if i were i'd be so bitter you have no idea

anonymous asked:

Them finding out that MC has a tattoo. I'm getting a tattoo soon and am very nervous 😅 so I'd love to see how they would react.

ooo, I personally love tattoos but could never get one for myself! I’m sure it’ll look amazing holy damn


  • His first thought is just
  • Woah
  • Has he ever told you how damn attractive you are??
  • Because you look so amazing with it, and it’s definitely a surprise to him
  • It lowkey reminds him of his motorcycle gang and he may even have one himself
  • But 100% loves it so much he can’t say it enough


  • oH MY GOD 
  • He never realised you were so badass?
  • I mean tattoos mean needles and pain he could nOT have done that
  • Literally thinks you’re amazing and can’t say how much he loves it
  • Definitely wants to touch is but is v shy. Proceed with caution.


  • There was a slight worry that maybe he wouldn’t approve but?
  • It’s so pretty, and he loves every inch of you, so there wasn’t actually anything to worry about
  • A part of him is a little bitter that someone’s touched you to give you the tattoo (especially if it’s in a more intimate place)
  • But at least he’s the only one with access now so


  • She admires this side of you?
  • And now you have to talk about it! 
  • When did you get it? Does it mean anything special to you? Please talk about it, she’s in love
  • The idea of getting one crosses her mind? like she may not go through with it, but the thought definitely comes to her head


  • Woww you are wild
  • Even if it’s just a small one, he thinks you’re awesome for it
  • He’s going to try teasing you for it if he can as always
  • Even starts talking about matching meme tattoos with you
  • But would totally “settle” for one of you having a moon, and the other having a sun or something (matching tattoos are my aesthetic I’m sorry but fiGHT ME)

motherofmajesticflapflaps  asked:

Okay stupid question: why do you ship Andras and Lucien? Was there subtext that I, the English major who loves queer theory missed in ACOTR? I mean I'd love to read more fics and your headcanons of this!

omg someone is asking about Landras I’m DELIGHTED. Okay so like when I say I ship it (and I do, dear god I do) it’s…Like I don’t think it’s going to be canon/was ever canon/was ever really hinted at being canon in any way. I just…Enjoy the idea of it? And it adds another layer of angst to ACOTAR and a bit of extra depth to Lucien’s character and his early interactions with Feyre if you read it that way? So I choose to. 

That being said like…I didn’t pull it entirely from nowhere there are lines in ACOTAR that send the wheels a-turning. Which I will now take the time to point out. (Like I said I don’t consider any of this subtext or hinting or foreshadowing or evidence. I’m just like…okay but if you slap a landras lens over this it’s so much more fun to read so this is less…canon interpretation and more…okay but if you look at it like this it’s much more fun) 

“Is Andras dead, then?” (Lucien has….a habit of using snark to cover up his feelings) 

A nod from my captor—savior, whatever he was. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.
“How?” the stranger demanded, his knuckles white as he gripped his muscled arms.

“An ash arrow,” said the other. His red-haired companion hissed. “The Treaty’s summons led me to the mortal. I gave her safe haven.”
“A girl—a mortal girl actually killed Andras.” Not a question so much as a venom-coated string of words.


“You’re joking,” he said quietly. “That scrawny thing brought down Andras with a single ash arrow?”


“Did you enjoy killing my friend, human?” the red-haired one said. “Did you hesitate, or was the hatred in your heart riding you too hard to consider sparing him? It must have been so satisfying for a small mortal thing like you to take him down.”


She brought Andras down? We never should have sent him out there—none of them should have been out there. It was a fool’s mission.” His growl was more bitter than threatening. (Lucien feels guilty for sending Andras across the wall….which gets approximately 1000000x angstier if you consider them having been in a secret ‘in denial about feelings’ relationship beforehand)


I’m sure her life will be a fine replacement for Andras’s—maybe she can even train with the others on the border.”

A snarl of irritation resonated through the air.


“Please let me go. There must be—must be some other loophole out of the Treaty’s rules—some other way to atone.”

“Atone?” Lucien said. “Have you even apologized yet?”

Apparently, all attempts to flatter me were dead and gone. So I looked Lucien right in his remaining russet eye and said, “I’m sorry.”

Lucien leaned back in his chair. “How did you kill him? Was it a bloody fight, or just cold-blooded murder?”

My spine stiffened. “I shot him with an ash arrow. And then anordinary arrow through the eye. He didn’t put up a fight. After the first shot, he just stared at me.”

“Yet you killed him anyway—though he made no move to attack you. And then you skinned him,” Lucien hissed. ( :( ) 


Lucien clicked his tongue. “I’m Tamlin’s emissary for formal uses, but this was Andras’s shift. So someone needed to fill in. It’s an honor to do it.” (he is literally doing his old rounds and calling it an honour I??) 

I swallowed hard. Andras had a place here, and friends here—he hadn’t been just some nameless, faceless faerie. No doubt he was more missed than I was. “I’m … sorry,” I said—and meant it. “I didn’t know what—what he meant to you all.”

Lucien shrugged. (Lucien shrugging is like…Lucien speak for ‘I’m deeply hurt but have no idea how to properly verbalise my emotions so I’m just going to brush them off instead’ see also: the whipping) 


“No, no. Andras was High Fae, too. Tam can shift us into other shapes if need be. He saves it for his sentries only, though. When Andras went across the wall, Tam changed him into a wolf so he wouldn’t be spotted as a faerie. Though his size was probably indication enough.”

A shudder went down my spine, violent enough that I didn’t acknowledge the red-hot glare Lucien lobbed my way.


Over the next three days, I found myself joining Lucien on Andras’s old patrol while Tamlin hunted the grounds for the Bogge, unseen by us. Despite being an occasional bastard, Lucien didn’t seem to mind my company, and he did most of the talking, which was fine; it left me to brood over the consequences of firing a single arrow. (aaaand he keeps doing Andras’s patrol. It’s fine. I’m fine.) 


The wolf—Andras had just … stared at me before I killed him. Let me kill him. (Not exactly Landras related but let’s just TAKE A MOMENT TO THINK ABOUT MY BRAVE WOLF BOY OKAY? And also Andras doing this so Lucien could be safe :) that’s fun too :) ) 

 Literally none of this really implies anything more than a deep friendship between Lucien and Andras (which…makes me feel things in itself because fuck me Lucien needed someone on his side at the Spring Court, someone who might actually care about him) But it’s fun to imagine there was more between them. (And by ‘fun’ I mean deeply and utterly agonising, my soul is in pieces, please join me in the pit of despair. There’s plenty of room. 

And if you want more headcanons that are purely headcanons and nothing to do with the text…let me know I have plenty. 

jigglejaggle  asked:

(this is someone else's prompt, i don't remember who made it though but it's a bit different than the original..) could you write something where lance is stuck cleaning the decontamination chamber and he accidentally turns on with him inside so there's water filling up the room rapidly and he's running out of time but someone finally comes by and hears him screaming and freaking out trying to get him out. You can choose if lance dies or not (I'd prefer that he almost does but is revived by CPR)

I hope you like it; I haven’t slept in 30 hours so I’m just chugging along here…

A few aspects of living in a flying castle really bugged Lance.

How is anyone in their right mind supposed to clean the thing, especially while trying to fight a war at the same time?

How is someone supposed to stay out of the frankly ridiculous amount of traps and strange places scattered haphazardly around?

And, most importantly, how is someone supposed to get out of said traps when there are only six other people on the ship with a once again absurd square footage?

More under the cut!

Keep reading

Cosima held out a hand. Delphine, a bit startled, a little unsure, lowered herself to sit beside the gently smiling woman and placed her hand into Cosima’s. Cosima seized it like a prized possession, curling her other hand around Delphine’s knuckles.

They sat quiet for a minute.

“You know what’s crazy?” Cosima asked, studying Delphine’s hand with an intensity she applied to specimens.

“What?” Delphine prompted softly.

“We beat the odds. We actually found a cure. You survived an actual goddamn assassination attempt. We found each other again. That’s … incredible.”

Delphine ran her thumb over Cosima’s knuckles. “Yes.”

“But you know what’s really crazy?” Cosima asked.


“There are assholes who have no idea what we’ve been through who would go nuts at the sight of me holding your hand like this.”

Delphine considered the bitterness and resentment in Cosima’s voice. “You’re thinking about the elections in the United States?”


They were both quiet.

“I don’t get it,” Cosima said at last.

Keep reading

Knocked Out (1/?)

Guess who got in her head about writing dialogue heavy fics, so she took a break by diving head first into the plot idea with language barriers?

Surprise, it’s me.

Consider this my attempt at a barbarian au. Not as worldbuilding heavy as a lot, since it’s much more fluff and getting to know each other and also being surrounded by your nosy friends kind of content, haha.

Shout out to @meridianbarony for the title. Cheesy but fitting haha.

Title: Knocked Out

Series: Transformers: Prime with the constructicons shoved right in there, and just a sprinkle of ideas pulled from tfidw

Pairing/Characters: Breakdown/Knockout, joined by Bulkhead and the Constructicons

Warnings: Robot injuries (nothing super gory), sexual jokes, language barriers, and fluff. Oh the fluff.

