undersizing

superhappybubbleslove  asked:

Modern AU: Obi calls back home for the first time in years.

The first nice day in April finds Obi out on the fire escape, elbows braced against his knees to keep his hands from shaking.

His phone has one contact pulled up, his thumb hovering over the call button. He’s paralyzed; every time his gaze catches on the name, it’s like being punched in the gut. Not like when he was in the ring, prepped and tense, but like when he was just some undersized foster kid, someone who would be leaving soon, someone no one would remember if you stuffed them in a locker or shoved them head-first into a toilet. Something he can never be prepared for, no matter how many times it happens.

Home, it reads.

Keep reading

7

Kasita

Kasita has outsized functionality in an undersized footprint. From ceiling to floor, every last cubic inch is designed to maximize the home dweller’s experience. The result: an exceptional small home that contains everything you need and nothing you don’t.

Follow the Source Link for images sources and more information. 

Observation: Ants are the undersized badasses of the insect world. They may be tiny, but they have numbers and brutality and chemical warfare and they kick a heckload of ass.

Result 1: A vast number of small organisms are either afraid of or at least wary of ants.

Result 2: A vast number of small organisms have evolved babies that pretend to be ants while they are small and helpless.

Net result: Imagine a world where children and apex predators look pretty much the same.

Strawberries (Damian Wayne x Reader) *Collab with Colormemeow*

A/N: Here’s the fic me and @colormemeow wrote together in celebration of our 300 milestone!

Warnings: None!



You had woken up that morning, unenthusiastically expecting an empty apartment. It had been unbearably boring ever since Batman had temporarily grounded you from patrol.  But instead of the usual empty house, you found Damian, flopped unceremoniously onto your couch, looking like he’d been hit by, well, a Batmobile.

“Um… Hello?” you greeted and walked over to the sofa, kneeling so that you could make eye contact with him.

“Good morning,” he replied, acting as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

This had happened before, so the shock factor had worn off slightly.

“You, my friend, are getting blood all over my couch,” you pointed out.

‘It’s not my blood,” he tried to reassure you.

“That’s not any better! Now, why don’t we get you out of that uniform?“

“Beloved, are you attempting to flirt with me?” Damian responded, smirking.

“If you think that this is flirting, you’re out of your damn mind. I’m saying that you smell bad and I want you to shower, so get off of my couch,” you said, quickly pecking him on the nose.

He huffed in annoyance before rolling off the couch and making his way to your bathroom.

“Your shampoo is in there!” you called from the linen closet, where you were trying to see if Damian had left any clothes at your house.

Damian stood in the shower, looking at your bottles of soap. On the shower shelf, there was a wide array of soaps, including the shampoo you had gotten for him when he stayed over. However, a different bottle caught his eye.


Damian walked out into your bedroom, to find the clothes you had laid out, for him. He raised an eyebrow at the choice, but chose not to complain. A few minutes later he walked out of your room wearing grey sweats and an undersized black t-shirt. Damian noticed a pink sweatshirt sitting on a chair. He stopped to consider his dignity before putting on the sweatshirt. It fit and was fairly warm, so he didn’t mind the color.


You were lying on your sofa, snacking on a bowl of strawberries that you had gotten for yourself while waiting for Damian to get out of the shower. There was a loud thumping sound, followed by a string of curses.

“Don’t you dare die on me!” you shouted from the couch, trying to make sure Damian didn’t kill himself in your shower.

About ten minutes later, you were met with Damian, draping himself gracelessly over you, Damian’s damp hair was pressed into the crook of your neck. “Hello,” you greeted for the second time that morning. Before Damian could reply, you spoke again. “Did you use my shampoo?”

“It smelled like strawberries, I couldn’t help it, beloved,” he said into your neck, tangling his legs with yours.

“Smells nice on you. And is that my hoodie?” You moved one hand to run your fingers through his hair.

“Maybe.”

“Pink’s a good color on you,” you remarked sarcastically.

Damian hummed in response, and shifted so that he could kiss you, with his arms on either side of your head. He gave you several short pecks on the lips. “Marry me,” he mumbled, his face hovering over yours.

“I’m not that insane,” you replied, smirking and moving your head up to give him another kiss.

“I’m serious,” he responded, but his phone started to ring. He moved one arm to pull it out of the pocket of his sweats. “It’s my father, beloved. I probably have to go,” he sighed.

“No,” you whined, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Stay.”

“Beloved, I-” he stopped when he saw your pout. “Fine,” he muttered. “But what if it’s serious?”

“Promise me you’ll stay,” you begged, kissing him once again.

“Beloved, it is getting increasingly difficult to say no to you,” Damian said, furrowing his brow.

“I can make it worth your while,” you giggled, popping a strawberry into your mouth.

“You’re too good for this world, beloved,” he chuckled, then pressed his lips onto yours in a heated kiss.

His arms returned to either side of your head as the kiss grew more passionate. Your hands were on his chest, and the kiss broke for him to hastily pull off the pink sweatshirt and t-shirt.

Your position changed slightly, and now Damian’s knees were on either side of your hips, and he had your arms pinned above your head.

His lips were rough against yours and he kissed you fiercely.

