it was an elaborate imagination man

I Understand

Originally posted by painfulblisss

Pairing: Ivar X Reader

Word Count: 1400

Warnings: none that I can really think of, the dirty do is very implied tho, I hope it’s still to your liking!

@cutiepiepotatoes request: 


Whether its five minutes or a few seconds, you and Ivar always dissolve into fights furious enough to shake the walls. Despite that, it’s rare for a certain unspoken line to be crossed. That is until Aslaug locks you two in a room to sort out your near non-existent differences, only to frustrate you both to a boiling point of honesty.


“If you are going to act like children then you will be punished like children.” Aslaug chimed through the door. You yanked on the locked handle, a flash of anger igniting higher when the only other person in the small room with you shouted in an equal fury.

“Mother this is ridiculous! Open the door!”

She was toying with you both, stroking the already double inferno of rage locked safely behind the door. Queen Aslaug always bore a smile in your company, though you weren’t sure why. Not that you two didn’t get along or shared many interests, but whenever you and your family came to visit, Hel broke loose. Something that entertained Aslaug endlessly. But it was a bit strange given it involved her youngest and favored son, you and Ivar spitting venom at each other whenever in the same room for five minutes.

Even now you could hear the smile in her words. “I am going for a walk. Hope you two decide to be well behaved by the time I get back.”

Both you and Ivar called, begging and fighting for a release from each others presence. A silence came waiting for her response and you both slumped realizing she was already gone. In a last fit you kicked the door, crossing your arms pouting and refusing to turn around and face Ivar. “This is your fault.”

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man imagine aliens w no concept of interspecies cooperation or pets

‘commander the scan of this shelter reveals three primary lifeforms’

'excellent. elaborate please’

'all mammals. two quadrupeds, one feline and one canine, as well as one biped sapien. they appear to be… relaxing and eating in a shared space’

'what the fuck’

Let’s Talk About Qrow Branwen.

Huntsman. Uncle. Twin. And a self-titled “bad luck charm.”

I have so many feels over Qrow fucking Branwen.

Qrow’s semblance, revealed in Volume 4, is “bad luck.” Here’s what the RWBY Wiki has to say.

“Qrow’s Semblance brings misfortune wherever he goes, and unlike most Semblances, his is always active and uncontrollable. This leads to incidents as small as a glass being knocked onto the floor in “New Challengers” or as significant as a blocked attack chopping off the corner of a building in “Punished”. His Semblance can come to his advantage in a fight, such when Tyrian Callows falls through an old roof. His Semblance does not discriminate on who it affects, which causes him to keep his distance from the people he cares about.”

Qrow freaking Branwen.

Can you even begin to imagine what kind of hell this man must live each day?

No, you really can’t. You really, really can’t.

You probably think, “Yeah, it would suck to have constant bad luck.”

Allow me to elaborate for you.

Imagine a young Qrow, perhaps part of a happy family, crying because his sister, Raven, tripped and hurt herself while they were playing. In the weeks following, Raven is more careful when she’s playing.

Imagine a slightly older Qrow, now in school, watching his close friends get into freak accidents and sustain random injuries. His friends are in the hospital or kept home, healing, more and more often.

Imagine tween Qrow, hearing that close family members are passing away suddenly and unexpectedly. His relatives don’t visit much, they’re all grieving.

Imagine teen Qrow, finding out that his first girlfriend was in an accident and is now on life support. When Qrow goes to visit, her life support shuts down and the doctors are too late.

Imagine 17-year-old Qrow, starting his life as a Hunter at Beacon. During the relic retrieval in the forest, he makes eye contact with Raven, just as a Grimm attacks. Qrow wheels Raven onto the stage in a wheelchair when Ozpin announces Team STRQ.

Imagine Qrow, now on Team STRQ, grow more and more reserved as his teammates experience troubling accidents and strange injuries. They ask Qrow what’s wrong. He says he’s fine. He starts wondering if he’s the one causing the accidents and injuries.

Imagine Qrow, doing research with Raven, having recently discovered their ability to transform into their respective bird namesake. Qrow learns that his bird form, a crow, is a symbol of bad luck. Something begins to grow in the back of his mind as the WiFI goes out and many students doing last minute homework are unable to finish. Instead of celebrating finding his supposed semblance, Qrow is lost in dark thought.

Imagine 20-year-old Qrow, graduated from Beacon, watching Taiyang and Raven date, and seeing the small accidents that endanger their relationship whenever he hangs out with them for too long. Qrow refuses to date. Summer wants to help her teammate. Qrow say’s everything’s fine. Depression begins to set in.

Imagine Qrow, beside Taiyang, each holding one of Raven’s hands as she goes into labor in the hospital. Nearly 18 hours later, Yang is born, and Raven is in a very dangerous condition. The doctors say they’ve never seen such a healthy pregnancy go so wrong at the very end. Qrow, with his new title of Uncle, excuses himself, and goes to the nearest bar.

Imagine Qrow, tears in his eyes, as Taiyang and Raven and Summer have the biggest fight in the history of Team STRQ’s fights. Yang plays with Qrow in the living room, calling him “Uncle.” The fight is broken up by Yang screaming in pain. Qrow doesn’t know how the TV fell, but the weight in his heart tells him that it was his fault. Raven and Taiyang make sure their daughter is alright while Summer tries to speak to Qrow as he makes an excuse to leave. He ends up at another bar. The bartender is starting to recognize him.

Imagine Qrow, hiding the scent of alcohol on his breath watching TV with Team STRQ and little Yang. He sits apart from them, and the weight in his heart grows when the news report. The local bar burned to the ground, most of the employees still inside. Qrow’s depression and want for a drink only grow.

Imagine Qrow, biting back tears as the fight from a few months ago comes to a front and ends with Raven walking out, Taiyang heartbroken, Summer in tears, and Qrow trying to comfort Yang while touching her as little as possible. All of them think that it’s their fault that Raven left, but Qrow knows the true blame resides with him.

Imagine Qrow, now without his twin and best friend. Summer and Taiyang find out about his growing reliance on alcohol, and they do their best to help him. He finally tells someone what he’s been feeling for so many years. He’s a bringer of bad luck. Summer and Tai are trying to reassure him as the power goes out, and Yang cries for hours. Qrow wishes for a drink and answers.

Imagine Qrow, as he goes on long hunting trips, and on one return discovers Taiyang and Summer have begun a relationship. He hesitantly agrees to be the best man at the wedding. Raven doesn’t show up, despite Summer reaching out to ask her to be the maid of honour. Several small mishaps occur at the wedding, but Qrow makes it through without a single drop of alcohol. Maybe, just maybe, things are looking up. Maybe the hunting helps.

Imagine Qrow, hunting more and more, rushing back when he hears the news. He arrives a few minutes after Ruby Rose is born, beaming as he hears the pregnancy was quick and easy. No repeats of last time. Yang holds Ruby, already strong enough, and asks with wide lilac eyes if “Uncle Qrow” wants a turn. He can’t refuse, and takes the small bundle, wrapped in a red blanket. Qrow feels the weight in his heart, knows he should hand Ruby off before anything happens, but he doesn’t want to let the little bundle go. In several nearby rooms, doctors rush to save patients who are flatlining for no reason.