Fic Summary:

And so there Breakdown found himself, with an injured barbarian in his arms who turned those dazzling crimson optics towards him, and for a split second Breakdown felt as if it was his knees that were injured because boy did they feel weak.

Barbarian AU where the citymech unwittingly does the kidnapping.

Chapter Summary:

“Me? A kidnapped mate? Have you even seen me? It’d take a whole tribe of them to even carry me! Two if they decided to go for Bulk here!”

|Chapter 1|Chapter 2|Chapter 3|Chapter 4|Chapter 5|

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Part 2 of Takao's fem best friend's unrequited love please?? An extra req, if you're gonna do a time skip, can you pls not make it longer than two months? I'd like those emotions to be raw, esp right after Takao knows of her feelings ^^ Thank you!

Anonymous said: Takao anon here! Yes, I’m the original anon who requested the first scenario. Um, honestly, I can’t think of any general plot for this 2nd one; all I actually want is a continuation of the 1st scenario, with more angst before the happy ending~ and yep, I want Takao to return his best friend’s feelings! ^^ So aside from the 2-month specified time, angst+happy ending, and Takao returning (maybe realizing his hidden feelings for her?) that love, like you said, I allow you to do whatever you want. 

I hope you’re not mad at me for delaying this for so long! I honestly don’t know how to feel about this, but here it is, I really hope it’s satisfactory. Since you like the feelings raw, I didn’t put a time skip. Thank you for your patience!

This is a continuation to this story here. You are heavily suggested to proceed only after reading the first part. Female!Reader ahead for consistency. 

It Was Always You by Maroon 5

Originally posted by grrungegoddess

Stupid stupid stupid stupid, he thinks, hands balled into fists at how completely idiotic he is. He should’ve just straightaway ran to your house instead of asking your friends, waiting for them to pick the phone up to ask them where you were, if you were partying with them—that way, he could’ve caught you before it got dark. Although he’s close to your family as your best friend, how is he supposed to knock on the door to your home at nearly midnight? 

What is he going to say if your parents open the front door?

What is he going to say if you are the one who opens the door?

Takao sighs, unbuttoning the top few buttons of his dress shirt and loosening his tie. His hair sticks on his face from sweat, but in contrast to his slightly ragged breath and the sensation of the cold air against his damp skin, his mind is numb. 

He can see your bedroom window from here. It’s dark. You’re probably asleep. The idea of throwing rocks at your window is quickly discarded—you most likely don’t want to look at him in the face again.

The glare of his phone catches his eye and tells him that his girlfriend is looking for him: ten missed calls and a couple dozen of texts, gradually changing tone from sweet questions of where he’s at to a storm of textual rage. He turns off the device—she’s the least of his concerns right now. Takao sits on your empty porch with empty eyes and a rabbit heart as his mind flashes him images of the last few times he hung out with you.

When he can only recall conversations about his relationship and that forced smile on your face, he curses. 

“You’re a fucking idiot,” he says to himself, feeling as if his heart is in the fist of a phantom hand, painfully clenching the organ. 

The two of you don’t even talk to each other these days—at least nothing of substance like your usual deep or humorous exchanges. Since the end of his second year in Shuutoku, which is around the time he found his “soulmate” (Takao swallows bitterness at the word—how did he have the gall to use it so lightly?), the conversations he shared with you were shallow banter with him mostly talking about his girlfriend and you having to listen. He’d ask for relationship advice, what a girl likes, where to take her on dates. 

You were probably forcing laughter, faking smiles, crying yourself to sleep when you’re alone.

Takao let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair. The night is dark and quiet save for the occasional gust of wind and sounds of crickets singing between the grass, but his mind is loud and disorganized: a mix of realization, question, and self-deprecation. The way you looked at him when he talks, how other people seem to let their gazes linger on you and him—everybody knew, even Midorima noticed, for heaven’s sake. How could he miss the signs? How could he be so blinded, even when he was the one that told you “nothing is going to change” when he got a girlfriend?

If only he could go back in time and punch himself in the face for saying that to you. It obviously turned out to be a lie, no matter how he didn’t mean it to be one. He didn’t just replace you, he made you suffer by putting it in your face for at least one year and you say a single word against it.

He blinks, and a tear slowly makes its way down his cheek. It takes a moment for Takao to realize that he’s crying, but when he does, a wave of thoughts darker than the sky he’s under flood his mind: there’s no way you don’t hate him right now, not when he’s caused you nothing but pain for a long time. That’s why you didn’t talk to him after the graduation ceremony, that’s why you’ve been rejecting his offers to lunch together, that’s why you’ve been oddly quiet whenever the two of you hung out. 

He remembers the big game Shuutoku won and how he doesn’t recall you congratulating him. It must’ve been since then. He must’ve hurt you so much without realizing, like the Prince in The Little Mermaid and how he asked her to dance the night away, not knowing of the swords she feels like she’s stepping on. And like the Prince, too, he discarded her for another, despite the sacrifices she has made and the pain she must endure.

Then, he thinks about what will happen next. His apology won’t be enough, not after what you’ve been through. You’ll grow to despise him, cutting him off from your life like removing a parasitic infection—that’s what he’s been anyway, sucking the life and love out of you. You won’t look at him in the face again when you pass by each other on the street. He might have his girlfriend in one arm, but the thought of him not being in your life coils a rope in his chest.

And when he thinks of you having another person by your side, someone who shares kisses with you, someone who gets to make you smile and laugh, the only one who is allowed to hold you in their arms—and that someone is not him…

Takao feels like he’s been physically hurt, but there are no wounds on his skin to show.

He spends the rest of the night punishing himself in the chest with these thoughts sharp as blade, bleeding tears into the night until he’s too tired to stay awake.

You wake up the next morning with puffy red eyes, gauging that it is approaching afternoon by the strong sunlight that enters your bedroom. The weight of your heavy heart is somewhat diminished, not only by the fact that you cried your eyes out the night before, but also by the faint feeling of hunger. After brushing your teeth and a brisk shower, you change into clean T-shirt and shorts, not bothering to conceal your swollen eyes since you’re staying at home for the rest of the day.

Your parents should already be away for work at this time of the day, leaving you alone in your house. Your assumptions are confirmed when you walk downstairs to find silence—even the television is off. 

So when you enter the kitchen to find Takao, sitting with a plate of half-eaten toast in front of him, you gasp as if you’ve seen a ghost.

He does look ghastly, his paler face contrasting to the marks under his eyes. He shows signs of surprise as well when he sees you, which quickly dissolves into hesitance. He’s here with the full intention of talking to you, apologizing, telling you how stupid he was and how he realizes he doesn’t want a life without you—

—you don’t even know he knows.


“__________-chan,” he says with a start—weird since he’s the one barging in your house. He realizes your swollen eyes and remembers that he spent the night crying too, but he can only hope that you don’t notice.

“What are you—how did you get it?” You look at the front door and back at him again, positive that the entrance is properly locked.

“Your parents let me in,” he answers, “I came here in the morning.” Takao still can see your mother’s reaction when she finds him sleeping on a chair as she checks the porch every morning. She was surprised more than anything, but she didn’t ask when he said he has something very important to say to you.

Maybe she knows, and from the way your father glanced at him before offering him breakfast, Takao thinks he knows too. Have you been so upset that your parents notice what’s going on, though you’re not the type to tell them? Did they mention his name during a family dinner, and all of a sudden you just got quiet, like when he mentions his girlfriend’s name? Did they hear your sounds of sobbing across the hallway at night?

“Oh,” you answer dumbly, making a sandwich for yourself as you face the kitchen counter. You don’t want him looking at you, not when you’re like this: vulnerable and unprepared. “What brings you here today?”

“I—you—” he trips on his own words, “__________-chan, we need to talk.”

Fear overcomes you for a split second at the seriousness of his tone. Takao has rarely used it in his conversations with you, but after knowing him for so long, you can tell. He means business.

“What about?” You ask, putting a slice of cheese on toast before busying your hands with something, anything. You don’t want to talk to him.

“__________-chan, look at me.”

You freeze for a moment and hope he doesn’t notice, but Takao does not hold the nickname Hawk Eye for nothing. You slowly turn to him, looking at him in the eye, keeping your defences up with whatever dignity you have left in you.

In front of you stands the boy who you had your heart in his hands, and instead of looking powerful and confident, he’s not much better than you are. For a second you are tempted to throw in a joke about his face—he must’ve partied so hard and the hangover still hasn’t subsided, but you know the humorous attempt is merely a cover-up of the truth.

“__________-chan,” he calls your name again, softer this time as if reminiscing a memory, “do you… like me?”

At that point, thoughts of lying to him, telling him that of course you do—you’re not best friends if you don’t, are thrown out the window. There’s no use for sugar-coating and false masks anymore. Your grip to whatever leash that has been keeping your sanity together loosens, and tears begin to pool in your eyes as fast as he made you fall in love with him, breaking the dam.

