see this is what happens when i get bored

“make the princess speak and you will have the crown of kings.”

my knees hurt, as usual, from scrubbing. technically i’m too high of Maid Station to help out with these things, but i like seeing what happens when you clean. the development of things. how a lot of effort can make something. i like learning and trying and working hard to get towards something.

and i’ve seen them, from the back of pillars, from behind cracked doors, from beside her (on the best days) the way they talk to her. oh beautiful won’t you just look at me. oh darling. if you speak i’ll be your prince. if you speak i’ll be your king. 

the princess, i know, finds the lines of suitors boring. it’s in the way her hands are always moving. she hides yawns, leaves early, we make her apologies. once, a man comes and tries to startle her into screaming. she rolls her eyes and looks directly at me. i have to hide my smile behind my sleeve. he is taken away while still screaming.

by accident, i find her once, crying. when we imagine princesses, they always cry daintily. hers is hoarse, angry, and something in it breaks me. in my station i should apologize and bow and leave. instead i am frozen, watching her shoulders heaving.

she looks up and spots me, her cheeks ruddy. i know i should go but instead i make a big show. i act as one of her princes. i make grand gestures and speak in deep voices. i frantically offer her handkerchiefs and trip over my own two feet. a smile crawls up over her, slowly. i dab my sweat away and offer her the used rag. i feign a fluster, turn a terrible cartwheel, make shadow puppets. the sound of her laugh, raw and rusty, sends shivers through me.

for a while, i do not see her after this. but then i am called to her chambers. she is crying again. i offer silly gifts, pebbles and dusting rags and a candlestick from her own kitchen, pretend to steal it, use it as a hat, rock it as a babe. she laughs more easily this time, gladly, and when she laughs i am taken by more important maids, thereby officially Excused.

it goes like this for months. the winter comes. i rarely see her. i spend my week thinking about ways to please her. i knick interesting cookies, show her shiny buttons, learn to cartwheel in a full skirt, and then promptly how to make it look foolish again. i learn how to juggle hot bread and dance as a man would, i learn how to balance on a ball and how to fall down without hurting myself, how to fake a fight with my own body, which colors she likes and which don’t please her.

i show up on a cold eve with a knotted line of scarves hidden down my sleeve, worried and breathless, wondering why she’s been crying. the door opens and she is sitting there, happy. at first i’m confused, but she waves me in. next to her is her small dessert, in two containers. i’m not sure how to respond, so i fake a fall to hear her laugh, and then sit at her feet. she gives me ice cream - so rare a treat. i know what went into making it - the hours of shaking. it’s smooth and tasty. i don’t feign my reaction, but she laughs anyway, kindly. 

it goes like this. i see her more frequently. she likes giving me new things, watching me discover i hate kiwi and love oranges and would die if it made her laugh breathlessly. i’ve made her keel over with cackling and she’s put a fire in me. sometimes we just sit there, quietly, enjoying each other’s company. 

it’s in her hands, always moving. little things i thought were just her, fidgeting. here’s how she says she’s thirsty, this is what her hands do when she needs a second to think, here’s how she shows she’s happy. this is how i learn to speak back to her. around her i spend much of my time smiling. i feel every visit is a gift. a new part to unravel. i find out she doesn’t respond to spoken things, that she needs to be looking in order to know you were speaking. sometimes she has me talk and she holds her hands to the base of my throat, her eyes wide and wondering. sometimes she just looks at me and i forget that i’m her jester in chief. i get caught up in her eyes, in how expressive they are when she’s happy, in how when she’s sad i feel like i’m drowning.

i never see the king or queen, but i know when she’s had a visit with them, because she never comes back happy. two winters i have known her, two winters and now we dine frequently. i am often called to stand beside her, to whisper translations of her desires into the ears of someone more important than i, someone who gets to be the voice of royalty. i can’t decide if i’m her friend or her plaything, but i don’t know i care much of the distinction. every moment i’m near her is a moment free of friction. i take stock of suitors and curtsy to them in daylight only to mock them in the candle’s eye later.

she asks me one night to stay. it has been a bad day. it’s completely not okay. i cannot say no but i cannot, by my station, stay. but she begs with her eyes and her hands and i know i’ll take the punishment. 

we lie beside each other. i make sure to turn to her when i speak. in the dark she can’t see me, so i move my hands in the way i’m learning. she asks if i am ever lonely. i cannot tell her that i am always lonely without her beside me, so instead i say i think all people are very lonely and just are pretending. she laughs a little at that and says she thinks her parents are the two most lonely people that ever met. her mother was like her; broke a fairy curse and talked, just once, although nobody knows what she said. well, excepting her father, who was the only one around, and who won her hand in marriage.

from her mother she learned the art of hands, of speaking without words - from her father she learned that who she was included a curse. that she just wanted someone who would make her open like a rose - someone who could fix her. how she stared out into the royal garden and wished on flowers to be what her kingdom needs.

she fell asleep pressed against me. i couldn’t breathe. i was still awake in the morning. 

the punishment never came. we spent nights like this. the handmaidens had grown to know me. whenever their princess was stubborn, i worked magic and made her lovely.

it was a terrible thing. i did too good a job, i think. the princess glowed too much or shone too brightly - or at least, i saw it that way, so who knows what the truth is. every day it felt like we were being rushed with princes. 

her father’s temper at hosting failed. it was the day before her twenty-first birthday and first time i’d ever seen him. he stormed in at the end of the session. “just speak!” he said, “it’s not that hard! do for others what your mother did!” 

“tomorrow is your last day of this,” he warned her, “either you pick a prince or i pick for you. i’m done with it.”

he stormed off. she was left shellshocked and trembling. that night she didn’t ask me to come, but i waited outside, just in case she changed her mind. i understood why she needed space. either she’d speak and be married tomorrow or she’d be married shortly. i heard her crying and it took everything in my power not to rush in and hold her, cradle her gently. but i cannot come into a room of a royal person without being invited. i stayed there, tears in my own eyes, thinking of treason.

the next day was a huge festival. what had been a birthday celebration was turned into a day about princes. i watched her shake her head. i tried to cheer her up. i tried everything. i frequently came inches from causing public humiliation, toed the line of mocking and failing to acknowledge my station. she wouldn’t smile. not once. not even for anything.

the day was long. the bonfire wore down. i watched her crumple into herself. i was out of ideas. i knelt at her feet. her eyes barely looked at me. just wait, i said to her with my hands, i’ll be right back. i took off running.

the price of stealing is losing my hands. these things that i spoke to her with. these things that mattered so much to me, that helped with my comedy and cleaning. 

i didn’t think of them. i bloodied my fingers when i ripped the royal roses from their stems. and then i ran, as fast as i could, back to her feet. i picked them to show you, i said, as she gasped, looking at my treason, they’re beautiful and nobody told them to open to reveal their secrets to the bees. they are unbroken. as you are. as you always will be. 

she fell off her throne and for a second i was beyond speaking, worried something had happened, or she’d fainted, or i’d said the wrong thing. but then she was on her knees, her arms around me, and i heard it. i heard the soft croak of her speaking. just one word, and it sent shivers down me. my name, in her voice, awkward and unwieldy, but full of love and passion, burning fire through me.

i felt a hand on my shoulder. i was pulled away from her. they already had me in handcuffs while i struggled to get back to her, to tell her i loved her, to beg her to run off with me or maybe just hold me around her, maybe just have her for a moment, because i couldn’t live without her for a moment longer.

