where do i get this shit

I feel like the entire The 100 fandom just needs a quicky reminder.

A lot of the characters on this show are supposed to be children!

This is easily forgotten because these characters are played by adults (which is a problem in media in and of itself but it’s the CW so what are you gonna do?). But it’s still important to remember:

Clarke is 18. Technically an adult but still very young to but running an entire group of people (that aren’t just other children). 

Octavia is 17 at most. 

Same goes for Jasper and Monty but I’d waver on the side of them being closer to 16. Same as Harper.

They are older teenagers capable of making their own decisions which means that they have to take responsibility for those decisions. It doesn’t excuse the shitty and problematic things that they do. 

What it does mean is that they are still learning. They are still growing into a whole person. They are going to make mistakes. Some of those mistakes, especially in these high stake situations, are going to have more intense consequences for them and others around them. But they are still in the process of learning who they are and the difference between right and wrong.

They are still learning.

I get that the Akimichi Clan only ever seem to eat chips…

But I imagine they would be one of the most health-conscience clans in Konoha. If you need to talk to someone about nutrition go to an Akimichi dietitian. They know their shit. 

They have to maintain a high level of body fat while on active military duty. The have enemies to fight n’ shit to do. They are first and foremost soldiers. They aren’t going to take their health lightly. Nutrition is going to be a huge part of their clan’s culture.

This is one of the reasons why I really dislike Choji denying he’s fat. I get that as a child he was teased by his classmates and grew up viewing his weight in a negative light. But where is the character growth? He’s one of the four noble clans of Konohagakure. His clan’s techniques are renown. I want to see him embracing that part of his heritage instead of denying it.

If you call an Akimichi fat they shouldn’t be ashamed. Honestly there should be nothing but pride. “Of course I’m fat you ignorant bitch. Do you even know who I am?”

flutterpony123  asked:

I had this thing in my head, where L had inflated a balloon and started hitting people on the head with it. People start getting really annoyed and naturally duck away from him when he's standing behind them. Idk thought it was kind of cute 😁

I can see L doing “innocent” but annoying shit like this all the time, tbh.
Light finally “"accidentally”“ pops the balloon with his pen and is regarded as a national hero.

asylumxclub  asked:

Kenny & Kota 😇

Finally

(I wanted to do this in Japanese.. but I.. didn’t want to fuck it up, so let’s all just pretend that it’s in Japanese. Also, this shit hurts so much to write.. Here, have some KennyxKota trash, where my heart belongs.)


WRESTLE KINGDOM 12, 2018.1.4. TOKYO DOME. 


      “One winged Angel!! One WINGED ANGEL!! SHIIIIIIIIIT!!” The entire Dome could hear screeched through both English and Japanese commentary headsets. “Okada’s DOWN. OKADA GET UP!!” Kevin Kelly biasedly yelled, knowing it was time to call the grueling rematch quits. Red Shoes Unno slammed his palm to the mat for a third and final time, allowing everyone’s heart to explode with closure, happiness, and excitement. 

       “Omega.” A familiar tone called, pulling him from Nick and Matt as soon as he stepped through to backstage, letting the brothers gather their things to get home. Kenny’s eyebrows shot to his curls, with more disbelief in this than the events that had just occurred. “Ko..” He choked. 

      Ibushi’s hands slapped his back, shoving his chest into Kenny’s. “I did it.” Kenny said into Kota’s shirt. “No one thought you couldn’t.” Pulling back, Kenny chuckled at the smart ass remarks that he missed- oh, so much. It was then when he realized that he did it. It. There was no.. more. There was no.. nothing left that was in the way. In the way of what he knew he could always come back to.. Kota. 

      “Can we.. Let me shower, and we can go out. There’s things we have to talk about.” Kenny rushed out, tripping over his own words. Kota’s signature school-boy smile appeared, and he waved his hand to the ground- dismissing his stumbling. “We do, but not tonight. It’s about you.” Ibushi laughed, flashing his Golden Lovers’ days through his eyes 

      “I waited this long. I’ll be okay for a couple more days, Kenny.”  


anonymous asked:

How do you keep your GPA high while sugaring? Do you every skip academics for SD meets?

