how can you be so careless

The types as meme songs
  • ISTJ: Never Gonna Give You Up
  • INTJ: We are Number One
  • ENFP: HEYYEYAAEYAAAEYAEYAA
  • ISFJ: Hotline Bling
  • ESTJ: Like a Boss
  • ENTP: Trololo
  • ISTP: Running in the 90's
  • INTP: Spooky Scary Skeletons
  • ENTJ: How bad can I be?
  • ESTP: All Star
  • INFP: All around me are familiar faces( Mad World)
  • ENFJ: A cruel angel's thesis ( Evangelion op)
  • ISFP: Nyan cat
  • ESFP: Careless Whisper
  • ESFJ: Seinfeld theme
  • INFJ: Roundabout ( Jojo's Bizarre Adventure)
Mirror For The Sun - Part 7: The Grand Tetons

Masterlist  -  Series Masterlist  -  Part 6 - Part 8 

Summary: (Bucky POV) Nat tricks you into leading a road trip with Bucky, Sam and Steve. Her plot is partly to get the boys to travel for fun for once but mostly to get you and Bucky together. You and Bucky, who seemingly despise each other.

Warnings: swearing, super mild smoot (it’s not really even smut)

Word Count: 4501

Author’s Note: This part is way too damn long. I really just like the ending. But I also couldn’t figure out what I wanted to cut so you’re getting all of it.

Originally posted by annutystan

As we climb back to the car, Y/N has slipped off of Sam’s shoulders and shoved past him, nearly running up the trail, farther away from Sam. And from me. When we make it to the top of the trail and the edge of the parking lot, Steve looks to me with a shocked and unsure shrug, lifting his hands up in question. She barely speaks to anyone, only muttering a disgruntled, “Trunk, please” to Steve.

Once we’ve changed into dry clothes, Y/N tosses her now useless phone haphazardly into the trunk and grabs for her dated Atlas before slipping into the car without a word. She doesn’t move closer to me, she doesn’t look up from her Atlas. Goddamn it. She’s so upset. “Go left,” she instructs with a heavy sigh as she flips through the pages until she finds the map for South Dakota. She traces over an already marked road until it reaches the end of the page, before moving quickly over to Wyoming.

Keep reading

Huntress in the Snow

What if Rhys had met Feyre back when she was still a little girl, alone in the woods and hunting for her family? Inspired by this beautiful work of art, here’s the hypothetical meeting between an abused, tired Rhysand and a tiny Feyre.

 

Rhysand rarely leaves Amarantha’s court Under the Mountain.

He rarely leaves her bedroom, for that matter. Life is just a frenzy of lies, sex, dancing, drinking, hatred and torture these days and he has long given up on making his existence bearable. He doesn’t really care anymore.

He doesn’t care for the stares they give him, the names. He doesn’t care for those pitying glances. He doesn’t care when Amarantha is straddling him, using him, her fingers pulling his hair.

Spring Court is covered in masks right now, but Rhysand might as well be wearing one, too. He doesn’t recognize himself in the mirror anymore. He murmurs things in her ears, he lies, promises, he kills on her behalf, he smirks and laughs and betrays, and he isn’t sure he can ever get back from that.

He’s doing it for Velaris and his beloved ones. That is what he tells himself, over and over and over again, when he’s buried inside her or when he snaps someone’s neck. It’s the only reason he’s still holding on. Velaris. Mor. Amren. His brothers. His court.

Court of Dreams. It’s like a bitter joke, ashes in his mouth. He doesn’t know if he will ever see them again. Doesn’t know if he wants to- after what he’s done.  

He probably won’t ever see them again. This nightmare will never end.

Life is miserable. Rhys doesn’t care.

With the way things are developing right now, his old enemy Tamlin is going to join them in a few years- 42 years have passed and that fool, that idiotic fool hasn’t managed to break the curse. If he realizes that he could save them all, Rhysand doesn’t know. Perhaps Tamlin is just trying to protect those he loves as well. Perhaps he’s trying- perhaps he’s fighting.

Perhaps he’s not.

Rhysand doesn’t care.

He also doesn’t care that Amarantha sends him to the human realm today. To find a group of fae from Dawn Court that have escaped; find them, bring them to her, watch her torture and kill them and fuck her afterwards. It’s nothing to him. He’ll play his part. He’ll be urgent and passionate- I’ve been aching for you, my queen, my everything, woman of my dreams- only you, only ever you- he’ll make her scream his name and kiss her afterwards.

All the while, he’ll be somewhere else. He’ll be talking to Amren, quietly. He’ll be drinking with Cass and Azriel, playing cards. He’ll be dancing with Mor. He’ll be walking through the streets of Velaris.

That’s the only thing he has. And even those memories are further and further away from him with each passing day. Rhysand is afraid that he’ll wake up some morning and find that there’s no fight left inside him- that he’ll just give up.

He looks around.

He’s in a forest, close to the wall. It’s spring, but snow still covers the trees and the ground. He will encounter no humans here- none of them would be so foolish, so daring to get this close to the wall. He sits down next to a stream, closes his eyes and just doesn’t think. A few, scattered moments of peace- he takes what he gets.

Just a few moments. Then he’ll hunt those poor bastards down.

Feyre is twelve, and she’s been roaming this forest for a year now. She’s been following the village’s hunters; copy the way they set their snarls, carry their bows. She has a dream: she’ll hunt so much food her father will get better again. Nesta and Elain will get fatter, rounder, and they will both find very handsome men to marry. Then it’ll be Feyre and her father, and she’ll hunt for him while he reads at home, and in the evening, she’ll cook for him and paint a little.

So far, she hasn’t ever shot anything bigger than a rabbit, and that one time was on accident. The snarls are what works better.

Nesta turned fifteen yesterday. Feyre knows her sister has hoped their father would say something, but he has forgotten all of their birthdays. Nesta has looked like murder all day long. Elain tried to talk to her, but she locked herself in their room.

Elain and Nesta are very sad, Feyre knows that. They remember more of their mother and they talk about her sometimes, exchanging bits and pieces of who she used to be. In the beginning, right after they moved into the little hut at the village’s edge, they tried to be there for her- but they have too much to worry about, now. They never even play with each other. They don’t thank her when she brings food home.

Feyre makes her way through the trees. She must always stay away from the wall- dangerous creatures are there, fae. She’s so afraid of them she has nightmares sometimes.

But today, some inner voice tells her that the wall is not dangerous. That no fae will hurt her. And almost by themselves, their feet make her walk closer and closer to the buzzing, invisible thing that separates their human world from the fae.

When she comes onto a clearing, she sees a man. He is sitting on a fallen tree branch next to a river and his head his lowered, almost as if he were praying. He doesn’t carry weapons, but his clothes are fine and elegant- he must be a rich merchant, lost in the woods.

Perhaps she’ll get a reward if she leads him out of here. Curiosity gets the better of her. “Are you okay?”, she calls over to him, and that is the exact same moment he looks up and meets her eyes.

It knocks the breath out of her. He’s a fae. His ears are long and pointed, and there is something otherworldly in his features that marks him as different.

This is it. She is going to die. Nesta and Elain and her father will starve because she’s not there anymore. How could she be so careless, hunting so close to the wall?

The man takes in her unwashed hair, her threadbare clothes, her make-shift bow. “You should not be here”, he rasps. “You should run.”

Feyre tries to be a still as she can be. The man doesn’t get up, doesn’t come closer. As if he knows that she’ll start screaming if he does.

“Go”, he commands, angry. “Don’t ever come here again. Understand me? Don’t go into the forest at all. Stay at home.”

And she should do just that, run until she’s far away from him, but…

“I have to”, Feyre says. “I have to hunt.”

“No, you don’t. A small girl like you should stay with her family.”

“You don’t understand.” She steps closer, her bow still ready in her hand. “My family will starve if I don’t. I am doing all of this for them.”

The man breathes in, sharply, and she swears that she sees devastation in his eyes. “What?”

“My father can’t take care of us.” Why the words are spilling from her mouth like that, Feyre doesn’t know. “And my sisters are scared. I have to be strong, even when I’m afraid- for them.”

The man stares at her.

“Are you going to hurt me?”, Feyre asks. She tries to hide that she is scared of that fae. She tries to pretend that she could shoot him, if she wanted.

He shakes his head, slowly. “Of course not.”

“What are you doing here, then? Shouldn’t fae be on the other side of the wall?”

The man smiles a bitter smile. “Usually, we should. But I…was allowed a little freedom today.”

“Are you a hunter, too?”

He closes his eyes. “I suppose.”

“Then you’re a little bit like me.”

“Well.” He laughs. “Not really. But I am doing this for my family, too. All of this.”

Feyre doesn’t know why, but for some strange reason, it makes her very happy that the man has a family. That he’s not alone.

“That’s good”, she smiles. “You should go be with them, not sit in the forest by yourself.”

He nods. “You’re right, of course. As should you.”

Feyre steps as close to him as she dares. The fae is very pretty, she realizes. All the older village girls would probably be in love with him. But he looks sad, she thinks, and she doesn’t know why, but it makes her heart ache a little. She wants him smiling.

“Here.” The fae nods his head and suddenly, a basket filled with bread and meat appears in the snow. “Take that home to your family. It should give you enough food to eat for the next few weeks. I can’t- I wish I could do more. But my hands are quite literally tied.”

“Is this some sort of trick?”, Feyre asks. “Some bargain? Some fairy magic?”

The fae shakes his head, a flicker of amusement on his face. “No bargain, little girl. Although I’m impressed you’re already so wary for your age.”

Feyre picks up the basket. This is better than the time she shot the rabbit. This is all of her birthdays combined. “Thank you- what’s your name?”

“Rhys”, he says, looking at his hands. “That’s what my friends call me.”

“That family you told me about?”

“Yes”, Rhys says softly. “My family.”

Feyre smiles at him. It comes so easy, the smile- because something deep inside her core tells her that she doesn’t need to be afraid of him. And she trusts that. “Thank you, Rhys. Your family is lucky to have you. You just saved mine today.”

He still looks so very sad. “Then that’s something”, he says hoarsely. “Before you go- one thing.”

And suddenly there are talons in her head, and she can’t move anymore.

“It’ll be over in a few moments”, Rhys says. “But I can’t let you remember me. She’ll find out, somehow. She’ll break you just for fun.”

Some white blanket is thrown over her mind, and the next second, Feyre finds herself alone in the woods.

What just happened? Why is she here?

Oh, yes- she remembers- the rich merchant who she met on her way here showed mercy and handed her the basket-

What on earth is she doing so close to the wall?

Feyre turns around and runs. Today is such a good day. She feels happy, not just because of the gift…but because of something else.

And maybe she can get through all of this.

Maybe she’ll find a way out of this someday.  

Rhys has never done something like this, but he forces himself to forget her. He pushes her image into the very, very back of his mind, he uses his magic on himself and forces himself to forget about that girl in the snow, that tiny, little huntress.

Because for some reason, he knows that she is important. For what, he doesn’t know. But he’ll do what it takes to keep her hidden from Amarantha.  

It makes him cry out in pain to use those talons on himself, but-

Rhys finds himself standing somewhere in the forest.

Why is he still here? He should go- hunt those Dawn fae down.

There’s a weird feeling of goodness in the back of his mind. Of happiness. And he remembers- that those he loves are out there. That somehow, someday, he’ll see them again. That there is a reason for everything.

He feels hope, and he doesn’t know why.

I have to be strong, even when I’m afraid- for them, whispers a voice inside his head. He knows who said it-

A girl-

He can’t remember. But that feeling lingers.

That night, when Amarantha is on top of him, moving and moaning about how good this feels after a kill, all he can think is the clock is ticking, you bitch. You’ll go down soon. Someone will come and end you.

