and he was a year younger and a foot taller

knitting a blanket & suddenly not sure how big blankets are supposed to be. 12 feet across? 15??
When Things Go Sideways

Pairing: Steve Rogers x James Rogers x Tony Stark x Thor Odison

Warning: Things get a little out of hand, but it’s not sad!

A/N: Here is my continue of Dad!Saturday, I’m working through the rest of the requests I got for these. This was an Anon request. Hope you enjoy.

Prompts: “Don’t tell your mom and you can have ice cream for dinner”

When Tony wants to try out a new idea, he remembered Peppers warning about blowing out half of the building again and Y/N’s threat about doing anything dangerous with James in the building. When they go to the roof to test it out, it’s a good thing Tony’s quick with his back up plans while Steve’s flat on his back and James ends up in a bad situation.

“James! My man.” Tony greets the four year old perched on his father shoulders.

“Uncle Tony!” The blonde copy of his father, cheers back.

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anonymous asked:

What do you think it would have been like if Gwen had been twice as tall/high as her cousin Ben, other than perhaps Ben feeling like if he was a midget by comparison?

There actually was a period that Gwen was starting to get taller than Ben, and that just happens even if kids are the same age that often times girls will grow taller for a period first. I remember going through that myself when one of my friends that was a year younger then me sprouted up a full foot over me and then a year later I grew a foot taller than her.

Ben did get lucky that when he and Gwen were the same exact age (because remember they share the same birthday) that they were close to the same height.

But hey, I’m sure besides Gwen probably teasing her ‘little’ cousin for a bit, there would have been some upsides.

As much as I love ‘protective-older-brother-Enjolras’ - and I adore him- ‘little-brother-who-really-wants-to-be-protective-Enjolras’ has not been fully explored

so

Cosette is 3 years older, just old enough that they’re in different periods of life, but they can still talk to one each other as equals.

Before Enjolras figure out the whole ‘gender roles are bad’ he tried so desperately to be the ‘man of the house and protect his frail, weak, sister’. Cosette put a stop to that real quick.

When she gets her first gf in high school Enjolras, still in middle school, tries very hard to scare the girl into treating Cosette right. His voice broke so many times.

When he invited Marius over to work on some group presentation, she was back from college and Enjolras fully expected her to ignore the younger, shorter freckled boy who couldn’t stop staring at her. Boy was he surprised. And very disappointed that he had introduced his sister to this…..moderate republican. His intimidation speech works a lot better the second time. It helps that he had grown a foot and a half taller. Marius claim it took years off his life

He originally meets R when Cosette brings Ep home to meet her family, Grantaire came with because, as Eponine puts it, “if I’m meeting your family, you’re meeting mine. Why not do it at the same time?”

Grantaire refuses to speak about what Cosette said to him before he took Enjolras on their first date, but still can’t look her fully in the eye.

How tall is Geno really?

I think that Geno is taller than the 6′3 that is reported. 

The Pens site says:

His scouting report from his draft in 2004 says:

“Malkin is nearly a full year younger and will play in the NHL at nearly 6-foot-4, 215 pounds when he fills out.”

Keep in mind that was when he was just 18, so it is possible that he has gown more. 

Then there’s this pic:

Magic Johnson is 6′9 and Geno does not look much smaller.

just stop

all these tyrus fics that refer to Cyrus as “the younger” and Tj as “the older”… in what canon do they ever refer to their ages being different? just because one is taller doesn’t make one older or younger. I have an older friend who is a foot shorter than me and another who is almost two years younger who gets asked if he plays basketball a lot…

How they met

Requested by @pinkpandapancakes

@ascreamingstrawberry @simplesuccessions-is-very-dead @patchworkofstars @anotherside-sblog @abrownswann @chaoticcharm-stone-posts @emo-sanders-sides-loving-unicorn @starryfirefliesbloggo @thefallendog @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2 @silly-aesthetic-me @accidental-sanders @the-incredible-sulk @ninjago2020 @pinkpandapancakes @vampiregeek2002 @hissesssss @moonstonefox12 @book-of-charlie @shanisaur @randomfanderfriend @thatonetuesdaywhensam @saltlouie @i-sold-my-soul-to-thefandom @sunshine-in-a-petal @spacenerrrd @violetvirgil @rangercorpses

Not all the meetings are here but these are the only ones I could think of, and some are going to happen in the Fic. If there are meetings I missed that you want me to do, request them specifically (ex. Logan and Roman).

