shrink eyes

camp camp animation analysis

these are just some of my personal favorite things i like about the animation, in this part specifically i really like how the stretch and squash is used, davids jump is exaggerated and there’s a slight anticipation before he lands, making him look even more excited to show the bonfire to his campers! they do this a lot on cc and i think it works really well 

my second favorite thing is how the hair is animated, as nikki, neil and max move around their hair is slightly delayed and bouncy which makes it look not only soft, but believable

thirdly, the smaller details in camp camp ( max’s eyes shrinking as he talks about his hatred towards everything )

his head shaking slightly as he screams, the eye twitch and his uvula moving

they could have just made his mouth hang open and left it at that ( like most cartoons do ) but instead they went in and took the time to add smaller details which in turn, making max look even more traumatized 

in conclusion i love camp camp’s animation and adorable art style 

Season 3 Theory/Speculation

So in the season 3 trailer, we see a close up on Keith’s eyes. And my klance thirsty head has made a klangsty speculation.

So clearly he has seen something happen. It is hard to tell if it is just pure rage or fear. By the looks of it is fear, (the wrinkles around his eyes). Also note that there is red light, which could indicate he is inside the red lion.

After this scene, we see both the yellow and blue lions spinning out of control, for the sake of this “speculation” we are going to say they were hit by something that caused them to get knocked back.

As we can see, the yellow lion is crashing into the red lion, which could easily slow down the yellow lion as it is moving.

But the blue lion doesn’t stop.

Looking at the blue lion’s movements, it is very similar to when we see it crash, but I’ll get to that in one tick.

In a previous shot, we see a wormhole, and what appears to be a ship going through it.

Coran looks shocked, but it looks like he knows what’s happening. Kind of like an “Oh my god. Did that actually just happen?” posture.

Right after this, we see the blue lion crashing in some sort of debris field or foggy planet? Either way, the blue lion is crashing.

Now, taking an observation to how the lion is crashing, it looks very similar to how it was rotating when we see it by the yellow and blue lion. I think all of these scenes are connected.

Something hits both the yellow and blue lion, assuming Lance is the one in the blue lion (This is going with Jeremy’s comment that Lance supposedly “dies”).

If Lance is in blue, Keith is in red. Which can be supported by the red lights, all though many other things can cause that lighting.

Keith is angry at whatever they are fighting, but his eyes shrink when he sees both Lance and Hunk get hit, and Lance flying towards the enemy ships wormhole.

Coran saw what happened and was shocked.

The blue lion goes through the wormhole and crashes. I am pretty sure that is Jeremy Shada’s comment on Lance dying was hinting at the fact that the team thought Lance might be dead because the Lion is offline and they might not be able to find its coordinates??? Whatever the reason, they think he may be dead. 

I don’t know… Just a speculation at this point lmao. Probably not what happened but I can dream of the angst.

Edit: Adding a bit on to this. If the team does take into consideration that Lance may be dead, Keith especially is going to be messed up because, first, Shiro, then Lance. I think that itself is pretty self-explanatory though…

A Century of Glamour Ghouls: 1910s

Irma Vep in Les Vampires (1915-6)

[Image Description: Photo of me dressed up and posed as Irma Vep (Musidora) from Les Vampires (1915-6). I’m wearing black from head to toe standing with a defiant posture in front a wall with floral wallpaper.]

The Movie

Louis Feuillade’s Les Vampires (1915-6) serials were made at a time when the cinematic forms of genres were crystallizing into the conventions we know all too well today. Les Vampires is a macabre crime-drama serial, often retroactively labeled horror.

The film follows Philippe, a newspaper reporter, as he investigates a shadowy gang of criminals called The Vampires. Starting with a decapitated police inspector, each successive episode sees Philippe get closer to unraveling the labyrinthine world of The Vampires while alliances shift and the body count rises. Irma Vep (Musidora) is a member of the gang who moonlights as a cabaret singer. Over the course of the series, Irma emerges as the true lead, though she never repents or renounces her life of crime; a quintessential vamp.

Derided by contemporary critics, but beloved by audiences, Les Vampires is classic pulp. One film critic expressed his feelings toward Les Vampire thusly in a 1916 issue of Hebdo-Film:

“That a man of talent, an artist, as the director of most of the great films which have been the success and glory of Gaumont, starts again to deal with this unhealthy genre, obsolete and condemned by all people of taste, remains for me a real problem.”

It’s understandably divisive that Feuillade ignores accepted filmmaking “rules” here and there. But the reading that Feuillade’s rule-breaking is strategic is certainly valid. The viewing experience is destabilized to create tension but not in ways that sacrifice narrative clarity. Feuillade will subtly skirt the rules by making unexpected cuts or switch within a scene from sequences that follow (what would later be termed) “invisible editing” standards to flat tableaus. Taken together, the audience is unsettled without necessarily knowing why. (Yes, 1915 audiences were already accustomed to these standards of visual storytelling!) It’s a great companion to the macabre events depicted in the films. A century later, The Witch: A New England Folktale (2015), directed by Robert Eggers, employs some of the same strategies.

