do i even put a close up on this one

*in the middle of his transaction*

customer: I don’t want this now, I’ll go put it back

me: I can put it back for you ^_^

customer screams: WHAT?! I’M NOT GOING TO FUCKING STEAL IT! WHAT’S THE FUCKING PROBLEM? *other yelled obscenities*

me: I just wanted to help u….

since you decided to walk all the way up here with an item you didn’t want, just to waste everyones time, leave all your other items here in the goddamm way and make me and everyone waiting wait even longer for this stubborn old fuck to turn around and take it all the way back (and 99% likely to put it in the wrong place) I was going to do it for you!! you fucking idiot!! no one said you were a thief. please trip on the rug and get closed in the sliding doors on your way out and hit a fuckin tree on your way home. thanks for screaming at me, you piece of literal shit!!

2

Prepping your print from file to finish:

I always hear people complaining about how much better the piece looked digitally, SO, here is a run down on how to get prints that look more like your original piece.

First of all, every printer is different.  Every paper is different.  Make sure you take the time to do test prints and become familiar with how your printer and paper combo work, as you’ll rarely nail a print your first try.  This one took about 5 test prints before I was confident to print on the expensive large paper Every time I mess up on a print, I save the remaining paper to use as scraps for test prints.

As you can see, the original piece looks very nice!  The focus is super strongly on the tiger, and all of the vibrant colors are still super evident in the background.  That said, when I print it as is, everything about 85% gray or darker turns BLACK.  And this is high quality paper designed to get accurate vibrant colors, too.

The best way to fix this is to do layer effects.  Brightness/contrast is my favorite, as a typical piece will generally print about 5x better if you up the brightness to around 15-25, and adjust the contrast up or down by 5-10 points.  That said, if you have a HIGH contrast piece (Darks against brights) like this one, you typically need to do a few more steps.

Often I’ll do a second brightness/contrast adjustment layer and push brightness to an obnoxious level so the darkest darks are closer to a mid-dark range.  From there, I’ll create a mask and use a transparent gradient tool to slowly pull back the brightness on all of the lighter areas of the image.

Additionally, due to printers using CMYK and your screen being RBG certain colors just physically CANNOT print.  Some people will always work in CMYK because of this, but honestly I like my saturated colors and most of my work is intended to be seen digitally so I only ever work in RGB.  Photoshop has a nifty toggle (Ctrl + Y) where you can toggle between CMYK and RGB view to see how your piece will appear when it prints.  It’s useful to check this because if you worked in a color that cannot replicate in print, you may want to shift it entirely before you even bother printing.

Artwork tends to desaturate a bit as it prints, so I’ll often make a Hue/saturation layer to play with, too.  In this case the image was already pretty damn saturated, BUT some of the shadows on the tiger were printing more brown than orange, so I adjusted the saturation a bit to keep them vibrant with the rest of the image.
**DO NOT use “Lightness” to lighten your image!  It basically adds a white overlay to your image.  Always use Brightness, instead.

After all of that, I have a final print that much more closely captures the essence of the original painting.  I could have tinkered even more, but to me the goal is a good print rather than an exact copy. 

For ULTRA high contrast images, like a dark room looking out into a snowy exterior, expect to do a LOT of adjustment to get it to print correctly.  Printers just aren’t too fond of super darks right up against super lights.

I could make a proper tutorial on this if people request it.  Mostly, just wanted to put my thoughts down in one spot!

Tom Holland x Reader: Apartment

Summary: You and Tom Holland are neighbors in the same apartment complex. You have a crush on him, he has a girlfriend. What could go wrong? You could think of five separate incidents.

Warnings: cursing

Word count: 7,132


No 1: the coffee maker incident (which was all harrison’s fault)

The moment your knuckles leave the door it’s already swinging back, revealing a face flushed with relief. Tom Holland’s eyes flutter closed, leaning his head against the door frame and looking up at you through his lashes with a smile plastered on his face.

“Oh thank god you actually came. You’re good at fixing things, right?” he asked, ushering you into his apartment before hearing your answer. You’re a little reluctant to enter, thinking that you’ll somehow track mud across his pristine white carpet, or smudge a stain on his suede chairs that weren’t in there the last time you’d been over.

“I’m good at putting Ikea furniture together, if that’s what you mean,” you call after him as you hop around on one foot, attempting to slide your boots off without appearing like a fool. You look around once more, taking in the features of Tom’s place.

You can’t say you like what he’s done. There are too many colors; blues and yellows that are too bold, an abundance of throw pillows against a couch that you swear your parents had gushed over in a Rooms-To-Go catalog. None of it looks like him, and you have an inkling as to why, but you keep your mouth shut as you follow the sound of two voices into his kitchen.

“You help me with my T.V all the time. Are you good with stuff like this?” Tom inquires, looking at you over his shoulder. He’s standing in front of something, hunched over the island in the center of the room. On his left, staring at you over his mug, Harrison is sipping away on something.

There’s a smug look in his blue eyes that makes you want to tip his drink onto his shirt, but instead you ignore him, standing on Tom’s right. In front of you is a simple small coffee maker; not a Keurig, but something akin, you could imagine.

“What’s wrong with it?” you question, looking around the top and sides for damage. Tom has his knuckle in his mouth, looking worriedly at the device in front of him. You’ve never seen such an anxious look on his face and it makes your brows crease. “Tom?”

“Hm?” he says, snapping his eyes back to you. The normally sparkling brown hues are muddy, clouded with something you can’t identify. “It’s just… I don’t know what’s wrong with it. I noticed it was out of water and I went to refill it, but when I pressed the button, it wouldn’t make anything.”

Perplexed, you flipped open the lid, seeing nothing wrong. You checked the coffee ground compartment, seeing a pierced, but otherwise unused k-cup sitting in there. With crossed arms, you pressed the power button again, just to be certain.

The three of you watched as the machine’s light started to blink. You cut your eyes over to Tom, wondering what kind of stunt he was pulling. Opening your mouth to speak, you were cut off by the red light blinking out, only for nothing else to happen.

“See!” Tom cried out, fisting his hands in his hair. It curled out of his fist, making two small pony tails at the top of his head. Your eyes narrowed, realizing just how much his hair had grown in the past few months. You hadn’t seen too much of him to have a decent comparison, but you remembered it being much shorter.

“—just wait till she comes home and sees this broken! She’s going to kill me!” Your heart drops into your stomach, limbs suddenly feeling heavy. The coffee maker belonged to his girlfriend. You nodded, now understanding why he had sounded so urgent when he’d called you.

“You’re fucking Spider-Man, ya? Just go out and buy a new one with all that Marvel money,” Harrison pointed out, rolling his eyes as he took another sip of his drink. “She won’t even know the difference.”

“They don’t even make this stupid model anymore, she’s going to know it’s broken. And I didn’t even break it!” he exclaimed, his voice shaking with worry. “What am I going to do?”

“You’re going to calm the hell down, that’s what,” you chided, resting your hands on Tom’s shoulders. He relaxed under your touch, walking backwards as you steered him onto a bar stool. “It’s not the end of the world, dude, just breathe,” you reminded him, watching as his chest heaved heavily. Your hands felt warm as they slid down his arms, coming to rest on the island as you examined the coffee maker.

You drained it of its water, checking the main compartment for any irregularities. Immediately you noted a white film around the sides, and you paused, looking from the sink, to the device, and finally at Harrison.

“Harrison? What are you drinking?” you asked, pulling your phone from your back pocket and shining the flashlight down to the bottom.

“Hot chocolate,” he replied carefully, eyes darting between you and Tom. Peering down, you carefully wiped your finger against the bottom of the compartment, your nails scratching against a hard surface, coated with something.

“Haz, there’s no pot in the sink, or in the dishwasher. What—HAZ!” Tom growled, having put the pieces together. “Did you put milk in the coffee maker?”

“I mean, yeah,” he admitted a not-so-guilty look across his face. “It was sitting right there, and it was faster than heating up a pot.”

“Ah-ha,” you chuckled, closing one eye to look down into the coffee maker. “That would explain this weird shit covering the bottom of this thing.” You gave a pointed look at Harrison, who hadn’t even tried to look remorseful. “You do realize that when you don’t clean up heated milk, it leaves a hard coating on metal. This coffee maker basically has a hot plate that boils the water and then sucks in into a tube. My best guess it that the milk hardened, and the water can’t get through,” you assessed.

“Well how do we fix it?” Tom asked, crossing his arms and looking at you. He seemed to believe you had all the answers, and you bit your lip to hold back you stutters. You didn’t want to disappoint him, to make him think you weren’t the person for the job.

Cutting your eyes over at Harrison, you gave him a pointed look; you made it look reprimanding, but it was really to wipe the smirk off his face. He’d had a smug look since the moment you walked in and it bothered you, making the tips of your ears feel hot.

“Well for starters, don’t do it again,” you bit out, glaring daggers at Harrison. He didn’t reply, but he did walk out of the room, shrugging his shoulders as he walked behind you.

Tom noted the fixed stares you gave him, but said nothing of it. You pursed your lips before looking at the brunette, holding out your hand and asking for a knife.

He blinked, warily pulling out a butter knife and placing it into your palm. You frowned at it, turning it over in your hands. “I need a sharper one.”

Tom raised a brow, hazel eyes glimmering with suspicion. You snorted, wondering if he was actually afraid of you with a knife.

“What, you think I’m going to kill you or something?” You joked. You wondered for a moment if your joke was too dark for a guy who was just your neighbor, but he eventually chuckled, handing you a knife with a sharp, long blade. You gave him your phone, and asked him to shine it down into the machine. Silently, with the two of your heads close together, you both bowed your heads with work to do.

This was an awkward fifteen minutes. Every now and then Tom would pick his eyes up and watch as your face scrunched in concentration. Your lips would part as an almost inaudible curse passed through, making him laugh a bit. Every time you felt him move you would try not to catch his gaze, attempting to discreetly look at him. You could feel how close he was and it felt wrong that your heart was beating so fast, or that you couldn’t breathe.

