the script is perfect

what if the space mall has a space cinema hence space actors hence space hollywood…

imagine lance getting casually casted on a movie cuz he gets noticed by a famous alien director and he’s ecstatic about it and is excited to meet his costars but the director is like “you.” (pointing at keith) “you’ll be his love interest for the movie. you’re perfect for my script”

and so keith and lance are forced to act in love for the sake of the movie but as time goes on, they don’t seem to be so reluctant and everybody wonders if it’s just…. “““acting”““

Is there anything more perfect though than knowing Aaron and Robert have kept their own surnames as far as the rest of the world is concerned.

But that they’ll spend the rest of their lives referring to each other as Mr Sugden and Mr Dingle behind closed doors?

The Scene™️️
  • Sherlock: Molly, please, without asking why, just say these words.
  • Molly: What words?
  • Sherlock: I.Love.You.
  • Molly: Leave me alone.
  • Sherlock: Molly, no, please, no! Don't hang up! Do not hang up!
  • Molly: Why are you doing this to me?! Why are you making fun of me?!
  • Sherlock: Please, I swear, you just have to listen to me. Molly, this is for a case. It's... it's a sort of experiment.
  • Molly: I'm not an experiment, Sherlock.
  • Sherlock: No, I know you're not an experiment, you're my friend. We're friends, but, please, just say those words for me.
  • Molly: Please don't do this. Just... just... don't do it.
  • Sherlock: It's very important. I can't say why. But I promise you, it is.
  • Molly: I can't say that, I can't... I can't say that to you.
  • Sherlock: Of course you can. Why can't you?
  • Molly: You know why.
  • Sherlock: No, I don't know why.
  • Molly: Of course you do.
  • Sherlock: Please, just say it.
  • Molly: I can't. Not to you.
  • Sherlock: Why?
  • Molly: Because... because it's true.
  • Because... it's true, Sherlock. It's always been true.
  • Sherlock: Well, if it's true, just say it anyway.
  • Molly: You bastard.
  • Sherlock: Say it anyway.
  • Molly: You say it. Go on. You say it first.
  • Sherlock: What?
  • Molly: Say it. Say it like you mean it.
  • Sherlock: I... I love you.
  • I love you.
  • Molly?
  • Molly please!
  • Molly: I love you.
once upon a potions class ♔ peter parker au

summary : the slow burn love story of hogwarts student peter parker and his (other) hufflepuff best friend, y/n y/l/n. 

author’s note : hahaha hi so no one asked for this but my heart yearned for it so here it is, hopefully gonna be a series bc i love hogwarts au peter xo

  If you want to get technical, really technical, it started in Potions class one fateful October afternoon, when the breeze of autumn swept over the castle grounds and the leaves were carried off the trees in a flurry of reds and oranges and yellows. The colors of the start of something, of a very endearing and otherwise unheard of beginning. In Peter’s eyes, however, it probably began much earlier than that, because it was already his fifth year at Hogwarts and he knows he knows he knows that he’s felt what he does for much longer than just an hour, a week, a month. 

    In actuality, the realization of such feelings was what really happened that day in class, not the start of the feelings themselves. The stunning realization that sent him staggering backward into Ned Leeds, tripping over his robes in a way that you had to find comical if you were standing there in the classroom when it happened, was what had truly transpired. Alas, that comes later. This is what comes before. 

   What comes before is Peter standing in the corridor where the Hufflepuff common room resides, just past the still life portrait that can lead a student to the kitchens if they approach it in the proper fashion. It’s the same with the barrels that lead into Ned’s common room- into your common room- but he refuses to even attempt to visit you in there ever since the great fourth year incident. Instead, he opts for lurking outside, awkwardly smiling at people who give him odd stares because he’s been out there for nearly fifteen minutes now and hasn’t moved an inch. He’s just waiting for Ned (and you, of course, but he’s rather reluctant to admit such a thing), which most fifth years know by now because you never really see one without the other, only at bedtime when they split up into their respective common rooms. 

   “Finally!” He throws his head back with a groan when Ned emerges from an old barrel that boasts a roomier common room than you’d expect. His friend has robes rumpled from crawling through the passageway and trailing behind him is you, your tie still dangling around your neck, undone as it usually is. “You two take forever, I swear. I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be the self involved ones, at least a little bit.” Peter tugs on his red and gold tie jokingly, his eyes flickering toward you as you sloppily tied your own. He waved you over and you let out a relieved sigh. 

