all we can all it all food except from the first one

An Excerpt from Elsewhere University's Student Accommodation Guide, Accurate to Term Beginning September 20XX

(Handwritten RA’s notes in parentheses)

The Towers

Mid-20th century brick apartment towers, divided into Pelham, McGonagall, Byron, and Bulwer-Lytton. Despite rising to 14 storeys, they have no iron rebar frames supporting them internally, leading many students to say they can feel the Towers sway in high winds. While this is not true, they definitely have the finest views on campus, being situated on the top of The Hill. The Towers have ample kitchen space, but prospective students should be reminded of their thin walls and thin floors. They are regarded as the “party” flats, and many second and third year students will say if a bad decision is going to be made on a night out, the odds are good it will happen in the Towers.

(No one remembers inviting the slim boy with slicked-back blonde hair, but he brought rum and an electric personality and makes himself welcome. He suggests a drinking game none of you have heard of, and only you remember never to play a game whose rules you do not understand. Your friends are not so fortunate)

The Ziggurat

Built in an unusual art-deco architectural style, the ziggurat is officially known as the Carnarvon Memorial Building, and dates back to the mid-1920s. The outward-facing rooms have large windows and are generally well-lit, but rooms further into the interior have no windows at all. Despite pre-dating air conditioning, students report that the rooms at the heart of the Ziggurat remain cool even in the height of summer. Thick walls and shag carpets also make the Ziggurat among the quietest of on-campus accommodation, which many more studious undergraduates consider a bonus.

(She finds sand in her shoes all year round, but at least her food never spoils. An undergrad swears she sees a falcon roost outside her room every day at sunrise. A label on a box of leftovers reads “Whoever opens me without consent, there will be judgement, an end shall be made for him. I shall seize his neck like a bird… I shall cast the fear of myself into him”. Every assumes it is a joke, until the seal is broken.)

The Chinese House

A quaint piece of 19th century Orientalism, and the last survivor of an eccentric effort to build an international students village using architectural styles from all over the world. Most were demolished between the expansion of the football field, the construction of the Michelson-Morley building, and a terrible fire in the mid-20th century that destroyed the Dutch farmhouse. Despite an ongoing and heated debate among the student population over whether or not the building’s styling and history make it an unfortunate racist relic or an architectural piece worthy of preservation, the Chinese House’s residents report that it is pleasant and homely. Regardless of nationality or religion, residents are advised to participate in the Mid-Autumn Festival arranged by the Chinese House Residents’ Assistants, as a matter of etiquette.

(Every year, room 5B is taken by an Asian student with dark hair who keeps a rabbit. No one tells security, even though pets are not allowed in campus accommodation. Impolite questions about where she is from are met with a patient smile, and a gentle reminder that an American flag flies over her home)

Dadd House

A modest Victorian building with en-suite rooms and upholstery faithful to the original. The Accommodation Office must deny absolutely any and all claims that it is a re-purposed insane asylum, including rumours that rooms 2A-2F still have padded walls, or that the 3rd floor rooms have locks on the outside of the doors, as these are baseless and harmful claims which do no justice to the building’s proud traditions. We must remind would-be applicants that the continued existence of Dadd House is due to a very generous grant provided by an anonymous donor, with the proviso that the House is reserved for those majoring in Fine Art, Art History, Music, Music Theory, Ceramics, and Animation. Exceptions cannot be made for those studying Liberal Arts.

(Her music only improves during her residency, filling the dark, sad halls of the house with beautiful sound. He paints great swirls of colour over his canvas, over the walls, over the floor. Her mind is alive with poetry, and she finds herself speaking in hexameter. What had been normal motions startle her as she catches smear frames in the corner of her eye. A group of non-students stroll through the tiled corridors, golden eyes flicking from one delight to the next, furred ears twitching. They discuss who they shall give their ultimate patronage to, as gardeners would discuss which plants to nurture, and which to prune)

Elsewhere Square

An early 21st century addition to the campus, this is one of the more divisive accommodation buildings in recent years, and has been voted “Ugliest Campus Accommodation” in a National Students’ Union poll every year since its construction. Certainly its garish colours and incongruous position next to the venerable Morganwg Building make it stand out, but it is worth remembering that the Morganwg itself was once denigrated as “Gothic” in its day. The layout of the corridors may seem counter-intuitive at first, but students are sure to adapt to it quickly with help of Residents’ Assistants (known colloquially as “Pathfinders” in the Square). Due to a certain proportion of permanent residents, space at Elsewhere Square is limited, but rooms are en suite, and its position is convenient for all campus locations.

(At every junction and intersections, we carve symbols into the wall, and the freshers quickly learn their meanings. You have gone too far, they say, turn back and do not continue. Your rooms are behind you, and you are in unfriendly territory. The unwise head deeper into the building, finding corridors which narrow abruptly into squeeze-bys and stairs which descend below the ground floor. The corridors beyond warp as cheap plasterboard gives way to bare limestone rock, forcing those who descend to twist and contort themselves to pass. No one has ever failed to return from the depths of Elsewhere Square, but no one who ventures there returns unchanged)

Taliesin House

A rare survivor from Elsewhere University’s earliest days, this Romantic-styled house lies on the edge of campus between the Lake and the playing fields, offering pleasant verdant surroundings and easy access to the Sports Centrer for students in sports science courses. The Residents’ Assistants run a lively calendar of events, including socials at the spring and autumn equinox, as well as the summer and winter solstice fairs, as well as a poetry competition in the first week of August. The nearby forests are private property of the Dean’s House, and the Accommodation Office must stress in the strongest language the need for students to stay out of the forest, on pain of expulsion and a permanent mark against their academic record.

(The sports societies love Samhain. They spend all night cheering, drinking to excess, dancing around the ceremonial bonfire that campus security tacitly agrees to ignore. One of the RA’s wears a pair of stag’s antlers, and in the darkness you have a fanciful moment where you imagine they are sprouting directly from his head. Then two drunken members of the girl’s rugby team stumble into the forest together, and a carynx horn bellows through the night. Everyone is inside by the time they hear the thundering of hooves and the baying of the black dogs)

Your RA Suggests:

Residents are requested to keep communal spaces (such as kitchens and bathrooms) clean and tidy, although everyone makes an exception for salt spills.

We suggest you bring only cast iron kitchenware to Elsewhere University. If you can’t get any prior to arrival, remember that the Accommodation Office holds a Lost and Found sale during Fresher’s Week.

While Elsewhere University Campus Security prides itself on its effectiveness, the Accommodation Office must formally issue a warning to all students to avoid unfamiliar individuals, particularly at night and during periods of lunar occlusion. Watch your friends closely.

Campus traditions may seem quaint to you, but it is worth remembering that what appears to be random superstition to you represents hard-won knowledge for others. If you don’t want to participate in seriousness, then at least participate with a sense of fun.

Most importantly, remember that your accommodation is your home, and you should never feel out of place or uncomfortable in your own home.

(Fairies are real, words have power, your home is only as safe as you make it)

(AN: The Ziggurat, the Towers, and Elsewhere Square are direct references to existing accommodation at University of East Anglia and University of Essex)

[J]

my pals on the lancecord asked me for some tips on cuban spanish so i thought i’d share them here too for all you lance writers. i’m a cuban voltron fan who doesnt want to live in fear of bad spanish in nearly every damn fic and im trying to be the change i want to see in the world. so feel free to message me if you have any questions about lance’s culture bc this is nowhere near being comprehensive at all.

lets get into the stuff google translate can’t teach u!

i don’t know anyone under the age of 60 who says “dios mio.” lance definitely would not, unless he is doing an impression of his abuela.

things that sound more natural than dios mio: ave maria, ay dios, por dios, AY POR DIOS

more commonly we exclaim “coño!” for anything. shock/anger/awe/etc. if the reaction is negative, it’s just coño. if the reaction is positive, we drop the first syllable and draw it out like “‘ñoooooo”

we exclaim “pinga!” or “cojone!” or “pinga cojone!” as a negative reaction more commonly than any translations of omg too

“de madre” is something we usually exclaim as a negative reaction. it can be yelled or sighed or grumbled. usually has a frustrated or incredulous connotation

“wepa!” is a sound we make as a positive exclamation.

we say “‘ueno” like the verbal embodiment of ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ (it’s bueno with the b dropped)


other things that sound really stiff for cubans to say is like, “hola, como estas?” i mean, you say it to people you’re not on a casual level with. to friends/family these sound more natural:

“que bola asere” is how we greet our close friends

“que bola” or “que vuelta” is how we say hey

“oye” is hey! but not as a greeting, as an exclamation. something you would say before a greeting or on its own when surprised/offended/trying to get someone’s attention/etc

common insults: cabron/cabrona, mojon, comepinga, comemierda

common pet names for anyone: flaco, nena, mojon, mi socio, corazon

“asere” is our word for “bro” that no other country uses (1000% what lance calls hunk)

we also have a tendency to call our family members by their relation+their name, such as “my Tio Jimmy called” or “Abuela Carmen is making food.” i think this is when we have big ol families and just saying tio or abuela isnt specific enough


also this isnt spanish but i s2g so many bilingual cubans i know use the word “fire” almost constantly to describe something awesome. so i think thats a small cultural thing that communicates lance is cuban without having him speak spanish. (ex. “omg that’s fire” “hunk makes fire tacos” “pidge is fire at fixing stuff” “can you play that fire song?”)


now here’s a bunch of stuff that’s just my opinion

  • I think it’s most in character for Lance to drop Spanish words only one or two at a time into English phrases, since that’s how he uses it in canon (“Hasta la later, Keith!”). A couple of quick examples off the top of my head -
    • tremendo/tremenda - an adjective for huge. “You’re being tremendo sore loser, but okay.”
    • todito/todo - means everything. you can use them one after the other for extra drama. “I forgot todito, todo, about calculus immediately after passing it.”
    • These sound like really natural ways to drop Spanish into conversation without being forced if you keep it to a minimum. I aint here to tell u how to write your lance but i beg you - Please show restraint and don’t try to use all of these tips at the same time!!
  • I recommend following latin internet personalities (like jaxxgarcia or mr. red) to pick up their Spanglish phrasing if you’re really into that. please don’t try to make up your own. it’s never as cute as you thought.
  • if you’re writing full on spanish for more than a word or two, please do not ever make Lance speak it “accidentally” (or even worse, on purpose) to someone he knows doesn’t understand the language. that’s really rude and alienating and it’s so against lance’s character to isolate himself from others like that when he speaks fluent english. 
  • other times Lance can toss a spanish word in without sounding forced is if he’s namedropping cuban things! Try looking up some of our 
    • food (ropa vieja, pan con lechon, arroz con leche)
    • drinks (materva, iron beer, malta), 
    • films (juan of the dead, azucar amarga)
    • or music (celia cruz, marc anthony, juanes*) and have lance mention them by their spanish name if the topic comes up. 
      • *not all of these musicians are cuban, but they’re some of the most popular amongst us. i’m simply naming artists i think lance is most likely to enjoy considering his age and personality.
  • speaking of music, we have very specific dance styles that are pretty cool and almost mandatory to learn at a young age. cubans in general love to party, and to host large family gatherings which easily morph into parties, and basically any social event seems awkward if there’s no one dancing at any point. 
  • what I’m trying to say is Lance definitely knows salsa or merengue moves.
  • I don’t love to party and I’m not a good dancer and I don’t like dancing, but I know salsa anyway because I had to be in the environment my whole life. always exceptions, but the majority of cubans grow up knowing how to dance and it looks more or less like this:

and one last opinion for the road:

Voltron takes place in the future, so I like to dream of Lance being born in a world where Cuba’s free from communism. If you’re doing a Voltron AU that takes place nowadays, please don’t write about Lance’s experience in Cuba if you aren’t familiar with what it’s like to live under a regime like that. It’s very bleak and textbooks don’t cover half of the fucked up things that those who live there actually have to go through.

