small labels

Which makes me think about what’s in Mordred’s bag huh.

- rations (bc Grey Wardens)

- dried herbs packed neatly and tightly into several small rolls of fabric

- a length of rope

- whetstone + polishing oil for weapons & whatnot

- blank vellum scrolls + charcoal sticks burned with Mordred’s own magic fire so the lines they produce glow blue in the dark

- a box of dried paints, a set of 5 brushes of different sizes

- 2 knives + 1 dagger on his belt

- tinderbox

- other potion ingredients, wrapped into small labeled packages

- 2 compasses, one normal and one dwarven made specifically to be used underground in case metals in the walls interfere with the normal one

- and something else

I can’t believe that my boys, the only idol group under a small label that was in debt at the time of their debut, who used to sleep with all seven members in one small room, with one on a bare mattress on the floor- my boys who would spend 100% of their free time practicing and working on music even until the early morning- my boys who have actually never stopped working since their debut- my boys who had to deal with people telling them that they would never make it, that they were hiphop wannabes, that they weren’t “real” artists, who had to deal with their own ups&downs with their mental health, are now not only rich&successful but have become one of the few groups to pave kpop’s way into international fame and are now the first kpop act to ever attend the bbmas, one of the largest american music awards. I am so so so proud. 

Harry in Nashville | September 25, 2017

Custom Gucci Suit

Harry wore another custom Gucci suit for his performance at the Ryman Auditorium, this time in a brown floral brocade pattern with a white silk blouse and Gucci horsebit boots

Thanks to a well-timed fan photo, we got a glimpse of the tags inside. Gucci jackets have a small black label that states the jacket’s cut, like ‘Heritage’ or ‘Monaco’. If we squint, it looks like his says ‘Harry Styles’. What do you think?


// art is mine. please give credit if reposting, or just settle for a reblog :) //

@thatsthat24 hope you like it, it’s my first attempt at digital art haha

Yes indeedy I did write this AU out into a thing.


Virgil tapped his fingers on the counter impatiently, giving the customer he was serving a small nod and a stiff smile to show that he was definitely (not) listening. "A hot grande iced latte with sugar, and…?“

"That’s it,” the guy said, pushing his glasses up.


“Patton,” he replied with a cheerful tone. “Thanks, kiddo.”

“No… problem?” Virgil responded with a uncertain tone- his default attitude towards positivity. He’s getting all cheerful up in this place what do I do-

After paying and leaving a tip in the small jar labeled ‘tips always appreciated :)’, Patton strolled away to await his drink, whistling an upbeat tune.

“Next,” Virgil called, scribbling down 'Patton’ on a cup and passing it to his co-worker.

The next person in line stepped up to the counter, wearing a white shirt complete with red linings of decoration. The barista wrinkled his nose as he took his customer in- what kind of moderately sensible person would wear that in public?

“Hello and welcome to Starbucks,” Virgil said in a flat tone, schooling his features back into a neutral one- after all, the guy’s fashion sense was none of his concern. “What will your order be today?”

“Greetings, my dear fellow citizen,” the person began. The barista raised an eyebrow, bemused and trying to keep a straight face. “I shall have a grande quad, nonfat, one-pump, no-whip mocha.”

Virgil did a double take. “You do realize that a quad means four shots of espresso?”


“Four shots,” Virgil said slowly, in case the person didn’t hear him clearly the first time. “Of espresso.”

“Yes."Shaking his head, the barista sighed and entered the order into the computer. "Name?”

“Call me Roman.”

“Uh huh,” Virgil said, scribbling a quick name down onto the paper cup in his hand. “Gotcha. That’ll be five bucks, seventy five cents.” Overpriced for a coffee, but this was Starbucks, after all.

Roman handed a ten dollar bill over, and Virgil handed him the change. “Here’s your change,” he muttered. “Goodbye-”

“What’s your name, though?” Roman asked, mindless of the dismissal. “I mean, you’ve got mine… I feel like it would only be fair if I got yours as well.”

“Anxiety. Or Virgil. Take your pick,” the barista said absentmindedly. “Next!”

Roman got the hint this time and walked over to stand beside the 'waiting counter’- you know, the counter where you stand awkwardly beside when you’re at a Starbucks and you wait for your drink.

Hence the name 'waiting counter’.

Maybe they should rename it the 'don’t talk to me I need my coffee first’ counter.

Virgil sighed and passed the cup over, looking at yet another customer.“Hello and welcome to Starbucks, may I take your order?”

As the person listed their order, a thankfully simple request of a iced black tea, Virgil’s compañero slid the over-espresso-ed drink onto the next counter. "Grande quad mocha for a Mr. Ramen!“

Anxiety turned his head to hide his smirk as his previous customer choked. "Come again?”

“Grande quad mocha,” the guy said, looking at Roman. “For a Mr. Ramen. Are you Ramen? You look like a Ramen. Ramen, take your drink.”

“It’s Roman-”

“A hot latte for Patton!”

Roman sighed and took his cupful of caffeinated goodness. Walking out of the Starbucks, he stopped midway and turned around to make eye contact with Virgil, a question of 'really?’ in his stare.Virgil flashed him a sideways grin and a shrug. Have a nice day, the barista’s gaze seemed to convey. And enjoy your drink.

