looking at them now we can say it was a very black and white year

procraesthetics  asked:

I wonder what would happen if Dudley grew up in the wizarding world but still as a muggle? like kind of reverse AU where his parents are dead and he has to go to Lily for whatever reason? do you think he would become bitter like Petunia about magic?

Lily remembered her sister, how there had been a time she was curious and delighted about magic, before it slowly sank in that she could look and not touch.

The last thing Petunia had said to Lily before she died was a chilly goodbye, ending a holiday dinner where they’d had a shrieking row in the entryway. Petunia had said freak and Lily had hissed better than this, better than this being my whole fucking world, Tune, do you even see yourself, are you happy–

And now here was Dudley Vernon Dursley fussing himself to sleep as Lily walked the halls of the Godric’s Hollow house. His tiny soft hands with their tiny soft fingernails curled under her chin, the same way Harry always had.

She passed James, who was gently bouncing his way up the hall the opposite way. “I think he’s asleep,” James mouthed over Harry’s tousled head. His hair was the same mess, bent down to peer at his sleeping son.

Lily stopped where she stood, her nephew heavy on her chest, her husband smiling, her sister buried. “James,” she said. “How are we going to do this?”

“Oh,” he said. “Hey. Don’t you cry, you’ll start them off– unless you need to cry, I mean, you go ahead, hey, sweetheart, hey, it’s alright, you just let it out.” He stepped forward, shifting Harry gently to his other shoulder, and pressed his forehead to hers. “We tuck them in, okay, that’s what we do next. Then we go to our own bed, okay, and go to sleep, and when we wake up it’ll be a new day.”

“A new day,” she said. “Another day– James, that’s the– I’m so tired.”

“So let’s sleep. It’ll look better in the morning,” he said. “And if it doesn’t look better this morning, it’ll look better in the next one.”

“You promise?”

“Better than that. I’ll show you. Every day,” he said and kissed her cold forehead.

Dudley had not shown up on the Potters’ doorstep with the milk bottles. Lily had gotten a phone call from the landline she still had installed in Godric’s Hollow, about an accident, and she had gone down to the Muggle police station to identify the bodies.

The cupboard under the stairs was filled with spiders, broomsticks, and the sewing machine Lily’s mother had given her when she married James– that’s all. Dudley slept downstairs. Uncle Remus taught Dudley and Harry to knock out coded messages through the wall their rooms shared.

In the backyard, beside a rickety porch and an ambitious hedge, James taught them to fly– first on little tot brooms where their toes brushed the grass the whole time, then out of the barrels of practice brooms James used for lessons and coaching Little League Quidditch.

When the boys turned ten, five weeks apart, they both got shiny new Nimbuses on Dudley’s birthday (which came first), and a set of enchanted Quidditch balls on Harry’s, to share. The Bludgers were enchanted to be very kind but Dudley spent long afternoons whacking them far afield while Harry chased the Snitch at his back.

Harry had a scar on his forehead, like a jagged bit of lightning. Dudley had no scars– the car crash that had killed his parents hadn’t touched him where he sat strapped into a car seat in the back, chewing on a stuffed dinosaur toy.

Lily did not believe in lying to the children. She was bare years off being a child herself, and spare moments on the far side of a war. When Dudley asked about his parents, she told him there had been an accident. She pulled pictures off the shelf and wrote Petunia’s old university friends for more.

Photographs came by mailman, the images still and unnatural to Dudley’s eye. Every day he’d gone out to play, for years, he’d been waving at the picture near the back door of his aunt and uncle on their wedding day, and they waved back every time.

“She was very clever,” Lily said. “Your mom liked to know everything.”

“And my dad?”

“Vernon liked… cars?” James offered. “That’s the word, right, Lily?”

“I didn’t know him very well,” Lily said. “He liked drills, I think; he worked for a firm that made them, and he talked about that a lot.”

Dudley brushed his thumbs over the dull edges of the photos. When Lily went off to Auror headquarters the next morning for work, James bundled the boys up and took them on an impromptu invisible tour of Grunnings Drill Manufacturing Inc.

They tiptoed down halls and past water coolers and ringing fellytones. They held hands under the Cloak as they dodged around the machines on the manufacturing floor, thumping and pounding and whirring away loudly enough that Harry and Dudley could whisper to each other under the noise. An elevator took them all the way up to the top floor. Harry whistled cheerily and eerily along with the elevator music while the Muggles slowly edged toward the doors and pressed floor buttons lower than they’d originally wanted.

There were boxes and cabinets and folders and desks and staticky monitor screens full of numbers strewn in endless grids. “Merlin’s knuckles,” said Harry, who was seven and a half and rather proud of this expletive. “People can look at this all day, their whole lives, and not die?”

“Work is hard work,” said James.

“At least mum gets to curse things.”

“But my dad liked it?” Dudley said, peering at a white board that was bleeding enthusiastic marker. “There’s a lot of things, here. Maybe he liked knowing things, too.”

When the boys asked about the scar on Harry’s forehead, Lily and James looked at each other. “You know how sometimes we sit with Uncle Remus and talk about a war?” James said. “Or with Ms. Amelia or Mr. Mundungus.”

“Mr. Mundungus is kinda smelly,” Harry said helpfully.

“It’s not nice to say so though,” said James, and Lily made a face.

“Are we raising them to be nice?” Lily said.

“I’m trying,” said James.

“You talk about a war,” said Harry and shrugged. Dudley nodded.

“There was a very bad man, in those days,” said James.

“Voldemort,” said Lily, and James made a face.

“He was so scary a lot of people don’t like to say his name, even now,” said James. “And he was coming after us because we had been fighting against him, in the war. He came to the house and he tried to hurt you, Harry. But it didn’t work. It hurt him instead, and gave you that scar.”

“Is he going to come back?” said Dudley, who was paler than his normal pink.

“No one’s heard of him since then,” said Lily.

“Where were you?” said Harry, because all his life they had been right there.

“Oh,” said Lily, but her throat closed up.

“We were at Dudley’s mum and dad’s funeral,” said James. “Our friend– our friend Sirius was watching you two. The bad man, he came to the house. He. Well. I.”

“Sirius died,” said Lily, one hand squeezing James’s knee and the other reaching down to brush hair off Dudley’s forehead. “You lived, Harry, and Voldemort vanished. And that’s why sometimes people stare in the streets, baby.” James tweaked Harry’s collar absently.

Two days after they had buried Lily’s sister, the Potters had stood together in the first chills of November and buried James’s brother.

Sirius had been burned off the Black family tree years before. Lily and James had talked to his cousin Andromeda, to Remus, and then they had laid him to rest in the Potter family plot. At the wake, they’d told old jokes about squirrel breath, shedding, and man’s best friend. Remus had fallen asleep on their couch and stayed for a month.

It took a two hour row with HR for Lily to get two passes to the Ministry’s Bring Your Kid To Work Day.

“He’s a Muggle.”

“He’s not,” Lily snapped. “He’s family.”

She had to get permission, sign a million forms, and she also had to take the boys in early so that Dudley could get smothered in the spells that would keep the Anti-Muggle wards around the Ministry from activating on him. “If a Muggle stumbles in somehow, they just see a funny-smelling supply cabinet and turn back around,” Lily told Dudley. He nodded and dragged Harry off by the wrist to go look at the fountain.

The windows were pouring sunlight into the underground room– the maintenance workers had just gotten a win on their contract negotiations and had banished the grimy rain-spattered windows of the previous weeks. The light hit the falling water, the golden statues, and the small excitable crowd of Ministry dependents who were gathering in the atrium. Dudley was fishing about in the fountain for Knuts to toss back out again, elbow-deep, and Harry was laughing and coming up with weird wishes to make on them.

Lily hadn’t said son. She’d said family, and that was true enough, wasn’t it? She didn’t say son– she had a son, and she had a nephew, a ward, another child who came to her after nightmares and scraped knees. It was not less, it was just words.

Lily worried about stealing more things from Petunia. Tuney had shrieked at her, in ladies’ restrooms and suburban foyers, had hissed at her in grocery store aisles and family dinners, because Lily got everything. And now Lily had her son.

Lily could just imagine it– could just see Petunia’s face twisting and chin stabbing at the air. You could have anything, and you took my son– my son!

“You left him to me,” Lily whispered, but that wasn’t quite right. “You left,” she whispered, and that wasn’t quite right either, so she strode off toward the fountain to ask the boys if they wanted to go see the Auror spellwork ranges. Dudley’s sodden shirt sleeves dripped all over the Ministry floors. Harry’s hair fell down into his eyes and they both grinned bright enough to rival the spelled sunlight.

Keep Reading (Ao3)

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

can you make a checklist on how to get into the gorillaz?? It seems like there is a lot out there and its hard to follow when i'm getting into it late.. thank you!!

Sure!!! I personally got into them by watching their G-bitez and music videos and it all kinda spiraled from there.

The band itself was made by Damon Albarn (Lead singer of Blur, does vocals and writes lyrics for Gorillaz) and Jamie Hewlett (Co-creator of the comic book “Tank Girl”, draws and animates for Gorillaz) after they were both watching MTV and they were like “hey music today sucks you know what’d be cool?? if we made an animated band” “cool we could call it ‘gorilla’ because we were both born on the year of the monkey!!!” sadly animal planet had already copyrighted “gorilla” so they just added a z to the end of it to make it cooler.

Here’s a playlist of all of their music videos/unfinished storyboards i put together (they’re all in order according to the storyline, but keep in mind that “do ya thing” isn’t canon): https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLupIZC02E6mRz_uqFp8BiLuEZ3-ZUjJZB

Here’s a list of all of their interviews I’ve been able to find (You can learn a lot about the characters from these babies): https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLupIZC02E6mT1RKRtEIu2RA4AraQnGnqu

Aaand here’s a list of all of their songs (there’s a bunch). Every one of them sorted from oldest to newest, every song after “We’ve got the power” is either a demo, rare or unreleased: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLupIZC02E6mTeUgeN3TVDF1kUgM11wlFI

Something to know about Gorillaz is that they have “phases”. Phase 1 was in 2001, when they released their albums “Gorillaz”, “G-Sides” and “Laika come home”. Phase 1′s art style was cartoonish and used very thick lineart. Phase 2 was in 2005, when they released “Demon Days” and “D-sides”. Phase 2′s art style was a bit dark and looked more realistic. Phase 3 was in 2010, when they released the albums “Plastic Beach” and “The Fall” in 2011. Phase 3′s art style was almost the same as phase 2′s. Then we have Phase 4 in 2017, their new album “Humanz” is coming out April 28th. It’s art style is the one that stands out the most to me, you can find most of the art on Jamie Hewlett’s Instragram (Hewll)

Alright, a big part of me getting into the fandom was my love fore the characters. I’m assuming you’re not a fan yet, so let me introduce them to you (i’m going to use powerpoints to explain each member if u don’t mind):

This lovely lad here is Murdoc Faust Niccals.

- He’s the band’s leader/bassist, and he makes sure EVERYONE knows that’s it’s his band and only his.
- He went through multiple other bands before he formed Gorillaz.
- He was born on June 6th, 1966 in Stoke-on-Trent, England. As an infant he was abandoned on his father’s doorstep.
- Had a very rough childhood, his father, Sebastian Niccals, would force him to preform on stage for booze money and it was absolutely humiliating for him.
- His nose has been broken a of total 8 times. The first time was from a bully at his school, the 2nd time was from his older (and only) brother, Hannibal, because Murdoc had touched his records and the other 6 times were from Russel when he got caught “doing it” with 2D’s now ex-girlfriend in the bathroom stalls of Kong Studios
- His middle name was originally “Alphonse” but he changed it to “Faust” after making a deal with the Devil in phase 1 to make Gorillaz the “biggest band in the world”. That’s also how he got his bass, “El Diablo”.
- did i mention he was a satanist bc he is
- He hangs around in his underwear a lot (especially in phase 2)
- He likes to either get naked or start pelvic thrusting in like every video, so be careful, young anon.
- He’s very crude but sometimes he can be very nice and adorable in some interviews ??? It’s so weird
- He likes making weird noises, like, a lot.
- Apparently can speak French and Spanish
- His reason for turning green all of the sudden in phase 2 is either because of alcohol poisoning or due to him tanning himself green. Jamie himself said that it’s because he’s an immortalist and his skin is now rotting but I’m not sure how true it is.
- He had a pet raven in phase 2!!! His name was Cortez and no one really
knows what happened to him but Murdoc seemed to love that bird.
- He also had a cape in phase 2 that he loved and wore like all the time but he lost it. Poor baby.
- He was based off of a young 1960′s era Keith Richards.
- He has a tongue longer than Gene Simmons’ and I’m not even kidding. His tongue is like a foot long
- His genuine laugh can cure cancer
- He had his own MTV cribs episode
- Here’s a playlist of every interview he’s been in if you’d like to know a bit more about how he acts.
- All of this sounds horrible but like half of the fandom sees him as charming and funny and the other half sees him as repulsive and downright mean so i guess listen to some of his interviews and make your decision (i’m part of the half that loves him)

This is 2D!!

- He’s the band’s singer, sometimes he plays the piano and melodica too.
- He’s anxious and a bit timid around people. He’s not that intelligent, but he’s an absolute sweetheart to pretty much everyone. He’s … a huge dork.
- He was born on May 23rd, 1978.  He was born in Hertfordshire, England and was raised in Crawley, England. When he was 10 he fell out of a tree and landed on his head, his hair fell out and grew back blue. He’s had horrible headaches since then, but his mother was a nurse and gave pills to help him out.
- His real name is Stuart Pot
- He loves horror films!!! Especially zombie movies.
- Apparently he smells like butterscotch
- He’s VERY tall. he’s like 6′1 and his legs make up most of his body. He towers over the rest of the band.
- His voice actor is Nelson De Freitas, but Damon Albarn provides his singing voice
- The lack of his two front teeth gives him an adorable accent
- He has a crippling fear of whales
- His eyes are black due to an 8-ball fracture that Murdoc gave him before the band was made when he crashed his car into the music store 2D worked at.
- His eyes turn white when he’s stressed or scared.
- His nickname “2D” stands for “Two Dents”. He’s called that because Murdoc’s car crash also gave him two dents in his head.
- Murdoc is seen physically abusing 2D throughout phase 1-3, but there’s a very likely chance that he’s going to stop and make amends in phase 4!!!
- Here’s a playlist of interviews that he’s been in
- Everybody loves him. I love him. I don’t think it’s possible not to love him.


This is Russel Hobbs!!