Lance could have been born in Cuba, but raised somewhere else. Miami would be my recommendation because it’s our second homeland and it means he would have been raised surrounded by Cuban culture without the governmental oppression. But Cubans are absolutely everywhere, so it’s equally believable that Lance’s family could have immigrated to Pawnee, Indiana. Even in Voltron canon, I think it’s likely Lance moved to America at a young age because he clearly has a native fluency in English.

the-queen-sees-all  asked:

I was wondering, what if Harry and Hermione had met before Hogwarts?

The first time Harry Potter met Hermione Granger, she was standing with her chin up and her hands on her hips a few paces from the old olive tree in the schoolyard, glaring into the far distance. The wind was trying to twist and buffet her hair into her face, but mostly it was just tangling cheerfully with itself.

Dudley and Piers were busy kicking all the other kids off the play structure, so Harry had retreated out into the grass. He stood a safe distance from the weird girl who was pretending to be a statue and thought wistfully of lunch.

“There’s a fallen bird’s nest,” the girl said in a rapid and certain tumble of syllables. “The boys knocked it out of the tree, but I chased them off and I’m hoping the mama bird comes back. I’m Hermione Granger. We just moved here.”

“Harry,” he said.

“How’d you get that scar?” she said.

“Car accident.”

“That’s a weird scar for a car accident.”

Harry shrugged. “It killed my parents.”

She blinked quickly at him and even at that distance he wished vaguely that she wore glasses, too, because her gaze was something that really felt like it should have some built-in bluntedness. “Mine are dentists. Mum’s taking me to the library after school, want to come?”

-

Before they went into Diagon Alley, Harry asked Hagrid if they could find a payphone. Hermione picked up on the first ring.

“Harry! Where have you been? I’ve been trying and trying to call–”

“Sorry, yeah. Um, so, I’m not coming back to school next year, I…” Harry drifted off, staring at Hagrid’s massive moleskin shoulders. The giant man saw him looking and gave him a tentatively cheerful little wave. “It’s been weird, Herm.” He pressed his forehead into the phone stand, but not too hard. “I think you’re the only thing I’m really going to miss.”

“Harry,” Hermione said and Harry started to frown, because that wasn’t her stern and startled voice. That was the voice that meant she was off down a charging war path of other thought and might not have heard him at all. “I’ve been reading.”

“Of course you’ve been reading,” he said. “I’ve been being forcibly hidden from a swarm of post office owls–”

“You’re in books,” she said in breathless delight, squeaking over the telephone line. “First thing we did, of course, after the professor explained, was get her to escort us to a bookstore– a whole bibliography, Harry, a whole world’s bibliography I haven’t even touched– how am I ever going to–” She took in a little calming breath, and murmured, “Different infinities, it’s okay, Hermione, okay.” A sharp exhale and then she tumbled right back into her rushing rivelet of a sentence. “And I picked up a good dozen, besides the school books, of course, and Harry, you’re in books, in Dark Wizardwork of This Century and A Modern Wizards’ History and October’s End: A Biography–”

“Hermione,” said Harry with slow enunciation. “Are you a wizard, too?”

“A witch, I think,” she said. “But I’m still reading up on the sociology of it all.”

-

Hagrid wouldn’t say Voldemort’s name, but Hermione would. She came over with a stack of books up to her chin, gave the Dursleys her normal pointed little stare that said she’d like to set them a little on fire, and curled up in his cupboard with him.

He supposed she probably could learn how to set them on fire, now, if she really wanted to.

She gave him passages and excerpts with his name in them, with his parents’ names, a home he hadn’t known. There were pictures of a ruined house with the smoke drifting in little curls of ink. There was his mother, smiling and waving in black and white. There was his mother, laid out on the floor, with a sober little caption below it. That picture was still, except for curtains fluttering in the window.

Hermione finally dragged her face far enough up from the pages to see Harry holding his own hand very tightly, and then she closed the book and reached for one about which magical creatures you should pet and which you shouldn’t.

“Sorry,” she said.

“I wanted to know.”

“I’m still sorry.”

-

The Grangers drove Harry, Hermione, Hedwig, and their trunks to King’s Cross Station. Mrs. Granger kissed the top of Hermione’s head while Mr. Granger mussed Harry’s mop of dark hair affectionately, and then they swapped children and repeated the treatment. Hermione pushed her hair back out of her face and marched them all to Platform 9 ¾, the entrance mechanism of which she had read all about.

“Before you go,” Mrs. Granger said, “let’s buy you some sandwiches? I don’t know what sort of food they’ll have past that–”

“There’s a trolley,” Hermione said, but her parents dragged them off to a snack kiosk anyway, Harry happily in tow.

As they were on Hermione’s tight schedule, there were plenty of compartments open, and they took one all to themselves– well, to themselves, Hedwig, and Hermione’s books, which took up two seats. (Harry would wheedle Hagrid into taking him to Diagon Alley for Christmas shopping that year, where he would get Hermione a carry-all bag for her small personal library.)

Hermione took a long preparatory breath while Harry unwrapped his sandwich. “Harry? What if I go and sit down under the Hat and I just sit and sit there, and then it says I’m not a witch at all?” Hermione said, the words getting more squashed together and higher-pitched as she went. “I’m not magic, it just got confused, and they send me home? Harry, I don’t want to be a dentist. Other people’s mouths are disgusting–”

“You’re not going to get kicked out,” Harry said, chewing amiably on his sandwich. It was not good, but the Dursleys hadn’t bothered with any breakfast for him and he hadn’t wanted to bother the Grangers about it either. It was a bit dry on the way down, but it settled warmly in his belly.

“But what if I do?”

“I’ll stage a protest,” said Harry. “Refuse to do my homework til they reinstate you.”

“You’re not going to do your homework anyway.”

“See how dedicated I am to you.”

She made a dismissive little noise at him, wringing her hands in her lap.

“Hermione,” he said, and she lifted her bush of hair to look at him. “You’re the most magical person I know. It’s gonna be alright.”

She gave a long slow blink but whatever she might have said was interrupted by an uneven knock at the door. “Um,” said the pudgy boy standing there. “I’ve lost my toad.”

Hermione leapt to her feet. “Where did you see him last?”

Harry followed in the wake of her forward charge, but he brought the rest of his sandwich with him.

-

(Harry did not know this and would not know this until Mrs. Granger mentioned it casually over a Christmas dinner years and years later– but she and Mr. Granger reported the Dursleys for child abuse and neglect, over and over.

The reports got lost– minds scrubbed down, papers vanished– but they kept calling in reports. They considered kidnapping. They couldn’t imagine why the wizarding world might want to keep their chosen one somewhere so toxic, why they might want to keep this underfed child and his messy hair with those people.

“My mother left me a blood protection spell,” said Harry, whose scar had not ached in years. He poked at his mashed potatoes under the focused attention of Mrs. Granger’s stern little forehead wrinkle. “I had to live with family, blood family.”

“Then they should have made them treat you right,” Mrs. Granger said, as though it was that simple.

Mr. Granger gave Harry another helping of peas.)

-

On the steps of Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy thrust out his hand to the Boy Who Lived, who surveyed the open palm with amusement. “Thanks,” said Harry. “But I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself.”

The redheaded, freckly, hand-me-down clothes boy Malfoy had been bothering snorted. Harry slipped his hands into his pockets.

“You’re the kid with the rat from the train,” Hermione said. “And the spell that didn’t work.”

“It was a cool rhyme anyway, though,” Harry said. “Hi, I’m Harry, this is Hermione.”

“Yeah, she said, then. I’m Ron– uh, Ron Weasley.”

“Yeah, he said,” Harry said, rolling his eyes Malfoy’s direction. “Come on, you wanna stand with us? Hermione will tell you about the ceiling.”

“It’s enchanted!” said Hermione.

-

When Hermione founded SPHEW, Harry was not surprised. He had spent too many schoolyard days escorting spiders to safe spaces, keeping vigil over fallen bird’s nests, and watching Hermione stand up on her desk chair in heated pitched verbal battles with teachers. She’d driven at least two teachers to tears and taught most of them at least a few new vocabulary words.

-

Over summers and holidays, Harry and Hermione took Ron to the movies, to the seashore, to Hermione’s top three favorite libraries. Hermione’s Aunt Meg taught them how to whittle under a cloud of cigarette smoke that clung to Harry’s hair until he washed it out.

In this life, there were things in the Muggle world that Harry missed, that he wanted to see again. He loved Hogwarts, and he nominally went home to the Dursleys each summer, but he knew he always had a bed at the Grangers’. He knew the weird system they used to organize the books on their shelves. He’d pass Mrs. Granger the marmalade in mornings before she had to ask. He got free dental check-ups all his life, which was good because the Dursleys rarely bothered taking him into the dentist.

The whole Granger family tore apart newspapers every morning, calling article excerpts across the table and pointing each other to their favorite journalists. Before Hermione even first stepped onto Hogwarts grounds she got a subscription to the Daily Prophet. During Harry’s fourth year, Mr. and Mrs. Granger got Arthur Weasley to buy them an owl and then began an unending campaign of furious letters to the editor that never got published.

-

In a crumbling boat shed, Severus Snape died, but first he pressed a shining bundle of memory into Harry’s hands.

The fight was still going– Neville newly broad and certain; Luna whipping out quiet, barbed little curses; Ginny charging like an army in and of herself. Hermione had her arms full of basilisk fangs. Ron was moving people like bishops and knights. But Harry had a long damp walk before him, so he had time to wade through that life not his own.

Severus had been a lot of things– one of them was in love. Harry dragged his feet through forest mulch, seeing a little redheaded girl in sunlight, hands not his own offering her transformed flowers. It had been just them for so long. For Severus, for so long, there had been no one but him and Lily.

