and none of you understand why

Seventeen things you have to learn for yourself
as a Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Questioning, Intersex, Asexual, Pansexual
or otherwise Queer youth
by the time you are seventeen.

One is that the first Pride was a riot
I don’t mean that it was full of laughter, or that it was some grand party
where everyone spiraled up to dance among the stars
because the only glittering that night
was broken glass on cobblestones.
The first Pride was a riot
on the backstreets of New York
and they never tell us
that night
we won.
The only protest
in a decade full of turmoil
where the cops had to hide out in the bar they raided
and run from shouting rioters
who fought to reclaim the only patch of ground they had ever claimed as theirs
the first Pride was a riot,

and two, around the same time it took place
it was a debated topic in the gay community
whether or not they should say
that they weren’t mentally ill

which, three, homosexuality was removed
from the American Psychiatric Association’s list of mental illnesses
in 1974
congratulations
all it took was a vote to declare that, whoops, we were never mentally ill

except, four, there are still teenagers being tortured today
in what some dare blaspheme as “therapy”
used to destroy their self-identity
in the hopes of making them normal.
except, four, the queer community still carries overwhelmingly high rates for poverty and homelessness and depression.

Did you know that, five,
over half the children forced into conversion therapy
commit suicide?

And six, that lesbians
were regarded as “hangers-on”
of the movement
by much of the gay community
before the AIDS crisis?

Because it turns out, seven can wear a rainbow on your shirt
and still be a bigot.
There are people who stick rainbows in their ears
or wear them on their fingers
or slap them across their cheeks in badges of defiance
and will still hate you for the color of your skin
or the size of your thighs
or your gender
or the way you like to kiss two or more genders
or none of the above.
Don’t ask me why this happens
it just does
I think it might be that we’ve all been taught to hate ourselves
for so damn long
that we don’t understand what to do
in a space with no hate.
Or maybe it’s that the space seems too small, because

eight, there are people who will tell you that you are not enough
that you do not reach the magical benchmark of “gay enough” to pass through the gate even
especially
when you are some flavor of the rainbow other than straight-out gay.
eight, this is bullshit
eight, those people are bullshit.
eight, you are enough.
eight, there is always enough room.

nine, there is no overarching “homosexual agenda”
sorry
we’re all kind of flailing along in here trying to figure out some way to make it work
when most of us have nothing in common
except that society looked at us in different ways and decided we didn’t fit
so we could all go be misfits together
under one big rainbow flag

but just so you know, ten, there are plenty of other flags
there is one for you, I promise

and eleven, misfits may not all need the same things
but we need to stick together, especially in a world where

twelve—refer to point seven—there are lesbians who hate other lesbians
for having the audacity to be born in a body
that everyone looked at and saw “boy”
which brings me to

thirteen, there is so much to understand.

fourteen, you need to understand
because we need to stick together
and to stick together we do not have to be the same but we do have to understand
and it will be hard because
you were probably thrown into this world with no warning because

fifteen, being queer is not genetic and we are not unique among minorities
in that we collect our heritage through broken bits of history and research in a world constantly working to make those misfit bits go away
but we are unique in that when we try to prove our legacy
we can be laughed down
or re-erased
or flat out ignored
but I swear to you
you have a history as old as Alexander the Great
as beautiful as Sappho
as dignified as Abraham Lincoln
and as proud as Eleanor Roosevelt.

But even with that behind us
sixteen,
they have always watched us die.
because even though the bystander effect is bullshit, sixteen
Kitty Genovese was a lesbian, sixteen
Ronald Reagan is a mass murderer, sixteen
our children, your brothers and sisters and  siblings of all stripes and all colors and sexualities and genders are being murdered
through neglect
and rejection
and hate.

Sixteen, there is an entire generation of gay and bisexual men
missing from history
because the government chose to do nothing
when they were dying by the thousands.
sixteen, we died from the disease and died from going back into the closet and died for staying there and died for coming out,
sixteen, they laughed at us because they believed god was punishing us for daring to love,
sixteen, ashes of your forerunners rest on the lawn of the White House because
SIXTEEN, THEY HAVE ALWAYS WATCHED US DIE.

SEVENTEEN
you are allowed
to be angry.
You do not have to be one of the nice gays
or one of the nice trans people
or sweet or kind or educate the rest of the world in something less than a yell
you are allowed to be so furious it scalds your bones
at the way we are forgotten
and passed over
at the way, as soon as June becomes July
we are expected
to go back to dying in silence
and mourning our dead
and kissing all alone
when no one can be offended
at the sight of us.
You are allowed to be angry
and scream down the stars
to shatter like broken glass at your feet
because you know what?
The first Pride
was a riot.

—  October 11
College Things

- The guy in front of you in class is shopping for a charcoal grill on ebay. why. sir. we have a test next week. 

- Squirrels just….have no fear. None. Only on college campuses though. Are they okay? 

- Finding condoms, packaged and not, in various places. 9 times out of 10, if there’s something inside, it’s not what the condom is supposed to have inside of it. 

- Water balloon condoms. See above. 

- That one guy who wears the same hat every day and you see him every day and you don’t understand why he’s so attached to this hat what is he hiding 

- *single flake of snow appears* “Maybe campus will shut down tomorrow.”

- Campus doesn’t shut down. There’s three feet of snow and the wind chill is below zero. 

- That one corner of the library basement that no one goes to. It smells old and there’s probably a ghost there. 

- When you’re a pedestrian, you hate the cyclists. When you’re on a bicycle, you want nothing more than to run every single person over. 

- You see someone violently acting out a music video with their headphones in. You leave them alone because you were doing the same thing thirty minutes ago.  You hope it goes well for them. 

- Theater majors. Just…theater majors. 

- do the science kids???? ever leave the science buildings???? where do they sleep? 

- There’s a dog. It’s surrounded in seconds by over-caffeinated, under-hydrated students who haven’t slept in three days. 

- you find articles of clothing in really weird places and just. stop caring. glove in a tree? Cool man. Sock on the street? Hope no one needed that. Pants on the stairs of the dorm? Use a condom bro. 

- The dorm lobby television only ever plays sports, news, or The Food Network. No one is ever actually watching what’s on. 

- how are the art students even alive 

- that one professor that EVERYONE on campus knows, even if they have a completely different major than what they teach. 

- there’s a class. you know you had it. you know you have a grade for it. you can’t remember a single second of your time in it. 

- Where did that cat come from? No one knows. It’s always been there. You can’t pet it. Only stare from afar. 

- what is tipping? how does it work? idk tip the pizza guy five bucks for the ten dollar pizza. he looks tired. he’s dying on the inside. he saw a guy naked tonight. 

- Inevitable “pinned condom on the bulletin board goes missing” gag

- Your whiteboard markers are missing again. You put them out yesterday. 

- someone stole an entire skeleton from the science buildings. it got returned a week later without the skull. 

- Vocalist majors. Almost as bad as the theater majors. At least the theater kids don’t sing during breakfast. 

- there’s a piano in the student lounge. no one can play anything but Chopsticks and Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. 

- your garbage is four feet tall and has been there for two weeks. you add more to the top. you took the recycling out yesterday.

anonymous asked:

I would've liked Riposte more if it weren't for the fact that Marinette now caused THREE AKUMAS IN A ROW. Seriously, if she keeps this up, she may as well become the new Chloe.

Okay I’m going to stop you right there Anon. I understand what you’re trying to get at, but I just don’t agree with it at all. Not with Marinette being the cause for Riposte, or any of the akumas we’ve had thus far. In some way, I can see how you came to that conclusion, but I honestly feel like you and a lot of other fans who have made claims like yours, are too eager to persecute Marinette, too much to the point of actually deeming her the “new Chloe,” when there’s a world of difference between them.

To clarify, these are the reasons why Nadja, Gina, and Kagami became akumatized:

Why Nadja became Prime Queen

Nadja had an agenda that she did not relay to Ladybug or Chat. She was primarily concerned with getting ratings and she continued to push Ladybug to admit that she had a relationship with Chat Noir, even when she repeatedly denied it and appeared very uncomfortable with it.

