floating numbers

You’ve always been able to see the number floating over their heads. A number that indicates how many years they have to live. One day however, you see the number -1…

Reblog to see who your followers ship you with

Send in:

Pastel Blue - Yoosung

Purple - Zen

Brown - Jaehee

Black - Jumin

Crimson - Seven

Red - Saeran

Turquoise - V

Green - Yoori (Yoosung’s Sister)

Orange - Tom

White - Elizabeth the Third (the non-romance option because everyone deserves a beautiful cat in their lives)

(I threw in a few fun ones ;) If you tell me why I’ll cry tears of joy )

+ Give me three of your personality traits and I’ll tell you who I ship you with in return!

Is it Plagiarism?

Anonymous asked: I’ve got several plot ideas that I got from other books, TV shows and movies and then I mixed them with my own ideas. Is that plagiarism? Can I write something based off a TV show?

The number of plots that exist is finite - and surprisingly small. A few numbers will float around. I’ve heard 23 or 7, and so on. It doesn’t matter. There are a finite number of plots. If you break a book down just to that, you could say Star Wars and Harry Potter are really quite similar, though they are uniquely seperate. Now plots, character archetypes, and a number of story architectural features are one thing to share, let’s talk about plagiarism. Now, there is a difference between “inspired by,” “plagiarized,” and “in reference to/parodied.”

If your story is inspired by another, it may have a number of similarities but at the end of the day, the characters are your own and their goals and motivations are still owned by you. Harry Potter was a huge hit and since that franchise, we’ve seen other supernatural academies rise up behind it. You can compare Harry Potter to Vampire Academy or The Magicians - they have a few similarities but are distinctly seperate. Each series has their own stamp of originality and while there may be similarities, the plots, characters, and even to an extent, its target audience, is different. When writing a story that is inspired by something else, you’re not going to constantly refer back to the inspired text to make sure it’s different enough, it will feel different enough. It will feel like it belongs to you. You may freak out when you remember how similar your idea is to the original and decide to make changes accordingly, but generally if it feels like it’s your idea and not a rip-off of something you love, you’re probably alright. 

Now what if something is in reference to another work? Sticking with the theme of Harry Potter, I think it’s safe to say that Carry On is in part, in reference to Harry Potter - specifically the last few books in the HP series. I’ve heard readers actually say they felt lost or confused for having not been more familiar with Harry Potter as they read this book. It references Harry Potter, not directly, but the characters though not entirely parodies of the original series, do have “mirrors” in Carry On. The first hundred pages or so can at times feel like a bit of a commentary on Harry Potter - we meet characters and recognize their similarities to the characters of Harry Potter, and more than that, we notice how they’re different. With this example, it follows much closer to Harry Potter than any other aforementioned example, but the book is very much aware of this resemblance and uses it to provide insight on some things that the Harry Potter series may have been missing. Parody books will often do the same. They rely on you knowing the original text to get the joke!  

50 hours on Symmetra and I only just now realized anyone can see how many charges are still on your teleporter by the number of floating dots spinning around its base

You have a secret. You have always seen a translucent number floating above everyone’s head. Most have a 0, few 1, but your girlfriend has a 37. You witness a murder on the way to propose to your girlfriend. As the assailant pulls the trigger, you watch the number above his head go from 1, to 0.

It’s best, if you’re wise, to seem like you’re a fool.
— 

Pseudo-Aiskhylos, Prometheus Bound 387; my translation


κέρδιστον εὖ φρονοῦντα μὴ φρονεῖν δοκεῖν.

cheekgirlxxx  asked:

Hi John we had a nasty storm call Doris yesterday I was worried cos I could of a power cut I was scared to

“I’ve been monitoring the weather patterns.” John lets her know, “The Lady Penelope was quite concerned that we might have a situation. No call outs though.” He flicks his fingers across his screens to update the numbers floating there.

“It looks like it’s all under local authority control; no need for worry.”

Father and Son

by onlyshecantreadthis


Rory sighed as he stretched out on his bed. As he opened his eyes, he realized that it was still dark out. His eyes lazily flicked over to the blue numbers floating on his alarm clock. 3:15 in the morning. So his father should still be home.

Rory was home from college for winter break. He loved any time he got to spend with his father. Since he had grown up without a mother, his father had acted as both parents. Rory rolled out of bed and fixed his boxers as he shuffled out of his room. The house was chilly, his father hadn’t remembered to adjust the heat. So used to living alone, his father was. So used to an empty house.

His heart ached as he pulled in a sweater, thinking about all the time his father spent alone. How he buried himself in his work. It surely only got worse when his only son left for college at U of M, hours and hours south of their home.

