I think sometimes you can learn a lot about a person from their clothing choices, and I’ve always sorta wanted to make some fashion sets ^ ^ So I’m making one for the OC kids, starting with the eldest as usual, Yasha! (He’s probably pre-teen-ish around here, maybe, idk)
Yasha still more or less thinks of himself as a boy (when he can be bothered to think about it at all) but loves flowers, pastels, and anything soft and gentle (in harsh contrast to his blunt as a bludgeon personality). And most importantly, he kinda just really hates wearing pants and underwear, when he can get away with full nudity… He takes the young!Victor flower fairy aesthetic to the next level. He can be very picky about what he wears, and usually prefers expensive but relatively unknown specialty brands. His parents, especially Victor, are more than happy to indulge his tastes.
IF YOU ARE NEW TO THIS AU: It’s a Yuri!!! on Ice AU, Yuuri-centric with end-game polyamory in an ABO
setting, Yuuri gets married to four mates (Victor, Yurio, Phichit, Minami)
and they have OC kids.
I can’t stop making AUs from stuff, so… Anti and Wilford as Sweeney Todd and Mrs. Lovett, respectfully. (This time the AU is pretty fleshed out in my head already so you can absolutely expect more of it)
This was the fic that was supposed to be angst but turned into fluff and attempt at humor. Writing dork Adrien is just too much fun. im sorry angst week ive betrayed you
Chapter 1: The Day Chat Noir Found Out
Chat Noir found out Ladybug’s identity.
He didn’t mean to! He just slipped!
Literally, he just slipped. He’d been hurriedly jumping across Paris’
rooftops trying to get back to the photo-shoot he’d abandoned because of an
akuma attack when he slipped on a loose roof tile. Fortunately, the fire escape
along the side of the building had stopped his fall. But he fell stomach first
onto the railing and had his breath knocked from him.
He’d been so busy groaning in pain, draped across the bars like a used washcloth,
that he didn’t notice Ladybug dropping into the alley below and
Can aphobes just shut the fuck up about Thomas already? The only reason you guys are trying to pin this man as a pedophile is because he thinks aces and aros belong in the LGBT community. He does not explicitly encourage minors to draw NSFW art of him, he was not aware that the artist was under 18 and has since corrected his behavior. He owned up to his mistakes, so why don’t y'all start doing the same?
i’m coming through with an edgy opinion but i think dan and phil aren’t dan=moon and phil=sun but they are both the sun and the moon, when dan is the moon,
phil is the sun,
and when dan is the sun, phil is the moon
Steve Rogers had been eying a 35mm Kodak in the store window for months. He’d never said anything about it though, because he knew times were tough and there was NO WAY he could scrape up 17 whole dollars for it.
But Steve didn’t need to say anything because Bucky saw every lingering gaze each time they walked passed that window and he swore to himself that he’d get it for him no matter how he had to do it.
Over the next few months, Bucky worked tons of overtime at the factory and any other odd job he could find. Didn’t matter what it was. If he didn’t know how to do it, he’d learn. Any sort of car repair, any and all house/apartment fixes, shoe shining.
He even pawned a few things he probably wouldn’t miss too much.
As Steve’s birthday neared, Bucky had finally scraped and saved enough to buy the camera, and even had enough left over to buy a couple new paint brushes and a new pad of paper.
“What’s this Buck?” Steve said tentatively, eyeing the package on the table in their kitchen on the morning of July 4, 1941.
“Thought we didn’t have the money for any birthday presents this year.” Steve questioned with an arched brow.
“Just open it.” Bucky coaxed, with a soft but eager smile. He held the paper and brushes behind his back to reveal after the camera.
Steve eyed him suspiciously for a moment more before stepping up to the table and examining the brown paper wrapped cube.
He carefully pulled on the tape holding the paper flaps one by one until the paper fell open, revealing the boxed camera inside.
Steve immediately froze. His mouth slowly dropped open as he blinked and stared at it.
It couldn’t possibly be… maybe it’s just the box and there’s something else inside it.
“W-,” Steve’s voice was hoarse so he cleared his throat and began again. “What’s inside?” He whispered, with a tentative look back up at Bucky, who was gazing at him expectantly.
“Open it up and see.” Bucky said with a laugh.
Steve’s nimble fingers slipped under the top flap and lifted slowly, like he was scared something was gonna come out and bite him.
As he saw that it truly was the camera sitting in the box, he felt tears prickling at his eyes.
There’s no way…
“Buck…” Started Steve, but his throat was too tight to speak further, so he just looked up at him with glistening eyes.
“Happy birthday Stevie.” Bucky said as he placed the pad of paper and two brushes on the table as well.
Steve threw his small frame against Bucky’s in the tightest hug he could manage. As he stumbled back a couple steps, Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve and held onto him.
“How?” Steves small voice was muffled against Bucky’s chest.
“Don’t worry about it.” Was all Bucky said.
Steve would press more about it later, but right now he was too eager to try it out.
After finally letting go, Steve immediately went to the table to position the film inside the camera, pushing aside the paper and brushes for later in his excitement.
He’d apparently been researching everything about this camera long before now and was already well aware of how it worked.
He scrambled out the door, down the stairs and skidded to a stop outside their apartment building dragging Bucky behind him all the way.
Steve walked out and stood several feet away from Bucky and brought the camera up to look through the view finder at him.
“Come on Stevie.. what are you doin with that thing? You don’t need no pictures of me.” He grumbled.
