child on shoulders

ENOUGH AREADY! WE GET IT - YOU THINK YOU *KNOW* SLYTHERIN...

We get that you think Slytherin girls are ‘winged eyeliner sharp enough to kill a man’. We get that you think our aesthetic is blood-red lipstick, the clack of stilettos on marble floors, and nails filed to a sharp point.

We get it.

We get that you think Slytherin boys are ‘jaw lines sharp enough to kill a man’ (perhaps we have that in common with the girls, you think?). We get that you think our mood is bitter black coffee, Shakespearean insults, and the burn of vodka as it cascades down your throat.

We get it. So enough already.

You think you know Slytherin? You think our girls are ‘bad-ass bitches’ and our boys are ‘refined gentlemen with wicked sharp tongues’?

Well, let us tell you what it really means to embody power, pride, fraternity, cunning, and ambition.

We’d be lying if we said Slytherin wasn’t that warm feeling of sinking deeper into your seat on the bus after you watch someone miss their stop. But, for all that, Slytherin is also when you were a child sitting on your dad’s shoulders - that feeling of being literally on top of the world, made all the more proud for knowing not only that the people who love you will raise you up but will be there to catch you if you fall.

That’s Slytherin - it’s what you wanted to be when you grew up, it’s your imaginary friend, and it’s getting an A on a test you studied damn fucking hard for.

And, sure, Slytherin is also silently thanking yourself that you looked your best on the days you ran into an ex partner. But Slytherin is the courage to end a going-nowhere relationship in the first place. Slytherin means willing to do what no one else can or will, to put aside desire, fear, and comfort and to just shed what doesn’t serve them; that means being cruel to be kind and knowing, in fact, that cruelty and kindness are not black and white concepts.

That’s Slytherin - it’s your little black dress, it’s self-help books, and it’s drunken chats with strangers in nightclub bathrooms.

We are so much more complex than men in suits or women in doc martens. If all you can think of is conceit when you think of cunning and if all you can think of is dominance when you think of power…then you do not know us. And we will not ask you to try harder next time because we would rather speak for ourselves.

So, enough already; we want ‘us’ done right, so we will do it ourselves.

That’s Slytherin.

6

 “Mhysa!” a brown-skinned man shouted out at her. He had a child on his shoulder, a little girl, and she screamed the same word in her thin voice. “Mhysa! Mhysa!” Dany looked at Missandei. “What are they shouting?”
“It is Ghiscari, the old pure tongue. It means ‘Mother.’” Dany felt a lightness in her chest. I will never bear a living child, she remembered. Her hand trembled as she raised it. Perhaps she smiled. She must have, because the man grinned and shouted again, and others took up the cry. “Mhysa!” they called. “Mhysa! MHYSA!” They were all smiling at her, reaching for her, kneeling before her. “Maela,” some called her, while others cried “Aelalla” or “Qathei” or “Tato,” but whatever the tongue it all meant the same thing. Mother. They are calling me Mother.”

What is Target even?

• Every time I go in a Target, I become invisible. People can’t hear me talking to them even when I’m standing right in front of them. Waving in their faces doesn’t seem to work.

• I once walked up to an entire group of red-vest-wearing employees and had all five of them walk away from me mid-question.

•They seem to migrate from the toy section to the food section like soulless jellyfish.

• They don’t know if Target sells dish soap.

• I don’t know if Target sells dish soap.

• Once, a person walked over, picked up a fuzzy throw-blanket out of my cart, and left with it while I stood there telling them that it was mine.

• The always weirdly crowded shoe section that’s mostly sandals.

• Last month I stopped in the mini Starbucks area of Target and stepped up to a surprisingly empty counter (for the middle of the day). No one appeared for the entire twenty minutes that I waited, but the lights went off and on a few times.

• I once saw a man entering Target with a screaming child over his shoulder. She had an ‘Out of Order’ sign in her hand, and kept repeating, ’I don’t want to go here.

• Their clothing sizes are darkest black magic.

• The changing rooms. (Before they vanished.)

• I lost four people in the middle of the furniture isle. I found them a half hour later in Hot Topic.

• I once stopped at a Target for a bathroom break during a long road-trip. When I entered the store, half the lights were off in the back section, and someone was yelling, “STOP IT, YOU GIANT BITCH!”

• There’s always a questionable swamp in the corner of the Target bathroom.

