colouring is off in some places but it's not like you could tell

THE PRETTY LITTLE LIARS ENDGAME

It is bittersweet that I present to you my last ever theory for Pretty Little Liars. I apologise in advance for the insane length, but this is covering all those frustrating loose ends across the entire series. I hope you can make it to the end so we can discuss. My only fear for this theory is that it is too daring and gutsy; it would re-define the show we thought we knew. Are the writers willing to ‘go there’ in just 10 episodes? I don’t know! Regardless if this is all right, partially right, or so damn wrong, I hope you have as much fun reading this as I did putting this together the past two months! For the last time before the show ends… I hope you enjoy!

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The signs as: their places in the modern world
  • Aries: You're not sure how you feel about most sports, but you can't help but to watch them when they run. They kick off so hard that they seem to almost fly through the beginning of the race. They're always wearing some form of red. Their hair is a curly mess and when you try to smooth it down you feel something sharp break the skin on your hand. They look at you. Their eyes are glinting gold.
  • Taurus: You catch sight of them sometimes, lounging outside small bakeries and cafes. The air seems to move a little slower around them, thick and cloying like honey. Your watch has stopped. Everything is calm and warm, but when you leave the sun is already setting. You only stopped by for a pastry.
  • Gemini: You notice them sometimes at the entrances of side streets and tiny alleys, standing side by side. Their hair is dyed outrageous colours and spiked like a hedgehog. The one who is grinning at you beckons you closer, but behind them the one who is frowning desperately shoos you away.
  • Cancer: You go to the library early one morning,sleep deprived,half dead and yet absurdly over stimulated from coffee. All the reference books have been loaned out. A librarian, a little smaller than the rest, emerges from nowhere and hands you a copy. There are indents in the cover and for a second you think you see claws hidden in the sleeves of their sweater. Their eyes glisten. You're too intimidated to ask how they got this book.
  • Leo: They seem to show up in the strangest of places. On rooftops, in trees, curled up in a shopping trolley that has been abandoned in the street. Cats follow them everywhere. Your cat has been missing for the past week. You think it has joined the crowd that follows them. They flash you a smile that speaks of war. You know then that you would follow them too. Their smile says that you might have to.
  • Virgo: You've lost your friend at a party. Your head pounds to the beat of the music. The creepy 40 something year old that nobody invited has been tracking your movements. As you start to panic a cool hand slips into yours. A silky voice tells you to look away from him. You dance and everything seems more intense somehow. On your way home you find a slip of paper in your pocket. On it is written a telephone number. It disintegrates as you add it into your contacts.
  • Libra: You're feeding pigeons on the boardwalk when you see them. They're crawling low to the ground and you're not sure why anyone would want to do that among the mess of fish hooks and tangled lines. A group of boys are throwing their rubbish into the river. You catch a glimpse of them pouring mud and fish heads into the boys socks. The boys don't seem to notice. When you take your shoes off you find a five dollar bill scrunched up in the bottom.
  • Scorpio: You're pretty sure that job interviews aren't supposed to be this terrifying, especially not for part time work at a fast food venue. You earn only ice cold stares from them until they see your references. Then they give you a strange smile that sends your heart soaring and plummeting simultaneously. They tell you that you'll fit in here. You just wonder whether you'll be able to get out. When you pull away from a handshake they leave the impression of claws on your palm.
  • Sagittarius: You're on a bus and the sun is going down when you sit next to them. They ask you where you're going and you tell them. They ask you why. You give a much more honest answer than you had expected to. You find yourself trying to justify the actions that have led you to this point. They hum along thoughtfully. You're already at your stop. The bus is empty except for the two of you. You could have sworn that it was full when you boarded, but yours has been the only stop. You turn to wave as you leave but now the seat is bare.
  • Capricorn: You're grocery shopping and you don't usually make a habit of talking to anyone when you do so, but your eyes lock over the frozen produce. You realise that you're crying. The two of you sit down in the isle. No one tells you not to. The store is strangely quiet, the hum of the lights and refrigerator behind you the only constant factors. You leave with several dubious pieces of life advice and an excellent recipe for fried chicken. as you turn your key in the lock of your door you realise that they know your life story, but you don't even know their name.
  • Aquarius: You're at a target late at night looking for something that you can't quite name. Nothing seems right. A shop attendant behind you agrees. They lead you through the racks into an area that you have never been in before. Dark things dart between the shelves. They point to an item on the shelf. It is slowly growing. It's perfect. As you leave you glance behind you but the lights are off inside. You check the open hours. It closed hours ago. You check your receipt. It's a plain piece of paper covered only by a shaky drawing of an eye and a price.
  • Pisces: You have a foggy memory of a summer camp attended years ago. They were attending too. They always stood a little away from the other kids, the counselors never spoke to them. They showed you secret places hidden behind brambles and stinging nettles. You weren't quite sure how they got through spaces that were so much smaller than their body. On your final day they pressed a tiny golden pendant into your hand. The rest of the memory has faded. You ask your parents about it but they tell you that you have never been to summer camp. The pendant is still in your top drawer. It feels warm to the touch.

Happy Spring, my dears! To celebrate my favourite season, I present to you a tarot challenge for the month of April. You are 100% welcome to alter or skip days as makes you comfortable, as these are just my own silly suggestions. Also, please feel free to @ me or tag with April Fool Tarot Challenge to share your adventures through the month! Write as artistically or as informally as you like! (PS I realise this is a little early/long-winded, I honestly just got excited). Anyway, with your consent, I wish you all the growth and warmth of the season! :)


1. The April Fool Spread: Shuffle, and find the Fool. The cards on either side are “what to be optimistic about this month” and “what to be wary of, in case it’s a trick”

2. Tarot Garden: Go through your decks and see if you can find at least three different flower species depicted. Take a super aesthetic photo of this tarot garden!

3. The Sun Cross Spread: Shuffle and find the Sun. The cards on either side are things that will warm up your spring

4. Green Thumb: Find three cards (or more!) with green as the dominant colour. Do the cards’ meanings relate somehow? If differentiating colours is difficult, select one or more cards that mean “growth” to you.

5. The April Showers Spread: Pull a card to represent April showers (an upcoming challenge), and another to show May flowers (a potential positive outcome of this challenge)

6. The Spring Cleaning Spread: Pull (randomly or by design) a card to represent something that needs to leave your life

7. The “That Gross Dirty Melting Snow” Spread (I asked my boyfriend what spring reminds him of, which was a mistake): Tell your deck the beginning of a classic joke, and then pull the punchline. Guaranteed to be an experience.

8. The Diamond Spread: For the April birthstone, pull four cards to represent Luxury, Clarity, Strength, and Rarity for the situation of your choosing

9. The Blossom Spread: Pull a Blossom (something to strive for), a Stem (what to do to help you get there), and Roots (what you already have that will guide your journey).

10. Wild Cards: Take a photo of your cards out in nature (or if you can’t leave your house, with a sweet houseplant!)

11. Haiku: Pull three random cards to write a haiku

12. Sweet Pea: For the birth flower of April, talk about a card that always makes you feel good when you pull it

13. Rubber Boots: Pull a card randomly. Its numerical value is your puddle-jumping-armour stat. How wet are your feet?

14. Hanami: Pull a card (randomly or by design) to represent something that doesn’t last long, so needs to be appreciated while it’s here

15. Tea Time: Have some tea with your cards! You’re halfway through and deserve a break.

16. The Two Easters Spread: My family celebrates both new and old calendar holidays, meaning that we usually have two Easters a year. This year, both fall on the same day (today)! To celebrate, pull two cards: The Resurrection (a lesson you could learn from your childhood self), and Renewed Hope (a message you need to hear from your deck). Feel free to alter this one as is comfortable for your spirituality.

17. The Spring Fling Spread: Shuffle, then spread your cards face up. Are the Lovers closer to the Emperor or the Empress? Use this as advice in your interpersonal relationships

18. Fairy Tales: Pull a card or two to tell us what your life as a garden fairy would be like

19. The Aries Spread: For the last day of this sign, pull a card each for the four stars of the Aries constellation. These will represent Passion (something to pour your heart into), Impulse (something to follow your gut on), Optimism (something to lift your spirits), and Aggression (something frustrating to work on).

20. The Taurus Spread: Taurus has way too many stars for this (lol), so instead, pull a card each for its two horns. One to represent something wonderfully stable, and one to represent something just a little stubborn.

21. The Chinook Spread: Pull a card to represent a very rapid change

22. The Earth Day Spread: Pull a card (or two or three) as a reminder of everything the planet has done for you!

23. The Rainy Day Spread: Pull three cards suggesting your next rainy day activities

24. Tanka: Pull five cards to write a tanka (like a haiku, but the syllables are 5-7-5-7-7)

25. Spring Break: Build a house of cards as best you can. Share pictures, even if it’s kind of a mess (I know mine will be)

26. The Weather: Describe today’s weather using tarot cards! Maybe even try to predict tomorrow’s weather, if you’re feeling it

27. The Migration Spread: Place five cards in a V, like geese flying north for the summer. What are you flying towards?

28. The Arbour Day Spread: A pine tree needs all four classical elements to survive: earth to hold onto, air to breathe, water to drink, and fire to release its seeds. Choose one card of each suit to describe yourself.

29. Rainbow: Find cards in each colour of the rainbow, for the sheer aesthetic of it. If differentiating colours is difficult (or your deck is fairly monochrome), find a handful of your happiest cards and lay them out in an arch.

30. Sunday Brunch: You’re off for a lovely Sunday brunch. Which court card(s) do you invite?

Liberty Pt.1

Originally posted by kingsebastian

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader

AU: Pirates of the Caribbean Universe

Characters:  Bucky Barnes, Natalia Romanoff, Clint Barton, Tony Stark, Wanda Maximoff, Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, Peter Parker

Warnings for this fic: Angst, eventual smut in future chapters (slow burn), running away, profanity, violence.