I know seven hours of silent-film viewing might seem daunting but, unlike other serials from the era, Les Vampires’ installments are fairly self-contained stories. (My favorite is the fifth episode “Dead Man’s Escape.”) 

The Look

Musidora’s Irma Vep (yes, that is an anagram for vampire) is an archetypal vamp, in characterization and in aesthetic. Irma’s a master of disguise who can assume practically any role to further the aims of The Vampires and her loyalties change almost as often as her costumes.

The Clothes

The iconic Irma Vep look is her black catsuit, which is even referenced in a ballet about The Vampires within the film. Irma is a clear predecessor of Catwoman (not the only inspiration Batman pulls from Feuillade’s crime serials btw). 

For the closet-cosplay (or work-appropriate version), I went for an all black outfit with lace-up dress shoes.

I don’t own a black catsuit, so I made do with black tights and a black turtleneck top. Planning ahead for the costume, black hoods are easily found on amazon. I, however, don’t have a hood in my closet, so I put another pair of (clean) black tights on my head and simply wrapped the legs around my neck and tucked the ends into the back of my sweater. Voila!

The Makeup

Musidora’s Irma makeup is only occasionally as dramatic as other film vamps. When Irma’s not performing on stage, her makeup is more muted, a great basis for a wearable closet-cosplay makeup look.

For the base, I applied an even layer of powder a shade slightly lighter than my skin tone and concealed under my eyes. (Obviously Musidora would’ve been wearing more face makeup and you can too! I stuck with powder to stay true to the era. ) I didn’t bother with blush or contouring since I didn’t find it necessary.

The eye makeup is dramatic and emphasizes the shape her eyes. Since this is meant to be a more wearable look, I used brown shadow create an elongated smoky eye, (1.) blending a light layer from the lashline to just below my eyebrows and smudging what’s left on the brush all along my lower lid. (2.) Then I built up the shading around the lashline by using a wet brush in the same shadow. (3.) Then I added a little extra darker brown shadow very close to the lashline. Since this look isn’t much about the lashes, I just painted on a layer of black mascara. 

If you think this makes your eyes look too small, run liner in your lower waterline that’s either white (more striking) or a bit lighter than your skin-tone (more subtle).

Her eyebrows are slightly rounded without much of an arch, roughly mirroring the shape of her eyes. I used a brown pencil to get the shape and softened it a bit with a cooler brown powder.

As for lips, you may be tempted to go for a purple-y wine shade, but based on how contemporary cameras captured such detail around her lips, I’d wager Musidora used a medium shade. Just dark enough to create a definitive shape. Musidora’s lips are on the smaller side so, think underlining instead of overlining to make straight, sharp lines on both upper & lower lips. I carved out the lip shape with cream concealer then used a deep pink lipstick shade.

Shifting to the FULL COSTUME, you can follow the same basic steps but switch to dark gray and black for the eye makeup. I went into the waterline with black liner but, as with the daytime look, if you think it’s shrinks your eyes too much, line the waterline with white or a neutral shade just a bit lighter than your skin tone. Block the eyebrows out with a more solid line rather than keeping them natural. For the lips, I also went darker to match the high-contrast effect of the eye makeup.

Hope this inspires you all in putting together your costumes this year! The 1920s will be up in a few days. 

Edit: The 1920s is here!


Throughout Amadeus, Miloš Forman chooses to strengthen several shots by means of repetition. In this triptych he shows the film’s main characters, at different points, closing the same door. Normally when this is done in filmed narrative, it’s used as little more than a device to motivate an edit or signal a transition between story beats, but as the door shuts Forman has each actor drift to follow the rapidly shrinking frame. The eye is deprived as the angle of view approaches a vanishing point. It is in this deprivation that our focus intensifies, and in the second before the window is gone, we are allowed an almost confessional glimpse of each individual lowering their mask.


Originally posted by obscure-imagines

Warren Worthington III x Reader


Author: Morgan

Prompt: Can I have a Warren Worthington imagine? Like how about Warren got into a fight again and the reader is all worried and Warren says he’s okay and the reader just fixes his wounds and they cuddle?? I’M SO TRASH FOR WARREN


Warnings: None?

Warren hesitated to knock on your door. Another night, another fight, and as usual, he had shed some blood and earned some new bruises. But he couldn’t help it. They had been making fun of him…of you. It was the last straw. So here he was, back at the Mansion with his fist poised to knock on your door.