I’m not a sugar baby for the LAST FUCKING TIME!!!
I’m a HOE, a escort, slinging my 😻 to the highest bidder!!
Anyways, school is my #1 priority. I’ll tell a MF quick I’m not skipping school for them. I dont give a fuck where in the world a trick says he wants me to go, he better plan that shit around my classes!! I just manage my time the best I can, keep a planner, put due dates in my phone calendar, sometimes I’ll even stay after school to do homework. I mostly work at night so it’s not really hard for me to do this. Basically don’t let any man get into your head so much that you forget about school!!

anonymous asked:

I think the way their powers get revealed are in similar ways. Mitch defending Jonas or getting angry on Jonas' behalf and Jonas doing the same. Like Jonas is getting shit from Dean and Mitch just starts lifting furniture subconsciously. Then Mitch is getting shit from those snotty rich kids after school and trying to give him shit and then Jonas just comes to his defense.

Ohh Wow this is very interesting, I’ve never thought about this either! Their powers are very significant and they can’t be at risk of getting caught but I wonder…. If mishaps like this do happen where they’re Revealed by unconditional means HMMM…

I love the thought of Mitch defending Jonas and as a natural responses uses his powers to protect him. And I also love Jonas doing the same as if it were an instinct… I just hope they don’t get themselves in trouble HMM

anonymous asked:

The picture of Rakesh from next week do you think that's in The Mill,I was trying to look out the window to see where exactly it is lolz

I think it is The Mill, which you know RUDE. Get the hell put of Robrons home. NO ONE GIVES A SHIT ABOUT RAKESH

Death's Choice

Author: Pippinacious

Source: Click here

I tried really hard to get my kid out of my neighborhood. When he was born, I made all the promises I’m sure my old man made to me when I was young.

You’re not gonna live like this.

You’re gonna be better than me.

You’re gonna be somebody.

But what does an eighteen year old know about getting anybody outta anywhere? I couldn’t even get myself out. Me and my girl lived in my mom’s basement while we tried to get our shit together for Abel’s sake, but it was never gonna work. She was younger than me, she didn’t want to be a mom, and she split when he was only a couple months old.

My mom sat me down and she told me, “Boy, I’m not raising your child, so you best figure out what you wanna do; man up or drop him at one of those safe places where he can be adopted out and get himself a real family.”

I knew it killed her to say that. Mom loved Abel even more than me, I think, and the last thing she wanted was to lose her grandbaby, but he was my son. My responsibility.

I dropped out of my last year of high school and started working a couple of part time jobs. It was the real fucking American dream; fifty to sixty hour work weeks and still not able to make ends meet. The only reason I kept going was my little boy. The world just seemed to be getting shittier around us, but I kept clawing my way up; didn’t hang out with my old friends, didn’t get involved in any of the old shit I used to do, just kept looking ahead and working my ass off.

Things started to get better when I met Shayla at one of my janitor jobs. She had a kid around Abel’s age too and wanted out of the neighborhood as bad as I did. We got together, started figuring out goals and saving money and we thought we were really gonna do it.

Keep reading

When they’ve got him in the interrogation room every officer seems to have the same question; was it worth it? With all that happened, with how it turned out, the years of drunken revelry, the constant media attention, the heists, the hubris, the way it ended in a bloodbath the likes of which Los Santos has never seen. This is your legacy Ramsey, was it worth it?

They ask like his answer means anything, ask like they even care what he thinks, ask like they don’t think he feels anything at all. They ask like it wasn’t his plans that brought him here. Like it wasn’t his plans the led to six body bags and a single pair of handcuffs, a room full of tactless officers and a kingpin with no one left to call crew. They ask like can’t help themselves from asking.

Was it worth it?



There’s never a serious discussion, no big heart to heart, but there’s no escaping the fact that the Fake’s all know they are dying in slow motion. More or less signed their own death certificate’s years ago, living on stolen time, and sooner or later they’ll find themselves in the ground.

They took Los Santos by storm and defended it with their lives. With each others lives. Have sacrificed themselves and the ones they love to a city that takes no prisoners. They fought hard for their crown, and kept on fighting every single day to succeed, to profit, to reaffirm themselves as the city’s biggest bads. They knew that they would only be unstoppable until they aren’t. Until the day they fall, and eventually they must fall.  

