Spring-Night

5

Trump Tweets Condolences for Wrong Shooting

Donald Trump appeared to get his mass shootings mixed up when he offered his condolences for Sutherland Springs, Texas, Tuesday night — in the wake of a massacre in Northern California.

“May God be with the people of Sutherland Springs, Texas. The FBI and Law Enforcement has arrived,” the president tweeted.

However, the latest shooting by a lone gunman — which killed five people and injured 10 more — took place in rural Rancho Tehama, while Sutherland Springs was the location of the church shooting on Nov. 5 where 25 people were gunned down.

Seokjin is secretly lacing fingers under the table, he is sweet dreams filled with unbroken wishes, he is starry nights that hold too many adventures to be told. He is small kisses under the pouring rain that are just a little too perfect. He’s nights laced with pillow talk that turn into pillow fights and it couldn’t be better than that.

Yoongi is caffeine dreams and unspoken poems, he is winter nights and windy trees, but that’s your favorite. He is lost romance and affection tracing against skin, he’s crystal snowflakes falling on eyelashes, waiting to be kissed away. He’s piano keys that aren’t just black and white, vibrant colors flowing through his veins as another masterpiece is made. He is love left unsaid and whispers that only he could hear.

Hoseok is deep rosy hues that sunsets wish to achieve, he’s rays of sunshine that end up shining brighter than anything in this world. He’s pure happiness that somehow ends up with lighting bolts tearing through the sky. He’s sun kissed flowers sitting next to cracked open windows during summer mornings, smiles and giggles filling up the room. He’s 10 am silent walks that end up turning into 2 pm naps because 10 am is just too early. Hoseok is pretty lights that do more than illuminate tiny rooms.

Namjoon is falling autumn leaves and cozy winter nights, who says you can’t have both? He’s tiny memories that can fill out a whole stadium, every moment pieced with a special gift. He’s flaws and shaky smiles, lip bites and nervous rambling, the perfect combination. He’s sweet kisses and muffled words laced with sheer beauty and eloquence. He’s words that somehow turn into silk, written so smoothly against the canvas that it’s impossible to get paper cuts. He’s paintings that are mixed with every color, but it still isn’t vibrant enough. He’s private thoughts that you wish you had the privilege of knowing, each one unlocking a new secret. Namjoon is comfort, he’s warmer than hot chocolate on a winter day, he’s sweet smiles and unbroken promises.

Jimin is bubbles and blue, he’s 3 am smiles and pretty thoughts. He’s spring days and drunken nights, he’s home and nostalgia, and you figured you need a bit of both. He’s a “look at the pretty stars” and “I swear I can see the milky way,” even though his smile caused enough brightness to not see anything. Jimin is soft touches and lavender candles, he’s fallen cherry blossoms that you can’t help but admire and fawn over. He’s sleepless conversations and bedroom eyes, he’s flecks of gold and paper hearts, and you don’t know which one is more beautiful.

Taehyung is hot summer hazes and rose tattoos, he is fulfilled goals and full cups of water. He is summer loves that never seem to be temporary, he’s hidden smiles and subtle signs that were only made for the two of you. He’s cold mornings wrapped in warm sheets and hot nights filled with cold kisses. He’s forehead kisses and sweet r&b riffs, he’s vintage photographs that really is worth a thousand words. Taehyung is cloud nine and love songs, he is boxy smiles and a heart of gold.

Jungkook is shy smiles and hidden gestures. He is cold coffee on a sticky summer night and light kisses that seem to feel more hotter than the weather. He is shaky hands and awkward laughs, bright eyes and curiosity laced all into one. He is playing video games until sunrise and sleeping until sunset, which is his favorite trait. He is loving too much and caring too little, he is 4 am adventures to the convenience store. He is blurry daydreaming and falling asleep in class. Jungkook is scrunched noses and head tilts, he’s beauty and too many pretty piercings.

Another Man’s Treasure

A/N: This is a completed five-part mini-series because @alrightpetal and I have this thing about making Harry super vulnerable and flawed. So here you go.

// Another Man’s Treasure // Mind on a Mission // Take the Lead // Worth the Pain // Wings of Butterflies


…I’m gonna show you tonight! I’m alright! I’m just fine! And you’re a tool so, so what?

