Little-Voices

You are capable of so much more than what that little voice in your head tells you. You are strong, determined and steady. You have your heart set on success and you will do anything to get to that end goal. Have no room for negativity, only positivity and love. Have room for the people who believe in you, and no room for those who do not. You are more than strong, you are unstoppable.
— 

unstoppable by Amy Kennedy

24/07/17

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the whole time i’m on tinder there’s always this little voice in my head chanting men are evil men are evil men are evil and she’s right but what’s her point

anonymous asked:

I think Harry being interviewed with all the rest of the cast was highly enjoyable, I also noticed he seemed to spend up his normal speaking voice a little during a lot of the film interviews. I love Harry's speaking voice but it was a bit refreshing to hear him speak at a more normal speed lol

lol i adore his voice at any and all speeds, even when i put my vinyl on chipmunk mode

In This Quiet Place

Pairing: JayTim

Summary:  "You know,“ Tim said, voice a little irritated as he entered the cart, "you could have told me where to meet you.”

Notes: My first JayTim piece for JayTim week. The prompt was “Carnival”. 

This one isn’t explicitly romance-y? Though them being together was the intention. I love breakfast dates especially in the context of vigilantes that have been patrolling for a while. 

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yourphantom44world  asked:

Can there be a sweet scenario of Marco and his s/o having a Skype date while he's away on business or for school?

Fair warning, I don’t know how Skype works.

You shifted excitedly in your seat as you stared at your laptop screen. You were waiting for Marco to call at the time he always did. He was currently studying aboard in France for a semester, something he’s always wanted to do.

Of course, you were happy he was getting to achieve his dream, but you missed him terribly. You two Skyped and messaged each other all the time, but you missed feeling him. You missed waking up to his freckled face in the mornings. But it was only for a little while.

The notification popped up on your screen, “Marco is calling you.” You giggled in glee as you clicked “Accept.” Marco’s face popped up on the screen, a smile adorning his face, just like yours.

“Hello, love,” He greeted, his voice a little heavy with sleep. It was 1 AM where he was. Even if it meant he’d lose sleep, he was still hellbent on talking to you and seeing your face every day.

“Hello, sleepy. You know you don’t have to stay up every night just to talk to me,” You told him, leaning your head on your hand. Marco chuckled, which made your heart rate pick up. No matter how far away he was, or if you only saw him through a screen, he still managed to make you flustered.

“Yeah, well, I’ll go insane if I don’t see your face every day. These French schools are way more advanced than I’m used to.” He gave you that half smile that you loved.

“Do you speak any French yet?” You asked.

“Yes, um, vous avez les plus beaux yeux, le plus beau sourire, et le plus beau rire.” You had no idea what he said, but his tone and the loving look on his face and the blush on his cheeks told you that you should blush.

“I don’t know what that means…But thank you!” You laughed a little bit, as did he.

“Oh, I was just being cheesy,” He admitted, smiling shyly at you.

“It’s okay, I like cheesy. Being cheesy is good.” You both laughed at yourselves. As much as you both wanted to stay and talk with him for hours, you knew that he needed to go to sleep eventually. He did have school in the morning.

“I miss you,” He said, his voice full of longing, “Only a few more weeks left!” He smiled brightly at you.

“A few more weeks,” You confirmed, smiling back at him, “I love you.”

“I love you too.” With that, you both ended the call reluctantly. No matter how far away you both were, you both managed to make it work. Distance means nothing when someone means so much.

Thought of the day

You know how much Harry stresses that he’s a morning person like him telling Grimmy he’s rarely up after 8:30 and Fionn Saying how he likes to sing in the morning WELL

Imagine you two being together he would always be up first even on those lazy days where you weren’t doing anything so he’d wake you up and you’d groan and he’d already be fresh faced and smiling and he’d put your coffee or tea on the bedside table or sometimes bring you breakfast the way you like it even if it’s just toast because he knows you’ll force yourself to get up if he’s gone to the effort and he says ‘Morning sunshine’ in a cute little voice and plays with your hair or strokes your head while you mumble sleepily like; 'mngh way too cheerful for this time of morning’ and try and wake up or maybe sometimes you wake up and he’s in bed watching TV wide awake waiting for you to wake up and watching over you fondly or you come downstairs and he’s cooking breakfast or he comes in from the gym and you’re still shuffling around in pyjamas and yawning or if you’re travelling together he’s chirping about how excited he is and you sit there nursing your coffee with a face on I love cuddly morning Harry wow

anonymous asked:

Twelve has to go back to Coal Hill to tell everyone that Clara died. It causes him to break down and he becomes the one to either unveil her name on the board (seen in class)/put her name there.