Even after all the years of action, all the blood, sweat and tears they’ve poured into this empire, everyone knows there is no such thing as retirement for the Fake AH Crew; for all they’ve already trained their own successors the frontrunners of the reigning crew in Los Santos will never be allowed to simply step down and move aside when their time is over. Between old enemies and constant rivals, members of law enforcement and anyone simply looking to boost their own reputation, there are countless numbers who would hunt them to the ends of the earth. Everyone knows, one way or another, the FAHC is going out bloody.

And by god, did they go out bloody.



The Fake’s die halfway through the afternoon on a Tuesday. What a fucking inconsequential day right? They were owed a Friday at the very least, were meant to go out past midnight, meant to go out in a blaze of glory. They were meant to go out all together. They weren’t meant to go out at all.  

The wheels fell off weeks before, a series of questionable jobs and public fights, a level of disorder totally out of line with the crew’s trademark cohesion. Rumour has it they were rife with in-fighting. Rumour has it after all this time the cracks were finally showing. Its easy, afterwards, to read into the events that came before, to manufacture clues, to swear the writing was on the wall for anyone to see. In reality no one saw it coming. In reality the whole damn city was taken by surprise.

Maybe they bit off more than they could chew, maybe they were distracted, out of sync, or maybe it was just the inevitable finally catching up with them but in the end the Fake’s wind up in a firefight they aren’t winning. After endless years of near misses and close calls, of lucky runs and brilliant timing, after thousands of impossible victories, the FAHC finally lost.

To lose like this, picked off one by one, powerless to save themselves, to save each other, must have been their worst nightmare. With every body on the ground those left only grew more furious, more reckless, lose whatever feeble grasp on self-preservation they ever had, throwing away any possibility of retreat in favour of retribution. It wasn’t enough.

In the end the only one left breathing on either side is Ramsey. The scene finally gone still, silent, the echoes of screams and gunfire fading away into a shivery stunned kind of shock. They say Ramsey’d fallen to his knees amongst the grime, iconic suit near indistinguishable under all the dirt and ash, the blood of men and women who thought they’d live forever. He kneels there in silence while sirens grow ever louder, makes no move to flee, doesn’t even look up from bodies as cars scream to a stop around him.

The messed up thing, the really fucked up part? They say Ramsey was laughing by the time the police got there. Say he stood and brushed himself off, surrounded by the bodies of those he claimed family, drenched sickly red while his empire lay in ruins, and laughed. And god doesn’t that confirm what everyone’s always thought, doesn’t that just prove he always was a monster. Never cared for anyone, for anything, not really. People used to say the one thing Geoff loved was his crew but it seems Ramsey’s cold-blooded ruthlessness won out in the end.



In the fallout of a travesty, of a victory, of an unexpected bloodbath, in a stark grey room faced with a distressingly apathetic villain, in circumstances none could have predicted, all the detectives seem capable of asking is if it was worth it in the end. They ask and ask and Ramsey’s answer never changes, his cold smirk never fades, so calm and unconcerned they catch him glancing at the clock, as though he’s bored. As though even now he’s got somewhere better to be. And still, full of horrified disbelief, they have to ask.

Was it worth it? Yes. Was it worth it? Always. Knowing what you know now, knowing how it ends, how they all go down for you, would you do it all again? Every damn time. Surely you have regrets, you had to know one day it would end like this.  

Oh baby, who says it’s over?



It comes together as a joke more than anything, the cumulation of too many late nights followed by too many bad movies. Their last job was tense, a heist with months of preparations and so much on the line, and while they’ve certainly celebrated their victory like royalty they didn’t come away unscathed. The injuries, numerous though mostly minor, serve to once again remind them all how lucky they’ve been so far. How most don’t make it nearly this many years without tragedy, couldn’t be in the game this long, let alone running the game this long without signing up for devastation. How losing a member, to outright death or crippling injury, is without a doubt only a matter of time at this point. How such a loss will be so much worse in this ridiculously close-knit crew than any they’d experienced before.

Sobering thoughts, combined with the difficulties of winding down after endless weeks of  stress eventually leads to the discussion they never have, the question of what else they could be doing with their lives, what choices brought them here, what they would do if they could just step out, sign off, retire. It’s not that they’re bored of this life they’ve built – how could they be when the world is their oyster – but there’s no denying the fact that after all this time terrorising Los Santos doesn’t quite thrill them like it used to.