Word count for this chapter: 1,759 (IM SORRY)

Captain James ‘Bucky’ Barnes was a peculiar man, how he sailed the seas for most of his 27 years. He was born at sea, he would most likely die at sea. All pirates, including those in the farthest corners of the maps, had heard of the infamous Captain. You? You were the governor’s daughter, secretly hoping to be taken out to seas and to be set free.

~

Why are you looking at me like that, dear?” Your father asked, his face bearing confusion.

Oh, do excuse me father, I was.. day dreaming… may I be excused from the dinner table?” Your father gave you a curt nod as you exited the dining hall. Your father was a Governor, therefore you lived in a luxury house, big enough to fit a whole crew of men, you could wonder the premises for hours, but growing up doing just that deemed you bored, trapped even.

Living in Port Royal gave you barely any benefits, indeed, there were beautiful landscapes to be painted, warm sand beaches to be walked upon, but it wasn’t enough. You wanted to explore further than the village fences, the harbor docks, into the sea that waved at you, tempting you to come closer, closer. You would give anything to be set free of the corsets and the courtship, to be free to roam the ocean as you please, discovering new places and the thrill of being a…nevermind.

You had heard stories of countless pirates, Captain Tony Stark of the Mighty Veronica, a large ship painted crimson and gold, with white sails and cannons filled with such powerful gunpowder one hit from a three barrel could split another vessel in half. From Captain Rogers, an ex-commodore, to Captain Romanoff with co-Captain Barton, better known as the Hawkeye of the seas due to his skills as a perfect shot with a pistol, you had heard extraordinary things from the men that survived on.

As a little girl, you were brought up by the maids in the household as your mother had died during childbirth. You barely left the god-forsaken island, it was very rare to go on even a short voyage with your father and his men, ’having a woman on board is bad luck.’ and only to return empty handed and deprived of proper contact with the outside world.

You were sheltered and innocent, men of the guard pined after for you since you grew a bust and shed your baby fat, you understood the means of their stares after you asked your chambermaid, Marie, what it meant to be a ‘tight little virgin’ as the men would whisper amongst themselves as you walked by. You knew very well what a kiss was, in fact, you had had a kiss indeed, your dear childhood friend Peter Parker had bestowed a secret kiss upon you on your 16th birthday, underneath the main dock, though there was no 'spark’ on your end, therefore you had to tell him that his feelings were unrequited, he never stopped being your friend, though.

You came to know Peter after you had saved his life, he had been thrown overboard from the ship he had been sailing on, alongside his father, had been blown up from the below deck gunpowder barrels.

“Father, look, a boy!” You had gasped, your father had rushed to your side and bellowed man overboard, a team of men upon the vessel had reeled him in and left him under your charge.

He was handsome, to say the least, as your hand brushed his forehead, he grabbed your wrist-

“I’m Y/N Y/L/N, I’m watching over you.” You spoke in a hushed tone.

The boy had coughed out a spluttered 'Peter Parker’ before falling unconscious once more.

~

Bucky Barnes was many things, wealthy, handsome, 'built like god himself’ as some women would say as he swaggered past them in the night, also a skilled thief nonetheless. But he was a shell of a man, plagued by the things he witnessed whilst sailing the doldrums of the ocean. As he moored his ship by the docks of Port Royal he briefly tipped the manager and his assistant a shilling each to keep their mouths shut about him and his men, and that his name was Captain William Pintel, he had ordered his crew to change the sails to white before they got anywhere near the border of the island the sails to white so they could conceal their identities.

He had come to trade, to drink, and maybe get a little bit of action for the night before being on his way to Haiti. He was a wanted man, he had liberated slaves when he was not supposed to, and that resulted in him becoming branded a pirate. The brand grew on him, and he became exactly what he was called, he had grown tired of trying to be the perfect man of the sea and broke the code instead, he sought trouble wherever he went and that was his way of living.

Though Port Royal was not a large area, it was densely populated and it was guarded heavily, with men walking around the village with their guns and bayonets. Bucky had his head hung low as he made his way through the crowds with one of his men, Sam, a man of colour whom Bucky had freed alongside the rest of the slaves.

He needed a sword.

~

You looked out of your window to see a dark ship rolling towards Port Royal, you could see the white sails calling to you at your bedroom window. The temptation to leave everything behind was screaming at you, beckoning you to go, liberty was practically screaming your name, bobbing up and down, you needed a disguise, you couldn’t board that bloody ship wearing a dress like this, it would blow your cover.

An idea.

You had hastily run to your kitchen and fetched a satchel and filled it with essentials. you escaped out of your household in seconds towards the blacksmiths, where Peter should be. As you neared the large wooden doors of the building, you peaked through the gap and saw nothing, heard nothing, even. So you pushed open the door, he wasn’t there, you checked in the back room where he stayed; nothing, you rummaged through a small crate and found a pair of trousers and a shirt, you slipped off your dress and underclothes and shoved them under the bed, freeing your hair from its pins and letting it fall loosely on your shoulders and changed into the borrowed clothing..

You left the room feeling a little lighter, but a weight fell onto your shoulders as you realized you needed to tell Peter where you were going, being your best friend, he deserved to know, he didn’t deserve to worry. You grabbed a piece of parchment and a bottle of ink and a quill.


Peter,

I’m sorry but by the time you read this I will be gone, I’m boarding a ship at the dock and never returning, I plan to find a new life, to branch out and roam the world to no end. I hate to leave you behind, I love you very much- the ship is black with white sails, it has a red star on the side also, if you ever need to find me, look for it.

All my love,

Y/N

P.s. Please, don’t tell my father.


You could heard the door begin to open and you legged it to the back door, you didn’t know who it was but you prayed to the gods it wasn’t Peter, it was too soon, and it was easy for him to spot you in a crowd, he would catch you instantly, so you ran.

~

Bucky sauntered into the deserted blacksmiths, he peaked around to see if anyone was in there, but it was silent, he could smell the burnt out coal and could tell it had been deserted for hours, though, he came across a freshly written letter and noticed that his ship was mentioned in said letter. He was aware he was a wanted man, what if this was a trap? What if the company knew he was here? Breadcrumbs, you had accidentally left the first, so he took the affects he needed and ran towards his ship.

A girl upon my ship, this should be interesting… Bucky thought to himself.

As he arrived to the dock he could see the red faced manager run to him, “Captain Pintel!! A girl… has boarded… your ship… Sir!!” He huffed, Bucky pushed him aside and climbed onto his vessel, making sure he was as silent as a mouse.

He looked everywhere, and there was no sign of a girl. None of his crew saw a tresspasser, and begin to move the ship out of the dock on captain’s orders.

~

You tried to still your breathing as you saw the handsome man search upon his ship for the intruder, you were hiding behind a rum barrell as he neared. You could hear his footsteps come to a halt, thinking he had given up, then you felt yourself being yanked up by the collar of your shirt, being pushed again the wall of the ship. His large hand came up and his fingers wrapped around your throat as the other rested against the sword handle on his belt all you could do was stand there.

He was strong, you dared not to move an inch incase he added pressure to the hand on your throat. You mapped his features; dark hair, full lips, tantalizing blue eyes, you realied who this man was, it was Captain James Barnes, the most wanted man on the map, you knew this because you heard stories around the village, from men and women alike.

Well, well, well, what pretty little thing do we have here?” He smirked, bringing a finger to tease one of your locks, “what’s your name, doll?

Y/N Y/L/N, s-sir.” You spluttered, you brought your hands up to try and pry his one off your throat.

Uh-oh.. the Governor’s daughter, hm? Tsk tsk, oh darling, you’re in for a- you shouldn’t dig your nails into my skin, sweetheart, I saw your little letter in the blacksmiths and I won’t hesitate to take you back sweetheart, or maybe… dump you in the middle of the ocean?” He inhaled and tightened his grip around your throat, and narrowed the proximity between both your faces.

Please- Sir I’ll do anything, please just let me come with you.” You hoped he wouldn’t turn out too bad, if he let you stay, but if he didn’t…

Well, miss Y/L/N, welcome aboard the St. Brooklyn…

~

A/N SOOOO that was the first chapter i hope you like it if people want me to continue im gonna need hella motivation!

@i-cannot-escape-this-fandom

Broken Dreams

MASTERLIST

A/N: This was requested by my lovely @lovethatmendeskid and I just loved the idea. I’m super nervous, legit shaking. I really hope you like it!

Word count: 3,502

I was sitting at the dining table in the kitchen, staring over at the full plate of - by now – very cold food. Food that – once again – weren’t going to be eaten.

I’d been sitting here for hours, but I stopped counting exactly how many that had passed by now. The more seconds that flew by, the more it stung in my heart.

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#Melanin #WarOnMelanin 

The Aeta (Ayta, pronounced eye-tə), or Agta, are an indigenous people who live in scattered, isolated mountainous parts of the island of Luzon, the Philippines.

These peoples are considered to be Negritos, whose skin ranges from dark to very dark brown, and possessing features such as a small stature and frame; hair of a curly to kinky texture and a higher frequency of naturally lighter colour (blondism) relative to the general population; small nose; and dark brown eyes. They are thought to be among the earliest inhabitants of the Philippines, preceding the Austronesian migrations. The earliest inhabitants of the Philippines lived some 40,000 years ago.

The Aeta were included in the group of people termed “Negrito” during Spanish Era. Various Aeta groups in northern Luzon are known as Pugut or Pugot, an Ilocano term that also means “goblin” or “forest spirit”, and is the colloquial term for people with darker complexions. These names are mostly considered inappropriate or derogatory by fellow Negritos of northern Luzon.

