well i feel like an idiot

If you had asked me a few months ago what mattered more, him or running, I would have chosen him. Even if it meant sacrificing the thing I had loved for years, I just wanted him. There was no question. No hesitation. Never had I felt so safe, so comfortable with a person before; never had I ever found it so easy to trust someone.

Things ended, but the feelings stayed.. well, for me at least; I can’t speak for him. And even after all the hurt and the tears and the second guessing myself, I still would have chosen him in a second. No question. No hesitation.

But, now, I’ve finally come to realize just how idiotic that is. Why would I give up the one thing that I’ve loved for what seems like forever, the one thing that hasn’t ever betrayed me? Sure, running and I have had our rough spots, but it always comes back to me. Or, rather, we always come back to each other.

If you had asked me a few months ago, I would have chosen him. Today, I choose running. No question. No hesitation. Because even despite all the heartache and setbacks, I just have this feeling. Things are going to work out. It has taken a long, long time, and it may take even longer still. But, it will work out if I keep dreaming, keep believing, and most importantly keep loving the sport.

“Your purpose in life is to find your purpose, and give your whole heart and soul to it.”

A story that may have relevance for others, or then again, maybe not:

When I was in college, about ten or so years ago, I was a history major. I wanted to learn to dance, so I joined a swing dance club on campus. To my surprise, this club had about twice as many men as women (in high school, the last time I’d tried dancing, the ratio had gone the other way–lots of girls, and boys only that you could drag by their ears).

But apparently, there had been some kind of word spread specifically to the STEM guys that dance was a way that they could meet girls.

So anyway. I joined the swing dance club, and met a few guys. And at one point, when socializing with the guys outside of dance class, one of them asked me what my research was on. (I had already established that I was an honors history student doing a thesis, just as he had established that he was an honors… I’m not sure if he was CS or Math, but it was one of those.)

So I gave him the thumbnail sketch of my research. Now, to be clear, an honors senior thesis, while nothing like what a graduate student would do, was still fairly in-depth. I had to translate primary sources from the original late-Classical Latin. (My professor said, basically, that while there were plenty of translations of my source material, that I’d only be able to comfortably trust them if I had at least made a stab at a translation of my own. And he was right.) And there was so much secondary material, often contradictory, that I had been carefully sorting through.

But I was able to sift it into a three-sentence summary of my senior thesis work, you know, as one does.

So I gave him that summary, and then asked–since he was also an undergraduate senior doing an honors thesis–what his research was on.

“Oh,” he said, “you wouldn’t understand it.”

Reader, I went home in a frothing rage. Because I had thought we were playing one game–a game of ‘let’s talk about what we’re passionate about!’– and he had been playing another game, which was, one-upsmanship. I had done my best to give a basically understandable brief of my research–and he had used that against me. As if my research, my painstaking translation, my digging through archives and ILLs of esoteric works, my reading of ten thousand articles in Speculum (yes, the pre-eminent medievalist journal in North America is called Speculum, I’m sorry, it’s hilarious/sad but also true), and then my effort to sum it up for him, was nothing. Because his research into some kind of algorithm or other was just too complex for my tiny brain to conceive of. Because I just couldn’t possibly understand his work.

Now, the important note here is that the person I went home to was my senior year roommate. She was a graduate student–normally undergrads and graduate students couldn’t be roommates, but we’d been friends for years, and the tenured faculty-in-residence used his powers for good and permitted us to be roommates that year. Anyway. My senior year roommate was basically… in retrospect I think possibly an avatar of Athena. She was six feet tall, blonde, attractive in a muscular athletic way, a rock climber and racquetball player, sweet but sharp, extremely socially awkward, exceptionally kind even when it cost her to be kind, and an incredibly brilliant computer science major who spent most of her time working on extremely complicated mathematical algorithms. (Yes, I was a little in love with her, why do you ask? But she was as straight as a length of rope, and is now happily married, and so am I, so it worked out.)

(Still, yes, she is my mental image of Athena, to this day.)

Anyway, I came home in a frothing rage to my roommate, the Athena avatar. And I said, “He made me feel like such an idiot, that I could sum up my research to him but his research was just too smart for stupid little me.”

And she shut her book, and smiled at me, with her dark eyes and her high cheekbones and her bright hair, and said, “If he can’t explain his research to you, then he’s not nearly as smart as he thinks he is.”

Now I hesitated, because I’d be in college long enough to have sort of bought into the ridiculous idea that if you couldn’t dazzle them with your brilliance, you should baffle them with your bullshit. But she said, “Look, I’ve been doing work on computer science algorithms that have significantly complicated mathematical underpinnings. What do I do?”

