only posting for allie

Voltron Instagram Headcanons (pt. 2)

part 1 | part 2

Allura’s Instagram:

  • Allura loves the sky when it’s not just blue so, a bunch of her photos are the sky
  • There is the occasional mouse/mice
  • Very aesthetic oriented when it comes to her bf
  • Shiro loves the attention he gets from her page
  • Allura’s not really into selfies since Shiro posts so many of hers
  • She only follows her team, some other friends/allies and her family
  • Allura is aesthetic oriented in general and loves to just post random aesthetic
  • She doesn’t post often and usually forgets her Instagram password when having to log back in due to inactivity
  • Favourite hashtag to use: #blessed

Pidge’s Instagram:

  • Her entire instagram makes Lance CRINGE.
  • Its absolutely hideous, no organisation at all.
  • She shitposts memes or bragging rights of hers
  • Pidge likes to worry people with her instagram
  • She posted a lot about the Kerberos mission when NASA sent that up
  • Almost every photo has Pepe the Frog hidden in it, or the caption, or someone’s comment.
  • As soon as she reached 69 follows, she refused to follow anyone else
  • Loves aliens
  • Uses horrible puns
  • Pidge posts disturbing ribcage photos more often than you really should
  • Favourite Hashtag to use: #everybodyhurts

Hunk’s Instagram:

  • FOOD!
  • Hunk is very proud of all his creations and loves posting them!
  • He’s also proud of his flops and posts those as well.
  • Anyone who follows him loves to comment how delicious the food looks
  • Lance confirms it tastes good in a comment as he’s actually eating the food
  • Hunk also loves instagramming from different events he goes to
  • He has almost all of Pidge’s burps from her birthday party on his story
  • He has Lance and Keith’s first drunk kiss on camera
  • He makes food arrangements for people and charges them
  • Kinda like a commission
  • Lance doesn’t worry about the aesthetic of Hunk’s Insta
  • Because food is Hunk’s aesthetic.
  • Favourite Hashtag to use: #itsgarrrrrret
  • (like tony the tiger, “its greeeaaat” but no one gets it)

anonymous asked:

ally, how can i make art friends? i've been posting my art online for 2 years now but people never comment. i comment on other people's art sincerely as well, but it got me no where in terms of making friends. so i'm still pretty lonely so i have no one to enjoy art with :(

hmm, from my own personal experience, when someone simply compliments me on my art i don’t know what else to say other than the many versions of thankyou to express gratefulness? overcomplimenting tends to create a gap between people as well when they feel overwhelmed hahaha

on twitter, i mutual with creators who appear often in my mentions to chat about everything from art to personal posts. you can try to initiate more casual, engaging conversations, instead of just the basic/formal “i love your art!” liners, to form a deeper relationship or leave a “this is a friend!!!!!” impression?

try to think about what you’re drawing as well and question whether it… just looks nice? or is it engaging enough to initiate a reaction or discussion in the comments. does it have a story? :)

if you only respect cis-passing trans people, don’t call yourself a trans ally.

if you only respect binary trans people, don’t call yourself a trans ally.

if you only respect trans women, don’t call yourself a trans ally.

if you only respect trans men, don’t call yourself a trans ally.

if you only respect ‘out and proud’ trans people, don’t call yourself a trans ally.

if you only respect straight trans people, don’t call yourself a trans ally.

if you only respect attractive trans people, don’t call yourself a trans ally.

if you only respect legal name changes, don’t call yourself a trans ally.

if you only respect trans people on HRT, don’t call yourself a trans ally.

if you only respect post-op trans people, don’t call yourself a trans ally. 

if you only respect trans people who agree with you, don’t call yourself a trans ally.

if your respect for trans people is in any way conditional, don’t call yourself a trans ally.

<< please don’t delete the caption or self promote >>

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I think what I find the most fascinating with tinhats is how determined they are to be unhappy.

Like, yes, they pretend to be happy. They spend their days saying antis are pressed and miserable and that they, the virtuous tinhats, are just enjoying the lives of their favs, despite hating everything they actually see of said favs’ lives and regularly feeling angst about it.

But we all know what they thrive on is despair.

And I just… don’t understand why?

Because at the end of the day, turning their tinhat theories around and putting a positive spin on them would have been… so easy??

Why didn’t they just decide that Briana was a surrogate? That Danielle and El (and whichever girl Harry might be briefly linked to) are friends of theirs happy to help them “blend in” until they’re ready to come out?

Why didn’t they just go with the idea that instead of a big conspiracy to keep Louis and Harry unhappy, they themselves just decided that they weren’t ready to come out yet, or did not want to deal with the inevitable scrutiny?

They could get to enjoy Freddie, they wouldn’t have to imagine Louis as a mere pawn, a spineless man whose suffering is basically ignored by his partner. They could just enjoy both Harry’s and Louis’s solo careers for what they are, and STILL imagine them spending time together whenever we don’t see them.

Like, they’d still be wrong, obviously, but at least they’d have things to rejoice over instead of spending their days desperately trying to find explanations for things that can’t be explained away!

Yet any time a tinhat tries to put a positive spin on things, they’re shunned by the rest of the group.