• When they switch all the moving/talking Halloween items over to the moving/talking Christmas items.

• I’ve seen eight different dogs wandering around by themselves.

• The local Target has birds flying around inside all the time.

• When I was a teenager there was this guy who drove around the Target parking lot blasting the chicken dance and dancing with his shoulders.

• I’ve seen a thousand mirrors break in Target during ‘move into your dorm room’ season. Doubt anybody buried a potato.

• They owe me $20

• I keep finding children in the clothing racks. (I don’t keep them.)

• You can never return anything, ever.

• If you eat their food you probably will never be able to return to the human world.

• Every picture I take in there comes out weird. Blurry, too bright, smudgy, wavy, too dark, weirdly green???

• That last checkout lane at the end with all the ‘as seen on Tv’ items and a million creepy jugs of green liquid for kids.

• I have 14 year-old socks from Target that look brand new. (My clothes typically develop holes the moment I look at them.)

• The animal heads.

• Pit of Death (aka: the far back corner where seasonal stuff goes to die.)

• I once kicked one of the giant red orbs outside and it moved.

• I watched a guy causally glide out of the loading doors and into the parking lot on a huge dolly.

• The ‘Is This Actually Only A Dollar Or Is It Five?’ section.

• I spent a half hour listening to a guy tell me why I needed an IPhone or I can’t be a part of human society. This was before the first iPhone was even for sale in the store.

• It’s bigger on the inside.

• I found this hideous lump of a fur hat for sale last winter, and wore it around the store my entire time there. Still invisible.

Hockey Pucks | Jungkook (m)

Prompt: Um, Jungkook is a hockey player, but basically what happened was that it had very little to do with hockey and very much to do with sex. You’re both college students and apparently opposites really do attract just like they do in the movies.

Warnings: (18+) use of marijuana, smut (lmao what’s new), and an accidental mommy kink

Word Count: 8.4k

A/N: Yo, this spiraled very quickly and turned into a monster long fic. ANYWAy thanks 4 readin. No excuses or regerts…

Originally posted by theking-or-thekid


Originally posted by tanktoptiger


Keep reading

hinata has a first-years only sleepover and natsu sees yamaguchi and absolutely has to use her star stickers <3

Teen Dad

Teen Dad

Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings: none I think…

A/N: First of all, be safe kids, remember, abstinence. Anyways, let’s say Peter is in Senior year here. I made him a little older because, I didn’t want to make him a dad at 15 (: And, I didn’t really end it end it, but you guys could let me know if you want a Part two on how it ends, if not, it ends like this.


You paced back and forth.

How were you going to tell your boyfriend, Peter, that he, a 17 year old boy, is going to be a dad?

You two are currently in the middle of Senior year. Almost about to start the rest of your lives.

I guess it’s going to start sooner.

There’s already so many things going on in Peter’s life, you don’t want to add any more complications.

He’s living a double life as Peter Parker, a normal teen in high school, and Spider-Man, your friendly neighborhood spider-man.

You thought Hannah Montana had it hard, but Peter’s Aunt May doesn’t even know his secret.

Oh my gosh, Aunt May.

What are you going to do about Aunt May?

She’ll kill Peter! Heck, she’ll kill you too!

So many thoughts ran through your mind, you felt– you felt like– you felt like you would–

Faint.

Bam! You fell dramatically, almost in slow motion, but not quite, on the floor. Unconscious.


Your eyes fluttered open.

“What time is it?”

You looked around. It seems dark already, “I guess Peter’s not home yet.”

You get up, walking to the kitchen to get a glass of water.

You can see Aunt May from the living room. She’s reading a book, unaware that you’re in the kitchen.

You grab a glass and almost dropped it. You were still a bit dizzy.

“(Y/n)? Did you wake up from your little nap?”

“Huh?– Oh– I didn’t take a nap?”

“Really? I saw you asleep on the floor of Peter’s room?”

You shake your head ‘no’, she just shrugs it off and goes back to her book.

After drinking some water and eating some crackers, you go back to wait for Peter in his room.

You lay on the bed, hugging the pillow tight to your chest. The scent of Peter making you smile.

“I really have to tell him today,” you said to yourself. It’s been a few weeks since you found out and so far the only one that knows is your mom, who I should say, is very supportive and excited to have a grandchild. Your family was always chill with anything, so you weren’t afraid of them. You were afraid of what Peter might say, and what Aunt May would do. Aunt May is the sweetest but, when it comes to Peter’s safety, well, let’s just say her mom’s instinct kicks in.

