perfectly manicured nails

3

Be it Easter or Eid, holidays in the Levantine region of the Middle East are incomplete without a shortbread cookie called maamoul. Stuffed with date paste or chopped walnuts or pistachios, and dusted with powdered sugar, these buttery cookies are the perfect reward after a month of fasting during Ramadan or Lent.

The dough is made with wheat flour or semolina (or a combination of the two), then pressed into special molds, traditionally carved in wood. And the fillings are fragrant with rosewater or orange blossom.

In the weeks leading up to Easter, the Beirut sweet shop Helwayat Al-Salam becomes a veritable factory of maamoul. Owner Mitri Hanna Moussa dips pitted dates into rosewater, then passes them through a meat grinder to make a paste. Mitri’s mother, Samira, a small, older woman with wrinkled hands but perfectly manicured nails, sits at a makeshift table sorting pistachios. She makes sure that neither a speck of shell nor a single shriveled pistachio makes its way into their renowned cookies. Once all ingredients are ready, Mitri and his assistant pinch off balls from their mountain of semolina dough. They shape the dough balls into small cups which they stuff with either date paste, pistachios or walnuts.

Then, Samira presses each stuffed dough ball into an antique wooden mold, which she thwacks against a wooden stump to toss out a perfectly formed cookie, ready to be baked. In a matter of minutes, the three of them prepare dozens more.

Maamoul: An Ancient Cookie That Ushers In Easter And Eid In The Middle East

Photo: Amy E. Robertson for NPR

Toxic (One Shot)

A/N: Happy Bisexual Pride Day, guys! I’m super sorry for the lateness of this hehe. I’m going to post a fic for each individual day this month, starting with this one and I’m excited as heck. :D I hope you guys like it! *throws glitter into air*. 🌈 ❤️ (The fic was inspired by this song, by the way ;)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader x Natasha Romanoff

Warnings: M/F/F. Bisexual!Reader. Sex (Obviously lol). Daddy kink. Natasha is the perfect mistress! Bucky is the ultimate daddy ;) Threesomes. There’s a sex gif as well so beware lol. 

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2 | Freak

BTS X READER [COLLEGE!AU | THRILLER!AU]

WORD COUNT: 7,114

series warnings: mature themes, violence, blood and gore, murder, emotional manipulation, bullying, mental health deterioration, eventual smut and substance abuse. this chapter contains strong language, light smut, bullying and claustrophobic themes

Originally posted by jeontrash

masterlist | ask | prev | coming soon


It had been a week since Yoongi’s party at Pearl, an entire seven days since your father had disappeared into thin air; and a whole one hundred and sixty eight hours since your brother decided to call the police, regardless of the anonymous threats. As much as you loved Yoongi you couldn’t shake the bad feeling away from your figure, the text message had very clear instructions. Don’t show the police, or people will die. And with your dad still missing it was impossible not to entertain the idea.

“Y/N? Hello? Are you in here?” Maggie, the Exhibit gossip forum’s editor in chief and your overall boss, flicked your forehead with her perfectly manicured bubblegum pink nails to regain your attention.

“I’m so sorry… What were you saying?” You hummed in an attempt to salvage the embarrassing situation, you had no idea what she was talking to you about, truth be told you didn’t even realise she was there until her acrylic nail was leaving behind a small indentation on your skin.

“The threatening mystery texts, your dad’s disappearance! It’s all just dreadful… Will you run it?” She hollowed her thin cheeks out until you could see a map of her high cheekbones as she raised her brows expectantly.

There was no denying she was beautiful, she had rich dark brown flawless skin and her hair was shaved short and dyed red, her winged eyeliner was sharp enough to cut someone and her fashion choices were beyond Lady Gaga’s wildest imagination. But unfortunately for her you saw right through her fur coats and fake personality, she was the head cheerleader who never grew up; she was a bitch.

“Wait so you want me to run the story… About my missing dad? And include the anonymous messages?” You paraphrased eyes wide with shock, dumbfounded by her complete lack of human decency.

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"Mom, Dad... I'm Adopted."

“Mom, Dad… I’m adopted.”

My parents ceased their activities. My mother, adorned in a pearl necklace and earrings to match stood upright. Upon both hands she word oven mitts and a matching apron. Her teal sundress really did bring out the blue in her eyes. She closed the oven and removed the mitts, revealing perfectly manicured nails.

My father sat his pipe on the end table and closed his book. His hair, just a touch of gray, was immaculate as ever. He wore a plaid shirt and a soft, tan cardigan. He removed his reading glasses to look me in the face.

Almost in unison they asked

“Why Dear?” “What makes you say that, son?”

Before them I stood. Pressed khaki pants, tucked in button down shirt and my matching belt and shoes. I felt both at one with, and detached from the people before me.

“I just…. know,” I tried to sound confident, but at the time, my confidence was lost to pubescence. “Don’t be ridiculous,” My father stood in the light of our perfectly lit kitchen. He placed his hands on my shoulders and looked me in the eyes, “You’re our boy, and we love you.”

I studied the lines of his face seeking no, pleading for a lie, but there was none. “Sit dear,” my mother interjected opening the stove, “Dinner is nearly ready.”

I sat at our polished wooden table and placed my napkin in my lap, an old habit from etiquette school. I felt my eyes moisten.

“Are you sure?” I was able to ask, staring at the blank place on the table where my food would soon be.