And I sit there wondering… why???

That week started out as any other; the sun rose in the east and cast long shadows across the sharp planes of craggy cliff-faces. At noon the shadows were harder to find, but still present. Keith was in class then, and didn’t particularly care about the afternoon’s shadows.

No, it was when the sun crossed to the east and left the world in shadow that Keith paid attention. Peering out of the foggy glass of his dorm’s window, he could make out the faintest traces of stars. Some nights they were clearer than others, but it wasn’t the stars he was interested in but who was among them.

He found himself counting down the days until the Kerberos mission would reach its destined moon, found a sense of peace in knowing when the team would return to Earth. But the peace of the moment was fleeting, and every night as he stared at the stars Keith could feel his skin itching. Come back to me, he whispered, and pressed his forehead against the window cooled by a desert’s chill.

On Wednesday the sun stopped rising.

Mission failure.

Two words. A collection of sounds people used often enough to attach a meaning to, whose meaning was superfluous and prone to changing.

Maybe, he thought, this isn’t all there is to it.

The determination crept in, demanded that he find the truth, but he didn’t have to look far. The next night the mission was declared a failure due to pilot error.

There was no way Shiro would make a mistake that would cost the team their lives. No way in hell he’d be so careless as to steer them into a wall of icy rock. No, this could only mean one thing: Shiro and the others were alive out there, no matter what the Garrison said.

But the Garrison didn’t care. Keith was not made for quiet contemplation, but he saw easily enough that angry outbursts would get him nowhere. He saw, but just as the Garrison didn’t care, neither did Keith.

“He’s not dead, dammit!” The words echoed across the training room, the explanation of this new simulation hanging heavy across all in attendance.

If they thought he’d just sit idly by while they turned whatever the hell had happened back on Kerberos into some fucking learning experience then they had another thing coming. The anger coiled in the pit of his stomach bubbled up his throat and into his mouth, and his eyes watered with the acrid taste of it.

That was the only reason he was crying now. There was nothing else opening up the floodgates there.

Iverson’s hard face went soft, just for a moment, and Keith hated him then. To Iverson he was nothing more than a fucking prodigy, a troubled child with no family or friends or anywhere to run to when the going got rough.

And it was true, all of it, but that didn’t stop him from running. When words and logic and faith failed him, Keith ran. It was what he did, what he’d always done, and it was what he did then.

The school counselor told him that this was his reality now, that he had to accept it and adapt to it and move on. His teachers expressed concerns for his grades and the headmaster expressed concern for his sharp tongue when he found his way back into her office.

No matter what they said he couldn’t look back, couldn’t think about what had happened or would happen or what could’ve been. He’d never been one to deal in possibilities or emotions or unnecessary words. Those were endless things that held no answers or kindness for his situation. The only way to find the truth was to keep going forward.

So he ran himself out of the Garrison, kept moving until he was back at the shack he’d shared with his father once upon a time, back before everything went to shit. Because that’s what Keith did.

He ran.

A proper addition to the #BeThe5thChallenge

A Walking Paradox (Michael/4)

On Tuesday June 14 @0kbutmichaelclifford and @jigglypufftribe held a Hogwarts!5sos Blurb Night. Unfortunately I had a Psychology exam that week and no time to start a queue for it, yay me! However, I was inspired by it and today I’ve finished writing the first idea that came to mind. Please enjoy the 2k of Hogwarts!Michael below!

1. Platform 9 ¾

Fully aware of the fact that King’s Cross Station will be crawling with tourists on a last-minute city trip to London and bustling with businesspeople rushing to attend their important meetings, you leave early for Platform 9 ¾. You’ve agreed on meeting your friends at 10.50 AM and you still want to finish your book before they start ranting about all their adventures this summer.

It’s just past 10.20 AM when you roll your cart through the seemingly solid brick wall and find yourself on the wizard’s platform. It’s quiet, only the occassional Prefect and this year’s Head Boy and Head Girl already there. You find your usual compartment on the Hogwarts Express, stowing your trunk in the overhead compartment, and smile when you notice the initials you and your friends had inked into the little table. Seems like the magic marker used at the end of the previous semester really was as permanent as it promised to be.

Knowing that your friends will surely be quite a bit later than the agreed 10.50 AM, you grab your book and step back out onto the platform, finding somewhere to sit and quietly read. (Much like you’d expected, your group of friends are some of the very last people to arrive. The lot of them are chattering and laughing, hugging and squealing in excitement when catching up with each other.)

You’re found by your best friend, seemingly still engrossed in your story. She knows you better than that though, and upon closer inspection notices that your eyes keep flitting away from the paper and flying over the crowd that’s slowly gathered before you. You start biting your lip when you finally fixate on something. Your friend smirks a little when she sees what, or rather who, is holding your attention.

Michael Clifford, a Sixth Year like yourself, is standing a little bit away. The Slytherin is surrounded by his three best friends (2 of Gryffindor’s finest and one of his fellow Slytherins) and his cat’s curled around his neck and shoulders. You’ve always had a bit of a soft spot for him, though you’d rather jump off the Astronomy Tower than admit it.