Ladybug saw through Nadja’s intentions and that she would not stop until she forced her to give her the answer she wanted. And primarily she came to the interview and left it because she was wholly and completely focused on her responsibility as a hero and only wanted to reassure Paris that she and Chat will continue to keep them safe.

And what’s more, was she supposed to give into pressure and lie about having a relationship with Chat Noir???

Why Gina became Befana

She was disconnected from the fact that her granddaughter is not a young child anymore, but a teenager with a life and friends of her own. At the end of the episode, she’s come to accept that Marinette had grown up.

Even when Marinette asked her if it was okay to leave for the party, Gina encourages her TWICE that she should go.

And is it really that wrong for a girl who JUST turned 14 years-old to want to go her own surprise party that her friends worked hard to plan for???

Why Kagami became Riposte

She lost to Adrien. That’s it. That’s why.

Maybe Marinette made the wrong call, but it was literally her very first day in a sport that she barely knows and in spite of that she was still put on the spot to make the final judgement. She admits upfront that she’s not sure, but she thinks that Adrien won, but D’Argencourt accepted her answer without question, only happy that his student won over the “insolent” girl. Even when Adrien tried to clarify Marinette’s answer and it’s very clear that she’s uncertain when she talked to him, D’Argencourt remains firm that her call was final.

source for translations on the scene of Marinette making the call

And in any case that still doesn’t make her responsible for Kagami’s reaction to losing. While it’s understandable why she took it hard (she felt that she let down her family) that’s an issue that’s completely separate from Marinette.

Plus towards the very end, none of the characters really learn who truly won. Adrien might’ve thought that Kagami got the point, but neither of them really know for sure. And ultimately let’s say that Marinette was correct all along, Adrien did win.

We would end up with the same results of Kagami getting akumatized, so would you STILL honestly pin the blame on her then???? And if you do, doesn’t that make Adrien just as responsible if not more than Marinette for akumatizing Kagami with him beating her???

Conclusion: all of the reasons for these characters’ akumatizations were due to their own pre-existing issues that they already had before Marinette came onto the scene.

  • Nadja was under the threat of having her show cancelled.
  • Gina hadn’t been involved for most of Marinette’s life and she was lamenting over it.
  • Kagami has a hard time accepting losing because there’s pressure in her family to always win.

TL;DR Marinette did nothing wrong in any of these episodes.

Reminder to Abled people

The “perks” disabled people receive are not perks to the disabled. They only seem like perks if you have full bodily function. They aren’t benefits at all, they are the minimum required effort to help disabled people and they barely cut it. 

Special seating is to fit a wheel chair, our butts and legs are in the same amount of space as you. We’re also cramped and uncomfortable and in pain, don’t be telling us how you have it worse. Most of those seats aren’t even in good spots in the theater. 

Special parking is so we can even access the store. The walk from the middle of the lot for you is the same as the walk/wheel from the front of the lot for us. Many of us can barely make it inside from the handicapped parking.

Boarding planes first is because it takes extra time to do everything, including get in and out of chairs. They do not want US to block YOU. This is for YOUR benefit. 

This also applies to the special lines at roller coasters- They do not want US to block YOU, the majority, from having a good time. Odds are a disabled person can only ride a few rides before having to go home (as well as many rides bar people with health conditions), few to no disabled people are using this line. It is a SAFETY precaution as well, because a disabled person cannot handle the strain of waiting in line in the heat as long as an abled person can. In fact, most abled people barely tolerate it. Why would you expect a disabled person to not pass out and need emergency services and halt the line if abled people do it, too?

Using the Elevator is not a privilege. How the hell are we supposed to get wheel chairs, damaged body parts, and our generous helping of pain up the stairs? If you think this is a benefit, pinch yourself immediately because you are dreaming. And yes, elevators often make disabled people with sensitive constitutions (most of us) feel ill. It’s not even pleasant. 

Being Granted extra time on tests is because many of our brains freeze up when placed in a stressful situation. It also often takes longer for us to remember or process a question or answer. If you have testing anxiety, you are eligible too! Do not think it is limited to disabled people and it is a benefit. It’s so we don’t fail every test. It’s so we can KEEP UP with you. 

“Getting” to take their dogs everywhere, is the most misconceived of them all. The dog is specially trained to preform a task so we do not DIE suddenly in public. Sure, the dogs are loyal friends, but I am not exaggerating when I say it is to prevent DEATH. Please understand the dog is for personal safety. Like a rescue inhaler or an alarm. Do not complain that you cannot have a dog in public and do not bother our dogs. You are downplaying our illness. It is both rude and cruel. Are you at risk of dying suddenly that could be easily preventable with an assistant? No? Then leave us and our service animals alone because it is none of your business. 

Please think about WHY disabled people need this rather than decry the whole system that barely supports us. I am sure you mean well, but if you think that these things are “perks” or “benefits”, then you are part of the problem. 

A large population of disabled people don’t even get access to all of these things because of the extremely harmful “faker for benefits” mindset that has been widely adapted. It is killing us. Literally. Please be considerate of the needs of all human beings, not just those like you. 

Cosplay, Fanart and Plagiarism

(gif curtesy to Mel)


TL;DR: An artist traced (!) my cosplay photo without permission, gave me zero credits, sold the prints at a con and denied she’s ever seen my photo.

First, both of us, the cosplayer and the photographer, want to say that it would never have come to this if the artist would have immediately apologized to us in person, instead of being extremely rude to us and letting things escalate. A simple sorry and taking down the prints would’ve sufficed.

In the beginning of January, being hyped with the new SU episodes, I immediately fell in love with Blue Diamond and cosplayed her. Two months ago, a friend let me know that an artist she saw drew a fanart based on my photo. I was extremely flattered and happy, but also kinda sad the artist gave me zero credits. Us cosplayers and photographers work really hard to get a nice result, and everyone is happy when their photo serves as an inspiration for another artwork. I wrote a letter to her stating that I love her art, but I’d like her to credit me as a source of inspiration (adding the screen shot).

For two months, there was silence. I tried it again a few weeks ago, but again, no response. Okay, what can you do…



Last weekend we had a big con in Germany with a huge artist alley and both of us, the photographer and the cosplayer, attended. Suddenly, a friend came to us and said that there’s a girl selling this exact drawing. We were puzzled and decided to go to her booth and look at it ourselves.

Keep reading

Music Major Gothic

-The metronome keeps going, at its eternal, pulsing speed. You turned it off 3 days ago. It slowly drives you mad.

-You hear quiet sobbing from beyond the wall of your practice room. You go to check on your comrade, but the room beside you is empty. You realize it was you that was sobbing.

-The tuner is set to A = 460. You are unsure how, as your tuner does not have a setting that high.

-Your professor hands you your math midterm. You are in music theory. You do not understand.

-How long have you been in this practice room? You are uncertain. There are no windows and time doesn’t seem to pass here. You emerge to discover that it’s 2AM and you missed your graduation.

-Your private instructor tells you to buy a piece. You scour the internet, but you cannot find it. You find one copy, for $600, in “poor” condition. There are no recordings of it. It is not on imslp.

-The practice room clock has never worked in your years here, but it somehow always reads a different time.

-You suddenly forget how to play your instrument. Your fingers fumble on the foreign object. You’ve never played this piece before. Juries are tomorrow.

-The practice rooms are all full. You wait for hours, but no one comes out. You knock on the door, you just want to practice. Something hisses at you. You do not try again.

-There are intruders in the music building. They are unwelcome. They know this, and hurry quickly in and out of their music appreciation gen ed class. They do not make eye contact. You hate them, but you do not understand why.

-You see a familiar face in the hallway. You do not remember their name, but you do remember what instrument they play. They’ve been attending this school for seven years and you’re certain they graduated…..twice

-Your instrument whispers to you while you sleep. You haven’t been practicing enough. The voice is threatening, demanding. You’ve lost 2 roommates because of it. They never informed you of this. Your 3rd one trembles.

-You reach for a pencil during class only to discover that you have none left. You’ve lost the last one. Classes started three days ago. You weep softly.

-Your ensemble director keeps conducting. He never speaks. You sneak out when the class ends. He doesn’t stop. What is he conducting, anyway? It’s syllabus day.

