she's-a-delight

B.A.P Singapore Boom in screaming bullet points

- FREE MERCH!
- B.SHOO! I thought I’d hate it but it was great and he was GREAT
- VOCALS! As usual they were all amazing - but Daehyun was ON IT and Himchan, just..YES
- YOUNGJAE’S PERFECT ENGLISH
- Stanley the translators surprising and adorable LACK OF ENGLISH - at one point he literally said “…happy to be…what’s the word?”
- PERFECT FANCHANTS
- Himchan picking the BABY who came up on stage purely because she had the same haircut as Yongguk - she was a DELIGHT btw
- 1004 POSE!
- SO MUCH himdae, daejae, daeup - Dae was in a v e r y good mood
- Yongguk’s excitement level rising rapidly, peaking during ‘Carnival’ when he PULLED HIS SHIRT UP AND DID A BODY WAVE 😏The YG stan next to me went into shock - didn’t even scream
- JU’s SOLO
- JH’s SOLO
- YJ’s SOLO
- DH’s SOLO
- The WHOLE ‘sexy times’ segment
- STANLEY THE TRANSLATOR’S BACK!
- Most of us understanding their Korean and reacting before it was translated - daejae found this hilarious
- Dae kept asking us “Why? Why? What’s wrong?” in English cause we kept laughing at Stanley’s adorable but very incorrect translations - Youngjae called him up on stage and got everyone to give him a big cheer - the whole thing was ^^
- CHILLI CRAB! At some point tomorrow, they’ll eat it lol
- TALKING ABOUT THE COMEBACK
- ZERO INFORMATION ABOUT THE COMEBACK - except the title song is ‘good’
- Also their CB will be ‘after the tour ends’ they kept saying this was the last show but you never know - a Korean encore concert might happen..
- Himchan’s hair is BLACK - he wore that ugly bucket hat to hide the fact that his hair is..no different
- Daehyun’s hair is lovely - a mix of pretty pastels - more mermaid now than unicorn
- Youngjae’s 'this is the last song ruse’ It was of course NOT - in fact we had an
- ENCORE!
- DOUBLE ENCORE!
- TRIPLE ENCORE. They sang 'With You’
- AND I CRIED

a-bard-of-void  asked:

Btw not to be That Guy and plug shit where it may be unwanted, but if any of you want actual like, REAL sex education by someone who is literally a sex doctor to help compensate for all the shit Erica Moen shoves up her own goddamn nose, try checking out the YouTube channel Sexplanations (she's kinda goofy and a couple of her vidoes are kiiiinda eh because of how far out of her frame of reference they are, but she's delightful and tries to be very professional)

i was thinking about the weirdest phone calls i got when i still worked at the public library and i remembered this one phone call. it was probably less than 20 seconds long, but it still makes me laugh.

anyways, this woman called and without even saying hello after i said the usual “public library, how can i help you?” spiel, she said, “i have a very important question: when you shelve books, do you push them all to the front of the shelf or all the way back?”

it took me a second to process the question and then i answered that, at the library, we always shelve them so that they are even with the front edge so they’re easier to grab and see. she was obviously delighted by this answer and then, as if an afterthought, she asked, “okay, what about you? what do you do at home with your books?” i said i did the same thing. she hummed in obvious agreement and then just like that she said “thank you!” and hung up.

i never heard from her again. i hope she won whatever argument she was having.

procraesthetics  asked:

I wonder what would happen if Dudley grew up in the wizarding world but still as a muggle? like kind of reverse AU where his parents are dead and he has to go to Lily for whatever reason? do you think he would become bitter like Petunia about magic?

Lily remembered her sister, how there had been a time she was curious and delighted about magic, before it slowly sank in that she could look and not touch.

The last thing Petunia had said to Lily before she died was a chilly goodbye, ending a holiday dinner where they’d had a shrieking row in the entryway. Petunia had said freak and Lily had hissed better than this, better than this being my whole fucking world, Tune, do you even see yourself, are you happy–

And now here was Dudley Vernon Dursley fussing himself to sleep as Lily walked the halls of the Godric’s Hollow house. His tiny soft hands with their tiny soft fingernails curled under her chin, the same way Harry always had.