Clifford’s a sight to behold: he’s wearing his usual attire, and while it’s no longer uncommon to see wizards dressed in Muggle clothing, he stands out. He’s wearing black skinny jeans with colorful patches haphazardly sewn over the legs (tight enough that you could swear the jeans were painted on), a black faded and torn jean jacket (with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing the tattoos curling around his forearm) and a plain black t-shirt. The all-black ensemble looks great against his fair skin and green-and-silver hair.

You squeak, a flush crawling all over your face and up to the roots of your hair, when his eyes fly over you and your friend. You know there’s no chance that Michael Clifford was looking at you, a mousy Ravenclaw, but you’re mortified enough as it without being caught staring.

Your friend giggles when you start dragging her to the train, leaving your other friends to follow, and winks when Michael raises a curious eyebrow at your back when you pass him by.

2. Hallowe’en Detention

October has been unusually kind to the students at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this year: it’s been warm and sunny up until the very end and it seems as though the weather’s not changing anytime soon. Tomorrow’s a Hogsmeade weekend and knowing your friends, you’ll be going out as soon as the Professors allow you to and you won’t be getting back until you absolutely have to.

Curse you for befriending not one, but several adventurous Gryffindors (bloody energetic lot of them).

You realize that there’s not a single chance that you’ll get to finish the impromptu History of Magic essay Professor Binns sprung on you if you don’t start it now and thus, despite the Hallowe’en Feast happening in the Great Hall, you make your way up to the library. You’d convinced some of the house-elves to pack you some food in a picnic basket and shrinking the basket, you plan on sneaking the food past the librarian.

The library is empty when you push open the heavy doors, no librarian in sight, and you find yourself an empty desk in the farthest corner of the room. You’re mostly hidden from sight (you don’t want to be caught eating in there), but you’ve still got a clear view of the doors. Nibbling on some pumpkin pastries, you start working on the 4-foot-long essay.

The whole table soon gets cluttered with discarded feathers, spare bottles of ink and copious amounts of spare parchment. Towers of books are surrounding you and the only sound that’s heard is the furious scribbling of your feather on the scroll in front of you. It comes as a total surprise when the doors to the library fly open.

Hogwarts’ caretaker stomps inside, dragging a boy behind him by his ear. The boy whines about it hurting, the whole thing being rather amusing as it comes from a person well over six feet tall.

“You think this is funny?” The caretaker growls at the unidentified boy. “Creating not only a swamp in the entrance hall, but also filling it with Grindylows?”

The boy mutters, clearly not finding it as funny now in the face of punishment, but you’re impressed. That’s some level of magic skills, not to mention patience! Getting your hands on multiple Grindylows? Talk about commitment

The boy’s gotten himself out of the grip of the caretaker, disgruntledly rubbing his sore ear and rolling his eyes when the older man takes away the boy’s wand and threatens to keep him inside the castle for the rest of the boy’s Hogwarts career if the returned books are not put back in their proper place when he gets back from the Feast. The boy eyes the cart the books are in and whines anew.

“There’s got to be at least a hundred books in there and I’m hungryyyyy…” The boy moans. “You can’t keep me away from dinner. That’s child abuse!”

“Shut up, boy,” The caretaker warns. “And get started if you want to ever again feel the fresh Scottish winds blowing through that ridiculous hair of yours!”

The old man slams the doors shut with an almighty bang and the boy starts cursing. You hear him mumble something about Peeves the Poltergeist and a quest for revenge, before he promptly drops the large volume he’s holding on his foot. He curses again and you stifle your laugh.

The boy rights his back and the sudden beam of moonlight catches his face. He gives a girly shriek (‘Excuse you, but that was a very manly shout, thank you very much!’) when the light reflects in your eyes and your breath hitches when you recognize the boy.

The green-and-silver hair, the usually-emerald-but-now-turned-silver-in-the-lighting eyes, the dark ink decorating the bared skin of his forearms… Michael Clifford was the apparent culprit. (You’re not entirely sure why you’re surprised by that denouement: Michael and his friends aren’t exactly what you’d call innocent little angels.)

Worst of all, he seems to recognize you as well. He cocks his head to the side a little in what appears to be confusion.

“Little Rowena Ravenclaw,” He eventually says. You groan internally when you’re reminded of your ancestor. It appears as though that’s the one thing everyone can focus on when talking to you for the first time. “Now what are you doing here on a night like this?”

You gesture to the books surrounding you. “Being little Rowena Ravenclaw?” You say sarcastically. (What? Just because you’re a little shy, doesn’t mean you’ve got no backbone.)

“Tonight?” He seems curious, coming a little closer. “You do realize it’s Hallowe’en, tonight? And there’s a glorious feast being served in the Great Hall?”

You don’t do it often, but you do it now: you smirk. “I know,” You whisper mischievously, beckoning him a little closer and showing him the basket hidden under your desk. “I got first pick.”

He moans when he sinks his teeth in the pumpkin pastry you hand him, patting his stomach contently and taking a seat in the chair opposite yours. “What are you working on?” He asks between big gulps of the juice the elves had packed you.