When she leaves him, he showers and washes her scent off him. Someone is out there, he thinks. Someone good. This world is not completely lost. And for some reason, he cares again. Cares about what happens. Cares about who wins. Suddenly, he wants to fight.

That night, he has the strangest dream. It’s a hand, unpacking a basket full of bread, apples and meat. A small hand; a child’s hands. But it makes him so inexplicably happy he thinks about that dream for days.

A few years later, when Rhysand has long forgotten about everything, he dreams of that same hand again.

Only this time that delicate, female hand is drawing flowers on a table.

And something inside Rhysand whispers, soon.

Soon.

Soon.

Among the many, many reasons I like the idea of Lyra Erso as a rejected Jedi-hopeful relegated to the Jedi Engineering Corps is because it gives her a reason to know Saw Gerrera before the rise of the Empire.

Also, I just like imagining graduate student Lyra being assigned to answer all the inquiry transmissions received by the Corps. Most of them are boring—scientists across the galaxy double-checking their facts, senators or contractors requesting results of geological surveys, the occasional oddball request for treasure maps, or a list of which mineraloids are poisonous if ingested.

But one day, she gets an inquiry from a man on Onderon. And though he’s circumspect about it, it’s very clear to her that he’s talking about making chemical weapons. (The war against the Separatists has been raging for some time now. She’s only surprised it’s taken someone this long to ask.)

She opens a new transmission, and keys out:

Dear Master Gerrera,

Thank you for your inquiry to the Jedi Agricultural Corps, Engineering Division. The official uses of the cyanogen silicate compound known as “Sith’s breath” are limited to the construction of Celegian life support chambers, due to the compound’s extreme toxicity to most carbon-based sentient life. Additionally, the components are difficult to procure, and their synthesization without proper licensure under Galactic Republican Statute 1184.2-4 Aleph constitutes fraudulent business practices and illegal production of a controlled chemical compound.

The Jedi Order must warn you that should you pursue this course of action, it will have no choice but to enforce the law to the fullest extent of its authority.

On an unrelated note, baradium bisulfate is an accessible liquid compound, used frequently in mining. Unlike cyanogen silicate, it does not sublimate at 20°C, but it is highly unstable and a very small amount can do a surprising amount of damage. Several years ago, a careless engineering trainee did not calibrate a suspension field carefully, and leveled a small mountain.

Please do not hesitate to reach out if you have further questions.

May the Force be with you,
Lyra Inair, Geological Engineer, Jedi AgriCorps 

She expects that to be the last of it, and so she’s extremely surprised when he replies directly. Less surprised when she realizes he’s asking how one goes about constructing a suspension field. Possibly one that would destabilize with some sort of trigger or timer or maybe on impact…?

And they keep—writing one another. Even after she’s moved off the transmissions desk, to actual geological work. Rocks and weapon mechanics turn to small talk, turn to little details of their lives, turn to the Force and the Republic. He talks about his sister, about the warfront; she complains about the internal politics of the Corps and Galen (though he’s not Galen, yet, he’s just the handsome Republican engineer with cheekbones like sheered silicate). They argue theology, and justice, and violence. She cries for him, when his sister dies. They—are friends. 

Saw is the only one she tells, when she decides to turn her back on the Order. She is in love and Galen has friends in Coruscant, a prestigious job with an engineering guild—

Please do not stop writing me, she begs.

I will be here, Saw writes, if you ever need me.

anonymous asked:

I’m the anon who requested the rainy day kisses and you totally delivered the goods. :D Thank you!! I hope it’s okay that I send in another request because I really enjoy your scenarios. ^^ For the chocobros: post-game happy AU where everyone has a family and the bro has a heart-to-heart with their teenaged kid (for this request: a daughter for Gladio & Iggy, son for Prompto & Noct) who asked the bro about the moment they knew their s/o was ‘the one’. Thanks!

NOCTIS

Noctis walked into the training arena, watching his son warping from one end of the room to the other. He stood by the doorway, watching as Ferox panted, dropping his dagger to the ground with his hands on his knees.

“Giving up already?” Noctis called, and Ferox rose to his full height. At thirteen, he was almost as tall as his dad, stretching his back and allowing it to crack loudly before loosening up his shoulders.

“Mom said I should take combat training more seriously.”

Noctis snorted. “Sounds like something she would say.”

Ferox tried warping a few more times under his father’s supervision, but eventually gave up, collapsing in a heap on the ground with his arms and legs splayed out like a drunken starfish.

“This is too hard,” Ferox groaned, pinching his eyes shut. “I don’t get why she’s being so strict with me about this warping thing.”

Noctis came to sit down beside his son, nudging him until he sat upright. “Your mother has been through a lot in her past. She’s lost a lot of people, had to make sacrifices to save others. Warping is something that only those tied to the King’s magic can do. She knows that mastering it will keep you safe in the long run, so trust her on that.”

Ferox leaned his elbow on his knee, propping his chin up with his fist. “Is that how you met?” he asked.

Noctis shoved him lightly with his shoulder. “Maybe.” He sighed, remembering the day. “We’d met on the road one day. Magitek troopers had invaded the outpost we were visiting, and me and the guys decided to try and fight them off. But we were tired, careless. It had been a really long day. But then your mother came swooped in and basically took them all down single-handedly.”

Ferox’s mouth gaped. “Woah.”

Noctis nodded. “Yep. I knew then and there, as the dust settled, that I was in love with her.” He patted his son’s knee. “Enough resting. Wanna try again?”

“I guess I should,” Ferox conceded, rising to his feet. “Do you think Mom’ll spar with me if I ask her?”

“Hey,” Noctis teased, grabbing a pair of wooden swords from a bin. “You too good to spar with your old man?”

“You just said Mom was a better fighter,” Ferox countered, and yelped as Noctis took a playful whack at his shin.


PROMPTO

Solis was lounging on the couch, flipping through old photo albums. He had found one that was labelled with pictures from a little over twenty years ago. He blew his unruly blond hair, a feature he’d gotten from his father, out of his eyes as he opened the pages and scanned over the images.

The photos in the album were varied. Some were of scenery, some were taken during combat (Why, Dad. That’s definitely not a smart thing to do), and there were quite a few selfies that made Solis chuckle.

“Whatcha laughin’ at?” His father’s voice made him jump as Prompto sauntered into the room and plopped down next to his son.

“Just looking at old photos,” Solis shrugged, flipping to another page. “Oh, hey, look…it’s Mom.”

Solis saw his dad’s face soften as he looked at the photo of the two of you. It was one that Prompto hadn’t taken himself—it was a candid shot Noctis had snapped of you at the Vesperpool by the water. It was right around the time you’d met, and you were standing too close together to be just friends. Prompto thought back to that moment, and chuckled to himself.

“Whatcha laughin’ at?” Solis mimicked, causing Prompto to burst into a fit of giggles. Even at sixteen, Solis was the spitting image of his father. Same hair colour, same lanky build. But he had your eyes and your smile, which were Prompto’s favourite features.

“Just thinking about the moment I knew I wanted to marry your mom.”

Solis scrunched up his nose. “Dad, I don’t know if I want to hear that story.”

“Guess who’s gonna hear it anyway?” Prompto tousled Solis’ hair, much to his chagrin.

“Dad! I’m not five anymore!” he whined, but settled into the couch to listen to his father’s story. “Go on.”

“Your mom suggested one morning that we go take photos of the catoblepas,” Prompto pointed to a different photo, one that illustrated the creature. “She insisted on getting up close and personal with them. She figured it’d be better for the picture. So I’m set up with my tripod and my camera about five or six feet away, and she’s holding these mushrooms to get them to come closer.”

Prompto mimed the set up with his hands, and Solis nodded along the way.

“I was ready to take the shot, and she was posing, looking all cute. But then the catoblepas got so close. I yelled to warn her, but when she turned, she reached out her hand and pet the damn thing. And it actually nuzzled into her palm. Can you believe it?” Prompto sighed, a dreamy look in his eyes. “A legendary creature, yielding to your mother. What a lady.”

Solis turned the page of the album and found the photo of you cozying up to the catoblepas. “One thing’s for sure,” he decided. “You’re both nuts.” He paused. “But I’m glad you found each other.”


GLADIO

Gladio knocked on Acacia’s door. Having a teenage daughter was not easy, and having a teenage daughter in full mood swings was enough to want to make Gladio pull his hair out. It reminded him of Iris when she was younger.

A muffled voice rang out. “Come in.”

Gladio opened the door to his raven-haired daughter lying face down on her bed, not even attempting to greet her father as he took a seat by her desk.

“Wanna tell me what’s going on?”

Acacia peeked an eye at him. “Nothing.”

Gladio folded his arms over his chest. “Didn’t sound like nothing according to Mom.”

Acacia sat up, apparently triggered by whatever Gladio had said, irritation clear as day on her features. “She’s just so over protective!” she huffed, hands balling into fists. “I just wanted to go away for the weekend, and she won’t let me because she said she doesn’t know who else is going.”

Gladio raised an eyebrow. “Seems like a decent enough reason to say no to me.”

Acacia groaned. “Not you too.”

He smirked at her, shaking his head. “Do you know the moment I realized your mom was the one?”

She blinked slowly. “I don’t see how this is relevant to what’s happening right now.”

Gladio continued. “When I was on the road with the guys, I met her. She was definitely too good for me. Way too smart, way too pretty. And for some reason, she gave me the time of day. After what happened in Lestallum and we lost Jared, she offered to stay and take care of Iris and Talcott until we got back.”

Acacia looked at her father expectantly.

“I knew then, when she decided to put her whole life on hold to make sure that my family stayed safe, the last remaining family I had, that she was it. She cared so much about these people that she barely knew, took them in like they were her own and kept them safe while the world fell apart around them. And now she’s trying to do that for you. She lost a lot of people in the ten years of darkness, sweetheart. Try and understand that she’s being protective of you because she doesn’t want to lose you, too.”

Acacia let out a sigh, slumping her shoulders. “I guess I owe Mom and apology.”

“Guess you do.”

She nodded and rose to her feet, slowly making her way to the door.

“If you want to go camping,” Gladio offered. “I’d be more than happy to take you.”

“Thanks Dad, but no,” Acacia replied, stepping into the hallway. “I’ve got better things to do.”

Gladio rolled his eyes. Yeah, he thought to himself. Just like Iris.


IGNIS

It wasn’t often that Ignis and his daughter got to spend a great deal of time together because of his duties at the palace and her school schedule, but he relished the moments they did get to share. They often cooked together, concocting new recipes side by side.

“How come Mom doesn’t cook?” Aurora asked, popping a cherry tomato into her mouth. “Is it because she can’t?”

“She’s not extraordinarily proficient, but she gets by,” Ignis stated, and Aurora marvelled at how skilled her father was with a knife even though he was blind. “Actually, it was our first evening in together when she decided to cook for me that I realized how much I loved her.”

“Aw! Dad!” Aurora gushed. “Tell me! I love these stories.”

Ignis chuckled and kept at the chopping.

“She’d planned this whole dinner for the two of us. She knew that I enjoyed the culinary arts, and wanted to give it a go herself. I told her that it wasn’t necessary to go through all the effort, but she informed me that I’d cooked for her on multiple occasions, so it was only fair.”

Ignis smiled to himself at the memory.

“She ended up burning everything.”

Aurora couldn’t help but laugh. “Dad! Why are you smiling? That’s terrible!”

Ignis could still smell the ruined dinner, the smoke coming from the oven and the shrill sound of the fire alarm beeping in the kitchen. He remembered the sound of your laugh, the sound of you swatting a broom at the alarm to get it to shut off, as it was just out of reach.

