delighted with glee


GLEE MEME: Ten Episodes
4. What The World Needs Now

The Common Room

You come into the common room after a long day, and take a deep breath. The earthy smells and the golden light never fail to calm you down. As you walk under the plant suspended from the rafters you feel their tendrils softly brushing your hair. You’re home.
There’s a group of 1st and 2nd year students gathered around one of the 6th years, who is reading the Tales of Beedle the Bard aloud to them.
You look around, searching for your friends, you find them tucked in the big, squishy armchairs on the other side of the room. As you make your way to them flashes of black and yellow rushes past you shrieking with delightful glee. The 3rd years have just found out that they will be going to Hogsmeade next weekend.
You sink into an armchair next to your friends. Yes, life is pretty good in the Hufflepuff Common Room

anonymous asked:

What about a fic where Tony outs himself in public conference completely by accident? And doesnt realize it until he gets home and the team is like "what, you're really bi?" and they see the color draining from his face in seconds

You had to wait a very long time *scratches back of her head awkwardly*, but finally I got around to write something. I hope it fulfils your expectations, anon! Enjoy :)

“Yo, Stark! You’re really bi?” Clint yells across the community floor the second the soft ‘Ding’ of the elevator announces its owner’s return.

Steve resists the urge to facepalm—his new favourite gesture ever since Clint taught it to him—but only just. Ever since the end of the press conference Tony lead thirty-seven minutes ago, Clint has been cracking jokes about Tony’s decision to ‘come out of a not-literal, sexual-attraction-concerned closet’ on national TV.

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shantishimmy My face is still hurting from glee & delight of walking into Sam Heughan on my beloved Sea Point promenade earlier today (April 2, 2017). Thanks @samheughan ,like my stay in my mother city wasn’t awesome enough! Enjoy Cape Town :D 
khkokopelli Thank you for sharing. He’s precious isn’t he?
shantishimmy He certainly is. Polite & cordial :D
rosanne.woodley #LuckyLass great pic & thanks for sharing! Bet your cheeks still hurt! 😜😁
shantishimmy :)))) Yes! Still can’t believe I got so lucky. I knew I’d be in CT while they were filming here & tried of try find out where but didn’t and walked into him while just meandering in my fav part of the city #luckylass indeed. Funny as my husband is Scottish too :)

Reincarnation AU Part Two: AKA, whenever people encourage me to Write A Thing by telling me they liked it, you are exponentially more likely to see more of it.

The first bit’s here.

Have more now, under the cut. 

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The Pocket Watch

by reddit user The_Dalek_Emperor

When I was a child there was nothing to eat. I was the eldest of five and so it was my job to make sure that I always let my brothers and sisters eat before me. War was inching inward from the coast and as it marched closer, our food grew scarcer. Animals fled the area, or were slaughtered and consumed in panic by the other families in our village.

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Character Listing

Since it’s been a while since i’ve done an update on this, here’s a blog roll for each of my characters, and a brief summary of who they are, and what blogs to find them on! Have any questions? Please, feel free to throw them at the appropiate blog!

Bexy Amalaryssia

28 / F / Seeker of the Sun

Birthplace: The Black Shroud
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral
Link: @bexyamalaryssia

Wife. Friend. Harpy. Murderer. Lunatic. Savior.
These words have all been used to describe her, and whilst conflicting, not a single one rings false. Born a Seeker of the Shroud to parents who neglected her, the affection starved woman carved a formidable name for herself a good many cycles ago, and none of them for the right reasons. Despite this, she strives to better herself; to bring peace, rather than wreck havoc as she once had. Currently working as a Field Commander for a company she helped build, she spends her time training, socialising, or doting on her beloved Husband. Ever the social butterly, it isn’t uncommon to see Bexy out in the public eye, watching people, or making conversation. One more friend is one less enemy, after all. Even given her pleasant demeanor, her morality teeters on a knife edge, treading the delicate balance between redemption, and sinking back to her bloodied ways.