You and Damian were both too preoccupied to hear the soft thunk coming from your fireplace.

It wasn’t until Bruce loudly cleared his throat that you both turned to look. There he was, in the full Batman suit.

Damian jerked off of the couch, landing on the floor. You heard a string of arabic cursing before he collected himself. “H-hello, father!” he exclaimed, looking absolutely mortified, his face almost as pink as the sweatshirt he’d been wearing. “It’s a bit early for you to be out, isn’t it?” Damian tried, attempting to avoid Bruce’s interrogation.

“Damian, would you like to explain to me why you elected not to report back to the cave after patrol last night?” Bruce questioned, crossing his arms over his chest. “And explain to me what this is,” he continued, gesturing to the two of you in your disheveled state.

You were practically petrified. Having your adoptive father-figure walk in on you and his son making out was not a comfortable situation.

“Father I am nineteen. I might remind you that I’m an adult,” Damian argued.

Bruce sighed, looking as if he was making a decision. “Fine,” he grumbled. “I’m too young to be having grandchildren,” he muttered to himself, making your face go bright red. In another instant, he was gone.

“I should probably go, beloved,” Damian reasoned, getting up and starting to change into his uniform.

“Yeah, I guess,” you admitted, sighing in defeat and standing up.

“I’ll be back later tonight after patrol,” he told you, walking over and taking your hands in his.

“Just do one last thing and kiss me,” you replied, smiling gently.

He nodded and kissed you softly. “Just so you know, beloved, I was serious about marrying you.”

And before you knew it he was out your window and off to save the world.

anonymous asked:

Apologies if you've been asked before, but i'm in love with your glutton knight concept and I was curious. Do you think there'd be any non-human ones? Often horses and occasionally even dogs wore armor when brought into battle, (I live near an armory museum so I've even seen some on elephants and the like) so i'm curious to know if it only affects humans !!

Nope! Becoming a glutton knight requires some form of intent. It’s not just magical contamination and armor that makes them what they are; the combination of duty, the doggedness in which they are trained to pursue their quarry, and the righteous aggression towards supernatural creatures all play into what REALLY makes a glutton knight: their preternatural thirst for magical blood.

Which isn’t to say that animal armor doesn’t become part of a knight at times. Glutton knights will shed irreparably damaged, undersized, or otherwise unsuitable armor like hermit crabs and replace it with whatever metal they can find. Those not driven by vanity (or maybe just with weird fashion sense) may make…odd…choices.

An older knight known only as Kerberos is known for incorporating the helms of its fallen steeds into its armor, for example, and even mutating around them to form false ‘heads’. It’s not the only knight to undergo pronounced bestial changes due to deliberate choice in animal-themed armor.

So I have this headcannon that Damen has a lot of cats.

Cause he’s from this TOTALLY-NOT-GREECE Mediterranean place, and I’m pretty sure that, like actual Greece, it’s crawling in these pseudo-feral cats. Cats everwhere. Cats in temples. Cats climbing ruins. Cats sleeping in the Mediterranean sun. And they don’t have homes per-say….but they’re very people friendly.

And if Damen grew up in this open air palace….you just know that place was crawling with cats, cause cats go where they damn well please.

And since we all know that Damen is a giant softie, it’s a pretty good guess that he’s been low-key taking care of a bunch of them and sneaking them table scraps and letting them sleep in his bed with him since he was a tiny toddler.

Can’t you imagine? Little Damen gathering up a bunch of dinner scraps and feeding an ever growing population of abandoned kittens, to the horror of his nurses, who are pretty sure that those feral things are diseased, but every morning when she goes to wake him up, he has a room full of stray kittens?

One of playboy Damen’s many hookups getting distracted from sexy times by the sheer number of cats sleeping in Damen’s bed when he pulls back the covers and he’s like, not even mad cause yes they are his, and yes, they are so cute, and yes he has named every single one of them after heroes from epic poems. That tiny one there? That’s Ajax. He’s feirce.

Damen on campaign with Laurent in Prince’s Gambit giving Lauren’s table scraps to local strays, and Laurent being all confused about why they have picked up so many furry four legged camp followers. And why haven’t the mice and vermin attacked their food supplies? Are these two strange happenings related?

Years later, Damen sees a rat in Lauren’s chambers in Vere and is mad grossed out but Laurent is like “they’re a part of life, there’s nothing you can do about them” and Damen’s all “Just get a cat?” And Laurent is all ?????? So next time he comes Damen brings like 200 cats and releases them in the palace and Laurent is pissy until all the vermin disappear. Then he gets attached to a tiny, underweight, undersized black kitten and he realizes that cats are basically him in four legged form, and maybe that is why Damen is so good at putting up with his icy personality, cause he’s basically a human cat and Damen seems to love cats sooo…..

Yeah.
Cat-ptive Prince and Damen the Cat lover and Laurent the Basically-is-a-cat.

anonymous asked:

So it's not only that ks has a beautiful thighs and butt. He also cute without even trying, he likes to be pampered, and also he is clingy. Yet people complain when fic writers write ks this way. They want the "manly and buff daddy u.u" ks. Which is probably something ks isn't.

