ringlet curls

i was thinking about amazonian telepathy and i don’t think i can use this anywhere so

There were responsible ways to deal with being bored during League debriefs. Rather than do any of them, Diana adjusted her legs so that her knee touched Batman’s. A ragged tear in his suit meant that it was skin-to-skin contact.

She reached out tentatively.

Black Canary’s hair looks cute today, she ventured, an idle thought to share. She was careful not to go searching for any answers he did not give. She expected him to say nothing, and break contact.

Doesn’t matter, came his answer, so terse a dismissal it almost startled her. He didn’t move his leg. It seemed unlike him, but this form of communication did tend to be more honest.

How unfortunate, to imagine this was what he thought of their occasional conversations.

I’m sure she put a lot of work into it, Diana tried again. The bright blonde locks had been curled into ringlets before being drawn up into a ponytail.

Not for me.

She frowned. That doesn’t mean you can’t appreciate it.

Don’t need to.

You’re being awfully rude.

It’s fine.

If I’d gone through such trouble, I’d want you to notice.

Not for me.

It will be, Diana decided. I’ll do my hair just like that, to spite you, and it will be the cutest.

Batman said nothing. Then he leaned back just a little, only enough to see where their knees touched. He glanced at Diana, then away. Was that you? he asked finally.

Of course, she said.

How long have we been having a conversation? he asked.

Since I pointed out the cuteness of Black Canary’s coiffure? she said. Batman did not respond. What did you think was happening?

Intrusive thoughts.

She tried to look at his face sidelong, though she didn’t know why. Looking at him directly would make it no easier to decipher his minimal expressions. Do your intrusive thoughts often sound like me making observations about other women?


Can you two keep it down? asked J'onn. Some of us are trying to pay attention.

No you’re not, Diana accused. You just heard gossip and wanted in.

We’re not gossiping, Batman said. Don’t make me break truce.

I had also noticed Black Canary’s hair, J'onn said, ignoring Batman.

Isn’t it cute? Diana asked.

Batman sighed.

Do you think I could pull it off? J'onn asked.

Batman had a sudden coughing fit.

A Warm Welcome [h.s.]

A/N: here’s some hades!harry! Sorry if it’s shitty I’m trying to get back in the game! And sorry for any typos and mistakes! Enjoy :-)


Being a god comes with a large bundle of heightened emotions and Harry honestly wishes that they came with an off switch. Celestial beings are called “celestial” for a reason, after all. They’re abnormally better than any human, and thus they must keep an attitude and air that enforces nothing less, but damn feelings for being able to get in the way so easily at times.

Gods must be calm and collected under the most extraneous situations, they must rule with an iron fist, and most importantly, they must forbid emotions from deterring them in any way. He’s not saying that he hates feeling emotions more intensely; some are worth the toil. Pleasure, for example, is felt tenfold what any human could handle and he can almost say that this alone makes the troubles worth it. But it’s moments such as now that bring forward overpowering feelings that he wishes he could cast aside: a dangerous mixture of excitement and anxiousness.

More specifically, the excitement and anxiousness that comes with the return of his beloved wife, Persephone (or as he calls her, Y/N), from being away for her given six months of the year.

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anonymous asked:

Sorry if you have answered this before but, some positivity maybe? What are your favorite things about Dan?

His laughter:
-His giggles when they squeak at the end because he can’t breathe
-His giggles when they pitch up to that literal ‘hee hee hee!’
-His giggles when they start with that literal ‘ah-hah-hah-hah!’
-His giggles when he ends up snorting
-How he snaps or claps while laughing really hard

His voice:
-When it’s normal and gentle and sweet and soft
-When he brings it lower into that sensual rumbly goodness

His long baby deer legs:
-So graceful
-So dangerous
-Has been described as gliding when he walks
-Has also been described as purposeful in his strides
-Also falls over a lot

When he sings:
-When he makes up a song based on what’s going on
-When he sings something relevant to what’s going on
-When he just sings because he has a song stuck in his head
-When he just sings because he thought of a song just then
-Voice of an angel

His eyes:
-So pretty
-The little crinkles in the corners when he laughs
-When he drifts he just gets that faraway look in them that you can get lost in
-So warm
-So full of love
-Probably when he looks at you you feel like the only person on the planet

His smile:
-That cute puppy dog sweet childlike smile
-The smirk
-The dopey grin
-The lopsided grin
-When there’s a video and we get to see him smile while laughing
-When he sticks his tongue out and bites on the tip while smiling

His hugs:
-Self described “Huggin’ machine”
-Arms “made for huggin”“
-Best hugs on the planet
-His arms are long and really wind around you
-Perfect amount of squeezing
-No matter who you are or what shape you are you just fit against him
-Because he was made for hugging

