Another face appearing in Mark’s facecam, taunting smirk overlaying a clueless Mark, Jack disappearing in a cloud of static only to reappearing in.. Wade’s? But no, that’s not Jack… Bob frozen, picture distorted, Wade is GONE.
The screen goes black. You sit in shock.
The screen suddenly explodes with color and movement, voices through your headphones making you jump.
Holy. Shit. This edit consumed my brain. I’ve spent the last 3 days working on it, at all hours, and even had multiple dreams about working on it long after I want to sleep.
Also, excuse my questionable writing. I wanted this to be a gif but then I thought how cool it would be as a video edit. But after staring at Premiere Pro for about 5 hours, I fled back to the safety of Photoshop and made what you see now. A tiny bit of written narrative to make up for what’s missing with visual cues.
(Gifs take from: S̺͍͉͔͉̞̪Ḁ̸̰̮͝Y̶̪ ̳͇̭͍̥̭͉ͅG̕҉̡̦̲O̤̫͖͎̗͜͞ͅÒ̴̬̠̺̪̥͉̳͉̥͝D̨̺̦̯͙͙͔̯͚͠B̸̬̻̝͉͍̻̀͝Y҉̫̝̖̹̝̠͠E̲̩͟͝ͅ,
HORROR. and THE MYSTERIOUS SCREAMING TRASH CAN ¦ Prop Hunt #41)
OKAY, SO. LET’S HAVE
A TALK ABOUT HELGA HUFFLEPUFF. BECAUSE. I HAVE SO MANY THINGS TO SAY.
Here’s the thing; in my head, Helga Hufflepuff has always been a soldier. Yes, she’s kind
and fair, but she also knows when a good hex or a punch in the face is the only
solution. This does not happen often. She’s friendly and accepting and patient.
But when someone threatens her friends, or her family, or her students, that
someone better be prepared to have her wand aimed at them. Or better yet, a
sword. Use what you know and all that, and while she’s great with her hexes and
curses and even some charms used in a way her old mentor would definitely not
have approved of, there’s just something incredibly satisfying in meeting
someone sword to sword. She and Godric spars every now and then, though it’s
clear he’s more of a dueler than a soldier. But Helga. Helga joined the war
when she was 15, and she never regretted it. It was grueling, and it was painful,
and she watched so many of her companions fall. But she joined for a reason –
to protect (her family, her little nephews and nieces and all the children of
her village) and to, one day, try and change the world enough that war wouldn’t
be necessary. She fought for years, rising in rank as fewer and fewer of her
friends were left, and she refused to give up. This was for the children. This
was for the future.
was 23, she became general. And at 24, the war finally ended. And then she had
to find something else to do.
back to her village, to the little houses and fields and her family. And for a
while she was content, but not for long. She wanted to do something, because that was the reason she joined the war in the
first place. For change. She wanted peace, and quiet, and a place to call home.
But when she had it, she realized she only knew how to fight. And she was not
going to accept that.
She went to
find her old mentor, an aging wizard who kept forgetting his wand in odd places
but who also knew a lot of spells and had more magical books than she had seen
anywhere else in her life (later, when she met Rowena Ravenclaw and saw her
collection, she would stare at it for ten minutes and then just go “nope” and
walk out of the room). She asked him to teach her as much as he could. What he’d
taught her before she left for the army was useful, but if she was gonna change
the world she needed more.
to her, listened to her reasons and her dreams and then he sat her down with a
cup of tea and started talking about magical theory. Most of her went over her
head. She listened anyway. And she kept
coming back. And when she realized how many children he’d helped out through
the years (her among them), she asked him about that. He started spouting even more magical theory. And she kept
listening. And when it was over and he said he couldn’t teach her anymore, she
knew more about accidental magic and magical cores than she thought possible.
And she was satisfied, because this
was what she needed to know. Something that could help. Something that could
change a life, or two, or a hundred, if you only had the people to teach it to.
This was for the children. This was for the future.
she met two wizards and a witch, constantly bickering and joking and everything
in between. And the wanted to start a magic school. Of course she went with them. It was the purpose she had been looking
for. It was a way to do what she’d always dreamt of.
started planning how to do it, and moved into Godric’s family castle up in
Scotland. As they decided to split the students into four groups, Helga started
to get irritated. She had spent half her life fighting a war, she knew that you
couldn’t always get the brave or the smart or the cunning. You had to use the
resources that were available. Anyone
could become a good soldier (or student, she supposed) if they were trained
She was a general, and she’d take anyone who wanted to learn. She was
a soldier, and she’d take anyone who would work hard, because that’s all you
need to change the world. She was a 15 year old girl who joined the army, and
she remembered what it was like when people judged you for your bravery, for
your intelligence, for your strength. She was a 26 year old veteran, and she
would punch anyone who said you couldn’t learn because of something as stupid
as who you are. In the face. They’d
deserve it, for implying that her students weren’t good enough.
@egdramaqueen I said it “needs a bit of polishing” which apparently means I sit here and write another 700 words into it in less than an hour, so here it is. I finished it.