Roman let out a little indignant huff and walked out the door, tilting his head back to let the sunlight bounce off his brown and purple hair, taking a sip of his drink. Virgil… he’d remember that name.

Roman, Virgil mused. What an asshole.



How Louis Tomlinson survived the break-up of the world’s biggest boy band and became his own man

The Observer Magazine 25 Jun 2017

Photographs ALEX BRAMALL Fashion editor HELEN SEAMONS

Coming out of a dissolving boy band must be a bit like being an entrant in one of those dystopian jungle fights –a Hunger Games- style event in which bandmates are scattered across an unknown terrain and challenged to slog their lonely route back to fame. Justin Timberlake, after NSync, enjoyed the unsporting edge of natural talent and crushed his former colleagues. Robbie Williams looked supreme in the Take That scrimmage, at least until Gary Barlow circled back, gathered up the other three, and made the fight a more compelling four- on- one. By the time One Direction announced they were to go on indefinite hiatus in 2015, many of us were familiar enough with the conventions of boy-band bloodsport to start picking favourites for the coming melee.

Harry Styles – charming, a grinner – was best placed to succeed on his own. Big-lunged Zayn Malik was already out of the band by that time and had used his head start to good effect, preparing a solo album that went to No 1. Liam Payne and Niall Horan – always second-tier members – were given middling chances. And ranked last in any serious analysis, the most fitfully appreciated member of One Direction, was Louis Tomlinson. Here was a combatant you might expect to find curled up in a fox hole on the battlefield, pale and chain-smoking.

It is in roughly this position I find the 25-yearold, one afternoon earlier this summer. Slender, tracksuited, a little wan under his manicured facial hair, Tomlinson sits on a garden bench outside the photographer’s studio and rewards himself with an entire pack of cigarettes. “I know, I know,” he says of the smoking. “It’s not great. But there’s so much hurry-up-and-wait in this job. It helps me get ready to go again.”

I’ve often wondered why the fringe members of boy bands do this to themselves. Why they gather themselves to “go again”. As Tomlinson acknowledges, in One Direction he was seen by some as “forgettable, to a certain degree”. “The others have always been… Like Niall, for example. He’s the most lovely guy in the world. Happy-go-lucky Irish, no sense of arrogance. And he’s fearless. There are times I’ve thought: ‘I’d have a bit of that.’ Zayn, back in the day. He could relate to me on a nerves level. In the first year we were both the least confident. But Zayn has a fantastic voice and for him it was always about owning that. Liam always had a good stage presence, same as Harry, they’ve both got that ownership. Harry comes across very cool. Liam’s all about getting the crowd going, doing a bit of dancing…” And then there’s you. “And then there’s me.” Tracks from Tomlinson’s solo record have been playing inside the studio. They’re modest, rather lovely pop songs that in their quiet way seem to acknowledge his underdog status. Tomlinson lights another cig. “You know I didn’t sing a single solo on the X Factor,” he says, recalling the time back in 2010, when One Direction were first put together as a band on the ITV reality show. “A lot of people can take the piss out of that. But when you actually think about how that feels, standing on stage every single week, thinking: ‘What have I really done to contribute here? Sing a lower harmony that you can’t really hear in the mix?” He guesses, smiling wryly, that in those months he was best known as “The kid wearing espadrilles, stood in’t back.”

Not the best singer, not the high-energy guy, not the dude, Tomlinson discovered he was the one in the band who was most tuned into backstage logistics – the one who paid attention when “the 20th approval form” was passed around for a signature. “And if there was any bad news that needed giving to the label I’d always be designated to have the argument.” Later this would lead to Tomlinson founding a small record label of his own, Triple String, and to starting a side project managing a girl band. In his day job with One Direction, meanwhile, he toured the world, released five albums and amassed a large, equal-parts fortune like the rest of the boys. Somewhere en route, Tomlinson says, he found his feet as a performer. “In the last year of One Direction I was probably the most confident I ever was. And then it was: ‘OK, hiatus!’”

Tomlinson argued against it, he says, when the band first sat down to discuss separation. “It wasn’t necessarily a nice conversation. I could see where it was going.” Tomlinson remembers his instinctive assumption being simple. He would step away – try writing for other people, keep his label going, wait the “two years, five years, whatever it be” until One Direction reformed. “If you’d asked me a year or 18 months ago: ‘Are you going to do anything as a solo artist?’ I’d have said absolutely not.”