He doesn’t want to do it. He doesn’t want to have to step over the threshold of the familiar red-brick building and tell them that Clara’s dead, because that makes it real; that makes it true. And making it true is something he doesn’t want to have to face up to, because then there’s no escaping the fact that she’s gone, and she isn’t coming back.

Dead, a pedantic part of his brain helpfully supplies. She’s dead. 

He flinches from the term but steps inside in an attempt to combat the nagging little voice in his head, stalking through the corridors with his fists clenched and his jaw set, lest his body and mind conspire against him and cause him to lose composure in the school she had loved so much, among the students she had so adored. He doesn’t have the heart to call them ‘pudding brains.’ Not today. Not today, when he has to tell them that… well, tell them that their English teacher - their beloved English teacher - won’t be coming back.

He knocks on the headmaster’s door before he can lose face and flee, taking a deep breath that his body doesn’t strictly speaking need, but which nonetheless calms him down a modicum. 

“Come in!”

He enters the small, neatly-kept room and smiles wanly at the kind-looking, middle-aged man sat behind a desk. 

“Mr Smith,” Mr Armitage looks pleased, if a touch perplexed, to be confronted with the former caretaker, and the Doctor loathes himself for the fact he’s about to cause the man’s smile to falter. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“It’s ah,” he pauses, clearing his throat a little and willing himself not to cry. “It’s about Clara.”

“What about her?” Armitage narrows his eyes, visibly confused. “And how on earth… I wasn’t aware the two of you know each other.”

He bites back a bitter laugh at that. Know each other. That’s one way of putting it.

“We do,” he can’t bring himself to say did. “There was an accident,” he manages. “There was an accident, and she passed away. Yesterday. That’s why she’s not… that’s why she isn’t here.”

Armitage’s face falls, then crumples. “No.”

“I’m sorry,” he says uselessly, his nails digging into his palms as he forbids his body from crying. “I was there but there was nothing I could do, it happened too fast… I… she just…”

“Jesus,” Armitage puts his head in his hands, and the Doctor pretends not to see the tears he wipes away surreptitiously. “Jesus, not after Danny, not after… those poor kids.”

Poor me, the Doctor thinks to himself, somewhat egotistically. That had always been Clara’s job before - the ego, and the looks, and the smiles - but now he doesn’t care. Now he has to somehow fulfil both roles.

“You’ll remember her?” the Doctor asks, his voice pleading. “On the board? Please?”

“Of course,” Armitage nods numbly. “Of course, and an assembly, and… oh, god, her students… they’re going to be devastated.”

“I’m sorry,” the Doctor says again, unable to formulate anything more articulate. “I’m so sorry.”

He turns on his heel and flees before Armitage can say another word, the guilt choking him as he heads towards the solace of the TARDIS, slamming the doors shut behind him and finally allowing himself to break down.

We talk a lot about Yuuri having to reconcile his idea of Viktor with the real Viktor–that is, Yuuri has this flawless, wonderful ideal of Viktor in his head which has to sort of be cut down to fit the person that Viktor really is. Which is a healthy part of their relationship, and which I completely agree is something Yuuri has to face at some point during that first summer.

But I think there’s also something to be said about Yuuri realizing that some of the horrible things he’s heard about Viktor through the skating community grapevine are not so true.

Yuuri, despite what he says, is much closer to is idol than most people ever get. If Viktor is a movie star, Yuuri is the secondary character–he’s there, and a lot of people definitely know he’s there, and he knows enough people who also know Viktor for the gossip mill to really get churnin sometimes.

I also think that at the back of every person who has ever had a celebrity crush’s mind is a little voice saying, “Never meet your heroes,” and Yuuri Katsuki is terrified of that little voice, and it contributes to the distance he keeps from Viktor–because at some point, that much distance from someone you’re facing off against in international competitions has got to be just a little bit purposeful.

So cue Viktor coming into his life all of a sudden one day, and all Yuuri can think about are the terrible awful no good very bad things people have told him about Viktor and the kind of person Viktor is.