-Roman met Patton when they went to Elementary school together. They were doing a class project on Native American history and Roman was absolutely fascinated when Patton shared with the class that he was half Native American. He went up to Patton after class and bombarded him with questions about his parents, his culture, if he kept up some of the traditions, etc. their friendship became so strong after that day that they were never seen apart, except when Patton moved around a lot when he was 15 because he got put into foster care (and both boys were extremely grateful when Patton’s adoptive parents ended up living in their hometown). Patton obviously knew Remy as well since they were brothers.

-As stated in the original headcanons, Virgil and Logan met in band when they were about 13 or so. They were both saxophones and the teacher once asked them to do a duet together for a concert, causing them to need to work together a lot and get to know each other. They hit it off almost immediately, and played very well together.

-Emile and Remy have been friends since childhood. Their parents were friends in college so the two were practically raised together. That’s also how Roman met Emile. The other boy was at the house so often that Roman thought he was actually his brother!

-Damien and Emile were on the swim team together when they were about 7. Damien was 8. The two were acquainted but didn’t really become friends until that day Emile split his chin open on the diving board. When he fell unconscious, Damien dove in and saved him from drowning.

-Remy met Damien for the first time when he and Roman were getting Starbucks together. Damien was the cashier and despite his rugged appearance he was pretty polite and Remy gave him his number. Little did he know Damien was the big tough kid that defended him from bullies during middle school and had been pining for him ever since. He also showed Roman some of his trinkets he sold in the store and the younger kid worshipped him, making Remy like him even more.

-Virgil and Patton shared an art class together freshman year. Patton, being the sweet and sociable thing he was, invited Virgil to one of his basketball games and Virgil couldn’t refuse, even though he barely knew the guy. He was impressed by Patton’s skills and felt at home with the other boy around, and the two soon became friends.

-Damien and Patton met because they had the same foster parents at one point. Damien pretended to hate Patton because he was younger than him but over a foot taller, but the two grew fond of each other and stuck up for each other. Their hopes of becoming brothers were crushed when their foster parents sent Damien back into the system and Patton then refused adoption.

Call and Answer

prompt: “I found your box of letters underneath my bed last night and because I’m a nosy motherfucker I decided to read them and it turns out they were all addressed to me and the last one was dated the day you moved out and I’m not quite sure why I thought this would be a good idea but here I am, standing at your doorstep, wondering why the fuck we’re not together anymore

fandom and pairing: Fairy Tail, Natsu Dragneel / Lucy Heartfilia

words: 5189

time: 3 hours

The smart thing to do when faced with a box of unopened letters written by your high school ex-girlfriend would be to throw them out. Burn them like all the other memories, if perhaps a few years late.

But Natsu had never exactly been the smartest when it came to Lucy Heartfilia.

He used that closet just about every day and had never noticed the shoebox sitting on the top shelf until it fell on his head one evening. When he saw it, Natsu had been fairly hopeful it was the old box of Pokémon cards his brother continued to deny selling, but when the lid was tossed away, he was met with something much more precious. A slightly disheveled stack of envelopes, all with his name neatly drawn across the front in a handwriting that always looked entirely too neat to be true. For a second, he almost didn’t recognize the handwriting – it had been four years since he’d seen it – but then it struck him.

Really, he couldn’t stop himself from tearing open the first one. In the top right hand corner of the page was a date, 2 July X784. Natsu stared down at the date for a few seconds, trying to remember if anything special had happened that day. The page itself appeared to be torn from a diary of some sort, the handwriting a bit less graceful than the one on the outside but still distinctly Lucy.

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FFCS Snippet

Please enjoy this exciting snippet from a FFCS author during the writing process!