… 

The Aeta are the indigenous people of the Philippines. The pale skin Eurasians you see there today are Mongoloid – not Negrito. The Mongoloids are invaders to the islands. Those they could not kill they have tried to breed out. The Aeta have been dealing with genocide longer than the Australian aborigine, and long before any Europeans set foot on the island. Most people suffer some sort of cognitive dissonance around this issue. It is inconceivable that Asians are killing black people and Asians have been killing black people and stealing their land for ‘thousands’ of years. There is no stigma like that of the European slave trade. The Arabs and the Mongols have essentially gotten away with the mass murder of hundreds of millions of black lives. Most see the people of India as a race and not genocide. To be clear – Indian is a nationality not a race. People are not aware of truly how much suffering black people on this earth have had to endure. 800 years before the transatlantic slave trade there was the Arab slave trade. The Arab slave trade was still going on when the European slave trade began and has never quite ended. It is said that the Arab slave trade was equal to the European slave trade if not worse. Before the Arab slave trade the Mongols killed upwards of 40 million people (some estimates are as high as 80 million). At this early time in human history that is almost half of what would have been the worlds known population. The Mongol Empire eventually stretched from Central Europe to the Sea of Japan. The black people in China and Japan were genocided out of history (some say they still remain in pockets). The black people of Thailand(the Mani), Cambodia (the Khmer) and Vietnam (the Champa) are all still there despite the genocide. In India the black people there have been under attack for 3500 years. Today black people in India are extremely confused about their identity. Most people alive today still dont know how it is that black people came to have straight hair even though the science is there. This may come as a surprise but black people were even the first Hawaiians and Hebrews. Racism did not start in Europe. Racism started in the East and spread towards Europe, which explains why they were the last ones to take part in the enslavement of indigenous black people. What the Mongols couldn’t finish the Arabs took up and what the Arabs couldn’t finish the Europeans took up. WE HAVE HAD NO FRIENDS YET NO RACE COULD HAVE ENDURED WHAT THE BLACK RACE HAS ENDURED AND STILL BE ALIVE TO TELL ABOUT IT. WE ARE THE TRUE INDIGENOUS PEOPLE OF ALL TROPICAL LAND ON THIS EARTH AND WE ARE STILL HERE…

[Message for the racists that commented on this post]

I know exactly what I’m talking about.

#BlackLivesMatter
#StopBlackGenocide  



None of our scholars used the word “colorism” because none of them saw the need to. It has only been popular for a couple years now and already I have seen this word used to cover up anti-black racism a thousand times over. Even when a situation is clearly anti-black racism rearing its ugly head people will say “colorism exists everywhere”… Even when all points are indicating that it’s black genocide and erasure, people are saying “colorism exists everywhere”…
All you hair revolutionaries and social services revolutionaries need to take a seat, and/or read a book.      



“Shadeism” was a popular term long before colorism, and still is. Do your research. Pigmentocracry is also another term you should all get familiar with.
Those terms do not apply to this image, and neither does colorism.



Just in case you missed it: Those terms do not apply to this image, and neither does colorism.    



It’s messed up that only one non-black person accurately saw this image for what it is. She wrote “98% sure that last girl is actually African and her white counterpart is….welll. not filipino”. The way the word colorism is being used is not serving our best interests. It should find its place among ethnic white people – where it belongs.

… 

Black people fought to no longer be called “coloured”. As soon as we rid ourselves of that term – here comes “colorism”… I found that very coincidental, and suspect.  



The word “colorism” may have some place (most likely among ethnic white groups) but as it stands it only serves to confuse the narrative. How many times did you hear Master Teacher MLK or Malcolm X use the word “colorism”? How many times did Master Teacher Dr. John Henrik Clarke or Dr. Yosef Ben-Jochannan use the word? Were you ever once confused by the words our black scholars used? What about the rest of our African historians? Did they too lack the intelligence? Do you think they lacked the proper vocabulary to express themselves? Could you dare think such a thing?

… 

The struggle for black people is real. The Black Holocaust is real. Black Genocide is real. Anti-Black Racism is real. Black Erasure is real. Fix your lips and call this what it is. “Colorism” is a nice soft word like “colonialism” that white people use to make themselves feel better about what is happening and what has happened. They are two very watered-down definitions that mask the brutality and continual injustice and unjust circumstance black people are now dealing with.  

… 

Can white people say STOP BLACK GENOCIDE AND ERASURE?

Can white people say STOP STEALING BLACK PEOPLES RESOURCES AND LANDS?

Can white people say BLACK PEOPLE WORLDWIDE DESERVE REPARATIONS?

Can white people say BLACK LOVE MATTERS?

Can white people say BLACK PEOPLE DESERVE LAND IN AMERICA?

Can white people say BLACK PEOPLE DESERVE SAFE SPACES?

Can white people say WHITE PEOPLE ARE THE REASON HOLLYWOOD
AND BOLLYWOOD IS ANTI-BLACK RACIST?

Can white people say NON-BLACK PEOPLE OF COLOR ALSO PERPETUATE ANTI-BLACK RACISM AND BLACK GENOCIDE?

Can white people say FOR 3000 YEARS BLACK PEOPLE IN INDIA HAVE BEEN ENSLAVED BY ANTI-BLACK RACISM?

Can white people say CLEARLY THERE IS A GENOCIDE TAKING PLACE IN INDIA AND MELANESIA?

Can white people say WHY HAS EVERYONE ELSE GOTTEN REPARATIONS BUT BLACK PEOPLE?

Can white people say BLACK PEOPLE DESERVE BLACK SPACES?

Can white people say BLACK PEOPLE IN AFRICA, THE WEST, INDIA, THAILAND AND MELANESIA HAVE BEEN CUT OFF FROM ONE ANOTHER BY EURASIANS?

Can white people say EVERY TIME THEY TURN ON THE TV THEY SEE THE ANTI-BLACK RACISM TOO?

Can white people say WHITE PEOPLE ARE CAUSING AND HAVE CAUSED BLACK CHILDREN TO SUFFER FROM SELF-HATE? 

lettiekim  asked:

Hiii the story you wrote about Andrew and Neil that I asked for awhile ago was awesome even though I know it was a hard one. I was wo dering if you can do 98 about Ronan and Adam?

(that is SWEET and also I bastardized your prompt a little >:))

98: “I want to thank you for putting up with me. I know that I’m not the easiest person to get along with.” 

He’s locking up the repair shop with his arms full of backpack and keys clamped between his teeth when someone honks behind him. He startles so hard that everything landslides down onto springy wet grass.

“Sorry!” Gansey calls, head popped outside of what must be the pig, if Adam could see past the dizzy glare of the headlights. “I’m in a bit of a hurry. You’d better come sit down.”

Adam breathes deep, mentally slicing his evening into pieces like he always does when an expensive car rolls up and his name is called. He stoops over to gather the textbooks spilling out of his bag, the scatter of his few precious pens and his bike lock.

When he looks up, Gansey’s switched on his high beams to passive aggressively hurry him along. He slows down a little out of halfhearted spite.

Adam tucks his backpack through the headrests to the backseat and then leans into the front of the car to look at Gansey expectantly. He’s making a face that’s about as close to a grimace as a Gansey can get.

“Ronan ran away.”

Adam blinks. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Gansey breathes. Adam feels his newborn worry ebb and blink out.

“Well he’s at home, then. He’s not going to run far from the Barns.”

“That’s what I’d imagined, but he’s nowhere on Lynch property. Blue and I went on a merry hunt all afternoon.”

Adam feels his chest kick and fight and try to make a scene. “And you didn’t tell me until now?” He hates that his voice sounds like the raw insides of undercooked meat, like he’s delicate and bloody.

“Well we thought it was fixable, and you were at work—“

“I’m always at work, Gansey, and it’s never deterred you before. If my— if Ronan really did disappear—“

“He did,” Gansey says emphatically, and Adam frowns.

“Opal—“

“Knocked on my door at 6 am this morning holding this.” He produces a sheet of torn off looseleaf from his breast pocket and hands it to Adam gingerly.

Adam unfolds it.

Tell Adam I’m sorry.

He looks up, swallowing. Gansey’s watching him closely, obviously trying to gauge a response.

“At least he’s started apologizing,” he says weakly, a thin needle of hurt pinning his words together.

“It doesn’t seem like he’s starting anything,” Adam says, his anger and worry taking each other by the throat. “He’s giving up.”

“I think,” Gansey says, “that he’s very bad at grieving.”

“No one’s good at grieving. Not that you’ve ever had to know.”

Gansey recoils. He has a flighty look on his face like he would very much like to abandon this conversation if it weren’t taking place in his most prized possession. “I’m not the one that left, Adam,” he says pointedly, and Adam swears, apologizes, and climbs into the passenger seat.

“Take me to the Barns.”

Gansey looks at him sideways, and Adam would have the pity in his eyes for a punching bag. “He really isn’t there.”

“I know,” Adam says impatiently, “I’m going to steal his car.”

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A Series of Unfortunate Events : the recipe to a good adaptation

This is a short analysis of the recent adaptation A Series of Unfortunate Events by Netflix. I will not mention everything here, it would require much more time and analysis but here is a general appreciation. Careful for spoilers !

Adaptations are quite tricky to accomplish because being true to the original work while bringing novelty to the piece is not so easy. The best adaptations are often the ones that manage to channel the spirit of the original work. A Series of Unfortunate Events is a very successful example of this. It was already visible in the first trailer where Lemony Snicket actually walks on the set of the filming to tell us not to watch this series. Right here, you have three core elements of the original series : our narrator-character, the breaking of the fourth-wall and the plea not to look into this horrific story. That last element actually is a known way to catch the reader/viewer’s attention and make him want to know more.

