i don't know what this is i was bored so i did this

slavic languages gothic

You see a sentence written in cyrillic. Some of the letters are familiar. You see the meaning shimmering underneath the surface. You almost grasp it, but it slips away. The letters on the page mock you silently.

You know this Czech word. You’ve already learnt it in Polish. It is not the same word. It is a grave insult. Your slavic friends are shocked and embarassed for you when they hear you speak it.

There is a sentence in Croatian. There is a sentence in Serbian. There is a sentence in Bosnian. They are all the same sentence.

You have to write about your day in Slovak. You spend the night polishing the draft. You fail your assigment. It’s written in Czech. You don’t know Czech.

P is not what it seems. You have to remember that.

The Croatian sentence does not mean what the Bosnian sentence means. They both mean the same in Serbian.

That word has a diminutive. The diminutive has its own diminutive. The diminutive of the diminutive also has a diminutive. Nobody knows what the final diminutive of a word is. Some say the knowledge had been lost in centuries past and matrioshkas are the echo, the tangible warning left for us to remember. No living creature should hold the means of diminishing something into nonexistence.
Others say you may still find some of them in old soviet textbooks, if you dare to look in abandoned schools of Chernobyl.

Someone is speaking to you. Is that a he or a she? You aren’t sure. It’s an abstract concept. Why does it have gender.

You see a word in a dictionary. It has seventeen letters and only one vowel. You close the dictionary very carefully not looking at the phonetic transcription. The shape of it haunts you in your sleep. You wake up face damp with tears, a bitter taste on your tongue. The clock blinks 3:03AM. You do not dare look up that word again.

This word means the same thing in the five slavic languages you’re familiar with. You use it in the sixth one. That word does not exist in this language. It never did. There is now a word-shaped void in the fabric of this language. The natives look at you uneasily. There is a new quality to the silence and your palms start to sweat.

H is not H. H is not H. H is not H. H is not H.

One day you flip through your dictionary. A page is missing. What was the word? You can’t remember. There is pressure building at the back of your head. The clock blinks 3:03AM.

You write my name is in cyrillic. There are shadows dancing on the walls. They grow longer with each letter you write down. It is not cyrillic you’re using. You keep writing my name is. The shadows now bleed from the tip of your pen. It’s irrelevant. You need to remember the right letters.

N is not N is not N is not N is not N is not N is not N is not N is not N is not N is not N is not… If only you could remember the letters. The letters are important. What was it, that wasn’t N?

There are nine different prefixes you can add to a verb to change its meaning. There are fifty three different suffixes you have to add to a verb to make it work. In the end the only thing left of the original is a vague shape of one of its middle consonants. You can feel the anguish radiating from the verb’s mutialted form. A desperate sob escapes through your clenched teeth. You’re so, so sorry, you didn’t meant to. You didn’t. It doesn’t matter.

You now read a text in Russian. You’ve never learnt Russian. Why are you reading that text? The words burn your eyes, the meaning searing your mind.

There’s a shot of vodka in front of you. You don’t drink alcohol. You don’t care. All existence is meaningless, your soul’s in eternal pain. A broken matrioshka lays at your feet. There is no salvation, she says boring into your eyes. You open your mouth to answer, but there is only a burst of harsh rustle. It dies in whispering echoes a moment later. Your glass is empty again.

Don't take my waffles.

I will keep this brief to avoid boring you, and also because whenever this site reloads, which has happened several times now, I have to type this story all over again.

Back in high school, I HAD to leave for school really early in order to avoid being late. I may seem obsessive to you, but believe me, you would be too if you were in my situation. I had physics as the first class of the day, and the professor was REALLY strict. How strict, you might ask? Very strict.

Because of this, I had to make my breakfasts the day before I would eat them so that I could arrive at school on time. One of the things I preferred to make was waffles.

In the first half of the semester, my best friend’s cousin, who we shall call Phil, moved in with me. At first, I thought he was a great guy. We shared a lot of interests, like gaming and sports.

Two months later, everything changed. I woke up one morning, smiling at the thought of waffles with maple syrup, and hummed a tune as I completed my morning routine (the part before breakfast). I twirled downstairs and opened the fridge and gracefully lifted the container of waffles off the refrigerator racks only to find it…empty. My heart sank as I realized I would not have time to make anything else.

I grabbed a few granola bars (which I fortunately had bought the day before) and thought about the disappearance of my waffles. Sure, this may seem tiny and unimportant, but I needed my waffles in the mornings. They were my breakfast, and gave me the energy I needed to start the day. Sure, I had other foods, but granola bars and crackers just weren’t enough.

Just then, Phil walked in. “Do you know what could have happened to my waffles?” I asked him, holding up the empty container.
“Oh, sorry,” he said, “I ate those because I ran out of cereal and had nothing else to eat.”

“Nothing else?” I said, raising my voice, “Nothing else? Did it occur to you that we had, let’s see, granola bars? And that the waffles were MY breakfast that I make EVERY DAY?

“Sorry.” He said. “At least they were delicious.” I finished my granola bars and stomped off, deciding to let it slide because this had never happened before.

Until it happened the next day. And the next. When I confronted Phil about this, as he obviously had bought cereal at the store, he apologized, saying that the waffles were just really delicious and he couldn’t resist them. This happened for weeks, and no matter how hard I tried, he wouldn’t stop. He would wake up earlier than I did if I was planning to do the same to him. Even if I hid my waffles, he would find them.

Then one day, I decided I had had enough. When I baked my waffles, I added…vinegar. And hot sauce. Lots of vinegar and hot sauce. I woke up to Phil’s angry shouts. He ran into my room, shouting, “What the did you put in those ing waffles?”

I tried not to smirk as I calmly replied, “Oh, just some stuff that I like.”

“Why the would you put that in there?” He screamed.

I couldn’t hide my smile as I said, “Because last time I checked, I was making these waffles for my breakfast, not yours, and I can put whatever I want in my breakfast. Let this be a lesson to you, Phil (This isn’t his real name, as you already know, so I didn’t call him Phil). My waffles, my rules. Don’t mess with me or my waffles ever. Again. Because you won’t like me when I don’t have my waffles, as you found out today.”

He never stole my waffles again.

You know how sometimes we make meme and social media references in real life?

The aliens certainly didn’t.

The captain had no idea what to expect from his decision to bring a second human aboard the ship. His only guidance in the matter had been the rather unhelpful suggestion to acquire one already pack-bonded with Human-Megan. Unfortunately, given human nature, this could apply to any number of humans, and attempting to ask Human-Megan herself for an organized list of them all proved useless. (He had been immediately accused of being a “stalker”.)

However, he did eventually become aware of a certain human who had been a “sister from another mister” for most of Human-Megan’s life. Upon inquiring about this new human, he was met with enthusiastic approval, mostly in the form of the repeated, painfully high-pitched word “yes”.

And so Human-Lynn was brought aboard.

At first, the crew were presented with nothing they were unfamiliar with. There had been a temporary scare upon first viewing Human-Lynn, due to the vibrant and multicolored crop of hair she bore. However, Human-Lynn had quickly ended their confusion by explaining the concept of hair dye, which, although it had left a few crewmembers nauseous, was understandable for human standards.

In addition, Human-Lynn was considerably less emotional, or so it seemed. Upon encountering disagreements with the crew, she would begin laying down insults in an almost offhand manner, and nothing seemed to cause her to be visibly furious. However, Human-Megan had assured them that she was simply “sassy” and “sarcastic” in nature, and that when she began to insult them in such a calm manner, she was indeed furious (although it was difficult to imagine that a being could be simultaneously calm and furious).

But then came the strange, and often illogical, conversations that often ensued between Human-Lynn and Human-Megan.

For instance, there was their first passage through a nebula since Human-Lynn’s arrival. Human-Megan, although she had borne witness to nebulae before, looked on in wonder almost identical to Human-Lynn’s. Both were seemingly rendered immobile, mouths slightly agape.

“Gorgeous.”

“Yeah,” Human-Megan affirmed.

“What’s the…how does this even…” After a moment of failed articulation, Human-Lynn let out a deep sigh. “Science side of Tumblr?”

“Space dust do the glow-glow,” Human-Megan responded almost seamlessly.

“Thank you, science side of Tumblr.”

Several more occurrences of seemingly cryptic conversations where yet to come. Occasionally, the two would make eye contact and mutter “same” for seemingly no reason at all, and once during the first meal rotation Human-Lynn had stood and bellowed, “AND HIS NAME IS JOHN CENA!” much to the surprise and momentary panic of her fellow crewmembers.

At last, a member of the cultural research department approached the two during their third meal rotation and inquired about the nature of their seemingly meaningless conversations. It was his duty, after all, to collect data regarding new species, especially in regards to behavior.