   “I overslept!” Ned replied. He smirked, just the smallest bit, when he saw Peter begin fixing your tie for you, something his Aunt May had taught him how to do when he had received his letter on his eleventh birthday. Peter tries his hardest not to notice the sunny smile you gave him when he finished up. Ned smugly notices Peter trying not to notice, and gives Peter a suggestive raise of the eyebrows when the Gryffindor looks toward his best friend. He rolls his eyes at Ned, which was expected, before shyly grinning back at you. “Anyways, how’s my favorite Gryffindor doing this morning?” 

   “Shitty,” Peter replied, taking a step away from you. His face is slightly pink at this point due to the close proximity of your face to his, but you barely notice. “We have Potions first, Ned, how d’you think I’m feeling?” Ned steps over, letting you walk next to Peter for a change just because he’s feeling a bit pushy, but not before lightly shoving Peter. His shoulder bumps against yours and he apologetically smiles at you. 

   “Aw, Potions isn’t that bad!” You reply, giving him a little nudge. “I for one find it quite entertaining and invigorating. My favorite class, probably.” Peter nudges you back, shaking his head. 

   “Every class is your favorite, it’s a wonder you’re not a Ravenclaw.” He breathes in for a second, the scent of your perfume dizzying in the best way possible, before he speaks again. “Anyways, you’re Slughorn’s favorite student to ever exist, besides, like, Harry freaking Potter and his mum.” 

   The comment makes your face heat up and you wrap one arm around Peter in a hug that would have been awkward if it were any other two people, considering you were trying your best to hurry down the corridor to avoid being late. “Shut up, Parker. That’s not true. And so what if I love my classes? I grew up in a Muggle household and I’m still soaking all this in.” You didn’t have to be at the very top of your classes to adore them profusely. 

   “She’s got a point,” Ned chimes in, slapping Peter on the back in that friendly, odd boy way. “Besides, Potions can’t possibly be bad when you have your favorite Hufflepuff, also known as Ned Leeds, sitting next to you the whole time.” 

   Peter laughed as you feigned offense at not being Peter’s favorite, but as he sighed out the sentence, “Yeah, favorite,” with a happy nod, his gaze lingered on you instead of Ned. The boys pushed you into the room first once the three of you arrived at the classroom in the dungeons, you were always a favorite among the teachers because of your sunny disposition and politeness in any situation. 

   “Professor! My apologies, the boys and I lost track of time preparing for today’s lesson,” you said, gliding into the room with usual grace as you gave Slughorn a smile. Peter felt his heart tug at the sight, but he took his usual seat behind you and beside Ned without thinking too much about it. 

   Slughorn gave his usual delighted, hearty laugh at your presence and an affectionate pat on your shoulder. “Not to worry, my dear! You’re a pleasure to have in class, as always.” You turn back toward Ned and Peter and give them a wink, because if it wasn’t for you they would’ve been in deep shit. 

   They were rarely ever on time for class, always oversleeping in the morning and losing track of time practicing different and somewhat ridiculous incantations down by the Black Lake or trying to summon the giant squid from beneath its depths. The teachers had a tendency to go on easy on Peter and Ned because Benjamin Parker had been a teacher up at the school not long before his passing, and they went even easier on the pair when  you were around. You were the levelheaded but inherently loyal addition to what made up an inseparable trio, and Peter was forever in awe of your choosing to be his friend, in awe of you in general, though the boy would refuse to admit such a preposterous thing if confronted directly.

   You were listening intently to Slughorn’s directions when Peter was thinking these things, interrupted only by Ned. He roughly shoved Peter’s leg with his own, ducking his head to whisper, “You missed your chance!” 

   Confused, Peter tilted his alongside him, “Chance for what?” To this, Ned let out an exasperated huff. 

   “I called myself your favorite Hufflepuff for a purpose!” He exclaimed in a voice barely able to qualify as a whisper the way he had intended. Ned then promptly hit Peter on the back of the head, continuing, “You were supposed to be all ‘Nah, Y/N’s my favorite badger actually,’ and then put your arm around her or something! It would’ve been perfect, you dolt.” 

    “What sort of script have you conjured up in your head and how am I supposed to know to follow it if I haven’t a copy?” Peter retorted, rubbing the back of his head where Ned had inflicted the injury just moments before. “And, just for the record, I never said I fancied her anyway. Which I don’t, by the way.” He didn’t. Definitely not. Never in a million years. 

   “You’re such a liar, everyone can see that you do.” Ned was, evidently, a horrid whisperer, because Slughorn was now making his way over to the pair, both boys straightening their backs and flashing the professor their most charming, scarily matching smiles. 

   “That’s not true,” Peter muttered out of the corner of his mouth before turning his attention back to Slughorn, who was standing over them with a stern expression on his typically enthusiastic face. Smiling sheepishly up at him, Peter took his quill out of the bag hanging off the back of his chair as well as a piece of parchment, dating the top of his paper. “Professor,” he greeted politely. 