When it comes to A Series of Unfortunate Events, the character of Lemony Snicket is crucial. Therefore the adaptation needs to be perfectly true to his features. As a child, I really believed Lemony Snicket was this mysterious author hidding from malevolent authorities. The fact that Lemony is actually out of the story ,since he is the author/narrator, and a full part of it builds the whole myth around this series.
When I saw the movie, I did not get that feeling of mystery around Lemony mainly because it is not cleary explicited that he is part of all this : the viewer doesn’t see on-screen any important hint that Lemony is a central character of the story, he is presented above all as the writer.
In the Netflix series, Lemony is the first person the viewer visually encounters, just like in the books. The fact that you can see him entirely makes him a reassuring presence throughout the show : he is your guide. The show stages this aspect very cleverly by blending Lemony in the situations the Baudelaires find themselves in, usually through his costume.

Thanks to this process, the narrator’s role is fully depicted. A narrator that addresses directly to the reader/viewer is usually out of the story and Lemony is indeed “out” since he is telling the events. But Lemony is also “in” as an important character. The show drops hints along the way which keep getting bigger gradually : his investigation, the letters to Beatrice, the fact that he is being chased, among other things, and of course the reveal of the picture with Olaf in the last episode.

All these proofs show that Lemony really is involved in this story. It is very fortunate that they kept the dedications to Beatrice at the beginning of each segment of the story because she is the one who ties Lemony to the story. She actually acts as his muse, she is the main reason why he writes, the name Beatrice being a reference to Dante’s own muse.
Since he is an « in-between » character, literally the bridge between you and the story, Lemony is the one who constantly breaks the fourth-wall. This aspect is so crucial in A Series of Unfortunate Events. It allows Lemony to act as the antic chorus or Prologue : “If you are interested in stories with happy endings, you would be better off reading some other book. In this book, not only is there no happy ending, there is no happy beginning and very few happy things in the middle.” (The Bad Beginning).
With those few lines, the essence of the plot is completely laid before your eyes, just like the ancient tragedies. In the series, apart from those lines, the opening song has the exact same role : “Every single episode is nothing be dismay.”
The breaking of the fourth-wall is also at the core of both series because story-telling mecanisms are explained through it. In the Reptile Room, Lemony explains the dramatic irony which is then again an aspect of the antic tragedies. As I remember it, the book series crossed the fourth-wall to teach something to the reader : a word, writing techniques and less straightforwardly, literary references. All these elements were fortunately brought into the show as well.

Now Lemony is mainly the one to break the wall, as allowed by his narrator status. What is unsettling for the viewer is when Count Olaf breaks it, usually to advertise the TV show and stare at the camera for a couple of seconds. This leads to the other important aspect of an adaptation : the creativity. The writers did not only represent Olaf, they actually add depths according to the new medium : what would Olaf do if he was in a TV series ? Break the fourth-wall and sing its opening sequence !

A short word on the amazing cast, especially Neil Patrick Harris who pulled out a very good Count Olaf. This character is very complex to play, he needs the right amount of villainy, humor and the talent of an actor who can play a character playing other characters. Jim Carrey brought too much of his own eccentricity to the character and you saw more of the actor than of the character. Neil Patrick Harris really understood and nailed all of Olaf’s facets.

Hence adaptations would be rather dull without creativity and novelty.
Sure a lot of dialogues are actually taken word by word from the books because they are good as they are but an adaptation needs to adapt precisely even more when the media is different.

A book and a  TV show are of course very different mainly because of the images. In a book, a description can only be completed by the reader’s imagination. In a show, what you see allows very little space for imagination. This is why a successful adaptation is one that can get the spirit, the ambiance of the world, conveyed by the original words, and transcripts it on screen. From the language of worded images to the language of filming.

The unsettling ambiance, the faded colours and surreal pastel imagery are very fitting for the Baudelaires’ story. The main aspect of the series is its dark humor and stories that you find rarely in children’s book : one death if not more per book, usually a gruesome one. The TV show manages to render the baudelairian world : this very specific atmosphere, the feeling of being oppressed by all the places in which the Baudelaires find themselves.

Finally the most important aspect of an adaptation is that it must appeal to all audiences.What is complicated about making adaptations is that they are received by two different audiences : the one who knows the original material and the one who doesn’t and their first interaction with the original universe is through the adaptation.
That’s why getting the atmosphere right is so important, it shows the specificities of the work in another way which should not “betray” the original story.
An adaptation is full of references that will be immediately recognized only by the ones familiar with the original piece. These references show the adaptors love for the original work and also creates a complicity between them and the well-aware viewer. Which book lover did not scream at the sugar bowl in episode 2 or at those four simple words : the world is quiet here ?The beauty of references is that they are hidden, they could be seen as completely normal by an unaware viewer : the scene of the sugar bowl seems very innocent.

It allows the adaptors to play on what the reader already knows. Take the first appearance of the Quagmire mother and father: most of the book readers thought them to be the Baudelaire mother and father even though they know very well it is impossible. This builds up until the revelation in the first part of the Miserable Mill. Not only this plays with the well-aware reader but also stages already the Quagmire trio and most of their backstory. Being already intertwined since the first episode with the main story, they meet naturally at the end of the season and do not appear previously unmentionned like in the books.

As thrilling as this is, if the adaptation is only met for the experts, it won’t be a total success. An adaptation also needs to speak to new viewers who have no knowledge of the original work. This is why there is a need for balance of references so the newcomer will not spent his time on Wikipedia trying to figure out what happens. How the series introduced right away the Quagmires is actually rather clever : it allows the newcomer not to be lost in all the key characters.

Lastly, this show really catches the core humor of the original work by playing on the fact that it is an adaptation and therefore needs to depart sometimes from the original sequences. At the beginning of the Miserable Mill (episode 8), Mr. Poe freaks out because the Baudelaires are gone and in the middle of his panicked speech, he says : “It’s off-book !’. And indeed it is, because in the books the Baudelaires don’t go to Lucky Smells Lumbermill by themselves but are brought there by Mr Poe. An adaptation makes choices and the show plays on that aspect.

Of course, this show would need a 300 pages-long essay because of all the references and allusions not only to literature but also foreshadowing the main story. This show completely smashes the movie adaptation which did not manage to really transcript well neither the atmosphere nor the characters.

Remember, an adaptation is not a search of perfection because it will never be exactly like the original material. The change of medium requires changes in the story and the story-telling. The intelligence with which the choices are made makes all the difference between a good and a bad adaptation.

Gunshot (a sneak peek)

So… This was written way back in January (yikes), when I first started to write the mafia au fic 8 Days a Week and only @kawaiilo-ren and a couple other people have seen it. You might think you’ve seen it before, because Kait is a babe and she’s been drawing the amazing comic of this scene (and murdering me along the way). 

My plan was to keep this private until it was time to publish it on Ao3 but life is short and I actually like this. People will probably forget by the time it’s published there anyway, oops. 

Under the cut because it’s long. 



Hospital hall is looking cold and bleak under the fluorescent lights, like it did many hours ago. Yuri doesn’t remember how long it’s been since he left the building but coming back feels like returning from war, maybe. He doesn’t know what war feels like. It must be exhausting, if it resembles this even slightly. 

Ignoring his shaking hands is easy, as is turning a blind eye to his pulsating head ache. His body is crashing after riding through the adrenaline waves and he would kill for a nap; but that would make the list of things worth killing for longer and he isn’t sure if he is ready to deal with the paperwork. He isn’t ready to deal with anything yet, he just wants to return the weapon to its true owner and fall into a lifelong slumber.

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HAPPY REALLY LATE BIRTHDAY, ZARA!
yes this is really late omg sorry me and Ilse wanted this to be perfect and ready for you on your birthday but life is really shitty you know? Anyways, sorry but we both hope you enjoy this! (I drew the fanart and Ilse wrote the fanfic to go with it) foolforfelton drucuh-melfoi


“Malfoy, no. I can’t do dirty talking!”

“I know talking is hard for you but come one, if you try.”

“No I won’t do it. This is just- no.”

“Are you scared?”

“You wish!”

“Then why not?”

“Because I can’t!”


“Yes you can!”

“You know what? I’ll show you. Just you wait.”

“Are you flying way? Harry? Where are you going? We’re in the middle of a quidditch game here! You can’t just- IS THAT THE SNITCH?! SWEET BABY MERLIN STAY AWAY FROM IT!”

*******

“What do you call a Gryffindor with one brain cell?”

Harry sighted while Draco sat down next to him in charms class.

“Stop the Gryffindor jokes. It’s your problem you lost the quidditch match this weekend. You should’ve paid attention to the game.”

“Well excuse me for trying to have a conversation,” Draco huffed.

“You were- Draco- no.” Harry was lost for words.

“I was trying to take our relationship to a next level.”

“Dirty talk is not a next level,” Harry whispered back at Draco.

The class had started in the time Harry and Draco were talking and professor Flitwick was asking for silence.

Draco continued talking to Harry. “I think we should try it. What could go wrong?”

“We can’t even have a normal conversation. Like right now,” Harry shot back.

“Oh come on. You can’t compare it to chit chatting.”

Harry thought for a moment, a smile slowly appearing on his face. “You know what, maybe you’re right.”

Draco raised one eyebrow. “I am? Why are you smiling?”

Harry bent towards Draco so his mouth was next to Draco’s ear. “Does this arouse you?” He whispered.

“Potter, not in class.”

“Draco, I want you to ride me like a young baby elephant right out of the womb.” Harry was silent for a few seconds when he couldn’t contain his laughter and snorted wile Draco cringed.

