he wrote this on a wall so it would be neat

You better Marry her One Day (Draco Malfoy x Reader)

Prompt/Request: ‘’Hi!! I really liked my last imagine that you wrote for me. Do you think you could write another Draco Malfoy imagine, where the reader meets his parents and she later overhears his mother telling Draco that he better marry the reader one day? Thanks!’’ -  abbeyshadowhunter

Word Count: 1,181.
Warning(s): Fluff, I guess?
Note: Thank you for the amazing request, I liked it to write. :) Hope you like it too! xx

+     +     +     +     +     +

The nerves were killing you as you stood in front of the Malfoy Manor, a very big manor, almost like a castle with its own, little kingdom. Even though everything looked very clean and neat, it still had a very dark look. Yes, even when you were sorted in Slytherin and a pureblood, you still disliked dark colours. But following Draco his advice, you wore some black jeans, a dark blue shirt and a black leather jacket. To finish of your outfit, you wore black shoes, hoping the family wouldn’t hate it.

God, everything mattered if you thought about it. You were so concentrated on your appearance and manners you didn’t even realize someone opened the door already you had not even knocked on.

‘Good day darling, I’m assuming you’re Y/N?’ a woman with dark hair and dark clothes greeted you. In her hair were some grey locks and immediately you liked it the way she slowly accepted growing old. Well, that’s what you thought, maybe that was not the reason behind the grey locks after all.

You nodded and shook her hand, which reached out to you already. ‘Yes, Y/N Y/L/N. And you’re Draco’s mother?’ you questioned, not trying to sound rude at all as she led you in.

Inside it was dark too, as you expected, but it was very beautiful and all the stuff looked very expensive. Even when you’d touch the walls, you felt like it would break down right down to your feet. This was a whole other universe than your own, ordinary home. You shook your head and let your thoughts drift away.

‘Yes, yes I am. Narcissa Malfoy,’ she smiled before letting your hand finally go. The door behind you was now closed and you started to follow Narcissa to another door inside. Narcissa opened the door, which seemed to be the door to the living room. On the couch was Draco, laying down, reading a book for school while on the chair on the other side of him, was another man. He looked a lot like Draco. The blonde hair, the same face expression and his whole appearance made you conclude he was his father.

‘Draco, Y/N is here,’ Narcissa announced, making Draco look up. He shot up immediately and walked towards you with open arms.

‘Hey babe,’ he whispered when he was close to you, pressing a small kiss on your lips, before letting go of you and wrapping his arm around your waist. And there you stood, like Draco was presenting you to his parents, despite your little meeting with his mother.

He took a short breathe, looking at his father, who had not a single emotion on his face nor in his eyes.

‘Hi, I’m Y/N,’ you shortly introduced yourself, waving a little before a small laugh left your mouth. Narcissa was already smiling, but Draco’s father stayed silent.

‘Father?’ Draco said kind of unsure about his words, also nervous because his father hasn’t said a single thing but sending you glares. Well, you thought it were glares.

‘Lucius Malfoy,’ was the only thing he said. The corners of his mouth went a bit upward and you questioned yourself if this was supposed to represent a smile.

But to prevent any other awkward situations, you just said: ‘Nice to meet you, sir.’ And you showed your most beautiful smile, feeling Draco chuckle. His grip around your waist stiffened a bit, so you smiled even more, but not towards Lucius anymore, but Draco.

Your eyes met, feeling the spark inside lighten up again. He nodded, gesturing it was going okay. A wave of relief washed over you, before Narcissa and Lucius started to walk to another room. Draco hold on tightly when he walked with you, entering the big room which seemed to be the dining room.

‘Dinner’s almost ready,’ Draco’s mother said as she smiled, walking to the kitchen to check the food one last time.

‘Good,’ you answered, turning towards Draco and his father, ‘mind if I use the bathroom real quick and wash my hands?’ You showed a grin and frowned a bit. Draco nodded, ignoring his father as he told you were to find it. A quick thank you rolled over your lips and before you knew it, you were already inside.

‘Come on Y/N, you can do this,’ you whispered to you reflection, trying to encourage yourself, ‘it’s all going well right now. Kill it out there.’

You took a deep breathe, fixing your hair and make-up again, washing your hands before exiting the bathroom. That’s when you realized you got lost in the house. It was a bloody maze in your eyes.

Voices were heard, so you assumed it were Draco and his parents and as you were approaching the voices behind the door, you saw it was a direct door to the kitchen and not via the dining room.

The voices belonged to Narcissa and Draco.

‘What a beautiful girl Draco, reminds me of the younger me,’ you heard Narcissa say, making you smile and your heartbeat quicken.

‘She’s the prettiest and sweetest woman alive,’ Draco told his mother, love lacing in his words.

Narcissa laughed and laid her hands on the shoulders of her son. ‘Your father will love her too, darling. She makes you so happy, I’ve never seen you so happy.’

Draco just nodded, hearing things he already knew. You were indeed one of his only lights that brought him happiness and made him turn into a good person. Well, let’s just say you made him have a good side too.

‘You better marry her one day,’ Narcissa smiled while stroking the arms of her only son. Draco laughed and grabbed his mother’s hands.

‘Don’t worry mother, I will,’ he assured her, making her nod.

On the other side of the door, you were almost fainting. A hand clasped in front of your mouth, you silently left the door, finding the other way around immediately as the smile on your face wouldn’t fade away.

When you were in the dining room again, everyone was finally there, Draco sitting on a chair next to an empty chair. The whole table was filled with so much food, you almost lost count of the different meals.

Once you sat down, Lucius lit the candles with his wand and filled all the four glasses with some wine.

‘A toast for Draco and Y/N,’ Narcissa said, raising her glass as you followed her actions. Draco did the same and then everyone looked at Lucius, who still hadn’t raise his glass.

But after a few seconds, his mouth went open, his eyes showing some sympathy as he looked at his loving son.

‘To the beautiful, kind Y/N and my only, dear son Draco,’ he said, finally showing some of his opinion on your relationship.

You smiled, mumbling a ‘cheers’ but you were at cloud nine at the moment, so happy with this meeting.

Soon enough, Draco’s hand found yours, him squeezing your hand a little as you were smiling like a dork, happier than ever before.


Ask or feedback

anonymous asked:

Steve as Cap, passing over the shield to Sam as Cap. Temporarily or not is up to you. rsf not signed in because my tablet hates me.

Sorry about your tablet woes! D: 

It had taken nearly a year of negotiation, including a lot of punched walls and more of T’Challa’s time than they’d really had the right to ask of him. But when the final draft of the newly renegotiated accords was set on the table, it felt like it was worth it. The entire Avengers were reassembled, even Natasha, who had disappeared in disgust and refused to be found by either Tony or Steve’s side for ages. 

She’d only reappeared, perhaps intentionally, after Tony came to Steve with his peace offering: tech that could wipe out Bucky’s programming permanently, and begin work on helping him find his way through the trauma of the last seventy years. It was a slow process, but it seemed to be working. 

Tony still didn’t look like he liked the idea of being in the same room with Bucky Barnes, but he was, and Steve could accept Tony’s tolerance of Bucky if it meant Tony wasn’t actively trying to kill him. 

It was one of those things that they were going to have to dance around for a while, Steve suspected. Which just made this decision easier. 

“Before anyone signs,” Steve said, drawing the document towards himself, “I need to ask for one more change.”

Wanda rolled her eyes. Clint collapsed backward in his chair, frustrated. “I’m not calling T’Challa again!” he announced. 

“Seriously?” Rhodey asked. “Seriously?

“Steve, you approved this – “ Tony started, but Steve held up a hand.

“It’s not a legal change, just a minor nomenclature issue,” he said, flipping to the roster page. Throughout the Accords – one of the only things Clint had insisted on, weirdly – the legal language only referred to people by their callsigns. Each Avenger was only mentioned by name once, in the roster. 

Steve took out a black ink pen, drew a neat line through his name and Sam’s name, and then wrote Sam’s name next to Captain America.

“I need to not be Cap for a while,” he said quietly, initialing the change. Every head in the room turned to Sam, who grinned. 

“He asked me last night,” Sam said. “Was I gonna say no?”

Black Captain America?” Rhodey asked. Sam nodded, and Rhodey held out his fist for a dap. 

Steve looked at Tony, who was looking thoughtful.

“You could have asked for this months ago,” Tony said. “But there would have been a call for confirmation hearings. Sam would have been background checked. Media field day. So you dumped it in now at the last minute, so that it would be up to me as a representative of the Accord negotiators.” 

“Is there a problem?” Steve asked. 

Tony smiled a little. “No, just admiring how good you’re both getting at politics.” He held out his hand for the pen, then leaned across the table and initialed the change. Then he set the pen down and snapped his fingers. One of the guards at the edge of the conference room came forward with a large object in a thin canvas bag. Tony took it, undid the drawstring, and removed the shield. He looked at Steve, then passed it straight across him to Sam, who took it carefully and slid his arm into the straps, letting it hang by his side. 

“Got any first words as Captain America?” Natasha asked. 

“Yeah,” Sam said. “Are we done here? I got justice to dispense.” 

anonymous asked:

Hii hii if you could, would you do SFW oneshot of high school student bad boy nyx falling for average high student female reader. He makes subtle hints but she doesn't get it, until note drops out of his pocket and she sees it, reads it. Turns out she did like him but didn't want to get rejected so she never asked. If you could thank you very much >\\\u\\\<

A.N: Oooh, sure thing! :) Here you go! First request from my new set of requests done! I adored writing this one! <3 :D Thanks for sending this in love! As always, if you have trouble viewing under the cut, copy and paste the permalink int your mobile internet browser <3

Tagging pals: @blindbae, @alicemoonwonderland, @cupnoodle-queen, @nifwrites, @hypaalicious, @louisvuittontrashbags, @diabolik-trash-heap, @ridingchocobros, and @itshaejinju :)

You’re Kinda Cool (Nyx x Fem!Reader SFW High School AU)

Nyx Ulric was the type of student who you would expect to find loitering outside the school gates, dressed messily in his half done-up uniform one hour after the school bell had rung signalling the beginning of the school day. He wore his hair in unique braids, and his stormy blue eyes hinted at the promise of a troubled young soul.

Most people who wanted to do something good with their lives preferred to stay away from Nyx Ulric.

Keep reading

This Isn’t My Home, Anymore

Newt Scamander x Reader, ft. Tina

Author: Lil Lambie

Words: 1565

Warnings: Jealousy, kissing, angst, implied smut

Request: (Anon) newt x reader where you’re jealous of tina ??? pls make it angsty !!! and maybe reader is newt’s close friend who travels with him to america and she doesnt know why newt is so into the woman who turned him in and !?!?!??!?!!?

A/N: Done with all my Newt requests for now! I loved writing all of these and I like this angsty Newt. Let me know what you guys think! Love ya!

“Newt!” you picked up your suitcase, almost an identical to Newt’s. You pushed through the crowd and threw your arms around him. He hesitated for a moment then embraced you, pulling away to greet you with a kiss on the cheek.

“(Y/N), how was London?”

“It was great.” you said, as Newt grabbed your bag from you, using his free hand to wrap around your shoulders. You smiled at him. “Yeah, I really missed my family. It was great catching up with them. My brother is going into the major of Muggle Studies. My sister is going into Dragons. They are all growing up so fast. I just wish they would come and live at Ilvermorny.”

Newt rubbed your shoulder. “I’m sorry.” he frowned. “But at least you are home with me.”

You smiled and kissed him.

Newt pulled away.

Before either of you could explain yourselves, a woman interrupted you.

She had short styled hair, she was slender, she fixed a black round soft hat over her hair. She ran her hands over her blue jacket, only a shade lighter than Newt’s peacock blue coat. She smiled tentatively at Newt. Her eyes and face soft when she looked at Newt. Until her eyes fell upon Newt’s arm around you.