“She took such care to ensure that everything was perfect, but in the end, the meal being ruined hadn’t phased her spirit,” Ignis continued. “She ended up pulling out two servings of Cup Noodles, and we ate them together by candlelight.”

Aurora leaned her head against her father’s shoulder. “Dad, that’s so cute.”

“It was a special moment,” Ignis agreed. “I knew then that her resilience was something to be admired. I knew her before I was blind, as just a friend, and after I sustained my injury, she refused to leave my side. She’s always been more than I deserve, and she even gifted me with you.” Ignis reached out and wrapped an arm around Aurora’s shoulders, giving her a light squeeze.

“Love you, Dad,” she smiled, giving him a peck on the cheek.

Ignis went to go stir a pot on the stove. “There is one thing you have in common with that night, come to think of it,” a mischievous lilt to his tone.

Aurora glanced over at Ignis. “Hm? What’s that?”

“Technically speaking, you were an accident as well.”

For a blind man, he was quite skilled at dodging flying spatulas.

VLD Headcanons because everyone else is sharing theirs

-Lance has like long ass fingers. The ones that look like boney spider legs and are beautiful. He also has big feet and long toes with the second and third being longer than the big toe. He also has toe rings he once got a renaissance fair and never took off
-Keith has tiny little baby feet and hands(much like my own) and he used to paint all his nails black
-Hunk has giant square manly hands, the kind that one could go around your entire neck
-SHIRO HAS GIRL HANDS! Long, thin well taken care of hands (or hand i suppose). With clean well trimmed nails
-Shiro moisturizes like crazy
-“I don’t want wrinkly old man skin, Keith, like you’re gonna get if you don’t start.”
-Allura’s hands are callosed and a mix of Shiro and Lance’s
-Pidge also has baby hands, and her nails are always dirty or chewed to the roots
-No one has seen Coran without his gloves. Ever. It’s like Kakashi’s mask and the paladins keep trying to get him to take them off
-Keith loves the size difference between his and Lance’s hands and how his can easily dissapear into Lance’s
-Lance is still growing, like he’s gonna end up 6'4 I swear. Lance also likes to make fun of others for being tiny
-His older siblings used to make fun of him cuz he used to be pequeñito so when he comes back to earth he’s taller than most of them and he just cackles wickedly
-Keith’s a 2nd gen american. His grandparents are from Korea and moved to Texas and had his dad. So he has a lot of weird tastes in food like kimchi with pork and beans.
-the others discover this and are like ew what stop no. Why do you eat like that Keith plz
-then they discover how Keith’s dad married Shiro’s mom who is an immigrant from Japan anD SHIRO AND KEITH BOTH HAVE THE GROSSEST TASTE IN FOODS AND I CANT EVEN
- “SHIRO NOT YOU TOO!!”
-Hunk has the best tattoos that are of course a cutural thing, and some are stick and poke. So basically Hunk has a high ass pain tolerance and he woukd hold out the longest against torture just saying
-Lance has an entire back piece of beautiful sea serpent and he was a big ol baby about it, hunk held his hand the entire time
-he also got it without permission and when his mamá first saw it she fucking destroyed him (omg don’t mess with hispanic mothers trust me. Mine is terrifying)
-when Keith first saw his tattoo it was only a glimpse at his lower back and Keith thougHT LANCE HAD A TRAMP STAMP FOR THE LONGEST TIME AND IT BOTH DISGUSTED AND TURNED HIM ON
-Alteans have more than just their face marks and have stuff on their entire bodies(think atla air monk tattoos)
-Keith and Shiro have tight bubble butts I swear
-allura and lance love to squeeze them
-allura can lift shiro and hunk
-everyone can lift Lance even Pidge, he is a literal twig. Doesnt matter how tall he gets he’s still like 120 wet
-he takes advantage of this and makes everyone carry him
-Matt is so manly everyone thinks he’s this little baby nerd cuz he wears glasses but he is the most sporty little shit. He used to run marathons on earth
-he’s also a chicken shit and has the bravery of a nugget.
-Pidge has a fear of puppets/muppets
- Keith is literally fearless it’s stupid. He’ll walk straight into the line of fire and not blink. No one can sneak up on him and scare him (no matter how much Lance tries) however he is TERRIFIED of clowns. If faced with one today he’d still cry
-Shiro and Lance are scared of spiders. Only cuz i think it’s cute
-hunk isn’t scared of anything but he’s not careless like Keith. he’s really chill. However you can ALWAYS sneak up on him and scare him. He can see you or know you’re there but you make a boo noise and he still jumps
-Shiro Keith Hunk and Lance are all weebs. Kpop anime asian dramas manga all that jazz
-Pidge is disgusted that they’re surrounded by these nerds
-also Pidge is genderfluid so their gender depends on the day (boy, girl, nonbinary) so she doesnt really care what pronouns people use for her. Like they’re really chill and couldn’t care less. She also doesnt get hurt if people are ignorant or dont understand
-Lance is forever bi, Pidge is aroace, Allura and Hunk are pan, Keith is gay and demiromantic
-unlike a lot of people’s hc i think Keef is quite clean. He never forgets to shower or brush his teeth. Sometimes he brushes his teeth after each meal (habit from when our baby had braces)
-Keith had braces! His canines stuck out and were pretty prominant (hint at galra blood) and being Korean his dad was like bitch you’re getting those fixed u ugly
-Shiro made fun of him for literal years
-Last one: Shiro is a dick big brother 😂 he’s one of the ones that farts in the younger’s face. He gives Keith so much shit and then acts like a perfect angel in front of others so that no one ever believes Keith. However he slowly started not caring in front of the other paladins anD THEY WERE ALL SO CONFUSED.
-Shiro casually walks behind Keith as everyone is sitting down in the common room and gives him a wet willy. Everyone’s jaw drops as Keith screams at Shiro as he leaves the room laughing. Keith turns to the others is all “I TOLD YOU! AND YOU NEVER BELIEVED ME!”

Actual--Quartermaster’s 00Q rec list:

A collection of amazing works that deserve all the praise. Warnings are added to fics with major concerning aspects, however, be prepared for canon typical violence and sexual content in pretty much every fic– I mean, this is James Bond, he’d manage to get into a knife fight even in a coffee shop AU.

Quriosity by dr_girlfriend

Words: 80495  Chapters: 33/33

Bond finds himself increasingly curious about his enigmatic Quartermaster.

“Your prior hotel is no longer secure, I will direct you to a new location. Your luggage has already been transferred. A field agent and medic from the Diréction Générale de la Sécurité d'État will be waiting at the side entrance. I have cleared them both personally.” In contrast to his crisp dry English, Q’s pronunciation of the French words was fluid and flawless, the throaty tone of the fricatives sending a surprising jolt of awareness straight to Bond’s cock — all the more remarkable given his degree of blood loss.

“You’re wasted on Q-branch, you have the voice for a phone-sex call-in line.” The words slipped out of Bond’s mouth without forethought, although he had plenty of time to think in the sudden pause that came afterward and stretched on for endless moments. Bond hadn’t realized until now how Q was always there, with an immediate reply. In all their banter Q had never before been at a loss for words. Ever.

____

I reread this fic at least once every few months, it’s that good. I have it saved in the pdfs on my phone for car rides and vacations. This fic stays so true to the characters, with everything from Q’s unceasing exasperation to Bond’s cheeky carelessness. The only bad thing I can say about it, is that it doesn’t follow my “Q is a Holmes brother” headcanon. Honestly, if you haven’t read this fic yet, it’s probably the one you’ve been looking for.

~~~

Human Error by thejabberwock

Words: 86107   Chapters: 14/14

007 is the perfect assassin, an artificial intelligence with the ability to think for itself. Human emotions were never meant to be part of its programming, and Q was never meant to be anything more than its creator.

____

Okay, this was so good, I had to contact the author (@bondsboffin) in the middle of it being written. I was going out of my mind. Bond is so complex and the style is just so intriguing. Honestly, this is the kind of fic that will make you roll on the floor in angst.

~~~

Blue-Eyed Monster by Only_1_Truth

Words: 118362   Chapters: 23/23

Yes, this version of 007 was a terrifyingly smart agent, and M wondered long and often whether it had been a good idea to promote him to the position. Usually, the title was the dangerous part - being 007 meant deadliness - but this time, M feared that a certain man with ice-blue eyes and scruffy blonde hair had dragged in more danger to the title than it had previously possessed

Enter MI6’s new Quartermaster: an unassuming, bespectacled genius with no mind for subterfuge but plenty of genius behind a dry smile. Curious 00-agents and young boffins don’t always mix in predictable ways…

____

This made me cry the first time I read it. Full of humorous chess games, dangerous double 0’s, and domestic (well, at least as close as possible to anyway) Bond. A wonderful Skyfall rewrite.

~~~

Beautiful Creatures by 1MissMolly

Words: 63151  Chapters: 30/30

“You smell good,” Q’s drunk words were slurred and raspy.

“I’ve been told.” James smiled at the young man.

“Stay here, I want to snuggle.”

“What?”

“Snuggle, be my teddy bear.”

“What!? I could blackmail you for that comment.” James joked but Q was already snoring lightly. His arms still wrapped tight around James neck. The older man gave in, convincing himself it was only because Q wanted him there. James own wishes and desires were not pushing him to lay beside Benjamin. The reason he was here, he told himself over and over again, was to protect the quartermaster. His scent and angelic face had nothing to do with it. At least that what he tried to tell himself.

Bond discovers that his quartermaster is an omega, which would be fine, except someone is murdering the omegas that work for MI6.

Very slow build of coworkers to friends to something more. Working together to fight against the monsters in the dark.

___

Warning: A/B/O fic. An extremely well done one at that. Despite the summary, Q can hold his own, which was awesome to read. A complex plot and amazing development, overall a great read.

~~~

Brevity and Opulence by loveindirtytrenchcoats

Words: 7777   Chapters: 1/1

There’s no time to grab anything to defend himself with, because the first hinge on the door snaps open with a bang, and the second follows on the next hit. The door rips backwards, thrown to the floor by the same man Q had been in the ski lift with, who smiles menacingly and draws a knife from his jacket. The Quartermaster wonders how long it will take for James to realise he’s missing.

Before the henchman even gets in his first hit, Q knows it’ll be too late.

____

Short and sweet, a fix-it fic for Spectre. The best fix-it fic I’ve read at that.

~~~

The Love Song of James Bond by Fightyourdragon

Words: 103853   Chapters: 17/17

“Knowing your history, and adding to it the fact that I am not entirely unaffected by sharing a bed with you, I think it would be pointless to pretend that we are going to able to share this house for the next two weeks without fucking over every available surface.” Q smiles at the look of shock on James’ face. Clearly he hadn’t been expecting such a direct approach and Q presses on before he has a chance to recover. “However, when it happens it will happen on my terms.”

There was definitely a significant gap between the time Bond was breaking down over M’s death in the chapel to the time a confident Bond walked into Mallory’s office to accept his newest assignment. What, or more importantly, who, put him back together again? Basically, lots of porn with plot.

____

Warning: BDSM. A majority of this fic is two idiots on an island, fucking and making friends with the old couple who own the local pub. It’s the most weirdly domestic thing I’ve ever read, and its beautiful.

~~~

Bal-Chatri by Kryptaria

Words: 46402   Chapters: 14/14

Rising through the ranks at MI6 is enough to erode anyone’s ability to trust. The agents of the Double O program all take paranoia one step further, elevating it to an art form. But everyone needs one person to trust – even James Bond. Now, Q just has to figure out how to convince him of that.

Bal-Chatri: A versatile trap used to humanely catch all types of birds, including birds of prey.