Imagine Qrow, uncle of two beautiful girls, turning down babysitting in favor of hunting. He notices a pattern as he kills Grimm after Grimm after Grimm. He finds them fighting each other, already wounded, and sleeping. During fights, Grimm stumble on thin air, wound fellow beasts, miss openings for attacks. Qrow uses his bird form more and more, but the question of his semblance hangs in the balance. Where does the bad luck come from, and why? When there’s no Grimm around to fight and Qrow is alone, the weather is always terrible.

Imagine Qrow, unable to do anything but drink after Summer dies. Taiyang would join him, but his two girls need him. Ruby and Yang ask for their uncle, but Qrow doesn’t want to be around anyone he cares about. It’s too risky. A car accident kills several people outside the bar. Qrow drinks into oblivion.

Imagine Qrow, still ridden with grief, helping Tai bury Summer. Raven doesn’t show up. Yang gets expelled from school for fighting. Ruby gets bullied after Yang is gone. Qrow drinks. Tai tries to cope. The bad luck continues.

Imagine Qrow, finally cracking under so much pressure. He goes to talk to Ozpin at Beacon, something Summer suggested several years ago. Ozpin has answers. Qrow’s semblance isn’t his bird form. Ozpin calls him “a strange case.” His semblance is always active, and it cannot be controlled. Qrow breaks down right there in Ozpin’s office. Ozpin offers to help, staring down at the remains of his favourite coffee mug.

Imagine Qrow, struggling to stay sober, teaching his first class at Signal, thanks to Ozpin’s good word. He’s every student’s favourite teacher. His classes are practical and hands on, and the students are heavily independent, since Qrow distances himself from nearly everyone. It gets harder once Ruby joins Yang at signal. The accidents stay at a minimum. Qrow feels like maybe he’s figuring this out.

Imagine Qrow, helping Ruby put the finishing touches on Crescent Rose. Ruby has already cut and bruised herself several times during the construction, but Qrow fears Ruby’s adoration and idolization more than the injuries. He needs to distance himself. He helps Yang with her motorcycle once she gets her permit. He really needs to distance himself, but he enjoys spending time with the girls. Ruby goes to the hospital when a dust cartridge explodes in Crescent Rose and Yang ends up in the bed next to her after getting in an accident on her first spin. Qrow swears never to be so selfish again. They could have died. Everything was his fault. Depression and alcoholism return. He quits at Signal, to the dismay of everyone.

Imagine Qrow, putting all of his time into hunting, honing his skills. His semblance is uncontrollable. The Grimm, attracted by the stench of negative emotion rolling off of the single Huntsman, soon discover this. He hunts several species of Grimm to near extinction in parts of Remnant. Taiyang sends the occasional update. Qrows notices that everything seems to be going smoothly, and that gives him a dark sense of satisfaction.

Imagine Qrow, in very recent events, hearing a glass shatter after being knocked over, getting Winter Schnee caught acting out line, and playing video games that the girls lose, despite having more experience. Small things. Nothing too big. He’ll take off soon and the bad luck will fade.

Now, remember. Qrow, watching Ironwood deal with prosthetic malfunctions, hearing reports of Amber getting worse. Hearing the news that Yang is disqualified. That Penny Polendina is dead. Grimm are attacking. The Fall Maiden’s powers are in the hands of the enemy. Amber, Penny, and Pyrrha Nikos are dead. Ironwood’s army is destroyed. The Grimm dragon is awake, but quickly frozen by Ruby’s silver eye powers. Ruby is in a coma. Yang is dragged to safety, bleeding to death, missing an arm. Her teammate is also badly wounded. Qrow watches Team RWBY get torn apart as Weiss Schnee is taken home by her father, Taiyang arrives to take Ruby and Yang, and Blake runs away. Ozpin is dead.

Qrow drowning in the belief that everything was his fault.

Remember Qrow following Team RNJR, keeping several miles between them, the horrifying memories of everything so fresh. He knows he can keep Ruby safe from a distance. But Tyrian attacks, and he’s nearly too late. He’s not exempt from his semblance. Far from it. Wounded. Too close to Team RNJR for their own good. Having to take more of their innocence and carefree lives by explaining what was happening. The quiet shame he hides as he reveals his semblance, not meeting Ruby’s eyes for fear that she will see him as a monster. Poison setting in. Unable to protect Ruby and her friends. Unconscious, but still causing bad luck.

Understand Qrow. Despite the terrible things his bad luck does to those around him, the bad luck affects him worst of all. Because he knows. He knows that it’s his semblance, and he believes that it’s all his fault. And he can’t do anything to stop it.

Imagine Qrow fucking Branwen.

Why does Kit have the best relationships with everyone?

Kit + Emma = Soooo funny, imagine them teasing Julian, literally love these two

Kit + Julian = Jules pretending to be mad at Kit for causing trouble, but really loving him and feeling so protective of him

Kit + Mark = Absolute chaos

Kit + Ty = *heart eyes* literally find one person who doesn’t ship them

Kit + Livvy = My favourite boy/girl friendship, trouble-makers, bonding over their love of Ty

Kit + Dru = Kit finding Dru so funny, treating her like she’s grown up and mature

Kit + Tavvy = Kit inventing really elaborate pretending games, running around with Tavvy like a mad man

41. “I came to this city to mend my broken heart. Never imagined I would find you to help me piece it back together.“

The room was filled with familiar faces. The music that was playing was a little before your time but you enjoyed it nonetheless. Tony Stark was throwing yet another elaborate party for a reason unbeknownst to you. The man just loved to have parties for no reason.

You stood idly by, not really feeling like mingling. You were content with drinking the expensive champagne that Tony sprung for and people watching.

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bbc.co.uk
The daydream that never stops
When does living in a fantasy world become a problem?

This is mostly about maladaptive daydreaming but there’s a part I really want people on this site to pay attention to, particularly young people who are confused about fiction. 

In 2002, an Israeli trauma clinician named Eli Somer noticed that six survivors of abuse in his care had something in common.

To escape their memories and their emotional pain, each would retreat into an elaborate inner fantasy world for up to eight hours at a time.

Some imagined an idealised version of themselves living a perfect life. Others created entire friendships or romantic relationships in their heads. While one man pictured himself fighting in a guerrilla war, another conjured up football and basketball matches in which he displayed his athletic prowess.

Their plotlines often involved themes of captivity, escape and rescue – being chained up in a dungeon, for instance, or leading a prisoners’ revolt.

My mother sent me this article because it reminded her of me. I saw why immediately. Even as early as age 5 I remember having elaborate fantasies about stuff like that. Being captured, escaping, adventures, scary things, torture. My first fanfic was literally about an Oddworld OC being tortured and killed. I was 7 when I wrote it. I talked to my mom a bit how a lot of people like me (abused, disabled, different) absolutely have grown up with fictional characters and stories as our reference for experiences, as the way we can try to make sense of our lives and the things that have happened to us. There’s a reason I feel more at home and with family when watching a favorite animated show with all the characters I love so much than in a big group of my actual family. Through these characters I was able to not only survive everything the real world threw at me, but learn very valuable things about myself, dissect my own experiences and feelings, even if at a younger age I wasn’t aware that that’s what I was doing. That’s the beauty of fictional characters. They really allow us the safety to go scary places with them. Even if that place is morally horrifying. 