She passed James, who was gently bouncing his way up the hall the opposite way. “I think he’s asleep,” James mouthed over Harry’s tousled head. His hair was the same mess, bent down to peer at his sleeping son.

Lily stopped where she stood, her nephew heavy on her chest, her husband smiling, her sister buried. “James,” she said. “How are we going to do this?”

“Oh,” he said. “Hey. Don’t you cry, you’ll start them off– unless you need to cry, I mean, you go ahead, hey, sweetheart, hey, it’s alright, you just let it out.” He stepped forward, shifting Harry gently to his other shoulder, and pressed his forehead to hers. “We tuck them in, okay, that’s what we do next. Then we go to our own bed, okay, and go to sleep, and when we wake up it’ll be a new day.”

“A new day,” she said. “Another day– James, that’s the– I’m so tired.”

“So let’s sleep. It’ll look better in the morning,” he said. “And if it doesn’t look better this morning, it’ll look better in the next one.”

“You promise?”

“Better than that. I’ll show you. Every day,” he said and kissed her cold forehead.

Dudley had not shown up on the Potters’ doorstep with the milk bottles. Lily had gotten a phone call from the landline she still had installed in Godric’s Hollow, about an accident, and she had gone down to the Muggle police station to identify the bodies.

The cupboard under the stairs was filled with spiders, broomsticks, and the sewing machine Lily’s mother had given her when she married James– that’s all. Dudley slept downstairs. Uncle Remus taught Dudley and Harry to knock out coded messages through the wall their rooms shared.

In the backyard, beside a rickety porch and an ambitious hedge, James taught them to fly– first on little tot brooms where their toes brushed the grass the whole time, then out of the barrels of practice brooms James used for lessons and coaching Little League Quidditch.

When the boys turned ten, five weeks apart, they both got shiny new Nimbuses on Dudley’s birthday (which came first), and a set of enchanted Quidditch balls on Harry’s, to share. The Bludgers were enchanted to be very kind but Dudley spent long afternoons whacking them far afield while Harry chased the Snitch at his back.

Harry had a scar on his forehead, like a jagged bit of lightning. Dudley had no scars– the car crash that had killed his parents hadn’t touched him where he sat strapped into a car seat in the back, chewing on a stuffed dinosaur toy.

Lily did not believe in lying to the children. She was bare years off being a child herself, and spare moments on the far side of a war. When Dudley asked about his parents, she told him there had been an accident. She pulled pictures off the shelf and wrote Petunia’s old university friends for more.

Photographs came by mailman, the images still and unnatural to Dudley’s eye. Every day he’d gone out to play, for years, he’d been waving at the picture near the back door of his aunt and uncle on their wedding day, and they waved back every time.

“She was very clever,” Lily said. “Your mom liked to know everything.”

“And my dad?”

“Vernon liked… cars?” James offered. “That’s the word, right, Lily?”

“I didn’t know him very well,” Lily said. “He liked drills, I think; he worked for a firm that made them, and he talked about that a lot.”

Dudley brushed his thumbs over the dull edges of the photos. When Lily went off to Auror headquarters the next morning for work, James bundled the boys up and took them on an impromptu invisible tour of Grunnings Drill Manufacturing Inc.

They tiptoed down halls and past water coolers and ringing fellytones. They held hands under the Cloak as they dodged around the machines on the manufacturing floor, thumping and pounding and whirring away loudly enough that Harry and Dudley could whisper to each other under the noise. An elevator took them all the way up to the top floor. Harry whistled cheerily and eerily along with the elevator music while the Muggles slowly edged toward the doors and pressed floor buttons lower than they’d originally wanted.

There were boxes and cabinets and folders and desks and staticky monitor screens full of numbers strewn in endless grids. “Merlin’s knuckles,” said Harry, who was seven and a half and rather proud of this expletive. “People can look at this all day, their whole lives, and not die?”

“Work is hard work,” said James.

“At least mum gets to curse things.”

“But my dad liked it?” Dudley said, peering at a white board that was bleeding enthusiastic marker. “There’s a lot of things, here. Maybe he liked knowing things, too.”

When the boys asked about the scar on Harry’s forehead, Lily and James looked at each other. “You know how sometimes we sit with Uncle Remus and talk about a war?” James said. “Or with Ms. Amelia or Mr. Mundungus.”