His dancing:
-The side to side headbop
-Hands up for a snap
-Hand up for a little fly-away-wave
-The side to side full body shuffle
-The hip swing
-The full head bang sending hair everywhere

His lips:
-So soft
-Great shape
-When he bites the lower one when he’s thinking about something
-When he also licks the lower one when thinking about something (though rarer than biting)

His realness:
-When he talks about going through a tough time
-When he sends out genuine love to his fans whether they’re having a tough time themselves and he’s offering advice or when he’s humbled by the response to something he did
-When he tells a story of a time in his life
-When he’s expressing love for one of his friends

His sweetness:
-“Hi babies”
-“Hello lovelies”
-“I missed you guys”
-“Bye sweet treasures”
-“Hi ladies”
-“Bye, I love you!”
-“Can we do Grumps forever?”

How he tries to use his platform for good:
-Is always trying to learn and better himself through feedback
-Always tries to better everyone else by telling people to love one another
-Talks fans through anxiety and panic when they’re meeting and is always patient and understanding about it
-Knowing he provides an escape and has helped people through difficult times just by doing Grumps or NSP and talks about getting fan letters saying exactly that and is always blown away and always tells everyone 'thank you’ for getting the opportunity to help them

His hair:
-Wild curls
-Wonderful ringlets
-How he plays with it when he’s thinking about something
-How it is a mystery
-Sweet fluffy cloud of curly goodness
-How it is always described as soft

All of his music.
-All of it
-The deep, serene, drifting poignancy of The Northern Hues that followed struggles, but he didn’t give up, he took lessons and tried again and produced beautiful, driven, powerful but soft messages in Skyhill, falling again but only shelving his music for a while and finally catching his break with NSP when he found a musical partner in Brian

His gentleness:
-Either with real world animals (letting birds perch on his knees, petting sheep that previously shunned everyone else, being sweet with all manner of doggos and puppers, carefully holding and wistfully looking at a snake, enjoying aquariums on multiple occasions, more more more)
-Anything that is cute or a little silly looking in a game “Oohh I love it immediately!”

All of his lingo:
-Jimmy jams
-The use of um and like a lot (which denotes intelligence, by the way, look it up)

His genuineness with others, he never hides who he is.
His trusting nature, willing to put his faith in the people he loves.
Loving everyone.
Being a 'bad judge of character’ because he believes in the good in everyone.
Overcoming his struggles to become the musician he knew he was always meant to be.

His proud nerdiness:
-Loves Magic the Gathering (still owns his old decks)
-Loves DnD
-Harry Potter
-Game of Thrones
-Vidya games
-MUSIC he is SUCH a music nerd! Speaking of-

The incredible encyclopedia of music knowledge that he has.
-Can name millions of albums off the top of his head
-Can name all the songs of said albums
-Knows the names of all band members in any given band
-Knows trivia behind songs
-Has read just all the liner notes of every album he’s ever owned
-Can recall a tune rhythmically and melodically perfectly in a snap
-Has been to thousands of concerts

He’s also such a SPORTS nerd:
-The Giants
-Podcast about football
-Loves basketball and hockey too
-Throw in some baseball
-And soccer as well
-Can recall players names and statistics and games from years and years ago in any one of these sportsball categories

His encouraging change in people, whether they’re trying to be more like him or just trying to change for the better because he is such a good example of happiness and love. How he genuinely wants everyone to be better and accepting of themselves and others. How he talks openly about mental illness and encourages people to get help if they need to get help because there’s nothing wrong with it and everyone needs help.
“Love everyone, forgive everyone. Especially yourself.”

French - Spanish false friends

Note that some of these are false friends because of their similar phonetics, and not necessarily their orthography.

French                                            Spanish

manche: sleeve                               mancha: spot

roman*: novel                                  romano: Roman

gâteau: cake                                    gato: cat

ombre: shadow                               hombre: man

sable: sand                                      sable: saber

a: 3rd person singular, to have         a: preposition, to (among other meanings)

entendre: to hear                            entender: understand

riz : rice                                             rizo: curl, ringlet

bâtir: to build                                    batir: whip, beat (for example, eggs)

nombre: number                              nombre: name

carte: map                                        carta: letter

*roman also means Roman in French, meaning someone or something from Rome

King of the Lost Boys - Anthony Ramos x Reader (Chapter 3)

Summary: There are some new encounters with the other members of the Lost Boys, as well as an introduction to the local villainous gang. Noses are broken. 

Warnings: Quite a bit of swearing, blood and bruising mention. 