Even in Hogwarts, Severus had drifted through the classrooms and common room and library. He had believed in magic, in the cool slide of good knives through dried roots, and in Lily– always, always in Lily– Lily in sunlight, Lily chewing on her thumbnail over Transfiguration homework, Lily flicking soapsuds at him in her kitchen at home over summer, Lily pig-tailed and seven, wide-eyed as he showed her the first magic she’d ever seen, a leaf to a flower, a bit of sunlight to a bit of fire.

He had loved, and it had been a real thing. He had fucked up, and it had been a real thing, that heartbreak, that regret.

When Harry turned the Stone in his hand and saw his mother step into pseudo-life in that forest clearing, he thought I wish I’d known you. He thought about how she was in sepia and gray, here, just like in the pictures in the pages of Hermione’s books.

But he was also thinking about Severus. He was remembering Lily in sunlight, remembering her walking away, remembering her in that same cold photographed sprawl but in color–in grief–in bruised knees and heaving gasps.

Severus had been the first to find Lily’s body and it had felt like someone had cut the sunlight out of him. Harry was living through that grief, but he was also living through the wail of the child crying unacknowledged. His tiny pudgy hands were wrapped around the guardrail of his crib.

Harry was thinking about a girl standing in a field like a statue, hands on hips. He was thinking about Hermione’s raised hand ignored in Potions, or the way Snape had sneered that he didn’t see a difference in her cursed teeth. Love had made him brave, perhaps. It had killed him, but it had not made Severus good.

Harry wondered if his mother would have escorted spiders to safe places, if she would have stood guard over fallen bird’s nests, if she had worried herself to pieces that first time on the Hogwarts Express about the Hat telling her she didn’t really belong.

“I wish I’d known you,” he told the specter of Lily Potter. He held his own hands tight.

For Harry, for so long, there had been no one but him and Hermione. Even in Hogwarts, there were things only she would understand– parking meters, the cobweb ceiling of his cupboard, the silence of marmalade at breakfast. Harry believed in magic and he believed Hermione Granger was the most magical thing he knew.

“They’ll be alright,” he said. “I’ll be alright. I was alright, mum. I wish I’d known you– but I wasn’t alone.” He squeezed his hands tighter– Hermione showing him her favorite spots in her favorite libraries; Ron shyly showing them the Burrow like it was anything less than a magnificent masterpiece of warm rooms and patchwork architecture; Hermione standing in the field like a statue, bushy-haired and seven years old, jaw set. “She wasn’t alone, either,” he said. “And she’ll be alright. Ron will be alright. I have to do this, don’t I?”

“We are so proud of you,” Lily said.

“Thanks,” said Harry. “Sorry,” said Harry, and wondered if Hermione was going to be able to read the little passages and excerpts with his name in them, with those un-moving pictures and the sober captions underneath.

He dropped the Stone.

-

When Harry Potter died for the first time, crumpled in forest mulch, he didn’t go to a squeaky clean King’s Cross Station. There were no crescent moon glasses to twinkle kindly at him.

He stood under an old olive tree and a little girl looked up at him with those eyes that needed shielding, needed blunting, needed a manufacturer’s warning. “A wind’s coming,” she said. “You can just go. It will be easy.”

He stood outside Diagon Alley, a Muggle payphone tucked between his shoulder and ear. “You’re in books,” she said, with a breathlessness he’d barely heard for years. There had been too much weight on his shoulders, on hers. “You’re done,” she said. “You’ve done enough. Go on, tap three bricks up and two to the left.”

He stood in Godric’s Hollow, in the snow, holding her hand, looking at the ruined house. “You should have had this,” she said. She was seven and small, not nineteen and weary like she had been in life. The sky was overcast but there was sunlight glinting in her hair. “You can still have this. You can have everything.”

“You’re not real,” Harry said.

“But you are,” she said. “There’s a wind coming. It will be easy.”

“You’ve never done anything easy in your life,” he said.

She took both his hands– hers were so small against his grown fingers, his broad palms, and how had they done everything with hands that small? Basilisks and werewolves; shouting down teachers from atop desk chairs.

Harry was sitting in his cupboard in the light of its single bulb and he was too big for this space, his shoulders curling forward, his head bowing. She was standing there with sunlight still in her hair and her arms piled high with books. “You don’t belong here,” she said. “It will hurt. You won’t fit, if you go back. Everything can be easy. Everything can be fine. It doesn’t have to hurt, ever again.”

“Hermione,” he said and leaned forward, put his hands on her hands where they were gripping her books. “It’ll be alright.” He smiled and she was staring at him with those eyes, those goddamn eyes. “We never fit, remember?”

“We tried,” she said and Harry squeezed her small hands gently.

“Send me back,” he said. “I want to go home.”

-

After the battle, as Hogwarts rang with frantic healing, crushing grief, and raging celebration, the three of them retreated to the library. Hermione hauled them down narrow aisles until she found her favorite tucked-away nook and they all collapsed on sagging sofas that seemed to not have been touched at all by the war.

“Well,” said Hermione. “What now?”

Ron let his head flop back against the seat, hair tumbling all over his pale forehead. “I’m going to nap,” he said. “For a month.”

“That’s not physiologically possible,” said Hermione. “Or if it is, then it’d be a coma.”

“It’s a metaphor,” Ron said, then: “no, wait, a hyperbole.” Hermione beamed at him. He blushed a little and elbowed her gently.

“After this, you’ll be in books, you know,” Harry told her.

“Not– I mean–” Hermione rubbed at her nose furiously. Ron laughed enough to wake up and sit up, throwing an arm around her shoulders.

While Ron came up with outlandish titles for Hermione’s eventual many biographies, Harry pulled his feet up onto the sofa. He watched the candles float quietly between the shelves.

i love how sana’s season seems to tie in with the underlying disfunctionalities of friendships. from s1 julie always emphasised how she wanted to focus on teenage girls and their problems so she slowly established the girl squad who for the most part seemed to have this admirably strong bond, the girls were supportive of each other when they had boy or school or family troubles… but now that we see it all play out from sana’s pov we suddenly become aware of all the cracks, all the miscommunication, the constant little hurts that words/simply being ignorant/not paying attention to someone’s reactions to your comments can cause.

in the previous seasons we might’ve assumed that sana sometimes felt excluded but now we see just how much they don’t know about her private life. she had always come off as a girl who can’t be fucked with, a girl that is not phased by ugly comments or harrassment (the text on her locker) and who always has a comeback and can shake off any mistreatment easily. but now that we see the close-ups of her, there’s the sadness and the distance and those walls that never fully come down and how she needs to put back the brave/unbothered expression on her face every time vilde makes an ignorant comment or the girls plan an activity/order some food that doesn’t take sana’s religion into account and it must feel like a little cut that won’t kill you but makes you bleed. it’s the constant sores that you have to live with but sometimes new ones catch you unaware… 

sana is so estranged from the other girls that she’s probably never brought them home, never talked about about her brother in detail, likely never talked about her religion with them and certainly never brought up how she finds all of these little things that occur daily so hurtful. i’m sure we’ll get there. i’m sure julie intends to show us that there’s only so much a person can take without breaking down/snapping/retaliating eventually. i hope we’ll see sana making them aware that inaction or assumptions/being inconsiderate are just as hurtful as straight out attacks on a person/their religion.

and we can also see that there’re many layers to friendships and even though the girl squad’s friendship may have seemed like a well functioning one at first glance, we now have an insight that noora makes up lies to get out of group activities, maybe bc she knows the topic of william will be discussed or she’s depressed bc of william, deep down she knows it’s over between them and the girls make it quite clear they want her to get over william. but she’s just not ready to move on and feels like she can’t talk to them about him. there’s always the offers from vilde or eva that they could set her up with someone, like being alone was unhealthy, like she failed somehow with william.

i’m sure the other girls also hurt. chris must hate how easily the others dismissed her breakup with casper, how they never bothered to ask what happened. just bc she tries to be a positive person doesn’t mean she never gets hurt when her relationship is taken as a joke or how awful chris feels when vilde looks in the mirror and exclaims how fat she looks and even though she knows the comment is rooted in vilde’s body dysmorphia it still feels like it’s an indirect criticism of her body… 

we also know vilde basically got together with magnus bc of the others’ comments on how she was not getting any dick and who knows how triggering she finds it when noora reminds her of her eating disorder by pointing out something she eats (even if it’s just an ‘i’m proud of you’), it makes her question whether she should’ve eaten it or was it a jab that she’s eating too much? 

or how eva hates the thought of jonas hooking up with any of the girls (yes, she’s over him but still, no) or how they sometimes jokingly say she has an alcohol problem, and yes, sometimes she gets that feeling that she’s being judged for being promiscuous. these may all seem like small things but they hurt

and then there’s sana who feels like an outsider in basically all areas of life except for maybe school (but even then it’s not the same for her - gym class sucks; she still gets the odd looks for wearing a different outfit). it’s the conversations about physicality with boys, it’s the food (’that pork with apples was delicious the other day’), it’s the parties where she’s the only one not drinking/smoking if noora is not there, it’s how they arrange to meet right when it’s prayer time for her and she never points it out to them, it’s the assumptions about her religion/family/values that she’s long stopped trying to correct… the list is endless.

so i really hope julie will educate us about many ways there are to be misunderstood, how to be better and more supportive friends, how not to dismiss the intricacies of every culture and religion, how to live and let live and be considerate and celebrate differences.

A Lesson in Love (The Discovery)

Summary: (College!AU) In which you’re assigned to write a story about romance, a subject you know nothing about, and Bucky, a hopeless romantic, offers you his assistance.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 3,298

A/N: The tag list for this story is officially CLOSED.

“A Lesson in Love” Masterlist + Soundtrack

@avengerstories - Thank you for putting up with me for almost a month and listening to me constantly complain about not being able to get this part written. I adore you. Always.

Originally posted by softtroublemaker

“Bucky wants to talk to you.”

You know that the earth never stops moving; it’s constantly in motion. Constantly making its trip around the sun. But the moment Steve says Bucky’s name, you swear that everything comes to a standstill. It’s the only way to explain how everything around you becomes muted. How you’re seeing Steve as if he were standing on the opposing side of a tunnel and how the pressure of Sam’s arm on your shoulder vanishes.

Over the past twenty-two days, you’ve convinced yourself that the story of you and Bucky was not meant to be. In your mind, he left and closed the door on the potential of there ever being an ending where you and him were together.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

You should write some mute lance, whether its him having been mute in the past, being a selective mute, being injured and becoming mute, or straight up not talking anymore, i think you'd write it well

Okay!! 

I kinda went on my own here, Whoops

On contrary to belief Lance didn’t like to talk. Well scratch that, he loved talking but he didn’t like to be talked over. Everytime he was talked over he immediately clamped up and he felt a lump form in his throat. Being the youngest in his family only lead to Lance being talked over constantly. 

It wasn’t uncommon for Lance to stop telling a story because everyone started a different conversation. It wasn’t uncommon for Lance to never finish a thought because someone would constantly interrupt him. 