If you’d asked any of them ten, five, hell even two years ago they’d have scoffed at the idea of ever retiring, would have sworn up and down that they wanted to go down in flames, to end with a bang, and at the time they meant it. At the time it was true. It still is, in a way, they’ll probably always see something dreadfully appealing in going out on top, but with every passing year it’s harder and harder to look at a room full of people they love and consider playing a role in their deaths. Every time they get hurt it takes a little longer to heal, the old aches and pains are becoming more prominent, and their ever growing patchwork of scars have started looking less badge of honour than they do morbid countdown. Obviously they’ve still got it, still in their prime enough to keep their crown, but between age and gratuitous injury, time is creeping up on them all.

The Fake’s used to joke about the end, said whoever lasted longest won, got to make off with the fortunes, live like a king, but that reality isn’t quite so funny anymore. The idea of surviving, of being left behind with nothing but cold hard cash and heyday memories is enough to make them physically ill. So maybe retiring doesn’t seem quite so unappealing anymore.

Maybe a passing comment way too late at night, after far too much mixing of alcohol and pain meds, in the spirit of some dumb con movie they’d all been heckling, was enough to plant an idea. A ridiculous, unrealistic, completely unattainable idea, but still an idea nonetheless. They’re all a bit hung up on it, still joking, still assuring one another that they aren’t serious, but still bringing it up all the same, running through all the possibilities.

It would take far more than simply disappearing; they have too much wealth and notoriety, have far too many enemies, the world is simply too easy a place to comb through these days. People, at least the vast majority of people, would have to be convinced not to come looking. Convinced there was nothing to look for, nothing to track, would have to think the absent members of the Fake AH Crew were in the one place no one could ever reach them.

There are ways, of course, to feign death. For those with the right contacts, with endless money and enough resources, there are ways to trick the body into something close enough to pass, at least for a time. But even then it’s not so simple; there must be witnesses, there must be evidence, crook and cop alike must be sure. Of course with a public death comes increased risk- it wouldn’t do to go so far in their act that appearances became reality, to go to such lengths to imitate death only to wind up that way regardless. Somehow, someone’s going to have to play guardian, prevent anyone’s corpse from catching a stray bullet to the brain, or jerking back to life too late with guts already laid out on an autopsy table. Someone has to be ready to whisk them all away, and who do any of them trust more than the man they’ve been following all these years. The boss they’d die for. The boss they will die for.

They don’t talk about it, because no one wants to admit it might be happening, no one wants to burst the bubble, to invite reality to rush in and crush the unbelievable thought that the Fake’s might get a happy ending, but at some point they stop laughing. At some point they each quietly start getting all their ducks in a row, using their free time to organise their affairs.

No one questions the way Geoff and Jack have started having day-long meetings with the support crew in-between jobs, the way Lindsay’s spending far more of her time recruiting than ever before, the way Gavin’s taking calls at all hours of the day, rarely in english, clearly haggling over something. They don’t wonder why all their money is getting moved around, why Ryan and Michael are busy collecting all outstanding debts while Jeremy and Ray are plotting the layout of the police station, the morgue.

It’s all happening on the down low, all behind business as usual, but eventually, after nearly a year of quiet organisation, they are just about ready to disappear. All that’s left is the bang, the flashy smoke and mirrors, the hook to stop anyone coming after them, anyone even thinking to track them down. One final step, one last decision to make, a choice they must commit to as one or not at all. All they’ve got left to do is die.



Over the years the Fake AH Crew has grown exponentially but the original elements have never drifted apart, never gone looking for something else or turned on one another. The crew has flourished, become a full blown empire, but nothing can touch the unity of the innermost members, as strong now as it have ever been. For all their loyal familiarity was mocked back in the day, for all their closeness was seen as a weakness, after all these years it seems only death itself will seperate them now. If they had the chance to evade their own mortality one last time, to get out, to be free, would they make the leap?