After waiting several more seconds in silence, he finally knocked. You hopped out of bed and pulled the door open, certainly not expecting to see Warren standing there with a black eye, bloodied knuckles, and several scrapes and bruises. He was a mess, and at the moment, you couldn’t tell if the blood stain on his jacket was from him or someone else.

“Oh my God, Warren, are you okay?”

“Yeah…I’m fine.”

“Good. You have to stop doing this.”

“I know.” He lowered his face. There were several moments of silence.

“Get in here.”

“Yes ma’am.” He trudged through the door, his heavy metal wings trailing behind him. His golden Mohawk of curls had been thrown into disarray and now resembled more of a messy halo. A halo on your fallen angel.

“What was it this time?” You asked, taking a seat in front of him.

“They think I’m some no good villain.” He rolled his eyes. “What else is new?”

“Who did this?” you asked. He shook his head, his eyes settling on the toes of his boots. “Warren.”

“New guy. You don’t know him. But he knew me from the news or whatever.”

“You’re famous,” you chuckled a little.

“Infamous is more like it.” He shook his head. His eyes tentatively met yours. “I wish everyone was like you.”

“Oh hush.” You held out both of your hands. “You’re just lucky I’m a healer.”

Warren offered you his knuckles first. His large calloused hands relaxed under your gentle whispers of touches. The white glow from your hands was cool, and in instants, the gashes had dissolved to nothing, leaving only skin behind. You waved a hand in front of his face, causing the swollen eye to shrink, and then cleared up his bruises. When you were done, he let out a blissful sigh.

“Well, I guess not everything about getting into fights all the time is bad.”

“Elaborate.” You smirked as he leaned back against your bedframe.

“I mean, getting to see you is certainly a perk.”

“There are other ways to see me.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. ‘Oh hey, (Y/N), want to go to the mall?’ or ‘hey (Y/N), do you want to go out with me?’ would work just fine, but nooooo, angel boy and his bad boy complex always seem to-”

“So you’d go out with me?” he cut you off, a smirk finding his lips. It did not help that you just noticed the way his black t-shirt hugged his biceps. Shit, he was hot. “Theoretically, of course.”

“Theoretically…yes.” You scooted a little closer to him and let a cold finger trail down the fabric of his t-shirt. Abs. Goddamn. “And if we’re being 100 percent honest here, I’ve always kind of had a thing for bad boys.”

“Is that so?” he raised an eyebrow and twirled a curl of your hair around one of his large fingers.



But, I’m also a huge cuddler. So, theoretically of course, this bad boy would have to be down for some mean cuddle sessions from time to time.”

“Oh, believe me, I can cuddle.” He crossed his muscular arms as though you had just proposed a challenge.

“Oh can you?”

“For your information, yes. I can.” You were skeptical. “Come here. Right now. We’re cuddling.”

“Are we?”

“We are. Right here. Right now.” Warren sunk down into the pillows the slightest bit. He opened his arms wide and folded and tucked his metal wings as far beneath him as possible. You crawled beneath the covers and surrendered to his strong embrace. He brushed the tiny hairs out of the front of your face. “See?”

“Cozy indeed, bad boy.” You pressed a kiss to the corner of his lips and flicked the light off. “Goodnight.”

And so there the two of you were. Someone broken, and someone who pieced broken things back together. With you in his arms, Warren had never slept better.

anonymous asked:

your writing is amazing, and i was just going through it all again when I say you were doing drabbles!! Just finished rereading It's Complimentary!! I love it so much!!! For the drabbles could you do “I don’t do hugs.” and “Everyone keeps telling me you’re the bad guy.”. You could do it separate or together I just would like Virgil to be the focus. I can't wait to read through the drabbles you do!!! They will be awesome!!!

a/n: ahhhhh, thank you!!! <3

7. “Everyone keeps telling me you’re the bad guy.” and 56. “I don’t do hugs.“

warnings: mentions of previous parenting issues, swearing, self-deprecating thoughts, insults, mentions of fighting

Virgil hears the creak of the porch behind him and tenses—Patton’s come looking for him. Well, whatever. What the fuck does that matter? What can he possibly say to make Virgil any unhappier than he already is? Oh, I’m disappointed in you, kiddo or now, now, I expected better from you, or—or even maybe we should call your caseworker.

Whatever. Virgil doesn’t fucking care. At least if Patton sends him back to the group home he won’t have to put up with Patton’s other foster sons anymore. (And he is so terribly, terribly sick of dealing with them—especially Roman, that fucking airhead.)

But Patton doesn’t huff, or sigh, or even speak at all. He simply sits down beside Virgil on the porch steps, a couple of juice boxes in his hand. He offers one to Virgil, who narrows his eyes and shrinks away until his shoulder is pressed hard into the porch railing and snaps, “I don’t want your fucking juice, dickhead.”