Emma smiled at her mother and was about to respond, when the doors at the end of the room were opened, and four men walked in. The eldest of them, a greying man, taller than her father, with wild hair and deep blue eyes, was dressed in a lord’s clothes. A silver butcher’s hook with jewels in the handle held his cloak fast around his shoulder, and he wore  a doublet with the same hook emblazoned on his right breast. Emma knew this must be Lord Brennan of Neverfall.

The other three were younger, a boy with curly brown hair framing a pleasant face stood beside the lord, his eyes were the  same blue. He wore the same doublet and cloak, and a simpler jeweless hook on his right breast.She’d thought this must be his eldest son, standing a foot taller than the tallest of the other boys, his face was losing the childish roundness that hers still held, she would wager this boy to be about fifteen years in age, and he was staring at her mother with a confident smile on his lips. She didn’t like him.

The next tallest, seemed closer to her age, maybe two years older. His hair was less curly than the other boy, but his eyes were the same brilliant blue, although they seemed bored as he took in the tapestries hanging from the wall. Unlike his brother and father, this boy wore a linen shirt, buttoned with the top three undone, leaving a portion of his pale skin visible, and his doublet was hanging loose around his shoulders. Most likely his father hadn’t noticed his state. During her inspection of the boy who stood with his hands thrust deeply into the pockets of his riding trousers. his eyes looked up, and locked with hers. It sent a thrill down her spine when he smirked at her, and winked. Emma jumped a little before turning her eyes to the smallest of the three boys.

He was easily the youngest, appearing to be no older than the age of eight. With the same blue eyes, he was made up more like his elder brother, without the cloak, and badge, the only badge upon his person, was a patch on his right shoulder of the family sigil.

Her father’s squire cleared his throat, “Might I present Lord Brennan Jones, and his sons, Liam, Killian, and Illian.”

We have not one, but four Jones boys? How could anything possibly go wrong with that? To top it off, lieutenant duckling already has eyes for one another. Tune into the FFCS blog in October to find out more about this promising Game of Thrones AU!

Split Knuckles

         Will had always liked the way his hands looked when he curled them into fists. His knuckles always stood out so strongly, ridges that seemed to be there only to hit and be split. After a fight, he always liked to flex his hand, see the skin pull and feel the sting. Most of the time his skin was red against his will, blushing because a cute girl talked to him or because he did something stupid in front of other people. But when his knuckles were split, he knew that he made that decision and he was the one to put the marks there. It was a kind of control and he craved control more than he craved money.

         After a fight, and there was always a fight, Will would drag himself to the nearest bathroom he could find and clean up. Wash out the cuts, rub some alcohol into them to stave off infection, and then he’d wrap them with bandages. Nothing major; sometimes it was the sticky ones, usually the plain skin colored ones but sometimes all that was left were his younger siblings’ superhero and princess bandages, which he always pretended he was embarrassed about but he had liked carrying them with him throughout the day; sometimes it was the white gauzy kind and he’d wrap them around his knuckles like a boxer, feeling like he could fight the world wrapped up like that.

         His first real fist fight had been at age eleven with a giant named Jimmy Morris, who was a year older and a foot taller than Will at the time. Will had fought him because Jimmy had made some kind of comment about Will’s clothes being hand-me-downs from his older sister, Colleen, and Will didn’t take too kindly to insults. So he had punched Jimmy in the shoulder after school-it was all he could reach- and swung as hard as he could for the rest of the two minute fight. At the end of those two minutes, Will was left alone in the dirt, black eyed and bloody nosed with split knuckles he’d come to know so well in his upcoming years.

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Maybe Someday

Originally posted by littleblondesamoan

Request: Can you do a dean x reader where the reader is Jo’s older sister and they just found out about her and they are trying to find her?