LOLz that’s why i’ve been calling them hypocrites. these people are too obsessed with ks masculinity to the point they would use arguments that contain bottom shaming or basically putting feminine boys in bad light. it’s ughlee and really detestable.

imo, ks has certain traits that can be considered to be ~traditionally feminine~ (mm bet some of y’all are triggered right after your brain decipher ks + ‘feminine’ being associated together, better read it ‘til the end) such as;  

- he likes/is good at cooking* (remember when he cooked for the entire filming staffs in 2015? remember how he cooked in vlive?),

- good at cleaning* (ji said in radio interview ks folded his shirts before and jd admitted ks nags a lot about hygiene/cleanliness in their dorm),

*cooking and cleaning are basic requirements to stay alive tbh, don’t get why these stuffs are considered ~feminine~ but i include them here to match the current society standard™

- many people have said he’s caring, as in “mother-like” (remember he used to be referred as the “mom” of the group during 2012~2013? even ji called ks “mama” before. funny that thing suddenly stopped after some rumors surfaced… also, remember that japanese dance group talked about meeting exo backstage and how caring ks is cuz ks basically handed them lunch boxes?),

Q: “how does ji call you (ks)?”

A: “ks-hyung” and “mama*”

i know mama in kr means “your highness” but during this period ks was often being called as the “mom of the group (e x o - k)”, so it makes more sense to interpret mama as mother. 

- he does pilates which is an exercise that’s popular among women instead of men, because it tones your lower limbs (such as thighs and buttocks) and increases your flexibility. plus it’s kinda similar to yoga and we know yoga is also popular among women. 

some might argue that he does this for comeback (like bbh has said in their vlive, but then again, if so, why others aren’t doing it?) or for his upcoming movie (the movie is gonna be filmed in sept.. it’s too early to prepare. ks started training for hyung when the filming began.) imo he’s doing this for personal reason.

- he once helped around at his mom’s salon (he even said he had thought of becoming a stylist. there’s pic of him styling osh hair) which means he has some skills/knowledge about stuffs like this. he often carries that vaseline lipbalm as well. anyway, this one isn’t necessarily traditionally feminine trait/character imo, but ppl who deal/care about things like this are mostly women (it’s just like the pilates thingy).

- like you’ve mentioned; he likes to be pampered (his boyfriend ji said it himself that ks is “駄々っ子” (read: dadakko) which literally means “spoiled child” or “pampered child” and if it’s translated to korean it has similar meaning to aegyo–as in someone who behaves cutely like a child), contrasting the ~traditional masculine~ trait where men are expected to pamper their partner.

- and he’s clingy (which he had admitted by himself during pure love interview and even ji kinda confirmed this one by saying ks is similar to koala bc ks clings on ji)

all of these traits do not make ks less than a man. im really tired of these people (particularly his stans–and this is coming from a ks biased person. although there are some of ji stans who are like this too because “ji is the cute one!! uwu”, not saying ji isn’t cute ofc, he can be adorable as well just like ks.. still, it’s not a valid reason to argue/get mad about ks being portrayed as a soft & smol boy™ bc it has no correlation. you know what’s funny? ks has never called ji cute. it’s always ji who calls/compliments him with that word. ks has called/complimented ji as “cool”, “handsome”, “sexy”, “has the best body”, “most mature member” but never cute. anyways.)

it’s really aggravating seeing them bitching about ks being portrayed in the ways that have been mentioned above because it ~effeminate~ him!! uwu, even though those things are still part of him. it makes me questioning them tbh; are they ashamed that their fave has those particular traits?

also, his body description. i rmmber back then in 2015~2016 some people were legit triggered if you say ks is smol or tiny or short or has narrow shoulders. this makes no sense whatsoever…. bc that’s just basically how his body is. why people are getting mad over this shit? jesus christ. 

i still remember people argued over his and ji’s hand sizes. it’s obvious ks’ hand is slightly smaller (pics)…. honestly, why ppl even fought over this dumbshit. god. 

if we compare him with those tall members ks is smaller/shorter (and he’s def shorter than the official height SM published + he often wears shoes with thick soles that prob elevate his height to become 5~7 cm taller), and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that.

there’s nothing wrong with a guy being small or undersize (he even admitted this by himself during ‘hyung’ interview; “im undersized so i had to exercise to fit the role, although now the muscles are gone”). and there’s nothing wrong for a guy liking/doing stuffs that are considered to be ~traditionally feminine~.  

if you find such thing to be offensive, it’s your problem. if you dislike there’s a possibility for your faves to not be able to fulfill your macho/masc/hetero bs standard, you’re the problematic one. 

honestly, this topic reminds me of the phrase; “masculinity is such a fragile concept”. i thought it’s only str8 men who get triggered when their masculinity is endangered but turns out some girlies have this sorta mindset too. sad. 

it’s kinda ironic cuz ks once wore that shirt with “gender equality” written on the front area (which i assume he supports the idea behind the mssg) yet some of his stans love to spew out words that are basically bottomshaming and/or degrading fem! boy. they also seem to be so overly crazy (and highly aggressive) with the idea of ks being masculine/dom. it’s a bit…..yikes. no wonder ks only shows his aegyo/soft side to his closest ones lulz.