Lance wasn’t a fighter so when this happened he would just clamp his mouth shut and listen to what the other person had to say, because it was obviously more important. 

Lance found himself talking less and less around his parents, siblings, and classmates. Nobody ever commented on Lance’s new quietness so Lance had no reason to start talking again. Lance would go days without saying anything to anyone. He communicated through shrugs and nods. 

Why should I talk, everyone is happier when I don’t. 

-

Fast forward to the Garrison when Lance met his roommate Hunk. Hunk wasn’t loud but he wasn’t quiet either. Sometimes Lance didn’t even hear him enter the room while other days Lance would hear him hallways away.  He liked Hunk, Hunk never pressured him to talk, Hunk just kept him company throughout their days. 

Hunk would ramble about projects he was working on and homework and Lance would listen quietly. It didn’t even dawn on Lance that he had never said anything to Hunk before in his life. 

They were both in their room, Lance on his bed reading a book while Hunk was laying on the floor building something. 

“Dang it, these wires all look the same, I can never tell them apart.” Hunk ran his hands through his hair in annoyance. 

Lance looked at his distressed roommate and looked down at his book. “Why don’t you put colored tape around the different wires.” Lance’s voice slightly cracked due to the lack of use and Hunk screamed. Not like a small scream but like ‘help someone is getting stabbed scream.’ 

Lance jumped causing is book to fly across his bed and he stared at Hunk who was staring at Lance his hands over his mouth. 

Lance swallowed around a small lump that was forming at the base of his throat. He inhaled “Sorry I didn’t mean to…scare you?” Lance wasn’t sure what he did wrong exactly. 

Hunk blinked a few times and slowly removed his hands from his mouth. His breathing started to slow down as he continued to stare at Lance. 

Lance started to shift where he sat. Why he is just staring at me? Lance was about to bolt out of the room but Hunk regained his bearings before he moved. 

“I’m sorry for screaming! You just have never talked before and I thought you were mute or something. Then you just spoke and I got scared. Like I wasn’t expecting that at all.” Hunk inhaled until his lungs ached “Sorry I’m rambling.” 

Lance smiled at his roommate “Hunk you ramble all the time, I’m used to it.”

Hunk started to laugh and before Lance knew it he was laughing with Hunk. They only stopped when they heard a knock on their door. 

“Officer Davis, opened the door. We have a complaint of a noise disturbance.”

Hunk and Lance shared a look and started laughing and Hunk went to open the door. 

-

Hunk and Lance became best friends within a week. They had shared everything with each other, and Hunk didn’t interrupt Lance once when he was talking. If he accidently did he would apologize immediately and beg Lance to continue what he was saying. 

Lance started to love talking again. 

-

The only time Lance would have trouble talking would be when he came back from a break. When Lance was around his family long enough he would clamp up again, but slowly Hunk would bring him back out of his shell. 

-

Hunk could only do so much and sometimes it wasn’t enough. They had just saved a planet from the Galra and they were all meeting up with the leader. 

Now Lance didn’t usually talk during diplomatic missions but he felt obligated to speak up when it concerned him. The leader was discussing how helpful the blue lion was and how it help save the planet. 

“You must tell me Blue paladin, how does the ice work?” The leader placed his (hand?) tentacle on Lance’s shoulder. 

“Well you see, Blue and I ha-” 

“That’s interesting but like was it just the lion acting on their own?”

“Kinda, you see I have to put my bay-”

“So are you not needed to fly Blue? If she does all the work what do you do?”

“Well I have to fly he-”

“But they are magic lions, surely they can fly on their own.” 

Lance opened his mouth to respond but slammed it shut before any words were formed. Then Lance did what he did best, he shrugged. That was all he did. 

The leader looked at him a bit skeptical before nodding “So how does the ice get formed?” 

Lance shrugged again. He kept his eyes directly on the leader and his lips sealed. Lance was nudged by Shiro, he didn’t care he wasn’t going to talk. He looked at the leader one more time before walking towards Blue and flew back to the castle. 

-

Lance didn’t bounce back like Hunk prayed he would. It had been about 2 weeks since the last time he said anything. He just shrugged and nodded. Never even opening his mouth except to eat. The castle was quieter than any of them wanted it to be. Mealtimes were filled with force conversation and Lance scarfing down his food in order to leave. 

Even during missions Lance wouldn’t say anything, Blue would send the other lions messages so everyone knew that things were going well but Lance never talked. 

When they met new species Lance would stand in the background silently, just watching everyone. 

Hunk tried his hardest. He would talk about things he knew Lance liked, but Lance would just smile and pat him on the back and walk away. 

The team couldn’t get Lance to talk, and they tried. They did everything they could but Lance would just sit in silence. He didn’t even talk to Coran, and that broke the older man heart. 

-

The paladins were hosting a party in the castle with about 7 species from different planets. They all worked together and received a huge win. 

Everyone was talking and enjoying the party and Lance was standing by the wall sipping his drink. He watched a boy, around his age, walk towards him. 

His arms and neck were covered in tattoos and he has pointy ears with piercing all over his body. His skin was a soft blue and his hair was a bright red. He smiled at Lance and stood by him. 

The boy thanked Lance for saving his planet, and of course Lance caught onto his flirting techniques. 

Lance laughed, like a real laugh. The first laugh in weeks maybe months. It echoed through the room and every paladin heard it. They attempted not to make it obvious but they were all listening to see if Lance would do anything more. 

Lance, who was completely oblivious to what his teammates were doing, stuck his hand out to the boy. “The names Lance.” 

Self-Projecting? Do I Know Her? 

Hell yeah I was self-projecting. 

I’m basically how I write Lance XD 

I hope you like it!

Sorry it took so long!!

Thank you for this!

Btw give it up for my bisexual son ❤💜💙

Your hands are Really Nice- Jughead Jones

Pairing: Jughead x Reader

Description: (requested) Reader is too shy to tell Jughead about her feelings, so Veonica and Betty take matters in to their own hands (mostly Veronica)

Warnings: Swears, fluff so much fluff I couldn’t even deAL

————————————————————————————-


Being in love with your best friend isn’t easy. It feels taboo, like it’s wrong, and unhealthy. You’ll lay awake at ungodly hours of the night, wondering “How did this happen?” You’ll replay every moment of every waking minute you spent with them, wondering how in the world you ended up lying on your floor with an empty bowl of ramen beside your head and imagining what it would feel like to kiss them. You’ll catch yourself admiring the tiniest insignificant things about them, and every detail of their stupidly cute face, and every indent and curve and freckle on their body, and let me tell you, it sucks. Falling in love with your best friend isn’t easy, especially when your best friend is Jughead Jones.


Keep reading

epikegster 2k14 “Oh” au
  • in an au where parse never showed up to epikegster, i like to think jack had his “oh” moment in the hazy dark of that cold, loud winter night
  • (like, what could be more different than graduation? in the warm, bright day, scared but certain of his immediate future, speaking to his father in soft french while bells and birds sing overhead?)
  • it’s a different kind of “oh” – it’s not one last shot before everything changes, it’s one more layer of confusion and uncertainty as he enters his final semester at samwell
  • but it’s also…comforting.

Keep reading

Ever Since New York

Originally posted by riverdaleselite

Check the Ever Since New York Masterlist for series updates!

Pairing: Jughead x Reader

Description: After his junior year, Jughead goes to New York for a writing internship.  

Warnings: some swearing, you might cry

Word count: 4,574

A/N: umm first of all thank you for 7000 followers?? holy crap. anywho wowowow this is by far the longest thing I’ve ever written. It’s based off of the song “Ever Since New York” from Harry Styles’s album (which I love btw).  This is probably my favorite thing I’ve ever written tbh. Hope you all enjoy!


Tell me something, tell me something
You don’t know nothing, just pretend you do

After years of saving the money he earned at the Twilight Drive-In and other odd jobs, Jughead finally had enough to buy a plane ticket to New York.  He had discovered a writing internship there that he knew he had to do. It didn’t take much effort to convince his dad to allow him to go; in fact, FP even offered to pitch in some money. Jughead refused, claiming that he wanted to do this all on his own.  He wanted to deserve this internship as much as possible.

He started talking to Veronica frequently, asking her about her time in New York.  She, of course, gladly answered all of Jughead’s questions.  She was glad to finally bond with her boyfriend’s best friend.  

Jughead also pestered Betty with questions, seeing as she had done an internship similar to his two summers ago.  It was a bit awkward at first, since the two of them used to date.  However, they both got over their awkwardness for the sake of preparing Jughead for his internship.

“It’s really amazing,” Betty told him.  “It’s a great experience, and you’ll learn so much.”

“What are other people like?” Jughead inquired.  “Are they pricks?”

“Sometimes,” Betty laughed. “It depends.  Do you know how many other people are participating in the internship?”

“Just one,” he answered, shrugging.  “I don’t know who it is though.”

“Well, if they’re a jerk then that’s gonna suck,” she offered.  “But if they’re nice, they may become one of the closest friends you’ll ever have.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Betty replied and nodded.  “You’re gonna spend all summer with this other person.  They’re either gonna drive you up the wall or become your new best friend.”

I need something, tell me something new
Choose your words, ‘cause there’s no antidote
For this curse, oh, what’s it waiting for?
Must this hurt you just before you go?

“Have fun in New York, Jug.” FP patted his son on the back as they stood at the airport gate.  Betty, Veronica, Archie, Fred Andrews, and Kevin stood behind FP, all wearing supportive smiles.  Jughead glanced around at the group who followed him to the airport, filled with admiration of his friends and family.

“Thank you guys,” he said, fighting back a giant grin.  “You didn’t all have to come, though.”

“Of course we did,” Fred Andrews argued.  “We’re not gonna see you all summer, Jughead.  We have to give you a proper send-off.”

“Well, proper send-off achieved,” Jughead laughed.  He watched as others in the line began to move.  “I guess I should go now.  Thanks for this.  See you all in August.”  As he turned on his heel and walked away, the group of six gleefully waved at Jughead’s retreating figure.

“You aren’t worried about Jughead all alone in a giant city?” Fred asked FP as they exited the airport.

“Nah,” FP responded, waving his hand.  “He’s a smart kid, he’ll find his way.”

Oh, tell me something I don’t already know
Oh, tell me something I don’t already know

“Hi, I’m Jughead Jones,” he introduced himself at the front desk.  “I’m here for the writing internship.”

The lady sitting behind the desk glanced up at Jughead.  “Ah, yes! We’ve been expecting you, Mr. Jones!” she exclaimed, standing from her chair.

“Oh, am I late?” Jughead inquired.  

The lady shook her head. “Oh no, not at all.  Your counterpart just got here early, so we’ve been waiting for you to start.”

“My counterpart?”

“Miss (Y/N) (Y/L/N),” she gestured to a girl sitting on a chair against the wall, flipping through a magazine.  The girl perked up when she heard her name, and saw Jughead and the receptionist staring at her.

