SHE’S STILL MAKING PROFIT OFF OF A 34 DAY RELATIONSHIP THAT WAS 5 YEARS AGO AND SHES STILL MAKING REFERENCES ABOUT BEING HIS GIRLFRIEND AND PAINTING HIM IN A TERRIBLE LIGHT EVEN THOUGH SHE WAS HIS BEARD SHE’S LITERALLY MAKING PROFIT OFF HARRY’S CLOSET HWO DOES SHE STILL HAVE FANS HOW DO PEOEPL STILL RESPECT HER SHES SO DISGUSTING IM MAD
03.30.17 // i found these pics on my laptop and thought i’d post them (look at me trying to be all arsty with my close up of clovers lmao) honestly, this really makes me miss genetics ;; but i think neurology is the right path for me :))
I’m not sure about you, but this happens to me and my wife at literally every event we go to. The number of times I have gone to a work event with a delicious steak dinner, only to be told they’ve prepared a special vegetarian dinner… It’s enough to make you cry. Totally cool if you are vegetarian, it’s just really weird that all the lesbians are just assumed to be vegetarian. Why is that a thing?
Sometimes I struggle with Kilo looking overweight in his photos. He’s in really good shape, but doesn’t have a tucked up tummy unless he’s running. I don’t know if it’s cause he’s neutered, and/or his general conformation but oh well. I’ve been really pleased with his fitness levels lately though; he’s put on a lot of muscle and comes on two rides a day with my horses and he always manages to stay ahead no matter how fast we go.
A/n: HAPPY 20TH HARRY POTTER! I’m so glad i’m in this fandom, everything about it is just so… Magical. I made this fic just for today, and let’s just say i’m really proud, so i hope you like!! Have an amazing day Hogwarts students. <3
You loved your job more than anything. It was meant for you. It was hard to describe, but there was a certain liveliness to our kind of bars. Each night that you walked in, it seemed like the air changed, that the world you once were in just seconds ago disappeared. Wizard bars were so much different, and so much better.
There were so many things you could call your favorite, but that would just be unfair, wouldn’t it? The lights that floated in the air like stars. The music that seemed to be on an endless loop, but never tiring. The glasses which flew from the shelves onto the counter, and the drinks that did the same.
Then the people. The true hit or missers.
Each person, amazing and unique, annoying and sloppy. Just as people are.
Oh yes, they had to be your favorite.
You knew people from the instant they walked in, and sometimes you could even tell their backstory from a glance (Only with the obvious ones). Along with that, you also learned fast to remember faces, but more importantly, faces that showed up regularly. You wouldn’t lie - you liked some more than others, but for a good reason. Just because you liked people in general doesn’t mean you had to like all of them.
But one particular person really piqued your interest, a man named Sirius. Sirius Black. You knew the last name, of course - it was a household name, one of the most famous Pure Blood families. From what you’d heard, he was an arrogant prick who went through women fast, but from what you saw, he seemed to be a nice guy, with more to him than a name.
He would come in at 1am, hair slightly messy, but in a rugged way more than a wind tunnel look. Flirt with a few people, get a few drinks, and sit there, admiring the beauty of the place. Sometimes, if he’d had enough drinks, he’d talk to you, asking an endless amount of questions. You knew his trick - for every five regular questions, he’d ask a personal one, but the thing was… you didn’t mind.
If he got through as many questions as he’d planned, and the bar was still not closed, he would talk about himself. He didn’t reveal much, though, just little things he probably thought you’d forget.
Why? You suspected that the bar was someplace for him to relax, somewhere that he could be someone else. But it was none of your business (but you sure as hell wanted it to be).
He wouldn’t leave until you told him it was closing (admittedly a few minutes after you really should have). You saw the slight disappointment in his almost constant smirk when he left, and you weren’t sure why exactly he felt that way, but you never asked.
This night seemed to be a change though - you could tell by the way he held himself, tired, but trying to pick himself up. (Terrible day.) Even though the lights were dim, you could see darker bags under his eyes than usual. (Less sleep than usual.)
He slid onto one of the seats, his dark eyes practically glued to the countertop.
“Stronger than the usual?” you asked, giving him a comforting smile you’d learned to perfect awhile ago.
“Sounds good to me,” Sirius said, his voice slightly lower and gruff. (Yelling? Maybe he just hasn’t spoken yet today.)
You nodded, letting a shot glass from below fly onto the counter and fill itself to the brim. You stared at it with narrow eyes. You thought you had mastered the perfect amount of drink, but apparently not. It slowly unfilled itself by the smallest bit, making it so it wouldn’t spill if picked up. You huffed in satisfaction.