they put me in the cells. i rotted in there, for a while or for no time at all, i’m not sure. the thorns scarred my palms. i watched the scabs build up and flake off. every time someone came down, i flinched, wondering if i would be the next to be taken and chopped into bits.

but one day the light was different. not the smoky torch of the jailer, instead a bright light in a lantern. at first when i saw her, my breath caught in my throat, mistaking her for my princess.

but she was my queen. at first we stood in silence. and slowly, i moved my hands to speak. is she married? is what came out, even though i should be more worried about me myself and me.

she is not. she bit her father on the arm when he tried to make her. then she fought him. and then ran away. it took us a bit to find her, i’m afraid. she threatened her own life and the life of everyone in this place. the queen was smiling. i was told there was a young woman who could make the princess speak, whom she would die to save, who brought roses to her feet. someone in a cell, rotting. are you her?

the memory of her voice rang through me. i’m she.

yes, her hands said, for even now, aren’t you speaking to the silent Queen?

she opened the door. come, she said, let’s get you cleaned up for the ceremony.

the crown of kings. when she wraps her arms around my neck and laughs next to me, i am royalty. when she smiles or makes a joke or asks to see my cartwheel again, i’m lost in her. i kiss her whenever i can, which is often. we have roses in a vase at the base of our bed, and for all of the kingdom, i’d give my hands if it would keep her laughing.

the next time she spoke was just once, at our wedding, where she said the two words i do to bind us for eternity. she had learned from me, from holding her hands over my voicebox, the way i learned from her how to use hands to speak. sometimes at night she says my name, just because she likes what it does to me.

i’m more blessed than a king. every day i spend with her is a day i spend happily. 

so uh

Hey all! I’m sure you’ve heard of this new webcomic called 17776, as it’s been spreading around like a wildfire due to its Homestuck-reminiscent style and tone thus far, and that’s what i’m here to talk about today. 

More specifically, I’m here to talk about Nancy McGunnel.

Nancy McGunnel is introduced to us readers in the first chapter of 17776, when we first begin following the football game # 3887. She is introduced via a small group of reporters who are trying to follow the game and talk to each other about (relatively) recent events, getting us readers used to the setting, and we witness Nancy running full-tilt, football in hand, into a tornado and up into the air as a tactical play in the game. Before she actually goes up into the tornado, though, the webpage hands us some of her game stats. 

This stat board tells us her height, weight, etc., and goes on to tell us she started playing in 16003 for Milwaukee, and from then to 16016 she does rather well before retiring for 1744 years to help her daughter run a general store. In 17760, she un-retires to rejoin ‘country football’ and now plays for Wyoming, and she doesn’t appear to be playing as well as she had for Milwaukee. 

The next page, Pioneer 10 explains to Pioneer 9 that on April 7th, 2026, the human population count utterly stagnated - people stopped being born, dying, and aging. This tells us that everyone on Earth, barring probably new scars, lost limbs, weight loss/gain, change in muscle mass, and other such forced physical change, is exactly as they were the day of April 7th, 2026. People in the prime of their life still are now, people in the range of having “midlife crises” , people who were babies at the time still are(which raises one heck of a question about mental aging that I’m not getting into today), et cetera.

The aforementioned stat board also tells us that Nancy was born 5/2/1953. Since this in-story info is based in America, land of silly nonsense and stubborn asshats like myself, we can probably assume that America has not changed its ways in how it treats dates, and thus 5/2/1953 means May 2nd, 1953. (I realize this is semantics, but hey, in for a dime, in for a dollar.)

Nancy is nearly seventy-three years old. 

I’ll say it again: Nancy is nearly seventy-three years old. 

Now, knowing this information, go back to where we read the stat board, and imagine. Imagine this elderly woman, truckin’ it toward the goal line. Imagine her making all of those attempts, probably regularly getting into legendary dogpiles, to get the ball, or to keep it. Imagine her squirreling it away from her shocked opponents, dumbfounded that a lady her age had just snatched victory from the tips of their fingers and is now running across the country to make her hundredth touchdown. Imagine it when we witness her hoofing it, beaten-up and abused football clutched in her wrinkled hands, straight toward a tornado that has clearly already picked up some person’s house and  is flinging it in circles and will have absolutely no problem doing the same to her.

But Nancy doesn’t care. Why would she? She’s not gonna die, and she has glory to re-attain from having lost it since her last game!

Nancy don’t care; Nancy’s got a game to win.

Mystic Messenger : Prologue ~ V Walkthrough (FULL ANSWERS)

I worked all alone - I cheked each answers ~ Please be considerate.

Like, reblog, or do nothing, but please don’t copy/paste it and claim it as your own… I am on my own and spent a lot of time to do this.

If you are on phone, please setting the page to be seen in the computer version! On the phone, the answers are sometimes unaligned and it can confuse you…

In order to not bother and annoy my followers who don’t play this game by this looong post, I’ll put a seperate line. Click to see.