“Binns’ essay,” You groan. “Idiot assigns a four-foot-long essay the day before a Hogsmeade weekend…”

Michael nods sympathetically. “Calum said something about that. Pretty sure he won’t complete it or force me to write it, but hey: at least this time he remembered the homework! Progress!”

The both of you laugh a little, before calming down again. Then something dawns on you.

“Wait, Calum forces you to write his?” Michael nods. “So you’re good at this?”

Michael shrugs. “I have trouble sleeping sometimes, so I read History of Magic when I can’t doze off. Works like a charm, no pun intended: stupid shit bores you right to sleep!”

You grin a little. “Have you, by any chance, already read the chapter on the Giant Wars?”

“Why? Little Rowena Ravenclaw about to make me do her dirty work?” He winks and you shrug bashfully.

“I’ll write it, I promise,” You assure him. “I just don’t feel like reading through the entire chapter…”

“Can’t blame you.” He grins. “Sure, I’ll help. ‘S not like that old bat can actually keep me inside for forever if those books don’t find their way back to their shelves.”

You raise an eyebrow at him before whipping out your wand. Michael’s eyes widen and he lets out a surprised laugh. “Why would he?” And you wave your wand at the cart. The books start flying through the air as you and Michael get to work.

(A couple of hours later, your sides hurt from laughing as much as you did and your friends grow steadily frustrated when you refuse to spill why you practically floated all the way up to Ravenclaw Tower. Their curiosity worsens when the First Year who’d come in with you tells them that he had to help you solve the riddle the bronze eagle guarding the entrance to the Common Room had given you.)

3. Before Winter Break

The night of the Hallowe’en Feast has changed things for you. It’s no longer rare to suddenly find someone else in whatever deserted corner of the library you happen to be inhabiting. You’ve turned it into somewhat of a game: will he find you? How long will it take him?

(Spoiler alert: yes, he’ll find you. Another spoiler: it won’t take him long.)

It still startles you however, when you suddenly find yourself being jostled out of the story you were reading. His hair’s red now and he’s got tiny little Christmas ornaments hanging from the piercings in his ears. He’s also wearing the world’s ugliest sweater and a pair of reindeer antlers are planted on his head. (It takes a lot to convince yourself that no, that wasn’t a whimper of longing and adoration fighting its way up your throat, but merely the beginning of a cold. It’s been going around the Common Room, okay?)

You wonder what Michael’s doing here; the semester is over and most people are getting ready to go home the next day to spend Christmas with their families. Shouldn’t he be spending his time wreaking havoc and causing mayhem before leaving the caretaker to deal with it? Shouldn’t he be spending time with his friends before they’re split up for three weeks?

He shrugs when you ask him. “Pretty sure I’ll find them in my kitchen first thing tomorrow, forcing my mum to make them her special pancakes she usually saves just for me.” You laugh a little at his extensive eye rolling. “Besides, I’d rather spend tonight with you…”

You flush, because Michael Clifford would rather sit with the shy Ravenclaw in an all-but-deserted library on a musty, lumpy couch than cause mischief? That’s not something one sees every day…

“You’re weird, Clifford.” You shake your head and he shrugs. He winks, too. “Also, I’m sure the caretaker will be positively heartbroken by the lack of a Christmas present…”

Michael laughs. A bit too loudly, but you’re prepared to glare at the librarian until all hell freezes over and You-Know-Who rises from the grave if she dares to shush him. A sound so joyful shouldn’t be shushed in your (honest, but totally unbiased) opinion.

“He shouldn’t worry,” Michael whispers conspiratorially. “I didn’t forget him. No use asking me; I don’t want anyone to spoil his surprise.”

You whine a little, but Michael won’t budge. He does however, advice you to stay away from the Christmas baubles in the Great Hall. (“Highly unstable,” He pretends to be offended. “Flitwick’s wand work isn’t what it used to be.”)

Your eyes widen, but you decide to not ask. If you don’t know, you can’t be blamed for it.

“What’s with the festive attire?” You’ve put your book in your bag and when you’re settled in a more comfortable position, he’s pulling at a loose thread hanging from his sweater.

“Christmas is my favorite time of year. We Cliffords go all out for it.” His cheeks turn an adorable pinkish color and you’re careful to keep the cooing sounds struggling to escape, inside. Instead you shake your head.

“You’re a walking paradox, Michael Clifford.” He moves his hand in a way that asks you to elaborate before he drops his head in your lap and closes his eyes. (You think he’s beautiful in that moment, but you’re careful to keep that dangerous thought to yourself.)

“You’re pureblooded as far as one can trace back the Clifford-family tree, yet you’re the biggest Muggles’ rights activist anyone will ever meet. You can’t make it through a single one of Professor Binns’ History of Magic lectures without falling asleep, yet you’re the only one in the whole entire year who’s ever read Hogwarts: A History. You cast spells, spells that tend to trouble Aurors when altering their appearances for undercover work, to dye your hair shocking colors. You have piercings, which by the way are an unusual thing for a wizard to have, and tattoos, yet the love of your life seems to be your almost-fully-grown cat…”

Michael sputters, interrupting you, and one green eye glares at you. “She’s just a tiny baby kitten, Y/N. I need to show her love and affection or she’ll become some roguelike creature.”

