why must there be a hole

Draco, 8th year?? He needed to shake the war, and shake himself a bit. He decided to go into muggle London, because why not, everything else in his world was on its head. Then he saw it: the leather jacket. And well, wouldn’t that just piss off his dad, and everyone, and he needed to change. So he bought it. The smoking came along after. First it was after one too many drinks with Zabini. Then it became something that helped to fill the holes in his soul. But no matter how many drags he took, the smoke would always escape.

Until he went back to school. And shit, Harry must have done a double, triple, quadruple take seeing Draco sitting in an archway smoking, in a leather jacket with his hair hanging loosely around his face.

And maybe one day Harry took his Gryffindor courage and sat across from Draco. And Draco would sneer and tell The Chosen One that this wasn’t his Golden Throne, for Merlin sake could Draco just be in peace for once. But Harry wouldn’t leave because Draco’s voice lacked the usual venom. So they sat for a while. Day after day, which soon turned to weeks, and greetings turned to conversations, and insults turned to jokes.

The smoke still couldn’t fill the holes left in his soul, but maybe, just maybe, the small, warm seed of something else growing in his heart could.

And Harry would smile, because he felt it too.

one of the biggest mistakes the movies made was casting james & lily (and even remus & sirius) as so fucking old. like..the actor who played james was literally 42 in socerer’s stone. what was most poignant about the marauders, their struggle, their fear, and their ultimate sacrifice was how young they were, and how much that parallels the next generation’s journey. 

the movies make it seem like the original order of the phoenix was made up of grown, fully-trained adults who were battling a terrain they understood and knew, but in the actual books, they were mostly young 20-somethings full of bravado and fear, just terrified kids who loved each other so much, barely rising out of childhood & being faced with imminent death. 

the power of youth & the tragedy of youth are major motifs in the series – how this knowledge must subconsciously guide harry & the others, how it gives deeper meaning to logical holes excused by main characters (why the fuck didn’t molly & arthur put up more of a fight when ron left?? – uh they were literally fighting the same fight a few decades before), & ultimately, how it guides the analysis of the series’ larger themes is significant & it was simply a huge mistake for the movies to dismiss that.

Sherlock must have an inkling

The primary reason why it seems likely to me that Sherlock knows that John has specifically romantic feelings for him is because of Janine. It’s hard not to see his fake relationship with Janine as Sherlock deliberately setting out to punish John and make him jealous.

Not that Janine isn’t serving another purpose in the context of the case. She has a use to Sherlock. But the details of his deception are far too close to what’s John’s actually done not to be turnabout on some level. (I just met you; you kind of fill a hole in my life left by someone else; let’s get married!) It’s like Hamlet putting on a play to accuse Claudius of killing his father.

Sherlock lies to John’s face about Janine for no obvious reason, which on its own wouldn’t be that unusual, but John is so dramatically, violently jealous it would be impossible for Sherlock not to notice. He casually remarks on the violence of John’s reaction without asking why that’s so. He doesn’t need to ask why; he knows why. He lets John stew. Surely, surely that’s deliberate.

If Sherlock is trying to make John jealous, then he must have at least an inkling that he is capable of making John jealous. He has to know that John won’t be happy about Sherlock having a romantic relationship. He knows that John is addicted to him; he has to understand that John is not interested in sharing him. But we can’t all three of us dance. There are limits! That’s right: you don’t get to keep Sherlock as your very own when you haven’t chosen him, John. How does it feel? Not good, right? Turnabout is fair play.

It’s childish, immature, pouty, and a bit of a temper tantrum, read that way. Which seems pretty in character to me.

My favourite thing about this show is how they are able to include these fairly complicated conversations no one’s actually having with words. Brilliant!









“Please, no, you must understand!”



He slipped into the front door, stowing his spare key back in the pocket of his Belstaff. After three months of picking the lock everytime he needed some peace and quiet, Molly finally made him his own key, tired of being scared half to death by the silent detective popping up in her sitting room or kitchen unannounced.

The short hallway and adjoining sitting room was dark, lit only by strips of orange artificial light streaming through the blinds from the street lamp just outside the window. Sherlock crept quietly through the dim sitting room, glancing at the swinging door that led to the small kitchen.