____

Warning: BDSM. Part of a three part series, and, honestly, it’s beautiful. Q is patient and kind, and together they work through Bond’s problems.

~~~

Synchronicity by stereobone

Words: 7600   Chapters: 1/1

It goes on like that for months, and then Q realizes that James Bond is “hanging out” at his flat.

____

Another short and sweet fic, and actually the softest thing I’ve ever read. James is just so gentle and Q treats him like he deserves. Good rainy day read.

~~~

Return the Conquering Hero by 1MissMolly

Words: 41596  Chapters: 14/14

Bond and Trevelyan are sent in to rescue a mysterious hacker out of a corrupt prison. They don’t know who sent them in or how to get the young man out. But the longer they stay in the prison, the more Bond becomes attracted to the young hacker.

____

Warning: major rape/non-con elements, but nothing truly horrid happens to our boys. Not the most satisfying ending but lovely nonetheless, one of those fics you wouldn’t mind a sequel to. Also, have I ever mentioned how much I love Alec Trevelyan being included? Because this pushes all those buttons.

~~~

Redamancy by opalescentgold

Words: 80627   Chapters: 7/8

If you write something on your skin, it will show up on your soulmate’s skin as well.

James doesn’t quite fall in love over physics discussions and cheeky book quotes and coding and riddles inked onto his skin, but he comes close.

And then he actually meets Q.

____

It’s not finished yet, I know. But, this fic is so good, I couldn’t put it down. I’m sure I read it in under two nights (that’s with a full time job and full time school). This fic highlights the true discrepancy in age between Bond and Q, and is a whole lot of angst at points, and it’s delightful.

~~~

Distraction by Pasteles

Words: 269   Chapters: 1/1

James Bond is an impatient bastard.

____

Putting this in here because my lovely @actual–007 wrote this for me, AND I OPENED IT WHILE I WAS AT CHURCH THANK YOU VERY MUCH. But, it’s lovely and so is she.

living together is messy.

all isak wants is to brush his teeth and crawl into bed, but the sink is full of strands of even’s fucking hair from when he spent thirty goddamn minuted styling it this morning.

“even.”

“yeah?”

“can you please come here?”

even appears in the doorway, leaning against the frame in a way that makes his shirt bunch up right above his left hip, and isak is trying very hard not be distracted -

“why the fuck were you shedding in the sink?”

even moves to look. the tiny bathroom suddenly seems a hell of a lot smaller.

“pain is the price of beauty,” even says, smirking, but his face falls a bit when he sees that isak isn’t giving in that easily.

even looks at him apologetically. “i’ll clean it up, yeah?”

“fine,” isak says before stalking out of the bathroom, because, let’s face it, he’s always been a bit dramatic.

he’s sulking in bed on his phone, trying to understand some meme about capitalism that jonas sent him when even flops into bed next to him, all long limbs and a toothy grin, making isak bounce on the mattress.

isak shoots him a look.

“come on, are you really that mad about the hair?” even says, and isak immediately narrows his eyes.

“yeah? i am? because, like, this is our place and it’s really important to me that we take care of it.”

even is looking at him so softly and fondly that it pisses isak off more than he thought was possible, and he opens his mouth to tell even to listen to what he’s saying, dammit, when even speaks first.

“i get it. i want to be perfect, too, but at the same time i kind of like that it’s lived in. we’re making it our own. leaving our mark.”

isak hadn’t thought of it like that. he grumbles a bit, saying something about how even’s actual dna being all over his toothbrush isn’t as much of a mark as, like, painting the walls a different color like a normal person.

but he still snuggles into even and breathes in his scent. his scent, which is so distinctly even, and is slowly permeating through the entire apartment.

leaving a mark.

all even wants is to cook a nice breakfast for his boyfriend, but of course isak didn’t do the dishes last night like he said he would, and they’re piled up on the counter with the forgotten food literally crusted on them.

“babe?” he asks, as calmly as he can. “i thought you were going to do the dishes last night?”

isak glances up from his textbook where he’s doing last minute cramming for class and makes a noise of slight disgust. “fuck, i’m sorry. i totally forgot.”

“it’s fine, we can just use other plates,” even says, opening the cabinet before realizing that literally every single plate they own is dirty, because they only have five in total. “or paper towels, i guess?”

when he turns to grab some, he’s met with a bare cardboard roll, and he tries, he swears, he tries to keep his tone completely neutral.

“you forgot those too.”

isak doesnt bother to look, finger tapping under a line of text as he mouths something to himself before answering. “yeah, i was totally going to, but i ran into eva and we ended up talking and going to kb instead of the store, so i didn’t get a chance.”

“isak, we need something to eat off of,” even breathes, and he knows his voice is a little too harsh when isak’s head snaps up in a way that tugs at his heart, so he tacks a “sorry” at the end.

“no, you’re right,” isak says, standing to wrap his arms around even and press his lips right beneath even’s ear. “i’ll do them now.”

even shakes his head. “you have to study.” he knows how important isak’s classes are to him.

“you can read the passage to me while i clean real quick,” isak suggests. “i like your voice when you read.”

they grin at each other for a second, the annoyance at isak’s carelessness fading to a dull murmur, and even sits down at the table and begins to recite something he doesn’t understand in time with the cyclical rhythm of the sponge on the plates.

isak hums occasionally in response to something even says. soon, he places two plates of scrambled eggs in front of the both of them and swings backwards into a chair.

the cleaning job is a little iffy; even resits the urge to scrape off a dark flake with his thumbnail, solely because isak is looking at him with a mouth full of food and the corners of his eyes scrunching up ever so slightly.

even kisses the tip of his nose just to see him blush and roll his eyes before he starts eating his breakfast.

isak’s trying - they both are - and that’s all that really matters, isn’t it?

he thinks it is.

it was a mutual loathing, that was all // (young!remus x reader)

Request: Remus lupin x Ravenclaw!reader. They always argue, you can never see them not fighting with each other. One day they start a fight about really nothing, leads to a passionate “hate” kiss, there’s a thin line between hate and love

                          @my-unique-mind , I hope this suffices for now ;)

Words: 1,183

He’s there as you walk out of the Ravenclaw common room, leaning against the wall, brown hair curling slightly in the heat. James and Sirius stand near by, entertaining a group of fourth years and pretending to look bored when they collapse in to nervous laughter. You roll your eyes.

“What are you doing here, Lupin?”

“It’s a corridor. Pretty certain I have every right to be here,” he says carefully, catching a fourth years eye and attempting to look flirtatious but failing miserably as she just laughs and turns back to Sirius.

He deflates a little, awkwardly touching his hair and you take the opportunity to smile. Falsely, of course. “Doesn’t look like things are going too well for you on that front,” you say, glancing at the group of giggling Ravenclaws. “Do you really have to prey on other houses too? Isn’t one infected house enough?”

“At least I don’t live my life vicariously though book characters,” Remus retorts as you begin to descend down the stairs.

When you walk past him on your way to transfiguration, you tell him his shirt is untucked. James and Sirius laugh and whisper something about you being his mother, to which Remus flushes red and glares at you.

“What?” You smirk, “I’m just trying to help you out on the girls front…”

You fall in to arguments like breathing. It’s almost easier. Remus Lupin was infuriating, immature and believed he had a birth right to everything on the Hogwarts grounds. It was harder not to antagonise him. Your friends would always look unconvinced when you assured them that it was a rampant dislike for Remus that fueled your arguments. A mutual hatred. You, for the entitled Gryffindor, him for the know-it-all Ravenclaw. That was all.
 
It happens again in the library, as the rest of the quietly chattering students dissolve. You’re examining a book on Stunning Spells for your Defence Against the Dark Arts class test later that afternoon, when he saunters in. Immediately you tense, watching as his slim form brushes his fingers over books. Slender fingers, etching their way across the spines.

And he knows you’re watching so you glare in to your text book, imagining stunning his tall back.

After a few minutes you can’t take it, “Are you actually going to choose a book? Or is that too complex for your mind to process?” You snap, barely glancing up from your paragraph on how to stun with optimum precision.

“Ah there it is. The persistent whine that seems to follow me everywhere I go.”

You narrow your eyes, “Why aren’t you in your common room?”

He glances behind his shoulder, “Why aren’t you in yours?”

You slam your book shut and bring the piece of parchment to your left closer to your frame, “I’m studying. Though I imagine the concept is quite alien to you and your…” You pause as if trying to find the right  word, “Friends.”

Remus stiffens, “Give it a rest about the guys, Y/N.”

You roll your eyes but don’t retort.

Keep reading

kcg4  asked:

Hi Charity as you are an ENFP I wanted to ask you how to do you see Si and Te in you? How was it clear for you that you were Ne dom and Fi aux and not the contrary? You said in the past that you cinsidered yourself socially introvert or shy, which I think is my case and I'm not sure about INFP or ENFP for me. Thanks a lot

My main way of recognizing my status as an extrovert, beyond my need for external stimulation all the time (NOTHING HAS HAPPENED IN TEN MINUTES, MY LIFE SUCKS) is that I am not a Fi-dom. So excuse me, while I once again travel into the land of indecisive Ne to illustrate my point; then I will return to your initial question.

If you compare the INFPs on this blog to the ENFPs, you will notice that the INFP’s Fi is often very prominent and “runs the show.” This is also true with real life INFPs, who as judging dominants, have and express very strong opinions. Since they are in contact with their inner self most of the time, they often know what they like and dislike, what they want to do or refuse to do, and how they FEEL about most things. There is rarely indecision on that point, especially when it comes to the strength of their inner moral focus.

While I have extremely strong opinions in a few areas, in the broader scope of reality, I am far more indecisive and disconnected from my feelings, to the point where half the time, I rationalize them out with Te, or question my “right” to feel this way at all, rather than just use them. Something I admire about INFPs is they tend to be more decisive than I am, especially in their likes and dislikes. As a Ne-dom, my likes and dislikes can change from day to day.

An INFP I know had a fight with her friends once and door-slammed all of them. She knew how she felt, that they were dissing her opinions and not respecting her true self, and after she had enough, she was done. And she did not waffle on that decision. She just quit. She made up with them much later on, but only after her temper cooled, and she had space and time to mature in her own way (and they matured also). She knew what she wanted: them gone. For now.

I complained the other day to my mother about Elizabeth of York in Philippa Gregory’s novel / miniseries, The White Princess. She is so indecisive. She changes her mind from one chapter to the next about who she is, what she wants, and answers “I don’t know” to half the questions posed to her. Some days she likes her husband, some days she doesn’t; she intends to give up on him, then turns around and falls for him again. It’s seriously annoying.

Once I got done with my rant, my mother smiled and said, “So she’s basically you, in literary form.”

Gee, thanks mom.

My mouth hung open for a couple of seconds, while my Fi had a little tantrum, and then my Te immediately snapped in and I went: “I guess. But I’d make a BAD heroine. Heroines need to be decisive! Books need plots! Heroines need to know what they want, or at least figure it out, and get there, not be lost in indecision! The plot must move forward!”

Unlike me. =P

Ne-dom makes me changeable. And it annoys me. One day, I might want this. The next day, I might not. One day, I might decide that this friend sucks. The next day, I might think I was wrong and they’re awesome. They did not change. My Ne flipped the situation around for a different perspective. It runs right over my Fi and what it wants, all the time. This means that I either do not KNOW what I want or cannot ADMIT to myself what I want, nor give myself permission to want it. It annoys me, it annoys my parents, it annoys my friends, and it annoys my cat. But that’s how it is.

I WISH I had some Fi to haul Ne’s ass into a chair and decide: NOPE. But no, instead Ne hauls me around with Fi going “Um… I don’t know how I feel yet?”