My mother placed prepared plates before my father and I. He said a brief grace for the table and began eating the roast and potatoes my mother had so delicately prepared.

“Positive,” he said, savoring his bite and wiping his lip.

My mother sat last with her plate on the other side of the table to my left and took my hand. “You’re our baby,” She said, looking me in the eye and assuring me I was her offspring, “Now, let’s talk about something else! You haven’t said hello to our guest.

My eyes and face were wet and red. I stared across the table. The woman before me was tied to her chair. Ropes ran from her throat to her feet keeping her from any free movement. Across her mouth was tightly wound duct tape and her head had slumped forward.

The only appendage not tied down was her right arm. It was not a kindness extended, but rather unneeded. Her right arm was severed below the shoulder. Blood was still actively pouring from the poor bandaging and soaking her side deep red. Her eyes had rolled back into her head in a loss of consciousness from the extreme pain she had just endured. My parents shared a laugh over it being seasoned so well.

I took all this in again and cried out in a whisper,

“Please, tell me I’m adopted.”

Listen, so Dorian and Vivienne are friends, right? And they’re both the kinds of people who pretend they don’t care about other people while caring a LOT? So imagine them looking out for one another but point-blank refusing to admit it.

An Orlesian nobleman is unconscionably rude to the new Divine? Mere weeks later, it’s revealed that he has rather unsavoury trade ties with Tevinter, and he’s forced to leave the court in disgrace.

When asked about it, Dorian is shocked, shocked that anyone could believe  he was involved.

One of the members of the Magisterium makes veiled threats to Magister Pavus? It’s not a month before most of his trusted contacts refuse to trade him for his grain, citing rumours about blood magic. He ends up making a loss on the harvest.

When someone brooches the topic with Vivienne, she looks down at her perfectly-manicured nails and says, “Tragic.”

uncommon alliances [draco malfoy]

request:  “ wowowow ive only read one of things youve written (idk if youve written more but still) and i already love your writing, since you taking requests, can you do something with the reader being rons twin sister and draco is interested™ in her and pansy is like wingwoman as fuck, but not to draco, to the reader, like theyre lowkey friends, you can take it where ever after those things tho.. thank you ❤️” - @reading-vs-reality

word count: ~1800

a/n: awww, thanks!! sorry this was sitting in my inbox for so long! i got a lil carried away with the “reader is ron’s twin” part and wrote tons (like 5000 words worth) of domestic relationship building between reader, ron, hermione, harry and ginny / the background between pansy and reader’s friendship. it might be posted later if i feel like it, but for now, this is what you got! thanks for reading and sorry if this isn’t what you wanted!

summary: sitting around a table in hogsmeade is the best place to find out secrets. also, reverse psychology ALWAYS works on a slytherin.

part zero

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anonymous asked:

Hi!! I've spent the last few hours just reading your work and omg I love the way you interpret the prompts! You're making the long hiatus so much better already and I can't wait to read more! I have a prompt request as well: friends with benefits to realizing they like each other (with some angst added in!) thank you!!! :)

First of all thank you so much, that’s so sweet of you! Second of all, here it is! This is more playful than angsty but I still hope it’s okay!

AU: Jughead never went to Riverdale High and never became friends with Betty and the gang the way they were supposed to. Archie, Jughead, and Betty were close in middle school, but once they parted ways and Jughead followed in his father’s footsteps of becoming a Serpent, their relationship was never the same.

Betty brushed past Cheryl Blossom as she hurried her way down the freshly-mowed lawn of Riverdale High’s courtyard, nearly snagging her baby blue sweater on one of Cheryl’s particularly sharp insect brooches as their shoulders slammed into one another.

“B, where the hell have you been?” Veronica called to her from their usual picnic table at the end of the quad, her prized set of pearls shining elegantly in the mid-afternoon sunlight.

Ignoring the icy glare that Cheryl tossed in her direction, Betty maneuvered her way through the crowd of chatting classmates to slip her way onto the bench of the picnic table next to Kevin, just as Veronica turned to narrow her eyes at Betty. “I’ve had to listen to Cheryl’s incessant ramblings regarding the subpar quality of her brand new Louboutins for the past half hour and trust me, when I reach the point of boredom beyond repair talking about designer shoes, you know there’s a problem.”

“Sorry, something came up,” Betty mumbled, shrugging off her pale pink backpack and placing it on the wooden surface in front of her.

“There have been a lot of things ‘coming up’ lately,” Veronica pointed out. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say our little, not-so-innocent Elizabeth Cooper has a man in her life she’s been hiding from us.”

“Yeah, right,” Betty scoffed, unzipping her bag and rummaging through its contents to find the salt and vinegar chips she didn’t eat at lunch. “You know how terrible I am at keeping secrets. Remember your surprise birthday party last year?”

“How could I forget? You asked me to come over to help you with an English paper,” Veronica recounted the event in question, shaking her head in shame at Betty’s failed attempt at such a classic form of surprise. “The day Betty Cooper asks Veronica Lodge for homework advice, you know there has to be something else going on.”

Betty’s lips curled into a slight smile, her expression distant as she reached into the bag of chips and popped one into her mouth, repeating this process for several minutes without blinking or acknowledging that there were other people sitting at the table with her.

“Kind of like now,” Veronica mumbled, waving a perfectly manicured set of nails in front of her in an attempt to snap her out of the trance she had fallen into. “Look at her face, Kev. There’s something wrong with it.”