Patton should definitely shout at him for that, but he doesn’t. Instead, he sets the juice off to the side and leans back on the palms of his hands. They sit in silence for a solid five minutes, staring out at Patton’s yard as the sun sets over it—it’s scattered with foam swords and plastic shields, tiny model trains, colorful toy dinosaurs, and a pair of unsolved Rubik’s cubes. It’s a house built for a family, and every part of Virgil recoils from living here. (Except, perhaps, the foolish part that utterly and entirely craves that pure belonging.)

When the silence becomes too much for Virgil to tolerate, he scowls at Patton and says, “Are you just gonna sit here all night or what, man?”

And Patton goddamn smiles at him. It’s not his usual smile, though. It’s not sunny and warm and blisteringly bright. No. This one is softer, quieter, and—and sadder. “I want to talk, kiddo.”

Virgil rolls his eyes. “Get it over with, then.”

Patton takes a deep breath and stretches his legs out in front of him, an image of picturesque relaxation. Virgil doesn’t trust it for a second. “I’ve already spoken to Roman about what happened, but I’d like to hear your side of the story before I say anything.”

“Roman was being a fucking jerk and I got pissed and I hit him.” Virgil shrugs, but tension is a tight cord running through him. What is Patton going to do to him? He hit one of Patton’s sons—one of his real sons, one of the ones who’s been with him for years, one of the ones who isn’t—isn’t Virgil, isn’t a blemish in their perfect little family, isn’t unnecessary and unwanted.

“Roman did admit that he said some mean things to you,” Patton says, nodding slowly. “It’s okay if you were angry. It’s okay if you are angry. But Virgil—”

Oh, there is was. But Virgil, I still have to punish you. But Virgil, hitting is completely uncalled for. But Virgil, you’re a fucking violent moron and we’re giving you back.

“—hitting isn’t a healthy was of expressing that anger,” Patton finishes, and that doesn’t comfort Virgil any. “You really hurt Roman.”

Virgil’s shoulders hunch. He hadn’t thought it was that bad. He’d just socked the dumbass in the jaw when he kept yammering on and on about how fucking great he was, and how very much Virgil paled in comparison. There’d only been a little red mark.

“Not physically,” Patton continues, and that grinds Virgil’s thoughts to a halt. How the fuck else could have hurt Roman? “Physically, he’s fine, although I know being hit did hurt him for a little while. I meant emotionally. He’s feeling a lot of things right now, just like you are. I won’t betray his confidence with me, but maybe you could talk to him later—once you’ve both calmed down.”

“No way.”

Patton inclines his head but lets the subject drop. They’re quiet for a while longer, and Virgil’s fingers are starting to tremble. What the fuck are they doing here? What is Patton waiting for? What is Virgil supposed to do? Should he sit here and brood in silence like a moody brat, should he snap and insult Patton like a jerk, or should he try his hand at sucking up and try to get back into Patton’s good graces?

It’s not something he’s ever contemplated before. Usually, he couldn’t care less about where he ends up or what his foster parents think about him. They’re all temporary, anyway. Everything is temporary. (Except, of course, his constant fear and loneliness—just his luck, really.)

But Patton is different. Not by much, but by some. He talks to Virgil instead of forcing him to stand in a corner or stay in his room or—or other things. He doesn’t ruffle Virgil’s hair if he leans away, he doesn’t sigh and roll his eyes if Virgil overreacts, he doesn’t give Virgil those sad, disappointed looks when his grades aren’t as good as they should be. He’s different, and that’s new and it’s scary and at times it’s stupid, but—

Virgil grinds his teeth. But nothing. “So when are you sending me back?”

Patton glances at him, surprised. “Back?”

“Yeah. Back to the home. Keep up.”

And Patton lapses into silence again. He draws one knee up up to his chest and loops an arm around it, staring hard at the grass where it’s being ruffled by the gentle breeze. Some awful, terrified thing writhes in Virgil’s chest as he waits until finally Patton says, his voice low and quiet, “Everyone keeps telling me you’re the bad guy.”

Virgil doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t. “Yeah, well. Big deal.”

“I don’t think they’re right, though. You’re not a bad guy, you’ve just been dealt a bad hand in life, but Virgil—Virgil, if you’ll let me, I’ll do my best to change that.”

That startles Virgil into silence for a moment, and he shoots Patton a wary look. What?

“I want to give you a good life here. I want to make this place home for you.”

“But?” Virgil says, scowling.

“But nothing.”

Virgil opens his mouth to speak, then shuts it again. What is he supposed to say? He needs to think of a witty retort, he needs to spook Patton away with his barbed tongue and bitter sarcasm, because this is all impossible and ridiculous and—

“Can I give you a hug?”

Virgil recoils. “Fuck no. I don’t do hugs.”