A lot of us survivors explore these kinds of themes. Dark things, unpleasant things. 

Just keep that in mind before you get too deep into the purity culture of this site that states that anything dangerous, dark, or twisted being explored in fiction is worthy of, uh, telling that person to kill themselves. 

Most of the time, you’re telling a survivor that it would have been better for them to have died than to have survived their trauma, and that’s really dangerous considering most of us struggle with suicidal ideation in the first place. 

Not all of us like to deny the darkness that we came from. There is nothing wrong with that.

I’ve been scrolling around on the Alexander the great tag on Tumblr and there are all these posts where people are writing about how they just want to KNOW him, to meet him, to really know what he was like. And it’s not just idle curiosity, there’s a feeling of connection, of longing, that I can relate to and really GET. Alex does something to you.
So sooner or later in these posts someone brings up reincarnation. Maybe we did know him. Maybe we met him. Maybe we fought beside him in another life.

So let’s, for the sake of argument, assume that reincarnation is literally real.

Think about the size of Alexander’s army. At gaugemela the army was about 47,000 in number. And that’s not the highest it ever was. Think about all the men who died, and were replaced, who came later in the campaign, who were dropped off to colonize a new city. Then add to that the number of camp followers: wives , children, slaves, cooks, merchants, carpenters, tailors, metal workers, that needed to follow and interact with this army to make it run.

Now imagine the size of Darius’s army. High estimates say there were 100,000 troops at gaugemela alone. Add to that the size of the opposing army of every battle this man fought. Then add THEIR camp followers, and remember that Persians travelled with even larger and more elaborate entourages.

Now think of the size of the Persian court. Darius’s family, advisors, generals, servants, and courtiers. And then add every small city, state and citadel Alex conquered and passed through. Their nobility, peasants, servants and slaves.

Now add the population of every Greek city state he passed through as well.

And finally, add the population of Pella, a small town on a hill side, nowhere in particular, finally finding its place on the world stage. It was not as big as it would be under Cassander’s reign, it was likely most of the citizens would have interacted with Alex personally at some point. These would have been the people he knew best, cared about, loved.

Alexander interacted with so many people during his short life. We know he was a very hands on king and general who knew the names of many of his men. It is likely he exchanged words at least once with a sizable percentage of this number but even if he did not, think of how many people knew of him, who were affected by him and all he did. Who fought him, who feared him, who finally saw him coming and ,in many cases, realized he wasn’t the monster they had been warned about

Think of how many people would have wanted to know him, to understand him, to meet him, and how many did. And realize that in this number there is room for you. In fact, it is statistically likely.

How big is an army? How big is an empire?

Alexander the great ruled through love. He thrived on it. He needed it, the love of his men, his people, his country. I think, if he too is out there somewhere, he’d be amused, flattered, and somewhat humbled by all the love he still gets. He’d probably want to know us all too. That’s just the kind of man he was.

The Shooting Star

A/N: Oh boy, here we go. This is my first entry one-shot for @doodledrawsthings human bill AU (which they helped edit and illustrate). For those not familiar, it’s an AU based on the Flat Dreams lore by @pengychan, basically a “what-if” scenario of Bill coming back during the Pines Twins second summer in Gravity Falls. If you’re unfamiliar with it, CHECK OUT THEIR PAGE. WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH YOUR LIFE. Hope you enjoy this one.

part 2

part 3

“And this is the time DipDop and I were voted Best Dynamic Duo! Man, I can’t imagine not having my bro to count on!”

“Can we do something else.”

“Nope!”

The occupant of the kitchen chair groaned loudly, burying his face in his arms. “Tell me, Shooting Star, is TORTURING ME with POINTLESS HUMAN SENTIMENTS glued onto pieces of colorful paper some kinda elaborate revenge scheme you’re executing?”

“First, they’re not pointless. I’ll have you know I worked very hard on each of them! And second-” Mabel jumped up from her chair and smacked Bill lightly across the face. The demon recoiled with an half-annoyed half-startled snarl. “You’re being a jerk! So you get a frowny-face sticker.”

Bill slowly pried said sticker off his cheek, slowly ripped it in half with a disturbing satisfaction, and tossed the remaining pieces on the floor, his eyes never leaving Mabel’s. The demon silently got up, fixing the girl with a sneer before turning to leave. Well, that could have gone better.

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Okay, but who wants to read about Percival & Newt growing old together? @funkzpiel @thegaypumpingthroughyourveins @axilarts @mamin-the-troll @qed221b