“Is this him?” (Y/N) questioned, standing up and setting the magazine down.  Jughead noticed it was a TIME magazine.  

“Yes,” the receptionist answered.  “(Y/N), this is Jughead Jones.”  Jughead stuck his hand out to shake, and (Y/N) firmly shook his hand.

“I hope you’re not an asshole,” she blatantly said as they released hands, “because we’re gonna be stuck with each other all summer.”

“I was thinking the same thing about you,” he quipped.  

(Y/N) raised her eyebrow in interest.  “Quick-witted,” she noted with a smirk forming on her face.  “I like it.”

“You better,” Jughead fired back, biting back a grin.  “Like you said, we’ll be around each other all summer.”

“If we were together any longer, I’d worry about you falling in love with me,” she jokingly warned. “So be careful.”

Brooklyn saw me, empty at the news
There’s no water inside this swimming pool

“When’d you get here?” (Y/N) asked as she and Jughead exited the building, their first day of the internship finished.

“Two days ago,” Jughead answered with his hands in his pockets.  “What about you?”

“Last week.”  Her pace was quick, and she seemed determined to get somewhere.  “Are you hungry?  Because I’m starving.”

“I would love some food,” Jughead almost moaned at the thought of food.  He was only able to scarf down a small lunch in the midst of the business.

“I know this great burger place,” (Y/N) explained as she led the way to the restaurant.  “It’ll make every other burger you’ve ever eaten seem like a pile of shit on a bun.”

“I doubt that,” Jughead scoffed.  “There’s a diner where I’m from that makes the best burgers you’ll ever eat.”

“Where are you from?”

“Riverdale,” he said. “Pop’s diner, that’s what it’s called. If you ever find yourself in Riverdale, stop by Pop’s.  Trust me, you’ll thank me.”

“Well we’re not in Riverdale right now, Jughead Jones,” (Y/N) reminded him.  “So you should thank your lucky stars that I am your counterpart, because I’ve been here for the past week. You know what I’ve been doing for that week?  Exploring, Jones.  I have tried and evaluated twenty-one restaurants, and I know where to go for whatever you’re craving.”

“What if I’m craving Korean food?” he quizzed.

“32nd street, there’s a great Korean grill,” she immediately responded.

“Ethiopian?”

“There’s a quaint little place on 135th street.”

“What if I want to get wasted?” Jughead smirked.

“There’s a club a couple of blocks away with shitty security,” (Y/N) answered with a smirk equally as wide.  “Or maybe I was just an exception, seeing as how attractive I am.”

“I think you overestimate yourself,” he scoffed, playfully rolling his eyes.  

(Y/N) lightly slapped him on the arm.  “I do not!” she retaliated.  

“Whatever, keep lying to yourself.”  Jughead quickened his pace, leaving (Y/N) behind him.

“Hey!” she called out, rushing to catch up to him.  “You better not leave me!  You don’t even know where you’re going.”

“You’re still here,” he noted, casually wrapping his arm around her shoulders.  “Lead the way, (Y/N).”

Almost over, had enough from you
And I’ve been praying, I never did before

“God, this food sucks,” (Y/N) whispered, gesturing towards the plates of Japanese food sitting in front of her and Jughead.  “That place we ate at last week was so much better.”

“True,” Jughead agreed with a mouthful of food.  “But this place is cheaper.”

“Rightfully so!” she exclaimed, jabbing at her tofu with a chopstick.  Jughead silently laughed and shook his head, continuing to eat his fried rice.  He watched as (Y/N) picked at her dish, examining each aspect of the meal.  

It had been three weeks since their internship had begun, and Jughead and (Y/N) quickly became close friends.  They bonded over the overwhelming amount of work at their internship and their food-discovering adventures.  Jughead didn’t know how he would’ve survived an entire summer in New York without (Y/N) by his side.  They even stayed at the same hotel, so during a sleepless night, one would wake the other and stay up all night talking.  On those nights, they would drink hot chocolate.

“I’ve got the check tonight, Jug,” (Y/N) said, snapping Jughead out of his thoughts as she took the bill from the waitress.  Jughead furiously shook his head.

“No, (Y/N), you got dinner yesterday,” he protested, reaching out towards the bill.  “I’ll cover it tonight.”

“You got lunch!” she exasperatedly exclaimed.  “I can handle it.  Dinner wasn’t even expensive last night or tonight.”  

Jughead huffed as the waitress returned and took (Y/N)’s money.  “Fine,” he pouted, “but we’re gonna go out for desert, and I’m paying for it.”

“Fine.”

“Ice cream?” Jughead offered, standing from his chair.  (Y/N) followed suit, and they exited the diner.  She slowly grabbed his hand, intertwining their fingers.

“I’m feeling frozen yogurt tonight,” she countered his offer, grinning up at him.

“What’s the difference?” Jughead playfully scoffed, trying not to blush at their hand-holding.  They had started doing it last week after he almost lost (Y/N) in a giant mass of people.

“I swear to God, Jug, you said the same thing last week, and I explicitly explained it to you.”  (Y/N) rolled her eyes.  “Ice cream is-”

“Made with cream, whereas frozen yogurt is a yogurt-based treat,” Jughead quoted what (Y/N) had told him last week.

“I knew you paid attention to me.”

Understand I’m talking to the walls
I’ve been praying ever since New York

In the middle of the night, the phone started ringing.  Jughead, still half-asleep, answered it with his eyes remaining shut.  

“You can come over,” he said, not waiting for the caller to initiate the conversation.

“Okay,” (Y/N)’s quiet voice responded, and she hung up.  A few moments later, a soft knock resonated through Jughead’s hotel room.  He rolled off of his bed, throwing on a t-shirt, and opened the door.  (Y/N) stood in the doorway, slightly shaking.  

“You cold?” Jughead murmured.  (Y/N) wordlessly nodded.  He gently grabbed her arm and led her inside, shutting the door behind them.  He stripped the blanket off from his bed and draped it over her shoulders, wrapping (Y/N) in the soft white material.  (Y/N) smiled up at him.

“Why do you put up with me?” she asked, sitting on his bed.  Jughead mimicked her actions and sat next to her.

“What do you mean?” he questioned, furrowing his eyebrows.

“How are you not sick of me?” she elaborated.  “I mean, we’ve been constantly hanging out for, what, a month and a half now?  You know if I’m annoying you, you can just tell me. I’ll back off.”

“Why would you annoy me?” he asked, slowly wrapping his arms around her waist and pulled her into his lap. “You’re the best part about this internship.”

“You’re full of shit.”

“I’m not,” Jughead lightly laughed, slightly nudging her.  “I’m serious, (Y/N).  Before I came, I was asking my friend Betty about internships.  She did one two years ago, so she knew what she was talking about. She told me that the people I’ll meet during this internship will either drive me up the wall or become one of my closest friends.”

“So I haven’t driven you up the wall?” (Y/N) inquired with a tentative smile.

“Of course not,” Jughead laughed loudly this time.  A moment of silence ensued, both (Y/N) and Jughead overwhelmed by sleepiness.

“Is Betty your girlfriend?” (Y/N) broke the silence, staring up at Jughead.

“No,” he muttered, brushing a strand of hair out of her face.  “She was,” he admitted, “but not anymore.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing bad,” he shrugged. “Sometimes things just don’t work out, you know?”

“Yeah,” (Y/N) muttered. “I had a boyfriend.”

“Really?  That’s shocking.”

“Shut up!” she whined, elbowing him.  “Yes, I had a boyfriend.  He was actually a total dickhead.”

“How?” Jughead asked, growing concerned.  

(Y/N) looked up at him and giggled.  “Oh, you’re worried,” she cooed, placing a hand on his chin.  Jughead swatted it away.

“Sue me,” he retorted, but then grew serious.  “But really, what happened?”

“Nothing bad,” she replied, facing away from Jughead.  “We were dating for a while, and… I don’t know.  He never really supported me in anything.  He wasn’t nice to any of my friends, and I didn’t notice for so long because I was so fucking smitten.  Eventually it hit me one day, and I realized that he was horrible.  So, naturally, I dumped him.”

“As one does,” Jughead nodded, nonchalantly tracing patterns on (Y/N)’s right arm with his thumb.  

(Y/N) slumped and sighed. “What time is it?”

Jughead glanced at the clock with its blaring, bright red numbers.  “Three o’clock.”

“Jesus,” she muttered, rubbing her eyes.  “I should… I should get back to my room.”  She jumped off the bed and trekked towards the door, her bare feet dragging on the carpet.

“Wait,” Jughead commanded, grabbing her arm.  “Don’t go, it’s too late.”

“You say that as if I have to walk across New York City,” (Y/N) joked.  “It’s fine, Jug, my room is down the hall.  I’m not gonna get mugged.”

“No, but you may fall over before you reach your room,” he countered with a lighthearted smirk. “Just stay here tonight, okay?” (Y/N), too tired to argue, needed no more convincing as she turned around and climbed into Jughead’s bed. He laid down, patting the space next to him.  (Y/N) tentatively settled next to him, slowly resting her head on the neighboring pillow. “You can get closer than that, you know,” he told her, amused by her unusually timid nature.  She hesitantly scooted closer to him, until she was near enough for Jughead to wrap his arms around her waist and pull her against his chest.  “That’s better,” he whispered into her hair.  She draped one arm around his torso, the other arm tucked under their now-shared pillow.

“Night, Jug,” she murmured, eyes already closed.  He smiled at her.

“Goodnight, (Y/N).”

Oh, tell me something I don’t already know
Oh, tell me something I don’t already know
Oh, tell me something I don’t already know
Oh, tell me something I don’t already know

“Oh, Jughead, how is it?” Betty eagerly asked, her face displayed on his laptop screen.  

“It’s been great,” Jughead answered.  

“What restaurants have you tried?” Veronica questioned from her spot next to Betty.

“A bunch,” he vaguely replied.  “(Y/N) is attempting to try every restaurant in New York City.  I think it’s impossible, but she’s determined.”

“Who is (Y/N)?” Archie inquired, popping his head into the camera’s view.  

Jughead laughed, “Where do I begin?  She’s my ‘counterpart’ for the internship.  We’ve become very close.”

“I told you,” Betty grinned. Jughead nodded.

“You were right,” he admitted.  “Right when I met her, I… I don’t know, it just felt like something clicked between us. We’re inseparable.”  Betty’s expression slightly darkened, but Jughead waved it off as a bit off jealousy.

“Ah, you’ve got it bad, bro,” Archie laughed at his best friend.  Jughead rolled his eyes.

“It’s not like that, Arch,” he explained.  “It’s like Betty said, you grow really close to people when you spend so much time together.”

“But you don’t blush when you talk about them,” Veronica noted, pointing out Jughead’s dusty pink cheeks.

“You’re imagining things,” Jughead scoffed.  Betty, Archie, and Veronica shared a knowing glance.