“Mr. Mundungus is kinda smelly,” Harry said helpfully.

“It’s not nice to say so though,” said James, and Lily made a face.

“Are we raising them to be nice?” Lily said.

“I’m trying,” said James.

“You talk about a war,” said Harry and shrugged. Dudley nodded.

“There was a very bad man, in those days,” said James.

“Voldemort,” said Lily, and James made a face.

“He was so scary a lot of people don’t like to say his name, even now,” said James. “And he was coming after us because we had been fighting against him, in the war. He came to the house and he tried to hurt you, Harry. But it didn’t work. It hurt him instead, and gave you that scar.”

“Is he going to come back?” said Dudley, who was paler than his normal pink.

“No one’s heard of him since then,” said Lily.

“Where were you?” said Harry, because all his life they had been right there.

“Oh,” said Lily, but her throat closed up.

“We were at Dudley’s mum and dad’s funeral,” said James. “Our friend– our friend Sirius was watching you two. The bad man, he came to the house. He. Well. I.”

“Sirius died,” said Lily, one hand squeezing James’s knee and the other reaching down to brush hair off Dudley’s forehead. “You lived, Harry, and Voldemort vanished. And that’s why sometimes people stare in the streets, baby.” James tweaked Harry’s collar absently.

Two days after they had buried Lily’s sister, the Potters had stood together in the first chills of November and buried James’s brother.

Sirius had been burned off the Black family tree years before. Lily and James had talked to his cousin Andromeda, to Remus, and then they had laid him to rest in the Potter family plot. At the wake, they’d told old jokes about squirrel breath, shedding, and man’s best friend. Remus had fallen asleep on their couch and stayed for a month.

It took a two hour row with HR for Lily to get two passes to the Ministry’s Bring Your Kid To Work Day.

“He’s a Muggle.”

“He’s not,” Lily snapped. “He’s family.”

She had to get permission, sign a million forms, and she also had to take the boys in early so that Dudley could get smothered in the spells that would keep the Anti-Muggle wards around the Ministry from activating on him. “If a Muggle stumbles in somehow, they just see a funny-smelling supply cabinet and turn back around,” Lily told Dudley. He nodded and dragged Harry off by the wrist to go look at the fountain.

The windows were pouring sunlight into the underground room– the maintenance workers had just gotten a win on their contract negotiations and had banished the grimy rain-spattered windows of the previous weeks. The light hit the falling water, the golden statues, and the small excitable crowd of Ministry dependents who were gathering in the atrium. Dudley was fishing about in the fountain for Knuts to toss back out again, elbow-deep, and Harry was laughing and coming up with weird wishes to make on them.

Lily hadn’t said son. She’d said family, and that was true enough, wasn’t it? She didn’t say son– she had a son, and she had a nephew, a ward, another child who came to her after nightmares and scraped knees. It was not less, it was just words.

Lily worried about stealing more things from Petunia. Tuney had shrieked at her, in ladies’ restrooms and suburban foyers, had hissed at her in grocery store aisles and family dinners, because Lily got everything. And now Lily had her son.

Lily could just imagine it– could just see Petunia’s face twisting and chin stabbing at the air. You could have anything, and you took my son– my son!

“You left him to me,” Lily whispered, but that wasn’t quite right. “You left,” she whispered, and that wasn’t quite right either, so she strode off toward the fountain to ask the boys if they wanted to go see the Auror spellwork ranges. Dudley’s sodden shirt sleeves dripped all over the Ministry floors. Harry’s hair fell down into his eyes and they both grinned bright enough to rival the spelled sunlight.

Keep Reading (Ao3)

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8

8 reasons why we love Regina Mills (insp)

happy birthday @freifraufischer​!

10

This is Lunafreya.

She’s excited to wear her wedding dress.

(Previously on ‘This Is…’)

His Mind Created the Perfect Metaphor

Dear BBC Sherlock community,

Ever since Sherlock series 4 came out, collectively we were like “what the HELL is this?!?! This doesn’t make any sense!” BUT after many months of tossing ideas around the fandom, we have made theories that could explain the weirdness, but nothing we can all agree on. Now, this meta here may be absolute garbage to you, but I believe, in my heart of hearts, I’ve solved it. Please read it in its entirety with an open mind before you reblog it just to tell me I suck.

