Just, I’m sorry I’m late, and I’m sorry I didn’t check my phone, but please just…stop yelling at me right now.”

Elliot waited for a few seconds as Jay took in his words. He rubbed his hand over his stomach again, wincing a little as it bubbled violently at the touch.

“Oh my…you are just incredibly sensitive at the moment, aren’t you?” Jay said coldly. “I haven’t even raised my voice. But if you really want me to stop hurting your feelings, you can leave me alone. Anyway, I’m working.”

Tears stung in Elliot’s eyes as he reluctantly stood up.

“See you later then,” he choked out, and hurried for the door. He stumbled a little on his way, and braced himself against the wall.

“What is wrong with you?” Jay asked.

Elliot wanted to tell him, but he knew there was no point. Jay wouldn’t care if he was sick, not now. And Elliot didn’t know if he could take it. He shook his head.

“I told you, I’m just really tired.”

Elliot headed to the bathroom first, and knelt in front of the toilet for about a minute, waiting to see if he was going to throw up. His stomach was churning more than ever, but it didn’t seem like anything was going to come up, at least not yet. He retreated to the bedroom instead, hoping he could get some sleep and feel a little better. But lying down was too much for his stomach, so he ended up propping himself up against the pillows and trying not to think as his fatigue slowly lost the battle to his nausea. Elliot had always hated being alone when he was sick. He’d always had his grandma, or his brother, or even his parents when he was younger. And if they weren’t around, it was sometimes a friend, but usually, it was Jay. And now Jay didn’t care at all.

Elliot looked through his phone as his stomach grew more and more uneasy, not really paying attention to anything he saw. His mouth was filling with saliva, and each swallow was harder than the last. A sudden dry heave hit him and he was on his feet in a second, running for the bathroom. Locked. And Jay definitely didn’t want to be disturbed. But Elliot didn’t know what else to do. Dread coursed through him as he knocked, pressing his free hand over his mouth.

“Occupied,” Jay replied instantly, still sounding irritated.

Elliot’s heart sank. His stomach lurched and he had to swallow back another dry heave, shuddering as hot liquid stung the back of his throat.

“Jay,” he managed. “Please.”

A few agonizing seconds later, Jay opened the door wearing a bathrobe, his hair still dripping wet from the shower.

“What exactly is so—” he began, but stopped in shock as Elliot half crawled over to the toilet and retched emptily over the water. Elliot felt the first wave shooting up his throat, and with another heave it poured out of him, making him shiver.

“Elliot? Elliot!” Jay’s voice was frantic as Elliot gagged up another stream of vomit.

“Just go,” Elliot whispered. “Sorry.”

“No, don’t be ridiculous,” Jay insisted. He brushed the back of his hand against Elliot’s cheek. “You’re sick; why didn’t you tell me?”

“I—” Another heave cut Elliot off, and a large wave of sick spilled from his mouth. He retched again at the sting of acid, bringing up another stream. Jay’s hands tentatively found him, one rubbing his back and the other brushing his hair out of his eyes.

“It’s alright,” Jay murmured. “Make sure you’re breathing.”

Elliot tried for a deep breath, but ended up heaving instead, and spat out a small mouthful of vomit. He could tell his stomach was nearly empty, but it still wasn’t ready to settle down. He retched dryly, squeezing his eyes shut from the pain in his stomach and his throat. Jay winced too, but quickly returned to rubbing his back.

A forceful gag brought up a small splash of bile, which only made Elliot retch harder again. But nothing came up, and he tried to get control of himself. He spat into the toilet, shuddering.

“Done?” Jay asked softly. Elliot managed a nod. “Why on earth didn’t you tell me?”

“You were mad,” Elliot mumbled. “You said I was too sensitive. I didn’t think you’d want to take care of me.”

“Elliot, no,” he replied. “I don’t care if we’ve fought. Your wellbeing is always my first priority.”

“Well, thanks,” Elliot said. He could really feel fatigue kicking in now that his stomach was empty, and he rested his head on the toilet seat. “Sorry again I was late.”

“Clearly it wasn’t your fault. I…apologize for being too harsh.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“Now,” Jay said, “you look exhausted. What do you say you go to bed and we can both start over in the morning?”

“Yeah,” Elliot agreed. “Sounds good.” He’d just have to hope his stomach would let him sleep that long.

ugh. last week was such a good writing week and this week everything’s a hot mess and I’m avoiding words so much I actually listened to my voice mail. Who does that?

anonymous asked:

I'm torn as to whether I should ship Cass and Superboy or not. I think they're absolutely terrible for each other, yet they contrast so well, its like opposites attract, you know? Ugh I'm so conflicted

I love them together.

Kon bringing out a happier, more care-free side of Cass. Cass bringing out a responsible, more dedicated side of Kon. 

Kon taking Cass to places she could never be, showing her the best of life. Cass helping Kon become a better hero, both physical and mentally. 

Cass smiling and laughing more than ever before. Them spending a night discussing their lives, Cass about her past, Kon about his future. Both being terrified of tomorrow together.

Kon leaving her good morning and goodnight voicemails every night, usually involving out-of-tune singing and obnoxious kissing noises. Cass practicing her reading with him. Cass casually buying him over expensive gifts.

Cass meeting him for secret meetings on the rooftops. Kon awkwardly asking Tim about Cass and what she likes. Bruce (And Jason tbh) being very protective of their little princess Cassandra.