  If you had heard Ned and Peter’s conversation, you gave no indication of it as you turned in your chair to watch your teacher begin his usual lecture, mostly directed at the boys sitting behind you with faces growing redder by the second. “Can either of you boys tell me what I was just saying to the rest of your class, or would you perhaps be more inclined to discuss what was so important with all of us instead?” 

   “Oh, well, um, see Professor, you were just talking about-” Peter began, prepared to ramble on for ten minutes until Slughorn took pity on him and moved on to another topic. 

   “Amortentia,” you mumble, so low that only Peter was able to detect it as you had your chin held in the palm of your hand and your lips barely moved as you spoke. 

   “I believe it was, um, Amortentia, sir?” Slughorn nods when the words are spoken, and Peter lets out a relieved little sigh when he moves on from his desk, turning back toward Ned. “Almost got me detention again, thanks.” Then, he leans forward to tap you on the shoulder, giving you that typical shy grin as he says, “And thank you for saving me from writing lines again.” He pauses. “You’re the best.”  

    “No, no, really, it’s not a big deal,” you reply, a half smile reflected down toward your lap instead of up at him as you spun back around to continue your attentive listening. 

   Ned, forever the type of best friend to relentlessly badger Peter to no end, kicked Peter under the desk again before scribbling on the piece of parchment that Peter had taken out of his bag in a worried frenzy with no intention of actually taking notes. You know what Amortentia is, don’t you? Peter glacned down at the note, then scribbled his own reply. A potion. He slid it over to Ned, who rolled his eyes. Love potion. Pay attention, Peter. I know you’re the chosen whatever but you need to study, too. 

   Peter ignored this, turning his back to Ned to listen to what Slughorn was now   saying to the remainder of the class. Ned had a point, even if hearing himself referred to as the chosen whatever caused Peter immense embarrassment. When he tuned into the lesson, finally, Slughorn was in the middle of his sentence. “-more of an infatuation, a dangerous one at that. It has a distinct scent to whomever comes across it, which is what makes it so appealing. Now, typically we wouldn’t be introducing this so early due to an incident over eleven years ago but, the lesson itself is important as well as entertaining!” The professor gave a delighted clap of his hands before gesturing toward the large cauldron in the front of the room. 

   Nearly every girl tilted on the heels of their school shoes, clamoring to get a look or a whiff, possibly both, of the potion that let out steam in distinctive spirals and glowed like a moonstone. Even you stood up a little straighter, craning your neck to see what it was. There was an odd sensation Peter felt stirring inside him when he thought of you associating a scent in that potion- a potion brewed with the intent of creating real love- with someone, a boy, a girl, anyone. 

   “I’ll go,” Peter heard you announce confidently, sliding out of your chair as you walked up to the cauldron. The rest of the class peered on intently, but none so intently as Peter, who was practically sitting atop the desk as he waited for you to speak. Chin in his hand, pout on his face as you waft the steam toward you. 

   “What do you smell?” Ned prompted loudly from beside Peter, earning a startlingly cold scowl from his friend. 

   “Give a girl a minute, would you?” You said, your eyes flicking toward your two boys before trailing back down to what was in front of you. 

   Ned put his hands up defensively, whispering to Peter, “I’m just trying to get her to admit that the object of her affection is you, you’re welcome.” 

   “Piss off, Ned.”

   Peter’s eyes rolled once again, nothing new to Ned, as he carefully observed the way you leaned your head down, eyes closing as you inhaled the potion deeply. When your eyes flew open abruptly as you stepped back from the potion, there was a split second, just a fleeting moment that passed as soon as it had occurred, where Peter thought that maybe you had looked at him. He had caught your gaze for barely a second, not long enough to register what had even happened. He wasn’t even sure if it was real, or if his overactive imagination was making him hallucinate the thing that might just make him the happiest he’s ever been. He lifted a hand in the air without thinking, saying, “So? What’d you smell, Y/N?” 

    “Um, well, it was just-” you scrambled away from the cauldron, shaking the messy, tangled and intrusive thoughts out of your brain because what you had smelled- well, it was nothing, wasn’t it? It wasn’t definite. Maybe it didn’t mean what Slughorn had implied. Maybe it didn’t mean that you were sort of, possibly- more than possibly, almost definitely- in love with… someone. A certain someone with big brown eyes and shy smiles and warm, all encompassing hugs that quite literally left you breathless when you pulled away from them. “Um, old book pages, flowers, apple pie and… um, cologne. No big deal, though,” you added hastily, sitting back in your chair for the remainder of the lesson and blatantly refusing to turn your back, even when Peter poked the back of your robes with his quill multiple times in a fruitless attempt to capture your attention. When class was indicated to be over, you were the first one out of the room, which was particularly unusual since you had a habit of hanging back afterwards to converse with whatever professor lingering in the classroom. Peter tried to call you, to wait, but you ignored him. 