It Wasn’t Real (prologue)

Originally posted by villainquoteoftheday

Summary: You’re part of the infamous Loser’s Club, and often asked, what are you afraid of? You reply, nothing, but what your friends don’t know is that your biggest fear is them.

Requested: Nah. Just had this idea, and really wanted to write it.

Pairing: Loser’s Club x Reader

Warnings: this is based off pure memory. swearing, pennywise, fear, trauma, etc.

THIS IS A SERIES!! Check it out: one - two - three - four - five - six - seven - eight - nine - ten - eleven - finale


You hadn’t hesitated, not once. Not for your friends, not now, not ever. You’d done it for them. Done it to help Bill, to help Richie and Eddie, and Beverly, Ben, Mike, Stan. All of them.

But it seemed, now in this moment, they didn’t care.

“Open the door!” You screamed, “please! Please!” Your hands banged ruthlessly against the wooden door, trying everything to get it open. But no matter how hard you tried, it just wouldn’t budge. “Guys, please. Open the door!” You weren’t sure if it was them or someone else, but the door had shut on it’s own and now you couldn’t get it open again.

“Why would we open it?” A gasp escaped your lips, spinning around too fast for your own pace as Richie’s voice echoed around you. Smacking your back against the bedroom door behind you, you tried to look for someone through the thick darkness. “Why would want to ever open it?”

“R-Richie?” You called out, a tinge of hesitancy in your voice. “Are you there?” You asked, your fingernails scratching against the wood. You barely noticed the pain you caused yourself in the midst of your panic. Barely noticed the eery sound you made as the wood was scratched. 

“You’re nothing.” A different voice. Bill.

“You’ve never been anything.” Beverly.

“And now, you’ll never be something.” Eddie. 

“I-I… i don’t understand.” You whimpered, finding yourself at a lost of words. You couldn’t see anything, it was only dark and black and nothing. There was no light, there wasn’t anything to see. How could they be speaking to you? When a moment ago they’d been outside the door you were now separated by. “It isn’t real. It isn’t real. It’s not real!” You repeated, over and over.

“Not real?” Ben.

“Why wouldn’t this be real?” Mike.

“When we finally have the chance to get rid of you?” Stan.

“No.” You whispered, shaking your head. None of this made any sense! “No! No!” 

“No?” Then suddenly, the lights flipped on and you could see everything. Your friends stood before you in a line, all disfigured and bloodied. You cringed at the sight, pressing yourself as tight as you could against the wall though it did nothing. Closing your eyes, you tried to stop your frantic breathing but it was useless, as your sobs slipped past. “Why no?” Bill asked, tilting his head in an unnatural way.

“Afraid?” Eddie smiled. “You’re never afraid.”

“Don’t tell me…” Beverly started, her hand against her chest; “you’re afraid of us?”

“But isn’t this not real?” Ben reminded, and you watched with wide eyes.

“Or… is it?” Mike asked, and you felt your knees quake beneath you.

“Oh, it’s real.” Stan declared. You let out a whimper, hitting the back of your head against the door. “Your fear, I can smell it. It’s always been real.” Stan’s voice grew out of tone, as if it wasn’t him.

“Aren’t you afraid, Y/N?” Richie asked, stepping through the rest and making his presence known as he stood in the middle. Though, the second you blinked your eyes, it was no longer Richie and no longer did your friends stand there. Instead, stood IT.

Letting out a scream, you spun around, your hands coming up to bang on the door and jiggle the knob. “Let me out! Open the door!”

“Get the fucking door open!” Richie screamed, and it took you half a second to realize that it was him, behind the door. Had he been there the entire time? “I’m trying!” Stan yelled, and you felt the doorknob move beneath your grip. Had they been there the entire time?

“Time to play, Y/N.” You felt your heart spike at IT’s voice, and when you turned your head he was running at you. His speed was alarming but you only turned back to the door, yanking desperately.

“Hang o-on Y/N!” 

“Please!” You screamed, “please!”

You felt your body fall forward and wind rush through your hair, just as IT’s hands grazed your back. Though before your body could fall against the harsh ground you felt hands grab you. In your panic-stricken mind, you let out a blood-curling scream and you fought the grip, believing it to be IT. “Don’t touch me!”

“Y/N! Y/N!” A voice called and there were hands on your face, but you couldn’t focus. Your mind was running wild. “It’s Stan, Y/N! It’s okay, it’s okay!” Blinking, you felt your vision focus on what was before you; Stan. And then you saw Bill, and Eddie and Richie and…

“You left me!” Was the first thing that left your lips, in a shrill high-pitched tone. “You left me! You wouldn’t open the door!”

“No, no, Y/N. W-We tried to get the door open, it wouldn’t- wouldn’t-” Richie tried to explain, his own words running over one another. “We wouldn’t leave you.” He finished at last. But your mind was too wild, too gone for you to listen and instead you only continued to sob.

“Where’s the rest?” Eddie asked aloud, looking past your bedroom hallway. “Get in here!”

“W-We would never… Y-Y/N we tried. T-That has to count for something.” Bill explained in a haste, holding onto you as he’d been the one to catch you as you fell. You heard footsteps, many footsteps and you flinched until you saw it was only the rest of your friends. Beverly, Ben, Mike…

“You wouldn’t open the door…” You breathed, your voice suddenly a lot quieter. “You said I was nothing.”

“We tried.” Stan shook his head, gripping your face with force so you could focus on what was in front of you.

“I-It wasn’t real…” Bill panted.

Beverly fell before you and she smiled much like before, but this time it was kind. “You’d never be nothing to us.” She soothed, her hand coming out to grab yours.

“Y-Yeah, you’re too hot to forget.” Richie laughed, and you let out a small chuckle yourself. Evening out your breathing, your eyes found your bedroom and the scratches against the door, the scratches you made. That wasn’t fake… but the rest had been.

Falling into Stan, you pulled Mike into you and the rest followed.

It wasn’t real.

Or was it?


i’m not sure what this is, it’s bit more… much that my usual stories. But i thought this’d be interesting to write, please let me know what you thought! It could even be a series, I don’t know, lol. Just let me know!

engineering school gothic
  • you are in three classes that use bernoulli’s equation. none of the equations are the same. your teachers do not know who bernoulli is. did bernoulli even exist?
  • there is a problem set. it is not on the syllabus. the first question is a blank page. you look through the whole set. it is all blank, except for the last page. you think it says “run”. you do not know. it is not written in binary.
  • this is an ethics class. you are not sure why you are here. you do not need ethics. you have never needed ethics. “it’s a joke class,” whispers an upperclassman. you do not understand why it is funny.
  • abet. the name echoes through the halls of the mechanical engineering building. no one knows what it means.
  • you are studying the tacoma narrows bridge for the fifth time. your differential equations professor tells you it is not an example of resonance. your engineering professor tells you it is. you are not sure who to trust.
  • there are six bernoullis. only four of them are related. they all look the same.
  • the environmental science majors have to take a class to learn excel. you do not understand. you have always known excel, haven’t you? you do not remember learning it.
  • you solve a triple integral and stop, confused. it has become a ricotti equation. you have forgotten ohm’s law.
  • euler has done everything. there is a portrait of euler in the english building. when you look into its eyes, something disturbs you on a visceral level.
  • you know so many languages: java, javascript, doubt, python, c++, R, matlab, uncertainty, ruby, html, confusion, terror,
  • your professor cancels class. you suspect a trick. when you arrive to the classroom, your entire class is there, watching the empty space where the professor should be. no one speaks. no one leaves.
  • the problem set is optional. the problem set is not optional. the problem set is about schrodinger’s law.
  • three different people have explained mechatronics to you. nobody knows what it is.
  • your friend says they have essays to write. essays? you cannot remember what a word document looks like. you have not written a paragraph in two years. words are abstract concepts without meaning.
  • “you’re an engineer?” someone asks. “you must be smart.” you begin to laugh. you have them all fooled. you cannot stop laughing.
  • no one is sure what systems engineering is. the lights in the systems building are always on. you have never seen someone come out.
  • your professors all do research. there are bloodstains on their lecture notes. you do not ask what they research. the last person to ask vanished at the start of the semester. your computer science professor hasn’t stopped smiling since.
  • when you attend career fairs, you are surrounded by students you have never seen and companies you have never heard of. “we’re an innovative start-up,” someone says. “we’re an innovative start-up,” you hear echoed down the hall three weeks later. the words have not stopped. you cannot sleep. you are an innovative start-up. 
D.I.P. (Disabled In Public)

Sometimes I really hate being Disabled In Public. Like…. there’s a definitive difference between being disabled and in public and Disabled In Public, and it’s hard to articulate to people who don’t have to experience this phenomenon. Like, yesterday I was at the airport, flying home for summer break. I’m sitting in my wheelchair at the gate, waiting to pre-board, and the gate check woman comes up to me, bends down and puts her hands on her knees, and says, “Gosh! You’re so independent!” I’m 23 years old, I live on my own across the country, and I’m a fucking adult out in public. Yes. I’m independent. How kind of you to notice.