No lights on in there either.

If Molly was already asleep, then Sherlock could just lay across the bed in the guest room without having to be distracted my Molly’s soft voice (soft?) and warm, cinnamon colored eyes (relating eye color with food products? He must be tired.)and get some thinking done.

Why he chose Molly’s tiny flat for his favorite bolt hole, he wasn’t sure. The bed in the guest room was uncomfortable, the sheets a lower quality than he was used too, and cat hair seemed to be everywhere. More than once Sherlock had came out of his mind palace with the weight of Molly’s fat, ginger cat, Toby, on his chest. After trying to dislodge the cat, which resulted in Toby sinking his sharp, needle like claws into his chest for the fourth time, Sherlock started checking the room and making sure Toby wasn’t hidden under the desk or bed.

The cat in question meowed quietly from the arm of the sofa, staring at Sherlock with its lamp like yellow eyes.

“Hush,” Sherlock said under his breath, slipping down the hallway that led to the guest room, the bathroom and Molly’s room.

Just as Sherlock’s hand came in contact with the door handle of the guest room, he noticed the dim strip of light filtering from under Molly’s bedroom door. Curious, he edged down the hall, barely breathing. When he reached the door, he saw that it wasn’t properly shut. Pushing it open as quietly as he could with the tip of his finger, he peeked around the door.

Molly was fast asleep, lying on her back, one hand resting on the open journal on her stomach, the other thrown above her head. Sherlock crept to the bedside, reaching down and sliding the journal from under Molly’s dainty fingers; fingers that could hold a bone saw steady or slap the piss right out of someone. The corner of Sherlock’s mouth quirked up in the ghost of a smirk. He dog eared the page she had been reading and placed the issue of Pathology Today on the night stand, switching off the lamp with his other hand.

As he started to turn to head back into the hallway, he caught sight of Molly’s face, bathed in the silvery blue glow of the moonlight that shown through the parted curtains of her window. He studied the lines of her face, the curve of her jaw, the way her lashes dusted against her cheeks and the plump fullness of her (not as small as he previously thought) mouth. He watched the way her pulse beat a steady, even tattoo at the base of her throat and instinctively reached out to push a strand of hair from her face. She sighed in her sleep, and Sherlock froze, hand hovering over her hair.

But Molly merely turned her head, and continued sleeping peacefully. Sherlock straightened up, stuffing his hands in the deep pockets of his coat to keep them from straying again.

Yes, this is why he chose this tiny, cat hair covered flat. Because of the small woman sleeping peacefully in her bed, completely unaware of the tall, brooding detective standing inches away from her, a fierce battle going on behind his swirling blue-green eyes.

Many times over the years Sherlock had used Molly’s flat as his bolt hole, showing up with cuts, scrapes, and bruises. And many times Molly had just sighed, helped him to a chair and patched him up.

Those time became fewer and far between once John Watson entered the consulting detectives life. But then again, Molly didn’t ask inane, prying questions about his injuries like John did. She would just clean his wounds and make sure the guest room had fresh linens, then would quietly disappear into her own bedroom, understanding that he needed the space.

Some nights, especially during his two years as a dead man, Sherlock would show up with more than just minor injuries. He would be deposited on her door step by one of Mycrofts men, bloodied worse than ever, and half crawl into Molly’s flat before collapsing on the sitting room floor, waiting for her shift to be over.

Molly would let herself into her flat, take one look at the worlds only consulting detective lying bleeding onto her carpet, and grab the nearest first aid kit. Without saying a word she would set about cutting through whichever disguise Sherlock had on, getting to the wounded flesh beneath. The first few times she saw his exposed chest (knife wound), or his muscular thigh (arrow shot straight through) she blushed. But as his visits during his two year hiatus became more frequent, the blushes appeared less often, her face hardening, ready to do her part to help keep him safe.

She would patch him up, shove a hot cuppa into his hands, and throw the ruined clothes in the bin.

Molly would then fix herself some dinner (always enough for two), eat and head to her bedroom. By morning, the extra food would gone, the dishes placed beside the sink, and a note would be stuck to her fridge with the number for the carpet cleaning service (courtesy of Mycroft).