After what felt like hours, you retracted, taking the machine to the sink to wash it out. You filled it and plugged it back in, waiting patiently with a mug as you started it.

Tom looked as though he was holding a breath, and sure enough, when the coffee streams out he sighed, leaning against the counter with his entire weight, looking as though he’s been saved from the fires of hell.

He turns, eyes shining in praise as he gushed a bunch of rushed thank you’s, his accent slurring everything together. You’re really just nodding and smiling, telling him that it’s fine and no big deal. You’ll tell yourself anything to get rid of the hammering in your chest, louder than construction work as you feel blood rush to your face.

“I seriously don’t know what I’d do without you.” He sounds like he’s speaking about your presence in general, but that can’t be true. All you’ve ever done for him was put together furniture and now fix his coffee maker, but he seems to like you, as a friend and neighbor. Which you’ll take.

“It’s no problem at all Tom. And it’ll be less of a problem if I can have this,” you pull the mug away, bringing the rich black coffee to your lips.

“Yeah, yeah, of course. Do you want to stay for a bit? I feel like you’re always in and out, and-“ his words die as his cell phone rings, the ringtone that default sound that makes you jump. He takes it, holding his hand up apologetically, but you shake your head. You weren’t going to stay anyways.

Grabbing your things, you pass Harrison, who looks pretty comfortable on a couch that isn’t his, sipping on the last of his hot chocolate. He smiles when you walk by, but it’s a knowing one, as though he can read your thoughts. You scoff, but before you can get your shoes back on, Harrison says, “You should be thanking me.”

That really riles you up, and you laugh, a forced, sarcastic thing. “For what?”

“If it wasn’t for me you wouldn’t be making any moves.” There’s a wink, but you don’t really care to return his comment. You strain out a “Bye, Harrison,” before closing the door and leaning your back against it.

The cup in your hand is scorching your palm, but you smile regardless. Another reason to knock on Tom’s door. 


No. 2: The incident where you meet his girlfriend and things go wrong

You had this sick feeling in your gut that toady wasn’t the best day to bring back the mug you borrowed from Tom. It was simply the day after, the most reasonable time to drop by and say, “hey, I forgot I took this” without seeming like you harbored it, or cast a spell on it. The little thing sat neatly in your hands, cradled gently as though it was made of crystal.

Your knock was verging on two minutes ago, so you decided to go again, wondering briefly if you should say his name. Calling him may have been a bad idea, but before you could form his name, the door swung back, revealing a brunette that was not Tom.

His girlfriend’s caramel colored hair was a cascade of freshly made curls, evident from the fact that her makeup and outfit were already complete. She lacked shoes, and a sense of hospitality, sizing you up like bully on a playground. When she reached your eyes, you balked, deciding whether it was better to state your purpose, or just drop the item near her feet and scram.  

It would have been much easier for her as well, until Tom caught your eyes from farther behind her. “Y/N?” he questioned, but excitedly, as though he was happy to see you. That made his girlfriend’s lip curl into a sneer, an action that didn’t go unnoticed by you.

“Oh, uh,” you started, wanting so bad to bolt, but transfixed by Tom’s smile and gentle demeanor. He was dressed, indicating that he was probably going out. And from the progress they both had on their outfits, you could guess it was possible they were going on a lunch date.

You felt foolish, your heart drooping in your chest as you resigned yourself to stick with the plan. What did you expect, that his girlfriend would just magically be missing every time you came into his apartment? A dumb idea, one fueled by your fluttering heart, but also by your jealous mind.

“I accidentally took this last time I was here. Sorry,” you said, holding the cup out to the girl. She dropped her eyes to the cup, but made no moves to take it from you. Her hands stayed rooted on the door, and you felt like you could melt under her scrutinizing gaze.

Tom saved you, however, taking the cup from your hands with care, wrapping his hand around it. Your hands brushed each other’s, and your fingertips felt so warm and fiery, igniting your nerves in flames. You looked up to send him a smile, but you caught the look his girlfriend gave you.

Her blue eyes startled you, being so wide and so angry at the same time. Her perfect nails seemed to dent into the metal door as she gripped it with all her might. Her posture was rigid, feet set apart in a fighting stance. You thought her unoccupied hand was going to reach out and punch your teeth out.

The silent threat made you jump, the ware slipping from your fingers and smashing to the floor before you had time to react. You could only pull your feet away and watch in horror as it fell on its handle, small shards of grey porcelain scattering across the floor.

You want to cry, curl up beside the shards and be swept away into a dust bin, you’re so mortified. To your right, she’s smiling a little, resting her hand on Tom’s shoulder as she proceeds to ask if he’s okay. She tiptoes to look over his shoulder, as though she wasn’t standing feet away when it happened. Milking the moment, you catch the glint in her eyes when she rubs his back, saying that she’ll get a broom.

Tom nods, saying a faint, “okay babe,” before he’s taken aback by the kiss she plants on his cheek. You note the pink mark it’s left, a small, but powerful reminder that he’s taken, and that no matter how shy and polite and cute and neighborly you are, there’s nothing you can do about it.

She casts a look that is part sinister and part mocking over her shoulder, but it turns into surprise as the door closes, Tom stepping out into the hall. He’s got his hands behind his back as the door clicks shut, leaving the two of you in the hall.

“Sorry about that, I don’t know how that happened.” He rubs the back of his neck now, as if he’s really considering the idea that he might have done this.

“No, you have nothing to be sorry about. I’m the one who broke it, I should be cleaning it up, I,” your head is fixed towards the ground, unable to meet his gaze. You really just want to walk away, but it was hard, with him so close to you, his height and yours almost the same. There’s no need for tilted heads when every time you look up, it’s just his eyes on yours, and it makes you so frustrated.

“I’m really sorry about this, I promise I’ll get you another one.” In some really nice universe, this is the part where Tom chuckles and says “You don’t have to do that. Just go on a date with me and we’re even.”

But this is not a nice universe. It’s not even close. This universe is horrible and cruel, laughing at your pitiful crush on a taken British boy and your shitty attempts at being his friend.

This universe sucks, so you leave him with that half assed promise and run down the stairs, not looking back as he calls your name.


 No. 3: the incident where you hear something you shouldn’t have (but always wanted to know)

It’s late, and probably your own fault that you’re miserable and at home and have to watch a fucking slideshow about Roswell, New Mexico. The lights are mostly off in your apartment, save for three little hanging lights above your kitchen counter. One sole bottle of Heineken is untouched, probably warm since your friend left over two hours ago for her date.

And now, with a pounding headache and an impossibly bad mood, you felt your limit snap as loud shouts and a bumping bass sounded from Tom’s apartment. He wasn’t a rowdy guy, and his girlfriend didn’t seem like the type to annoy the neighbors at ten pm, but you could think of a certain blonde that would.  

It had been weeks after ‘the breaking of the mug’, weeks of building back the confidence to look Tom in the eyes, and weeks of him being crazy nice to you. He was always asking you to come over, wanting to make up for how bad your last encounter was. Eventually you both settled back into a comfortable friendship, but that only persisted as long as his girlfriend wasn’t around.

After another week of that arrangement, you felt guilty, almost as though you were doing something forbidden. You remembered the shame and palpable tension in the room that occurred every time she came home to find the two (or three, there was no way she could get rid of Harrison) inside. Almost any conversation would drop, and you would leave, giving him a curt goodbye.

It was dumb, it was strenuous and it was so unnecessary. But it felt exciting.

You swallowed that excitement down fast, knowing that there was nothing between you two. You were neighbors, and finally friends; you weren’t going to ruin it because of your unrequited crush on him.

The pounding in your head increased when you heard with clarity and annoyance the repetitive yell of shots. The song seemed to shake your entire apartment and you growled, stomping over and banging on Tom’s door with your fist.

“Hey! It’s a fucking Thursday night!” you yelled, despite your normal timid manner. You seriously just wanted to fall straight asleep and head to work tomorrow and make a final decision on this location. You were losing time and patience and the capacity to care when a face split into a wide grin upon seeing you at the door.

“Hey hey, Y/N!” Harrison’s blue eyes were unfocused and shiny, his smile too big for his face. He stumbled to grab your arm, his grip much tighter as he used all his strength to pull you in.

“Guys, look who I found!” The word “guys” had you at unease, but you surveyed the people around you carefully. You would know the Spider-Man cast anywhere, and Tom’s apartment was definitely a place where you’d seen them the most.

Tony and Jacob both had on tilted ball caps, and when Tony ran to hug you it fell off. “Oh thank god you’re hear Y/N!” he hiccuped, slinging an arm around your shoulder. “Our man Tom has something to tell you.”

The room dissolved into giggles. It sounded like a first grade classroom, their laughter so innocent and playful. The only boy who didn’t seem to be partaking in the fun was Tom, his lips set in a pout as he shoved Jacob weakly.

“Knock it off, boys,” he told them his voice sharp against theirs. He didn’t appear to be as drunk as they were, but the goofy grin that followed proved otherwise.

After another round of laughter, you tried to shrug Tony away from you, but he was heavier without full control over his body. You felt uncomfortable being around four drunk men, who were all stronger than you. Despite knowing that they meant well, the entire situation read badly.

“Tony, please get off me,” you mumbled, which seemed to earn his attention. He stood up straight, raising his arm up mechanically. You took a step back, holding your arms to make yourself small. “Guys, I get that you’re having fun, but I have work to finish, so can you-“

“You’re a location scout, right?” Jacob asks in the moment of lucidity. You nod, watching warily as Jacob stands, holding his hand out to you.

“Jacob Batalon, best actor in this room. If you’re ever in a pinch for actors, you know where to find me.”

“Jacob,” you said slowly, your handshake becoming too long. “We’ve met before.”

“Best actor in the room? Tom has a fucking BAFTA!” Harrison argued over the music, but you both paid no mind to him.

