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#klaus the caroline stan: #always dreaming up AUs

♡  - pretend to be in a relationship (w/ fratboy!jin)
i remember this is for @versigny i love you bby i hope you like it <333

To say you were excited to attend this “party for the elite” was nowhere near Seokjin’s expectations because you should’ve known Seokjin’s ass would pull a trick like this on you (but it’s not exactly a trick if you never fell for it in the first place). So when you show up at his dorm with a black tee with a pair of jeans, he looks a tad disappointed. Deep down, however, not really when Seokjin secretly lives for anything you wear that appear to be so simple but so fucking good on you. 

“Didn’t you get the memo?” He pouts, leaning against the doorframe, blocking your access with his strong build and cockiness pulling the corners of his lips, “I said fancy,

With a snort, you push him in to invite yourself to the real party; familiar faces all around but not quite where you’d go up for a conversation, overrated music playing in the back and the smell of cheap alcohol already being ripped into the atmosphere with a heavy amount of weed that’s not up to what you like. Seokjin follows closely behind you when he knows how his mates could be at the sight of a gem - “Wow, Y/N. Simple, but you look hot as fuck.”

“Here’s a seat, on my lap,”

“You thirsty, Y/N? Because I’m parched.”

See, Kim Seokjin called it, folks.“Watch it, boys,” You coo, the same time Seokjin’s arm slings around your waist as an indirect statement you’re off the shelf of being single. He goes beyond that to bury his face in your neck, mumbling a soft insult directed to the couple of guys who… gave a compliment in a way that riles him inside out, testing his patience until it’s off the radar and into the fire of rage. Seokjin was capable of feeling that and more.

“Hey, this is a party in your dorm and you’re already being a sour sport?”

“You’re right,” He gives in too soon, too soon for your - “How about a kiss?”

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ktown was so fun! the pastry shop was amazing and i got a bunch of skincare stuff ✨ i even made new friends :’) today was a good day !! ✧*。٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و✧*。 (hope it was a good day for everyone as well!!)

INSTAGRAM: @SleepintheGardn uploaded a photo.

Here comes the sappy post. 

Phillip Matthew, you’re three years old today. That’s 1,095 days I’ve gotten to love you with all my heart. That’s 26,280 hours I’ve spent thinking, worrying, hoping, wanting everything in the world for you. Since the first minute I knew you were in my life, I have made sure I was going to be the best possible mommy for you I could be. Gone were the days of not taking care of myself. Gone were the moments when I wondered what my life’s purpose was. I knew it was to have you and to raise you to be a beautiful man. You’re still my little boy right now, but you’re getting older and older. Smarter and sillier and sassier and stronger. You may have been born prematurely but baby boy, you are a fighter. There hasn’t been a single moment in your life where you haven’t proven to me just how lucky I am that you’re mine. Your kindness is infinite. Your charm is magnetic. Your baby blues, your smile, and your laughter are the three keys to keeping me solid and sane. You are everything I ever wanted and so much more. I didn’t know what true love was until I looked into your eyes and felt your finger wrap around mine. My love for you is steadfast hope that never fades. I know you’re going to change the world one day. I know you’re going to bring light and peace and beauty to a world that desperately needs it. You’re going to do so many things and my faith in you will never fade.

The older you get, the more you might become embarrassed by my little acts of love - you’ll squirm away from me kissing your cheek, you’ll drop my hand when we’re crossing the street. You’ll yell, “Okay!” when I tell you I love you as you leave. That’s okay. That’s never going to change how I feel about you. My first born. My baby. My Philly. My prince. But you’re not that old yet and today, I’m going to fully soak in you wrapped around my legs and your insistence that Mommy sit by you and help you color.

Phillip Matthew, you are my world. I love you to the moon and back and a second time around. You will always be the best part of me I put out into this world. #phillyturnsthree

@keeoone, thank you. Thank you for everything. Thank you for him. He is your mini me and I’m so thankful that when I look at him, I see you too. Happy birthday as well to the beautiful man who raised the beautiful man whose love helped me create this munchkin and whose helping me raise our beautiful boy. I’m the luckiest woman/mother in the world. @supitskeegs

❤️ 370k 💬 3,890

Minimum Wage, Highschool AU

I literally…. I was so bored at work today. My mind came up with this, and I thought I would write it for you! I really hope you like it, as it was really rushed. 

Somewhere in England, 1956

Some nights they were so busy, there was chaos. Jukebox-blaring, line-so-long-it-wraps-around-the-restaurant chaos, the kind that made the line cooks groan every time another order was hung up. Those, “I’m sorry ma’am, but your food might take awhile to get to ya, is that alright?” nights. Other nights it was a slow but constant stream of customers, never actually letting anyone rest, but not driving the boys to pieces, either.