The Fake’s die halfway through the afternoon on a Tuesday. Pattillo, the Vagabond, Mogar and the Golden Boy, Little J and Brownman, but not the boss. Well not on paper anyway – any who knew them must know Ramsey’d never recover from the loss. Any who didn’t just know the LSPD took seven bodies away that day and none of them ever came back. It’s not a stretch to assume Ramsey’s survival was a rumour. To believe it wishful thinking, to say he died at the scene or died at the station, delayed injury or the cops cleaning up the last loose thread of the group who’d made their lives living hell for years.

There’s paperwork out there, somewhere, claiming a different story. A report that barely makes a lick of sense, the sworn record that a kingpin arrived in chains and left with corpses, slipped out of his cell like he was never there, without a hint as to how he got free. He disappeared like smoke, not a trace left behind, and none of the seven alive or dead ever resurfaced. The story is embarrassing, inexplicable, and it reflects badly enough on the LSPD that it is quickly buried.

Even if it hadn’t been there are few who would believe it. Few who could believe for even a moment that Ramsey could walk free and not be with the last of his crew, that he would let another run his empire, run his city, if he was in any way capable of preventing it. No, however it went down Ramsey did not survive. It’s fitting, really. No one can live forever and the OG Fake’s were certainty pushing their luck, had been pushing it for years; a crew that close should go out together.



The Fall of the Fake AH Crew isn’t much of a fall, in the end. The seemingly inevitable power vacuum one would expect following the death of the group who’d been running the city for endless years never comes. It shouldn’t be possible but even after the most devastating loss imaginable the the FAHC isn’t toppled from their throne. They restructure almost overnight; many of the oldest, original members of the support crew bow out, disappear on the wind without a trace, but there are more than enough left behind to fill their shoes. It’s almost perfect, almost unbelievable, some of support shuffling into the spotlight while still more unknown faces are revealed to boost their ranks. Their ability to keep their enemies at bay during the turmoil is impressive enough, but it’s the absence of internal conflicts that is truely boggling; there are no betrayals or executions, no public power plays or jealous feuds, somehow the city’s most scrutinised gang managed to completely restructure after the loss of not just their leader but all their key members without a single hitch. Almost like they were ready, like it was planned.



If the Fake’s had the chance to stay together, to start over somewhere else, stop waiting for the day one of them inevitably doesn’t make it home, but in return they had to step away from the action, give up everything they’d built, hand if off to legacy and fade out into legend, would it be worth it?

Apparently, yes. For all of them, from the moment the possibility arises, throughout every conversation, every debate and consideration, with everything they will lose, with everything they stand to gain, every goddamn time without fail, yes.



Somewhere out there, worlds away from Los Santos, a man sits on a private beach. He isn’t armed with anything more than a beer, there are no weapons, he simply sits upon the sand enjoying the breeze. There’s a woman to his right, sunbathing, a man to his left doing the same; golden tans make their startling number of scars stand out in stark relief but the heat of the sun does wonders for stubborn pains. At the shoreline old friends are knocking shoulders, bumping each other nearer and nearer to the water, not quite rough-housing like little boys but they’re getting close, voices rising on the wind.

The single house behind them is huge and noisy, full of music and chatter, full of monsters and overgrown children, the most loyal humans the man has ever had the honour of knowing. In a brief moment of silence sound from the television drifts down to the beach, an American news anchor reporting the latest infraction of some criminal organisation in a far away city; the house cheers and kicks back into a merry roar. Down by the water there is a betrayal, a splash and screeching protest as one winds up in the waves against his will. Safe on the sand, without a trouble in the world, the man laughs.

anonymous asked:

can you tell me about the bts ships? not just otp's, brotps too!

YESSsssSSS I CAN TALK ABOUT BTS SHIPS ALL DAY FAM

but ill only talk about the ones im familiar with:

1. YOONMIN (yoongi/jimin):

ok holy shit where the FUCK do i start with yoonmin. they’ve been my bts otp since day 1 so i have a LOT TO FUCKING SAY LOL 

first off, refer to this post as to why i started shipping them, they have a LOT of cute fucking moments predebut and its been a painfully beautiful journey ever since 2013

before we jump in we need to talk about how YOONGI WROTE A SONG FOR JIMIN BECAUSE HE ADMIRES HOW HARDWORKING JIMIN IS. IF THAT AINT REAL THEN GET TF OUT OF MY FACE LMAo like where dat song @ tho yoongs

ok i need to chill, but theres more:

like jimin being yoongi’s #1 cheerleader at ISAC lmao look at him cheer his name in front of all the fans and other idols with ZERO shame, and then there’s yoongi pretending like he doesnt hear him #typical