“Uh, I think I’d know if I met anyone as pretty as you. At least, I think you are. I can’t really see, but you’re Y/N, right?”

“Jacob,” you sighed, exasperated. Pinching the bridge of your nose, you were halfway to launching into an explanation before he cut you off.

“Tom’s been going off about this Y/N girl. She lives across the street or something. I’m like, Tom, dude, amigo. How do you know if she’s pretty if she’s all the way over there?” He pointed out the window and you frowned, wondering just what in the world he was on about.

“Jacob I know you! I live next door.” He snapped his fingers loudly, looking back at Tony with wide eyes.

“Tony! It’s the girl, the one Tom mmhmm-“ Harrison covered Jacob’s mouth with his hands, trying to sit him back down. You raised a brow, looking between the four of them before sighing.

“Clearly I’m not getting anything through to you, so I’ll just do it myself.” You huffed, turning to what you believed was the source of the booming music. A stack of black rectangular sound systems sat on a shelf below Tom’s T.V, each of them appearing to be on. In the background, yelling had ensued, with Jacob’s mouth finally free of Harrison’s grip. You paid no mind as you decided to simply turn the volume down. You twisted the dial a little too far, making the music so quiet, that their shouts became clearer.

“Why the hell not! You’re not going to have any other chance!”

“Your girlfriend dumped you, now is the perfect time to tell her!”

“And say what? ‘Hey Y/N, I’ve been in love with you since the day we met’?”

It kept going, not even missing a beat as the four boys started piling shout after shout on top of the others. You, however, had your hands over your mouth, slowly rising to stand up. Your mind tried to process the words in the order you heard them in, making sure it matched what you thought. Your heart felt like it would leap from your chest, knees knocking as you struggled to understand.

Tom liked you. He had since the day you met. And he didn’t plan on telling you.

It was news to you that his girlfriend was no more, but even bigger than that was the idea that each of his friends already knew that he was in love with you. That sentiment seemed like common knowledge, considering its blunt outburst hadn’t shocked anyone to silence.

Suddenly Harrison’s cheeky winks and Tom’s bright smiles seemed more than just coincidences. You wanted to run up to Tom and tell him that you felt the same way, that he meant more to you than just a neighbor or a friend. You felt your heart clench as you realized that those words were never meant to be presented like this. You weren’t supposed to know.

In some nice universe Tom would tell you over another shared mug of coffee, or an a first date somewhere sweet and thoughtful. In some nice universe you could kiss him for saying that, and he’d kiss you back.

But this was not some nice universe, and this shit always happened. You let yourself out, sliding back against the cold metal door and letting out a sob that had been working its way through your chest.

Perhaps that nice universe would only ever be a daydream


No. 4: the incident where the tables have turned

Not but two days after the drunken episode, you walked up the stairs to find Tom, sitting outside his apartment like a lost puppy. He bounced his phone on one knee, the other keeping his forehead up as he scrolled through his phone. After a moment he locked it, turning his head to see you, dazed and confused.

“Y/N!” he exclaimed, his loud voice reminding you of Thursday night, and the deflated way he had yelled your name, saying that he was in love with you. You were starting to believe it; you could see his eyes light up whenever they found you, a small but genuine smile tilting his lips upward. For someone who had just lost a significant other, Tom seemed pretty much in one piece.

Maybe because you were the one seeing him.

Nevertheless, you raised an eyebrow in silent question, to which Tom sheepishly smiled. “I seem to have locked myself out of my own apartment,” he told you, standing up and shoving his hands in his pockets. He was well cleaned up, considering the last time you’d seen him he was smashed beyond compare.

Before you even had the thought of stopping, you blurted, “Doesn’t your girlfriend have a key?”

It was like kicking a puppy; a small, adorable little puppy that only wanted your attention for half a second. The mirth drained out of his face and his eyes quickly dropped to the floor. His hands swung aimlessly by his side. You wanted to take it back, say you were sorry or that you forgot, but you weren’t even supposed to know in the first place.

“Alice and I broke up,” he sighed, and all you could think was ‘So her name was Alice.’

You tried to morph your face into sympathy and surprise, but you weren’t sure how well you pulled it off. “Oh, shit Tom, I’m sorry,” you expressed, wanting to reach out and touch his shoulder, but withholding yourself. Pretending you didn’t know about his feelings for you was so difficult, and you weren’t sure why. It wasn’t like you to be flirty or drop hints, but for some reason that was all you wanted to do: wrap your arms around him, tell him he’d be fine, and remind him that you were next door if he needed you.

In some nice universe that would work, but this wasn’t time or place.

“My spare key is with Harrison, surprise surprise,” Tom joked, which you smiled at.

“You’re never going to see that key again,” you laughed, bringing back a sliver of a smile to the man’s face. He looked better with it, you thought, doing nothing for the butterflies in your stomach. Your laughter calmed down enough for you to shrug. “You can come stay at my place until he gets here, if you don’t have anything to do.”

His eyes widened, but he hid it by raising his left brow. “Are you sure? I don’t want to intrude or anything.”

“Considering it returning the favor. Besides, I’m always in your apartment. We need a change of scenery.” You unlocked your door, coming into your apartment with tense shoulders. Tom had never been in here before, and there was a reason for that. His presence in your apartment would gradually become less and less strange, making him just a part of your home than the couch or the curtains. You didn’t want him to be so familiar that it seemed like he belonged here, because he didn’t. He belonged in his nice white apartment, far away from whatever you had going on here.

There wasn’t much. You weren’t a minimalist, but you preferred less pillows and decorations than actual furniture. The colors were mostly neutral blues and greys, with red here or there. Along the walls were huge posters of cities you’d visited for work. Ashville, Slab City, Roswell, and other obscure towns were littered across your living room, and when you looked back you noticed Tom was staring at all of them.

“You’ve been to all these places?” he inquired, awe lacing his voice. You were shocked by his curiosity, considering he travelled all the time for his job. His face was fixed on the posters, before catching the little framed photos around the bookshelves. “Holy shit, is that you?”

He had the frame in his hand now, and judging from it, you were sure he was indulging himself in staring at a truly mortifying high school photo of yours. “Who are these people?” he pointed, and you grimaced.

“High school friends, if you couldn’t tell by our bad fashion choices,” you groaned, coming up beside him and studying the picture. You were in the middle, as you often were in group photos because everyone was taller than you. It didn’t particularly matter in this instance; you were squatting down, your hands clasped as if in prayer, staring down the camera with a smirk. Above you, four of your friends had lifted up the shortest girl in your group, perching her on their shoulders. It looked like a dysfunctional human pyramid.

“I don’t think I have a picture of me and my mates half as cool as this,” Tom remarked, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“You think that’s cool? I think we were more crazy than cool,” you spoke wistfully, setting the picture back down. “I’m not even sure why I keep that around. It doesn’t really fit in with this whole thing,” you gestured wildly, pointing at the dozens of colorful photos. Tom’s eyes landed wherever your finger pointed, until the rested back on you.

“Which one of these is your favorite?” he asked, turning in a circle to view every landscape. You put a finger to your lips, eyeing each one carefully, until you landed on one filled with green and purple.

“I took this in Glasgow, about four years ago,” you stated, standing beside a quite large picture of a sprawling field of bluebells. “First time scouting overseas, and a studio needed pictures of old woods to use as concept art. I was with a senior photographer on this one, but he let me take the shots they eventually used.” You glanced up at the photo in reverence, before looking over to Tom.

His face expressed pure adoration, and you found that his eyes rested more so on you than the photo. He seemed to be in a trance, only snapped out of the daze a minute after you’d stopped talking. He tried to shake the grin off, but it was too late. So he went with it, smiling even wider.

“Wow. I’ve been to Scotland before, and I knew it was beautiful. But that?” he threw his hands down and you laughed at his gesture. “I’ve never seen anything like that before.”

“You just have to know where to look. I know I never would have found this place if David wasn’t so familiar with Glasgow,” you told him, heading into the kitchen for drinks. “Next time, take someone who knows what to look for.”

“Maybe I should take you.” It was supposed to be mumbled under his breath, just a wish he kept to himself, but he let his guard down. You heard him, freezing as you stuck your head into the fridge, thanking the heavens that you had a cover for your burning face. You wanted to turn around and tell him yes; absolutely, positively, one-hundred-percent were you on board with going anywhere with him. You wanted to joke that you’d pack your luggage right then and there, that between two seasoned travelers like you, there was sure to be a discount somewhere.

But all you could do was force down the thoughts, grabbing two cokes from the fridge before pressing them to your face. You turned to Tom and smiled, a restrained, glowing thing that startled him, for he hesitantly stepped towards you.

“Maybe you should. Glasgow is one of my favorite places. I’d be happy to show you around.” You hoped you didn’t come off as anything other than friendly, but knowing the situation you were both in, there was no telling his response.

Tom just blinked, his face like a deer in headlights. Suddenly his face was tinted in pick and he smiled, looking down at his shoes bashfully. “I don’t know when we’d ever do it,” he commented, rooting you two back in the reality, the place where you both had jobs to do and obligations to others. But it had been nice, dreaming of Scotland with Tom. Perhaps it would come true.

There was a calm silence that settled in between the conversation, which was ripped away when Tom’s cell rang. He picked it up with reluctance, before making a face at the id. “Haz you better be downstairs or else I’m hanging up.” There was a bit of yelling on the other side, Harrison’s voice distorted by the traffic outside. Tom listened for a moment more before nodded, cutting his eyes over to you.

“Yeah, you can just open yourself, you’re always there anyways,” he quipped, ending the line before sighing. “Sorry, that was Haz, he’s here with my key.” Every word he said sounded breathless, a string of words in an almost incomprehensible British accent and an apology mixed in somewhere. You smiled, before jumping up.

“Oh! Before I forget,” you babbled, reaching into a packed kitchen cabinet for something. You stood on the tips of your toes, reaching for a turned handle before it landed gracefully in your palm. You smiled, handing it over to the dumbfounded man over the counter.