The nameless woman looked up to your face is a tense smile. She stood up a little straighter.

“Newt,” the woman laughed, “I don’t believe I’ve met your friend here.” she smiled awkwardly.

“Oh!” Newt said, springing off you. He stood between you and the woman. The awkward adorable tilt returned. Newt began to get flustered. He licked his lip and played with a button on his coat. He looked like a frightened school child.

“Newt?” the woman laughed.

Newt smiled at her and quickly nodded. “Yes, sorry. (Y/N), this is Tina. Tina this is (Y/N).” he gestured his hands across the two of you.

Tina offered a hand. You reluctantly shook it. “Goldstein?” you asked.

Tina flinched and then nodded yes, recovering with a smile. “Why, yes? How do you know that? I don’t believe I have any relation with you or your relatives. (L/N), right?”

You winced too and repeated Tina’s motion. “Yeah, how did you know?”

“Newt talks about you all the time!”

Newt smiled between the two of you and flushed red.

“Really?” you said through gritted teeth throwing a sharp look at Newt. “Tina Goldstein? The Tina Goldstein? Why, Newt talks about you all the time! I’ve heard some very interesting things about you.”

The hostility was growing between the two of you, and Newt’s anxiety and nervous tendencies grew with it. He had fluffed his hair repeatedly and nearly pulled off a button. He fiddled with the string behind the button. He avoided your eyes.

“Oh, I hope they are all good things.” Tina smiled.

“Oh. Yeah.” you grimaced.

“Well, Newt!” Tina tapped Newt on the shoulder. He broke from his anxiety and smiled at Tina.

“Y-yes?” his voice cracked.

Tina smiled. “As much as I love standing in the train station, why don’t we go home? Your friend (Y/N), can come with us.”

“Home?” you said tensely. Your jaw growing sore. Lip throbbing as you bit down on it. You dug your nails into the palm of your hands in fists. “You two live together?”

Tina smiled at you. “Yeah, a lot happened while you were in London.”

“I can see that now.” you said sarcastically.

“Well, are you coming then?” Tina said.

You started walking with her, she didn’t take a step forward. Her eyes were fixed on Newt. He was struck between the two of you. He smiled and nodded. Tina reached for his hand.

You were officially the third wheel.


Newt dropped your suitcase on a bed in a room you did not recognize. It had been redone, the walls painted and decorated differently. Because it wasn’t your room. It never was. It was the guest room. You turned around to the master bedroom and shuddered.

You had been kicked to the street.

You clenched your teeth as you popped open your trunk and threw its contents with no care.

“Make yourself at home-I guess.” Tina laughed.

“No, why don’t you make yourself at home. Because it seems like you took mine.”

Tina stayed silent.

“(Y/N)?” Newt stepped forward, catching a cloak you threw at him. He smiled at you. You breathed out and felt the tension drip out from your fingertips. He stepped closer and whispered, “Can we talk?” he looked back at Tina and smiled. “Would you mind if we had a moment of privacy? Just to catch up?”

“No, course not. Take your time.” Tina smiled, and closed the door behind her.

You were left in the guest room with Newt.

“(Y/N), please,” Newt pleaded. “Listen to me, I can explain!”

You crossed your arms and stared at him. “I’m waiting.”

“Look, Tina and I-”

“I know! The Tina Goldstein? The one who arrested you and almost got you killed? I wanted to come home right away, but I guess I didn’t because it isn’t home anymore is it? Then you stopped writing me. No more owls came. No more packages. I thought you were lost to me.”

“I-I didn’t hear from you. I lost my path, (Y/N).”

“Lost your path?! Newt, you are sleeping with the woman who arrested you! I didn’t write you, because you didn’t seem to care anymore. Your notes were smeared with ink, they weren’t your neat notes anymore. You only write quickly when you are writing about your creatures. You always take the time to write it out perfectly. It got messier and messier Newt. I should’ve stayed in London.”

“(Y/N), no please! I’m sorry. It was all miscommunication. I couldn’t live without you so I guess I was open to a different path. I wouldn’t’ve met Tina if the beasts hadn’t escaped in New York. I wouldn’t’ve fought Grindelwald! I saved lives, (Y/N). I did it because Tina helped me. She is stubborn and she needs time to warm up to you,  but please, give her a chance.”

“You want me to be friends with your replacement girlfriend?” the first tear fell from your cheek.

“No, (Y/N), no.” his voice fell weak. He took a step to you and reached his soft warm hand to your cheek. You didn’t pull away. You clenched your jaw and bit your lip trying to keep the tears inside.

“Why, Newt? Why couldn’t you have just wrote me one more time and told me. Told me it was over.”

Newt wiped away a tear with his thumb. He smiled. His eyes glossed over now. A few tears slipping out from him too.

“(Y/N), Tina and I haven’t slept together. The most we have done is hold hands and kiss once. It was a mistake. I’ve been meaning to break it off. This room is Tina’s. We don’t sleep together. We just live together sometimes.

“We work on the hunt for Grindelwald together. Tina gave you her room, because it is yours. She knew you probably wouldn’t want to jump back into things again, once you found out about us. Tina isn’t as scary as she looks. She really is a great person. A great friend.

“(Y/N), I made a mistake, a big mistake. But, please, give me another chance. I’m yours. I’ve always been. Won’t you be mine?” he smiled. “Again?”

You shook your head and let him kiss you. You pulled away and tried to hide your smile. “I’m still mad at you.”

Newt laughed. “I know. How can I make it up to you?”

“You can shut up and make up for lost time.”

Newt smirked, his head tilted, pondering the missed pleasures. He kissed you again, soft and gentle at first. A force was pulling him away. But you were pulling him in. You grabbed his scarf and yanked him forward. Forcing him closer to you. You threw the scarf off. You laid your hands over Newt’s and lead them from your cheek to your waist. You held them there and the secret lustful Newt returned.

You fell back on the bed. Newt on top of you. He pulled away for a moment to smile at you. He kissed you again. Softening. Savoring. He kissed your forehead, then your nose, your chin, and your hands. You roughed up his hair.

You pulled back.

The tilt returned and he smiled nervously. “What?”

“Nothing. I’m just enjoying this moment.” you sat up and kissed him on the nose and then the lips and laid back down. You wrapped your arms around him and pulled him to sit on his side. Your back was to his chest, his heart steady against your back. He reached for your hand and kissed your head.

“(Y/N), I love you.”

“It’s good to be home.” you smiled, squeezing his hand and kissing him on the cheek once. You didn’t need to say the L word, because he already knew it. You had just said it. But Newt was old fashioned and a gentleman.

The least you could do was say, “I love you too.”

You Left Your USB Plugged into a Computer in the Lab AU

“No mom I can’t skype tonight I… have plans,” Davey pulled his jacket tighter around himself, regretting having forgotten his mittens at home. The winter wind was whipping around him and his mom had chosen the most inopportune time to call and check up on him on a Friday night.

“What’s that sound? Is that the wind? Are you actually outside? You really are going somewhere!” She sounded thrilled that Davey might finally have made a friend to do something with besides his roommate. Not that she didn’t love Crutchie, but he preferred to stay in, especially in the winter when it was tougher for him to get around on his fake leg that never quite fit into a good pair of winter boots. Davey didn’t have the heart to tell her that the only reason he had left the safety of their dorm was because his Wi-Fi wasn’t working and he needed to work on a research paper.

“I can call you back later when I get home-” Davey began but his mom interrupted quickly.

“No don’t! Stay out as late as you want! Get into trouble, get arrested, make memories!” She said her goodbyes and hung up, like she was trying to get off the phone before Davey changed his mind and went back to watching Food Network with Crutchie. Davey breathed a sigh of relief as he finally got to the computer lab, taking quick, short steps across the ice and bursting through the door, desperate to soak in the heat.

His fingers were still defrosting as he booted up one of the computers, blowing hot air on his red skin and trying to regain some feeling in them. He dug through his backpack until he found his USB and went to jam it into the computer, stopping short when he saw another already plugged in. His blood pressure immediately began to rise, thinking about what a disaster it would be if he would’ve been the one to leave electronic academic life behind and vowed to get a pull cord so that he could attach his USB to his belt loops.

Hoping to find some indication of who this belonged to, he opened the files saved on the drive. Davey was horrified by the organizational structure, or rather lack thereof. Most of the files were all jumbled together with names like “1.png” and “new.jpeg”. There were only two folders that served as the extent of this heathen’s organizational abilities. The first was labeled “college”, and Davey opened it to find a mess more horrifying than the last, every document labeled only by the course code and a letter or number to make them different from each other. He felt his forehead beginning to sweat and resisted the urge to start organizing the files and instead checked out the other folder. This one was labeled “Etsy Orders” and was the only place where there was some semblance of neatness. Each file was labeled with someone’s name and appeared to be a combination of a request, a payment invoice, and a piece of artwork. Davey started clicking through the art pieces and was immediately taken aback - this human disaster was this good of an artist? Good enough to sell pieces online?

He clicked into the most recent file, and opened the order request. There was a note about customization of piece addressed to Jack Kelly, who he assumed was the owner of this lost piece of hardware. The payment invoice in the same folder led him to Jack’s etsy store name, which he quickly located. It was surprisingly popular and offered hundreds of different prints available for sale, as well as a “Contact Me" section where customers could request custom pieces. Davey opened the link to send the artist an email and quickly wrote to him about finding his USB in the computer lab on campus, including his phone number so Jack could contact him about returning it.

Davey went back to his paper and tried to push the artist from his mind. Sure his pieces were beautiful, but lots of people could draw, and who knows if Jack had even drawn the pieces himself, he could’ve stolen them from the internet or…

His train of thought was interrupted by his phone ringing loudly in the silent computer lab because seriously what kind of loser would be working on homework in the lab at 9:00 PM on a Friday night. Davey tried to tell himself it could wait until he was finished with his homework, but then he thought it might be Jack responding about his USB and he should probably check.

Sure enough there was a new message from an unknown number.

“Hi Davey, this is Jack, the complete idiot who left his USB in the campus lab. You have no idea how much you saved my life finding me like this. Is there any chance you’re still in the lab? I could come grab it from you now so you don’t have to hang onto it. If not, I’m free all weekend if you wanted to let me buy you a cup of coffee to express my eternal gratitude.”

Davey felt heat rising in his cheeks. He told himself to calm down, he didn’t even know what this guy looked like, or anything about him really. It was much too soon to be thinking about a repeat coffee date or how Jack could hand-design their wedding invites…

He shook his head to clear away the thoughts of Jack’s apartment - a studio flat with walls papered with art prints, every available surface covered in paints and pencils. He started to reply that he would be in the lab for another hour or two, then changed his mind - it wouldn’t hurt to bend the truth just a little

“Hi Jack, I’m so glad I got into contact with you! Unfortunately I saw your USB just as I was leaving the lab, but I could meet you tomorrow to give it back, around 10? Let me know.’

Jack responded almost immediately: “Perfect! I’ll meet you then at Mugs!”

Davey smiled, his head buzzing with thoughts of chatting with Jack in the campus coffee shop the next morning. He tried to get back into the right mindset to do his homework, but the minutes kept slipping by while he made absolutely no progress. He decided his homework could wait until tomorrow, he was working ahead anyway and hopefully the Wi-Fi would be working by then, and if he left now hopefully he could catch the end of the Harry Potter movie Crutchie had started before he left

The next morning Davey arrived at the coffee shop half an hour early. He had been up for hours, trying on outfit after outfit until the couch was completely covered in rejects and Crutchie had thrown his pillow at him, sleepily groaning at him to “just pick something and shut the lights off already!” His hair had taken even longer, mussing it up to make it look like he’d just rolled out of bed, then carefully combing it back, then starting over again as he once again changed his mind. Finally he’d given up, deciding that he needed to leave super early because, even though it was only a five minute walk to the campus coffee shop, there could be a line for a table or a sinkhole in the sidewalk or something. It had made sense until he was sitting alone in the nearly-empty lounge area, checking every thirty seconds to make sure he hadn’t forgotten Jack’s USB. As it got closer and closer to 10:00 Davey started to panic that Jack was going to stand him up. And he didn’t even know what Jack looked like! How was he supposed to find him when the morning rush was just starting to roll in…

A hand softly touching his shoulder disrupted him from his thoughts, making him jump a little. “Sorry! Sorry I didn’t mean to scare you! I’m Jack, are you Davey?”