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10,000 - 11,100 Follower Prompt Batch Special
  • “I took your memories for a good reason, but I shouldn’t have.”
  • “Is it too late to come over?”
  • “Hey, let me in. It’s so cold out here.”
  • “I wasn’t sure if you could understand my language, what with you being ancient and all.”
  • “When I told you that you could come along, I meant silently.”
  • “I’m the opposite of flexible.”
  • “You’ve been talking for eight months and you still don’t know their name?”
  • “You wanted to stand out, so now you do. Is this not what you meant?”
  • “I can’t sleep at night anymore. I don’t like closing my eyes.”
  • “You stood there and let it happen. You get to face the consequences.”
  • “I can’t say this was one of my proudest moments.”
  • “I figured that I could mold myself into someone you could admire whilst you were gone.”
  • “You stop me from making bad ideas all the time. Of course I got a little dependent on that.”
  • “Take a look at what I have to do and now tell me it’s easy.”
  • “They were conducting experiments here. I was a part of that.”
  • “You can teleport! Surely you can get us out of this mess, right?”
  • “Even a master such as I can make mistakes.”
  • “I’ve been patiently waiting, but I can’t do that anymore.”
  • “Sometimes change only happens when we make it.”
  • “Whoever put you on my team is getting a stern talking to.”
  • “Even after all the evidence I collected, you don’t believe me?”
  • “You said it was rare, but that means it’s happened before, so there must be someone else who knows about it.”
  • “Rock, paper, scissors solves everything.”
  • “I was trying really hard to listen to you, but I’m so bored.”
  • “I won’t forget this.”
  • “After a lot of confusion, I think I’ve finally figured this out.”
  • “If being honest is all I have, then so be it.”
  • “Why am I here? Why, that’s easy! You asked for a miracle, remember?”
  • “We’re already fifteen minutes into the project. Why are you trying to stop me now?”
  • “I can practically taste the disaster.”
  • “I promise you that you don’t want to stay around here for long.”
  • “If you find a way out of this, take me with you.”
  • “None of this was my idea.”
  • “You were the stone and we were the birds.”
  • “It wasn’t hopeless. Look at what you’ve accomplished.”
  • “I never minded when you were around me. Why would that change?”
  • “Hate to break it to you, but you’re turning into an alien.”
  • “Don’t you dare let go of my hand. You hear me?”
  • “Duck your head and follow me.”
  • “Thing is, if I continue to think about it, I’ll only get more anxious.”
  • “I never wanted this for you. For any of you.”
  • “Do those marks look like they were made by an animal to you?”
  • “If I had said something else, would it have made a difference?”
  • “It’s garbage night. That means we lay here and feel like trash.”
  • “Maybe if I turn the music up louder, I’ll be able to ignore it all.”
  • “I wonder if it still qualifies as a problem if it doesn’t affect you personally? Hm?”
  • “Take a look around. This is our world now.”
  • “Were you expecting the aliens to be hostile?”
  • “Let’s break the rules and take over the world.”
  • “It’s time you knew where you actually came from.”
  • “Truth be told, you’re not the first one I would have chosen for this.”
  • “If it was easy, don’t you think I would have changed already?”
  • “I’ve been dead for so long, I’ve forgotten how to live.”
  • “Making you mad is so easy. I’ve been trying to see if I could set a new record.”
  • “Why do you always assume everything is my fault?”
  • “We have a special guest. Go clean up.”
  • “Together, we can find a way.”
  • “You can call it anything, but that was love right there.”
  • “I know you’re headed in the right direction.”
  • “If I hadn’t held you back, who knew what would have happened?”
  • “I like it when you sing to me. Why’d you stop?”
  • “Can you blame me for my excitement? This is huge!”
  • “I didn’t need you to come along. You messed everything up.”
  • “What’s the interrogation for?”
  • “Can you imagine how boring an endless slide would be after the thirty minute mark?”
  • “We can make this work.”
  • “It’s like all I can ever do is make you unhappy.”
  • “You could have talked to me if you needed it.”
  • “Why would I turn you? You don’t want this life. I promise you that.”
  • “I can see the end. Hurry!”
  • “Getting lost in a maze with you was a nightmare that I can only hope to never experience again.”
  • “I don’t know if I should trust you to get us there safely.”
  • “Did you finally have enough of me?”
  • “Believe it or not, I’m actually tired of people comparing me with them.”
  • “I’m tired of you doubting me. At this point, what do I have to do to prove myself?”
  • “I don’t say it often, but I do love you. Very much so.”
  • “I like the friendship we have, but I want something more.”
  • “Well, the vision I had was pure chaos. Let’s prevent that, shall we?”
  • “I’m proud of you. That you moved on.”
  • “Contrary to popular belief, I am actually a mind reader.”
  • “I didn’t know how to ask.”
  • “I don’t want to bring you down, but sometimes I need your support.”
  • “I’m sick and tired of living here. It’s so bland and boring.”
  • “I don’t want to be alone for the vacation, so come with me. Drop everything and pack up.”
  • “I’m way too nice to do that, sorry.”
  • “You can’t pick and choose which parts of me you can fix.”
  • “There’s no reason to be so cold.”
  • “Wishful thinking is a blessing in disguise.”
  • “Look! You’re doing it! I’m so proud of you.”
  • “We got this far and it’d be a shame to turn back now.”
  • “I can’t just leave it here. It was all cold and alone. Come on, please?”
  • “You look over there and I’ll look over here.”
  • “I’ll do all the chores for two months if you do my paper for me.”
  • “I thought you liked my stories?”
  • “Can you remember how nervous you were? Now look at you!”
  • “I am glorious, admit it. Maybe it’ll rub off on you.”
  • “I wasn’t afraid. I was just… Concerned.”
  • “Your heart was in the right place. It’s the thought that counts.”
  • “I was ten minutes late. There’s no way they didn’t notice.”
  • “I’m both a lover and a fighter. I’ll take you down and then give you a kiss.”
my big list of ADHD homework tips!

as a person with unmedicated ADHD, i struggle a lot with school. and being unmedicated by choice makes getting “official” help a lot harder, but this also applies if you’re someone who can’t afford to get a diagnosis and are medicated for that reason. if you’re like me, things like extended deadlines won’t help you much anyways because the amount of time isn’t the problem

anyways, i thought i’d put together a lot of my coping mechanisms to get decent grades and do my work!! of course these may not help you bc everyone’s brains work differently, even people with the same disabilities, so a lot of these may be completely useless

most of these revolve around MODERATING distractions rather than cutting them out completely

  • try to have a determined outlook, especially in the face of huge projects. for example, think about it in terms of “i WILL get this done” “i’m GOING to finish this, because i have to” “it will definitely happen”. 
  • realize it’s okay to get distracted! it happens, it’s kinda inevitable with this disability honestly. the most valuble thing i’ve learned is how to moderate my distractions. 
  • refresh tumblr often! don’t go TOO far back on your dash. the more you refresh the less there will be to see, so the likelihood of getting bored and going back to what you’re working on is higher. 
  • if possible, once i’ve refreshed tumblr enough and there’s hardly anything new, i close tumblr. i almost never look at facebook but i treat it the same way as i treat tumblr when i do. generally i keep twitter open bc there’s less i can get hyper-focused on
  • do your homework with a friend that’s good at staying focused! generally, they’ll interact with you enough but withdraw enough so you can do your own work
  • put on a show that’ll entertain you but you’ve seen before, for me this is generally bob’s burgers or like, archer
  • when writing an essay, work on the parts you have ideas for first. transitions are actually easier for me to write after i’ve written about main ideas. if anything’s stopping you from moving forward, come back to it later. it’s a lot less intimidating when you’ve written most of the rest of it
  • enlist friends! it doesn’t take too much energy to help someone with adhd pace themselves. if your friends can tell you every 15 minutes or so to write one or two sentences i found it works really well. one or two sentences is unintimidating enough for me to be able to do when someone tells me to do it, and there’s also a pretty big chance i’ll end up writing more than that
  • remember, TINY AMOUNTS OF PROGRESS ARE STILL PROGRESS! set small goals, they’re much easier to accomplish
  • if you encounter a reading that’s really hard for you to process, ie reading over and over again and not actually processing any of it, try and find a summary online or ask a friend to summarize it
  • asking a friend to summarize things is mutually beneficial, bc it’ll help their understanding to try to explain it. this goes for studying too, and having frequent conversations about what you’re studying is a really efficient studying tool! keeping the mood light and joking around is important too
  • for really difficult readings, if you have a REALLY dedicated friend, have them read it out loud to you sentence by sentence and summarize/simplify each sentence. it helps to have conversations about the material throughout too, like asking questions and whatnot

but yeah, this is basically how i got through finals and writing 9 final papers in the past two weeks? none of these require particularly great time management either 

this got kinda long but i hope it can help some people!!

EDIT: added a title and fixed some typos

Sexual Tension (Star-Lord x Reader)

As requested by anon:  Can you do a smut fanfic in which Peter gets trapped? And no, not 50 Shades of Grey style, but your style!

I was a tiny bit confused as to what you meant, so I tried my best and I hope you like it! Sorry it took forever. 

Warning: NSFW

“Peter, your ship is a piece of junk,” you groaned as you paced around impatiently. There was a grunt in response, followed by the clank of some metal and you glanced toward the floor where he lay flat on his stomach. In his hand was a tool of some sort, and he was elbows deep in an opening in the wall made by his removal of a panel, exposing  a tangle of wires.

“She’s not a piece of junk,” he replied defensively. “She just gets a little sick now and then, is all.”

“I’d hardly call getting us stuck in the cockpit for an hour, ‘sick’,” you air quoted the last word and rolled your eyes. A fuse or something had blown earlier that day, activating the auto-lock on all the doors, thereby causing you to get hopelessly trapped.

Peter stopped what he was doing, put his tools down, and then rose to his feet. He folded his arms and cocked his head to the side, the corners of his mouth turning up ever so slightly. “Maybe we should embrace the situation.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean maybe we’re alone for the first time and there’s clearly been some sexual tension that needs to be addressed.”

