and i consider this as one of my

So! I hav finaly finished the Milo Murfy’s law serie and I loved it! I just, really love everyone (and I’m crushed ‘cause King Pistachio died… He was my favorite😡 😢 )

But what can you do… anyway, so! I’ve looked through the MML’s corner of tumblr and I found out that this golden gem of a meme (for milo at least) wasn’t there so… Now I’ve fixed that :)

anonymous asked:

Do you know any good kidfics where Neil is the one getting deaged? And if you don't could you maybe write something like that if it's not to much? Thank you 💚

(This has taken me fucking forever to answer I’m so sorry)

Unfortunately, I don’t know any good kidfics where Neil’s been deaged. I don’t actually tend to read those kinds of fics?? Sorry! (Well, actually, I might know one, but I’d have to scour the depths of ao3 to find it and I don’t want to do that. It’s been like a year since I read that fic so idk where it is now) But I can most certainly try my hand at writing one!

Uh, I was debating on how long I should make this, but since I’m posting this on tumblr, I decided to make it shorter than I’d like. If you want, you can consider this ‘part one’ but I probably won’t post more unless I’m asked to.

o0o0o0o

Andrew knows that something is very wrong when he wakes up in the morning. Something is up when he gets out of bed and Neil is nowhere to be found. He and Neil aren’t comfortable enough to sleep in the same bed, but he’s always nearby in the morning. The fact that he isn’t means that something has happened.

There’s also the fact that Nicky and Kevin are nowhere to be found too. Aaron is sitting on the couch with his head in his hands, like he has a headache. He does this often enough that Andrew doesn’t question it. (Not that he would if it weren’t normal)

Andrew no longer feels the need to shadow Kevin like he has, but it’s still odd that Kevin has disappeared. It may mean nothing, but ‘nothing’ is a much broader term than it once was. Or so Neil likes to insist.

“Coach wants to see you,” Aaron suddenly says, glancing up at him and then to the side. “He wants to talk to you about something.”

Andrew hums noncommittally.

“It’s important, so he told me to stress how urgent it is. He’s at the Court.” Aaron looks reluctant to keep speaking.

“Fine.” Andrew doesn’t move though. He’s still waiting for his coffee to finish. He is not talking to the Coach while he hasn’t had morning coffee.

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Gryffindors are bright mornings, leaves dripping in gold. They’re the trailblazers, unafraid of the road ahead. They’re laughing so loud your stomach hurts, the knowledge that your friends are right behind you wherever you go. They’re ice skating with someone you love, clinging on to them for dear life. They’re make-believe games with quests and dragons and swords pointing at the sky. They’re rosy cheeks, winter winds and freezing hands. They’re the adrenaline when a plane takes off, the drop at the top of a rollercoaster. They’re delighted screams and freedom, the wind through your hair. They’re panting, pillow fights, feathers bursting into the air. They’re finger painting and festivals and burning sunsets. They’re the burn in your lung after chasing something you’ll never be able to catch. 

Hufflepuffs are honey and flowers and the soft autumn sun. They’re knitted jumpers and scarves and soft tan boots. They’re fresh air and nature, the sound of birds singing. They’re rolling down a hill in the spring, grass stains on your knees, daisy chains in your hair. They’re waving at someone across a crowded room, bright smiles and laughter. They’re coming home after a long day and seeing your family. They’re playing fetch with your dog, your cat weaving between your feet. They’re fluffy socks and song birds and kraft notebooks with hand drawn patterns. They’re throw cushions on a bed, a tiny cottage surrounded by wilderness. They’re the ground beneath your feet, the air that you breathe. They’re the light you chase when you thought you’d never see the morning. 

Ravenclaws are leather bound books and overstocked libraries. They’re waking up at two am to google that thing that’s bugging you. They’re journals with half the words crossed out, scribbles and ink stains and missing pages. They’re stretching when you’ve been hunched over all day, rolling off the edge of a bed, burrowing in blankets. They’re torch light and held breaths and reverent whispers. They’re the entire night sky and everything beyond it; the embodiment of the universe. They’re desperate searches and hidden castles and ghost stories by firelight. They’re the mystery of a dark corridor, the force of a whirlwind. They’re the excitement of discovery, the rustle of crunched up paper. They’re the last whisper before you fall asleep. 