~RP Hooks~
✦ - Ten cycles ago, a woman similar to Bexy - Only with purple eyes and raven hair terrorised the Shroud known only as the Midnight Coeurl. She prayed on vulnerable men, seducing them, incapacitating them, and stealing their valuables. Perhaps, you have heard of her? Maybe, even a victim?
✦ - Bexy is well known as the frontwoman for Fight Club, as well as her work with E.R.A as a Field Commander.
- It’s not uncommon to see her around shadier bars and the like. Buscarrons is a favourite of hers.
- Besides this, she can often be spotted in some quiet corners of busy streets, peoplewatching.

Mistienne Aurloix

38 / F / Duskwight

Birthplace: Ishgard
Alignment: Lawful Neutral
Link: @mistienneaurloix

Mist has never been a woman of half measures. Be it her Swordplay, and her unbreakable want to succeed, or her unwavering, steadfast morals. This too, became her downfall, when at Twenty-Two cycles, she made a decision that would change her life. Forced to cut contact and flee Ishgard, she made a life as a Bounty Hunter in the Shroud, taking up work with the intention to do good, than make Gil, all the while avoiding her inevitable confrontation with Inquisitors. Circumstances drew her to the E.R.A. Headquarters, which she now part owns, and runs, much to her initial reluctance. With the majority of her conflicts now resolved, she has begun to reconnect to the family she was seperated from, and reclaim what honour she lost, forging bonds with many others along the way. On the surface lies a brash, abrasive woman who, for the most part, lacks many social graces that others would not think her a Noblewoman. As much as this is true, it does not mean she is without warmth, though who she chooses to display it to is another matter entirely.

~RP Hooks~
✦  - House Aurloix, a Lesser, but well-to-do Vassal House of Dzemael is known well for their ambitious children of Duskwight descent. Mist was no different - And excelled well with the blade. Perhaps, you trained with her, or heard of her family?
✦  - After the incident, Mist became a notorious Bounty Hunter within the Shroud. Known well for being particularly selective about her contracts, she was praised for her efficiency… But not so much, for her abrasive personality.
✦  - Mist is known, to some degree, as one of the two Directors of E.R.A.. The company has a reputation, both of reliable work, and to be absolutely not messed with.

Adrieneux Hocoleux

46 / M / Duskwight

Birthplace: The Black Shroud
Alignment: Neutral Good
Link: @adrieneuxhocoleux

Perhaps the best description for Adrien, would be comfortably out of place. Born and growing up in the Shroud with the rest of his siblings, he spent a few, long cycles there, before eventually being sent away with his older brother to support his family. After returning with an inexplicable fortune after two short cycles, things were relatively peaceful; at least, until his younger sister, Adelle, was sent away to the Conjurer’s Guild. Enraged at his families decision to send his beloved little sister away, he left once again, severing all ties to them, but her. From there, Adrien made his way to La Noscea, traveling the island and undertaking a nigh endless list of odd jobs, with a hopes that one sun, he would take his sister back from the Guild, and live out a peaceful life with her. His wish was granted in a sense, as he reunited with her on a more permanent basis, working beneath her as her retainer, as she took up work and residence in the halls of E.R.A.. Though his personalilty can be described as nothing less than sunny and optimistic, some might wonder if it’s there to cover some other underlying problems. Still, Adrien is a lover of people, and rarely shies away from social interactions - Greatly enjoying speaking with all walks of life, no matter where they come from.

~RP Hooks~
✦ - Adrien is a familiar face in just about every part of La Noscea. He’s worked jobs in almost every corner of the island. Perhaps you’ve hired him for something?
✦  - His face is most familiar around Costa Del Sol. It’s known that, up until recently he spent most of his evenings there - Some a little somber than others.
✦  - He’s often spotted in major cities, near various guilds and merchant stalls - Picking up various pots of ink, or bringing home ingredients for tea. Maybe you’ve seen him about?
✦  - Notably, he gives the Thaumaturge’s Guild a wide berth.