You defy his orders, looking down to the floor and covering your face with both hands. Takao’s eyes widen only a fraction before he feels a pang in his heart. He knows you don’t usually cry in front of people, that you prefer to let loose when you are alone in your room—the fact that you’re openly crying in the kitchen with the cause of your pain right in front of you is proof that he made you go through a lot.

He feels like he’s suffocating.

“I’m sorry,” you sob, “I—I tried not to… I thought—”

He places a comforting hand on your shoulder, attempting to pull you into a hug, but when you flinch and freeze before taking a step back, another portion of his heart breaks. You inhale deeply yet shakily, cupping your hand over your mouth as if it stops the sobbing somehow.

“It’s okay,” you say, a sudden calm overcoming you and his eyebrows crinkle in confusion. “I, we’re not going to the same university, s-so we won’t see each other as much,” you continue, cursing inwardly at your shaky voice when you see Takao’s expression.

“I’ll—I’ll stay out of your way!” It comes out as a suggestion, but it’s like his heart is about to burst in the phantom hand’s tight grip.

“I promise not to get in the way of your relationship.” He swallows, scenes of not seeing you ever again playing in his mind, and his mouth feels dry and bitter.

“I didn’t want you to know in the first place. Just please… pretend you don’t know.” His stomach sinks at the request.

“I’ll be fine,” you say, but it feels as if you’re trying to convince yourself, “I’ll be okay.”

That’s when he snaps, pulling you into a hug so tight you’re encased by his whole body. The desperation in his hands as he cups the back of your head says he’s afraid that you’ll slip through him like sand. Pressed against his chest like this, you feel his rapid heartbeat and warmth, and the tears you have been trying so hard to supress makes their way down your cheek, seeping into the material of his shirt.

“No, don’t, please,” he tells you, exhaling shakily, “I was—if I let you go now you’ll run away, and I spent the whole night thinking about what would happen and I,” he swallows, “I really can’t imagine not having you with me.”

“Then what?” You cry, pushing at his chest in anger to put distance between you. “You want me to stick around and ‘stand by you’ while you’re with your girlfriend? I’ve done that for the past year!” Your voice breaks with the gradually rising volume, evidence of how hard you cried the night before. “I don’t want to go through that anymore. I’ve had enough.”

The room falls into silence as Takao looks at you while you quietly lower your eyes down to the floor. Thoughts run a thousand miles an hour in your head: if Takao only loves you as much as a friend does, there’s no point in having this conversation anymore—at least not until you move on. You must cut all ties with him, start anew, and fall in love again to be ready to face him.

“You hate me now, don’t you?” He asks.

Even the words sting his tongue when he says them.

This time you look him in the eyes as you give him your answer.

“I wish I could,” you whisper, “that would make things so much easier.”

And like a meteor colliding with Earth, there is realization and clarity, like the smoke is cleared out of his mind. When he pulls you by the arm and crashes his lips onto yours in a desperate kiss, it feels as if everything makes sense—it’s right, and he has never felt nothing as perfect as this before.

Your eyes widen at the foreign sensation. You’ve never expected this to happen, never in your wildest dreams—at least not after you’ve discarded them. You feel tears well again in your eyes for the umpteenth time in the past twenty-four hours, because how can you not cry while he’s kissing you and you’re already giving up on him? Any form of resistance you can come up with is futile: your push isn’t as strong and your fists are instead bringing him closer, the way you try to pull away but always responding when he chases you.

Inside, you figure that there is still a bit of hope that he would return your feelings.

Takao’s kiss is deep, passionate, desperate. It’s more emotional than your previous conversation combined, it tells you everything you need to know about him and him you: that he is certainly not willing to let you go or run away, and that a small part of you hasn’t lost your wish of being with him despite what you try to tell yourself.

“I’m sorry,” he says in between kisses, “I’ll make it up to you, I promise, just give me the chance to.”

You gasp his name and he moans against your lips, kissing until the fire in his gut slowly turns into an ember, and by then he’s peppering slow kisses around your face in silent admiration and affection.

“What about your girlfriend?” You ask quietly. You really wish that you can skip this part, but he’s technically still in a relationship with someone else. Takao sighs, fishing out his phone and turning it on. The two of you stare until the blank screen lights up, and after a few seconds you can see notifications flooding in his phone, her name glaring in pixels. You spot snippets of the long sentences she sent to him, cuss words and spelling errors that turns out to be a continuation of what he received the night before.

“It’s clear that she’s upset of me ditching the party last night,” Takao scoffs a bit at that, “but who cares? She most likely found somebody else to grind with on the dance floor if she has the gall to diss me like that.”

“That’s horrible,” you say, eyebrows scrunching lightly with discomfort.

Takao places the device on the kitchen counter, paying absolutely no attention to it before he moves in to kiss you softly on the lips. When you pull away, it’s slow and unwilling, like you want it to last forever, but the need for air makes such wish impossible. His eyes are lidded, looking at you with an expression you can’t exactly decipher. You’ve never seen this look on his face before—something tells you that you’ll see more of this side of him in the future.

“I can’t believe it’s you all along,” he whispers, kissing you one more time. You reciprocate with equally, closing your eyes as you allow yourself to sink in the feeling of him wrapped around your senses. He smiles into the kiss.

“We’ve got a lot of talking to do.”

anonymous asked:

Hello Addy, I love your writing and I'm a H/L fan too. But after all the happenings lately, don't you ever ever consider thinking that Larry aren't a thing anymore or weren't a thing (other than bromance) in the first place. Who would Louis be if he faked a child for years now. He ain't that guy, I'm sure of that now. I still ship Larry, but I would suggest you go on anti sites and read the POV from another angle, it quite opened my eyes on many things. This isn't meant to sound reprimanding or

…or like I know better etc. It’s just that if you’re a Larry, I think you see most (or at least many) things/happenings from a certain angle, and that angle isn’t always the truth or there aren’t all the facts on the table. I’ve seen twisted words/situations etc. I know you wrote you ❤️Larry and that you only post about what you enjoy, and if that’s still the case and you don’t feel like reading anything else, than that’s your thing ofc. It’s just a suggestion, please don’t hate me for it. 😘

Hello anon,

there are a lot of things that you address in your ask, so I’m going to try to reply to everything. First, Anyone should be free to form their own opinion on the matter, but since you ask for mine, well I’m going to give it to you. 

No matter what, there is NOTHING that would EVER convince me that Harry and Louis weren’t a thing. 

The way they acted is not platonic, I’m not going to link you to the million posts about this, just imagine your straight male friends and tell me: if they did this, 

would you think it was platonic? I highly doubt it. Remember they were still young and didn’t know any better, they genuinely thought they were inconspicuous (bless their innocent hearts), there was no media training  at the time. 

I have no way of knowing if they’re still together right now. But the fact that Babygate is still very much a thing, is for my the BIGGEST hint they are (I don’t care about Harry wearing black and yellow or Louis following whoever on social media)

Louis is SO queer, they have to fake a baby to hide it. I won’t point you to the many articles about closeting in the industry. I won’t show you the stats about Louis’ name recognition rising since he’s got a “child”, I won’t even point you to Katy Perry’s cynical skit stating that “faking a baby” will raise your profile and popularity at the MTV awards. 

I want to to talk about something else though. Something you said that really rubs me the wrong way:  Who would Louis be if he faked a child for years now.

You know who he would be? Someone who does what he has to do to make a name for himself, to try and survive and make a carreer in an industry that wants to destroy him, chew and spit him and has for a very long time. 

He plays the game, even if most people refuse to admit it (most people prefer painting him as a victim, which to some extent he is, but he’s also in my opininon actively trying to make the best out of a shitty situation). He does it, and I don’t judge him for that, because he does what he has to do given the context (that you can’t be a gay boybander and make it). 

Of course he wants out of the closet too (he knocks on it regularly). Those aren’t mutually exclusive. 

This fandom is always saying “don’t blame queers for participating in their closet” and yet, this is all this fandom does every single day (for Harry and Louis alike), and that so homophobic I don’t know what to tell you (the level of Harry hate in promo season reached a scary peak). Add to that, the level of entitelment this fandom has and you have a very instable ticking bomb on your hands. People get bitter, because they feel like they should be OUT by now.

But they’re only in their mid twenties. It seems like forever to us but Barry Manilow came out at 70. I want them to be out as much as anyone, but in the grand scheme of things, them deciding to put their carreer first for a while, is totally understandable, because they only have 1 chance to make it in this business. I don’t blame them for doing what it takes to do so. I’m fine as long as that’s what they want, for now I choose to trust them, even if the methods aren’t always to my liking.

As for getting another perspective from an anti side? Fuck NO. Why would I ever trust bloggers who’s hobby is built on “hating” something? The idea of two boys together. People who more often than not hate larries more than they care about Harry or Louis? I won’t subject myself to that. I have my brain and that’s enough to draw my own conclusions. 