“What’s this?” he asked, turning over the red and blue designed cup. “Is this for me?”

“Yeah! I told you I was going to get you a new mug, I didn’t say what it would look like though.” You bit your lip, wondering if a Spider-Man mug was really the way to go in this situation. In addition to playing the wen head, you knew he had an affinity for the character as well, hoping the combined coincidences would lead him to like it.

He pressed it into his palms, turning it over in the daintiest of ways. He clutched it tight, as though he might break it from just breathing on it. When he picked his head up, you noted the watery glimmer in his brown eyes, which he tried his hardest to blink back. There were so many small things about Tom that made your heart flutter, but you didn’t have time to study them all.

“Thank you,” his small voice took you from your thoughts. “That was really sweet of you. You didn’t have to do this.”

“I wanted to,” you relied firmly, placing a hand on his shoulder. “And I couldn’t live with myself if I never replaced it. Seriously, take it,” you told him, seeing as he was unwilling to leave with it. He stared at it a little while longer before he jolted, a buzzing sounding from his back pocket.

“Harrison’s here, I should, uh,” He stammered out, slowly taking some steps back. You nodded, giving him a slight wave and then headed back to the kitchen. You didn’t look up until you heard the door open, and then click shut, the air in your apartment much colder than it had been.

You stared around, wondering if you could find differences in your home now that Tom had been inside it. Your old theory was clearly correct, because your place had never felt so lonely and empty since you’d moved in. With a frown, you stared at the picture of Glasgow, wondering if in some other time and place, it was taken by you and Tom.


No.5: the incident where everything becomes clear

You actually burst into his apartment, a loud banging noise that sounds like it belongs in a movie. You’re too dramatic, and for reasons only you can understand.

Two heads turn, almost in sync. Blue eyes stare your form up and down, a quirk in his brows, while Tom just screams “Y/N!” It’s more of an exclamation that a question, which prompts Harrison to ask the obvious.

“What are you doing?” It’s so posh coming from him, the accent highlighting the annoyance in his voice. Or maybe it’s confusion, because he seems baffled not only by your presence, but by your urgency.

Tom doesn’t seem to mind. He’s got wide, shining eyes, and a posture that’s halfway out of the chair he was sitting in. He crosses the length between you two in an instant, throwing you off for a second before you regained proper footing.

“What’s wrong?” He questioned, staring you down with those concerned brown hues of his. You wanted to take his face in your hands, and reveal your purpose for being here in the first place.

You were out of breath, from both being so close to him, and from running up three flights of stairs. After getting started on a scouting job earlier this week, you requested half the day off to start finalizing your travel plans. Within the next week you’d be flying into Tokyo and Hong Kong for a few days with Shanghai as a backup plan in case you didn’t get the shots you wanted.

You had been so psyched to start packing and start sharing about your trip, when you came across a moving truck in front of your complex. And lo and behold, you caught the sight of Alice, her arms full of those yellow throw pillows you had seen in his apartment all those weeks ago. Her blue eyes scanned the street until they came to rest on you, shouldering a hand bag that probably cost less than her foundation.

Her eyes turned to steel, lips curved in the most menacing grimace you’d ever seen. Her eyes appeared watery as you came closer, the grimace turning into a full-blown snarl the longer you stayed in her vicinity.

You practcally ran away, heart pounding out of fear. It wasn’t that Alice was mean or nasty towards you; it was that you could understand why she didn’t like you. You didn’t know the specifics of their breakup, but if you could guess, you figured Tom’s affection towards you might have played a factor in it.

The guilt burned your chest, but there was something else there you didn’t understand, something that led you to Tom’s unlocked door. In the awkward silence between you two, you wondered why it was unlocked, and why he didn’t seem to question why you were here. The longer he stared at you, the more your fingers itched, and the more you yearned to touch him.

So you pulled him out of the apartment, his feet tripping over the threshold as the door closed behind him. You caught a glimpse of Harrison’s face, blue eyes shining with mirth before he winked, clicking it shut. Tom turned his head to look back, but you grabbed his cheeks, making him face you.

He opened his mouth to ask something, but the question was caught it his throat. Your lips were suddenly on his, and he shifted closer to you, like it was an instinct. Like he got kissed by breathless girls outside his apartment on a daily basis.

His arms wrapped around your waist, before coiling tightly, his nails digging into your jacket. Your hands left his cheeks, instead falling to the nape of his neck, where you brushed small curls of hair with your knuckles. Everything about kissing Tom felt like fitting into a jigsaw puzzle; you knew exactly where everything went. From your hands to your chest to your lips, every part of you felt in place.

Tom eyes opened as he pulled back, gazing at you like he would a star in the sky. “Why did you do that?” His nearly inaudible voice was shaky, his hands running up and down your sides. He tried to still himself, but you could feel the skittish energy he was trying hard to contain.

You wound your arms around his neck, pressing yourself closer to him. “I don’t actually know,” you told him seriously, a smile in your lips.

He tried to roll his eyes, but he too was smiling at you. “You just did it, because? Just because you could?”

“Because I’ve wanted to for a long time. Because you accidently said last Thursday that you were in love with me. And because I’m in love with you too.”

Tom’s arms dropped and he balked, watching you with a gaping mouth. “You heard that? You heard me say that?” he reiterated, looking you in the eye. When you nodded he groaned, placing his head in his hands. He refused to look at you when you coaxed him out of his shame.

“I can’t believe you knew that,” he muttered, his face turning redder by the second. You tiptoed up and kissed the crown of his head, causing him to peek at you through his fingers.

“I’m sorry you’re embarrassed, but if I didn’t know I’d never have the guts to kiss you,” you compromised, pulling his hands away from his face. “C’mon, this situation isn’t all bad.”

“It’s not bad at all, really,” he sighed, a content smile gracing his lips. “I mean, you did say you were in love with me too, right?”

“Do kisses not mean anything to you Brits? Is that just like, a thing you guys do?” You poked fun at him, earning another small peck on your lips to shut you up. You smiled and laughed, making it messy and causing his lips to end up short squish against your cheek. He rolled with it though, smothering your face with tiny little pecks, squeezing you tight in his arms.

From somewhere in the apartment, Harrison screamed “Finally!”

Little By Little | Pt. 4

▷ Jungkook Angst

 “Sometimes friendship takes over the place of love and then love has no place left..”

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 [Sequel]

You looked at your phone screen, reading the messages over and over again. Why was he making everything harder for you?

Throwing your phone on the sofa, you leaned your head against the wall and closed your eyes, thinking about what had happened just a while ago.

One hour ago

“Jungkook, I saw the way you look at a girl when you like her or when you’re in love with her. You don’t look at me like that..”

“Y/N-”

Holding your hand up, you stopped him before he could say anything. “You don’t have to say anything, Jungkook. Just, please, go home and stop making this harder for the both of us. I’m sure that as time goes by, you’ll forget me, believe me. Little by little, you’ll stop remembering me. It won’t be as difficult as you think it will be.”

Suddenly, Jungkook’s eyes darkened and he grabbed your shoulders and pressed your body against his, faces inches away from each other. “Damn it, Y/N! Stop interrupting me and listen to me! I like you! I don’t know how it happened or when it happened but it happened!”

“No, you don’t like me, Jungkook. You like the times when we spend time together, laugh together, have fun together or cry together. That’s it. I was always your distraction whenever she wasn’t there for you. I was always there for you whenever you needed a shoulder to cry on. But I’m tired, Jungkook. I can’t pretend to be happy anymore..”

You watched how Jungkook huffed loudly while he went his fingers trough his hair. “Y/N, why can’t you just believe me?! What should I do to make you believe me?!”

“You can’t make-”

Before you could end your sentence, Jungkook leaned forward and connected his lips with yours. Wrapping one arm around your body, he placed the other hand on your neck, pressing your head harshly against his.

When he realized that you weren’t reacting or responding to his kiss, he leaned back and placed his forehead against your shoulder. His whole body started shaking the moment he started talking in between his sobs. “Do you believe me now? Y/N, I don’t want to lose you, please.. Don’t leave me without you, I’m begging you. Tell me, what can I do to make you believe me?”

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. “Just answer one question.”

When Jungkook heard those words, his head shot up immediately, his whole body filling with hope, looking at you with expecting and sparkling eyes.

Leaning forward, you reached for his back pocket and put your hand in it, grabbing the sparkling necklace that broke your heart whenever you saw it. Bringing the necklace in front of his eyes with your trembling hands, you asked him with a shaky voice.

“Why do you still carry her necklace with you even though you say you like me?”

My Fake boyfriend Part 7

Summary: After receiving a very rude letter of your ex on the mail saying that he is going to get married. You see yourself not knowing what to do, you can just let it go or accept the help of your hot neighbor and pretend he is your boyfriend.

Paring: Bucky x Reader

Words: 2273

Warnings: SO MUCH FUFFLY

A/n: Thanks to @drinkfantasy for being my beta. You rock.

credits to the gif owner

Originally posted by winterwldow

Bucky gets off of the bench, offering you his hand. You accept gladly smiling at him, but his mind can’t focus on anything now. Would you let him kiss you? Would you be mad at him for asking? Maybe you would just politely decline; he wouldn’t blame you for not being attracted to him.

In the dinner room everybody is already sitting waiting for the two of you, including an old couple that he assumes to be Lucas’ parents and the way they are looking at you leaves him no doubts.

He sits by your side on the table watching as you smile at him and he kisses your hand. It is a small gesture, sure real couples do this all the time but it was also a way for him to say that things were alright between you two.

Keep reading

missmuffin221  asked:

Johnlock. 'Why are there googly eyes on all the suspects pictures?'

“Why are there plastic eyes on all the suspects’ pictures?” Sherlock asks. He is standing in the door of John’s bedroom, holding the frame and scowling. John puts down his book.

“There are googly eyes on all the suspects’ pictures,” John explains, “Because Mrs. Hudson found a whole bag of googly eyes in her sewing basket, and let me have them.” 