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Fireproof #1 - The Beginning - An Alex Mini Series

Originally posted by antogriezmann

**An Alex, Harry’s Character from Dunkirk, fic was highly, highly requested. For the most part, this is an original story simply based around his character and there will only be a few references to things that happened in the film – just in case some have yet to see it, there won’t be any spoilers. 

Well, I hope you all enjoy it and be sure to let me know what you think! :) 

**Word Count- 4,397


3 March 1939 

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Imagine...Getting Lazy

Originally posted by bottomnoctis

Request: Hey! So glad your requests are open! So I wonder if you could write DeanxReader, where the reader thinks that Dean doesn’t love her anymore because he doesn’t touch her like he used to and isn’t as flirty as he used to be with her? But it turns out that he thinks the same about her and he is just unsure how to handle the situation and it all ends fluffy?

Pairing: Dean x reader

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What we see of Eggsy/Tilde

- they fuck after he saves the world.
- a couple (?) of years later they’re living together and in love.
- she’s likes his friends
- he tricks her (admittedly arsehole) father into liking him ( i like to think he calls Roxy AFTER the king asks an awkward question)
- when he calls to tell her that he has to sleep with a mark she holds out on saying it’s ok - fair enough - but as soon as he says he wants to be with her forever she jumps on it and immediately tries to guilt him into marrying her. I don’t know about you but if I was someone’s SO concerned about them sleeping with someone else I wouldn’t immediately feel better if they proposed. She was basically holding out to see what he was going to offer her in his guilt.
- when he suggests that they postpone a serious conversation for later because he’s honestly on a schedule and is WORKING she basically breaks up with him. Not by telling him but by cutting off all contact with him.
- he has a legitimate reason for not wanting to marry her as it would make him a public figure and mess with his career
- she only calls him back when she’s ill. Now I know it can be interpreted as her calling him while delusional, but I kind of interpreted it by her smile when she first calls as her calling her spy ex to see if he could help her.
- she comes back to him when he saves her life. It’s adorable. It might have happened anyway.
- They get married in a wedding scene where he has more of a significant moment with his best man than he does with her

Now I’m not saying that its a badly written, boring, no homo-esque romance that has no build up and little to do with the plot but that’s exactly what I’m saying.

Getting Somewhere

Originally posted by avengers-of-mirkwood

Summary: You and Sigrid have a very in-depth conversation about your past with Thranduil and the King tries to apologize in his own little way.

Pairings: Thranduil x Reader

Words: 2,063

Warnings: Mentions of Loss of Family Members; Slight Mentions of Hatred from Parents.

A/N: I’ve been hella tired lately so I haven’t been doing anything. No writing no nothing. I think that’s how the weekend is going to go too. Sorry guys. Also this was hard to write. I wanted like a lot of angst, but I couldn’t find a way to fix it so I kinda f’ed up lol

Master Lists: Drabbles/Imagines, and Completed Series   - Part 1

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You know when little adorable thoughts pop into your head? Well… thought I would share this one.

Feyre had been out flying with her son. He had been struggling a bit since the birth of his sister, like any young child would. The copious amounts of attention he had received from both parents had significantly lessened as the attention had shifted, just because that’s what babies needed.

But young boys needed attention too, so now that Adelia was old enough to spend a few hours away from her mother Feyre was sure to spend some time solely with her son. Once they had landed in the House of Wind Tristan had scampered off to tell his father about his adventures. Feyre hoped that Rhys wasn’t in the middle of anything too important. Regardless, he’d never turn their son away.

Now Feyre was looking for their daughter. She had left her in the care of Mor, Cassian and Azriel collectively but had no idea whether they had split up since then. So Feyre just wandered, knowing she’d happen upon them at some point. That was when she heard it.


Baby giggles were coming from the sitting room. Feyre made her way there as quietly as she could, hoping she would not disturb the scene. Peeking round the entry way, Feyre couldn’t help but smile.

Adelia was propped up in a corner of one of the sitting chairs, Cassian kneeling in front of of her. His wings were spread, but he brought one in front of him to hide his face. Then he pulled it away quickly.


Adelia burst into a fit of giggles. And Cassian repeated the process. Adelia’s laugh was one of the most beautiful things Feyre had heard, so musical and pure. Each time Cassian revealed his face Adelia would start again and adorably would go quiet when Cassian hid just waiting to see what would happen next.

“They’ve been doing that for quite a while.”

Feyre almost jumped out of her skin at Azriel’s words as he appeared out of whatever shadows he’d been hiding in.

“Mother, give me some warning next time, Az,” Feyre said hand on her chest. Azriel only chuckled before Feyre asked. “You think he’s bored yet?”

Azriel shrugged and smiled as giggling once again filled the room, “Knowing Cassian, Adelia will get bored before he does.”

“I can hear you, you know, you aaa… annoying busybodies,” Cassian said from behind a wing. “Boo!”

Adelia giggled.

“And lucky we’re in the presence of the innocent or I might have called you something much worse. Now leave us. Adelia and Uncle Cass are bonding.”

Feyre and Azriel only laughed in reply as they left Cassian and Adelia to entertain each other.

Kinky Pick Up Lines

Summary: Dan is hanging out with his friends at the park while they’re playing a random game of truth or dare. Dan isn’t really interested until it involves him hiting on a stranger with a kinky pick up line.

Genre: AU, Fluff

Word Count: 1,156

A/N: This seemed like a fun prompt so I wanted to write something for it. The pick up line that I used for this fic is from ‘Imaginary Parties’ by Superfruit. If you haven’t listened to their new Future Friends EP then do yourself a favor and go listen to it because it’s really good lol.

Keep reading

When Harry rounded the corner of a corridor in his secret route (really, couldn’t people stop gawking at him?) to lunch, he stopped suddenly to avoid tripping over the person sitting against the wall with their knees drawn up, head resting on their knees. The platinum blonde hair could be mistaken for no one else. Harry froze, not sure what to do. Since their return to Hogwarts for their unofficial 8th year of study and their subsequent sharing of a dorm room, Harry and Malfoy had been on civil yet stilted terms. They were polite, occasionally friendly even. But mostly they just stayed out of one another’s way. He wasn’t quite sure what the motivating factor was from Malfoy’s side, but for Harry this wasn’t out of hatred as the previous’ years rivalry would suggest. It was rather out of sheer awkwardness, he did not know how to act now that this boy was no longer his nemesis. This was the reason for his full minute of paralysis as he stood staring at Malfoy’s bowed head. He was seriously contemplating backing away quietly, convinced that the blonde had not heard his approach when he noticed Malfoy clenching his fists. “Get on with it then.” Malfoy whispered viciously.

Shocked, Harry at first said nothing. Then he hesitantly cleared his throat. “Um, Malfoy?”
Malfoy groaned and brought his hands up to cover his face. “You have got to be kidding me.” He muttered into his hands.
Harry was now profoundly uncomfortable, convinced that he had stumbled on his former nemesis in the middle of an emotional reprieve which definitely deserved privacy and not his clear gawking. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude. I was just heading-”
Malfoy gave a dark chuckle. He raised his head but didn’t look at Harry. “You’re hardly intruding. One could say you were saving the day, as always.” Harry was a little surprised to find his face dry, his eyes clear even if they seemed a little distant.
Harry furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. “And how am I doing that?”
“Well,” Malfoy started in a disparaging tone. “it seems as though I have been temporarily relieved of my sight and am unable to find my way to our room.”