“If you say so,” Veronica sing-songed.  Before Jughead could respond, there was a knock on his door.  A smile subconsciously grew on his face.

“Speaking of (Y/N),” he said, standing up and walking towards the door.  He opened it, and, as expected, (Y/N) stood there.

“Are we going or not, Jug?” she pressed, grabbing his hand.  “I told you the line for the rainbow bagels is super long.  I don’t want to spend all of Saturday waiting for one, even though they’re so fucking pretty.”

“I’m video chatting with my friends right now,” Jughead told her, gesturing towards his open laptop. “Can you wait like five more minutes?”

“Fine,” (Y/N) huffed, crossing her arms.  She stepped into his room, allowing him to close the door behind her.  She followed him as he sat back down in front of his laptop, resting her chin on his shoulder as she peered at the screen. “These are your friends?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed. “That’s Archie,” he gestured towards the redhead, “the blonde one is Betty, and that one is Veronica.”  (Y/N) smiled at Jughead’s Riverdale friends.

“You must be (Y/N),” Betty smiled.  “Jughead was just talking about you.”

“Of course he was,” (Y/N) joked, nudging his arm.  Jughead playfully shoved her back.

“So how’s it been? Three months with the infamous Jughead Jones?” Veronica inquired with a smirk dancing on her lips.  

“Well it hasn’t been three months quite yet,” (Y/N) corrected her.  “I’ve only gotta deal with this guy for two more weeks.” Jughead’s face slightly deflated as this realization hit him.  “Let me tell you, he’s quite the handful.”

“We know,” Archie laughed. Jughead opened his mouth to say something, but (Y/N) interrupted him.

“Shit, I left my phone in my room!” she exclaimed, standing up.  “I’ll be right back, Jug.”  She turned and faced the laptop.  “It was great talking to you guys.  I hope we can meet sometime!”  She quickly exited Jughead’s room.  Immediately, Veronica, Archie, and Betty bombarded him about (Y/N)

“She’s perfect,” Veronica cooed.  “She’s actually flawless, Jughead.”

“You lucked out, bro,” Archie told him.  “She’s a keeper.”

“She’s absolutely amazing, Jughead,” Betty smiled.  Jughead grinned and shook his head.

“You guys, I told you-”

“Don’t even go there,” Veronica interrupted him.  “That girl is absolutely perfect for you.  The way you two look at each other is… it seems like it’s from a fairytale. You two are soulmates, Jughead.

“She does seem great, Jug,” Archie agreed with her.  “I mean, I’ve never seen you like that with anyone.  No offense, Betty.”

“None taken, Archie,” she waved his comment off.  “They’re right though, Jug.  You never looked at me the way you look at (Y/N).”  Jughead couldn’t think of a clever retort.  “But be careful, Jughead.  Like (Y/N) said earlier, you two only have two more weeks together. If you haven’t done anything up to this point, you might want to consider whether or not it’s worth it to start something now.  Just ask yourself, is it worth the heartbreak that’ll happen when you have to leave her?” She pursed her lips as she watched Jughead’s face darken on her screen.

“Thanks guys,” he said halfheartedly.  “Really, thank you.  I’ll see you all in two weeks.”

Tell me something, tell me something
You don’t know nothing, just pretend you do
Tell me something just before you go

“Our last day!” (Y/N) exclaimed, prancing into Jughead’s hotel room.  After the video call he had two weeks ago ended, he decided to give her a key to his room.  “Our internship is over, and we have one last night to spend together, Jug.  Out of every place in all of New York City, where do you want to go, Jughead Jones?” she asked seductively, a coy smirk growing on her face.

“I’m feeling burgers tonight,” Jughead answered, trying to stop his expression from deflating.  “And then maybe we can get some cupcakes?”

“I like it!” she grinned. She grabbed his hand and dragged him out of the room, beginning the trek to their favorite restaurant.  “Jesus, I can’t believe it’s been three months already.”

“I know,” he agreed.  “It seems like my plane landed just yesterday.”

“Yeah,” (Y/N) breathed. They spent the rest of their walk in silence, choosing to listen to the bustling New York traffic.  

The waitresses at the restaurant, at this point, knew Jughead and (Y/N) as regulars.  They didn’t even bother giving them menus, knowing exactly what each of them would order.

“You two are my favorites,” the waitress whispered as she set their burgers in front of them.

“Thank you,” (Y/N) grinned. “I’m sorry to say, but it’s our last day here.”

“Oh,” the waitress sighed. “Well, you two better visit.  I don’t know what I’ll do without my favorite regulars.”  She walked away, leaving (Y/N) and Jughead to enjoy their burgers.

“You know,” Jughead noted through a mouth full of burger, “I don’t know how you’ve tried almost every restaurant in New York City while becoming a regular here.”

“Talent, Jug,” she told him, wiping her mouth on a napkin.  “It takes a hell of a lot of talent.”

They finished dinner and went to their favorite bakery to get cupcakes.  On their walk back to the hotel, they fell into silence once again. It wasn’t broken until they entered Jughead’s hotel room.  By now, almost all of (Y/N)’s stuff ended up in here.  They found it easier, rather than constantly having to switch back and forth between rooms to grab their stuff.

“So that was our last day,” (Y/N) claimed, flopping onto the bed.  Jughead stood by the bedside, crossing his arms with an amused smile.

“Unfortunately, it was,” he nodded.  He jumped next to her on the bed, earning a shriek from (Y/N).  He swallowed as he stared at her, knowing what he had to tell her. “Do you remember what you said to me on the first day we met?”

“That I know where to go for whatever you’re craving,” she answered with a grin.  Jughead laughed and shook his head.

“No, the other thing.”

“I hope you’re not an asshole because we’re gonna be stuck together all summer?” she offered.  He shook his head again.

“Nope.”

“I called you quick-witted?”

“No!”

“What is it?” (Y/N) demanded, sitting up so that she was hovering over Jughead as he remained laying down.

“You told me that if we were together any longer than just the summer, I might fall in love with you,” he explained, sitting up so that they were face-to-face.  (Y/N)’s grin slightly faded.

“Oh,” she murmured.  “Yeah, I did say that.”

“You were wrong,” Jughead said, trying to keep his voice steady.  He slowly grabbed her right hand.

“Really?” she asked as her eyes followed Jughead’s hand.

“Betty told me to be careful,” he explained, “because we’re not gonna be together that long.  And she was right.  I mean, why would we risk an immense amount of heartbreak just for the sake of a blissful few weeks together?”  When (Y/N) said nothing, he continued.  “So I figured I could just suck it up and get through the rest of our time together and not say anything.  It was a good plan, but you… you ruined it.”

“Sorry,” she quipped with a small smirk.  Jughead lovingly rolled his eyes.

“No you’re not,” he laughed. “You’re not sorry, and you shouldn’t be. Within the three months we’ve spent together, I’ve grown closer to you than I ever have with anyone else.  Hell, my ex-girlfriend said that we were great together.”

“She did?”

“Yeah,” he responded, grabbing her hands.  “Jesus, (Y/N), I’m in love with you.  I’m fucking in love with you, and it sucks.  It sucks because I don’t know if I’m ever gonna see you again.  And this is gonna cause so much heartbreak, for me at least, and maybe you too.  I just… I can’t keep it from you anymore.  But I also think, deep down, you already knew how I felt.”  Tears clouded (Y/N)’s eyes, and her lips quivered as she quickly enveloped Jughead in a hug.

“Fuck,” she whispered into his neck.  “Fuck, of course I love you, Jughead.”  He pulled himself out of her grip and stared at her, stroking his hand across her cheek. They both leaned in, pressing their foreheads against each other.  Their lips ghosted over each other, only millimeters apart.

“If I kiss you-”

“If you kiss me, everything is gonna go to shit, Jug,” she interrupted him.  He nodded but didn’t pull away.  They sat there like that on his bed on a minute, (Y/N) sitting on Jughead’s lap with her arms around his neck, foreheads touching and lips barely brushing.

The tension grew unbearable, so (Y/N) closed the gap and pressed her lips against his, trying to express what she had been feeling for the past three months.  

Jughead, too, attempted to convey every pent up confession he had, wishing that kisses could speak. He wanted his hands, which were encircling her waist, to tell her how she charmed him with her wit.  He wanted his eyes, which were closed with pleasure, to tell her how beautiful she was, especially when she trudged into his hotel room at three in the morning.  He wanted his lips, which were pressed against hers, to tell her how much he loved her.  He loved her, he loved her, and he wanted to keep saying it for the rest of his life.

For the sake of oxygen, the two pulled apart.  They kept their foreheads resting against each other.  

“Everything’s gone to shit,” (Y/N) whispered, and Jughead burst out into laughter.  (Y/N) followed suit by giggling, and their still-entangled limbs caused them to fall onto the bed so that (Y/N) was laying on top of Jughead. This only caused the pair to laugh harder.  

When their chuckles finally died down, (Y/N) climbed off from on top of Jughead and laid next to him, resting her head on his chest.  She combed her hand through his raven locks.

“I’m sorry that I fell in love with you,” Jughead apologized, kissing the top of her head. They were slowly falling asleep.

“Thank you for falling in love with me,” (Y/N) whispered, eyes fluttering shut.  “It may have all gone to shit, but it was worth it.”

Oh, tell me something I don’t already know
Oh, tell me something I don’t already know
Oh, tell me something I don’t already know
Oh, tell me something I don’t already know

Jughead stepped off the plane and saw his dad and friends standing at the gate, excitedly waiting for him.  He didn’t say anything, he didn’t even bother smiling.  Immediately, everyone understood.  

While they were awaiting Jughead’s plane’s arrival, Betty, Veronica, and Archie explained to the rest of the group about (Y/N).  They told them about how Jughead spent three months falling in love with this girl, and they explained that they had never seen Jughead look so smitten before.  

“How was New York, Jug?” FP asked, taking Jughead’s suitcase from him.  Jughead shrugged.

“It was nice.”

“Good food?” he questioned, trying to get his son to open up.  Jughead nodded tiredly.

“Yeah, food was great,” he replied monotonously.

“And the internship?”

“Helpful,” Jughead responded.  “I think it’ll help me improve as a writer.”

“That’s good,” FP said, raking a hand through his hair.  “You had another person with you, right?”  FP noticed Jughead tense up at this.

“Yeah,” he answered quietly. “Yeah, I had a counterpart.”

“What was she like?” Jughead looked up at his dad.

“You already know who it is,” he replied, shaking his head.  “Who told you, Betty?”  FP pursed his lips.

“Yeah, her and Archie and Veronica.  But listen, Jug, you’re going to have your heart broken countless other times.  You’ll get over this girl,” he attempted to comfort Jughead.

“Dad, she wasn’t just a girl,” he protested.  “She was amazing and quick-witted, and I fell in love with her and then everything went to shit.  But the worst part is that it’s okay, because she loved me too.  She fucking loved me, and I kissed her, and now I may never see her again.”