Draco had shut his eyes once done cringing from Harry’s statement and was now rubbing circles over his temples with his index fingers. “You’ll be my end,” he said in the most dramatic way he could. “You’ll finish the Malfoy name and destroy one of the most valued wizard families of Britain.”

The two had been too caught up in their conversation to notice the class falling silent.

“Is there something you’d like to share with us, Mr Potter? Mr Malfoy?” The tiny man said in his high pitched voice.

“No professor,” Draco answered before Harry could. “Harry was just telling me how much he likes baby elephants,” he finished with a fake smile.

Professor Flitwick obviously didn’t know how to respond. “Well, eh, potter, do that in your spare time, please.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry said to his professor.

“Now let’s continue the lesson shall we?” Flitwick rubbed his tiny hands.

Draco bend towards Harry again and whispered: “a Gryffindor with one brain cell is called gifted in case you were wondering.”

*******

Harry knew that once an idea had found its way into Draco head it would nestle there and not leave until the idea had been acted upon. That’s why Harry made sure to have to most cringe worthy dirty lines, that weren’t that dirty because he’s Harry Potter, prepared at all times.

Whenever Draco would bring up the subject Harry would tell him how much he’d like to suck on his elbow or just the idea of Draco number painting (“what in Merlin’s name is number painting?”) was driving him mad.

******

It was Saturday evening and Draco and Harry’s usual group of friends had gotten together and were now occupying the best chairs in the Slytherin common room.

Ron had brought his chessboard and was trying to play a game with Harry. Whenever Harry and Ron were trying to play a game of chess Draco would swoop in at one point and start giving Harry suggestions on his next move which most of the time led to Ron telling Draco to ‘do it yourself if you’re so good then’.

Pansy was showing Hermione her nail polish that changed colour every hour. She had convinced Hermione her nails deserved more than biting.

Dean, Seamus and Theodore Nott were passing a bottle of fire whiskey between the three of them.

And Neville and Goyle spent their evenings talking about Herbiology and Neville’s latest plant interests. Although it was Neville that did the talking while Goyle ate his way through the snacks and nodded at the right moments. A talent he had probably picked up while listening to Draco’s endless Potter-Rants.

Blaise Zabini could come back from his headboy duties any moment. It was an unspoken agreement the party didn’t start without Blaise being there.

A few minutes before ten, he entered the Slytherin common room and everyone left their places to sit in a semi-circle beside the fire. Seamus had pulled out a party and the weekly story passing started. The getting together wasn’t much but the idea of having friends and being a group was what kept each and every one of them going.

Everyone was having a great time. Their faces were red from laughing and maybe from drinking a little too much alcohol.

Harry looked to his right at smiled at Draco, a soft pink blush on his cheeks. He had tears from laughing in the corners of his eyes. Ron had told everyone Draco had dared Harry to a duel in their first year.

Harry reached for Draco’s hand and intertwined their fingers. Draco looked over at Harry and for a moment it was just the two of them. The chatter around them soften and all Harry could hear was his own heart beat. Draco eyes were a pool of silver and all he wished to do was to drown in them. He assumed Draco thought the same because his eyes started to dilate and — ever so slowly — their faces inched close and closer. Right before they were only inches apart from their lips, Harry got hit with a cashew on his forehead.

Harry’s head shot to the left where he saw Ron sitting with a hand full of nuts, an eyebrow arched up, and a playful grin on his face. “Harry, we asked you what happened after the supposed-to-be-duel. Stop gazing into each other’s eyes, will you?” Ron huffed.

Harry managed to smile back, though the stinging on his head made it hard for him. “Calm down with the nuts. Draco is the one that likes them in his face, not me.” Harry said, rubbing his forehead, and earning a punch on his arm from Draco and some laughs from the others.

Harry knew Ron, Hermione or Neville could just as well tell the story of Fluffy but they let him do it. He didn’t talk a lot when they were in a group and he didn’t necessarily want to but his friends didn’t want him to feel left out and he felt grateful for it.

He told his friends about the dog. He didn’t tell whose it had been for legal issues, and luckily no one asked. The evening came to an end when Harry finished with Snape’s riddle, the group started and yawning and from there everyone said their goodnight and left to bed. From behind him he heard Pansy telling Blaise they had made a bet about what happened to Harry in their first year and that she had won so he still owed her two galleons after seven years.

Harry and Draco were the only two that stayed in their seats. Ron had learned long ago he didn’t have to wait up for Harry if he was in Draco’s company.

Draco wrapped his arm around Harry and kissed his cheek. “What about we head to my room?” he whispered into Harrys ear.

“Or we hit the Room of Requirement first?” Harry smirked, sliding his hand in the inside of Draco’s thigh. Draco practically purred when he responded: “If that’s what you want.”

Draco and Harry held hands while running through the empty hallways of Hogwarts that led them to the Room of Requirement. The thrill of what they were going to do was exhilarating.

With Harry’s cloak draped over both of them, they arrived only ten minutes later in front of the wall that would lead them to the room. They stood still, Harry pulled the cloak off of both and them and looked at Draco. “I know I don’t say this a lot, but I’m the luckiest guy in the entire wizarding world for having you as mine and I love you.” Harry didn’t dare to look Draco in the eyes when he told him he loved him. He didn’t do it a lot, and most of the time Draco brushed it off and changed the subject. It hurt but it didn’t stop Harry from feeling the way he did.

This time Harry didn’t have to get hurt, he didn’t need to fear rejection. Draco’s fingertips pushed his head up, forcing Harry to look him in the eye. Slowly he came closer, making Harry want to move forward and connect their lips. Finally Draco closed the gap and pressed his lips against Harry’s, making Harry’s heart pump faster.

After a moment, maybe even two, Harry pulled back. Draco looked him lovingly in the eyes. “You’re deciding tonight,” he told Harry.

Harry thought for a moment and settled on a room he was sure Draco would like before he started passing.

After walking past the wall three times, a huge wooden door appeared, forming an entrance for Draco and Harry.

Draco stepped forward to open the door and let Harry enter first. Once inside, they both stopped walking abruptly.

The room was exactly what Harry had asked except for one tiny little detail, everything was pink.

“Harry, what did you do?” Of course Draco thought Harry had made the room pink because he was the one that had been walking.

“I didn’t do this,” Harry told Draco.

“Then how did this happen?”

“I have honestly no idea. Does it matter?”

As a response Draco turned around and put his hand on Harry’s waist, pulling him closer.

“I was just worried your mind went pink, that’s all.”

Harry snorted. “Yeah, sure.”

“Shut up will you?” Draco whispered before kissing Harry.

The sheer pressure of Draco’s lips against his made Harry’s mind so clear. He felt everywhere Draco touched him, his fingers gripping his waist.

Harry reached up to cup Draco’s cheek, slowly moving his lips against Draco’s.

Draco slid his hands down to Harry’s hips and started playing with them hem of his shirt. The only thing Harry wanted at that moment was for Draco to lift his shirt off him.

Draco didn’t and continued playing with Harry, slowly kissing him.

Draco finally slipped one hand under Harry’s shirt and Harry was hyper aware of Draco’s fingertips sliding over the side of his body.

Slowly Draco removed Harry’s shirt, taking his glasses off first. With Draco’s hands now in his hair, Harry reached for Draco’s pants and undid the button, slowly sliding down his zipper.

Draco’s kisses began to get sloppy due to his arousal.

The king sized bed in the corner practically screamed for Harry to push Draco onto it. And so he did. Slowly, he removed his hands from Draco’s hips and started pushing Draco towards the bed.

He could feel Draco smiling against his lips. Harry knew he loved this.

Harry removed the smile from Draco’s face by pushing his legs against the bed and making him fall backwards, landing on the soft covers.

Come on, Potter. What are you going to do to me?“ Draco teased with a shit eating grin on his face while Harry climbed on top of him.

"Well if you’re asking. I’m going to spread myself over you like peanut butter jelly.” Harry kissed Draco’s neck.

Draco groaned in annoyance. “Come on, Harry.”

“Don’t you get it that even when you ask for it I won’t give it to you, simply because I said no.” Harry hovered a few inches above Draco.

Draco sighed. “Yes, I get it. I just wanted to try this. But I guess you are more important to me than some sexual experiment.”

“Good,” Harry answered before leaning onto Draco and kissing him once again.

Harry felt himself getting more aroused every second he spent kissing Draco.

He could feel Draco was too by the way he gripped Harry tightly and had unconsciously started moving his hips.

Harry, ignoring the cramp in his arms, slid his hand down under Draco’s shirt and lifted it so he could touch his entire torso. Harry slowly kissed his way to one of Draco’s nipples, making Draco’s muscles flex in pleasure.

Harry trailed kisses upwards to Draco’s neck after a while, knowing how much Draco liked to be kissed there. He understood why Draco did. The burning sensation whenever Draco kissed him there, such a sensitive and weak spot of the erogenous human body. Draco moaned out openly as he felt Harry’s teeth scrape the skin of his Draco’s neck, bucking wildly as he did.

“Harry…” Draco begged.

Harry grinned wickedly. He loved this feeling, having the upper hand in bed. He snaked his other hand to his trousers and scrabbled and pushed until his jeans were halfway down his legs and the boxer-briefs at least out of the way. Harry grinned when his fingers found the other’s cock, slick with precum. It was slender, warm. Draco’s hands were restless, squeezing, pulling. He’d grabbed Harry’s arse a moment ago, hooking Harry’s leg over his waist as he rocked against Harry’s erection, dampening his trousers in the process and suddenly it wasn’t enough. There was too much—he wasn’t close enough even with Draco wrapped around him like Devil’s Snare. He just… really wanted to be naked.