And this happens all the time! I’m fine with people complementing my canes, or the flowers on my chair in passing, but coming up to me, speaking down to me, infantilizing me…. it’s all part of being Disabled In Public. The second I’m out in public I become some sort of attraction to able bodied people. Walking (or rolling) clickbait. And none of my able-bodied friends or family quite understand why I get so frustrated, or why I snap at people.

I was at the mall with my dad yesterday, in my wheelchair, and at least three people stopped me to complement my wheelchair. Which is fine. Except for the third woman, who said in some sort of weird baby talk, “Aw, who did that for you? That was so nice of them!” Uh…. I did that myself. Because, again, I am an adult.

And after this my dad goes, “Gosh, does this happen all the time? It must be so annoying…” to which I’m about to be delighted, before he continues, “…but you’re kind of asking for it by decorating your chair.”

No, I’m not asking for it. I’m accessorizing. People don’t stop everyone else on the street to infantilize them for their accessories. It only happens when you’re Disabled In Public.

And I didn’t really mean to write some kind of essay on the subject, but honestly. Why can’t people leave us alone? I’m not a child, I’m not inspiration porn, I’m just a fucking person out in the world trying to live my fucking life without random people interrupting me to make me feel awkward and singled out and Disabled.

Gigantic monster: (appears)

Keith: We need to form Voltron!!

Hunk: Yeah, okay, but…. Why do we ALWAYS have to jump to Plan A: Murder? What if we tried to talk things out with the monster?

Hunk: (to the monster) Hey, I think this is all one big misunderstanding. None of us are looking for a fight. There’s no one here to fight. So why even bother? Aren’t you tired of violence? Don’t you want to try peace for a change? It doesn’t have to be this way. You don’t have to-

Monster: (roars)

Hunk: (frantically backpedaling away) understandable have a nice day

Scars

Originally posted by ethereal-baek

Genre: Angst

Word Count: 11484


Everyone is born with a soul mark somewhere on their body. Their soulmate has the same mark. New technology has been developed that can remove the mark, but at great cost.


The voices resonating within the small living room blurred together into white noise and faded into the aether, leaving the abrupt thud of your heart stopping as the only audible sound. The walls felt like they were crumbling around you, and the velvet couch you sat on seemed like it was swallowing you into its depths, encasing you in a suffocating darkness. The pain you had suppressed for so long came flooding back, spreading through your every nerve. You felt like your chest had imploded and your bones were caving in. Your entire body had shut down momentarily as Sehun’s last few words echoed through the husk of your skull.

“I’m going to get my soul mark removed.”

There were muffled voices, a few louder than the others, but you couldn’t decipher what was being said. Your brain - consumed by grief - didn’t allow for it. Someone had placed their hand on your arm to try and shake you out of your stupor, but you could barely feel the contact through your numb skin.

But then, his voice called your name, penetrating through the void. That one familiar voice that for so long had brought you happiness and sweet memories, but now, it tore your very being apart. The words that voice had spoken had severed the few ties to him you had left. But still, his voice had so much power and influence over you, and it finally brought you out of your trance. You blinked a few times, and suddenly, you were returned to reality.

This wasn’t a dream.

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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.

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31. Stop biting that fucking lip.

Despite spending the last four years of his life studying Russia, Yuuri was still greatly underprepared for how cold it was when he arrived. The palace consort had offered his sister, Mari, Minako-sensei and himself a fine fur pelt each to wear; something Yuuri gratefully accepted as the chill had gone through the wool of his mon-tsuki like needles, hakama soaked nearly up to his knees from the snow.

‘Stop biting that fucking lip,’ Mari snapped, Japanese vulgar in her impatience to get into the warmth of the drawing room they had been brought to. Yuuri squeaked, glancing quickly to where Minako-sensei was walking ahead of them. But thankfully, their tutor seemed not to hear them.

‘I c-can’t help it,’ Yuuri replied, barely containing his shiver. ‘My teeth won’t stop shaking.’

Mari rolled her eyes as they entered the drawing room, bowing her head to the servant who held the door for them. Yuuri followed after her, still dwarfed by his older sibling’s height and attempted to do the same, bending his body. Unfortunately, this just had Yuuri stepping onto the front his hakama and stumbling.

At 14, Yuuri was still adjusting to the formal wear, not used to having fabric bundle after him so much. It had taken great practice not to trip entirely over the hakama’s length, the weight of his mon-tsuki making it incredibly awkward to gather any semblance of lift over the whole ensemble. While the pelt didn’t help in that regard, it at least had the benefit of keeping Yuuri warm.

‘I’m sorry,’ Yuuri said in English to the servant, whose white skin and fine hair looked as striking as everyone else Yuuri had met in Saint-Petersburg so far. The servant said nothing, light eyes darting between Yuuri and the tall figure of their consort.

Lilia Baranovskaya was as imposing as she was alien to Yuuri, long nose constantly titled up in a position of great displeasure. Yuuri had only met her once before, four years prior when she had travelled to Japan first with the Tsar and his advisors. She seemed just as terrifying now as she did then, green eyes fixed on Yuuri like he were something she were about to dissect. She straightened the skirt of her Western gown, vivid purple silk which fitted her frame in direct contrast to Minako-sensei’s demure kimono.

‘She won’t understand you,’ Lilia said, her English sounding almost completely foreign in accent. ‘None of the servants speak English.’

‘Why not?’ Yuuri asked, curiosity ahead of his manners. Minako-sensei sighed, Mari rolling her eyes again.

‘It wouldn’t be proper. Now sit by the fire, before you catch cold,’ Lilia replied like it were obvious, before dispatching the servant in rapid Russian.

Yuuri was quiet then, knowing a dismissal when he heard one. Yuuri tightened his grip of the pelt around himself, walking closer to the chairs that were laid out before the fire.The sketches of the Winter Palace did not the do the reality of the building any justice, as far as Yuuri was concerned. It’s grandness gave Yuuri a hollow feeling in his stomach, nervous of the opulence that was gilded to the walls like it were worth the same as wood. Even the fireplace looked to be carved from riches, small gems of greens and reds encrusted along the spiralling gold carvings.

Mari sat across from Yuuri, her posture less proper than Yuuri expected. Yuuri didn’t imitate, keeping his back straight and hands folded neatly as Minako-sensei and Lilia began to speak in hushed tones at the chaise in the furtherest corner of the room. Discussing Yuuri, he was in no doubt. Yuuri watched the flames for a long while, talking with Mari about the journey, trying to ignore the mutterings behind him. When Yuuri heard the word marriage, the nervousness eating him from within won out.

‘Excuse me,’ Yuuri said politely, standing up from his chair. Lilia and Minako-sensei both looked from their discussion, eyes considering. Yuuri did his best not to blush. ‘But I’m feeling quite heavy-headed from all the travel. Could I be excused to take a turn around the gardens for some fresh air?’

Minako-sensei opened her mouth first, no doubt to tell Yuuri no. But then Lilia was standing, sharp chin pointed down in consideration.

‘Of course. I’ll fetch you a chaperone.’