   “What the hell was that about?” He asked Ned, still gathering his bearings. “She never jets off like that.” He neglected to mention that he wanted to see you off to your next class, but Ned had gathered that much already. 

   “Peter! You’re hopeless!” He exclaimed, grabbing the sleeve of Peter’s robes and lightly pushing him over to the cauldron. The room had been vacated by now, even by Slughorn, so it was simply the two of them in the room. Peter was most certainly going to be late to Care of Magical Creatures, but he knew Hagrid wouldn’t mind. He had a knack for the lesson, especially when it involved the mass amounts of spiders that weren’t quite supposed to be on the grounds. It was a secret between him and Hagrid, and so the groundskeeper doted on Peter. The boy was practically a genius himself, but he knew he was a Gryffindor through and through. “Before you’re late, just smell it. Please,” Ned almost shoves Peter headfirst into the potion. 

    To get his friend off his back, literally, Peter breathed in the scent, and there comes the aforementioned, stunning, ridiculously overdue realization that in all honesty should have transpired so much sooner than it had, now that Peter looks back on the situation. He did, in fact, jump away from the potion much in the manner of a skittish cat, stepping on the hem of his robes and falling over Ned, a hand running through his already awfully messy hair when he stood back up. “Oh, bloody fucking hell,” he breathes. Ned touches his fingers to his forehead with exasperation. “That’s… well that’s- that’s, you know, oh Merlin this is bad. This is so bad, Ned.” 

   It was the dizzying smell of your perfume that had greeted him through the swirls of steam, the flowery and lovely scent he had bought you for your fourteenth birthday because May had told him that some girls liked perfume, so he had gone out and purchased some with his savings despite having no clue what scent you’d like. But you had loved his gift, pecking him on the cheek in the middle of the Great Hall on the eve of your birthday and making him blush so hard he had to ask Professor McGonagall how to get rid of the color staining the place you kissed. You had worn it every day since without fail, even during the summer holidays when you hadn’t been able to see him. 

   Then, of course, because Peter can’t catch a break, the next scent was that of your shampoo. It was a smell he pretty much inhaled whenever he wrapped his arms around you in an embrace, which he did an awful lot for just your friend, a comforting scent that he remembered from the day he was thirteen years old and May had owled him at three in the morning with news of Uncle Ben’s death, when he had stood outside the entrance to the Hufflepuff common room with flushed cheeks and running tears and shaking hands that reached out for you instantly the moment you had appeared in front of him. 

   Peter slowly looked up at his best friend, his hands rubbing across his face. A part of him could hardly believe this was happening, but a different part of him knew he should have seen this coming. He should have felt the click sooner; the “Ned, why didn’t you tell me I fancied Y/N?” 

   Ned groaned. “Are you kidding me right now? I’ve been telling you since we were thirteen. ‘Bout time you noticed.” There was another groan, this time on Peter’s end, muffled by the way he held his head in his hands. 

   “This is the biggest predicament I’ve ever been in.” 

   “Bigger than the fact that you’ve been chosen to defeat a Dark Lord?”

   “Way bigger.”   

  And, to his fifteen year old brain that was muddled with the intricate thoughts of the way he felt for you, the way he had always felt for you, the way he would feel for you for eternity, it wasn’t the fact that he liked you that was the problem. It was the crushing weight what came hand in hand with the realization; the possibility that he was going to have to suffer through his love alone, with unrequited feelings hanging in the air. 

  If only he knew, right?

anonymous asked:

What if Slav was jean-bob?

AT FIRST I ASSUMED THIS WAS ONE OF YOU GUYS TROLLING ME YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE BUT THEN I THOUGHT ABOUT IT FOR TWO SECONDS AND SLAV AS JEAN-BOB WORKS SO WELL???

I’m…so excited about this revelation of an idea omg. Bless you, anon! Obviously I still have a lot of details to work out but I’m gonna go ahead and assume Zarkon kidnapped him along with Matt for his science/magic knowledge and turned into the form he is in canon Voltron - although for some reason I’m picturing him being shrunk as well? So he’s essentially just a large caterpillar. 