Pairing: Dean x reader

Word Count: 1,200ish

Warnings: none

A/N: I can see this continuing if you guys like…


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C***

These days, most mornings, wherever I am, I wake up early and go train in Brazilian Jiu Jitsu. If at home in New York, I’ll prepare and pack lunch for my daughter, walk her to school, and shortly after, be on my way to Renzo Gracie Academy where I will spend the better part of the next hours trying to prevent someone half my age from choking me to the point of unconsciousness. Often, I will look over from under a haze of sweat and exertion, to see my wife practicing the dark arts of knee reaping and heel hooking with her instructor or training partners. Sometimes, at risk of being arm-barred, I will wave. If abroad or on location, I’ll take what I can get. I’ll train wherever I can, wherever they do jiu jitsu: a strip mall in Maui, a cellar in Budapest, a military base in Okinawa—a cold storage facility in Glasgow. Standards of behavior and the physical condition and skill levels of my fellow practitioners vary widely from place to place. Face cranking and “can opening”, frowned upon in most academies, is apparently just fine (and done with a smile) in Hungary. Competition can be tough, it turns out, on Okinawan military bases—when you’ve spent most of your training learning to hunt and constrict exposed necks—and most of your jarhead rolling partners no longer have them. In Hawaii, they tend to have rather large torsos, so finding yourself in side control is particularly unpleasant. I have had my ass kicked in many lands—but it was particularly tough in Glasgow. This should not, in retrospect, have been a surprise. Glasgow is famously, a tough town. Notorious for its hard drinking, hard living, hard ass citizenry—and its uniquely merciless sense of humor. I fell in love with Glasgow immediately on my first visit. I was barely off the train and within minutes was called a “c**t”. Though pretty much the worst thing you can call anybody in America, here, in Glasgow, I found, it was in a casual expression of  affectionate—useful in nearly every social situation. “Oi! You’re the c**t who wrote that cookery book! Loved that book! Have a pint!” I have since learned to love the customs and practices and oral traditions of the Glaswegian—even when I can’t make out what the hell they’re saying. Which is, admittedly, much of the time. It’s Europe’s No Bullshit Zone. Nobody takes themselves too seriously. Most of the time when I get my ass handed to me, it’s a much younger, fitter, or higher ranked practitioner—often with high school or college wrestling experience. So, in Glasgow, I figured, looking at the shorter, less physically imposing old dude I’d be rolling with, that I had this. I was a foot taller. He was close to my age. I thought; “once Pops gets a taste of my Shoulder of Justice on his neck, it’s gonna be tap, snap, or nap.” I could not have been more wrong. It was like running into a fire hydrant. He crushed my rib cage in his guard like a box of year old Triscuits. His fingers were socket wrenches, his chest an engine block, his arms and legs apparently manufactured from some kind of cable—the stuff they hang suspension bridges from. Everything he did hurt. I ended up pounded into the mat again and again, grateful when the murderous (yet relentlessly cheerful) garden gnome would finally grab hold of an arm or neck so I could tap out gratefully. 

Scottish jiu jitsu is tough. But stalking deer in the Scottish Highland is the hardest, most physically demanding single activity I’ve ever done on camera. It doesn't look like much. A nice walk up some hills, across the moors, in traditional Scottish kit, carrying nothing more cumbersome than a walking stick. You don’t even have to carry your rifle. The gamekeeper does that for you. The hills and peaks, the mountains of the Highlands are incredibly beautiful—the footing alternately firm and hard against flinty rock and hard packed soil—then soft and spongy among the heather and scrub of the moors, then steep, near vertical inclines. The idea is to walk up, at a reasonable pace, higher and higher, the incline gradual, legs fine, then not so fine, then burning with exertion. After a few miles, by which time, you’re congratulating yourself on having made it so far, the gamekeeper might spot a suitable animal through his binoculars—about a mile away. “If we sneak around the back that way—behind that mountain—and make our way quietly across that ridge—pop out over there-” he suggests, pointing at a harrowingly steep range of what sure as hell look like mountains to me, “we might just surprise him.” This is yet another climb requiring some skill and no small amount of exertion—and at least another hour—all in the cause of sneaking up on an animal who, more than likely will be gone by the time we arrive at our position. We spend a lot of time crawling through wet heather and brush. It’s raining in that kind of omnipresent, thin drizzle kind of way—almost a mist that the French used to call “Le Crachin”. Which is to say, by the time I finally manage to successfully shoot an old stag in the brain, I am pretty happy at the prospect of walking downhill for a change. But, no. Downhill, it turns out, is worse. MUCH worse. A couple of miles of relentless incline and my knees, deprived of the kind of shock-absorbent cushioning of my younger years, are in full rebellion. I’m hobbling like Long John Silver, making little grunting sounds with the impact of each step, trying, somehow to take it sideways all the way home. 