  • Imagine Newt finally meeting Percival after he’s rescued, being amused by the grumpy Percival because everyone treats him like glass and tip-toeing around him because you’re still recovering Mr Graves, you need to take it easy.
  • Imagine Newt introducing Percival to his creatures, and seeing the utter delight on Percival’s face as he interacts with creatures he’s only ever seen in textbooks. Imagine Percival stealing glances at Newt who’s dressed only in suspenders and a white singlet as he tends to the creatures, scars layered upon lithe sinew and muscle, and a look that’s tenderly soft on the red-head’s face as he talks to his babies. Imagine him always finding an excuse to visit Newt in the suitcase, and bonding with the creatures who are drawn to the hurt and bone-weary tiredness they can sense within Percival.
  • Imagine Percival personally telling Newt that MACUSA wants him to remain on as a permanent consultant, and smirking at the bout of stammering that erupts from Newt, and the oh so cute blush that immediately covers his entire face. The blush intensifies in colour when Percival, in a sudden bout of courage, leans forward and whispers in Newt’s ear, that he’d like to take Newt out for drinks.
  • Imagine their awkward first date that takes place in a fancy restaurant because Percival wants to spoil Newt. Neither of them know what to do really, because Percival’s not gone on an actual date in years (asides from the occasional romp in bed) and Newt’s been preoccupied with his creatures. They sit at the table, dressed in neat slacks and dress shirts, and just stare at one another like high school students out on their first date. Eventually, Newt quietly asks Percival what his favourite colour is. The conversation grows from there with occasional stutters and constant blushing as they stumble over their words to get to know one another, but as the night grows, so do their confidence and laughter flows more freely. Newt learns that Percival likes to sleep in whenever he can, and that he has a pair of fuzzy stockings he wears every night before bed. Percival learns that Newt can’t sleep in total silence; a habit borne from spending too many nights with his creatures in his suitcase, where the air is always filled with grunts and squeals and whistles. Newt is the one to kiss Percival good night on his cheek, and they both part ways with fierce blushes on their faces.
  • Imagine their relationship going steady enough that they’re comfortable with public displays of affection, within the realms of acceptance of course. Percival does have a reputation to maintain. The gestures grow from little touches here and there, to an arm carelessly slung over shoulders or waists, to little kisses in between meetings and briefings. Percival’s Aurors grow fond of Newt, because of how happy he makes their Director, and whenever someone catches the couple in the midst of a hug or kiss or quiet word of affection, they never fail to compare notes later in the break room. There are soft sighs and coos over how lovely the couple is, and oh do you think they’ll have a spring or autumn wedding? I think Mr Graves is partial to autumn really, and the colours would compliment Mr Scamander’s complexion. 
  • Imagine Percival proposing to Newt. He plans an elaborate set up to surprise his beau, and when they’re in a vast field with only the soft chirping of the crickets for company under the pretense of stargazing, Percival drops to one knee and asks Newt for his hand in marriage. Of course Newt says yes, but not before he laughs nervously and looks around, because he thinks it’s a joke that Percival wants to marry him. The older man shows him just how much he desires Newt when he pushes his fiancee (he relishes the feeling of the word on his tongue; fiancee fiancee fiancee) and kisses him, hard and deep and tasting the part of soul that makes him feel like he’s home. 
  • Imagine the wedding, which is a grand affair, much to Percival’s dismay. Nearly all of MACUSA shows up, and so do the illustrious Scamander and Graves family. Newt has to calm his soon-to-be husband down, less he succumb to his nerves and anxiety because Newt, you don’t understand. Aunt Wilhelmina will keep asking how we’ll have children, and Uncle Amos (who’s half-blind, bless him) will mistake Seraphina as his deceased wife and oh this will be a disaster! Thankfully, the wedding goes by without any incidents. The ceremony is beautiful and so are their vows as they pledge life and love, and there is nary a dry eye in the audience. Queenie catches the bouquet (Newt refuses to hold one, but they still have a bouquet ready for tradition’s sake) and Seraphina blushes when a saucy wink is thrown her way to the catcalls of her subordinates. Aunt Wilhelmina keeps her child-bearing comments to a minimum, and Uncle Amos doesn’t accost anyone, and later on, when Percival and Newt go off for their honeymoon, Newt has to wipe away a tear from Percival’s eyes because they’re married. They’re actually married.
  • Their life together grows, through sadness and pain and joy and celebration. They decide on the use of a surrogate for their first child, and adopt several more. Percival doesn’t tell his husband, but every thin, malnourished child whose haunted eyes yearn for love and family remind him of Credence, and while the boy is now alive and well, and working happily at the Kowalski Bakery, Percival is determined to not let another child down again. An unrealistic aspiration, but one Newt understands because he too, looks for sunken eyes filled with fear like the little girl in Sudan who died far too soon. Their boy grows up fine and strong, with Newt’s fiery red hair and Percival’s steady temperament, and looks after his adopted siblings, all of whom have lost the haunted quality in their eyes and the stutter in their voices in fear of the belt and whip. Theirs is a happy home, and even though horrible, horrible things happen in the world, such as the Second World War, the great duel between Dumbledore and Grindelwald and later, the First Wizarding War, their home is a safe haven for Percival, Newt and their children.
  • When Newt retires at the age of 99 in 1990, Percival is 104 and their eldest son has married and borne a bright boy by the name of Rolf, who also inherits the Scamander’s red hair and Newt’s penchant for magical creatures. Percival rolls his eyes; of course there would be another creature-crazy Graves-Scamander. Their other children go on to leave home, build families and travel the world. There are owls sometimes, and there are visits whenever possible, but for the most part, the elderly couple live a quiet life far from the demands of the wizarding world. Rolf visits whenever he can, bringing news of his travels and discoveries, and Percival despairs because there is always some magical creature sitting at the dining table with them. Rolf visits one day, and shyly tell them of a Luna Lovegood who, they learn, is as crazy about creatures as he is. Eventually, they are married, and everyone laughs when Percival moans to the heavens about yet another insane addition to the family. He has a soft spot for Luna though, who speaks in a soft voice with a lilt that reminds him of the green plains of his long forgotten home, and he’ll Stun anyone who says anything. 

Frustrations

Request: “Yo may I request an imagine? Newt x reader, where newt is too shy to ask reader out, but Theseus is like some secret matchmaker and often creates ‘situations’ between the both of them and newt is forced into a deal where Theseus won’t stop until newt asks reader out 😂 oh well this sounded a lot better in my head :) also brotherly, playful Theseus sounds nice”

Word Count: 2,271

Pairing: Newt x Reader

Requested by @myrtus-amongst-the-stars but also tagging @caseoffics @red-roses-and-stories @dont-give-a-bother @fangirlingandcrying @ly–canthrope @benniesgalaxy @thosefantasticbeast2


Though he’d never admit it, you frustrate the hell out of Newt. You frustrate the hell out of him with your clumsiness when you drop a week’s worth of work. You frustrate the hell out of him with the way you wander into the fields, untraceable, for hours at a time to play with the diricrawls. But most of all, you frustrate the hell out of him because you had to go and be so damn lovable.

Newt doesn’t know how to approach you now. Anytime he says something, it’s a quiet stumbling of words that don’t make much sense. You used to be the one dropping vials everywhere, but now that’s him, one slipping between his fingers anytime you lean just a little to close and accidentally brush his arm. When he tries to focus on research, all he can imagine is the face you’d make and the joke you’d have lined up.

And it frustrates him to no end. How in the hell did he end up like this?
It’s not like you’re the first girl he’s ever felt this way for. There was Leta, so long ago. A picture in a frame now, but once a girl with the most beautiful smile and a way of captivating Newt like no one else. Yet with her, he’d been confident, honest from the start. It’s different with you. He doesn’t know what to say, how to act. It’s like he’s a stuttering sixteen-year-old on a first date except he hasn’t even managed to make it that far. He doesn’t know how to ask you on a date, for Merlin’s sake.

So when he shows up at the hotel room the two of you are currently renting in Nebraska and a surprise visitor appears to be in the middle of an interesting conversation with you, he’s immediately tense.

“I didn’t know you would be here.”

“Newt!” Theseus shouts, standing from his chair to cross the room and pull his little brother into a hug. “It’s been so long since you last stopped by. I thought I should come check on my little brother.”

Newt extricates himself from the hug and steps around Theseus. “Terribly sorry, but I’m a bit busy.”

“Too busy for your older brother? Nonsense. I’ve come all this way to see you, you can’t turn me out at the door.”

Newt putters around the room, straightening things, eyes darting to you, asking a silent question.

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Josh Dun Imagine

this was kinda a request, I just elaborated and added a bit more.  Idk how I feel about this one, but I hope you guys like it!!

The Man Across The Street

The sun shone heavily on your back causing warmth to spread through your entire body.  It felt nice after spending eight hours in your air conditioned office space on the twelfth floor.  You gripped your briefcase tightly in one hand and stretched your neck side to side before settling in a consistent stride.  

You focused on the ground in front of you, watching as your shadow mimicked your poor posture and flat feet, until something else caught your eye.  

The man across the street walked at an almost identical pace.  You recognized him immediately as the guy who held the elevator door for you just minutes prior.  You’d seen him around the building other times, as well; in the hallways, on the stairs, by the coffee bar on the main floor. That bright pink hair was painstakingly recognizable.  

You pretended to ignore him the entire way home, only throwing glances out of the corner of your eye, until you stopped in front of your building.  You watched for a moment as he continued down the street, one hand in his pocket, the other clutching a beige bag, never looking up from his feet.  

- - - - - -

The cool autumn air gave rise to goosebumps all over your body.  You wrapped your sweater around yourself tighter and continued down the cobblestone sidewalk.  You kept your head up, marveling at the infinite shades of golds and reds that had taken over the city.  

Leaves crunched under your flats, making an auditory note of every step you took. It covered up the sound of your breathing, which had grown heavier from the cold air shocking your system.