He was met with general laughter, a sound still rather jarring to hear without appropriate warning.

“Holy…crap,” Human-Lynn breathed, wiping a tear from her eye as she shook with laughter. “An alien…wants to know…about memes. I never thought I’d see the day.”

“Memes…?”

“Yeah,” Human-Megan affirmed. “They’re like…I don’t know…references to popular culture on Earth? They’re usually pretty stupid, and either considered hilarious or grounds to murder someone because they’re that stupid.”

“Grounds to…murder someone?!”

“Not literally, dude. We’ve discussed this. Not literally.”

“There’s a lot of memes,” Human-Lynn continued in her friend’s place. “Spongebob is a few…oh, there’s the dog in the burning house. You know, the ‘this is fine’ meme?”

“Yeah, and Moon-Moon, and 'you shall not pass’–”

“John Cena–”

“Screw you, I hate John Cena–”

“These are not the droids you’re looking for, that one’s a classic–”

“And then there’s some that aren’t really memes, they’re more like Tumblr legends. Like the science side of Tumblr, and John Green, and Superwholock. But Lynn and I like to use those in real life because we’re weird.”

The researcher nodded, a gesture he had it adopted from the humans he studied, although the concepts they were referring to were far beyond his understanding. Perhaps this was one of those cases where you had to simply let humans be humans, regardless of how strange it was.

“I believe I have heard of these…memes,” he mused after a moment. “So…what is Rickrolling?”

Immediately the grins dropped from the humans’ faces.

“We don’t talk about Rickrolling,” hissed Human-Megan. “We never–EVER–discuss–Rickrolling.”

“Understood.”

Humans Are Weird

It is well established among all sentient species that Humans are Weird. Exceptional Humans, however, make the regular humans seem almost tame in comparison.
Yatrov was to show the newest crew member- another Human- “the ropes”, as Human Jenny phrased it.
Upon arriving, however, the newest Human barely spared xir even a glance, which was odd, seeing how Humans prize interaction above all else. Shrugging it off, xe delicately held out a clawed hand to engage in the Human positive-meeting greeting, a “hand-shake” it was aptly named. “I am known as Yatrov, in Human Common tongue. I am sorry to say that I was unable to read your file report, and am thus left without your name. What is it you wish to be called?” Yatrov was genuinely sorry; the ship was in dire need of repairs, and this Human was coming to help.
Instead of taking the proffered hand, the human’s brown eyes stared into xi’s own violet. “I am Giovanni. And you are approximately 7 minutes late. I do not fault you for your tardiness, your job is a busy one, so your apologies are void. I do not need to see the entirety of this ship, I only require the engine room. Take me there and I will begin repairs immediately. Social niceties and other such meaningless things can be done at a later date, if done they must be at all.”
Yatrov felt somewhat slighted; xe’s species did not greet with touch, but it was seen as an insult- a social misdemeanor- to deny the shaking of hands. Attributing it to the Human having been under circumstances that made him “cranky” and to the fact that the Human was excited to work- humans forgot norms when excited, xe had found- Yatrov continued to try to create a pack-bond with this Human, “I have heard many great things about you.”
“Truly?” The Human considered this for a moment, head tilting, “I am merely faster than most, mentally. A marathoner or racer is not spoken of in as high-esteem as those with quick mental facilities are, are they?” The Human was speaking out loud, xe found this practice odd and ignored it. “What exactly have you heard?” The Human tapped their legs with their fingers, adopting a rhythm unknown to xir, and hummed. 
Arrogance or curiosity? “Admittedly, not much has been told. I know that you have several thesis papers, have repaired and improved upon numerous ships, and that you were good enough that our captain was surprised that you even bothered to consider joining our crew.”
“Huh.” And that was that. Giovanni did not speak after that, made no effort to communicate. Giovanni did not try to obtain physical contact. Giovanni remained aloof with even Human crewmates long after he had joined. He also remained fidgety, seemingly unable to keep still, unless it was to engage in a staring contest with the resident cat- to keep the Humans from adopting a weird, deadly creature- or to continue his single-minded work with machinery.
Three weeks after he had joined, the ship was attacked. Vernians boarded the ship, using their many appendages to apprehend multiple members of The Highlight- the ship- at once. No one knew where Giovanni was, and no one would have been surprised if he had left to save his own hide.
Which was precisely why everyone, who were all bound and trying to negotiate with what was essentially pirates, was surprised when Giovanni came around the corner, a knocked out Vernian held under gun point.
Guns pointed at him, Vernians shifted to attack him. “What you need to know: firstly, I have hacked into your language processors. All Vernae will sound like gibberish.” He paused, then grinned ferally. “Try”, he dared.
“Kir-ah?!” They did, and did not seem pleased with the results.
“Back! Restore!” the voices of Vernians screeched, their language translators on the fritz. 
“Secondly,” he paused, “I will shoot your friend if you do not release my own.” When an uproar of shouting started again, he blandly stated, “Blank point will be quite messy, won’t it?” He hummed, as though in thought, though his eyes trailed after every movement the Vernians made.
A smaller one, likely emotionally closer to the Vernian Giovanni was holding captive,  pounced.
ZZZZZT-PA! The Vernian howled, two of its 11 “arms” gone. “My threat is not idle.”
The room quieted, members of the Highlighter slowly being released.
“Thirdly.” His lips pursed, his nose tilted, sneer deadly, “Run, and pray that I never see you again!” He shot a wall, and they scattered, leaving the crew of The Highlighter mostly unscathed.
It was hours later, after the chaos was settled and the ship fixed up again, that Yatrov approached Giovanni.
“Why did you save us?”
Giovanni scrunched his thick eyebrows together, “Why ever would I not?”
“You make no attempt to communicate with us.” Yatrov insisted, trying to discover the reason Giovanni would do something without some sort of gain.
“Oh, that.” He dismissively waved his hand, his face again lax and bored. “I do not see the point in wasting words. I enjoy the presence of the crew, and- while I see no point in engaging in it- their idle chatter is amusing to listen to.” He raised an eyebrow, “Why do you ask?”
“The crew operated under the belief that you disliked us.” Yatrov felt a small bit of shame; clearly, Yatrov had been wrong to assume that all Humans were so similar.
“I-” He looked hurt, eyes filling with water- tears, they were called, and Yatrov knew that this was not a good sign. His lips twitched, his words near whispered, “Did you not consider me a friend? I thought we were.” He had begun nervously threading his fingers, humming lightly.
“I thought you disliked me.” Yatrov’s admission only increased xir’s guilt, and the slight tremors of the Humans smaller body.
“I made you and the others a new computer.” Giovanni’s eyes searched Yatrov’s one, and again found no solace. A computer did not equate to friendship. “I *made* you and the others a new computer.” The emphasis hit Yatrov. Why would one handmake something if the person receiving it did not matter to them.
“I am sorry.” Yatrov paused, xe had seen it in a Human film once, maybe…? “Can we start over?” A small nod eased Yatrov’s mind and reaffirmed xir’s decision. “I am the one known as Yatrov, and I enjoy reading: fiction, typically.” Xe did not hold out his hand, but stared Giovanni right in the eye.
The smirk on Giovanni’s face told xir that the actions- or lack there of- was not missed. “I am known as Giovanni.” He held out his hand, looking smug and slightly proud of remembering this, as their hands clasped, he said, “I enjoy sandwhiches, science, and conversations on how realistic or achievable a work of fiction can be. It will be a pleasure to work with you.”

Humans were odd, but exceptional Humans lived by a very different set of rules. Intelligence changed their perceptions. Yatrov knew, from personal experience, that they were still Human, still fantastic and horrifying, at their core. Yatrov put down the book xe was reading, looking up to watch Giovanni’s animated expressions as he ranted about machinery. Yes, truly, Humans are Weird.


(Please excuse any grammar/spelling mistakes, my hand has been cramping up lately and it is hard to write at the moment. And I should not be writing sci-fi, because it is NOT my forte, but I had a plot-bunny and felt the need to attempt it. This is basically a shortened version of what I wanted to write, skipping over much of what I actually wanted to put down. Feel free to take the general idea and write something better XD )

deal | pt 3 (m)

Originally posted by sugamysavagebaby

summary: the years spent working hard had really paid off and was it so wrong to want to rub that in a few faces? The cliché mean girls that often teased you for not doing anything with your hair or clothing, wouldn’t it be great to show off someone like Jungkook? High school reunion au + ceo!jeon

word count: 3,292

warning: slight voyeurism, usual filth etc

part one | part two

Monday. A fresh start to the week, bringing a close to deadlines as new deals began. The office as always was bustling with life, colleagues sharing mundane details of their past weekend and plans for the next. However, an interesting topic or rather rumour was making it’s way around the office at a frightening speed. You’re preparing your first cup of coffee that morning when you hear it, feminine sniggers to the right of you.