But the countryside I was dragging my bones across was some of the most savagely beautiful on earth. I had successfully, and neatly, with a minimum of force, shot a stag. There would be venison and Scottish game birds at the lodge for dinner. A roaring fire in every hearth, and a spirited game of snooker no doubt. Much fine whiskey—not uncommon to the region, it turns out, would be enjoyed—and fine Scottish cheeses. As the logs burned down to embers and my glass refilled yet again, I would be permitted, for a few, golden moments, to feel like a country gentleman, a deer stalker, squire of the moors…and definitely not a c**t.  

brightcrest  asked:

omg imagine the sons growing up to be huge like you said. and then there's tiny rinku, being like "don't mess with my baby brothers"

THIS. This is getting more and more likely to happen. It’s just too perfect. XD

So like, just as Link in past lives was kinda short, I’m gonna say that Rinku never gets much taller than 5′4.

And it would be really sweet if she gets SUPER protective over her little brothers, totally forgetting that they’re gigantic titans.

I do that with my youngest cousin. He was always so tiny when we were kids and I would look out for him and stuff, but when I went away for a few years to college and came back HE WAS SUDDENLY A FOOT AND A HALF TALLER THAN ME. The darn kid picks me up and carries me around every chance he gets to show off that HE’S the big one now. (How DARE he) But yeah, even with all that, I constantly forget he’s so big.

I think Rinku would do the same thing with the gigantic younger siblings. XD

Roadtrip

A/N: Hey! So, I have internet! Yay! And this is my first EVER reader insert. It’s also my first SPN fic. I love this little prompt. It was stuck in my head for days before I decided to start writing it! I hope you guys like it. :)

Chracters: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 1,513

Warnings: None. Just fluff & teasing Dean

Imagine Dean watching you while he thinks you’re sleeping, and telling him to keep his eyes on the road