“You’re right, V,” Kevin concurred, leaning in close and tilting Betty’s chin towards him with a flick of his thumb. “There’s an actual smile on it. Hell must have frozen over.”

“Hey, I smile!” Betty defended herself, her too-tight ponytail nearly smacking Kevin in the face as she whirled around to look from Veronica, to Kevin, and back again.

“Not since Polly-” Kevin started to explain, but before he could get the words out, Veronica lunged across the table to place a hand over his mouth, nearly knocking various textbooks and papers onto the grass in the process.

“Shhh!” Veronica quieted him. “Kevin, we agreed that bringing up such events should be handled as if one were at Hogwarts and in the position of saying the name Voldemort - you just don’t do it!”

“Sorry,” Kevin shrank back onto his spot on the bench. “Let me rephrase. You’ve been a little down the past few months, but lately-”

“You’re happier than Kevin during a Brad Pitt movie marathon,” Veronica finished for him, her eyes dancing wildly as she leaned in to point a finger in Betty’s direction. “And that can only mean one thing.”

“Betty Cooper: number one in her class, editor of the Blue and Gold and all around girl next door, is getting a little ‘Fifty Shades of Freaky’ with one of Riverdale High’s finest young bachelors,” Kevin concluded, his arms crossing in front of his chest as if he were proud of himself for solving such a complicated riddle.

“I am not!” Betty protested. “You two have way too much time on your hands if you’re speculating why I’ve been smiling more lately.”

“What kind of friends would we be if we didn’t notice such things,” Kevin pointed out, his gaze suddenly leaving his friends to focus on the parking lot in front of them. “Kind of like how I’ve noticed Jughead Jones’ massive biceps lately, holy hot and bothered Rolling Stone-meets-Abercrombie you can actually see them bulging through that leather jacket.”

The boy in question stepped out of his midnight-black 1968 Plymouth Roadrunner, his dark hair falling effortlessly over his eyes as he moved to shut the driver’s side door.

“Joining the Southside Serpents has really sat well with his upper body muscles,” Veronica admired, her mouth hanging open slightly as he pulled out a cigarette and lighter from his jacket pocket like he was plucked straight out a scene from the Outsiders. “Too bad he doesn’t go here anymore, I would love to run my hands up and down those-”

“Veronica!” Betty’s eyes went wide as she turned to glare at her friend, whose mouth was practically watering as she took in Jughead leaning against the classic car and taking a drag from his cigarette like she was watching the most sensual thing she had ever laid eyes on. “Last time I checked you still have a boyfriend, or have you forgotten about our good pal Archie Andrews. You know, captain of the football team, lead singer of his very own rock band, Riverdale High honor student. Ring any bells?”

“Oh please, I’m allowed to window shop as long as I resist throwing anything into my basket,” Veronica muttered, picking up her copy of The Sun Also Rises and fanning herself with it, even though it was a perfectly cool fall afternoon that didn’t even come close to meriting such actions.

“That’s wrong on so many levels,” Betty mumbled, pushing her half-eaten bag of chips away from her and wiping her greasy fingers down the front of her sweater.

“What’s Jughead doing here anyway?” Kevin wondered. “I thought he and Archie stopped talking once he moved schools a few years ago.”

“He’s here to see me actually,” Betty admitted, turning in her spot on the bench to look at Jughead for the first time since he had pulled into the parking lot. “He was the best writer we had at the the junior newspaper in middle school and no one’s ever come close to filling his shoes, so he’s helping me out a few times a week after school at the Blue and Gold.”

“You sure he’s not helping you out with a few other things too?” Veronica wiggled her eyebrows at Betty suggestively, her lips creeping up into an amused smile as Betty narrowed her eyes at her.

“Just friends, Veronica,” Betty assured her. “Jughead isn’t Archie’s favorite person right now and after everything that’s happened with their fathers - I just - I wouldn’t do that to him, okay?”

“Whatever you say, B,” Veronica shrugged, still looking unconvinced as she reached underneath the table to retrieve her cheer bag. “Okay, I have to go find Cheryl before River Vixens practice so I can warn her that the choreography she’s been throwing at us is too 90′s cheer routine and not enough Beyonce video like we were going for.”

“Yeah, and I have to go witness the bloodbath of bitchy, yet impressively clever insults that is sure to occur as a result so we’ll see you later, Betty,” Kevin followed Veronica’s lead as she made her way away from the picnic table, the giddiness in his expression made even more evident by the enthused squeal escaping his lips as he bent down to pick up his backpack.

“Bye, guys,” Betty called out to them, shaking her head in amusement as she watched them round the corner to head back into the school.

Betty kept her gaze focused on the chemistry textbook resting open in front of her as she saw the movement coming from the parking lot out of the corner of her eye. Jughead had pushed off his car and was slowly making his way onto the sidewalk leading up to the courtyard. Her breath caught in her throat as he took a step closer. And another. And an-

“And then there was one,” Jughead announced, his leather-clad sleeve brushing the soft fabric of her sweater as he slid his way onto the picnic table next to her. “What’s it like without chatter mouth one and two attached to your hip?”

“I don’t know,” Betty sat up straight, turning slightly on the bench to quirk a challenging eyebrow in his direction. “What’s it like without your manhood to back up that newfound edginess that drives all the girls crazy? Wanna find out?”