Keep reading

I’m not sure why I hate the epilogue of Harry Potter so much, but I always imagine Harry getting completely BORED of normal life a year into it. He can’t handle it. His life has always been filled with trouble, kind of like Lord Tennyson’s view of Ulysses, and he goes stir-crazy, engaging in reckless behaviour almost daily. Hermione is worried sick because it’s causing Harry and Ginny to fight. ‘You got through all you went through in your 19 years just to kill yourself on some bloody dare?!’

Draco Malfoy shows up on Hermione’s twentieth birthday with a story of how he can’t handle how he was a coward and talks of how he killed a demon that tried to devour an old lady on the outskirts of muggle London. He says he wants to do this again; the thrill of it was amazing but he needs a partner or two. Harry and Hermione are all for it. Hermione, too, has grown tired of the Ministry life. After all, she has already secured rights for elves and goblins if they want them; that only took her a year. Hunting evil things is appealing, and she’ll be helping not only the wizarding community but the non-magical one as well.

Ginny is furious and leaves Harry for Blaise Zambini. Ron is not keen on more adventure, either. He decides he would rather help George at the joke shop than work with a Malfoy, although he, Harry, and Hermione will stay in touch. ‘Write to me every week,’ he threatens, 'or else.’

Harry, Hermione, and Draco go on to live their lives doing the things Gilderoy Lockhart only claimed to do: battling demons, ghosts, poltergeists, sirens, urban legends, vampires, and more –all with a magical tent and three wands instead of a Chevy Impala and guns.

They call on Luna Lovegood whenever they encounter a creature they know next to nothing about, pop in on the Weasleys from time to time, and even allow Ginny to write books of their travels based on Hermione’s obsessive journal-keeping.

They become animagi. Hermione watches in surprise as her patronus changes into something unexpected. To her utmost delight, they learn about different forms of magic, even gain new magical abilities whenever they encounter a wise tutor well-versed in the more obscure magical arts.

Odd things happening while on the road are completely normal: one time, this crazy drunk American fangirl dressed up like Supergirl, who went by the name of Charlie Bradbury, latched onto Hermione’s back like koala bear when they were investigating a case at Comic-Con and wouldn’t let go, proclaiming as loud as that Banshee that one time in Ireland that Hermione was her idol, and that she was so glad she didn’t actually marry Ron.

'She reminds me of you when you were around Gilderoy Lockhart,’ Harry had said with great fondness afterwards. The backhand he took to the gut and death glare from his best friend, he thought, were completely worth it. 'Look at it this way, Hermione, she was so drunk she got a Princess Leia tattoo. She won’t remember anything.’

Imagine Hermione frustrated and flustered with her head in her hands as Harry and Draco’s school rivalry almost cost them their lives yet again. Then, she loses her temper, and both boys shrink back in fear. 'Has she always been this scary?’ Draco mutters out of the corner of his mouth to which Harry can only nod furiously. The disappointment the both of them feel is almost childlike. Draco and Harry become very close. Killing creatures will bond even the worst enemies together.

It changes Draco. All of his prior prejudice is smashed having spent so much time with his childhood rivals, and he becomes a much better person for it. Harry is reminded of Snape, and how Dumbledore once voiced he thought they sorted too early. Maybe Draco belonged in Gryffindor, too. Though the pain etched deep within Draco is visibly fading, it will never go away completely, and Harry often wonders what would have happened had he been sorted into Gryffindor with them.

Harry, however, is fully satisfied in that moment. They are in the middle of a hunt. Sitting against the front of the tent in a small forest on the east border of Paris, Harry lets out a long sigh. It is the first time he feels truly at ease in a while. Adjusting his glasses, he takes in the loving and relaxing company of two of his closest friends.

Draco is fiddling with the old radio, and tears of laughter escape Hermione as she reads. This is normal night for all of them. 'Albus Severus?!’ she hollers, unable to keep her grip on the novel that has her undivided attention. The pumkin-coloured book falls, still open, flat on her stomach, and she dissolves completely into a fit of giggles. 'Muggles have quite the imagination these days, don’t they, Harry?’

'It’s not that bad of a name,’ Draco says, rolling his eyes. He turns the dial on the radio, and a hauntingly familiar tune sounds through it. His annoyed frown is replaced by a smirk, 'Your song is playing, you two.’

Harry can’t help but snort. Hermione throws a sarcastic remark towards Draco over the name Scorpious, before Harry finds himself being dragged to his feet by his childhood friend. Green eyes meet brown ones with a grin. They can’t not dance to 'Oh Children.’

Holding Hermione’s body close to him and swaying to the music under the stars, not all that different from the time they did a little over five years ago, he knows he made the right choice in going on the road. He is drinking life to the lees. This brilliant life with all its scars, beauty, and constant excitement is magical. It has made everything well again.

—  Non-Canon Epilogue : Drinking Life to the Lees

agirlcalledfrost  asked:

OH OH OH PLEASE TELL US A BOARDING SCHOOL STORY PRETTY PLEASE

so my school had this thing called “senior skip day,” except that senior skip day didn’t exist and every year the administration sent out emails in the spring that were like DON’T FUCKIN SKIP CLASS OR YOU WILL RECEIVE RESTRICTION (restriction was like, my boarding school’s equivalent of detention where instead of staying after school you had to go to bed early and help stuff envelopes advertising the summer program until your hands were BLOODIED AND CRIPPLED BY CARPAL TUNNEL) and every year the seniors were like YOLO THEY CAN’T PUNISH ALL OF US!!!!!

  • spoiler alert: yes they can? THEY ALWAYS CAN.
  • 200 years of american high school and teenagers still think that there is a cap limit on kids in detention and that you can leave after 15 minutes if the teacher doesn’t show up.

anyway, my senior year, we all got together and nattered at each other until some brave soldier (i feel like it was my friend paula but WHO KNOWS) was like “OK SENIOR SKIP DAY IS THIS THURSDAY!!!! NOBODY GO TO CLASS OR UR A SCAB.”

  • she didn’t say scab because she’s not from the 1920s and we aren’t newsies, though this story would be way more interesting if we were
  • what she said was “YOLO THEY CAN’T PUNISH ALL OF US!!!!!”
  • except not yolo because it was 2009 and drake hadn’t been invented yet except as a dear sweet boy in a wheelchair.

we also used this email system to communicate with one another that has very deeply informed the way i understand email and which probably makes it very frustrating to be my friend and receive emails that have subject lines like “URGENT” and then just 42 links to the same florida georgia line youtube video.

  • I’M NOT ASHAMED, but in that way where like i kind of AM ashamed so i’m really aggressively NOT ashamed? 

so the day of reckoning rolls around and my alarm goes off at 8 (class started at 8:05 but i liked to PLAY WITH FIRE when it came to being late; my mom actually asked the school to stop emailing her when i was a sophomore because i was late so often that their rote “Mrs. Ofgeography we are emailing you to say—” was CLOGGING UP HER INBOX and she was like “i GET IT MY CHILD IS THE MOST BORING MISCREANT OF ALL TIME.”) and i looked at my roommate elle and she looked at me and went, “you going?”

“hell no,” i said. “YOLO. they can’t punish all of us.”

elle, who was far prettier and far cooler than i was with the notable exception of her obsession with tswift’s “love story” and her tendency to look at the endangered species list and cry sometimes during study hall, quickly bizounced across the street to this shopping center thing where all the cool kids smoked in secret where huge trucks dropped off clothes for the Dress Barn. i think there were also tennis courts nearby. more importantly there was this chinese food delivery place and a lil restaurant that made HELLA BAGELS.

  • WHAT KIND OF BAGELS?
  • FUCKIN
  • HELLA.

off goes elle! meanwhile i’m like, “yessssss i’m gonna use senior skip day to watch 14 hours of tv shows and eat frozen peanut butter bars that i stole from the dining hall! I’M GONNA LIVE LIKE I’M 23 ALONE IN CHICAGO ON A WEEKEND WHEN MY ONLY PLAN IS TAKEOUT AND CUDDLING WITH THE FAUX-SNOW-LEOPARD BLANKET I WILL ONE DAY SURELY OWN.” 

of course, during this time the administration was continuing to send out emails that reminded us with increasing urgency that senior skip day was NOT A THING and that we were ALL GETTING RESTRICTION if we didn’t get our STUPID ASSES TO CLASS, GODDAMNIT, WE ARE NOT RUNNING A CIRCUS HERE. 

but i was like! yolo, motherfuckers!!! i already got into college, YOU CAN’T TOUCH ME.

at some point during the day elle and our friend ginna came back to the room with takeout from the chinese delivery place and we sat on our floor eating it and probably watching veronica mars or looking at the endangered species list and crying.

all of a sudden, elle said, “guys shut up, guys shut up, GUYS SHUT UP,” and ginna and i were like, “WHAT we have a LOT to SAY about FRIED FUCKING DUMPLINGS, ELLE,“ and elle said, "did you hear that?”