- He’s the band’s drummer.  He makes remixes too!!!
- The living embodiment of “looks like he could kill you but is actually a cinnamon roll”
- Quite possibly the most underrated character in the world
- He was born in Brooklyn, New York on June 3rd, 1975. He got possessed by a demon as a kid and fell into a coma for four years. After he woke up the demon got expelled tho
- When he was a teen, him and his friends were involved in a drive-by shooting. Russel was the only survivor and all of his friends possessed him, but the only one we really get to see is his closest friend, Del, he raps in Clint Eastwood and Rock the House, but we haven’t seen him since phase 1. 
- Russel misses Del very dearly, poor lad.
- After the whole shooting incident he was sent to the UK to live with his uncle.
- HE SAVED 2D FROM BEING EATEN BY A WHALE. HE’S SO UNDERAPPRECIATED 
- He’s an actual giant in phase 3 because he ate some radioactive algae 
- He loves fezzes!!!
- His hobby, besides music, is taxidermy.
- He’s the dad friend
- Here’s a playlist of interviews that he’s been in

Last but not least, this is Noodle

- She plays guitar for the band. She also sings and writes songs sometimes
- Noodle is very energetic and nice but she can also kick your ass
- She was born in Osaka, Japan on October 31st 1990
- She joined the band when she was around 10 but she’s like 26 now. I forgot to mention that the band ages with real time
- As a kid she was a part of a classified child super solider project under the management of a japanese scientist named Mr. Kyuzo. this is where she learned how to be badass. She knew professional karate at like 10 how cool is that
- All of the children in that project were deemed too unstable and dangerous, so they canceled the experiment and Mr. Kyuzo was ordered to kill all of the children (fuckin dark i know). After killing them all, Mr. Kyuzo was reluctant to kill Noodle, so instead he put her in a state of amnesia and smuggled her to the UK by shipping her to Kong Studios in a FedEx crate.
- She didn’t remember anything!!! The only english thing she was able to say to say was “noodle” and that’s where she got her name.
- She learned how to speak english and remembered her past in phase 2.
- Murdoc, 2D and Russel raised her (mostly russel tho). Noodle considers Murdoc and 2D her brothers and Russel considers her his daughter how CUTE IS THAT
- She loves Pokemon
- She had a flying windmill island in phase 2 it was incredible
- She had a cute radio helmet in phase 1 
- She also has a robot version of herself called “Cyborg Noodle” in phase 3. It’s a long story but Cyborg might be coming back for phase 4.
- The interviews that she’s in can be found here!!

The backstory is too long for me to write down, but you can find it over here! I hope i explained everything clearly- if not, or if you have any questions, feel free to send me a message!! I hope this helps you c:

the-queen-sees-all  asked:

I was wondering, what if Harry and Hermione had met before Hogwarts?

The first time Harry Potter met Hermione Granger, she was standing with her chin up and her hands on her hips a few paces from the old olive tree in the schoolyard, glaring into the far distance. The wind was trying to twist and buffet her hair into her face, but mostly it was just tangling cheerfully with itself.

Dudley and Piers were busy kicking all the other kids off the play structure, so Harry had retreated out into the grass. He stood a safe distance from the weird girl who was pretending to be a statue and thought wistfully of lunch.

“There’s a fallen bird’s nest,” the girl said in a rapid and certain tumble of syllables. “The boys knocked it out of the tree, but I chased them off and I’m hoping the mama bird comes back. I’m Hermione Granger. We just moved here.”

“Harry,” he said.

“How’d you get that scar?” she said.

“Car accident.”

“That’s a weird scar for a car accident.”

Harry shrugged. “It killed my parents.”

She blinked quickly at him and even at that distance he wished vaguely that she wore glasses, too, because her gaze was something that really felt like it should have some built-in bluntedness. “Mine are dentists. Mum’s taking me to the library after school, want to come?”

-

Before they went into Diagon Alley, Harry asked Hagrid if they could find a payphone. Hermione picked up on the first ring.

“Harry! Where have you been? I’ve been trying and trying to call–”

“Sorry, yeah. Um, so, I’m not coming back to school next year, I…” Harry drifted off, staring at Hagrid’s massive moleskin shoulders. The giant man saw him looking and gave him a tentatively cheerful little wave. “It’s been weird, Herm.” He pressed his forehead into the phone stand, but not too hard. “I think you’re the only thing I’m really going to miss.”

“Harry,” Hermione said and Harry started to frown, because that wasn’t her stern and startled voice. That was the voice that meant she was off down a charging war path of other thought and might not have heard him at all. “I’ve been reading.”

“Of course you’ve been reading,” he said. “I’ve been being forcibly hidden from a swarm of post office owls–”

“You’re in books,” she said in breathless delight, squeaking over the telephone line. “First thing we did, of course, after the professor explained, was get her to escort us to a bookstore– a whole bibliography, Harry, a whole world’s bibliography I haven’t even touched– how am I ever going to–” She took in a little calming breath, and murmured, “Different infinities, it’s okay, Hermione, okay.” A sharp exhale and then she tumbled right back into her rushing rivelet of a sentence. “And I picked up a good dozen, besides the school books, of course, and Harry, you’re in books, in Dark Wizardwork of This Century and A Modern Wizards’ History and October’s End: A Biography–”

“Hermione,” said Harry with slow enunciation. “Are you a wizard, too?”

“A witch, I think,” she said. “But I’m still reading up on the sociology of it all.”

-

Hagrid wouldn’t say Voldemort’s name, but Hermione would. She came over with a stack of books up to her chin, gave the Dursleys her normal pointed little stare that said she’d like to set them a little on fire, and curled up in his cupboard with him.

He supposed she probably could learn how to set them on fire, now, if she really wanted to.

She gave him passages and excerpts with his name in them, with his parents’ names, a home he hadn’t known. There were pictures of a ruined house with the smoke drifting in little curls of ink. There was his mother, smiling and waving in black and white. There was his mother, laid out on the floor, with a sober little caption below it. That picture was still, except for curtains fluttering in the window.

Hermione finally dragged her face far enough up from the pages to see Harry holding his own hand very tightly, and then she closed the book and reached for one about which magical creatures you should pet and which you shouldn’t.

“Sorry,” she said.

“I wanted to know.”

“I’m still sorry.”

-

The Grangers drove Harry, Hermione, Hedwig, and their trunks to King’s Cross Station. Mrs. Granger kissed the top of Hermione’s head while Mr. Granger mussed Harry’s mop of dark hair affectionately, and then they swapped children and repeated the treatment. Hermione pushed her hair back out of her face and marched them all to Platform 9 ¾, the entrance mechanism of which she had read all about.

“Before you go,” Mrs. Granger said, “let’s buy you some sandwiches? I don’t know what sort of food they’ll have past that–”

“There’s a trolley,” Hermione said, but her parents dragged them off to a snack kiosk anyway, Harry happily in tow.

As they were on Hermione’s tight schedule, there were plenty of compartments open, and they took one all to themselves– well, to themselves, Hedwig, and Hermione’s books, which took up two seats. (Harry would wheedle Hagrid into taking him to Diagon Alley for Christmas shopping that year, where he would get Hermione a carry-all bag for her small personal library.)

Hermione took a long preparatory breath while Harry unwrapped his sandwich. “Harry? What if I go and sit down under the Hat and I just sit and sit there, and then it says I’m not a witch at all?” Hermione said, the words getting more squashed together and higher-pitched as she went. “I’m not magic, it just got confused, and they send me home? Harry, I don’t want to be a dentist. Other people’s mouths are disgusting–”

“You’re not going to get kicked out,” Harry said, chewing amiably on his sandwich. It was not good, but the Dursleys hadn’t bothered with any breakfast for him and he hadn’t wanted to bother the Grangers about it either. It was a bit dry on the way down, but it settled warmly in his belly.

“But what if I do?”

“I’ll stage a protest,” said Harry. “Refuse to do my homework til they reinstate you.”

“You’re not going to do your homework anyway.”

“See how dedicated I am to you.”

She made a dismissive little noise at him, wringing her hands in her lap.

“Hermione,” he said, and she lifted her bush of hair to look at him. “You’re the most magical person I know. It’s gonna be alright.”

She gave a long slow blink but whatever she might have said was interrupted by an uneven knock at the door. “Um,” said the pudgy boy standing there. “I’ve lost my toad.”

Hermione leapt to her feet. “Where did you see him last?”

Harry followed in the wake of her forward charge, but he brought the rest of his sandwich with him.

-

(Harry did not know this and would not know this until Mrs. Granger mentioned it casually over a Christmas dinner years and years later– but she and Mr. Granger reported the Dursleys for child abuse and neglect, over and over.

The reports got lost– minds scrubbed down, papers vanished– but they kept calling in reports. They considered kidnapping. They couldn’t imagine why the wizarding world might want to keep their chosen one somewhere so toxic, why they might want to keep this underfed child and his messy hair with those people.

“My mother left me a blood protection spell,” said Harry, whose scar had not ached in years. He poked at his mashed potatoes under the focused attention of Mrs. Granger’s stern little forehead wrinkle. “I had to live with family, blood family.”

“Then they should have made them treat you right,” Mrs. Granger said, as though it was that simple.

Mr. Granger gave Harry another helping of peas.)

-

On the steps of Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy thrust out his hand to the Boy Who Lived, who surveyed the open palm with amusement. “Thanks,” said Harry. “But I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself.”

The redheaded, freckly, hand-me-down clothes boy Malfoy had been bothering snorted. Harry slipped his hands into his pockets.

“You’re the kid with the rat from the train,” Hermione said. “And the spell that didn’t work.”

“It was a cool rhyme anyway, though,” Harry said. “Hi, I’m Harry, this is Hermione.”

“Yeah, she said, then. I’m Ron– uh, Ron Weasley.”

“Yeah, he said,” Harry said, rolling his eyes Malfoy’s direction. “Come on, you wanna stand with us? Hermione will tell you about the ceiling.”

“It’s enchanted!” said Hermione.

-

When Hermione founded SPHEW, Harry was not surprised. He had spent too many schoolyard days escorting spiders to safe spaces, keeping vigil over fallen bird’s nests, and watching Hermione stand up on her desk chair in heated pitched verbal battles with teachers. She’d driven at least two teachers to tears and taught most of them at least a few new vocabulary words.

-

Over summers and holidays, Harry and Hermione took Ron to the movies, to the seashore, to Hermione’s top three favorite libraries. Hermione’s Aunt Meg taught them how to whittle under a cloud of cigarette smoke that clung to Harry’s hair until he washed it out.

In this life, there were things in the Muggle world that Harry missed, that he wanted to see again. He loved Hogwarts, and he nominally went home to the Dursleys each summer, but he knew he always had a bed at the Grangers’. He knew the weird system they used to organize the books on their shelves. He’d pass Mrs. Granger the marmalade in mornings before she had to ask. He got free dental check-ups all his life, which was good because the Dursleys rarely bothered taking him into the dentist.

The whole Granger family tore apart newspapers every morning, calling article excerpts across the table and pointing each other to their favorite journalists. Before Hermione even first stepped onto Hogwarts grounds she got a subscription to the Daily Prophet. During Harry’s fourth year, Mr. and Mrs. Granger got Arthur Weasley to buy them an owl and then began an unending campaign of furious letters to the editor that never got published.

-

In a crumbling boat shed, Severus Snape died, but first he pressed a shining bundle of memory into Harry’s hands.

The fight was still going– Neville newly broad and certain; Luna whipping out quiet, barbed little curses; Ginny charging like an army in and of herself. Hermione had her arms full of basilisk fangs. Ron was moving people like bishops and knights. But Harry had a long damp walk before him, so he had time to wade through that life not his own.

Severus had been a lot of things– one of them was in love. Harry dragged his feet through forest mulch, seeing a little redheaded girl in sunlight, hands not his own offering her transformed flowers. It had been just them for so long. For Severus, for so long, there had been no one but him and Lily.

Even in Hogwarts, Severus had drifted through the classrooms and common room and library. He had believed in magic, in the cool slide of good knives through dried roots, and in Lily– always, always in Lily– Lily in sunlight, Lily chewing on her thumbnail over Transfiguration homework, Lily flicking soapsuds at him in her kitchen at home over summer, Lily pig-tailed and seven, wide-eyed as he showed her the first magic she’d ever seen, a leaf to a flower, a bit of sunlight to a bit of fire.

He had loved, and it had been a real thing. He had fucked up, and it had been a real thing, that heartbreak, that regret.

When Harry turned the Stone in his hand and saw his mother step into pseudo-life in that forest clearing, he thought I wish I’d known you. He thought about how she was in sepia and gray, here, just like in the pictures in the pages of Hermione’s books.

But he was also thinking about Severus. He was remembering Lily in sunlight, remembering her walking away, remembering her in that same cold photographed sprawl but in color–in grief–in bruised knees and heaving gasps.

Severus had been the first to find Lily’s body and it had felt like someone had cut the sunlight out of him. Harry was living through that grief, but he was also living through the wail of the child crying unacknowledged. His tiny pudgy hands were wrapped around the guardrail of his crib.

Harry was thinking about a girl standing in a field like a statue, hands on hips. He was thinking about Hermione’s raised hand ignored in Potions, or the way Snape had sneered that he didn’t see a difference in her cursed teeth. Love had made him brave, perhaps. It had killed him, but it had not made Severus good.

Harry wondered if his mother would have escorted spiders to safe places, if she would have stood guard over fallen bird’s nests, if she had worried herself to pieces that first time on the Hogwarts Express about the Hat telling her she didn’t really belong.

“I wish I’d known you,” he told the specter of Lily Potter. He held his own hands tight.

For Harry, for so long, there had been no one but him and Hermione. Even in Hogwarts, there were things only she would understand– parking meters, the cobweb ceiling of his cupboard, the silence of marmalade at breakfast. Harry believed in magic and he believed Hermione Granger was the most magical thing he knew.

“They’ll be alright,” he said. “I’ll be alright. I was alright, mum. I wish I’d known you– but I wasn’t alone.” He squeezed his hands tighter– Hermione showing him her favorite spots in her favorite libraries; Ron shyly showing them the Burrow like it was anything less than a magnificent masterpiece of warm rooms and patchwork architecture; Hermione standing in the field like a statue, bushy-haired and seven years old, jaw set. “She wasn’t alone, either,” he said. “And she’ll be alright. Ron will be alright. I have to do this, don’t I?”

“We are so proud of you,” Lily said.

“Thanks,” said Harry. “Sorry,” said Harry, and wondered if Hermione was going to be able to read the little passages and excerpts with his name in them, with those un-moving pictures and the sober captions underneath.

He dropped the Stone.

-

When Harry Potter died for the first time, crumpled in forest mulch, he didn’t go to a squeaky clean King’s Cross Station. There were no crescent moon glasses to twinkle kindly at him.

He stood under an old olive tree and a little girl looked up at him with those eyes that needed shielding, needed blunting, needed a manufacturer’s warning. “A wind’s coming,” she said. “You can just go. It will be easy.”