What changed? If the management stuff made you happy, I say, why not sit back and focus on that? “But then I’d be conceding,” he says. Conceding to who? To what? He waves his hand in the air. He could mean anything:

Niall is the most lovely guy, Zayn has the voice, Harry is very cool, Liam gets the crowd going… And then there’s me

I honestly think they’ll write books about One Direction fans. They are so fanatical. The intensity. It’s remarkable

history, bandmates, doubters, the press. Tomlinson is quiet for a while and eventually says: “I’m trying to work out why it is that I’m [doing this], now that you’ve asked that question.” He fidgets and trials a few answers that run out of steam. “It’s frustrating, because I know what I want to say and I can’t articulate it.” He pats for his lighter. The odds are against this tilt, Tomlinson seems to understand. But as we start to talk through his reasons for at least trying, I find myself hoping that this Last Directioner makes an unlikely go of it after all.

pop industry has an ineREASON ONE . TH E luctable momentum, and the star who begins something ( like a skier inching off a hilltop) can quickly find themselves bound to ride out whatever thrills and trials comes next. Tomlinson gives the example of how he first became famous. Born in Doncaster in 1991 he was raised by his mother, Johannah Deakin, and later also by her new partner Mark Tomlinson. He was 16 when he went to his first X

Factor audition. Prompt rebuff. A year later he made it into the audition process, but still nowhere near the part where ambitious young singers are briskly embraced or condemned by that great gatekeeper of celebrity, Simon Cowell. In 2010 Tomlinson, twice unlucky, gave the auditions a final try.

“I told myself I’ve just got to get to Simon, get his opinion, that’s all my ambition was. Then all of a sudden everything changed. To my friends in Doncaster I would always say [getting into the band] was the most incredible thing that happened to me. And it was. But it happened when I was already having the best year of my life. I was 17, 18, just started driving, didn’t need fake ID any more, going to house parties. That’s the time. That’s the age. And to a certain degree… ‘Having it taken away’ is the wrong phrase. But there was a price to pay.”

He says his current efforts as a soloist came about in similar fashion. In 2016, Tomlinson had become a father. (His son, Freddie, “who I love so much”, was born after a brief relationship with a Californian stylist called Briana Jungwirth.) He had some other personal matters to work through and in the summer he went on holiday to Las Vegas to blow off steam. At a club the American DJ Steve Aoiki was playing. Tomlinson, giddy with delight from Aoiki’s set, suggested to the DJ they try writing something together. In career terms, he had inched off the hill again, without necessarily considering the gradient of the slope.

A few months later, Tomlinson says, a single he’d written with Aoiki was being rolled out for release through One Direction’s old record label, Syco. Tomlinson was booked in to perform it on live TV. “And I was, like: ‘Did I really think this through?’”

Which leads Tomlinson to reason two. He’s well aware he was fast-tracked into his music career. That, as a part of One Direction, he was only a piece of a “heavy machine”. And as a self-aware northerner, from a proudly working class family, this has left Tomlinson with residual guilt to answer about wealth and status that do not feel to him fully earned. “And I know, I know it sounds ungrateful. But I think about a man, on a nine-to-five, working his arse off for six months so he can go to his family and say: ‘Guys, I’m taking you to Disneyland.’ That moment… I’ll never have that in my family life. And I’ve worked hard. But I’ve never worked hard, not like that.”

Tomlinson says he has already sweated more for this record than any before. When you’re putting together material as a soloist, he says, you quickly learn that those hot-shot collaborators who once dribbled to work with One Direction no longer pick up the phone

so readily. “I couldn’t say to you now that I could definitely get a superstar writer in a session with me. And I understand that.” Tomlinson adds, with no real vinegar: “Harry won’t struggle with any of that.”

In their One Direction days, no question, Styles got the most attention. But all the boys had their devotees and Tomlinson wants to prove to his own fans – reason three – that he’s been worth the backing all these years. “I honestly think they’ll write books about One Direction fans,” Tomlinson says. “Because they are so fanatical. The intensity. It’s remarkable.”

Tomlinson cannot talk about it with me, not without getting into muddy legal waters, but there was recently a difficult episode involving a small crowd of fans at an airport in LA. He was travelling with his partner, Eleanor Calder, who is viewed with some distrust by the fiercest corps of Louis fans. Video footage seems to show Calder being surrounded and attacked by a group of girls. Tomlinson, unable to discuss the matter, says to me more generally that he hopes his new music will reveal to fans a more complete version of himself than before. “Honestly, it’s crazy. It’s hard for a lot of people who are fanatical to believe that you are a real entity and a person.”

Which brings us to reason four. Reason four Tomlinson discusses with caution. Reason four he enshrouds with disclaimers: that it is not his intention to tell “a sob story”, that “I don’t like people feeling sorry for me”. Reason four concerns his mum.

Johannah Deakin was diagnosed with leukaemia in early 2016. Tomlinson had been worried his luck would run out; that having been “dealt that amazing hand” to squeak into the last berth in One Direction, he was due some sort of equalising blow. And he gives a bleak little laugh when he recalls where he was when the terrible phone call came. “At Jamie Vardy’s wedding of all places. Talk about your places, for something super-traumatic. My mum told me, uh, yeah, that she was definitely terminal.”

They were unusually close. He recalls how she was often one step ahead “because she had the password to my email”. It was an intimacy he attributes to them being close in age. “I remember the day I lost my virginity. I hadn’t even told any of my mates and I was, like: ‘Mum? I know this is really weird. But I’ve got to tell you…’ I remember thinking this is a bizarre conversation to be having with your mother. But it’s testament to how comfortable she made me.”