Which was how Yuuri now found himself back out in the snow he had been so resentful of at first, an armed escort walking five steps behind him. But anything was better than sitting in that small, glittering room like it were anything but the cage it would inevitably be. Yuuri looked around himself, at the towering stone walls of the palace and how they seemed to dwarf out even the white blanket of the sky. The snow falling in the small, snow thick space of the garden courtyard that sat in the centre of the palace reminded Yuuri of the snowglobes the Tsar would send his family at the winter seasons.

Someday, Yuuri would be one of those small glass figures. Trapped behind a wall he could not see and drowning beneath Russian snow.

Yuuri’s turn of the square came to a halt once he crossed the far corner, the central trees passing to reveal a small arena of some kind that didn’t appear to be part of the original garden. It was like the pavement had been dug up to form a small, square pond of sorts. And on the pond’s frozen surface was a boy, a teenager perhaps, gliding across the ice like a dancer.

Yuuri stopped where he was, uncaring of the snow that was eating through his boots. He watched, transfixed as the other boy bent low, his body the delicate contortion of strength, before leaping into the air. Spinning, like string unwoven, and landing back on the ice with a clap like thunder. Yuuri’s heart swelled in his chest, entranced.

The boy was dressed well, or at least he was from Yuuri’s understanding of Russian fashion. He was wearing a coat of leather, fur-lined and thick so some of the movements of the boy’s arms looked unseamly with its bulk. On his head was one of those round, fur hats Yuuri had seen from his carriage to the palace, hands covered in rounded gloves. Yuuri found himself walking, interest and hope coming together like the stitching of his mon-tsuki, approaching the makeshift ice with speed.

Yuuri stopped when he reached the edge, which was lined with a straight wooden fence. The skater turned on his steel, speed ruddering him across the uneven surface of the ice. He looked over to Yuuri, reaching up with a gloved hand to pull the front of his coat down.

He was… beautiful. With a narrow face and straight nose, eyes vivid in their blueness and Yuuri’s breath caught in his throat. Yuuri flushed, whole body quaking as his embarrassment suddenly thawed the chill that had set in his bones. The skater approached as Yuuri tried to hide his quivering under the thick pelt.

The Tsarevich, Yuuri guessed. The boy who would become the man that would inherit this large, strange country. The man Yuuri would marry, as arranged by their respective courts.

The Tsarevich skated up to the fence, his pale skin burnished pink from the cold in a manner Yuuri couldn’t help but stare at. It was so strange, to see skin so stark like it were burnt. The boy was tall, even if he hadn’t been wearing his steel and easily the three or so years older Yuuri knew the Tsarevich to be. Yuuri’s breath was a cloud in front of him, the Tsarevich’s eyes glacial as they regarded Yuuri from beneath his cap.

When the Tsarevich spoke, it was in Russian and Yuuri was struck dumb with the speed of it, the harsh sound of it in his ears. Yuuri stared, unsure how to even respond. Yuuri hadn’t been taught Russian, on the request of the Russian court.

‘So they can hide their secrets,’ Minako-sensei had said with disdain, all that time ago. Yuuri realised too late that he still hadn’t said anything and he panicked, voice squeaking in his throat like a girls. Yuuri winced, embarrassed but the Tsarevich was suddenly cooing soothingly.

‘Prosti, prosti,’ the Tsarevich said, reaching out with a gloved hand to touch Yuuri’s shoulder. Yuuri flinched from the touch, unsure and the Tsarevich retreated. ‘I am sorry. English?’

Yuuri blinked, caught off guard. Then, his manners returned to him.

‘Yes,’ he replied, word a cloud in the cold. ‘I speak English.’

‘Wonderful,’ the Tsarevich replied, tugging a glove off with his teeth. Yuuri stared, amazed by the lack of propriety and strangely, relieved by it also. The Tsarevich held his hand out, fingers white like the snow. ‘I’m Victor.’

‘Katsuki Yuuri,’ Yuuri said, untangling a hand from where he had it bundled beneath the felt. Victor smiled, a slanted thing that made Yuuri’s stomach squeeze. Yuuri’s fingers were red now, too. Hand shaking. Victor took it, before looking down with wide eyes.

‘Your hand is freezing!’ he exclaimed and Yuuri snatched it back, afraid he’d overstepped. Then, much to his surprise, Victor tugged his other glove off and offered both out to Yuuri from over the top of the fence. When Yuuri didn’t move to take them, Victor took Yuuri’s hand into his own. ‘Please, I insist you take these. That fur won’t be enough, especially once the sun goes down.’

‘T-thank you,’ Yuuri replied, nerves catching on the words like hooks. He took the gloves, slipping them on when Victor waved a hand at him to do so. They were lined in fur as well and Yuuri couldn’t stop the sigh of relief he felt at having them. They were still warm from Victor’s skin.

Victor smiled again, his teeth sharp and eyes bright. Yuuri smiled back, happy to have pleased him.

‘Do you know how to skate?’ Victor asked, gesturing to the ice behind him. Yuuri shook his head, replacing his now gloved-hands beneath the pelt again.

‘No, we don’t really have the sport where I’m from,’ Yuuri said, not hiding the disappointment he felt. ‘But I know all about it. I’ve admired it for a long time.’

‘Perhaps I’ll teach you!’ Victor said boldly and it had Yuuri blushing. So forward, though perhaps Yuuri should’ve expected it. ‘Would you like me to skate for you?’

‘Please!’ Yuuri said, not bothering to contain the excitement he felt. Victor grinned, bright like the moon.

Yuuri wasn’t sure how much time passed between them. Enough for the snow to crawl up past the knees of his hakama, for certain and enough for even the escort assigned to him to cough. But Yuuri found that he didn’t care. He was totally caught by the movement of Victor’s body, the tumbling sound of his laugh. They shouted conversation across the ice to each other, Victor waving when he would skate close to where Yuuri was standing.

Then, Victor’s steel caught the edge of uneven ice, sending his body down. Yuuri cried out as Victor hit the ice, his cap flying off him in the impact. From beneath it, a curtain of long, fine hair spilled out. Silver as the ice it was laying against, Yuuri lost his words and even his panic for a moment at the beauty of it. Victor gathered himself up, brushing the ice dust from his jacket and looking around for his cap.

‘Ah, that was embarrassing,’ Victor said as he approached the fence again, shaking his retrieved cap. Yuuri said nothing, watching the sway of Victor’s long hair like it were a clock’s pendulum. ‘Though, I never have such a charming distraction.’

The compliment brought Yuuri tumbling right back down to earth.

‘I’m so sorry!’ he said, reaching out to touch Victor. He held Victor’s arm, barely feeling him under the layers of fabric between them. ‘You are not hurt, are you?’

‘I have survived far worse, I promise you,’ Victor said, winking and Yuuri was struck again by his brashness. Victor reached up, turning his hair around like rope.

Yuuri remembered when he had had his own hair cut before the journey, Minako-sensei pulling the strands back before taking a blade to it. Cutting it all the way up, to Yuuri’s ears. It was the fashion in the West, Minako-sensei had said. They had wanted to make a good first impression.

‘What do the people think, to have the Tsarevich grow his hair so long?’ Yuuri asked, admiring the way Victor’s hair shone like starlight from his dislodged cap. 

Victor froze, abandoning the replacement of his cap and staring at Yuuri in a manner most uncomely with his mouth slightly open and Yuuri panicked, worried he had offended. 

‘My- my apologies!’ Yuuri stammered, bowing as low as he could. ‘That was uncouth. Please forgive me.’

‘No, no!’ Victor said, seemingly finding his voice. Yuuri titled his head up, not entirely comfortable to straighten up fully yet. Victor pushed his fine hair from his face, looking quite sheepish. ‘You did nothing of the sort. I’m afraid it’s me who has been foolish and should be apologising. I swear, I never meant to mislead you.’

Yuuri did straighten up at that, suddenly wary. He stepped back, watching Victor carefully. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I’m not the Tsarevich,’ Victor said, eyes downcast with a look of shame. Yuuri’s heart stopped in his chest, stomach dropping like a stone. ‘I’m his skating coach.’

Next.