He stood outside Diagon Alley, a Muggle payphone tucked between his shoulder and ear. “You’re in books,” she said, with a breathlessness he’d barely heard for years. There had been too much weight on his shoulders, on hers. “You’re done,” she said. “You’ve done enough. Go on, tap three bricks up and two to the left.”

He stood in Godric’s Hollow, in the snow, holding her hand, looking at the ruined house. “You should have had this,” she said. She was seven and small, not nineteen and weary like she had been in life. The sky was overcast but there was sunlight glinting in her hair. “You can still have this. You can have everything.”

“You’re not real,” Harry said.

“But you are,” she said. “There’s a wind coming. It will be easy.”

“You’ve never done anything easy in your life,” he said.

She took both his hands– hers were so small against his grown fingers, his broad palms, and how had they done everything with hands that small? Basilisks and werewolves; shouting down teachers from atop desk chairs.

Harry was sitting in his cupboard in the light of its single bulb and he was too big for this space, his shoulders curling forward, his head bowing. She was standing there with sunlight still in her hair and her arms piled high with books. “You don’t belong here,” she said. “It will hurt. You won’t fit, if you go back. Everything can be easy. Everything can be fine. It doesn’t have to hurt, ever again.”

“Hermione,” he said and leaned forward, put his hands on her hands where they were gripping her books. “It’ll be alright.” He smiled and she was staring at him with those eyes, those goddamn eyes. “We never fit, remember?”

“We tried,” she said and Harry squeezed her small hands gently.

“Send me back,” he said. “I want to go home.”

-

After the battle, as Hogwarts rang with frantic healing, crushing grief, and raging celebration, the three of them retreated to the library. Hermione hauled them down narrow aisles until she found her favorite tucked-away nook and they all collapsed on sagging sofas that seemed to not have been touched at all by the war.

“Well,” said Hermione. “What now?”

Ron let his head flop back against the seat, hair tumbling all over his pale forehead. “I’m going to nap,” he said. “For a month.”

“That’s not physiologically possible,” said Hermione. “Or if it is, then it’d be a coma.”

“It’s a metaphor,” Ron said, then: “no, wait, a hyperbole.” Hermione beamed at him. He blushed a little and elbowed her gently.

“After this, you’ll be in books, you know,” Harry told her.

“Not– I mean–” Hermione rubbed at her nose furiously. Ron laughed enough to wake up and sit up, throwing an arm around her shoulders.

While Ron came up with outlandish titles for Hermione’s eventual many biographies, Harry pulled his feet up onto the sofa. He watched the candles float quietly between the shelves.

Transference (M) – Chapter 06

cr. [X]

Summary: During a routine visit to the local bakery, you stumble upon an intriguing business card and figure, what the hell. The business arrangement becomes…mutually beneficial. Y’all know where this is going.

Pairing: Hoseok x Reader

Genre: Angst, Smut

Word Count: 13,167

Warning: Tantric!Hoseok, therapist/client relationship, sexual themes, BDSM, shibari, dom/sub roleplay, profanity.

A/N: This chapter is going to hurt.

Chapters: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06

Keep reading

The Evolution of box braids

Box braids didn’t become popular until the early 80′s when the GOAT Patrice Rushen took to the R&B and jazz scene

But at the time, they weren’t really called “box braids.” They were individual braids inspired by North African cultural aesthetics, especially Egyptian. However, box braids have their roots in our home region, West Africa as well.

Early on, you saw a peep of these beautiful, intricate hairstyle in the late 70′s from the female singers in Oddysey and S.O.S. Band

I believe both singers from these bands appeared with these hairstyles in the year 1977. So box braids have been here in African-American culture for a LONG time. It just didn’t really become a fad until the early 90′s because before then, these hairstyles were looked at as “trippy” Afrocentric hairstyles that artists would wear to get in touch with their African roots. The 80′s was a time where a lot of African-American artists’ fashion were inspired by West and North African roots.

 At the turn of the decade, you began to see box braids become more mainstream with Janet Jackson, Naomi Campbell’s ethereal ass, rapper Yo-Yo, and Jada Pinkett Smith.

Then in the mid 90′s, Stacey Dash makes braids en vogue by sporting the famous look in Clueless.

All the middle to upper-class girl caught on to box braids because of this but who should really get credit is the incomparable, Brandy Norwood!

Ask for “Moesha” at the hair salon, and it was say no more.

Mariah’s white-passing ass tried them on for size in her Thank God I Found You remix video and they looked dope!

And then here comes sexy stemme Alicia Keys bringing back our great-great-great North African ancestry in 2001

She made cornrows cool for all the black girls in grade school!

And I almost forgot! Beyonce really made kinky twists hot in the early ‘00s as well

Always looking like somebody’s cool redbone cousin rollin’ up at the family cookout 

Then Christina Aguilera tried to join in on the fun, but we said, “Nah, sweetie. You Latinx but you not afro honey. But you look cute sis”

*fast forward to several years later*

Unfortunately, box braids were no longer as popular as they were in the early ‘00s. Bad, synthetic weaves dyed a tacky brown were in from 2004-2008.

But in early 2013, box braids had a revival!

Thank you, Keri Hilson! You may not be shit, but you did that thing! I always said you was my hair-fashion icon tho. I can’t stunt on you.

We had Zoe Kravitz make braids cool for the edgy, sarcastic and loner black girls like me!

Soon, we saw so many pictures of black girls modeling box braids on Tumblr and Instagram!

Solange soon rocks these braids because she’s hip and poppin’

Then Christina Milan being Afro-Latina, she had to get in on this

Even Tia or Tamera

Soon, these 90′s R&B girls came back for a reunion with their beautiful, braided locs!

We all saw Ayesha Curry try to butter up to the black female community by taking an adorable selfie with her mama 

Now we got Instagram models and actresses making braids en vogue!

(Babyhairs aren’t mandatory and I recommend women with type 4 hair to get these styles. If you are under, I wouldn’t keep these in for very long)

So now box braids are everywhere, and they are the go-to for a black girl’s protective style, especially if they have my hair type! But anyone who is black and of African descent can wear them. You don’t have to have tightly-coiled hair to wear these, but they are what the styles are intended for since the hair is apt for them. 

 And notice something else; none of these styles were coined or invented by white or non-black women. They were all made and adorned by black women. And Patrice Rushen is the Godmother of protective styles. Don’t whitewash these!

transcript of the speech i gave at Vassar’s black baccalaureate service

Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen, honored guests, and the Vassar class of 2017.
Just saying that aloud made me feel old. Class of 2017? Most of y'all were born after dark-skinned Aunt Viv left the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. That’s wild.

I want to first thank you for allowing me to be a part of such a special moment in your lives. I am honored, privileged, and a bit in disbelief that you asked me of all people to give this address. I try not to have feelings, and I’m going to do my best not to cry today, but no promises.

I’m here to stand in the gap between you and your parents and guardians and any other elders in your lives that you stopped listening to because you thought they were wack and out of touch. I remember being in your shoes not TOO long ago, and it is my fervent prayer that something that I say here today will help you avoid some of the mess I went through.
To be honest I’m a little nervous, but I figured there was no way could this be worse than when Betsy DeVos went down to Bethune-Cookman, so let’s get started.

As you transition to life after Vassar the changes will be both inevitable and swift, so I’d like to begin by giving you some well-intentioned advice and warning you about the continued process of becoming an adult.

Keep reading

Among the Crowd (Soulmate AU)

Summary: Soulmates’ worlds go from black and white to colors when they are in the same room for the first time. Bucky is a famous actor in the middle of a convention, trying to find his soulmate, you.

Word Count: 2,232

A/N: This is a re-write of a Dean W. fic and I hope you all like it :D 

Originally posted by v-writings


Bucky took a swig of water, tightening the cap on the bottle before setting it to the side. His meet-and-greet was about to start. He could hear the bustling of the crowd right outside the door and took a deep breath. Alongside him was Clint, a co-star.

“You doing okay, buddy?” asked Clint, eyes concerned as he placed a hand on Bucky’s shoulder.

Bucky smiled. “Yeah, I’m alright.”

After a few minutes, Nat Romanoff and Sam Wilson took their seats next to each other and the writer of the show, Bucky’s oldest friend, Steve Rogers, emerged from behind the black curtain that had been put up behind the actors.

Keep reading

How to Successfully Adopt a Lifestyle Change

Not a diet. Diet implies temporary, and what we need to do is form a set of new, sustainable habits for the rest of our life.

A lot of you probably have a daydream of taking a black, billowy trash bag and planning a SWAT-style assault on your fridge and cupboards and then setting fire to the dumpster you hurl it into. Naturally, you’ll dash over to the grocery store and purchase a ton of strange-looking foods you don’t regularly eat, or never eat! Then you’ll slap on a pair of shiny new shoes and go run a 5K. This works for–some people. Honestly, few people.

The reality for many people; however, is they get off their foray after a few weeks. Why is that?

Think about it. How long did it take you to really get into the groove of your current habits? Months? Years? If you’re trying to simultaneously kiss soda and chip’s ass good-bye, change every bite of food you eat, and start a fitness routine. Guess what? Stress, stress, stress! Your stomach was used to those portion sizes (whether too large or too small) and some of your favorite snacks, your brain is literally addicted to it. A lot of people will reach nuclear meltdown levels trying to transition to a healthy lifestyle this way.

Just like it took you time to form your current habits, it’s going to take some time to form your new habits. I truly do empathize with the feelings of wanting everything to be different right now, but realistically we can only handle a certain amount of stressors and change at one time.

Start With Nutrition Habits: While I really would recommend finding a few cheeky ways to get more active, you’ve probably heard some variant of “can’t outrun your fork,” or “it’s 80% nutrition.” Well, it really is true. Being more active is absolutely crucial to improving overall health in the “endgame,”  but we’re still playing the “tutorial” and the dietary aspects of our lifestyle change are the bulk of the impact. It goes beyond that, though. I’ve written more about it here, but being a beginner can be genuinely hard at times!  It takes a lot of time and effort to get oneself to a point where they can physically and mentally handle what entails “regular, moderate exercise.” One part of making that transition easier will be better nutrition and hydration.

Start With an Easy Target: I always tell people if they drink a lot of soda, juice, or sweetened tea/coffee to start here. Sugar provides us pretty much no nutrition and removing the pulp from fruit makes juice not that great for us, either. Drinking more water is not negotiable and replacing these beverages with water will do a surprising amount of good for how you feel–all by itself. I recognize how hard this one can be to kick, but sweetened beverages really do load many people’s lifestyles with a lot of bad juju.

If you don’t have a beverage problem, maybe you do have a condiment/dressing problem and can reduce the quantities and find alternatives. Maybe you party-hardy a little too much and need to cut down on alcohol. While I said “easy target,” no one said it would be that easy, but you probably have an idea where most of these so called “empty” nutrients are coming from.

Transition Bad Habits a Few at a Time: The opening of this probably already made it clear, but Rome wasn’t built in a day. You probably have an idea of what some of your most problematic habits are, so choose one; maybe two, and see how you adjust over a week or two before considering the next step.

Small Swaps: Start switching out various items in your pantries, fridges, and lunchboxes with simple alternatives. Change white breads, rices, and pastas to brown. Take the bag of chips from your lunch and turn it into a few servings of seasonal fruit and vegetables. Pick out a leaner cut of meat and use a little less dairy, if you eat them. Little changes can have massive results.

Learn Moderation: Remember that whole sustainable part at the very beginning? Our lifestyles do need to reflect our real lives. Well, my real life has a love of chocolates, pastries, and candies. So, it’s not realistic for me to say “no chocolate, pastries, or candies.” Food molarity can be a pretty toxic outlook on eating and life in general. Instead of labeling foods as “bad,” just learn and respect the limits. There are times where you have to say, “enough, is enough,” but living in a constant state of “no” is not realistic or mentally healthy for most people. It’s OK to love indulgent food. Think about how long your life is going to be. So, now think about how dinky an occasional treat will be in retrospect.

Depending on Your Struggles, Consider Therapy: As we know, many aspects of unhealthy eating habits are actually unhealthy mental habits. Depending on the severity and exact nature of those problems, never be embarrassed to seek professional help. I struggled with stress eating and even binge eating for most of my adolescence, and finally getting help for my anxiety disorder played a pretty crucial role in improving both my physical and mental health. If it’s not a possibility at this time, consider journaling.

Walk Before Your Run: Literally and figuratively. I’m going to recommend this previous post I recently wrote again, but when you’ve gotten a few habits cracked and feel like you’re ready to start amping up your activity, start with low impact and low equipment exercises. If it has been years, or if you’ve never exercised, it takes some easing into it. I recommend walking to all beginners because we already know how to do it, have what we need to do it, and probably won’t hurt ourselves.

So, there you have it. Tackle small challenges and get your body acclimated to them before you consider some of the overarching and holistic goals you have for your lifestyle. That said, we’re all different. If you still want to try and do that 180-flip, I can’t stop you and some people are successful that way. No two people or personality types have the exact same problems or strategy for overcoming them. However, if you’ve gotten frustrated and thrown in the towel a time or two, consider the scope of change and how to realistically implement it over a period of time.  We didn’t form our old habits overnight.

anonymous asked:

Do you think they're going to end up killing Shiro just like in the original?

I really don’t, and my answer has surprisingly little to do with how much I like Shiro and am rooting for him. I have a lot of thoughts on this so I’m going to break them into categories.

This turned into a monster of a post, but, hopefully that’ll help people sleep at night a little better?

Keep reading

His || Jungkook || 0.14

Member: Jungkook x Reader

Type: Angst, Fluff, Smut.

Teaser | 0.1 | 0.2 | 0.3 | 0.4 | 0.5 | 0.6 | 0.7 | 0.8 | 0.9 | 0.10 | 0.11 | 0.12 | 0.13 | 0.14

Keep reading

I Got You On My Mind [Part 2]

Jungkook Soulmate AU

Part One | Part Two | Next Part

Genre: Angst (ft. Fuckboy!Jungkook)

Summary: Ever since your fateful first encounter with Jungkook, it’s been radio silence in your mind. You’re trying your best to move on. But no matter how hard you try to forget him, life finds away to throw the two of you back together.

Word count: 2.2k

Originally posted by jungxook

A few weeks later, and any tension between you and Jieun was gone. Currently, she sat in front of her vanity, applying makeup in preparation for the music department’s showcase. Behind her, you stood, curling iron in hand, ready to help.

Jieun glanced back to look at you. “You can go ahead,” she said, nodding towards the tool in your hand. “I’ll just do my makeup at the same time–it’s fine.”

You nodded and got started, making quick work of Jieun’s thick, black hair. Soon, her hair fell in glistening loose waves.