You though for quite a while, it’s now or never.

You got up, throwing the pillow into his bunk. You were on your way to confess to Aunt May.

Aunt May has always loved you, ever since you and Peter got together at homecoming. You know, before he stormed off and left you. But before that, we were best friends. So of course, you knew it was for Spider-Man duties that he left you in a middle of a dance.

“Hey, Aunt May. Ca– Can I talk t– to you?”

She looks up at you and smile, putting her book down on the coffee table, she took her legs off of the couch patting it for you to sit down.

“What’s up honey bun?”

“Can– can you keep a secret? As of right now at least..”

“Sure thing. What is it?”

“Pr– omise not to get mad?”

She smiles, holding out her pinky.

You let out a sigh, hooking your pinky onto hers.

“Promise,” she says.

You clear your throat, taking your phone case off of your phone. There was three small pieces of the same sized paper inside.

You grab one of them and hand it to her.

“Here, I– I think you should have this.”

She lets out an airy laugh, “what is it?”

You tilt your head up, motioning for her to flip the white paper over.

She does it, speechless when she sees the image.

“Congratulations, o– on being a Grandma…”

She smiles, slowly bringing her hand up to cover her mouth. Muffling a sob.

Tears formed in her eyes as she looks at you.

“You’re not mad, right?”

She takes her hand off of her mouth, looking at you, laughing with joy.

“Oh my– (Y/n)! I– I– don’t know what to say!”

You can hear the joy in her voice. You let out a sigh of relief, knowing she’s happy for you and not mad whatsoever.

“Does Peter know?”

You were about to answer her question but is interrupted.

“Does Peter know what?”

You both turn to the door, Peter staring at you two crying messes confusedly.

“What’s going on?”

Aunt May, with tears down her face, walks up to Peter, grabbing his face and giving him a big kiss on the cheek.

“I’m happy for you,” she turns to look at you, “for the both of you.”

Then, she was gone, off to her room.

Peter watch her leave, then looks at you confused.

“What the heck is going on?”

“H– how was the training?” You said the last part quietly, Aunt May thought he was at a study group with some classmates.

“It was alright, now what’s going on?”

“Let’s go to your room. Go change and stuff first. You stink.”

Peter lets out an amused laugh, hugging you, “here, now you’ll smell as stinky as me!”

“UGh, Gross!”


After Peter got out of the shower, he walked up to you, wearing nothing but a towel, while drying his hair with another towel.

You lay sideways on the bed, “hurry up and put some clothes on, I’m gonna end up falling asleep before I even get to tell you what happened.”

By knowing how fast you can fall asleep, Peter puts his pajamas on in a snap.

You felt more confident in telling Peter after you told Aunt May, since she was extra super duper happy about it. You thought Peter would be happier than her, if it was even possible.

He jumps on the bed, on top of you. You grunt once his body hits you.

“Owwwww, get off! You’re too heavy,” you laugh.

He shifts to a more comfortable position next to you, hugging you close.

“Wait, I should take a video of this,” you say standing up, getting out of his hold. Peter lays there sad and confused.

“I didn’t get to take a video when I told Aunt May.” you ran around, getting your camera and tripod.

“Told her what?”

“Be patient, hold on,” you say, struggling to put your camera on the new tripod you bought.

You click the recording button once you got it to a good angle, jumping back on the bed, sitting in front of Peter.

“Wh– what’s going on? Why are you filming this?”

“You know,” you said, ignoring him and saying what’s currently on your mind, “if someone was to walk in, this would totally be embarrassing.”

He laughs, but you were serious.

Grabbing your phone again, doing the same thing you did before, you turn to Pete.

“This is what I showed Aunt May.”

He grabs the small sheet of paper.

At first he doesn’t know what it is but he soon gets it.

“Wait… are you?”

You nod, pointing to the small circle on the picture.

“See that little Pea? That smol little bean?”

“Ye– yeah?”

“That’s our little baby.”

“You mean? You’re pregnant? Wi– with my child?”

You smack his shoulder, “Duh! Who else’s baby would it be!”

“I know I know, I’m just–.”

Before he could say anything else, the door burst open.

“Did you tell him!”

Aunt May stood at the door, jumping up and down.