“Okay.” Patton nods. “How about a high five?”


“Fist bump?”

Virgil stares at him, dumbfounded. “No?”


“Are you an idiot?”

Patton shrugs. “No, I don’t think so—and you aren’t either, Virgil. You know hitting Roman was wrong, so I don’t expect you to do it again. How about you come inside and we can talk about some better ways to express our anger, okay? The mosquitoes out here are starting to really bug me, if you know what I mean.”

Virgil rolls his eyes—Patton is really stupid, sometimes, but sometimes—

Sometimes, maybe, that’s not so terrible. At least it keeps Patton from yelling at him. Sighing, Virgil pushes himself to his feet and grabs one of the juice boxes Patton’s left sitting on the porch. (He ignores the surprised smile Patton offers him with steely determination. He doesn’t do it to make Patton happy. Why the fuck would he do that?)

The two of them step back into the house, and Virgil sips on his juice and listens to Patton ramble and make idiotic jokes and (for a brief, temporary time) finds himself okay. Not happy—he’s rarely happy—but okay, and that’s more than he used to. He can only hope that it’ll last. (It won’t, but—but he can hope, dammit.)


Originally posted by nnochu

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: angst, fluff | student!jungkook, best friends to lovers 

length: 5k

summary: jungkook has been the friend that you’ve always had in life. when he tries to take it to the next step, you find yourself rejecting him. fear not, a trip gone wrong fixes the day.


There’s a pause in the bustling conversation as everyone watches the bowling ball skid down the alley and towards the pins.

You’re crouched as your eyes are glued to the navy ball that could possibly give you a strike and the upper hand. Silent prayers move your lips as it goes closer and closer, but it’s a vain attempt sincethe ball only manages to knock down all but four pins. A groan leaves your lips when you hear his cackle behind you.

“Jeongguk, you threw me off!” The excuse flies out of your mouth automatically, only strengthening his cackle. When you turn, your best friend is hunched over in his seat, slapping his knee in absolute happiness. 

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Neighbour Part Two | Jimin, You

Part One | Part Two | Part Three 

Part Two of my Father!Jimin AU! I hope you like it! :)

Originally posted by jjks

If I know what love is, it is because of you.

Every day after that was a new adventure, how was your body going to react when he smiled at you this time? Was it going to go into overdrive again and prevent your fingers from working? Or were you going to lose your breath and have a heart attack?

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Tumbleweed, Her #2 - [BAP] Mafia!Au

Previously: Part 1

The Fugitive: Moon Jongup.

He is a tired soul, himself. He had lost his purpose and finding himself in the midst of nowhere had sent him in a frantic life long search of a destination that he can’t seem to find, anywhere, near him. But when he saw you, he made you as his focal point. He didn’t know you, but you were so accepting and kind, he found home in you.

The night accompanied by heavy rain sent Jongup drenched. He found your apartment by chance. Bloodied, with severed lips, abrasion covering his fore arms, you took him in. Treated him, catered to him, nursed him back to health. He never thought banging on a stranger’s door would lead to an angel like you. Everything about him is doubtful. He was too shaken up to even speak back then. He had a compass tattoo on his neck that was as impressive as his looks. A little cut on that beautiful nose bridge and the purple bruise on the side of his lips didn’t seem to waver the fact that he was indeed, good looking. He was whimpering in pain for several days.

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anonymous asked:

do you know of any autistic keith fics? i dont know how common it is aa,,,

this is a pretty strong headcanon within the fandom that i 100% get behind, i know what its like to crave that sweet representation - Karri

autistic keith tag

Sorry, Who Are You? by squirenonny (1/1 | 5,643 | Teen And Up)

When Keith was seven years old, he spent a year in La Quinta with a boy named Lance, the best friend he ever had. Ten years later, Lance and Keith reunite at the Garrison–only Keith doesn’t remember who Lance is.

Head Underwater by Adhdklance (7/7 | 20,030 | General)

“Relax, Red, I was just kidding.“ Lance shifted uncomfortably under his teammate’s gaze. Something in Keith’s big, dark eyes seemed genuinely worried. “Anyway, is Voltron the only reason you don’t want me to hurl myself into space? I’m hurt,” he joked, waiting for Keith’s eyes to shrink and go back to his usual sullen demeanour, but he stayed frozen.

Biting by No1DigiBakuFan (1/1 | 1,021 | General)

Keith bites himself when he’s overwhelmed. Lance offers him an alternative. Hunk is a really great listener.

//implied self-harm //referenced bullying

“First couple fight” fic

He Tian x Mo GuanShan

Here you go guys! Thanks to Sam for helping me with the english translation! Let me know your thoughts!