Davey was so lost staring at the beautiful stranger in front of him that he almost forgot to respond, his mouth going dry as his eyes trailed down from Jack’s dark eyes rimmed with long lashes, to his cheeks and strong jawline, still pink from the cold, and down his arm that looked muscled even through his thick sweater to his hand still resting on his shoulder, the fingers a little stained with paint.

“Y-yes! I’m Davey. Hi!” Davey said stupidly, regretting it immediately, but Jack smiled which made Davey’s heart feel like it was growing to a bursting point.

“Hi, it’s great to meet you. I’m not kidding when I say that I owe you my life. Can I grab you a drink?”

“Sure,” Davey said, starting to get up.

“Please let me, I want to feel like I’m doing something to make this up to you. What’s your poison?”

“Peppermint Mocha, please.” Jack grinned, giving Davey a thumbs up before turning to get in line, his cheeks going a little red like he wished he wouldn’t have done that, but Davey thought it was adorable. Then again, Jack probably could’ve spilled an entire pot of coffee on Davey’s head and he still would’ve found it endearing.

Davey gave himself an internal pep talk, telling himself to calm the fuck down before Jack came back, because they were about to add hot liquid to this equation and he always got clumsy when he was nervous.

Jack returned with two steaming cups of coffee, very carefully setting them down before taking a seat across from Davey. “You really have no idea how much I owe you for this. I could buy all your coffee for the rest of your life and still be indebted to you.”

Davey laughed, taking a sip of his drink and trying not to react when it burned his tongue. “Well I looked through it a little when I found it, trying to figure out who it belonged to. The art pieces on there were incredible, I almost kept it.”

Jack blushed, ducking his head behind his mug. “It’s just a hobby, but people seem to like them, so I try to sell prints for a little extra money, a guy has to put himself through college after all.”

“Well I’m going to have to place a few orders,” Davey said, stirring his drink and waiting for it to cool off a little.

“Oh please, you can have any prints you want for free, I would’ve lost all of them if it wasn’t for you.”

“I’m sure someone would’ve returned it to you. Which reminds me, how did you know it was me when you came in?”

Jack’s face got redder as he mumbled “I might’ve looked you up on Facebook.” Davey laughed, wishing he’d had the same thought.

The two of them stayed for more than an hour, chatting about their classes and plans for Christmas break and how they couldn’t believe it was almost the end of the semester already. Eventually the coffee shop started to get crowded with students looking for a quiet place to study.

“We should probably forfeit our table,” Davey remarked, looking around at the line of people out the door eyeing up their empty mugs.

“Oh… yeah you’re probably right. Time really flies when you’re having fun!” Jack sounded a little disappointed as he grabbed their mugs and took them back to the counter, waiting for Davey to put on his jacket and following him out the door.

“Can’t forget this!” Davey handed Jack his flash drive and Jack looked horrified.

“Oh my god! I almost forgot it again!” Jack hit the heel of his hand against his forehead and took the USB. “I guess talking to a cute boy will do that to you.”
“A cute… um, a what?” Davey stammered, shifting his weight from foot to foot and trying to keep his head on straight.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, did I totally read this wrong? I just thought that you were… never mind!” Jack started to walk away but Davey caught his elbow.

“No wait! I am! I mean I’m gay, or interested, or whatever. Interested in you!” Davey’s mouth fell open when he realized what he’d said, and how idiotic he sounded. His mind was racing trying to come up with some way to save this when Jack leaned in and kissed him on the cheek.

“It was great meeting you, and thank you again for this!” Jack smiled, waving the flash drive a little before turning to walk away. “Call me sometime,” he called over his shoulder.

Davey was floating his whole walk home. He stopped at a picnic table outside his dorm, wanting to enjoy reminiscing alone before he went upstairs to be grilled by Crutchie. He tugged his phone out of his pocket, briefly wondering if it was too soon to be texting Jack already, but decided he didn’t care.

“Hey, about what you said about buying all my coffee for the rest of my life…”

Jack’s reply came a minute later: “Let’s start tomorrow :)”

angelsarenamederika  asked:

Have you ever written any works about that clean, empty train station Harry ended up in? Or rather, what that place may have looked like for other people?

Ginny woke up with a gasp that felt like sandpaper shoved down her throat. Her lungs brimmed with rock and cold water, with the thick musty smell of snake.

She inhaled again and it was softer– she blinked her eyes open as the world rearranged itself. Mildew and stone gave way to the scent of sun-warmed grass. Apple blossoms. Branches cut the sky into shards of blue. 

She had learned how to fly in this orchard. She had stolen her brothers’ brooms out of the shed and practiced when no one was watching her. She knew this view–lying on the ground, looking up–because she had laid out here in the shade on hot summer days, because she had fallen off brooms and bruised herself all over, again and again, knocked all the air out of her lungs.  Ginny sat up. 


Ginny sat up. Her mother put a mug of tea down in front of her. Ginny wobbled where she sat and clutched at the rough edge of the kitchen table. 

“Drink your tea,” said Molly. 

“Mum,” she said. “I think I’ve been hurting people.” The Burrow’s kitchen was sunlit and scrubbed clean behind Molly. 

“Of course you wouldn’t, sweetheart,” said Molly. 

Mum,” said Ginny. “There was blood on my robes." 

"We’ve all killed a few chickens in our time,” said Molly. 

“How did I get home?” She wrapped her hands around the steaming mug. It was cold against her palms, wet and gritty. There was dirt under her nails. She shivered. “I was at Hogwarts." 

"It’s not going to be easy,” Molly said. “He’ll tell you that, someday– the choice between what is right and what is easy. Isn’t that interesting? That doing the right thing is always so damn hard.” Molly put the tea kettle back on the stove. Her apron was thick beige canvas, well-used. “But you won’t really be listening. Because a boy will just have died, and you’ll be thinking about that. About whether or not he had a choice.”

“Who’s dying?” Ginny said. “Who’s going to die?" 

"No one you know well,” Molly said. “It’s alright. No one important to you. Someone very important to other people, but, of course, everyone is. And no, he won’t have had a choice. Right, or easy. But you do." 


Bill was trying to brush her hair. It was tangled at the back of her skull, matted, but his hands were very gentle. The chair she sat in creaked under her, old, in need of repairs like everything the Weasleys had ever owned. Sunlight dripped down through the leaves of the orchard. Bill had been the one who taught her to undo the lock on the broom shed door. 

"You haven’t done this since I was little,” she said. 

“You’re still little,” Bill said. His voice was younger, squeakier, and when she tipped her head back she saw his chin smooth and unstubbled, his hair still short and neat, his ear unpierced. 

“I miss you,” she said. “You’re going to leave. You’re going to go on adventures and forget to write home and forget to visit." 

"I’ll visit,” said Bill. 

“Not enough,” she said. “I’m glad you grew your hair out, though. It looks good. Mum doesn’t get it, but it looks more like you." 

Her skull was cradled in his hands, still tipped back, looking up at him. 

"You’re not really here,” she said. 

“No,” he agreed. “You’re all alone. You’re on the floor of the Chamber, can’t you tell?" 

Ginny touched her robes. They were cold and damp, sticking to her spine. Moldy water dripped from her hem onto the dry dirt of the orchard. 


"You’re just embarrassing us,” said Percy. He was fussing with his robes, picking lint off them. A sunbeam came through the kitchen window and draped itself around his shoulders. 

Ginny swallowed. “You don’t mean that.” She looked around the kitchen, but it was empty. Mum and her teapot weren’t anywhere. 

“Can you imagine how Mum and Dad will feel?” Percy said. “When it comes out their baby girl has been strangling chickens and killing Mudbloods?”

“No one died,” she whispered. “And don’t say that word." 

"C'mon, Ginevra, no one died but they were meant to. A camera, a mirror, a ghost, a puddle– the Mudbloods got lucky." 

Her whisper shrank and shrank. "Don’t say that word." 

"Mudbloods? Why? You wrote it on the wall in blood.” His face twisted, sneering, twisted and twisted– she had never seen Percy’s face skew that far. She didn’t think faces could move like that. She didn’t think they should. She squeezed her eyes shut. “You’ve been trying to kill people all year, and you haven’t even managed one,” said the thing with Percy’s voice, the voice he used to tell first years to knot their ties properly. “Embarrassing. Maybe tonight you’ll finally get it right." 

"You’re not really here,” she said. “This isn’t real. This is a dream, it’s all in my head, you’re not really here." 

"Of course it’s all in your head,” Percy said, or something that had once looked like Percy said. She wasn’t opening her eyes to see. “Why would that mean it isn’t real?”


“Welsh Greens are my favorite dragon,” said Charlie. Ginny pried her eyes open. Charlie smiled at her from across the kitchen table. Her tea was still gone. Percy was gone. The sunlight had faded to pale morning light. She was shivering. 

“I try not to play favorites,” he said. “You know, but sometimes you just gotta admit things to yourself.”

“Charlie, I think I’m dying.” She gripped the edge of the rough kitchen table and it bit into her palms. 

“They’re just so elegant,” Charlie said. “The first time I saw one fly. Do you remember? No, you weren’t born yet, I think. But Dad got suspended for a month, though Mum and Dad didn’t tell us that part–something with Lucius Malfoy–but he had a month off so we went to stay with that old friend of Mum’s in Newport. Right near the preserve. And we went out into it, and the twins kept trying to run off, and Bill spent all his time reading those adventure books he liked so much then, but we saw dragons. A Green sunning, across a gorge. One flying, almost directly over us. And I knew, right then, what I wanted to do with my life." 

"I think it was Lucius who put the diary in my textbook,” she said. “Why would he do that? Why did I write in it? Why did Tom make it? Why did I write back?" 

"See this?” said Charlie, rolling up a sleeve. Two long jagged lines of scar tissue bulged down his forearm, wrapping around it. “Poor thing got stuck in a trap and nicked me when I was getting it loose. Damned poachers." 

"Charlie, I think I hurt people.”

“And here,” said Charlie. He untucked his shirt and showed her a big shiny burn that went all up and down his leftside ribs and hip. “Healing skin,” he said. “It’s the weirdest thing.”


“We prank Filch and Mrs. Norris all the time,” said George. He was sitting in a tree in the orchard, the way the twins had used to before they got too big for the fragile branches. “But Merlin’s beard, Gin, never like that." 

Ginny sat cross-legged in the grass, picking stalks and trying to weave a crown. "Do you think Mrs. Norris’ll be okay?" 

"And Justin?” said George. “He’s a little twerp, but my god. We could have helped you put cayenne in his oatmeal or something, come on." 

"It wasn’t me,” said Ginny. “I didn’t mean to." 

"Okay, was it not you, or did you not mean to?” said George. “Those are two different excuses.”


“Never trust something if you can’t see where it puts its brain,” Arthur said. Her father was under the car. She couldn’t see him from the mid-chest, up. She couldn’t see his face.


“You know it’s not your fault, right?” Ron was lying on his back on his bed and she was laying belly-down on the floor, coloring. The ghoul in the attic banged pipes– angry, desperate sounds resounding like they were in an empty, vaulted space that swallowed up echoes and spat them back. 

“I wrote back,” she said. 

“Yeah, and? Plenty of people have penpals. That’s all you did. You were lonely. Don’t you think I get it? We’re the last ones, you and me. The point where people have seen so many Weasley kids they stop bothering to learn our names. I know.”