Rory dragged his feet as he made his sleepy way down the stairs. He’d never had many friends in high school. He’d had the only friend he’d ever needed right at home. Being separated from his father was torture. But he was finally getting his footing socially. He went with his classmates to every football game. Attended late night parties. He was branching out. But his heart strings always tugged back his memories. His life waiting idle back home.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee encased him as he entered the kitchen, affirming that his father hadn’t left for work yet. Rory sank down into one of the comfy chairs at the table, his eyes half open.

State Trooper Patrick Kramer smiled affectionately at his son. He missed his boy almost too much these days. He poured a cup of coffee for his not-so-little-anymore boy and placed it on the table. He couldn’t resist cupping the side of his son’s head in his big palm. When Rory leaned into the touch, he slowly wound his fingers into the messy blond hair and placed a kiss on the top of his head.

Ever used to the affection, Rory circled his arms around Patrick’s waist. He always loved the smell of the pressed, clean trooper uniform and leather tool belt holding his gun and other things. Rory felt the rumbling timbre of his father’s voice as the older man spoke.

“Thank you for getting your butt out of bed to see me off. Just like when you were little.”

Rory smiled up at his father, content to just hold him for a moment and enjoy the gentle caress on his head. “You’re not the only one doing the missing, dad. It’s hard to be away from home.”

“Tell me you’re at least enjoying it. College life can’t be all bad.” He gave a playful tug on his son’s hair, knowing full well that Rory adored his school and his new friends.

“Of course it’s fun!” Rory batted his father’s hand away, only to have his own hand snatched up. Patrick pulled him out of his seat and the boy leaned in to the offered hug. “I just worry about you, here, alone.”

Patrick squeezed his son before letting him go. He placed a soft, lingering kiss on Rory’s cheek before turning to head for the door. “Don’t worry about your old man, Ror. I’ve got my guys at the squad. And you call me weekly. My son is going after his dreams. What more could I want? We’ll talk more when I get off my shift. I love you, son.”

Before Rory’s could say another word, his father was out the door and headed to his cruiser. He sighed, took his coffee and headed to the living room. With his father gone it was going to be a long, boring day.

The house was dark when Patrick got home. It was just after ten PM. He found his son asleep on the living room couch, the TV flashing quiet in front of him. He took a moment to admire his son. He had showered, only to change into another pair of boxers and lounge in his underwear all day. The house was warmer, he could tell. And he mentally chided himself for not turning the heat up sooner.

He sat down slowly on the couch. Rory was curled up against the arm. Patrick put his arm around his boy his shoulder. Rory instinctively scooted closer. Patrick put his head down on Rory’s and left his eyes drift closed. He had missed moments like this more than he could fathom. They’d grown more and sparse as his son grew up.

He was just starting to drift off when he felt Rory’s hand drift across his waist. His heart rate picked up slightly as his son grabbed his belt and began tugging on it.

“Stupid thing.” Rory’s mumbled. “Damn gun is digging into me.” Rory finally managed to unclasp the belt and pull it aside, letting it fall to the floor with a heavy thud.

Patrick chuckled, trying to hide his discomfort at the emotions that had just jolted him. “You know you’re obsessed with that gun. Don’t pretend.”

Rory snorted, letting his hand rest on Patrick’s hard stomach. “Guns are only interesting when hot guys are wearing them.” He was almost asleep again when his father did something he wasn’t used to. The trooped slid his hand up from the boy’s arm and rested his palm against the side of his neck. When the bigger man applied a gentle squeeze, Rory turned his tired eyes up towards his father. The look on his father’s face was another first for him. Was it longing?

Rory opened his mouth to ask a question was was stopped when his father’s lips descended firmly down onto his own. He sucked a small gasp into his lungs and froze momentarily. This didn’t deter his father. He was seemingly on a mission. He had made his mind up. Still a little groggy, he managed to snap out of his daze. He opened his mouth slightly wider and allowed the bigger man’s tongue into his mouth.

At the sign of acceptance, Patrick lost his control. He grabbed his son by the hips and pulled him onto his lap. Rory whimper as the kiss became more passionate. He was overwhelmed. His brain was turning thoughts over at high speeds. He gathered up enough sense to start kissing back. His tongue pushed the intruder out and forced it’s own way into his father’s mouth. He was so turned on he was trembling. He held onto the strong arms that were wrapped tightly around him.

When Patrick pulled away for a brief moment to allow them to catch their breath, Rory breathed out of name. “Dad,” he whispered. “Oh, Dad.” He opened his eyes and searched his father’s for an answer. He got it. His father loved him. That’s all there was to it.