“I told you that you can’t”
“Why? It’s just a couple of hours ”
GuanShan emptied the last shopping bag, closing the fridge with force.
“Fuck you, you’re gonna sleep in my house, as usual”
He Tian lowered himself on the counter, crossing his arms over it.
“I don’t see the problem”
“Well there is a fucking problem! My mother is going back today, you can’t come ”
He Tian smiled, slightly tilting his head.
“I promise I won’t make you scream too loud”

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Headphones: Min Yoongi x Hogwarts AU






Headphones: Min Yoongi x Hogwarts AU

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader
Rating: T
Genre: Fluff
Words: 8547

Of course, our Min Yoongi will be a Slytherin~!!

-Admin Taettybear

Yoongi released a large yawn, walking down the hallways of his school. Although crowded with students rushing to their next class, people opened up space for the Slytherin to walk as he glared at anyone who entered his path.

Yoongi knew he was releasing an aura of danger. But who can he blame? He was grumpy, the lack of sleep making him extremely moody.

Last night, he was asked to join a group of Auror to help them raid an abandoned warehouse where a group of Death Eaters was spotted. It was a successful mission, but that didn’t mean that Yoongi was happy about it. He was exhausted and he was tempted to return to his dorm and just crawl into his bed, ditching classes for that day.

“Um, excuse me, Yoongi-ssi…”

Hearing his name being called, the platinum blond haired man stopped, facing a small female who timidly stood behind him.  

“I-uh… You dropped your headphones…”

Yoongi stared at the white headphones in your hand, looking slightly surprised that you knew what the muggle items were called. They were gifted to him by Jimin and he carried it around with him everywhere so he could listen the rap Hoseok has downloaded for him.

As Yoongi stared at you, you became nervous, shrinking under his sharp eyes.

“Thanks,” Yoongi quickly muttered as he took them out of your hand. You nodded, avoiding looking into his eyes as you scurried off, catching up to your fellow Ravenclaw housemates who patiently waited for you down the hall.

For a moment, Yoongi looked down at his headphones in his hand, a question arising in his mind.

‘She knew my name. And how did she know these belonged to me…? Is she a classmate….?’


“Do all of you truly not know the answer?” Professor Snape’s voice was filled with venom as he faced his group of students, “You all were taught the Calming Draught in the fifth year at Hogwarts.”

As the man hissed, no one spoke up, fearing the wrath they may face.

Yoongi yawned, not intimidated by the Professor that stood in front of the class. Even when he became the prime target of his Professor’s glare, Yoongi didn’t change an expression. He just wanted to sleep, just like usual.

“T-The Calming Draught has the property to calm one down… The ingredient needed are five cups of sugar water, a dash of scurvy-grass, three leaves of mint, a spring of peppermint, ¼ pounds of ground ginger powder, ⅓ cup of moonstone and three drops of belladonna…..” a small voice spoke up.

The entire class, including Yoongi, snapped their attention to the person who sat quietly at the corner of the room, looking extremely small in their chair. Yoongi’s eyes lit up in recognition, realizing that it was you, the same girl who returned his headphones the other day.

“Correct, Y/L/N, what color should the Potion be after it is cooled and settled? And how long can the potion be stored?”

You gulped at Professor Snape’s sudden question and the class’s attention.

“T-The Potion s-should be an amber color…. If it’s n-not, the desired result will n-not be seen….” You started to stutter, “It has to be stored i-in room temperature and c-could be kept up to six months….”

Snape’s frowned, “If you had known the answer, you should have spoken up, Y/L/N.” At the professor’s word, you ducked your head, using your hair as a curtain to hide your red cheeks.

You were feeling extremely embarrassed, regretting that you had spoken up. At first, you weren’t going to like usual. But you started to fear Professor Snape’s anger and spoken the knowledge you knew.

“10 points to Ravenclaw.”

Your head snapped up in surprise, your eyes widened in shock as you looked at your Professor who went back to the lesson. You blushed as your friends who sat near patted your shoulder in congratulation, giving you a thumbs up.

Yoongi blinked one before placing his head back down.



“Oh, we have a hundred!!” Professor Flitwick exclaimed as he passed the test out, “Miss Y/L/N! Excellent job!”

Yoongi eyed you curiously as the small Professor gave back your test with a perfect score. He could only see the back of your head but he knew you had the soft, proud smile on your face as you looked at your paper.

It took a couple of more days since his first encounter with you to make Yoongi realize that you had literally every class with him. He had just never noticed you because you were so quiet, always sitting at the corner of the room, diligently taking down notes on what the professor said in class.

However, it didn’t take him long to realize that you were one of the best students in his grade, excelling in almost every class.

You had the well-known characteristic of Ravenclaw, intelligence but he wasn’t sure if you were witty like many of your housemates. Many Ravenclaws were prideful of their intelligence, but he could tell that wasn’t the case for you.

