there were like a dozen other pictures i wanted to use

the-queen-sees-all  asked:

I was wondering, what if Harry and Hermione had met before Hogwarts?

The first time Harry Potter met Hermione Granger, she was standing with her chin up and her hands on her hips a few paces from the old olive tree in the schoolyard, glaring into the far distance. The wind was trying to twist and buffet her hair into her face, but mostly it was just tangling cheerfully with itself.

Dudley and Piers were busy kicking all the other kids off the play structure, so Harry had retreated out into the grass. He stood a safe distance from the weird girl who was pretending to be a statue and thought wistfully of lunch.

“There’s a fallen bird’s nest,” the girl said in a rapid and certain tumble of syllables. “The boys knocked it out of the tree, but I chased them off and I’m hoping the mama bird comes back. I’m Hermione Granger. We just moved here.”

“Harry,” he said.

“How’d you get that scar?” she said.

“Car accident.”

“That’s a weird scar for a car accident.”

Harry shrugged. “It killed my parents.”

She blinked quickly at him and even at that distance he wished vaguely that she wore glasses, too, because her gaze was something that really felt like it should have some built-in bluntedness. “Mine are dentists. Mum’s taking me to the library after school, want to come?”

-

Before they went into Diagon Alley, Harry asked Hagrid if they could find a payphone. Hermione picked up on the first ring.

“Harry! Where have you been? I’ve been trying and trying to call–”

“Sorry, yeah. Um, so, I’m not coming back to school next year, I…” Harry drifted off, staring at Hagrid’s massive moleskin shoulders. The giant man saw him looking and gave him a tentatively cheerful little wave. “It’s been weird, Herm.” He pressed his forehead into the phone stand, but not too hard. “I think you’re the only thing I’m really going to miss.”

“Harry,” Hermione said and Harry started to frown, because that wasn’t her stern and startled voice. That was the voice that meant she was off down a charging war path of other thought and might not have heard him at all. “I’ve been reading.”

“Of course you’ve been reading,” he said. “I’ve been being forcibly hidden from a swarm of post office owls–”

“You’re in books,” she said in breathless delight, squeaking over the telephone line. “First thing we did, of course, after the professor explained, was get her to escort us to a bookstore– a whole bibliography, Harry, a whole world’s bibliography I haven’t even touched– how am I ever going to–” She took in a little calming breath, and murmured, “Different infinities, it’s okay, Hermione, okay.” A sharp exhale and then she tumbled right back into her rushing rivelet of a sentence. “And I picked up a good dozen, besides the school books, of course, and Harry, you’re in books, in Dark Wizardwork of This Century and A Modern Wizards’ History and October’s End: A Biography–”

“Hermione,” said Harry with slow enunciation. “Are you a wizard, too?”

“A witch, I think,” she said. “But I’m still reading up on the sociology of it all.”

-

Hagrid wouldn’t say Voldemort’s name, but Hermione would. She came over with a stack of books up to her chin, gave the Dursleys her normal pointed little stare that said she’d like to set them a little on fire, and curled up in his cupboard with him.

He supposed she probably could learn how to set them on fire, now, if she really wanted to.

She gave him passages and excerpts with his name in them, with his parents’ names, a home he hadn’t known. There were pictures of a ruined house with the smoke drifting in little curls of ink. There was his mother, smiling and waving in black and white. There was his mother, laid out on the floor, with a sober little caption below it. That picture was still, except for curtains fluttering in the window.

Hermione finally dragged her face far enough up from the pages to see Harry holding his own hand very tightly, and then she closed the book and reached for one about which magical creatures you should pet and which you shouldn’t.

“Sorry,” she said.

“I wanted to know.”

“I’m still sorry.”

-

The Grangers drove Harry, Hermione, Hedwig, and their trunks to King’s Cross Station. Mrs. Granger kissed the top of Hermione’s head while Mr. Granger mussed Harry’s mop of dark hair affectionately, and then they swapped children and repeated the treatment. Hermione pushed her hair back out of her face and marched them all to Platform 9 ¾, the entrance mechanism of which she had read all about.

“Before you go,” Mrs. Granger said, “let’s buy you some sandwiches? I don’t know what sort of food they’ll have past that–”

“There’s a trolley,” Hermione said, but her parents dragged them off to a snack kiosk anyway, Harry happily in tow.