Can you imagine tiny!Slav flopping dramatically over Keith’s shoulder and fussing about the probabilities of dying a horrible death because the wind is blowing from North-North-East instead of North-East? Or freaking out because a leaf fell in front of them and landed the wrong side up and do NOT step over that puddle because that tree over might get struck by lightning and they will all dIE.  

Oh maaan the bit where they try to break into Zarkon’s castle to steal the map from under Haggar’s nose (or whatever recon mission works with my AU) will be GOLDEN with Slav to panic and stall them at every turn. Keith would most definitely lose his shit, but can you imagine him hearing Shiro in his head saying “patience yields focus” and being like “yeah, Shiro wouldn’t get mad about this, I need to be calm” but LMAOOO JOKE’S ON YOU KEITH, SHIRO WOULD WANT TO MURDER THE LITTLE SHIT WITHIN FIVE MINUTES.

Ahh this is so good <333 I’m glad this part of the AU has been resolved neatly. Thank you for the suggestion! I’m sorry I assumed you were trolling me at first lmao >>

Jily- she said fine, when?

James Potter was persistent. But this year he had practically given up. Lily was no longer getting the huge acts he would do to ask her out. Or the weird but cute pick up calls. He was nice and that was all he was.

She didn’t realize how much she missed his constant flirting until it was gone. Or so she thought.

James Potter was even more in love with Lily Evans than ever before if that was possible. But he also had matured and decided that it just wasn’t meant to be. He would be her friend, Prongs, but nothing more, nothing less. It killed him, it almost did everyday as he watched her in class or in the great hall or in the common room. His heart hurt and he felt like he was slowly dying watching the red headed girl he loved just be his friend. Friend.

It was Tuesday, they’re third class of the day when Lily had gotten the thing she didn’t think she was hoping for all semester long. A note. With perfect script that read Lily in blue ink, flown over to her in the shape of a butterfly.
She almost destroyed the paper trying to see what he had written.

*Evans, will you do me the honor of going out with me some time?*

She stared down at the note, her heart actually leaped in her chest. It was a small question, but finally she was going to say yes.

She scribbled in her chicken scratch *fine, when?* Trying to sound as disinterested as she could.
Unable to fold it into anything special she crumbled up the ball and threw it towards his head when the professor wasn’t looking.

James tried not to watch her as she read his note. This was the last time, he had sworn to himself as he sent the note. The last time he would ever try and get Lily Evans. If she shot him down this last time he would, now it was over. They were not meant to be Mr. and Mrs. potter or Lily and James but just Evans and Potter. Friends.
He distracted himself by watching Sirius try and read the contents of the textbook and stiffed chuckles at his creative swears.

“In the name that is all holy,” he muttered “and merlin’s left ballsack help me understand this bullshit.”

That’s when he the crumpled ball hit him against the head. He looked at Lily who was busy writing notes and looked down at the crumpled ball that sat neatly on his desk.
He was practically shaking. Terrified of what this little ball of paper held.

*Fine, when?*

He couldn’t believe this. He took of his glasses and cleaned them to make sure he read the words right. And after that gave it to Sirius to read who also gave him the ‘I can’t believe it’ look.

He looked back up to see Lily red in the face and holding her quill tightly in her fist.
He quickly wrote *Sunday?*
Trying his best to make a decent show of it, folded the paper into a small swan and sent it back her way.

*Sunday* it read. There was no Hogsmeade trip that weekend. She wondered what he was planning. Taking her quill she noted back, *And what exactly will we be doing on this particular Sunday?*
This time she did try to fold the paper into something, something that resembled a boat and let it sail threw the air.

James was surprised to see the little boat settle perfectly on his current notes. It was crumbled and a bit lopsided but still a cute as intended.
Reading her new note he scribbled in not so neat hand writing.
*I don’t know. I never thought I’d get this far.*
He quickly folded the now very crumpled piece of paper into a rose and made it land perfectly in her hair like a decoration.
He couldn’t help the grin he had when he saw her reach for the flower and pet it affectionately before opening it up.

But when he saw her cover her mouth with her hands to stifle her laughs he knew that he would never give up trying to hear that laugh.

you’ve heard of RFA & Minor Trio proposing to MC, now get ready for: MC proposing to all these dorks ^^ hope you’re doing well btw

✿ sasjh ahh thank you for your ko-fi support, you’re all so generous. ♥ I tried a bit of a different format for this, please tell me if you like it!


You propose to Yoosung in possibly the most stereotypical way imaginable – by trying to spell it out on the high score field of your favorite arcade game.

Unfortunately, you and Yoosung share the same favorite arcade game (Honey Buddha Racers) and Yoosung is dense as a brick, so when you get the highest score on the game and input ‘Yoosung’ on the line, he finds it later, laughs at you and, thinking it’s some sort of joke, proceeds to beat your score and input your name on the top line. You beat him back, putting his name first again and thinking you should ban him from the game parlor until you’re freaking finished, but you don’t want to arouse his suspicion just yet.