When Deakin died, in December 2016, Tomlinson was only days away from the live gig he’d agreed to do on the X Factor. “I remember saying to her: ‘Mum, how the fuck do you expect me to do this now?’ And she didn’t swear much, my mum. She’d always tell me off for swearing. And this time she was like: ‘You’ve got to fucking do it, it’s as simple as that.’ It was football manager, team talk stuff.’” The footage of Tomlinson’s performance that weekend is hard to watch. When he first appears on the X Factor stage he looks rigid, almost plastic, with grief. He’s clearly able to lose himself in the three-minute drama of a pop song. And after that the colour drains right back out of his face.

Tomlinson smokes for a bit. He says: “I’m not gonna claim this is all for me mum. But it was definitely… It was…”

He thinks. Throughout his life, he says, his mum always had greater belief in him than he did. “Sometimes my reservation, or my confidence, might have prevented me from doing something. And I’ve needed a mum in the past to kick me up the arse and go: ‘You’re doing it.’”

The boy bander has his reasons, then. “I’ve enjoyed this,” he says. “An opportunity to talk super openly. Not, y’know, answer questions about who my favourite superhero is. I don’t feel I get that many chances.”

The pile of cigarette butts in front of him has mounted to quite a height. Tomlinson, seeming to notice it for the first time, mutters: “Sorry. I’ve been chaining.” His mum hated smoking, he says. Then he smiles. “Though I remember she had the occasional cigarette herself.”

He taps his lighter on the table and asks what I make of everything he’s said. “Do you think your readers are still gonna wonder: ‘Why doesn’t he just not do it?’”

I’m not sure, I tell him, trying to be honest. But let’s see.

The day I lost my virginity, I hadn’t even told any of my mates, and I was, like: ‘Mum? I know this is weird but I’ve got to tell you…’

Louis’s new single ‘Back To You’ featuring Bebe Rexha and Digital Farm Animals is coming soon

NHL!Bitty, Part VII - Cup Series: PVD vs SEA

Received an anonymous ask requesting Jack and Bitty playing each other for the cup and it turned into the Bittles and Zimmermanns dealing with the grim reality that they will have to chose sides in a big way. 

In which Alicia is intense, Suzanne is offended, and Bob is just tired.

(Part VI - The Code)

About ten minutes after the Falconers clinch the Eastern Conference title - when Jack is done with his interviews and off the showers - Coach mutes the 70″ television in the Zimmermann’s media room and sucks in a rough breath. 

“So, how ‘bout that? Our boys, facing off in the final.”

It’s not like they didn’t all know this was a possibility: the Falconers this season’s defending champions after the Schooners were dethroned the year prior; but suddenly the what-if scenario they’ve all hypothetically debated for so long is real and looming.

“Well, clearly we’ll support them both,” Alicia placates. “I mean, thank goodness they both already have rings so it won’t be as painful when the Falconers take the title-”

In a heartbeat, the atmosphere cools, and Suzanne coughs politely before scooting away from Alicia’s side of the couch. 

It might as well be a declaration of war.

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Family Of Fighters

Originally posted by lonlonmilk

Request: Can you write one where the teenage reader finds out her parents are hydra? When they leave for work she gets into their office and finds a dangerous file with plans to destroy the avengers tower. She takes it and runs away till she gets to the tower. She’s crying when she gets to the receptionist cause her parents will kill her for what she did. Tony relocates her to the compound since it’s safer and Nat wipes out her identity and helps her with a make over. She finds a family with them.

Pairing: Avengers x reader

Summary: You didn’t mean to find what you did, but you did. Now you need protection and the only people that could save you are the people they want to destroy.

Word Count: 2,075

Genre: Angst, fluff

Notes: There will be a second part to this! It was too long for one fic so I broke it into two :)

“How long are you guys going to be gone this time?” you ask your mother as she drags her bags into the living room.

“This business trip, about two weeks? I think anyways. Your father knows for sure” your mother says monotonously.

You nod and wait with your other for the cab. Your parents had a government job, although you didn’t know exactly that they did, and it took them around the world for weeks at a time. Every time you asked about your parent’s career they brushed you off, telling you that they were just advisers but never who for. As you grew older, you noticed all of the inconsistencies in their stories. You began asking more questions and those questions lead to many fights which lead to your very tense relationship with your parents. After two years of fighting, you had finally resigned yourself to a type of symbiotic routine with your parents. You would go to school and come home then up to your room without disrupting them, only ever really speaking when they were leaving for another trip.

You hear a honk outside and your father rushes into the living room with his bags, ignoring you and walking out of the house.

“We left money for take out. Don’t do anything stupid.” your mother said.

With that you were left in your big home, all alone just like you had been for most of your life. You sigh and go into the kitchen where you expect to find the money for food. Your face twists in confusion as you look around the bare counters to find no trace of the money they had promised. You walk around the house looking for the money but find nothing, until you stood in front of the study’s door. You were never allowed in there, it was strictly under lock and key held by your parents. You didn’t know why, it wasn’t like you were a problem child, if they told you not to do something you didn’t do it.