Steve ignored him and continued fiddling with the knobs and switches until he had it where he wanted it and looked up eagerly at Bucky.
Bucky sighed and let his arms drop by his sides in defeat.
“Fine… so whaddya want me to do.” Bucky conceded.
“Just stand there and stay still.” Steve answered as he looked through the view finder and squared up his shot.
“That’s it? I feel like an idiot.” Bucky flatly uttered.
“Well that’s a coincidence, cause you look like an idiot too.” Steve teased, as he snapped the picture.
Cursed Child was dumb and here are some reasons why
(warning: spoilers. this probably won’t make sense unless you’ve read the script. far be it from me to recommend this kneazle-vomit of a play, though, so if you haven’t read it, good)
the plot is messy, strange, and childish. there’s only one time-turner left!! how will the characters cope when said time-turner is lost? oh lol they’ll just use this other convenient time-turner. for convenient plot points, see also: harry can suddenly speak parseltongue again, because well he just kind of needs to be able to do that
Harry cursing “oh dumbledore” without a hint of irony. like really? really
the characterisation was a pile of dragon dung and we all freaking know it. let’s break it down into individual characters here because fuck if I can stop at one bullet point for this
Hermione: the brightest witch of her age, the constant crusader for the unloved and the unrepresented, whose successful career and capacity for kindness apparently rest in the hands of her romance with Ron Weasley. oh… but wait. it sounds a little familiar, this story. hear me out. let’s see now, a highly intelligent person who falls in love but doesn’t have that love reciprocated, and who then becomes a really fucking mean teacher at Hogwarts through bitterness. sound like anyone we know? fam, they tried to parallel Hermione and Snape. Hermione and Snape. this being the same Snape who sneered in Hermione’s face when she’d been visibly hexed, and made her cry; the same Snape who bullied Neville Longbottom for years, while Hermione muttered instructions under her breath to help him. if you want to tell me that Hermione would ever allow herself to become a Snape parallel then I will kindly invite you to shove a dirigible plum where there’s no lumos solem
Harry: when Harry was at his angriest in OOTP, and he’s yelling at Ron and Hermione, there’s one thing we notice. everything he yells is true. he means it. he’s bitter about it and he’s loud and furious, but he doesn’t have the kind of anger that just says anything to cause hurt, that speaks without thinking, not even at this crisis point in his life. are you really going to tell me that the boy who knows down to his bones what it’s like to feel rejected, and misunderstood, and alone, would ever say - even in anger - that he wishes Albus wasn’t his son? I am going to snap wands over this
Cedric. and this one burns. because Cedric was brave and he was true, and he had a sense of justice that led him to telling Harry about the way the golden egg worked, and led him to sharing the winning of the triwizard tournament with Harry. he died, he was murdered at the age of seventeen, embodying a sense of justice so strong, an innocence, a goodness. Cedric Diggory - the boy who believed in fairness with an integrity that is astounding - becoming party to the indiscriminate killing and casual torture of the Death Eaters just because he had his head engorged one time… is about as likely as Hagrid stomping on a dragon egg. it’s an insult to who he was and I am going to engorge the entire bodies of the writers of this fucking play so that hopefully they’ll just float away too, with all the grace and likeability of Aunt Marge
Voldemort: can we all agree now that Voldemort would not father a child. the idea of him experiencing lust seems out of character; the idea of him giving into a base urge seems more so. it’s too human, too vulgar, too physical; it would associate him with the common and the mainstream in a way that I contend he would find repulsive. Tom Riddle Sr. was trapped by Merope into sex and romance; to have sex would be to bring himself closer to his parents, down to the level of a Muggle and a witch who lacked power and craved love, two things Voldemort could never, ever stand. no. he wouldn’t have sex just because he wanted to; he’d be repelled by the idea. what other reason could there be for him to do the nasty with Bellatrix? to ensure the continuation of his line? that makes even less sense. achieving immortality for Voldemort was always a question of magic, a personal quest. he wouldn’t go for a messy, physical back-up plan. he always thought that he would win. if anything, he would see a child as a future threat, not a security. another being in the world with the promise of his power? he wouldn’t risk it.
what the fuck was that trolley witch scene though
“for voldemort and valour” are you serious. is there a Gryffindor spy in the Voldemort camp laughing their ass off because they actually managed to get that one through. and are they ten years old
overall, the message of the play infuriated me. Delphi was the child of Voldemort, so she was evil. Albus was the child of Harry, so he was good. Scorpius was the son of Draco, so he should have been evil, but Draco’s actually kind of good now and his mother was nice, so he can be good too. where is the complexity? was five hours of drama not enough to find some shades of morality? where is the hope, where is the resonance, in a story that says that good begets good and evil begets evil, and nothing can really change? the Harry Potter book series was about a boy who grew up with something inside him that was utterly evil, and who rejected it, fought against it, changed the path that fate seemed to wish him to walk. not slytherin, not slytherin. we had Regulus Black and Sirius Black, who rejected their pasts, whose heritage and whose House stood for nothing against their principles, their eventual and separate forms of bravery. we had Remus Lupin, who transformed into a monster but never became one, not even after years of rejection and pain. we had the word mudblood, and we watched Hermione fight it, we knew it was ridiculous to label someone based on their blood. and now… we have the Cursed Child. a playwhich is flat, and stupid, and tells us that your parentage inevitably dictates your character - and that how you’re treated is how you’ll treat others. dear writers, in the words of Albus Dumbledore, you fail to recognise that it matters not what someone is born, but what they grow to be. you fucks.