Sherlock was pulled from his thoughts when Molly sighed in her sleep again, shifting her position, rolling to her side. She was now facing Sherlock, knees pulled towards her chest, when her subconscious seemed to noticed there was someone else in the room with her. She began to stir, eyebrows knitting slightly.

Sherlock’s own eyebrows rose, his eyes widening a bit. Now was the time to slip quickly out of her bedroom and lock himself in the guest room before she fully awakened…but he couldn’t seem to make his feet move. His brain screamed for him to retreat, but his body stubbornly refused to listen.

“Sherlock?” Molly asked sleepily, bringing a hand up to rub at her eyes.

Too late, thought Sherlock.

He straightened up, pulling his hands from the pockets of his Belstaff and locking them behind his back.


“What do you need?” Molly questioned, raising on her elbow.

What do you need? Such a simple question, and one Molly always asked without any hesitation. What did he need? Sherlock wasn’t even sure. He needed to run for the hills and sort out why he always wound up at Molly’s flat when he needed to think. He needed to sort out why this tiny pathologist always gave him a sense of quiet, a sense of comfort, a sense of home. He needed a whole box of nicotine patches. No, he needed to chain smoke an entire carton of cigarettes and walk around the darkened streets of London for hours. He needed….

“Sherlock? Is everything alright? What do you need?” She questioned again, sitting up fully in her bed now, reaching for the lamp.

“A place to think,” Sherlock blurted out, causing Molly to freeze, her hand halfway to the switch on the lamp.

“A place to think?” She parroted. “The guest room is made up. I changed the sheets this morning, just before work.” She told him frowning slightly.

“I need a quiet….place to think…” He said slowly.

“Sherlock. It’s nearly three in the morning, I was sleeping. The entire complex is probably sleeping. How much quieter do you need it to be?” Molly said, starting to scowl slightly at being woken up at an ungodly hour for no apparent reason other than the worlds only consulting detective need someplace quiet to think.

“No.” He said, stuffing his hands the pockets of his coat again. “I need someplace where my…mind…will be quiet.”

His eyes darted to hers and skittered away again, seemingly absorbed in the pattern of her duvet.

“What do you need, Sherlock?” Molly asked again, quieter this time.

Sherlock glanced at her again. Her head was tilted slightly to the side, her auburn hair looking almost black in the silvery moonlight, falling over her pale shoulder, The moons pale rays making her skin glow an unearthly silver-blue.

“You.” He said without thinking. But, it was the truth. Consequences be damned.

Molly’s eyes widened slightly. But before she could have any stray thoughts about what he meant, she just scooted over to the other side of the bed, and patted the now vacant spot beside her.

Of course she would understand, Sherlock thought, unbuttoning is heavy wool coat and toeing off his shoes. He placed his Belstaff and suit jacket over the chair in front of Molly’s vanity, nudging his leather shoes underneath it.

He stood beside the bed, hands in his pockets, looking down at Molly. She smiled at him and turned to her other side, facing away from him. Sherlock understood instantly.

She was offering him privacy.

She understood that letting any form weakness show was difficult and embarrassing for him. By facing away from him, she was giving him the chance to lay down and get comfortable without an audience.

Sherlock slid beneath the covers and lay on his back, pulling the duvet up around his chest, laying his arms on top. He turned his head slightly to chance a glance at Molly.

Moonbeams highlighted the slope of her neck and the curve of her ear, the dark strap of her sleep top and the smoothness of her pale skin. Her hair fanned out behind her on her pillow, the ends just close enough to Sherlock’s face that he could smell hints of mint and rosemary from her shampoo, along with the underlying smell of formaldehyde.

He turned his head a bit more to get a better view of her, when he noticed how close to the edge of the bed she was.

As always, Molly was trying to make herself as small as possible. Trying to take up as little room as she could manage. Even in her own bed, in her own flat, she did her best to keep him comfortable. She knew that Sherlock hated physical touch of any kind, unless he initiated it; which was close to never.

But tonight….

Tonight he just needed his brain to be quiet. He needed his mind palace to be silent, no one stirring, no data flying around. Sherlock just wanted some peace and quiet; some comfort (even if he would never admit it to even himself).

Sherlock just needed to feel home.