Mhira Karahli

16 / F / Keeper of the Moon

Birthplace: The Black Shroud
Alignment: True Neutral
Link: @babucatte

A cheerful young girl born to a reclusive Clan of Keepers snuggled deep within the far reaches of the East Shroud, Mhira still has much to learn about Eorzea and its people. Clan Karahli, as they are so formidably known, were a ruthless Clan of bounty hunters, mercenaries, and all things akin to them… At least, until they were decimated in a cruel turn of events. Now, just a handful remain. Trained as a lookout with skills in Archery, Mhira had served her Clan well, but with the disaster that took hold, they sought to send her away for another purpose; to protect her, to allow her to learn, and above all, find purpose. Coming to E.R.A. with Cicero, the man who had salvaged what was left of her Clan, she initially took up watch duty, but later began to train beneath him in the art of Conjury. These Suns, Mhira spends her time studying, caring for her aquatic pets, and struggling with a Diurnal sleep cycle. Despite the tragedy that took her Clan, she’s still as cheerful and innocent as any other sixteen year old. At least, so she’d have you believe.

~RP Hooks~
✦ - Clan Karahli are a elusive, formidable Clan from the far reaches of the East Shroud. If you’re a Keeper, you may have heard of them, or if you work in the shadier lines of business, you might know of them, too.
✦ - They are known for having ties to Coeurlclaws - Even if a little shaky. If you’re a criminal in the Shroud, perhaps you’ve heard of them?
✦ - She’s beginning to get some repute for her healing skills, and can sometimes be found either studying, or training near the rivers of the Shroud. Studying, or playing with her pets.

Ulan Qestir

24 / F / Xaela

Birthplace: The Azim Steppe
Alignment: Neutral Good
Link: @ulanqestir

Hailing from the Qestir Tribe of the Azim Steppe, Ulan is a proud member of her Tribe who firmly upholds the beliefs that she was raised with; that actions speak louder than words. The Qestir are known for their vow of silence, and that many of them believe the spoken words to be lies. Despite this, Ulan is more than happy to converse through gesture and action, to all who are wishing to listen to her. Ulan serves as a scout for her Tribe, and her undying love for exploration is only second to that of combat, often characterised by the axe often found at her back. Coming to Eorzea in search of remnants of her lost Tribe who came before her, she still has much to learn of the Western lands and the people who live there - Something she undertakes with a delightful glee, and an open mind.

~RP Hooks~
✦ - The Qestir Tribe are known to keep their silence, even when conversing between eachother, and Ulan is no different. Perhaps, you know other Qestir, or even are of the Tribe yourself?
✦ - Ulan was known to be an accomplished scout before she set out to Eorzea. Maybe you’ve seen her about the Steppe?
✦ - Ulan will frequent anywhere which involves combat, if she’s able to. Look for the quiet Xaela with a grin at her lips!
✦ - She often hunts in the local reaches of the Shroud, and it’s not uncommon for her to cook her meals in the field. Maybe you’ve seen her hunting, or caught the scent of a meal?

===General RP Information===

♥ - I’m active some GMT mornings and early afternoons, but almost every night after 9 or 10PM. I’m free all day on Fridays and Sundays, too! I have also long since forsaken the concept of a proper sleep cycle. I’m usually around until the early hours of the morning!
♥ - Mature content is completely fine, so long as it is plot driven and in accordance with the character. I have few personal limits with mature content, but if something makes me uncomfortable, it will not go unsaid.
♥ - Likewise, if something i’m doing makes you uncomfortable, please tell me!
♥ - These characters are on Balmung!
♥ - I have not RPed on Discord as of yet, but i am more than happy to do so. Simply, poke me!
♥ - I follow back from @bexyooc! Which is also where my asks come from. So if you see anything covered in derpy purple, that’s me.
♥ - Please poke me for RP! I’m actually just a massive dork behind all the edgy screenshots and writing. A silly, harmless potato. With a keyboard.

millenniumdick  asked:

"You know the best part about your pathetic threat? It's not me you would kill if you tried. It's the idiot Mr. Main Personality who would perish, having no idea why, and without deserving it." He grinned tauntingly. "You wouldn't do that, oh BENEVOLENT 'god' of the shadows, would you?"

“Oh yesss. I ssssimply could not live with myssself if I accidentally killed Malik Ishtar, the pharaoh-loving traitor, the arrogant sssnivling ignorant coward.” Godling hissed with sarcastic glee, delighted to for once be able to scoff so completely at a taunt thrown at him.