Slytherins are foggy hillsides and picturesque landscapes. They’re hand written love notes and subtle glances across a classroom. They’re black boots, long coats, buttons done up to the top. They’re tipping your head back to breathe the air, kicking up stones on a deserted path. They’re mirrored lakes, everything below the surface. They’re the confidence to get something right, the feel of magic in your fingertips. They’re holding your breath underwater, pretending to be a mermaid when you swim. They’re finding that one song that makes you want to create a storm. They’re the chill in the breeze, the force in the tide. They’re enchanted forests and lingering glances and long drives. They’re the lightning and the thunder and everything in between. 

@SmurfBts:

“Namjoon always extends his hand out first to the fans. I’m shy so I always tingle from just high-fiving wih the members (=from just reaching my hands out), but the only one whom I shake hands with and not high-five is Namjoon. Namjoon always… How should I say this? Initiate a handshake like a man reaching out his hand to a woman before dancing the tango. That’s why I, someone who is too shy and pressured to shake their hands because my hands look ugly, got to entrust (?) my hands to Namjoon like being attracted to a magnet.ㅋㅋㅋ

I remember Namjoon’s hands are big like a man’s hands, but they’re always soft and warm. Namjoon’s hands are tender and I tremble from my nerve… (It’s a rhyme…)

One time I spent hours to look for the fancam where Namjoon reached out his hand without hesitation like a prince to a fan at a fansign and kept watching it over and over ㅋㅋㅋ I’m not a pervert, ahem.

It’s still vivid in my memory, a fansign held in the winter. I was hesitating because of my shyness, so Namjoon extended his hand to me, showed his signature dimple smile and told me this.

“My hands are a little bit cold today. But still.”

↳ Sometimes Namjoon can’t reach out his hand first because he’s too focused on talking with the previous hand, so don’t feel sad when he doesn’t initiate a handshake. If you reach out your hand first, Namjoon will like it a lot and quicky take your hand.“

8
4

a smile as bright as the summer sun

Poor Ciao Ciao…

The song in question.

I’ve had this in my head since reading chapter 8. I cannot really art, and what even are your eyebrows, Cestino?  but I had to get it out of my system, and it wouldn’t have worked as a text post or chat.

I’ve finally depleted my stock of stupid posts about UMFB&MHA, at least until Sunday. Welp. So soon. Am I even ready?

4

the last of us 12 day challenge

day 4: favorite enemy - marlene

“apparently, there’s no way to extricate the parasite without eliminating the host. fancy way of saying we gotta kill the fucking kid. and now they’re asking for my go ahead. the tests just keep getting harder and harder, don’t they? i’m so tired. i’m exhausted and i just want this to end… so be it.

8

ya characters aesthetic: Alina Starkov (The Grisha Trilogy) 

“I’m the Sun Summoner. It gets dark when I say it does.” 

8

make me choose: anon asked - Rick Grimes or Shane Walsh  

CP bachelor AU: part 12

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10 | part 11

***

The clouds that threatened rain earlier in the day have subsided, bunching themselves cosily near the horizon as though they’re aware that what Laurent needs more than anything else is a good sunset to serve as a backdrop. Laurent sits in the grass near the edge of the headland, looking down onto the dark sand of the beach. The water shades abruptly from turquoise to teal a few hundred metres offshore, a meandering divide that becomes less and less distinct as the sun creeps down.

Part of the reason Laurent has been so strict with the show’s budget is that he’s been determined, all along, to produce a finale that is truly spectacular. Sunsets over the ocean aren’t exactly easy to come by, on Australia’s east coast, and it’s an irony of geography that the nearest west coast belongs to another country entirely.

But that makes it better, Laurent thinks, gazing out over the vista of Te Henga. Crossing the sea. The romance of destination.

“I don’t suppose you’d be prepared to give us a hint,” says a voice from behind him.

“And spoil your authentic, on-camera emotional response?” Laurent shoots back. “Please, Jokaste.”

Jokaste steps up next to him; Laurent has to tilt his head to take her in. Her hair is braided back, one plait forming a headband and the others looped intricately into a knot at the back of her head. She’s wearing a long flowing dress of pale lavender, just a shade away from overtly bridal, and it somehow manages to accentuate the porcelain of her skin instead of calling out unpleasant pink or yellow tones. Laurent makes a note to give someone in wardrobe a bonus for that.

“You do know who he’s going to choose, don’t you?” she says.

“Of course,” Laurent lies, cool and easy.

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