Led Zeppelin played softly in the background as you were jostled gently back and forth by Dean running over potholes on the deserted highway in the middle-of-nowhere Alabama. You and Dean were headed to Louisiana, to meet up with Sam for another case. You had just finished a typical salt-and-burn vengeful spirit out in Georgia. It was easy enough to take down, but it left you both dirty, tired, and a little scraped up.
You were curled up with your feet in Dean’s lap and your head cushioned by a stolen motel pillow in the passenger seat. Your companion would always half-heartedly tell you to get your dirty, smelly converse off of him; but you knew he liked the physical contact. You did too, if you were completely honest. The two of you had been through too much. It helped you both know that this moment was real; that you were both truly physically present.
You had known the Winchesters practically all your life. Your parents were hunters and tried to stay out of the hunting life for your sake. But every once in a while, John Winchester would need their help on a case. You would get dropped off at your Uncle Bobby’s house, and more often than not, the Winchester brothers would be there. You instantly became thick as thieves.
Your age was situated right between the brothers: two years older than Sam, and two younger than Dean. Sam had always been your little brother, essentially, and your absolute best friend. You always teased him, helped him with homework, shared all your problems with him, gave him piggy back rides (until he grew to over a foot taller than you - now he gives you piggy back rides). And Dean; Dean had always been like an annoying older brother… He picked on you and teased you, beat up any guy that broke your heart, made sure you had the right balance of mischief and work (usually leaning more heavily on the mischievous side), and he always kept you safe. They were the brothers you always wanted.
You don’t remember exactly when it happened, but you fell for the elder Winchester. You flirted back and forth as you got older; but that was just how you learned to communicate with him. You liked to think you were in an open ‘flirtationship’ with him. He seemed to like you back, but neither of you addressed it. It felt light and carefree and almost childish.
Sam would argue that the sexual tension was too much. He knew you liked his older brother because you would tell him. Sam was your best friend, after all; and Dean was an open book to Sam when it came to you. He would see the loving way his older brother would look at you. Sam would bring up that Dean sharing his food wasn’t normal. When you rode shotgun, he would let you pick the music. Sam constantly insisted that his brother did certain things only for you. But you would always scoff at him and brush it off, or make a joke at Dean‘s expense. You would make Sam swear to never tell his older brother about your feelings. Sometimes, you would unabashedly flirt with Dean in front of Sam just to annoy him. It would usually end up with the younger brother getting frustrated and yelling, “Just get together already,” as he leaves the room.
Another pothole nearly tipped you out of your seat. You groaned, your hand flying to the dash to catch yourself before you crashed to the floorboards. “Watch it!” you grumbled, voice thick with sleep and irritation. Squeezing your eyes shut, you kicked Deans leg while bunched the pillow beneath your face.
Dean smirked as he looked over to your disgruntled form and smacked your shin in retaliation. “Quit whining, (Y/N). Go back to sleep.”
Your eyelids glowed red-orange from the afternoon sunlight filtering through the Impala’s windows. Warmth radiated across your skin. You felt a weight just above your knee that wasn‘t there before. Feigning sleep, you shifted slightly in your seat, bunching up the pillow to prop your head at a different angle, and cracked your eye open. Dean’s hand was on your leg; his thumb was lazily sliding back and forth across your knee cap. You resisted the urge to shiver.
You could tell just by his posture that he was relaxed. His guard was completely gone. You loved that he could be himself in your presence; that he didn’t have to be the Dean Winchester that the world knew. He could just be Dean. Your eyes traveled upward from his hand to his face. Dean’s forest green eyes were locked on you.
Your breath hitched slightly as you closed your eyes. Your cheeks were burning. Oh God, has he realized that you’re not sleeping? Why hasn’t he called you on it? He would have made a dumb joke by now. Why was he grinning at you like that? The thought of that smile made your stomach flip. It wasn’t a normal smile, either, you reasoned. It was soft; it was sweet.
You laughed at yourself. You’d been friends with this man forever, and liked him for almost just as long. This is silly. You were a grown, bad-ass, world renowned, hunter. And somehow, Dean Winchester still managed to make your heart race and your tummy turn in knots like you were a teen with your first crush.
You slowed your breathing down and attempted to push the thought of the hunter out of your head. Sleep. Sleep was good. Going back to sleep sounded like the best idea ever. Sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep…
God dammit, that thumb was incredibly distracting. Your companion’s hand alternated between drumming through the song and caressing your leg. How could you attempt to convince yourself to go to sleep with him doing that? His soft humming just made you want to sit up and talk with him; to make him laugh. God, his laugh was your most favorite thing in the world. But, ugh, your bones were crying for more sleep. This case took more from you than you had originally realized.
You had been the distraction so Dean could dig up the grave and burn the bones. You got thrown around a little, got a bit beaten up. But nothing worse for wear.
You shifted to face the dashboard and sighed deeply. You tried to block out everything except for the music that was playing and focus on your breathing. In, out. In, out. Sleep was always just out of your grasp.
At some point, Dean removed his hand from your leg and you fought the surge of disappointment that flooded through you. What was he doing? You cracked your eye open again.
He was rummaging through his box of tapes and smiled to himself as he picked a cassette. He glanced at you, his lip had quirked up at one side to reveal a shy smile. The riffs gave away his enthusiasm. He had put in a Black Sabbath tape; truthfully, it was one of your favorites. His hand found its home on your leg and his emerald eyes were on your supposed sleeping form for a long moment before he looked back at the road.
You closed your eye and resisted the urge to air guitar and sing in your most obnoxious voice. Nostalgia and comfort washed over you as your favorite song played quietly.
You wanted to groan. Go. To. Sleep. You were so tired, why couldn’t you just take a nap?
You heard Dean shift in his seat and a low chuckle escaped the back of his throat. Confusion and frustration rose up inside of you. To hell with it! You were never going to go back to sleep! You cracked your eyes open again to see what the hell he was laughing at. He was looking at you again! Was he watching you sleep? Did he ever look at the road?! How was he not swerving into a ditch?! He’s going to kill you!
“Eyes on the road, Winchester.” You fully opened one of your eyes to look at him and smirked at the shocked look on his face.
His head snapped back to look through the windshield, all signs of his smile gone. There was a slight flush on his cheeks. You smirked to yourself knowing you could make Dean blush. “Son of a bitch, don’t you ever fall asleep?!” His jaw clenched a couple of times.
You chuckled quietly in your throat. “You‘re just mad I caught you.” Gosh, that little blush on his face was so cute. You sat up, smirking at Dean. “I’m precious cargo, you can’t be staring at me like that. You give a girl all kinds of dirty thoughts, Winchester.”
You cocked an eyebrow at him as he snuck a glance at you. His eyes snapped back to the road as his blush deepened. You laughed loudly and started singing to the song playing through the speakers.