“You two are exactly the ssame, you are the sssame man only one of you isss the private facce and one iss the public facce. I would gladly kill him even if it didn’t involve you, ssso having the two of you for the pricce of one iss an inccentive. You are not ssafe.”

little dancing feet

follows this, because writing papae Solas has become my way of coping with stress, apparently


He walks the mountain slopes – the safe routes where the stones won’t slip, and his steps are sure and his focus steady as he picks his way along familiar footpaths. The sling bears her little weight with ease, and he’s grown used to the feel of it, and of her, tucked safely against his chest and beneath his coat, to ward off the cold.

He walks in silence, enthralled by her gentle, humming noises, but even as he stores them away for safekeeping he catches himself thinking years down the line, and to a set of small feet following, and a small voice keeping up a steady stream of chatter to fill the space between his breaths – a dearly precious thought, for one who has so long been resigned to a path much darker, and much, much lonelier.

But for now he allows himself to enjoy the quiet – her quiet, and her lovely, wordless sounds – for that, too, is a fact dear and precious in its own right.


“This is a very small sock,” Dorian observes, holding up the aforementioned object with a strangely delighted grin.

Sprawled on the blanket before her, Sage kicks her legs, and Ellana blows a stray lock of hair from her face, expression contorting with annoyance. With only one hand, changing her daughter is something of a struggle, but it’s practice she sorely needs, lest she saddle the nursemaid with all the work.

Not to mention, it’s a matter of pride – just because she’s lost an arm doesn’t make her useless. Or at least, it shouldn’t.

“I could do that, you know.”

Glancing up, she doesn’t bother hiding her surprise. “Weren’t you just complaining about the smell? It doesn’t get any better when you’re elbow-deep in it, and I’ve seen you deal with filth before. You can’t magic this away.”

“You wound me.”

She swats him lightly with one of the clean linen diapers. “Hardly. If I were really trying, I’d smack you with a dirty one.” But she moves out of the way when he kneels down beside her, and observes with growing amusement as he pokes one of Sage’s feet, watching her tiny toes curl with interest.

They sit there for a while in silence, Ellana watching Dorian fiddle with the strip of linen, turning it over in his hands with an expression that bravely attempts at conveying scholarly intrigue, but doesn’t succeed in hiding the fact that he has no idea where to begin.

Then, clearing his throat, “You know, this doesn’t strike me as a naturally intuitive skill–”

“I’ll instruct you.”


It’s the most half-hearted game of chess they’ve ever played.

“Arishok to–”

Sage makes a noise – a soft coo that rises from where she lies in the curve of a massive arm, and Iron Bull’s grin stretches with a laugh. “What, you don’t think it’s the right move? Forgive me if I don’t trust you – since I’m playing your old man, your opinion’s clearly biased.”

Another string of syllables follow – a seamless, meaningless babble, but Iron Bull nods along intently. Solas observes his shifting expressions, the eye-patch quirking with his widening grin, and it’s with exceptional care that he makes to shift in his seat, careful not to disturb the blanketed bundle in the crook of his arm.

And it’s something of a sight, Solas decides, watching someone of Iron Bull’s stature gently rocking a babe small enough to fit in the dip of his palm.

A long moment follows in which neither of them say a word, busy watching the small bundle, and the wide eyes trained on the sharp horns far above her head, obscuring her view of the sky. And it’s a good few minutes before Iron Bull speaks up, although without lifting his eyes to Solas–

“Wait – whose turn is it?”


“Purrs, hisses. Fur, soft to the touch. Touch it. I want to touch it.”

“Kit,” Sage chirps, ever-shifting thoughts echoed with far more simplicity, and pointing to the little shape slinking past the corner of the tavern.


There’s a pause - a pause he feels, along with the childlike need that kindles, small flames that simmer with excitement. It’s a joy unlike anyone else’s joy, this wild, childish thing. More similar to a spirit’s delighted glee, and he has always been good with spirits.

Then, “Catch?” she asks, tilting her head up to look at him. The hat casts her face in shadow, and shields it from the glare of the sun, but despite his small cares, there’s a pale dusting of freckles growing ever darker across the bridge of her nose.

A smile meets her inquisitive gaze, curving under the wide-brimmed hat. “Okay.”


At her first banquet she’s toddling with ease, if a bit too much enthusiasm at times as she physically launches herself across the room, the bell-shaped skirt of her dress a pale cloud of green and her curls bouncing about her face, and her shrieking laughter ringing loudly above the ballroom chatter.