anyways, y’all who think “men being associated with femininity (such as being complimented as pretty/beautiful/soft/curvy) = insult” are just plain bizarre to me….and unlikable. if you’re one of those people, please stay away from me and my blog. just pretend that im dead or something. block me.

p.s: im not proud that i remember all of those stuffs (the interviews etc)… they just… sorta…. stuck in my head.  also, wow this is a long answer. somehow i feel like im gonna regret answering this cuz the topic seems to be sensitive… oh well. 

p.p.s: dks is a beautiful, adorable, smol and clingy soft boy who loves to be pampered/spoiled by his boyfie (kji) and there’s nothing your crusty ass can do to change it. literally not-a-thing. not even sending h8 anons to my inbox can change it. 

if your feelings are scratched by my words, please contact my lawyer here;
1-800-go-cry-me-a-river

Guy Talk

Our favorite males just hanging out, drinking.  Read the rest of my Nessian crap:  Part 1Part 2Part 3.


Cassian braced his forearm against the table and stretched his other hand out, making grabbing motions in the air.  Rhys slid the bottle and a glass over to him.  He poured a thumb’s length, swirled it, and inhaled.  The rich aroma filled his nose and he took a sip, rolling it in his mouth before swallowing.  It burned a fiery trail down his throat, spreading heat through his stomach.  Leaning back in his chair, he held the glass up to the waning light, studying the color.  “That’s some good shit.  Where you been hiding this?”

His brother was leaning back in his chair, eyes closed, rubbing his temples.  “Under my bed.”

Cassian snorted.  “Under your bed?”  

“How the hell else was I going to keep it from Mor?”

“Good point.”  They sat in silence for a while, sipping their drinks, wings extended, soaking in the last of the warmth as the sun dropped behind the rooftops and faelights bloomed out around them.  “What the hell am I doing?” he finally asked, almost under his breath as he leaned forward and rested his face on his arms.

Rhys crossed his arms , dropped his chin on his chest, and looked at him, just a touch of humor playing around his mouth.  “You’re a glutton for pain, brother.  This is just another battlefield and you’re going to keep throwing yourself in there and damn the consequences.”

Ah, well, he couldn’t argue with that.  Neither of them even looked up as Azriel dropped out of the air, landed lightly on the roof, and stalked over to pour himself a drink.  He slumped into another chair, and eyed the other two.  “So I take it things went well,” he said drily.  “No mates tonight?”  He took a sip of his drink and raised the glass, squinting at it.  “This is nice.  Where did it come from?”

“Under his bed,” Cassian replied.  Azriel just nodded in response, as if that was a logical source of high-quality, and no doubt very expensive, spirits.  “And I’m sitting here drinking because of my so-called mate.”  He sat up again and rubbed a broad hand up the back of his neck, ruffling his hair.  “The camp tour went better than expected, actually, except for that one prick you already took care of,” he expanded.  It was true.  Not only had they found Sabine and Brisa to help with female integration among the warriors, but the new camp lords were all managing to introduce the policies Rhys had laid out with relatively little grumbling.  One advantage of being able to hand-pick people, he supposed.  “Now we just have to win over the rest of them.  Which means visiting more of them.  Which is also why I’m sitting here drinking.”

Rhys rustled his wings.  “How’d it go with the two you and Mor picked up for me?”  Cassian felt a twinge of guilt.  He’d forgotten Mor had brought the female here in all the chaos that he and Nesta had landed in at that second camp.  While he had been recruiting Sabine and Brisa, Rhys had gone ahead to straighten out the shitstorm that had arisen.  A veteran from the war had taken exception to a female who was training with Siphons and had beaten him in what was supposed to be a friendly target competition.  He’d waited until she was returning to her tent that night and attacked her with a knife, nearly severing the main muscle on her left wing before her screams brought the rest of the camp.  The warlord had thrown the prick in the holding cell where he had sat for two days awaiting the High Lord’s arrival.  Rhys, in a cold rage after seeing the female’s condition, had nearly misted him on sight but fatigue of bloodshed had stayed his hand.  Instead, he’d called in Azriel to mete out the shadowsinger’s version of justice.  This had caused a near-brawl between the old guard who thought the warrior had been well within his rights and the younger generation who wanted him to pay for his crimes, one that only fear of Rhys’ power had kept from turning into slaughter until Cassian and Nesta had dropped into the middle of it.  The sight of the Commander who had fought so valiantly in the war snarling at them, Siphons flaring, had finally subdued the protest from the older camp males but there was still tension.  

Azriel’s cold face remained impassive but he didn’t try to keep the hatred from his voice or his shadows from curling around him as he told them what he’d done.  How the male had protested that no bitch was going to be able to hold up under the pressure of battle, that they should all be clipped so they could breed more male warriors whether they wanted to or not.  How he’d used Truth-Teller to create the same injuries the male had inflicted on the female, then dumped him in the middle of the mountains.  If he made it to a camp, he could call in a healer.  Otherwise…  “But the female is doing fairly well.  The camp healer did a good job getting her stabilized.  Mor said they should be able to save the wing.  But I’m not sure how it’ll affect recruitment for that camp.”  It was a good point.  Other females may be reluctant to join after the assault.