But anyway, rant aside: back to your question.

How do I see Si and Te in me?

I see Te a lot when I ‘temporarily loop’ in order to avoid dealing with my feelings. I do not LIKE my feelings. I consider them a major pain in the butt. When my grandpa died, I was a wreck before it happened. I didn’t even know him that well, but it took him a long time to die. His organs slowly shut down. I was so immersed in the pain of what was happening to my loved ones, that I cried way more than any of them. But after his death, my Te immediately kicked in. Mom wanted to clear out his house. Like, immediately. That’s how she copes.

So we did. I put aside my emotions, went into that house, and went through all my grandparents’ stuff. We filled a dumpster. I organized everything we decided to keep in piles for the family to choose from after the funeral. A lot of my decisions were people-motivated – my cousins loved playing these games with Grandma. Shall we keep them? I’ll make sure they have all the pieces and put them in nice piles. I did the funeral video. Everyone needs a Ne-dom for that. It wasn’t just about Grandpa, it was about his life. His dreams. His parents. The culture he grew up in. I managed the voice-over, without falling to pieces.

And then, I moved on.

My Si is very poor. I may be adverse to CHANGE when people announce it (and I have to deal with it a lot, my parents literally cannot live six months without changing their house around, the yard, etc) but I am not stuck in the past. Half the time it never comes to my mind. The past flows beyond me. A day can seem a week ago, and three years ago can seem like yesterday. I gaped when a friend showed me a picture recently with 2014 stamped on the bottom. That was that long ago!? My grasp on time sucks. My awareness of time sucks. My own carelessness with time… sucks. A Si-friend recently said, “You should take more pictures with your cat. You will want them when she’s eventually gone.”

I stared at her. “I will?”

See, I don’t think like that. When people, places, things, are gone, I miss them. I love them. I still think about them sometimes, but they are gone. I do not pour over pictures. I do not sit and endlessly talk about the past. I do not want to think about the past. I moved on.

Sometimes, people tell me I should slow down, or take more time with that, since they do not want me to “look back one day, and regret this moment.”

Thing is, that probably won’t happen. I rarely go back.

Unless I hurt someone badly, and never received their forgiveness, or am beating myself up about something I should have done to stop something bad from happening, I don’t look back and regret. You cannot drive a car staring into your rear view mirror. In that way, I am careless. But I don’t know how to NOT be careless. Things matter right now, and then they’re gone. I loved that show, but it’s canceled. There’s new stuff to watch. I take in so much of it (as a Ne-dom), only a few things stick longer than six months.

And sometimes, I desperately want them to stick. I sit with someone or something loving it, immersed in its beauty, and think, “How can I hold onto it? I already feel it slipping away! WHY CAN’T I APPRECIATE THIS MORE?”

Inferior Si.

This is going to sound weird, because it is weird. But, under stress… I start obsessively tinkering with sensory elements. I’ve been editing and rewriting a book for what seems like forever (forever to me is four months, but I don’t want to talk about how this is the eighth draft of the fourth version of this book in two years) which is very tedious, Si-driven work. My Te is happy to help out with deadlines, and charts, and word counts, and I have a nice little sheet of paper with things marked on it, where I enter my progress each day to keep myself motivated. But I swear on my soul, yesterday when I opened the file, my Si went nuts and said: I don’t like this font. It curls funny. Change it.

So I did.

And then I sat there for at least ten minutes, changing the font, again and again, then the sizing several times. I printed out a page to see how it will look in book form, then promptly forgot which configuration I used (poor Si!) and had to print several more sheets in different sizes. I never did figure out which was the font and what size I used for that first sheet. (Shame, I like it the best.) Then I resized the file across my screen, to try and get the font to ‘curl’ how I like it, so I could read it. I cannot read it, unless it’s the right size. And font. And I must edit so there are no paragraphs that end with one word on the next line.

(Are you laughing yet? Is that not pathetic? Welcome to my life.)

Screw inferior Si. It’s bullshit.

I never know how to say this without hurting feelings but… Fi-doms are sensitive and since INFPs have higher Si, they do not forgive you fast.

Think about two terrific insults against NFPs (from future husbands) in literature and compare them to how you process things.

Gilbert Blythe pulls Anne Shirley’s braid and calls her carrots. The little INFP smashes her slate against his head and screams at him in class. She then tells Diana “the iron has entered my soul: I shall never forgive him,” and proceeds to ignore him, compete with him, and refuse to speak to him. For years. Gibert has to grovel to get on her good side, many times. She is super sensitive and her emotions flare up immediately. “You hurt me EXCRUCIATINGLY,” she says. She means it. He DID.

Mr. Darcy insults Lizzie’s appearance (she is not handsome enough to tempt me into a dance – ie, she’s not that pretty) in Pride & Prejudice. ENFP Lizzie gapes at him, then promptly turns it into a joke. She never brings it up again. She’s mad, but more mad about what he does to Jane than his insult. She finally confronts him when he proposes, but not about that. No, it was not the insult that hit her; it was the impression she formed of his character, based on it. And when he writes her a letter that basically calls out her family for being loud, obnoxious, inappropriate trash, she is pissed but has enough high Te to realize: he has every right to feel that way about us, based on what he saw. Once she realizes WHY he thinks how he does, her anger cools. And her mind changes about him. The anger dissipates.

Did he hurt her? Sure. Deeply? Not so much.

Someone walked up to my INFP the other day and insulted her appearance. It hurt. A lot. She will probably never speak to him again.

A person insulted me to my face at dinner a few years ago. He basically implied the people I work with and the caliber of their work is poor, and I should do a better job selecting the material we work on together. (IE: Wow, you suck.) I bitch-slapped him good with a Te-snarl comeback and … promptly moved on. I was mildly annoyed by it, and it certainly colored our interactions from that point on, but I wasn’t hurt by it so much as annoyed. We stayed “friends.”

I can count the number of times people have actually hurt my feelings on one hand. My Te is strong.

How do I know this?

I’m one of the first people to come up with a rational, non-emotional “fix it” to problems. I often discount my own feelings or put them aside entirely, to get a job done. I remember one time, a friend PM’d me after I wrote a movie review and said, “But did you LIKE it?? You wrote an excellent review, but it was so non-emotional I don’t even know what YOU thought of it.” I criticized the poor elements and talked about the good ones, but there was none of “me” there.

I admit, I was a little more emotionally reactive as a child / young teeanger, but Fi still wasn’t running the show. Most Fi-dom children are very sensitive. When asked what I was like, various family members (without consulting one another) have laughed and said, “Your focus was on being a comedian. You wanted to make people laugh. But you were not especially emotional.”

I’m not. It’s true. Sometimes to my own determent.

- ENFP Mod

PS: If you get to the end of this certain you are an NFP, but you don’t know what you do in a situation in order to compare it to Lizzie or Anne’s emotional reactions, congrats: that’s shitastic inferior Si. You are an indecisive Ne-dom.

I Love You

Prompt: You were on a hunt with Sam and Dean when you got terribly hurt. Waking up, you find Crowley scowling the boys for being so careless and FLUFF!

Pairing: Crowley x Reader

A/N: Hey y’all! This one is longer than what I’m usually use to but I really liked how this turned out. Fluff to the max! Remember! My requests are always open and I’m pretty new here so I could use some friends :) Message me anytime! And as always! Enjoy!

Originally posted by a-hunter-angel


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You swung around quickly and blocked a punch the vampire was going to throw at you. You swing you machete up and across, slicing the vampire’s neck open. His eyes glazes over, staring at you as his head lolls to the side and falls off completely. His body hits the floor with a thud quickly after.

Before you could take a breath and focus again, you hear Sam yell out, “Y/n! Watch out!” You quickly swing around but you weren’t fast enough when the vampire hits you, sending you flying to the wall. You crash into it and fall to the floor, knocking your forehead into the floorboard. Blinking through the haze that fell over your eyes, you try to push yourself upwards but you felt a shoe make impact with your stomach, making you fall back onto the floor.

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Playing hard to get, Kara?

I respect that. In fact, I almost admire it. It’s irritating beyond belief that in upsetting you I’ve handed power to the one person who knows exactly how to get under my skin. Do you keep a chart? Check each action on a scale of whether it will trigger my awful temper? Maintain a list of the few things you’ve ever seen reduce me to tears.

So you rejected the delivery of flowers. Fine. Not my most original idea, and I’m working without a decent assistant. Sending flowers to your office was as cliché as it was unprofessional, especially while you’re struggling to be taken seriously, so you’re right to refuse.

The cupcakes, you accepted. Even if you did sign the delivery receipt with ‘bite me xx’. Knowing your appetite as I do, and that I denied you those superlative baked goods before, I’m not entirely surprised at that moment of concession.

And yet you hold firm on not replying.

You really think you’ve ended this conversation with me, that we have nothing left to say to one another. You don’t realize the days and hours I spent unable to talk to you or anyone, how I used that time to compile endless lists of things I want to tell you, motivational speeches I’ve yet to give you, confessions that sometimes I think I owe you.

Then I remember that if I care for you at all, it would be kindest to keep those confessions to myself. That I can’t tell you the effect thinking I’ve lost you for good is having on my mental health and my recovery. I won’t guilt you into coming back to me, Kara. It has to be because you forgive me and you miss talking to me, too. But you also know how accustomed I am to getting what I want. When it comes to you, only that stubborn decency of yours stops me from crossing those lines.

Thus, I won’t bribe you with a sports car, not least because I remember the fateful day you collected me in my Ferrari when I was too drunk to drive it home. We’d honestly have been safer with me at the wheel and three times over the limit, I suspect. I won’t call your every known acquaintance to get them to tell you to talk to me - although I have an unlisted number here for Danvers, E. in Midvale, CA. In case you thought injury had dulled my investigative skills.

Talk to me, Kara.

Even if only to keep telling me how I hurt you and how disappointed you are. Tell me about how scared you were, how I did that to you, and let me absorb the blame I deserve for it. I’ll even listen to your millennial dating woes, no matter how much that pains me now, if it means you’re writing back.

I can be insincere. I can be flippant and careless, and discard people who don’t mean much to me. I can’t be any of those things with you, so draw your own conclusions. I could certainly never discard you, so I ask you not to do the same with me.

I keep telling myself I won’t beg. Kara, please don’t make me a liar.

Manspreading (Epilogue)

Word Count: 4k

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

The air was filled with the fragrance of a thousand flowers, just like it always was inside of your delivery truck, in your house, and most of all in your flower shop. They say the more frequently you smell something, you grow habituated to it and you stop registering it, and maybe that’s true but in the seven years you’ve been a florist, you have yet to take the sweet, cleansing smell for granted.

It has been a long time since you drove around delivering the bouquets yourself. You had stopped doing it ever since your small business grew a little and people started seeking you out personally for the unique designs you poured your soul into creating, and you had to hire a driver to do the delivering for you so your creative process wouldn’t get frequently interrupted.

You started this business out of passion. It was something you chose for yourself, entirely on your own, and so the sheer amount of effort that went into it never felt tiresome to you. You never made two bouquets alike, and you incorporated even the very hard to come by flowers if it meant getting your vision translated into reality just right, and so what little extra money you made -you were adamant on not overpricing your bouquets no matter how successful you got- immediately got spent on improving the little green house you bought and cared for, but that never bothered you. You weren’t in this for the money.

Even though your shop and the green house felt like your little slices of heaven, the chance to deliver some bouquets today, as suggested by Namjoon, was a lovely change of pace. You had forgotten how excited this part was, getting to see the jovial expressions on your clients faces after handing them the final product, and witnessing first-hand the happiness such a simple thing can bring to a person’s life, if even for a moment.