“To annoy me?” 

John considers. “Yep.” 

“They won’t come off the photos!” 

“Good. Do you know how off-putting it is having 120 different potential serial killers on the wall across half the house. In the bathroom, Sherlock. The bathroom.” 

“The bathroom helps me think!” 

“I have to use the bathroom too.” 

“John!” Sherlock is perilously close to stamping a foot. “This is a case!” 

“Well it’s a boring case, you’ve been at it for over a week already.” John dumps the book to one side and gets up from his bed. “You’ve not even left the flat. This is an ash experiment level of case, and you know it.”

“You like my ash experiments.” 

“No,” John says patiently, “I don’t. You’re just a passionate nerd about them, and I find that endearing.” 

Sherlock reels under the revelation that John does not care about ash or the categorising thereof. “John, I’m shocked at you. And you’ve googly eyed my evidence!”

“Well…” John says.  He clears his throat. “It is a bit funny though, isn’t it?”

“Hm,” Sherlock says, eyeing him narrowly. He is replying the conversation in his head and on a second run though, he picks up what he missed. He supposes, with 120 suspects and a lot of the leg-work actually being head-work, John has had next to nothing to do on this case. And he supposes, given the complexity of the whole thing, he’s spend probably more time than intended staring at other people’s photographs. 

“Did I eat breakfast this morning?” 

“You had some toast. Not at the table,” John adds, meaningfully. 

“Ah,” says Sherlock, coming to a conclusion. Meals consumed with one hand, while working through files with the other. Sleeping on the sofa. Conversation has been limited or non-existent.  “Oh… John…I apologise for making you jealous.” 

“I’m not jealous!” John retorts. 

“Neglected then.” 

“Oh, come on, I’m not a bloody houseplant.” 

“John,” Sherlock says, leaning on the doorframe and turning languid. “Do you miss me and my attentions?”

“You are such an arse,” John says, with the pinkness around the back of the neck that says his tone does not match his thoughts, although Sherlock is willing to bet that John’s thoughts rattle around the concept of ‘arse’ nonetheless. “Can you just hurry up and solve this bloody case?”  

“John,” Sherlock purrs. “John.” 

“What?” 

“John.” He crooks a finger and John shuffles closer. 

“What?” 

“You are a very, very silly man.” 

“Hm. Says this idiot,” John grouses, even as his hands wander around Sherlock’s waist. Sherlock lets his arms slide over John’s shoulders. 

“Very silly,” Sherlock repeats, soberly. “There are ways of getting my interest, you know.” 

John’s hand squeezes. 

“Yes, that’s one of them.” Sherlock clears his throat, eyes rolling towards the ceiling. John chuckles. 

“Right then. well, as I’ve got your attention, so to speak.” 

“So to speak.”

“How about budging in a bit so I can shut the door?” 

“Willing to oblige,” Sherlock says, and the door closes. 

French (Snowbaz)

A/N: this was written for the prompt “it means go away in French” which the darling @iranau asked me to write!

Edit: I fixed all the French bits so it actually says what I was trying to say 😁

Simon

I stare at myself in the mirror, turning my head from left to right to make sure the wings of my eyeliner are even before heading out to get Agatha’s approval. Agatha and I have made up since the breakup and we’re much better as friends than we ever were as a couple. I’ve been hanging out with her a lot more recently (Penny’s busy studying for finals and hanging out with Agatha means avoiding Baz) and last night she insisted on doing my makeup, both of us laughing when I had blinked, smearing mascara all down my cheek. I liked the eyeliner though; so much that I decide to do it again today. I grin at my reflection in the mirror and ruffle my hair back a bit before giving up on that and leaving the bathroom. I find Agatha sprawled on her bed flipping through a magazine.

“How’s it look?”

Agatha looks up and a grin spreads across her face.

“Almost as good as if I’d done it.”

I smile at that.

“Now get out I need a shower.”

Agatha jumps off her bed and shuts the bathroom door so I slip out of her dorm room and sneak through Mummers House. It’s early so I can hear the sounds of other students waking and beginning their mornings but no one is out in the hallway yet.

I think about going to visit Ebb or find Penny but I know Penny will still be asleep and Ebb is probably somewhere way out in the fields so I’d be lucky to track her down. Instead I just head up to my room. Maybe I’ll try and do some homework or something. If anything I can at least see if Baz is up to anything sketchy and stop him.

The cloisters is even quieter than the girls’ dorm is when I sneak in. I shut the squeaky oak door behind me, pausing to listen for any noise before continuing up the stone steps to the very top.

I walk into my room and shut the door, loud enough to make Baz jump before turning on his desk chair to complain.

He freezes when he sees me, his mouth opening to say something as his sharp grey eyes rake my face. I freeze under the assault of his gaze, trying to prevent a blush and also smother the sense of pride at making Baz speechless. Finally he blinks, mumbling something that sounds like French before turning back to his desk.


Baz

Baise-moi,”

It slips out of my mouth before I can stop it and I’m lucky that Simon doesn’t know French. He’s standing there in the doorway, rumpled clothes and messy hair. The dark eyeliner brings out the intense blue of his eyes and a burning fire ignites in my stomach at the sight of him.

I watch him narrow his eyes in suspicion.

“What’s that mean?”

I choke a bit, trying to think quickly. I’m not about to tell Simon I just told him to fuck me in French.

“Go away, Snow. It means go away.”

I sneer to add to the effect (and because I’m disgusted at myself for being so desperate.) It must have been believable despite besides my fluttering breath and hot cheeks because Simon rolls his eyes and stomps into the bathroom, slamming the door. I sink down in my chair and pull my shaking hands through my hair, sending all my thanks to Crowley that Simon can’t speak French. But finally saying something about my detestable crush on him lifts an immense weight off of my shoulders.

An idea rises in my head but I push it away with a shake of my head and turn back to finishing my homework.


A few days later I still can’t forget how it felt to tell Simon something true. Something honest. It was a rush of fear, but also relief at not hiding so much. The next time I pass him, I bump into him purposely.

Je veux t'embrasser,” I mutter in his ear. I want to kiss you.

I watch as Simon storms off, anger clouding in his eyes and can’t help the smirk that grows on my face.

I keep doing this every chance I get. The next time Simon accuses me of plotting I tell him he has beautiful eyes. When he wakes me up at an obscenely early hour because he’s being so loud, stomping around our dorm room in the mornings, I mumble about his golden hair. When he’s fast asleep and I’m sitting cross-legged on my bed eating salt and vinegar crisps I tell him how much I want to trace all of the moles on his body.

All in French of course.


Simon

Baz hasn’t quit it with the sinister French comments. He’s obviously plotting something. Anytime he sees me he starts muttering with his low, rich voice. I hate him. But the eyeliner seems to annoy him, which just gives me all the more reason to wear it all the time. Whenever he sees it he stares, openly, and his voice gets even more venomous.

I’m drawing it on right now, looking at myself in Penny’s bathroom mirror while she studies for her linguistics class.

She’s on her bed, the brightly colored quilt bunched up around her legs where her textbook is balanced. Her fingers are wrapped around a mug of tea and have brightly colored polish on them, spelled to change with her mood. Right now they’re yellow. Happy, I think. She sips her tea while I apply my eyeliner. Agatha finally just gave me some. She was tired of me borrowing hers all the time.

I trace around my eyes carefully and stare at the mirror. Satisfied, I go and sit next to Penny, bouncing onto the bed and disturbing her careful setup.

“Simon!” Penny squeals, holding her tea up carefully, “you almost made me spill my tea!”

“Sorry Pen,” I say, reaching for her tea to take a sip. “Got enough sugar in this?” I ask, cringing a bit. It’s startlingly sweet.

Penny huffs and reaches for the mug, her skirt riding up to her thighs.

“Got enough eyeliner on?” she replies.

I roll my eyes.

Baise-moi,” I say, mimicking Baz’s pronunciation.

Penny chokes and starts coughing, spluttering tea down her jumper.

“What did you just say to me Simon?” she says.

Baise-moi?” I say, a little unsure. Maybe I’m saying it wrong. “It means go away in French,” I explain.

Penny raises her eyebrows.

“Who told you that?”

“Um,” I run my hands through my hair, a little embarrassed to say it was Baz. “No one. I just heard it somewhere.”

She rolls her eyes. “Okay well whoever told you that’s what it means was lying to you Simon. You just said ‘fuck me’ in French not ‘go away.’”

It’s my turn to cough and splutter, because no way did he say that to me. Baz hates me.

Penny doesn’t lie though. She’s not like that. I believe that even if I can’t believe Baz would say that that to me. Even if I can’t believe that has would like me.

This truth sinks into my body, a weight I can feel, sending hot waves through me like a spell.

Baz hadn’t told me to go away, he’d seen me in my eyeliner and said fuck me. What the fuck am I supposed to do with that?

“I- I gotta go Penny.” I say, getting up from the bed.

I have to find Baz.

Baz

I’m slammed into a wall as soon as I enter my room. It’s Simon of course.

“Yes, Snow?” I sneer.

His fists are curled around my football jersey and he’s close, so close I can hear his breathing.

“I’m onto you,” he says.

“Really? You’ve figured it out then? See, I was planning to take a shower when I came in here, not to be rudely slammed into a wall. So if you could let me go-”

Baise-moi,” he says, eyes darting across my face.

I try not to react. I really do. But I can’t help it. My lifelong crush just slammed me into a wall and told me to fuck him. How can I not react?

Heat rises to my cheeks and I hate myself for stopping to feed in the catacombs before heading up here.

“Penny told me what it really means,” he says.

Panic rises in my chest, fluttering and angry. Blood rushes in my ears. I can’t help but notices how close his face is to mine. I could easily lean down and kiss him right now. Put my hands on his cheeks and pull him to me.

I push that thought away. I’m so distracted that I don’t hear his next question, or even realize he’s asked one until I see he’s waiting for a reply.