And I said, “Genetic algorithms–that is, self-optimizing algorithms–for prioritization, specifically for scheduling.”

“Right,” she said. “You couldn’t code them because you’re not a computer scientist or a mathematician. But you can understand what I do. If someone can’t explain it like that, it isn’t a problem with you as a person. It’s a problem with them. They either don’t understand it as well as they think they do–or they want to make you feel inferior. And neither is a positive thing.”

So. There.

If you are looking into something and have a question, and someone treats you like an idiot for not understanding right away… here is what I have to say: maybe it isn’t you who is the idiot.

Whiteboard. Destiel, canon!verse, 1.3k. 
When you fail to say the words, there’s always the option to write it down.

For a while now, there has been a whiteboard in Dean’s room.

Cas often sees Dean use it; to organize clues for cases that he and Sam can’t quite solve, and to write down reminders, or to simply rearrange his thoughts. And, on rare occasions, to draw silly doodles to help him get his mind off of whatever supernatural disaster is next on the agenda.

Currently, aforementioned board is empty though, and Cas stares a hole in it, sitting on Dean’s bed, arms wrapped around his knees, his chin resting on his hands. Dean is there too, right beside him, lying on the other side of the bed, his back to Castiel, his shoulders tense. There might as well be some sort of invisible wall between them, and Cas absolutely hates it. Hates it whenever they fight like this, and what makes it even worse is that Dean refuses to talk. Whenever they have an argument he’ll snap at Castiel, once maybe twice, but after that, it’s usually the silent treatment.

And it makes Castiel feel powerless every time, because how can you fix something when you don’t even get a chance to plead your case?

Dean isn’t sleeping, Cas can tell from his breathing, harsh and uneven. Which must mean that Dean doesn’t like this either, and just like that, inspiration strikes.

“Dean?” Cas mutters quietly, but not unkindly.

A grunt from the other side of the bed.

“I know you’re angry, I know you’d rather not talk, but I thought that maybe…” Castiel pauses, trying to figure out which words to choose. “I thought that maybe we could write it down.”

There’s a huff from Dean, and Cas doesn’t know what to make of that, but he refuses to give up now. Slowly, he gets up from the bed, shuffling towards the whiteboard. He picks up one of the markers, a blue one, and starts writing.

He hears Dean move on the bed, probably getting up as well, and that’s what Cas had been counting on; Dean’s curiosity getting the best of him.

When Cas is done he puts down the marker, his eyes scanning the message one last time.

‘I apologize for what I did yesterday, I’m sorry I went after those rogue angels by myself without telling you. I didn’t want you to get dragged into my problems, and I feared it wasn’t safe for you to come with me. Which you would have, had I told you before I left.’

He hears a muffled sigh behind him, and he’s surprised to see Dean already standing right there. Dean rolls his eyes as he reads the message, but his face relaxes, and the green of his eyes is softer now. After a long moment, he theatrically picks up a marker as well, the green one, giving Castiel that face that says 'do we really have to do this?’

But Dean does it anyway, and writes a reply, the Dean Winchester way that Cas knows so well.

'I want you to drag me into your problems, you idiot, it’s not like I don’t drag you into mine. PS: you forgot to apologize for the part where you almost got killed. PPS: fine, apology accepted. Don’t ever do that again.’

Keep reading

…I hate myself. I feel like an idiot saying it because, blah, blah, teen angst, boo hoo, but I do. I hate myself. Almost all the time. I try not to tell anyone because I don’t want to burden them, but I feel like I’m falling farther and farther away from them. Like the well’s getting deeper and I’m running out of energy to climb it and any minute now, any second, it’s going to stop being worth even trying.
—  The Rest of Us Just Live Here
If I Had A Star (Lin x Reader)

Word Count: 9,636 (YIKES)

Warnings: swears, little nsfw

Authors Note: I KNOW ITS LONG BUT I PROMISE YOU ITLL BE WELL WORTH IT. LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THOUGHT!!! IM YELLING IM SO HAPPY I FINISHED THIS!!!! 

Summary: a series of short stories to your forever. 

(each bolded word starts a new short story, the horizontal lines also divide each story.)

Dedicated to:

@hamilton-noodles Jo is a blessing to this earth. THE MOST eloquent person I have ever come across. I personally give this story to her, and all the stars in the sky. I want to publicly thank her for being one of the best people I have ever met (PERIOD) I love her so much and she is my bestest of the best friends. 

@adolescenthowell RACHAEL was my first friend on this blog and I want to thank her for reading my shit, facetiming me when I need motivation to write, and most importantly sticking by me. She is so talented and I love her. 