“Yes May, I told him.”

“Are you as excited as I am?” Aunt May tells Peter.

“You’re okay with it?”

“Heck yeah! I’m gonna be a Grandma!”

“That is so weird for you to say,” Peter says, calmly.

You turn to him, with a sad voice you say, “are you not excited? Or happy? I thought you would be…”

Tears began to form in your eyes as Peter looks at you with a worried expression.

May’s enthusiasm disappeared as well, she crossed her arms over her chest as she look at Peter, waiting for him to say something.

“I– I’m just worried. That’s all.”

“About what?”

“About a baby. We’re on our last year of high school. We have more important things to do. I still have that Stark Internship after all.”

“Your tie is crooked.”
“Is it? I didn’t notice –”
“You should straighten it… here, let me do it for you.”

Scorpius looking after his smol bf is everything i need *lies down*

5

I’m on day 7 of Yoosung’s route and by far my most uttered phrase is:

I. AM. NOT. RIKA!!!

…….I am Erika.  ;)  BWAHAHAHAHA!! 

This whole route is me constantly switching from “MUST PROTECT THE SMOL BEAN” to “MUST BEAT UP THIS DOOFUS” 

YOOSUNG, WHY WON’T YOU LOVE ME FOR WHO MY PRE-PROGRAMMED RESPONSES SAY I AM???  ╥﹏╥ 

Anyway, this was my second animation ever! I tried to make it look neater and not messy like my first attempt.

Hands That do no Harm

Teruki Hanazawa is a bright and promising young man.

The defense needs everyone to know this.

He is a straight-A student, and a prized soccer player, and a beloved classmate, and a respected pupil. He is proper, and demure, and kind, and those words are easy enough to believe when strung around the quiet, stiff, handsome boy sitting beside his lawyer. Teruki has his hands clasped in his lap, and he wears a dark gray suit just the right amount of stark, and solemn, and remorseful, and dashing. There’s a seam in his hairline where the color transitions to something just a bit wrong—unnoticeable from a distance—but otherwise recreates his carefully-trimmed cut. It’s an object of pity, the jury has been informed. It’s the place where this proper and respectful and kind boy had been humiliatingly shorn by the deceased.

And everything after that wasn’t Teruki Hanazawa’s fault.

His mother is a beautiful dark haired woman, and her eyeliner refuses to smudge when tears drip to her cheeks. She wipes them away with the edge of an opal-lacquered nail, and she delivers her three-minute summary of her son. He is mature beyond everyone his age, and he lives alone in an apartment near his school so that he can better focus on his studies. He cleans his home, and he cooks for himself, and he makes his own bed, and he buys his own clothes. It’s a beautiful and sad picture of this child all alone, shoulders straight and back as he bears a weight no fourteen year old should. Some of the jury want to be angry with the boys’ parents for allowing this to happen, but they cannot tack that anger onto the beautiful pitiable woman crying at the stand, wearing a dress just the right amounts of stark, and solemn, and remorseful, and stunning…

His lawyer speaks next. His hands move endlessly, cutting through the air and slashing out and painting the scene like the climax of a Shakespearean tragedy. His tongue lingers on the description of the boys—those other boys—those delinquents who are not straight-A students, nor star soccer players, nor beloved pupils. They are not tragically beautiful young men in stark gray suits sitting through the worst moments of their lives. They are rough and crude and violent and scarcely human by the end of the lawyer’s rant. They dragged Teruki Hanazawa down. They forced his hand. Those cowardly brutes brought Shigeo Kageyama to Black Vinegar Middle School on that gray Tuesday afternoon, and the rest of what happened was fate.

The prosecution’s lawyer cannot speak with his hands. He is stiff in a suit which fits only in half the places. The jury doesn’t hang on his words because they are not musical, and they are not Shakespeare, and his character is nowhere near the figure that Teruki Hanazawa cuts. His character, this Shigeo Kageyama, was not a straight-A student, nor a soccer player, nor a beloved classmate. As best the jury can tell by the way the lawyer scrapes the bottom for facts about Shigeo, the boy was almost nothing at all.

It is the third day of the trial when Teruki himself is brought to the stand. He is everything the jury expects of him at this point: well-spoken, respectful, and infected with a sadness that seems to run to his very core. He had not meant to. He had not wanted to. He would take it back if he could—if only he could. And he falls silent when his lawyer brings up scholarships to the most renowned high schools, and aspirations for the most revered colleges, and plans even higher as a genius like him ought to have. The lawyer ends on a note, a simple musing, wondering if it is fair to destroy Teruki Hanazawa’s future before it exists.