“Hopefully they’ll remember that the other members of the camp stepped in and stopped him before he did more,” Rhys said, “and realize that we won’t tolerate abuse of any recruit, male or female.”  The other two nodded and fell back into silence.  Cassian tipped back the last of his drink and reached for the bottle again, pouring himself a more generous measure.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and Lucien emerged then pulled up short.  “I didn’t realize you were back.  Is this little gathering open to people without wings?”

“Yes,” Rhys replied, “as long as you’ve got a cock and balls.  We’re mate-free tonight.”

Cassian snorted, eyeing Lucien.  “Not sure you qualify, Fox Boy.”

Lucien just grinned.  “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

“Now, now,” Azriel interjected, “that sort of thing should be done behind closed doors.”  Cassian shrugged and held the bottle out to Lucien.  Rhys procured a glass, and Lucien poured his drink and sat, an amused glint still evident in his russet eye.

“What’s eating you?” he asked, gesturing with his chin at Cassian.  

“It’s more a question of who’s not,” Azriel murmured.  Cassian shot him a glare while Rhys and Lucien chuckled.  

“Trouble in paradise?” Lucien asked innocently.

Cassian bristled at the red-headed male.  It was one thing for his brothers to tease him, but this sly new member of the court hadn’t earned the right.  “Shouldn’t you be taking care of your own mate?”

“I already did,” Lucien replied smoothly, “then came up here for some fresh air.  I hadn’t realized I’d just be choking on testosterone and frustration.”  The three warriors stared at him for a second before roaring with laughter.  Rhys raised his empty glass at Lucien in a silent toast, then snagged himself a refill.  “No, seriously, were there problems on your trip?”

Rhys shook his head.  “Nothing more than the usual.  It’s not easy trying to bring an entire culture around.  But I agree it appears something is chafing my brother’s ass and I too would love to know what it is.”

“Other than his undersized pants?”

Cassian shot Lucien a look while he decided what to say.  “Well, you might not know but Nesta and I…”

“We know,” chorused the other three males.  “By the Cauldron, we know,” Lucien added under his breath.

“Right,” he said, feeling oddly self-conscious, “well, when we were flying to the camp that first day Nesta may have suggested that we try something new.  In the air.”

Azriel inhaled his sip of liquor and started sputtering and coughing, and Rhys got up and went over to clap him on the back.  Lucien sat up straighter, rubbing his chin.  “I’d never thought of that.”

“Of what?” Cassian snapped.

“That you guys could do that.  It certainly would add variety.”

Rhys gave him a knowing look.  “It’s surprisingly challenging, though.”

Cassian and Azriel gaped at him.  “You’ve done it?”

Rhys snorted.  “Of course.  Are you honestly telling me in the past five centuries you guys haven’t?”

“Not until now,” Cassian replied while Azriel shook his head.  “Wait, have you done it with Feyre?”

“Well, no.  Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“An oversight,” he said with a shrug.  “One I must rectify immediately, come to mention it.”

“Just don’t do it anywhere Nesta might see you,” Cassian warned.

Lucien was leaning back in his chair, watching them with a smirk.  “I have never been jealous of the wings until this exact moment.”

“Don’t get me started on you,” Cassian warned.  “You should be more cognizant of the fact that family members might be flying overhead the next time you have Elain go down on you up here in broad daylight.”

Rhys and Azriel both started and looked to Lucien, eyes narrowed, but Lucien was utterly unembarrassed.  “Cognizant?”

“Yeah, it means -“

“Oh, I know what it means,” he interrupted, smile broadening, “I just had no idea you could string so many syllables together.  I’m impressed.  And will take that under advisement.”

Cassian shook his head.  “Just be glad I didn’t have Nesta with me.  Or Feyre.  And you should be jealous of the wings,” he said, as he slowly stretched them to their full span, “for lots of reasons.”

Azriel cleared his throat.  “So what happened?”  Returning them to more pressing matters.

“Well, first I dropped her -“

What?”

“I caught her again!”  Defensively.  “And then we figured it out and it was…perfect.  Well, not perfect, it’s really hard to control your altitude when things are happening, but you get it.  Then afterwards, it seemed like that…barrier she holds was coming down, you know?  Like I was going to finally be able to, I don’t know, really reach her through the bond.  But as soon as she realized that she froze me out again, and it just hasn’t been the same.”

Rhys was looking at him with an incredulous expression as he said, “What the hell are you two usually doing? We could hear you all over the camps!  You’re worse than Feyre and I ever were!”

“That is so not true, you did not have to live with you when you first got together,” Cassian snapped. Rhys looked vaguely puzzled while he tried to untangle that.  Lucien looked slightly ill.  “Besides, that’s not even what I mean.  It’s just, I thought she was finally going to accept me, the bond, but now…It’s never going to happen.”  His voice was forlorn.  Rhys and Az exchanged looks, not sure what to say.  Silence fell for a few minutes, broken only by a clink of glass against the table as Lucien set down his drink.