@fanfrickinhamiltasticimagines Sophie is the kindest human being alive. I want to give her all my thanks for proof reading for me. She is an amazing human being and so so out of this world talented. Love ya girl!

@whatdimissmotherfuckers Ruby for being such an adorable little bean. She’s the most giving yet still sassy person ever and I admire her self confidence. I hope you keep doing you babe. Her art and writing is the BESTEST. AND I ALSO LOVE HER DEARLY.

Not requested

Masterlist


If life had worked out perfectly; you would have never met him. You took the wrong train going downtown. Stupid, you knew, but being a first time New Yorker was hard. You wandered the streets aimlessly until you found a subway station late at night, hoping and praying you’d be able to find your way back home, your phone having died hours ago. You sat on a bench tapping your foot anxiously waiting for your train going up when a subway car rattled its way to your station. You were passing the doors when you saw a man runselfning down the length of the aisles in the subway car, singing loudly with a pair of headphones on. He didn’t notice you immediately, but when his eyes finally fell on you he practically tore off his headphones and stopped dead in his tracks. You gave him an awkward smile before he blushed red and returned one.

“Can you help me with directions?”

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thewarlocksbitch  asked:

ur thoughts on if keith or lance would be the first to admit feelings and ask the other out, and where'd they go on a date being in space and all?

every time i wonder about who would admit their feelings first all i can think about is that it would probably go down exactly like that scene in episode 2 of season 1 where lance and keith are edging eachother on into a blind nosedive but they’re so damn stubborn that they both end up smashing headfirst into the ground. let me explain. 

  • lance realizes he has feelings for keith first, as in he can acknowledge the fact that the feelings are there and has a label for them. He’s the kind of guy who won’t want to admit it, but can’t help letting his feelings slip into his actions or words.
    • lance becomes more prone to defend keith to others
    • might try to take on more than he can handle to lessen keith’s burden during missions (however often interpreted by others as jealousy or an attempt to one-up, lance might play along out of embarrassment)
  • keith is always running in headfirst with his blinders up, his emotions are constantly on the forefront of just about everything he does. This means that keith could have feelings for lance without actually sitting down to process what those feelings mean or entail. He’s going to end up unsure how to deal with things like being overly concerned for lance’s safety or getting nervous when lance is in danger, which can get them into fights.
    • “Lance you can’t go in there alone, are you crazy?”
    • “What the hell does that mean? You just volunteered to do the exact same thing! I know you think you’re better then me and all, but I actually can handle this.”
    • “That’s not even what I meant!”
    • “Than what do you mean!”
    • “I don’t know!”
  • What i’m saying is they end up in a stand-still because neither one wants to pull up out of that nosedive first and properly process the situation, which results in them both plummeting into the ground in a blaze of teenage angst and love-borne stupidity. For the sake of consistency, that means the crash-and-burn translates to one big, harsh, emotionally raw fight.
    • Keith nearly gets himself killed doing something ridiculously reckless, probably on Lance’s behalf. Lance is sick with worry, and more importantly: furious.
    • Keith makes it out alive only to be confronted by Lance, who, unable to properly express just how damn worried he was, ends up yelling at Keith for being such a reckless showoff, which immediately puts Keith on the defensive.
      • “What the hell Lance, I only went after those drones so you wouldn’t have to!”
      • “I never asked for that! Stop-stop putting yourself in danger for me! Do you really think so little of me, that I can’t handle any of this by myself?”
      • “I was only trying to help!”
      • “By nearly getting yourself killed?! Are you insane?”
      • “God, why do you even care anyways? Wouldn’t things be better for you if I was gone? At least you wouldn’t have the competition!”
      • “Wh- What the fuck? You think I want you dead?”
      • “You’ve never exactly told me otherwise!”
      • “Thats ridiculous! I can’t– Keith you–”
      • “What is it Lance? Huh? I don’t know what you want from me!”
      • “God dammit Keith, I’m in love with you!”
    • Cue The Shocked Silence™
      • “…What?”

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2

before i forget this is the reference I made for the Takubun I did 

(this is embarrassing)

Thank you for 9,000 followers! Here’s a ficlet about Mari being protective of her little brother.


“Hopefully you can help me,” said the man on the phone with the funny accent. “My name is Victor Nikiforov, and I’m looking for Yuuri Katsuki. He said his family owns a hot springs resort, so I looked up the phone number on the internet. Can you tell me if I have the right place?”

Mari almost hung up immediately without offering a response. Ever since Yuuri had inadvertently become a viral video star after performing one of Victor Nikiforov’s routines, the onsen had gotten more than a few prank calls. One person had pretended to be a reporter but had instead turned out to be one of Victor’s crazy fans. Apparently this new caller wanted Mari to believe he was Victor Nikiforov himself.