The prosecution tries. They try to explain that Shigeo Kageyama’s future was already destroyed for him. But no one knows what future Shigeo Kageyama had.

The jury deliberates for 45 minutes.

Teruki Hanazawa is found not guilty.

There’s an upward quirk to his lawyer’s lip when the verdict is announced. Teruki’s mother clasps her hands, and more perfect tears run the length of her cheek. There is no clear change in Teruki’s expression. In the photos taken immediately after, he seems almost as if he hadn’t heard.

Reporters come with questions. They offer their hands first for him to shake, and he grasps each of them firm. They compliment him on having such a sure, solid handshake at his age, as if they are impressed, as if the strong, firm, unrelenting grip of Teruki Hanazawa’s hands had never done any harm.

anonymous asked:

Does it happen that parents can be emotionally abusive to one child (in this case I'm thinking the elder) but not the other or show very limited amounts of abuse to the younger but far more to the elder? To the point where the skewed relationship becomes part of the abuse because the parents insist that the elder child just has a child on their shoulder? And the younger could actually snap at the older for complying so easily with parents' demands because they don't understand the abuse?

CW: Mentions of abuse, emotional abuse and parental manipulation

Yes, this is entirely possible and actually very common in abusive / abused families. The one who’s targeted for more abuse is often referred to as the “scapegoat,” and the one who in the eyes of the abuser “can do no wrong” is referred to as the “golden child.”

These are unofficial terms that are usually used in the context of an abuser with Narcissistic personality disorder, but I find these are very expressive and helpful in conceptualizing the dynamics of an abusive family whether or not NPD is present.*

Every family is different, but here are some examples of how the golden child and scapegoat could view each other.

The scapegoat could:

  • Be extraordinarily jealous of the golden child
  • Hate the golden child for never standing up for them
  • Willingly take the abuse to prevent the golden child from being the target of abuse

The golden child could:

  • Come to hate the scapegoat because they see them as purposefully angering the abuser
  • Become abusive to the scapegoat themselves
  • Discount the scapegoat’s reports of abuse because they don’t experience it themselves.

The abuser could even try to induce this kind of competition between scapegoat and golden child as a part of emotional / psychological abuse.

*The Shrink would like to say that not all people with NPD are abusive, and in fact most abusers do not have a mental illness.


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|The Story of Last Night | Lafayette

So I was listening to The Story of Tonight Reprise and the idea of drunk Lafayette is literally everything to me right now.


I may not live to see our glory!” 

You rose an eyebrow at the chorus of voices that hit your ears as you entered the bar, and sighed when you recognized the faces. 

Not again, You purposefully maneuvered away from them, going by the counter. Its not that you didn’t like the four idiots, you did, but it was just that you had no time nor patience to deal with them at the moment. The whole reason you had skipped the reception in the first place, was because you had found yourself becoming quickly overwhelmed. 

Even among-st girls, Angelica sure knew how to party. 

You chuckled nervously at the memory of the flamboyant Schuyler (and Eliza who surprisingly got quite frisky the moment she got even a little alcohol in her system).

So yeah, it wasn’t a good idea to let them see you. Especially since it looked like they were dead ass drunk. They were bad enough normally, you didn’t even want to try to handle them while they were off their rocker.

“The usual?”

You lifted your head to peer at the bartender, who had a warm smile. You nodded, and the man blinked at your weary state. 

“Rough night?” He asked. You looked not too subtly in the way of the notorious gang, and he gave you an expression of empathy. “Ah, I see.”

“Hamilton’s hitched,” you clarified. The bartender snickered.

“I know. The whole place does,” He said, returning with your drink. You shrugged laughing along with him and taking a tentative sip before deciding to just chug the whole thing down.

Right when you were contemplating getting another round and joining the party of intoxicated laid-backs, a hand tapped your shoulder. You turned to see the face of none other than Hercules Mulligan himself.

“Y/L/N” He started, scratching the back of his neck with a crooked white smile. He looked to be still tipsy, but way more cognitive than he had been when you spotted the quartet earlier. 

“Please, Mulligan, you can call me Y/N,” You returned the smile, giving him your full attention. 