“hear what?”

that!”

‘that’ was the sound of one of our dorm moms, mrs. f, knocking on doors and saying things like, “IF YOU DON’T GET YOUR BUTTS TO CLASS IN 5 MINUTES YOU’RE ON CATEGORY 4 RESTRICTION FOREVER.” elle quickly scampered up our raised beds to hide in the corner, where a tiny human like elle could actually hide from view; i leapt immediately into what we called a closet but was basically a cubby with a flap that was DEFINITELY not meant for a 5'8” individual with knobby as hell knees.

our door, which was never locked because we both hated the effort of typing in the lock code, opened. mrs. f said, “mollyhall?”

i held my breath. 

  • i should add here that i seemed to be operating on like a scooby-doo level of logic where basically i thought that she was somehow NOT ALLOWED to investigate?
  • like, if she can’t see me, there is NO POSSIBLE WAY that she could prove i’m in here, right?
  • she’ll just poke her head in and be like oH GOSH NO KIDS HERE and leave!!

you can see the flaw in my logic.

mrs. f sighed. “mollyhall, i know you’re in here, i literally heard your voice ten seconds ago.”

  • there’s no WAY she guesses i’m in the closet!!!

“mollyhall, i know you’re in the closet.”

  • NO YOU DON’T
  • I AM SCHRÖDINGER’S SENIOR

“mollyhall—”

there was a creak. mrs. f stopped. it wasn’t actually a “creak,” so much as this like, prolonged groan? like it’s the sound an elephant would make if it sat on a really large accordion.

i poked my head out of the closet. mrs. f looked at me. elle sat up.

i said, “where’s ginna?”

  • YOU KNOW WHERE GINNA WAS.

“um,” said elle, “she’s in the—”

  • GINNA NO

ginna yes.

i really wish i could describe the sound the ceiling made when it collapsed. it sounded a lot like the way losing your breath feels. i sort of remember ginna falling in like, really slow motion, like i could see the expression on her face. i didn’t really think about how i would describe this in words. ginna’s face said:

  • oh no.
  • what have i done?
  • this was a mistake. 
  • i regret a series of decisions that i have made.
  • is there a way out of this?
  • are those oreos under mollyhall’s pillow?
  • why are there oreos under mollyhall’s pillow?
  • mollyhall, you HAVE a food cupboard, what good is a food cupboard if you don’t—
  • oh, crap.

she belly flopped onto the floor. i mean, the girl bounced. and then she just laid there. mrs. f looked at her. elle looked at her. i looked at her, still mostly in the closet. we were all going to get category 4 restriction forever.

ginna said, “hi, mrs. f. i feel like i should explain.”

🎶🎶When You Collect Records🎶🎶
  • Hipster: *moves dusty old boxes out of the way* Whoa, an old record player. It looks like it's in working order too! *runs outside*
  • Hipster: Yo, dad!
  • Dad: What?
  • Hipster: We're getting rid of all of poppop's stuff, right?
  • Dad: There's something you want, isn't there?
  • Hipster: There's this old stereo record player in the attic.
  • Dad: What do you need a record player for?
  • Hipster: My record collection.
  • Dad: I didn't even know they still made those things. Can't you just listen to music on your phone?
  • Hipster: Dad, there's a big difference between listening to music digitally and on record.
  • Dad: Fine, I don't wanna get into it with you right now. You can take the record player. You just have to get someone else to take it to your place for you. My truck's full.
  • Hipster: Thanks dad! *smooches dad on the cheek*
  • *later at hipster's apartment*
  • Friend: So, like Patch Adams ends with Patch Adams half-naked in front of a ton of people. I don't know if it was meant to be funny or like a weird sex thing, but like the movie was just a deeply disturbing character study. I can't stop thinking about it.
  • Hipster: That sounds boring. *unlocks door to apartment* Ta-da! Here it is! My new record player!
  • Friend: New? Looks fucking old to me, dude.
  • Hipster: Well, it is old. That's the appeal. And we're going to listen to the new Sufjan record on it.
  • Friend: Is that actually how you say Sufjan? Apparently, I've been pronouncing it wrong this whole time.
  • Hipster: Well, you won't after this record. There's an entire track where he just says his name for four minutes. It's amazing. *plays records*
  • Record Player: *coughs* Hello. Hello! Where am I? Doctor? Hello! Why is it so dark...............................Can I breathe? I can't breath. Oh god, I'm not breathing! Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god! I.....................................
  • Hipster: Uh, that's not Sufjan.
  • Friend: It totally isn't. Is it some guest vocalist? I like the new direction he's going in. No instruments or singing, and long stretches of silence. Very experimental.
  • Hipster: *stops record player* I think maybe we should do something else for now.
  • Friend: Fucking lame! I wanted to listen to more Sufjan.
  • *days later at the record store*
  • Hipster: Yo, I think the Sufjan Stevens record I bought from here might be some kind of mispress.
  • Store Clerk: Really? It's a pretty major album. I doubt there'd just be a mispress like that.
  • Hipster: Yeah, but listen to it. It's not Sufjan at all. It's some girl talking.
  • *hipster and clerk listen to a completely normal Sufjan Stevens album together*
  • Store Clerk: What are you talking about? This is definitely Sufjan Stevens.
  • Hipster: Okay, but it wasn't like that when I listened to it at home! I even listened to it with my friend and he heard the same thing!
  • Store Clerk: Maybe there's something wrong with your record player.
  • Hipster: Hmm, maybe there is.
  • *back at the apartment*
  • Hipster: *turns on record player and just listens*
  • Record Player: ...I'm awake again. Why did I black out? Did I even black out? God, I'm not breathing, but it doesn't matter. Why don't I need to breathe? Am I even alive?
  • Hipster: Can you hear me?
  • Record Player: Doctor. Doctor! DOCTOR! Why can't I move? Why can't I feel anything. Keep yourself together. It'll all make sense soon. Calm down. Just breathe deeply. Fuck, I can't breathe! AIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEE! I CAN'T BREATHE! DOCTOR! DOCTOR! DOCTOR! HELP! HELP ME, PLEASE! I'M STUCK! I CAN'T MOVE! PLEASE HELP ME!
  • Hipster: *turns off record player* It's just a recording, I bet. I can't believe I talked to it like an idiot... *nervously turns record player back on*
  • Record Player: I blacked out again. I blacked out. For how long? Is there even time here? Hell. This is hell, right? Did I go to hell.........................................
  • Hipster: *listens to the record player for hours*
  • Record Player: Negative 6893 bottles of wine on the wall! Negative 6893 bottles of wine! Take one down, pass it around, Negative 6894 bottles of wine on the wall... fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! PLEASE SOMEONE HELP ME! AIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!
  • Hipster: *keeps listening*
  • Record Player: Soul of Christ, make me holy, Body of Christ, be my salvation. God, please forgive me. I'm sorry for all of my sins. Please free me. I'm so sorry. Please. Please. Please.
  • Hipster: *still listening*
  • Record Player: FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! SHITTY DOCTOR! FUCK YOU! LET ME OUT! LET ME OUT! *sobs intensely* FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! FUCK EVERYTHING! Please just let me go.
  • Hipster: *nervously walks up to record player and lightly taps on it*
  • Record Player: ...A knock. A KNOCK! PLEASE HELP ME! I'M STUCK! PLEASE! *record player begins shake violently*
  • Hipster: *backs away in fear*
  • Record Player: HELP! HELP! HELP ME! PLEASE, IF SOMEONE'S THERE, HELP ME! HELP ME! I'M STUCK! GET ME OUT OF HERE, PLEASE!
  • Hipster: *unplugs record player*
  • Hipster: *gets hammer from the closet and begins to break apart record player*
  • Record Player: *drips red*
  • Hipster: W-What? *cracks front of record player open*
  • *rotting viscera falls from the record player*
  • Hipster: O-Oh... *stuffs viscera back into the record player and duct tapes over it*
  • Hipster: *turns record player back on*
  • Record Player: ...I can feel. It hurts. Why does it hurt now? Why does it hurt? Why? Why? Why? WHY!? WHY!? WHY!? *spurts blood through it speakers and begins to gurgle*
  • Record Player: *hops forward* Please just let me go. Please... please. I'll do anything. I just want to see you again. I'm so sorry. This isn't what I asked for. I'm so sorry. *hops forward again and comes unplugged*
  • Record Player: *tips over, bleeding heavily onto the carpet*
  • Hipster: *silently cleans up the mess*
  • *some time later*
  • Hipster: *calls dad* Hey, dad. Oh, nothing. Uh, I just need to borrow your truck, If not tonight sometime this week. I just need to get rid of something. No, no, that's fine, I can do it myself. Yeah, tomorrow morning is perfect. Thanks Love you too. Bye.
  • *the next afternoon*
  • Dad: So, what did you need to get rid of this morning?
  • Hipster: Nothing important. Just some old junk... Dad, what kind of person was poppop?
  • Dad: Well, he was only the greatest man I've known in my life. Really caring, dedicated to his family. When you were born he loved you so much. He was a bit of a loner, though. It took a lot to get him to open up. Even around me and your grandmother. He was a bit like you. Always a huge music lover.
  • Hipster: I see. Was he ever a doctor?
  • Dad: That's a weird thing to ask. Nope. He hated doctors. Didn't trust modern medicine one bit. It's ironic. His cancer probably wouldn't have gotten to him if he did. But, your poppop was always so stubborn.
  • Hipster: Oh, okay then.
  • *some days later*
  • Friend: New carpet?
  • Hipster: Yup, old one was ugly wasn't it. It was time for a change.
  • Friend: That's what I've been telling you! I'm glad you finally came to your senses. What happened to your record player, though?
  • Hipster: That thing? I threw it away. It was busted.
  • Friend: That sucks. Are you gonna buy a new one?
  • Hipster: No.
  • Friend: But you won't have anything to play your records on.
  • Hipster: Yeah, but I buy records because I want to support the artists. They're not really for listening. Besides, lossless is better. FLAC is the future.
Imagine your OTP
  • <p> <b></b> *Character 2 breathes*<p/><b>Character 1:</b> OMG! YOU'RE SO OBNOXIOUS AND BORING! I HATE YOU!<p/><b>Character 2:</b> I didn't say anything!<p/><b>Character 1:</b> Shut up. JUST SHUT UP!<p/><b></b> Character 1 leaves. Character 2 gets confused and Character 3 enter the room.<p/><b>Character 3:</b> Hey, don't worry. It's not your fault.<p/><b>Character 2:</b> I didn't think it was my fault...<p/><b>Character 3:</b> So... what the hell were you thinking about?<p/><b>Character 2:</b> Well, for some reason, he's upset. I just want to know why.<p/><b>Character 3:</b> It was your fault.<p/><b>Character 2:</b> But you just said-...<p/><b>Character 3:</b> It cleary was your fault.<p/><b>Character 2:</b> What did I do?<p/><b>Character 3:</b> You're cute.<p/><b>Character 2:</b> What?<p/><b>Character 3:</b> He is angry because you're too cute.<p/><b>Character 2:</b> That doesn't make any sense.<p/><b>Character 3:</b> It doesn't have to. I agree with him. You're so cute that I feel bad about myself. You're just... so perfect. I just want to take you to see the stars and then kiss you badly.<p/><b>Character 2:</b> What?!<p/><b>Character 3:</b> What?!<p/><b>Character 1, appearing from the shadows:</b> WHAT?!<p/></p>
Fall For You (M) | 03 (Final)