Words: 7,176 (can you tell that i’ve just stopped trying)

A/N: It’s really late where I am but I’m so excited for this?? What the heck. Anyway, just a little reminder that @alexanderhamllton and I have made matching aesthetics and playlists for the Lost Boys…coming soon to a tumblr near you…anyway, enjoy. Tags: @daveedsbra @myself-and-the-madman @clamilton @robotic-space @attackonmikaelson @pearltheartist @itsjaynebird

askbox | masterlist

The Pirates were a venomous crew of reptilian proportions, who didn’t play by the rules. They were of the privileged class, people who didn’t bother to think about their repercussions or the damage caused. Boredom is their motivation. Lives where everything is given to you, where money is not an issue, are lives that are awfully mundane. With a craving for possibility and the fire of resources at their fingertips, the Pirates seem to think themselves wonderfully immortal. They are the good ones gone wrong, a budding flower bitten at the stem by a poison with no antidote. In their blind want for something of substance, they chose to take as a method of getting what they want, but do not need. The local gas station cowers after a history of hold-ups. The department stores have lists of clients who are not allowed in; the Pirates are at the top.

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okay have we ever considered what would happen once ronan grew his dark curly hair back?? 

{be warned: long rambly hc ahead.}

Adam once casually mentioned that he liked Ronan’s hair. Gansey’s showed him pictures of what Ronan used to look like before he’d shaved his head and he’d commented that he’d barely been able to recognize him, but in like a good way. 

  • So Ronan decides he’s going to allow his hair to grow out again while Adam’s still off at college. 

  • They make time for each other while maneuvering around Adam’s schooling of course, some weekends Ronan will drive up to Adam’s campus or Adam will take a few days off to return to Henrietta to meet Ronan, Opal and the rest of the group. 
  • Gansey’s stunned and silently relieved, feeling like a proud father. He’d never thought he’d encounter the old Ronan again, and this was better than the old Ronan, this was a new and improved Ronan, who’d wrestled tragedy after tragedy and stood triumphant in the wake of each one, not letting it get the best of him. Blue marks it as an improvement and proceeds to nickname him Rapenzul, “Shut the fuck up, Maggot.” “Are you going to let down your hair, princess?” Noah likes to pet his hair just the way he likes to pet Blue’s hair. “So soft,” he’ll say. Ronan only lets him because it’s Noah, although he may or may not threaten to throw him out of more windows. (Yes, I don’t care what happened in TRK, Noah is undead and well, let this boy live okay!!!) 
  • When Adam first sees Ronan with his hair all grown back he actually physically falters bc goddamn does this boy have any idea how crushingly good he looks? ?? 
  • “You… You’re…” Adam doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to muster a cohesive sentence ever again. Adam was used to the Ronan who was all sharpened edges and split knuckles, but the curving ringlets that curled around his ears now and fell over his forehead in drunken midnight tufts made him appear softer, warmer, kinder. It was like seeing the before-image of a burnt photograph. It was like a fairytale filter version of him. Adam can’t help but see an uncanny resemblance between Ronan and those effortlessly handsome young war hero portraits. 
  • “Stop staring, Shithead. It’s a fucking wig.” Ronan says, because that starstruck look in Adam’s eyes is doing things to him. 
  • Adam is suddenly overcome with the sweeping urge to run his hands through it. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate running his hands over Ronan’s buzzed head or the Ronan that he’d known before. He’d loved Ronan just like he loved Gansey, Blue and Noah even back when he carried himself like a vicious python, all spitfires and bloodied lips, even when he was getting drunk every single night and trying to fight the moon. Adam wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but there’d been something ethereally enticing about him even when he was this self-destructive drag racer that Adam had been so afraid to fall and cut himself on. 
  • But the Ronan Lynch that Adam fell in love with was another boy completely. He was the dreamer who dreamed up EpiPens for his friend and hand cream for Adam’s chapped hands and performed secret handshakes with his little brother and wanted to spend the rest of his life at his family farm and who pressed his lips ever-so-gently to each one of Adam’s fingers like they were dandelion stems. 
  • All his life, Adam had felt broken and delicate, but for the first time, he felt glad for his nimble fingers, his turbulent history, to be Adam Parrish, the chipped teacup boy, because Ronan made him feel loved and wanted and appreciated, because Ronan felt everything so strongly, and there were still nights Adam was filled with gratitude for being the brunt of Ronan’s desire. 
  • So they make the drive up to the Barns in silence, Ronan asks him about how college’s been and Adam tells him all about the university Ronan wouldn’t be caught dead in and catches that proud glint in his eyes when he admits he recently got offered a TA position. “So now you’re nerding your way up to the nerdom throne. Good for you, Parrish.” They talk about Gansey, Blue and Henry’s trip to Venezuela and how Opal’s been helping Ronan build his dream ramp and chewing on all the curtains. The minute they step out of the car and into the house however, Adam can’t help himself anymore, he pins Ronan against a wall and regales him with firm, heated kisses before dipping his hands into Ronan’s hair. It’s even softer than he’d imagined, and he’d been tugging distractedly at his lip and staring out the window the entire ride, imagining a lot. 
  • Ronan’s overwhelmed but they’ve been apart for weeks and feeling the hot, reassuring weight of Adam’s lips and hips against his again, and with his long, pianist’s fingers gruffly tugging at Ronan’s hair, his thoughts upend and bottom out and all he can think is let’s never fucking stop kissing. yeah. let’s kiss until we fucking die.
  • Later when they’re laying down in bed, Adam loops his fingers in Ronan’s hair again, raking through it delightedly, and Ronan lets out a quiet sigh. 
  • “It feels weird,” Ronan then admits. “I’m not that person anymore.” Adam wanted to tell Ronan that no, he wasn’t that person anymore, but he was more whole than he’d been in a long time. He wanted to tell him that he didn’t need to fool people into thinking he was this awful, intimidating presence anymore. He wanted to tell him that it would be okay if he just let the world see him for what he really was. That he wasn’t the wolf in the henhouse, but neither of them were ever very good at words, so he just pushes a little bit of his hair back and presses a kiss to Ronan’s temple instead. “Well, I like the person you are now.”
  • “Do you think it kills my badass edge?” 
  • “What badass edge?”
  • Ronan presses a hand into Adam’s chest and playfully shoves him backwards at that, before helping him out of his t-shirt and biting into his shoulder.
  • Ronan’s thinking he might never shave his head ever again.