Yeah, right.

“Yuuri’s my brother,” she said, a little heat in her tone.

“Oh, great!” the prankster said. “Could I speak with him please?”

Mari rolled her eyes. Was that supposed to be a real Russian accent? This guy’s impression of Victor was pathetic.

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Hot Like Burning

Sterek, 2.5K words, Teen

AU, Firefighter Derek

In which Derek is the grumpy neighborhood firefighter, and Stiles is a bit of a lovestruck idiot.


Stiles winces as he turns the corner, unbearably nervous like he always is whenever he drives Lydia’s car, and pulls into the fire station. He offered this morning to help her with any errands she needed, and she asked him to take her car to the fire station and have them install the car seat. Stiles had no idea this was even a thing—seriously, how hard is it to put in a car seat?—but unsurprisingly, Lydia is as fastidious about her unborn child’s safety as she is about everything else.

He parks just outside the front door, careful not to block the big bays with the two fire trucks, and wanders inside. “Hello?” he calls out. There’s a noise coming from the other side of the fire truck, so Stiles keeps walking in that direction, then nearly trips over his own two feet.

There’s a guy, crouched down as he washes the wheel well of the fire truck, and Stiles is 101 percent sure that he’s the most attractive person he’s ever seen. He’s frowning, as if he’s pissed at the task in front of him, but it only serves to show off the sharp cut of his jaw under a very nicely-shaped short beard. He’s wearing a tight short-sleeved SFFD t-shirt, which is wet in patches and very clearly showing off the muscled physique underneath.

“Holy shit.”

The guy’s head jerks up at that, his eyes wide, and his gaze locks with Stiles’ for a long second before slowly drifting down the rest of his body. Stiles damn near forgets how to breathe because yep, this impossibly hot dude is most definitely checking him out.

Stiles has never believed in love at first sight, and he still doesn’t, but as of this moment he most certainly does believe in…familiarity at first sight? Cosmic connection? Just plain lust? He has no fucking clue.

But he yelps a little in surprise, then actually manages to trip over nothing, only catching himself by clutching the pillar next to him, which oh fuck, is actually the fire pole. He finally rights himself, grimacing with both arms spread for balance, and then slaps a hand over his eyes with a plaintive groan.

“Oh my god. Hi, hello, my name is Stiles. Uh, any chance we can start over and pretend that this excruciatingly embarrassing encounter didn’t happen?”

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  • <p> <b></b> Do you ever just realize all your friends don't honestly care about you and all of a sudden you feel like an idiot for believing they did and you regret every personal thing you've ever shared with them and all you wanna do is build your wall up even higher so this won't happen again cuz it really sucks<p/></p>
8

My dudes, I need to talk about how fucking on point the atmosphere and symbolism was in today’s EP real quick.

Pokeani isn’t really known for handling mature themes with a lot of grace or finesse, so when I saw this episode it actually really impressed me. Stoutland dying could’ve easily flopped as a intended emotional punch to the viewer but the way it was handled was very well done. Whats especially of note is how they portray that through just visuals and not just words.

The moment Litten wakes up to find Stoutland gone, all the colors in the world are muted, lots of dull, grey tones, a muddy overcast day, probably visual shorthand for Litten’s own feelings and how he’s dealing with the loss. The rain starts pouring when Litten gives into his anguish. And finally my favorite shot in the episode, just showing Litten’s silhouette separated from Ash and Kukui’s by a black void, really says to me it’s meant to portray how alone Litten feels, and possibly how powerless Ash and Kukui feel because nothing they can say would help.

Also the tree representing something of a “countdown” to Stoutland’s death might be a little on the nose, but once again, I appreciate Pokeani dabbling with these kinds of hidden meanings is very welcome, it’s showing me how they don’t always need to treat their audience like idiots and have everything spelt out for them and it just simply makes for a more visually engaging experience, so I just have to give them mad props for how well they handled this episode’s subject matter

alphaandhismate  asked:

Hey Rachel got a question for ya. Do you think Stiles would feel inadequate compared to all the buff sexy werewolves and push himself​ to the breaking point trying to look like he belongs? Cause I have this headcanon where he decides to work out to make himself look like he belongs beside the wolves but it doesn't work out to well and he winds up doing more harm than good. Which upsets Derek when he finds out (because he loves the idiot but he won't admit it)

Aw I can absolutely see this. Stiles, already prone to insecurity and the feeling of not being good enough, slowly being worn down by that itching knowledge in his skull of being that he’s not as strong as any of his friends, not as attractive as any of his friends, and sure as hell not as useful as any of them, right? Sure, he’s smart. He knows that. But what the hell use is that in battle? He can’t dive in front of a bullet to keep the others from hurting, can’t stand beside the others and fight at anything close to their level.