“Well if you loved her that much, you may see her again,” FP shrugged.  “Fate is a tricky thing, son, but the universe seems to cooperate better if you love someone.”

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Wait, what?

(based on this) (look, there’s a part two)


Yuuri barely has time to grab his jacket when he runs out the door, much less brush his hair or find a hat. Unfortunately, he’s sure that that means that his hair is an absolute mess. It’s been getting long again, but in between classes and helping Yura out with his routine on the weekends, he hasn’t had much time for things like haircuts. Besides, Victor doesn’t seem to mind it, and Yura likes to experiment hairstyles on Yuuri “so that if it looks stupid, I don’t have to see it on myself.”

It’s not that big a deal, except on days like this, when he sleeps in (thanks a lot Vitya) and doesn’t have the time to really get it under control. He usually meets up with his friends before class, and he doesn’t doubt that they’ll notice, and probably tease him about it.

They notice.

“Yuuri!” Estephania gasps, sounding too scandalized for her words to be anything but teasing. “What on earth happened to your hair?”

Yuuri flushes. “I was running late,” he mumbles.

Richard snorts. “You sure? Because that looks more like sex hair to me, man.”

“Ooh, he’s right,” Estephania coos before Yuuri can protest.

He wonders if it’s possible to die of embarrassment (especially since they’re not entirely wrong). “No, really I–”

“We know, sweetie.” She reaches up and moves his hair around a bit, trying to make it look presentable. “You’re just too easy to tease.”

“You sure you’re really twenty seven?” Richard raises an eyebrow.

Yuuri just smiles at the ground in fond humiliation (apparently it’s not a common emotion, but it’s a little hard not to be used to the feeling when he’s married to the world’s biggest drama queen) and nods. “I am.”

His friends are too much sometimes, he admits. Richard is the embodiment of America in a lot of ways: loud, completely lacking a sense of social norms, a walking personification of testosterone. Estephania is less… everything… than Richard, but she’s very touchy and affectionate in an entirely platonic way that reminds Yuuri a lot of Christophe, only without all of the innuendo. But they’re both loyal down to their very core, and they’re not bad people.

His phone starts ringing, Stammi Vicino playing loudly. Yuuri picks up, keeping his phone away from Estephania’s hands. “Да, Vitya?”

“Dude! You speak Russian too?” Richard looks like Yuuri just smacked him in the face. The school year just started, so they’re all still learning about each other.

Yuuri just smiles, since Victor is in the middle of one of his usual mid-morning crises. “Vitya, calm down,” he says in Russian. “Makkachin is probably out with Yura. You know he takes her for walks sometimes. Have you seen him today?”

He manages to get Victor off the phone just before class starts, flipping his phone to airplane mode since he’s sure that this isn’t the last he’ll be hearing from his lovable trainwreck of a husband.



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Don’t Stop Us Now

@softkent ‘s 14 Days of Love fic-a-thon, day 6: ruined surprises!

It all started because Katya decided to have mercy on Eric and let him take morning classes this semester. WGSS120 was an amazing class, Professor Atley had the coolest stories about how postwar industrialization led to compulsive female domesticity, and his seatmate wasn’t the worst thing to see at 9:30 AM every Tuesday and Thursday. He would have almost been dreamy if he had the slightest knack for small talk. As it was, Eric didn’t even have a name to go on, just intent blue eyes and an ass that even the baggiest of shorts couldn’t mask.

One day, Eric decided to drop a hospitality bomb on the guy and see if he could coax a response out of him. They were both consistently early to class, so Eric budgeted ten minutes for a brief chat before class started and turned to Cute Guy with a winning smile on his face.

“So how about that reading, huh? I thought it was fascinating how cake mix became a prestige thing- everyone in my family bakes, and I don’t think we’ve used a box mix in forty years.”

“Yeah,” the guy said, “I think it had something to do with the scientific advancements they made in food preservation for the troops. Shelf stabilization wouldn’t have been nearly as achievable in earlier years.”

Miraculously, once you got onto a clear subject, Cute Guy was actually a decent conversationalist. Eric found himself losing track of time as they dissected last night’s chapters of Marling.

“And the American National Exhibition anecdote!” he giggled. “Who can even tell the difference between Russian and American Coke?”

“I bet it’s easier with all of the Soviet Union breathing down your back. ‘Da, cola of Mother Russia is vkusno!’”

“Nice accent,” Eric told Cute Guy.

“Really? Thanks, I’ll have to tell Geno. He’s always knocking my Russian. He’s, uh, a friend of my dad’s, and we both play hockey.”

“So that’s what your weird doodles are? Hockey plays?”

“Yeah, I’m captain of the hockey team here. We’re not half bad, if I say so myself.”

“Wow,” Eric enthused, “you must be a pretty good skater, then.”

“Yeah, I guess. I could teach you sometime, if you want. I’m Jack, by the way,’ Cute Guy said.

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Cotton Candy

Pairings: Peter Parker x Wilson!Reader

Request: Hi! A request where reader is Wade’s sister and it’s Peter x reader, includes all the avengers. Thank you!           


Vision has created a chatroom.

Vision has added Peter.

Vision: Thor is hogging the kiddies rides. I do not know where Rogers is and I can’t find you and Y/N to help me stop him.

Peter: Cap is with Mr. Stark winning prizes.

Peter: And Y/N is with me on the Ferris wheel but it got stuck, we can see everyone from up here.

Vision: I can fly the both of you down, if you’d like.

Peter: No!

Peter: The view from up here is beautiful.

Peter: But it’s not as beautiful as Y/N.

Vision has added Y/N.

Vision: Your first date with Peter seems to be going well, quite romantic. Being stuck on the Ferris wheel, alone.

Y/N: It would be romantic.

Y/N: If my brother wasn’t in the seat in front of us.

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Day Thirty (Jimin angst)

Request: “Jimin is the reader’s husband and he asks a divorce. Reader asks for a month to spend with him and promises to let him go after that” - from anon

Originally posted by suga-com

Word count: 6.3k

Genre: Angst


Day one

“Please,” you begged. You were on your knees, clinging to him pathetically. It felt like he was stealing the future from you. There was no hope left it your body. You needed to stop him. He was pulling your whole world out from under your feet.

“Don’t make this harder than it needs to be,” he said.

“Who is she?” you asked, your voice distraught.

“It doesn’t matter.” His voice caught a little this time, as though he was finally getting upset.

“Jimin, please, please, I love you so much,” you pleaded. You held him tighter, like that would somehow hold your marriage together. But you could tell that his mind was made up. You were powerless.

“Please let go of me,” he said. You looked up at him. His eyes were closed. He couldn’t look at you.

“I’m your wife,” you said, your voice laced with desperation. “Don’t I get a say? Why do you get to decide that it’s over?”

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musicalluna  asked:

in the early days, steve doesn't realize the avengers care about him a lot because they are vastly different people with vastly different socialization than the commandos, but then something happens to him in a fight and the avengers collectively flip their lids and that is how he learns he is Very Important to them

Steve had never been a stranger to friendly teasing. Bucky was a little shit, of course, but so were the Commandos. He’d been called every moniker that popped into his friends’ brains: “Captain Tightpants” (long before it was a cultural reference, thank you very much), “Captain Mom,” “Twinkle Toes,” “All-American Showgirl,” “Blushing Betty,” and names far more filthy. But he’d understood why. He was the commanding officer and he was, when it came down to it, a greenie who got damn lucky 95% of the time. Dugan, Dernier, Falsworth, even Bucky, they all would have been infinitely more qualified to be CO, and so he knew where the teasing was coming from. He knew it was his men’s way of telling him they cared for him while keeping his ego in check. (Bucky could’ve told them Steve was a good enough self-critic as it was and they all could just damn well stick to the dancing references.)

The Avengers, though. Steve had no idea what to think of the way they spoke to him.

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The Friendly Wager (Part 2)

Summary: AU. Reader and Bucky Barnes are neighbors and best friends. After yet another bad date, reader comes home to find Bucky with his typical weekend target. They decide to make a wager about dating, but is there more on the line than reader cares to admit?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 2,613

Warnings: language, fluff, sarcasm, complete and utter denial, social drinking

A/N: This is my submission for the lovely Kait’s ( @bionic-buckyb) 5k AU Challenge. Congrats on the followers, friend! My prompt was “Can you please come over so I don’t feel so alone?

Part 1 - 2 - 3 -

Originally posted by upper-east-side-elite

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anonymous asked:

Fav sterek fics?

I have 402 bookmarks on AO3, how do I choose favorites?! I guess I can try ; ; here’s my pathetic attempt at a sterek rec list (fics added as I find them in my bookmarks, not by favorites):


The Boy and the Beast by Dira Sudis (dsudis) [116k, M]

In which events in Beacon Hills go rather differently from the start, and a Beauty and the Beast (ish) story ensues. (Scott is not a teacup and no one sings about their feelings.)

Safety in Silence by Survivah [66k, M]

It’s perfectly understandable. Even Derek wouldn’t want to be Derek’s soulmate.

Easy Trouble by Survivah [55k, M]

Derek+Stiles+fairies = love spell

“Make love to me,” Derek demands.

What.

Where The Inevitable Isn’t by Survivah [41, M]

Stiles has a magical thingamajig that’s supposed to get him out of danger. Trouble is, it took him really, really far out of danger. Like, to the point where he isn’t in the same universe anymore.

“A part of Stiles had been thinking that he’d come home, and just go, ‘hey, Derek, are we mates and you just haven’t said anything about it?’ and Derek would reply, ‘now you mention it, we are indeed! Now come to my bedchamber, where we will have super hot sex and then cuddle after!’”

A Simple Life by Survivah [13k, T]

Derek plans to spend the rest of his life holed up in the woods after Laura dies. Then he meets a stubborn young fox, and the stubborn young fox meets an urn of Deaton’s magic powder, and his plans change.

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kylux fic recs

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

EMPEROR HUX:

BEN SOLO SWAYED BY THE FIRST ORDER AU:

LIGHT SIDE AU:

FORCE SENSITIVE HUX:

HUMAN AU:

PRE/POST THE FORCE AWAKENS:

SOUTHERN GOTHIC:

AU’S:

fic descriptions in alphabetical order below the cut - 

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So, I love how everyone is getting all into the eldritch horror visibly fae knowingly magical encounters. The descriptions are SO COOL. 

But I’ve been thinking about how our understandings of the Fair Folk originated not with people who had these super obvious encounters with this visible magic figure. Instead, they come from people attuned to the ways in which this world as it is, is magical and frightening and overwhelming, and decided that eldritch monsters were the most logical and comforting explanation. So, I’ve been thinking a lot about how so many interactions with the fair folx could happen without the student knowing it….how many of these interactions and deals may have happened already. A few true stories: My roommate joined ROTC her freshman year. Four years of university for free, for five years of military service. Don’t tell me that there is just flesh and bone under the glamour of a military uniform, under the medals worn by those who watched her sign her contract. The Fair Folk have always loved games, and to gamble your life in the future of uncertain war is certainly worth $60,000 tuition per year for four years, plus a monthly stipend.  I have a friend whose financial aid is paid by a grant from some folks from New York City. In exchange, once a year she dresses up, takes out her piercings, and goes to dinner with them.