As you reach up onto the door frame looking for the spare key to open they door, you scold yourself lightly. This was a serious situation as if you didn’t have the money you couldn’t eat for the next two weeks so you knew your parents wouldn’t be to mad about it. You pull down the key, open up the door and walk to the giant mahogany desk on the other side of the room. You see two crumpled up hundred dollar bills sitting on top of a manila folder marked with a small red label on the corner that read ‘Top Secret’. Obviously, when something reads ‘Top Secret’ you curiosity is peaked. Maybe this is your chance to know exactly what your parents did.

You pocket the cash and slide open the folder carefully, as to not make it look tampered with. You pull out the papers and are greeted with a picture that filled you with dread. The cover photo of the title pile of documents was a red skull with six curving tentacles, the symbol of HYDRA. Your heart was racing as you pulled apart the other papers. You find ones that had pictures of your parents in soldier’s garb along with details you didn’t even know about them. Was this why they were so secretive? Were your parent’s really members of HYDRA?

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Read on ao3

Tony saw a lot of similar characteristics in Peter while he was doing research before he recruited him. He wanted to make sure he knew everything he could before he started working on Peter’s new suit.

Yet, he did not want to pry into too much sensitive information, he wanted Peter to take his time and tell him on his own time. But for now, he would make sure that Peter’s new suit had a built in binder suited to Peter’s exact measurements. Peter needed to be able to move freely in his suit, so Tony did his best. 

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1. Hungarians don’t say “She’s jumping for joy.”

They say “Örül, mint majom a farkának.” (She’s as happy as a monkey about his tail.)

2. Hungarians don’t say “Bullshit!”

They say “Lófasz!” (Horse dick!)

3. Hungarians don’t ask little children “Why are you crying?”

They ask “Miért itatod az egereket?” (Why are you giving drinks to the mice?)

4. Hungarians don’t call you “useless.”

They say “Kevés vagy, mint mackósajtban a brummogás.” (You’re as little as the roaring in a Mackó cheese — this is a type of Hungarian cheese that has a small bear on its label.)

5. Hungarians don’t say “It’s not worth the effort.”

They say “Annyit ér, mint halottnak a csók.” (It’s worth as much as a kiss to a dead person.)

6. Hungarians don’t say “Far, far away.”

They say “Az Isten háta mögött.” (Behind God’s back.)

7. Hungarian guys don’t say to one another “That chick is a 10.”

They say “Az egy bombanő.” (That’s a bomb woman.)

8. A Hungarian won’t say “Once a thief, always a thief.”

He’ll say “Kutyaból nem lesz szalonna.” (You can’t make bacon out of a dog.)

9. Hungarians won’t say he’s “good-hearted.”

They’ll say “Kenyérre lehet kenni.” (You can spread him on bread.)

10. Hungarians don’t call you “gay.”

They call you “meleg” (warm).

11. In Hungarian you don’t say “Cool!”

You say “Tök jó!” (perfectly good!), “Zsir!” (Fat!), or “Király!” (King!)

12. Hungarians don’t yell “Hey, you’re blocking my view!”

They yell “Apád nem volt üveges!” (Your dad wasn’t a glassmaker! As in, you’re not transparent, so get out of the way.)

13. Hungarians don’t say “When pigs fly!”

They say “Majd ha piros hó esik!” (When red snow falls!)

14. Hungarians don’t ask “What the fuck are you doing?”

They ask “Mi a faszomat csinálsz?” (What my dick are you doing?)

15. Hungarians don’t say “It’s not as good as you think.”

They say “Nem kolbászból van a kerítés.” (The fence is not made from sausage.)

16. A Hungarian doesn’t say “You son of a bitch!”

He says “Te geci!” (You jizz!)

17. Hungarians don’t say “It’s all Greek to me.”

They say “Ez nekem kínai.” (It’s Chinese for me.)


i got asked by a lovely anon to do a masterlist of character labels – and so that’s just what i’m going to do today !! they will be sorted out by: personality, hobbies, lifestyle and misc. ( there’s a small description of each label ) PLEASE LIKE/REBLOG IF THIS IS HELPFUL

UPDATED: 02/06/17

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anonymous asked:

why do they call you scout the useless prophet?

because somehow, some way, i can predict the most ridiculous aspects of spn years in advance

these aren’t serious, major plot points that i work out. they’re the stupid little things that people tag as “#spn crack” and then they come true

for instance, the poop emoji being used in response to someone being upset. there’re more recent examples that i don’t have right off the top of my head, but i know others have pointed out

in season 11, however, the word “useless” was brought into question, as i’d basically worked up 3 years of what i believed chuck was going to be like when he came back


would you believe it

Anonymous said:

Gabriel would LOVE a fancy trumpet, though. A heavenly noisemaker? Just think of how annoying that could help him be!

but imagine with me:

you’re 8 years old. it’s christmas morning. you wake up a little late, along with your older sibling who’s, say, 14. under the tree there are two presents left. one that clearly looks like a sword, and a small box.

the box is labeled for you, the other for your older sibling. they unwrap what was clearly a kickass sword. eagerly, you open your own box.

inside is a toy trumpet you don’t know how to play and some socks

your dad claps you on the back and says “imagine the possibilities, kiddo!” and then turns to your older sibling and talks about how cool they are

and you’re just like


Award Rival

Group: BTS


Excerpt:  “ Y/N are you in a relationship with Min Yoongi from BTS? “

Genre: angst, BBMAs au

Length: 1k

A/N: <33

Originally posted by yoonseok

“Promise you will not talk to our rivals, no matter how hot they are.” Your leader whisper shouted before you walked on the red carpet of the billboard music awards. You cast a longing glance at the mysterious Korean band that were posing right in front of you.