And no matter how much he smirks at enemies’ jibes and plays off as enjoying being the group’s token human (”means I get to leave all the heavy lifting to you guys, right?”) it’s a feeling that would keep building up over time, pushing at the back of his skull every time the pack insists he be left behind on a certain mission, that he should stay where he’s safe, or gets offhandedly told he’ll just slow the others down. Every time they go running out in the preserve and he gets to sit behind and watch the car. Every time he goes out with the group and finds himself wondering what he looks like in everyone else’s eyes: this circle of beautiful beyond belief, supernaturally perfect people and then… him.

He couldn’t share his worries with the others –– Scott would get that worried look in his eyes and insist Stiles is perfect the way he is. Lydia might not share the same speed and strength as the others but she’s always been supernaturally beautiful, and she’s got her own banshee tricks to help out in a fight. So he keeps it inside, bottles it up… and he starts to push himself. Stays after school lifting weights until his limbs are wrecked from it, goes out running until his legs are shaking under him. Thinking one more lift, one more mile, one step closer to belonging.

And it starts working, too. He’s able to keep up with the pack sometimes, on their more casual runs. He’s gaining muscle, losing any last hints of baby fat. But there are hollowed shadows under his eyes too and he’s not eating enough, probably, but that’s fine. It’s fine when he wrestles with Liam and ends up with a purpled bruise blooming out across his ribs from a too-hard tackle. It’s fine that he can’t really sleep anymore because his muscles are always burning. It’s fine because he’s started looking at pictures of the group after pack events and almost seeing a group of people who fit together, not a handful of perfect people around a lanky, awkward him. Who the hell wouldn’t sacrifice a little comfort and the ability to lift his arms above his head for that?

.-

Derek’s the one who notices first, because of course he is. Drops in through the bedroom window one night like the supernatural stalking creeper he used to be, and finds Stiles collapsed to an exhausted heap against the side of his bed. Too tired and too sore to have stripped off his sweat-stained shirt or make it the extra step to lay down on it. He forces a smile when he spots Derek, but it’s more pained than it should be. Wavers at the edges. Derek ignores his opening jibe, doesn’t comment on the way Stiles tries to push himself up on unsteady palms and falters, a spasm of motion that starts and dies just as fast. Just moves silent, sits down next to him on the floor at the foot of the bed. There’s a world of words in his silence, a disapproving air Stiles can feel deep in his bones, and he finds himself saying “I’m fine,” low and head ducked, like it’s a lie.

It’s not a lie. But it’s not exactly true either, is it?

Derek’s eyes are on Stiles’ face now, flicking down his damp shirt, over his faintly trembling limbs, and it’s like he’s seeing too much suddenly, seeing through walls Stiles is too tired to pull up. People aren’t supposed to see him at this point in the day; they’re supposed to see him in the morning when he has the energy to grin and bounce and keep up with the rest of them like it’s effortless. They’re not supposed to see the tired bruises under his eyes or the way he shakes from hours of trying to hold himself at a werewolf’s level.

He wets his lips, a flash of frustration burning bitter through him.

“Look, I’m not strong like you guys.” It’s not news. It’s been a constant refrain for the past two years of his life, ever since Scott was bit and turned into a superhero sports star girl magnet and left Stiles standing awkwardly in his dust. Stiles couldn’t ask for the bite, Scott wouldn’t understand. And he doesn’t think he wants it either, not really. He doesn’t want the claws or the anchors or the pulls to the moon. He just wants to be able to keep up with them. Wants to not be the funny one in a group of supermodels. Doesn’t want to be the weak one in a group of heroes. Doesn’t want to be the one holding them back.

He bites over a frustrated sound, frowns at Derek’s faintly pinched brows, manages to lift one bone-dead arm and snaps out even more harshly: “I’m not… hot.”

It’s not the whole issue, it barely touches the issue, but it’s too much already and he scowls after he says it, daring Derek to snort or mock him or roll his eyes and agree, obviously, but that searching look only seems to sink deeper and Derek murmurs, “You’re wrong.”

Which is just… it’s worse than laughing. Because Stiles could handle people dismissing him, mocking him. He’s used to that. What he can’t take is Derek fucking Hale feeling so goddamned bad about his patheticness that he’s reduced to lying to try and comfort him.

“Oh, right, sure. I’m hot. You guys are all freaking Greek gods with all the muscle and the… faces.” He snorts, falling back against an overworked spine that protests the pressure. “You can’t even talk. You’ve always been the hottest person ever. You’ve got no idea what it’s like to be the one no one ever wants.”