There was only one bouquet left to deliver, and it was the best one yet. A class of second year kindergarteners were graduating to elementary school soon and they wanted to surprise their beloved teacher with a little farewell present. That was the most precious thing you’ve ever heard and you couldn’t wait to see the surprise and happiness on the teacher’s face as the little ones proudly presented the flowers to him.

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Reflections // Yoongi

Drabble game request: Yoongi + “How could I ever forget about you" + Angst | for anon

Word count: 1,562 words

Character: Yoongi x reader

Part 1/ReflectionsPart 2/FlashlightsPart 3/Pathways ⇎ Part 4/Shadows


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request: the8 badboy!AU, highschool!AU ; insp. by the 6th prompt here!

pairing: minghao/you

a/n: *sweats* after 6 months of not writing a scenario, i am back!!! honestly i got a bit carried away so it’s a bit lengthier than usual, so i hope this makes up for it since this is my first minghao fic :’) 

2,684 w.

The sound of hurried footsteps and hushed voices outside your bedroom window is what pulls you away from your hour-long studying session. It’s five minutes past midnight and you’re reviewing your notes in preparation for your chemistry test in the morning, but now that your attention is elsewhere, you realize that further cramming will do you no good. You sigh and shut your notebook, stretching your arms behind your back as you get up to see who (or what) could be making such a ruckus outside your house this late.

When you peer outside your window, you barely make out the outlines of three hooded figures running straight for your backyard door. Your eyes widen as you watch them shove it open and run deeper in until they’re out of sight. You freeze in place as panic washes over you because oh my god they’re going to break in and murder me why do I have to be alone tonight out of all nights?

You grab your phone and rush into the master’s bedroom where a window gives the perfect view of your backyard. Creeping closer to the window and peaking through the blinds, you see that the three of them are standing in the middle of your backyard, two of their backs turned to you. The other figure is facing you, but you can’t quite make out their face.

“Did we lose him?”

“I don’t know. But it’s best to hide here until we’re sure.”

You sigh in relief. So their intention isn’t to break in.

“Minghao? What do you think?”

Minghao? You squint your eyes as the figure takes off his hood. Even in the darkness, his fiery red hair is visible and your jaw goes slack. Minghao’s in several of your classes, though he hardly shows up for it to feel that way.

“Yeah, let’s just wait here.” He cards a hand through his hair and looks around as if sensing your gaze.

You’re about to step back from the window just in case he sees you, but something in the corner of your eye makes you stop mid-way. Now that your eyes have adjusted to the dark, you can see that your garden—or what was your garden—has been trampled on. You’ve been tending to that garden for months now, and anger builds within you when you see some of your peonies limp in the soil.

You spin on your heel and down the stairs, clutching your phone in your fist. You make your way over to the living room where the backyard door is, flicking the backyard light on in the process.

You yank the door open and step out, pointing an accusatory finger at the three boys, “Hey!”

The three of them look at you in alarm, but before they can say anything you continue, “Look, I was going to let you guys off for trespassing after you leave and all, but how are you going to repay me for my garden? I’ve been working on it for months! And you,” you point to Minghao, “there’s a chemistry test tomorrow! Did you even know that? Actually, do any of you know how expensive it is to maintain a garden like this? Why my garden? You guys are so careless!”

By now you’re heaving from your mini-rant as the three boys stare at you in shock. You cross your arms. “Well?”

Much to your dismay, one of them has the audacity to laugh“Come on,” he nudges the one standing next to him. “Let’s get out of here.” He shoves his fists in the pocket of his hoodie and brushes past you like it’s nothing. “Nice pajamas, by the way.”

You blink a few times before looking down at your current attire: a Hello Kitty pajama set you got for Christmas two years ago with fuzzy slide slippers to match. Feeling your face warm, you glare as Offender #2 joins Offender #1′s side.

“Let’s go, Minghao. You have a test to study for, remember?” he snickers.

And then they’re off, leaving the way they entered, not even sparing you a glance. Minghao watches as you sulk over to your garden. You can feel his eyes on you as you kneel down to pick up a crushed peony. “Just go,” you murmur, standing up to walk past him. “Jerks…”

“Hey,” he calls out right before you close the door behind you. “I’ll make it up to you somehow.”

“How?” you frown. Even though Minghao’s always had the reputation as the school’s “bad boy”, you never paid attention to such labels. But now that you have a reason to dislike him, you’re starting to believe the rumors. Maybe he truly is just a delinquent who causes needless trouble. “I’ve been growing this garden for mo—”

“For months. Yeah, yeah. You’ve said that already.”

Your glare deepens.

“I’ll find a way. But for now, I have to go.” He pulls his hood over his head and for the first time, looks you in the eye. “It’s ______, right?”

“Huh?” you ask, surprised that he knows your name. He looks at you expectantly and you clear your throat. “I mean, yeah. How’d you know?”

He smirks. “It’s pretty hard not to know the name of teacher’s pet, don’t you think?”

_ _ _

Unsurprisingly, Minghao misses the chemistry test the next day and doesn’t show up to class for the days that follow. You twirl your pencil between your fingers, chin resting on the palm of your other hand. “He’ll make it up to me my ass,” you mutter, remembering the amount of peonies that died at the hands (well, feet, technically) of those three impudent boys.

When class ends, you’re out the door, ready to go home and take a nice nap. With both of your earbuds in, you scroll through the music in your phone until you find a song you like and press play. You walk for five minutes until you feel a tap on your shoulder.

When you turn around, Minghao’s staring down at you. This time, his hair’s dyed a whitish grey that contrasts against his black hoodie.

You pull out your left earbud. “What do you want?”

“Here,” he holds out a mini succulent plant. “We’re even now, right?”

Frowning, you take the succulent from him and eye it. “This is your idea of making it up to me?” You narrow your eyes at him as he shrugs. The succulent is admittedly cute, and as you inspect it more, you notice black ink written on the bottom of the vase. Curious, you tilt it backwards until the words becomes readable.

Seokmin Lee :^)

Pausing, you look up at Minghao, to the succulent, and back at him. “Wait,” you say slowly, realization hitting you. “You stole this?”

You shove it back in his hands and glare, angry at yourself for actually thinking he could be true to his word.

“I got it for you,” he says simply, not understanding why you’re so upset. “You don’t like it?”

You look at him like he’s crazy, but his unwavering stare makes you pinch the bridge of your nose in frustration. “Forget it,” you say. “Just put it back where you took it from.” You shove your earbud back in your ear and continue your walk home.

When you open your backpack to do homework later that day, you find the succulent sitting inside the space between your notebooks. 

_ _ _

Minghao, for reasons unknown, has become increasingly adamant on compensating you for the garden he and his friends ruined. Last week, he tried giving you a rose before you pointed out that it was clearly plucked from the school’s garden. You figure that it’s a pride thing that drives him to do these things; otherwise, a rebel like him and a straight-A student like you would never have crossed paths again following the incident last month.

Today, it’s a pack of sunflower seeds.

“You know these are for eating, not for growing, right?” you deadpan, looking up at him. “I can see you’re really trying. But what’s done is done, so you can stop feeling indebted to me or whatever.”

Minghao opens his mouth to speak, but you continue before he can, voice much softer this time. “You’re nicer than your other friends. I appreciate it.”

“Nice?” he frowns. “I’m not nice.”

“Then why do you keep doing this?” You purse your lips, clutching the pack of sunflower seeds embarrassedly. “People think you like me. Someone saw you give me the rose last week. You know how fast rumors spread in this school.”

“Let them think what they want,” he counters, expression unreadable. You’ve never felt so vulnerable under someone’s gaze. “Plus, some rumors turn out to be true.”

You feel a blush creep up your neck. “What do you mean?”

Minghao shrugs, feigning cluelessness. “Dunno.”

The words come out before you know it: “Do you like me?” You bite your lip immediately after the words slip out, mentally cursing yourself for asking such a forward and ridiculuous question.

Minghao, however, seems unfazed. “Wanna date?”

You definitely weren’t expecting that. At a loss for words, you can only pray that your face isn’t as red as it feels. Minghao looks amused as your mouth opens and closes as you struggle for a response.

“I don’t date,” you say lamely. “I’m focusing on my studying.”

Minghao quirks a brow. “So no?”

You feel as if your heart rate’s increased tenfold and your mind’s gone blank, and all you can see is Minghao watching you grapple with words like you suddenly forgot how to speak and why in the world isn’t there a class on Dealing With A Minghao 101?

You and Minghao are polar opposites. You study diligently and get good grades, never skip class, and are well-liked among teachers. Minghao’s known for his cold indifference and causing all sorts of mischief outside of school. You’re not very popular, either, so you can’t find any plausible reason as to why Minghao would want to date you.

“I… I don’t know,” you manage to choke out after what feels like an eternity. “I barely even know you.”

“Isn’t that what dating’s for?” For someone so relaxed, he’s strangely persistent.

“I mean,” you start. “We could maybe… study for the upcoming chemistry test together?”

Minghao scoffs and you look away sheepishly.

“What was I expecting,” he mutters. “Fine.”

_ _ _

You’ve never felt so many eyes on you before. It’s a rare sight, so you can’t be too mad at the staring students. Had it not been for your suggestion, Minghao would likely never be seen in the library, let alone with you of all people. There are papers splayed over your shared table, but so far you’re the only doing the actual studying. He’s been staring at you for, you glance at the clock hanging above a shelf of books, the past thirty minutes.

“Minghao,” you sigh, looking up from your notebook. “What’s the difference between molarity and molality?”

“Your nose twitches when you study,” he says plainly.

You give him a pointed look but before you can retort, a smirking figure grabs your attention.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?” The pretentious Jihoon has his fists in his khaki slacks and his chin up like usual. “______ sharing her smarts with someone? Who would’ve known,” he muses. “Tutoring will only slow you down. We’ll see who lands the highest score this time.“

“Actually, tutoring shows you’ve mastered the material well enough to teach it,” you roll your eyes. “And I’m not even tutoring him. We’re studying together.”

Jihoon scoffs, grumbling a “whatever” before stalking off.

“Who is that punk?” Minghao asks, eyes still on his retreating figure.

You shake your head, brushing your hair out of your face. “I guess you could call him my rival. He’s been like that since we were in the fifth grade.”

“The competitiveness or the rich kid look?”

“Both,” you reply sadly.

Minghao adjusts his baseball cap so that his bangs flatten above his eyes. “Want me to beat him up?”

Your eyes widen as you look up at him. You can’t decide what’s scarier, his threat or the fact that he’s actually serious. “No, don’t do that,” you frantic. “I don’t want you beating anyone up.”

Minghao doesn’t look satisfied with your answer but doesn’t say anything. The next ten minutes are spent in silence, you reading over your notes and doing practice problems while Minghao idly scrolls through his phone. He gets up, sliding his phone into the pocket of his bomber jacket, and tells you that he’s going to the bathroom. You nod without looking up, letting him know you heard him.

"Finally, he left,” you hear someone a few tables away breathe out in relief the moment he’s out of sight. “I was going to leave myself if he didn’t.”

“Dude, same.” His friend shudders. “He’s so scary.”

You try to pay them no mind as you train your attention on your studying, but as they continue their Minghao-slandering you realize that you’ve been reading the same sentence over and over.

“What was he doing here, anyways? He should just go back to his shady business with his gang or something.”

“Tell me about it. And why was ______ with him? He probably threatened her into it.”

You slam your pen on the table. All eyes darting to you, you turn to the two gossipers. “Excuse me, but I’m trying to study,” you force a smile. “So if you could please—”

And what they ask next is all it takes for you to snap.

“______, is everything okay? You’re not feeling ill, are you?”