Thanks in advance, you da best

Paige


Here’s the short version: Sherlock actually jumped at the end of The Reichenbach Fall, just as Doyle intended him to die. Gatiss and Moffat said they are correcting something in this adaptation that no one else has gotten right before. Many of us assumed the homosexual romance was the one thing they were changing, but we were punched in the face right after The Final Problem came out.  Gatiss and Moffat are changing the sacrifice. Holmes was intended to die for his friends but Doyle needed more money and rewrote the series after “The Final Problem”. That turned Holmes’ sacrifice into a cruel joke against Watson. This is what BBC Sherlock is fixing, and we’re about to see it come to fruition.

I know many theorists despise the homosexual reading of Holmes and Watson, while many people in general despise theorists on this site. That’s fine, I don’t care how people feel about gay theories and/or TJLC and its followers.  But I’m here to tell you TJLC, at its core as a concept, was right. You may hate Moffat and Gatiss, you may think Sherlock is a piece of shit show, and that’s fine, you do you. But hear this one meta out, please. I think even the hardest skeptic can at least apprectiate the thought and logic behind this.

Keep reading

5
3

Elizabeth’s mind was too full for conversation, but she saw and admired every remarkable spot and point of view. They gradually ascended for half a mile, and then found themselves at the top of a considerable eminence, where the wood ceased, and the eye was instantly caught by Pemberley House, situated on the opposite side of a valley, into which the road, with some abruptness, wound. It was a large, handsome, stone building, standing well on rising ground, and backed by a ridge of high woody hills; – and in front, a stream of some natural importance was swelled into greater, but without any artificial appearance. Its banks were neither formal, nor falsely adorned. Elizabeth was delighted. She had never seen a place for which nature had done more, or where natural beauty had been so little counteracted by an awkward taste. They were all of them warm in their admiration; and at that moment she felt that to be mistress of Pemberley might be something!

characterization, filters, and characterization to be found in the lack of filters

Talking about Jane earlier got me thinking, you know, Jane is not at all the only character that uses this device to show off the less desirable traits lurking in the psyche of all these damaged teens. Like. So many characters have these lurking deep seated issues that stay hidden deep down because the characters are pretty good at projecting a less damaged and more together version of themselves. 

If that sounds familiar it’s because it’s a fucking outrageously relatable quality and part of what makes the Homestuck characters RESONATE so much. Why they feel like they have all this dimension and depth that makes us grab on to them and never want to let go. 

I’m just going to run through some examples here while I’m thinking about it. The first OBVIOUSLY since thinking about her is what got me going on this – Jane. Crockertier Jane removing the layers of self-imposed filter on Jane’s festering insecurity, entitlement issues, jealousy and so on. I’ve already talked enough about that today.

Grimbark Jade! You notice Jade says what she’s thinking WAY more easily while she’s mind controlled, and she still sounds like herself – she sounds kinda like she does when she’s owning Karkat repeatedly, doesn’t she? Because angry Jade has that same effect of pushing her nice girl filter aside and letting the angry witch (not a cutesy slur, her literal witch class) within fly free. Grimbark Jade tells us that behind that nice girl front Jade Harley actually thinks some pretty uncharitable thoughts sometimes, she just keeps a tight fucking lid on it because – well, don’t most people? Relatable as fuck. 

Jadesprite! Since we’re talking about Jade anyway. Jade likes to think she has everything together, that her visions from Skaia and her scientific prowess and the tools her Grandpa left her are more than enough to handle everything that comes her way, she’s independent, she’s capable, she’s certainly never LONELY oh no of course not certainly never CRUSHINGLY OVERWHELMED by the responsibility of her own existence nah those are weak feelings for weak girls who aren’t as awesome as Jade! And then – Jadesprite. Why do you think Jade got SO ANGRY at Jadesprite? Because she was being confronted with something she knew deep down was a reflection of weaknesses in herself (totally normal ones that her later arc reinforced were a mistake to pretend weren’t there – Loneliness and fear and regret are all tied in with Jade’s character progression and learning how to deal with those things is where I imagine her arc would have gone if Homstuck’s ending hadn’t been the literary equivalent of chopping off a limb and cauterizing the wound.) Jadesprite is Jade without the filter of implacable strength Jade imposes on herself to fuckin cope with living on a hell island with the stuffed corpse of her grandpa who she grew up thinking literally killed himself at BEST.  god damn