“Betty Cooper,”Jughead beamed, one leg tucking underneath itself so that he could turn his body to face hers completely. “Throwing the banter back at me like we’re in a 1940′s black and white screwball comedy. I like it.”

“You’re early,” Betty noticed, her eyes focusing back on the periodic table displayed on the inside cover of the chemistry book.

“I ditched the last two periods,” Jughead shrugged nonchalantly, scooping up the abandoned bag of chips on the table and tossing back a handful into his mouth. “I figured that I’ve already learned as much as I needed to know about 17th Century England and the Taming of the Shrew to pass with at least a C in both history and English and still function in the real world like an adequately intelligent human being so why not skip out early and come see you?”

Jughead crumpled up the now-empty chip bag and tossed it behind him, missing the trashcan completely as he looked back to watch it roll onto the grass. Leaning in close, Jughead rubbed a hand on her knee resting underneath the table, his breath tickling the exposed skin of her neck and nearly causing a thrilled giggle to escape her lips.

“Jug,” Betty warned, reaching down to remove the hand slowly creeping its way up her thigh and turning to give him a leveled glare. “We agreed, remember?”

“You agreed,” Jughead corrected. “I said friends with benefits was a dated form of emotional torture that benefits neither party in any meaningful way.”

“Isn’t that the point?” Betty reminded him. “To not get attached in a way that lets you mean something to the other person?”

“I think that ship has sailed,” Jughead admitted, his eyes flicking to hers with a vulnerable state of truth-turned-worry when he realized that she might night have felt the same way. “At least on my part anyways.”

“You know that we can’t be anything more than what we are,” Betty explained. “At least not right now.”

“Because Archie blames me for my father’s involvement in his father’s shooting and he would love nothing more than to see me strung up on the mantle of his nice and cozy family-sized home,” Jughead recalled, his eyes rolling backwards dramatically sliding his leg back underneath the table and facing the empty set of picnic tables across the courtyard. “Yeah, you said that when we first started - whatever you want to call this. Doesn’t mean I understand it. And it doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“Juggie,” Betty whispered, resisting the urge to reach out and caress his cheek affectionately the way she had grown accustomed to since they had started their relationship nearly eight weeks before.

“You know how I feel about you, Betty,” Jughead told her, his eyes softening slightly as his head turned to smile weakly down at her lips. “And I think that if you were being completely honest with yourself, you know exactly how you feel about me too.”

Betty knew he was right. She knew that she felt more than just lust, coupled with the added bonus of orchestrating their clandestine meetings, for the boy from the Southside who was more than just his leather jacket and tough demeanor. But she couldn’t risk her friendship with either boy in her life by making things official. Not yet.

“This is the way things have to be right now,” Betty sighed. “At least until Mr. Andrews gets out the hospital and everything just - settles down. Please, Jughead. I don’t want to lose you. But I don’t want to lose him either.”

Betty held Jughead’s gaze, her bottom lip jutting out slightly as her teeth automatically reached out to bite down on the tender skin there, a habit she had formed around the time she had started seeing Jughead in a little-more-than-just-friends kind of way.

“God, why do you have to do that thing with your bottom lip,” Jughead mumbled, his eyes flicking down to her pink lips with a fleck of longing in his gaze. “You know that drives me insane.”

“I know,” Betty beamed, her eyebrow quirking flirtatiously up in his direction. “Why do you think I do it so often?”

“Okay, if we’re still playing by these ridiculous rules you’ve set in place then we better get to the Blue and Gold room because I’m feeling the overwhelming urge to kiss you,” Jughead breathed, his heart beating wildly as Betty’s leg brushed against his, making his palms sweat in the best way possible. “Now.”

“Then what are we waiting for,” Betty leaned in close to Jughead as if she were going to meet her lips to his, but swung her legs out from underneath the picnic table at the last second and stood in front of him with her hands on her hips. “Race you.”

“You’re on.” Jughead grabbed Betty’s bag off the table and sprinted after her, not even noticing that there had been a figure lurking in the shadows who had witnessed their intimate exchange with a devious smile plastered on her flaming red lips. Turning on her less-than-adequate Louboutin heel, Cheryl let her waist-length red hair swing playfully behind her as she sauntered her way to cheer practice, already scheming and plotting how she was going to use this juicy new development to her advantage.

yarrayora  asked:

request: ron weasley finding himself waking up in his younger self's body + "Harry might have forgiven you, named his sons after you two, but I'm not Harry and I'll make sure he will have a life beyond your plans"

He goes to bed a man and awakens a boy.

Ron Weasley is thirty years old. He has fought a war and survived it, too; he’s loved and lost and loved again, he’s buried one brother and sired two children and he’s—lived. The evidence of this is all around him, in the ache of his bones and the premature gray streaking his hair. It’s in the tired smiles he and Hermione will share on the days that still—still, even now, even years later—rest heavy on their souls with loss.

When he slips underneath the covers it’s with the warm weight of his wife by his side and the knowledge his children are just a room over. He shuts off the lights with a weary wave of his wand and closes his eyes with a soft sigh. Hermione grabs his hand beneath the sheets and her fingers are warm. She squeezes his hand. He smiles, soft, and squeezes back. He falls asleep with her hand in his.

Ron awakens from his sleep a child of eleven years, with gangly limbs and unscarred skin and no body lying beside him. He wakes up alone, young, and scared—falls straight out of bed into a heap on the floor, threadbare blankets twisted around him, his brothers snoring across the room. His hands are smooth and soft, free of calluses. The hair on his head is thick and a brilliant red, no gray in sight. His bones do not ache. His eyesight is as strong as it ever was.