“You look good,” you smiled, kneeling down to unplug the curler from her bedroom wall. “We should get going soon. You know, it would probably be faster if you got ready backstage.”

“Like hell,” Jieun snorted, standing up and smoothing out her small, black dress. “It’s a fight for mirrors. I made the mistake of going backstage in freshman year…never again.”

You laughed as you followed Jieun out of the room. As you passed through your small apartment, you grabbed your bomber jacket from where you had flung it over the couch earlier.

“That’s what you’re wearing?” Jieun asked, raising an eyebrow critically as she scanned you from head to toe. Self consciously, you squirmed under her gaze. You were wearing a pair of jeans, a graphic tee, and a bomber–it was acceptable! “Seriously?”

“What?” you demanded, zipping your jacket up. “This fine. I’m keeping it casual. I’m not the one performing, so it doesn’t matter.”

Jieun just rolled her eyes. She threw on a jacket, too, and together you exited the apartment.

Outside, the air was beginning to cool. The sun had already begun to set, the days becoming shorter and shorter as winter approached. Jieun shivered slightly, the cold nipping at her bare legs.

“See?” you taunted, a smile pulling at your lips. “Wearing pants was a good idea.”

“Oh, shut up!” Jieun exclaimed, elbowing you sharply. There was a short stretch of silence, and then Jieun spoke again. This time, her tone was serious. “Y/N, w-we really need to talk. About…you know. What are you going to do? He’s your soulmate, for god’s sake!”

“What can I do?” you asked resignedly. “He made himself clear.”

“But…you’re meant to be together,” Jieun argued quietly, her eyes full of concern as she glanced at you.

“I can’t change how he feels,” you sighed, shoving your hands into your pockets. Even thinking about Jungkook made your heart ache. “Look, I don’t want to talk about this. Tonight isn’t about me or Jungkook, okay? It’s your night.”

“I know,” Jieun smiled sadly. “I’m just worried about you. You’re my best friend, you know?”


Later, you find yourself sitting in the cushioned seats of your school’s theatre. All the seats around you were occupied–either by friends or family of the performers. A few of the junior students had performed already, but you didn’t pay much attention. After all, you were only there for Jieun.

You glanced at the program in your hands, flipping through it to pass time. As you read through the pages, you spotted Jieun’s name. The program said she’d be singing two songs, both of them ballads you had heard her sing in the shower for weeks.

The person performing after her was a boy named Kihyun, whom you had met at a few parties. You continued scanning the page, looking for names you recognized. Eventually, your gaze gravitated back to Jieun’s name. As your eyes shifted up the page, your heart stopped.

Jeon Jungkook.

Your soulmate’s name was printed neatly above Jieun’s, followed by the two songs he would be singing. Your heart began to race, remembering the last time you had heard Jungkook sing.

Before everything fell apart.

In your nervousness, you had begun tapping your leg rapidly. The woman beside you glared at you pointedly, and you forced yourself to sit still. Suddenly, the people around you began to applaud, and your attention snapped to the stage in front of you.

The boy currently on stage was removing his acoustic guitar from his lap. He stood and bowed, some people in the crowd whistling and hollering. Then, the boy turned and exited the stage, the lights dimming as the next act entered.

In the darkness of the auditorium and in the sudden silence of the audience, you heard the Jungkook’s voice for the first time in weeks. It was quiet, but you heard it nonetheless.

“Fuck,” Jungkook hissed. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.”

You guessed he was nervous. You couldn’t help the amused smile that appeared, but you resisted the urge to reply to his thoughts. Keeping your mind as blank as possible, you weren’t surprised at the sight in front of you when the lights flickered back on.

At the front of the stage, Jungkook stood, dressed in a simple white shirt and black pants. His bangs were pushed to the side, and the harsh lighting highlighted Jungkook’s sharp features. He looked more handsome now than ever.

You gulped–and then the music started.

Soon, Jungkook’s sweet voice was flowing throughout the theatre. As he sang, he kept his eyes shut and his eyebrows furrowed. He was singing a cover of Lost Stars, which fit his voice perfectly. As the song progressed, Jungkook switched to a falsetto, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

Closing your eyes, you allowed yourself to be carried away by Jungkook’s beautiful voice. His words surrounded you like an embrace, and you wished those loving lyrics were for you.

Needless to say, you couldn’t be blamed for being unable to focus on the rest of the performances following Jungkook’s.


Jieun clung to your arm, her breath already reeking of alcohol. Around you, a swelling mass of people moved, and deafening electronic music thudded in the background.

“Come on, Y/N,” Jieun slurred, giggling at herself. “Just have a drink with me! It won’t kill you.”

“I didn’t plan on coming to your afterparty,” you frowned, trying to discreetly lead your friend towards the front door. She noticed and stomped her foot.

“You’re so mean!” Jieun whined. “You owe me. You didn’t even pay attention to my performance! I could tell y-you were still thinking about Jungkook!”

“Shh!” you hissed, covering her mouth with your hand. “Fine! I’ll drink. Shit, Jieun. Don’t…talk about that here, okay?”

“‘Kay!” Jieun chirped triumphantly, dragging you to the kitchen with surprising strength.

Inside the kitchen, there was a crowd of very drunk people chanting, “Shots! Shots! Shots!”

Somehow, Jieun was able to produce a shot glass filled with tequila. Sighing, you grabbed it and threw it back. A few shots later, you were as sloppy as everyone else. Your friend had disappeared, leaving you with your new friends in the kitchen.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted a familiar figure appear in the entryway of the room. It was Jungkook.

“I’ll be back,” you mumbled, turning to follow your soulmate with newfound courage, no doubt from all the tequila you had just consumed.

The crowd in the living room had dispersed a little bit, allowing you to spot Jungkook quite easily. He leaning against the back of the couch surrounded by a group of his friends, an arm slung over the shoulders of another girl. He held a can of beer in his other hand.

Impulsively, you stormed towards to your soulmate, feeling the frustration and hurt you had buried so well resurface. It also irked you to see Jungkook cozying up with another girl when he knew. You staggered up to Jungkook’s group, pushing past two guys to stand directly in front of your soulmate.

“What the fuck?” one guy spat, grabbing you roughly by the shoulder. You paid him no mind, shaking him off.

“Jeon Jungkook!” you yelled, your words slurring together, as you crossed your arms. “We needta talk.

Suddenly, rough hands spun you around. The guy you had pushed earlier was glaring down at you, positively seething.

“Look at me when talk to you, bitch,” the guy seethed, and you winced as his grip on your arm tightened. Then, he was staggering backwards as if he had been pushed. And it was because he had been. Jungkook stood tall beside you, his expression stony.

“Don’t touch her,” he warned quietly, his voice threatening. Then he grabbed your hand, pulling you away from his friends and out of the living room. Behind you, Jungkook’s friends were openmouthed in surprise.

Jungkook guided to to a secluded hallway, dropping your hand immediately after he stopped walking. He turned to look at you, his expression icy.

“I thought I told you to stay away from me,” he said, his eyes guarded. Jungkook’s lips were set in a straight line, and you thought they looked much better when he was singing earlier that night.

“You did, but you were also being an asshole,” you replied, feeling a little more sober than a few moments ago. Perhaps it was the gravity of the situation. Bravely, you looked into Jungkook’s uncaring eyes. “It’s great that you feel that way. I get it, okay? But it’s not all about you, and we need to talk about this.”

“There’s nothing left to say!” Jungkook exclaimed, frustration seeping into his voice. “I’ve already explained myself to you.”

“No, you haven’t,” you snapped. “You told me to forget about what had happened. But why? You’ve explained absolutely nothing. I don’t know how you feel, let alone how I feel!”

“You want to know how I feel?” Jungkook laughed coldly. “Like I said, there’s not much to say. I don’t feel anything.”

“That’s bullshit!” you cried, feeling angry tears pool in your eyes. You blinked them away furiously. “We’ve been talking for years, Jungkook. You’re not like this…I know you’re not.”

“You know nothing,” Jungkook hissed, backing you up against the wall. He slammed his hands against the plaster, caging you in with his arms. Still, you stared at him, defiant. “Sure, it was fun to play pretend. But that wasn’t me, it won’t ever be me. I’m not going to lie and say that I’ll change for you, because I never will.”

“I’m not asking you to change,” you replied. “You’re making all these assumptions–”

“You should be asking,” Jungkook interrupted, his voice quiet. His arms dropped from around you and he stepped back. His words rang with finality. “If you knew who I really am, you’d ask.”

“Jungkook!” someone called shrilly from around the corner. The girl from before–the one who Jungkook had been sitting with–appeared, her heels clicking loudly against the hardwood floors as she approached. “I was looking for you.”

“Well, you found me,” Jungkook smirked, all traces of your conversation cast away in the blink of an eye. He slipped his arm around the girl’s waist and leaned down to whisper something in her ear.

You bit your lip, your heart stinging painfully.

“What are you looking at?” the girl spat when she saw you still standing there awkwardly.

Jungkook paid you and the girl’s protests no mind. He caught the girl’s lips with his, his tongue slipping obscenely into her mouth. The girl moaned and pressed further against Jungkook. His hands wandered deviously, one hand slipping underneath the girl’s shirt.

Your eyes blurred with tears, and you hurried away before Jungkook and the girl had the satisfaction of seeing you cry. Blindly, you stumbled towards the front door of the fraternity house–at least that was where you thought you were.

In the distance, you thought you heard someone calling your name. Still, you didn’t stop. You were eager to escape this crowded building. The heat and the constant noise were suffocating you. Finally, you reached the door, your hands searching for the knob.

Eventually, you located it. You turned the doorknob with haste, inhaling deeply as you stepped into the crisp, autumn air. You closed the door behind you and continued on aimlessly, your eyes unfocused with unshed tears.

Your footsteps echoed against the pavement, and you kept your eyes cast skyward as you tried not to cry. You weren’t sure where you were going or how long you had been walking. You just kept going, because it was easier than thinking. 

Hurt was still radiating through you, and you wondered why you were still pretending to be fine. You glanced at the ground and let a few tears fall, your vision clearing. 

But by then, it was already too late. You looked up just in time to see the bright headlights of an incoming car.

And then, everything went dark.

The last thing you heard was Jungkook’s voice, ringing loudly in your mind.

“Y/N? What’s going on? Talk to me–are you alright? Fuck! Y/N!”

- Girl in Luv

Okay…another cliffhanger. I’m sorryyyyyyyy! Also I just wanted to say this: I was absolutely shocked by the support I received from the first part of this series. I just wanted to thank everyone who took the time to respond! So, I hope you all enjoyed this second instalment. Stay tuned for part three, and tell me what you think so far! Thanks again, guys 💛

anonymous asked:

Do you have any assassin AU's?


Assassin/Spy AU


From Russia, With Thinly Veiled Hate by diogcnes, Mature, 1.2k (WIP)
“The name’s Nikiforov, Viktor Nikiforov.”
“Jesus, Viktor. Do you have to say that to every mark we meet?” James Bond AU! I can’t wait for more!!!

our doubts are traitors by astoryaboutwar, Explicit, 15k (WIP)
The powered assassins AU in which betrayal comes first, forgiveness second, and love was always somewhere in the equation. SO good!

Eros & The Playboy by Gayson, Mature, 9.6k (WIP)
Yuuri Katsuki’s alter ego was nothing like him. Eros was flexible, silent, confident, seductive, a master thief. Nobody would suspect him to be the allusive charming criminal. Not a single soul. Viktor Nikiforov was the best spy in the agency. He was a charming fellow- a playboy at heart. One of the top Agents in the CIA, he was riding on his high of life. SO GOOD SO FAR WOW!

you’ve heard this one before by AXSY, Teen, 13k (WIP)
In which Victor Nikiforov is a Man for Hire. Urban legends say that, for the right price (and sometimes just for kicks), he can single handedly pull off any job in the world. Beautiful, invincible and filthy rich. Enter Katsuki Yuuri and it all goes to shit. Hitman/Mafia AU!

Figure Skater Time - Assassination on Ice by Kagami_Sorako, Mature, 67k
When Victor breaks Yuuri’s heart he couldn’t stand up. Broken and without an idea what to do he stumbles over his old equippment from his most interesting school year. His final year at Kunugigaoka junior high school in the assassination classroom with the worlds best teacher and strongest target. This is really good!

black cat, white cat by Authoress, Mature, 11k (WIP)
In which Yuuri punches, shoots at, seduces, dances on, and in other words, falls in love with Viktor, and Viktor with him. LOVE!!

Assassin’s Tango by MEIXIU, Explicit, 29k (WIP)
They are the world’s most greatest assassins. Their identities are a secret, even from each other. One day, however, they discover that they have been assigned to kill one another and their reality comes crashing down on them both. Great fic!

these kinda wounds they last and they last by Syster, Teen, 29k
When agents of the different super secret services around the world starts going rogue, Viktor Nikiforov is tasked with finding out what’s going on. Japan, shamed by being the latest to have an agent turn traitor, sends their best, the son of legendary super spy Hiroko Katsuki, to help out. Highly recommend!

Spies on Ice: The Cold War by nuclearchinchilla, Mature, 7.1k (WIP)
“To prepare you for a honeypot operation, you must now practice seducing sensitive information out of me. If you do succeed, I would consider that very impressive.”/ “Mr Nikiforov, should you be unable to recall, you took one look at this man and defected with him, ziplining right over the Berlin wall with your dick out. I don’t think you’re qualified to make that statement.”/ “He did not have his dick out!” Thumbs up!

Love and Work by burnt_oranges, Not Rated, 6.5k
“Let me get this straight,” Victor said slowly. “You were a secret agent for the Japanese government.”
“An intelligence agent,” Yuuri corrected and then when Victor’s eyebrows started rising dangerously, he said, quickly, “But yes, that’s right.”
Victor stared at him. “But you cry at dog commercials.”
“Are the two things mutually exclusive?” Yuuri said weakly. LOVE!

Black Girl, NYC

Greetings people. I identify as a Black female who was born and raised in NYC. I am slowly progressing through my study of education and history in college. Other then that, I spend (probably) an unhealthy amount of time reading and writing sci fi and fantasy. But by high school, I got sick and tired of the same story featuring blonds and brunettes saving the day with their straight, lean male heroes so I turned to my librarian seeking something new. She pointed to Octavia Butler and the rest was history. I’ve been seeking diversity in media ever since.

Family life and Culture

I grew as the middle child of six siblings with my single mother and grandparents. Yes, my working-class household fits the stereotype. We even have an absent father *sighs* But, hey shit happens. And with the biological father turns out not to be the best father figure, shit had to go right out the door. Yup. But make no mistake that this is a norm. Most households on my block do have both parents involved in their children’s lives. Our circumstances called for us to have one. That’s all.