“What?” Harry exclaimed, dropping to his knees next to him. He reached out to turn Malfoy’s face, frantically searching for an injury. “Are you okay?”
Malfoy pulled back slightly, eyebrows raised in surprise before they slammed back down. Harry could see the unfocused quality in them now. “I’m fine, Potter.” He muttered. “It was a spell.”
“But then we should go to the hospital wing, not our room!”
“No, Potter.” Malfoy said in a low voice. “I am not going to the hospital wing.”
Harry stared at his tense jaw, his pursed lips and the defiant glint in the clear grey eyes that were currently focused two feet to the left of Harry.
“Care to explain why?” He asked cautiously.
“No.” Harry waited. Malfoy crossed his arms. Harry sat down more comfortably. Malfoy let out an exasperated sigh. “You and your hero complex!” Harry smirked but didn’t reply. “Fine. Let’s just say that this sort of thing has happened on occasion and I know it will go away in a few hours.” He stated as a matter of fact.
Harry frowned. “People are cursing you often? Have you been hit with this exact curse before?”
Malfoy’s lips curled into a sneer. “Worried about me, Potter?”
He took a long moment to examine the tense set of Malfoy’s shoulders, the clenched fists at his side. “Yeah, I think I am.” He replied finally.
If Harry hadn’t been given this opportunity to so openly study Malfoy, he wouldn’t have seen the subtle signs of shock ripple across his features. The slightest uncurling of his sneer. The widening of his eyes by the smallest fraction. But they were there, and Harry saw them.
Malfoy cleared his throat and lowered his unseeing gaze to the floor, long eyelashes fluttering. In a firm but soft voice he said. “Then just help me back to the room before anyone else sees me like this.”
“Okay,” Harry said without hesitation, “but I don’t think we’re done talking about this.” Harry stood and reached down for Malfoy’s hand to help him up.
“Whatever, Potter.”

They made it all the way to the 8th year dorms without seeing anyone, but having to go through the common room was a bit trickier. Harry threw his arm around Malfoy’s shoulders to guide him through, they got a few questioning looks from the others but the scowl on Malfoy’s face made it more believable. When they got to their room Harry slowly let his arm drop. Malfoy stood there scowling. Harry gently took his arm and guided him to his bed, which he sat on with a sigh. “Thank you.”
Harry blinked in surprise. After an awkward pause he replied, “You’re welcome.”
He caught a glimpse of a small smirk before Malfoy flopped onto his back. “Well, carry on with your saviour duties.” He said dismissively.
Harry grinned. “Honestly, Malfoy. What are the chances of me finding two damsels in distress in one day?” He was out the door before Malfoy could do anything but splutter indignantly.

When Harry returned a short while later, it was to find Malfoy’s curtains drawn around his bed. He hesitated a long while in the doorway before finally closing the door. “Malfoy?”
There was a drawn out silence. “What, Potter?”
“I brought you lunch.”
The curtain was pulled back suddenly and Harry could see Malfoy sitting on the bed still in his robes but with his shoes off. His brows were drawn together in confusion. “You brought me lunch?”
“Well, yeah.” Harry said kicking off his shoes. “I figured you hadn’t eaten yet.”
He sat down on the bed across from Malfoy whose mouth promptly fell open and then shut with a snap. “Oh.”
Harry cautiously grabbed a pale, slender hand and placed half a sandwich in it. Malfoy brought his other hand up to hold it as well, still frowning. Harry watched as he drew his bottom lip between his teeth and chewed on it. His pale grey eyes were full of something, and Harry was rather disappointed to think that it might be doubt.
“I’m not poisoning you, you know.” He said softly.
Malfoy surprised both of them by breathing out a chuckle. “I know that, Potter.” Harry couldn’t help but stare as the smile lingered around his lips. “Thank you.” Malfoy murmured softly. Harry’s own lips turned up in response. He watched as Malfoy worried is bottom lip between his teeth some more. The edges were curling upward now though. Malfoy finally raised an eyebrow and asked, “So, are you just going to watch me eat now?”
“What? No! Sorry.” Harry said rapidly as he shot up off the bed. When he heard Malfoy’s laughter ring out he stumbled. “Git.” He huffed as he sat heavily on his own bed. Since Malfoy wouldn’t know, he didn’t exactly look away. He sat with his chin resting on his drawn up knees as Malfoy finished his sandwich. When he was done, he sat back with his back against the wall and his eyes closed. His face was completely relaxed and Harry couldn’t look away.
“Fine. Ask.” Harry was startled when Malfoy eventually spoke. He was again thankful that he couldn’t see since Harry’s cheeks reddened guiltily.
“When will you be able to see again?”
“A few hours. This one has only happened once before so I’m not exactly sure how many hours it was, only about six I think. Luckily it happened on a Saturday this time so I don’t have to miss class.” His eyes opened again and his gaze was fixed a few feet above Harry’s head.
“Do you know who it was?” Harry asked.
His lip curled up. “Unfortunately not.”
Harry nodded, even though he couldn’t see it. “How often?”
Malfoy sighed deeply. “What does it matter?”
“It just does.”
“Only about once a week now.” Malfoy answered reluctantly. “It happened a lot more in the beginning of the year but people are at last starting to get bored of me.” He said dryly.
“Malfoy,” Harry started, causing his roommates lips to thin. “Why haven’t you said anything? Did you tell any of the teachers?”
Malfoy huffed and dropped his chin so he was facing his lap. “No. I’ve handled it.” He said with a note of finality. When Harry didn’t answer, he cleared his throat and continued in a quieter voice. “I didn’t want anyone’s pity. I don’t.” Harry watched as the faintest hint of pink appeared on his cheeks.
With reluctance, Harry understood. He sighed. “Alright then.” Malfoy’s head tilted to the side, as if considering. Searching for a random topic, Harry asked Malfoy who he thought would win the quidditch league that year. Surprise touched his features, a smile quirked his lips but Malfoy launched into a detailed explanation about why the Harpies had a good chance. They chatted for ages. Harry was surprised to find how easy it was to talk to Malfoy like this, how his eyes lit up when he was amused. He was, however, more surprised to find that he could not look away from Malfoy even once.


Draco sighed as he leaned his head and back against the wall with his eyes shut. Or were they open? It’s not as if he was really able to tell. As much as he hated being cursed, he couldn’t deny that he was rather enjoying his afternoon with Potter. He hadn’t known how to address the fact that there was no longer any real animosity between them and he always just felt extremely uncomfortable in his roommate’s presence. His solution had been to avoid him as much as possible before today. Potter had gone to the kitchens to get more sandwiches for their dinner and Draco had used the opportunity to stumble to the bathrooms. Potter had been genuine in assisting Draco so far but Draco had his limits.
He heard the door open and held his breath, scared it was someone else. He was relieved when his curtains were drawn back and his bed dipped down with Potter’s weight. A warm dry hand gripped his own, lingering. Draco sucked in a breath and a sandwich was placed in his hand. They ate in silence. When they were done, Harry didn’t go back to his own bed. Instead he stayed next to Draco, his legs crossed and almost pressed against Draco’s thigh. Potter was busy telling him about the triwizard tournament; the tip Cedric had given him for the egg clue and the prefect’s bath. Draco had turned his head towards him to hear him better. He couldn’t help but laugh when Harry relayed his horror at Myrtle making an appearance, and as much as he tried he couldn’t fight the lingering smile as Potter continued.
Then all of a sudden, he could see. It was as if a great black curtain was lifted. Inches from his own face was Harry Potter’s face. And his bright green eyes were fixed on Draco’s mouth. Suddenly nervous, Draco swallowed. He watched Potter’s eyes track the movement down his neck and heard the stumble in his words. Draco started to blush and feel a little guilty. He reached out quickly to grab Potter’s arm, “I can see again.” Potter’s eyes snapped up quickly to Draco’s and his ears went pink. Then he broke into a wide grin that Draco had never expected to see aimed in his direction.
“About time.” Draco grinned back just as wide. Pink tinged Potter’s cheeks as well. He cleared his throat. “It’s late.” He shifted as to get up. “I’ll just go to my bed so we can go to sleep.”
Draco still had a hand on his arm so he squeezed once before letting go. “Stay, finish your story.” He said.
Potter smiled, and Draco could swear it was at least a little bit shy, before continuing.