Davesprite. Dave Strider with a slow long agonizing depressing arc wherein he realizes his coolkid persona won’t make anyone think of him as their best friend anymore, and in the absence of the security that persona afforded him when he was The Real Dave he has no idea what to do with himself. He’s lost, he feels aimless, untethered, incapable of being happy – and yes, Davesprite is his own character, but you can still infer a lot from Dave’s character about him – for instance, how he completely ties his self worth up in how useful he is to his friends or how worthwhile they find him and has no idea how to even BEGIN the hard journey of looking within for worth instead of relying eternally on changeable external sources. Davesprite is Dave not WITHOUT a filter but certainly with a VERY DIFFERENT one.

Homestuck does this with almost every single damn character on its roster at some point. Shows a version of them with a different or lesser or completely missing filter to highlight flaws and issues and internal struggles of all kinds. 

Homestuck is a damn deep dive into an exercise about analyzing nature vs nurture and what we’re predisposed to do and what comes from within and what is put upon us by forces out of our control, and how that line is blurry and messy and everyone has the potential to be either the worst or best version of themselves. Even Caliborn was given a choice. Hussie-The-Character explained it to him at great painstaking length. 

There are so many other examples. Jasprose is Rose without a filter, and the way Jasprose goes around gleefully calling every hot girl she sees hot and delighting smugly in knowing more than just about anyone else and lording over the information and playing smarter-than-thou games – that tells us a LOT about Rose! A LOT about what sort of urges Rose tamps down on every day in an effort to just be fucking cool! 

I bet you have things like this with yourself, right? Doesn’t everyone?

Tricksters! Look at how they act. They’re not themselves but there is plenty to glean from them. Jane immediately goes for Jake, the object of her desire, to pursue an exaggerated version of her idealized future. Trickster Jake is a passive fucking ragdoll who immediately acquiesces to everything everyone demands of him because their happiness becomes his happiness – Jake hates confrontation, so Trickster Jake is just a fucking doormat. Roxy goes for Jake AND Dirk because divorced from the guilt she normally feels for harboring desire toward either one of them she knows exactly what she wants! ETC ETC. Of course they would never do any of this shit if they weren’t high as balls and incapable of understanding the meaning of the word “consequence.” That’s the point. Seeing what they do in this situation is an interesting window in!

Brain Ghost Dirk is a version of Jake (yes, of Jake, not Dirk) without a specific filter Jake runs his own personality through before he’s comfortable presenting it to others, and you’ll notice, it’s EXTREMELY biting and critical sometimes. Jake knows what he’s about. He just buries it most of the time because that’s easier than dealing with it. 

I could seriously keep going. 

Homestuck loves to show us what our favorites do and say and ARE when basic filters go out the window. Those filters that most of us employ to make other people believe we don’t all have intrusive thoughts or bad desires or just plain old weaknesses we’re ashamed of and want to keep hidding at costs – or that we occasionally think things or think about doing things we would never ever ever do in real life are demolished or changed or temporarily suspended. 

It’s brilliant tbh. It lets us see facets of characters that would normally never really get full spotlight reveals by their very nature, especially with protagonists. 

Vriska vs (Vriska) – (Vriska) is just Vriska with some more self awareness and more willingness to let down her self-imposed filter and actually examine the shit she wants and why because watching Aranea fuck the timeline over out of motivations eerily similar to her own hardcore shook her enough to develop in that direction. (which makes sense since HER original motivations are copying Mindfang who IS alt-aranea lmao I love Homestuck)  (Vriska) is still Vriska, it’s just a very very different lens through which to view her character. 

blah blah blah blah etc there are so many examples

anyway I love Homestuck and good character writing what up

“I bartered access to my lands to get back the woman I love from a sadist who plays with minds as if they are toys. I meant to fight Hybern–to find a way around the bargain I made with the king once she was back. Only Rhysand and his cabal had turned her into one of them. And she delighted in ripping open my territory for Hybern to invade. All for a petty grudge–either her own or her… master’s.”