She commandeers him for a dance, of course – no one is surprised, least of all Solas, and somewhere in his peripheral he catches the band changing their tune to one that’s not so quick; accommodating for the little legs desperately trying to keep up with the dancing couples around them.

She’s balancing on his feet, little arms raised high and her lip sucked between her teeth in concentration, and it’s difficult keeping a straight face, watching her very serious expression as he makes to twirl in a slow circle, steps steady and deliberate and her hands tucked against his palms. He feels the eyes of the ballroom on his back, and hears the murmurs below the music, but the brief glance he offers across the room is to Ellana, leaning against a pillar with a private smile and laughter in her eyes.

By the third song, Sage is half-asleep, the excitement of the day no doubt playing some part in the heavily drooping eyelids and the earnest yawns, but – “No,” comes the prompt answer when he attempts to lift her up, even though she’s barely standing. But she acquiesces when he promises he’ll keep dancing, although she’s fast asleep long before the band stops playing, arms gone slack about his neck, and sprawled against his shoulder with all her small, honest weight. But he stays where he is, swaying gently to a song from deep in his memory, and feeling her steady breaths under the press of his palm against her back.

He senses Ellana approaching, her steps quiet across the polished floors, shoes long discarded and the skirts of her dress caught between her fingers. “Everyone else has stopped dancing,” she observes, pausing to tuck a stray curl behind a jutting ear. “And there’s no band playing.”

“She would not have let that stop her, I think,” Solas chuckles softly. Then, tilting his head, “Nor would you.”

Her smile widens, and she moves to wrap her lone arm around his midsection, tucking the sleeping shape between them. But Sage doesn’t stir as they sway together in their silent dance, the ballroom empty save the servants clearing away the tables; the only music the clink of trays and glasses, cutlery and plates.

And the softly fluttering heartbeat, caged so gently between their own.

irreversible - 1 ; jeon jungkook

Originally posted by sugutie

genre : angst + fluff | drabble game | requested

Will you just accept that I am hopelessly in love with you, and there’s nothing you can do that will change that?

word count : 3182

summary : he was your earliest memory, your smile before you went to sleep, your laugh when he said his corny jokes. He was your best friend and he was taken. But you can’t stand another second with your feelings bottled up and locked away.

masterlist | ask

“I feel muy physical pain,” Jungkook whined, his long limbs spread on your bed and his dark hair on your pillow. He held up his Spanish documents above his head, the circles under his eyes clear from your spot next to him, causing your heart to ache a bit at the sight of your tired best friend.

“It’s mucho dolor pain, Kook.”  You cooed from beside him, fisting your own documents.

The Spanish final was in two days and, already, Jungkook was losing his temper. It had been three hours since you started studying, the atmosphere in the room starting out as playful with the slight undertone of stress and ending up with a tension so thick; no knife could cut it. Jungkook sighed and you immediately felt bad for correcting him, especially since he had been working so hard on his vocabulary. He closed his eyes, letting you admire him in his natural state; dark eyelashes barely touching his cheeks, soft, black hair scattered around your pillow in waves that smelled so much like Jungkook, his skin sparkling in the light coming from your bedside horse lamp that he loved to make fun of.

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anonymous asked:

What were ur thoughts on Kent that ngozi agreed w!!

ok this is gonna be really long because it was basically the Best Day Of My Life, so. settle in kiddos.

(this is also very very heavily referenced from chat logs where I talked about this the day after it happened and a couple of posts I made / tags I wrote around that time. so even though all of this happened like four months ago, I think it’s still reasonably accurate. but obviously memories are flawed things etc)