The next day, you manage to get just under your high-score and input Will, but you have some trouble getting the other words to align right (including being undermined by some jerk who apparently was obsessed with getting onto the leaderboards) so you can only get two parts of your message before your prescribed playing time for the day is over.

The third time you try, you dedicate your entire Saturday afternoon to setting up your proposal, and approximately fifteen minutes before you’re supposed to meet Yoosung for dinner, you finish. Pleased, you go out to a restaurant with him, and then casually say you should check out the arcade afterwards.

He agrees. You both go in and, immediately he suggests a round of Honey Buddha Racers. You bring him to the machine, and on the screen, is…

YOOSUNG

WILL

YOU

KEVIN

ME?

“What?” Yoosung asks, squinting at the screen, and you clench your fists, seething and cursing to yourself. You were gone for like, an hour tops, and someone had ruined your proposal by beating one of your scores?

KEVIN WOULD PAY FOR THIS.

You get on one knee and propose anyway, because SCREW KEVIN, you were not letting him ruin your STUPID PROPOSAL.

(Despite the hiccups, Yoosung has stars in his eyes as he accepts.)


You propose to Zen with a smile, a rose clenched between your teeth and glittery flower petals strewn on the bed around you.

You’d gotten the idea from one of his musicals, specifically the one where Zen played a womanizing cat-boy who proposed to the female lead in the third act while wearing a diamond-encrusted speedo. Not to be outdone by your (soon-to-be) fiancée, you consume as many romantic movies, tv shows, and songs as possible in an attempt to melt down their contents and create the ur-proposal that would dominate all proposals for decades to come. They’d teach classes on your romantic ability, studying your silver tongue and your amorous passion! Stand aside, Cassanova! It was time for you to dominate history!

…Which is why you had a camera set up to record the entire thing.

Zen walks in to see you, in an exactingly pressed tuxedo, lying with one hand propping up your head and the other holding out a ring box. After a moment, you get up, and you do not climb off the bed, no – you billow. You sweep. You do a number of grand, romantic movements before you end up in front of him, on one knee, presenting him a diamond.

You whip the rose out of your mouth. You present it to him. He takes it, avoiding the spot that’s kind of shiny from your spit, and you recite a sonnet that you wrote and practiced extensively in the mirror specifically for him. You expected a lot of things – for him to swoon, for his knees to tremble, for him to grab your hands and say Yes, yes! Absolutely, yes! Let’s get married tomorrow!

Zen only does one of those things, instead bursting out laughing, putting his face in his hands… and saying that he loves you so much and that he will, without a doubt, promise to spend the rest of his life with you.


You propose to Jaehee with a cake.

Honestly, your planning could have been better. It was nothing to do with the cake itself! It was perfect! Handmade icing topping a perfectly moist chocolate body, gorgeous floral decorations, and a fondant that didn’t actually taste like shit with the words will you marry me? in a perfect, calligraphy-esque script on the top. It was her favorite color, favorite flavor, and your presentation was spot on, delivering it to her at the end of her shift along with a cup of coffee and a kiss on her cheek. No, your mistake was much smaller, much simpler than that.

After Jaehee squeals, hugs you, and says yesyesyes! About a million and one times, she asks you, like – not to be weird, but – where’s the ring?

And you look at the cake.

And you sweat, because you thought it would be cute to bake the goddamn diamond inside.

“Uh,” you say, and Jaehee facepalms and laughs.

You eat the entire cake during an all-day Zen musical binge, while making sure to take small, careful bites as you look for the ring.


[the rest are beneath the read-more!]

Keep reading

What’s Your Favorite Color?

Request: yoooo can you do a tom holland x reader request where they meet on set and fluff ensues and such?
Requested by: @princeofsassgard

Pairing: Tom Holland + Reader

Warnings: this might be bad tbh idk :( but no warnings, just FLUFF
Notes: thanks for the request!! xo ily


Tom walked onto set with Harrison by his side like he did when he walked onto any set: his head held high, a coffee in his hand and ambition and energy like no one else to begin this new project. He smiled politely at all the young women who smiled enthusiastically at him. Tom had mentioned in interviews that he was nowhere near shy when it came to girls. If he wanted to talk to a girl or ask her out, he’d have no trouble doing so. He wasn’t cocky about it, he just believed that you had to put yourself out there to get somewhere – that thought came with everything he did.

“So, who else is on this movie?”