The thing you said about Larries seeing things from only one angle is true though, I’m conscious of that, but you know, the coincidences, the “clues” I never take them at face value anyway, they’re just cute headcanons to me, I’m only interested in the big picture, we’ll know one way or another someday. Because the only thing I’m sure of is that Babygate can’t last forever.

not-a-tomato  asked:

Hi there! I was wondering if you had any ideas for an emotional scene that can bring different emotions based off knowing the characters? I'm starting a series that I'd like to open up on an emotional scene, that might be repeated later but seems very different when that the characters and their stories are known. Anything, specific, vague, anything at all would help. Thank you so much!

Ok so I’ve thought a lot about this so I’m gonna answer it in two parts. This first part will be general advice with some examples for doing this sort of thing, and then I will reblog it with some sentence/dialogue style prompts.

First off I have to say I love this kind of scene. As a reader it really helps as a kind of “ Oh so that’s what they meant” moment and a chance to reflect on the characters.

Most of the good examples of how to do this (that I can think of) are from Tv and film, but when it comes to writing this can work even better as you have to imagine the emphasis yourself, and do as you learn more about the characters you will read the same piece of dialogue differently.

The example that first came to mind was from Captain America: Civil War. Specifically the lines :

“I’m sorry, he’s my friend.”

“ So was I”

In the trailer the line was said in way that made it sound as if he felt upset and betrayed, whereas the version in the film was so a lot more bitter and angry. The same line, different delivery, and it completely chanfes the tone of the scene.

In writing the only clue as to how the line is said comes from author, either through how you know the character is feeling, or any emotion the author attaches to the phrase.

Specifically leaving out details, and later on adding them in can change how the reader views a scene.


“I thought you were dead” She said, running towards him, tears building in her eyes.

She seems pretty happy he’s back right? Well now read it with more information.

She glared at him, “ I thought you were dead.” She spat, angry, bitter tears building in her eyes as she charged towards the her enemy.

Nothing has changed technically, except now we know they are enemies and we know why there are tears in her eyes, instead of making the leap ourselves.

Of course the choice of words also helps with the misdirection, so try and choose fairly neutral descriptions in this sort of case.

TL: DR: Adding detail and information about the characters can help change the tone of the scene and make your readers see it in a different light. Keep things that must stay the same, such as dialogue or weather ambiguous or just don’t mention them if it will give the twist away.

This is the first time I’ve given advice so I hope it helps and isn’t too boring. Also I know I’m not exactly answering the ask but I wanted to share this and will add some specific phrase that might help later.

how you get the boy - fourteen

“So,” I repeated, clearing my throat as I nervously fumbled with my fingers, suddenly unsure of what to do with them. Harry gently poked my side and I took that as a sign that I should start talking. “I’m sorry.”

He looked confused, “What for?”

read below // story page

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Inktober/PokeHalloween2017 Day 29: Crossover


This entry was the death of me and my pens.

I have always wanted to make a crossover story with Pokémon characters and Fate servants, but alas how to make them fit into a story without messing too much with the lore always hurt me. Then Grand Order came and said “you can do whatever you want as long as you say ‘it can be done’!”, so yeah a door was opened. I do have a general idea of how a Holy Grail War would go with Pokémon characters (more so the villains), but I don’t think I’ll work on it soon.

Every character here runs on compatibility and here I explain my reasonings: 

SABER.- Guzma and Mordred are both guys with heavy daddy issues and a need to show that they are the strongest there is. 

The King never recognized my power to the bitter end; even though, in matters of both rule and sword, I was on the same level—no, I could have done even better!

RIDER.- Archie and Drake are both way too easy-going pirates. Sure they are still criminals, but for one they are one of the most heroic ones out there. Drake even can fit the role of hero or villain in context of the situation she is in.

I have rules on my ship, but my helm has no such thing. If you ever want to go on a danger adventure, you’re welcome aboard anytime.

BERSERKER.- Maxie and Paul are probably the best match. Both share a love for bovines (Camerupt and Babe the Blue Ox being their companions), the land and more importantly, for humanity as a whole. They both just want to see mankind progress and had the best intentions while expanding the land. But they failed to realize how bad the consequences would be…

I wanted to save everyone, I wanted to help everyone… 

That is why I swung my axe, and broadened the world…

Progress! Progress! Progress! Progress!

And always, the people shouted….

“Because of you, everything was destroyed!” 

“If you were gone, the world would have been more beautiful for it!”

Babies who died before being born, the elderly trembling in the cold. Farmers suffering from starvation, workers crying from loneliness. 

Why did this happen? I just wanted everyone to smile…

 I may have given way too much thought to this pair.

ASSASSIN.- Lusamine is extremely motherly with everybody (except apparently her own kids in SM) and Jack is in a mighty need of a mother figure, so they are a good fit for each other. Jack also would not have any doubts into following Lusamine’s most crazy requests.

Hold us tight, please? If it’s for Mommy, we’d do anything!

CASTER.- Cyrus and Babbage are both people who just like machines more than anything else, and both dream of a world suited for their own ideas of utopia (Cyrus wants a world without spirit, Babbage wants a world that runs on steam). They would get along just fine.

LANCER.- Giovanni and Shuwho Shuwen Old Man Edition are both hard trainers. Both like to train until being on top condition. Originally I was thinking of giving Moriarty to Giovanni, but chances are they would backstab each other right before even starting the war. Giovanni is more suited as the boss and the servant as the loyal muscle, which Shuwen is kinda ok with.

ARCHER.- Lysandre and Arjuna should have been heroes. Lysandre ended up going through a crazy path after getting disappointed on the world, and Arjuna although managed to remain a hero in his story (depending on which version you read, that is), has an evil side that he needs to keep in check (as the chuuni he is, Lysandre is a bit chuuni too haha). 

So yeah, I went a bit too crazy with this entry. I hope you all enjoy my crazy ideas.

And because I love you all, here are the extra class (AVENGER) and wild card (RIDER) that I sketched but didn’t ink because my hand died.

anonymous asked:

Can you please tell us more about your thoughts on how Dandelion and Juniper would have turned out? I'd love to read more about them, if they'd survived! :) You make me wish they had lived!

Aw that’s so sweet, I’m happy you ended up liking them so well. ;w; 

Hmm, what else do I have on them… 

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thehallowedangel  asked:

Sinse you're craving some fic of that sweet, sweet purple boy, I'd like to make a request. Maybe he's had a large lunch or something and whatever it is, his stomach isn't sitting too well as he's flying his ship. It gets progressively worse until he has to quickly switch onto auto pilot and scramble out of his chair, only to barely get his helmet off before he's hurling onto the ground. You can ignore this if you want to, friend, but I thought I'd share an idea

i’m glad you did :) second round of lotor misery coming right up! 

His fingers trembled as they hovered over the controls, concentrated exhales doing absolutely nothing to steady his grip.

His panting breaths were humid inside the helmet, fogging up his visor every few seconds before his temperature regulated armor could clear it again.

Another queasy bubble of air squirmed up his throat and he swallowed several times to keep it down. They could hear him over the intercom, every labored breath and suppressed hiccup.

Lotor had never been prone to motion sickness. But then again, he’d never been forced to eat before flying. It would have been perceived as incredibly disrespectful if he had refused the meal offered during negotiations. He made a mental note to have one of his generals carry out proceedings with that particular clan in the future.

Whatever they’d fed him was stubbornly refusing to settle. And the fact that they’d run into an inconvenient gaggle of mercenaries wasn’t helping his finicky digestion. 

Normally, something so trivial wouldn’t have been much of a problem. Eliminating the threat of space pirates and their sloppy attempts to commandeer his ship was a common occurrence; an inconsequential nuisance, really. Target practice. But this lot were taking their dear-sweet-time dying.

Lotor’s stomach sloshed and rolled precariously with every evasive spin and lurch of his fighter as he dodged yet another smattering of gunfire. Acxa was in his ear, providing cover fire and location data.

“Two approaching from your rear, twelve kilometers right,” she said, voice cutting out for a moment as static crackled in his ears.

“I see them,” he assured, dipping his fighter into a steep nosedive and pulling up just before his fighter skimmed the face of the rock. Adrenaline flooded his veins as he saw the two ships collide with the rogue meteor he’d angled them towards and explode into a brilliant mushroom cloud of fiery debris.

He leveled off and searched his tracker, using the brief moment of reprieve to press one hand to his roiling stomach. Cold sweat had caused the under armor beneath his suit to stick to his skin, creating an uncomfortable cocoon of clammy warmth. Lotor’s gut emitted a low whine, coaxing up a thick belch that he didn’t have enough foresight to stifle. The aftertaste nearly made him gag.

“Prince,” he heard Acxa demanding, concern evident in her voice. “What was that?” In the background he heard Ezor asking if the control board was malfunctioning again.

Lotor grit his teeth, clearing his throat as he struggled to swallow down a residual hiccup. “It was - hicc! - nothing.” He swore under his breath, could practically feel the puzzled looks his generals were giving each other. “Enemy status!” he growled into the com.

“One approaching rapidly, banking left,” Acxa informed, resuming her former composure. “All the others have blinked off my radar, Sir.”

“Fucking finally,” Lotor hissed after he’d clicked off the intercom. The last ship was obviously on a kamikaze mission and because the pilot was desperate, Lotor surmised that it shouldn’t be much of a problem to take him out.