The house was full, loud and rambunctious. We made up a good portion of the children on the block (unsurprising) and basically ran it. There’s a whole novel that could be fleshed out of my childhood if I wanted to. Our neighborhood is very tight knit. Next door neighbors were treated like Aunts and Uncles. When summer came around, we were sometimes divided into groups as the parents who were off from work overlooked us while braiding our heads. Blackouts became an all night bbq and sleepover on each other’s porches. Crooklyn by Spike Lee was a good representation of what it was like in fact. Somewhat. Minus the brownstones, plus a couple more fights (lol).

My grandma was a nurse who’s pretty big on us knowing our family history. She made sure to talk a lot about our Gullah Geechee roots. We also had some Dominican culture influence since her closest friend and our Madrina was, well, Dominican. But she is fairly strict on gender norms and how my sisters and I should act especially with brothers. She antagonized me the most growing up because I continued to ignore this. We don’t get along but i can’t say i don’t get why she’s the way she is. She has a pretty dark past. My mother, a latchkey kid of the finest stock, is more laid back and gives all of us free range to make our own mistakes. Most times. Other times, she’d rather lecture us. Depends on our crime.

I don’t know what my grandpa used to do. He retired waaaaay before my grandmother. I also don’t know much about his culture. He’s 1st gen Jamaican who fully assimilated into American culture. Well, beside his food choices. Now, he gambles and goes to church. When I was younger, he used to teach us how to gamble too. And how to cheat and not get caught. We got a lot of free fast food while he taught us. He has gotten more frugal the older he got. And more isolated.

Dating and Relationships.

I don’t date. I have no interest. Well, no, that’s not exactly true. I’ve considered it but I rather have not seek out anything outside of platonic right now. I have a tight knit circle of friends and several other groups of friends I associate with depending on the activity. I’m realizing it seems like I’m using the term “friends” loosely but I swear I’m not. I’m a virgin and I feel nothing about being one until someone goes “*gasp* You’re a virgin really?” and then I end up on high defense saying “So?” Believe or not, that messed with me a lot.

My love life and lack of interest in having one has always been a struggle. In middle school, the group of friends I hung with were becoming more infatuated with love and sex. Yes, middle school, fifth through eighth grade, ages nine to thirteen. But, when they would talked about who’s hot or not, they would look at me funny when I didn’t join in the discussion. Instead of explaining myself, I simply copied other’s reactions and gushed along with them. This instinct followed me through High school til stopped out of annoyance. I became a listener and adviser in their relationships because I really do love stories in many shapes and forms. And I would never turn down hearing a story.

Language

My primary language is English and AAVE. I’ve been living in a neighborhood filled with Blacks and Latinx. Most of my friends are Black and Lantinx. I didn’t meet a white person my age until college. Okay that’s a partial lie. I’ve been in a summer camp that was made up of predominantly white children. But as the only black kid in my age range, I was sorta uncomfortable. I never made lasting friends there. After High School, I spent a year abroad in Tena, Ecuador where I learned Spanish and Kichwa. I still suck at both languages.

Clothing

Lots of my clothes when I was younger were borrowed or hand-me-downs. Half of them still are. It’s like thrift shopping without the hiked prices thanks to its popularity by rich white people (Thanks rich white people!) All my siblings’ taste varies. In my case, I’m fond of combining loose and tight clothing (tight jeans and a loose sweater/ baggy jeans and a tight top). No makeup. Silver accessories.

I used to have a short bob cut permed. I hated it. But I rather a perm then getting my hair straightened with a hot comb because the back of my neck and big ears would always get burned. It wasn’t until I made a friend with a natural afro that I realized my natural hair was even an option.

Academics

Lol I was a nerd with bad grades.

Religion

My family practices Santeria, which has historical roots in both Catholicism and Yoruba thanks to slavery (Yay slavery!). However, because the religion is not fully accepted or well-known, I tend to say I’m simply Catholic if asked. Apparently, a Black Catholic is hard to believe. It is assumed all Black folks are Baptists or some branch of Christianity. I have no idea where that stereotype came from. But I can give some guess. (*cough cough* Tyler Perry….).  

As I stated before, I love scifi and fantasy. I especially love urban fantasy involving witches. I blame this love on Practical Magic and Eve’s Bayou, my childhood faves. It’s because of this love that I wish to see more stories with witches of color. And no, I don’t mean that one evil/mysterious southern/Caribbean Voodoo/Hoodoo witch hollywood loves to portray so much. That always plays into the “Black is evil” trope. Give me some damn variety!

I would squeal so hard if the mythology involved in a story isn’t even Eurocentric. I’m not joking. This is serious. When my religion was simply hinted at in the Raven Boys series (It was also a great way of making even more obvious that the character was definitely not white.) and Kenya Wright’s Habitat series, I squealed. All the authors did was write the names of some of the Orishas and I couldn’t help but put my phone down for a moment and inwardly scream with glee. That being said, if a writer does decide to use afrocentric or any religion involving “witchcraft” as a basis, I would personally ask that they make sure is is not a closed religion.

Santeria is, in fact, a closed religion. And while I don’t mind mentions of it in fantasy and even a main character stating they practice it, do not go any further than that. Don’t even research the practices within the religion other than what is public knowledge (And if you don’t have any public knowledge, just ask) Respect that there’s a limit. Anything further spelunking  is consider rude, disgusting, disrespectful and dangerous. There’s things that I don’t even know because I haven’t been properly initiated. And the internet has a lot of these practices exposed when it shouldn’t be so please don’t look into it. Please.

Food

Most of the cooking in the house has been done by my grandmother. Because of her various relationships, our food has always been a mixture of Black American, Gullah, Lantinx and Caribbean influences. It is so good. So, so good!

The only thing I don’t eat of hers is her seafood gumbo because I don’t like shellfish. One of my sisters said I should have my “black card” taken for my distaste. I said she could take it if she can name more black movies than me. She still can’t take it. My other sister wishes we could switch places because she loves crab but is allergic. The crazy girl actually sends her husband to buy some benadryl so she can eat some if we ever have some on the table. Smh. Siblings.  

Holidays

My family on both sides are quite fond of reunions. On my grandpa’s side, the family uses Fourth of July and Christmas to get together. On my grandma’s side, they tend to host annual summer reunion and send out RSVP invitations complete with schedules of the whole two to three day event. I didn’t mention this under my family life, but both sides of my family are boujee to different degrees. Lots of black sorors and frats members on both sides. I can’t believe that slipped my mind typing.

I’m a little iffy with Christmas. It’s more of a holiday for the older generation and our niece and nephews. The younger generation, however, don’t particularly care for the holiday. For some of us, it’s because it’s not really Jesus’s Birthday and Santa was whitewashed. For others, it’s because we don’t care to feed into the corporate holiday. For most of us, it’s a combination of the two. But we do love getting together when we can. My older sister and I have conspired to celebrate kwanzaa instead for the past two years. So far, it hasn’t grasped the interest of anyone else in the family.

Struggles

  • Being nerds from a young age, my siblings and I have been called “Oreos” or“Not really black” by kids in school on more than one occasion. We shut them down by fighting. Probably not the best strategy but it was best one I could think of in middle school and below. Made it easier to go back to reading my manga.

  • I got compared to my sisters a lot. It was the absolutely most annoying thing ever. And a major source of my insecurities growing older.

  • Need I address colorism? My highschool was filled with it. #TeamLight v #TeamDark. I was on neither team, because in the region I live, skin color was a pretty long spectrum. I fell in the between. Who came up with this?

  • I’ll admit it. I hate my own tears. They make me feel weak. Which isn’t true…I know. But, it is a mentality I always had. I have depression and PTSD. This isn’t really a secret. I tell people if I’m asked. But have you ever had someone look at you and say, “Really? You don’t seem like the type.” ……

  • I am a black female. I’ve been labelled “Strong” and “Independent” the older I got. By my mother. By my siblings. By my peers. And I get those labels. Even from friends. I loved those labels. I call myself by those labels. I mean, who doesn’t want to be seen as strong and independent? Those are positive affirmations, right? I think they would be. If that wasn’t all the positive labels we could get. Somehow, society has decided we are beings that are incapable of being multifaceted. I was indirectly taught to hate my own tears because black girls don’t cry. You can’t cry and be strong. What a terrible mantra fed to black girl at a young age. So, instead you tell everyone “It’s fine.”

I told my therapist it was fine. Until she told me straight up it was not fine. And it was okay to cry. I don’t like to cry. But I still (involuntarily) did it.

Things I’d like to see less of/Things I’d like to see more of:

  • I’m sick and tired of seeing black and latinx folks being portrayed as only fantasy gangs members. We are not only gang members. That’s a terrible popular myth the media put out there and I hate it even more so when it’s portrayed in SFF genre..

  • I’m tired of having one black person in a novel being described as having skin the color of “midnight.” And he’s (it’s always a he) not even that important to the story

  • I hate how every time someone decides to add a person of color, they have to be ambiguous brown. I’m not saying ambiguously brown don’t exist and don’t need representation but is it really that had for a dark brown skin person to play a major role in a story that’s not about slavery? Speaking of which….

  • Why we always gotta be slaves? Or better yet….

  • Why don’t we exist at all in High fantasy stories? Urban fantasy? Brooklyn wasn’t always the gentrified white town it is now. Still isn’t. How are you erasing people of color from NYC??? We make up way too much of the population to be completely erased

  • Stop racial coding other creatures to surround your white human characters. Especially as the bad guys. That’s just shitty writing. Step up your game!

  • I love Black love

  • I love Gay love. I wish more would follow moonlight’s example and show poc are gay too and gay doesn’t always equal to stereotypical femininity.

  • I love interracial love HOWEVER, can we pair people of color with other people of color as well? I’m starting to hate seeing it always a white person paired with a Poc. Variety damnit!

  • Friendships between boys and girls that don’t transform into love.

  • Friendships between girls that didn’t start out as a rivalry.

  • Different body types besides the skinny and tall. Make a main character that’s fat for once. It’s not a problem.

  • Magical characters of color that aren’t “Noble Savages” or “Wise Monks” that used their magic for personal gain for once instead of waiting for the white hero to come.

  • Nerdy black characters who aren’t 100% competent and cries. One that isn’t in a five token band that always gonna be compare to the white main character. Make the nerd the main character!

That’s all I can think of at the top of my head. But my list really does go on. 

Read more POC Profiles here or submit your own.

A Better Word

They say the Fair Folk give journalism majors a lot of grief.

Truths exposed in writing, forms cemented in photographs, stories stripped of flowery prose in favor of concise words. The Fair Folk generally looked down on journalism itself with disdain.

Which made one wonder who would choose to pursue this particular academic career at Elsewhere University.

Some reporters argue learning among the harshest critics on Earth would leave them more than prepared for life beyond the University. Some photographers believe this is the only place on earth to capture something truly extraordinary. Some designers heard even the programs here behave differently, and the words and photos laid out on a screen became something more on paper. Some simply hadn’t known any better.

Bernadette hadn’t known any better.

Elsewhere was affordable, the journalism program seemed decent enough. She liked writing, but did not enjoy chasing victims of the Fair Folk people down for interviews. She liked photography, but knew her writing skills were stronger. So she fell in an unlikely place, a copy editor for the student newspaper. Well, one of. There were many papers, and she’d nearly joined the most prominent one. But the students who worked for it all shared the same bright green eyes, and the rest of the University seemed to avoid that paper like the plague.

Still, she needed experience to graduate in this field, right? Maybe they got a group discount on colored contacts, who knows. People in college are weird like that.

An upperclassman had saved her from venturing too close to THAT paper. He realized she had no salt, no iron, no idea what she had enrolled into. But, like finding her niche, she adapted. Survived her first year without tragedy. (The same could not be said for Sherry from across the hall. One of the Fair Folk had complimented her eyes, and asked if she could have them. Sherry, who hadn’t known any better, jokingly said sure. It’s been months since anyone’s seen Sherry.)

For the most part, the Fair Folk did not venture close to the newsroom. The room itself had been smartly moved the moment time began to behave differently. It was now just a cramped, previously vacant classroom, but with lots of windows. Access to the outside world seemed to weaken the chance of a space being manipulated by time. 

Or maybe that was a comforting lie.

It was a lazy Saturday, salt lines had been neglected and Bernadette was alone when one of the Fair Folk waltzed inside. Silver nitrate burns on her hands betrayed him immediately. His hair was was a dark, voracious black that seemed to leach color from the world around it. His razor-sharp smile held too many teeth. His skin seemed almost translucent.

      “What are you working on?”

A voice that seemed to come from everywhere, and nowhere. Bernadette hadn’t given him more than a cursory glance before returning to the story on the screen. If she was afraid, she didn’t show it.

      “Editing a story.”

      “Chopping up pretty words in favor of boring ones?”

She smirked, adding punctuation to a sentence.

“I like to think of it as finding the best words. No sense in having a bunch of empty, meandering words when you can sum them up with one. For instance, I hate the word ‘very.’ It tells me there’s a better word, but the author hasn’t thought of it.”

The boy hummed at this, an unnerving sound, mulling it over.

      “So what if I told you I find this very boring?”

      “I’d say I’m sorry you find it dull.” 

His head tilted with mild interest. It then turned to sniff at her messenger bag, disgust showing at his inability to open it. She had always been particularly careful about her sigils and rowan. Bernadette hadn’t missed this display, tugging the bag out of arm’s reach before slipping a hand inside. Wordlessly, the boy was handed two sealed pads of butter. It was always good to have butter or cream on hand, in case you were taken. Some Fae found stealing humans more fun than actually keeping them and, in such a case, freedom could be easily bought. 

The boy grinned, ripping off the seals and lapping it up like a ravenous dog, teeth razor sharp and dripping. All the while, Bernadette kept editing the story. When every last molecule of butter was gone, he tossed the packs over his shoulder, turning full attention back to her.

      “What if I said I’m very tired?”

      “Exhausted.”

      “Very hungry.”

      “Starving.”

      “Very happy.”

      “Overjoyed.”

      “Very pretty.”

      “Beautiful.”

The boy threw his head back and laughed, sounding like a chorus of the damned, far too many sharpened teeth glinting in the afternoon sun.

      “Perhaps this isn’t so dull. What’s your name?”

      “Timmy,” Bernadette answered without skipping a beat. His grin widened.

      “No, it’s not. I bet Timmy is that reporter you don’t like. You’d be very mean to give me his name.”

She grinned in return, not at all fazed he knew there was someone here she loathed. The Fair Folk always knew something about something.

       “I can be devious sometimes.”

He laughed even harder, the room seeming to shake with the thunderous sound.

      “What did Timmy do?”

She scowled.

      “He’s a narcissist and a douchebag. Timmy encouraged one of our first-year photographers to capture Genevieve on camera for his story, and we haven’t seen the photographer since.”