“Well then, right back at you, Y/N.”

“As you say, Hercules,” You taunted back. He chuckled deeply.

“I’m sorry to interrupt you, but I require your assistance,” He began. You gave him a look of confusion, and he gestured to his arm. 

When you looked properly, you saw that he was practically carrying Lafayette  like he weighed a bag of feathers. While Hercules had regained his wits, the french man clearly had not, and was still properly bamboozled. 

“Monsieur Lafayette cannot hold his liquor?” You questioned in amusement. Hercules shared your sentiment.

“On the contrary, he is actually quite impressive in that regard. But alas, he had way more than any of us.”

You grinned but it wavered when you saw his suggestive gaze. “Wait…what exactly are you asking me to do here?”

“Well…”

“No.”

“Please Y/N?” He couldn’t restrain his laugh. “John ran off somewhere, and I need to track him down so that he doesn’t jump in the lake.”

“Why can’t Hamilton do it?” You stalled. 

“Hamilton went off somewhere with Burr,” Hercules confirmed. You opened your mouth to make another excuse but a look from the tall man had you shutting up.

You groaned, putting your palm to your face. “I’m going to regret this.”

“Thank you Y/N,” Hercules was more than willing to hand over the drunk man to you, and you nearly fell over to hold him up. 

“You’re-” You barely started but he was already out the doors. “…welcome.”

You huffed, focusing now on the immigrant nearly drooling on your shoulder.

“Lets go,” You shook him slightly, enough to get him able to walk with you as you hung his arm around your neck.

“Hmm..?” He asked drowsily, a rumble vibrating through his chest and straight through you. “Where…?”

His voice was hoarse from the recent wake up and you would vehemently deny that it had goosebumps rising up your arms. 

“Home,” You said, absentmindedly watching the stars as the two of you hobbled down the empty street. 

“Home…?” He repeated. “You…would have a…ship at the ready?”

You snorted. Even completely wasted, he didn’t fail to have you in fits of laughter. 

“Not France, Lafayette,” You mused. “Though I think I would like to visit.”

“Anytime…” He opened his eyes blearily, seeming to want to see you. When he saw your face he seemed a bit surprised, but got over it. “Y/N…”

Your name rolling off his lips made you weirdly content. 

“You would escort me, Monsieur?” You were enjoying somewhat flirting with the man, knowing he wouldn’t remember a single word. 

“Anything for you,” He responded. You paused. That sounded a little too sincere. You peeked a glance to see if he had cleared his mind from the alcoholic fog, but his face was still flushed. Guess not.

“Its a date then,” You said. 

“Date…? Yes…a date,” He murmured by your ear, breath washing over you, a distinct smell of sweet whiskey. You were already getting flustered by the proximity, but when his lips pressed to your neck you lost your crap.

“What are you doing?” The words were rushed, your voice a pitch higher. 

“Tu es si belle.”

“What?”

“Vous frappez, madame. Restez avec moi.”

“Um…Lafayette?”

The only thing that followed was a babble of french that you in no way could translate. The sultry flow of the romantic language by your ear was again getting too much for you. You were sure your face would burn off in no time.

“Lafayette!”

That seemed to knock him out of his daze, but he still continued to speak in French, with a few random English words in-between. You suddenly noticed the confused expression set on his face and realized he quite seriously couldn’t remember the language at the moment in his state.

How adorable.

You let him off the hook for the intrusion of your personal space just because of that, and giggled quietly to yourself as you walked up to his door. 

You fished around in his coat for his keys, and gave a small ‘aha’ when you found them in an inner pocket. The door clicked open.

“Here we are,” You said. A strike of sympathy struck within you with another look at Lafayette’s disheveled state. 

It wouldn’t kill you to bring him to his room would it? You took the small journey with a pep in your step.

“Time to go to bed, Lafayette,” You spoke to him as if he was a child, patting his shoulder. He hummed.

“mmhm…”

You made to let him go but stopped breathing when the roles changed as he clamped his arms around your waist and dragged you down to the mattress with him.

“MMpH..!” You thrashed, face pressed into his chest, your bodies practically glued together. A heat ravaged your cheeks when you registered this, his toned body outlined underneath his clothes, the scruff on his jaw brushing against your cheek. You finally managed to disconnect from him enough to speak. 

“Let go!” You whispered harshly. Lafayette stirred, opening his eyes. The two of you stared at each other before an odd glint entered Lafayette’s chocolate eyes. 

