say something face

@mellorad encouraged me to and helped me set up my own streaming channel! In order to try it out, she got to request a drawing and wished for a Mustang waiting for a date with Elizabeth – I loved the idea (of course).
Woohoo to minimalistic text backgrounds hhh

Malfoy Is Always Up To Something
  • Harry, in class: *is asleep*
  • Hermione: *shoving him* Harry wake up! You're going to get in trouble!
  • Harry: *mumbles*
  • Ron: *hissing loudly* Mate, really. The new teacher doesn't care who you are or what you've done!
  • Harry: *yawns and sniffles*
  • Professor: *using a Sonorous charm* WELL I THINK THAT'S TWENTY POINTS FROM GRYFFINDOR.
  • Harry: *snores*
  • Draco, at the opposite end of the room: *blinks*
  • Harry: *sits straight up* What's Malfoy up to this time? He stayed in his room for hours last night and I ended up waiting until sunrise to follow him, but then all he did was go take a shower and wank!
  • Professor: ...
  • Hermione: ...
  • Ron: *whispering* You--you watched him wank?
  • Harry: *irritably* Well, I have to know what he's up to, don't I?
  • Draco: *blushes*
  • Harry, snapping: I *heard* that, Malfoy!
american gods: a summary
  • Wednesday: I have done nothing wrong. Ever. In my life.
  • Shadow: WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME RIGHT NOW FUCK YOU FUCK EVERYTHING
2

the raven himself is hoarse
that croaks the fatal entrance of duncan
under my battlements.

Wanna park and act like an a**hole? Enjoy paying thousands.

Years ago, I worked as a security officer in a high-traffic tourist area (graveyard shift).

One of my responsibilities was to make sure my building’s loading/unloading zone is kept clear because at all hours of the day we’ve got vehicles coming and going for people going to meetings, visitors, tourists, cabs, etc. The curb is painted white and marked in big bold letters ✶ LOADING AND UNLOADING ONLY ✶ NO PARKING ✶. At the end of the zone there was a single handicap parking stall painted bright blue.

Now the building I worked at was nearby a few large night clubs, so every Friday and Saturday the area would be crazy busy with drunken fighting, vomiting, occasional alleyway sex, etc. All night long there’d be cute girls milling around in skimpy outfits, so the job had its perks too.

Clubbers would take advantage of my building’s valet parking service and pay to park in our garage before heading out to one of the clubs across the street.

Some clubbers would think they could get away with parking in our loading zone all night. My coworkers and I would aggressively patrol the area in the earlier evening hours and advise as many people as we could so they’d leave and avoid getting a ticket. It was also better for us if they left, because when there were too many vehicles parked out front, traffic would become a complete clusterf*ck regardless of the time of day.

Most people would be grateful for the information and leave. Occasionally, some douche would laugh in our faces, say something about pigs or rent-a-cops or whatever and leave their car anyway. In those cases, we’d call our city’s parking enforcement and they’d get a $90 ticket for their troubles.

One Saturday night, after finished a round of patrols, I went to take a leak. On my way back out, I walked past Dispatch and my buddy calls me over to the surveillance bank.

“Hey bro, you got one out front.”

I turned to the grainy feed just in time to see a piece-of-junk ‘97 BMW sloppily parking in front of our building. I murmured that I’d go out and advise the driver, but before I could leave, the driver exited his vehicle.

My buddy and I watched in silence as the driver, a young black male adorned with flashy cheap bling, hiked his pants up at the crotch and blocked the path of a couple girls walking by. He started hitting on them in the slimiest way possible, even trying to grab their hands and asses at one point, staring shamelessly at their tits while he was schmoozing them. He took out his phone and shoved it at them, presumably asking for their numbers.

Eventually the girls were able to dodge his grabbers and ran off toward the club across the street. He repeated this routine several more times with various groups of girls walking by, even taking out a small bottle of vodka from his back pocket and offering swigs. With each rejection, he’d get angry and presumably cuss out the girls as they hurried off (our cameras didn’t pick up audio but this seemed a reasonable assumption).

I sighed and looked at my buddy.

“Well, I guess I’ll go talk to him.”

I made my way out to the front and approached him just as another group of girls ducked away from him. I called out to him. He turned and stared at me blankly.

“Hey, man, just wanted to let you know that this zone is for loading and unloading. Normally it’s not a big deal to park for a bit but if everyone does it on the weekends, traffic gets backed up pretty bad here.”

The douche looked at his vehicle, then at my badge.

“F*CKYOUB*TCHASSN☻☻☻☻I'LLF*CKYOUUP. PIGASSWANNABECOPMOTHAF*CKA.”

I looked at my watch. It was about 10:30PM. I continued my spiel.

“Parking enforcement here is pretty strict. You should move your vehicle or you might get ticketed–”

“F*CKYOUN☻☻☻☻SUCKMYD*CK. BETTERNOTTOUCHMYSHITN☻☻☻☻ILLF*CKYOUUPN☻☻☻☻.”

“Have a good night sir.”

He flipped me off and went across the street, where he was promptly denied entry for dress code violations. He cussed out the bouncer and wandered off down the block. I walked over to his vehicle and saw that it was parked crooked, the rear of the vehicle partially blocking the lane of traffic. Half of his vehicle was in the white zone, the other in the blue zone. I key’d up my radio.

“8million to dispatch.”

“8million, go ahead.”

“Can you call parking enforcement for this vehicle? Lemme know when you’re ready for the plate.”

Fifteen minutes later, the parking officer arrived. He looked at the vehicle and promptly issued a $90 ticket for parking in the white zone and a $900 ticket for parking in the blue zone without a permit.