As they were on Hermione’s tight schedule, there were plenty of compartments open, and they took one all to themselves– well, to themselves, Hedwig, and Hermione’s books, which took up two seats. (Harry would wheedle Hagrid into taking him to Diagon Alley for Christmas shopping that year, where he would get Hermione a carry-all bag for her small personal library.)

Hermione took a long preparatory breath while Harry unwrapped his sandwich. “Harry? What if I go and sit down under the Hat and I just sit and sit there, and then it says I’m not a witch at all?” Hermione said, the words getting more squashed together and higher-pitched as she went. “I’m not magic, it just got confused, and they send me home? Harry, I don’t want to be a dentist. Other people’s mouths are disgusting–”

“You’re not going to get kicked out,” Harry said, chewing amiably on his sandwich. It was not good, but the Dursleys hadn’t bothered with any breakfast for him and he hadn’t wanted to bother the Grangers about it either. It was a bit dry on the way down, but it settled warmly in his belly.

“But what if I do?”

“I’ll stage a protest,” said Harry. “Refuse to do my homework til they reinstate you.”

“You’re not going to do your homework anyway.”

“See how dedicated I am to you.”

She made a dismissive little noise at him, wringing her hands in her lap.

“Hermione,” he said, and she lifted her bush of hair to look at him. “You’re the most magical person I know. It’s gonna be alright.”

She gave a long slow blink but whatever she might have said was interrupted by an uneven knock at the door. “Um,” said the pudgy boy standing there. “I’ve lost my toad.”

Hermione leapt to her feet. “Where did you see him last?”

Harry followed in the wake of her forward charge, but he brought the rest of his sandwich with him.

-

(Harry did not know this and would not know this until Mrs. Granger mentioned it casually over a Christmas dinner years and years later– but she and Mr. Granger reported the Dursleys for child abuse and neglect, over and over.

The reports got lost– minds scrubbed down, papers vanished– but they kept calling in reports. They considered kidnapping. They couldn’t imagine why the wizarding world might want to keep their chosen one somewhere so toxic, why they might want to keep this underfed child and his messy hair with those people.

“My mother left me a blood protection spell,” said Harry, whose scar had not ached in years. He poked at his mashed potatoes under the focused attention of Mrs. Granger’s stern little forehead wrinkle. “I had to live with family, blood family.”

“Then they should have made them treat you right,” Mrs. Granger said, as though it was that simple.

Mr. Granger gave Harry another helping of peas.)

-

On the steps of Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy thrust out his hand to the Boy Who Lived, who surveyed the open palm with amusement. “Thanks,” said Harry. “But I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself.”

The redheaded, freckly, hand-me-down clothes boy Malfoy had been bothering snorted. Harry slipped his hands into his pockets.

“You’re the kid with the rat from the train,” Hermione said. “And the spell that didn’t work.”

“It was a cool rhyme anyway, though,” Harry said. “Hi, I’m Harry, this is Hermione.”

“Yeah, she said, then. I’m Ron– uh, Ron Weasley.”

“Yeah, he said,” Harry said, rolling his eyes Malfoy’s direction. “Come on, you wanna stand with us? Hermione will tell you about the ceiling.”

“It’s enchanted!” said Hermione.

-

When Hermione founded SPHEW, Harry was not surprised. He had spent too many schoolyard days escorting spiders to safe spaces, keeping vigil over fallen bird’s nests, and watching Hermione stand up on her desk chair in heated pitched verbal battles with teachers. She’d driven at least two teachers to tears and taught most of them at least a few new vocabulary words.

-

Over summers and holidays, Harry and Hermione took Ron to the movies, to the seashore, to Hermione’s top three favorite libraries. Hermione’s Aunt Meg taught them how to whittle under a cloud of cigarette smoke that clung to Harry’s hair until he washed it out.

In this life, there were things in the Muggle world that Harry missed, that he wanted to see again. He loved Hogwarts, and he nominally went home to the Dursleys each summer, but he knew he always had a bed at the Grangers’. He knew the weird system they used to organize the books on their shelves. He’d pass Mrs. Granger the marmalade in mornings before she had to ask. He got free dental check-ups all his life, which was good because the Dursleys rarely bothered taking him into the dentist.