the fandom:

Originally posted by amgc-96

  • Geoff: How's your kid?
  • Ryan: She's fine. She had a little reaction to the amoxicillin she was on and it just made her break out in spots which she thought was delightful. Being covered with spots is just the best thing that can happen to a child.
  • Geoff: I can see that.
  • - Let's Play Minecraft - Episode 268.5 - Sky Factory Part 10.5
Here are my Belle/Adam NSFW headcanons that literally no one asked for

Because we all know the only road I walk is the one of Sin™

• Belle may have laughed when Adam growled during their dance, but inside a shot of arousal surged through her body that left a heavy and needy ache between her legs. The ache only worsened when Adam brushed his lips against the shell of her ear after their dance ended, his warm sweet breath ghosting across her neck as he whispered, “now, would you prefer scruff or something longer?”

• Turns out Belle prefers scruff, and the way it scratches against the soft skin of her inner thighs while Adam goes down on her. She also relishes the way it burns when her thighs rub together as she walks, a gentle smile quirking her lips up in a quiet, indecent secrecy. And Adam knows that smile, adores that smile, returning it with a wink and– if Belle is close enough– a low, suggestive rumble in his throat that awakens a beautiful shade of pink on her cheeks.

• Until their wedding night, their sexual endeavors never exceeded third base. So when the time comes and Adam can finally HAVE Belle, he makes the sweetest, most passionate love to her; all languid thrusts, soft whispers, deep breathing, quivering lips, and trembling limbs.

• The second time Adam takes Belle that night results in torn pillows, dark purple bruises, and indentations in the wall from its repetitive collision with the headboard.

• And speaking of the headboard, there were definitely deep scratch marks engrained in the wood from their ardent lovemaking. When Belle notices them the morning after, she never lets Adam live it down, and later that week she has to bite her lip to keep from laughing when Adam sheepishly informs the staff that the headboard needs to be replaced.

• Teasing aside, Belle loves Adam’s animalistic nature in bed more than she’d like to admit. She revels in the feel of his teeth teasing and nibbling when he trails his mouth along her collarbone, marking her– claiming her– with deep red love bites. She adores the way he buries his face in her neck when he fucks her, the way his hot breath dampens the skin of her throat with his labored breathing. She takes delight in his wild eyes, with blown pupils and filled with something so unabashed, raking over her body and glimmering with indecency. But nothing gets to her more than those low, guttural sounds Adam makes when he’s aroused, almost always involuntary and instinctive, like when Belle bites his lip or when her tongue laps over the smooth head of his cock. Her absolute favorite is when he growls deep in his throat while he’s eating her out, the sound rippling up from her center and hardening her nipples, arching her back, and making her head thrash against the pillow.

• Adam likes to play a game where he mouths at Belle’s neck, dances his fingers softly over her wrists, and murmurs suggestive words in her ear to see how long it takes for him to get her turned on enough to abandon whatever book she’s reading and give in to his sexual efforts. One time he got so far as to literally being inside of her until her book finally fell to the floor and she let Adam take her on the library table.

• They literally have sex all over the castle, and as much as the staff wants to complain, they can’t bring themselves to since they know Adam was basically celibate for over a decade. A lot of pent up desire, y'know? So nothing can really stop him when he bends Belle over the dinner table after watching her lick sauce off her finger, his owns fingers cushioned between her soft lips as he takes her so hard that dishes clatter to the floor.

• Also, he literally died for a brief moment in time. So who can blame the man for completely ravishing his wife at every moment he can when he thought he lost her forever?

• A concept: THRONE SEX!!!!!!!!!!!

• Belle straddling Adam in his royal chair and riding him into oblivion, their sounds of pleasure echoing off the walls of the large room. Bonus points if Adam is wearing some sort of coronet.

Student Body

I admired myself in the mirror. I looked, I thought, perfect. I’d put enough work into it, I should look perfect at this point.
Smile, faintly lopsided but not too lopsided. Teeth, off-white and slightly crooked. Pupils, round and black but not too round or too black. Skin, a delicate texture of almost-identical shades. Hair, buzzed short for ease of maintenance, also a texture and not just a colour. Five fingers of appropriately varied lengths on each arm, five toes the same on each foot. Two feet, two legs, two arms, two hands. I looked perfect.