^ TYPICAL YOONGI. this ship is very love-hate. mostly false pretense of hate on yoongi’s end and WAAAY TOO MUCH SHAMELESS LOVIN on jimin’s end BUT we all know yoongi’s putting up a front. like there’s actually so many subtle moments where he reveals how much he cares for jimin and they kill me every time, like this one:

but then right back to pretending like he dont give a fuck lmfao:

ALSO THIS IS ONE OF THE MOST LEGENDARY YOONMIN MOMENTS, THE “YOU KNOW. I KNOW.” MOMENT (explanation here) :

this whole v app broadcast was a yoonmin fest and it was a blessing. jimin got him a sweater for yoongis birthday and they basically confessed on live broadcast that they’re soulmates. ugh im so sensitive about this moment

in summary:

  • yoonmin are polar opposites and that heart-pulling cold/warm dynamic they have is super shippable, thus the reason why they’re one of the most popular ships in this fandom
  •  yoongi puts on a cold exterior and doesn’t really show his emotions. jimin on the other hand is super openly loving towards others, especially yoongi, and its really fucking cute how yoongi reciprocates sometimes
  • the two really do care about each other a lot though and it’s really heart warming to see. also yoongi had jimin rap on his Tony Montana stage and it was everything

there’s tons more but for the sake of room lets move on

2. TAEKOOK (Taehyung/Jungkook)

Keep reading

I love how passionate femslash fandoms are. Even when our ships are canon, we’ll get only like five or six scenes in a season. And we gif THE SHIT out of them. We put song lyrics on them, we put poetry on them, we put memes on them; just hundreds of gif variations of a single meeting of eyes over a distance. Paragraphs and entire essays written about a simple touch of hands. Fanfiction upon fanfiction trying to fix that one moment in canon where it all went wrong.

We keep doing this in every fandom and 90% of the time something awful happens like one of the characters dying, and we move on and start over. But the passion never dies and I love that.

  • cassian in rogue one novel, every five minutes:
  • is jyn cold? i think she needs medical help. JYN? WHERE ARE YOU JYN? JYN. DON’T DO THAT, JYN PLEASE. SHE'S GONNA GET HERSELF KILLED. why am i thinking about her so much this doesn’t make Sense, i don’t... understand. BECAUSE *I DON’T* LIKE HER AT ALL. i also don’t need her now, she’s expendable. *shouts* WHERE’S JYN? [shut up cassian don’t show any weakness] *feels rage* WHAT HAVE THEY DONE TO HER? SHIT SHE MIGHT END UP KILLING ME... why can’t i leave her behind?.... i should just leave her behind, right? because that’s a good idea. BUT I NEED TO SAVE HER. stop thinking about her, cassian. hey jyn. J Y N.

y’all are not gonna believe me but today I was reading a book on historic queens and I found this royal Swedish  family where the king was bisexual and known to sleep with women and men before and after marriage, and then after his death his wife started sleeping with one of her handmaidens and they even ran away together, and of course their daughter was Queen Christina of Sweden who was nonbinary, routinely dressed like a man, seduced men and women alike —even having a gf she’d make out with in public not giving a single fuck— and from the get-go decided not to get married because she’d rather do cool shit like study, fence and go hunting

this family was lit 

Translation: stop texting me

J: (..) its like ten people in one apartment and they’ll play russe-songs* to get the mood right
MG: russe-songs is fucking pumped up like *mimmicks beat*
MH: ‘let us play a russe-song’ kinda?
MG: they do that on the parties I go to. The girls are totally crazy
J: it’s so often it’s not right with russe-songs where they play russe-songs. You get that, right?
MG: okay, then what do you wanna listen to?
J: I don’t know, if I’m going to a party i wanna listen to some hip-hop, like 90’ shit
MH: Nate Dog
J; yeah, Nate Dog!
MH: he’s awesome
MG: who’s Nate Dog?
J: “who’s Nate Dog”
MH: are you serious?
MG: I haven’t heard anything by Nate Dog
MH: do you know who Snoop Dog is?