The whole Granger family tore apart newspapers every morning, calling article excerpts across the table and pointing each other to their favorite journalists. Before Hermione even first stepped onto Hogwarts grounds she got a subscription to the Daily Prophet. During Harry’s fourth year, Mr. and Mrs. Granger got Arthur Weasley to buy them an owl and then began an unending campaign of furious letters to the editor that never got published.

-

In a crumbling boat shed, Severus Snape died, but first he pressed a shining bundle of memory into Harry’s hands.

The fight was still going– Neville newly broad and certain; Luna whipping out quiet, barbed little curses; Ginny charging like an army in and of herself. Hermione had her arms full of basilisk fangs. Ron was moving people like bishops and knights. But Harry had a long damp walk before him, so he had time to wade through that life not his own.

Severus had been a lot of things– one of them was in love. Harry dragged his feet through forest mulch, seeing a little redheaded girl in sunlight, hands not his own offering her transformed flowers. It had been just them for so long. For Severus, for so long, there had been no one but him and Lily.

Even in Hogwarts, Severus had drifted through the classrooms and common room and library. He had believed in magic, in the cool slide of good knives through dried roots, and in Lily– always, always in Lily– Lily in sunlight, Lily chewing on her thumbnail over Transfiguration homework, Lily flicking soapsuds at him in her kitchen at home over summer, Lily pig-tailed and seven, wide-eyed as he showed her the first magic she’d ever seen, a leaf to a flower, a bit of sunlight to a bit of fire.

He had loved, and it had been a real thing. He had fucked up, and it had been a real thing, that heartbreak, that regret.

When Harry turned the Stone in his hand and saw his mother step into pseudo-life in that forest clearing, he thought I wish I’d known you. He thought about how she was in sepia and gray, here, just like in the pictures in the pages of Hermione’s books.

But he was also thinking about Severus. He was remembering Lily in sunlight, remembering her walking away, remembering her in that same cold photographed sprawl but in color–in grief–in bruised knees and heaving gasps.

Severus had been the first to find Lily’s body and it had felt like someone had cut the sunlight out of him. Harry was living through that grief, but he was also living through the wail of the child crying unacknowledged. His tiny pudgy hands were wrapped around the guardrail of his crib.

Harry was thinking about a girl standing in a field like a statue, hands on hips. He was thinking about Hermione’s raised hand ignored in Potions, or the way Snape had sneered that he didn’t see a difference in her cursed teeth. Love had made him brave, perhaps. It had killed him, but it had not made Severus good.

Harry wondered if his mother would have escorted spiders to safe places, if she would have stood guard over fallen bird’s nests, if she had worried herself to pieces that first time on the Hogwarts Express about the Hat telling her she didn’t really belong.

“I wish I’d known you,” he told the specter of Lily Potter. He held his own hands tight.

For Harry, for so long, there had been no one but him and Hermione. Even in Hogwarts, there were things only she would understand– parking meters, the cobweb ceiling of his cupboard, the silence of marmalade at breakfast. Harry believed in magic and he believed Hermione Granger was the most magical thing he knew.

“They’ll be alright,” he said. “I’ll be alright. I was alright, mum. I wish I’d known you– but I wasn’t alone.” He squeezed his hands tighter– Hermione showing him her favorite spots in her favorite libraries; Ron shyly showing them the Burrow like it was anything less than a magnificent masterpiece of warm rooms and patchwork architecture; Hermione standing in the field like a statue, bushy-haired and seven years old, jaw set. “She wasn’t alone, either,” he said. “And she’ll be alright. Ron will be alright. I have to do this, don’t I?”

“We are so proud of you,” Lily said.

“Thanks,” said Harry. “Sorry,” said Harry, and wondered if Hermione was going to be able to read the little passages and excerpts with his name in them, with those un-moving pictures and the sober captions underneath.

He dropped the Stone.

-

When Harry Potter died for the first time, crumpled in forest mulch, he didn’t go to a squeaky clean King’s Cross Station. There were no crescent moon glasses to twinkle kindly at him.