You sat there in some silence, music humming in the background. Though it was loud, you had become so used to it by now that it seemed like white noise.
“Rough night?” you asked once again. This had to be a record amount of times you’ve asked him things.
“You can say that.” He slid his now empty glass over, nodding for it to be refilled.
“You’re giving me a hard time getting things out of you, hon,” you joked, and he let out a breathy laugh, his smile slowly getting wider. His eyes wandered to you, looking at you with a curious… something.
“You seem to care more about me than a normal bartender should,” he said, a little more of a question than a statement. It took you aback.
“Well…” You weren’t paying attention to the overflowing shot glass, which was threatening to spill over the counter. “Shit…”
You quickly gave the glass the dirty eye, making it remove all of the contents so fast it almost tipped itself over. You picked up a rag and wiped up all the remaining mess, without magic, since apparently it had been failing you.
‘I’m so sorry, let me get you another one.” You squeezed your eyes tightly, letting out a sigh as you turned around so he couldn’t see you, and grabbed the drink from above. (Why were you so nervous? It was just flirting, if you could call it that. People did it all the damn time. Pull yourself together.)
“It’s okay, love. Really. Simple mistake.” He was still looking at you with that smile, the one you couldn’t quite read, that confused you very deeply.
Some more silence filled you, but only for moments.
“Has anyone ever asked you out during work?” Sirius tilted his head slightly, strands of his hair falling onto his face.
“Yes,” you answered simply. You knew where it was going - the problem was if you liked it or not. You had a feeling it was the former. Okay, you knew.
“Has it ever worked?” You chuckled, a slight blush painting your cheeks dusty pink. “Not even close.”
“Could it ever work?” He was getting just a tad bit antsy, which surprised you. People like him didn’t get antsy, they knew exactly how to charm. And you had seen him do it perfectly. What was different this time?
“Only if the right person came ‘round, sir.”
“What are you doing after you get out?”
“Probably sleep, but I can miss that…” He smiled wildly, shooting you a wink.
Fandom racism and hypocrisy are really the same everywhere… like, they pretend to not like a character of colour because his personnality/origin story/storyline are boring, but then they go around and give their asshole white fave all of the characteristics of the aforementioned character of colour… like, what is the truth ?
In the Teen Wolf fandom people go on and on about how boring and uninteresting Scott (a brown latino) is, but in the vast majority of TW fics they give Stiles (your basic white asshole) Scott’s personality and journey. Suddenly Stiles becomes kind, generous, sweet, he’s the Real True Alpha, the glue that sticks the pack together - even though in canon these are Scott’s characteristics. And suddenly when these traits apply to Stiles it isn’t boring at all anymore. You wouldn’t believe the amount of Alpha!Stiles and “pack mom” Stiles (also kudos for forcing heteronormative gender roles on Stiles for the sake of your white ship) fanfics that exist out there.
And now it’s the same thing in the TFA fandom. Racists keep saying that Finn is boring, bland, uninteresting, meanwhile Kylo is tortured!! complex!! dark and gritty!! (even though Finn’s backstory is way darker and more tortured than Kylo’s) And now Kylo stans are starting to take Finn’s characteristics, backstory and journey away from him to give them to Kylo. “What if Kylo were taken from Han and Leia as a baby and raised as a stormtrooper ! And when years later he finds his parents he comes back to the light ! Because even though he was raised in a terrible environment he didn’t become a monster ! Can you imagine that ??”
………..Yes my dude, i can, there’s already a character like this and his name is Finn, but you hate him because you find him “boring”. Suddenly everything that makes Finn “boring” becomes interesting when it’s applied to a white man. Hmmmmm, what’s it called again ? oh yeah, RACISM.
Content: On the streets, the immediate aftermath of the Archdemon’s death. Zevran grieves already as he chases the remaining darkspawn out of Denerime, until… Content warning: mature, gore Author’s notes: this fic will be a part of a multi-chapter fic later, and in a heavily revised form, because I was completely hammered while I wrote this on two different days. It is unbelievably bad prose. But I had a (gargle)blast writing it, and thus I will show you this thing that embarrasses and makes me proud at the same time. Don’t kill me guys. Link: AO3 ————————
could vomit at the sight of him. The Warden’s face was black and
blue, once fair and fine-boned, now blue, black, split open and
swollen. Who could lay a hand on such beauty? But there he stood,
hunched over, leaning on his staff with the ochre robes become that
grotesque red. The dying red.
came down as soon as I could,
Leandaros began, limping closer, eyes wide and full of apology, but
stopped in his tracks.
stared at him, mouth slack, eyes unseeing as if he was still blinded
by the flash in the sky that had marked the death of the Archdemon.