The man across the street paid no attention to the crunching leaves beneath his feet.  You watched briefly as he kicked a few of them around before continuing on his way.

His hair matched the pink sunset overhead, bright and bold and beautiful.  

It was the last thing you noticed before walking into your apartment for the night.

- - - - - -

Heavy snow fell from the sky.  The street lamps lit up the sidewalk, illuminating the thousands of large flakes around you.  You made a mental note to start wearing heavier boots to work for nights like this.  

You tucked your gloved hands underneath each of your armpits and trudged home, trying to pay attention to each step you took so as not to fall.

The man across the street had a scarf, hat, and mittens on.  You were jealous of how prepared he seemed to be for this snow storm.  You made another mental note for yourself to start checking the weather before leaving for work each morning.

The man walked faster than you.  His winter boots clearly had better traction than your dressy ones.  As he got further ahead, you noticed the back of his hair poking out.  Except, it wasn’t pink, it was yellow.  

You trudged on and used it as your guiding light through the storm the whole way home.

- - - - - -

Spring had always been your least favorite season.  Snow and ice melted with no boundaries, leaving traces of mud all over the sidewalk.  You stomped your bulky boots through scummy puddles and tried not to splash remnants of it everywhere.  

It wasn’t dark yet, which made you feel hopeful that this dirty weather wouldn’t be around for long.  

The man across the street walked without a hat for the first time in months.  You smiled seeing his yellow hair in full for the first time.  It was bright and flashy.  The kind of thing that demanded attention.  It reminded you of blooming flowers and sunshine, infinite growth and beauty.  

You walked home, your strides aligned once again.  And as the sound of snow melting from building tops covered up the sound of your boot’s heavy stomps, you couldn’t help but notice his bright hair out of the corner of your eye the entire way home.  

- - - - - -

The first thing you noticed upon leaving work was how freeing it felt to be outside once again without a heavy jacket weighing you down.  You had brought one, just in case, but it lingered in your arms, unneeded and more of a burden than anything as you started your walk home.  Summer was just visible in the horizon, but the weather still fluctuated between sunny and warm and breezy and cool, so it was impossible to ever be fully prepared.

The second thing you noticed upon leaving work was that the man across the street wasn’t there.

He’d been particularly easy to spot in the last few months with his yellow hair, but as you scanned the other side of the road, up and down, he was no where to be found.  Your heart sunk a little, which surprised you.  But you justified your disappointment as normal.  He had become a part of your routine, just like eating a peanut butter and fluff sandwich everyday was.  Your heart would sink if you opened your lunchbox to bologna, just as it did in the man’s absence.  Nothing strange or unusual about being effected by a disrupted routine.  

You frowned slightly before deciding it was time to head home.  You walked for less than a minute before you heard rapid footsteps behind you and felt someone grip your elbow.

“Hi honey, how was your day?” A man’s voice asked.

You instinctively tried to jerk your arm away, but the grip was too strong.  When you turned to look at who was grabbing you, you were shocked to see the man with yellow hair.  

He leans down, close enough so that you can smell him, and whispers in your ear, “Someone’s following you.”

Once he’s confident you’re not going to shove him away, the man loops his arm with yours, leading you down the road en route to your apartment.   He casts a couple glances over his shoulder, subtly trying to see if the person following you had gone.  On his second glance, he sighs a breathe of relief and loosens his grip on your arm.

“He turned around.”

You automatically let go of his arm.

“Who was it?” you ask.

“I didn’t recognize him, which is what made me nervous… I’d never seen him before.”

You nod, exhaling the anxiety that had been building up inside of you.  “Well, thanks. I appreciate it”

You were relieved to see you apartment building just over the hill.  You didn’t feel much like walking alone the rest of the night.

The man nodded and extended his hand, “I’m Josh, by the way.”

You smiled, taking his hand in yours and shaking it, “Y/N.” you introduced.  

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” he grinned.  

You thought about his comment later that night as you laid in bed.  You found yourself wondering if Josh had noticed your presence on the opposite side of the street as much as you’d noticed his.  

- - - - - -

You felt slightly paranoid walking home the next day.  You immediately noticed Josh across the way, which felt increasingly comforting, but you couldn’t help feel like someone was lingering behind you as you made your walk down the sidewalk.  

You kept casting glances towards Josh.  You found yourself wondering things about him, like which floor he worked on or what his inspiration for his sporadic hair colors were.  Every time you would gaze for too long, he’d glance over and you’d quickly look away in response.  You really had to work on your staring problem.  

After three different occasions of awkward eye contact with Josh, you watched out of the corner of your eye as he looked both ways, then started jogging across the street.  

“Hey,” he called, as he hurried to catch up to you.  You stopped, of course, baffled and unsure as to whether or not he was talking to you.  “Mind if I walk with you?”

You froze then, wondering immediately if the same person was following you again.  

Josh noticed the fear on your face and put his hands up, “It’s okay to say no…” he says.

You lower your voice and try to whisper loud enough for just him to hear, “Are they following me again?”

“What?” Josh asks, confused momentarily before understanding what you were referencing, “Oh… no! No, no.  I just thought maybe we could walk together tonight.”

You sigh a breathe of relief before smiling, “Yeah, that would be really nice.  I’d like that.”

The two of you walked, side-by-side, step-by-step, all the way home.  

You asked about his hair.  The burning thought that had been on your mind for so long was finally set free.  It turns out, Josh was bored by routines, but his hair was one thing he could be spontaneous about.  The pink was an after-effect of a wild red.  The yellow brightened his gloomy winter.

“What color is next?” you had asked.  

“Only time will tell,” he says, his eyes shimmering.

Josh walked you right up to your apartment door before saying goodbye.  You were so intrigued by everything he had to say, and had to admit you were disappointed to be at your doorstep.  It was the first time you’d ever wished your walk home was longer.  

- - - - - -

Every day in the weeks to follow, Josh was waiting outside of the building by the time you got out of work.  His face always breaks into the same, huge smile when he sees you walking through the double doors, and you can never help but reciprocate.  

You talk the entire way home, learning about each other.  Likes, dislikes, pet peeves, funny childhood stories.  Josh was a man of infinite laughter and curiosity.  You looked forward to walking home with him daily.  It was, often times, what got you through until five o’clock.  

“How was work?” he asks, one evening, extending his arm for you to take.

You’re surprised by his gesture, but ultimately flattered.  You latch on, and start walking with him down the cobblestone.

“It was long,” you respond. “How was yours?”

“Also long, equally boring.  Why do we work these jobs?” he asks.

You shrug, “Gotta pay rent I guess.”

“I’m serious though— I mean.  I hate my job, I don’t get why I do it.”  

He’s silent for a moment, like he’s thinking hard.  “What would you do—“ he finally says, “if you didn’t have to worry about rent or bills?  If you could do anything?”

You furrow your brow, thinking about his question, “I suppose I’d travel.”

“Where?”

“Europe, I think.”

“Have you ever been?”

You shake your head.  “No, I mean, I have work…”

“I think that’s a crime.”

You frown, “What do you mean?”

“That’s your dream, right?  To go to Europe.   And you’ve never been because of some dumb job you don’t even like.”

“Yeah,” you agree, “But I have responsibilities.  I’m committed to my job.  People count on me.”