Locked Away

By reddit user Pippinacious

Six months. That’s how long almost half of the new hire last when they become social workers. Some will tell you it’s the pay, others will tell you it’s the stress, still others will complain about poor training or case overload or the broken system. But that’s all bullshit. The reason they quit is always the same; the kids.

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Shelter - Remus Lupin x Reader (contains smut)

Request: would you ever do a PoA Professor Lupin and student y/n smut imagine?? If you can’t, then that’s okay! I absolutely love your work and if you’re not comfortable with writing it, then that’s absolutely fine ✨

Warnings:  This is a PROFESSOR Remus imagine that contains smut. It’s perfectly legal since the reader is 18. However, if you do not like the idea or feel comfortable with it, please don’t read this. Just scroll past it. (I have to tell you though, that there is nothing wrong with relationships with an age difference-personal experience.) .Other than that, my English and the smut part, which is not the most graphic smut I have written. (under the cut)
Image and gifs aren’t mine/ Credits to their original owners. 
Word count: 6k+
MASTERLIST

You knew you were in for a hell of a year since the moment you laid eyes on him. You didn’t know why or what but you knew… your last year would be a year to remember.
You had missed the Sorting Ceremony, again. So, you went to your dorm and settled things down while you waited for everyone to fall asleep. You would then sneak to the kitchens and grab something to eat. Naturally, you were in for a surprise, but of course, you had no idea.
After a while, it was late enough for you to go unnoticed. You had quickly found the pear and tickled it, transforming it into a door- knob. You smiled to yourself. You had found your way around the castle without that ridiculous map that the twins had stolen from Filch’s office. You knew every single secret passageway and every single corridor-you knew Hogwarts. You were friends with them, with all of the Weasleys. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that you had briefly dated Charlie. Even though you had realized that you were better off as friends after a while. You had bonded with the twins over Quidditch and pranks. You had tried to make them study-it had ended badly; your hair had gone pink, the color you hated the most, for a week.
You crept inside the kitchens, and almost immediately were greeted by the kind house elves.
“Hello, Miss! Welcome back!! What can Bloom get you, miss?” one of them asked you.
“What have I told you, guys? It’s just Y/N” you smiled warmly at them. They just shrugged it off and started preparing only Merlin knows what. At some point, you were worried about the amount of food they were piling up, so you just stopped them, reaching for the chocolate bar that was right before you.
“Um, guys… Chill. I think I’ll just grab some chocolate and-” but before you could finish off with your sentence you heard a low cough like someone wanted to make their presence known, coming from behind you back. Oh, no. You slowly turned around, ready to face the music-and probably Snape and detention- only to find a very, very, disturbingly young man, looking at you, rather amused.
He had a beautiful face no matter his scars, that under the dim candle light illuminating the room, seemed to be soft and strangely attractive. He must have been in his early thirties, you thought. Oh, shit. He has to be your new DADA professor. He was your teacher? Great.
“Hello” you said sheepishly and lowered your gaze, but not for long. You found yourself way too captivated by his kind eyes to look away. You saw him fighting a chuckle.
“It’s past curfew, miss…” he trailed off, not really reprimanding you. You smiled and all your confidence had rushed back in.  You were never the coward one.
“Y/L/N. Oh, I know” you said, raising an eyebrow in emphasis. You liked challenging people. Not too much but just enough. Which seemed to be the case here as well. He was slightly surprised at your answer. He thought that you would apologize and rush out of the kitchen. But there you were, sitting on the table, opening the wrapped chocolate bar, answering back completely nonchalant. He stayed silent for a couple of seconds while you hadn’t even dreamt of breaking the eye contact you held with him. His eyes.
“You do realize I could give you detention, Miss Y/L/N, right?” he asked you. You could tell that he intended to be strict but it didn’t exactly work. Instead, his tone sounded playful and a bit… provocative. You jumped off the table, walking over to him-it wasn’t your fault he was standing near the door.
“But you won’t” you said steadily while piercing his eyes with your intense gaze. He was taken aback by your boldness. You chuckled lightly.
“Goodnight… professor” you bid him goodbye, sending him a wink before you walked out.
Oh, boy. What just happened?



You knew it was going to be bad. The moment you walked into his class, you just knew it.
He had insisted on focusing on the practical experience of facing a boggart. You knew very well that you weren’t capable of facing your worst feat. It was simple, really. You didn’t fear something that could take shape. You feared your own mind. Your life was a lonesome experience and you could understand that very fact more than anyone. You carried the weight of humanity itself with you everywhere you went. You could say that you were trouble. You never really fitted in- your mind was so unending, you knew no limitations. Dumbledore had said that those were signs of geniuses. You thought that those were the signs of madness. Nobody quite understood what made you different, you didn’t even understand it yourself- but you felt it. You felt deep in your bones. You were the lone, last star of each ending night, that was still shining brightly as the sun began to rise.
You knew you were no good. Maybe, professors saw an excellent student; maybe, your friends saw an amazing prankster; maybe your ex had seen a great lover. But none of those things were true. Not entirely, at least. And that feeling, being numb, that was your worst fear. It paralyzed you.
That was why, when that boggart never took shape, you were instantly unable to move. Nobody really knew what was going on. Your classmates thought you feared nothing and the boggart couldn’t morph, but he knew the truth. Before he could help you, you had helped yourself. You weren’t looking for a knight-you were looking for a sword. You remembered every single moment that you felt like you had a family of your own. The twins making you burst into laughter in the middle of the Great Hall with their crazy pranks, Cedric making you feel welcomed and appreciated with his kind personality, Oliver counting on you to win the game. You were not alone, and you gave a silent promise to yourself to never feel numb. Even if the pain became too much to handle. Even if there wasn’t a single hope left. Even if the end was near. You would never shut yourself. Because, feeling, even the pain, was what made us humans. Because feeling and feeling too much was better than forgetting what it was like to have emotions. Feelings made something real. And you wouldn’t change that for the world.
You hadn’t turned your boggart into something funny. You had simply placed it back inside the trunk that it had been. You looked at him, searching for something you didn’t even know what it was. His soft, rich caramel eyes were already on you. He seemed… confused. You stepped back, letting the next person in line perform the spell. You slipped out of the class and you knew that he had noticed, but you simply couldn’t stay there. However, you knew that he knew, so you had to face him at some point. But you couldn’t bring yourself to do that. You couldn’t face those big, soft, caramel eyes. Oh, Merlin. I am melodramatic. 