I thanked the officer and went back inside to have a snack.

A couple hours later, two of the local cops stopped by to say hi. As Officer Morris and his partner walked over, Dispatch radio’d me.

“Hey 8million, is that Jones and Morris?”

“Sure is.”

“You gonna do what I think you’re gonna do?”

“Yep.”

Officer Jones and I lit up our cigarettes as Officer Morris looked on disapprovingly. We all smoked and chatted for a bit, then I casually motioned over my shoulder at the BMW.

“Hey, Jones, check out the parking job on that piece of shit.”

We all walked over to the corner and looked at the vehicle, the two tickets stuck on the windshield flapping in the wind. Officer Morris grabbed one of the tickets, read it over and looked at me.

“What’s the story here?”

I told them what happened and the driver’s response. Officer Jones and Morris looked at each other.

“8million, you got the time?”

“Yeah, it’s… 12:27AM.”

“Well it’s a whole new day now isn’t it?”

Officer Morris proceeded to write another $90 ticket for the white zone, then another $900 ticket for the blue zone. He paused for a moment after finishing the second one.

“Hey Jones, looks like this vehicle is parked more than twelve inches from the curb. What do you think?”

“Sounds about right.”

Officer Morris wrote another ticket for $120 and slapped it on the pile of tickets on the windshield. I shook both officer’s hands and they left to continue their patrols.

The next few hours of my shift went by fairly quickly. Around 5AM, Dispatch scared the hell out of me.

“HEY 8MILLION, ARE YOU STILL ON THAT CALL?”

“Negative, I just finished clearing it.”

“RESPOND TO DISPATCH ASAP.”

I ran down to the surveillance bank, where my coworkers were all gathered and laughing their asses off. Sunday was street cleaning day and the BMW was getting ticketed again by parking enforcement.

After that, we all stopped by Dispatch every 5-10 minutes to see if the owner had returned. Finally, at about 6AM, douchebag came stumbling up the block, looking completely worn out. His formerly-white t-shirt was stained and dirty and it looked like he’d lost at least one fight.

We watched in suspense as he looked at the pile of tickets crammed together on his windshield and slowly removed them. He stood there, pants sagging below his knees, shuffling through each ticket as if he were a toddler with a handful of Pokémon cards.

With a look of abject defeat on his face, he got into his vehicle and drove off. The whole room erupted in laughter and high-fives.

As the laughter died down, I picked up the office phone and started dialing. My coworkers eyed me curiously. I put the call on speaker just as the call connected.

“9-1-1, what is your emergency?”

“Yeah, hi, I’d like to report a possible drunk driver. I have the vehicle and driver description when you’re ready.”

2

Yuuri saying those Big Three Words to Viktor for the first time

Viktor can’t handle it. He can not handle it. Viktor.exe has broken down. 

There is a box of photos of the DA.

They begin at it’s first meeting in the Hog’s Head, with Harry looking regal as he explains its purpose, Hermione watching Harry as if to see if he’ll say her words, or his own, and  Ron glaring daggers at anyone who looks about to say something rude in the face of the stoic child soldier talking. 

There are photos of meetings, with Neville falling backwards onto pillows, Luna delighted over her first patronus, Harry looking at his students’ progress and looking older than a fifteen year old has any right to. 

There are photos of the six DA students in the hospital wing after their night in the Department of Mysteries, beat up and bloody, Ron and Neville hosting new scars, Hermione journaling frantically and trying to figure out what it all means, Ginny’s hand on Harry’s back as he mourns Sirius. 

There are photos of Neville’s recommencement speech, rousing students from all four houses and telling them the importance of defending themselves, photos of Luna sitting with a group of second years and explaining why they aren’t learning this in class anymore, photos of Ginny demonstrating a Shield Charm so perfect it sparkles in the stale air of the Room of Requirement. 

There are photos documenting student injuries, tiny cursive underneath explaining the circumstance of every Crutiatus Curse. 

There are photos of fourth year Hufflepuffs perfecting the Sectrumsempra curse on a Room of Requirement dummy, looking angry but proud. 

There are photos of the Battle itself, of Death Eaters falling and students sobbing against walls, of teachers rallying their students like troops and siblings choosing sides. 

The photos stop with one of Antonin Dolhov, with green light shooting towards the boy holding the camera. 

Neville keeps all of Colin’s photos in his office. On the days where he wonders why he’s teaching at all, he pulls them out to watch the student’s side of the Second Wizarding War. 

And he remembers. 

Yeri: It was you, right?

Mark:*looks away, pretending he didn’t saw, then sudden killer eye contact*

Haechan: *looking super innocent* It wasn’t meee!!!!

Never Would Have

Requests: “Could you do an imagine where the reader is also a witch and with Kai. Just after he died the reader found out she was pregnant. She had twins (whatever genders). When Kai came back in the latest episode, Damon calls her to tell her that he’s back when him and Kai are in the car and Kai hears the twins in the background (maybe they call her mom or something and he knows she’s their mother). Then the reader brings the twins to see him? Thanks xx” (Credits to gif owners!)

“You guys be good, Damon is calling.” Y/N gave a stern look to her son who was about to tackle his sister. The twins stopped, nodded and sat on the floor together to watch cartoons. The ringing phone reminded Y/N that she had to answer soon or else it would go straight to voicemail. Lately when Damon called it was important. She gave it a second after pressing the answer button, “Hello?”

Damon was in the car. She knew that much. A window was down and there was heavy breathing. “Y/N!” She knew the vampire was smiling. “How is my favorite…household?” Y/N wiped her forehead. What? “Uh look, you don’t have to answer that.” He was struggling. “Can uh…can you stop by my place? Say, ten minutes?”

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