The boy whistled, every gap of razor teeth producing a different tone. Her days of playing clarinet had long since passed, but she could have sworn every tone was sharp.

      “Genevieve does not like cameras. But she loves names. Perhaps a trade…”


Four days later, Timmy vanished, and Bernadette opened her dorm room to find the photographer on her futon, paper white and shoveling ramen noodles like he hadn't​ eaten for week. Knowing how obscure time can be in Elsewhere, it definitely could have been a week. His hair now turns green on Tuesdays and bank holidays, but he’s otherwise no worse for wear. And his hands are always burned. Always.

Every once in a while, when the salt lines are neglected, the boy with many voices returns. He has new phrases for her to deconstruct every time.

x

1 | You’ll Never Walk Alone

BTS + GOT7 X READER [GANG!AU] 

WORD COUNT: 4,225

series warnings: mature themes, strong language, violence, substance abuse, eventual smut

Originally posted by sosjimin

masterlist | ask | prev | next

Keep reading

FUCK YOU - [ JIKOOK ]

Originally posted by gayjikookadi


In which you have the first sentence your soulmate will say to you tattooed on your shoulder, Jimin’s being “Excuse you, your morning boner is poking at my thigh”.

Even though Jungkook doesn’t have as bad luck as Jimin does, he isn’t completely satisfied with his “Fuck you” tattoo either.




Jimin had been only three when his mother had told him about soulmates for the first time. He could remember it like it happened just yesterday. That was how clear the memory was.

“Jimin,” she’d said, sitting him down on his bed with an intense look in her eyes. “In your life, you will meet one person who is unlike anyone else. You’ll feel a pull towards them - the first time you lock eyes, you will feel like you’re suddenly whole again, after feeling like you’ve been missing something, no, someone your whole life.

You’ll know them when you meet, but if you ever doubt yourself, a tattoo will appear on your shoulder when you turn five. The first words they’ll ever say to you will be carved into your skin until the day your soulmate says them to you, the very day you’ll first talk to each other.”

Here, she smiled. Like she was remembering something amazing, something special. “And when you meet them, Jimin, don’t you ever let them go. If you lose them, you will feel broken again, and you will lose your will to live and die. Don’t you ever let them go.”

Jimin had thought that the first words his soulmate would say to him would be beautiful and poetic, that the words he would get would be something he could treasure.

Boy, was he wrong.

On his fifth birthday, his whole family gathered around the little boy. On the precise time he’d been born, his shoulder had started to bloom with a numbing pain, just like he’d been told multiple times before.

It took ten minutes - twenty, tops - until the feeling had finally started to fade. That was when he got the courage to glance at the tattoo resting on his collarbone.

“Mom, what’s a boner?” He had asked, as innocent as a lamb, after reading the sentence. She’d gasped harshly, as had most of his relatives, then took a look at his shoulder.

Excuse you, your morning boner is poking at my thigh.

At the time, he had no idea what a ‘morning boner’ was, but as the seasons changed and the years passed, he found out exactly what it meant.

And Jimin started to wish that soulmates didn’t exist, so badly that he almost believed it.

Almost.

Because no matter how hard he tried to lie to himself, the truth was that he had the tattoo on his shoulder, and it would never change. And honestly, Jimin couldn’t help hating his soulmate just a bit for it.


***

Jimin pulled the oversized black and white striped shirt over his head and looked at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. The shirt left quite a bit of shoulder exposed, and he sighed as he traced a finger over the words. The black letters looked harsh on Jimin’s tan skin, and it made him cringe.

He’d gotten used to the tattoo over the years, but his friends hadn’t. Because of his (stupid) soulmate, he’d become the butt of fifty too many jokes, and, whenever his friends laughed, he wanted to break the nose of whoever would be brash enough to say this.

Stupid soulmates.

Jimin had sworn, when he’d been seventeen and incredibly annoyed after a particularly harsh (but slightly funny) joke, that the first thing he’d say to his soulmate when he met them, no matter who they were, would be a big “fuck you”.

That was what he thought about as he squeezed a generous amount of thick foundation on his fingers and started to spread it on his tattoo. His friends were bad enough; he didn’t need any strangers seeing it at today’s party, which was being hosted but the richest and most arrogant brat on the whole campus. Probably the whole freaking world.

Jeon Jungkook.

Jimin didn’t know the guy - hell, he hadn’t even talked to him - but he already didn’t like him. He was handsome and rich, and he definitely knew it. Jimin only had agreed to go to the stupid thing because his best friend, Hoseok, had convinced him to. In fact, Hoseok wanted Jimin to go with him so he could hook him up with Yoongi, Jimin’s other best friend. Not an exciting prospect, honestly.

“Jimin, come on! We’re going to be late!” Hoseok yelled through the bathroom door, banging on the wood with heavy fists. It was ten o’clock in the evening, and Hoseok was eager to meet with Yoongi, who would (hopefully) be his date for the night.

“Shut up, I’m coming,” Jimin mumbled, putting the foundation away when his tattoo was covered up the way it was supposed to be. He unlocked the door and pulled it open, glaring. Hoseok knew he hated being rushed, and his roommate gave him an innocent smile.

Hoseok was dressed in black skinny jeans and a plain white top, a blazer and sneakers thrown on for good measure. Very billionaire-playboy-chilling-with-a-glass-of-scotch.

“Woah, you look good”, he complimented him, and Jimin’s glare turned into a smile. He’d parted his hair to reveal his forehead, and even though he wasn’t the most confident person, he felt good about the way he looked for once.

“Now, can we go?” Hoseok pleaded, with big doe eyes for effect, and Jimin sighed.

“Fine, let’s get this over with,” he mumbled, grabbing a pair of black boots. Hoseok watched him pull them on, and Jimin muttered, “Calm down,” just when he was pulled out the door.

***

“Oh my God, I’m so nervous, I think I’m going to puke. I think I look green, do I look green?”

Jimin rolled his eyes, smiling fondly. Hoseok had been rambling for the past half hour, while they walked to the mansion where the party was supposed to be.

“You’ll be just fine, don’t worry. He might seem a bit cold, but I swear he’s all rainbows and unicorns inside,” Jimin said, doing his best to pry his best friend’s claws off his shirt (it was a gift, after all). He snickered when Hoseok kept muttering, ‘oh my God,’ as they arrived. The house was a mansion, almost as grand as Gatsby’s. What else would you expect from a rich brat?

As they made their way to the front door, Jimin started to look around. Yoongi had promised to be here; he owed Jimin a favor, which was why he had agreed to be Hoseok’s date for tonight. Otherwise he probably would’ve just stayed home, writing music in the almost-dark as usual (Yoongi’s dream was to be a famous rapper).

When Jimin finally spotted him, lounging near a wall with a stereotypical red solo cup in his hand, he grabbed Hoseok’s hand and started making his way towards the dark-haired man. Hopefully, he wouldn’t move before they got there.

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, that’s Yoongi right there, oh my God, he looks so good”, Hoseok repeated the words like they were the only thing keeping him alive. It was a good thing the music was so loud, otherwise Yoongi would’ve heard. Hoseok was right, Jimin admitted to himself. Yoongi was dressed in all black, with a snapback pulled over his eyes, like in all of his rap videos.

Jimin pushed Hoseok towards Yoongi, who had noticed them and was now standing up straight. Jimin winked and gave Hoseok a thumbs up before he melted into the crowd.

He didn’t need to be a third wheel for the whole night. No, he’d much rather spend his time with some good ol’ shots of strong, liver-killing alcohol. Jimin wasn’t someone who drank often, but his choices were a) be sober and painfully alone or b) be alone and roaring drunk.

Not a hard choice, really.

He found his way to the alcohol and poured himself six shots with a smile on his face. Now that’s what we are talking about. He downed his first shot after he found himself a place to sit (he wasn’t planning on being in any condition to stand for much longer). From his spot, he could see almost everyone in the giant room. His eyes skipped over people until he saw someone he really didn’t want to.

The host of the party. None other than Jeon Jungkook himself.

Jimin scoffed. He was leaning back on the couch, girls and guys surrounding him with a girl in a silvery-blue dress on his lap. Jeon threw his head back in laughter.

He downed the second shot the moment he saw that stupid rich brat sucking faces with another student (wasn’t he Namjoon?). He was nowhere near drunk enough to see that. Another shot disappeared, burning its way down his throat.

A weird feeling bubbled in his chest as he watched the two suck each other’s souls out. He couldn’t quite give the emotion a name, but it felt a lot like… jealousy? No fucking way. Jimin almost laughed out loud at his thoughts, downing a fourth shot. They didn’t even know each other.

The rest of the night was a blur, but he was fairly certain he had ended up drinking way more than six shots. It resulted in some awkward interactions with other students, who were nearly as drunk as him, and of course, he had blacked out on the mansion’s floor before the party had even finished. He could’ve sworn he had seen Yoongi and Hoseok get along well. Of course, if your definition of getting along was kissing rather shyly in a secret corner.  

***

Jungkook saw the boy in the striped shirt the moment he’d walked in.

His silver hair that reflected the light perfectly, his plump lips that he bit when he tried not to laugh - every single thing about him seemed to draw him in. He’d come with someone who looked incredibly nervous, was that his boyfriend? His eyebrows furrowed, ever so slightly, and he shook his head. Why did he care? It was none of his business.

Still, his gaze followed him (wasn’t his name Park Jimin, or something?) intently as he navigated his way through the people in the party, until they reached a guy who looked like he’d rather be anywhere than here. The silver-haired male pushed his friend - something Jungkook had just realized -  towards the guy who had been leaning on the wall. He was short, like Jimin.

Jungkook watched Jimin slip into the crowd, the two boys left looking awkwardly at each other. He rolled his eyes. The two clearly liked each other; what was so hard about talking to each other and actually sharing a conversation instead of awkward, yearning glances?

Jungkook tried to find Jimin, but it was like he’d disappeared into thin air. Had he left? A weird feeling of desperation flushed through the Jungkook as he moved to sit on the couch, people crowding to sit around him. He spotted Jimin a few minutes after, sitting alone with a tray of shots in front of him. Jungkook watched him drink shot after shot, and grinned at the cute way he scrunched up his nose after every single one.

Woah, cute??

Time to move on.

Jungkook turned towards the group he was sitting with, mostly to Namjoon, who sat right next to him. Namjoon was good-looking, he couldn’t deny that, but why didn’t his dimples make him feel all warm and fuzzy inside? Why didn’t his smile make his stomach flip like Jimin’s smile did? Would Namjoon’s lips make Jungkook feel the way he felt when he saw Jimin?

That was what went through his mind as he leaned towards the platinum-haired male and captured their lips in a kiss that Jungkook found anything but passionate. He could taste alcohol in Namjoon’s mouth, and it most definitely didn’t make butterflies fly around his insides.

He felt like throwing up when he finally pulled away. That was their first and last kiss, Jungkook decided right then and there.

He bolted up from his seat and headed towards the bar - because alcohol was exactly what he needed to drown his feelings.

All Jungkook could remember after that was downing way too much whiskey, keeping his hands to himself way too little, and getting way, way too drunk.

***

Jimin let out a groan as he forced his eyes open, then let out another when he screwed them shut again. The sun was high up already, and the room  was annoyingly, incredibly bright.

There was an ogre in his head, kicking his brain and making everything tremble as revenge for last night. He almost wished he’d stayed at the dorms, cuddling into a fuzzy blanket while reading a good book. But the feeling of being carefree, being completely weightless, was worth the headache. And the nausea.

Jimin shifted to his side. There was something warm and soft, and he burrowed into that soft something, letting out a content sigh. That soft something smelled really nice, pine and cologne and something else, and he breathed in deeply.  After a few minutes of being comfortable, he heard a rumbly voice rasp entirely too close to his ear.

“Excuse you, your morning boner is poking at my thigh,” the person groaned. The way his voice scraped around the edges made heat flood in his chest, like slipping into a warm blanket.

Jimin whined and nuzzled his face into the soft material, mumbling a small “fuck you,” as he did. A few seconds later, the soft something, or someone disappeared, and he hit his head on the cold, hard floor.

His headache split his head in half.

“Ow! What the fuck?” He yelped, sitting up and rubbing his eyes with the tiniest hint of a pout on his lips. When he finally managed to open his eyes, he jumped, nearly six feet in the air.

Jeon Jungkook was sitting in front of him, all messy dark hair and eyes that sparkled in the sun. Jimin’s heart jumped into overdrive.

“What did you just say to me?” Jungkook questioned, leaning forward ever so slightly, which made Jimin lean backward ever so slightly.

“Um, ‘fuck you’?” Jimin suggested carefully, playing with his hands and looking at his lap.

“Oh my God,” Jungkook mumbled. Jimin’s eyes turned into saucers when he started to take his shirt off.

“W-What do you think you’re doing?” he stuttered, failing miserably at trying to sound annoyed. Moments later, a sigh slipped past his lips at the image of Jungkook shirtless, the sun hitting his skin like he was a god.

And no, it wasn’t because of Jungkook’s toned chest or abs, not even his arms or beautiful golden skin, but because of the tattoo on his shoulder. Exactly where Jimin’s was. Exactly where the soulmate tattoo was supposed to be.

Fuck you.

“Are you kidding me?” Jimin snickered, his nervousness vanishing. He traced a finger over the words, curling black on golden skin, and nearly smiled when he felt Jungkook shiver. “Does that mean you actually just said ‘excuse you, your morning boner is poking at my thigh’?”

Jungkook’s cheeks turned rosy, the prettiest shade of pink Jimin had ever seen, and he looked down on his lap when he nodded. For once, not the arrogant, spoilt brat. “Sorry about that,” he said, “it must’ve not been a very nice thing to have on your shoulder.”

But Jimin didn’t care about that. He didn’t care about any of that, anymore.

He had finally found his soulmate, his missing piece, and my God, was he beautiful.

“You stupid, rich brat,” Jimin smiled, carefully leaning towards Jungkook. His lips curved into a soft smile, headache long forgotten.

“You stupid shortie,” Jungkook muttered just before their lips met. It was like Sunday afternoons, warm and comforting, but there was a layer of passion, just underneath.

And Jimin felt a hole he never knew he had disappear.




(A/N) Ahhhhh the end! Such a fluffy oneshot i LOVE JIKOOK OK

ALSO special thanks to my babe @yoongsigh for the amazing writing prompt and to the lovely bb @quill-ink for editing this and making it 2356293859857 times better <333 ily guys <3 <3

In The Eye Abides The HeArt

FINALLY a great PLL episode. I have so many thoughts and theories about this one! 

Make sure to enable pictures, they are critical to the theories. It gets better the further you read!!! Enjoy!