“Fuck Viktor Nikiforov,” an older skater had told him after Skate America, six glasses into a box of wine and bitter as hell about missing the podium. “No, really, fuck him. The Russians are paying off the ISU to keep him at the top. He isn’t even that talented. I hear–I hear he doesn’t even train. I hear he just shows up and fucking does whatever and they give him gold because he’s Viktor Nikiforov.”

“I…don’t think…” Yuuri frowned at his own glass of wine. “I mean…that couldn’t be true.” He glances at Phichit next to him. “Could it?”

“Sour grapes,” Phichit advises, and Yuuri isn’t as familiar with English idioms at that point, so he thinks Phichit is talking about the wine.

Yuuri mostly forgets about it, but somewhere in the back of his mind–he can’t stop thinking about it. He watches and rewatches Viktor’s old programs and wonders to himself if the reason he thinks they’re so good is because he’s watching them through rose-tinted glasses.

Yuuri and Phichit are suffering through finals and trying to survive through twenty-hour days of nothing but studying and skating. They lay themselves on the bleachers one afternoon while they’re supposed to be doing warm ups.

“What if I just quit school and became and underwater basket weaver,” Yuuri mumbles directly into the metal seat of the bleacher. “That would be fine, right?”

“WWVND,” Phichit replies. “What Would Viktor Nikiforov Do.”

“You’re right,” Yuuri sighs.

“Viktor Nikiforov is dumber than a box of rocks,” says of the other members of the club as she skates by. “You know he never even finished high school? I mean, what counts as high school in a country like Russia. The guy probably thinks two plus two equals borscht.”

“That’s not…” Yuuri smushes his nose against the bleacher. “Hey, that’s not…”

“FUCK OFF OLIVIA,” Phichit shrieks across the rink, and Celestino definitely hears. They have to do twenty minutes of line drills. 

“What Would Viktor Nikiforov Do, right boys?” asks Olivia as she watches Yuuri try not to heave after Celestino finally releases them from their Sisyphean torture.

“I’m gonna fucking kill her,” Phichit says, and he sounds so deeply serious that Yuuri is sincerely worried.

Several weeks later, someone mentions Viktor within earshot of Phichit and he jokingly says, “Watch what you say, that’s Yuuri’s future husband you’re talking about,” and it sort of makes Yuuri want to hit him but mostly makes Yuuri blush.

“Really?” replies that someone. “I don’t know about that, Yuuri. I wouldn’t touch that guy with a thirty foot pole. He sleeps around. Probably has all kinds of nasty stuff going on down there.”

“Oh, whatever,” Phichit says, rolling his eyes. “Like you would know.”

Yuuri ducks his head back into his book and tries not to think about it.

These are the things that Yuuri holds in the back of his mind about Viktor, the worries that travel with him anywhere he has even the chance of encountering Viktor Nikiforov. 

‘Never meet your heroes’ becomes something of the unspoken mantra of Yuuri’s life. 

Then Viktor Nikiforov catapults himself straight into Yuuri’s lap, and Yuuri learns a few things.

Viktor trains. Viktor trains hard. Viktor has neglected everything but training and skating and satisfying his own frantic need to be the best for twenty years. Viktor Nikiforov is a lonely, sad bookworm with one friend and a gaping, yearning need to be touched–and he did not get to be where he is without making sacrifices. 

Yuuri has never met anyone who made more sacrifices for this sport and this art than Viktor Nikiforov. It opens something up inside of him, throbbing and raw. It makes Yuuri want to take Viktor’s heart and shove it inside his own chest so that it never feels cold or lonely again. It makes him want to stand on the top of a tall building somewhere and scream fuck you to every person he’s encountered whose jealousy tried to convince him that this man was less than what he is.

And yes, Yuuri knows now that Viktor is forgetful and brutally honest and often doesn’t say the right thing at the right time.

He knows that Viktor is only ambidextrous in that he can use a fork with both hands and that it takes him twenty minutes in the morning to decide on a shirt to wear. He knows that Viktor Nikiforov is a blanket hog and that if Yuuri wants to wake up still covered in the morning, they have to have no less than three blankets on the bed at all times.

He knows that Viktor sometimes descends into these loops of manic energy where he wants to do everything and can’t sit still and in those moments, Yuuri wants to lock him in a room and leave him there until he starts making sense again.

He also knows that Viktor Nikiforov has the most genuinely beautiful soul that Yuuri has ever had the opportunity to touch. He knows that very few people in his life will ever love him like Viktor, and that he himself has never felt for anyone quite what he feels for this man. His man. 