They were just one of the few artist sand bands going against yours for the top social artist. And suddenly your eyes were glued to them as they joked around on the carpet, pulling weird poses and obviously enjoying themselves. You couldn’t help a grin spread over your face until someone slapped the back of your head and you looked back at your band, their arms crossed as they raised an unimpressed eyebrow at you. It seemed you had been caught.

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Birthday Wish (Thorin x Reader)

A/N: THIS IS A SPECIAL ONESHOT FOR THE BIRTHDAY OF @babybarrie​ !!! I know it was yesterday but I hope you will like this birthday one-shot anyway :D HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEAR!!

(Y/N) = Your Name

(Y/F/N) = Your Father Name

Fandom: The Hobbit (Alternative Universe because everyone is alive. Oh sweet denial…) 

Pairing: Thorin x Reader

Forever Tag List: @weirdnewbie @villainlove @fizzy-custard@fictionalquintessence-deactivat @ealasaid @xalexandriaxk@maidenadventure @sdavid09 @lainternettuale@deepestfirefun@shewalksinanotherworld @fangirl570 @tschrist1@babybarrie@fandomgalcentral @j25m18c24 @bbcrazypraise@tenthousandcolors@sesshomaru-lover @dreamingoftheza@fullvoidmoon

Birthday Wish (Thorin x Reader)

Originally posted by avengers-of-mirkwood

Rays of sunlight slowly pierced through the thin fabric of your bedroom’s curtains. The orangey light softly warming your cold skin up as you fluttered your eyes open. That was your favorite moment of the day; waking up after a night of dreamless sleep and feeling at peace because you could not yet remember all your problems. Life was perfect for thirty peaceful seconds. Until your brain fully awoke and threw you back in the harsh and painful reality of your life.

You sighed as you turned around to lay on your back, your blankets keeping you warm as the cold September wind raged outside. You loved those late September days, the heat of Summer days was finally gone and the cold started to spread in the air. Autumn was close and with it your mood enlightened. However, there was one day that needed to end before you could be truly happy and it was your birthday.

You close your eyes once again, not wanting to wake up but the sun had apparently decided otherwise. The light erupted entirely in your room, making it difficult to pretend being asleep. You groaned and threw the blankets away from your body before finally sitting up in your bed. Your eyelids hurt at the bright light around you and you covered your eyes with the palm of your hands. After a while, you finally got up to stretch your arms and back with a painful groan before padding away from your bed to gaze outside the window.

The sun was shining but small patches of frost covered the corners of your bedroom’s window, indicating that it had already been freezing last night. You gazed outside for a while, observing the parked cars in your street, covered with frost. You observed the leaves already falling down the huge oak in your front garden and a weird feeling of peace spread in your heart. Your eyes flickered to your mailbox, observing the small red flag with a frown. It was 6 in the morning; how could you already have mails? Your curiosity slowly crept in your brain, washing all trace of laziness and melancholia from your heart and suddenly you were walking down the stairs and went out of your house in only your pajama shorts and t-shirt, your feet padding quickly on the cold grass of your garden.

You knew that deep down, your heart hoped that your family remembered your birthday. Maybe it was a letter from your brother, the one who was away on a mission for your country. You hoped you could have some news from him but his squad had disappeared a year ago and your hope to see him again one day slowly started to fade. You reached your mailbox, your cheeks red because of the cold air hitting your skin and your feet already freezing. You reached out with a shaky hand and opened your mailbox, holding your breath.

“What is this?” You whispered to yourself as your eyes landed, not on a letter or a parcel, but on a shiny pendant.

The pendant was beautifully crafted, the precious dark translucid blue stone seemed to be a huge sapphire, embed into a crafted metal base. Runes in an unknown language circled the stone and reached the thick metal chain to which the pendant was attached. Your eyes landed on a small label also attached to the chain right next to the pendant and you frowned. Your hand slowly grabbed the pendant, your eyes observing it with curiosity and interest. After a while, you took the small label between your thumb and your forefinger and flipped it around. The paper was thick and yellowish, looking more like a piece of parchment than a real piece of ripped paper. As you held the small label, a dark blue inscription appeared on it. You gasped and almost let go of the pendant in surprise but your curiosity once again prevailed over your fear. The inscription was easy to read, even if it was small, it was written in a long and elegant handwriting. One that seemed too regular to be real. Your eyes trailed over the small label as you read the inscription, a quiet chuckle escaping your lips as you read it for the second time.

“Hold me tight and make a wish.” You read out loud as you chuckled once again. You wondered if it was a joke, maybe even a prank from your young neighbors but the rich pendant seemed weirdly real. You sighed as you flipped the pendant in your hand, shaking your head at how surreal it all seemed.