TWIN CLUES 

  • I’ve said it many times, but I would really hate if there was twin reveal. This was the case with Courtney DiLaurentis in the book version, and its been done with Jessica and Mary DiLaurentis. It would be a cop-out to do it again, so i sincerely hope it doesn’t happen; but lets explore all the twin hints in this episode, because there were so many.
  • ARIA- The first time AD FaceTimed Aria, it was just a hooded figure with a black face, but in this episode it was what looked to be Aria’s facial features on Paige’s face. Weird and off-putting
  • SPENCER- Everyone is thinking and writing about this- but the Spencer we see at the airport with Wren was acting very suspicious. She also is not wearing the white jacket or watch she had on in the previous scene, nor is it draped over her chair. There are also girls wearing matching shirts in the background.

BUT I THINK THE FOLLOWING WAS THE BIGGEST TWIN CLUE OF THE EPISODE:

  • ALISON- Alison says something VERY interesting when Paige asked her if she loved Emily. Ali says this about Emily, “She looks at you and sees who you really are. Maybe that’s the scariest part-You want to be who she sees.”  The second she says this all I could think was WHAT IF IT IS SO SCARY BECAUSE YOU AREN’T THE REAL ALI BUT HER TWIN?! If this Alison that we have been seeing is in fact -lets call her Courtney- then maybe she is feeling remorseful because Emily has been so in love with Alison for so many years, and Courtney wishes she REALLY was Alison. Courtney has taken over Ali’s life but deep down she knows she isnt the real Alison DiLarentis. The title of this episode was “In The Eye Abides The Heart,” which could also connect to this theory. Emily is in love with Alison, and always has been. The person she is seeing now-looks like Alison, but it is really Courtney. But Emily doesn’t know this and believes its Ali because they are identical. Her EYES see who she believes is Alison, which causes her HEART to love her (even though its Courtney). IN THE EYE ABIDES THE HEART.

——

EMILY’S BABY

  • I think the biggest reveal of this episode was that Archer Dunhill is not the father of Emily’s baby. So who is it???
  • Charlotte- I am STILL holding out hope that CeCe is not the real Charles, but if she is, what if it was her sperm that she had frozen from before her sex change? She had her boyfriend Archer pretend to be a doctor, and had her cousin Alison implanted with Emily’s eggs and her own sperm. Her cousin gives birth to her baby as a surrogate- this would be the only way she could have a baby now because of her surgery. Even if she is dead now- Archer decided to continue with the plan even after her death so she could “live on.” Confusing and crazy but definitely possible in Rosewood.
  • AD- I have been praying that AD is male, so maybe it is AD’s sperm. Why? Maybe AD is impotent, which is common for sociopaths and people who have severe mental illnesses. If AD is a relative of Alison, he is having his sister give birth to his child, using Emily’s eggs (not Alison’s eggs because of incest). It’s also a way to psychologically torture Emily&Ali as well- which he loves doing.
  • Anonymous [Sperm] Donor (which is an AD anagram)- I also think it’s possible that Alison is still the manipulative bitch she has always been and stole Emily’s eggs and had someone implant them in her with a random sperm donor, as a way to bond her and Emily for life and get Paige out of the picture once and for all. 

——

CAMP FOR TROUBLED BOYS

  • So now we know that Lucas and Charles go WAY BACK. They attended the same camp together for troubled boys where Pastor Ted worked as a counselor since he is Charles’ father.
  • Remember how Alison used to call Lucas “Hermie,” and say that he had both girl and guy parts? Sometimes babies are born with both male and female sex organs. What if Lucas was sent to this camp because he really is a hermaphrodite. (I just want to say as a side note that Marlene has not done a good job of portraying these sensitive subjects before (Charles as transgender and Emily as a lesbian) so I hope if they go this route it is done in a respectful and tasteful way)
  • What if Lucas is Bethany Young??? Maybe that is his female persona. 

—–

COMIC BOOK

  • The A is very pronounced in Lucas’ signature.
  • Lucas and Charles wrote and illustrated a comic book. I LOVED this reveal; it was CRAZY and really cool.
  • Emily & Hanna summarize the comic book: “The hero is this boy who gets picked on by other kids and by his own family. He meets this alien woman in the woods and she becomes his protector. Shes this all powerful shape-shifter that helps get revenge for the boy- by torturing his enemies. And sometimes the boy turns into Arcturus, so he can experience the payback she gets for him.”
  • There is a heavy metal band which goes by Arcturus. In 1997 they released “Master of Disguise” and in 2015 they released a song titled “Game Over”. (PLL.wikia) 
  • Charles used elements of the comic book in the Dollhouse:
  • This obviously proves that Lucas is part of the A Team, and has been since (probably) the very beginning. But I dont think he is or has ever been Head A or AD.

——

CLARK KENT 

  • In comic books there is always a superhero and an alter ego. 
  • Batman is Bruce Wayne. Spider-Man is Peter Parker. When that character wakes up in the morning, he’s Peter Parker. He has to put on a costume to become Spider-Man. 
  • Superman didn’t become Superman. Superman was born Superman. When Superman wakes up in the morning, he’s Superman. 
  • His alter ego is Clark Kent. His outfit with the big red “S”, that’s the blanket he was wrapped in as a baby when the Kents found him. Those are his clothes. What Kent wears - the glasses, the business suit - that’s the costume Superman wears to blend in with us.
  • Clark Kent is how Superman views us. And what are the characteristics of Clark Kent? He’s weak… he’s unsure of himself… he’s a coward. Clark Kent is Superman’s critique on the whole human race. (kill bill)
  • Look at how similar the boys comic book cover is to Superman’s comic book cover: 


  • They both have a yellow background and red lettering.
  • They both wear a RED CAPE. Which is quite obviously a RED COAT parallel. Maybe this is AD’s homage to his comic book- putting his female A team members in a RED COAT, since his comic book protector wore a RED CAPE.

Now….who wears GLASSES? 

Is TOBY our Clark Kent???? Is Toby AD?!

  • Remember the scene a few episodes back when Spencer visits Toby in the hospital (Remember AD forced her to go. Which makes a lot of sense if Toby is AD) Toby says: “Maybe this town needs to disappear before we can leave”

Maybe that is Toby’s goal. If Toby is AD, maybe he needs to destroy everyone in Rosewood before he can move on with his life.


Then Spencer says, “You should probably try PUTTING ON YOUR GLASSES”

I wrote about this in a previous post but- Spencer says “We beat on, boats against the current.” Which is a quote from The Great Gatsby, and the “all seeing eye” billboard is the most famous imagery and symbolism from that book. 

The title of the episode is “IN THE EYE ABIDES THE HEART.”

When Mona is studying the Board Game, she says that it was LOVINGLY HANDMADE with levers and pulleys. Its NOT a computer, its a construction project. Toby built the Game Board and the Dollhouse. 

I think its seriously possible that Toby is our Clark Kent…sees himself as Superman. He is AD, Lucas & Charles’ avenger.

There is a door in the history department. It never looks the same twice and is always cracked open when it’s actually there. No one has ever returned through it.

There once was a chemistry major that went through the door. Their friend followed after.

One returned.

One did not.

The story did not begin there though. It began long, long ago, in the tales and songs of ancestors long gone; passed from mother to daughter and father to son. They did not fade through time, starting anew in each beating heart of the family line.

They reached a young girl with olive skin and hair like raven’s wings. Her dark eyes would shine as her grandmother wove the tales by the fireside.

She spoke to the girl of a woman with fiery hair and burning eyes, who spoke with flames and held infernos between her palms. Perhaps that sparked the love in her for all things she should not, and she strove to make the embers dance, like the one with fire in her hands.

Her grandmother knew in her old, wise bones that this child needed the tales more than most. Their family had always been aware, trusting their intuition had never led them wrong.

So when the girl came to Elsewhere, (For where else could she have gone?) Everyone steered clear (The school gave up on roommates before very long.)

Perhaps it was because of her reputation of playing with fire, or perhaps it was simply fate, but her chemistry professor paired her with a boy who loved to play with ice. They became unlikely friends, she with her burning salts and he with his liquid nitrogen.

“Call me Pyrra.” she said.

“Frozone.” He grinned, white teeth gleamed against his dark skin.

He told her of his girlfriend back in Louisiana who was pregnant with his child: “It’s too soon to know the gender yet.” And she would just smile.

She told him of her grandparents and their small, simple home that stood alone on the reservation and of the wild horses that would thunder by.

They knew what everyone would say, how unwise it was to share so much about themselves, but they were chemistry majors—those rarely got taken.

The two were closer then blood and they both forgot one very important fact— being Taken isn’t the only way to Vanish.

It had been an accident. Frozone hadn’t been paying attention. He had forgotten to count the doors, as he stumbled to his history class after a long night in the labs. No one probably would have known if a fellow student hadn’t seen him stepping through the door—too late to stop his fate.

Pyrra was the first one told, the RA’s decided to wait till the end of the term before notifying his family. They knew it was a futile hope, but anything beat having to make that call.

Pyrra wouldn’t accept this though. She gathered up her craft, and armed herself with salts to burn. She dressed herself in her tribe’s garments and war paint on her face—there is power in being claimed—and set off for the history building when the moonless night was at its darkest.

The door gave way before her and she crossed into when; not where, her friend had gone. She travelled far until she found where the Little People were gathered round. They vanished as she drew near, but she was unshaken by this or fear.

“I have come to bargain for my brother of heart.”

“What will you give?” They whispered in reply.

“A story like none other.” She called bravely into the night.

“There is no story to match his fate, for his return we will need something great.”

Pyrra paused before standing straight.

“Then I will take his place.”

“Is this your choice?”

She thought of her grandparents, sitting at home, they had only gotten electricity a few years ago.

She thought of Frozone’s sisters, all so young and alone thriving off their brother’s hope to give them a better home, on the income of the degree the scholarship would to them all. She thought about his girlfriend, who worked two jobs by day, and attended a community college to get her art degree by night. With that her mind was made.

“It is.”

Frozone stumbled in, lost and confused as if it had only been an hour instead of a day. He caught onto what had happened more than quick enough.

“Pyrra, you can’t do this! Please! It’s my mistake to pay.”

“Call my grandmother and ask for my name, give it to your daughter and your debt shall be paid.”

That was all the time they had, before he was gone and she had stayed. The Little Folk drew near her now; intent on Their new pet, but she held up her hand, she wasn’t Theirs quite yet.

“I have another bargain to make.”

“What now?” They grumbled, discontent and bored.

“My story for my freedom, I chose to stay, but not to be yours.”

“Fine.” they hissed “But the bargain is this: you must keep us entertained till dawn or to us you will belong.”

What choice was there left for her to make? The sky was at it darkest—the hour before dawn. But how that hour stretched on and on!

She dared not tell her family’s tales, or sing to Them their songs, so she told them what she had, her science close at hand.

She told them how a star was born and how precious gems became; all the while between her hands she wove the tales with flame.

When that never nearing dawn finally broke upon the sky, They praised her skills, and kept their deals; blessing her all the while.

Fire-tongue they called her; Flame-speaker, They would say. They kissed her eyes and painted her lips, dressing her in flame.

She smiled and simply said, “That is not my name.”

For she had a new name now, one that no one could ever Take, now that she had given her old name away.

Frozone made it back and tried to keep his word. He called her grandmother who patiently greeted him and told him Pyrra’s name, only requesting that in return he send her things and bring his daughter by some day. She waved him off when he explained that the baby was still too small to tell, whether it was female or male.

Years passed and soon it was time to graduate. Everyone assumed that Pyrra’s grandparents came for Frozone. No one expected Pyrra to appear and collect her diploma as if she had been there all along. Then again, no one mentioned how her eyes were embers now or how her hair had turned from raven black to crimson—so she very well may have been.

         A few decades later a new student comes—a chemistry major that loves to play with fire. She wears a white smile; which is near blinding against her dark skin. She claims she came to prove that her father paid his debt. She won’t say anymore than that. But sometimes she would leave the dorm shortly before dawn on moonless nights with a string of fireworks in her hands. She would always return the next morning, humming ancient songs as she wrote an email to her father.

         During her time a new tale whispers its way into campus lore.

It’s breathed into the ears of distraught students—those with the courage to try and reclaim the Taken Ones are the only ones to hear the advice.

“Come to the edge of the woods on a moonless night, just before dawn and set off fireworks of every color—then wait.”

The ones who listen return with tales about a woman in smoldering garments, blazing red hair, and glowing embers for eyes who would test their resolve. To those who passed she would gift them with words or song, depending on their need, she might even gift them with her fire.

Regardless of what you get, it is always enough to get them back.

Except no one can remember what it was she gave them. They could never remember the tale itself, just that she gave them one; the songs she granted would dance just beyond memory’s grasp; the image of a mesmerizing flame leaving a ghostly impression inside their eyelids. There was only one thing anyone remembers her saying.

“My name is Story—”

There is a door in the history department. It never looks the same twice and is always cracked open when it is there. No one has ever returned through it.

There once was a chemistry major that went through the door. His friend followed after.

He returned.

She did not.

“—and I create myself.”

A/N: I know the Gentry come off a little strange in this. It’s mostly because Pyrra is Navajo and thus the stories she knows are of the Little People; but at Elsewhere, the Gentry are for the most part from Great Britain, Ireland and thereabouts. I tried to blend these two cultures. I’m not gunna lie, I didn’t do great. I haven’t done much with Navajo mythology in a long while. I feel it came off pretty shoddy in this. I’m not trying to offend (I’m part native American myself). Also, I love Chemistry but I suck at it which is why I didn’t go as into depth as I would have liked. (My grammar sucks too, so apologies there as well.)

[x]

categorized and generalized all the types of tumblr aesthetics i have come across.

I have been going through archives for the last five years on tumblr now, and i can’t help but notice that a lot of blogs are the same. There seems to be a pattern in the sorts of aesthetics i run up against. So, in my exhaustion, i tried coming up with all the different aesthetics, and i tried to put them into certain categories. Obviously, some of these categories are mixed with others.


PORN TUMBLR

-general porn

-lesbian/gay general

-kinky stuff

-daddy dom stuff - tied up boobies

-bears

-just unrealistic nudes

-just realistic nudes

-vintage porn, and occasionally porn that is so old that it was drawn by someone in the 1800′s

- hentai and erotic animal people cartoon characters going at it

-person who took about five pictures of themselves naked five years ago who has not come back


RICH KID TUMBLR

-super modelesque kids in their super rich cool kid clothes and fashion in Starbucks taking pictures of their food and their trips to Europe in 1st class

- incredibly expensive looking sunglasses

-rich kid travel blogs with hundreds of thousands of notes of pictures from rich people buildings

-quotes that say ‘be happy’ or stuff about saying anyone can just travel anywhere at any time, just the general advice you might get from someone who doesn’t know how the other half lives

- cats


VINTAGE TUMBLR

-the greatest generation stuff, forgotten early hollywood actors/actresses, very old movie gifs, Theda Bara, Clara Bow, Carol Lombard, early Joan Crawford, Gone with the Wind ect..