Actually, you didn’t seem prideful of your knowledge at all. You were a timid creature that never spoke up in class unless the professor directly addressed you. Even then, your voice was only above a whisper, barely being heard by the students in the class.

Yoongi had even seen you once let out a loud squeak and fall out of your chair when a Gryffindor has accidentally yelled a couple of feet way from you. You were almost like a little mouse, getting scared so easily.

“Y/L/N? Oh, you must be talking about Y/N-Noona!” Namjoon’s eyes lit up as Yoongi asked about you.

“You know her?” Yoongi questioned, eyeing the younger male who sat beside him during dinner.

“Of course, I should be calling her Sunbaenim with the amount she helps me. When there’s something I don’t understand or when there’s a time when I need help on an assignment, she’s the only person not including the professors that I can trust with proper information. She’s a genius, you know,” the glassed Ravenclaw spoke as he stuffed food into his mouth.

Yoongi motioned for Namjoon to continue.

“She spends more time in the library than me. She probably has read every book in there already and I’m certain she memorized everything she reads.”

Hearing Namjoon compliment you definitely surprised Yoongi. In his mind, Namjoon was a genius, one of the most intelligent man he’s met. So to hear him acknowledge you meant you were truly amazing.


You sat outside with your reading book in your lap, gazing at the thestrals that flew overhead, pulling the carriage that carried the students and their items to the Hogsmeade Station.

“So, you can see them as well.”

You flinched in shock as you heard the voice from behind you. You gulped, looking at the blond Slytherin known as Min Yoongi with your eyes widened.

“O-Oh… Yes… I guess you can see them as well…” You trailed off, closing the book you were reading. You became even more surprised than what you already were as the man took a seat beside you, one of his headphones plugged into his ear.

The same exact headphones you had once picked up and returned to him.

“For how long?” Yoongi’s question made you stiffen, “I’ve seen them for the past twelve years.”

The man’s words made your mouth drop open in shock. But you quickly shut it close, realizing that you needed to share your own answer because he told you first.

“Nine years… Since my fourth year at Hogwarts….”

At your surprising answer, Yoongi lowered the sound of his music, looking at your small form that sat beside him.

At that moment, the two of you thought similar things.

‘He/She is rather interesting….’

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Sick Days 3.0 #24

24: Anywhere but here!… Too late.
You character is sick or hurt, and this is neither the time nor the place to be dealing with it. And something happens that causes a big scene and/or a big mess.
Stipulations are that the setting must be somewhere that it would be really bad and very inconvenient to get sick/hurt, and your character CANNOT leave to deal with it in private.
Suggestions: In the middle of a performance, public transportation, a crowded area with no way out, bumper to bumper traffic where they can’t pull off, an amusement park, first date, work (office, factory, construction, etc.) where they are not allowed to leave, classroom, business meeting.

[Fandom: Spider-Man Homecoming]

[Emeto Warning.]

When Peter is pulled from a feverish sleep by his phone ringing at six in the morning, he contemplates smashing his phone against the wall because he’s been fighting a losing battle against what he’s sure is a stomach flu, and he feels terrible. But one glance at his phone, and he shoots up into a sitting position, stomach flipping dangerously, and fumbles to slide the answer button. 

“H-Happy!” He shouts, voice cracking along a painful rasp. He clears his throat and presses his free arm to his stomach. “What’s up?” 

“Why are you taking so long?”

Peter briefly pulls his phone away from his ear with a frown. He checks to make sure he wasn’t mistaken on who he’s talking to then moves a hand to his cheek to see if his fever is worse than he thought. He’s warm, but not enough to warrant confusion, and his eyebrows pull together as he presses his phone back to his ear. “What?” 

“I’m outside. Hurry up.” 

Peter hops out of bed with the grace of a newborn deer. He slips on the shirt he must have ripped off in his sleep and stumbles toward the window. Sure enough, he spots Happy looking as irritated as ever while leaning against the side of a slick, black car. They lock eyes, and Peter offers a sheepish wave that Happy does not return. 

“Can you put some clothes on and get down here before I die of old age?”

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Softly, Hallelujah

For @axilarts​ / @axileana​, to whom I promised hurt!Newt to.

It’s in the middle of a meeting when Graves suddenly feels the band on his finger grow hot and agitated. He stops mid sentence, hands braced down on the end of the conference room table, as images flash across his mind’s eye – quick snap shots of things until finally, he has what he needs.

He presses his thumb to the underside of his ring finger and against the band itself and says, “I’m coming, hang on,” before turning to the room at large.

“Director Graves,” Picquery blinks, cool and composed but he can see in her gaze that she has at least some inkling of what has happened. “Everything alright?”