“You’ve had Voodoo for over a year, Michael.” You grin. “Face it: the kitten is gone.”

Michael grumbles and you continue. “You’re a Slytherin through and through, yet Calum and Ashton are two of your best friends and they’re both Gryffindors. You’re tough as nails and scare the shit out of all the younger students, and most of the older ones too, yet you’re practically purring in my lap right now.”

Michael smirks and nudges his head against your stomach, closely resembling a cat asking to have its head petted. (You indulge him. You can’t help it: he’s Michael Clifford. Anyone who wants to make a big deal out of it, can piss off.)

The two of you end up sitting on that musty, lumpy couch until the librarian shoos the both of you out, shaking her head at your silliness.

(For the first time in probably forever she catches herself not reprimanding a student for not being quiet in her beloved library. She sees the way you look at him and she understands.)

The loud-mouthed prankster and the shy bookworm.

The center of attention wherever he goes and the frail wallflower blooming in his rays of sunshine.

Him, the all-consuming force of nature, and you, the inevitable casualty that comes with his aftermath.

A walking paradox…

A/N: First piece of writing in months… I’m actually really insecure about it?! I liked the idea when it first came to me, but I’m not totally sold on the final result?! Please let me know if you liked it and whether or not I should bother writing the other Hogwarts!5SOS-blurb sketches I’ve got?

anonymous asked:

What kind of car do the Allies and Axis, plus Romano and Prussia, would drive?

So I’ll be including pictures and stuff, so this post will get long; therefore, I will only do the Allies here! If you are curious about the Axis and the others, just ask again! Hope you enjoy this! -Admin Jay

America: 1995 Ford F-150
It’s an American classic! Not to mention the brand is known for being strong and reliable, kinda like Alfred…some days. 

England: Morgan v6 Roadster
Morgan is the last British owned and operated car manufacturer since 1910, so Arthur would have this car be his pride and joy. Not to mention a sleek yet antiquated design. 

Keep reading

Wings [Part 50] || Taehyung


Pairing - Kim Taehyung x Reader

Genre - Fantasy, Fallen Angel! AU, Fluff, Smut, Angst

Summary - With a miracle that is never before seen, Taehyung is free of a life sentence that had held him captive for centuries. And now he is finally returning to where he belongs.

Prologue ; Part 49

Taehyung had just two people to bid goodbyes to: Your mother, who had so tactfully taught him the things she’d learned, to survive and live, who had been an absolute sweetheart, and of course, just like a mother to him.

She wrapped Taehyung in a motherly embrace, her arms strong yet delicate around him as he clasped onto her. With a soft and inaudible prayer, she left him, her eyes twinkling with fondness and love, her fingers wrapping around Taehyung’s own while she looked at him. ‘Take care of my daughter, Taehyung. And maybe, if you think she can take it, let her know that I sent a lot of love.’ Her eyes crinkled at the corners, brimming with tears that he’d never seen the woman shed. Only then did he notice the shadow of longing in her eyes - perhaps she could come too.

'No, my son. I can’t possibly leave this place. You’ve got a chance out of hundreds of thousands, don’t let that slip away.’ She replied to his thought. He nodded his head hesitantly, barely trusting his voice as he took in her youthful face. Although she hadn’t aged physically, Taehyung was wise enough to know that she was as old as his grandmother. He could see the deteriorating youth in her eyes, if not read it on her facial features. He hugged her again, one last time, voicing a promise to always take care of her daughter.

Next, the last person he had to say goodbye to was none other than the reason he was leaving in the first place. He’d be the one to turn him into a mortal, and sending him to the real world - to you. Taehyung walked through the massive doors that lead to the court room and immediately, his eyes fell upon his dear friend who with such grace, occupied the throne.

Dressed in robes of black, red and gold - maybe he’d never find out why his friend had an obsession with gold - Min Yoongi got to his feet, the courtier who was reading a very much boring Royal Decree, stopping his speech once he noticed the king was not even for a second paying attention to his words. With two arms spread, the kind proceeded towards his one and only close friend, his arms finding themselves wrapped around Taehyung in a hug. The last thing Taehyung would have ever expected.

The gasps and yelps that echoed in the room were proudly ignored by the two friends, who said their goodbyes in long silence. Taehyung was the first to pull away.

'I don’t think I could ever thank you enough, Yoongi.’ A trembling smile was set on the male’s lips. The same was returned.

'You don’t ever have to,’ Yoongi said, his long, raven hair hiding much of his eyes. 'Ready to meet her after five long months?’ Yoongi asked with mirth in his voice, as though he himself were leaving. He couldn’t help it - he just felt this certain happiness to finally being able to set his friend free. And he was sure, others would follow. It could take years, and maybe millennium, but he’d never stop trying.

Taehyung nodded his head subtly, still wishing he could stay with him. The king flicked the Sinner’s forehead, 'Stop it. Now, keep your thoughts quiet, I need to concentrate.’