“I have nothing to lose, right?” You wondered out loud, your eyes observing the pendant. Then you closed your hand over the precious stone to hold it tight, you placed your hand over your heart and closed your eyes.

“Take me far away.” You thought. “Take me far away from here.”

You waited several seconds in that position, waiting for something to happen. You opened your eyes after a while and dropped your arm to your side, disappointment already gripping your heart. You sighed and glanced at the pendant but suddenly, the air around you started to move. Small patches of frost raised from the grass and levitated in the air around you. You looked around in confusion but everything seemed blurred, the frost started to swirl rapidly around you and your eyes started to close. Your eyelids felt heavy and before you could process what was happening, sleep took over you.


Your eyes fluttered open as you slowly regained consciousness. At first, your entire body hurt and you didn’t want to move. However, the cold stone you were laying on started to burn your skin, pushing you to get up. You opened your eyes as you sat up and frowned at what you saw. You were in the middle of a huge room, entirely crafted in stone. You were surrounded by huge and beautiful stone pillars, huge alcoves supporting the heavy dark stone and archway. The room was partly dived into darkness, the dim light of several lanterns not enough to move freely in this unknown place. Your eyes kept observing the room, shifting to look in front of you, where a stone throne laid on a pedestal.

“Where am I?” You breathed out, your eyes wide open with fear. You slowly got up on your wobbly legs, feeling suddenly weak in this huge and tall room. Your heart started to beat hard against your chest as you walked carefully around the room, anxiety gripping your lungs and making it hard to breathe.

“Hello?” You said out loud, your voice resonating deep into the room and past the throne. You cringed at the reverberation, scowling yourself for your stupid reaction.

You always thought it was stupid to call out for someone in an unknown place. You never know who could hear you. It was like in those horror movies, where the helpless girl walks into an unknown house, unarmed and asking if someone could hear her. The next scene you would see her dead or kidnapped by a psycho. You shook your head and tried to stop your imagination but it was too hard. You shook in fear as you walked up the stairs that led to the throne, not knowing where to go. You reached the huge royal seat quickly, wrapping your arms around your frail frame as you finally noticed that you were still wearing your pajama. Your feet started to freeze on the cold pavement and a gust of wind made you shiver.

“What are you doing here?” An angry voice suddenly said right behind you. You couldn’t help but yelp in surprise as you wiped around and jumped at the sudden voice. A man was standing before you, you couldn’t see him entirely in the darkness of the room but his eyes glowed with anger.

“Speak!” The deep baritone voice screamed, angrily. You jumped again and tried to run but a rough hand gripped your shoulder and pushed you roughly against the side of the throne. You let out a painful scream and tears started to brim in your eyes.

“Please…” Your weak, trembling voice pleaded. “Don’t hurt me.” You said, your tears now falling down your cheeks.

Your reaction seemed to affect the strong man because he let go of your shoulder and took a step backward. You heard him sigh then you saw him run his hand over his face. The man turned away and reached for a torch to the side of the pedestal then came back to stand in front of you. You looked up with glossy eyes, trying to wipe your tears as you pressed against the side of the throne but what you saw made your heart stop.

Before you stood a beautiful man, he looked strong and maybe dangerous but his face seemed to look at you with a mix of curiosity, wonder, guilt and softness. You gulped as you studied that man, his eyes were captivating, the deep blue color of his iris looking as beautiful as a cold lack, his long black wavy hair framed his face perfectly and complex braids could be seen on each side of his face. Patches of white strands scattered his beautiful mane, making him look even more attractive in your eyes. You blushed softly and looked down in embarrassment. The man seemed to observe you with as much interest, his eyes burning your skin as he took a step closer.

“What are you doing here, lass?” The man asked in a gentler voice, all trace of anger gone as he saw your shaking form and frail frame.

“I… I’m lost.” You answered just above a whisper. The man hummed as he seemed to process your answer in his brain.

“Why are you dressed… like that?” He asked, his eyes landing on your bare legs and arms. You didn’t know it, but he was blushing deeply at the sight of your smooth skin.

“I…” You didn’t know how to explain what happened to you, maybe because you didn’t know what truly happened yourself. “I don’t know.” You chose to answer, keeping your voice quiet. The man hummed again, watching you.

“You don’t know…” He repeated, pensively. You shook your head but a new hard shiver ran down your body as the cold gripped your entire being.

“Where am I?” You asked, looking around the room. The man frowned but answered anyway.

“You are in the throne room of Erebor.” His deep and gentle voice answered.

“Erebor?” You asked.

“Yes.” The man said. “Do you know who I am?” You stared at him for several seconds then shook your head ‘no’.

“I’m afraid I don’t, Sir. I’m sorry.” You answered, feeling weirdly ashamed. The man smiled softly at you then shook his head.

“There’s no need to apologize, lass.” The man shifted the torch in his hand. “I’m Thorin Oakenshield. Son of Thrain, Son of Thror.” The man introduced himself then bowed before you. His behavior was odd to you but you liked his manners.