But desperation often fosters insane decisions, especially in the air. The pilot banked unexpectedly to his right, swooping below him to get a target on Lotor’s tail.

“Cheeky bastard,” Lotor smirked. He inhaled a deep breath, forcing himself to focus, although his mounting nausea was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.

Lotor initiated his turbos, slingshotting out of range and tipping the nose of his fighter straight up until he’d climbed into a backwards spiral. He ignored the dizzying pressure of the G-force and dove directly on top of the other ship, blasting it’s haul with a merciless barrage of gunfire. He quickly switched gears and pulled up, leveling off at the last second just as the ship exploded behind him.

The intercom crackled back to life and Axca’s voice flickered on the other end, mechanically providing the final status report. Lotor barely registered her words over his own ragged panting and the deafening buzz in his ears.

He sagged over the controls, swallowing desperately as his mouth began flooding with watery saliva. His stomach gave a powerful lurch and he instinctively brought a hand to his mouth. Lotor experienced a momentary swell of panic as he realized that he was still wearing his helmet. He’d run out of time. If he didn’t act quickly, he was going to be sick in his own fucking helmet.

Lotor kept his mouth stubbornly closed as his throat constricted with a forceful gag. He switched the controls to autopilot and scrambled out of his harness, tripping gracelessly out of his chair in his frenzied haste.

The prince landed hard on his knees, fumbling for the trigger to release his helmet from his suit as the overwhelming urge to retch intensified. Finally, he heard a soft click and pulled the damn thing free, his long hair falling untidily over his shoulders.

No sooner had he discarded the helmet than his entire body lurched with a deep gag. There was a nanosecond of anticipatory silence, strings of drool dripping unhindered from his parted lips as he clumsily gathered back his hair and hovered on his hands and knees. Then his stomach muscles contracted and a guttural retch propelled a revoltingly warm mouthful of sludge onto the floor. 

Lotor shuddered, another wet burp causing his shoulders to tense as a much thicker wave of his stomach contents spewed from his mouth, landing with a sickening splat to join the spreading mess between his knees.

“Oh, god,” he panted, coughing through a violent dry heave. Lotor collapsed unceremoniously onto his ass, legs sprawling on either side to avoid the pile of vomit. He reached up to wipe the remnants of sickness from his lips, grimacing as he swallowed the bitterness coating his tongue.

He sat up, chest jolting with an unexpectedly sharp hiccup. He gulped, pressing a fist to his mouth just in time to burp up the rest. Fuck, his stomach was a wreck. But at least he felt empty, no longer struggling to breathe past the tumultuous maelstrom in his belly.

Now that his head was a little clearer, he could detect multiple voices shouting into the mic of his abandoned helmet.

He muffled another involuntary belching hiccup into his balled fist before speaking into the com.

“Well, that was unpleasant,” Lotor chuckled hoarsely, expertly schooling his silky tone to one of mild annoyance. The voices on the other line abruptly fell dead silent.

“Highness,” Acxa asked urgently. “What the hell happened? Are you hurt?”

Lotor sighed, regarding the puddle of sick with a sneer. Though he may as well have been speaking about an inconvenient change in the weather when he replied, “I’ve had a little…accident.”

And he fully intended to blame his humiliating lack of control on a sudden bout of the flu.

anonymous asked:

When you're available to, I'd love to see Komahina with 43. “i am not losing you again!” Thanks <3

I had some inspiration today so here it comes ! 43 - I’m not losing you again.

“So, how long do I still have to live ?” Komaeda asks the doctor, his usual smile on his face.

Dr. Horiko rolls his eyes but the white-haired boy can see that he isn’t angry : they have been doing that for more than a year, now, and he had the time to get used to Komaeda’s weird fatalism. Or maybe he thinks it’s some kind of morbid sense of humor, that’s a possibility too.

“Hard to say,” the nice doctor replies without a hint of emotion in his voice ( and Komaeda can enjoys that, he would feel really uncomfortable with someone being sad about his life’s ridiculous circus ), looking at the brain scans. “For now it’s stable, I guess. It has been since you were put in the simulation, though the reason is a mystery.”

Komaeda’s smile grows.

“It’s my luck,” he sing-songs, and maybe he is being a little extra, because the good doctor is frowning. “It will run out - it always does.” He is matter-of-factly about it, but being anything else would be pointless : after all this time, if anything could have been done to fix his rotten brain, it would have been done.

“This is inoperable, Komaeda. I’m sorry.”

“There is nothing to be sorry about, doctor.”

It was true then, and it still stands. And his desire to die didn’t have anything to do with creating hope or being a stepping-stone, for after destroying the world, for the better or the worse, there wasn’t anything he could do beside watching the amazing people from Future Foundation creating hope. It is nice, and he is happy to be the witness of such thing, but it is the end of the road for him. Just being there, not having any purpose, it can only last for a while, and even the idea to live ten, twenty, fifty more years is a dreadful one.

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there’s something deeply problematic with the idea that all ships have to be romantic ? 

within the references we’re given , outlined by seven seasons of parallels , a literal title of ‘ A song of Ice and Fire ‘ , and allusions to ‘ the prince who was promised ’ , ‘ the son of the last dragon ’ , etc . it is REASONABLE to assume jonerys coming into canon even if you aren’t exactly ecstatic about it . also , don’t say its rushed , or there’s no chemistry ; because you’re gonna hurt your arms with all that reach , and you’re clearly not watching the same show as the rest of us . i mean what , joffrey had one eps with margarey before they were in ~ love ? we see robb talk to talisa, twice ? maybe ? a total less air time than we’ve had of these two. there’s also implied interaction ; every scene filmed is meant to further plot but there’s obviously more that exists in this world, that we don’t see, so it is safe to assume they speak or interact more than we’re given. people also ship dickon and sansa when they’ve never crossed paths. ( though it’d be a strong allegiance to unite their houses i get that . i don’t think sansa will marry, though . she’ll keep the stark name in winterfell. )  

now , that’s another problem in modern media , the White Night Good Wholesome boy character ( jon snow , who , i adore with my whole heart and have from day 1 . ) the moment any female becomes a love interest, she’s demonized at large and mostly with unfounded claims ( my FAVORITE is that daenerys will be the mad queen , while cersei ‘burn everyone’ lannister is already one , thanks ) . it happened with ygritte and jon as well. 

my issue in presenting this, more so than to cause strife / discourse ; is that ? as a younger sister with older brothers that aren’t my blood , i find it … bothersome, they people would prefer to ship two characters ( j///onsa ) who were raised side by side with nothing other than familial circumstances  , albeit yes we know they’re as closely related now, as dany and jon , but still . they were raised together.  

( but ! but ! but ! cersei and jamie are twins ! ) you’re right ! they are, and if any part of their relationship wasn’t a festering wound of manipulation , fear , and taboo stringing it up, you might have a point. ( but ! the targaryen’s wed brother and sister for centuries ! ) again , you’re very right. but the customs in the north are incredibly different. jon snow beat ramsay bloody for what he did to sansa, he choked littlefinger out in their family crypts, for speaking her name. to me , that’s a loving and caring brother who had no idea if he had any family LEFT, let alone if he would get to see them, to truly be a stark, as well as king in the north.

he was raised a bastard , the idea of family was something that would’ve been idealized , held on some pedestal and while yes, he’d have some bitterness ; in the end family is everything to him . ned stark raised him, and loved him, robb and him were best friends . they are blood AS WELL as family , siblings loving each other doesn’t necessarily ? mean ? it has to turn sexual / romantic ? it’s actually kind of upsetting , to think that people would push that onto a deeply important relationships. jon and sansa definitely need each other , their dynamic however , won’t , and shouldn’t be anything other than a big brother , and his little sister. ( also i adore sansa, as much as i adore jon don’t imply that i’m saying this out of negativity for her , i’m not . ) 

we already know jon & dany have a romantic connection EVEN if it’s just starting, a spark , a slow burn . they’re both characters with limitless parallels , the title is strongly suggested to be about them ( thanks melisandre you crazy red witch ) . we now know for certain that dany is NOT the last targaryen ; it’s not something they’d bring up constantly if it didn’t play a key part in the events to come. whether or not anything happens in this ship is entirely up into the air , but to deny it solely because you hate daenerys ( hello internalized misogyny lmao ) is petty and inconsequential to the plot, thanks. 

nadinedimples  asked:

If you don't mind I would really like a newtxreader where the reader is a really short(5') sytherin who stood up to bullies for newt even though she's really insecure for newts feelings for her. Really fluffy and sweet with some of newts children (fantastic beasts). I understand if you don't have time or you don't like the prompt but I'd really appreciate a pick me up. Thank you so much for your time I think your a fantastic writer.

Newt Scamander X Reader – An Unlikely Friend

A/N – Sorry this took so long, major block. Also, since we’re in troubling times right now hopefully this will help people cheer up a bit ; )

Warnings – None.