gif ©

Summary: You hate a lot of things about Jeon Jungkook; you hate his arrogance, his reputation, and his pet name for you to name a few. But most of all, you hate how right it feels for you to fall into his arms, and how easy it is to fall for him.
Word Count: 13,742
Genre: fuckboy!Jungkook, college au, sprinkling of feelings
A/N: I feel like I’m sending my child to their first day of kindergarten oh my goodness. I hope you guys enjoy the last part!!

Part 01. Part 02 + Drabbles

Mood music: X

A mistake.

It absolutely had to be a mistake.

There was no way you were in love with Jeon Jungkook, absolutely no way in hell you had feelings for him that ran any deeper than discontent. It had been the moment, the conversation with Jungkook, the awe you’d felt when he showed you his forest. You had gotten caught up in that moment, and your mind had tricked itself into thinking you liked Jungkook.

You didn’t love Jungkook.

You loved his dick. And that was all.

Keep reading

What's My Name

This is a continuation of “Don’t Call Me That”. Hope you like it! LEMME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK

-X-

Originally posted by harryisart


The atmosphere in the little shower cubicle was almost suffocating, the sexual tension between you and Harry occupying most of the space and apparently consuming most of the air. He pressed himself even more close to you, if that was possible, his whole front flat against yours as you could feel his leaking cock against your thigh all wet and drippy almost as much as you were.


He leaned in his breath fanning against your ear as his hand brushed your hair off your face, the soft puffs of air from his mouth leaving goosebumps on your skin in their wake. 

“Why don't​ you go and lie down on your back on the bed for me darling? Alex has something to get before he joins you, okay?” 

He looks at you on a way that you understand what he said was not a suggestion or a question by any chance but an order. It was quite an occurrence in your relationship where Harry controlled the pace of your sexual encounters, being the more dominant one. 

You looked at him all doe eyes with your bottom lip tucked behind your teeth as you gave him a nod before walking off to do what he had asked of you. If there was one thing that turned you on more than Harry calling himself daddy, it was him referring to himself in third person when he’s in a dominant mood. 

He finds himself browsing through the array of silk ties he owned most of which you had bought for him on various special occasions, sometimes cos you just wanted to, when he walks into the closet. He can hear the rustling of the sheets signalling that you obeyed his orders were not in a defiant mood tonight which honestly​ made him quite happy because defiance means denying himself and you the pleasure of indulging in each others’ pleasure and he didn’t think he’d like that tonight. He is definitely not in the mood of forgoing the chance to pleasure himself and soaking in all the warmth and slickness your pretty cunt had to offer. He finally picks a red coloured silk tie before wrapping it around his four fingers as he walks back into the bedroom still completely naked, his cock now more erect than it had ever been and he’s bursting at the seams for an orgasm.

 “ Oh baby girl, you’re so ready for me aren’t you? All warm and wet? You’re soaking onto the sheets darling, I’d rather you soak my cock than anything.” 

You look at him with innocence in your eyes than he knows better than to believe, it’s deceiving. You give a meek nod, all cognition of words and sentences escaping your brain in this pleasure clouded state that Harry has you in. 

“Use your words darling. Don’t want to get punished tonight, do we?” 

“N-no Harry, please don’t.“ 

He sighed before grabbing your chin with his hand, “Now sweetheart, what did I ask you to call me? It’s not my name that you just used, is it?” 

“No it’s not.” 

“No what? Tell me my name.” 

“No.. no Al-Alex.” 

“Good girl. I knew you were my good girl. My best girl. Now I’m gonna tie this around your wrist okay? And I want you to behave. I’m not going to spank you or anything. Just going to tie you up, alright?” 

Knowing better than to just use your gestures this time, you give a nod before repeating an affirmation along with his “name”. He ties up your hands to the bed post giving it a quick tug to check their tightness and asking you if they hurt much, which you assure him they don’t. 

“Alex is gonna take care of you, okay? Gonna fuck yeh real good. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” 

He slowly slides his length up and down your slit collecting all the wetness that had pooled in the time that you had to wait for him to fuck you like you know he could. You sigh at the little jolts of pleasure coursing through your body, your hole already clenching all the possibilities of what could happen. He slowly thrusts into your pussy both of you sighing at the jolts of relief coursing through your bodies of finally attaining the feeling you’ve denied yourselves for a while. His hips move against yours in smooth calculated thrusts, your lower half arched off the mattress for him to reach deeper in you, the sounds of his skin slapping against yours along with his shafts sliding into your soaking hole filling the room.

 You feel his face pull back from the crook of your neck where he’s been sponging wet kisses and licking and sucking the taut skin all smooth and very inviting for him. His eyes are closed, lips slightly parted with brows furrowed together at the tight knot that it steadily growing in his stomach, causing the skin to clench and his thrusts to switch to a rhythm less pace. You press your lips to his berry red ones, tongue sliding against his bottom lip as his mouth encloses around yours moving a slow motion that opposed his hips, your teeth biting into his plush lower lip as he lets out a groan that could only be described as fucked out. 

“Oh my god.. Alex baby that feels so good. Just like that. You’re doing so well”, you moan when you feel his head nestled against your G-spot constantly stroking it in an unsteady pace. You could feel your stomach start to clench as your vision blackened, your back arching off the bed, chest meeting his front as your sensitive and puffed up nipples rub against his skin. His hand slide behind your back knowing you cannot keep up longer, the silk tie straining against your wrists that were tied to the bed post. 

“Christ yeh feel so good darling. All tight and warm for Alex, aren’t you? My best girl loves to please me so much.” His hand that isn’t wrapped around you reaches down for him to thumb at your clothes, breath stuttering as the high you would take some time starting coming closer and closer. He can feel your pussy clenching around his length, the tight fit bringing him closer to his edge. 