Why isn’t everyone talking about how in the beginning of the story Jack sings that in Santa Fe, “your friends are more like family - and they’s begging you to stay” and at the end of the story HIS FRIENDS ARE MORE LIKE FAMILY AND THEY’S BEGGING HIM TO STAY
a/n : it’s finally here! lol. anyways I hope you like it, this is kind of my first official mature writing, so it’ll most likely be trash™ but for now please enjoy :-)
word count : 1.4k
The club reeked of the strong stench of alcohol that made your nose scrunch up in distaste, crinkling even more as you saw a girl throw up in the corner of the dancer floor as you quicken your stride to the bar that was just within reach.
You finally reach your destination, glad that there was an empty seat. You sigh to yourself after telling the bartender your order, glad to have found somewhere to take as much of a breather one could in a club, you supposed.
You had lost the two friends you had originally come with, almost immediately stuck between the many sweaty and drunk bodies throughout the club. They had probably left assuming you could handle yourself, seeking out their own eye candy and possible lover for the night. Another sigh leaves you as you feel boredom wash over you. You could have been eating as much food as you wanted laying down on your couch at home, but alas, you had agreed to go out, so you couldn’t really put all the blame on your friends.
I was watching Frequency (the TV show, not the movie, but same premise) and thinking that if there’s not already a Steve/Bucky Frequency AU, there really, really should be.
Something along the lines of:
Tony gives Steve the radio when he passes back through New York, because Pepper’s been advocating “thoughtful gifting,” (by which she means “gifts you don’t memo me to choose, buy and wrap, Tony, I’m not your PA,”) and because Bruce found it when they were clearing out the lab after a particularly virulent acid infestation. (Combining acids and single-celled - more like single-minded - organisms may not have been their best idea.)
Anyway, Tony lugs the radio out for Steve, dusts it off and checks that it still works, then hands it over. “Dad always said he built this for the war,” Tony tells Steve, patting the enormous box fondly on its side, rubbing the crayon formula for creating a more efficient receiver he’d doodled on the radio when he was five. “Maybe you can use it to communicate with other Great War veterans trapped in the past, reliving their golden years.”
(It’s possible, given Steve’s blank face and the tic in his jaw, that Bruce was right and Tony should have stuck with a duller, more impersonal speech, such as “Here, I thought you might like this. You’re welcome.”)
Steve takes the radio to DC. He sets it up in the spare room, remembers Howard tinkering with a mass of wires and tubes in the London bunker surrounded by the smell of singed hair and musty concrete damp. Remembers Dum Dum complaining about carrying the damn thing out of airplanes and up mountains, Gabe bent over it and radioing in their position from a mountaintop in the Alps. Remembers sliding down an icy cable; remembers the train.
He turns the radio on at two am, because it’s either that or sleep, and at least the radio won’t leave him hoarse and shivering, knuckles bruised where he’s flung his hand out over the side of the bed and slammed into the hardwood floor.
The radio hisses and hums, buzzes disconcertingly for a minute before giving way to a burst of static and a man’s urgent voice.
“Howie? Howie, you asshole, if you hung up on me to make time with Laura again, I will crush your balls in a goddamn vise. Howie?”
“Sorry,” Steve says, gripping the table, because maybe Tony’s right, that voice does sound trapped in time, the cadence of it nothing like the world’s voice in 2012. “I think you’re on the wrong channel. This is Steve.”
“Steve?” the voice responds, after a moment, sounding far more irritated than Steve figures is fair, since he’s not the one castigating an absent Howie. “Steve, you punk, you’re supposed to be debriefing Carter, not fucking around on the radio! Howie’s never going to be able to meet the train tomorrow if you don’t let me tell him our coordinates.”
Steve shoves the radio away, pushes his chair backwards and nearly tumbles onto the floor. One of Tony’s pranks, he thinks, frantically checking for wires or cameras or anything that might be plastered with Tony Stark’s patented smirk, but there’s nothing there, and pretending to be Steve’s dead best friend isn’t really Tony’s style.
“… Bucky?” he finally whispers, creeping back toward the radio, hovering over it, afraid if he touches it all this will somehow disappear. Afraid to hit the switch and wake up to the buzz of his alarm.
“Were you expecting the Pope?” Bucky snaps, and Steve needs to sit down, tries to drop into the chair he’d shoved across the room and winds up collapsing onto the varnished, bruising wood of the floor.
(”Don’t go,” Steve begs, once they’ve exchanged skepticism for disbelief for shock. “Don’t go on that train - tell me no, tomorrow. Tell me you can’t.” But there’s always a price to pay in the future, when you change the past.)
the fact that the nimrod logo is a circle makes life really difficult for me because i want SO MUCH NIMROD MERCHANDISE. nimrod clock, nimrod pillow, nimrod rug, nimrod frisbee, nimrod plate, the nimrod logo printed on a nimrod record, nimrod coaster, everything that is circle must be nimrod
Wow i can’t believe this :O Thank you guys so much for following me and for loving my blog! It means a lot to me ^_^ I made this blog like 1 month ago just because i wanted to fangirl the hell out of me without being judged, so making BTS dedicated blog was my only option ^_^ I started my blog with this post, that actually happened and i found it hilarious and wanted to share it with people who liked BTS and would find it funny too, i never thought that so many people would like and follow my blog. I’m really happy and thankful! ^_^
So since i reached 1K i decided to do my first follow forever! *-* I found so many amazing blogs, so many amazing people who really love and appreciate that bunch of “boyfriend material” boys that we call BTS ^_^