Then, I walked outside and realized I had made a horrible mistake. I had forgotten something essential. While I looked perfect, my shadow branched four legs from two feet, and had long, curving horns that widened the shadows head. I considered, for a moment, turning around. Skipping this year. Continuing to work until it was truly perfect. But no, by that point the faculty would be on to me, and wouldn’t let me back. So, self-conscious about the shadow behind me, I went to class.

At first, I thought no one had noticed, until we had a break and a girl came over.
“Why are you here?” She seemed angry, leaning in very close so her iron pendant almost touched me.
“To learn.” I responded, voice flat and one-dimensional.
“To learn what?” She demanded, still very close.
“Biology, currently.” The professor called her back to her seat, and she left with a huff.

I went through weeks like that, my lack of humanity the worst kept secret on campus. Sometimes, when I sat very quietly, seemed fully absorbed in my classes, they would forget about my shadow. I learned ways to protect myself from me, and others like me. Iron-spined books, and salt packets. I found a ramen packet, in fact, empty of its contents. I filled it with sand and kept it in my pocket, along with the tin pendant I found. I look more like a student now, and sometimes they forget to look.

The girl from the first day, Stone, had taken to hovering near me. She followed the rules religiously, and warded off any more unwary classmates. She’d talk to me then, about silly classmates, or books she was reading.
Then came the day Stone was taken. She had been walking home, and followed the wrong path in the dark, and I cannot rightfully explain my fury. She was not mine, I did not hold her name, but she was my closest friend, if I could be said to have such things, and how was I to properly study when my best example was taken?

I shed my glamours that night, and returned to the world I was born in. As I left, I caught sight of myself in the mirror. My head looked heavy with my horns revealed, and my eyes were distant and alien. There was no warmth to my skin, and the sound of my hooves on the floor was uncomfortably loud. There were sores around my mouth from the times I had eaten salt in the cafeteria, burns on all fourteen of my fingers from lifting iron. I shook myself and walked into the night to find Stone.

I found her. I felt guilty, to be seen honestly at last. I expected shock, or horror. I did not expect her gaze to linger around my mouth, around my fingertips, an odd expression of concern.
They let me take her without bargains. I made them uncomfortable, too, with my studies. I brought her back, hand in hand, and left her at her dorm.

“Will I see you tomorrow?” She asked, voice small in the swallowing darkness.
“We have class.”

Stone brought cupcakes to class the next day, to celebrate her return to the world of humanity. She proclaimed loudly that they were salted caramel, so I remained in my desk, an odd sinking feeling in my gut.
I could hear her approach, but was still surprised when a cupcake landed on the edge of my space.
“Here. Made to suit your dietary restrictions.” I blinked at her for a second, my human eyes back in place, and she smiled.
The cupcake didn’t burn as I ate it, completely unsalted.
“I appreciate you thinking of me.” I admitted at the end.
“Likewise.” She paused, looking at the seat beside me.
“Can I sit here?” I smiled, a lopsided but not too lopsided smile.
“Sure. I’m just here to learn.”

Stone would speak to me about other things, after that. About her family, her brothers, the world of humanity at large. She would help me with math, and I would help her with writing. She never slipped up following the rules, but I would not have taken her even if she had, and she knew it.

At graduation, three years later, as we all cheered and threw our hats in the air, Stone leaned over to me and whispered in my ear.
“I don’t want to leave.” I gave her a startled look, the rest of the world growing dim around me.
“Can I stay with you?” She snuggled in closer to me, eyes beseeching.
“You know what I’d need.” My voice felt distant, almost hollow, though I could tell it was more resonant than usual.
“My name is Petra. Can I stay with you?” I could feel my illusions cracking, eyes shining a little too brightly.
“My name is Thali. I will keep you as long as you wish to be kept.” Then I kissed her, because it felt like the thing to do.
“Thank you.” I whispered into her hair as she laughed, delighted.

She teaches, now, and I do too. My Petra teaches mythology and astronomy, and I have late-night classes, in some of the more fluid classrooms, for those interested among my people. Explaining what I can about their world, how to cast a convincing glamour, explaining about math and science and biology.
I’m so glad I didn’t skip.

x

anonymous asked:

hey if you're still doing prompts, the time(s) someone outside of the team (or inside) mistakes aaron for andrew or the other way around?? thanks!! i love your writing!!

