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.

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

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.

Keep reading

Is anyone else getting pissed off at every



saying “wasn’t it obvious” and “haha we already knew” when Joey Graceffa came out?

Fuck all of you. You don’t get to assume someones sexuality until they tell you what sexuality they are. Femininity or masculinity do not define sexual preference. Just becomes feminine men are more commonly known as gay, does not mean they all are.

You know what you do when someone comes out?

You say “I’m proud of you”. Then you shut your fucking mouth and get on with your life.

I’m sorry but it just really fucking rubs me wrong that feminine = gay and it’s practically a joke. Just… shut up. Just please shut up.

clowns-of-gotham  asked:

OHMYGOSH!!! I just had a thought. What if in that frame where we see Joker practically on top of Harleen, she's like trying to talk through the leather thing in her mouth (likely saying "Please, don't kill me," or something along those lines), and then Joker's like "...What?!" because he obviously can't understand her. So he takes it out of her mouth, she repeats what she said, and then the old "Oh, I'm not gonna kill ya..." part of the scene happens. UGH THIS MOVIE WILL BE THE DEATH OF ME!!!!!!

OMG THAT IS BRILLIANT! I never thought about that and that makes a lot of sense! Good thinking ^.^

shygirlatyourparty  asked:

Yeah but let's be real- how many takes do you think it took for him to get all of that ~just right? Still. UGH. UGH. Crosby stands in a parking lot (FULLY CLOTHED) and dumps a recycling bin full of ice his over head so earnestly it hurts. JToews hangs gloriously half-naked off the back of a boat with a bucket and a smirk and I am... disgusted (and attracted) at his everything. HIS EVERYTHING. (i'm sorry i'll go back to my corner now. *waves*)

It took enough takes where they ran out of ice, my friend. And that part where he so casually tosses the rope back and gets himself balanced and ready to go reeks of practicing until he’s nailed it.

Probably started plotting this out the night he got his challenge, and he just kept escalating it. What if I’m shirtless? What if I’m on a boat? What if I’m behind the boat? What if I’m wearing black swim trunks? Better go outside some more, make sure the tan’s good. 

fuck him

prayer circle for Mike Babcock

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:






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.

vasselheims  asked:

*throws flower petals at you* marcy u should write Yael's reaction to Cullen's losing the wicked grace game

Yael knocked on the tower door even as she opened it, laughter spilling out of her in fits and spurts. “Cullen?” she snickered. “Cullen are you in here?” 

The sound of booted footsteps followed by quiet curses from upstairs told Yael everything she needed to know as to her Commander’s whereabouts. Poor man, she thought with a shake of her head as she headed over to the ladder. He should have known better than to bet against Josephine. That woman may look as innocent as a flower, but she held quite an astonishing array of thorns. 

Yael climbed up the ladder to the loft as quietly as she could, peeking her head just up past the last rung. Cullen was frantically dressing himself, or reclothing himself as the case may be. Yael laughed. Slapping one hand over her mouth as soon as Cullen turned on his heels to face her. 

The man was still blushing a radiant shade of pink and the flush seemed to creep down his neck to his bare collar. “I came to see how you were handling your crushing defeat,” Yael remarked with a wink as she climbed up and over the last rung. She dusted her hands down her coat and stood positively shaking with laughter as she watched Cullen scowl at her. 

“I’d like it to be known that I’m never playing cards again,” he snapped as he want back to fumbling with the buckles on his belt. “I still can’t fine my…nevermind…”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Yael spoke behind the knuckles on her hand as she tried to viciously prevent herself from bursting into laughter. Mythal, felt as if she might  combust on the spot, “watching you lose made me want to play more often.”

The blush rose from a pink to a red. “Maker knows I don’t need any more help embarrassing myself in front of you,” he muttered as he snatched his tunic from off the bed and threw it over himself. 

Still laughing to herself, Yael went over and helped the man untangle himself from the fit he had thrown himself into. Gently tugging down on the fabric’s collar she pulled his arms through the sleeves. She kissed the top of his head as it reappeared, his hair now sufficiently mussed and curling up in the back. 

“You were blushing,” she giggled, arms not quite ready to part from around him, “You still are!” She kissed the less-than-pleased scowl from off of Cullen’s lips. “It was adorable." 

"Maker’s breath!” Cullen sighed.

Yael laughed at his own exasperation, lowering her head to the crook of his neck so that he didn’t have to see her enjoyment at his teasing. For all his professed displeasure, Yael noted that he didn’t move to step away from her touch. If anything he was leaning more closely towards her, a hand at her back to steady the both of them. 

They didn’t get much opportunity for jokes like this, for this calming sense of normalcy. “Oh Cullen,” she laughed, raising her hand and messing up the rest of his hair much to his muffled, half-hearted protests. He was smiling in spite of himself, she could see the traitorous curve of his lips. “I love you.”


"No, I…I…meant was…”

Her face paled and she stepped out from the circle of his arms at once. She hadn’t just said that. Creators, what would have even possibly possessed her to blurt out such a thing. She hadn’t even been thinking…

Cullen’s exasperation seemed utterly forgotten now. His hazel eyes were wide, staring down at her with a gentle intensity that tore her apart from the inside. He smiled. Fully and truly. He seemed to be having trouble breathing properly from the way his chest heaved in spasms. 

“You love me?” he asked, so hopeful, so overawed Yael felt as if she was about to walk through shattered glass.

“I hadn’t meant to say that.”


“But I…suppose…yes.”

“Yes you hadn’t meant to say that or yes you do love me?”


Now he was laughing at her. She wasn’t too fond of this new predicament. Her heart was practically racing out of her chest and she was almost certain Cullen could feel it beating when he pulled her back to him. “Yael,” she shuddered at the sound of her name on his lips, sounding at once so different yet strikingly terrifying. “I love you, too.”