PART 3!!!

Surprise I wanted to put it up now. Sorry I know it’s late a pretty lame update and it hecka sucks but #4 is about to be great. Love you guys!

Rating: PG maybe

It was impossible to sleep that night. The reveal of my art piece was approaching quickly and my nerves were catching up to me.

I got a text from my mum first thing in the morning saying she was so proud and excited to see me. I had picked out what I was going to wear weeks ago.

The black dress hug my porcelain curves, the red lipstick I boldly chose matches my red shoes and hang back.

I felt like I was going to something as significant as the Grammys. My dark hair falling in perfect ringlets as I curl it.

I arrived at the studio early, much earlier than required. I observed the blank space on the wall that would soon hold my masterpiece.

Artwork that I’ve tried to express multiple times in my teenage years but just finally was able to do.

My parents are the first to show up. They race to hug me.

I introduce them to the owner of the art gallery who I met while sketching at a coffee shop. My artwork caught his eye and he said he wanted to see more. I want to say it is because he liked my work more than the fact I was drawing a nude woman.

Many strangers show up. Already with still a half hour left until we start, there is a much bigger turnout than I expected.

The art covered walls feeling much closer together as my nervousness increases.

Calum, Ashton and Michael all show up. Michel brings a girl who I do not recognize.

“Is my art reveal the place you bring a girl on a first date?” I question as the blond wanders away to look at the other art pieces.

“Well I get major props for knowing the artist.” Michael bumps me.

I grin and look at all of them. They are all dressed up, meaning they are wearing button ups. Sure michaels is only half tucked in and calum is wearing blue jeans but it’s really the effort that counts.

“It really means a lot that you guys are here.” I smile at them.

“Aww!” Ashton squeals like a girl before hugging me.

“Have you guys heard from Luke?” I ask nonchalantly.

They shake their heads. I brush it off, I’m sure he is on his way.

When the owner starts calling for everyone to gather together I glance at the door one more, waiting for Luke to make one of his last minute entrances.

I make my way up to the front, while I was chatting with people I didn’t notice them put up my painting. It is covered by a thin cloth so no one can see it.

I glance down at my phone. There is a text from Luke:

Finally couldn’t put off taking ‘A’ out to dinner any longer. Wanna hang after?

I swear I could literally feel my heart being smashed. All of the pieces tearing through my body, desperate to find their way back together. But they were too lost.

He had forgotten and her again Arzaylea got what she wanted. On the night that was supposed to be mine.

I know if he had remembered he would have been the first person here. He would have wanted to come out to dinner with my parent and I after and he would have calmed my nerves before the show.

He wasn’t here, instead he was with her probably fighting.

I feel as I am about to cry. In front of all of these people. Everyone is looking at me, am I crying and not noticing it.

The one say I do decide to wear make up of course I would ruin it.

The owner says my name and I realized he was speaking to me.

“I’m so sorry. what?” I ask.

“Nerves seem to get the best of these young people.” He makes a joke. Many people laugh and I pull together my best smile.

“Why don’t you uncover your piece when you are ready and tell us about it.” He says.

My eyes scan the faces of the room once more. Hoping Luke remembered and snuck in without me noticing. I’m yet again let down.