“Sorry?” I say.

“How do you say kiss me in French?”

It feels as if everything’s suddenly gone quiet. Nothing in the air but quiet breathless hope. I study his face. His blue blue eyes lined in dark kohl, staring at my lips. His freckled cheeks, blushed red. His mouth, parted in question.

Embrasse-moi,” I say finally.

And then he kisses me.

Looks like Georgie here thinks that was especially brilliant!

Pairing: George x Reader

Request: Hey can you write a george x reader when they have DA training ang George is looking at Y/N all the time and boys tease him about it?

A/N: I’m super mega pissed because all of my notes got wiped so aaaaall the requests I save and aaaall the Imagines I was writing have now completely gone! Terrific! 

Squicks: I think I said a naughty word, rhymes with brother trucker :)


You were a fairly quiet girl: generally keeping to yourself and close friends and not really doing much to step out of your comfort zone, but you figured that that needed to change, especially if you were ever going ever to get the attention of George Weasley.

[George’s POV]

I signed up to join Harry’s little group that he and his friends organised, designed to teach Defence Against The Dark Arts while Umbridge was in power; they called it Dumbledore’s Army.

My main reason for joining was because I wanted to practice and actually learn some defensive spells (and that wasn’t gong to happen with Umbridge running the joint), but also because the word of mouth was that Y/N would be signing up too.

Today was the first official meeting of the DA. Harry had discovered a secret room in the castle, known as the Room of Requirement. Harry started off the lesson by going over the basics, the first spell being Expelliarmus.

Harry went through what exactly the disarming charm did, while Y/N listened tentatively, giving a small nod every now and then of understanding, her arms crossed and giving her full attention.

“Got your eye on Y/N, have you?” Fred nudged me and said quietly, his voice dripping with amusement,

“Shut up,” I retort… There was no point lying to him, he was my twin brother after all, there’s no fooling him.

—————

By the next DA meeting, it seems as though Freddie had let slip of my attraction towards Y/N, since I received a lot of nudges and whistles when Y/N walked in.

Today Harry had us focusing on the Stupefy charm, and we all found a partner that we would be duelling with.

Now, I know what you’re thinking, and no, I’m not partnered with Y/N, much to Fred and Lee’s disappointment… Cho beat me to it.

Y/N and Cho stood opposite each other in the middle of the room, their wands drawn. Obviously I was staring at Y/N, and the boys found it hilarious.

“Stupefy!” Y/N’s voice echoed off the walls. She cast the spell perfectly, causing Cho to go flying backwards, Harry barely catching her.

I stared at Y/N in awe. The girls all applauded her, while Fred told me that maybe a photo would last longer.

“Looks like Georgie here thinks that was especially brilliant!” one of the dickheads, Zachariahs called out, while his group of shits laughed.

Y/N of course heard, and was now looking at me, her cheeks a slight rosy colour.

“Yeah, I do,” I agree, which he didn’t expect at all, “And I reckon you couldn’t cast any spell half as good as that one, and it was only her first go!”

Zacharias stuttered for a bit, looking remarkably similar to a fish out of water opening and closing his ginormous mouth. The girls around Y/N all giggled, while she gave me a glowing smile, which I returned, even though Fred and Lee were rather off-putting with their snickering and elbow jabs.

Once the meeting was officially over, Y/N was the one who came up to me.

“Hey George, that was really sweet what you said earlier”.

Fred and Lee gave each other a look, before both of them walked on, surprisingly without saying another word.

“Get in, Georgie!” Knew it was too good to be true.

Y/N giggled while I put my face in my hands and groaned. Still laughing, she put her hand on my shoulder out of pity, which was enough encouragement to look up at her. Her eyes looked like they were laughing too, they were shining brightly and full of happiness to match her contagious smile.

“I meant it, you know, you’re quite amazing at spells, and in general I guess too but more of that later,” I admit, which she clearly seemed to enjoy by her overly enthusiastic laugh, probably an attempt to hide the blush that was evidently creeping onto her cheeks.

“No no, feel free to go on about my general greatness, I wouldn’t mind,” she flirted back,

“Well I mean, I wouldn’t want you to get a big head or anything, so maybe I should space the compliments out a bit, shall we say tomorrow evening for the next few? I can assure you that I have a lot,”

While Y/N giggled and the colour in her cheeks deepened, I marvelled in the fact that I am literally the smoothest motherfucker in this whole damn school.

“I think that could work,” she smiled cheekily, stepping in a bit and looking up at me, her hands resting on my shoulders,

“Wonderful…” I whispered, as I cupped her jaw in my hands and leant down. My lips delicately met with hers, and she instantly kissed me back, her arms wrapping around the back of my neck.

Whilst it was only a short kiss, it was deep and passionate. I knew that there’d be a lot more where that came from, starting tomorrow night.

The Youngest Member

Prompt: Imagine being the youngest member of the Suicide Squad and the team being protective of you.


Just a short little something

———-

You groan at Killer Croc picks you up and puts you behind him again, “Waylon!”

“I told you to stay behind me. Floyd told you to stay in the back”

You snarl and unfurl your whip, “I’m on this team for a reason!”

“Calm down, Honey! We know you can kill people! But you’re just a baby!” Harley shouts, using her bat to hit another creature.

Instead of saying anything else, you snap out your whip coiling it around the neck of another creature and ripping its head clean off. “I’m not a baby, just ‘cause I’m younger than the rest of you, doesn’t mean I can’t hold my own”

“Come one, Little Badass, you know we can protect you! You don’t even have to fight!” Floyd yelled, still shooting.

You just tighten your grip your whip, snapping it up to wrap around a light post, and spring boarding off of Waylon’s back, throwing yourself in the middle of the fight. You use your whip and knives to tear the creatures apart, literally. The fight is over when Floyd jumps on top of the cop car and takes down everyone else. You carefully coil your whip back up, careful to avoid the sharp parts, and tie it back to your hip.

“I thought I told you to stay back!” Rick shouted, getting right in your face, “You were ordered to stay behind Killer Croc! You disobeyed orders! Do you want me to blow your head off!!”

Suddenly Harley is between the two of you, her teeth bared at Rick, and Floyd has a gun to his head, even Waylon has his claws out, George has a boomerang at Ricks throat, and Chato looms nearby, “Ya don’t get to talk to our girl like that, Mister Rick, you should know that by now” Harley growled

“Whiplash is on this team for a reason, Cupcake. We all are, so let her do her job” Floyd growled

“You’re the one who first ordered her to stay back” Rick snarled, putting his hands up, and taking a step away from everyone.

“I told her to stay close to someone, just in case she needed help. She hasn’t had as much experience as most of us here, I wanted her to have back-up. I never told her to hide behind one of us.”

“Guys!” You shout, drawing everyone’s attention, “While I’m flattered that you all care so much, it would be a lot better if found cover. We need to get our target, and then we can get out of here”

“Pipsqueak is right, boys. I think these thinks are movin’” Harley said, sauntering away.

“This is gonna be a long mission” you groan, starting to follow the older woman.

“Don’t worry, we won’t let anything happen to you, Y/N”

You turn to glance at Waylon, for some reason he had appointed himself your guardian, “Thanks, you overgrown lizard”

Floyd chuckled at your name calling, nudging you with his gun, “Go catch up to, Harley. I need someone to keep an eye on her while I figure out what we’re doing next”

You wave them off, jogging to catch up to the crazy woman, who had taken to hitting one of the creatures with her bat. “I swear it moved!”

A Little Help

Hi guys! I wrote this on my phone and I haven’t been to sleep in forever, so I’m pretty positive this is just some rambly words about Tom and the reader wanting to be in a relationship, but being too shy to actually tell the other. So, instead, they just do small things to help each other out. P. S., Harrison ships it. I hope you enjoy!

Originally posted by spiderholland

A Little Help

“You need help, let me grab that for you,” Tom said, reaching up to plunk the novel from the shelf. “Which one do you want?” Tom asked, bringing a hand to rest upon her waist to readjust her position to point out the book she’d been trying to obtain.

    She stood up on her tiptoes, eyes desperately seeking to survey the shelf clearer, “I actually don’t have one particular in mind, would it be a bother to just take everything by Pablo Neruda down?”

    “Course not,” Tom said and easily picked all the Neruda’s out for her. “Who is he?”

    Her eyes widened and she smiled, happy to tell Tom everything she knew about Pablo Neruda. “He’s a famous Chilean poet, I mean, he eventually went into the political field, but I mostly know him from his poetry. When I was in high school, my best friend and I were obsessed with a poem he wrote called, ‘My Ugly Love.’”

She was starting to ramble and she knew that Tom probably couldn’t give two shits about the ugly love spoken about in the poem, but she was so close to him and he smelled good, and his chest was firm when she leaned into him, so it would be a fair statement to say that she was beyond distracted. “It starts out-”

Tom didn’t remove his hand from her waist, figuring that if she didn’t like it, she’d step back from him. His gaze flickered from her lips, to the rosy flush gliding across her cheeks, and then up to her eyes. Tom drank in her words about Pablo Neruda, still not quite registering who he was, but still completely absorbed by her words.

As he listened to her, still holding an assortment of novels in his hands, he accidentally cut her off completely. “Wait, do you have it memorized?”

She was nearly positive that her entire body was tinged pink, “Yeah, I won’t bore you with the details, I just like the poem because it’s different.”

“No, no, tell me. I wanna hear about it. I just got,” Tom searched for an appropriate word. “Excited?” Truly, Tom had cut her off because she looked so endearing that he thought that he would physically blow up if he didn’t kiss her.

He loved it when she talked about stuff like this, he could tell it was one of the few times that she actually felt confident in voicing her opinions.

“My ugly love, you’re a messy chestnut.

My beauty, you are pretty as the wind.

Ugly: your mouth is big enough for two mouths.

Beauty: your kisses are fresh as new melons.

Ugly: where did you hide your breasts?

They’re meager, two little scoops of wheat.