“I should’ve known,” she said. She rolled over onto her back, her hair tangling with her colored pencils. It sounded like the ghoul had maybe broken a pipe– a violent hissing shook the room. “Never trust something if you can’t see where it keeps its brain." 

"That’s stupid,” said Ron, sitting up, leaning over so she could see the profile of his long nose, his flop of red hair. There was a spreading stain on the ceiling above him.

Dad says that." 

"Well Dad’s stupid sometimes. What does where something keeps its brain have to do with anything? Somebody put that diary in your stuff. Someone made that diary– and they kept their brain right in their skull, just like us." 

"So it’s ‘never trust anyone’?” Hissing, snarling, metal on stone, the drip of water. Her skull pressed into the hard floor, too heavy to lift. The noise rose and rose, but she could hear Ron’s voice just fine. 

He shrugged, lanky shoulders bobbing. “I dunno. Maybe it’s 'do your best.’ I dunno. You’re eleven. Why do you have to be thinking about stuff like this?”

“You’re twelve. Why are you?”

Yeah, well, I helped fight You-Know-Who in my first year." 

Ginny curled her fingers into her dark robes. She had had to throw away the ones she’d killed the roosters in. She’d never learned Mum’s cleaning spells well enough for that. 

"You could, too,” Ron said. The stain on the ceiling kept spreading, white plaster going dark. “You did. Fight You-Know-Who, your first year.” Water dripped onto her forehead. 

“How?” she said. “I helped him. Tom was in my head, my hands– He was–" 

"You tried to tell people.”

“I should’ve made them listen,” she said. 

“You can’t make people listen,” said Ron. 

“What can I do, then?” she said. 

“Wake up,” he said. “Wake up, wake up, come on, Ginny, wake up, Harry why is she so cold.”


“I’m so scared, Mum,” she said. The tea was steaming but her hands were shaking against cold ceramic. “I think I’ve been hurting people." 


"You’ve always been able to tell us apart,” said George. The leaves on the trees rustled behind him. “We appreciate that, you know? Like, there’s some pranks we can’t play with you around, but, still, it’s nice." 


"You can go,” Percy said, kindly, and Ginny shivered and shivered. “You’ve always wanted to. You’ve been dreaming about running all your life. Just taking a broom and going." 


Apple blossoms filled the air. Dry grass tickled her cheek, the curve of her calf. Branches cut through the sky– blue, broad, endless. She could feel cold, rotting water seeping into her robes, her socks, swallowing her hands. 


Bang. The ghoul in the attic was hitting pipes again. Hissing. Shouts. 


Bang. Swinging his feet, knocking his heels against the table legs, Fred sat on the rickety table in the broom shed. He trimmed the stray broken twigs from the tail of his Cleansweep, whistling, and he didn’t look up. 

The door of the shed hung open behind Ginny, the sun at her back, the smell of apple blossoms in the air. 

"If you’re going to steal our brooms,” Fred said. “You could at least help with maintenance, you know." 

"Why are you the last one?” she said. He had stopped whistling, but the sound kept going, ricocheting off the walls. “Why weren’t you with George?”

“We don’t do everything together,” said Fred. He looked up from the broom and he was smiling. “He’s going to do a lot of things without me, one day.”

“Where am I?” she said. “What is this? This isn’t home." 

"Isn’t it?” Fred said. He was smiling and she wanted him to stop. “You see, Ginny, you get a choice. Not everyone gets a choice, but you do. This is a place where people wait,” he said. “This is a place where they get to decide. To go forward or to go back." 

"What if I don’t want to go back?”

“Then you take one of these brooms, Gin, and you just go.” He stood up, holding the broom loosely in his hand. “You used to dream about it, remember? When no one was paying attention to you, or when they were paying too much, or when Ron broke your favorite porcelain doll. You thought about sneaking out here, and taking a broom, and just going. The first time you snuck out here and stole my broom, that’s what you meant to do. Run away. Find a circus, or an adventure, a new life.”

“But I came back." 

He shrugged. "You ran out of the cookies you’d packed. And it got cold." 

"It’s getting colder,” she said. “Fred, I’m so cold." 

"You won’t get cold, if you go. You won’t run out of anything.”

“What’ll I find?” The sky out the window was blue. It went forever. 

“I don’t know, kiddo. Not yet.”  


Bill was brushing her hair in the orchard. It didn’t hurt, but she knew it should. She tipped her head back. The sky was blue. She let him hold the weight of her skull in his two big hands, his rings digging into her scalp. 

Charlie was telling her about dragons. Percy was picking lint off her shoulder and telling her to get some sleep. George was picking dead leaves off the apple tree and dropping them on her head. 

Ron laid on his back in his bedroom and water dripped down from the ceiling. The ghoul was shrieking, the pipes were hissing. The stain spread and spread and she watched it go. She couldn’t lift her head. 


“You have a choice,” Arthur said. He had oil on his cheek from fixing a car he swore he never meant to drive. 

“It’s getting colder." 

"I know, baby." 


The handle of Fred’s broom was trapped between them, digging into her ribs, bruising her collarbone. She twisted her hands in the back of his shirt and buried her face in the front of it. Fred was taller than he should be. His chin was bristly with a beard he shouldn’t be able to grow this well, not yet. 

"I miss you,” she said. “You’re going to leave." 

"Are you?” he said. 

She gripped the back of his shirt tight. She could smell the orchard through the open door. She was crying. Her tears were the only warm things in the whole world. “No,” she whispered. 

“It won’t be easy,” Fred said, his chin pressed to the top of her head, because he was taller, he was so much taller than he should be. She cried and the stain spread through his shirt. “But it will be worth it." 


Apple blossoms and old stone. Snakes in the dry grass. This was where she learned to fly. She had taught herself. 

"Wake up,” said Ron. “Harry, why is she so cold? Wake up, Ginny, you’ve got to wake up." 

The blue sky was cut into a hundred shattered pieces. 

She opened her eyes. 

The RFA/V and Saeran: Love Letters

o boi


  • …Let’s be honest this guy is probably great at writing love letters
  • I mean he gets so many from all of his fans
  • He’s probably read so many that he just sort of
  • Gained incredible Love Letter Writing Skill via osmosis
  • What I wouldn’t give for that tbh
  • There are a few awkward situations where he remembers, after writing a sentence, he remembers that you don’t have “pearlescent locks of silver as bright as the moon”
  • …Sweetheart, that’s you again
  • “…Well I mean who can blame me”
  • …Anyways
  • At some point he looks over his work with pride
  • …But then he realized that basically the only thing he talked about was how you looked
  • Which was well written and definitely heartfelt, but you’re so much more than your body to him and the fact that this is the only thing he wrote about is upsetting to him
  • So he sets it aside for future reference
  • And gets to work again
  • …Unfortunately very few of his fans ever wrote about his personality, so he doesn’t have as much skill in that department
  • But you can tell when you actually end up reading the letter 
  • that this part about your kindness and generosity overflowing from your heart to warm the people around you
  • It definitely has a different style than the flowery, delicate language the rest of the letter has
  • It feels sort of…. warm, and touches you more than anything else in that letter
  • Yeah
  • That’s all Zen, none of the purple prose his fans like to send, and straight from the heart


  • Oh God please no
  • Okay so he’s always dreamed of having someone to send love letters to
  • And it’s Valentine’s Day
  • All the couples at his school are curled up on benches together
  • Exchanging their pink and red envelopes
  • Now is his chance
  • So he sits down to write one to you and
  • …I don’t know if any of you have ever actually written a love letter, but it is…. very hard
  • How do people do this
  • Fifteen minutes in
  • “Dear MC,
    I ”
  • No, that’s seriously it
  • He has so much he wants to put in the letter, don’t misunderstand, just
  • He’s a Veterinary Science major, not a Creative Writing major
  • He went to  Creative Writing club once and never again
  • (It’s okay bby I understand your pain)
  • He’s still at it when you get home
  • But he’s so focused on what one says in a love letter that he doesn’t hear you come in
  • You realize what he’s trying to do pretty quickly and sit on the other side of the room so that he has some privacy
  • He has his back turned to you so it’s pretty easy
  • “…Like… What would the layout of a love letter be? Is there a specific flow to this?”
  • “IDK hon, maybe you should look it up”
  • He falls out of the chair
  • He’s honestly so ashamed that he doesn’t know how to write you a love letter, tbh he feels sort of second rate, and he tells you so
  • “No- No, it’s more than okay, I don’t need love letters, I love you with or without them, besides, I can’t write love letters either(literally no one finds this easy, you’re lying if you say otherwise), and I know you don’t think I’m second rate”
  • He’s so relieved tbh
  • “Does… Does that mean I can stop?”
  • “Of course, just tell me what you like about me to my face if you really want to get that sentiment across, I promise it’s easier”
  • “…I really, really like your face.”
  • “…”
  • “…?”
  • “…I really like your face too. ^^’”


  • “Some of the best poetry I’ve ever seen is from Zen’s musicals-”
  • BABE
  • “So maybe if I go off of that-”
  • STOP
  • Okay but let’s be serious here, Jaehee is probably decent at love letters
  • She’s so serious all the time, it would bleed into her writing so
  • For one, it’s very obvious that everything is heartfelt, but…
  • …She reads over it, and it seems so robotic to her
  • Love letters are supposed to be poetic, and sweet, and while she means everything she said
  • It’s just so straightforward, she feels like there’s no romance
  • So she puts away her original letter in her drawer, and asks for help
  • Guess who she goes to
  • Guess
  • “Well, Jaehee, see, the problem here is that you have too many sharp edges here–you can read through some of my fan letters for idea, if you want! ;)”
  • Oh boy
  • here we go
  • It takes her a while, but eventually she finds a set of sweet things to put in the letter and goes from there
  • She brings it back, proud as can be, and sets it in the drawer next to hers
  • …And then, on Valentine’s day
  • She goes to give it to you and
  • She picks up the wrong envelope
  • She realizes her mistake when she sees you open it, and she realizes that this letter is considerably shorter than the other one
  • She sort of panics, and is about to stop you, and goes to grab the other one when
  • …She hears a sniffle
  • “Oh my God… Jaehee, this is the most heartfelt thing I’ve ever read… Thank you so much…”
  • ….What
  • She’s genuinely shocked
  • “But… But that’s the one I wrote without Zen’s help”
  • “Are you kidding me? You didn’t need  Zen’s help, this is incredible on its own. I love you so much.”
  • …The other letter finds its way into the trash where it belongs


  • Tbh the man probably writes you love letters on a near daily basis
  • Probably not like long, extensive love letters, just like
  • “Take care of yourself today. I’ll see you when I get home from work, my goddess” or something like that
  • Short and sweet
  • It kind of comes naturally I mean he grew up in a rich family that could afford expensive tutors I do not doubt that he took some kind of expensive creative writing classes
  • And probably hated it but
  • Considering how he talks about Elizabeth it obviously stuck
  • But when Valentine’s day comes up, he’s torn because
  • for one, he wants to get you everything because you’re worth it but
  • You don’t care for the material things, all you really want is for him to be there with you
  • And while he can definitely do that
  • C’mon, he has to get you something, that’s what couples do
  • He’s kind of at his wit’s end a week before Valentine’s Day
  • If he were to plan something big, now would be the time to start
  • Then he comes to the awkward conclusion of “Oh, Jaehee’s a woman, and what’s more, she’s a friend of MC, surely she’ll have some idea of what she might want”
  • Why would you ask this of her
  • But after watching so many of Zen’s more romantic musicals, she has a few ideas
  • “No, Assistant Kang, I’m not standing outside her window and serenading her–we live on the top floor, she wouldn’t be able to hear me even if I screamed, and I don’t intend on risking my life by standing on the windowsill.”
  • “…That’s fair”
  • Eventually, she suggests a love letter, and he loves the idea
  • Okay,  I lied, writing love letters is easy for one person
  • It’s just… written and done in about 15 minutes
  • He almost feels like it was way too easy
  • …Well, it wouldn’t hurt to have a calligrapher write it out to make it pretty
  • …In gold ink
  • …With rose petals pressed into the stationary
  • …and gilded
  • …Maybe it would be neat to press a few itsy bitsy diamonds into the paper to look like dewdrops? 
  • Jumin stop
  • Okay but seriously you’re both happy with this
  • You get something sentimental and heartfelt
  • And Jumin gets to spend a ton of money on you–but in an extremely subtle manner so you’re not all 
  • *cue Jumin’s mocky falsetto voice* “Jumin I don’t need you to buy me a ton of stuff mkay” “Yeah whatever dear it’s not like that’s how I express my affection or anything nope”
  • Jumin is definitely not bitter that you don’t want him to buy you the world
  • not
  • at
  • all
  • :)))