Taehyung bit his lip as he watched the king take a few steps back, leaving a good space of two feet between them. With a deep exhale, Yoongi shut his eyes and his lips began moving in an inaudible chanting of a prayer. Or that’s what it looked like to Taehyung. And then slowly, Taehyung felt his feet lift from the ground, like he was being pulled. He felt the area where his wings were attached to his skin burn, the stinging turning to a smouldering heat. It felt like his skin was melting. But he knew what was happening: He was being stripped off his wings; the same wings that were his pride, once upon a time. The same wings that Yoongi had deemed useless to reattach.

Then it struck him - this was planned way before Taehyung had understood the young man who still had his eyes closed - his lips still moving in silence. A perfect score for Min Yoongi, the King of the Underworld.

He would’ve smiled at him if it weren’t for the vanquishing pain. His throat tore as he let out a feral scream, a weight suddenly lifting off his back and the pain residing in its own pace. His shoulders sagged, and he noticed how high he’d gotten off the floor. Perhaps around ten feet. He watched Yoongi, his eyes feeling droopy as he did so, but he wanted to remember him - his first friend in this cruel world.

He kept watching even as the king’s eyes opened, the court room in hushed silence as they too watched the miracle. A word they never thought would come to reality in a realm like this. In a realm so cruel, hope was all lost the moment foot was stepped onto the gravel. Yoongi looked up at Taehyung, who now had lost all his traits that had once kept him tied to Kronell. Taehyung felt his vision blacken, but fought against it. Longer, he pleaded with his body; he wanted to stay with Yoongi a little longer, even if he stood ten feet below him. Yoongi sent him a winning smile, 'My mother loved gold! So it naturally became mine as well!’ He laughed as he watched Taehyung disappear - his form vaporizing into thin air, never to return again.

Ah, Taehyung grinned as he slipped into darkness. He found out why Yoongi loved the color, after all.

'Never forget me, Taehyung,’ Yoongi whispered, his friend finally disappearing from his kingdom forever, 'And I’ll never forget you.’

You stared at the graduation cap and gown that hung on the wall right beside your bed. It was there as a reminder of how much time had actually passed. Calendars just seemed to tell you when Jin, Jimin, Hoseok and Taehyung had left you.

Your eyes averted to the picture beside the gown - to your class photo. The last memories you had of your friends at University, and a spot right above you remained empty - it had been reserved for Hoseok. You swept two fingers over the spot.

It had been a week since your graduation.  And you’d surprised yourself by passing the finals with the highest distinction. You’d won yourself offers at many top-notch companies. It was like you life was set. But, that could wait. For now, you just wanted to take a break and organize yourself.

Your fingers curled and uncurled, them feeling stiff all of a sudden. Bringing your palms up to your line of vision, you ran your sight along the two long scars than ran the diagonal length of your palm. It had come from holding that feather-dagger so many months ago.

But for some reason, it felt just like yesterday.

Sighing, you walked away from the wall and towards your balcony. You looked out the window - it was a fairly pleasant day, the sky was slightly cloudy with warm breeze blowing through your hair. But even with the whistling of the wind, the house felt empty - silent.

Naturally it would: Jungkook had left just two days after your graduation with his group to the States. They had more polishing to do before they could debut - years long dream of your younger brother. And you prayed for that to become reality, every day without fail. Your lips parted into a smile as you remembered the day of your graduation. Jungkook had been such a sweetheart and attended your graduation, and had then later taken you out to dinner.

'But, I don’t think you can afford this, Kook.’ You’d told him. He simply waved your remark away, his god-forsaken smirk planted on his face.

'You’re my sister, Y/N. And you have no idea how proud I am to have you as my family. So, Y/N,’ he’d said, pulling out the chair and letting you sit before taking his place in front of you, 'why don’t you enjoy this moment while it lasts? Because I can assure you I won’t ever be able to take you out on a dinner like this again.’ He’d joked, and you’d laughed heartily along with him. That night felt right - and after so long, you’d finally felt genuinely happy. And throughout the night, Jungkook had been a gentleman you’d never thought him to be. Whoever he would find, would definitely be the luckiest.

You trudged out of your room and shuffled your way into the kitchen. Maybe you should try to make some coffee. It’d been months since you’d last had one. Or even made one.

Taehyung woke up in a dimly lit alley. He flinched when he saw a rat scurrying close to his leg. 'Out of all the places he could’ve left me,’ Taehyung began mumbling as he picked himself up, dusting himself with his hands, 'he picked an alley. Great move, Min Yoongi. Totally appreciate it.’ Taehyung scoffed playfully at his own words. Then he froze.

How long had he been out? A day? Hours?

His hand instinctively came up as he looked at his wrist. He clicked his tongue. Of course he didn’t have a watch with him…what was he thinking? But with the sufficient light that seeped into the ally, he prayed it was only post afternoon. First, he’d have to get out of the alley and maybe get himself to smell fresh if he’d really spent a day in here - he raised his arm and sniffed his armpit. He was impressed - he wasn’t stinking at all.

Second, he’d have to find your apartment. He prayed he remembered how it looked, if not your floor.

Then third, he’d have to meet you. God, he was feeling nauseous already.