He stood under an old olive tree and a little girl looked up at him with those eyes that needed shielding, needed blunting, needed a manufacturer’s warning. “A wind’s coming,” she said. “You can just go. It will be easy.”

He stood outside Diagon Alley, a Muggle payphone tucked between his shoulder and ear. “You’re in books,” she said, with a breathlessness he’d barely heard for years. There had been too much weight on his shoulders, on hers. “You’re done,” she said. “You’ve done enough. Go on, tap three bricks up and two to the left.”

He stood in Godric’s Hollow, in the snow, holding her hand, looking at the ruined house. “You should have had this,” she said. She was seven and small, not nineteen and weary like she had been in life. The sky was overcast but there was sunlight glinting in her hair. “You can still have this. You can have everything.”

“You’re not real,” Harry said.

“But you are,” she said. “There’s a wind coming. It will be easy.”

“You’ve never done anything easy in your life,” he said.

She took both his hands– hers were so small against his grown fingers, his broad palms, and how had they done everything with hands that small? Basilisks and werewolves; shouting down teachers from atop desk chairs.

Harry was sitting in his cupboard in the light of its single bulb and he was too big for this space, his shoulders curling forward, his head bowing. She was standing there with sunlight still in her hair and her arms piled high with books. “You don’t belong here,” she said. “It will hurt. You won’t fit, if you go back. Everything can be easy. Everything can be fine. It doesn’t have to hurt, ever again.”

“Hermione,” he said and leaned forward, put his hands on her hands where they were gripping her books. “It’ll be alright.” He smiled and she was staring at him with those eyes, those goddamn eyes. “We never fit, remember?”

“We tried,” she said and Harry squeezed her small hands gently.

“Send me back,” he said. “I want to go home.”

-

After the battle, as Hogwarts rang with frantic healing, crushing grief, and raging celebration, the three of them retreated to the library. Hermione hauled them down narrow aisles until she found her favorite tucked-away nook and they all collapsed on sagging sofas that seemed to not have been touched at all by the war.

“Well,” said Hermione. “What now?”

Ron let his head flop back against the seat, hair tumbling all over his pale forehead. “I’m going to nap,” he said. “For a month.”

“That’s not physiologically possible,” said Hermione. “Or if it is, then it’d be a coma.”

“It’s a metaphor,” Ron said, then: “no, wait, a hyperbole.” Hermione beamed at him. He blushed a little and elbowed her gently.

“After this, you’ll be in books, you know,” Harry told her.

“Not– I mean–” Hermione rubbed at her nose furiously. Ron laughed enough to wake up and sit up, throwing an arm around her shoulders.

While Ron came up with outlandish titles for Hermione’s eventual many biographies, Harry pulled his feet up onto the sofa. He watched the candles float quietly between the shelves.

It’s finally finished! I wanted to make this comic for the snap election, but if the Tories win I feel like it’s gonna be relevant for the next few years. 

I messaged a few of the spoonie blogs I follow to see if they would be okay with me tagging them in this. I got responses from @spooniediaries and @heyatleastitsnotcancer but I didn’t want to tag anyone else who hadn’t given me their consent.

Caption/script under the cut - please reblog and share. (Note: the captioning is reaaaaally long - it might crash your phone if you’re on mobile).

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10 Reasons I should play Isak in the US Skam Remake

1. Isak and I are virtually indistinguishable from one another. Never before have I so closely, intensely related to a fictional character. 

2. I can rock a snapback

3. I wrote, co-directed, and starred in a short film that won the Atlantic Youth Film Festival and went on to be featured at the Toronto International Film Festival High School Festival

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GjC3oncA6g8

4. REALLY want a blonde Isak? I’m game

5. I totally felt a Natural Connection™️ with Tarjei AND Henrik when I got to meet them 

6. Trying to be straight™️? ME

7. I can cry. I mean, CRY cry. Ugly cry (but still look good) 

8. Do you see that picture of me and my boy squad in front of a castle? Yeah. #boysquad 

9. I’ve acted in almost a dozen plays, both through school and independently, as well as three short films, so I know what I’m doing, but am definitely an unknown. 