The thing is I’m not even mad. I’m just so incredibly hurt, this was one of the most important nights of my life and he promised.

I slowly remove the barrier and everyone claps before pulling out their cameras. My mother has been filming since she got here.

“I want to catch my baby girls big moment.” Her words ring through my head.

“It took me a really long time to think of a name for this piece. Eventually I just went with ‘Air’.” I say. “It is painted with oil based paints. To me it represents freedom and individuality.”

My painting has a silhouette girl who is off centered next to a house. It is a pallet of colors. She is holding on to a bunch of balloons that I like to are pulling her up, wherever she wants.

The small room that recently seemed so full suddenly seems so empty. One of the only people I wanted to be here celebrating wasn’t.

I try to swallow back the tears of sadness the blur my vision. One single drop wins the battle as it slides down my cheek, the rest of its arm fallows in its quick descent down my face.

“There is a reason I wants the girl to remain identity less. Because I do think of this as a self portrait but adding something like skin color or hair color could ruin the illusion that this could be any other woman out there. Those fighting for freedom, equality.” My voice cracks as I continue to cry.

My mothers eyes mirror mine, smiling as proud and happy emotions stroll from her eyes.

“Those fighting for love. I wanted this to be a painting that could be looked at and see from so many different perspectives and points of view. See yourself in my work. I do this for the world.” I finish my speech.

The audience stars applauding and as much as I feel it’s impossible I muster up a smile.

“Wow. It is very phenomenal that this piece means this much to you. And it is only through true emotion like this do we find success and beauty in one’s art.” The owner of the gallery starts another round of applause.

I think them all, excusing myself to get some air.

On a day that is suppose to be about me I would ruin it crying over some boy. I painted the girl to be me but I don’t feel half as strong or beautiful as I want people to feel when they look at it.

I’m joined outside by Calum. I wipe my eyes and smile at him.

At least people think I’m crying for a different reason.

He pulls me in for a hug, rubbing my back.

“I’m sorry he wasn’t here today.” He says.

The waterworks start all over again. We pull away from each other i try to conceal myself but I can’t.

He already knows anyways. Everyone knows that I’m so in love with Luke. Everyone but Luke.

“I don’t know why I’m letting him get to me like his.” I rub my face, a lot of my makeup coming off with it.

“He said he would be here. It’s not right and you have every right to be upset. It’s not fair. He is supposed to be here.” Calum says.

I wonder if he knows where Luke actually is.

“Yeah well he has other obligations. Like a girlfriend who he is with right now.” I say.

The surprise etched in his face shows me he didn’t.

“He is with Arzaylea? What? 10 times out of 10 he would rather be with you.” Calum says.

“That’s not true.” I shake my head. Luke and I do have the best fun together but there is something about being in a relationship with someone. You want to be with them all the time.

That’s how I’ve always felt about Luke except we aren’t in a relationship.

“They just fight a lot. I’m scared sometimes he is unhappy but then there is days like this where he forgets about me because he is with her.” I wipe the unders of my eyes.

“I don’t think he ever stops thinking about you.” Calum says quietly. “Do you ever think the reason Luke is so unhappy with Arzaylea is because she isn’t the one he wants to be with.”

Calum seems like he is almost trying to hint something.

“What? What are you saying?” I squint at him through my tears.

“Oh my gosh. You are both so blind. He likes you, as more than a friend.” Calum rolls his eyes.

I shake my head in disbelief “Luke doesn’t think of me that way. I’m nothing more than a friend to him.” My soul breaks as I say that.

More and more these days being with Luke seems to not even be possible. Like a dream I need to give up on.

“Drunk Luke can’t keep a secret from Calum.” Calum speaks of himself which makes me laugh.

I still don’t know if I believe what he is saying.

But what if he is right. All those times I’ve caught Luke staring at me isn’t because he is spacing out. When he tries to make me laugh with horrible jokes or pays attention to me over his girlfriend.

Maybe Calum is right.

I don’t know if I have enough willpower to find out though.


anonymous asked:

This has always been in the back of my head whenever I read Shawn imagines. He has pretty curly hair so even if he married someone with straight hair their kid would have wavy hair probably, but imagine if he married someone with curly hair/ even natural curly kinky hair. He wouldn't be able to just run his hair through his wife's hair like that because he would literally get his hand tangled in the curls. And their kids' hair would be SO SO curly and bouncy. I just think about that sometimes.

Okay let’s get into Shawn’s hair because i got a lot of scientific theories about this:


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#76 - For anonymous

Filling the prompt “could you please do a schoolboy van wherein reader is bestfriends with him but reader is starting to fall for van but couldnt do anything bc van is dead inlove with a popular girl??”

Note: I recently did a fic with a school setting, so I’ve tried to add a lil’ something-something to make this a very different story. I hope you like it! It’s about 4300 words. Also, I am so profoundly hungover. Happy Sunday! 