  • Ooh my God
  • We kind of saw this in the Valentine’s After Ending but
  • He probably doesn’t write a singular love letter
  • He probably writes several little notes and leaves them all over the house where he knows you’ll find them
  • What can he say
  • Go big or go home amirite
  • First and foremost: Soooooo much cheesiness
  • ur boi is gonna turn you lactose intolerant with the sheer amount of cheese that letter’s forcing on you 
  • Second: pUNS
  • You open up the silverware drawer
  • “All this silverware, and you’re still the best little spoon”
  • You go to get in the car and on the gear shift is a note
  • “I’ll never BRAKE your heart, valentine… lolol”
  • You go to open up the spice cupboard, and sitting on top of the cornstarch
  • “Daisies are white, and roses are thorny, and when I think of you, I get kind of…. you guessed it, corny, lololololol ;)”
  • Why
  • Make sure you have a wall to hit your head against nearby
  • You’re scared to look in your underwear drawer
  • Third: You do find a few that are…. very very serious actually
  • Like, you open your wallet to get out your credit card for an online purchase and
  • Out falls another note
  • “MC, in my darkest moments, you’ve been my light–you saved my life, turned it around, and changed me forever. I’ll never even consider forgetting about that. I want to spend every waking moment with you, reminding you how much you mean to me. Even if that means spending every breath I have in me professing my love, it still won’t be enough, my beautiful angel.″
  • …That’s probably the one that made you cry tbh
  • What? Crying? No, definitely not
  • You collect all of them and put them in a box to look at forever
  • You may or may not have used a few of those cheesy pick up lines on him from time to time
  • And he can’t even groan because he used them first


  • Okay so he my be blind but
  • he’s not completely blind
  • But he can only write for a little while before he needs to stop
  • as evidenced by his time in the chatrooms
  • So he starts months in advance
  • Like, it’s November and he decides it might be time to get that paper out so he can make sure there’s time to edit, make it pretty, etc.
  • …It’s probably a good thing that he does because this thing is less a letter
  • and more a novella
  • it’s just that
  • there’s so much he wants to say
  • At one point he finally breaks down and asks Jumin for help though when he realizes his handwriting is really only legible to him
  • And of course, Jumin has immaculate handwriting for whatever reason
  • …He’s not entirely comfortable transcribing the whole thing
  • Especially the more… ah…
  • Personal parts…
  • “…Do… Do you really need me to write this particular part about…”
  • “Yes.”
  • “…Are you sure?”
  • “Absolutely.”
  • “…All… Right…” *continues transcribing, face scarlet*
  • Poor Jumin
  • He can’t look at you the same way for a month and you have no idea why
  • When you finally read it, you’re almost knocked off your feet
  • That’s…. that is a lot of love
  • This is probably the most incredibly sentimental thing you’ve ever read
  • You’re probably in tears by the end
  • ….Although you do recognize Jumin’s handwriting
  • And
  • Considering some of the more explicit parts
  • …You now understand why he’s been uncomfortable around you
  • You… definitely understand
  • And truthfully while you feel bad for him
  • You are also just so incredibly happy that your Jihyun has someone in his life that’s willing to transcribe the more 
  • explicit 
  • parts of his love life in abstract detail onto paper for him
  • …Sorry, Jumin


  • What
  • “You… write letters to people to tell them you love them?”
  • “Isn’t…. Isn’t that supposed to be what talking to them is for?”
  • “I don’t… I don’t understand… I didn’t mean to make you feel like I don’t love you… Oh God, I do, I’m sorry I don’t say it as much as I could, I’ll try-”
  • NO
  • Let’s be honest he’s not going to write a love letter as a first resort
  • “Okay, they don’t want anything as a gift, They want to stay in, ah… I’m completely out of ideas.”
  • It’s Saeyoung that suggests it and
  • At first he laughs so hard
  • “Yeah……….. no”
  • But after crossing out every other option
  • “…………….Am I really going to…….”
  • The answer is yes, yes he is
  • He’s blushing furiously the entire time he’s writing it
  • It takes a few days to finish, because he keeps getting so flustered that he has to take breaks
  • Like, he’ll have to have a milk jug full of ice water he’s chugging it so fast
  • He hopes to God that you never walk in while he’s writing it
  • He’s so embarrassed the cutie omg
  • He never edits/proofreads it, he just shoves it in a drawer so that he’ll never have to look at it again
  • At least until he gives it to you
  • He’s still blushing and it’s the cutest thing
  • This is probably the best Valentine’s Day gift you could get
  • Not the letter, although that’s cute as hell and just as tsundere as your boyfriend
  • Just
  • Tomato face
  • OMG You’re so cute
  • If you had known this is all it would take to turn your boyfriend into a blushing mess you would have demanded one yourself ;)
{ at ease // lafayette x reader }

period: 1700s, revolutionary era

no trigger warnings–some angst + then fluff

prompt: How about an imagine where reader is captured by the british forces because they know laf’s in love w/ her and threathen to kill her if laf doesnt back out of the war but he and his men ambush them and get her back

a/n: thank you to the anon for this prompt! xx

French used:

mon coeur - my heart

mon ami - my friend

monsieur - mister

“Je ne le mérite pas. S'il vous plaît” - “I’m not worth it. Please -”

chérie - sweetheart

“Pas de temps à perdre, chérie.” - “We have to hurry, sweetheart.”

merci - thank you

Je t’aime - i love you

You had just received another letter from Lafayette, your love who was away fighting in a war for the colonies. You admired his bravery, courage, and determination. Who else would think to join the fight for a country that they didn’t even belong to? It came down to being a fight against an unruly oppressor. He felt it was important to help prevent that.

He had first told you about the fight in the colonies back when you were still citizens of France. It was the talk of France at all of the gatherings. Your husband’s interest peaked each time he heard of the fight. Eventually, his curiosity grew and his want to join the fight grew more and more. 

He had finally prepared to leave, after having written back and forth with General Washington for weeks. You feared for his safety, insisted there was another way to help (”Why not just send more funds and weapons, mon coeur?”), but he wouldn’t be satisfied unless he was on the front lines. After some pleading, you made a compromise–he could go to the colonies and fight so long as you would be able to go with him.

Keep reading

Of Dust and Irony

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Reader
Summary: Remus happens to visit the Reader’s antiquarian, but when he is stuck there during a storm, he finds what he was looking for, even though in a different way than he might have expected it.
Word count: 2666
A/N: This is my submission for Fanfic of the Year 2017, that you got to choose the pairing and an object of. I hope you enjoy and I’d be incredibly glad if you would leave some feedback.

Keep reading

Just (not)meant to be together | Jughead x Reader | Part 1

Summary: Every story has two sides, just like every story has a beginning and the end. 

Words: 2134 (I  know, (not)sorry)

Warnings: Angst and Fluff I’m bad person

A/N(IMPORTANT): Hi everyone! I’m really sorry that I didn’t post lately. You know - finals. Only two more weeks and I will be back and I will publish stories more often.  But the third part of “I don’t remember”  will be released in next week (it might change but for now it’s certain). Thank you so much for all your messages and comments! I’m so happy that you like my stories. (Thanks for 377 followers!) Right now I’m writing a requested story, so don’t be afraid to send me requests (it don’t have to be Jughead x reader). Also, few people ask me about the tag list to I don’t remember and of cause I will create one, so If you want to be on it (or on the tag list for this series or all my stories) just let me know.
This series is an experiment.  The plot by them self isn’t but the construction is. As you will see (if you read it), there are two timelines, two points of view, two “beginning”, but one is the actual end of the story.
So please give me feedback how you like it.
Now the important part: I have dyslexia so forgive me for my grammar, because I’m trying to write correctly, but it does not always work. So I’m sorry again.
Feel free to send my any requests, asks. The masterlist will appear today.

(Y/N) - Mar. 24/25

The decorative plate smashed on the wall next to his head. I missed. He was shocked. I reached for a mug on the bedside cabinet.

“(Y/N) listen to me! It’s not like that” he shouted but he took a step back.

“Why?!” I couldn’t see his face, my vision was blur because of the flowing tears “So you didn’t cheat on me for 3-4 months!”

“I didn’t!”

“Really? I am not stupid Jughead!”

“You were seeing with Archie!”

“Oh don’t change the subject!”

“Why not (Y/N)?!”

“Did you or did you not cheat on me Jughead?” I said and I stepped forward.

“Get out!”  I took one more step. I felt the pain.

“(Y/N) you are bleeding!” I looked down and I saw the increasing bloodstain on my rug under my foot. I stepped on the sharp piece of the decorative plate.

“Fuck,” I said and I sat on my bed. Jughead ran up to me.

“Don’t you fucking dare to touch me!”

“But (Y/N)…”

“Leave my house!” He didn’t move

“Get out of my house Forsythe Jones and don’t you even come back!” I shouted. He was shocked, that was the first time I ever used his real name. I didn’t care I wanted do hurt him.

“(Y/N)…” His voice was a whisper almost too quiet to hear it. I wiped the tears. I saw that he was crying.

“Get out! You are nothing to me! I never really loved you anyway.” I said with the emotionless voice. I was looking right into his eyes. That words broke him. If he only could see how much saying this big lie hurt me.

I stood up and opened the door. I didn’t care about my foot, about the bloodstains. That pain was nothing compared to the pain in my heart.
He walked to me and looked into my face. He was looking for something, for any sing of emotions, but I forced myself not to show any. When he walked out I closed the door and waited till I heard that he closed front door.

I went to the bathroom and found the first aid kit. I bandaged my foot and went back to my room. I sat on my bed.
I started crying. I thought that I will never stop. I cried and cried so long that no more tears left in me. Then I stood up and opened the window. I saw my small garden with an old swing. The sun was slowly rising covering everything in the golden glow.

Outside everything was the same. But for me the world was different. I felt different. In my world was a big hole that could never be repaired.

Maybe some people are just not meant to be together, but then why at first they think that they are? I thought and started crying again.
Jughead - Aug. 27

“May I sit here?” I heard the girl’s voice

“If you have to,” I said not moving my eyes from my screen.


I expected that she will start a very annoying conversation, but she didn’t say a word. I finished typing the sentence and I looked at her. God! She was beautiful! She had (Y/H/L) (Y/H/C) hair tied back. She put the end of the pen to her coral lips. Her eyes were concerned on the notebook was filled with neat handwriting. She slowly put a pen to the page and wrote few words, then again she moved the pen to her lips. Her eyes met mine. Fuck I was starting at her.

“What are you writing?” I asked.

“Most people start with the “hey, what’s your name,” she said and smiled. God! She has a nice smile.

“Here you go. Enjoy” Pop put a big milkshake in front of the girl. It had two strains in it. Well, it was “big milkshake”.

“You seriously going to drink that all of your own,” I asked surprised.

“Well, when I said "big” I didn’t mean that big. In most of the places like this “big” means one normal glass”, she said looking at her milkshake with admiration.

“Welcome to Pop’s where “big” means for two people” Fuck did I actually said that? Now she most likely thinks that I am dumb.