Then there were nights like this, where it was only nine o’clock but almost everything had been finished already to close the restaurant. There hadn’t been a customer in almost half an hour. The only thing left to do was to roll up the rest of the silverware, and Roger had been doing that all night. Simon had even fed the homeless people—a nightly ritual that started with him walking food to them outdoors, but eventually began to bring them inside, not to ask for food, but just to talk to him. Simon always refused to take their money when they offered it—bills arranged too carefully inside a weathered wallet to be wasted on something so simple as food. “I’ll make it for you personally,” he would say, and walk to the back himself to sauté the pasta.

Simon had already done that, though. Dion was playing over the jukebox, which the boys had turned up to sing to. Jack’s voice rang from the back of the house, where he was hand-washing the rest of the trays.

“Who is rolling the silverware?” He called up in the middle of A Teenager in Love.

“Roger is,” Simon responded. He strained his voice to be heard over both the jukebox and the dull slapping of water against plastic.

“Of course he is,” Jack said. “It’s the easiest task of the night.”
“I don’t do it because it’s easy, I do it because I’m good at it.”
“It’s true,” Agreed Maurice, who was mopping the floors. “He has very nimble fingers.”
“Nimble fingers?” Asked Jack with disgust, poking his head into the front of the restaurant. Red hair matted down in a hair net—not the most stylish of looks; definitely worn out of necessity, not choice.

“What can I say?” Roger said smugly. “The ladies love me.”
“Ha!” Laughed Jack. “Name one lady.”
“I can name ten who are interested in me.”

Amidst their quarreling, the front door opened with the sweet ringing of a bell.

Simon’s eyes widened upon seeing the visitor; he whipped his head around towards Jack and Roger. Trying to contain the amusement in his voice, Simon whispered, “Speaking of interested,”

The redhead and the brunet looked up and saw none other than Ralph Morrison—yes, captain of the soccer team Ralph Morrison. Yes, honor roll student Ralph Morrison. Yes, love of Jack’s life, Ralph Morrison.

But, alas, these were difficult times, and feelings are difficult things. Despite Jack’s pining, he had had no opportunity to make his feelings clear.

Even if they had been made clear, it wouldn’t have solved everything (far from it).

Even if he had an opportunity, he wouldn’t have had the confidence to think Ralph for go for him, anyway (far from it).

Nevertheless, Simon raised a quiet eyebrow at Jack.

“Do you want to get this one?”
“Yes,” Jack said, ripping off the godforsaken hairnet off his head, and in the same breath putting on the trademark wax paper hat of their restaurant. His steps to the front register felt too shaky, too quick, too soon. He tried not to look at Ralph too much; he tried not to look away too much.

The whole situation was, truly, too much.

Ralph was smaller than him, but his letterman jacket brought out his shoulders and narrowed in his waist. A linebacker-esque look for a boy who normally seemed the lean kind of muscular.

Jack did not mind the contrast.

“Hey, Jack!” Ralph said even before he reached the counter, breaking into a grin. “How have you been? It hasn’t been too long of a shift for you, has it?”
“No, mate, nothing too bad,” Jack suddenly found himself wondering about his hair. Ralph’s was neatly parted and combed with wax, no doubt in deep contrast to Jack’s tousled hairnet locks. He touched his hair, only to confirm his suspiscion. He felt a pang of embarrassment—he did not want Ralph to think he was the kind of guy who did not pay attention to his hair, some kind of careless American beatnik.

“That’s great!” Ralph exclaimed. “Well, you’ll have to excuse me—I’m not exactly sure what to order, yet.”

“Hey, Ralph!” Roger and Simon, who had since before tried to ignore him, called out a quick greeting before going back into the kitchen. Ralph returned the greeting and then turned to look up at Jack.

“So, Merridew, do you have any recommendations as to what I should get?”

Me, Jack thought automatically, and felt his face grow hot at the thought. He wished he could lean across the cash register, grab Ralph but those thick, leather coat sleeves of his, and kiss him. The same fantasy he’s had since he first started working here. Every time Ralph has come in.

Every time.

Maybe doing it would finally show him all he’s been missing since middle school.

Instead, however, Jack put on his best public-service voice and said, “You know, personally, my favorite is the pesto, but Roger makes a mean Mediterranean salad. But we did just get a recipe for a new spicy marinara sauce to put in our noodles that I think is pretty wizard.”

“If you like it so much, I think I’ll go with the pesto.”

“Really?” Jack said.

“Of course,” Ralph said. “I trust you, you know that!”

“I mean, your dinner choice is definitely a serious matter, “ Jack said playfully. “I didn’t know you trusted me that much.”

“I totally do.”

“Well, let me just send your order back to the kitchen, and it’ll be coming right up for you!” Jack said. He printed the receipt and clothes-pinned it to the line.

“So, Ralph, why are you eating so late at night today?”
“Oh, it’s kind of a long story, not really something I should be sharing with you. It’s a really nice night, after all, why spoil it?”

Jack scrunched his eyebrows together and placed his hands on the cash register, learning forward towards Ralph.

“I kind of got into an argument with my folks, is all,” Ralph said, shrugging his shoulders. “I never do, but I think my dad heard me talking to a mate of mine on the telephone about something he shouldn’t have heard… he got pretty upset.”