He knows these things and he thinks that maybe Viktor is perfect after all, perfect in his imperfection. Every jagged edge of his fits into one of Yuuri’s, and every curve of Yuuri’s lovingly presses flush with Viktor’s until they fit together seamlessly, like a pair of puzzle pieces.

Yuuri is also still a very petty person on the inside, though–which is why he makes posts on Instagram that read things like Viktor received his sixth well-deserved Russian National gold today! Congratulations to my amazing fiance.

And also:

So proud of my husband for all of his hard work commentating at the #Olympics. Some people go to school for half their lives and aren’t half as articulate as my Vitya. #Proudhubby

After that last one, Phichit leaves a voicemail on Yuuri’s phone that is literally just two whole minutes of him laughing hysterically and then wheezing, “THE SALT!” before hanging up.

“Yuuri, why did Phichit just sent me…sixteen crying laughing emojis and a text that says ‘your husband I can’t,’ in all caps?”

“Because a lot of people tried telling me you weren’t perfect and I’m proving them wrong,” Yuuri replies, not even looking up from his phone.

“Oh,” Viktor says, and literally crawls on top of him.

Yuuri supposes that the moral of the story is that the heart wants what the heart wants, and you have to find perfection in the imperfections–Viktor is loud and ditzy and forgets the English word for tomato on an almost daily basis, but he’s Yuuri’s husband. And because he’s Yuuri’s husband, he’s perfect.

2

Small gems like her are as easy to lose as a cell phone, but instead of just getting a new one from the store you have to snatch it out of the air, lock it in your bathroom, and re-indoctrinate its entire system of beliefs

BTS in Bed (Based on Their Venus and Mars Signs) - Hyung Line

warning: longg 18+ post ahead

Maknae Line version here.

Jin - Capricorn Venus Cancer Mars

  • the cheesy romantic type
  • capricorn is a cold business like sign
  • while cancer is emotional and sensitive
  • so that creates a conflict within him
  • probably the most vanilla of all the boys as both his venus and mars are very traditional signs
  • but by no means is he boring
  • his sagittarius sun knows how to spice things up and keep it interesting
  • would love missionary with lots of eye contact and kissing and feeling
  • kissing in general is very arousing to him
  • body worship
  • food and sex are two of his favorite things so of course he’d combine them
  • food play
  • licking whipped cream, chocolate, and more off his partners body
  • mmm maybe you’ll be my next special on eat jin ;)”
  • (oops did i forget to mention jokes during sex bc yes jokes during sex)
  • let’s not sleep on those magical fingers
  • he knows how to use them
  • has a soft, feminine aesthetic 
  • ex. likes pink lingerie, fluffy white bed sheets, etc
  • his capricorn venus likes controlling and owning their partner
  • so he’d surprise u with pretty collars that say “property of jin”
  • nonchalant and open about his sex life
  • literally in the middle of dinner he’d go
  • “oh jagi the baby pink vibrator i ordered came in let’s try it tonight”
  • and u choke on ur food
  • calling his s/o princess/prince !!
  • so many soft pet names
  • knows how to pleasure his partner and does it well

Originally posted by chokemejimin

Yoongi - Aries Venus Cancer Mars

  • listen…not the kinky hard dom y'all think he is

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The Road to El Dorado fits well with Rick Riordan's characters

Jason: Oh, you fight like my sister!

Percy: I… fought your sister - that’s a compliment!
…………………………………………………………………

Percy: You said it yourself it was possible, and it is! It really is! The map to EL DORADO!

Annabeth: …You drank the seawater, didn’t you?
………………………………………………………………….
Meg: I want in.

Apollo: In?

Meg: On your quest.

Apollo: (nervous laugh) Wha-there’s no quest, why would you think there’s a… Why?
………………………………………………………………….
Magnus: On the one hand: GOLD. On the other hand: (points to a tapestry of a man getting his heart ripped out) “‘PAINFUL AGONIZING FAILURE!
………………………………………………………………….

Piper: Jason, did you ever imagine it would end like this?

Jason: (Looking at Tempest) The horse is a surprise…
………………………………………………………………….

Carter: We’ll follow that trail!

Sadie: What trail?

Carter: [chopping at vines with sword] The trail that we blaze!

[the vines fall down revealing a solid wall of rock; long pause]

Carter: [pointing] THAT trail that we blaze…
…………………………………………………………………

Sam: Magnus, you know that little voice people have that tells them to quit when they’re ahead? YOU DON’T HAVE ONE!