Feeling the anger coursing through your veins, you stand from your seat, palms laying flat on the table. “What do you two know about Minghao? Have you ever even talked to him?” You don’t care if you’re drawing more attention to yourself as you press on, “You have no right to judge him. He has feelings too, you know. What makes you think that I’d have to be feeling sick to want to be with him? You guys are so judgmental! You guys are such…” you remember what Minghao said earlier, “…punks! You guys are nothing but—”

“______, that’s enough.”

Alarmed, you turn around to see Minghao standing there with his usual expressionless face. You turn back around consciously and shut your eyes tightly; just how much did he hear? Would he be proud that you stood up for him? Angry that you caused a scene?

Minghao tugs on your wrist, “Come on.”

Wordlessly, you pack up your things, head laying low in shame though you ironically don’t regret a thing. Swinging your backpack over your shoulder, you exit the library after Minghao.

“Um,” you cough, trying to catch up to him, “how much did you hear?”

“All of it,” he says casually, looking down at you. “You like me, don’t you?”

You stop walking and blink up at him. Minghao peers at you over his shoulder and you swear you see stars.

You suck in a breath and, feeling brave, say, “Well, we’re dating, aren’t we?” You rejoin his side and feel proud when you see him looking shocked this time.

But the surprise is quickly replaced by a smirk as he throws his arm over your shoulder.

_ _ _

“Geez, who knew gardening could be this tiring,” Junhui, previously known to you as Offender #1, sighs, wiping away a drop of sweat from his brow.

“Don’t forget expensive,” you remind him, using your hand as a shield from the sun.

“Can we take a break?” Soonyoung (Offender #2) whines, fanning himself. “It’s hot!” He tosses the trowel on the soil and let’s out a groan.

“No stopping, punks,” Minghao scowls, and you can hear Junhui mumble “he’s turned soft” under his breath.

“Hey,” you elbow Minghao, “you should be helping them. You did this too, remember?”

“I tried making it up to you, didn’t I?” he challenges.

You end up shoving Minghao into the soil, but thankfully this time the peonies are unharmed.

contact comfort;

this is a fill for a prompt i got on my main blog

Anonymous said:#4 and #17 with Namjoon

4. “I’m too sober for this.”
17. “Good thing I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

Summary: Your best friend, Namjoon, whom you definitely are not in love with is having cat troubles, so you consult the expertise of one Kim Taehyung. (Harry Potter AU)

Your best friend, Namjoon, is the sort of wizard who really stands out in a crowd. It’s not because of his gargantuan height or his stunningly good looks, although that does help. It’s not even his innately clumsy nature, no; Kim Namjoon stands out because he exudes an aura of self-assurance and confidence (although not quite up to Slytherin standards). Although lately, this confidence of his, funnily enough, comes crumbling down the minute the Gryffindor prefect is around his cat, Mimi.

Mimi is a beauty, to say the least, with her fluffy white coat that looks like it’s dusted with snowflakes. However, she is also extremely picky about who can pet her, and for some reason, Namjoon isn’t really one of her favourite people at the moment. The boy himself is puzzled by what seems to be a recent development, according to what he’s told you.

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1| Two is okay, three is too much.

HOGWART AU!
Ship: Leta Lestrange x Newt Scamander x Reader
Warning: None
RequestCan you make a newt scamander x reader series where leta lestrange come back into newt’s life and him and the reader are dating but leta thinks otherwise and makes him cheat because he still has feelings for her and also can u make sure the reader doesn’t forgive him to easily but have a happy ending ALSO looked over you’re stories they seem really good keep it up❤
A/N: Hello dear, I know writing the first chapter was really long for it shortness. I’m sorry darling but I still hope that you’ll like the beginning of this adventure with Leta and Newt. To every other readers, hope you enjoy too. Sorry for any spelling error. 
Word count: 2109

Masterlist    Next

  Being a witch isn’t what everybody thinks. You’re not doing potion frequently if you’re not a potion master else you can make things explode or worse, which is not a goal. You don’t use a broom to travel, in fact you usually use cabs or hidden portals. Brooms are majorly used to play quidditch and not every wizard is a good player, trust me. And stop being so cliché about witch. Not all of them has a black cat, to be frank it’s quite rare. Owls are quite popular in generals, even though cats, rats and toads are too. Ah, muggles! They think witches are all ugly with strange features and crooked personalities but they would be so surprised if they knew the truth about the wizardry world.

Being a magical being was a lot more than that, actually, and it was the total contrary of the human’s thought. It was basically another reality with many jobs and schools, creatures and of course a lots of magic but it’s still so much more than just that.


You, in this world, were a witch. A proud student from Ilvermorny, school of witchcraft and wizardry in America. It wasn’t as prestigious as Hogwart but to be honest it was all you ever dreamed. Ilvermorny was a second house to you and you made such good friends there that you couldn’t careless about which school was better than the other.

After finishing school at Ilvermorny’s, you decided to study the magical creatures. How fascinating these beasts can be? You wanted to learn everything you could about them and share your knowledge with the world. And so you traveled all around the world to write a book about creatures and their way of being. 

While your trip, you took a boat which was leaving New York to London. Walking a little bit too fast in the crowded area to get on the upper part of the boat, you bumped into someone and dropped your case, felling on your butt afterwards. The person you bumped in, crouched next to you and looked at you worriedly.

“Oh, excuse me miss. I-I think I wasn’t looking where I was going.” The stranger said, struggling to talk without sounding totally nervous.

You grabbed the hand he was holding out for you to take it. He seemed a bit taken aback by your features when you fully raised your head towards him. To that stranger you looked incredibly good and the mysteriousness in your eyes… He couldn’t help but found you fascinating and slightly intimated. 

You brushed the dust out of your grey coat and smiled brightly to him(which caused him to gulp and feel his heart skip a beat), even if deep down you were just as intimidated as him for the same reason he was for you. What a strange duet you two were right now.

“O-oh no really, it’s not your fault, I was walking too fast.”

You lowered your gaze nervous, feeling the sweat slowly forming in your back. Suddenly, you noticed something, in the corner of your left eye, slipping out of the man’s case, The little thing was furry and grey with strange appearance. You instantly recognized the creature and gasped. Was he a wizard? Could you really mention there was a Niffler getting out of his luggage maybe taking all of his precious bright things with it? 

The man noticing your surprised expression, turned his look to the floor. He bit his lip immediately seeing what caught your attention. His Niffler.

Seeing the little creature was about to rob someone’s wallet, you got your wand out slightly.

“Arresto momentum!” You whispered, the spell reaching it victim.

The little creature was slow motioning and you grabbed it, hiding it in your coat’s pocket. To be sure he wouldn’t escape, you gave to the little furry animal a few golden and argent things to occupy it.

The stranger saw the entire scene and was a bit taken aback. Slowly realizing your error, you looked at him eye wide.

“Don’t tell me you’re a muggle?” You murmured, using the British term for the non-magic people. You felt your body tensing up in anticipation.

“I’m not. L-let’s just go a little farther to talk about all this.” He said looking around, noticing some people were giving the both of you strange looks.You relaxed a bit at his statement  as you followed him away of everyone. 

All the afternoon after the incident, you spent it introducing yourselves. You were so happy to meet an other wizard and none the less a wizard that liked magical creatures.

“I’m (Y/FULL/N), I’m glad to meet you Mister Scamander.” You smiled. 

Since then you started travelling with each others. Why? Well my friend, because you had that same passion about creatures. After a while, you decided to combine your researches with his and write a book about creatures. It was going to be called “Fantastic beast and where to find them”.

Soon enough, with all the adventures the book gave you, you became good friends. Your relation kept growing and when Newt finally decided to release the book he wrote with your help about the fantastic beasts, he asked you out. Let me say, you were really happy about it. It was the most beautiful day in your life.

Basically, now, your life is resumed to write about magical creatures, see them and then be back home and do something with your boyfriend. 

Tonight, the activity you were about to do with him was a little bit more special since it was your two years anniversary. The both of you decided to go see that huge quidditch match between two of the best team in the wizardry world, of course one out of the two was your favorite.

You weren’t surprised to see that there was a lot of people at the match but sincerely you didn’t cared. You just focused on you being with your boyfriend and it was perfect just like that. But as you two walked in the stairs for you to get to the place you were assigned, Newt stopped dead in his track.

You turned to see what was wrong and you saw her. The beautiful woman you would saw in a picture inside Newt’s wallet. You use to see that face often when you were traveling and taking care of the beasts with your boyfriend.

You suddenly understand that she is probably someone really important to him if he reacts like that. He never really told you what happened with the girl, he only said her name was Leta Lestrange and that he knew her since the time he went to Hogwart.

You gulped silently as you looked at the girl slowly walking in the crowd. You saw the pain flashing in Newt’s eyes and you just putted a hand on his shoulder. He looked at you, his eyes staring deep in yours, you just smiled sweetly in a reassuring way.

“It’s Leta isn’t it?” You asked.

He nodded and turned his head back to where she went. After a short silence between the two of you, you gently pecked Newt’s cheek.

“Go see her. I know you crave it. I’ll wait for you after the match at the entrance.”

You immediately saw a smile tugging at his lips as he hugged you tightly. 