There should be some sort of rule, Aaron thinks, that identical twins have to avoid celebrity. 

It was disarming enough to be a teenager the first time he saw his own face with nothing inside of it, like an indifferent stone likeness. Then Andrew went and got himself famous, made himself important to everyone (including Aaron). He stares out from magazine spreads with his middle finger up when Aaron goes through the checkout counter, and he follows him closely with his reputation.

He’s had patients bow out of the exam room when they heard their intern was ‘A. Minyard’. He’s had anger and relief flip toggles in his chest when he caved and bought a magazine, finding Andrew and Neil piled in Exy gear to promote a product. They looked uncommitted and severe except when they were jostled together and shot from the side, candid, staring. 

It almost makes him miss the moments with the foxes when everything was as simple as watching Andrew’s face for the changes and catching the wave to the next game.

But it’s better to have the kind of work that he knows he does best, stockpiled for the rest of medical school and the rest of his life after that. It feels good to stretch on rubber gloves and distance himself from the worst sort of rot in the world. 

It feels good for his feet to throb and his head to twist itself into knots, and to come home to Katelyn, who always tries to wait up for him and never can. She passes out with her legs over the armrest of their secondhand couch and her hair fanned over the cushions. He kisses her awake more often than not.

He goes for runs, sometimes, like he never did in college. It’s when his own reflection makes his neck prickle and he thinks, god, he’s here. He’s never not here. If you’re a twin you’re a member of a club, and you’re constantly in uniform.

He gets stopped on the street and asked for his autograph, and he feels comforted to know that his “piss off” is gentler than whatever Andrew would have said. 

He sees his own face hoisted at pride, watches Andrew become half of a relationship that handcuffs exy to entire social movements, and it coaxes old fear into his blood. It takes some wrangling and undoing of rusted closed spigots before he realizes that he’s impressed, too. 

He hates Neil out of habit. He watches the sun make new colours with Katelyn’s hair at 5 am. He puts his alarm on snooze just so he can lie there with her. He likes that his life is a can on a string, and somewhere, tossed out into another state, in a high-rise with blackout curtains and an orange cat, Andrew has the other can.

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→ Paper Doll | 02

Originally posted by jengkook

pairing → Jungkook x Reader

genre → idol+singer-songwriter!au, drama, slight angst, smut

 warning  sex, language

word count   → 4.7k

 summary   → When the nation’s little sister, IU, gets into a huge scandal, your agency seizes the opportunity to thrust you into that now vacant spotlight. Your self-composed song Paper Doll becomes an overnight sensation, and soon people are itching to find out who was the one who broke your heart. All hell breaks loose once netizens discover that you used to date popular idol, Jeon Jungkook. Little do they know that it wasn’t him who left the relationship unscathed –  it was you.

↳ alternatively: a story on the consequences of a hit break-up song

01 | 02

 a/n  → i haven’t even been on tumblr for a week and askdjjj I can’t believe how many people liked pt. i –  also, I know absolutely nothing about songwriting or music theory, or anything really, so this is me bullshitting my way through 4k words that i haven’t proofread



You associated every song of yours to a specific time and place.

The whimsical cluster chords that opened up Blue Afternoon made you think of the view from your window last spring. Looking down on the busy streets of Seoul from your flat, a crowding of umbrellas had danced to the sound of heavy rain, and you had been immediately struck with a melody line.

That was your favorite part of songwriting – that moment when you finally had something, after having absolutely nothing.

Ironically enough, out of all the songs on your album, you disliked Paper Doll the most.

Even before it had been propelled to the top of the music charts, the song had never been a favorite. The melody line was catchy but predictable, with the most common chord progressions and an overproduced chorus. The people reviewing your songs during the album production had all loved it, however, and they had adamantly decided to push it as a title track.

It was amusing how people presumed the song described a devastating heartbreak between you and your first love. They weren’t exactly wrong, but their interpretation was completely off. Still, you weren’t stupid enough to disapprove their theories. If they wanted to believe that your first boyfriend was a heartless playboy, then that wasn’t your problem.

At least you had never thought it would have to be a problem.

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