“To what? Fax papers for them?  It doesn’t really mean anything.  Neither of our jobs do.”

You frown at Josh’s remark, offended by his blunt tone.

“I don’t understand what you’re getting at,” you say honestly.

He shakes his head, “Nothing.  I’m just… bored.”

The two of you walk the rest of the way in silence.

- - - - - -

Josh isn’t waiting for you the next day.  He’s not across the street either.  

You walk the entirety of the way home without any pinks or yellows to brighten your day.

You hate how much it bothers you.

- - - - - -

You accept Josh’s outstretched arm, “Where were you yesterday?” you ask.

“Just a personal day,” he says.  “Stayed home.”

“Oh… Well, I missed you.”

“Aw, you flatter me.”

“I mean it!” you say, “Walking home with you is my favorite part of the day.”

Josh stiffens beside you.  You try to gage what he’s thinking by his face, but it’s too stoic.  

“See?” he says, “How pathetic is it that a walk home with me is the highlight of your day?”

That was definitely not the reaction you were hoping for.  You let go of his arm and step away from him.  

You can’t really think of a response or defense, but it was clear that Josh didn’t feel the same way.  

“Your life is boring.  Just admit it!  It has no meaning behind it.  No passion.  You do the same thing everyday, hoping that eventually, you’ll be happy.  Or satisfied, or whatever it is.  But you’re lying to yourself.”

“You don’t know anything about my life,” you say back sharply.  “I like my job, and I like my life, just the way it is.  Not all of us need radical hair colors and spontaneous life choices to be happy.  Get off your high horse and don’t pretend like you know what’s good for me.”  

Josh bites his lip, but has no response, so instead, you shake your head before picking up your pace, leaving him behind.

You ignore him as he calls after you.

- - - - - -

You make an effort to rush out of the building the next day, hopeful that you won’t run into Josh.  Luckily, you’re out a solid ten minutes quicker than usual, and by the time you’re turning the corner on the cobblestone steps, he’s nowhere to be seen.  


You walk the whole way home alone.  

- - - - - -

This pattern continues until Friday when you’re forced to stay until five o’clock on the dot.  You try not to think about seeing Josh outside as you ride the elevator down to the main floor, but as soon as you push through the double doors and look to the street, you see him.  If he hadn’t been standing right by the lamp pole, you probably wouldn’t have recognized him.  His hair was no longer bright or flashy.  Instead, it was dulled down to an off-brown color.  It didn’t catch your attention by any means and you frowned at the sight of it.  

You almost skipped right over to him, before you remembered that you were mad for insulting your “boring life”.  You huffed a little before walking down the steps and turning the corner, hoping to avoid his attention.

You should be so lucky,

“Hey!” he calls, rushing up behind you.

You ignore him and keep walking.

“Wait up!” he hollers.  “Y/N, stop!”

“What do you want, Josh?” you snap, whipping around to face him.

He stops dead in his tracks, clearly taken aback by your harsh tone.  The look on his face makes you feel slightly guilty for being to abrupt, but you hold your ground.

He scratches the back of his neck, looking anxious.  He takes a deep breath before speaking.

“I just wanted to say goodbye.”

Your angry frown turns to confusion as his words sink in.

“Goodbye?” you ask, your tone civil again.

“Yeah, I quit.”

“You what?” you gasp.

“I quit my job.  Just now actually.”

“Wh— what?  Why?” you sputter.

“The only thing keeping me going, was the idea that everyone else was just as miserable as I was doing what I did.  But not you.  You’re happy.  And you were right… I shouldn’t have judged you.  I was wrong to assume that everyone was as depressed as me.  But… I just.. It made me realize that I needed to get the hell out of here.”

You listen to his words, letting it sink in that he truly meant it.  He was leaving.  You shouldn’t be as upset as you were.  Selfishly, you were mourning the infinite number of walks you thought the two of you had in the future.  But hearing Josh admit to his misery made you logically ignore the voice in your head begging him to stay and instead ask him a question.

“What happened to your hair?”

He smiles, looking up to his forehead, as if he could see it in his peripherals.

“I don’t need interesting hair anymore, cause I’m going to have an interesting life.”

- - - - - -

Summer fades fast and the warm, humid air is replaced by a brisk breeze.  You crossed your arms across your chest and shivered as the night set in.  You were grateful to be wearing a hat on top of your head and a scarf around your neck.  You let your eyes scan your surroundings, marveling at the infinite shades of golds and reds that had once again, taken over the city.  

Leaves fell, crunching and blowing every which way, as autumn swept through, clearing out the old and making room for the new.  

You stopped dead in your tracks at the turn with the cobblestone steps and gazed adoringly at the melted sunset in the horizon.  The pouring pinks and blistering yellows caught your eye, reminding you of the man across the street and being your guiding light all the way home.  

cynical-harlequin  asked:

Aaah how could I resist the opportunity to get Jonsa goodness! Could you please write something about Jon helping Sansa get dressed or doing her hair or such?

Thank you for the ask my dear! I wrote this a while ago, but I think it fits the prompt? Xx

***

Sansa tried to be scrupulous about appearances. They mattered. She knew that better than most. The Lannisters had wrapped her in lions, complete with teeth and claws, the day she wed Tyrion. She’d worn her own dress emblazoned with a wolf when staring Ramsay down, and she’d drawn strength from it.

So she was angry she’d let her hair get away from her. The past week hadn’t given any of them a moment’s rest. A raven had come to Winterfell heralding the arrival of Daenerys Targaryen. Sansa heard whispers of the queen’s beauty, even this far north. She’d thought herself past vanity. Apparently she’d been mistaken. She was vain enough to want her hair to shine like burnished copper, as it had when her mother brushed it, so she could greet the queen with confidence. But late nights and early mornings had forced her to braid her hair quickly, to keep it out of the way of the maps spread out hastily in Winterfell’s great hall.

Now it was tangled, hopelessly, in the back. She was standing, scowling at her reflection. I don’t have time for this.

She heard a knock at the door. “Sansa, it’s Jon. May I come in?” She almost turned him away. But the news he carried could be important, and she couldn’t shut herself in her room forever.

“Yes, come in please, Jon.” He closed the door, cutting off the colder air from the hallway. Sansa cursed as the brush got stuck once again. Jon seemed shocked. She’d probably never cursed in front of him before.

“Sansa, what’s wrong?”

Sansa was too tired to lie. She’d have to tell him. She sighed, setting the brush down. “Jon, promise, please, not to laugh.”

Jon looked about as far away from laughing as possible, but then again, he usually looked solemn. “I won’t, Sansa.”

“It’s-“ Sansa gestured fruitlessly to the back of her head. “My hair, Jon, it’s tangled, and I can’t brush through it. And no, I can’t ask a lady’s maid for help, I can’t ask anyone for help, because I can’t let them-“

Jon strode across the room, and his arms were around her before she could get out the rest of the warning. Sansa stiffened, and Jon loosened his grip, ready to release her. He felt…good, warm and solid, and Sansa focused on her breathing. He won’t hurt me. He won’t. She gathered up her courage and leaned into him. Jon held her a little tighter, and waited. She sensed he was ready to stand there all night, even all week.