Without giving it another thought, he rolled to his side, his right arm reaching out and snaking around Molly’s waist, pulling her flush to his chest. He heard her soft gasp of surprise; felt her jump slightly at his touch.

Sherlock buried his nose in her hair, inhaling the comforting Molly scent of her shampoo and hints of chemicals that shouldn’t make him feel relaxed, but did all the same. He splayed his large hand on her belly, from the hem of her sleep shirt to just under her ribcage, marveling in how small her frame was in comparison to his.

Molly tentatively placed her small hand on top of his, sliding her fingers to fall in between his long musicians digits. She felt Sherlock curl around her even more, almost clutching her to him, his nose in her hair, barely touching the back of her neck. He sighed deeply, and she felt him relax, his breathing starting to become more even.

Within minutes, Sherlock was fast asleep. Molly rubbed her thumb over the back of his hand slowly, wondering what made Sherlock hold onto her as if his life depended on it. She decided that it didn’t matter. He was here, he was relaxed and she helped him find some peace and quiet.

Watching the cool moonlight slowly melt into warm, predawn sunlight, Molly closed her eyes, surrendering to sleep encircled in the unique warmth of Sherlock Holmes.

Thank you for reading my first ever fanfic!! And the biggest shout out ever to @mollyhooperish and @forthegenuine for being the best betas anyone could ask for! Thank you, my friends, for fixing all my grammar mistakes, for giving me some excellent ideas, and for putting up with me sending you drafts at 4 am. You two are the best :)

Favorite Lines of Season 12 so Far
  • The more nipples the better, Maureen.  And while we’re at it, I’m going to turn myself into a dog WITH A THOUSAND TEETH. (begins barking) Oh, does that make you nervous?  I find that offensive BECAUSE A DOG IS WHO I AM NOW.
  • If it smells like shit, you must acquit.
  • I was making hand over foot.  Literally.  Somebody lose a hand or a foot, you toss it into the soup!
  • Was I a person of interest?  Yeah–I’m an interesting person.
  • I should be able to eat a bucket of fried dog at a chicken fight.
  • I never saw an ounce of puss.
  • Stop talking to children about their butt holes.  It’s not appropriate.
  • Why yes, there was a third crow.   And a fourth one, if you must know.  But who likes crows?
  • Even balloon kid knew it.

“I came here looking for Rose Quartz, not some runt who can barely dress herself.”

“Make up your mind!  Are you looking for practical fighting wear or a faux-emo aesthetic?  Who even wears two pairs of tights over each other?  You probably go through three sets a day, those star-shaped holes must rip open constantly.

“You think you can just keep showing up and making fun of the way we dress?  Why don’t you get a life?”

“FASHION IS MY LIFE!  It’s what I was made for!”

“It’s what you were made for too, you hideous scene disaster.”

“So?  You need to learn to branch out, Jasper.  Trend obsession drives you nuts after a while.”

“And I can dress myself JUST FINE!”

“Well, then, let’s see the rest of your wardrobe.”

“Look, I’m just gonna beat your face in, okay?”

bad shoe headcanons

naruto: crocs but he wears like, off-brand crocs. they have diamond-shaped holes and he got them cheap at a yard sale. hes rly sad bc he cant ever fit jibbitz in em

sasuke: heelys, hes the coolest kid and everyone is absolutely jealous of him. “wow, sasuke’s got heelys,” they say “he must be an uchiha.” no other uchiha has ever worn heelys

gaara: socks with sandals, sometimes flip-flops, sometimes those weird like, hiking dad sandals. “why” everyone asks him. he doesnt answer. his toes are warm yet unrestrained

rock lee: Croc Lee. he has all the best jibbitz and naruto is very jealous

That moment when everyone’s trying to figure out what’s going on based on the trailer and you’re like, I DON’T KNOW YET, NOT ENOUGH EVIDENCE and everyone else is like SCREW EVIDENCE and you’re like, yeah alright, I see your point, go ahead, let’s go down every rabbit hole, why not

OBVIOUSLY he’s talking to JOHN

WAIT could be Mycroft

“You always counted” it’s MOLLY

He’s talking to REDBEARD, it’s REDBEARD

Wait, no, he’s talking to VICTOR TEVOR

No, hold on, I got it, he’s talking to ANDERSON, come on look at it, it’s obvious

*holds knees, rocks self*

it’s the baby, he’s talking to the baby

I will always hold you close

did anyone want this? nope. did i do it anyway? yep. 

philkas au in which philip falls apart and lukas puts him back together

Bo doesn’t let Lukas leave his bed for three days after he’s released from the hospital. Lukas’ chest still aches like hell, and he knows he should rest, but he keeps thinking about Philip and how much everything must hurt right now.