Demetri Volturi imagine requested by anon! “Can u do a demetri volturi imagine where like ur a human and u guys r playing hide and seek and he is like showing off cause of his gift but then u r captured by the Romanians and like he comes and goes u at the exact moment they bite u and then u start to turn. And ur like crying and scare and it’s overall really fluffy plz!” Hope you like it!
“Trust me, love, there’s nowhere you could run where I would not find you,” he whispered, his lips brushing against the cartilage of your ear before ducking to the sun-kissed skin of your neck, the fractals erupting from his skin visible even though he stood behind you. You melted into his touch, his nose tracing along your neck until he encountered your jaw, your head tilting easily under his direction, his mouth pressing sweet kisses to the corner of your own lips. He inhaled the scent of your skin deeply, as if torturing himself with the perfume of your blood were as casual a task as turning the page of a book, a soft, simple sound of contentment reverberating within his throat. “It’s in the scent of your blood, your hair… it’s the sound of your heartbeat as it bounces from the trees. It’s in the wind as it tangles with your blouse, it’s your voice stamped in time wherever you go. Even if I weren’t a tracker, which I am, you wouldn’t stand a chance, but especially because I’m a tracker, you’re lost entirely.” His arms wound easily around your waist, the chill of his skin against yours rivaling with the warmth of the sun as it shone down through the thick evergreens. When next he spoke, his voice was but a breath on the passing breeze. “But you can try.”
You twisted in his arms, bringing yourself face to face with all the beauty and glory that was Demetri, his crimson eyes glowing brightly as they reflected the sun’s rays. His cheekbones were as crisp and radiant as the serrated edges of broken diamond, the sharp lines of his jaw casting shadow where so much light was multiplied by the facets of his immortal flesh. His lips were upturned in a victorious grin, the certainty of his impending success illuminating his features from the inside out. You reached a hand for his cheek, watching happily as he leaned toward your palm, resting his face in the curve of your hand. Your thumb stroked over the planes of his cheekbone, his eyes closing in bliss. His nose angled toward your wrist, inhaling quietly, the sound of his action not lost in so quiet a forest. He exhaled an almost pained breath, his eyelids flickering open slowly.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, breathing you in once more. “Sometimes I simply can’t help myself…” You wrenched your hand away, though not in offense, your fingers shifting to close over his eyes, his smile spreading at your movement. He chuckled aloud, his arms falling limply to his sides in a most defeated stance, his head shaking at your attempts to blind him in the upcoming chase.
“You’re gonna hold your breath, too,” you commanded, your voice stern in its near silence, your hands falling to rest against the hardened muscles of his chest, his strength tangible through the thin fabric of his linen shirt. His eyes remained closed, his smile unmoving. “Promise me,” you breathed, your lips perched mere centimeters from his own. His features took on a serious tone, his lips thinning as he regained his composure.
“I promise. That’s not going to help you, though, love,” he countered, his voice severe, trying to frighten you out of your request to see his tracking sense at work. If his eyes and his lifestyle hadn’t done the trick by now, you weren’t going to budge, and he should know that. “I track relationships. The more intense the connection, the easier it is to find someone. Unfortunately for you…” his hands lifted to trap you against his chest, his eyes opening to devour your face. “That means you’re never going to win. I love you. It’s hopeless.” You rolled your eyes, pecking his lips and closing his eyelids with the pads of your fingertips. “It’s not going to work,” he tried, his voice lilting as you stepped away from him, turning your back on the vampire and racing off into the thickness of the Romanian forest. If he had to drag himself to test the edges of the Volturi’s territories, you’d be damned if you didn’t make it an interesting experience for the both of you. You ducked beneath the branches of great pines, your hands trailing along the needles in passing. You glanced back to catch a glimpse of the glittering statue you had left behind, finding empty forest where he had stood instead. You exhaled a quiet chuckle. Of course he would. From what you remembered of his stories, this was by far his favourite game.