For the next month, you had avoided his classes. You would come up with excuses, silly ones to stay away from him. You knew it wasn’t… shit, what were you supposed to do? Because the truth was… you had developed a crush on your professor. You couldn’t help it. He was kind and caring and sweet and gentle, he had helped Harry with his boggart… and you knew what he was hiding. You had guessed it the very first time you saw him. The secret behind his scars. Scars that to everybody else would seem… weird, or even ugly. But to you… to you, they were perfect. You wanted to trace your hands along his scars, you wanted to kiss every single one of them. And you had to contain yourself, or you would sigh in front of everyone.
“Hello?”. You snapped your head towards… Fred and George.
“What?” you asked as in a haze. You couldn’t possibly focus on anything else but him. You were having breakfast- well, coffee to be exact- and you could feel his eyes burning holes on your back. You knew it was him and you felt guilty. He hadn’t even mentioned that you were skipping classes to Dumbledore.
“Lupin told us to tell you to get your ass to his office after class” the said in unison. You raised an eyebrow in question.
“He told you to get my ass to his office?” you asked sarcastically, but you were too worried and stressed out to actually care.
“Well, not per say. But that was the meaning. What did you do?” Fred said at once. You, however, didn’t want to answer. Because you knew what had led him to call you to his office. Your mind though, oh… that dirty little mind of yours. You were imagining all kind of inappropriate things you would do to him if you ever had the chance. And then it hit you.
You would have to attend his class today in order to see him after. That little shit. Suddenly, you weren’t feeling all that guilty.
“Nothing that concerns you two” you answered calmly. They just smirked. Sometimes, you could swear, they were able to read your mind. You blushed and kept your head lowered.
Great.
The day had passed in a blur. You didn’t really pay attention to any of your classes until… his.
You were about to sit down as far away as possible when you realized that the were no desks or seats. Your eyes met his. For the first time in a month, you felt your heart squeezing in a strange way. His eyes were intense and a bit greener and a little less caramel that what you remembered. And captivating. Always so captivating.
Before you could continue your daydream, more students walked in and he removed his gaze from yours.
“Does anyone know what a Patronus is?” he asked the class after a while. His voice was soft and melodic, rich and kind. You had it bad.
“A Patronus is primarily used to repel Dementors. They can also be used for communication by accomplished witches and wizards, sir” a girl said, ogling him, causing you the urge to throw up.
“Very well. What else can you tell us?” he continued and you felt like you could melt. It was his voice, so it was his fault.
“The Patronus is Guardian which acts as a shield between you and the Dementor like a projection of the very things that the Dementor feeds upon such hope, happiness, the desire to survive. However, since the Patronus is an incantation the Dementors can’t hurt it. The Patronus has two forms, non-corporeal and corporeal. A non-corporeal Patronus can appear as ‘a thin wisp of silver’ that hovers ‘like mist.’ Whereas a corporeal Patronus has a form that is clearly defined and is more than vapor or smoke. The ability to cast a corporeal or non-corporeal Patronus is down to the skill of the witch or wizard. Each Patronus is unique to the witch or wizard who conjures it, and it’s possible, in some cases, for a Patronus to change” you said looking him directly in the eyes. You simply had to answer, otherwise that… girl would receive his attention. Oh, no. No. No. You couldn’t be… were you jealous? Great. Amazing. You had a crush on your professor and you were jealous of everyone who caught his eye. Very… nice.
He was clearly taken aback; he didn’t believe you would participate since you had been avoiding his classes for a month now.
“Precisely miss Y/L/N” he praised you and you blushed. Where was your confidence? He went on about the charm, how to pronounce it and details about the way to cast it, but you already knew that. You may haven’t been able to produce a corporeal Patronus yet but you had been practicing since a very young age.
“Miss Y/L/N. Why don’t you demonstrate for us?” he simply asked you in a way you could have never said no. He gestured the front of the class. Another amazing moment of your amazing day.
You walked over there confidently, suddenly feeling like yourself again.
You focused on your memories. Not one, as he had said, but many happy ones. Your first time on a broom, your first Quidditch game, your Hogwarts letter, your friends and the pranks you had pulled, the people you cared about. Before you could control it, his face appeared only to disappear seconds later. You didn’t have to say the incantation out loud. With a flicker of your wand, a silvery form emerged. Was that a… Thestral?
The creature walked towards you and bow down its head for you to pet it. You placed your-shaking- hand on its fragile head. It was so surreal. You knew you were one of few people who could see those magnificent animals. They are only visible to people who have seen someone dying and fully accepted, understood and internalized the concept. The animal slowly raised its head and its eyes met his, lowering lightly its head in an indication of respect and then it disappeared. You didn’t move for a few seconds after that. You could hear that the other students were performing the spell as well. Some of them, summoning a corporeal Patronus, some of them not. You were a bit lost for a while after that, so, naturally, you jumped slightly when you felt a hand on your shoulder, shaking you gently. You focused your vision on his face, but you were too confused to remember your little crush.
“Are you alright?” he asked you politely but concerned. You hadn’t realized that no one else was in the classroom. You nodded, forcing a smile, but it was too weak to last more than a couple seconds.
With his hand on your back, he prompted you to his desk and made you sit down.
“Why a Thestral?” you questioned, not really asking him; you asked yourself. He eyed you cautiously.
“A Patronus is a representation of who you are and is manifested by a creature that represents you in some way. I have to ask you… have you witnessed a death?” he quietly asked you. They all did, eventually.
“Three. My parents and my brother were killed-no, murdered by Voldemort himself. Such an honor” you answered softly, trying to prevent the memories from drowning you, therefore the use of sarcasm. He seemed to grow quieter. You didn’t want pity.
“I think it is safe to say that those with this Patronus often have the gentlest souls of all, an exceptional wizard or witch who has emerged strong from a dark past” he said in a small voice, making eye contact with you, or trying to, since you wouldn’t look anywhere near him.
“I do have to ask you one more thing. Why did you avoid my class the previous month?” he continued once he realized that you weren’t going to look at him. What could you possibly tell him?
“First the boggart, now my Patronus. What is it with your class that makes my life so difficult?” you playfully asked. It was your coping mechanism. You dared to look at him, a small smile playing on his lips-oh, his lips… and that small scar on his upper lip… 


It was your birthday, it was Saturday and it was freezing. You had the day to yourself since your friends had visited Hogsmeade. You had decided to stay and stroll around the almost empty castle. It was snowing and everything was covered in white. It was serene. You had purposely missed the breakfast so you could sneak something from the kitchens- some chocolate and tea would be nice. This time you greeted the house elves but since they didn’t have something to do, you wouldn’t keep them there, forcing them to make you something. You were a big girl. You could do it yourself.  

You were boiling the water needed for the tea when a small cough made you jump and spill it on you. Many profanities left your mouth that moment.
“I’m sorry, Y/N. Oh, Merlin, you must have burnt yourself” a guilty voice said, making you snap your head towards it. You were face to face with him. He seemed tired, exhausted really. And then you remembered… the full moon was two days ago. His eyes were more caramel that green, this time. You quickly muttered a drying spell along with a healing one and smiled comfortingly.
“No need to. I’m perfectly alright” you said extremely nonchalant. You returned to the counter and started preparing tea again.
“What brings you here, Professor?” you inquired amused. He let out a heavy breath and came next to you, placing his back against the edge of the wooden counter. Well, it wasn’t his back, but his hips… but that, you chose to ignore.
You had talked and chatted few times after class, before class, in between classes. For nothing and everything. Sometimes he would do the talking, sometimes he would listen. Sometimes he would let something small of his past slip. You could tell that he didn’t mean to, but he didn’t really regret it either. Sometimes your conversations would be about the weather; sometimes about the very meaning of existence. A week ago, he had found himself wanting to tell you about his secret. You had seen it in his eyes. That was the thing about you. People were opening up to you, easily. It had something to do with the fact that you never judged anyone, that you accepted almost everything, that you wouldn’t be afraid to fight and stand up for your loved ones. He had discovered that you may were just eighteen, but you weren’t just eighteen. And even though you didn’t know this, he had found himself waiting with anticipation your next talk.
He hadn’t answered when you handed him a cup of tea. It was your favorite and quite coincidentally his as well. He smiled at you, but he was tired and you felt bad for him. You reached for the top self-even though you weren’t that tall, you managed to get it. Two of the most amazing chocolate bars ever created. You smiled brightly, handing him one. He looked puzzled but entertained.
“When someone gives you chocolate, you don’t ask questions. You just take it” you said in a playfully serious tone, taking a sip of your tea. It was hot and exactly what you needed.
“Thank you, Y/N” he told you, rather moved by your small action. You just shrugged it off.
“So what brings you here?” he asked you, moments later, a smirk plastered on his face, lighting up the whole country.
“Hey!” you retorted. It wasn’t fair, using your question. He raised his eyebrows in amusement. You rolled your eyes, dramatically.
“Fine. I wanted to have my special day spent with chocolate” you informed him, but he furrowed his eyebrows. You sighed heavily to add to the drama.
“It’s my birthday” you said with a fake exasperation. His eyes twinkled with something that if you didn’t know any better you would identify as…hope? Mixed with something else. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but it was there. He placed down his cup and chocolate onto the table next to him.
“Happy Birthday!” he wished you, excitedly. Before you could answer, he had enveloped you into a hug. You were thrown off. Like, completely off. After a few seconds, though, you shyly hugged him back, whispering a ‘thank you’ before breaking apart. He seemed shocked and happy and more shocked. Like he didn’t expect himself to be that bold. Or you to return the gesture. He had even blushed-something that made you realize that your crush was long gone and it had been replaced by something deeper. A connection you couldn’t understand in all its glory because you had never felt like that before.
“Thank you, Professor” you said again but it didn’t feel right, calling him professor.
“Call me Remus outside the class” he said so naturally that, again, he was taken aback by his own words and boldness. You chuckled lightly.
“Remus” you said tentatively. He instantly smiled and your whole world seemed brighter.