“Well that’s means…” she took pause and looked at me smiling. “I will have a proper portion of amazing milkshake for myself,” she said laughing “(Novel kind)”

“What?” I asked Yup even dumber

She rolled her eyes and smirked, “I’m writing a novel about (plot). How about you what are you writing?”

“I’m writing about the mystery of 4th July death. Wait, did you heard about Jason Blossom? ”

“No, I just moved here. But that’s interesting”

“I could tell you what I know” Really? How it is possible that I said that?

“Yeah I would love to,” she said and closed her notebook

“Do you want “milkshake for two people”?“ she asked and moved the glass to the centre of the table.

I closed my laptop.

"Jughead Jones the Third”

“(Y/N)(Y/L/N) the First” she laughed and we shook hands

I took a sip of the (strawberry/vanilla/chocolate) milkshake. It wasn’t my the best flavour, but I didn’t care.
(Y/N) - Mar. 24 

The cold wind made all tears disappeared. The street lamps covered the empty street in golden light.
I was walking in the night, trying to bring back all good memories but at the same time, I tried to let them go.
I should take a coat. The had goosebumps.

The bright red neon made me smile. I felt the familiar warm feeling inside me. I definitely needed a milkshake. I walked through the building and I saw some kissing couple. They happiness made me sad so I  looked away. I put my hand on the handle. But then I looked at the couple and my heart stopped.

The couple broke apart quickly.

“(Y/N)! It’s not…” His beanie was gone. I saw it on the ground, probably it slipped from his head when the girl put her fingers into his hair.
I felt that the tears started to flow again.

“So this is how you had been busy tonight?” my voice was shaky. I started to get nauseous.
I looked at the girl - it was Betty. I closed my eyes. I prayed that it was only a dream.

“(Y/N) I can explain, it’s not..” she said. One of the few people I really trusted, stabbed me in the back.

“How long?” The tears made my vision blur. “You know what. I don’t want to know”
Jughead didn’t look in my eyes.

I turned around and walked away.
The most painful thing was that he didn’t stop me. He let me go.
Jughead - Aug. 28

“I tried to order a milkshake, but Pop told me that I shouldn’t” I heard (Y/N)’s voice next to my ear. I felt the shiver run through my body. The sense of here perfume was so beautiful.

“Most people start with the "Hey”“

She laughed and sat in front of me.
Pop appeared with a big (vanilla/chocolate/strawberry - different that last time) milkshake - my favourite. Maybe I shouldn’t buy it. Now I looked like a frick.

"Thanks,” She said but she wasn’t looking at Pop. Did I just imagine that she was looking at me? Wait it was natural that she thanks me. I smiled, but my heart was biting faster.

She got her notebook out from her bag.
Then she slowly moved the milkshake closer to her at took a sip. Did she really looked into my ey….. O fuck I was steering this whole time. I felt that I started to blush. Fuck.

“Do you like it?” I said trying to cover my behaviour.
She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.
“I figured out that since you are new in town you should try all flavours”  Fuck stop talking.

“Jughead Jones the Third I see what you are doing here,” She said without a smile. I fucked it. I shouldn’t open my mouth. “There are 3 tastes, so that means we will meet next time” She smirked and rolled her eyes again.

I breathed a sigh of relief.
“We will?” I said too quickly.

“Well… We will have to see” She winked.
(Y/N) - Mar. 24 

Everything wasn’t like it supposed to be. How we get here? What happened to the nice boy with the beanie and the (Y/H/C) girl who met at Pop’s Diner.
I steel was felting his kisses on my lips, but that wasn’t HIS kisses. I took my phone and searched for a conversation with Jughead. Where was the last time I messaged him?

Mar. 19, 17:05 PM
Romeo: I will call you back

Mar. 14, 15:02 PM
Me: I’m busy I can’t talk now

Mar. 10, 16:03 PM
Me: I can’t tonight

Mar. 5, 9:31 AM
Me: Sure

Mar. 5, 07:05 AM
Romeo: Can we reschedule our date I have something to do.

Mar. 3, 00:21 AM
Me: Hey, sorry I totally forget

Mar. 1, 22:46 PM
Me: Where have you been tonight?

I felt the tears in my eyes. I scrolled the messages up.

Jan. 3, 19:05 PM
Romeo: Turn around

Jan. 3, 19:04 PM
Me: I’m at Pop’s

Jan. 3, 19:03 PM
Romeo: Where are you?

Jan. 3, 19:01 PM
Me: Shut up, I miss you

I started crying. I cried and cried. I needed to see him. I needed this back.

Mar. 24, 19:47 PM
Me: I miss you…

I waited .

Mar. 24 19:51 PM
Romeo: I’m busy

Mar. 24 19:52 PM
Me: Most people start with the “Hey”

Mar. 24 19:55 PM
Romeo: I can’t talk right now (Y/N)

The tears started to flow again. I rolled on my bed. What happened to us?.
Jughead - Aug. 29

I knocked at her window. It was hard to climb using only one hand. I prayed that this ladder was strong enough. I saw a silhouette of (Y/N) when she stood up from her bed. She was saying the truth when she texted that she was sick. She opened the window.

“How the fuck did you get a ladder?”

“Most people start with the "Hey”“

"Hey Romeo”

“Hello Juliet, can I come in?”

“I have to think about that,” She said but she moved “What’s this?”

“I figured that since you can’t go to Pop’s tonight it will come to you”

“I hope that it will use the front door, but I don’t think it will fit into the door-frame”
I laughed and she took the box out of my hand. I crawled into her room.

“You know that I have a front door, right?”

“Yeah, but the ladder gives better effect” She rolled her eyes. I opened the box. She looked at it with admiration.

“Pop did a great job packing it! Did you tell him that you will climb to my window?”

“Something like that”

“Is that big (vanilla/chocolate/strawberry - different that the other two times) milkshake? Jug I’m sick! I don’t want to infect you”

“The tradition needs to be continued. And you will not infect me. I never get sick”

She wasn’t sure.

“If you don’t want to I can take this and THIS away”

“Is that (your favourite cake)? Oh god I hate you and love you at the same time” She laughed, but it turned into a cough. I took the glass of water from the night shelf and gave to her. Love you?

She drank it.

“Okay you definitely need to go to bed,”  I said and pushed her lightly forward it. She sighed and sat on the bed. She made a place next to her and I sat on it. God this bed was so comfortable. Where was the last time I slept on the real bed?

I put two strains into the milkshake and we both took a sip. It was good, not as good as (vanilla/chocolate/strawberry - the second flavour) but definitely better that (vanilla/chocolate/strawberry - the first flavour).

“I think that this one should be our flavour” (Y/N) said my thoughts out loud.

“You didn’t like the first one, which I loved…”

“Now it’s not…” She didn’t let me finish

“I didn’t like the second which you loved, so I think this is some kind of compromise. What are you think?”

“I love this idea”

“Good so official (vanilla/strawberry/chocolate - the third) is our milkshake Jughead Jones the Third”

“I totally agree (Y/N) (Y/L/N) the First”

Mysterious Photos Returned to Schloss Rüdenhausen

The German Embassy in Washington recently received 17 old photos of an unidentified castle in Germany, along with a letter asking for help in returning the photos to the castle owner. The photos were mailed in by the son-in-law of an American lieutenant who was stationed in Germany at the end of the Second World War and occupied a German castle for part of his time there.

“These photographs were in the possession of my father-in-law,” the letter said. “He died April 2016 and my wife (his daughter) and I are now able to return these.”

The German Embassy took the search for the unidentified German castle to social media, posting photos and asking followers if they recognized the castle in the photos. Within 24 hours, a Reddit user correctly identified the castle as Schloss Rüdenhausen in Bavaria. The photos, which were allegedly taken from a photo album in the castle during the war, were returned to the family Castell-Rüdenhausen, which continues to own - and live in - the castle today.

“I never would have thought that this would have gotten into the hands of one of the owners and that he recognized the rooms,” the son-in-law of the American lieutenant said in an interview. “My wife and I were very surprised and pleased. I thought this might end up in some archivists’ cabinet in Berlin somewhere. Knowing that the photos made it to the owner (…) Actually I’d be even happier knowing that they’d be put back into the empty slots of the photo album that they came from.”

The photos were likely taken from Castle Rüdenhausen in the year 1944 or 1945. At the time, the castle was occupied by an American unit. Declassified American documents show that the 13th century medieval castle served as both a storage facility for art during World War II and also as temporary housing for American soldiers after the war. The father-in-law of the man who wrote the Embassy had served as a lieutenant during the war. The young lieutenant was a so-called “90-day-wonder”, which was a term to describe young men who graduated from high school and became officers in just 90 days. When the American lieutenant landed in Normandy towards the end of the war, he was just 20 years old. In the weeks that followed, he made his way from France to Belgium and ultimately, Germany. But reflecting back on his wartime years, the former lieutenant could not confirm with certainty where the castle was.

 "At that point we never knew what headquarters he was at,“ his son-in-law said. "I didn’t even know if the photos were taken in Germany or Belgium. We suspected Germany. He said he remembered seeing all the sausages hanging in the shops on Christmas day - which I also thought was surprising considering the scarcity of things at the time.”

“When I saw the pictures I thought, this is really neat,” he continues. “My wife and I had assumed that these were pictures that he took, which is strange because they didn’t carry around cameras. It wasn’t until about a year before he passed that he told my wife and I that he took the photos from a photo album in the castle.”

The lieutenant’s son-in-law suspects that his father-in-law took the photos from the castle as a memory - to show others where he was during the war.

This is not, however, the first known case where items are being returned to Castell-Rüdenhausen.

In 2014, the son of a different American lieutenant contacted the family Castell-Rüdenhausen, stating that his father had a valuable painting that came from the castle. He plans to travel to Castle Rüdenhausen in September of this year to return the painting.

Manto Graf von Castell-Rüdenhausen, the brother of the current owner of the castle, said that receiving the photos is exciting for him and his family.

“We of course were delighted, and it is also exciting for us because we know very little about the castle’s history from this time period,” he said in an interview. His father, Siegfried Fürst zu Castell-Rüdenhausen, was the owner of Castle Rüdenhausen in the post-war period. Manto Graf remembers growing up in the castle as a child. He said that living in the castle was not much different than living in a large house, since it served solely as a residence. He said the art on the walls has not changed over the years. The walls are filled with paintings from the Netherlands, which is due to the fact that his father, Siegfriend Fürst, was married to a Dutch woman. Aside from minor decorative changes, the castle looks largely the same today as it did during the post-war period. Manto Graf’s brother, Fürst Otto zu Castell-Rüdenhausen - the eldest living son - currently resides in the castle, while Manto Graf lives in a house next door. The castle continues to serve as a private residence for the eldest son and is not open for tours. It is the oldest castle still in use as a residence for family members of the House of Castell, a noble German family line dating back to the 11th century.

Twin (Kenny Omega Imagine)

Kenny x Reader
Fluff af, some sexual humor. For @omegamanx @okadas
~1400 words

  • A Thanksgiving trip to meet the parents.

     Tagged; @theelitevillian @spiteandsparkles @daddy-slug @gritsnanarchy @cynda-kiwi @alabastergladiator @thehardyboyz @spooptaculargragon @tranquilogringo @rubyriots @omegamanx @thyestean-feast @squirrel666@cesaros-smile @even-the-losers @elitesuperkicks  @lip-sync @baroncorn @paradoxical-opheliac @msgem @vampy-android @devittslegos @wrasslin-x @trainwreqk @wwe-blog-2017 @livingthestrongstyle @tatyanawaka @shadow-of-wonder @kurominonsense @kelstenkiara @sietefinns @castielscamander @oraclegazes @socyd @lindseyrae20 @eliza-kitty-cat @daintymissdevitt @princess3733 @nickysmum1909 @50shadesofadamcolebaybay @raphaelvavasseur @alexahood21 @unepetitecrise @grey-acefinn @gts-widow @fightblissfight @caramara3 @rainfoxx13  @widow-png @racheo91 @moxtiel @blondekel77   @wrestlinghasruinedmylife @crossfitjesusinskinnyjeans @totorototo-ro @grappling-giraffe

Keep reading

Feysand Fan Fic for ACOWAR Exchange

Hi Shannon! I got your prompt and I wrote a fan fic for a Modern AU with Feysand – I included a coffee shop and Feyre’s career as an artist like you asked for. This is my first attempt at writing fan fic and I tried my best! So please take it easy on me. I’m not an artist, but I used google and looked up some things and went with it. I really hope you like it @inkedstarlight ! And thank you @squaddreamcourt for creating ACOWAR Exchange! It was a great way to get people to participate and possibly step out of their comfort zone.