You tread lightly on the uneven forest floor, stepping cautiously over fallen tree limbs, your balance supported by the thick trunks around you. The sunlight shone in patches on the earth, illuminated vibrant emeralds and rich chocolates, your skin warming noticeably with each straying beam of light. You paused, your spine pressed firmly against the rough bark of a crisp evergreen, your breath halting in your chest. You listened intently for any telltale signs of his approach, your ears straining against the calls of birds deep in the forest and the rustle of the wind through the branches. You continued on, reminding yourself of his impossible silence, your pace increasing as you struggled to create distance between yourself and the plot of moss where you’d last seen Demetri. You carried on in this fashion for about ten minutes, your balance wavering as you crossed a particularly dense stretch of protruding rocks and rain-soggy chunks of dead wood, before he made his presence known. Something flashed in the corner of your eye, disappearing by the time you’d turned to investigate. A smile played across your lips, your eyes flashing to the shadows of the woods around you, awaiting his next show of inhuman talent. You turned your head and found his lips waiting for you, his smile obvious even with his mouth otherwise occupied, his palms inching along your neck until they cradled your face. You pulled away, his hands falling to your waist, crimson eyes shouting songs of victory.
“Hello again, lover,” he mumbled, his voice lilting musically as you pouted, defeat written on your every feature. His fingers spread along your hips, inching your body ever closer to his own, one hand reaching upward to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, though not before he took an inconspicuous whiff. He laughed when you accused him of following your scent, his eyes rolling at the very thought of his unsportsmanlike cheating. “Nonsense, Y/n. I was behind you the entire time.” You moved to slap at his chest, his hand closing around yours before you had the chance to make contact. He held your palm to his chest, as if to feel for a heartbeat that no longer pounded behind his ribs, his smile loving. “Alright, alright,” he laughed, his eyes crinkling at the edges with glee. “We’ll try again. No more tricks, I promise. Not that it makes a difference at the end of the day.” He brought his lips to the backside of your hand, pressing an icy kiss to your skin, his fingertips trailing along the curve of your cheekbone before he stepped backward. “I’ll run forty kilometers west, turn myself around, the whole charade. We can go from there, I suppose. Might catch a quick snack on the way back…” you shot him a stern look, his hands raised in defense. “Only kidding, love. See you soon,” he chuckled, ghosting out of sight before your all too slow human eyes. You set another trail, stumbling through the forest over the coarsest paths you could engineer, hoping to lose him with the unlikelihood of your choosing such a difficult route.
Another many handfuls of minutes passes as you trekked through the wilderness, occasionally stopping to scan your perimeters, looking for the catch of light against Demetri’s olive-toned skin or a flash of blinding white fabric before his arms shot out and ensnared you once more. The forest was quiet, the birds choosing to steer clear of the vampires in the area, perhaps hearing vulgar rumours of the members of Demetri’s species who feasted on rabbits and other woodland-dwelling creatures. You couldn’t figure out if they were avoiding you due to your association or if Demetri was lingering mere meters behind you, laughing quietly to himself at your determination to lose him in the forest. A flash of black spun your focus to the edge of the sunlight, your brow furrowing at what you thought you had seen. Demetri was wearing white, if you recalled correctly, and unless he had thrown his Volturi cloak over his shirt… you must have been mistaken. You continued forward, your ears perked for the slightest shift in sound that might herald his approach. Instead, you were met with an unfamiliar voice speaking unfamiliar words, thick with an accent you placed instantly as Romanian.
“Bună, fată frumoasă,” the voice sang, your attention drawn to the dark features of the crimson-eyed addition to your hiking party. His hair was shorn short, his skin pallid and clear, occasionally sparkling as the tree branches shifted overhead and the sunlight struck his jaw. You staggered backwards, catching yourself against a hardness you knew all too well. You spun, reeling away from the second vampire, his hair nearly silver in its lightness, his eyes a bright and terrible ruby. They both wore friendly smiles, though you knew from the tales Demetri had spun in Volterra that the Romanians were a most vengeful group of vampires. They were no friends to the Italians, and henceforth no friends to you.
“Jucărie timorat,” the silver vampire laughed, reaching his hand forward to stroke your face, your skin crawling at the contact, your body backing away of its own accord. “She is so shy, Constantin. A timid plaything for the gunoi italiană. I would never have thought that a guard like him would pick a mate so… quiet.” Your cheeks blazed warmly as the severity of your predicament fell heavily on your shoulders. These men had been following you long enough to know you were traveling with Demetri, a Volturi guard. You were aware enough to recognize the word Italian, if nothing else. You were positive they held the grudge of their kingdom’s collapse like a badge on their sleeves, and they would no doubt strike the Volturi wherever they could. “And yet she is încă uman… still human.” Your throat closed as he chuckled to himself, his eyes dropping to your throat, his tongue working over his lips conspicuously.