“Get these off.” Draco said, as if Harry been thinking out loud.

“Yes,” Harry gasped, hand sadly leaving draco’s prick in favor of shucking his trousers. Harry tugged them quickly and yelped as a warm mouth closed over his neglected cock. “Oh, god,” he hissed again.

Draco moaned, trying to swallow as much of him as possible before he gagged a little with eagerness. Harry shushed him, a hand pulling and stroking his blonde hair. Draco backed off and coughed before returning to suck and lap at the crown of Harry’s cock.

“Draco…” He gasped, tugging him up to kiss him one last time, before kneeling in between Draco’s legs, his face riveted by the sight of himself about to enter Draco’s body.

“You’re so perfect…” he pushes forward gently, sounding a little breathless, and moans openly when he pushes himself all the way inside Draco. He grabbed his face and pressed their lips together. Draco eagerly opens his mouth, arms cradling Harry’s back as he plundered his mouth. He began to thrust shallowly, hips rolling as much as they could without leverage. Harry moved in Draco’s embrace, moaning into his mouth when his cock hit Draco’s prostate.

“Fuck!” Their thrust started moving faster every passing second. Moans escaping each other’s mouths

“Merlin, so hot, so tight, so fucking good… I want – yes—” Harry’s speech disintegrates into senseless sounds, and then, “Draco…” Harry sounds wrecked as tremors run through his body, his cock pulsing inside Draco as he comes in an almighty rush. He lets his head fall onto Draco’s shoulder and lies there, half-clinging, half-trembling, his face pressed into Draco’s perspiring skin.

“I love you, too.” Draco whispers into Harry’s ear after a while. Harry looks up, meeting beautiful pools of grey. He presses one last kiss into those sweet pink lips and lies back down next to Draco with a loving smile on his face.

{PART 9} I Won’t Stop You // Jeon Jungkook, Vampire!AU

Originally posted by jengkook

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Vampire!AU, Fantasy, Angst, Smut

Summary; Jungkook takes you shopping and you inadvertently give him a lesson on just how cruel humans can be to each other.

{Part 1} // {Part 8} {Part 9} {Part 10}

I update this series every Tuesday evening, 9pm-10pm (UK Time)

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From the Dining Table

note: this is the first part of a drabble series that I’m planning to write inspired by songs. I don’t know how frequently this will be updated, it’s more of a when the mood strikes me kind of thing. this first drabble in inspired by Harry Styles’ from the dining table  ♥

Originally posted by lostinbangtan

pairing: jimin x reader

genre: angst

wordcount: 1.3k

“Maybe one day you’ll call me and tell me that you’re sorry too.”


The amber coloured light that sifted in through the old window gave your bedroom a strange, melancholic feel. The dirty coloured glass diluted the pure light into something unclean, the strange hue it filled the place with made you want to pull the pillow over your head once more.

Early morning sunlight was always unforgiving, it never failed to expose what would rather remain unseen.

You knew that escaping into the darkness of your pillow wouldn’t truly resolve anything. The unpleasant light wasn’t the real problem.

By now you were certain your bedroom was cursed.

It was cursed with Park Jimin.

It was in here, on the very bed that you know lay your broken body, that he had slept. More than that, he had rested in these exact same sheets, the off white ones you hadn’t gotten around to washing yet.  And he had sat on your desk chair, and he’d picked up the small rusty trinkets that decorated various shelves and his fingers had glided across your large collection of DVDs. It was quite possible that there was not a single thing in this room that had not been infected by Park Jimin, yourself included.

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I don’t think about Harry Potter a whole lot, typically, but today I saw a video that featured Harry wearing some cool shades and I started wondering: what if Voldemort’s killing curse had struck Harry just a little lower? What if, on the first of November, 1981, the Dursleys had discovered on the doorstep their infant nephew - not with a conspicuous jagged scar, but instead with eyes the colour of electricity? How would blind Harry Potter’s life differ from the story we already know?

The first divergences are small and predictable. On his eleventh birthday, Harry’s letter from Hogwarts is written in delicate braille and the signature of Minerva McGonagall is elegantly embossed. At the Hut-on-the-Rock, the newly-revealed wizard boy is impressed not by Hagrid’s size but by the unusual depth of his voice.

Arriving at Hogwarts, we get no description of Draco Malfoy’s appearance, but instead learn the self-important scuffing sound of his footsteps, plus the fact that Crabbe and Goyle smell of old oatmeal, too much candy, and something that reminds Harry of grumpy toads.

Instead of learning “Lumos”, our blind Harry learns spells like “Oros” - which makes books and letters whisper their contents to him in their papery voices - as well as “Divinus”, which causes his wand to hum like a tuning fork the closer it gets to the object he’s thinking of.

One very notable thing has changed, however. In this world, no-one will ever tell Harry that he has his mother’s eyes. It’s hard to tell how much this changes Harry’s story; perhaps, without Lily’s eyes to stir up such emotion, Professor Snape won’t inflict Harry with the sadistic cruelty of a jealous lover - though he still treats the Potter boy with the same distance and hostility he felt towards Harry’s father, James (this, plus the acrid fumes and addling, humid vapours of the potions classrooms, continues to make the subject one of Harry’s least favourite).

With eyes that mark him as “The Boy who Lived” he may not be able to see the reflection of his desires in the Mirror of Erised, but upon placing his hand on the mirror’s cool surface Harry’s head is filled with the murmurs of familiar and comforting voices - his uncles, grandmothers, great-aunts and second cousins - and he is taken by an overwhelming sense of belonging, of being home.

Our sighted Harry always relied on the help of his friends to overcome challenges, and this remains true through the challenges to reach the Philosopher’s Stone. Hermione will still fend off the devil’s snare and solve the potion riddle, while Ron’s command over the chess board will still get the trio through the fourth chamber. Unable to see, Harry may yet be able to capture the winged key in the third chamber; instead of chasing the key like a daring snitch-seeker, he rises cautiously on his broom into the middle of the whirling, fluttering cloud and waits patiently until his keen ears distinguish the slow and clumsy flapping of the injured old key, grabbing it cleanly out of the air as it lumbers past him.

In his second year, Harry’s blindness is if anything an advantage in the fight against the basilisk, making him immune to the serpent’s petrifying gaze as he follows the sound of Fawkes’ voice to rend it through its head. (Incidentally, the repercussions of Dobby’s meddling this year will be slightly lessened, as who could blame a blind twelve-year-old for knocking over a sugared violet pudding - although the Dursleys will try - or bumping into a wall at Central Cross station?)

Professor Trelawney’s classes in third year could only be incredibly tedious for Harry, being unable to read tea leaves or see into crystal balls. What’s more, the Divination professor makes near-constant references to “blind prophets” and “third eyes”, which Harry can’t help but feel is somewhat offensive. Hermione will be very patient with Harry when they sit down to practice their astrology readings and Harry has to ask “Where are the stars, Hermione? The stars? Is Mars in the house of Jove right now? What’s the moon doing?”

With all the talk of The Grim this year, all Harry notices is the lingering ‘shaggy dog smell’ that seems to follow him around whenever he’s outside the castle.

Will a blind boy be allowed to participate in the Triwizard Tournament? Of course he will! Wizards don’t understand ‘safety’. Our Harry may not be a confident flyer, but he still has command of the Accio charm, as well as an entire stash of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes products under his bed in his dormitory. Even a Hungarian Horntail can’t see you through Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, not can it smell you once you’ve detonated a few dung bombs. After being tricked into devouring an entire case of Skiving Snackboxes, any dragon is going to feel like taking the day off.

Harry doesn’t recognise Hermione at first when she attends the Yule Ball with Viktor Krum: her improved posture changes the sound of her footsteps, and her voice has taken on a new lilt and clarity after Madam Pomfrey shrunk her teeth to undo Malfoy’s hex. Masking her characteristic smells of library books and toothpaste, she carries with her the flowery scent of the cosmetic potion she put in her hair.

Harry will be incapable of seeing thestrals, even at the start of his fifth year; after hearing the clopping of hooves from his carriage and remarking that “regular, horse-drawn transport seems rather mundane for Hogwarts”, he will be drawn into a very awkward and illuminating conversation with Luna Lovegood about the nature of death.

Umbrige will be described to us not as “toad-like”, but in terms of her voice “like an indignant budgerigar stuck in an expensive vase”. Her classroom smells strongly to Harry of talcum powder and too-sweet tea, with an undertone of vinegar and hints of nightshade.

With a fragment of Tom Riddle’s soul trapped within his eyes, Harry’s visions of Voldemort are stronger than ever, and he rushes as always to confront the Death Eaters - a group of determined friends by his side - at the Ministry of Magic.

Of course this Harry will succeed in hunting down the remaining Horcruxes and tracing the paths of the Deathly Hallows. How could he not, with his magical talents, his powerful capacity for empathy and love, and the endless help of his his allies and friends?

Coming to in a spectral representation of King’s Cross Station, Harry recoils from the whimpering fragment of Voldemort’s should before being greeted by the figure of Albus Dumbledore, whom Harry recognises from his distinguished voice - like a grand old oak tree, its branches bowed under the weight of a thousand stars. Harry’s figment of Dumbledore smells like soap and gold wire, like ink, polished wood and lemon sherbets, and very faintly of kind and humble tears. Occasional wisps of the old man’s expansive beard brush past.

Harry has the same conversation with Dumbledore about life and death, about his own plans and foils, and about Voldemort. Harry is offered the same choice: to go back to the land of the living or to board a train into the beyond. Harry still chooses to return to Voldemort’s camp in the Forbidden Forest, for the sake of his friends, whom he knows and loves by sound and smell and touch.