I got distracted by working on longer fics, but…I’m back!

*~* #36 “I wish I could hate you.” *~*

“Just a…little…more!” Yaku was on his tiptoes, fingers barely brushing the spine of the book he wanted.  Of course the book he was looking for was on the highest shelf.  Why the bookstore had such tall shelves to begin with was aggravating enough, but his frustration compounded when he noticed there were no stepstools or helpful staff members anywhere to be found.

He wanted to give up and just walk away.  The unhelpful bookstore employees didn’t deserve his money, anyway.  But his pride stopped him.

Yaku Morisuke was not going to be thwarted by a shelf.

After taking quick glances left and right, he set his bag down and put his hands on the fourth shelf, lifting his foot to step on the second and looking down to make sure he didn’t slip.  He pulled himself up and was just about to grab the book when he felt something press against his back and push him against the shelves.

He looked up and saw Lev’s chin just above his head.

“I’ve got it, Yaku-san,” the first year easily pulled the book out and took a step back.

Yaku, who had unconsciously shifted his weight, lost his footing and tumbled backwards.  He squeezed his eyes shut as he fell back against Lev’s chest.  The younger man dropped the book and caught him under the armpits.

“Gotcha,” Lev grinned.  “It’s a good thing I was here.”

“Put me down, please,” Yaku grumbled.

“Ah, sure,” the taller teen set him down, patting him on the head once he did. He bent down and picked up the book. “Here you go, Yaku-san.”

Yaku snatched it out of his hands.

“Thank you,” he mumbled under his breath, eyes downcast.

“Aww, isn’t that cute?” a girl gushed from beside them.

“It is, it is!” her friend joined in.  “That senpai helping his underclassman reach his book.”  They giggled and walked off, unaware – or uncaring – that Yaku and Lev could hear them.

“Ah, Yaku-san, isn’t that funny?” Lev laughed.  “They thought you were my kohai.”

“Yes. Hilarious.”

“Probably because you’re so shor-”

Yaku kicked him in the back of the knees, causing Lev’s legs to buckle under him.

“Yaku-san, why?!” he cried, rubbing the sore spots on his legs.

Yaku ignored him, choosing instead to turn and start making his way to the checkout.

“And after I helped you get that book you’ve been waiting for…” Lev whined.

Yaku stopped walking and turned around.

“What?” he questioned.  “How did you…?”

“That was it, right?” Lev stood up slowly, wincing.  “The one you kept mentioning in the clubroom?”

“You were actually listening to me?”

“Of course!” Lev beamed.  “I always listen to what Yaku-san has to say.”

Yaku felt his cheeks heat up.

He kicked Lev again.

“Oww!  What did I do this time?”

“Let’s go to the checkout,” Yaku turned back toward the cash registers.  “Then we’ll go get ice cream,” he cleared his throat. “I’m buying.”

“Really?” Lev perked up.  “I was starting to think you hated me,” he laughed, scratching his cheek.

I wish I could hate you.

“Hurry up,” Yaku looked over his shoulder at him.  “You’re slow.”

“Yes, Yaku-san!”

But I just can’t.