“I am afraid I must excuse myself,” is all he says and then he’s abusing his high security clearance to disapparate out of the meeting room and into the living room of the flat he shares with a certain Magizoologist. He finds the case atop their bed, a rather nervous looking Dougal sitting on its top most step – peering out, waiting.  The moment it sees him, it dips back into the case; obviously aware of what Graves has come for. Graves follows him down in a hurry, his feet flying down the rickety ladder, only to find that Newt is not in his little shack.

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Down the Rabbit Hole


Amy was always curious as a child, and it had always gotten her into quite a bit of trouble. But sadly, the world typically expects one to grow out of their childish curiosity by the time one gets to Amy’s age, but the young woman had never lost that spark.

That’s how she ended up falling down this rabbit hole.

It’s dark mostly except for the strange figures she sees in passing as she tumbles, head over heels down, down, down, and down until she stops. Amy sits up rubbing her head and wondering how she could’ve fallen quite this far without going splat, but she supposes she ought to just be pleasantly surprised she’s still alive.

Amy looks around the small room she’s found herself in and at the many, many doors she has to choose from that lead out of this little place where she’s busted an Amy-sized hole in the ceiling. After a while, she picks the one that tickles her fancy and steps through into a wonderful garden, all walled up with high stone walls that loom far above her head. The door clicks shut behind her, and when Amy reaches back to check it, she finds it locked.

“Oh bother,” she whispers to herself before moving on. There’s the pungent scent of rich earth and growing things, of flowers’ perfume and fresh, spring air. Amy follows an overgrown path to the heart of the garden where the flowers grow as big as trees and seem to watch her as she walks by underneath. After a while, she hears the faint sound of someone singing, and she slowly approaches a man garbed in blue sitting on a large mushroom and smoking from a pipe.

“Um, hello?” Amy calls up to him. “Can you help me? I’m afraid I’ve gotten myself lost.”

The singing man looks down at her, and Amy jumps when she realizes that his eyes are glowing blue. “Who are you?”

“I-I’m…” But Amy is so stunned that she cannot answer him.

“We’re you not listening, you dim-witted child? I said, who. Are. You?” The man asks, enunciating each word carefully as if Amy somehow did not hear his booming voice the first time.

“Well, I’m Amy Nelson. And just who are you?” she asks, crossing her arms over her chest in defiance.

The man, almost hidden through the blue smoke, glares down at her. “I am Google, and I guard this forest from stupid wanderers such as yourself who might get lost here.”

Amy glances around at the enormous flowers towering above her head. “A forest? It started out as a garden when I first got here… Tell me, Google, did the flowers get bigger? Or did I shrink?”

Google’s eyes flash. “Yes.”

Amy makes a face. “Well, that’s more than less than unhelpful.” She turns around and looks at the path she’s been following. After the young man’s mushroom, it breaks into several branching paths. “Google, which direction should I take if I want to find my way back home?”

His eyes flash again. “I’d suggest giving up now.”

“Oh! You’re completely useless!” Amy throws her hands in the air before placing them firmly on her hips and tapping her foot. “Fine. Just fine. I’ll find my own way, if that’s what it takes.”

“That’s what it takes,” Google tells her, monotone.

Amy gives Google one last glare over her shoulder before setting off down one of the pathways at random. Soon the garden turned forest becomes darker and darker until Amy can just barely see the path before her. It isn’t until she’s sure that she can’t take another step for fear of losing the path that she notices the glowing smile reflecting at her in the dark.

“Lose something?”

Amy gasps and takes a few steps away from the figure. “I-I seem to have lost my way. I’m trying to get home, you see, but the problem is, I have no idea how to get there.”

“Oh,” he steps closer, still evading Amy’s gaze as he says, “well, if you don’t know where you’re headed, then it really doesn’t matter which way you go!” Suddenly his face appears close to Amy’s, and she can see a face that looks much like Google’s, only his eyes aren’t glowing blue. They are framed by glasses. “Bim Trimmer, at your service, milady! How may I help you?”

A Green Little Something (The Hound)

Originally posted by spderman

Part three of the little Sandor Clegane drabbles I’m doing. Not all of them will be in quick succession in terms of time progression. There will be large time skips as this isn’t a full fic. Enjoy! Also- the fucking rock scene man.

Court was within the half hour and in the mean time Sterren chaperoned Sansa through the royal gardens. Sansa twittered on about meaningless gossip surrounding the high lords and ladies of Kings Landing. It was a habit of hers. Perhaps her way of calming herself down for the potential horrors of Joffrey’s court.

At some point between the hydrangeas and the final turn towards the Red Keep, Sansa eyed her friend. “Sterren, you look… different.” Her blue eyes searched Sterren in attempt to pinpoint just what had changed in her from the evening before.

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✦make it up to you✦

↳ Harry x Reader

Requested | Harry imagine when he loses his temper and almost hits you?

Warnings | almost being hit by a lover, swearing

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