Tom sipped idly at his coffee as he turned to face Harrison, realizing he couldn’t really answer his question. He had spent so much of his time the last two months rehearsing and perfecting his deliverance of the new script that he hadn’t even done any research on his new colleagues. Right when Tom went to answer Harrison, his head shifted to look ahead of him as he heard a new voice in the room with them.

That was his first mistake.

You were simply standing there with your hair in a ponytail as you spoke to the director. In the time that it took him to notice the smaller details in your face he had already become distracted. Tom had no trouble talking to women, but, when your eyes came up to meet his he couldn’t stop himself from stumbling over his feet. He stopped abruptly causing Harrison to walk into him, in turn sending Tom’s coffee toward the ground.

“Oh, my god!” He heard your voice again but didn’t dare look up, afraid he might do something even more embarrassing than trip over himself.

“Mate, what the hell is wrong with you?” He turned to face Harrison with wide eyes, noticing that his coffee decorated the front of his white shirt and red flannel. He was about to answer when he heard you again.

“Are you alright?”

When Tom didn’t answer after the first few seconds Harrison nodded slightly and gave you a small smile. “We’re fine. Are you on this movie?”

You nodded with a bright smile. “This is my first movie! I’m playing Penelope.”
“Oh, the lead! Well, this is your counterpart, Tom. Tom, don’t be an ass, turn around and introduce yourself.” Upon seeing you, Harrison had a pretty good idea of what happened, allowing himself to give Tom a subtle smirk while Tom casted him a glare. He composed himself quickly before turning around with a smile.

“Hi, I’m Tom. Sorry for the cold shoulder, I guess I’m just a little embarrassed because of the, you know, coffee thing.”

“It’s no problem,” you offered with a laugh, and Tom had to resist the urge of blurting out that it was quite honestly one of the sweetest sounds he’d ever heard. “I’m (Y/N)! I guess we’re lovers now.”

“What?” Tom’s eyes went wide and he heard Harrison snicker from behind him. He didn’t fail to notice the crimson color that dusted across your face.

“Um, in the movie. We’re love interests. Sorry, that was my attempt at a joke.” You bowed your head to allow your hair to curtain around the sides of your face to block the brightening color you had been developing.

You both let out a small sigh. This was going to be a long few months.


“Okay, Tom,” You replied, pausing to take another spoonful of your ice cream. “If you could live in any fantasy world. Which would it be?”

You and Tom had grown rather close the past three months of shooting. It wasn’t until the second month in when you both started to grow comfortable with each other. It was when you both had to shoot your kiss scene. You had gone to Tom’s trailer directly and asked if you could talk to him about the scene. You had told him that this was your first on-screen kiss, and because you were nervous you wanted to apologize if you didn’t do as well as you hoped.

“I seriously doubt you’ll be any bad at it.” As soon as Tom finished what he had thought was just a remark to himself, he shook his head and continued with,

“But, if it makes you feel better, we could practice in front of Harrison. I mean, I know he doesn’t equal the crowd we’ll have out there, but it’s something.”

“Yeah, I don’t mind. I love a good show.” Tom rolled his eyes without facing Haz and kept his eyes on you, smiling at you reassuringly.

“I mean, if you don’t mind,” you tried to breathe deeply in order to keep your face at a normal color.

“I don’t mind at all.” And after delivering the few lines that lead up to the kiss, Tom leaned in as the script told his character to, and when you kissed him it changed everything for you.

For both of you.

“Hm,” Tom contemplated your question. “That’s a good one. Maybe Zootopia.”

“Zootopia?” You stifled your laugh as you looked at him incredulously.

“Um, hell yeah. Can you imagine living in a world of nothing but animals?”

“But when you’d be an animal. There aren’t any humans in that universe, doofus.”

“Oh,” his cheeks turned a light pink. You felt bad for the light teasing so you shrugged slightly.

“Well, if that’s the case. What animal would you want to be?”

“Oh, Nick Wilde for sure. I’d be a fox. Cool, clever. I mean, I’m already pretty close.” He winked at you slightly.

“Har, har,” you rolled your eyes in return, your head moving down to rest on his shoulder as his arm went to hook around you.

It was difficult for Tom at first. Despite the hazing that came from Harrison, talking to you was one of the hardest things he ever had to do. He couldn’t understand why you had made him so nervous. He liked to think that it was because this was his first love interest in a film – one that he had to kiss. He was flustered and nervous, never having done a romantic comedy before. But, he knew deep down, that wasn’t the case. In all honestly he never worried about talking to girls because usually they would make the first move. Not that Tom was opposed to talking to them first, but being in the acting world led him to fear all kinds of rejection, so he reserved himself. But, he was just drawn to you.