He leaned forward, fingers splayed across his knees.  “Let me get this straight.  You are talking about an Archeron sister.”  Cassian nodded.  “The most, er, challenging of all the Archeron sisters.”  Cassian bristled at this characterization of his mate but Lucien continued, oblivious.  “You’re complaining to Rhysand and I, who are mated to the other Archeron sisters, about the difficulty of establishing the bond.  When both of our mates were in love with other males when we met them.  Hell, they were both engaged!  Rhys had to put Feyre back together when she basically wanted to die before she could recognize the bond, and I had to try to build a relationship with Elain when she had had her heart broken by Graysen and was completely traumatized by the Cauldron and terrified of her visions.  I had to make myself leave when I wanted nothing more than to stay, so she could have enough breathing room to start to heal.  We did everything we could to be a stabilizing force for them, to figure out what they needed when they couldn’t or wouldn’t tell us.”  Lucien was breathing heavily, golden skin flushed, russet eye hard.  “But after you and Nesta saved each other in the war, you walked away from her.  You promised her you would fight for her, then you walked away and more or less ignored her for months.  And you expect it to be easy?  She can barely let her own sisters see who she really is, and they’ve always been there for her.  You expect her to just drop her barriers and welcome you on in?”

The three Illyrians were staring at him, mouths agape, identical expressions of pure shock on their faces at the outburst.  He stood up and leaned across the table at Cassian, snarling, the most aggressive expression any of them had ever seen on his face.  “Buck up.  Get over yourself.  She’s willing to let you in her bed, accept that miracle for what it is and be patient.  Figure out what she needs and stop thinking about what you want.  Don’t run again or you’ll never get another chance.”

He turned to head back downstairs to Elain, shaking his head, muttering something under his breath.

“What was that?” Cassian challenged, recovering his voice.  Lucien stiffened and turned slowly.

“I said, ‘Cauldron boil me, how the hell are you not still a virgin?’” he half-yelled across the rooftop.  He turned back again to come face-to-face with Feyre.  She seemed to be warring between anxiety and amusement at the lot of them.  “I’m not sure you’re allowed up here,” he said to her, “unless you can use your shape-shifting to grow…never mind.”  He pushed past her and went down the stairs.

Feyre shook her head as she approached the males still seated around the table.  Cassian was opening and closing his mouth but nothing was coming out.  “Lucien got your tongue?” she asked innocently.  He just stood, shook his head, and launched into the air.  She turned to her mate.  “What the hell are you guys doing up here?”  She spotted the nearly empty bottle on the table.  “Besides drinking all the good liquor.”

The two remaining males broke down into helpless laughter.  “Cassian just had his ass handed to him by Fox Boy,” Rhys gasped out.

“That was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen,” Azriel added.

Rhys stood, gathering Feyre in his arms and kissed the top of her head.  “I have a new project for us,” he said into her hair.  She wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned into him.  

“Okay.  I’m tired though, can we just go to bed?”

He chuckled and pulled away a little, putting an arm around her shoulders.  “Of course.  Just remind me to tell you in the morning.  ’Night, brother.”

Azriel nodded in response and spread his wings.  “Cognizant,” he said to himself, shaking his head, and shot into the sky before wheeling towards the House of Wind.  

“What was all that really about?”  Feyre asked.

“Cassian was feeling sorry for himself and Lucien wasn’t having it.  You Archeron sisters.  You’re going to be the death of us.”  He squeezed her shoulders and planted a kiss below her ear.  “And our salvation.”  She leaned into him and they looked up at the night sky, lost in the starscape above them, lost in the depth of their bond.

3

59-87-43

All three of them are brave and they don’t get pushed around. I think they’re hard to play against. They’re elusive in tight space and they play with courage. Those two things can be dangerous. So even though they might be  little bit undersized, I think their hearts are a lot bigger than their physical stature and that’s what allows them to be succesful. - Mike Sullivan

anonymous asked:

Weird question but would Julian wear sweaters? If so what kind?

Yes, he has one (1) sweater Portia knit for him. It was a bit too small to begin with because she ran out of yarn, and he outgrew it ages ago so now it’s comically undersized on top of being old and ratty, but it’s only gotten more comfy over the years and you’ll never convince him to get rid of it.

Making a foam wig head bigger for better styling!

Most cosplayers know that store bought wig heads are usually undersized. Like, really undersized. So after getting fairly frustrated while trying to style a ponytail wig or two on a too small foam head, I decided to add to mine so they match my head circumference. The end product assumes you have the ability to sew, but you can also finish with a tape-only version if you so wish.

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anonymous asked:

Listen, Harry Potter AU. Like third year or fourth with Tony and Bucky? Something happens and they meet and they get together? Up to you what houses, though Tony could easily be Ravenclaw, or slytherin, and Bucky could be Hufflepuff, or Gryffindor? Thanks!

Here’s the thing: I have been waiting my entire life for this AU!! (I’m exaggerating. Mostly because I’ve been in the HP fandom a lot longer than in the MCU…) Also I can picture almost every character, and especially Tony, in EVERY house which makes this choice very difficult. Full discloser, I’m going with tiny Slytherin!Tony and bulky Hufflepuff!Bucky purely for my own amusement. Please enjoy!