“Laf-” You started.

“Stay.”

“What?”

“Stay,” He said shortly, more of a question than a demand. His eyes looked too clear, too soft for someone who was drunk.

You got lost in his gaze, your faces so close now that you could count every brown eyelash, the curls escaping his ponytail, framing his captivating features. 

Everything was shouting at you to say no, to get the hell out of there, but then his lip quirked upward and you were melting.

“Ok.”

His head buried in your neck, your legs intertwined as the soft sounds of his breathing filled the quiet air.

And the dull beat of his heart lulled you to join him in the land of the subconscious not long after.



OH MON DIEU!”

You frowned at the noise, wondering who had the heart of stone to do this to you so early in the morning. Opening your eyes, you watched Lafayette in blurry perplexity until the memories of the night before came back to you and just sighed, rolling back over.

“Go back to sleep, Lafayette.”

“Back to-?!” He was utterly befuddled, wincing at the sound of his own voice, nursing a hangover. Another round of french escaped his lips before he caught himself.  “Mon cher, what are you doing in my bed??!!”

“So you don’t remember last night?” You mulled, taking great satisfaction in making him freak out even more.

“Last night?!!” He sputtered, a complete mess of ruffled clothes, bed hair and tangled sheets. “What did I - did we - how did-”

You snuggled into the warm sheets, snickering. “Don’t worry, we didn’t do anything.”

A breath of relief left his lungs. “Oh merci bien.”

You hummed casually. “I mean, you haven’t even taken me on that date to France yet.”

You swear you had no idea the male human voice could go that high before. “Date??”

A thump alerted you to the fact that he had fallen out of the bed and onto the floor. 

You yawned, raising your hand limply above your head to point at the ceiling. Where to start? 

“I’ll tell the story of last night…”

[MasterList]

Seven Seconds in Heaven

Words: 5.8k
Genre: Angst, Fluff, smidgen of Smut
Summary: In the moment of your death, Heaven drops the hammer of punishment; making him travel back in time to relive memories that can never be changed. Seven memories. Seven minutes in each. Seven seconds before they are ripped away. 
Warning: Mentions of death and other sensitive things. Tread carefully.

Cr.

It’s another argument.

He is helpless. Frustrated. He’s caught in a blind rage that doesn’t allow him to understand why you said the things you said, why you did the things you did but then the words spew out of his lips without mercy. When the tears cloud your eyes and you rip your gaze away from him, before he can even utter ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it’, you had already said in the calmest voice-

“We are not doing this here.”

Without looking once back, you ran ahead of him, picking up the pace as much your legs could muster while leaving Jin behind you, feeling helpless and frustrated. He watches as your form disappears meters ahead, amongst the crowds as the glow of the street lamps cast shadows on the pavement; they laugh mockingly at him and follow like tails as he begins to race.

“Y/N. Y/N! Y/N, wait!”

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Quietus (Ghost!Hoshi x Reader)

Originally posted by letmebangteen

Admin: Mimi

When Hoshi died, he thought that was the end of everything as he knew it, and that he would be doomed to a life of isolation for the rest of his miserable existence. That was until the day you walked into his abandoned house and made him feel a little less lonely.

Fandom: Seventeen

Genre: Angst, fluff

Pairing: Hoshi x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of death/blood/violence, Ouija boards, alcohol

Word Count: 4413

A/N: Hoshi is (one of) my bias and I never wrote for him before. I got inspired after the Lilili Yabbay video bc he looked like a ghost in that video, and since the spoopy festivities of Halloween are upon us, I was in the mood to write for the occasion! I put up the warnings for those who aren’t comfortable with it (obviously lol) but honestly, it isn’t that graphic or scary. It might seem a bit grizzly at the beginning, but that’s the worst of it, I promise you. That being said, I hope everyone likes this and that you have a good October/Halloween!

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Drunk in Love

Originally posted by crankgameplaysreactions

Request: If you can, can you whip up a lil headcanon or blurb of drunk Ethan and hes being really cuddly and lovey dovey with fem reader

Summary: Drunk!Ethan is v affectionate, Fem!Reader is just trying to get her best friend home

A/N: helloooooooo my friends! Idk how to do headcanons, so here is a smol thingy. Enjoy!

Wordcount: 250, smol am srry

Request some more my beautiful friends!

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