You were proud of yourself. You hadn’t missed a single class and your grades were better than ever. You enjoyed school this year, but for entirely different reasons. It was something about him that made you feel… good, after a long time. You were very well aware of everything that would appear to be ‘problematic’. But you were also aware of your feelings. You felt l so naked when you were with him. He could strip you of your walls, of your guarded defenses, leaving you completely and utterly vulnerable. He had shattered any mental boundaries you had ever possessed. He left you breathless with his aura and creative, rhythmic way of speaking to everyone. You were losing your mind and falling into madness and it felt okay, almost a necessity. He showed you how to embrace the lack of time that humans all have, that death was the inevitable and that was not as important as people around you made it seem. You were out of your mind and that was such a wonderful thing.
Your conversations were longer and more meaningful; you had found yourself in the Astronomy Tower the other night, talking to him about your love for the night sky and how you preferred the stars over the moon. Especially the full moon-you had seen him tensed up a bit and you had ‘accidentally’ let a hint slip through your lips. You had gone silent after that until you decided to tell him. You asked him when he would trust you enough, if ever. He had looked bewildered and slightly worried. You had smiled his anxiousness away, letting him know that you knew, and it was perfectly alright because it was still him, even if he didn’t think that. That you couldn’t care less. You didn’t know this, but in that moment, he had to admit to himself something that he kept pushing away all this time. He was captivated by your very essence. And it didn’t matter that you were a student-he never saw you as anything less than an equal; sometimes he saw someone greater in you- greater than anyone who had met before. Someone who held the wisdom of the world inside their soul. You had told him that you had always felt older than your age and that even Dumbledore had said that sometimes you were older than him. He had laughed and that sound was honey to your ears.
Ever since that night, you were closer to each other, stealing glances and sending small smiles even across the class. You could sense that he was low-key, proud of you when you declined every single boy that had come up and asked you out on a date. You didn’t want to get your hopes up, but you felt it.
Due to your past of falsehoods, you had developed this theory that all men are no good, worthless. He had shown you that men could be loyal, passionate, tender, and caring creatures. The boys you have dealt with were the complete opposite. He had made you see that there was a huge difference between the boys you had dated and the man you craved. You had finally met someone who meant more than a lot to you. And not just the ‘he makes me feel special’ but that person that you would fight harder for than you would for yourself. That person that made you want to be better, that showed you your true essence that you didn’t know existed until they came along. You had discovered things about yourself just from being with him. It started as a crush; after a while, you found yourself in love; and now… you could feel something more. Something selfless. It was the little things he would do that made you smile and cry at the same time. You knew that he felt it too-maybe not in the romantic way you did, but still. There was a connection that no one could deny.
It was a cold February night but your heart was warmer than ever. In fact, it was so warm you couldn’t handle it. You couldn’t really take it anymore. You had found your way to his chambers. You didn’t really know how you were to say this. You couldn’t exactly walk in and go all ‘Hello, I’m in love with you. Okay, bye’. But once he opened the door, even that felt like a good idea. He was ravishing in the dim light. He smiled and it seemed that the sun had lost its glory. His eyes captured yours and you felt like you could melt under his gaze. You loved him. Merlin, you did. How could you be so stupid, thinking that it was just a crush? When you didn’t respond, he furrowed his eyebrows, asking you if you were alright, stepping aside so you could walk in.
The moment that door closed, every single restraint you had… was gone. Every single defensive mechanism… gone.
“I need to tell you something. I am in love with you. I have been for a while now. And I know that I am not supposed to feel that way. But I do and I can’t shake you off of my mind. You’re constantly there, reminding of everything I want and cannot have. Your mind is a masterpiece and your soul is ethereal. Extremely delicate and light in a way that seems too perfect for this world. Effortlessly, you shine brighter than the sun itself and when you smile, every pair of knees weaken, bowing down to the ingenious design you are. You are the kind of art that captures the blinding light that keeps me from opening my eyes, but how I foolishly don’t mind and long to go blind by such greatness. Your imperfections are my delight” you finally told him. You had let go of everything that was holding you back. You knew what he would tell you and you knew that he would try to make it hurt as less as possible, but he would start avoiding you. And even the thought hurt but you couldn’t cope with it any longer. When you finally looked at him, he was pale and visibly shaken.
“I think you should go” he said in a small voice. He didn’t sound mad or angry or strict. You nodded. You had clearly overstepped your boundaries. You reached for the knob, but before you opened the door, you whispered a question that would torture his mind for a while.
“Is it because of the ‘difficulties’ or because you don’t like me like that? I don’t need an answer. But you do”. With that, and a stolen glance you left his room, closing the door behind you.
You let out a long breath. At least, you were honest with him and most importantly, with yourself. He was your teacher after all and almost twice your age. You could see the ‘problems’ as other people would call them. You weren’t stupid. You were, however, completely, unconditionally and irrevocably in love with him. But that didn’t mean that he was. 


You were merely right. You hadn’t talked or chatted or looked each other ever since that night.  He wasn’t avoiding you per say, but he wasn’t thrilled spending time with you, either. And that’s why you never pressured things. You had done your part. And he had done his. It hurt because you were pretending you didn’t feel that way anymore, but in all honesty, you were falling even harder every time you saw him, thought about him… him. You had felt the urge to bang your head against a wall or something in order to stop thinking scenarios that would never be true.
Months had gone by. April was almost gone. You felt that you needed a change. That was the main reason that you agreed on a ‘friendly’ date. He was good looking, smart and funny. He was a really nice boy. But that was all he was. A boy. Nonetheless, you had decided to dress up a bit. It was spring and the sun was spreading its warmth all over the place, so after a lot of thinking you found yourself in a beautiful yet casual lilac dress, with your hair in loose curls and a touch of makeup. You looked good, you thought a tad surprised. You were about to turn when you bumped into someone. You would have apologized quicker if it wasn’t for your lack of focus.
“I-I’m sorry, professor” you whispered. You saw him grimacing at your last word but then his expression turned into one of admiration. You knew you had blushed, feeling his eyes roaming your body like a second skin. You locked eyes with him. You could see the desire in them. Act on it, you stubborn git, you thought to yourself. He opened and closed his mouth too many times. You just shook your head and left. Or tried to. His hand was wrapped around your wrist, gently, almost scared by the very action. You halted and faced him. You were done playing games. You have had enough. And he did too, apparently.
“I’ve tried distancing myself, making up excuses, intentionally finding reasons to avoid you but none of it ever worked” he admitted shyly but… finally. Your eyes widened a bit, your breath was caught on the back of your throat. Did he really just say that?
“Never have I felt something more compelling than this bond we share. But I’m your teacher and twice your age and that’s not even the worst part. I can’t escape these feelings but I don’t know what to do, Y/N” he continued. He seemed almost vulnerable. Feeling like you would explode, you slowly brought your hands to his face, cupping his cheek, electrified by the touch. He pierced your eyes with his and boy, you were a goner. Not being able to handle it any longer, you crashed your lips to his. It didn’t set off fireworks, it set off an atomic bomb. His lips were soft and warm yet hungry. He kissed you deeply and pulled you closer, his hands wrapped around your waist, holding you in place. You kissed him back with the equal amount of lust and hunger and emotion. You softly bit his lower lip, tracing your tongue across it. But he pulled away, leaving you… empty.
“We shouldn’t. This is wrong” he murmured trying to convince himself more than anything else. You grabbed his hand and without letting him complain, dragged him-quite literally- to his room. Thankfully it was just around the corner. 

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4 | You’ll Never Walk Alone

BTS + GOT7 X READER [GANG!AU]

WORD COUNT: 4,429

series warnings: mature themes, strong language, violence, substance abuse, eventual smut. this chapter contains graphic content such as blood, drugs and guns.

Originally posted by mauloveskpop

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One of these days someone’s gonna make a callout for a popular tumblr user who is both intensely homophobic AND a pedophile, but no one’s going to buy it because none of you people understand what words mean or why misusing them accomplishes nothing.