 "Gonna cum for me, aren’t you baby girl? Be a good girl and cum all over my cock. I know you can do it.“ His thumb increasing it’s swiping against your nub as you get closer and closer to the edge, your breath stuttering as you gasp for air, eyes closed bad your mouth open as moans are let out. The ties hurt against your wrist but you don’t feel a thing or at least don’t care in that moment as you can feel “Alex” release ropes of cum inside your tight cunt before falling against your chest, your back hitting the mattress again with a soft “thud”. 

The room feels suffocating as the smell of sex, his cologne and your shampoo cloud the atmosphere. Harry’s eyes are closed as his lets out soft puffs of air against your breasts, his arms wrapped tightly around your middle.

 "Harry?“ You tread the waters lightly testing to see if he’s out of the mood you had set for yourselves during the course of the evening. 

 "Yes, love?" 

"Can you untie me? My wrists hurt a little. I think I pulled too hard.”

 He lifts his head from your chest shuffling to remove the knots and tossing them aside before grabbing your wrists giving them soft kisses as his eyes bore into yours, the jade irises shining with love for you. 

“Can I ask you a question?” He utters with a glint in his eye that lets you know that it’s nowhere near innocent and is probably either a sexual innuendo or something filthy​. 

“Sure what is it?”

“Was this better than the wet dream you had of me?” He giggled at your wide eyed expression, clearly taken aback by his question. 

“Harry!”

-X-

I hope you liked it! I had loads of fun writing it! Thank you to @oh-styles and @trulymadlysydney for being my vent buddies, love you both! Much love to all of you for the support you’ve shown me. Means the world,xx!

Red Roses

I saw this adorable art from @the-sacred-pecan-pie and needed to write something about all those roses. 



His mama saved the flowers from the bouquet she carried when she walked down the aisle.

Bitty found them when he was five years old and bored and snooping through his parents room.

He found a stack of photo albums beneath old sweaters and dress shoes that his daddy rarely ever wore.

The first one was old and musty and filled with people he had never seen before in black and white and yellowing at the corners.

He quickly pushed that one out of the way and kept opening up new ones until the photos switched to color and he started to recognize his moomaw and his mama.

Keep reading

vintagemidnights  asked:

I'm planning out a "short story" where my main character is a rich girl with a dad who buys her golden cars and stuff and she's an incredibly talented cheerleader and is super smart but I'm having trouble making her less 1 dimensional. I want her to be more than just the rich-bitch and I want to give her flaws but I don't know how to approach it. Any advice?

Hello there!  

This is one of my favorite types of characters, so I’m really glad you asked.  First and foremost I’ll direct you to my Traits of a Likable Hero post, as it talks about the foundation stones that I’ve observed almost all protagonists have.

For this particular archetype, however, here are my personal rules of thumb: 

1.  Make sure she cares about others!  

Think Charlotte from Princess and the Frog.  Nothing screams “rich girl with a heart of gold” more than one who unabashedly plays mama bear to all of her friends, particularly ones less privileged than her.  

Let her care about their feelings, treat them to lunches they wouldn’t otherwise be able to afford, ride her ponies, go for joyrides with her in her expensive cars.

Also, allow her to extend empathy and friendship to people of a lower status than herself:  let’s say there’s a new chubby, nerdy, or socially awkward girl who’s being bullied.  A person of your character’s status could easily make that character’s life a lot better, so allow her to do so.  It will instantaneously make your character more sympathetic and likable.   

Just be sure said less-privileged character is an equally three-dimensional and lovable character, otherwise it will come off as a charity case. This will also give your readers a lovely friendship that they can root for.    

(On a side note, Rich and Privileged Character who Openly Cares About Her Loved Ones is legit one of my personal favorite tropes of all time.)

2.  Show how hard she works.

One of the main obstacles to making wealthy, privileged characters likable is the fact that they can come off as entitled, lazy, and often spoiled.  To combat this, show how hard your character works to get where she is. 

Cheerleading, for example, is a difficult sport, at least as much so as the football games they cheer on.  Pyramids, backflips, synchronization, etc. requires a lot of time and effort to master.

So give your readers a glimpse of your character while she’s practicing!  Be sure to describe the sweat, sore muscles, and fatigue that goes into doing what she loves.  This is also great, because female-dominated sports such as cheerleading are frequently dismissed as being less chalanging, so it’s a wonderful opportunity to show the reader otherwise.

Similarly, you mentioned your character to be smart.  So give the reader a glimpse of her studying!  Better yet, show her tutoring other students in her free time, as this will also make her more likable to the reader as well.

Other ways to make her more sympathetic would include her doing volunteer work, for example, contributing to charities, killing vampires, et cetera.  The more you show your character earning her status, the more likable she’ll be.

3.  Remember your character doesn’t have to be perfect!  

Thus far, we’ve established that your character is beautiful, wealthy, accomplished, and kind.  

This does not mean, however, that she’s automatically perfect;  your character will make mistakes, and these mistakes are integral both to creating a compelling plot, and to making her sympathetic and personable to your readers.

Maybe she makes slip ups based on her status, and then has to learn from them (e.g. assuming poor people are lazy because she heard it from the adults around her), or perhaps they’re completely unrelated.  Either way, don’t be afraid to let your character make gaffs, big or small;  just so long as she learns from them and emerges a better person because of it.  

This not only allows the audience to relate to your character, but may just help them grow as well.

(I had to include at least one Asami gif, as she’s one of my all time favorite Rich Girls With a Heart of Gold and also my gilfriend.  Don’t tell Korra.) 


Aside from that, treat her like any other character.  Her archetype doesn’t necessarily need to impact her quirks, her likes or dislikes, and it would probably be boring if it did (you know those cheesy old sitcoms where all the jokes revolved around the character’s “type?”  Yeah, you don’t want that.)

So for further reference, I’ll direct you to my How to Get to Know Your Characters post here, and my Female Characters to Avoid Post here.   

I hope this helps, and happy writing!  <3

~From Sour to Sweet~

When you find a new friend in the strangest way.

cat hybrid!yoongi/reader

Word Count: 5,704

What were you thinking?

You don’t know what possessed you to go to a hybrid adoption facility and want to pick out a hybrid of your own. You felt bad that you could only choose one of the many hybrids presented before you. All were of various species accentuated with different colors, shapes, and sizes.

“You can go in if you want.” The employee next to you responds, having spotted you looking at the hybrids through the glass window.

The room was pretty spacious but you were afraid that if you went inside you would try and take them all home with you. It looked like a cross between a playground and recreational room. There were beds for them to sleep, a TV off to the side, and lots of blankets and pillows.

“If there’s one you want to interact with personally, we have rooms available for you, if you’re not comfortable going inside with all of them. It can get overwhelming sometimes.”

You watched all the hybrids for a bit. There were a couple of rabbits running around in a game of chase, bounding through the other hybrids as well as hopping over stray toys and scattered furniture pieces. The foxes were playing with a soccer ball, rolling it back and forth and a few of them even went to mess with the other hybrids nearby. Literally all of the dog hybrids were play wrestling each other and you could see tufts of fur flying through the air. Most of the cats were either asleep or lazily tossing balls of yarn here and there.

You notice a small white cat hybrid tucked away from everyone else, including the other cats, curled up in a ball high on top of one of the shelves. He wasn’t sleeping, rather he was lying there and observing all the other hybrids with a smidge of boredom adorning his features, white tail flicking lazily back and forth like a pendulum. His white ears contrasted the black locks of his hair as they twitched to each of the sounds. You noticed that he looked…lonely, yet there was a hint of sadness somewhat hidden in his eyes, and your heart ached at the sight.

Keep reading

A MESS

That’s what the SKAM fandom has become. A fucking mess between :  

- The creepy fans. They are hardcore fans. They are obsessed with Evak. They watched like 50 times, season 3. They know every lines by heart. They managed to do 2-3 trip to Olso, not for the beauty of Norway of course, only to see the two principal actors. On tumblr, their only occupation is reblogging stuff concerning Evak, Tarjei Sandvik Moe (“MY PRECIOUS SON”) and Henrik Holm (“RAY of SuNshIne”) (“BEST ACTOR IN THE WORLD”) (“I’M SO EMOTIONAL” or “I’M CRYING Tarjei or Henrik is buying some orange juice”) and answering Anon who is telling them ”Gurl, it’s gross, stop shipping Tarjei and Henrik together.“ ” You have to distinguish the character from the actor“. They don’t care, they’re too far gone, they will keep shipping them anyway because “I don’t hurt anybody doing that”

Originally posted by hairsandfashion

 - The Norwegian weaboo. They throw some “Halla”, “Alt er love”, “Nei” and “Fy Faen” in ALL their fucking post even if they are just talking about idk lasagna. They remind you everyday that they are now master in Norwegian thanks to Duolingo. Suddenly, since Skam, half of Tumblr is Norwegian and live in Oslo and have (if it’s not them) ”friends who knew / go to the same school / did a party / hang out (cross out the wrong indications) with Henrik, Marlon and Tarjei". Yes, little we knew, Oslo is a village of 100 peoples.