Two Weeks before the Art Showcase:

I sat at a little table for two while I waited for my coffee to be ready. I kept my eyes on my lap, where the splattered paint stains seemed to give my favorite pair of sweats a vibrant life of its own. I wasn’t a fan of crowded rooms, but my desperate need for caffeine after a late night of painting had made me brave a long line. This was my favorite little coffee shop, it was decorated with light pastel colors and neat little nick-knacks and books scattered around. It was cluttered and cozy – and usually empty. I always tried to avoid the morning rush, but with my art showcase in two weeks I was overwhelmed and in need of my coffee fix. I went to run my fingers through my hair – only to be thwarted by my messy bun – and tried to refocus on what I wanted my next painting to be about. There was a feeling that I had been trying to grasp at for a while, but I just couldn’t quite pin it down.

Keep reading


( my own personal composer )

Group: BTS


Excerpt:  “I like your lyrics and i can give them a tune.”

Genre: fluff, wizard au

Length: 1.5k

A/N: give the wizard au a chance.

Originally posted by apgujeon

Potions class never seemed to agree with you, you never listened to busy writing lyrics on your textbook to make notes on what they were saying. This almost always led to a cloud of purple smoke or that one time you accidentally made an amnesia potion instead of a simple heat potion to prevent a cold.

Currently, you were ruffling your hair trying to remove the green dust that was clinging to your face, hair and apron. That was when you spotted him, Min Yoongi the musical genius that sat next to you in music; he was standing next to your desk, paused with cauldrons in his arms as he looked down. You followed his eye line to see what he was looking at and realised it was your textbook, sitting perched on your old leather notebook. You flushed before reaching forward and snapping the book shut, your eyes locked before he walked away shaking his head.

The rest of the lesson passed and you were fidgety, knowing you would have to face him tomorrow in music. Then as you jotted down a few notes from your friend’s notebook, her pastel notes seemed so pretty as small animations danced on the page. It seemed you weren’t the only one who had been distracted.

Keep reading


summary: Thirty-two years of sisterhood sounds like forever, she thinks, but is is not enough.

sort of post ep for paper clip. part of my series of fics i’m writing as i rewatch the x files.

“I think it’s about something we have no personal choice in. I think it’s about fate.” - Fox Mulder, 3x02 Paper Clip


They’ve discussed names, a little unseriously. Bill had insisted that it would be another boy, so they had agreed unofficially on Charles. (He liked to name the children after family members; there was Billy, and then Melissa was after his mother and Charles after his father. But they hadn’t discussed girl names.)

“I liked that one name you suggested,” Bill offers the next morning. They know the routines of early parenthood well, but he is no less fascinated by the baby, moving his fingers through the sunlight for her to track. “What was it… Dana.”

Maggie smiles; Dana was her favorite of the considered girl names, but she’d figured Bill would never go for it since it wasn’t traditional. “Dana Katherine,” she offers, stroking her daughter’s downy red hair. The baby snuffles, turning her face into Maggie’s shoulder. “For my grandmother.”

They take the baby home after a few days. Bill goes in first - wisely enough, Missy and Billy tend to be rambunctious, especially right after breakfast. Maggie’s mother has been staying with them, and she embraces Maggie at the door before leaning over the baby carrier. Missy and Billy leap at her before their father stops them. “Go and sit on the couch,” he says in that kind but stern way he has. Billy sticks out his lower lip and stomps over to the couch. Bill scoops up Missy and sets her next to her brother; she swings her legs in excitement.

The kids have been arguing for a few weeks now about whether or not the baby would be a brother or a sister (Billy in favor of the former and Missy of the latter). Maggie opts to sit between them with the baby in her arms so they won’t come to blows over who was right. “Kids,” she says. “This is your new sister, Dana.”

Billy pouts, flopping back against the back of the couch, and Bill and her mother swoop in to scold him. But Missy is intrigued, crawling closer to get a look. Dana half-dozes, tiny hands waving in the air. Missy pokes her foot. “Day?”

“Dana,” Maggie corrects, amused. “Don’t poke her, sweetie, you have to be gentle.”

Melissa reaches for the baby again, and Dana catches her sister’s finger in her little hand. “Day,” she says, satisfied.

Keep reading

Some Nights

Summary: Some nights are worse than others. (The mafia!au fic no one wanted from my bitch ass who can’t write for shit but I wrote anyways

TW: Alcohol, Eating Disorder, Anxiety, Implied Violence, Insomnia, food mention

Unedited as of right now, edited version to come later sometime today

Tags: @tssanderssidestrash @oopsshittyart @anxioussanders @dan-yuna @otpislife2002 @rose-anon1 @prplzorua @incorrectshipquotes @jinxed-unicorn @yep-another-fander @meginoi @pattonpending @lana-22 

Excerpt: Some nights are worse than others.  Logan looks into the mirror at the dark bags beneath his eyes and behind his thick black glasses. He hasn’t slept in two days, showered in three.  Ann pulls his duvet tighter, tighter, tighter around himself, and wonders if maybe sleep would come easier if the lights were off.  Roman walks slowly through the halls, listening to the echo of his footsteps on the tiles in hopes their sound will drown out the screams in his ears and the blood on his conscience.  Patton steals another swig of amber whiskey, angry on his tongue and fiery in his throat as it goes down.

Keep reading

Sleep - pt 2

Originally posted by jminies

“Me? Oh I guess I never told you. I teach dance classes at the local university. Jimin’s a bartender at a pub downtown and he sings there sometimes.” Hoseok explained.

“You dance? And Jimin sings?” You repeated quietly.

“Are you surprised?” He asked unnecessarily.

“Do you want to go see him now? It’s usually pretty chill right now. Jiminie makes the best Tom Collins.” Hoseok bragged about his friend.

“I haven’t drank in a while.” You reminded him.

Keep reading


I can’t think of a title yet, but anyway, here’s my contribution to small-yet-awesomesauce Trollhunters fandom! Very much inspired by @kurekoo underappreciated Troll!Jim art. I hope you enjoy!

It doesn’t normally take too long to get used to places, but in Jim’s position in Trollmarket, understandably, it’s a whole different story. A place like this would take a thousand lifetimes to even remotely begin to adjust to, but fortunately for him at the tender age of just sixteen, he’ll have a better chance than most.

He’d become familiar with the basics down here, the three rules practically ingrained into his subconscious now, yet human curiosity is one thing that no rule could control, especially if it involves incandescent green geodes abandoned on the floor outside the gyre station. Seeing that there was nobody around besides Blinky, who was at least twenty steps ahead (much larger steps than Jim’s, it’s worth noting), he reached down and picked the rock up, shoving it deep within his jacket pocket before catching up with Blinky, who was surprisingly oblivious to a bright green rock set against the shadowy stone floor.

“I heard it through what you humans call the grapevine that you have an important set of exams coming up soon, is that correct?” Blinky’s question forced Jim out of his fascination with the rock.

“Uh yeah, huh. Thanks for reminding me about that.” He replied caustically.

“Now now, Master Jim, these are important times as far as I’m aware! You have to keep up your appearances in school so you must take this seriously. Take a week off, study hard and the results will show! Argh! and I will take care of things down here.” Jim took Blinky’s word as gospel, and with a reassuring pat on the shoulder, he got sent off back to the surface. “You know where to find me if you need anything!”

“Likewise, I’ll see you later!” Jim shouted down to him as he ascended towards the portal. Argh! Would likely visit Toby at some point in an evening, so it isn’t as if he’d be completely devoid of the troll company he’d become acquainted to.


Unsurprisingly, the house was empty. Slinging his satchel over the bannister he took the stairs two at a time, striding into his room and crashing onto his bed with a sigh, a sigh at the realisation of exams the following week. He swore to himself that he’d study - “but only after I figure out what this lump is. Who needs Spanish anyway?” He took out the rock, still emitting its vivid green hue, bright enough to cast its own shadow. Placing it on his desk, he took a step back and just stared, and stared, for what felt to him ten minutes, but what would realistically be about two. At a loss, he sent a photo of the peculiar rock to Toby, before catching sight of him across the street.

He opens the window, and shouts onto the quiet suburban street below: “Tobes, check this out!” waving him over. Moments later they were mirror images of each other, gawking at this rock as it laid idly on the wooden desk. Toby eventually breaks the silence,

“It’s a rock, Jimbo.”

“Is that an opinion, or an expert opinion?”

“That’s my opinion. My expert opinion would be ‘it’s a glowing rock’”

Jim responded with nothing but a stern, piercing glare.

“Look, I don’t know what it is, okay? But green and glowing… I don’t like it. Would Blinky know what this is?”

“I suppose, but he’s got enough on his plate at the moment at the moment, seeing as you practically destroyed his collection of books. But it doesn’t matter, it looks neat enough, I’m keeping it.”

“That was the word juice! And you’re in on that too, you know, giving it to me and all.”

“Yeah I guess,” he says as he moves the rock from the table to the shelf on the wall behind him, oblivious to the fact that the glowing was enough to leave a jet black scorch mark on the table. “You ready for the prueba de la fatalidad?”

“No. I don’t suppose you have any more of that-”

“You’ve ruined one library, you’re not going to ruin the school’s too! Just read a damn book like a normal person would.” He chuckles to himself as Toby rolls his eyes to the back of his head as he leaves,

“You’re a butt, Jim!” Toby shouts from the street.

“Love you too, Tobes-” he heads downstairs to take a glass of water, picking up a ragged old Spanish textbook on his way back. Chucking the textbook onto the table, he returns and opens the book to where he’d left a sheet of paper as a makeshift bookmark, on the section to do with past participles.

“Oh boy, What a great way to spend a weekend! Neck craned over a book, learning a language I’ll never speak,” He utters enthusiastically through gritted teeth as he pushes himself back on his chair to stretch out, resulting in him spinning around a few times. “Okay then, past participles.” Neck craned over the textbook, he studies the wrote and the writ, occasionally stopping to make notes and take a sip of water, sometimes contacting Toby on the backhandedly named ‘puberty-patrol phone’, to which he received nothing but radio silence.

An hour or so later, as warm spring sunlight was beginning to curtail, he’d ran out of water, only this was much later than when he ran out of will to continue revising cooped up inside. Taking the glass from beside the book, he begins to head for the kitchen for a refill. Still in Spanish revision mode, he mutters to himself as he notices a peculiar, prickling sensation from within his arm.


He appeared to be walking with a stoop and a right handed lean, enough to throw him off balance slightly. The more he thought about it, the more he began to notice it. He pivots around awkwardly to leave his room with new intentions. Water could wait, this, whatever this was, seemed more urgent.

Panic abruptly set in, this was no pins-and-needles situation, it was definitely something more unusual, and something this unusual could most certainly not be human. Trollmarket would - hopefully - hold the answer to Jim’s predicament.