The next day they found themselves in a strange new dynamic. They greeted each other with soft smiles. The day went by full of quick glances and friendly words. When they found themselves back in the room that night Draco was pleased that they continued with their easy conversations. Harry would speak mostly to his hands with quick glances at Draco, but there was no longer any awkwardness between them. Harry had stayed on his bed though, and Draco was not at all happy to realise that he was disappointed.
After they’d said good night Draco was tossing and turning, unable to fall asleep as his thoughts lingered on Harry. When he opened his eyes to get up and go sit in the common room rather, he found Harry awake in his bed across from him, and he had quite obviously been staring at Draco.
Harry quickly glanced away, but with no way to explain this away his gaze returned.
“Were you staring at me, Potter?” Draco asked in a soft voice.
It was too dark to tell, but Draco was sure that he must be blushing. “I’m finding it quite a hard habit to break.” Harry answered, his voice low.
Draco’s lips quirked up, and he could see Harry relax at that. “After just one day?” He teased.
Harry nodded, also smiling now. “But I must admit,” he said slowly, “I prefer it when you stare back.”
Draco’s heart sped up, struggling to believe. He swallowed and decided he could be brave in the dark. “Well,” he started, sitting up “wouldn’t it be better staring from over here?” he moved over, offering space on his bed.
Harry’s eyes went wide for a second before he was scrambling over to sit next to Draco. They both sat cross legged with their knees touching, staring openly. They were both grinning widely now.
“Well, Potter? Is this it?” Draco drawled. “Are you just going to stare all night or-“
He was abruptly cut off when Harry slid a hand to cup the back of his neck and gently press their lips together. Harry pulled back and searched Draco’s eyes.
“Really Potter, with the amount of time you spent staring at my lips yesterday I’m sure you can do better.” Draco said a little breathlessly.
Harry was still laughing as their lips met again. And when he finally pulled away ages later, Draco found he didn’t have any complaints.

|| an autocorrect love story ||

lmao I promised my friend that I would take a break from writing, but technically, this doesn’t count since I wrote this imagine MONTHS ago and posted it on my DeviantArt page. I just decided to copy it to my tumblr account because I was really proud of this imagine.

I added a few extra details so that it could fit with Tom!Peter Parker,,,,,, ;)))))

And lets be real, Peter would totally confess to his crush like this lol ♡

warnings: none

please don’t repost this story


Keep reading

“Go on a date with me,” Ansel asked for the fifth time this week, and its only Tuesday. “Come on y/n give me a chance.”

You closed your locker and turned to face him, “sorry Ansel but my answer is still the same. I’m not interested in a relationship right now.”

As you were walking away he slid in front of you, blocking the school doors, “who said anything about a relationship? Let’s just go out to dinner or something and talk like friends. And if you like me, we can go on another and then maybe we can think about a relationship.”

You pretended to think about it, “No.” You shoved past him and walked out.

Your best friend fell into step with you. “Why do you look so grumpy?”

“Ansel won’t drop this date thing,” you grumbled.

She sighed, “you know maybe you should give him a chance y/n! I don’t see why you think he’s playing you.”

Glaring at her, you said, “because he’s like that! He plays with girls! Remember Cindy? He tore her heart out.”

“But he’s never tried so hard to win a girl over!” She pointed out, “he always got what he wanted and you’re a challenge.”

You stopped walking and turned to her, “yeah, I am. What happens when I accept and the challenge is over? He’ll get bored and dump me for the next girl.”

“Whatever,” she rolled her eyes, “I still think you should give him a chance.” Then she walked off to her car.

The next day

You walked into third period, Advisory, dreading the whole hour. You’ve been avoiding Ansel all day but there was no avoiding him now. In a class where you just sit and talk about how you’re doing in school. Seriously what is the point of it?! And you had it with Ansel. Great.

“Everyone pull up a seat and gather into a circle,” your teacher said, “how is everyone doing today?”

Everyone mumbled a quiet, “good,” but Ansel, being the attention seeking jock he is flailed his arms and yelled, “oh I’ve been having a terrible week Mrs.Kay!”

“And why is that Ansel?”

He stood up to make a scene, “oh nothing! I’ve just been gathering the courage to ask out this girl I really like ALL month and when I finally man up and ask her, she says no!”

Ansel smiled at you, if looks could kill, he’d be dead by now. “Why do you think she’s saying no?” The teacher asked.

He sighed, “because let’s be honest, I haven’t been the best boyfriend in this school. I’m kind of a jerk who broke many hearts. And I know she’s afraid I’ll break hers. But I’m not perfect, and I don’t mean to do all this. I’m looking for the girl I’ll be in love with! And along the way I made mistakes! Oh I’ve made Many! But I actually like her. And I wish shed give me a chance.”

“Why don’t you tell her this?”

“I just did,” he smiled, and every girl in class blushed, probably thinking it was her. “And I’ll ask her out once more. Of she looks me in the eyes and says no. I’ll stop. But I want her to know I’m not all bad. I promise.”

He walked around the circle, winking at random girls, “so…” He stopped in front of you, “y/n, will you join me for a home cooked dinner at my house this Friday night? Please?”

You met his eyes, and you saw something you never expected to see. Innocence, and fear. Fear of what? Being rejected in front of these people that mean nothing to him? Or fear of being rejected by you, a girl he truly likes..

You let out a frustrated groan and hurried your head in your hands, how can you possibly say no?

Your Move

The nine times Simon and Baz prank each other and the one time they don’t

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10

March 28


I haven’t had nightmares like that in years.

           Replaying the scene of my mother’s death is a classic, and it’s been a while since I’ve dreamt it, but it almost always has me waking in a cold sweat.  Occasionally I see it as I did when I was a child, but often it’s me as I am now, and the last thing I see is the look in her eye.  It’s not afraid, it’s just sad, disappointed that I’ve carried my sickness with me all these years.  That I never finished what she started by sending the nursery up in flames.  That I’m still walking the planet with vampire’s poison in my blood.

           There’s always the reassuring thought that I’ll wake up as soon as I’ve seen that look and the fire takes over, but this time it doesn’t work.  I keep dreaming, and it gets worse.  It turns into the nightmare that haunted my dreams almost every night for all of fifth year.

           I have to bite Simon.  I’m starved of blood and he is placed before me, veins pumping like drums in my head.  Someone somewhere is egging me on, sometimes it’s Fiona’s voice, sometimes my father’s, sometimes my mother’s.  I keep telling them no, and then Simon picks up a knife.  He tells me it’s okay and he presses the blade to his neck, tracing a shallow line and drawing just the thinnest stream of blood but the smell alone is enough to set my senses blazing.  I’m begging him to stop and he just walks calmly up to me, like the hero that he’s always been destined to be.  

           Sometimes I wake up in time.  Sometimes I don’t.

           When I don’t, I give in.  I always give in.

           His blood tastes real and alive and after one drop I lose control, drinking from his neck like I’ll never eat again.

           Sometimes I stay in the nightmare long enough to feel him run his sword through my stomach before I wake up.