“Sansa, you don’t have to explain.” Jon’s voice was low, and soft, and she could feel his words reverberate in his chest. She held on to his shirt with one hand. “I just – if there’s anything I can do, to help you, please tell me.”

Sansa focused on the feel of Jon’s stubble against her cheek, and the scent of leather that clung to him. Maybe she could make a jest, to get out the mess she’d found herself in. “Do kings brush hair?”

Jon tilted his ear towards her. “Hm?” She couldn’t blame him. She’d spoken directly into the fabric of his shirt. She pulled back, and tried for lightness. “Kings. Do they brush hair?”

She waited for a hint of a smile. Instead Jon held her gaze, his eyes dark and serious. “I don’t know about kings, Sansa, but I’d try, if you wanted.”

Sansa didn’t trust herself to speak just then, so she reached for the silver brush on her table. Her hand shook slightly. She held it out to him. Jon took the handle from her. He still hadn’t let her go, and Sansa found she didn’t want him to. She felt safe, and wished she could keep him here, in her chambers. That thought led to other half-suppressed feelings she knew she had to ignore, so she turned, and sat.

Jon was at a loss, but determined. He cleared his throat. “Is it better if I stand?”

“It’s easier if you sit in a chair behind me.”

“I saw your mother and you like that, once.” Jon pulled up a chair behind her. He was quiet, which was a blessing. Sansa expected the large knots in her hair were intimidating. She was about to give Jon some advice, to tell him he might have to start with his fingers, when he made quick work of the first tangles. She looked at him in the mirror, surprised. “Have you done this before, Jon?”

Jon shrugged. “I brushed horses at the Wall,” he said, and then shut his eyes. “I can’t believe I just said that out loud.” Sansa was speechless. The chagrin on Jon’s face was too much, and Sansa couldn’t help a small laugh at his expense.

She covered her mouth, chastened. “I’m sorry, Jon, that was unkind.”

“No, it’s all right. It’s…I’m glad to hear you laugh.” The corner of Jon’s mouth turned up, and he kept working. “Your hair’s so fine, anyway,” he said gently, “the knots come out easily.” Sansa knew he wasn’t telling the whole truth. The tangled mess was challenging, but Jon was patient. Soon Sansa closed her eyes, tilting her head back. It was such a luxury, to have someone do this for her. It was such a luxury not to flinch at someone’s touch. She heard his chair scrape against the floor to get a bit closer. She felt his fingertips at her temple, lightly, at the beginning of each stroke through her hair.

“Is this too hard?”

“No, Jon, you’re gentler than mother was.” She yawned, and dimly realized he’d not told her where he needed to be next.

***

When she woke the room was dim. The sun had almost set. She could feel Jon’s presence behind her. “How long was I asleep?”

“Not that long.”

He was a terrible liar. “Jon, the sun’s gone down, it’s been at least a few hours. Were you here, the whole time?”

“Aye I didn’t - you looked so peaceful, I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Sansa.”

“How did you get out that one huge knot in the back?” She couldn’t believe she’d slept through that.

“I just…concentrated,” he said, and something in his tone made her shiver. “Do you need me to braid it? You’d have to show me, it always looks so intricate, around your head, small braids and large ones.” His forehead creased. A man ready to lead an army to war, flummoxed at the thought of dressing a woman’s hair. She could only imagine what he would have made of the elaborate styles she’d worn back when she thought Cersei Lannister was the height of grace and beauty.

Sansa did want his help, and soon. But this wasn’t the time. “No, you’d better go, I’m sure Davos and Tormund are wondering where you are by now.” He looked at her in confusion and she sighed, inwardly. Think, Jon, you spent hours in your sister’s bedroom, unplanned, people see, they talk. He got up with a strange reluctance and paused at the door.

“Good night, Sansa.”

“Good night, Jon.” Her hair flowed like silk as pulled it over one shoulder. She looked down at the silver brush on the table. There was barely a strand caught in it. She wouldn’t have been half so careful herself. Sansa braided her hair back to keep it from tangling again while she slept and threw two extra logs on for light and warmth. She slept well, and long, that night, dreaming of copper and fire and Jon’s dark eyes. 

Habits || Jack Maynard

Originally posted by myalwaysari

Requests are currently [ OPEN ]

Masterlist can be found [ HERE ]

Word Count: 1.1k+

Summary: In which a meal out with her best friends may lead to something a little more. 

Dedicated too: Lana Del Rey, for bringing me inspiration when nobody else can xo




“Come on, we need to leave,” (Y/N) whines as she stands beside the front door, checking the time on her phone and sighing, tapping her foot against the floor impatiently. “Conor, hurry up!”

“Alright, keep your panties on.” He chuckles, shrugging on his bomber jacket and throwing one of his spares at her once he saw what she was wearing. “Put that on. You’ll freeze your ass off in that dress.” She rolls her eyes and folds her arms across her chest, raising her eyebrows and throwing him a pointed look. He coughs and glances down at his watch with an apologetic shrug. “Right, yeah. Sorry for taking so long.”

She laughs and shakes her head, opening the door after equipping the oversized jacket and motioning to it with her hand. “Fuck gender roles, gentlemen first.”

He playfully swoons, strutting out into the hall and glancing back at her over his shoulder dramatically, causing her to giggle as she walked out and locked up. He whistles lowly as his eyes trail down her body, the bomber jacket only coming a few inches down her thigh and the dress barely covering much more. “I see tonight is a leg night.”

“It could be worse.” She smirks, threading her arm through his as they walked through the hallway and toward the stairs that lead to the buildings main exit. He looks down in confusion, and so she elaborates. “I bought this new set of underwear yesterday, and honestly, I considered wearing them under that huge faux fur coat I have: like the women in the movies do.”

He throws his head back and laughs, the image of his bestfriend in nothing but an outrageously obnoxious fur coat in Central London on a Saturday night too amusing to not imagine. “You mean the women who want to seduce their men?” He asks, and she nods silently as they walk through the double doors and out into the dark street. “But in order to seduce your man, don’t you actually have to have- oh I don’t know, have a man, who’s yours?”

Groaning, she pushes him slightly but laughs at his comment nonetheless. He had a point, having a man to seduce in the first place would help her cause: but for now, her LBD and Conor’s bomber jacket seemed more appropriate than the fur coat and her underwear.

She pulls the jacket closer to her frame as they walked at least twenty yards before finding their Uber driver, who apologised continuously but explained how he’d gotten completely lost within the windy streets.

The warm interior of the car is greatly appreciated, especially when Conor pulled out his phone and began to make snapchat videos, tilting his phone toward her every now and then so that she could say her piece of simply make a funny face. By the time they reached the restaurant, she’d already counted out the cash and handed it to the polite driver with a smile.

She and Conor hang back for a while, making sure that they didn’t have any unanswered messages or emails that they needed to address before deciding that they were good to go. That was one out their routine procedures, after a messy night out had ended with two important business emails being ignored and nineteen calls from a very worried mother.

They walk into the restaurant with smiles imprinted not their faces, immediately laying eyes on their friends who all looked up from the menu’s one after the other. (Y/N) unhook: her arm from Conor’s and greets them all with a wide smile, overjoyed to be in the company of her best friends after a week of having to socialise with people whom she really had no interest in at all.