Derek’s eyes flick down Stiles again, reassessing, and Stiles winces over the realization that Derek’s trying to find something, anything likable on his wiry frame.

Don’t––” He starts, because he physically cannot handle that, but Derek’s saying “You’re wrong,” again, and it’s soft and warm in a way that doesn’t sound like pity.

But Stiles doesn’t let himself feel it. The “oh yeah?” he shoots back is sure and challenging, almost smug in its confidence because maybe he’s not beautiful beyond all reason like the man next to him, maybe he’s not strong and desirable and wanted but at least he’s smart enough to realize that.

Derek lets out a growl of frustration and turns where he’s sitting, crowds in close with palms pressed to either side of Stiles’ thigh, and Stiles is on the edge of rolling his eyes because does Derek seriously think he can intimidate Stiles into changing his mind about himself, but then “you’re wrong” falls out a third time, a too-warm growl of a whisper, and Derek closes the space between their lips.

Stiles loses his conviction in the contact.

Derek’s hands move over him while they kiss, dragging soothing tips and scolding pinches over his wrecked muscles in ways that leave him groaning, touches sinking you’re beautiful and you’re wanted under his skin in ways the best words probably never could. Hands trail down to play across Stiles’ fingers, silently praising the cleverness of them. Beard-rough lips drift up to kiss across his temple and a warmth of admiration seems to melt into him with each press. And Stiles can barely move, arms aching protest as he lifts them to thread into Derek’s hair, body quivering in ways that shift between exhaustion and want.

When Derek finally leans back Stiles whimpers, wanting more but too worn down to chase him. But Derek’s watching him from inches away in the dark room, and there’s no reflected flaws in those dark eyes now. Just you’re beautiful, you’re wanted. You’re important

Stiles runs light thumbs down Derek’s beard, lets out a light laugh he barely recognizes.

“Guess I believe you,”

(And from now on, on nights when the pack goes out running, Stiles and Derek find a more interesting way to occupy themselves by the cars.)

8

a Concept™

i’ll probably do more of these if people like them ??? with other pride colors or skin tones or w/e

{please dont delete my caption or steal these thx}

Imagine Jared calling to cheer you up

You groaned as your phone buzzed, pulling it out to see your own tear-stained face staring back at you. You were totally unsurprised that it was your fiancé’s name lighting up the screen with a FaceTime call.

You sighed, holding your thumb over the front camera as you answered.

“Hey!” Jared beamed, before rolling his eyes when he realised you were covering the camera. “Y/N, sweetheart, lemme see your face.”

“I look like a piece of shit,” you protested. “I’ve been crying.”

“I know you have,” he shrugged. “I just want to see my girl.”

His unyielding smile had you giving in without further protest.

You moved your thumb away from the camera, smiling weakly back at him.

His grin widened.

“Well there’s the prettiest piece of shit I’ve ever seen,” he teased, and you let out a surprised laugh.

“You’re an idiot,” you told him, sniffing the remnants of your tears away. Just like that, he’d helped you start to feel better.

“Yup,” he agreed, still beaming. “Now, tell me about your day. How are the dogs?”

Shit my physics prof says
  • “And that’s exactly why your hand is attached to your body and doesn’t randomly fly through the room!”
  • “Alright, just let me use my crossbow for this.”
  • “Did I just shoot you? I didn’t mean to shoot you!”
  • “Why wouldn’t you have a random morning star laying around?”
  • “Don’t fucking leave your spoon on the moon then!”
  • “I’m probably going to kill one of you. Anyone wanna go first?”
  • “It’s like you parked your car on the sun. Same result.”
  • “Who else am I going to ask how to get rid of a body then?”
  • “Math doesn’t have any feelings, but you can hurt it anyway.”
  • “Are we doing voodoo now? We’re doing voodoo now.”
  • “I pretty sure a demonic thing ate it. That’s the only explanation.”
  • “Like, imagine you go on a nice trip… but in space!”
  • “I wanted to tell you an epic story, but my wife said no, so the epic story didn’t even happen.”
  • “Of course we could always just set it on fire and see what happens.”
  • “Nothing to feel loved like talking to yourself in a room full of people.”
  • “Well, it’s supposed to be done that way but — scratch that, it never works.”
  • “You disturbed the monkey!”
  • “Why did none of you get me coffee. I hate all of you.”
  • “There’s three types of people. Star Wars fans, Trekies, and idiots.”
  • “No. I just like blowing stuff up.”
  • (Imitates chainsaw noises.)
  • “Oh, come on, you can’t all be saving Hyrule at the SAME time.”
  • “Everything gets better with breadsticks.”
  • “OH MY GOD, THE ZOMBIE OUTBREAK. THEY ARE COMING.”
Vex and Percy’s E87 Talk, transcribed

Since I know some people want this - Vex and Percy talk about Percy’s first experience with death, Vex’s words during the ritual, and some of Percy’s fears.