Lukas lost a mother, too. He knows that pain.

That’s why he heads to Philip’s the minute his father lets him. He finally allowed to shower, and cleans the hospital off of his skin. Then he climbs into his father’s car; the compromise was that Lukas get driven, the bike being off limits for now.

When he reaches Helen and Gabe’s, he finds Philip exactly the way he feared he would; holed up in his room, burrowed beneath the covers. Helen and Gabe tell him that he hasn’t come out to eat or to bathe. He hasn’t done much other than sleep. They’ve tried to talk to him, but he’s either gone mute, or has nothing to say. Maybe both.

Lukas closes Philip’s door behind him when he goes in, and moves to the edge of the bed, sitting down beside Philip, who is curled on his side with his eyes shut, face puffy.

Lukas’ heart breaks for the boy in the bed. His body language screams sadness and longing and hurt. He’s asleep, but doesn’t appear to find any solace in it.

Keep reading


I’m in love with this skull my grandparents gave me. It’s a raccoon they found in the redwoods like 10 years ago. Looks like someone shot it with something like six or seven times for some reason??? And look at that exit hole. She seems to be a female, with the lack of a sagittal crest, and I’ve never seen a skull that has fused together so much, she must have been an old girl.

Bookbinding Tip

Let me learn you a thing!
Tip #1
Always mark your signatures when you cut or pierce your signatures. A “top” locator line and a diagonal “order” line.

This is useful when you are doing batch work. Because of possible errors, your holes will not be exact for 100% of your signatures - especially if you don’t have a piercing jig.
This is also a must if you have content on your pages and you absolutely cannot have an error in their order.

Why is this useful?

I knocked this book’s worth of signatures off the stack and onto the floor. Some of the signatures are upside down and most of them are completely out of order.

First locate the top of the signatures. When making my holes I usually mark the top with a straight line of a separate colour.

As you can see It is pretty easy to sort out the order when they are marked.

Don’t take this particular pattern that I used on this book as one that is the best to use. The best is to just do a simple diagonal line or two (not straight). The More lines you have the longer it takes to draw them and the less effective it is in the long run.

You also want to make your lines “unique” to each stack of book guts by varying the angle or the position on the spine it is. This is to cover yourself if you happen to drop more than one book’s worth. Imagine sorting out a dozen.

Cheers and happy binding.

Instruments According to a Tuba Player
  • Piccolo: just an octave higher and they'd be dog whistles
  • Flute: their lungs are equivalent to a tuba's which is impressive but they need like 12 people and it just makes everything sound airy :/
  • Violin: either sound way better or way worse than the flutes, the bows always seem to not be the exact same but when they are its freaking amazing
  • Viola: larger under appreciated violin
  • Oboe: could shatter an entire tuba if enough of them play out of tune together
  • Clarinet: a recorder going through puberty, but the actual players are usually nice
  • French Horn: a tiny majestic tuba with curls, must be protected at all times
  • English Horn: you're not a horn why are you called horn you're a stick
  • All Saxophones: the players are complete nerds and I love them but everyone's sick of hearing careless whisper come on stop honking your overrated goose mating machines
  • Bassoon: long wooden stick with too many buttons, the players are truly talented
  • Trumpet: their bell hole may be tiny but they can sure be loud
  • Cello: pretty cool instrument, most of the players are also pretty cool, don't ever bring up canon in d when there's a cello around unless you want an angry rant
  • Trombone: cool slidey dude, protect at all costs
  • Baritone/Euphonium: looks like a mini tuba but sounds like a trombone minus the cool slidey noises
  • Tuba: BEST INSTRUMENT EVER!!!!! deserves more solos and love but is amazing and pure and everyone who plays it is amazing you go friends
  • Double Bass: like a stringed wood tuba, popular and loved by everyone, the players are often really cute and nice though
  • Percussion: chill dudes

Why does this show have such a hard-on for Damon?!?!?