Patrick captured his lips again and let out a deep groan as Rory began grinding his ass down onto the rigid erecting pressing up against him. Patrick cupped Rory’s firm ass in his hands and kneaded the plump flesh through the boxers as his son’s mouth trailed kisses down the side of his neck. His son undid the first few buttons on his uniform to make room for his wandering lips.

He wouldn’t stop to think. This is what he wanted. Always had wanted. He was going to let this happen.

Rory licked his way over Patricks collar bone, pausing to finish unbuttoning the shirt. He waited for his father to shrug out of it before he slid his hands beneath the undershirt and smoothed his fingers under the hard muscles he found there. Rory groaned, absolutely in love with the way his father felt.

Patrick pulled his shirt off over his head and let himself enjoy the look of pure attraction that was consuming his son. He reached up and cupped Rory’s head in his hand, bringing the boy’s lips down to his nipple. Rory immediately began kissing and licking the hard nub. It wasn’t a complete hot spot for Patrick, but it made him feel powerful to have the smaller boy worshiping a part of him, and he wanted it to distract the boy while he explored somewhere he knew for a fact his boy had never let anyone before.

Patrick tightened his grip on Rory’s hair to keep his head in place as he slipped his other hand down the back of his boxers. He sighed heavily as he strokes his finger over Rory’s untouched hole. Rory let out a whiny moan and began grinding his hips down into the bigger man’s again. Patrick applied pressure teasingly before tugging on the hair he had fisted in his hand to pull the boy’s head back.

Rory was panting with his excitement. This was all so new to him, physically. He had only ever read about these things. And he had certainly never dreamed of doing them with the man that had raised him. He started to overtime again. Patrick sensed this and quickly nipped it in the bud. He dabbed his sons chin and forced the uncertain, icy blue eyes onto his own. “I love you, Ror. More than anything in the world. Let me love you.” Rory melted as a firm kiss was placed on his lips.

He let out a small laugh as his father flipped him onto his back so we was flat out on the couch. The larger man sank between his legs, still wearing his trooper pants and boots. He didn’t seem to notice. In seconds Patrick had the boys boxers off and his legs pushed up to his chest. Without any warning Patrick dived in. He gave a quick lick before forcing his tongue into Rory’s hole. He fucked the boy with his tongue as he reached up to grab his son’s aching shaft in his large hand.

Rory moaned wantonly. Completely surprised and overtaken by the sensations. He trembled as his father ate his ass and began working his beefy paw up and down his cock. He lovingly rubbed his father’s close-cropped head as he was pushed quickly to the edge. When his father began humming into his ass, he lost it. He tensed up, biting his nails painfully into Patricks scalp as he shot cum onto his own stomach and chest.

He panted as he came down from his orgasm. Patrick massaged Rory’s balls and continued to gently suck and lick his son’s ass. “Dad, dad. Dad,” he moaned repeatedly. Before he could finish his thought, he dropped his head back against the couch and passed out.

Tick, Tock

Imagine: You see a clock countdown of how long until someone dies for everyone you meet. Derek has three hours.

Derek x reader

~~~

You wish you had never seen him, never spoken a word to him. Because somehow in this short span of time you’ve grown attached, something dangerous for your mental health.

But when you saw him again on the street, him smiling and waving to you, you stared only at the number floating above his head like a bomb.

Three hours.

Three hours?

His timeline had said sixty years the last time you talked.

“Derek!” you call out, catching his attention again.

You begin walking towards him, but stop in horror as the timeline drops again. Thirty minutes.

What did you do? What just happened?

You’re now standing stupidly in the middle of the street, just staring at Derek, so you hurry to finish crossing.

“You alright? You looked like you’d just seen a ghost back there.”

“Uh yeah I’m fine. Listen I need to tell you something, like, now.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Okay? Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m alright. But listen, so when I met you, I already knew you were a werewolf.”

He blanches.

“And I knew that because I’m supernatural too. Not like you though; I’ve never met anyone else like me.” You take a deep breathe, trying not to hyperventilate; his timeline is dropping again. Are you causing this? Is telling him this going to lead to his death?

“I see death.” You finish quickly, before you can lose your nerve.

His clock jumps to just under an hour.

“Like a banshee.” Derek says. “I know one.”

“No, not exactly. I don’t predict death, I see everyone’s death like a countdown, floating above their heads. I knew you were supernatural because the numbers above your head glow like wolf eyes do.”

You take a deep breath. “And right now your clock is barely an hour.”

LOGIC: “Countries are just like lifts.”

(with many thanks to @mippysweetie for this one!)