“I’m (Y/N). Hm… Daughter of… (Y/F/N).” You answered with hesitation. You tried to bow but Thorin suddenly moved forward and took you hand in his, making you jump. He stared at you then softly kissed your knuckles, his calloused thumb softly brushing your skin. You blushed and looked away in embarrassment.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, (Y/N) Daughter of (Y/F/N).” Thorin released your hand but smiled at you. “What is a daughter of men doing in my kingdom, alone at night?” He asked with an amused smirk.

“Your… kingdom?” You asked in shock.

“Yes, miss (Y/N). You are in the Lonely Mountain, greatest dwarf kingdom in all Middle-Earth.” Thorin explained proudly.

“Dwarf kingdom? Middle-Earth?” You asked, feeling lost and suddenly dizzy.

“Are you alright?” Thorin asked, stepping closer in case you fainted.

“You are a king?” You asked, looking up at him. Thorin chuckled and nodded his head. You suddenly hid your face into your hands and started to cry.

You didn’t know where you were, you were lost and maybe not even in your own world but it seemed impossible for your brain to process. Your breathing was irregular and your head span as you sobbed into your hands but you gasped as you felt two strong arms wrap around you and hug you tight against a warm chest. You opened your eyes to see Thorin looking at you in concern, his arms keeping you close.

“Hush, lass. Please, don’t cry.” He tried to comfort you, his right hand reaching to cup your cheek and his thumb wiping your tears away. You didn’t know the man but his voice and the feeling of his body made you feel safe. “I’m sorry if I scared you earlier, I have to control my temper but I won’t hurt you. I promise.” He whispered softly.

You only reached the top of his chest, your head tucked under his chin and his beard tickling your forehead. His warmth was like a drug you couldn’t get enough of so you wrapped your arms around his waist and buried your face into his chest. Thorin caressed your head softly, keeping you close. He ran his fingers through your hair, trying to calm you down. His heart clenched as he felt your small body against his, your hair was soft against his rough hand and a foreign feeling pushed him to protect you and keep you safe. You were a stranger, and a strange one in addition. You wore foreign clothes, you acted oddly, you looked like a daughter of men but you were as small as a hobbit but the dwarf king couldn’t help but think that you had been sent by Mahal himself. You were the most beautiful creature Thorin had laid his eyes upon. He couldn’t believe that it was real. Maybe he was dreaming and you would only remain an unreachable fantasy but your small hands gripping his coat, and your cold cheeks pressed against his chest seemed oddly real.

“Come, you need to sit down.” Thorin said as he carried you in front of the throne and made you sit on the cold stone. The dwarf then shrugged his fur coat off and wrapped it around you. You smiled weakly and thanked him as you wrapped the warm coat tighter around your shoulders.

“You have to tell me how you ended up in the middle of the throne room, lass.” Thorin stated, crouching in front of you as he grabbed your hands into his warm ones.

“You won’t trust me.” You answered, shaking your head and looking down. Thorin softly reached for your chin and pushed your face up with his thumb and his forefinger.

“I will.” He simply said, his voice laced with comprehension. You sighed then stared into his deep blue eyes and nodded your head.

“All right.” You muttered then Thorin did something that surprised you, he got up and pulled you into his arms before sitting on the throne with you on his lap and his arms around your body. You blushed but didn’t complain as you felt his warmth spread on your skin.

You started to explain everything; how you found the pendant in your mailbox, how it was supposed to be your birthday, how you actually lived in another world… You told him everything and during your explanation, Thorin kept quiet. He listened to you with care and interest, as if you were the only person alive in the world.

“You said a sapphire necklace, with runes?” Thorin asked when you finished your tale.

“Yes…” You answered, feeling suddenly tired, the repercussion of the stress finally hitting you.

“Can I see it?” Thorin asked, brushing his fingers over the skin of your arms. You reached in your shorts pocket and lifted the pendant on your lap, feeling extremely tired.

Thorin’s eyes widen as he saw the necklace, he took it in his hand and observed it. The dwarf King couldn’t understand how you had found his mother’s lost necklace but he knew that it was a sign. Thorin’s eyes fell on your sleepy face, tucked against his shoulder and he smiled lovingly.

“You should sleep, Ghivashel. You are safe here.” His deep voice rang in your ears as soft and gentle as a lullaby.

“But… I don’t want to leave.” You mumbled tiredly, afraid of falling asleep and waking up alone in your bed.

“You don’t have to leave if you don’t want to. I’ll keep you safe as long as I live.” Thorin whispered then laid a kiss on your forehead. “Sleep, my lost angle. I will be there when you’ll wake up.”

And with those final words, you let sleep take over your body, softly nested in the warm and protective embrace of Thorin.


Two silhouettes stood behind the pillars of the throne room. The dwarf lady smiled fondly as she saw her son cradling the young lady in his arms. He looked finally happy and the dwarf lady felt at peace. The man next to her smiled as well, watching Thorin as he held you close and your content smile. He nodded at the dwarf lady; it was time to go. The dwarrow dame wiped a happy tear away from her cheek and nodded her head back at the man then, after one last glance at her son she turned around to leave. The man followed her but before vanishing into thin air, he turned around and glanced at you one last time.

Happy birthday, little sister.” The man said, finally able to rest in peace.  

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xxx Lisy 

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