- The Yousana shippers. Some muslims, many who aren’t. Innocent, they don’t understand what’s the big deal with the fact that Yousef doesn’t believe in God. Some even except a kiss between Yousef and Sana. LOL. My sweet summer child, you can wait. 

- The Jonas (”Eyebrows god”) stan. My favorite. They’re just worried about their fave since he disappeared completely this season. 

- The Eva stan. They’re just most of the time praising her and her “fabulous mermaid hair”. 

 - The seeker of the truth 1. The one who only care about this ETERNAL question in the universe : Is Vilde a lesbian ? They’re no doubt for them, and the answer is “YES”. They dislike Magnus with passion and (like 99% of the fandom) can’t stand Magnus and Vilde making out session. They reclaim the truth from Julie Andem ALL THE TIME. 

 - The seeker of the truth 2. The one who only care about contradict them. “Vilde is NOT a lesbian”. They’re personally offended by this supposition. Why ? Nobodies know.

- The artist. They just draw or do “aesthetic edit” about Skam. Half of their caption is “Alt er love”-“Du er ikke alene”-“Be kind. Everyone is fighting a battle you know nothing about”. If you have an “aesthetic gif set” about one of the girl squad then you can be sure that you will find the picture of “a MAC lipstick slightly open with behind a white grayish background” in it.  

 - The Penetrator Chris Stan. Mostly young, they live in their bubble. They don’t take part of any fandom’s drama because they’re not invested enough. Isak ? Nope. Even ? Nope. Sana ? Nope. Noora ? Nope. LGBTQ representation ? Nope. POC representation ? Nope. ON-LY THIS FUCK-BOY MA-TTER FOR THEM. You easily recognize them because of their self-insert-imagine Readers where they are “William’s little sister and Chris secret lover” or when “You (Y/N) and jealous Chris are fucking in the kitchen”. 

- The Noorhell shippers. Maybe they were the original, the first one, SKAM  fans on Tumblr. Who knows ? They live in the past. They are still too invested in their shitty ship. They are an endangered specie now or maybe just hiding till the Wilhelm hate shit storm calm down. 

- The pepsi-max girl stan. Just kidding, nobody care about them. 

- The “Guys I have this incredible NEW theory : water is wet”. They are like weeks late in the season and just rehearse a theory who was already confirmed or already enunciated already by hundred of persons before. 

Originally posted by jdm-negan-mcnaughty

-  DISCOURSE GROUP 1. The “Sana’s season is too boring”. Mostly white girl, mostly straight, “they can’t relate to Sana because “she (an arab muslim straight girl) is too different” but they had zero difficulties to relate to Isak during season 3 (a white gay boy). Why ? You already know the answer. You can pair them with the Evak creepy fangirl, most of them came from this group. Until know, they were just a pain in the ass with their “ok it’s not that I don’t care about Sana (in fact, surprise, they don’t) but WHERE IS EVEN ?”. They cried when the S4 trailers was released. After their little crisis, they wrote 10K long ass meta about why in fact every little details in this trailer was related to Even and not Sana. Still delusional, they don’t want to move on. They don’t talk or reblog stuff from S4, only from S3 (OR S4 but only if it concerns Evak of course). They wrote many theories about the balloon squad and how problematic they were. This friday, they were apparently “proven right” to their greatest joy with Mikael and Even’s story. YAY.  Since you can hear them yelling “all religions are evil and homophobic and needs to disappear (BUT if Islam could be the ONLY ONE to burn it would be nice”). Suddenly they adore Sonja (who was ”a bitch” during season 3) If you ask them not to jump to conclusion with Mikael (“the rat”), you are homophobic yourself and obviously awfully racist against white people (???). 

Originally posted by annefrankisgod

- DISCOURSE GROUP 2. The Sana’s stan/ muslims one. They waited so long for Sana’s season and muslim representation. They have no time for your “lowkey islamophobic white ass” (”Sana is too white in this gifset” “ Pepsi-max girls sucks” “We don’t care about Willhell/ Evak/ Noora ” ( cross out the wrong indications) ). This season is very personal for them but to their surprise, it’s anything but what they expected. They have mixed feelings every new clip. They tried to educate the others Skam fans about some concept of Islam but people are not very receptive so they started to give up. Despite friday clip, they are still defending Mikael and the balloon squad against the various attack from the DISCOURSE GROUP 1. Easily offended, they can be a little too protective of Sana, her mom, and the balloon squad.  It appears that they lost all their patience and decided for the best or the worst to let the fandom burn. 

- THE OTHERS. The one who just enjoy the show, their favorite characters and favorite ships. They’re just watching the drama from afar. Sometimes, they low-key have a side but are too lazy to make a post about it. They’re just incredibly tired of this mess. 

Originally posted by yourreactiongifs

Bye. 

The Only Exception (Part 3)

Summary: AU. Reader is given the task of running a popular love advice internet show when her coworker is fired. Her cynical attitude toward love makes her offer some harsh advice, and more than a few hearts are caught in the aftermath. Will hers be one of them?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 3,523

Warnings: language, fluff, wishful thinking, hot firemen, sarcasm, cynicism, bad jokes, drinking, sad story retelling (mentions of death and loss)

A/N: Moving right along…and yes, I used a Keep Reading line. Also, shout out to @redgillan for making my day brighter.

Part - 1 - 2 - 3 - 4

Originally posted by kittyseb

Keep reading

  • Steph: Tim and Kon, sittin in a tree.
  • Dick: K-I-S-S-I-N-G!
  • Kon: for the last time, Tim and I have never made out!
  • Tim: It was just mouth-to-mouth!
  • Steph: wait
  • Tim: oops
  • Dick: are you saying that you have put your mouth on Kon's?
  • Damian: don't be vulgar, Grayson
  • Tim: yeah, okay, Kon SAVING MY LIFE is not making out
  • Cass: awww, you save each other!
  • Kon: we're teammates. it's what we do.
  • Cassie: he never gave ME mouth-to-mouth....
  • Kon: you never needed it!
  • Duke: how do you....even know mouth-to-mouth?
  • Kon: all heroes should know it!
  • Kara: yeah okay but who taught you?
  • Kon: I learned in the Teen Titans
  • Cassie: Teen Titans never taught me....just saying...
  • Kon: stop being gross!
  • Dick: Are you saying that being gay is gross, because if so, I am very disappointed in you--
  • Kon: THAT'S NOT WHAT I SAID
  • Jason: 's what it sounded like
  • Tim: Kon calling people who are gay gross would be hypocritical
  • Steph: and why is that, Timbo?
  • Tim: uh
  • Kon: I'm bi, okay?????
  • Kara: interesting. And how does Tim know this?
  • Tim: we're friends. We talk.
  • Steph: let me guess. It's 3 am, neither of you can sleep, Kon creeps into Tim's room--
  • Kara: Kon sits on the end of Tim's bed, they stare into each other's eyes--
  • Cassie: Kon says, softly, staring at the moonlight lighting up Tim's face--
  • Duke: "I'm bi, Tim."
  • Dick: "Bi....for YOU."
  • Tim: THAT NEVER HAPPENED
  • Steph: sureeeeeeee it didn't
  • Donna: that's how Dick came out as pan to me
  • Dick: sort of. I mean, I didn't say I was pan for her, but there was the moonlight, and the beds, and the 3 am part--
  • Damian: that never happened, Grayson
  • Donna: oh yeah it did, punk
  • Jon: I wish I had a friend I was that close to
  • Kara: why, Jonno? you got something to tell us?
  • Jon: No! I just wish I had a good friend...
  • Steph: Damian, you're such a terrible person, look at his little face
  • Damian: how is this about me, now? I thought we were talking about Drake and the clone!
  • Cass: we can talk about both
  • Jon: no, no, it's not Damian's fault--
  • Jason: that he's a little punk? yeah, it is
  • Damian: can we please go back to talking about Drake and the clone's mating habits?
  • Tim: JAY HOW DID YOU COME OUT AS BI?
  • Jason: walked up to the guy, made out with him, and said "hey, Roy, I'm bi" and he said, "That's funny, your pants were saying--"
  • Kara: OKAY JASON THERE ARE SMALL EARS HERE
  • Damian: Danvers is right, nobody wants to hear about you and Harper's disgusting habits
  • Steph: right, let's talk about CASS and Harper's disgusting habits!
  • Cass: Harper Row is the most beautiful girl to ever exist.
  • Steph, Tim, Kara, Dick: awwwwwwww
  • Duke: this doesn't mean you're off the hook, Timberly
  • Tim: suRE IT DOES!!!
  • Cass: no, I'm pretty sure we never learned where Kon learned CPR
  • Kon: Tim taught me, okay????????????????
  • Dick: I KNEW IT!!!
  • Steph: did you make out??
  • Kara: was it romantic??
  • Tim: NO!! We used a dummy, just like how we learned it with Batman!
  • Cass: oh
  • Donna: boring
  • Cassie: I expected more from you
  • Barbara: If it helps, I found footage of them on a rooftop last week....
  • Tim: NO NO NO
  • Kon: THAT NEVER HAPPENED
  • Steph: BABS MY HERO LET ME SEE
  • Tim: NOOOOOOOO
  • [everything descends into chaos]
  • Bruce: You asked why we never have family get-togethers, Clark. This. This is why.
  • Clark: I'll admit I wasn't, uh, expecting that. At all.
  • Diana, eating popcorn: I was!
Jughead & Reader: No Turning Back

Summary: You’re an aspiring chef/baker so you make a lot of food for your friends. One day Jughead tries something you made and completely falls for you.