Ron awakens into a world he outgrew years and years ago—and screams.

-

At first he is inconsolable, and no whispered words of comfort from his mother can calm him. She is too young and he is too small, and the sight of her starts the angry helpless tears anew, grief clogging his throat.

At first Ron mourns, mourns the loss of the future they all bled to create. He mourns his wife, his children. His friends. He doesn’t know what’s going on, but Ron has lived too long not to listen to instinct, and he knows—he won’t be going home. He won’t be going back. He’s lost them all.

That’s when the sorrow turns to rage.

Ron is old. Old at thirty, true, but hasn’t he earned the right? Haven’t they all? He’s betrayed and been betrayed, he’s bled a thousand times and lost so much—friends, family, innocence. His childhood was a warzone and he’s spent the last twenty years making sure his children never grew up the same way. His life wasn’t always happy but it is better, it’s bright. It’s his.

So how dare they, whoever they are, whoever is responsible—how dare they take that from him. He fought for that happy ending, his brother died for it, and the rest of them nearly followed. How dare they dishonor that sacrifice. How dare they take Ron from a time of peace and place him right back into the bloodbath.

How dare they.

-

He spends nearly a week in this state, caught between rage and sorrow, tottering back and forth between the two. His family has noticed, and he can tell by their worried glances that he’s starting to freak them out. Even the twins are acting…. Far nicer than Ron remembers them to be, but that certainly doesn’t help—Ron can’t look Fred or George in the eye, and every time Percy places a hand on his shoulder he flinches.

He’s a mess. He knows it, they know it. One week back in the past and he’s already screwed up.

In the end, it is his mother’s desperate tactic of using his upcoming year at Hogwarts to try and cheer him up that snaps him out of his stupor. Hogwarts. Harry, Hermione, Luna, Neville. War and blood and friendship and –

Ron has three weeks until he boards the train, three weeks until the year that changes everything is kick-started into motion.

Ron thinks of war and blood and brothers who died too early. He thinks of Harry, tired and old even at seventeen, blood crusted on his cheek. Hermione, eyes flinty, shoulders set back as she prepares to fight for her life. He thinks of Luna caged in the Malfoy cellar and Neville as he slayed the snake, and he thinks—

No. He knows.

They earned their happy ending, once upon a time. But that future is gone, now, so maybe—maybe this time—

Maybe Ron can find it for them.

Maybe this time, no one has to die.

Ron has three weeks before Hogwarts. Three weeks before the train. Three weeks to save the world.

And Ron may not be the hero, or the chosen one—but he has always, always, been good at strategy.

-

When he steps on the train it’s with fear in his heart and excitement lodged in his throat. The bag looped around his shoulders is filled with roast-beef sandwiches Ron has never liked (but Harry will eat them and so he doesn’t mind), used books, and a hand-me-down wand. But there are also journals, made invisible with illegal spells Hermione slaved over years ago, journals filled with diagrams and plots and important things Ron cannot afford to forget.

(He hopes, just a little bit, to perhaps buy a pensive. One day. It’s a stupid idea, but—is it so wrong for Ron to want to see his children again, even if only in his memories?)

Ron steps onto the platform and it’s like stepping into Hogwarts the first time—it’s bustling and loud and alien, almost menacing in its confusion. He sees faces of future enemies and future friends alike—Draco Malfoy, sharp features soft with baby fat, sneer ill-fitting on his sallow face; Neville Longbottom, shoulders hunched near his ears and toad clenched in shaking hands, no confidence to be found; Lavender Brown, her pretty face glowing, small hoops dangling in her ears, no blood beneath her perfectly manicured nails.

It shakes him to the core, and though Ron is young, now, young and small and as gangly as the rest of them, he fancies himself a stranger. They are so young, all of them, young in body and eyes and soul. It hits Ron right then and there that though he may try, he’ll never see those brothers- and sisters-in-blood in these children. They’re here before him but they’ll never be as he remembers them to be, once upon a future.

He nearly flees onto the train, but the twins are close behind, their eyes watchful and worried. Still, he cannot meet their eyes.

“Gotta go,” Ron tells them, before they can comment, and then he dashes up the steps and into the corridor. He waves out the open door with half-hearted enthusiasm when his family looks back, uncertain. He smiles to put them at ease, and maybe he even means it. It makes him feel better, being on the train: the only way to go now is forward.

His mother beams at him, waving wildly, Ginny bouncing on her heels beside her. For the first time their young faces do not fill Ron with grief. Instead, as he waves wildly back, something warmer rises in his chest. Something like hope.

There’s a whole future before him, and Ron is ready. All the pieces in place. Voldemort best be ready, because Ron has been playing this game his whole life. He’s not planning on losing now.

Ron wanders the train, careful not to sit down. He’ll have to wait until the train is about to leave to find Harry, and as he glides past the youthful faces of his year-mates he finds himself settling. He sees Hermione and smiles at her as bright as he can—it hurts to see her, but the small smile she gives back leaves him giddy for the rest of the trip.

A whistle blows. Ron wanders forward, already knowing where to go.

Harry is at the back, as he always is, leaning against the widow with his eyes half-lidded as he watches. Ron watches him, too. Sees the shadows under his eyes and the quiet slump of his bony shoulders and marvels, again, at how young they all are.