  • so ok first of all ngozi is SO FUNNY AND NICE in person ahhhhh
  • I was wearing my kent parson jersey that I made!
    • …… but when I first saw her table, I got super overwhelmed and nervous so I like…… walked by really quickly without looking at her and just did a lap around the dealer’s room??? so I could calm down??? haha oh my god it was so awkward.
    • I was actually hoping she hadn’t seen me but apparently she DID because later I was talking to someone who’d been standing by her table when I walked by and APPARENTLY she whispered, “PARSE JERSEEEEYYYY” when she saw me omfg
  • but anyway she was super friendly right away and asked me if she could take pictures & wanted to know how I made my shirt / etc etc. we talked for a minute and then (of course) she asked me, “so, why do you like parse?”
  • and tbh…… I’m still not sure how I was this smooth but I immediately said, in a Very Diplomatic Voice, “I like characters who have a lot of room to grow.”
  • which made her laugh!!! she was like, “that’s refreshing!! that’s a really great answer!!! a lot of people are just like, ‘I like him because he’s an asshole!!‘”
    • …I think it makes her sad half because she doesn’t get why someone would like a character just because they’re mean, but also half because she doesn’t think of parse as an asshole? she didn’t clarify explicitly, though…. she just expressed that she’s sad and disappointed when people say stuff like that to her.

MORE under the cut oh god I’m sorry there’s a lot

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acciolunalovegood  asked:

Nyx!!!' What is the meaning of happiness? What is life?? Is this just a dream?? Ahhhhhhhh

the state of being happy.
“she struggled to find happiness in her life”
synonyms: pleasure, contentment, satisfaction, cheerfulness, merriment, gaiety, joy, joyfulness, joviality, jollity, glee, delight, good spirits, lightheartedness, well-being, enjoyment; More

{ @mondxs } liked for a tentacle~

    They took the agent by surprise. He might have been expecting those B.O.Ws or whatever they’re called but to find an individual that is able to produce tentacles on a whim? Yeah, Morgan wished they had a camera to capture his expression. They snickered as their arms, now shifted into oily-looking tendrils, took hold of Leon’s arms and pushed one into his mouth. No, don’t get any ideas; Leon’s been running his mouth and Morgan decided to shut the bastard up.

    This was too fucking easy, Morgan thought with a delightful glee. The static within their head whispered to them to end his life but Morgan decided to entertain themselves in watching the agent squirm. 



Species Name: Kandarian Demons
Classification: Demons/Demonic Possession
Bio: Originating from an unspecified dimension, the Deadites are summoned to Earth by reciting passages from an ancient text known as the Necronomicon. These demons operate as part of a collective hive mind. When they first come into our world they must possess the form of a living being. While they can operate individually, they are all part of the same Dark Force which seeks to ultimately spread itself and overtake the world of the living. 
Abilities: The possessed body inhabited by a Kandarian Demon will showcase enhanced strength as well as some ability of flight. They can withstand extreme damage and will keep coming until they are completely dismembered. Even then, there are cases where the demon has stayed inside the dismembered body or even reassembled itself. 
Characteristics: The Deadites are extremely malicious and delight in chaos, taking glee in both the physical and psychological torture of their victims. While they are all part of the same Force, the individual Deadite can tap into the memories of the body it possesses for a more focused psychological attack. 
Franchise: Evil Dead 
Appearances: Evil Dead, Evil Dead 2: Dead by Dawn, Army of Darkness, Evil Dead (2013), Ash vs. Evil Dead

princepsomnum  asked:


Peer into my muse’s memories: Part 2 || @princepsomnum

  • 🎀- A memory about being a child

“Prince Noctis!”

Miss Jenny’s voice rings down the hallway, but her charge, fresh from the bath and naked as the day he was born, streaks down the place, shrieking in delight and glee. He’s trailing water everywhere! He still has bubbles on his hair, in fact, and in some generous smattering all over his tiny, bare form. 

“Prince Noctis, come back this instant!”

No! is what the little devil thinks as he dashes round a corner, still shrieking with glee. Wide blue eyes note the passing doors, and he knows just which one to make a beeline for– grab the doorknob and turn it.

Iggy Ducky!” he yells, as he finds the older toddler currently trying to color something. Ignis turns his head, gapes, his glasses slipping down his nose. 

Too late. The tiny menace of bathwater and bubbles slam right into his side, and tiny arms grasp him in a hug. Nuzzle nuzzle nuzzle. Ignis is soon sporting a clump of bubbles on his cheek. 

Tiny Prince Noctis looks up at his best friend, brother, advisor and playmate rolled into one, his cheeks flushed. Ignis hugs his charge, and laughs.

Fic: Forever

me: tell me what to write tonight



~1030 words, G.