Vex: So, Percy.
Percy: Yes, dear?
Vex: I’ve been meaning to bring something up to you…
Percy: Yes.
Vex: Um… at the risk of bringing Scanlan up again… something I’d rather ignore
Percy: Yes, me too.
Vex: When he left, he said something that caught my ear, which was that he heard. He heard Pike and his daughter calling to him on the other side.
Percy: Yes.
Vex: Which is strange, really, because when I was on the other side I don’t remember hearing anything. What about you?
Percy: Um, okay.

Taliesin: I’m going to sit down and open up a bottle.
Laura: Busting out the Courage again?
Taliesin: The Courage, I think, is long gone at this point, I’m going for the Tear Whiskey, fuck it. Um, take a swig, and I pass.

Keep reading

ladytodd  asked:

Okay but in the Jedi docu series au people totally catch onto the fact that the lineage line is like a family and dissecting interactions between former master-Padawan teams and the other members of their line. Everyone is stunned to realise Dooku is yoda's 'son', ObiWan's 'grandpa', Anakin's 'great grandpa' and Ahsoka's 'great great grandpa'. There are soon petitions for the group to undergo family therapy if Dooku is ever captured. That goes as well as can be expected

So let’s talk about Dooku in this AU. I feel like at first he’d be like, “A holo-series? Ugh, how gauche they must really be desperate” before going back to reading History’s Fanciest Swords

But then, one night, he’s sitting in his wingback chair, and the holonet is on, and The Jedi Order Show starts…and he gets totally sucked in. First, it’s because he’s taking great Evil Guy pleasure in watching his enemies make idiots of themselves on a galactic stage. I see everyone there is still full of themselves, he thinks. And they still haven’t paid their electric bill. By the third episode, though? He starts to hate himself. Because damn it, that was his family for most of his life! And they’re…well, sort of endearing, he thinks angrily. 

Maybe they weren’t all bad, he finds himself thinking by the episode where Anakin helps children on a remote planet learn how to build robots that will help their families’ small farms. Young Kenobi seems like he’d be a nice teatime companion, maybe, passes through his mind as he watches Obi-Wan talk excitedly about why a lightsaber is so much more dignified than a blaster

He shuts it off: meditation. He needs to meditate, and focus on the evil tasks at hand. His Master would be furious if he knew he was having these thoughts. 

Basically what I’m saying is that there’s like a 50% chance that Dooku ends up re-upping his Jedi contract after a Very Special Episode, complete with crying and family therapy sessions. Sidious is beside himself. He cannot believe how badly this plan has backfired on him. 

Christine and Chloe eventually convince Michael to tell Jeremy how he feels
Michael decides to do it over text since he doesn’t think he could handle doing it in person

Michael: Hey Jeremy can we talk? 
Jeremy: sure whats up
Michael: This is gonna be hard for me to say but
Jeremy: hey its ok take your time
Michel: I have a huge crush on you and I’ve had it for a few years now.  Sorry.
Jeremy: shit im sorry michael but I dont feel the same im sorry
Michael: Oh right yeah sorry dude didn’t mean to make this awkward haha
Jeremy: you ok
Michael: I’m sure I’ll be fine 

Michael’s crying at this point 
Both Chloe and Christine had convinced him to tell Jeremy because they thought he felt the same
But obviously, they were wrong
Of course they were
Why would anyone like Michael
He was annoying
Loud
Stupid
A loser 
A stoner
And to top it all off now he didn’t even have a best friend 

When Michael tells her, Chloe is all ready to fight Jeremy but Michael tells her to let it go
Over time the group splits
With Michael, Brooke, Chloe, Jenna and Christine in one grou[
And Jeremy, Rich and Jake in the other
Over time the two sides of the group lose most contact
Though Chloe and Jake still talk from time to time 

In his second year of college, Jeremy works out that he is definitely bi after a few nights at a club 
In his last year of college, Jeremy realises that he was actually in love with Michael 
But it’s too late to do anything about that 

Chloe invites both sides of the group to her and Brooke’s wedding  
Everyone shows
Except Jeremy
Michael tries not to let it get to him
But it does
He’s just so angry that Jeremy allowed all of this to become so awkward between them
They were meant to be a team
Player 1 and Player 2
Who cares if it’s platonic or romantic?
He just wants his best friend back