Rating – T


Originally posted by elenarinya

“-and that’s how we brew a Confusing Concoction.” Professor Spraydel, a greying lady with more hair than she could contain, concluded after a brief introduction to the lesson. “Now, everyone into pairs please, you’ll be working together to make the potion. Mr Scamander, I’m afraid we have an odd number in class today so you’re with me dear.”

The class snickered as Newt sloped to the front of the class; this was a weekly occurrence since the class was always an uneven number yet Professor Spraydel always presented it like it was something new.

You glanced at the empty seat next to you where Olive Perplinski usually sat. Apparently, she was still in the hospital wing after being incorrectly hexed during the previous Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson; the spell had been mispronounced, resulting in toxic purple smoke escaping Olive’s mouth whenever she spoke.

You raised your hand, “Excuse me Professor, Olive hasn’t come back from the hospital wing yet.”

“Oh.” Professor Spraydel perked up, eagerly taking the opportunity to put Newt with somebody his own age. “In that case, Mr Scamander will pair up with you for today. Go on now dear,” she ushered him to the back of the class, “that’s it.”

Somehow, Newt looked even more embarrassed to be working with another student rather than the teacher. You wondered momentarily whether it was because the two of you were the only Slytherin/ Hufflepuff pairing or if he was just afraid of you like he was the other students.

“Now everyone, you have 45 minutes to complete the concoctions and five minutes to test them at the end; antidotes will be provided afterwards. Begin.”

“Hi.” You said over various sounds of bubbling cauldrons, chopping boards, and clinking vials.

Newt hunched over his potions book, hiding his face with a mumbled, “Hello,” back.

“I’m (Y/N).” You continued, undiscouraged by his shy nature.

“Yes, I k-know.”

You smiled empathetically. If you had been as ostracised as Newt had been during his time at Hogwarts, you would have probably acted the same way. You’d often observed Newt from afar during the years because Slytherin and Hufflepuff were usually put together for shared classes; it gave you time to admire his gentle manner and patience, even if he tended to get a little distracted. You also appreciated that he never fought or snapped back when bullied, which was the majority of the time, nor did he become bitter as some others may have done; it complimented his shy nature.

In the past, you’d desired the opportunity to speak with Newt and extend your hand in friendship but on the few occasions that you’d attempted to he was nowhere to be found; today’s potion lesson would be your first real chance.

“So, I think if we start with dried sage-” You picked the wrong ingredient on purpose, hoping that it would help bring him out of his shell.

“(Y/N), NO!” He grabbed your wrist from the cauldron which was bubbling away with pre-gathered blob fish mucus.

“Something wrong?”

“It’ll uh- It’ll explode.”

“Oh? Well, I best put this down then. Alright, where do we start?”

“It um- it’s actually dried rosemary so uh, you weren’t far off.”

“Right, I’ll chop that up and you can tell me what I need to get next.” You placed him in charge of the situation, deciding to take over if he got too anxious later on.

“Um I- I d-don’t think that’s a good i-idea.”

“Nonsense, if it weren’t for you, this pot would be up in smoke. So, I’ll get to chopping.”

With ten minutes to spare, the two of you had what looked to be an exquisite potion and as suspected, once Newt new what he was talking about in regards to the concoction, he had become much more confident, talking more to himself than you; you didn’t mind, so long as he wasn’t distressed.

“You did great Newt.” You praised excitedly, “You ever thought of being a potioneer?”

Newt blinked rapidly, taken aback by the comment, then once again bent over pages of his notebook, clamming up completely.

“Awh, don’t tell me you’re shy now, seriously, I think ours may be the best in the class and-”

“Can you just stop?” Newt murmured shakily.

“Excuse me?”

“You don’t have to pretend to be my friend anymore, the lesson’s almost over.”

A stray tear escaped him, you looked around to see that nobody was watching, leaning against the book to shield him from view in case he should cry some more. “Hey, it’s okay, I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s just… I thought we were doing really well together and you’re real’ nice so-”

“That’s enough.” He whispered more harshly this time, a finality to his voice. “It’s bad enough that people hate me, I don’t need you setting up some elaborately cruel prank and pretending to like me to make it hurt more.”

“Newt, I didn’t- That’s not-”

“Ooh, this looks promising.” Professor Spraydel interrupted, cutting you off.

You didn’t get a chance to explain to Newt, he hurtled out the classroom as soon as the class was dismissed.

“Oy (Y/N).” Michael Bowspark called over. “Pity you had to work with such a freak innit.”

The group around him howled madly with laughter, clearly waiting for you to join in. You bristled, and yelled, “SHUT UP MICHAEL.”

You ran out in search of Newt, leaving the group in stunned silence for a few seconds before more raucous laughter followed you out.

In the following weeks, Newt avoided you completely, even in lessons. It wasn’t like before though because snapping at Michael lost you the few friends you had within your own house. Although you knew it meant they weren’t real friends and you should be glad to be rid of them, you’d never felt so utterly alone; Olive only stayed with you for lessons because she had to.

Unbeknownst to you, Newt kept an eye out, waiting to see how long it would take for you to admit the game was over and regroup with your friends; as each day dwindled on, it became less and less likely that you would, and more obvious that this may not be a game or trick of some form. Still, he kept his defences up, staying away from you just in case, disappearing as he always had after lessons in case you got the urge to search for him.

You gave up hope of companionship for a while after a nasty argument in the common room. Various snippets of unimportant conversation surrounded you as you trudged flights of complicated moving staircases to the library where you hoped you’d find peace.

“-and the nurse couldn’t fix her boils-”

“-It’s true, the slugs really ate my herbology homework-”

“-So, I can’t go home for Christmas now cos’ me pa hates muggles-”

“-P-p-please, let me -d-down-”

You came to a halt, searching for the source of the last voice which was unmistakably Newt’s terrified squeak. It didn’t take long as a small crowd gathered at an unmoving area of the staircase where a lanky, sneering Ravenclaw girl had just begun levitating Newt for all to see; she was flanked by two burly Gryffindors, who you supposed were her bodyguards. Without hesitating, you ran up the last few steps, pushing forcefully to the front of the crowd.

“What’s your bets lads?” The girl jeered through her incredibly nasally voice. “How many spins before he vomits?”

You stood behind the taller, more built guy, though it was hard to call him a guy as opposed to a walking slab of beef with a face. Despite the fact that he was leagues taller than you, as most people were, you reached up, yanking his hair back sharply and pulling him closer to your level. He screamed in agony, turning everyone’s attention to you. The Ravenclaw turned to you, casually slinging her wand over her shoulder, keeping Newt suspended as he watched with streaming, embarrassed tears.

“What do you think you’re doing?” The Ravenclaw demanded casually.

“YOU. PUT. HIM. DOWN. RIGHT. NOW.” You spoke through gritted teeth, unable to contain your seething fury.

“I think you’ll find that I have extra muscle.”


The girl’s lip curled, making her face look more like that of a rat’s, “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.” You raised the boy’s head slightly, showing your full intention and capability.

“Urgh, fine.” She huffed, lowering Newt slowly to the floor, where he scrambled up, getting behind you for further protection. “It’s not like he was much fun anyway, come on boys.” She parted the crowd, who were dispersing at your savage gaze as fast as they could manage to get a staircase.

“You alright?” Your tone took a worried edge on as you turned to Newt, craning your neck to face him properly.

He was wiping his tears away whilst staring at you in disbelief, constantly wondering how something so small could be such a threat, “Y-you were r-really going to h-hurt him.”

“Actually, he was really heavy, I doubt I could’ve done much.”

“T-then how-”

“You make a scary face and keep a confident voice, it’ll fool most people. Though, come to think of it, you should learn some defence spells or something, then you’d be okay.”

“I k-know the spells, I just d-d-don’t like to use t-them.”

You exhaled tiredly, leaning your head against the wall to laugh almost silently. Newt watched as if you’d gone mad.

“(Y/N)? Are you a-alright? If you need h-help-”

You waved his offer away weakly, gasping for air between more desperate giggles, “You’re- really- something- Can’t- believe- you- know- how- but-”

Newt caught your drift, laughing a little himself, though often checking to see that you were okay for him to join in.

When you finally regained control, you asked in all seriousness, “What were they even doing it for?”

“I uh- I wouldn’t tell them where I go after classes, they thought it would be a good place to bunk off lessons.”

“Ahh, your super, secret hiding place, got’cha.”

“Y-Yes quite. Um, actually, (Y/N), I’m afraid I o-owe you a bit of an apology about that p-potions lesson.”

“Forget it.” You smiled, relaxed.

Newt tensed up, stating formally, “I will do no such thing. You were being polite and I made a rather rude assumption against your good name. I swear, I’ll not rest until I make it up to you.”

“Oh yeah? And how’re you gonna do that?”

“I’ll… I’ll…” He paused, the sudden bravado disappearing as quickly as it had come until he looked a little hopeful, “Do um, do you like magical creatures?”

You chuckled quizzically, “Sure, I think they’re unique.”

“Then I’ll… I’ll show you my hiding place, come on.”

He walked past you, gesturing for you to follow down the many steps you’d just travelled up. You followed eagerly, curious to see how the magical creatures and his secret place interlinked.