Harry - The Boy Who Lived - the boy with eyes like lightning, duels Voldemort without ever seeing his snake-like features or the contempt and malice in his red-ringed pupils, and defeats the dark lord just as he does in the original story, because the sum of one’s strength is more than any one sense, just like a community’s strength is greater than that of any one person. Beside the skinny boy with the dark glasses held together by Spell-o-tape stand a frizzy-haired muggle girl who has read every book, two of redhead siblings from a huge and loving family, a forgetful boy raised by grandmother, a girl who still carries around a battered pair of Spectre Specs, and countless other witches and wizards who know that love, acceptance and cooperation are the most powerful magics of all.

anonymous asked:

How do you make pins? I been wanting to make pins for so long but idk how to even start its so confusing please help me ;_; no one wants to tell me how to make my own pins. I have my own designs and everything

Okay! This is a very long post and I’ll try to get you as much info as I can. I’ve found that the pin making community is very closed off with providing help to new creators since there’s been such an increase in people making pins. So I completely get that you’ve been having issues finding out how to start.

If you already have designs in mind the best thing to do is have them digitized if you haven’t already. The best option is to have a vector file where each of the enamel colours is on a separate layer with no overlapping of the colours or metal areas. This isn’t necessary since a lot of pin manufacturers can digitize your design from a drawing but having them do it can lead to issues and a lot of back and forth changes because they have to trace the image you give them. It’s a lot easier if you can give them a file that they don’t have to do anything with a can use right off the bat to make a mold.

Here’s a pin that I just got made recently that I’ll use as an example through this. The full design in the top left but you can see that each enamel colour can be pulled off separately and leave a solid background that shows the metal of the pin with no overlapping parts.

Also fyi I use Adobe Illustrator to do my designs.

Long post is long. So you’ll have to keep reading :)

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if viktor and yuuri were artists

 #victuuriweek2017  day ( one ) 
↳ au: other careers  

Title: Colours
Author(s): @viktor-nkfrv
Rating: PG
Warnings: N/A
Summary: Street artist Katsuki Yuuri wakes up to find that his wall art has been altered by the famous Viktor Nikiforov. From there, the two get to know each other despite having never met face-to-face, for a picture speaks a thousand words. 

Now also on AO3 here.

Read the full one shot under the cut. (Cut doesn’t work in the original post on mobile, but WILL work once reblogged!!)

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I Will Remember You.

A piece I wrote quite some time ago but has only ever been posted on AO3. I am not sure why I love this one so much. It’s not my best writing or my most imaginative work but for some reason I am really proud of it so thought I would share it here too. :-) 

Jamie crouched beside the bed and traced his finger along the fiery tendril of hair spread across the pillow nearest him.

The child was sound asleep and he moved carefully so as not to disturb them. He looked around the bed but could not tell by the toys and books whether the child was male or female. There were no clothes laid out and he didn’t dare try opening the drawers beside the bed.
The child whimpered in its sleep and then cried out, a single wail that pierced the quiet of the house. Blue eyes fluttered open and fixed on Jamie’s own identical eyes.

“Daddy?”

“Aye a leannan, it’s me.”
Jamie nodded, trailing his finger across the curve of his bairns cheek. The child shivered and he withdrew his hand at the same moment as he heard a door open down the hall. Jamie pressed himself into the shadows, raising a finger to his lips. The bedroom door creaked open and flooded the room with light, brighter and more insistent than any candle Jamie had ever seen.

“Bree?”
A man’s voice called softly. Jamie held his breathe as the man stepped into the room. His hair was short and he wore a strange loose fitting shirt and trousers in the same blue striped fabric but there was no mistaking his face. Randall.
Jamie tensed in his crouch and his hand silently moved across his hip to his dirk. The child sat up in bed and blinked.

“Daddy?”

Jamie drew the blade and braced himself; ready to attack.

“Yes sweetheart, I’m here. What are you doing awake?”
Randall asked and Jamie hesitated. His voice was different, gentler and a little deeper. Randall crossed the room and sat on the bed beside Jamie’s child, gently smoothing the hair back from … her face? Jamie thought now that she must be a girl. His daughter then. Claire’s daughter. Jamie’s heart hammered in his chest and he was sure it was loud enough that they could hear it but neither of them looked towards him. He felt like an intruder but couldn’t tear his eyes away from the scene unfolding before him.

“The Big Man was here again Daddy.”
The little girl said, her voice thick with sleep, kneeling on the bed as she wrapped her arms around Randall’s neck. Jamie bit his lip hard enough to taste blood. Had he been here before? He didn’t remember this place but surely he would not forget his wee lass?

“Ah the Big Man.”
Randall smiled and kissed the girls temple. Jamie longed with every fibre of his being to snatch the child from his arms and cradle her himself, to be the only man that kissed her head and the only one she reached for when she woke in the night. His hands were shaking but he forced himself to remain still.

“He always looks so sad.”
She continued and Randall smiled down at her

“Ah well I am sure seeing you made him feel better, Bree.”
He crooned, laying Bree gently down in the bed and pulling the blanket over her. 

“Where’s Mama?”

“She’s at the hospital. She’ll be home in the morning. Now close your eyes and get some sleep.”

The little girl yawned and obediently closed her eyes. Randall sat with her until her breathing turned heavy and then stood and faced the darkest corner of the room where Jamie crouched, his eyes fixed on a spot where Jamie’s face may have been if he was standing.

“I don’t know if you’re still here but if you are I want you to know that they are both safe and well. Now bugger off.”

He murmured; his voice deliberately low to ensure Bree was not disturbed.
Jamie stood, slowly uncurling himself, straightening to his full height until he locked eyes with Randall. 

The smaller man’s eyes flew open and then narrowed into a squint, not believing what he was seeing. The colour gradually drained from his face but neither man moved nor blinked.


“Bloody hell.”

Randall murmured finally.
The light from the door way was getting brighter as Jamie stared at Frank and a sound like horses hooves hitting frozen earth filled the room but it seemed that Jamie was the only one to hear them. Jamie turned to look at his little daughter, whose name he now knew was Bree and her face was the last thing he saw before the light filled his eyes.

“Beidh mé cuimhneamh tú!”
Jamie cried out as her face diappeared into the light.
*I will remember you*
*
“MILORD! Wake up! The English, please ye must hide!”
Jamie’s entire body jerked and he blinked up at Fergus.
“What …?”
“Now Milord, there is no time!”

Fergus shook Jamie’s shoulder and disappeared from view. Jamie sat up and desperately tried to piece together the fractured fragments of his dream. There had been a child … Randall …

“Bree?”
Jamie mumbled, staggering to his feet as Fergus appeared in the doorway, his expression frantic.

“Brie? Milord, I will get you whatever cheese your heart desires, just please, for now … MOVE!”

The boy whispered, shoving Jamie bodily in the direction of the ladder he had placed beneath the attic.
Jamie’s awareness finally shifted to his present situation and he scaled the ladder without another word, deftly dragging the ladder up behind him as heavy boots pounded the stairs.

Alone in the dark Jamie desperately tried to piece together the dream he had been having but nothing made any sense. Had he been rescuing a child from Randall? Perhaps that was it. Maybe he was dreaming of that night in Paris with Fergus.
Jamie rested his head in his hands. He had slept so heavily that he had not heard the English arrive but he did not feel rested at all.

*
What he could not know, what he would never know, was that two hundred years in the future, a historian was sat at his desk with a glass of whiskey clutched between his trembling hands and was making up his mind to begin a search through time for a man he had previously refused to believe existed.

Victor and Yuuri’s Career Choices in Episode 12

Alternatively titled “WTF was episode 12!?” 

As the 3rd and final post in the Victor/Yuuri and Grief series (found here and here), we’ll be taking a look at how their individual journeys that we explored in the previous 2 posts leading up to the hotel scene in eps 11/12 affect their career choices in the final episode.

As we’ve seen already, both of them have gone through the entire grieving process by the time the hotel scene rolls around. Just as a reminder about what their grief focused on, I’ll do a super quick recap.

For Victor, his grief was centered around the developmental loss of his career and accepting that he can still have a fulfilling life coaching Yuuri. He hits his acceptance of this during the GPF short programs, the moment we see him overlooking the stadium as Yurio breaks his short program world record. Victor has finally reached a place where he feels he can be happy with things as they are – with him off the ice.

For Yuuri, his grief was centered around the anticipated loss of losing Victor (in all capacities) after the GPF ended and accepting that the time he has with him is limited. He convinced himself that the time he has with Victor in every capacity wasn’t forever and that he would eventually have to give him up. Over the course of the series, he comes to terms with this on his own.

Buckle up because it’s going to be a long ride. I promise you, however, that the read will be worth it. (I’ll even add in some music recommendations to listen to during certain parts to add to your reading experience!)

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every so often (most nights)

The car breaks down in the middle of nowhere and you have to walk 4 miles to the nearest town in the pouring rain.

All of you crowd into the tiny pub, a few vibrant locals scattered around, drowning themselves in cheap crystalline glasses filled with whiskey.

You’re all soaked to the skin, and the rain is still chucking down outside, droplets on the windows catching the warm glow from the light fixtures swinging precariously in their sockets. It reminds you of when you were five and you would spend evenings down the pub on your Mum’s knee, the smell of chips in your nostrils, the conversation and music in the background like a din in your ears, and all you wanted to was sleep.

Everything is cheaply upholstered, the corner booths done up in tartan fabrics and a scratchy carpet on the floor imbued with cigarette smoke and fraying at the edges, certain spots worn down by the feet of many patrons over the years, although you have no idea how many, considering this pub is at least an hour away from anywhere worth visiting.