Grabbing his bag from the bannister, he races unsteadily down the stairs and immediately into the garage, crashing into the empty paint tins and other detritus which lined the far wall. Leaping onto his Vespa, he kickstated the motor and began to set off, only after he’d realised that he’s neglected to open the door. Letting the moped crash down with a metallic din on the floor, he reached down and opened the door with his left hand with urgency, not wanting to risk excessive use of his right. With a now clear path, he mounted the moped and restarted his journey, correcting his balance constantly as he attempted to adjust. Being a Saturday, the streets were quiet, which fortunately meant no obstacles for Jim to have to avoid. The bridge was now within touching distance, rounding the sharp corner into the drain, albeit with a much wider turning circle, he was propelled down the concrete slope to the wall, riskily riding sidesaddle to speed the dismount process. With no regard for the moped, he let it continue at speed, crashing into the wall with a tinny peel which echoes along the drain.

The speed was too hard to handle for Jim as he trips over his own feet, sending him to the same fate at the Vespa; a concrete faceplant, Dull pain sets in as he lay dazed and stinging on the floor. The speed at which he’d impacted the wall has split his forehead slightly, sending a small trickle of blood running down the side of his head, which he briskly wiped away, but what he felt came as a shock to him, enough to snap him out of his dazed state.

“What in the-” The texture of his hand felt like it had turned pebbly, almost chiseled. His bag still over his shoulders, Jim grabbed the crystalline horngozzle and picked himself up off the floor. Still slightly pained, he began to roughly trace out the semicircle to open the portal, however, his usually precisely scribed portal had, understandably, become a jagged mess of an arc, something which closely resembled the work of a five year-old with a worn out paintbrush. Not that that mattered, it would still open. Placing his hand on the space in between, the concrete shattered, revealing the dark spiral down into the caves.

Frantically dashing down the crystal stairs and onto the cobbles of Trollmarket, he clumsily searched for a familiar face among the crowds which towered over him like living monoliths. Eventually he blindly, and literally, ran into Vendel, who responded with disgust.

“Goodness! James Lake, do you not have eyes?”

“Vendel! There’s something majorly wrong happening about now, look.” He reveals his hand to Vendel, who retorted swiftly to keep everything surreptitious.

“Come with me.”

Like a painting ( Sashea ) - Asada Tycane

A/N : Hey guys, it’s been a while! And with a while I mean.. A while. Anyhow, I love Sasha and Shea so much that I decided to write something about them! First Sashea fic I’ve ever written so I hope it’s okay. Also, I wrote a lot about ( famous and less famous ) artists. If you don’t know them or their work ( which is totally okay! ) I recommend you to google them, it’ll make more sense. I hope you like it! xo Asada

Tw : cursing

Prompt : ‘I borrowed some of your paintbrushes because I forgot mine but I accidentally left with them.’

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Can you do a riverdale Hogwarts au when Jughead, Archie and Betty meet on the Hogwarts express and Jughead is completely little kid crush, heart eyes over Betty! And then fast track to like fifth year (cause they're sophomores) and they're already dating and Juggie confesses to Betty that that was when he first fell in love with her and FLUFF. Please omg I need this!! Thanks ily

Aww thank you ;) This is so sweet I hope you like it and hope it isn’t cheesy :)

She looked like how you would expect a fairy princess to look: wide, clear green eyes framed in long lashes, narrow face, small, pink mouth with a pretty, gap tooth smile. Her lemon yellow hair was done in two neat braids, tied with pink elastics, little flyaways held done by glittery clips. She stood tall, skinny the way eleven year olds were, dressed in a soft cardigan and jeans. The girl, despite her muggle-looking clothes, seemed right at home on the Hogwarts Express. There was a magic, a spark about her that withstood any outside influences. She was truly magical.  

Jughead Jones had never been a very good judge as to who was pretty and who was not, but even he could tell that the girl he had ran smack into was beautiful.

He took a step back, straightening his beanie, eyes wide. Jughead felt himself blushing over his stumble, his tongue suddenly stationary. Other young wizards and witches watched them from inside the compartments, only adding to his embarrassment.

The girl, on the other hand, didn’t seem so stunned.

“Oh,” she said, her voice light and merry, like Christmas bells. Her own eyes were even wider. “Oh, sorry. I should look where I’m going.”

Jughead tried to stammer out a response, but was met with the same uncooperative vocal cords.

Archie Andrews, his best friend, snorted unhelpfully behind him. Stepping around Jughead, he extended his hand to the girl, confident smile in place. Jughead felt even smaller than before.

“That’s okay,” Archie replied. “I’m Archie. Archie Andrews.”

“Elizabeth Cooper,” the girl said, unnecessarily smoothing her clothes. She peered over Archie’s shoulder, meeting Jughead’s eyes and smiling. It felt like a gift, that smile. “But you can call me Betty,” she continued, still looking at Jughead.

“Erm,” Jughead cleared his throat, regaining his normal brain functions. “I’m-I’m Jughead Jones. The third,” he added, before immediately regretting it.

“Cooper?” Archie asked curiously. “Like Alice and Hal Cooper? From the Daily Prophet?”

Betty nodded, suddenly seeming a little on edge at the mention of her parents.

“Yeah,” she said. “And Andrews like Mary Andrews? She’s defended my parents more than once in front of the Wizard Council. Some of their news stories…” She trailed off, shaking her head.

There was a tight, uncomfortable silence. Jughead knew they wouldn’t mention his family: his father, Forsythe, was an ex-death eater. He could feel Betty’s green eyes on his face. He could feel their pity. Why had he told her his last name? She probably didn’t even want to talk to him anymore.

Jughead waited for what seemed like eternity for her to get away as quickly as possible, but instead he felt only her hand gently starting to pull him along.

“Come on,” she said. “I barely know anyone else here. My mother, you see, believes in isolation. But she’s not here right now. So let’s sit together.” Betty cast a look at the two boys, eyes wide, looking suddenly afraid. “Unless you have other friends. I can sit with different people, it’s okay.”

Jughead squared his shoulders, finally feeling his usual confidence - some might even say swagger - return to him.

“No,” he said, grinning. “We like you.”

Betty’s eyes shone. Jughead may have compared them to emeralds, but the crystals, in his mind, were too cold, too lifeless. Her eyes were much more like the sea, constantly changing, constantly moving, alive and restless and beautiful.

He wrote a poem about her eyes during the ride to Hogwarts, his quill scratching the parchment in his messy, eleven year old script, as he sat curled up next to the window, glancing at Betty every now and then. It was bad, over dramatic and serious. But he kept it. In a secret compartment of his suitcase, he kept it.

Betty Cooper was a Hufflepuff. She had been for five proud years, wearing the Hufflepuff crest like a badge of honor. She practically bled yellow and black. But it was on days like Valentine’s Day that the Ravenclaw Table seemed so far away from the Hufflepuff’s.

So when she walked into the Great Hall that morning she wasn’t surprised to find herself walking past her friend Kevin Keller - who gave her an understanding wave and wink - and sitting down next to Jughead Jones.

“Hi,” she said, reaching across him to grab a jar of strawberry jam.

“Hey,” he replied, not even trying to hide his smile. “Not feeling particularly badgery today?”

“Of course I do,” Betty smirked. “It’s just the jam over here is way better. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Jughead repeated, leaning in and kissing her cheek. “It’s not because of a certain Saint’s day that you’re over here?”

“Oh, is it Valentine’s day already?” Betty asked airily, licking strawberry off her fingers. “Huh.”

“Huh,” Jughead repeated again, draping his arm across her shoulders.

After breakfast the two wandered over to the Blue and Gold, waving goodbye to Veronica Lodge and Archie who had their own plans. Betty and Jughead had found their secret hideaway seemingly by accident a few months ago, a spacious room full of desks and filing cabinets, cork boards that moved pictures when asked, and stacks and stacks of parchment paper. They had nicknamed the place the first time they visited - thanks to the paint job - and found, on returning a second time, a giant banner hung on the far wall with the words BLUE AND GOLD printed in shimmering, color changing ink.

Betty had shrugged and grinned. “Must be magic,” she said. Almost everything was. Like the way Jughead’s hair curled under his beanie, or the way his eyes caught the light, twinkling like stars. Magic.

Jughead pushed the door open and Betty gasped, eyes wide. The entire room had changed; the walls were painted a tasteful light pink with paper hearts hanging from the ceiling on frayed string. Fresh vases full of roses sat on every desk, and the banner, their prized banner, now read HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY, JUGGIE AND BETTS, with little hearts dotting every i. The parchment, desks, and cork boards had been whisked away, replaced by beanbags and cushions, all in the shapes of hearts. There was even an old radio, quietly playing love songs of days gone by.

Betty’s hands flew to her mouth. What had happened to all their work? Their research? Jason Blossom’s case files? But a small voice inside of her told that it would okay, everything would be returned. The room wanted them to take a break.

Jughead glanced at Betty. Her face had broken into one of her delighted smiles, full of surprise and amusement. She had grown up a lot from the time they first met; her braids had been swapped for a high ponytail, the pink elastics and glittery hair clips forgotten. She was no longer gap toothed, but she had never lost that endearing, sweet look about her, the look that spoke of a wilderness contained. Nor had she stopped looking like a fairy princess.

Jughead reached for her hand, leading her farther into the room.

“Must be magic,” he said softly.

Betty drew him close, resting her head on his shoulder. He was warm. He was home.

“It’s not too cheesy for you?” she asked.

“You know, I kind of like cheesy,” he said. “Kind of… love it.”

“Me too,” Betty murmured.

“Hey, Betts,” Jughead started after a pause. He swallowed and took her hands, beginning to sway along to the music. “Do you remember when we first met?”
Betty raised her eyes to meet his. “Of course. You almost ran me over.”

He chuckled, blushing. “Yeah. But do you remember…ah,” he sighed, shaking his head. “I’m doing this all wrong. I’m sorry.”

“What do you mean, Juggie?” Betty asked. “Doing what wrong?”

“Um, okay,” he said, starting over. “So that moment, when I saw you for the first time, I thought…well, I thought you looked like a fairy princess.”

Betty laughed, pleased.

“You thought that skinny eleven year old was a fairy princess?” she giggled.

“I still think that,” Jughead said, taking her hand and spinning her slowly. This was going to be harder to explain than he had thought. “What I’m trying to say is that, in that first moment of seeing you, I wanted to talk to you. I wanted to know you. You were… you were the most beautiful person I had ever seen.”

“Juggie…” Betty whispered, surprised.

“I was afraid that you were going to think that I wasn’t interesting enough, or good enough, or normal enough to be your friend. But then you smiled at me and everything was okay.” Jughead said this all in a rush, feeling his cheeks grow even redder.

“Good enough?” she said in a shocked little voice. “Jughead how could you think that? You’re the kindest, most loving, most caring person I have ever met. Sometimes I’m afraid I’m not good enough for you.”

Mystified, Jughead wrapped his arms around Betty’s waist. At almost the same time, Betty threw her arms around his neck.

“Well,” he said, “perhaps we’re the best people for each other. Perhaps neither of us need to worry about that again.”

Betty nodded. Looking into his blue, blue eyes, she felt a wave of emotion, a wave of complete happiness in that one moment that she just couldn’t keep her mouth closed.

“I love you,” she blurted.

Jughead froze, stunned into silence. His princess…loved him? This girl, the girl who belonged to the day and the light, whose smile could make an entire room melt, whose very glance stopped his heart, loved him?

Betty could feel her own heart pound as she waited for him to speak. The seconds felt like an eternity, ticking in time with her throbbing pulse. They filled her up and left her empty, stopping and starting her heart, destroying and remaking her. All in the stretch of a few breaths.

Finally, Jughead lent his forehead against her’s.

“Betty Cooper,” he whispered. “I think I have loved since the first moment I saw you, and every moment afterward I have loved you more and more. But I never thought that you-”

“Yes,” she said, pulling them closer together. “I do.”

Jughead’s lips found her’s, velvet and silk. Blue and gold. Day and night. Light and dark.

“Must be magic,” he breathed.

I really hoped you enjoyed this and I love getting your feedback or requests! Love you all xxx