They act like he has NO agency whatsoever, and that every single season they can go back and blame Stefan for all the sh-t he’s done. I have no idea why they think STEFAN is the one who is supposed to be asking for forgiveness (for the 100th time). It’s like everything Damon does is blamed on either Stefan or Katherine because supposedly Damon of the last 150 years has had absolutely 0 control over his own actions.

And to bring back Tyler and Vicky in some glorified “we must forgive Damon” episode, pls save me from this hell hole.

I get Bonnie forgiving him (barely) but to gather everyone and watch them all shed tears over this man that they’ve had legitimate reasons to hate for 8+ years is unbelievable. Why can’t this show just accept that Damon is a villain instead of kissing his ass every season and forgiving him for his numerous crimes.

Why People Really Blame Courtney

The most obvious reason why Courtney Love has been vilified in the media and targeted by conspiracy theorists is simple: she serves as the scapegoat for still-grieving fans. Suicide is a form of abandonment. It stirs up intense feelings of anger and despair. The emotional turmoil that occurs after one’s idol dies has to go somewhere, but the blame can’t be placed on the idol himself- he must remain on his pedestal, his legacy must be protected. When Kurt died, people chose to focus on his already-controversial counterpart. Why? Convenience, partly. He was gone and there she was. Reading his suicide note. Weeping under seven layers of his clothing.
However, the demonization of Courtney had been going on long before her husband’s death. In fact, it began the second they went public with their relationship. We’ve all heard this tale before: the evil slut seduces and kills the fragile hero. Her love is false; her intentions are greedy and malicious. Sound familiar? That’s because it’s not fucking new. It’s misogyny at its finest. Blaming Courtney for Kurt’s death (either literally or in the sense that she somehow drove him to it) is the misogynists’ final, desperate attempt to stamp her out.
It’s no secret that strong, outspoken women are not generally well-received in modern society. The latent sexism in our culture drives many to try to tear these women down and dismiss them as human beings. People were bashing Courtney long before Kurt took his life- they just had a lot less material to go on. Before Kurt died, they mainly resorted to feeble insults and flimsy accusations. “She’s a groupie who got lucky.” “She only wants him for his money.” “She’s a whore.” “She’s not even pretty.” These attempts proved fruitless when Kurt and Courtney began joking about them publicly and their relationship remained intact.
Before Kurt died, any attack on Courtney’s character could also easily be applied to him: her drug use, her questionable parenting, etc. But when Kurt DID die- they finally had something to grasp at. They finally had a reason to hate her. They finally had an excuse to cast her away from society, to dismiss her and everything she stood for entirely. It didn’t matter how shaky the theory itself was; they clung to it, and they still do. Decades later.
I was a Nirvana fan long before I’d even heard of Courtney or her band. I’ve seen every documentary. I’ve studied the note. I’ve listened to the voicemail. I’ve read all of the horseshit on Tom Grant’s website. These theories do not stem from fact. They are rooted in misguided hero-worship and blatant sexism. Move on.


My dear Karamels, I present to you exhibit 484867896547735. These creatures live in the darkest depths of tartarus. Like Cronus, he was an entitled brat…until he was chopped to tiny, tiny pieces and thrown into a dark hole where he belonged. #foreverbitter. These creatures deem us ‘lame’ but yet they come into our tags to pick fights. So mature. (This is why I’m re-posting to avoid the drama I don’t have time for.) Also they’ve caught us! We’re all a bunch of 30 year olds right?! Or at least we act like adults unlike cough*these ‘bellarke and Karamel must die brats*cough. Oh and did I also mention how if you go onto their blogs (which I’ve blocked) you will find STOLEN Karamel gifs with shit written all over them. Kuddos to my salty sisters facepalming-since-chernobyl and sananey77 for dealing with these assholes so gracefully like they did the TW fandom, just be careful because these bitches are also known for HACKING karamel blogs. (Take security steps to protect yourselves folks) But yet we are the abusive immature assholes ok. I’m telling you they are more obsessed with Karamel than we are. They’ve got more posts about how much they hate it than they do of their own fucking ship. Thanks for making us hate you and your ship even more by being assholes. This and many other examples are the reason I’ll never respect these monsters. Seriously they’re like Hydra you chop one head off and they grow two back. But oh well heroes win in the end.