To say you were out of breath was an understatement. You were used to long walks through the Hogwarts grounds but you didn’t usually have to trek through the thick wood of the Forbidden Forest in full uniform. At first sight of the forest you had been hesitant to proceed, knowing of some of the dangerous creatures that lurked within but at Newt’s first real smile at you, you knew that it would be okay somehow, like he knew what lay ahead.

After trekking further on, until you could only see the towers of Hogwarts above the treeline, Newt stopped in front of a large thorn bush. He pushed a few of the branches aside, leaving a small opening for you to enter. You looked from the opening to Newt, seeing how it was too small for any person.

“Don’t worry, it’s safe, I promise.” He reassured you, nodding back at the gap.

You sighed, hunching up as small as you could to avoid the thorns but you quickly realised that each one you hit turned to smoke then rematerialized as though it had never been touched.

“It’s just an illusion.” Newt explained, following you in and putting the real thorn branches back where they belonged.

You came to the end of the illusion tunnel until you were in a rounded hut, made entirely of weaved willow. Piles of cushions and muddy blankets covered the floor, acting like a thin carpet, and animals the likes of which you’d never seen had nests and sets in various spots of the room.

You were awe-struck as you watched a small, green, leaf-like creature climb up Newt’s trouser leg.

Newt looked down, “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about him, this is just Pickett, he has some attachment issues.”

“And Pickett is a…?”

“A Bowtruckle. He was my first rescue, it seems his family tree suffered lightning damage but he was the only one who stayed to protect it, I imagine that’s why he has issues with others of his kind.”

The confidence faded from Newt’s voice momentarily as he gazed at you apprehensively, “Do you… do you like him?”

By now Pickett had stubbornly made his way up to the crook of Newt’s elbow, you bent down to the creature’s level, “Hello Pickett, it’s very nice to meet you.”

Pickett paused, not used to being addressed by anyone other than Newt. He turned to glare at you, sticking his tongue out in obvious disdain.

“Now Pickett,” Newt reprimanded, “that’s not how we treat guests, be nice to (Y/N), (s)he was nice to me.”

Pickett ignored the request and continued his climb.

You were about to speak again but you were interrupted by a mournful warbling, you felt the sudden urge to cry at the terrible sound, like something dreadful had just happened but you couldn’t remember what.

Newt bent to see four small, murky green chicks, residing on a bright yellow pillow, “Ahh, Audrey, now is not the time for that, see, your sisters are being nice and quiet, aren’t they?”

“What’s wrong with her?” You asked sadly. “Is she sick?”

“No, Augurey’s simply chirp when it’s about to rain but she tends to do so at any given time, it’s why she can’t be reintroduced with the others when they grow a little more.”

You raised your eyebrows at his use of the word chirp, “So she doesn’t get the weather right, how come that means she can’t go back out there?”

“Augurey’s only fly in the rain, and since Audrey can’t get it right it would make her survival increasingly difficult.”

You nodded, feeling a little better now that the wailing had stopped. “So this place, you made it?”

“With magic.”

“And you rescue animals?”

“Yes, I want them to be understood as something more than potion parts… I-is that okay?”

You looked back to Newt, who was towering nervously nearby, much closer than he was before, “Just tell me one more thing.”

Newt gulped apprehensively, waiting for you to run out and tell the headmaster.

“How can I help?”


“This is a great cause.” You stopped to admire a fairy that had just appeared in front of you. “I want to be part of it.”

Newt’s heart skipped a beat at your apparent enthusiasm, “F-forgive me for saying it but… I’ve never met a… a Slytherin like you.”

You smiled, shaking your head slightly, “Yeah well… we’re not as bad as you’d think. So, can I help then? Am I in?”

“Y-yes, of course. C-come on, I’ll t-teach you about kneazles.”

You moved to a small pile of books, kept safely behind a fireguard away from the creatures. Throughout the remainder of the day, Newt taught you all about the creature’s he kept, pointing out why he kept them and why the needed him. Even though it was a lot to take in, you felt confident that with Newt to teach you, you’d be able to remember it all in no time.

anonymous asked:

i get ur hate for snape though like i just don't get how people like him?? like i remember when i first read hp in eighth grade my one friend who read it kept telling me that i'd end up liking snape in the end bc i would always rant about how much i hate him, and when i finished that series i told him i still didn't like snape and he got mad and couldn't understand how anyone could see him as anything but an angel but like???? snape sucks

snape does suck. 

he’s abusive to lily and to everyone she loves, starting with petunia when they first met and continuing all the way through to harry long after she had died.

he got interested in the dark arts, which lily disagreed with, and because he didn’t like that she disagreed with it (even though he was hanging out with people who thought that people like lily didn’t deserve to have magic or go to hogwarts or have the same rights as them but whatever) he called her a mudblood, an extremely racist slur, in front of all of their peers.

he then played the victim when she wouldn’t forgive him, despite the fact that the end of their friendship was entirely his fault???

and this made him even more bitter, so he took out his anger on the next generation of students, to the point where he became the thing that thirteen year old neville longbottom feared more than anything else (more than the witch that had tortured his parents to insanity, more than being the failure his grandma made him feel like, more than anything, but that’s okay, you snape lovers keep excusing a grown arse man bullying children to the point of permanent mental and emotional scarring).

everything he ever did was selfish.

he didn’t care about james and harry, all he cared about was lily, and he didn’t even know her at this point. they were twenty one. they graduate school at seventeen. he did. not. know. her. anymore. and yet he was fixated on this idea of her.

if he really cared about lily, and didn’t just love her in this sadistic, selfish way, he would have wanted her to be happy, and he knows that that would have meant having james and harry be happy and safe, too.

honestly he’s a total scumbag and dying the way he did doesn’t make him a hero. his career as a double agent was entirely for selfish reasons and eventually dying for harry’s cause is the least he could have done after the years of fucking misery he put every student who wasn’t a slytherin through.

anonymous asked:

Eliot, Parker, and Hardison together is probably one of the best parts of the show tbh. They're just- amazing together? And it's wonderful? And I'd say more, but I honestly have no idea what goes where at this point because I watch random episodes too freely, and I really don't want to spoil anything. But, favorite character? Favorite episode? I'm curious and loving watching you get into this series, I'm sorry. Thanks for responding to my first ask!

omg of course!!!

okay i LOVE THEM SO MUCH. LOVE THEM. psa i’ve totally finished the whole series because i have no self preservation instincts.

okay so my favorite character has to be hardison because out of all of them he’s the most ‘normal’ in comparison. not like, in his abilities or his wants, but in his ability to relate to other people. he’s been through rough shit, and he always comes out kinder and stronger and more loving. and i love him the most because he’s the one who could mostly be happy living among normal people, to be honest i feel as if he needs the team the least but wants them the most. he could be a nine to five hacker, just presents himself as a genius geek who works from home or even gets himself an office or whatever, and live a mostly normal life among normal people. he just - for the shit he’s been through, he doesn’t have all that much baggage. normal people dont confuse him or bore him, they’re not a mark like they are for sophie, a puzzle for parker, a mass of mistakes and faults for nate, a potential threat for eliot. they’re just people.

and because hardison doesn’t try to put people into boxes is why he loves this team so much and so unabashedly from the start. for people that are so defined by their role on the team, he doesn’t define them. nate questions eliot’s ability to cook and be a hitter, but hardison just takes it in stride. this is eliot, he’s an amazing cook, great at wines, spends more time on his hair than any girl hardison has ever known, and he knows 43 ways to kill someone with a plastic butter knife. cool. he never wants anyone to change, he supports them if they choose to change, but he doesn’t ask anyone to be what they are and instead does his best to change himself in the way that he relates to them. and he tries so hard and so much. sophie and nate, they’re on another level, a little to arrogant, a little too bitter for it to work.

but eliot and parker man. fuck. talk about two people who’ve spend almost their whole lives being told how they had to be and how what they were wasn’t good enough, wasn’t right. and then hardison comes in and just. is there. protecting and caring for them without asking anything in return. and parker and eliot keep waiting for the other foot to drop, for there to be some sort of catch in how hardison just keeps being there for them, but it never comes. and at some point down the line they finally accept that this is how hardison is, and how they kinda cant live without him anymore, which a whole new different realization for another reason.

just. the thing that gets me about this OT3 is that every single one of them feels like they got lucky, like they’re the ones dating up. parker has eliot who understands her, and hardison who’s patient and so good to her, and she looks at these mostly normal guys and wonders why they’re bothering with her and her weirdness and hang ups and insecurities when they could be having a normal relationship with each other. eliot looks at parker, the best thief, and hardison, the smartest man he’s ever known, and he knows he’s not the best hitter in the world, that even if he was that he can’t sustain that, and parker and hardison are criminals but they’re not murderers and they’re kind to each other and good to each other and can touch each other without worrying if they’re smearing blood on their lover’s skin from the countless people that have died under their hands, and just, eliot considers himself the soiled, bad man who’s potentially ruining a perfectly healthy, if not normal, relationship between people who’ve never gotten their hands dirty. and hardison looks at beautiful and graceful parker, and eliot who shifts between controlled finesse with a sword in his hand to a deadly tornado in a hand to hand fight, and hardison walks into walls and trip over his own two feet, he doesn’t know what these two amazing people are doing with him, because he knows parker and eliot speak this secret language of people who use their body as a tool, but hardison can’t do that, cant share a look and shrug with them and have it be a conversation, instead all he has is words, a flood of words, an endless waterfall of words to talk about his feelings, and he knows most of the time they don’t want his words and he can’t understand them in the way they understand each other, and basically hardison is terrified of the day that eliot and parker figure out they’re perfect together and decide they don’t need him anymore.