Rich and Jake’s wedding? No Jeremy 

When Brooke has her first kid? No Jeremy 

When Jenna gets promoted to head of her newspaper? No Jeremy 

When Michael is half asleep on his sofa with a glass of wine in his hand after looking after Christine Lohst all day? Of course that’s when he shows up 

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK 
Ugh they’re gonna start to shout soon
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK
Oh hell yeah I’ll open it soon
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK
It sucks Chlo left me here alone
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK
Here in this toddler’s battle zone
CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG
I feel a headache coming up
BANG BANG BANG BANG
Is Chloe ever giving up?
Splash splash splash splash
Throw some water in my face
Now I’m in a better place I open up the door and - 

“JeReMy!" 
"MiChAeL!”
“Wait why are you surprised? This is my house”
“Christine said it was he- oh shit”
“Christine said what?”
“NOTHING”
“You’re a terrible liar Jeremy”
“But she didn’t say ANYTHING”
Michael raises an eyebrow
“Really?”
“Ok fine well she may have told me that this was her new apartment and so I was stopping in to visit her like I usually do”
“…you usually visit Christine?”
“…yeah”
“So are you two…”
“NO NO NO she’s not my type”
“Oh”
“Yeah”
“Why are you still here Jeremy? Christine’s not here.  Unless you wanted lil Christine in which case she’s sleeping in the guest room”
“Right yeah sorry.  I’m bothering you aren’-”
“You’re no-”
“I’ll jus-”
“You don’t ha-”
“By-”
“COME IN FOR A DRINK”
“Uh what?”
“Would you like to come in for a drink?”
“Oh I…”
“You don’t have to Jeremy, it was just an idea”
“No it’s ok I’ll come in”

Michael finds another wine glass
“Red ok?”
“Red’s perfect thanks”

“So Jeremy how’s everything? What are you doing now?" 
“Oh I’m a games developer”
“You don’t look particularly excited about that? That was like your dream job”
“Oh well normally people get really bored when I talk about work”
“Jeremy you’re talking to the guy who was tempted to play apocalypse of the damned with his adopted niece this morning”
Jeremy looks at up that
“Apocalypse of the damned huh? We never did finish it did we?”
“Never too late to continue”
Both of them look at each other and then there’s a quick scramble to the living room

“I don’t know how well it’s gonna work cos I obviously haven’t played it in years" 
“Dude the console doesn’t have a speck of dust don’t lie to me you probably played this yesterday”
“Shut up Mr Games Developer”
“Touché”
The loading screen comes up and it’s just like high school again
Just the two of them
Michael presses start an-
“UNCLE JEREMY”
Lil Christine comes in
“Uh hey Chrissie”
“Uncle Michael why didn’t you tell me Uncle Jeremy was gonna be here”
“I didn’t know myself”
“Mom’s gonna be so happy”
Both men look at each other
Michael speaks first
“Uh why?”
“Because mom is always talking about how you two should have been together and now you are!”

Jeremy and Michael both go bright red and neither of them speaks
“OH NO I BROKE YOU!”
Michael manages to get some words out  
“Nah Chrissie it’s fine.  Why don’t you back to bed and I’ll come in and see you in a moment”
“But I want to talk to Unc-”
“Christine Lohst - bed now”
“Fiiiiiiiiine" 

"I’m sorry about her”
“She’s not the one who’s apparently been telling her three year old that we should be together”
“Chloe has very strong feelings about what happened in high school”
“So do I”
Michael stares at him, saying nothing
 "I shouldn’t have let your feelings get in the way of our friendship and I’m so sorry that I did.  It was stupid and I hate myself for it"
“Wait shit no don’t say that.  I’m just as much to blame as you are.  It’s not like I really tried to keep our friendship together.  I thought it’d be easier to just let it fall apart.”
“So we’re both sorry and stupid and wish we could be friends again?”
“Definitely”
“Then I’m glad to be your new old friend Michael Mell”
“And I’m glad to be yours Jeremy Heere”
“I should probably tell you something though”
“What?”
“In my last year of college I worked something out - I was an idiot in high school.”
“We already said this”
“For another reason.  I was an idiot because I didn’t realise I was head over heels for you" 
"WHAT”
“I’m sorry Michael.  It took me so long to figure it out and I just rejected you in high school even though I felt the same”
“What about now?”
“What?”
“Do you feel the same now?”
Jeremy takes in Michael
His scruffy hair, his glasses that need to be pushed up, the oversized hoodie he still hasn’t gotten rid of and looks into his eyes
“Yes" 
"Oh”
“Oh?”
“Oh”
“Well, what about you Michael? Do you still like me?”
Michael doesn’t even hesitate
“YES”
“OH”
“OH”