           That’s what happened last night.  Before I was shaken awake, clutching at the phantom blade in my stomach, to find him gazing down at me with wide, fearful eyes.

           In the moment all I wanted was to pull him into my arms, to convince myself that he was real, we were awake and alive. Well, him at least.

           Instead I burst into tears in front of him.  Of course.

           He made no further move to comfort me, which is for the best.  Where in Merlin’s name would we have gone from there?

           When my alarm goes off this morning, I don’t bother hitting snooze.  I just slam the off-button and sit up.  My eyes are fuzzy and heavy, and I can feel the tears dried onto my cheeks.  I feel like a bear waking up from a terrible hibernation.

           Simon hauls himself out of bed, his curls standing up off his head like he was the one who didn’t get any sleep.  When he looks over at me, there’s a sort of caution in his gaze.  “You alright?” he asks tentatively.

           “Brilliant, Snow,” I croak, my voice raw from crying and the little sleep I got, “never been better.”

           He doesn’t move to get ready or even get off the bed, just keeps staring at me, and I can only imagine what I must look like right now.  Red, puffy eyes and tear-stained cheeks, probably a rat’s nest of hair.  A wreck.  A vulnerable wreck.  Wonderful.

           “Maybe…” he ventures, trailing off.

           “Words, Snow, I’m not in the mood to read your mind.”

           “Maybe you should skip class this morning.”

           I scowl at him.  “I know I look like death, but it’s nothing a hairbrush won’t fix.”

           “No,” he shakes his head, bronze curls falling in his eyes, “I mean you need your sleep.  I can say you’re sick or something.”

           I raise an eyebrow.  “Since when are you invested in my well-being, Snow?”

           “You didn’t hear yourself last night,” he mutters, and I think I see him shudder, staring at the floor, and it dawns on me that I must have been talking in my sleep.  My blood runs cold imagining what he might have heard, what I might have revealed.

           “No need to worry yourself,” I say, though I can barely keep my eyes open.

           At this point, he gets up and crosses over to me. I’m too shocked to protest when he gently pushes me back to the mattress and pulls the covers over me again, but I look up at him quizzically.

           “Just go back to sleep,” he tells me before heading to the bathroom to change.

           I’m practically asleep again by the time he leaves the room, shutting the door slowly and quietly, like I’m a sick child in his care.  The thought should be terrifying, but I’m out like a light before I can finish it.


           Even though I sleep for another few hours, I still wake up in a bad mood.  The rain pouring down the window doesn’t help, and I just have too many thoughts swimming around my head to feel refreshed.

           Second class has already started, so I take my time in the shower, scrubbing the feeling of the sword away from my torso. If I think too long about my nightmare, the tear-tracks on my face start to feel like Snow’s blood, and I rub the sensation off until my cheeks are burning and red.

           I don’t think about the nightmares.

           I don’t think about the concern in his eyes last night.

           I don’t think about his gentle touch pushing me back into bed.

           Instead, I think about our game.

           Snow never made his move.  So what does that mean?  He sure didn’t look like he wanted to pull anything on me this morning.  In fact, he looked quite the opposite, almost guilty, like he felt responsible.

           So who’s move is it?

           Mine,I think as I shut off the water. He forfeited his turn, so now it’s my move.


           I wait until classes are over to act.  I haven’t seen much of him since this morning (Crowley knows he can’t be seen talking to me in a civil manner outside the room), but I find him in the study hall.  Bunce and Wellbelove sit across from him, the three of them engrossed in their notes and textbooks.  Snow has a set of earphones in, and his phone sits on the table beside his work.

           None of them notice me when I come in, nor when I take a seat on the other side of the room.  I open one of my own books but I can’t concentrate when I look down at it. I’m still feeling the effects of the terrible night I had, plus I’m not even here to study.

           I see Snow say something to Bunce without removing his earphones.  He must have the music low enough that he can still hear.  Perfect.

           I wait a few more minutes, until he’s lost in his notes again, before pulling my wand out of my pocket.  I won’t be able to swing the wand as usual with this many people around, but I discreetly aim it at Snow from across the room.  More specifically, at Snow’s phone.

           “A little bit louder now,” I whisper.

           Snow jumps back from his table, frantically ripping at his earphones as his music goes from quiet to blasting in less than a second.  Wellbelove actually stands in shock, and someone’s papers go flying.  

           I don’t see the tail end of Snow’s reaction, as I have returned to staring pointlessly at my text.  When I glance back up, he’s turning the phone over and over in his hands, trying to figure out what happened.  Bunce hands him her earphones.  Classic.

           This time he only puts a bud in one ear, and he’s visually stiffer, ready to react if it happens again.  Which it will, of course it will.  Once he’s dropped his guard and I get bored of skimming over my book.

           This only takes approximately fifteen minutes. After another five, he’s noticeably flagging, his eyes drooping closed, the heel of his hand pressing a red mark into his cheek.

           As if he lost sleep last night.  As if he’d had the nightmares about killing me.  Well, not me, I suppose.  Someone who matters to him as much as he matters to me.  Wellbelove, maybe.

           That thought alone makes me sick.  Stupid Wellbelove and her stupid perfect hair and perfect face and perfect clothes. I almost want to turn my curses on her.

           They haven’t dated in almost a year now, but the fact still remains that they did.  At one point, Simon looked at her in that way that makes bystanders sigh and go all mushy.  He doesn’t look at her that way anymore, but it’s like a stain that won’t come out.  I can still see it, or imagine that I’m seeing it.  I wonder if it will ever go away.

           It’s with this thought in mind that I cast the spell a second time, expecting some sort of satisfaction when he once again jumps a mile into the air, but finding nothing but bitterness.  Stupid Snow and his stupid golden curls and splatter of moles.  Fuck him.  Fuck the way his eyes turn into oceans in the dark.  Fuck his crooked smile and the way his laugh makes the rain turn into sunshine.

           I forget to look away when he catches me glaring at him, and too late I see him figure it out.  He doesn’t glare back defiantly like I expect him to, just holds my gaze levelly like he understands.  What in Merlin’s name he’s understanding is beyond me.

           Thrusting my chin forward I mouth the words “your move” slowly and obviously. He just nods once before turning back to his books, deliberately leaving his earphones on the table.

Likening the jacksepticeye community to the player in UNDERTALE


And this kids, is why you don’t theorise with me in tumblr chat late at night.

Okay, so this thought cropped up in my head a while back, after reading some theories that, we, the audience, were ultimately to blame for all of the antipocolypse. We created anti. We chanted his name. We gave him the power to do whatever he pleased. And the results are what happened on August 3rd.

In Undertale, most people will usually play through a neutral/pacifist route first. They get to know the characters, they fall in love, they find what makes them tick, they know how they will respond at certain points. And it’s after this, most players will choose the genocide route.

The player is bored. The player wants a challenge. They want to see what they’re capable of, what will be different, what dialogue will change. But they go through this game, SLAUGHTERING characters they have come to love, even though they profess to love them. They profess to care about them, they profess to not want to do it, but they keep going.
They don’t have to. But they do.


It’s just a game, isn’t it?

The player doesn’t suffer any negative repercussions. It’s not real, it’s just a game, it doesn’t matter. They feel disconnected to whatever is happening. They don’t get to see Alphys’ reaction to watching her friend be killed on CCTV, they don’t get to see how damaged Sans is by his brother’s death.

We just remain fixed in that single perspective. We get to see some parts, but we don’t see how the rest of the Underground, the rest of the WORLD that we’re quite literally looking down on has to deal with the choice we made to slaughter anything we came across. And why did we make that choice? I don’t know, it would be interesting to see what happens, right? It would be challenging, right?