“Ah, but for how much longer, Teodor? Why would that gunoi italiană, that scum, wish to keep our young friend human?” The immortal man with the dark hair stepped forward, his fingers snagging a strand of your hair, lifting it to rest beneath his nostrils, working the softened locks between the pads of his fingers. “There must be a reason, nu?” You fidgeted away from their attentions, stumbling backwards against the stones and twigs that lay in precarious heaps at your feet. You cursed yourself internally for deciding on such an impossible route. Your prospects for escape were truly lacking. “Rușine, Teodor! We have scared our precious friend. Tell us, girl, why the italiană you travel with has not yet bitten you?” You fought for control over your vocal chords, the tone emerging from between your lips wavering and timid.
“I- I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you stammered, their faces, twin masks of dangerous intent, unchanging as you spoke. “I’m traveling alone. I’m by my-myself.” The silver man tsked under his breath, shaking a finger in your direction, taking a pointed step towards you. It did not go unnoticed that he was unhindered by the difficult terrain.
“Acuma, fată, now is not a time for tricks. You know of what we are. Your
italiană does not want you to be joining him?” You did not respond, could not respond. Your every move was being monitored, down to the erratic pounding of your heart against your chest to your shallow intakes of breath. The silvery vampire nodded to himself, his smile growing wider. “Da, this is the reason. It is always this way. But you see, fată, that yours destroyed what once we had. This cannot go without a punishing.” He stepped closer to you, faster now. His dark companion donned a sinister grin. “Come to me, girl, and let us help your gunoi italiană.” You knew nothing more than your desire to escape. You turned on your heel and began to run from the twin demons, part of you understanding your life was over, the other fighting desperately against the knowledge that you could never free yourself from the danger you’d turned your back on. A pair of perfectly aligned razors melted into the skin of your neck in the same instant two iron rods locked around your chest, hugging you to immobility against the Romanian’s chest. You cried out at the onset of pain the breaking of skin had created, your scream altering as it pierced the air to vocalize the unimaginable acid that now coursed through your veins. You cried wordlessly, you cried names, you cried for salvation, your every sound falling on deaf ears as your blood flowed freely into your attacker’s mouth. Another pair of teeth sunk into the flesh of your hand, adding intensity to the fire as more venom infiltrated your bloodstream.
Your world went hazy around the edges, the agony blazing beneath your skin keeping you conscious, your veins drying as the hostile vampires drained your body of blood.
Blindly, your thoughts fell to Demetri, somewhere searching for you, abandoning all tricks and gimmicks to create an equal hunt. He would not smell your blood, nor would be smell the strangers leeching the life from your body.
Just as quickly as it had begun, the two were separated from your body, their venom mingling inside your tissues. Through bleary eyes, you watched the silver-haired vampire wipe at the corner of his mouth with the backside of his hand, grinning kindly at your crumbled body where it lay against the forest floor.
“Send our love to your Volturi scum,” he hissed, his body vanishing from sight. You were in awe that you had managed to hear him over the shrieks ripping through your body. In a matter of seconds, you had been brought within an inch of your life, your heart thumping wildly within your chest. You called for Demetri, hoping blindly that he would abandon the game you had insisted so fervently on and rush to your side. It took him two laboured breaths to find you, his eyes alight with fear.
“Y/n, you’re… ” His fingertips touched to the edges of the wound now spilling blood from your neck. Quickly, as if unaffected by the perfume of your blood in the air, he was by your other side, his hands suspending yours between his own, pulling gently at the skin surrounding your second bite. You writhed beneath him, his hands holding fast to your shoulders, his nose lifted in the air, his jaw hardening. “Those Romanian bastards. Y/n, listen to me, you’re going to be alright. I’m going to suck the venom out.” You shrieked in protest, desperate to be free of the white-hot venom filtering through your body, but horrified at the prospect of having more of your blood forcibly removed from your body. His ear inclined toward your chest, his lips pursing with fury. “You’ve lost too much… you’ve lost too much blood. It would kill you. I can’t let that happen!” he lowered his face into your view once more, his hands spreading over your cheeks, holding your head in place as you lurched and arched beneath him. “It’s not supposed to happen like this. It’s supposed to be mine that turns you. Tell me now, do you want me to help you?” You screamed your reply, watching his face duck out of view, broken by agony, his breath coming in dry sobs. “I’m so sorry, love. Please, forgive me.”
Warnings: Game playing and a bunch of Dwarven buttheads.
Word count: 1,937
Chances are, had you known what he was saying to you, you would have come up with a fitting retort in a blink, but as it was, there was no way in creation that you could divine the meaning of word he used when referring to you. For weeks now, he has been calling you… well… you aren’t particularly sure, but you know it can’t be good if any combination of the Company chuckles every time he uses the word.
“But what does that mean?” you had implored of Fili not two days ago when you finally caved to the burning curiosity within you.
“What does what mean?” he had asked, though you were certain he had heard you perfectly.