You couldn’t manage to drag the car out here and Sirius refused to spend another night sleeping inside, since Remus just gave him a lengthy lecture on foot-and-mouth disease, and he’s yet to figure out that it’s not a real thing. Remus currently trying to make calls on his mobile while Sirius slams himself down at the bar and demands a whiskey straight, and Peter is attempting to dry his socks out by the open fire.

Everything is jaded and homely and kind of scraggy and undone, the warmth of the place a mixture of the coat hooks by the door and the ash sprinkled around the hearth like grave dust, soot stains on the carpet and worn brick walls, chipping tabletops and lacquered counter.

That’s when a girl comes out from the back, a black apron tied around her waist over a faded, red gingham dress, her hair in plaits and a smile slashed across her mouth like it’s written in blood. She vaults herself over the back of a bar and wrings a dirty dishtowel around the lip of a whiskey glass, propelling it across the lacquered bartop to Sirius, hoisting the whiskey off a shelf behind the bar and pouring him his drink.

You meander over to sit at the bar.

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Headcanon: If the SLBP guys accidentally time travelled to the future (part 1)

A.N: A imagine from me XD I admit I am beyond bored in my class 😂😂😂

Tagging @jemchew , and @rainbowatnight (SURPRISE HOPE YOU FEEL BETTER

Will post part 2 with 4 other lords soon!)

~


Nobunaga

• You thought he would freak out

• seeing that he was in a wholly, different, weird, alienic world than his

• But

• “I demand you to show me this fortress of yours now.”

• Not only he is not freaking out; he has a smug look on

• “Excuse me?”

• “Is my orders that difficult to grasp you insolent woman?”

• “No, I meant why in hell should I even show you every corner of my house!” You snapped back

• “What, you dare defy my orders?”

• You groaned

• well you should show him who’s the big shot or that big head of his is going to get bigger

• “Yes, so?”

• Nobunaga widened his eyes.

• Did she, a lowly misbehaved insolent idiotic woman just spoke back at him?

• “Now, Mister Oda Nobunaga, three things you should know is-” You cleared your throat “First, I am the person who brought you in after you crashed on my roof so you have no right in hell to get rude at me. Second, you shall not call me INSOLENT. Third, I am the boss here and I make the rules. You overcross them, out. UNDERSTOOD?”

• Okay maybe he’d underestimated the people in this world.

• they sure had a short fused temper.

• “…understood.”

• Well he would go along for this once

• plainly because he isn’t familiar with this place.

• When he is

• You are going to get it from him.

• “So” you handed a broom, a mop and a bucket to him and he looked at you, puzzled.

• “Why are you giving me this-”

• “Did you expect me to clean the mess you made?” You gestured at the pile of debris from the broken roof.

• He glared at you

• “Woman, do you even know who I a-”

• “Oda Nobunaga, yes. So go clean up.”

• He stared at you

• and you gave him the finger before strutting away to your room in all your glory

• leaving him with a mop

• a broom

• a bucket

• a pile of debris

• and a raging feel to strangle you on sight.

• Forget about the whole get-it-from-him part

• he is going to kill you

Mitsuhide

• “What is this?”

• “Uh… a toaster?”

• He looked at you quizzically, finger still pointing at the recently identified object known as toaster.

• “What is it used for…?”

• “Uh…” you pondered “…for toasting bread..?”

• The question mime isn’t finished yet, though.

• “…may I ask how to operate it-”

Thought you’d never ask… you smirked to yourself.

• You eagerly grabbed two slices of bread and showed him how to use the toaster

• “See… when you hear a ‘ding’, it means the bread is already uh…. suitable for eating.”

• “Really? But…” He pointed at the pieces of brownish deliciously looking toast. “…they don’t look edible to me…”

• “Huh?” You looked at him mouth gaping and he gave you a apologetic look

• “It has…. quite a unpleasant colour… Mmph-!”

• You stuffed a slice of the ‘unpleasantly coloured’ bread into his mouth before he even get to finish his sentence and he gave you a look of shell shocked hesitation. You cheshire grinned up at him

• “Don’t knock it until you try it~~~”

• You winked at him playfully, and with a sigh

• *chomps*

• he bit into the crunchy brownish roasted grain and

• “!!!”

• Wow

• You thought to yourself

• this is the first time you saw a person, a real one, looking so… sparkly eyed by eating a toasted piece of plain bread

• His eyes could outshone a billion stars and power up every solar panel in Japan with their blinding realization of the taste of

• the legendary toast

• Yes

• That’s gotta be it

• “May I… have another piece?” He shyly (not shyly) raised his empty but crumb-filled hand in eagerness and embarrassment.

• You smiled at him and grabbed a loaf off the dining table

• “Sure!” You squeaked and he smiled back

• Moral value of the story

• no one could ever resist toast

• not even the legendary perfect af Mitsuhide.

• *evil cackle*

Yukimura

• “G-gaah….”

• You deadpanned

• “Yukimura… for God’s sake please stop staring at those girls they’d probably think you are a pervert-”

• “Bu-but… they… woman… dressed… legs…. GAH!!!!!” He shrieked hyper high pitched after blubbering a mess of jumbled words into a full (or maybe half) sentence to you, face redder than chillies

• You sighed

• maybe it was a bad idea bringing him with you

• But you just wanted to buy some clothes for him at the nearest shopping centre - he couldn’t go full on cosplay 24/7, absolutely no

• and

• he did said that…

*30 minutes ago*

• “I REFUSE TO LET A WOMAN WANDER ON THE STREETS ALONE AT NIGHT!!!!! As a man, it is my responsibility to protect you!”

• “But- ”

• “I won’t hear any of this! I’ll just tag along and you do your thing!” Yukimura straightened his back confidently

*present*

• …just like that

• but now you are not that certain who is the protector

• Who would know that Yukimura would be so terrified of women in skimpy miniskirts?

• “W-why do they… wear so… thin…”

• You looked at Yukimura who is turning pale-ish with scarlet tints to the ears

• …looks like you gotta get him outta here or the poor boy is going to combust

• “Yukimura, come here” You tugged on his arm forcefully, intending to lead him to a nearby department

• “GAH!!”

• You looked back at him, a huge question mark forming on your head

• “I- I can walk on my.. own…” Yukimura said, face darkened into a more prominent shade of scarlet than you thought possible, prying his arm away from yours and walked awkwardly towards a store.

• “Yukimura,”

• He almost jumped at the mention of his name

• “Y-yes!”

• “The clothing department’s this way”

• “O-oh… ok.”

• You almost laughed but you pinched yourself to hide it

• what a flustered cinnamon he is

Saizo

• “….little lady…”

• “What is it Saizo” you called out, hands fumbling over some stray pins and rubber bands on your hair

• “Your device is singing”

• Saizo spoke, monotone as always

• “Just ignore it” You said, holding a pin with your mouth due to your already full hands “-oh wait, can you tell me the words on my phone?”

• Saizo glanced at the black device that had just sprinted bright with life and music “Mom.”

• “Ogh mom..” You mumbled, hairpin still between your teeth when it dawned on you

• “WAIT MOM?!!!”

• There was a violent thud, some crashing

• “GIVE IT TO ME! QUICK!! FAST!!!”

• You sprinted towards Saizo, grabbed the phone from his hands and received the call

• “Hello? Mom??” you tucked a hand in your disheveled hair

• Saizo looked at you indifferently, watching your face gradually becoming pale

• “NO….! MOM NO…! Don’t come please I am not ready how many times had I told you I DONT HAVE A BOYFRIEND IT IS TRUE THAN THE FACT YOU ARE MY MOTHER”

• well Saizo had a hunch that things are going to be entertaining in a sense

• “MOM…! NO-” you paused your yelling, and stared in disbelief at your phone

• She had hung up on you

• she is coming

• right now

• and

• You looked at Saizo

• “MY MOM IS COMING PLEASE SAIZO DO ME A FAVOR AND PLEASE HIDE ITS A EMERGENCY HELP ME PLEASE!!!”

• as expected, Saizo merely shrugged

• “Why should I?”

• You groaned

• “Please…. HELP… or if she sees you you and me are going to die”

• He raised a eyebrow, clearly amused “and why is that?”

• You almost pulled out your hair

• “Saizo, I AM SERIOUS. If she sees you… then… you are going to…”

• “What?”

• “become… my… boyfriend… or let’s just say… fiance… because my mom came to keep an eye on me and… she is kinda… anxious in marrying me to any guy…”

• Now it was his turn to look at you

• “No.”

• “EXACTLY, SO PLEASE COOPERATE WITH ME AND SAVE OUR ASSES” You cried out

• “I don’t-” Saizo’s speech was interrupted by a roar that suspiciously sounded like a engine from your lawn and you spotted a suspiciously familiar looking car just outside….

• “I DONT CARE ANYMORE YOU ARE GOING WITH ME!” you screamed, grabbed his hand

• pushed him in a closet, and locked it

• The door popped open and out came your mom

• “DARLINGGGG how are you lately!!!”

•You sweatdropped at the sight of her imposing image and Saizo’s attempts to get out of the locked closet

• “Uh… just fine mom!” you piped up when you hear a loud thump from the closet behind you

• “Um sweetie what was that?”

• You gave a good kick to the closet beside you

• “NOTHING MOM.”

Show Me

Originally posted by destinyhayden

A/N: I love this so much, like I’m making my own heart ache a little here, damn. Thankyou so much to @a-smol-badger for the request that I never would have thought up on my own atm. That’s all I got to say honestly. 

Request: Is there a possibility you could write an imagine where y/n is an art student and her latest class assignment is human figure and she wants to draw jug and he gets scared and self conscious that he has to be shirtless but y/n assures him he is perf

Word Count: 1,882

Warnings: boi has body confidence issues for a hot second, that’s it.

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