You belted your heart out up on stage, pumping your fist in the air to empower your words even further. It was a good thing you knew all the words, too, because your mates had bought you so many drinks your vision was crossed and blurred you couldn’t have read the lyrics to an unfamiliar song. Then you would have just been a blubbering fool butchering a karaoke performance. And that would have been embarrassing.

Singing yourself blue in the face—and drinking yourself into oblivion—served as the perfect outlet for your aching heart. Hours earlier, you’d been dumped. Or more accurately, replaced.

It’d been a week since you’d heard from your long-term boyfriend, and while you knew he was on holiday with his mates—a holiday you hadn’t been invited on—it was still odd that you hadn’t heard from him at all. Not even a text to let you know that he’d made it to Amsterdam. You didn’t expect too much communication; you trusted him to treat you right, but, silly you, you thought your boyfriend might actually miss you and want to say hi.

Last night after seven and a half days of nothing, you completely lost it and called him forty-seven times in a row. And not a single one was answered. So you rang your closest friends and they came over, laptops and tablets in hand, and intense cyber-stalking commenced.

It only took thirty-four minutes for your good mate Lindsey to unearth a damning post on Insta that your boyfriend was tagged in by a girl you kind of knew. The picture itself wasn’t awful; honestly you couldn’t make out much besides silhouettes and drinks. Even the caption wasn’t much; all it said was, “this guy” with a random slew of emojis. But the funny thing was, when you tried to search for it yourself, nothing came up. Meaning you were blocked. You weren’t meant to see this picture.

Twenty-two minutes of super-sleuthing was enough time for your oldest friend Ashley to find every social media account the girl had, and then eventually uncover her phone number.

In thirteen minutes you had a text drafted to her that was so long it was broken into five different parts when you hit send.

And one minute and fifty-four seconds is all the time your boyfriend—well ex-boyfriend—allowed you to speak to him today before he told you he was coming back tomorrow and there’d be no need for you to come see him. Tomorrow or ever again.

So your mates did what they knew best. They took you out, got you absolutely smashed, and then got you up on stage to pour your heart out. Somewhere in between I Will Survive and Total Eclipse of the Heart, you got a bit weepy and ended up calling your brother from the toilet. It took you awhile to realize you weren’t actually sobbing to him but his voicemail, and as soon as you did you pulled yourself back together and headed out for another drink and a rousing rendition of Since U Been Gone.

The few other patrons in the pub were hardly paying attention to your drunken warbling on stage, only breaking from their conversations when your mates would cheer at the end of each song, some of them even offering half-hearted claps. If they were annoyed, they certainly didn’t let on. Most likely, they pitied you; for Christ sake, you pitied you.

When your song ended, you finished the rest of your drink and began flipping through the songbook. Liberation was surging through you and you wanted a song to match your mood; something to serve as a proper fuck you to the twat you’d wasted the last few years of your young life on.

The book closed on your fingers, and you stumbled back in surprise. Were books automated now too?! You still weren’t over the automated tills at Tesco, would you now have to get used to robotic books closing on you when they’d had enough?!

“[Y/N].”

You looked up, your blurred vision slowly coming into focus as you swayed on the spot. A robotic book didn’t close itself on you, a person had closed it. Which was rather rude of them.

[Y/N],” he repeated. Finally he came into view and you cocked your head in confusion.

“Hazza?” you slurred, taking a step closer to get a better look. You nearly toppled off the stage, but Harry was quick to grab you by the waist and steady you before easing you down.

Keep reading

Difference between Tamlin and Rhysand.

Tamlin: *growls* What is the proper way to adress your High Lord?

Lucien: *shivers* My lord.

Tamlin: Good.


Rhys:  What is the proper way to adress your High Lord?

Cassian: Stupid prick?

Azriel: Smug bastard?

Rhys: *facepalm* You kids are insufferable.

when people say they don’t like niall im automatically confused, like sure you’re not attracted to him, but niall? he’s happiness personified. do you also hate sunshine, and rainbows, summer nights, spring flowers, pastel colors, the ocean waves breaking against rocks, butterflies, early morning calls of birds, children laughing and playing, Popsicles, best friends, hand holding, sea breeze, fresh laundry? like he’s all of those things.