You had tried to wear the least attention-grabbing outfit possible. Blending into the crowd was the goal for the night, and you felt like you were doing a really fucking good job too. You watched Catfish play from your place against a wall. Somehow, despite the low lights and screaming fans, Benji’s eyes clocked you. You stood up straight as you watched him recognise you and almost freeze. He signaled to someone off stage, and Larry quickly ran to him. Larry looked across the room at you with the same disbelief. Maybe if you had hidden in the crowd instead of the shadows they’d not have seen you. You turned and made your way to the exit as fast as you could.

You were almost a block away when you heard Larry’s voice. You knew it, but it was deeper and older than when you last heard it. He was calling your name. He ran to catch up and he stopped in front of you, holding out his hand in a beg. “Y/N. Please. Don’t go. Gimme a sec,” he said. You didn’t know what to do, but you gave him the few seconds to catch his breath. “Fuck. Hi!” he beamed then, and pulled you into a hug. It was familiar and you wanted to cry. You held onto him harder than you wanted to. He started to talk, but didn’t let you go. “What happened? Where did you go? You can’t leave now. If Van finds out you were here. Come on, you have to come back.” He broke the hug and took your hand. You pulled your arm away from him.

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I planted myself a seed,
a new beggining
free from everything 

I was vibrant
one of millions 
growing green

and you stomped in
to our forest,
eyes set on me,

chopped me down,
hollowed me out
and what did you expect? 

you tried to fill bark 
with laughter and smiles 
and ringlet curls and poetry

but you can’t make a girl
out of something that 
no longer wants to be

—  uprooted || O.L.
{ we’ll give the world to you }

last part! this is about a couple months after you take in rosie as your own.

as always, thank you for reading! (if you’d like me to continue this i’d love to, but i originally only planned for four parts)

french used:

bonjour, mon petit - hello, little one

comment allez-vous? - how are you?

je vais bien. merci - i’m fine, thank you

bonjour, mes amours - hello, my loves

pt. 4

“Papa! Papa! Papa!” Rosie said, running to meet him as soon as she heard the door open. 

Laf was quick to set his bag down near the door and scooped the little girl up. 

“Bonjour, mon petit!” He said, kissing her cheeks. “Comment allez-vous?”

“Je vais bien. Merci!” She said back, with a big smile. Laf spun her around gently, giving her another kiss to her head making her giggle. 

“Very good!” He smiled. “Soon you’ll be able to talk with your Papi and me.” 

A lot had changed with Rosie coming into your lives. You had to get a bigger space to accommodate her and her needs. You were now living in a cozy 3 bedroom townhouse that was closer to her school. She’d changed you all for the better. The energy of your house had changed. While it was already lively with five people in one space, Rosie still commanded the room and made this place shine a little brighter.

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o positive chapter 1

it’s finally here! the story of shiori and hien! it IS a story, not a comic, but there’s images from time to time. (i will start inserting them later, but there’s not any this time around) i will make it into a separate blog, but for right now, i’ll post this part here. 

i hope you all enjoy the beginning. :^D

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headcanon that will solace has suuuper curly hair like the statues of apollo show he does (+ i headcanon him as half latino so he has curls from his moms side too anyways)

headcanon that will solace is really bad at taking the time to get his hair cut

headcanon that will solace accidentally grows his hair out super long in gorgeous curls and ringlets and even though he thinks he should be dysphoric about it everyone loves it and says “just like your dad/his old statues!” so he just decides not to cut his hair and ends up having to learn a bunch of up-do’s to keep it fresh

anonymous asked:

Write a Tomarry thing centered around the dinosaur in a dress PLEASE

I fucking love you guys so much you have no idea.

I hope a modern, non-magic au is okay because there’s only so much ridiculousness I can shoe-horn into this.

“Well, what do you think?”

Tom’s eyes flicked upwards from the canvas, meeting brilliant emerald green and quirking lips that fought against widening into a grin. His neighbor, Harry Potter, held the painting in his hands, eyes gleaming with mirth from behind wire-rimmed glasses that slipped down the bridge of his nose.

Tom rose a brow, pursing his lips. He meant to say that it was good- even if it was an absolute lie, the thing was horrid- but when he opened his mouth the only word that came out was, “Why?”

Harry struggled to maintain a straight face, lips trembling now with the sheer force it took for him to clamp tight over the bubble of laughter. “It came to me in a dream,” he managed to say in a leveled tone.

‘A dream you had while dying of pneumonia?’ Tom thought, bringing a hand to his chin and cupping his thumb underneath it as the knuckle of his index finger pressed into his mouth. Surely, the delirium of fever mixed with the nebulous presence of death served as the inspiration. Or some rather intense medications. “It’s certainly unique,” was the only criticism he offered of Potter’s painting.