He walked towards the light and found himself on a mildly busy footpath as he emerged from the darkness. Great, now to search for your apartment. He looked around, his eyes blatantly searching the area and then when he was just about to turn around to the opposite direction, he took a double take.

A familiar apartment stood a few blocks away, the gates looking way more familiar to him. A grin ripped his lips apart.

Dodging and twirling, he made his away through the mild crowd and ran as fast as he could towards the apartment - more specifically, the gates. His ripped jeans made it all the more easier to run as he closed in on the gates of the apartment residence. He slowed down as he reached closer, jogging turning to walking before he finally stood in the same place he’d first kissed you on a chilly night, and said goodbye to you, for what he thought was forever. And now here he was, standing in that exact spot again, staring at your building, his eyes immediately finding a lit window on the tenth floor. He knew where you lived! He remembered!

Calming his breath, he inhaled deeply before walking towards the gates that opened upon his arrival, the guard barely sparing him a glance while Taehyung watched the incredulous man in a scrutinizing manner. He was different. Perhaps the previous had left as well. Shrugging his shoulders, he jogged through the entrance of the apartment and had gone straight to the lift. His heart was beating like a sledgehammer pounding against concrete. With shaky hands, he pressed the number ten among the other buttons in the elevator, the world now seeming to slow down a great deal.

He watched as the numbers proceeded one by one, way slower than his heart was pumping. There’s no rush. Absolutely no rush at all. But his impatient tapping of feet on the floor of the elevator and fidgeting of his fingers screamed otherwise.

Then when he finally felt his heart beat reducing to a normal pace, the elevator dinged, and opened. It was the tenth floor already. His pulse skyrocketed. He felt sweat accumulate around his hairline, his palms wiping themselves on the sides of his jeans.

Butterflies fluttered around like crazy in his stomach as he approached your door and finally stood in front of it.

Digest them! He reprimanded himself. Clearing his throat, he extended a fist, ready to knock on the door. He was just about to, but he pulled his arm back. Possibilities that he hadn’t thought about before, came crashing down: What if you’d left? What if you weren’t living in the area anymore? Or in the country? Would all of this be in vain?

He pondered over puerile thoughts, having a very much dramatic melee with himself. If Yoongi had been there, he’d probably knock him out and then ring the bell, leaving Taehyung to get embarrassed over his actions. But Yoongi wasn’t here to reprimand him now.

It was now or never. His friend had sacrificed too much for this. He couldn’t just let it break apart.

But if you were really gone…

He punched his fist onto the doorbell. Then his eyes widened as he began cursing silently at the pain that shot through his arm.

You heard the bell ring.

Groaning loudly, you rolled your eyes at the unmade coffee and began making your way to the door. Was the landlord dumb? You were not ready to give the extra room, in this case, Jungkook’s room for rent! And this was his third visit today. If he had come again with a random person who was looking for a place to live, you’d probably shove one of your slippers into his face. Not bothering to look through the peephole, you were already complaining as you began opening the door.

'Look, Mr. Lee, I told you-’ You words stopped as you saw a man in front of your door bent forward, clutching his fist. He straightened almost instantly, knocking the air out of your lungs as a familiar scent rushed towards your nose, your eyes taking a second longer to interpret the identity of the blond man who stood in front of you wearing ripped jeans and a shirt, never having looked so fine before.

'Taehyung…’ Your voice came out as a whisper, your eyes probably as wide as saucers - mirroring his.

And then that moment of shock broke, and you flung yourself onto the man.

Taehyung grunted as he caught you in his arms, wrapping them tightly around your waist with a silent chuckle and dipping his head into the crook of your neck, taking your scent in as he relished the feeling of you in his arms. He walked into the apartment, his leg kicking the door close. Then he just stood there, holding you in his arms while you cried your eyes out onto his shoulder.

Hours later, you were still finding the fact that Taehyung, the same man whose mate you were - and still are - he assured you, was laying right beside you on your bed, your head currently resting on his chest that raised and fell, his heart finally beating in rhythm, unbelievable. His fingers played with your hair while his other hand ran soothingly the length of your arm.

'What are you thinking?’ Taehyung questioned, and for a second, he felt weird for asking so. Because the first thing he’d be able to do was listen to your thoughts. But now that he was very much a mortal, he had things to adjust to.

'You’re on my mind. Just, you.’ You replied without hesitation. He sighed, his hand stilling against your arm before he used his fingers to tip your head, making you look at him. He placed a firm kiss on your lips, leaving a tingling sensation in its wake, as he gazed right at you.

'I’m with you now, Y/N. And I’m never leaving you again.’ He promised.

And for the first time in five months, you slept soundly that night.

Next morning you awoke to a sunny day, the light almost blinding you as you opened your eyes. Your hand stretched over the mattress and you felt the cold sheets, making your eyes snap open. You jolted upwards, the comforter almost falling off your naked chest as you got ready to shout Taehyung’s name.

You opened your mouth, when the door to your room opened and a shirtless Taehyung walked in, two cups in his hands. 'Good morning, love.’ He knelt on the mattress and leaned over to peck you on the lips. You stared at him wide eyed before everything settled well in your mind. You had to stop being so paranoid. And what Taehyung asked next, did just that.