-50’s, 60’s and 70’s, Nancy Sinatra, Brigitte Bardot, Marilyn Monroe, Audrey Hepburn – generally a lot of Audrey Hepburn

-Posts old advertisements and old cars, sometimes old toys, a few pinups, vintage comics, kinda weird

- vintage toy blogs - just toys, named and dated

-sometimes retrospace stuff

-sometimes just old comic book stuff


FEMINIST/ GENDER STUDIES TUMBLR

-intersectional feminists who post mostly text and back and forth writings, sometimes they fight 

-radfems and turfs, unpopular minority of angry at the intersectional feminists

- Fat Acceptance movement, chubby bunnies

-other girl’s selfies, lots of girl power related drawings of gender symbols and the like, Grimes, being a witch, Courtney Love, sailor moon, and so forth, sometimes bleeds into soft grunge

-topics on transgender, gender fluid and others that have informative 

- asexual community

BLACK LIVES MATTER TUMBLR

-black lives matter awareness, police brutality, pointing out flaws in legal system

-lovely stylish selfies

-call outs of racism, lots of dialogue, and the extension of twitter


80’s + 90’s GIF TUMBLR

-like gifs of scratched up VCR obscure film openings, and repetitious obscure 80’s gifs in general, everything is fuzzy and looks like it came from an 80’ infomercial, kinda makes you feel scared

-90’s gifs of Pee Wee Herman, Catdog, Clarissa Explains it All, Chucky Cheese, Fruit by the Foot, Beavus and Butthead, Bart Simpson, and so on


HIPPIE TUMBLR

-just like the rich kidz, only they have white kid dreads and post a lot of vanlife stuff, lots of festivals

-mostly psychedelic gifs, with occasional trippy art, Foster the People is their favorite band

-real hippies, who post pictures of communes and people making tyed dye things, nonsexual nudes with hairy women, Grateful Dead stuff

-Buddhist and Hindu quotes, sometimes lilies


SOFT GRUNGE TUMBLR

purple and pink skies, water, windows with lace

girls with pale skin and perfect make up, and chokers, bruises, sparkly skin

mermaid texture, mermaid hair colors

Lana Del Rey

kind of like 90’s only more melty and pink

quotes about good vibes

Eternal Sunshine for the Spotless mind reference

moon print

dream pop bands from the early 90’s


GROWN UP SOFT GRUNGE TUMBLR

picture of Uma Thurman overdosing in Pulp Fiction

lots and lots of flowers

lots of sensual pictures of pale skin under certain lighting

albino people

albino animals

pictures of sunrises

Reykjavic

kind of like the Soft Grunge, but just a little bit more subtle and film tumblry


ART BLOG TUMBLR

old roman art

chinese, japanese and korean art from long ago

renaissance and medieval art with religious context

just like medieval art of specifically torture

18th and 19th century portrait paintings

Scenic paintings of hills, Van Gogh, Toulouse-Lautrec, Monet

Dada, Pablo Picasso, Jackson Pollock, Salvador Dali, Andy Warhol, Adolph Wolfie

Modern art that is squiggly, slimy, and bizzare, breaks art rules but looks good, David Shrigley

Modern Surrealists


ARTIST BLOG TUMBLR

posts really great homemade gifs that nobody knows about infrequently

blogs that only have the artwork of the blog owner – generally post infrequently and not given enough credit ever, except maybe one of there works has a whole bunch of notes

person who keeps painting the same thing over and over again and does it a lot for years at a time, 0 notes usually – who are you??

collage artists that mix 50’s scenes with hyperspace backdrops


FILM BLOG TUMBLR

-Stanley Kubrick, Jean Cocteau, lots of black and white french films

-that movie where the two people are sitting on the ledge of a building and the other one jumps off

Clockwork Orange

-Paris, Texas

David Lynch

Blue Velvet, Twin Peaks (gets stolen by other kinds of blogs frequently)

Wim Wenders,

Rare film art from Poland in the 70’s

Jans Svankmajer

Man Ray, Max Ernst,

cool quotes by philosopher, artist, psychologist, or film director

Amelie

sometimes Wes Anderson


PHOTOGRAPHY TUMBLR

abandoned places, gas stations, archaic cafes, falling apart amusement parks

uses too much dark fade out in the background pictures of fields and stuff, overused filtering – posted a ton three years ago and then left

just photostock

girl who takes pictures of herself in costume

Nature pictures, animal pictures ect..

person who just takes pictures of textures and minimalist buildings – usually colorful

person who’s personal Instagram picture just automatically post to tumblr also, probably never checks up, usually pictures of them with friends as a pub

Indigenous pictures from around the world, some of them from books, some from National Geographic, some from other places

Super old pictures from old newspapers, the great depression, WW2 – generally black and white



MUSIC TUMBLR

Really likes Led Zeppelin, The Doors and The Who, sometimes mixed with other vintage, often posts the same pictures and songs for years – you feel bad because no new music will be coming out from these artists

super cheesy Van Halen, Kiss, Styx, Ozzy person, Big Hair, likes 80’s pin ups and skulls, sometimes into martial arts

super cheesy death metal fan, lots of pinups, corny black and white pictures of skulls and such

REALLY likes British Invasion, The Zombies, The Kinks, The Hollies, The Animals, will occasionally post Detroit girl groups from the 60’s, some Velvet Underground, pictures of the Beatles girlfriends

Just David Bowie, Lou Reed, Patti Smith and Iggy Pop. Maybe some New York Dolls

Old Blues and Jazz, Etta James, Son House, Nina Simone, pictures of Leadbelly and Howlin’ Wolf and especially Miles Davis

really into post punk, Nick Cave, Siouxsie, Bauhaus, The Cure, Einsturzende Neubauten, Lydia Lunch, PJ Harvey and Rowland S. Howard, sometimes Morrissey. also generally mixes film and art blog stuff in with occasional feminist things

Just Morrissey, they call him Moz.

Fan clubs for specific bands that are newer and popular like Arctic Monkeys or Fallout Boy, but also ones blogs that really like emo lyrics from early 2000’s and such – scene kids that are still scenin’ it up

loves Jens Lekman, Belle and Sebastian, The Magnetic Fields and The Pains of Being Pure at Heart, Cigarettes After Sex. Usually posts really cute modern art, and uses tumblr mostly for writing, has the cutest hair cut and can pull off overalls, never posts too little or too much, extremely twee


HISTORY TUMBLR

ancient mesopotamia, greek and Egyptian history and relics

Blogs that are specifically about one place in one era - Ancient Russia, Ireland before it was taken over, precolonial India and so on

Samurai, Geisha, and scrolls

Swords, knights, castles, kings of Europe in general

Specific Wars, examples: 7 Years War, Revolutionary War, WW1 + 2

France from before the revolution – pictures of wigged men, Napoleon, Marie Antoinette

Jane Austen time era anything 18th and 19th century, slight excuse to post lots of Pride and Prejudice gifs with Keira Knightly and that Mr. Darcy in the rain

Outfits – just outfits that are really old

person who is obsessed with the Nazis and seems to like Hitler

Flappers and earlier 20th – often an excuse to post gifs of Downton Abbey

Vintage books, often children books, but sometimes others


DESIGN TUMBLR

really fucked up pictures of the Simpsons melting and stuff

gradient graphic art with symbols or words meant to convey a product that I don’t understand for an obscure magazine subscription

graphic squiggles without form, minimalist graphic pictures of beach balls, tennis bats, and sneakers

bizarre smiley faces made from smaller smiley faces

80’s inspired design

odd looking models with undercuts and no eyebrows

cartoon dogs and cats

just static and glitches. Nothing more, nothing less

either they make their own graphic designs and they rarely post, or they compile reblogs of everyone else’s and they post all the time


WEIRDO TUMBLR

insane family pictures of family who all has mullet dressed as bumble bees

Lots of Robert Crumb, some vintage stuff, but nothing remotely main stream

Some of the modern art, but only the weirdest of it

claymation masks

Comix

Moebius

art from early Power Point

100 piece sculptures with melted toys

paintings of monsters

Steve Brule

children’s fan art of Smokey the Bear – looks disturbing

Items that are too kitschy to be accepted by your average vintage indie blog

sometimes a specific blog centered around some kind of crazy event where everyone dresses completely insane


POLITICAL TUMBLR

the communists and Marxists

a mixture of BLM and LGBTQ stuff

the libertarians, anarchocapitalists, Ayn rand folk

the left wing anarchists, freegans, graffiti punks, garden punks, possums

informative left wing news that explains to us everyday how the GOP is fucking us

alt. right creeps who are simply here to be trolls and upset everyone else – anti SJW, that stupid frog, nationalists, trump supporters and such – irrelevant poorly thought memes

I miss Obama memes

Bernie Sanders forever and always folk


RAINBOW TUMBLR

pictures of rainbow candies, toys, designs, clothing and so forth all of it rainbow

people who post one color at a time, so when you go through their archive it’s all gradient and neat looking – usually the pictures are a little stock photoish though


HALLOWEEN TUMBLR

Betty Page

The Cramps. Reverend Horton Heat

Psychobilly pin ups, old cars, burning skulls, vintage B horror movies, The Swamp Thing

Legitimately obsessed with the activities of Halloween – posts witches, devils, trick or treat candy, Bella Lugosi, The Monster Mash, Halloween decoration - and doesn’t ever forget how many days away Halloween is

Jack the Skeleton

Freddy Krueger


FANCLUB TUMBLR

Superwholock

Hannigram

American Horror Story

K Pop and J Pop + Korean Drama

boy bands in general

Hamilton

My Little Ponies

Ghibli Studios

Various anime shows

fat Disney princesses

Super heroes

Pokemon

Big Bang Theory

Mighty Boosh

Monty Python

Phantom of the Opera

Labyrinth

Vampire Chronicles

Orange is the New Black

Breaking Bad

Alice in Wonderland

Harry Potter

Star Wars

Steven Universe

Adventure Time

Game of Thrones and Walking Dead

any television show really

Furry cartoons

lots of spacy quick anime chibi versions of characters who are hooking up and wouldn’t normally in the show

scenes from movies with subtext that comes from a different movie or show

probably countless others i am not thinking of.


SPECIALTY TUMBLR

serial killer blogs

unexplained mysteries, ghosts, ufo’s

pictures of galaxies with information (not sparkly silly ones with no context)

sewing and yarn

precious stones

cars

just gardening

just cats

religious blogs, either Islam, Christian, Jewish, Hindu or Buddhist

specific animal blogs, snake, spiders, wild cats and such

science blogs about technology and stuff

NATURE TUMBLR

stock photoish pictures of camp grounds and misty mountains – often taken by the hippies

angelic looking deer, and occasional animal burials with flowers’

person who takes pictures of flowers all the time

granola type fellow who loves juicing and backpacking – doesn’t get on tumblr much


BLACK AND WHITE GOTH TUMBLR

slenderman fan art, actually just about anything creepypasta related

you have to turn off the music when you visit their page because it’s just too much

fan art of black eyed children

slit wrists

pictures that were turned into Gifs because they shake

taxidermy

screamo lyrics

Alice in wonderland with X’s for eyes

gothic models

occasional serial killer

skulls and references to Edgar Allan Poe

GIF MEME TUMBLR

just a sea of Gifs and memes relating to anything about life ever – almost shitposting but not quite

eventually one of the gifs got 100,000 notes for it’s relatability so they get a lot of traffic

lots of pictures and circumstances from The Office, Parks and Rec, and It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia

Nihilist memes


SOFTY TUMBLR

kind of a little girl dom thing going on

Kawai and lots of Japanese girls

cute colorful make up

plushies and toys

references to fantasy cartoons from the 80’s, the last unicorn, or that one with the girls in that band

Polly Pockets, Furbies, trolls

gifs of stars and hearts

Sailor Moon

pink bedroom

baby animals

occasionally more on the vintage kitschy side


WICCA TUMBLR

ravens, bats, candles

pentacles and other symbols

crystals

sometimes there is dreads

occasionally, it is a serious practicing Wicca who posts spells and gives witch advice

lots of personal reflections

boobs


GROSS TUMBLR

Tim and Eric, Steve Brule centered blog that are mostly in the act to make you feel queezy

like, people eating cheerios with ketchup and people wearing shoes with the soles cut out, people putting their feet in spagetti, bad tattoos on foreheads

snails, beetles, bird doing mean things to people

mostly moldy things, moss, strange dolls

things that look like they came from the dark crystal,

delapitating bedrooms that once belonged to a little girl, torn wall paper, old porcelain dolls that are slightly upsetting

Clowns

occasionally a blog so gross you will be ruined for having seen it – Two Girls one Cup sort of thing


NERD TUMBLR

old video game start up pages

Super Mario Bros.

Other video game characters

chibis of video game characters interacting with one another

Final Fantasy references

randomly doesn’t post for a year


SELF HELP TUMBLR

blog that gives dumb advice that only works if you were already happy anyway

either semi fake or oversimplified 'psyche facts’

blogs from people who suffer from addiction or mental illness and want help and use their blog to vent

blogs ran by people who enjoy crystal meth and don’t give a fuck.

worthy of mentioning, blogs that nobody ever posted a single thing or just one thing, like, really cryptic blogs that nobody could ever understand, blogs that were taken over by some kind of virus and they are trying to sell you male pattern baldness remedies, or they are now call absurdly pornographic things because the virus took over and now they are like blonde cumfuck creampie or something of that nature, and blogs were the person was basically saying they have found a girlfriend/boyfriend now and don’t need tumblr anymore so goodbye

and in my experience …

anybody can post pictures of jiggly boobs

anybody can post Grace Jones

anybody can post a Bjork song

these seem to be universal truths that defy limitations

The Labyrinth Chapter 39

Originally posted by bts-we-are-bulletproof

Genre: Gang AU/ High School AU

Pairing: Reader/Jimin ft. all the members

Length: 9.0k

Summary: Looking back on your past, your life has never been anything out of the ordinary. Although your parents had left you on one mysterious night, leaving you little to no explanations, you live out the rest of your years residing in a new town under the custody of your aunt. That is, until you return to your hometown to investigate the whereabouts of your parents during your senior year in high school. It was that fateful decision that led you to find a boy collapsed on your front porch one night, wounds gaping and life fading when your entire life is spun out of control. Somehow being dragged into a life of crimes in the underground business of his, you discover the twisted secrets hidden behind the world you thought you had known all along. 

1  2  3  4  5  6  7  8  9  10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39

Keep reading