Originally posted by logan-and-stuff

With regards to Peridot’s and Jasper’s relationship, it might also be important that Peridot is a certified Kindergartener: she knows how to grow Gems, she can tell a lot about them just by their exit hole. She takes a lot of pride in this, which is why she considers Beta such an embarrassment (“a real Kindergartener gets it it right”). But being a Kindergartner must mean she has knowledge on how to deal with Quartzes - knows their body language, knows how to put up with their posturing. I think that’s why she was more comfortable getting on Amethyst’s good side more than any of the CG - she knows Quartzes, even if she went about trying to befriend Amethyst in the most tone-deaf way imaginable (but that’s just one of Peridot’s traits).

This would also imply on the Gem caste, that while Quartzes are more valued (because they’re big and at this point rarer thanks to the War), they’re still expected to respect peridots; if Peridot growing the corn is of any indication, Quartzes come out of the ground and are taught quickly to listen to and respect their Kindergarteners. After all, peridots would have spent a long time making sure the conditions were optimal, using injectors in even spacing to ensure Quartzes were given the best shot to come out their best; then they probably would have been responsible for the initial caring of the Quartzes once they emerged and had to start training. So in an ideal Kindergarten you would have had three levels of social interaction:

  • The peers (other Quartzes) who raise each other and become the core of their socializing group
  • The technicians (peridots in this case) growing the Gems and nurturing them
  • The matriarch (the individual diamond) who serves as the leader and mother-goddess of the group

This would make Peridot feel at ease around Quartzes in ways she’s not with other Gems, even going so far as to question them and point out their flaws to them without fear of them hurting her back - on Homeworld with its existing caste system, it probably just wouldn’t even occur to Quartzes to consider the Kindergarteners as acceptable targets. This would explain why Peridot is not afraid of Jasper, why Jasper never lays a hand on Peridot and called out the CG for taking away her limb enhancers/status/dignity.

  • Me: There were so many plot holes in season 4 I can't really enjoy it whatsoever this is the worst season
  • Other: omg you're just pissed because Johnlock isn't canon omg the season was the best
  • Me, internally: ok but why is Mary's death seems so fake and make the whole scene in HLV when Sherlock got shot become a huge "haha fuck you" what did John's letter say ? How can Sherlock even forget about Eurus his parents must have photos of her around the house wtf how did John get out of the well w a fucking rope ? What is the scene that Martin asked to do alone ? Did Victor just eat from a dog bowl lol ? How can they jump off the 2th floor without any injuries? Why did Sherlock not notice the missing glass ? In TLD John wasn't shot by a tranquilizer gun i know what a tranquilizer gun looks like ? Also the biggest cliche IF MARY HAD TIME TO JUMP IN FRONT OF A BULLET AND SAVED SHERLOCK THEN HE HAD TIME TO FUCKING MOVE ??????
  • Also i have parentlock at the end but the list of plot holes keep going on ugh

Imagine Being The Shortest Elf In History

For Anon

You are five freaking feet tall and your an elf. So how are you the size of a freaking dwarf? It’s not that bad though you’ve grown used to it.

Besides when you’re courting the jig and he thinks you’re the cutest thing to walk the planet why be self conscious?

But there are lapses in your self confidence and holes in your walls.

“She’s a freak” one elf mutters when you walk by.

“I agree she must be a dwarvish bastard child” another whispers. You just clench your hands and hold you head high.

“She isn’t fit to court the king.”

Out of nowhere Thranduil is by our side a vicious glare on his face.

“Watch your tongue! She is the future queen and my love. You are a disgrace to this kind. Now get out of my sight!” Thranduil snaps while you blush. He’s never said he loves you before!!! “Are you alright mellon in?”

“You love me?” you ask and Thranduil pauses.

“Yes of course I do.”

“Oh shut up and kiss me my knight in shinning armor” you order playfully. Thranduil grins and picks you up gently planting a sweet kiss on your lips.

So no you don’t mind being a midget. Gives Thranduil an excuse to carry you around.