my precious insecure children who love so hard and so clumsily and so much that it ends up spilling out of them and over the floor and up to their necks, threatening to drown them if they’re not careful.

just. jesus fuck these three and this show has fucking ruined me.

aslo, favorite eps: the 12 step job, the grave danger job, the rundown job, the first david job, the lost heir job, the gone fishing job, the san lorenzo job, the queen’s gambit job

anonymous asked:

Prompt: Fenris concerned about Hawke having to go to Skyhold. Bonus points if they decide to go together in the end 'cause i'd love to see Fenris there

“Do you have everything you need?” Fenris asked. It was the first words he’d spoken since they’d stopped fighting, the two of them retreating to mutual silence, the home they had shared for such a short, blissful time silent but for the sound of Hawke packing, and Fenris cleaning up broken glass. He had thrown a lot of plates in his passion.

They were the first words spoken between them, even after they made love – after Fenris came to Hawke with no apologies, but with kisses and purposeful hands, resolved that, whatever the bitter taste the situation left in his mouth, he would not let Hawke leave on a fight. Hawke’s hands had trembled against his skin. He had never held him tighter. Even in his anger, Fenris knew this was no easier on Hawke.

The mage was quiet for a long time, not answering, and Fenris might have thought he slept, were it not for the index finger that traced the marks on his belly by memory, the touch so soft, so sweet.

Finally Hawke said, “No,” and a moment longer passed, then he said, “I don’t know how I’m going to do this without you.” Fenris didn’t bother pointing out that he wouldn’t have to, if he weren’t so stubborn. They had spent hardly more than a day apart since they met, it seemed, and the concept now of weeks, months without seeing his face was something difficult for Fenris to grasp. He hated the idea of Hawke fighting without him there at his side.

I can’t lose you Hawke had pled, his voice ragged, his eyes panicked, and Fenris had felt something in him deflate. He had planned to follow after anyway, once Hawke was gone. Stay at a distance until they were too far to turn back.

But he’d seen a terror in the mage’s eyes that he’d never seen before, and quietly, bitterly, Fenris agreed to stay behind.

He felt Hawke’s lips on his neck, his arm going tight around him. His palm pressed against him, firm and large and warm. “I love you,” Hawke said. “You’re the only good thing I have left in this world.”

Fenris wished he didn’t sound as if he was saying goodbye.

fuckingskywalkers  asked:

Hey! So, I know this is not the brightest question out there but I'm super confused with all the Targaryens and their similar sounding names and all the Duncans and whatever, so I thought I'd ask you... What the hell happened in Summerhall? I get that it burned down, was it Aegon the Egg (as i call him) trying to get some dragons going? Why would a nice fellow/king do that? Why do I feel like I'm way off in the timeline and it's another Aegon/Aemon and I'm missing something? Please help

~it is a mystery~

No, really, we have no real idea of what truly happened at Summerhall and why. And GRRM has straight up said we’re not going to find out in The World of Ice and Fire (as significant spoilery information will be blotted out somehow). It’s unknown if we’ll find out the details in the later books of ASOIAF (god knows when), or in the final Dunk and Egg story (that is, never).

But here’s what we do know:

  • Summerhall was the Targaryen summer palace, a castle located in the Stormlands near the Reach border. Also, like Dragonstone is granted to the Targaryen crown prince, Summerhall seems to have been the home of the fourth son. (Maekar was Prince of Summerhall before he became king, and his fourth son Aegon may have been Prince of Summerhall as well.)
  • The event that fans call “the tragedy at Summerhall” occurred in 259AC, when the castle burned down in a great fire.
  • It is believed that the fire caused the deaths of King Aegon V (Egg, age 60), his Lord Commander of the Kingsguard Duncan the Tall (Dunk, age ~67), and Aegon’s eldest son Duncan the Small (aka “the Prince of Dragonflies”), among others. (Note that Duncan Targaryen was not Aegon’s heir, as he had abdicated in order to marry for love.)
  • Duncan Targaryen’s wife Jenny of Oldstones had a friend, a dwarf woods-witch (that she claimed was one of the Children of the Forest, but that’s unlikely). It may be thought that this woods-witch died at Summerhall, but she did not — she’s still alive, and currently known as the Ghost of High Heart, living in the Riverlands and exchanging prophecies for wine and music.
  • The fire at Summerhall was on the same day that Rhaegar Targaryen was born. (Rhaegar was the son of Aerys and Rhaella, the children of Jaehaerys II, Aegon V’s second son.) Rhaegar may have been born at Summerhall itself during the event (as the World app says), but as yet that’s not been made clear in the books.

Things we are unsure of:

  • Whether Jenny of Oldstones died in the fire. “Jenny’s song” refers to her “dancing with her ghosts” in “the halls of the kings that are gone”, which could mean she survived Summerhall and afterwards lived (in madness) in the ruins. But note Oldstones is also a home of dead kings (the Mudd dynasty of the Riverlands), so it could be that part of the song refers to where she came from, not where she ended up. Or it could be both, songs are like that. Either way, the Ghost of High Heart is still broken up about it 40 years later.
  • Who else died in the fire. It could have included Aegon’s unnamed third son and/or other members of the Targaryen family (like Duncan and Jenny’s children, if they had any; or Aegon’s sisters and their families, etc), which would explain why there were so few Targs in the next generations.
  • What caused the fire. It is usually blamed on an attempt to hatch dragons through sorcery, but that may not be the full truth.
  • If it was an attempt to hatch dragons, why did Aegon want to do so? (Besides general Targaryen desire for dragons, of course.) But Barristan speaks of Aegon’s sons’ marriages for love causing enemies, and that may have been what spurred on the tragic decision. Also note that Jenny’s woods-witch prophesied that the Prince That Was Promised would come from the line of Aerys and Rhaella (and so they were commanded to marry), and it’s possible another one of her prophecies is what led to the tragedy.

Possibly we will find out more details (though not all of them) from The World of Ice and Fire. If not, we’ll just have to wait for later books for the whole truth.

Quotes about the events at Summerhall under the cut:

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

why dont u wont your art reposted on anything other than tumblr? mind ofc that a lot of people would give credit and twitter/ etc brings a lot of attention to your blog/art ? not to be mean or anything! just wondering, bc i'd love to post them on mine with giving credit included

To be precise, I don’t want my art to be reposted anywhere - tumblr included. There’s this button you know…

it allows you to reblog posts.

Art reposted on other sites doesn’t bring a lot of attention to the creator’s blog. It brings a lot of attention to the reposter’s blog/site.
How do you think, who gets the notes, likes, comments, all the feedback? Well, guess what :) Not the author! (who in most cases have no idea someone took their art in the first place!)
You want to bring attention to someone’s blog/art? Share the link and write something nice about their creations. If it’s all about the artist then there’s no problem if their pretty drawings don’t appear on your site.
No picture - no example? Well, let’s think. If you’re very popular people will check the link to see who you reccomend, you’re famous, a trendsetter. If you’re not very popular then people who follow you must know you quite good and will trust your judgement, they’ll check the link.

Now you’re writing anonymously, I don’t know you! Even if I said yes, how am I supposed to know where you want to put my art, what you plan to do with it??? How am I supposed to keep the track of what’s happening with my drawings?? Have you linked me to your site and asked what drawing you want to put there??? I don’t think so.

You may say artists are stupid, why don’t they want the recognition, the fame, the glory??? Well… respect the fact the art is made by them, they did it, they were sitting in their dark room, googling their eyes and ignoring the wrist pain with determination to get that tiny line right at last. And even if it seems abnormal that they want to keep their art only on tumblr or deviantart, stop making them happy against their will! Artists are weird, just deal with it!

What else? Ah.. In my faq you can read:
Can I use your art as an icon/sidebar/theme element?
Yes but give credit! (also please don’t use the icon I am currently using :))

^ this is not about reposting my art!
^ I guess that’s clear.

Now, do people follow these instructions? Hell no! I can enter some blogs that have my dawing as an icon right now and I won’t find any ctredit if I turn their blogs inside out. Why? Because they don’t give a shit. They like the picture and nothing else matters.*

All these things, the fact that so many people take artists’ stuff without asking, without giving credit, (MY GOD!) editing it as they like without permission, make artists bitter and distrustful, suspicious and apprehensive. So don’t be surprised that if you send some artist an anonymous message saying: “Hey I love your art! Can I post it to my twitter?” the artist can say NO!