I’d much rather see two moons across your chest,

two huge proud towers.

Ugly: not even the sea contains things like your toenails.

Beauty: flower by flower, star by star, wave by wave,

Love, I’ve made an inventory of your body.

My ugly one, I love you for your waist of gold.

my beauty, for the wrinkle on your forehead.

My Love: I love you for your clarity, your dark.”

She finished and looked up to him with a smile on her face.

“So, what do you think?” She asked him, reaching up to sift through the books that Tom had gotten down for her.

“How do you know the best of everything?” Tom muttered, eyes widened, because, as usual, she was right. The poem was supremely different from any of the traditionally romantic sonnets that he’d read.

She smiled and unwound herself from his grasp and wandered down the next aisle, in search for her friend and Harrison, who’d accompanied them to the bookstore.

Tom, still leaned up against the shelf was slow to notice Harrison’s approaching figure.

“Dude, you need to ask her out. It’s getting ridiculous. Everybody, even strangers, already think you’re together, so why not make it real? Not as if she’s going to say no.” Harrison urged.

Shrugging his shoulders and racking his brain for an adequate response, Tom eventually stuttered out, “you never know, she could just want to be friends, and then if I ask her out, then she won’t even wanna be that.”

Harrison rolled his eyes, “Well then, mate, better wipe that drool off your chin.”

The next morning, in a haste to open the door for her, Tom had accidentally whacked himself in the face with it. Now, he not only sported a bloody nose, but also a split lip. Still, he wasn’t complaining.

She’d freaked out when she saw the blood drip from his nose and the bruises already forming on his jaw and had rushed him home. She stood in between Tom’s legs, while he perched on her kitchen table, and held up towels to stop the bleeding.

“Tom, literally what the hell?” She murmured, gliding her soft palm across his lower lip.

“I told you, I saw a bee and I didn’t want it to sting you,” Tom lied. Obviously, there hadn’t been a bee, but he refused to tell her that he’d nearly broken his face purely to hold the door open for her.

“But I never saw it? I didn’t even hear one, and besides, it wasn’t like there were flowers around. Why would a bee wander over here?” She mused, walking to the fridge to grab a bag of frozen vegetables.

“No, no,” Tom whined, “Those will be too cold, I don’t wanna put that on my face.”

She pouted, “Too bad, let me help you! I don’t want you to be hurt.”

Tom hesitated, and then opened his arms and pulled her close to him, keeping a gentle hand on the small of her back. “Fine, fine. Just do it.”

She smiled and rocked up onto her tippy toes and pressed her make-shift icepack to his face. He didn’t even shiver when the frost-covered package touched his bare skin, because when she was this close to him, he could see the multitude of colors swirling in her eyes.

A week later, it was time for Tom and Harrison to, once again, travel for the press tour. Tom was gutted. He couldn’t imagine leaving her without explaining to her that he wanted to be with her so badly, that the mere thought of leaving her made him physically ill.

Little did he know, that she felt the same way. All he knew, was that he was going over to her apartment to give her one last goodbye hug while Harrison waited in the car.

From inside her apartment, she spritzed on Tom’s favorite perfume. Whenever she wore it, he always leaned into her more while they were in conversation, or fiddled with her hair more and didn’t pull away from her when they hugged.

She had done her best to conceal her nighttime tears with makeup and sheprayed that Tom wouldn’t notice them as she opened the door.

Tom stepped in quickly and before she even shut the door, Tom surged towards her. Bending down to her height, Tom threw his arms around her, ignoring that his phone had fallen to the floor.

“Are you alright Tom?” She questioned, hands stiff at her sides.

“Just gonna miss you loads and loads and loads.” His voice was muffled by her sweater.

Her arms wound around him, “You know I’ll miss you too.”

“I don’t want to leave you yet.” Tom pulled away and his gaze bore into her floor.

Taking him by the hand, she pulled him to sit down on her sofa. “I made you something to help.”

Tom curled an arm around her frame as she sat a heavy box down in front of him, “Darling, what is it? You shouldn’t have gotten me anything, I didn’t know-”

She cut him off by pressing a hand over his lips. “Promise to look at it on the plane?”

She looked to cute and eager and shy that Tom had agreed, and now, after finally boarding the plane, Tom opened the box.

Inside were all the Pablo Neruda books that she’d bought the day she read him ‘My Ugly Love,’ and a note.

The note read,

Hi Tom,

I’m just going to assume that you followed my directions and now you’re flying safely through the air, but if you’re not, and I find out, may Mother Earth save your soul.

All of these books were mine before yours because I wanted to give you something that would remind you of me. I wrote you little notes on all the pages, so it’ll be like we’re talking about them. I highlighted my favorite ones for you in pink.

Please don’t forget about me.

Tom scoffed, as if he could ever forget her. He opened the first book and quickly spotted the swirls of her delicate handwriting on the bottom corner of the page. It read,

Don’t freak out, some of the poems are in Spanish, but I made sure to help translate them for you in the margins.

Tom smiled and began to leaf through the poems, blown away by not only the words of Pablo Neruda, but also by her tiny love poems for him written so softly in the captivity of the margins that he could barely tell that they were there.

When he landed, he would make sure to send her some of his own.

Dating Percy Jackson Would Include...

Note: ye here you go another imagine im on a roll today XD ALSO THANK YOU FOR 200 NOTES ON MY DATING ALEX STANDALL IMAGINE

MASTERLIST

Warning:

Request: here ya go


  • Really protective of you after what happened in Tartarus with Annabeth(they were only best friends; they never dated)
  • You never got jealous, Annabeth was your best friend you knew she wouldn’t do anything to hurt or harm neither you nor Percy

  • Percy casually coming into your cabin shirtless

“Put some clothes on boi”

“But babyyyy I thought you liked it when I did this.” *wink wonk*

“Ummmm no I don’t.”

“Ummmm yes you do.”

  • Leads to heavy make out session

“CLOSE THE DAM DOORS NEXT TIME DUDES.” – says one of your half siblings

  • He takes you to his mom’s house often one time this happened

“So Y/n…”

“PERCY ARE YOU BREAKING UP WITH ME THROUGH YOUR MOM!”

“nO BABE JUST LISTEN”

“Y/n I’m having a baby.”

  • You sob, for like an hour
  • Percy even said you could help babysit with him
  • Sally advised you that you should definitely babysit him especially about the amount of homework he’s been getting lately
  • Okay but you and Paul bake together when Sally and Percy are out together

“Mr Blofis, that’s a blender.”

“Oh.”

  • First time being really sweet
  • Percy loves to compliment you, you blush and look down and cuddle closer to him
  • You love to compliment Percy and he’s just like “agskfhdlfhthankyousakjdkjdf”
  • When you and Percy get complimented as a couple you just “ajsfdkjhfdjh” together
  • Let’s face it, our boy Percy ain’t dumb, in fact you think he’s getting much better in school and he’s trying so hard to go to college with you!!!
  • BEACH TIME BABY

“Percy where’s the ba-” *cut off bc he took you over his shoulder and just ran into the ocean*

  • CUTEST/AWESOME/AMAZINGEST COUPLE IN BOTH CAMPS
  • When you get married it’s the cutest thing ever, blue wedding cake just for old times’ sake and anything innocent as you can imagine

  • After the wedding on your honeymoon:

“Promise me you’ll love me forever.”

“I’ll love you forever, through thick and thin, I promise.”

  • *shajhfldkjgf* 
  • *fangirling its too cuteee*

anonymous asked:

tfln y/n thinks theres a ghost in the house while harry is gone but, instead of him comforting her, he teases her to scare her even more

Harry. Missus.

H, while you’re down there, could you make me some tea, pleeeease?

With a cherry on top.
.
..
I don’t mean put a cherry on top of the tea.

Please don’t do that again.
.
..
HARRY. LOVE OF MINE.

PRETTY PLEASE SUGAR

How am I supposed to make you tea when I’m not home, hm?

You’ll get your tea, give me like an hour. Still at Jeff’s.

Oh shut your little whore mouth, I hear you downstairs right now.

Why do you keep closing cabinets? Make up your mind.
.
..
Harry for the love of God, slam one more cabinet and I will shove my foot so far up your ass you’ll feel me for the next month.

Unless you’re into that.

Are you into that?

Christ, babe…

I’m at Jeff’s. On his couch.

I’m about to block you.

But you are home! I hear you! Your noisy ass footsteps walking down the hall.

I’m at Jeff’s!

Here, he took this of me because I keep ignoring him.


.
..
..
There’s a ghost in the house, Harold.

A mother fucking spirit lurking around our home.

He’s going to get me and drag me under the floorboards where I will become one with the house.

How are you so sure it’s a ‘he’, love?

Little bit sexist, don’t you think?

Not all ghosts are men.

No, but if this ghost is half as annoying as you then don’t doubt my judgement.

Hey, being pretty mean to the guy you want to make you tea.
.
..
HARRY THE TV IS ON DOWNSTAIRS

WHY IS IT WATCHING HORTON HEARS A WHO

Weren’t we watching that last night?

Just wanted to leave off where we stopped.

I’M FREAKING THE FUCK OUT HARRY

WE HAVE TO MOVE

MOVE HOMES MOVE COUNTRIES I DON’T CARE
.
..
Why in gods name is the kettle going off…

Tea’s ready, love. Come and get it. x

Charles Xavier x reader (yes, another one)

Originally posted by julee-art

“Y/N, could you please come to my office for a second?” You heard Charles’s voice ring in your head.

“What is it Charles? Can’t you tell me now?” You asked turning pages in the book you were reading.

“I would prefer you coming here darlin’. It’s important.” You sighed and put the book down.

“Alright professor. I’m coming.”

“Thank you dear.” You walked up the stairs of the busy school. It was filled with children of all ages. From afar you could see Hank desperately trying to rush some of them into a classroom but that didn’t seem to work very well. You giggled and walked down the corridor to the professor’s office. You knocked twice and entered the room.