Requested by: anonymous


Listen to: Stay Young, Go Dancing - Death Cab For Cutie


“Ta-da,” Jughead said with a slight hint of sarcasm and over-confidence as he set the pan on the counter that contained something that used to resemble pizza. 

Archie raised his eyebrows. “What is this?” He asked his friend as he took off the oven mittens and tossed them on the island. 

Jughead looked a little surprised by Archie’s tone. “I mean, it’s not Pizza Hut or anything but it looks fine.” He shrugged as he sat down next to you. 

You couldn’t stifle a laugh. “Jughead, that’s not the color pizza should be,” you pointed out. 

He served himself a piece and took a bite after blowing on it to cool it down. “It’s… fine,” he said, obviously disappointed that he couldn’t even manage to cook pizza the right way. 

“Alright, everyone out,” you said as you stood up. You grabbed the pizza pan and set it on another counter to give yourself some space. 

“What are you doing?” Veronica asked as she pushed herself away from the wall. “Are you going to order real food?” She gave Jughead a pointed look and he huffed. 

You laughed. “I’m going to cook real food,” you said. “And I need space to do that.”

Jughead sat up straight. “You cook?” He asked. 

Archie gave him a look and shook his head. “Seriously, man, where have you been?”

Betty giggled. “Come on. Let’s give her some space to work her magic.” She grabbed Jughead’s arm and pulled him out of the kitchen as Veronica and Archie followed. 

You set to work.

Keep reading

beatrice-babe  asked:

I'm working on an assignment about how we could modify the way we teach Shakespeare so students understand it. In combing through JSTOR (our lord and savior) I found two articles both discussing how damned difficult it is to teach Shakespeare. Each is titled 'Teaching Shakespeare'. One is from 1942. The other is from 1893. It is 2017, and we still don't know how the fuck to teach this shit so people get it. Academic struggles all day every day and literally nothing has changed

University was a dream come true for me. I had amazing lecturers and the class had a three-pronged approach:

1. Explain the historical context of the play, how it was originally performed and how it was received

2. View different modern adaptations (at least 2-3, sometimes more, and ideally look at some from other cultures and in other languages) and compare and contrast how they interpret the same text

3. Encourage students to interpret the text in their own way. Wanna make A Midsummer Night’s Dream about two lesbians, Lysander and Hermia, running away from a homophobic society? Go for it. Now explain why you chose to do that and how you would stage it.

We would have lectures that were theory-based, interrupted by the professor playing some clips from different adaptations. Later in the week we would meet in a theatre space and work with the text physically, vocally, and have an open and honest discussion about what we were studying. We got through one play every two weeks over a 12 week period and came out with a solid understanding of each one. Extraordinary stuff.

Now, compare this approach, which is interesting, engaging and relevant to the modern era and our own experiences, to how it’s traditionally taught in high school.

You sit.

In a room.

You read the play.

You’re stuck with it for weeks and weeks.

You have no fucking clue what’s being said or why you should care. 

Your teacher then asks you to write an essay on a topic that will have some ludicrously long title that you barely understand.

You go away hating Shakespeare and viewing it as horrible and boring. 

And you completely miss what the text is about and what it can be about.

The thing that was really powerful at uni, and what we should endeavour to bring to teenage students, was looking at other people’s adaptations. Reading Shakespeare as a 15 year old, or indeed at any age, can be a struggle. It feels like you’re reading gobbledegook. How the hell are you supposed to understand Elizabethan slang? How are you supposed to engage with the story if you keep reaching for a dictionary every 2 seconds? But that’s where skilled actors and directors come into it, because these guys do the work for you. For example, The Globe theatre is a massive draw for tourists around the world. They perform plays in the original language in a way that is hugely accessible and entertaining for all people, no matter their background. They use voice, action and gesture to make sure you understand. It’s an old maxim that Shakespeare is meant to be seen and not heard, and it’s true, so let your students watch the professionals act it out. Let them watch two or three! Maybe more! And once they start to grasp the text, aided by historical context, get them up and get them speaking and performing. And if someone’s shy and doesn’t want to perform? That’s totally fine! They’re now the director, and they can come up with ideas that others will put into practice. 

Get people talking. Start arguments. Shakespeare’s plays will say something different to each different person. What is it about this text that you latch onto? Which adaptation did you like best? How do you think it should come to life? And when you assigns essays and assessments, let them write and argue about what they are passionate about. I fucking hate those essay prompts that box you in and allow no room to put forward your own feelings, which make you talk about the theme of forgiveness or whatever when you think fuck you, this play wasn’t about forgiveness at all, it was about (x).

Even with the little stuff, there’s no point just saying “so the definition of iambic pentameter is…” and moving on, you should be up there with your hand on your heart, making them tap along to their own heartbeats, ba-DUM, ba-DUM, ba-DUM, Two HOUSE-holds BOTH a-LIKE in DIG-ni-TY - great! You feel it, don’t you? You feel those 10 beats in your heart, and now what happens when you recite a line that’s slightly irregular? Sometimes you’ll get a weird line that’s 9, 11 or 12 syllables where everything else is 10, sometimes you’ll get the stressed syllable in a different place than it should be, and you can feel that as you’re reciting - it’s as if your heart suddenly started beating faster or skipped a beat, and you have to listen to it and ask - why did Shakespeare want me to stress that? Why did this character suddenly falter and slip out of rhythm? Same with things like assonance, alliteration, repetition, juxtaposition and all those others words that make students’ eyeballs melt out of their heads. Don’t just make them memorise an arbitrary list of definitions, show them what they can do.

For example: repetition in Much Ado About Nothing. Beatrice and Benedick will often choose a word or an idea and then hit it back and forth like a shuttlecock until one of them drops it. But it’s the repetition of the word heart that is most striking, and the image of Beatrice’s heart in particular. Beatrice has a “merry heart,” she has a “wild heart,” Margaret jokes she should lay Carduus Benedictus to “your heart,” Benedick declares he wants to “live in thy heart.” The word crops up close to forty times throughout the play, associated with love, happiness, sexual ardour - nice things, in other words. In the confession scene we see:

BEATRICE: I was about to protest I loved you.

BENEDICK: And do it, with all thy heart.

BEATRICE: I love you with so much of my heart none is left to protest. 

And then, all of a sudden, just a few lines later, Shakespeare pulls the fucking rug out from under us. Remember all that nice heart imagery? Throw it out the window, and listen to what Beatrice has to say about Claudio, the scumbag who disgraced and almost killed her innocent cousin: I would eat his heart in the marketplace.

HOOOLY SHIT DUDE

Do you see that? One word, one image, one idea and suddenly it’s like the the roof has caved in. Claudio said he loved her cousin, and then he nearly killed her. And Beatrice, with her loving, merry heart, the heart that Benedick wishes to live in, says I would eat his heart. If hurting women is what Claudio intends to do with his love and his heart, then by God she will fucking pull it out of his chest and eat it where everyone can see so they know what should happen to men like him. 

Feel it, listen to it, live it. Those definitions will seem abstract and alien when you read them on the page - who cares if a few words start with the same letter? What does it matter if he repeats a couple of words? But you have to get into the text and really hear and see, viscerally, what these techniques are capable of. They should make the hairs stand up on the back of your neck. 

Historical context is another issue I won’t go too far into, but suffice to say that it’s something that deserves far more attention than it gets. Apart from anything else, it’s interesting! People got up to crazy stuff in Shakespeare’s time, we should know about the world the Bard lived in.

I apologise for ranting, but yes. Shakespeare is often taught in an inadequate or inappropriate way, and for the sanity of high school students everywhere we should endeavour to teach teachers how Shakespeare should be taught.