“My therapist suggested painting, and I think she may have unknowingly unleashed the next Rembrandt on the world,” Potter said with mock pride.

He had known the younger man fairly well for him having only recently moved into the flat beside him, intriguing in and of itself since the old and charming building was typically too expensive for someone so young. But he had soon learned that he had inherited a sizable amount of wealth from his parents upon his eighteenth birthday, and had been drawn to the flat by the its superb location within the city and to his university. He was quite sociable, and never hesitated to chat with Tom when he saw the older man in the corridor, no matter how stoic or sour his expression.

And yet, despite his amicable nature, it still seemed odd that he would visit Tom to gift him a painting of a velociraptor in Victorian garb. What sort of impression had Tom given off that made Harry think this was something he might enjoy?

Harry took advantage of Tom’s silence, brushing past him and stepping further into the immaculate flat, chewing his lip as he looked around him, the painting held to his chest. He hummed in thought before his eyes widened, and he strode over to the fireplace, settling the canvas atop the mantle. “You should hang it here. In can be your- what do they call it? A focal point?” he asked, unable to contain himself further as a wide grin split over his face.

Tom pinched his lips into a thin line. The painting looked absolutely absurd among the cool grays and minimal décor of his sitting room. He had exactly one painting on the walls- a somewhat prized collection he had purchased from a gallery opening- that hung above the clean and simple silhouette of a black leather sofa. And even that painting maintained the monochromatic and minimal theme he was drawn to, with the brightest color on the stretched and starched canvas being navy.

This thing was garish- with forest green scales wrapped within a flowing pink gown, the bodice embroidered with multiple colored daises. Ringlets of blonde curls cascading from the head of a dinosaur as its jaw was practically unhinged in a roar.

He’d be damned if that thing ever saw the light of day.

“Well, I should get going then. Enjoy your friend- her name’s Patricia, by the way,” Harry said, practically skipping as he left, closing the door behind him.

Tom sighed, rubbing a hand over his face as he made his way to the mantle and removed the painting, looking at it with derision. Technically, it was well done, he begrudgingly admitted. But it was a dinosaur. Dressed like it had waltzed off the screen of a second-rate Disney movie. He would be out of his mind if he left it sitting there any longer.

He tossed it into a closet, deciding to get rid of it properly later.


Tom opened the door on the second knock, causing Harry to startle from the opposite side of it, his hand raised and poised to rap against the wood. “Oh…hello!” he said, rather cheerily as he smiled. “Sorry to bother you-”

“I doubt you really are,” Tom interrupted, gesturing with a wave of his hand to the table behind him, a bag of take out placed upon it.

Harry continued speaking as if he hadn’t heard him. “I thought I heard you out in the halls, and I was wondering if you wanted to come over. My roommate and I have some friends and family over for a game night and I we wondering if you wanted to join us?” he asked.

Tom leaned against the frame of his door, crossing his arms over his chest as his lips twisted into a crooked smirk. “We?” he asked, knowing it was an embellishment. His roommate- Ron or Rob or something of the sort, he couldn’t really be bothered to remember it- hated him. ‘The blokes a bit funny is all,’ he overheard him say when he didn’t hear Tom leave his flat, approaching behind him.

Of course, he was hardly perturbed by the redhead’s aversion to him. He was never keen on company or making nice with the neighbors, as it were.

Harry shrugged, running a hand through his untidy hair. “Don’t mind Ron. He’s a bit of a prat when he wants to be, but he’s been my best mate for as long as I can remember. His little sister has a thing for you is all, and he’s a bit protective,” he said, looking away sheepishly to glance at the apartment behind Tom.

“Hey,” he said abruptly, frowning as he turned his gaze back to the man in front of him. “What did you do to my painting?”

Tom hesitated for only a second before saying, “I was robbed.”

It was an obvious lie, and he really didn’t even intend to come up with a more believable one. It was a terrible painting, and there was absolutely no shame in him confessing to never wanting to display it.

Harry’s brows rose, disappearing into the ebony locks that fell to brush along the curve of his spectacles. “Is that so?” he asked, his voice heavy with skepticism.

“It was the only thing they took, actually. They were burglars of very particular taste,” he quipped.

Harry laughed, a lopsided smile brightening his face. “Well, perhaps they saw the value in it. Certainly worth more than all the other junk you’ve got in here,” he teased, leaning forward to look pointedly around the flat.

Tom scowled, unfolding his arms to grab hold of the doorknob. “Enjoy your night, Harry. And do tell Ron’s sister I said hello,” he said. The last thing he saw when he closed the door was the smile fall from Harry’s face, looking somewhat crestfallen as the light in his eyes diminished.