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If It’s Meant To Be

***PLEASE NOTE: This is a series. You can find all parts linked below.***

Pairing: Daveed x Reader

Summary: It’s been 6 years since you left Daveed to better yourself. Things have been pretty good but it was only a matter of time until your past caught up with you.

Words: 8.1k+ (I AM SO SORRY)

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

A/N: THE BIG FINALE! This is my first finished series and I am so proud of it! I really hope yall like this chapter! It took a lot out of me but I am so excited to release this! Shout out to Ale for being the best beta ever!

Tags: @serkewen12 , @nervous-crossbow , @fanficsj , @hamilbroke , @videogamedriver , @dysfunctionalfangirl @butlinislin, @daveeddiggsit , @nadialinett14 , @librarychild , @spidey-boii , @me-hoy-me-trash , @daveedish , @linmanuclmiranda , @autistic-alien , @runnerriley, @hamilsquad-writings , @thegirlonhamilton


Daveed landed at noon, his legs cramped and nerves at an all time high. He grabbed his suitcase and took a taxi to a Marriott near your restaurant.

“Okay, what did I bring to wear?” He mumbled to himself, opening the suitcase and laying out his options on the bed.

“I should’ve paid more attention to what I threw in here.” He shook his head, not too happy with what he had but he could pull something together.

He held up a button down along with some nice jeans then he glanced at his feet and frowned. He couldn’t wear sneakers to see Y/N, he had to look his absolute best. Daveed tossed down the clothes and picked up his phone, heading outside. This was NYC, there were clothing stores everywhere, especially in this touristy area. He let himself wander for a bit, looking at all the stores but not seeing anything that called out to him. Then he saw them, a beautiful pair of dress shoes in a shop window.

“Yo…” Daveed trailed off, a smile spreading on his face.

He entered the store, looking at the different suits that surrounded him as he approached the counter.

“Excuse me? Would you happen to have those shoes in the front in an 11?”

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So, I got an idea.

I know everyone’s jumping on the idea of reapfist, and I’m the last one to say Jack is a healthy influence for Gabriel (even in my own headcanons and writing as a R76 shipper I tend to acknowledge that Jack has a lot of soul-searching, apologizing, and compromising to do before he’s earned back so much as a passing glance from Gabe after the shit he’s put up with). And I’d definitely say that without that effort from Jack, Gabe just plain deserves better than his flat pasty ass.

But look. Listen. Gabriel cares about people hardcore. We’ve seen it with everyone he’s ever been close to. He’s even said to respect and be a little proud of Sombra, according to the devs. He’s a fake-edgy hardass with a gooey halloween themed marshmallow center.

And Akande? Yeah no. He doesn’t care about much of anyone or anything. He’s got his “humanity will get stronger through conflict” deal which is probably talking about a long-term goal of escalation and encouraging various arms races, and that’s probably for the sake of preventing the kind of shit that went down during the omnic crisis the first time around, but to me that seems to be rooted in the trauma of losing his arm. Strength means no one else can beat him, and if he’s never beaten, he’s never left to be just another name etched into a memorial.

Gabriel doesn’t think this way. To him, every name on a memorial is another letter of condolence sent to a family. It’s a face he’ll never see in the mess hall, a dumb joke he won’t hear again, an echo of something that won’t ever come back. Even if Akande thinks he’s being pragmatic and realistic, seeing things as the world might see them, Gabriel can’t justify it. We’ve seen how he never kills more than he has to. We know he took in criminals and turned them into good people. His isn’t a policy of “might makes right”, it’s about justice.

Akande knows better than to step into an argument with that, and I doubt Gabriel’s point of view is about to change his mind anytime soon. It’s the wrong angle to approach it from. He’s too hardened and purposefully distant, cool and calm and strategic. What he needs isn’t someone who’ll agree to disagree because if they don’t it’ll get ugly, it’s someone a bit more…

Optimistic. Someone who can parry his cool boardroom debate skills with clear examples of the world simply not being as fucked and in need of escalation as he thinks it is. Someone who could be said to be as much of an outlaw terrorist as he is, from a certain point of view. Maybe even someone who’s creative, who’s… Musical.

My friends, I see your offer of reapfist and raise you: doomfrog.

The Ex

Francis x Reader

Warnings: Mature themes and strongish language


“Go away Ajax.” You snapped as he sat at the bar and smiled at you.

“Easy darling, just checking in.” He frowned when he spotted a picture of you and your new boyfriend hugging, tapped to the wall behind the bar.

“Don’t you even dare…” You threatened as he held his hands up.

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Lost Boy

Takashi Shirogane x reader

Originally posted by diolazuli

There was a time when I was alone

Shiro remembered when he would be in his own personal cell, no one to talk to, no one to even cry with to sleep. It was so incredibly lonely that sometimes he thought he should break out and get himself killed just for the hell of it. But something held him back, he didn’t know what it was. Maybe leaving Keith all alone on earth? No, that wasn’t it. He had been gone for so long now, Keith would clearly be able to make it without him. It was so lonely here…and so painful just to stay. He wanted to leave. But then the day came.

The next couple of hours were a blur, first he was with the doctors from the Garrison, they put him under and then he wasn’t at the Garrison anymore. He was in Keith’s house. “Keith?” He called out. “I’m here Shiro.” Keith came into view. “It’s so good to see you.” Shiro hugged his brotherly counter-part. “It’s good to see you too buddy.” Keith hugged back.

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[ image description: A screen shot of a post that reads “Don’t cross oceans for people who wouldn’t cross a puddle for you.” Someone has crossed this out with a big grey X and underneath added “No, do it. Do cross oceans for people. Love people, all people. No conditions attached, no wondering whether or not they’re worthy. Cross oceans, climb mountains. Life and love isn’t about what you gain, it’s about what you give.” End of descripton ]

I hate this post, I hate it so much. And let me tell you why.

At first it seems like a pretty good post, right? You should love people and do things for them because you want to or because it’s nice, or just because you love them, not because you expect something in return. Yeah. We learn that as kids. But listen. Listen to me. It is not that simple. Yes you should do nice things for people. Carry in your grandmother’s grocerys even if she forgets to say thank you. Sure. But you should never, never, pour yourself into someone who does not give back to you.

Doing everything for someone who gives you nothing in return is not love.

A friend of mine worded it really well “The point of the original post was to emphasise that your own mental/physical health is more important than someone’s selfish needs.” It’s not romantic to run yourself into the ground for someone who can’t even be bothered to care about you. And not only is it not romantic, it’s unhealthy.

I have, on more than one occasion, “crossed oceans” for people who I do believe loved me, but who didn’t even come close to crossing them for me. And do you know what I got out of that? The first one I lost 10 pounds because I was so miserable I could barely eat and I was throwing up what I did eat. And I was still doing whatever I could to be with them, and make them happy, even though they didn’t seem to be willing to put any work in themself. Why bother, I was always there. The second one I ran my own mental health so thin that that literally could not do anything for him, all I could do is sit in the bathtub and think about how I coudln’t feel anything. But I still refused to turn my phone off and ignore his messages. I still made myself avaible to him because he “needed me.”

There was nothing romantic about either of those situations (note: only one was a romantic relationship but the idea of giving and giving and giving when you’re gettin nothing back is romanticized whether it’s in a romantic or platonic relationship.) There was nothing beautiful or selfless about it. It was miserable. I was miserable. I can remember one of my friends telling me he missed me because all I could talk about was the person I had allowed to become my whole life.

And in the end, both of them stopped talking to me.

Don’t believe anyone when they say the second part of that post. It’s bullshit and I’m really tired of seeing it romanticized. It tells people (especailly young girls) that this is an okay way for a relationship to be, that this is what they should be doing. 

There is nothing selfish about demanding that your emotional labour be reciprocated. That’s what makes a relationship (romantic, platonic, or otherwise) healthy. That’s what love is. Both people giving. Both people supportin each other. Not one person giving until they have nothing left for themself. 

“The Language of Love”  Negan x Reader

Word Count: 2,225

Negan x Reader

Request: Can I request a Negan one? Where the reader grew up in France but moved to the US when she was young, but kept her French accent/French as her first language. And she gets taken as prisoner by Negan, but he treats her really well because he’s attracted to her. But one day he just pisses the reader off and she starts to cuss him out in French, and it turns Negan on a lot. And it leads to smut?

Warnings: Smut (oral receiving and giving, no actual penetration), swearing, language kink, I think Negan in general should just be a warning, dom! Negan

a/n: this was a request from someone who messaged me, and I told them I would do it, but I just wanted to point out that I do not speak French. This is all from google translate so I sincerely apologize if anything is not correct!


Originally posted by wildling-heart

Growing up in a country that you were not born in was not the easiest of tasks you have ever had to do. You were originally born in France in a small town just outside Paris, and you lived there until you were thirteen. You loved it there, and once your parents told you that you were moving to the United States (Georgia, in particular), you were not pleased.

You grew to enjoy living here, and everyone was nice to you. The only real problem was the language barrier. You knew minimal English at first, and your French accent was thick. Of course, the other students loved it, but it made it hard for them to understand you, especially when you only knew a few basic words.

As you got older, English became second nature to you, and you barely spoke French anymore. Especially now that it was the apocalypse, none of your French-speaking family was alive anymore, and no one in your group could speak it. You tended to keep that side of you separate from your life now. Life now was different, and you treated it that way. You wanted to put your old self behind and become someone who would survive out here, and dwelling on the past wouldn’t help that.

The only time that you ever spoke French was when you were mad. Oh, man, when you were mad, it came out without you being able to control.

Baisez-vous, je ne vous dis rien!” You spit at the man in front of you. He calls himself Negan, although you’re sure that can’t be his real name. You figure it’s probably a fake name, like what the Governor used. He’s attractive, you’ll admit. The way he carries himself, his beard, just in face in general… Damn. But he was not a good guy. You’ll never let his attractiveness get to you. “Éloigne-toi de moi!”

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