Also tagging @briefpaperexpert because we were talking about HP/MCU Xovers not too long ago. Not what I had in mind back then, but still :)

Warning: Bullying. Inter-house-animosities. Howard’s A+ Parenting.


The problem with Tony–well, one of the problems with Tony, if you asked Howard, which you really shouldn’t do–isn’t that he’s a Slytherin, it’s that he is tiny.

Actually, because we all know you’ll ask Howard anyways, being a Slytherin is also a problem. As far as that man’s concerned, nobody who isn’t a proud Ravenclaw is ever going to accomplish anything in his life. Unless you’re a reckless Gryffindor named Steve Rogers, then you can do no wrong. Which is not cool at all. Seriously, the guy has vanished one Dark Lord, it’s not like he’s Merlin’s secret heir or something. Everyone really needs to chill out.

But the point is, you can’t be a tiny Slytherin with fluffy hair you aren’t allowed to cut–lest your beloved mother gives you the Eyes of Disappointment–and a serious case of social awkwardness in a post Dark Lord world. It’s like getting a ‘Bully me please, I’m too small to hit back’ stamp on your forehead. That he’s a year younger than everyone else probably doesn’t help his case either.

Not fun. Not fun at all.

Tony is a Stark though, he’s not going to let a couple of petty children drag him down. At least that has been Howard’s advice on the situation–if you can call it advice at all. It’s definitely not helpful advice, though Tony knows better than to point that out.

He also knows better than to complain about his transfiguration essay being ripped to pieces by that asshole Rumlow, who thinks anyone not Gryffindor is scum he’s allowed and supposed to spit on as often as possible. That doesn’t stop him from opening his big mouth, because Tony’s never been good at taking things while lying down. Unless he’s been stunned beforehand. Which has happened alarmingly often.

By the time he makes it into class, he’s five minutes late, has no homework to show for and no explanation to give either. (Like everybody doesn’t know what’s going on, but does that stop his fellow Slytherins from blaming him for the 10 points Professor Hill docks him? Of course it doesn’t. Common sense isn’t as common as you’d think around here, Tony thinks bitterly, even as he accepts his detention without complaint.)

Detention isn’t so bad anyways. Keeps him occupied at least, considering that most of the homework is a joke–genius here, and hopefully the only thing he’s inherited from his father–and he doesn’t have a lot of friends to spend his free time with. If you can count the scary librarian Miss Potts a friend, that is.

Tony kind of likes detention actually. Sharing a dorm with four other guys–who’s only common interest seems to be their dislike of the ‘Stark kid’–means that cleaning the trophy room at night is a rare opportunity for some quiet, far away from other people. 

Only when Tony gets to the trophy at 8pm sharp–his mother has never tolerated tardiness–he isn’t alone. And he’s not- he’s not easily scared, alright, but the guy standing besides Professor Hill is a head taller than him and anything can happen once they’re left alone and Tony’s just tired, wasn’t prepared for this, can feel his heart racing painfully fast.

He barely hears a word of Professor Hill’s usual speech, has been on the receiving end often enough to be able to recite it by heart anyways, too busy staring at the Hufflepuff student with the bruise on his cheek and the stubborn glare. He’s clearly not happy to be here and Tony has a hard time to keep the sudden wave of dizzying panic at bay.

Things don’t tend to end well for him, when the people around him are upset.

When Professor Hill leaves them to it and the Hufflepuff finally–already–turns his attention to Tony, he’s confident he blacks out for a second.

“-you want?” the Hufflepuff–alright, fine, Bucky Barnes, let’s not pretend Tony doesn’t know exactly who he’s dealing with here–asks.

It takes Tony’s brain a couple of seconds to catch up and realise he’s supposed to answer.

“What?” he blurts, a little confused and a lot worried.

“Which side do you want?” Barnes repeats, a furrow between his eyebrows.

“Uh, left?” Tony points hesitantly.

Barnes stares. “That’s right.”

“I knew that!”

Merlin, this is mortifying. Barnes is chuckling now at least, which is good, probably. Better than anger at least.

They get to work then, Tony on the left–the right one this time–and Barnes on the right side of the room. It’s quiet for a bit, and Tony easily slips into the routine of the movements, lets his mind wander while he polishes trophy after trophy.

Barnes breaks the comfortable silence eventually, and not with a push or a shove like Tony’s half expecting him to, but with a simple question. In retrospect, he should have seen it for the trap it was.

“What did you do to get detention anyways?” Barnes asks.

And because Tony is an inexcusable idiot, is distracted and not really thinking about it, he is honest. He really needs to learn to work on that, he’s a Slytherin for Merlin’s sake! Where’s the fakeness and the amazing lying skills he’s been promised?

“I lost my essay to Rumlow’s pathetic desire to feel better about his sad little life by ruining mine.”

It’s only after the words are already out that Tony’s mind catches up with his mouth and he freezes. Shit. This was definitely not what he is supposed to say. Despite the different houses Rumlow and Barnes are in the same social circle–that circle being the all-amazing Steve Rogers’ fan club–and this can only end ugly.