J: what’s up, man?
I: nothing, I guess
J: nothing? Anything new with that Even guy?
I: no. Or… I got a new drawing.
J: a new drawing? What’s his deal?
I: I don’t know. He’s… all over the place.
MG: what are you talking about? Are you talking about Even?
MH: what’s going on between you two?
I: nothing’s going on. He’s got a girlfriend.
MG: and he’s also pansexual?
I: I don’t know
MG: and one more thing I’ve thought about sorry if it’s rude but homos, when they have sex. Who’s the guy and who’s the girl?
*J and MH sigh*
MG: what?
I: it’s funny that you ask because I was actually going to ask you the same question, when you have sex who’s the guy and who’s the girl? Then I remembered, you don’t have sex.
J: holy fuck, wow, where did that come from?
MG: it wasn’t that bad a question, was it? I was seriously curious about it

J: but completely honest, I feel as if you let him play you
I: play me?
J: like, he keeps it going but nothing happens, and he’s still dating that girl
I: yeah, but like I can’t control him
J: yeah you can! If you’re like, totally straight up. You send him a text like hey dude, stop with that stuff
I: “yo dude, stop with that stuff”
J: alright, maybe not that but… okay, stop texting me, call me when you’ve broken up with your girlfriend. Straight up. That’s what works.
MH: and if he really is interested he’ll get stressed. We’ve all been there
J: exactly. If you have a thing with a girl, or you wanna hook up with her, but you don’t want anything more,- relationship with her, but she sends you what’s up? I’m fucking tired of you not taking us seriously’ then you get serious at once, you’re not gonna fuck more with her
MG: just when they don’t answer your texts, like they’ve seen your text
J: yeah, but they’re just snakes. Girls who doesn’t… *keeps talking in background*

Text from Isak: hey, thanks for the drawing, but if you’re not interested in anything more just forget it. Call me when you’ve broken up with your girlfriend.
I: I just did it. I sense the text
J: no?! What? That’s not bad!
*all cheer*
J: that surprised me
Text from Even:
What are you doing right now? Can we talk?
MG: was that him?
I: he answered ‘what are you doing right now, can we talk’
J: seriously?
I: what am I going to answer?
MG: call him
J: no, don’t call him! Write: chilling at home
I: chilling at home?
MH: yeah that’s good
I: chilling at home, just call me
J: no, you want him to call you but you have to write it like you don’t want it. Understand? So just wrote 'chilling at home’, and done
I: chilling at home, smiley?
J: no! Chilling at home, done! No feelings, straight up
I: sent

J: he will call
MG: check if it’s a bubble, like he’s writing something
I: no bubble, he won’t answer it’s just how he is
MH: he might be somewhere he can’t speak right now
I: maybe
MG: the beer wasn’t any good today
J: what are you drinking?
MG: tuborg glass. Tastes like plastic or something
J: is it all yeasted out? Oh! It was someone I know that know a guy that know a guy who put yeast in an apple juice box and he in his locker at school to make beer
MH: at school? Must’ve smelled awful
J: yeah that’s what he said, it smelled like shit
MH: he was probably going to party at school
MG: do you know him?
J: no

*doorbell rings*

MH: what’s up, is people coming?
I: you’re my only friends I’ve got. It’s probably Eskild? He fucking forgets his keys all the… it’s Even
Guys: what, Even?
J: seriously, he’s here?
I: I’m not fucking around
MG: it’s Even, we say hi to Even, guys!
I: no! I’m not kidding, out!
MG: why can’t we meet Even?
I: “why can’t we meet Even”
MH: do you have my phone? I can’t find it
*all panick, talk at the same time as they gather their things*
I: go through the back!
MG: you’re wearing my shoe!

I: hey
E: hey

*russe-song is a type of upbeat party song

  • Remus: I just can't do it Sirius.
  • Sirius: ... Someone once told me... Shoot for the moon, and if you don't make it, at least you'll land among... like... stars.
  • Remus: ... Where you'll float in the black abyss, aimless and alone, until your oxygen drains, your helmet cracks, and your brains get vacuumed into the freezing depths of space.
  • Sirius: ... Well shit.