A Couple Headcanons About Scorpius Malfoy That No One Asked for but I’m Going to Share Anyways
  • He was a pretty quiet person and really doesn’t like lots of commotion or noise around him. Growing up at Malfoy Manor with just his parents for company, he learned at a young age to take refuge in the calmness and peace of a silent room. 
  • He’s an introvert and needs a little bit of time to himself each day to recharge and relax. At Hogwarts he tends to spend part of each evening in the library, as it’s one of the few places he can be alone and in relative silence.
  • His very best friend in the world is Nathan Nott, whose father also changed after the war and married a half-blood girl from a quiet family. Scorpius and Nathan grew up together and for a long time, were really each other’s only friends outside of their families. 
  • At Hogwarts the boys were split up at the sorting. Nathan was put in Slytherin, along with Albus Potter, while Scorpius was sorted into Ravenclaw.
  • At Hogwarts, Nathan and Albus became good friends, which led to Scorpius becoming good friends with Albus. It also brought him in close contact with Al’s cousin Rose. 
  • While his circle of friends and family is pretty small, he is fiercely loyal. He loves and defends his parents whenever anyone makes a rude comment and good luck to any person who dares to insult Nathan Nott, Rose Weasley or Albus Potter in front of Scorpius.
  • Scorpius is very patient. He regularly tutors younger students and is usually called upon to play peacemaker whenever his friends or family members argue.
  • His hair is blond like his father’s, but he refuses to wear it slicked back. Instead, Scorpius grows it out so it’s a bit shaggy and covers the tops of his ears. 
  • He loves to read. After taking muggle studies in third year he begins reading muggle fiction and finds that he loves it. He discovers the Sherlock Holmes books and Charles Dickens in fourth year. 
  • He and Rose are the Ravenclaw prefects in their fifth year and that is when they really begin to get close. They bond over their shared love of books. 
  • Rose forces Scorpius to read muggle romance novels–mostly Jane Austen. He pretends to not like Pride and Prejudice, even though he secretly enjoyed it and occasionally goes back to reread the more dramatic bits.
  • He’s a bit scrawny as a kid but around fourth or fifth year hits his growth spurt and ends up being really tall–taller than Albus and an entire foot taller than Rose.
  • He loves quidditch. When he was younger, quidditch was one of the few things his father got very excited and passionate about, and because of that Scorpius grew up looking forward to playing one-on-one matches with his dad and going to professional matches. In his second year he makes the Ravenclaw quidditch team as a chaser. 
  • While on the outside he is very calm and collected, internally Scorpius is riddled with insecurity. He’s read all the history books and sat through History of Magic, he knows all about his family’s sordid legacy and he worries that people only see his last name when they look at him. On top of that, he worries that he’s too quiet and awkward to really change people’s perception. 
  • He’s very uncomfortable in large groups. The first few times Albus invites him to the Burrow, Scorpius only talked to Al, Rose and Ginny. He didn’t get comfortable with the Weasley-Potter clan until fifth or sixth year. 
  • Once he gets over his shyness and talks to her a bit more, Scorpius and Hermione get on famously. By seventh year they write regularly. 
  • All the girls at Hogwarts agree he has the prettiest eyes in the school. They’re grey, with bits of green and blue. Depending on the light and what he’s wearing they can change color from a luminous silver, to a shimmery blue, to light green. 
Absolute Beginners || collegeverse

After dozens of vicious violent arguments rocked the foundations of Château de Fleur, the only son of the aristocratic family had taken his considerable share of the enormous family fortune and stormed off to public university.  It was unbecoming of someone of their lineage, his parents had insisted, a de Fleur should be at a private university.  But Lysandre was tired of being a de Fleur, and living in opulence and comfort while there were people suffering.  So he’d applied to Lumiose University, and his genius had made him a shoe-in for acceptance, and at sixteen years old, he was standing in front of a dorm building that was practically crumbling.

This was exactly what he’d wanted, but it hadn’t been what he’d expected.  He should have known that being two years younger than everyone else and nearly a foot taller with wild bloodred hair and clothing that could pay for a house would attract stares and whispers even from those who didn’t recognize him from the aristocracy.  It was almost a relief to get the key to his room and retreat into what may as well have been a broom closet with two beds shoved inside.

He set to work painstakingly unpacking, glad to have something mindless to do.  If that was how people reacted to him simply walking across campus, he was in for a long four years.  And then the door creaked open, and his roommate stepped in.  Lysandre’s breath caught.

Never, in his whole life, had he laid eyes on anyone so exquisite.  The young man had tousled black curls and gray eyes that were so bright they were almost silver.  Those eyes were fixed on Lysandre, and he bristled in spite of himself.  Of course he was staring.