Cass saving Kon. Kon saving Cass. Both saving the world together. 

Don’t even get me started on adult!KonCass where Cass is Batman and Kon is Superman. Both leading the Justice League together. Kon staying with Cass while she works overtime in the watch tower.

Namjoon is able to keep up with everyone dancing, he doesn’t miss a beat or look a millisecond out of place. you know how many hours he must have practiced to have improved this much in such a short time

wow I’m so proud of him, I’m honestly just speechless at how dedicated he is to be the best he could possibly be for himself, his members and army’s

it’s fun watching hockey games. but now the game is over and i’m freaking out about my own hockey practice because ughhhhhh i just want to skip the embarrassing learning part and be strong and good because i love it so much and gah touching the ice was like a drug but i’m so bad right now because i’m learning and i hate it and probably annoy everyone with my lack of ability and strength and UGH I HATE IT ALL.

but no i also really love it and i just tell myself to channel my inner tyler seguin and hope that works. 

I’m working on a new Jared Padalecki/Sam drawing and I’m cautiously optimistic about it. Like… it just might be ok. Maybe. Ugh. I don’t know.


This is the progress after one night of work coloring with colored pencils. Sometimes I think it’s ok and other times I want to pull my hair out. I hate that feeling. At the very least, it’s good practice… right?

bropunzeling  asked:

I REALLY REALLY REALLY REAAAAALLY WANT LADY GOALIE CAREY PRICE FIC TO EXIST

I HAVE SO MUCH FIC TO WRITE ALREADY I CAN’T WRITE ANY MORE FIC 

BUT

LADY!!! CAREY!!! PRICE!!!

-

She wears a red dress to the draft. She realises afterwards that it’s the exact same shade as the jersey she pulls over her head. 

She’s the highest drafted female goaltender in NHL history. She’s not stupid enough to think that she’s made it yet, not even close, but she shoves the ball cap on over her hair and smiles wide for the photos, and when her phone buzzes with a text from Stoner, just a row of smiley faces and ‘welcome to the big time, pricey’, she feels like maybe she can make it.

-

Playing for the Bulldogs is great, once they’ve gotten over having to share a locker room with a woman. She only plays a couple of games, but she only gets called a bitch once on the ice, so she calls that a win in and of itself.

-

She gives exactly two interviews with the Bulldogs. The first one asks her her dress size, and the second asks her why she doesn’t have a boyfriend.

She doesn’t think she gets enough credit for not punching either of them out, really.

-

She starts the next season with the Canadiens, knows it probably won’t last, but works her ass off anyway because if she gets sent back down, it’s sure as shit not going to be because of her save percentage.

She does get sent back down, in the end, but she only plays ten games before she gets called back up.

She’s between the pipes against the Rangers when she’s suddenly, acutely aware that this is it, for her. She stops forty three shots that night, gets first star, and Lundqvist says, ‘Good job, kid,’ in the handshake line. ‘Keep it up.’

(She’s the first Canadiens rookie to post a playoff shutout since Roy, and she doesn’t play another AHL game after that season. She’s made it.)

-

She meets PK Subban by accident.

She’s late for morning skate, gunning the engine into the Bell Centre parking lot when some kid in a toque and a cardigan pretty much steps out in front of her. She brakes so hard she spills her coffee in her lap, and that’s his first mistake.

‘What the fuck, asshole?’ she shouts out of the window at him, and he actually grins and waves. Mistake two.

'You’re Carey Price,’ he says, bouncing up to the passenger window of her truck, still smiling like an idiot. 'I’m PK. Subban, I just got called up last night.’

'Great,’ Carey says. 'You owe me caffeine.’

'Are you asking me out for coffee?’ PK asks, actually getting in the car

'Okay, kid, strike three. Get out of my car, and for the love of god, stop being so happy.’

PK tilts his head. ‘Aren’t we going to the same place?’

'Ugh,’ Carey says. 'Fine.’

-

After practice, she finds a can of iced coffee in her stall.

PK is in the shower, singing loudly and out of tune.

Carey smiles without really meaning to.

Prompt: superheroes AU (but not really)

***

“HOW CAN YOU SAY THAT?” Stiles yells, enraged. “I DON’T KNOW WHY WE’RE FRIENDS.”

It’s the bane of their friendship, an everlasting feud that might never be resolved. Stiles loves Scott like a brother, but this is the one thing they’ll never agree on.

Scott is shaking his head. “Sorry, but no,” he says, shrugging his shoulders apologetically “Batman would kick Iron Man’s ass in a minute, come on.”

Stiles shakes his head vigorously. “You can’t possibly mean that. The only reason Batman isn’t already dead is because none of his enemies actually have the brains to put him out of commission.”

“Please,” Scott says, “DC has characters that have powers close to gods.”

“Ha,” Stiles exclaims, “Marvel actually has a god.” Scott frowns. Stiles looks smug. For once, he's totally winning this discussion, suck on that, Scott McCall!

“I still think Superman could beat Thor,” Scott finally says. “He can’t die, remember?”

Stiles is juist about to retort when another voice cuts in, “Unless Thor could get his hands on kryptonite, of course.”

They both turn around. Standing in front of them is the most gorgeous man Stiles has ever laid his eyes on. He’s slightly aware of the fact that his mouth is hanging open, but it’s proving hard to close it. Beside him, Scott is frowning. Of course he doesn’t appreciate the fine specimen of man standing in front of them.

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