He thinks too of Dumbledore, and Snape, and children named after heroes and villains alike. Harry had forgiven them, but that was years ago, and Ron has never been the hero. Never been all that good at forgiving.

They’re young, all of them. Just children, and that fact is clearer to him now. They are all just children.

He’ll have a life beyond your game of chess, Ron thinks—promises. This time, he’ll be better. He won’t let himself be blinded by jealousy or necklaces that whisper in the night. He’ll save them all, be the friend he tried to be and this time succeed at it—and this time when Harry looks back at these years, he’ll have more happy memories than bad ones.

For the future Ron lost, for the future he could yet have again—Ron will make sure of it.

He slides back the door and smiles when bottle-green eyes glance back. A whistle blows loud and piercing. Beneath his feet, the train begins to move.

“Hi,” Ron says. “Can I sit here? Everywhere else is full.”

Harry nods, slow and careful. Ron smiles his brightest smile, and for the first time, feels no grief, no fear, no worry.

It’s a new day, a new game, and Ron is ready to play.

don’t breathe

Originally posted by yoongichii

in which you seem to always hold your breath around him.

genre: fluff 

― vampire!yoongi x reader

a/n: word vomits with bora at 1am


     FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIFE, YOU WISHED YOU WERE ON DRUGS. It would make trying to make sense of what was happening before your eyes way easier. You stood in horror, watching the infamous-for-so-many-wrong-reasons Min Yoongi feed off of a classmate of yours. You couldn’t quite remember her name, something like Sooyeon. What was more revolting was the fact that her face showed pure euphoria, as if he weren’t sucking the life out of her. 

Placing a hand over your mouth, you slowly took one step back from the classroom. The almost inaudible sound of your shoe hitting the tiled floor made Yoongi glance up sharply. You blanched, feeling your stomach lurch. His eyes were glowing a deep scarlet, the blood dripping down his chin was almost the same color. 

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Clichés: Chapter 1

A Reaper/Gabriel Reyes x Reader Office AU fic. Originally written for lilith-chii’s contest, but I couldnt finish it in time and instead sent in a soldier 76 smut piece lol. Still not finished, so it’ll be divided into chapters


Work was busier than usual. So many reporters have been trying to get interviews with the co-presidents of Overwatch since the big announcement of the joining of Overwatch and Talon. Two separate companies suddenly merging together was quite the big fuss. After Rico Reyes passed away last month, ownership of his weapons company was passed to his favorite son, Gabriel. Despite the fact that Gabe had left the family business ten years ago to join Overwatch. Now the billionaire ex vice president of Overwatch was the co-president of… Overwatch. They decided not to change the name. Though Talonwatch does have a ring to it. Or maybe Overtalon? Nah, not as catchy.

Overwatch was a much larger company than Talon, so it’s not entirely unusual for the two to combine. Though it’s less of a combination and more of Overwatch swallowing up the resources Talon provides. As the secretary of the president and vice president (now co-president), you had your hands full. Emails, phone calls, lawyers, and reporters that thought they could just prance in and get an instant meeting with Mister Reyes or Mister Morrison. Such was the case now. A reporter for some women’s magazine just pranced right in and stalked right up to your desk, standing haughtily in front of you.

“I’m here to get an interview with Jack Morrison and Gabriel Reyes. Now please.” The nameless reporter spoke, tapping a perfectly manicured nail against your desk.

“I’m sorry, but Mister Reyes and Mister Morrison are currently in a very important meeting. I’d be happy to try to add you into their schedule, though.” You informed with a polite (and absolutely fake) smile. She looked appalled, absolutely confused that she had just been told no.

“I’m sure their meeting could wait. I’m from a very important magazine, ‘Eyecandy,’ I’m sure you’ve heard of it, yes? This interview simply can’t wait. Why don’t you go get them and tell them who I am and we can have this interview right now?” The woman didn’t so much ask as she did command.

“Oh, and get me an ice water while you’re at it, will you? I need to use the little ladies’ room.” With the toss of her hair, she turned around and strutted down the hall, where the bathrooms were.

What a bitch. She was obviously raised wealthy, never having been turned down before. She likely used her good looks and demanding attitude to get what she wanted. It was incredibly unlikely that she would leave without speaking to the co-presidents, and you didn’t really want to deal with her any more than you already had. You had work to do. A lot of it. So you got up and went to the meeting room right in between their offices, knocking gently on steel door. No response, only faint mumblings from inside, but the room was rather soundproof.

Taking a chance, you cracked open the door and peeked inside, hoping it would be enough to catch their attention. However, it seems like you walked in on an argument, and it didn’t seem to be a productive one either.

“Su traje es mierda y no le queda, lápiz blanco!”

“Stop yelling at me in Spanish, you know I don’t understand what you’re saying!”

“Estúpido!”

“Ok I understood that.”

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What Archie Doesn’t Know, Can’t Hurt Him [Jughead Jones]

Fandom: Riverdale

Character: Jughead x Reader

Word Count: 1,314

Warnings: None

Needed to write a imagine for this beautiful creature. Please send me Riverdale or any fandom requests in general as I would love to write for you guys! Hope you enjoy this imagine! x

Why the hell are we doing this?” You whispered to your friends as you watched Cheryl pull out two more objects from the hat.

When Cheryl had invited you to her party you had been happy; finally you would have a chance to let out steam after summer, to have fun and dance like an idiot, but no, Cheryl had to suggest playing seven minutes in heaven.