So, when you came into his trailer that day to talk to him about the kiss, he used that as a way of making himself more comfortable with you. Maybe he didn’t have a crush on his costar, maybe this would solidify that he could be friends with a beautiful young girl that he had imagined kissing a couple of times. But when you agreed, he grew ten times more nervous. and When he finally kissed you it did solidify something – it wasn’t just a crush.

“Okay, my turn,” Tom thought about his question as he tried to ignore the smell of your lavender shampoo invading his senses and the warmth you provided as you inched closer into his side. “What’s your ideal date?”

“Easy,” you answered with no hesitation, “I want to go to a small diner and sit in a booth in a corner. I want the lights to be bright because I love the part of a date when you invade each other’s personal life. Nothing makes me feel better than seeing the expressions on people when they tell me about their childhood, their favorite song, what they would want to be if this were a different era or world.” You paused to look up at Tom, only to realize his eyes were already fixated on you. “I want to know small things about them. What they ate that morning, what their favorite scene in their favorite movie meant to them, had they ever broken a bone?”

Tom felt his breathing become shallow, not being able to shake the feeling that you were talking about him, to him. “Would you let him get a question in before it was over?”

“Of course,” you breathed, “I’d want him to invade my personal space, too. Even something as small as what my favorite color is.”

“And then?” Tom hadn’t realized, but both of your voices had dropped down to a whisper.

“And then he’d walk me home. He’d still be holding my hand,” at this Tom’s hand instinctively reached for yours, lacing your fingers together. You didn’t mind, your eyes were staring into his, to entranced to react to anything now. “He’d compare me to something as cliché as the moon and hopefully tell me that he wished the night never had an end.”

“And then?” Tom couldn’t help the small smile that graced his features as he looked down at you. His eyes alternating from your eyes to your mouth.

“And then he’d kiss me.”

Without thinking Tom leaned in and pressed his lips to yours, still holding your hand. He had only let go when he felt you fighting against his, only to bring them up to his face. His hands dropped down the grip your sides. The kiss was agonizingly slow but it left you breathless just the same.

Tom was the first to pull away, but even then, he hadn’t pulled away completely. He leaned his forehead against yours and looked at you with a small smile.

“What’s your favorite color?”


REQUESTED TAG LIST: @lincdaisys

You.

Yes you.
I am fucking talking to you.

**takes you by the shoulders**

Listen to me right now. 

The film industry is dominated by white men. Usually, older white men. 

As a woman, as a young person, as a person of color, it will never be easy to get into that industry.

But I want you to promise me something right now.

If film is something you love. If you even have an interest in it. If you want to be in that industry someday. If you even just want to study it to learn about it.

Don’t you dare give up.

Because there might not be any POC directors or actors winning those Oscars or other awards. But one day you could.

The industry is growing, learning to listen to other voices.

So shout yours as loud as you can.

Write your scripts, direct tiny films on your phones. Save up for a solid, cheap DSLR. Get some friends together. Shoot a two minute film in your backyard about you learning to fly. Save your money to buy screenwriting books, or download them off line. Learn how to read and write a script in proper formatting. Learn the different crew poistions and how they interact. Take free online courses. Find stupid videos online that show you how to do simple things with lighting and cameras. Take the camera off auto and learn how to manipulate the image on manual mode. Learn the difference between ISO and shutter speed and aperture.  Learn basic storytelling. Look up some basic cinematography shots. Teach yourself. Go to film school if you want. Get access to equipment and learn some things from industry professionals. Make mistakes and then learn not to make them again. Ask film students or people in the industry what their first job was and how they got it. Join teen film clubs and do work with others. Ask friends or just people you know online (like tumblr for Twitter friends) that you know are filmmakers about things you just want to know. Ask questions. Ask them to maybe even read your scripts you’ve written. They don’t have to be perfect. They just have to exist so your friends can see where you are and what you need to work on most.They will be happy to help. 

But don’t you fucking dare give up. 

Don’t ever tell anyone else to give up.

If you want it, if you really want it, it is possible. Through blood, sweat, and tears, it is fucking possible. Never think anything differently. 

Go out there. Tell your story. Because no one else has lived a life exactly like yours and you are the only ones that can make those decisions.

I’m here. You have tons of friends on this site and others who do the film thing. Ask and we will help. Just don’t let yourself give up because you think it’s hopeless. It’s not. Together, we will make your voice heard.

Together, we will change the world.

I love you. Keep fighting. Pass it on. Add more words of encouragement/helpful links/notes that could help a friend considering the film industry. We love you and, if you are dedicated, we both want and need you. If you’re willing to work, so are we. Let’s go.