He was terribly easy to read, like one of the many, many books lining the shelves that flanked the fireplace. A curious story, however, and Tom could hardly stop the slight smile, the chuckle that vibrated within his throat. He didn’t really care for company or his neighbors, but there was something incredibly delectable about making Harry squirm in discomfort.


Tom slammed his door, huffing in annoyance as he shrugged his jackets onto his arms. He should have known he wouldn’t have a peaceful night. All he wanted was to spend a quiet night in, reading some of the new case studies and research papers he had gotten his hands on with a glass of brandy, but it was simply too much to ask. He was really beginning to grow irate with the familiar tone of a call coming from work- something of a surprise considering his colleagues tended to refer to him as a 'workaholic’.

Though he supposed anyone would be considered a workaholic to that lot, preferring to hover within the realm of mediocrity instead of actually using those brains of theirs for something more productive than gossip. It was hardly a crime to be ambitious, to crave knowledge and authority and influence within a desire field.

He was interrupted by his thoughts as a door opened behind him, a voice calling out after him. “Hey! Tom!” He came to a halt, sighing in impatience as he turned to face Harry, his head poking out from the door to his own flat.

His hair was even more disheveled than usual- an impossible feat, really- and his chin and jaw were coated in short, black stubble. It made him look a bit older, and a bit handsomer if he were being honest. In a rugged sort of way, not at all like Tom’s own polished and well-kept appearance.

“Yes, Harry?” he drawled, lips slipping into a smirk as Harry’s jaw clenched at the sibilant lull of his voice.

“Where are you headed this late at night?” he asked, swallowing thickly as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

Tom regarded him for a moment. “If you must know, to work. Emergencies hardly wait for appropriate office hours,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

He made to turn around again, his head twisted away when Harry stopped him. “Oh good, you can bring it to your office then!”

Tom sighed, closing his eyes in reprieve as he took a deep breath. He really considered just walking away, leaving the younger man behind without even a farewell. After all, there were far more important matters to attend to. Namely, an A&E overfilled with victims of a mass shooting. But he found himself turning back to face Harry, brows knitted. “Bring what to my office?”

Harry ducked back into his apartment for only a second, returning to the corridor with a canvas clutched in his hands. “I made you a new painting! And I thought that perhaps it would be safer in your office at work,” he said, taking several steps until he stood directly before Tom, gripping either side of the painting as he held it in front of his chest.

He practically gasped at the horrendous things, dark blue eyes widening as he skewed his lips in unmasked disgust. Three velociraptors sat around a table, tufts of hair below bonnets. An elaborate spread adorned the table, flowers within a glass vase in the center as trays of biscuits and scones  and a large, floral tea pot sat around it. Long claws emerged from lacy and billowy sleeves as they wrapped around delicate tea cups.

Harry was grinning in almost manic delight, shoulders shaking with just barely disguised laughter. “Well, do you like it, Tom?” he asked.

Tom pursed his lips, jaw clenching in annoyance. “Actually, if I’m being perfectly honest, Harry, it’s absolute rubbish,” he said, speaking in a voice that was colder than ice, as if his words were venom. The sudden and unexpected malice within them was enough to make the joy slip from Harry, his mouth falling into a frown as green eyes wilted.

“Oh,” Harry said, reeling from the cruelness.

“The only thing that you are worse at than painting- and by a large margin, though that is in no way a compliment to your artistic abilities,” he began, actually struggling to keep the smile from his face as Harry continued to sulk, shoulders slumping. “Is flirting.”

He snapped forward at that, cheeks burning into a bright crimson as he stammered. “I am not flirting!” he lied, eyes darting to the left for a brief second.

Tom chuckled at the obvious tell, taking a step forward so that he loomed over the shorter man. “Oh, but I believe you are, and between you and me, your hands are better left for more…arousing activities than arts and crafts,” he purred, mouth pulling into a smirk as Harry’s eyes widened at the insinuation, his jaw slacking open.

Without another word, Tom turned, striding down the corridor as his neighbor gaped unattractively in his wake.

I want to abandon all my stories and just write this. I want to write a sequel, and a sequel to the sequel, and just never stop writing about the gloriousness of Harry painting awful dinosaur portraits in a terrible attempt to flirt and Tom tearing him down with his suaveness.

Also, I always headcanon Tom as a surgeon in non-magic AU’s (it’s a field that requires a lot of study and determination, can be very rewarding in terms of professional achievements and recognition, and I imagine holding someone’s life in his hand satisfies his God Complex)

Also also, I’m sorry if you’ve sent me a prompt and I haven’t gotten to it yet. I promise I will, but sometimes it takes a bit for the prompt to speak to me, and this one sang at me like a soul singer pouring her heart out.