Sit with us, tell us the stories of your studies, sing for us. Oh, you don’t sing anymore? But you sing so lovely. Sing.

At these dinners, she does not let her smile drop.  I worked with a senior who would be Successful. They did everything, could not say no, every opportunity bigger than the last and they could Do It All. Directing a musical with a full orchestra in the biggest theater, performing across town themself in a different show each weekend for months on end, five classes and a thesis. One night, drunk and at 2am, a time were the glamour drops and world blurs into honesty, they said “I am so fucking lonely.” That is a powerful trade: love as fair as can be, a beating heart, community. But they wanted to be able To Do It All and they did.  A few years ago, the school was raising money for the endowment (the school is always raising money for the endowment). They were holding a fundraising dinner, with Big Important People who must be Inspired by Students Like You in order to donate. They gathered together the most talented performers of the whole university. Dancers whose bodies defied physics, pianists who seemed to play with extra hands, singer whose voices rang inhuman. Maybe there is a reason we already had those skills, it’s hard to know. We’ve all made so many sacrifices already to end up at a school where we can get not a single credit for our talents. Maybe something is already taking its due. Still. They gathered us, and planted us through the field to mime silent excitement as the Big Important People entered the tent in a procession. They had us perform for them – but never in the way we do best. Bottle up your talent, make it look like this. Dressed us all head to toe in white. Gave clear instructions.

Hand them this book. Collect these cards. They will write a wish. If they speak to you, just smile. Do not speak back.

They had us wait behind the kitchen.

Whatever you do, do not eat the food.

The university knows how to make a deal. They know what a little Talent and a little Dignity is worth. And we already owe them so much…why not this too?  In the morning I went back to where the tent had been, only to find an empty football field.  —— I feel like I have to add that the last story is literally 100% true. The others I have taken small creative liberties with (mostly the ‘lonely’ one cause I don’t want that person to be identifiable). But this one is hundo percent reality. Nothing I could add about it would make it sound less weird. They set up this crazy huge tent for it and thousands of dollars of lights and projection equipment, and the next morning had taken down the entire thing. They had this whole projection thing that took up a side of the stadium with a video about how great the university is, except I’d never even HEARD OF most of the professors or programs they interviewed or discussed in it (like its a big uni but still). Went to go look them up the next day, but couldn’t remember the names. They had us count a specific number of steps from one section to another. They had us do a weird running pattern on the stadium stairs that was supposed to look cool but I think just opened a portal in to my own personal hell. I still have the white sneakers and sweatshirt they gave us but I legit have not worn them since that night; I’m slightly scared to wear them but somehow can’t throw them out. When the donors walked in to the tent, we literally just stood around the field jumping up and down with excitement (silently) and waving flags (silently) and for the first time I understood Artaudian horror. They had cards at their table that they were supposed to write these messages on, and then we would collect them in these books, and honestly the whole night is pretty hazy but it was weird. The whole thing was directed by Tony Award winner Diane Paulus (I swear to you this is true). Guys I’m low key pretty sure I’ve been to a revel and let me tell you, you are not a participant. You are there, but at best you are quaint entertainment, to be hidden in the corner when you’re not amusing them. You will do what they ask you (tell you). And there will be a part of you sitting on your shoulder saying, are you really doing that? And the answer will be yes, and it won’t be until after you leave that the wave will crash over you, nearly drowning you in the question, as you sputter awake asking, WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK JUST HAPPENED? 

[x]

Kalagang #01

1x01 LIMBIC RESONANCE

The first episode of first season – and where it all begins. We don’t see Kalagang interaction yet, but we’re able to see them having an unknown connection after Angelica gives birth (and kills herself). We all know by now, for Kala and Wolfgang, water is their element – like some sort of medium of their connection since their births.

Kala: But I heard it. I heard the thunder, and rain.

So here we see Kalagang’s very first connection, although they’re not aware of it. And not surprisingly, rain – water. We can also notice that rain works as a symbol for juxtaposition of these two opposite characters. Weather in India is warm and sunny; we instantly know she’s been raised by loving family, her father supports her, and she’s happy with her life. She is the sunshine.

Original post [x] @regalstormborn

Scene changes; Wolfgang makes his first appearance. It’s raining, everyone’s wearing black, it’s funeral – I’ve seen posts about how Wolfgang and Kala have this Hades and Persephone aesthetic. Well, he is definitely giving god of death vibe here. He hasn’t spoken a word, but we already know what kind of person he is. So the rain is not just a medium helping Kalagang connect/sense each other, but also a symbol to contrast one from the other.

Original post [x] @osxarisaac

I mentioned in previous post that Wolfgang doesn’t show his emotions. This scene clearly shows that side of him. Especially when his Uncle Sergei talks about Wolfgang’s father, by now we already know how Wolfgang despises his father, and yet Wolfgang doesn’t even flinch his eyes or frown. We can see that he has learned to put every emotion – mostly anger – inside of him and suppress it. And I also want to point out how calm he is in this occasion. Maybe because he’s not close to his family, but it kinda gave me this feeling of…he’s so used to death, like death always surrounds him. It’s almost as same as breathing.

Original post [x] @mufalo

Even when he is all alone in front his father’s tombstone, he just doesn’t show his emotions. Instead he simply gives his signature smirk to his dad (and piss). That’s how much he is used to hiding his feelings. Which makes me thrilled to see how he slowly opens up and shows different kinds of emotions as he develops relationship with Kala.

Original post [x@sense8edit

The last Kalagang moment in this episode is when Kala visits Ganesha temple. When she gives food to Ganesha telling she’s put some peanuts and whatsoever, I’ve never realized how genuinely happy she was, before her marriage. I don’t think we now get to see her smile like that quite often in season 2 – except of course when she’s with her cluster and Wolfgang – I’ll talk more about this in upcoming posts, but before we move on, I want to point out that this post isn’t just about how Kala and Wolfgang develop their relationship; it’s also about how each has their own personal growth.

So it’s important to see that her pure smile right there which represents innocence, and also naivety. What do I mean by that? Physically, she is grown-up. But at the same time, Kala’s just started her journey of becoming one. For me, I think being an adult is a life-long journey; to have our hearts and minds be mature, wise, and complete are not as easy as physical growth.

As we grow up we find that heart is so much complicated than we think. And Kala is basically on the verge of discovering that. In other words, she’s still just a little girl who’s just stepping into the real world. Yes I know she is smart, independent, and strong – I’m not saying she’s childish, at all. What I’m saying is discovering new emotions, learning how to accept them and to embrace people whom are connected for that emotions are gonna be new to both Kala and Wolfgang.

That being said, the whole temple scene can be defined as a starting point of her journey – a little girl on the threshold.

Kala: [Rajan is] the perfect husband for me. Except for one little fact. I do not love him.

Original post [x] @sensatessource

And that threshold is marriage. Now we all know that marrying Rajan wouldn’t automatically help Kala turn into a grown-up woman. I already mentioned that it’s more than that. That’s just what our society thinks. But I would say, symbolically, the concept of marriage itself is definitely something new – something big to Kala. It’s a huge step.  She thinks Rajan is okay; she thinks it’s the right thing to do. Still she’s torn up between what is best for her and what is best for heart. This dilemma will go on through out the series. It will make her struggle for sure, but also will enable Kala to figure out what it means to be a woman – or adult in general.

Anyhow, guess who appears after Kala confesses her dilemma?

Original post [x] @netflixsense8

None other than Wolfgang Bogdanow (Well, technically if you rewatch it, Felix’s face comes out before Wolfgang’s…but lol, who cares). Funny thing is when I first watched the series, I actually didn’t know they’re gonna be together, so I didn’t know the significance of Wolfgang appearing right after scene of Kala in the temple. So it’s another fun for me, personally, to catch this small moments implying they are connected deeply.


I think that’s pretty much it for this episode. Well, I’ve only done two posts of Kalagang series, but I’m really actually having fun going over their moments from the beginning. Hope you enjoyed it too. I’m trying to come up with hashtag for this series of Kalagang posts so that you can find them easily. If you have any ideas, just throw them to me :) Also, if you have any Kalagang moments I’ve missed, or if you wanna just add up to my thoughts please leave comments. I’d love to know what you think

Today is #NationalScavengerHuntDay! We at gishwheswould be remiss if we didn’t celebrate this revered holiday, so we’ve concocted a bit of diabolical fun.

Get ready, Gishers… time for a #gishwhes NATIONAL SCAVENGER HUNT DAY MINIHUNT!

RULES:
1. Post your submissions on Twitter, Tumblr, Instagram, or Facebook*, tagged #gishwhes & #NationalScavengerHuntDay.
2. You have until 11:59 PM PDT May 27 to submit your Items.
3. No photoshopping (unless we’ve explicitly told you to Photoshop.)
4. Anyone can play. You don’t have to be registered for gishwhes to participate. (Though we recommend it for a better life, stronger nails, and a shinier complexion.)
5. Yes, there will be prizes!

*Please make sure your posts are publicly visible so we can find your precious works of remarkability.

ITEM LIST:

1. IMAGE: Office Art 2: The Revenge. They say the sequel is never as good as the original. Grab your highlighters & paperclips and prove them wrong! Take time out of your busy work (or school) day to create a beautiful, museum-worthy sculpture or mixed-media art piece in your cubic comprised entirely of office supplies. All items submitted must include a yellow didactic panel with the name of the piece & artist’s intent.

2. VIDEO: Boxing Video. We’ve all seen Unboxing videos on the Internet, right? Let’s reverse the trend with Boxing Videos! Pack a box with either shelf-stable dry goods or donations for your local food bank or homeless shelter, explaining each item as you go. However, there’s one catch: As you fill your box, everything you do must appear as though you were running an unboxing video backwards - backwards speech, backwards movements… you get the idea. At the end, it’s time to move forward… to your local shelter or food bank to donate the goods!

3. VIDEO: As all Gishers know, Medieval Knights were often depicted battling snails and nobody knows why… except you. YOU know. Show us a historical re-enactment that adequately explains this centuries-old rivalry.

4. VIDEO: A serious dramatic reading of an excerpt of “Streetcar Named Desire”, “Long Day’s Journey into Night” or “Death of A Salesman” … as performed by “chin face” thespians.

5. IMAGE/VIDEO: What do dogs dream of? Show us what happened in your pet’s REM cycle last night.

BONUS ITEM:

6. VIDEO: A YouTube “Get Ready with Me” video, but instead of a girl, it features a long haired dog. We want to see it all… Waking up, breakfast, the whole glam routine— complete with first-person voiceover from the dog’s perspective.

All right Gishers… GO!