“I have no idea.” Jughead grumbled beside you; his expression dark and his arms crossed over his chest.

You gasped suddenly, “Oh my God.”

“What?!” Veronica hissed beside you as all of your friends turned to look at you.

You leaned forward and grasped your twin brother by his shoulders; your expression fearful, “Archie, what if she pulls out us?”

“Ew!” Archie crinkled his nose in disgust, “Twincest? No thank you.” He chuckled, looking between you and Jughead sat next to each other on the sofa, “I would rather see you and Jughead making out; and that’s saying something.” He shivered as he thought about it, “My best friend and my twin.”

You froze at his words, suddenly becoming very interested in the hem of your leather skirt. Sometimes you thought you and Archie were mentally linked; like when he knew you were craving food so he would throw a packet of sweets at your head on the way to his room. Other times, you doubted this mental link as he would be completely oblivious to what you were thinking. In this case he was oblivious to the massive crush you had on his best friend, Jughead. You hadn’t meant to fall for him; you had always thought he was attractive with his dark curls, lean and muscular body and that wicked smile, but it was only when Jughead had moved in with you, your twin and your Dad where you had really started to develope feelings for him.

“Well that’s never going to happen.” Jughead mumbled from beside you.

Your heart fell at his words, a sting of hurt running through you. You knew he didn’t reciprocate your feelings; but did he really have to reject you so hard?

Betty’s hand found your knee, her hand squeezing it subtly before she leaned her blonde head on your shoulder. Betty was your best friend, which meant she was well aware of your feelings for Jughead.

“Are you ok?” She whispered; obviously knowing you were hurt after Jugheads words.

You only shook your head.

“Looks like Jughead and Y/N are about to get very cosy.” Cheryl called from the middle of the room.

Your head snapped up in confusion, your eyes widening and mouth falling open as you saw Jugheads button and your keyring dangling beside each other. You glanced at Jughead, only to see that his expression mirrored your own.

“No way!” Archie growled, shaking his head furiously.

“Sorry Archiekins, it’s the rules.” Cheryl sighed before she smirked mischievously, “Besides, it’s either Wednesday Adams or Manwhore Reggie.” Cheryl motioned to Reggie with a perfectly manicured nail.

“Come on.” Jughead said quickly, grabbing your hand and practically dragging you towards the closet.

“Seven minutes you two.” Cheryl reminded you before winking, slamming the door closed and locking it.

Jughead and you stared at each other from opposite ends of the closet. The closet was dark and cramped, the only source of light was a blue night light that had been plugged in before the game had started. You peered at Jughead from under your eyelashes, drinking in his handsome features. He was looking down at his hands; as if he were almost scared to look at you.

“Am I that disgusting?” You blurted out before you could stop yourself.

His head snapped up, his eyebrows pulled down in a frown, “What?”

“You can’t even look at me?” You snorted, crossing your arms over your chest, “I get it, I’m Archie’s sister, but I’m still a girl.”

“I’m aware of that.” Jughead chuckled. “What are you trying to say?”

“Do you think I’m pretty?” You questioned in exasperation.

Jughead wet his lips, a choked laugh escaping his lips before he ran his hands through his hair beneath his beanie.

“Y/N, I think you’re fucking beautiful.”

Jughead took a step towards you; almost as if he couldn’t help himself. Your heart pounded in your chest at your close proximity. The walls of the closet seemed to shrink around you; forcing you both together; not that you minded. You inhaled his familiar scent, the smell of smoke and spices; you had always found it intoxicating.

“You do?” You whispered, looking into his dark eyes.

“Yeah, but it’s not as if I can tell you that is it?” Jughead shook his head in frustration, he went to take a step away from you but you reached out and grabbed his hand, tugging him back towards you.

“Why?” You pressed urgently.

“Because you’re Archie’s sister,” Jughead said coldly, his jaw locking in anger, “And if he ever knew how I feel about you, he would kill me.”

“Wait…” You started, “You have feelings for me?”

Jughead bit his lip before nodding, “I do.”

“You do?”

“Yes.”

“You have feelings for me?”

“Look I’m sorry, please don’t be creeped out, it’s pretty obvious you don’t feel-”

“Jughead, I have feelings for you!” You interrupted him hurriedly, “Like big feelings, so big they are ridiculou-”

You were interrupted by Jughead’s lips crashing against your own; hot and needy. You melted into him, your hands gripping his shoulders as he guided you backwards so your back pressed against the wall. His lips worked against your own furiously; his kiss hungry and desperate as he slipped his tongue into your mouth, one of his hands reaching up to cup your face. You curled your hands into his t-shirt, your heart pounding in your chest as you kissed him back just as furiously.

His lips found their way down your neck, nipping and sucking in all the right places. His hands gripped your wrists, forcing them either side of your head as he continued his torturously good assault on your neck. His teeth nibbled at your earlobe and you ground your hips against his own, moaning at the friction. He growled lowly at the back of his throat

Fuck!” He cursed against the skin of your neck, “Do you know how long I’ve wanted to do this?”

You wriggled out of his grip so you could wrap your hands in his thick dark hair; knocking his beanie off in the process. He bought his lips back to yours, kissing you desperately, his hands running up your skirt so that his fingers caressed the tops of your thigh.

Yes Jughead-” You started to moan just as the door opened.