But let us suppose, that it is. That even though you’re merely playing a video game, you are directly controlling a real Underground, with real monsters. You’re playing sociopathic God. It doesn’t weigh on your conscience. You only get to see the top down perspective of the game. You don’t see the widespread suffering you cause. When you’re tired of the game, you switch it off.

The jacksepticeye community, whether they like it or not, CRAVE anti. They crave that new bit of lore or ADDITIONAL DIALOGUE, they want to see what will happen out of a sick twisted curiosity. And they give this CREATURE ideas, they give him shape, they give him a voice, power everything he needs to do what he wants. And they profess to not want the results that it ultimately brings about. But they keep talking about it, giving him more, enabling it to happen again.


Anti could have his power and voice ripped away so easily.

But you won’t take it from him, will you?

You want to see what happens next.

Why, because, you only get to see it occasionally.

How BORING would it be if we didn’t get to see it?

It’s up to debate at the moment, but Jack has possibly been suffering unimaginably for a whole god damn year because of what we did. And now, we have the good doctor to add to that list. We helped anti tear him apart from the inside out, while condemning him for crimes he NEVER committed.

We don’t get to see what happens when the camera stops rolling, but I can’t fathom that it would be anything less than horrific. The egos have to LIVE with what we brought upon them. We just get to see the “fun” snippets now and again. We only see from one perspective. We only see what we’re shown, we won’t see everything that happens as a result of our actions.

It’s just a game to us.

Ask yourself; are we, the community and players in this game, so different from Anti?

Jack will never be saved.

Because deep down, none of us want him to be.

W̜̜̗̦̣h̜͙͎̯̹͘ͅe͍r͇̫̯͕e͍͉̰̗͡'̮̮̖s͕͡ ̮̮̝̝͉͍t̘̝̬̺h̺̼̕e̢͍̰͎̰̬͖ ͇̖̲̱̞̣f̞͔͙̫u̥͉̻̼̯̪̥n̟̣̬͕̺ ̢̳̩̭i͎͓n ̨̘̩t̰̠͎̦͍͞h̫͎̥̰a̬͓̹̳t̛̠͍͔,̭͞ ̫͉̥͚͓̼̳a̸̰͉̦̙͙ͅf̬̹͎͈͉̕t̝̙͔̳̹e͈̘͚͇r̤̖͍̠ ̩̬͇̻̩ͅa҉̣͚̭ĺ̦l̖̞̲̫̲?̩̩̗̟̩̖͝ͅ

Have a story, its joke based

As Davenport read the names of the people chosen to go on this world changing mission with him he could not believe what he was seeing.

Bluejeans can’t be a real last name, it just can’t be. Did this young man change his name or was he born with it? There’s no way he was born with it, Davenport just couldn’t believe that. It must be fake.

He spends a week thinking about it before letting it go, last names aren’t important, the person is important.

When he finally meets his crew he sees that they all seem like pretty normal students at the IPRE. The twins stayed to one side and whispered to each other and laughed at their own jokes. Lucretia stood up straight and fiddled with the hems of her sleeves and smiled nervously at Davenport. A Dwarf, Merle Highchurch, was also smiling at Davenport, but it wasn’t shy at all. He smiled and waved at Davenport in a very friendly way, Davenport felt his face heat up and quickly looked away from the flirty dwarf. The next was Magnus, a tall grinning man who looked like he could definitely protect them all if needed, a very good security guard. The last one was Barold J. Bluejeans. Mr. Bluejeans was a shorter man with glasses who looked very surprised and scared to be here. He was also wearing bluejeans and a jean jacket, gods, this can’t be real.

“Barold,” Davenport sighed, “what’s your last name?”

Barry looked confused for a moment before answering, “Bluejeans?”

“Have you ever changed your name or is this your original last name?” Davenport asked and the twins laugh a little.

“I’ve always had this last name sir.” Barry says nervously and goes red when the twins laugh more.

“Okay,” Davenport said, “just checking.”

Why would he keep it?

pentopaper23  asked:

Hello. :) Can I please have a prompt where Bree overhears Fergus call Jamie and Claire mum and dad? Please and thanks! :)

Brianna jerked awake – limbs and mind flailing amid the strange, scratchy sheets and lumpy mattress –

Ah. The loft in Fergus and Marsali’s printshop - *new* printshop, she mentally corrected, heart clenching at just the thought of Henri-Christian.

They had arrived late last night on an emissary from the Ridge – coming to not only see Fergus and Marsali and the girls in person, but also to bring word of Germain and Ian and Rachel and Oggy and general goings-on in the backcountry.

And, of course, to learn whatever Fergus could tell them what he had learned from the secret, tangled web of relationships he had so carefully crafted – what news of the war, of the generals, of the Loyalists, that would interest her parents.

But all that was for today, and tomorrow, and the next day – she and Roger and Fergus and Marsali had barely spoken last night, they had arrived so late. Today was for catching up – for savoring time with people she never thought she would see again.

Roger snored beside her. A glance to the pallet on the floor to their right confirmed Jem was still out. But there was a telltale gap between her and Roger on the mattress…

“Bonjour, mademoiselle Mandy,” Fergus’ sleepy voice floated up from the main floor of the printshop. “Did you climb down that ladder all by yourself?”

“Esmerelda helped,” she insisted. “And I’m big enough to do it.”

Fergus laughed softly. Brianna couldn’t remember the last time she had heard that sound.

“Do you remember me, from when you were small?”

“No. Mama said I was just a baby when we went back. Ye ken about the stones?”

Did he? Surely he knew *something* - Ian knew, and Auntie Jenny knew –

“Yes, I know about them. You are very special – you and your brother and your parents, that you can travel.”

Brianna could almost hear her daughter shrug. “Grannie can do it too.”

“Yes, she can. You know I met her not too long after she came through, the first time?”

“You *did*?”

“Yes – in France.”

“But the stones are in Scotland.”

“So they are – but your Grandda and Grannie travelled to France. I met them there.”

Roger reached a warm hand to caress her shoulder.

“Were you born in France?”


“But you’re Mama’s brother. *She* was born in Boston.”

Roger’s hand stilled. Brianna silently took in a breath – of *course* that’s how Mandy would see Fergus – the father of her cousin Germain. Half-siblings, adopted siblings – none of it mattered, as they were all family. But did Fergus see it that way? She knew Da had given him the Fraser name, but –

“I’m – I’m not *really* related to her. I don’t know who my parents were.”

A long pause. “That’s verra sad.”

“It is – and it made me sad for a long time. But it doesn’t matter anymore.”


Roger scooted closer on the bed, curving his front along her back.

“Because your Grandda and Grannie are my true parents. They care for me, and love me, even when they did not need to.”

She turned to face Roger, nuzzling against him. Heart so full with love.


“Because they are the best people I have ever known. When you are big one day, you will understand.”

Mandy huffed.

Roger kissed Brianna’s forehead.

“What happened to your hand? Are you a pirate?”

“I think I’ll go rescue him,” Brianna whispered.

“He’ll be just fine,” Roger murmured. “Let them get to know each other, aye?”

“A pirate?” Fergus’ voice was exquisitely patient.

“A pirate!” Mandy exclaimed. “Only pirates have hooks for hands.”

“No, *ma petite* - I am a printer.”

“A printer? That’s so *boring*.”

“Well, Mandy – tell that to your Grandda the next time you see him. He will tell you otherwise.”