Slowly Tony pirouettes on his heels until he’s facing Barnes who’s staring at him with a strange expression on his face.

“What are you talking about?”

Well, in for a sickle, in  for a galleon and all that. “He thought it would be funny to rip my essay to pieces,” Tony shrugs like it’s no biggie, like he hasn’t worked for three hours on that paper because for once the topic was actually interesting, “Professor Hill didn’t agree.”

Barnes is looking more and more outraged causing Tony to sink more and more into himself. Why did he have to open his big mouth anyways? They were doing fine, he might have made it through this detention without-

“Rumlow is an asshole,” Barnes growls–wait, what? “I didn’t know he was that kind of asshole though.”

He doesn’t ask why Tony didn’t tell on Rumlow, at least, which he is thankful for. Just shakes his head, grumbles something under his breath that Tony doesn’t quite catch.

Whatever. “It’s fine,” Tony shrugs.

“It’s not,” Barnes fires back with an intense conviction that catches Tony by surprise. “And I sure hope you know that.”

Tony blinks. “I guess?”

For some inexplicable reason that causes Barnes to roll his eyes and mutter, “Dear Merlin, not another one. Why is it always me?” which Tony should probably be upset about.

It’s hard though, when Barnes spends the rest of the evening entertaining both of them with fun stories about the things he’s done to get in trouble, which leads them to the impossibly righteous punk that’s Rogers–according to Bar-Bucky, he’s allowed Tony to call him Bucky–which leads to an intense discussion about the merit of pumpkin juice.

Privately, Tony wonders if this is what having friends feels like.

The really strange thing though, is that it doesn’t end there. Things don’t go back to normal after their detention ends. Suddenly Bucky is greeting Tony in the halls, walking with him when they head the same way, invites him into his study group–which, as Tony quickly learns, is not actually a group that studies–and it’s really weird. In a nice-kind-of-great way.

Bucky’s friends are a freakish mixture of scary and sweet, and Tony isn’t sure if they actually like him or just have accepted him as the stray puppy Bucky’s picked up one day–but he doesn’t mind terribly much. They smile at him and share their sweets with him and let him go on about how the latest potion recipe is actually not the most efficient one.

Also Bucky keeps spending time with him, even when his friends aren’t around. Tony isn’t even going to pretend he doesn’t soak up the attention of the other boy because that would just be a waste of time and energy.

Because Bucky is great. He’s even greater when he takes the ribbing for ‘hanging out with the undersized snake’ with a deceptively friendly smile and a mean Bat-Bogey Hex. Not that Tony needs someone to defend him, but that doesn’t keep the sappy warmth in his chest away when someone does.

All is well. Better than well even.

Until Bucky asks Tony to the Yule Ball and Tony startles so badly, he spills ink all over his parchment–and really, why does it always have to be his transfiguration essay?

Tony doesn’t say yes exactly, but it’s strongly implied in the blushing, stuttering, wide-eyed mess the question has turned him into.

9

G-TOUR Landmark Spotlight #1 - Tokyo Tower

Quick, Mostly Wikipedia-Sourced Facts:

  • Completed in 1958 to serve as a TV broadcasting tower for the Kanto region. (It has since expanded to include broadcasts digital television, radio and digital radio.)
  • Based off the Eiffel Tower and 13 meters taller (333 meters total). At the time of its construction, it was the tallest freestanding tower in the world.
  • A third of the steel used to build it was taken from damaged U.S. Korean War tanks.
  • It shows up a lot in Japanese genre fiction, not just kaiju movies, to the point that it has its own TV Tropes page.

The gifs here are from Mothra (1961), Giant Monster Gamera (1965), King Kong Escapes (1967), Gamera, Guardian of the Universe (1995), Godzilla: Tokyo SOS (2003), and Giant God Warrior Appears in Tokyo (2013). Tokyo Tower has also been destroyed in Godzilla: Final Wars (2004), the Godzilla sequence in Always Sunset on Third Street 2 (2007), the first episode of Ultraman Ace (where it’s hilariously undersized), and likely many more occasions that I’m forgetting.

Never Say Never

Four times Lexa said she was never having kids and one time she didn’t.

A Quality Ingredients one shot during full chapter hiatus time.  Kids keep popping up in Lexa’s life to remind her of why she’s never wanted any.  Came from a prompt about kids.  Takes place in November.

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the-realest-asami  asked:

What's wrong with the grease gun?

It’s fucking ugly, period, I already didn’t like it, but I finally saw one in person a week ago in Colombia’s military museum, and fuck me if its ugliness truly came to light by taking in its terrible proportions: That oversize receiver and body, the undersized barrel, the improvised-looking dust cover, and so on, never in my life I thought a gun could be that ugly! 

Saw a ton of awesome work on a Warrior Cats AU where Scourge is albino and female. Totally down with this idea, and the proposal where her personality is that of an undersized, bratty kittypet. 

Albino!Scourge is @warriorsredux‘s idea.

Female!Scourge is @climbstudio‘s idea

Image is based off this ask: http://climbstudio.tumblr.com/post/157535959093/femalealibnoscourge-but-also-her-being