Now to finish my pending requests - I’m so sorry for the delays. *Sweats nervously*

*walks in late*

Oh. Right. Bi Visibility Day was yesterday. 

It feels a bit like the start of a self-help meeting to make a post saying “Hi, my name is Jez and I’m a bisexual.” But I am. So is my fiance.

In a lot of ways, I wish days like this had been more widely recognized and talked about when I was younger. Maybe then I would have come to terms with my own identity a lot sooner. Hell, the moment everything started to “click” for me was when I was in college and went to a presentation hosted in my dorm. Sitting a few feet away from a woman who was open about her bisexuality, who talked about feeling ashamed at first, who discussed the initial years of confusion, the pressure to choose one and deny the other, and messages of rejection from those around her - it’s like a light went off. The very first step on that journey of self-acceptance for me began with something as simple as listening to a woman who was comfortable telling a room full of people that she was bisexual. 

Fast forward to now, and you can see entire communities online where people are making the same kind of public proclamation in digital form. While I’ve reached an age where I am comfortable and confident about who and what I am, I’m reassured by the thought that maybe events like this will help someone else who needs that kind of support and validation that they don’t often see. To know that they are not alone, that they don’t have anything to be ashamed of, and they shouldn’t feel like they need to deny a part of who they are and who they love.

So, much love to my fellow bisexuals. To those who are out. To those who are in the closet. To those who cringe whenever someone jokes that the person they are currently dating has “cured” them. To anyone who identifies with an identity that “doesn’t exist,” who are told they’re “just selfish” or “confused” because of the nature of their feelings. 

I love you. And a lot of people out there do too. 

What it’s like to be in Fifth Harmony, from the girls of Fifth Harmony

AKA a noncomprehensive list of the things the girls have said and done that suggests they have/had a miserable work environment that is detrimental to their mental and physical health.

Also, I feel like we’re forced to spend so much time parsing out like the range of truth, with the groups behavior over the past year, and the deeply confusing statments; that it’s useful to acknowledge the things that have come directly from them.


In response to Lauren to saying they’re treated like slaves: “I know, I know”.

*Unfollows the group Instagram account after the statements about Camila leaving (statements that have her name signed to them btw).*

Billboard Int. (talking about low points): “She keeps the details vague, but cites “awful mental health situations” and “pain on a lot of levels.”


Apologizing to fans for not speaking to them before(?) “I’m sorry I couldn’t come down today. They were actually working us to the fucking bone.”

Is sick enough to be hospitalized, but somehow the girls only had like an hours notice that they would have to perform without her?

        - I feel like it’s worth noting she was 17 at the time. Would they have made           her perform if she was of age?

Has anxiety so severe she can’t finish a show.

Billboard Int.  “I was having terrible anxiety, nonstop. My heart would beat really fast the whole day. Two hours after I woke up, I’d need a nap because my body was so hyperactive. It was so eff – sorry, but it was so f–ed up. I was scared of what would happen to me, of the things my brain might tell me.”

*Looks vauguely miserable for a year and a half, with lots of comments about stifled artistry*

*Leaves the group.*

LAUREN JAUREGUI (just a bastion of honesty):

Leaked Audio: They make decisions on a regular basis to fuck us over to make us literally slaves, literally slaves, Ally. We’re doing fucking labor everyday and we see nothing.“

In response to a fan asking what she’d change about the music industry: “I think I personally would like to change how um, hmmm gosh, I don’t like how um sort of like raw talent, and the naivete is that comes with that, is sort of taken advantage of a lot of the time. I don’t like that they use people who have dreams, and who genuinely love art put them in a web of contracts and like take from them and take so much from them.” 

        - She’s about as subtle as a sledgehammer.

When asked for advice about going into the music industry: “Read your contract.”

Billboard Int. “They sell you this ­present of rainbows and butterflies, and as a 16-year-old that’s what I bought. It’s why I did X Factor and why I ended up in a group. But then you’re working so hard, so young.”


I love touring, but the schedule ­traumatized me,“ says Hansen bitterly. ”I was like, ‘What kind of job are we doing?' “

*Quotes ‘Bad Things’ on Instagram to accompany a picture of her and Camila but changes the lyrics to say I’m proud of you and I love you, a week before Camila’s exit is announced*

*Likes Camila’s response to the band’s statement, in which Camila essentially says they’re lying.*


Original Poster: Man, that girl keeps her mouth shut and her nose clean. She’s said some things about the horrors of social media and racism in the past, but I don’t recall her every really saying anything specific that falls in line with the tone of the other girls.

Other Stuff:

Also from Billboard Int. : “Still, ever since 5H finished third on the show (also like 1D), something has been driving the machine, and not without cost. By 11 a.m. at the hotel, everyone is crying.” 

This is irrelevant but it made me laugh, because their responses are so predictable.

Speaking about the succes of Trump (May of 2016):  

“Hansen isn’t so sure.“It could go both ways,” she says ­hesitantly. “If Trump becomes president, he wouldn’t be afraid to step on toes. And he’ll be feared by the world.” Jauregui looks ­horrified, Kordei baffled. Cabello shrugs and cheerily says, “Politics! Moving on!”