Kurt wasn’t sure he wanted to go to kindergarten. If it was going to be anything like preschool, he’d rather stay home with his mama, even if it meant he’d never learn how to read. Preschool was full of loud boys who only wanted to play fighting games and prissy girls who didn’t want to let him play with them, and the snacks were always yucky. Kurt couldn’t take another year of icky snacks.

“You have to go, baby,” Mama told him in the car. “I know it doesn’t sound fun, but the first day is never the best. It’ll get better.”

“Promise?” Kurt asked skeptically. His mama was the smartest person he knew, but he was beginning to learn she couldn’t always be trusted about some stuff - namely, vegetables and school.

“Cross my heart,” Mama said, making an X over her chest and smiling at him in the rearview mirror.

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anonymous asked:

I wish you would write a fic where someone sings in the shower~~

Now once upon a morning cold and dreary,
In a flat south of London, oh so bleary,
Among the suds came a voice like butter,
Creeping through the fog, without a shudder.

It comes as no surprise that a voice like this,
Would ring out in such displays of concerted bliss,
He sings, unaware of a figure at the door,
“I would walk 500 hundred miles, and I would walk 500 more!”

She watches with delight, and giggles with glee,
At the greatest sight a lover can see,
The cup in her hand trembles, tilting with tea,
“Is this the real life? Is this fantasy?”

She watches him frolic, completely mesmerised,
By the sight of his meandering country backside,
The melody changes, he’s hitting his stride,
She’s loathe to interrupt him, and injure his pride.

The spray of the shower hits a crescendo,
That’s literal, not figurative, and not innuendo,
She takes a step forward, unable to stop,
He’s getting too raucous, they’re gonna have to mop–

“If you like it then you shoulda put a ring on it,”
“Already did that,” she says, grinning quite a bit.
He freezes mid-chorus, hands in the air,
Expression as horrified as if he’s eaten a pear;

She gives him a once-over, hands on her hips,
Delights in his terror while licking her lips,
“You better not be using my expensive body wash,”
“It’s twenty quid a bottle,” was lost in the splash.

Wherever I’m With You

i | iii | iv | v

It was only May, but an early heatwave made the attic at The Burrow stiflingly hot. Ginny fanned a hand in front of her face listlessly. Cooling Charms didn’t seem to work up here—she suspected the ghoul’s influence—and the few windows didn’t open at all. The heat was made worse by the fact that, out of the un-opened windows, Ginny could see most of her family out on the lawn, all having a wonderful time lounging around post-Sunday lunch, whilst she slaved away, sorting out her belongings to take to her new home with Harry.

Hermione and Percy were both reading in the shade, whilst Ron, Harry and Dad played with the children in a little paddling pool. As she watched, Bill came over, shooting water out of the end of his wand like a sprinkler and the children all squealed delightedly, dancing around in the droplets. She felt inordinately jealous of them. Only Angelina, who was heavily pregnant, looked as uncomfortable as she felt, but she did at least have the advantage of having George waiting on her hand and foot. Although…could that really be classed as ‘waiting on’? Really, if they were going for that sort of display, they should come with some sort of parental advisory warning.

“Who wants some lemonade?!” The two of them managed to separate themselves as Mum left the house, levitating a tray containing a large jug and several glances. And—was Fleur following behind her with choc ices? This was not fair at all.

Sulking, she turned back to her task at hand. She had three boxes in front of her, Hermione having shown her the undetectable extension charm to make them bottomless. One was for rubbish, one for things she was keeping, and one for things to be donated, and she was throwing everything she had owned into one of the three. It was not a particularly enjoyable task: things of use, like her clothes or books, had come with her when she’d moved into her own flat on the Harpies’ grounds so most of what was left wasn’t that important. But now that she and Harry had a “proper” house, her mother had told her that there was no excuse to be cluttering up her home anymore, and everything had to go.

She placed a single, battered trainer in the discard box, and a bunch of Hogwarts textbooks from third year in the donate box. Perhaps Professor McGonagall would want them for the library, or she could save them for Teddy in a few years. She was just debating whether or not to donate or discard a t shirt she had worn to death aged twelve after commandeering it from Charlie—really, should late-80s fashions be inflicted on anyone?—when she heard footsteps and Harry’s appeared through the trapdoor.

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