Cheryl blinked in surprise at the sight before her. Jughead immediately stood in front of you, sheltering you from the blinding light that now flooded the room. You quickly fixed your hair and swiped at your lips incase your lipstick had smudged.

“Cheryl, do not say anything.” You warned before you walked out of the closet with Jughead.

You glanced at your group of friends; sighing with relief when you saw that they were too engrossed in their conversation to notice you and Jughead had walked out of the closet. You quickly grabbed Jughead’s hand and pulled him into the empty kitchen.

You immediately wrapped your arms around him; burying yourself in his chest. His arm wound around you; clutching you closer to him as he kissed your hair.

“What are we going to do Y/N?” Jughead murmured softly.

“I don’t know.” You sighed, “All I know is that I can’t go back to pretending I don’t have feelings for you, not after that.”

“But what about Archie-”

You cut him off by pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

“What Archie doesn’t know, can’t hurt him.”

mélange | part 1

fandom: monsta x
member/reader: kihyun, female, minhyuk (mentioned)
genre/warning(s): smut, slight!degradation, spanking, toys: belt
length: 2K+
summary: in which your new neighbor next door has really loud sex and so you decide to have a competition because there is no way blondie is having better sex than you.

Prologue  | Part 1  | Part 2  | Part 3  | Part 4

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anonymous asked:

I saw this headcannon and was really hoping you'd write a fic? simon gets hit with a curse that makes everyone fall in love with him except for jace, simon thinks its because jace’s disregard for him is so strong not even MAGIC can effect it but really its because jace’s regular life involves him keeping his feelings for simon under control so this is just another day for him.

based off of @neonlightwood‘s hc!! thank you anon for taking my waffling desire to write one of those ideas and pretty much motivating me to DO IT

love by any other name || jace/simon, 4k+, love spell au || read on ao3

“I see Jace wasn’t hit.” Magnus says, his tone light even as he waves a hand and freezes Clary in mid-lunge towards Simon. He waves a hand over Alec and Izzy and they become similarly frozen; Simon nearly cries in relief.

“Yeah, no.” Jace says, curiously moving to poke at Alec’s outstretched, still hand, and then pouting as Simon slaps his hand away. “It hit me too, but since I - “ He freezes mid-pout, his eyes going comically wide, and then he turns away, facing Magnus and running a hand through his hair. “I just wasn’t affected.” He finishes, his voice curiously blank.

What? How could Jace not have been affected if he was directly hit by it? It’s a love spell, it should automatically make everyone fall in love with Simon, unless -


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|| how to fall in love ||

{summary: “i wonder if you’ll laugh at my mere existence?”}

here’s a completely fluffy and safe peter parker story that i promised. i’ll admit to being inspired by one of my favorite deviantart writers when i wrote this and hope to write as well as they do one day [♥]

also, this is dedicated to @rvnclawss , because she wrote a cute tom holland drabble for me [♥]

tags [permanent + peter parker]: @ghostedwolf , @psychicwitchphilosopher , @pharaohkiller , @moonlight53 , @tmrhollandkay , @pepcvina , @nekonerdxox , @lokigirl18 , @fangeekkk , @kylielo22 , @wavy-ley , @lghockey , @buckysendoftheline , @1022bridgetp , @potterjamesharry

warnings: none

**please don’t plagiarize/repost this story. reblogs are fine.**

——

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Even If It’s Just Pretend

I was searching for a SnowBaz fake dating fic and I couldn’t find one. Which killed me, so I wrote my own. Also for @snowbaz-feda

Also on Ao3

Description: Simon is broke, his foster father is an asshole, and he knows he has nowhere to go when summer break comes around. So when he sees an ad for a paid psychology experiment involving romantic couples, he’s quick to pretend he’s in a relationship…with his nemesis/roommate Baz.
AKA the faking dating trope that we know we all love.

Chapter 1/Chapter 2/Chapter 3

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It’s 2010 bitch!!!

written also with @spacetaemin, @5hineesback, @choitaemins and @sabakunocasali  (and probably many others)

“Minho shoot the ball” yelled super jock Kim Jonghyun as he ran down the footballl field. Minho, baseball in hand, hit the soccer ball so hard it become a touchdown. Everyone in the audience cheered but especially Taemin, long haired bb child innocent my son,,,doesn’t know a damn thing about anything. Evry1 thinks hes a girl but rly hes just feminine and cute and clueless!

Sitting next to Taemin was his best-friend-but-also-pseudo-mother, Kim Kibum, better known as “Key Umma.”

“I did it I got a homerun!!!” Choi Minho, the coolest jock in school, yelled as he ran on the track. He locked eyes w/ his super beautiful girlfriend, Yuri. She was so hot and he wsa really heterosexual and straight. Nothing would ever change that!!!!

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Queen of the Water (14)

Bucky x Reader

Summary: A normal girl gets thrown into the Royal world. Royal AU

Word Count:1.8k+

Warnings: swearing, fluff, nsfw slightly more smut than the previous part.

TAGS AT THE END!

CATCH UP HERE Part 12 Part 13 Part 15

Originally posted by jlstreck

“It’s time to get up, Mrs. Barnes!” Bucky exclaimed quietly in between stolen kisses. His hips locked hers in place, making it impossible for her to move. She groans and throws her hand out, shoving her husband’s face away from her own. She shifts onto her side and tugs the blanket up further, covering her head. “That’s no way to treat your husband, Mrs. Barnes!” he gaped in shock, feigning offense.

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