“See you later then.”

~~~

As the match finished, you slowly raised from your seat and walked to the exit. The wave of quidditch fans was leading you out of the stadium. As you finally were out of the building, you made your way out of the crowd to wait for Newt.

At first, you thought maybe Newt was just caught in the middle of the wave and waited for him, patiently. You tried to distract yourself with minim things such as little families exiting the place while smiling and talking happily about how their favorite team won the final… but as time passed by you remarked there were slowly many to little people leaving and after a while, no one was getting out of the stadium.

The night started to get colder. You shuddered slightly, your coat was at home and you couldn’t go back now because Newt was still nowhere to be seen. You had nothing to tell you what time it was and it seemed to you that you have waited for your boyfriend for years.

Of course this was exaggerated, you’ve been waiting for him for at least 1 hour 15 minutes. Still, this was pretty long. So after so much time waiting for him, you decided to head back home. After all, Newt knew his way to your shared house, if he wanted to hang with Leta so bad to give up on his girlfriend the night of their 2 years anniversary he could easily go back home alone.

And so you went back home feeling slightly like a forgiven piece of crap. How could he ditch you like that? Asked an inner voice but as soon as you asked yourself the question you found an excuse to it. He hadn’t seen his friend in years! Of course he wouldn’t enjoy just a little match with her. But still… on the night of your 2 years anniversary?

You pushed that thought away, giving yourself more and more excuses to his way of acting just until you felt slightly better and reassured. ‘Yeah, he must have missed her. If I wouldn’t see (Your Best Friend name) often, I would do the same thing.Right? Right.’

Feeling convinced by your own excuse, you showered and then went straight to bed. It was almost 1AM and tomorrow you had to go to the Diagon Alley to get some books about dragons and also a gift for your friend’s birthday in a few days. That’s why you needed your sleep more than anything right now but you weren’t able to close your eyes and drift away in the wonderland. In fact, you were once again showered by anxious thoughts about Newt still not being back. Where was he? Was he still at the stadium?
What was he doing? Was he waiting for you like you waited for him a few hours ago? Was he still with Leta?

Ah Leta, you didn’t even knew her and you let your boyfriend ran in her arms. Well not literally but you know what I meant here. You slowly started to feel the remorse. Why had you let Newt go up to someone who is a perfect stranger to you? ’(Y/N), how stupid can you be?! For all you know she can be Newt past girlfriend!’

You sighed and turned around in your bed. And so you did this for hours… but as you were finally drifting in the dream lands, you heard the front door open. Your eyes flung open straight away and you raised on your legs, walking silently to the entrance. As nearer you got to the entrance, louder got some whispers. You stopped to listen what was said. Maybe it wasn’t Newt who entered home, maybe it was some muggles hunting down wizards or whatever could enter your house so early in the morning.

“Promise me we could see each other tomorrow, Newt, please! It’s been so long since last time I saw you… I don’t want to let you go this time plus we have to catch up all those years you were away from me~!” The voice was whining, it sounded like a plead but also like a mirror cracking in your ears. The mirror felt extremely fragile, like it was just about to shatter in pieces.

You held your breath, knowing Newt was silent because he was thinking about what her friend said, or so you thought. Never would you have guessed he was hugging her right now.

“I promise, Leta, I don’t want to let you go either.”

You heard Leta sigh and bid goodbye to Newt as your boyfriend waved back, finally closing the door. You slowly let your body slide down the wall. You hear the mirror break into pieces or maybe was it your heart? You had an extremely bad feeling about what was said. Your heart sunk in your chest. Newt accepted to pass time with her… not you. Her.

Who in the world was she to take your Newt away from you on the weekends?! It was the only time you could really share caring moments with him!

As you were about to move back to your shared bedroom, as whisper echoed close to you.

“(Y/N) what are you doing up so early in the morning?”

Red Wine

Co-written with @yesbocchan!

“Malfoy? Hey, are you listening?”
That couldn’t be. Draco’s thoughts were so insistent that he couldn’t pay attention to a single word Robards was saying, even if the man were the most interesting in the room – which he obviously wasn’t.
Potter, that bastard, was not only the most interesting, but apparently the hottest too. Instead of what Draco was used to seeing, Potter wearing those horrendous band t-shirts and baggy jeans, now his auror partner stood in front of everyone – all those hateful people that already drooled over him on a daily basis – in fit trousers and a white shirt. Trousers that Draco could recognise from that distance as being from the same tailor his mother always frequented and a shirt… a silk shirt that contrasted with his tanned skin in a way Draco was sure should be forbidden.
“Malfoy?”
“What is it?” Draco retorted abruptly, realising too late who he was talking to. His chief, however, didn’t seem to mind all that much about Draco’s response as soon as he spotted Harry by the door. He waved, a ridiculous devoted expression that made Draco roll his eyes. “Sir,” Potter nodded once, his eyes glued on Draco’s full of expectation. Robards was already talking again, pushing a glass of red wine in Harry’s hand without even bothering to offer one to Draco. He did his best not to roll his eyes again when Potter downed the whole thing in one go. The glass refilled itself as soon as Harry lowered it, which Draco thought wasn’t such a good thing since Potter was inclined to drink a lot when he could. Just like he’d predicted, Potter drank the second dose without giving it much thought.
“… and Malfoy here seems to think you look quite good too,” Robards’ voice came to Draco’s ears. Draco was thankful that he wasn’t drinking, or he would’ve most certainly chocked. Potter didn’t have that much luck. Draco almost saw it happen in slow motion. Potter’s glass tipped over a bit, as he coughed and bent forwards… then the disaster: the glass hit Harry’s immaculate shirt, spilling its contents all over it and making it stick to Potter’s skin. Draco could make out every single muscle, perhaps even some scars and veins. The red of the wine against the stark white of the shirt made it look like a murder scene, Draco thought vaguely, then a hissed “shit” snapped him back into focus. “Potter, you idiot,” he automatically said, stepping closer to inspect the damage. As he took the soaked tissue between his thumb and forefinger, Potter cleared his throat meaningfully, prompting Draco to jump back, heat rushing to his cheeks. That was when he noticed the whole hall had gone silent… and they were all staring. Not at Draco’s little domestic show, however, but at Harry’s lean figure that could now be admired by every single person under the transparency of his shirt. Something in Draco’s brain started to boil at that realisation and he felt himself – rather than decided to – spin towards Harry again, grab him by his forearm and drag him out of the hall. “I suppose that I should apologise?” Draco didn’t have to look at Potter to understand he was being mocked. He kept facing forward, guiding them towards the nearest elevator and pushing the button without chancing a look back. The smell of wine invaded his nostrils, the sound of tiny drops hitting the marble ringing in his ears in the dead silence. He clicked his tongue involuntarily, finally looking at Potter. An obvious mistake. From where he stood, under the well illuminated hall, he could see details that he hadn’t spotted before. Potter’s dark pointing nipples poking the stained fabric, glued sinfully against his pectorals, the line of his abs distinguishable just like his defined six pack. The dark liquid had reached the hem of his shirt, wrinkling the drenched piece until drops rolled down his pants and towards the floor. Merlin, that explained why everyone had been eating him with their eyes. A ding indicated the arrival of the elevator, snapping Draco out of his daze. His eyes met Potter’s briefly, grey ones melting into green ones full of something he couldn’t name, before turning around again and getting inside. “You’re making a mess with this, hold the hem up so it won’t dirt my floor.” Draco’s words came out harsher than he’d planned. He gulped, uncomfortable with his suddenly dry throat. Fuck, he felt his whole body hot. Potter just hummed beside him, rolling his eyes even though Draco couldn’t see. The elevator stopped on their floor, the heavy doors opening to a long corridor filled with portraits, most of them of sleeping wizards, on the high walls. Draco walked up to his office in silence, not daring a glance back at Potter. The moment the door closed behind them, though, Draco was all over Harry, his fingers skilfully unbuttoning the ruined shirt without much care as to avoid touching the other’s skin. “You’re so reckless, this is high quality silk, you careless bastard… and Cabernet Sauvignon! Such a waste on a mannerless brute like you, how can you drop a whole glass of… ” A firm hand stopped him suddenly, the heat radiating through Potter’s palm to Draco’s bicep where it held him in place. He darted his eyes up to find the shirt gone, thrown in the closest bin, one of his hands frozen in the air and the other holding Potter’s belt possessively. At first Draco considered running away, the heat already creeping up his face, but then Potter smirked at him, placing his other hand tentatively on Draco’s waist. “This is unfair,” Harry murmured, the very short distance between them doing things to Draco’s mind. “What is?” Draco found himself answering, placing his free hand on Potter’s shoulder unthinkingly. “I’m the only one getting naked,” replied Harry. Draco gaped, his mind short-circuiting when the realisation hit him. Harry wanted him, he wanted him to do it, undress him and… a low chuckle brought him back to reality, Harry’s blown pupils staring at his neck, his lips forming a wicked grin. “Merlin, look at you… ” he traced Draco’s jugular with a finger, admiring how the skin of his cheeks and neck were tinged red. “Are you that turned on?” Draco could sense when he was being made fun of, especially by Potter. He turned towards the door, cheeks burning. “You can do this on your own,” he mumbled, holding out a hand to grab the door handle, but a warm palm on his arm stopped him. “It’s no fun of my own,” breathed Potter, dangerously close to his right ear. Then Draco was being spun around and pushed against the desk, all in one fluid movement. The next thing he knew, Potter’s lips where on his, hot and hungry, tasting of wine, his tongue expertly sliding against Draco’s, tearing a low moan from him. Potter’s wet torso collided with Draco’s, but he couldn’t care less, as soon as Potter kept rocking against him like that… then Potter’s lips parted from his suddenly, leaving Draco in a blissful daze, eyes still closed. “Do you like Chinese?” whispered Potter. “Yes, Potter, I like Chinese,” chuckled Draco, amused by Harry’s not-so-smooth invitation. “Harry, my name his Harry.”
“Harry,” Draco tried out the sound like he’d just discovered a new word and he felt Harry shiver against him. “Do you like it when I say your name, Harry?” purred Draco, brushing his mouth on Harry’s earlobe. “Yes, Draco,” moaned Harry, rotating his hips. A squirm escaped Draco’s lips. “I think we should get out of here, before I take you on this very desk,” said Draco grudgingly. “I’m not opposed to the idea,” was Harry’s reply, his mouth on Draco’s once more.

What do you say, tumblr, should we write more?

Chanyeol as your boyfriend

A/N: Tell me who to do next <3


  • Would definitely be slightly shy at first.
  • But when you start having proper conversations he doesn’t stop talking.
  • Ever.
  • Wants to help you with dinner, but doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing so he’s just standing there rambling as always with a giant knife in his hands.
  • “Chanyeol put that down, you’ll hurt yourself.”
  • “No no I’m careful, I can handle a- aaaish.”
  • You putting a bandaid on his finger.
  • “Kiss it better.”
  • “Chanyeol ..”
  • You finally kiss his finger, but he still isn’t pleased.
  • “Now kiss this better too.” He says pointing to his lips, but you just shake your head and go back to cooking.
  • Sometimes you just have lazy days lying on the couch, his long legs in your lap while you watch tv and he’s on his phone.
  • Literally shows you everything he finds interesting.
  • “Look Sehun went skiing.”
  • “I have instagram too, Chanyeol.”
  • “We should go skiing.”
  • When you’re out on dates, he always insists on bringing Sehun for some reason like Chanyeol this is OUR date?
  • And of course Baekhyun is coming too because he’s jealous of Chanyeol bringing Sehun.
  • Would want to shower with you.
  • Would start kissing your neck in the shower and you’re like ‘oh shit’ here we go again.
  • Calls you a lot when he’s away because he prefers talking instead of texting as he thinks talking is more personal.
  • If you’re laid out on the couch, Chanyeol will come and lie on top of you as a joke and you try to push him off cause staaaahp why are you so biiig!
  • And then he falls asleep and you’re like “oh for fucks sake, guess I’m stuck then.”
  • But then he starts to snore and you realise he’s a warm (but heavy) blanket and you think he looks adorable aw.
  • “Chanyeoool~“
  • “What?”
  • “Top shelf.”
  • “Shortie.”
  • “Shut up or no kisses for a week.”
  • “Okay okay, I’ll get it for you.”
  • Sometimes when he kisses you he doesn’t want to lean down that much so he kinda’ just places his index finger under your chin and brings you up to him, making you stand on your tiptoes.
  • Skinship in public is a yes for Chanyeol.
  • Not too much though, only little pecks on the cheek and a lot of hugging.
  • Cuddling in bed where he pulls you on top of him and he wraps his arms around your body, the two of you falling asleep like that.
  • Likes touching you a lot, sometimes his large hands are just roaming your body and you’re getting so turned on but he doesn’t even realise what he’s doing to you.
  • Freshly showered Chanyeol coming out of the bathroom in a vest and wet hair and you’re like ‘wOW’.
  • Insists on going on roadtrips where you share your music taste with each other and just drive with no apparent goal of reaching anywhere.
  • The two of you going to a fancy dinner and you get ready a bit after him and when you come out he just looks up from his phone with wide eyes in awe because oh my god you are so beautiful.
  • Strikes most people as kinda’ careless, but actually gets so worried about you when you’re down and wants to do anything he can to help.
  • Backhugs where he rests his head on yours.
  • Kisses you on the cheek while you’re still asleep before leaving for practice.
  • His morning voice is so low that you can barely put together what he is saying but it also makes him sound sO HOT.
  • Speaking of turning you on, sex would be slow and passionate up until the end, where it would be very intense.
  • Always cuddling and pillowtalk after, no matter how gross and sweaty you are.
  • Falling asleep to the sound of his soothing voice every night.
  • Him sitting at a bar stool by the kitchen counter with his guitar, singing while you’re making pancakes for breakfast.
  • Sunday walks where you get lunch.
  • He always takes pictures of you and put the nicest ones on instagram even though you say he shouldn’t as his fans might freak out.
  • “I’m in love with you, Y/N. The fans have to deal with that.”
  • Your heart beating out of your chest because this man is too good to be true.

Originally posted by parkchny