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.

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


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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.

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

“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*

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.


Disclaimer // Support Scriptshrink on patreon

IRAQ. Nineveh governorate. Mosul. May 18, 2017. A child sleeps on his mother’s shoulder after a perilous journey on foot to flee heavy fighting in their neighbourhood between Iraqi forces and ISIS militants.

Photograph: Maya Alleruzzo/AP

|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 what 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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The accidental Husband

Part 5. Fires and Cure-all Stews (Final Part)

Previous Parts

Fireman!Dean x Reader

A/N: This is an AU inspired by the namesake movie. It doesn’t follow the same storyline, just the main concept. 

A/N2: For those of you who read Fate, yes, the vintage clock in this fic is the same one. *wink*

Summary: Dean gets dumped and apparently it’s all your fault. That’s why he and Charlie decide that a little payback is not gonna hurt and, if it does, well… then it’s just karma.

Tags: @mrswhozeewhatsis @daydreamingintheimpala @anokhi07 @driverpicksthemuusic @mysoul4dean @bitch-i-am-a-dean-girl @thing-you-do-with-that-thing@ amoreagron @spnfangirl1965 @aristtewinchesterholmes @thisisthelilith @chelsea072498  @skymoonandstardust @apeshit7x @castiels-tardis-sound @squirrellover1967 @barneybrigade @emilypkuzu @aiaranradnay @tatortot2701 @electricbluecas @destinyhuntergirlfriend @samdean-67 @soivebuiltupaworldofmagic @keepcalmandbeajunkie @deanandsamsbitch @vanessa-monique @sharkeeshark @asgardianvamp21 @a-closet-full-of-skeletons  @imissyoualittlemoreeveryday  @deansbaekaz2y5 @aquabrie @moonstar86 @antiyouantimirrowantime  @keep-calm-and-omfg-jensen-ackles @smoothdogsgirl @lavieenlex @faithfulpanicmoon @lumiereaimante @awesomecocobambiworld @eyes-of-a-disney-princess @paigeee1023  

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Vanoo. 786 words.

Felt like writing something short and fluffy a few days ago so I wrote this quick lil thing :P It’s set in an au @jaysketchin and I have been talking about a lot recently in which Lui is Evan’s baby brother (he’s about seven in this), and Evan is raising him on his own. It’s also set in space for no reason other than because we like space. Enjoy <3

“Evan?”

Lui’s soft voice gently roused him from his sleep, but Evan wasn’t quite ready to wake up yet, and groaned quietly to himself. He knew he wasn’t winning any ‘guardian of the year’ awards by ignoring his baby brother like this, but it was hard to convince himself to get up when his bed was so soft and cosy, and the body pressed up against his back was so warm and comforting.

“Evan?” Lui repeated, and his tiny child sized hand gripped his shoulder and not-so-gently shook him. “Are you awake?”

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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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also, on that note, pretty much every masculine presenting character in the first two dragon age games would have their own anxieties about being parents. let’s go down the list

alistair: was raised in an abusive environment and only later, gradually (this is my headcanon that he realizes this and you can tear it away from my cold, dead fingers) comes to see it and arl eamon for what they were and are, and would thus probably examine and re-examine every interaction he or THINKS about having with his child. probably has long talks with his partner about it, about whether they think he is become eamon any time he has to punish his child for whatever small indiscretion children do, which the answer is always, ever, no. alistair would lift his child up on his shoulders and spin them around. “we are going to visit the kennels today,” he would say, with a curious tightness in his throat when his child would ask why, it was almost bedtime. “sometimes your old dad likes to, just to know the difference.”

zevran: as already established, would be terrified of even touching his child at first, let alone of how the world will treat a child of his when he knows so very well what that world is capable of. he eventually gets to a place where is comfortable (enough) with the whole thing to truly appreciate the experience, in giving his child what he never had. not in terms of material possessions, though there is that, too, but in love. in their being so thoughtlessly sure about their safety that they don’t even consider the possibilities when a child asks to play with them. would smile when his child would say they had trouble making friends, not like him, and smooth back their hair. “i will let you in on a secret, my dear,” he would say. “just between you and i, hmm? your papi is good at making smiles, not keeping them.”

“you make me smile,” they would say, which would earn a soft laugh.

“that has quite a lot to do with my other part,” he would say. “but, yes, i will help you. i will do all i can. and i know that you will find people to share your time with. they are there, and they love you already, though they don’t know it.”

fenris: i’m going to hazard a guess that fenris would at once be very confident and very unsure of how he raises his child(ren). he knows very well what IS abuse and what is not, but i think that on more than one occasion fenris would look at his child and wonder what he had done so wrong, that he hadn’t been allowed to experience the small joys and triumphs of childhood himself? he would be shaken and uncertain, and could very well pull away from his child for a short time, until he felt that his emotions would not cause his child pain. his face would give that twitch that is as close as he could come to a flinch in front of them when they would ask why he isn’t looking at them, and drop to his knees beside them. “sometimes,” he would say heavily, “papas get scared too. and that’s…” he would quest about for a word, before settling on, “sometimes that fear makes you do things that aren’t nice. but there is always time afterwards to do that nice thing, especially when you have someone who deserves to see it.”

“like me?”

“like you.”

anders: would of course raise his child to want and expect what he had never had, but would also, i think, reassure them constantly how very loved and precious they are. “i KNOW, papa,“ they would say. “you told me so last night.” but it would not be enough, never be enough, because in the back of his head would be the fears of the abandoned child, and the slow burning knowledge that if a templar ever looked sideways at his child that he would do whatever he had to do to protect them and their future. “have i told you the story about a very special pillow,” he would say, “and the people that did and did not accept it.”

varric: varric would probably focus on teaching his child financial responsibility as they grew up, and not for the reason you’d think. but his teachings would also involve telling his child about consequences, both good and bad. drink, he would say, can help you forget pain but it will not get rid of it, will in fact to add to it. while love, trust… he would sigh, and reach out to brush his knuckles up their cheek, love and trust are about making yourself vulnerable. you are letting these people close, knowing they can hurt you, and deeply, but having faith that they won’t. you won’t be spared from the pain of giving them to the wrong person, but oh, my dearest, he would smile, when you give it to the right people you fly.

anonymous asked:

#4 pretty pleaseee!!! Ps: Love your blog ❤❤❤

thank you, sweetheart!

i combined it with @flourishandblotted‘s prompt “stay with me, like this” and went with ten x rose! i hope you like it – it’s angsty at first but i promise the ‘gets better’ ending <3

that we whisper

The first scream cuts through the drowsy air, echoes down the corridor.

Air leaves Rose’s lungs. Sleepiness is electrocuted from her body, or so it seems. She drops the tea mug onto the grating, tea spilling over with a wet splash.

“Doctor!”

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