Eventually she sits down, with Jack on her left and Mikey on her right, both boys pointing out meals that they’d had before and recommended. The names were all foreign to her, and she scrunched up her nose and shook her head after each suggestion, instead deciding to stick with her tried and trusted chicken and avocado house salad.

She notices the camera in Joe’s hand the moment he lifts it up off of the table and points it toward her. He laughs and moves it between herself and Conor with a cheeky tut. “Look who decided to join us, late as always!”

She gasps and throws a crouton at him, looking over at Conor and narrowing her eyes at him. “Well, Mr Maynard, are you gonna tell them why we’re late or am I gonna have to do it for you?” When he rolls his eyes and looks away innocently, she laughs and turns back to face Joe with a wink. “Let’s just say, someone has to sing atleast five songs in the shower before even considering getting out.”

Jack snorts, causing (Y/N) to turn toward him and watch as he smirks and glances toward his older brother with his eyebrows raised. “I can’t believe you still have to do that.” He shakes his head and takes a sip of his beer. “Used to take us hours to get ready for school because that little shit would refuse to get out of the shower when mum told him too.”

“My older sister used to have to eat half of a bowl of one cereal, and then use a different bowl with another half a bowl of different cereal. My mum used to say she could only do things in halves.” (Y/N) vocalises, a slight smile on her face as she rests her elbows onto the table top and looks over at her bestfriend with a smug smile. “Con, you know you’re my ride or die, but your habits are fucking annoying.”

He lifts his hand to cover his heart in mock hurt, blowing her a sarcastic kiss before turning back to Josh and continuing to chat to him about god knows what.

She turns back to smile at Jack, but her expression falters when she sees small frown on his face. “What’s wrong?”

He blinks quickly and shakes his head. “Nothing- nothing. I guess I just understand why people ship you guys so much.”

If she hadn’t known him for so many years, she wouldn’t have caught the jealousy in his tone, but she had, and she did. She purses her lips to hide her smirk and leans in closely, resting her hand on his thigh and eying the rest of the table as she breathed against his neck. “You wanna know a secret?"He hums, resting his hand on her thigh just as she had his just seconds before. Breathing shallowly, she brushes the tip of her nose against his ear and smirks. "If I had to kiss a Maynard brother, I wouldn’t pick Conor.”

2

Gif source:  Joker

Imagine meeting the Joker.

——— Request for anon ———

You’d heard the stories. Hell, he was infamous around Gotham, and here you were, meeting the Joker.

You didn’t know whether to be excited or terrified as you sat on the plush sofa you’d been escorted to by one of his men. Not that you showed either emotion on your outer appearance. After all, this was business.

It was his laugh that announced him, ghosting in from beyond the elaborate door and the guard standing in front of it, “Ha… Ha… Ha…” At the sound, the guard takes a single step to the side and the door opens, in striding the green-haired man you’d only ever seen in his mugshots. “My, apologies,” Joker says with dramatic flair, flashing you an insane grin that shows the glint of his teeth, “for keeping you waiting.”

You smirk as his shoes tap the floor with each of his steps towards you, an entourage of his men coming in behind him, “It was worth the wait.”

RFA + Minor Trio: Video Games

So I got bored, and being the Mystic Messenger obsessed game addict that I am, my mind wandered to wondering what sorts of video games the RFA would play, like types or genres and some examples (aside from LOLOL in Yoosung’s case of course lol), which led to making this headcanon post. Of course, these are all just my personal headcanons, and I would love to hear what thoughts you guys have for this subject! Sharing headcanons is fun~!! Sorry this got kinda long tho lol I guess I got carried away ^^;;;

Note: If you’re on the mobile app and only see Yoosung’s section, copy and paste the post’s URL into your mobile web browser. That should fix it~


💚YOOSUNG💚

  • Well we all know that he’s addicted to LOLOL, and probably plays or has tried other MMOs. As perfect as those are for him, I’m looking at other types of games for this. Otherwise it’s too easy lol
  • Plays RPGs and adventure games the most
  • When he can make a custom character, his preferred classes are knight or warrior classes, but he’s also open to playing as mages
  • Definitely the kind of player that picks up every. Single. Side quest. Because he wants to help everyone
  • Need a certain number of rarely dropped items? No problem!
  • Want to deliver an item to someone who’s not even a two minute walk away? He’s on it!
  • Got a super difficult optional boss that you want dead that can–and will–display the Game Over screen multiple times, and you’re offering a class-specific item he can’t use as a reward? Sign him the fuck up!
  • Unless they want something he doesn’t agree with… -gives Skyrim’s Blades the side-eye-
  • No matter how hard he tries, he just can’t bring himself to play the “asshole/aggressive character” style
  • “Sure, this assassin was hired by that one traitor who wants us dead, my party is totally against letting him live since he might try to kill us again, and we have absolutely no reason to trust him aside from his seemingly honest answers which he could have just fabricated to save himself, so logic seems to point at killing him to be safe…………buuuuuuuuuut he could be a helpful party member and then no one has to die!”
  • Also, he loves games that encourage interaction with other players!
  • “People think that you don’t get any friends if you play games… but you get tons!” TRUTH!!!
  • So yeah, games with interaction are great!
  • Honestly MMORPGs are fucking perfect for him and and that’s why he’s addicted to LOLOL! lol seriously dude game with me plz
  • Really likes Pokemon for the sense of community with trades and battles and such
  • Totally attempted to make a competitive team at some point
  • Whenever new games are announced, he and Seven figure out who gets what version so they can trade version exclusives and such
  • Can never beat Seven in a battle tho… The one rival battle he can never win T^T
  • Also this guy is a Kirby fan fight me on this

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3

Imagine:

Being a part of the sideshow at Haly’s Circus and being good friends with Jerome Valeska.
•••

Performers skipped, jumped and danced between the vibrantly coloured tents while handing out free tickets to see the strong man. The locals were entranced by the sequinned costumes and elaborate makeup and were attracted to the circus like bugs to a bright light. They were charmed by the attentions of the people so strangely beautiful and bright.

It was your job to entertain them while they waited to be seated inside the big top. They ohed and awed as you greeted them with a unnatural turn of your body and a dazzling smile, all while keeping the hula hoops spinning around your body and the juggling balls in the air.

You thoroughly enjoyed your job. The star struck gazes of the children and the embarrassed looks on their parents faces when they failed to copy your seemingly simple tricks made it all worth while.

However, there were other things that kept you tied to the sideshow other than the Gothamite’s attention and one of them was your sweet, hyperactive ginger, Jerome Valeska.

You ready, Luv? (Part 3) - [Eggsy Unwin X Reader]

[Oh man guys! You all have been so kind and amazing and I AM SO NERVOUS NOW. But I hope you enjoy this!! I had never intended on stretching this out, but I have so many plans now so I hope you like it!! THANKS GUYS!! <3

Pairing: Eggsy X Reader 

Words: 2.7k

Summary: You and your boyfriend Eggsy are on a mission together where your limits are tested. Just how far are you willing to go for the man you love?

CH 3 – Are you dreaming? Are you awake and hallucinating from that fuckin gas? You really aren’t sure to be honest, but one thing you do know is that something isn’t right. Will you finally have the chance to tell Eggsy just how you feel or will your time finally run out?

— Read on Ao3 here! or below the cut :3  

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