Jack sighed in empathy, looking into Ralph’s baby blues. He wished he could hug him, console him, and maybe simply push back the stress that was causing those wrinkles on his forehead.

“Oh, bloody hell, was he really listening in on your conversation?” Jack said. “Can I ask what it was about that got him so riled up? It couldn’t have been anything that bad, could it? You didn’t do anything, I’m sure.”
“Actually,” Ralph said, and he looked at the ground. There was color rising in his cheeks, accentuating the freckles that have been splashed under his eyes since Jack first met him four years ago. He looked at them every day in class for the past four years; hell, he could probably draw them out if he wanted. Chart them on a map like an explorer, measuring the distance with his fingertips, trailing across a sea of warm peach. A human connect-the-dots waiting to be uncovered beneath a flutter of eyelashes.

Heartbeat against heartbeat, fingertip against temple. He was sure of it.

“Actually,” Ralph repeated, “He heard me talking about you. That’s why I came here, actually, because… because I wanted to see you. ”
“Order up!” Roger called, and a to-go bag hit the counter.

There was silence.
(Silence, and Dion.)

“I said Order!” Roger repeated, slapping the counter. Simon hissed for him to shut up, along with some rather colorful language that never escaped the likes of his mouth. Despite his otherwise pure attitude, Simon would admit he lived for gossip such as this.

Jack was still standing there, face-to-face with the blonde. Dion only supplemented the silence with his smooth baritone.

“He heard you say what about me?”
“I think…” Ralph paused, “I think you can tell what he heard. He almost kicked me out, Jack. He really did. He said if he heard me talk about someone like that again, he would.”

“I don’t even know what to say,” Jack whispered.
“You don’t need to say anything,” Ralph muttered. “It’s downright rude for me to bring up at a time like this, is what it is. I should not have mentioned it in the first place, especially when I am not even sure if you—“

He was cut off by Jack leaning across the register to kiss him.

Heartbeat against heartbeat, lips against lips.

“We don’t need to talk about this now,” Jack said slowly, “But we should talk about it soon. I want to.”

Without knowing what else to do, he ran to grab Ralph’s order and shoved it precariously in the soccer player’s hands.

“Here,” He said, unable to contain his smile. “Your pesto.”
“Thanks mate,” Ralph said, freckles bunched up under his eyes, forehead unencumbered by stressful wrinkles.

Ralph walked backwards out the restaurant for a bit, before smiling and turning out the door.

Some nights they were so busy, there was chaos. Other nights it was a slow but constant stream of customers.

Then there were nights like this.

woodlandcara  asked:

I think your practice is valid and you can be a witch! Don't let them get you down. Anyone can be a witch! ^_^ I know there are other terms for practitioners of magick, but witch just carries a different imagery of the type of magick practiced. It's not the same as "sorcerer," "magician," "mage, "or "wizard." Witchcraft just seems more homey and more about using what you have on hand. A little more grounded in everyday life perhaps. It's just different.

Thank you for this lovely message! n___n

I am not discouraged. I know I am and can be male witch (”witch” being translation with closest feeling to my native word), and tumblr community is wonderfully accepting in general of male practitioners! I really love you all for it and all the encouraging messages I see all around <3

What pisses me off is when people try to make “witch panic” or “witch hunts” female-only problems, often talking how “men slaughtered thousands of women”. That might be true for people in some countries, but claiming this like I see over and over again is incredibly ignorant and disrespectful to people in other cultures where witch hunts affected a lot of families. Claiming witch hunts are or were female-only problem where females were victims and males were perpetrators is rude and complete disregard towards the people who lost their lives. It makes mockery both of the male victims and attempts to paint females as weak helpless victims who can not do anything to save themselves.

Pretending these lives did not exist, or worse, did not matter because they were males gets my blood boiling, when the exact reason that my  family line only has female witches is that the culture lost majority of it’s males (and with them, significant amount of practices and tradition) during the witch panic and Christianity invasion.

This is something that I, as a male witch of long line and heritage, feel like I have to stand for and remind and educate people of our dead. Male and female.

But again, thank you SO much for the love you and others have sent me! I have published this because I feel like lot of male witches want to see that they are not only accepted and tolerated, but loved and cared for in the community. And for that, I thank you!

@lavellanlove replied to your post “Prompts? Questions?”

How bout…Vitality as Kalyani? Perhaps the turning point where she decided to she wasn’t going to pirate anymore?

I might follow this up once I finish up her chaptered backstory because welp don’t wanna spoil that! This doesn’t contain those spoilers.


“Call me Kalyani.”

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akarena  asked:

Heyy! Sorry for that! Well there are references in the internet ( I'll send them to you in a message :) ) If you found it to be a bit of work you could do a gamer Narusaku with whatever you want ;)

i used the references you messaged! I’m actually planning to clean this WIP and colour it in but i thought i’d post the WIP before hand as it’ll take me awhile! hope you like it :>