10. Sitting on a bench? Sign me up

BONUS: I would do anything to play Isak Valtersen. Julie and Tarjei were able to expertly craft this phenomenal character that helped me grow as a person more than I ever thought a fictional character could. When I watch Skam, I see so much of myself in Isak. I took the exact same Gay Test as him. I laid awake for hours wondering if boys I liked, liked me back. I awkwardly came out to my friends when they heard it from other people first. I dated girls to prove to myself and people around me that I was straight. My first gay kiss was ripped right from a movie, only I was laying down like Sleeping Beauty and he got down on one knee and kissed me. I understand Isak because I am Isak. I’m the scared, lonely, angry closeted kid who makes other people guess who I like because it’s easier than telling them myself. I know US Skam won’t be able to replicate Julie and Tarjei’s Isak, because it never could. Nothing and nobody ever could. I don’t know if US Skam will be good; some remakes (The Office, Shameless) are amazing, others (Skins) are terrible. I hope US Skam is good, because I hope other people get to have characters they connect with the way I connect with Isak. I want to play Isak (or Isaac?) because I want to do for somewhat else what Tarjei did for me. I will always be grateful to him. I will never be able to thank him and Julie enough for Isak Valtersen. 


If anybody important ever sees this and wants to give me a chance, I’ll be eternally grateful to you as well. :) 

accidentally?

Based on this prompt I said I’d fill a few days ago:

boss: “know why I called you in here?”
me: “because I accidentally sent you a dick pic”
boss: “accidentally?”

yup.

(on ao3)

“You need to stop pining after people you haven’t even spoken to,” Lydia says one day, probably because Derek—er, Mr. Hale, their boss—has just stepped through the front door of the cafe where they’re having lunch, and Stiles has trailed off mid-word to watch him walk up to the counter. In Stiles’ defense, he’s never seen Mr. Hale outside of the office before, let alone Mr. Hale wearing a leather jacket over his dress shirt. God, and Stiles thought the tailored suits were bad enough…

Anyway.

“Uh, I have too spoken to him,” Stiles says indignantly, tearing his eyes away from Derek’s broad back across the room. “One day I was coming out of the break room and I almost walked right into him and he said, ‘Excuse me,’ so then I said, ‘Oops,’ and he smiled at me. Kind of. A little bit. I mean, I interpreted it as a smile. There was some prolonged eye contact.”

Lydia abruptly stops stirring her fat-free latte to stare at him—one of those Oh god, it’s worse than I thought kind of looks. “That’s it?”

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Uprising: Retcons and Analyses

It’s my lunch so forgive the fast formatting but here we go:


Retconning:


1. Jack’s reason for enlisting is now confirmed to be the Omnic Crisis.  Which changes a number of things.  In his original backstory, Jack “wanted to return to the family farm after a brief stint in the Army, but was swept up in SEP, where he met Reyes.”  But now that that’s gone, this makes Jack more “worldly” and more “motivated to fight for change” in the world.  “New” Jack is much bigger, much more global than “original” Jack was.  His sights are not set on returning to Indiana - his sights are set on saving humanity.


2. Genji was not in Blackwatch as far as I am aware.  What is interesting is that this proves that not all Blackwatch missions were undertaken alone, since Overwatch would have also been involved in his rescue (when know Angela was on-hand or close by).  Blackwatch and Overwatch also engage in joint training sessions.  We can see that even though Lena is the main focus of the training, someone is monitoring Genji’s systems in the background.  This effectively CONFIRMS that - at the very least - Jack Morrison was aware of SOME of the Blackwatch missions.


This also heavily implies that - coupled with the “complaints by the Japanese government about Blackwatch” - Blackwatch was involved in the fall of the Shimada clan.


3. Liao is either entirely scrapped or has been reworked.  I personally think it’s the former.  They haven’t been mentioned in any comic thus far, and Torb and Rein consider “the old team” to consist of the Strike Team plus Angela.


4. I’m feeling fairly convinced that the promotion angle is getting massively reworked or toned down.  Gabriel’s light banter and sass over Jack’s statues, the lack of voicelines around the promotion, the fact that it is LITERALLY never mentioned anywhere outside of the “original” article makes it fairly clear that - at least on the surface - nobody thinks Gabriel is mad about it.  Gabriel himself acts nonchalant about the differences in their ranks.


5. Lena’s new timeline is VERY SHORT.  Her time as an active agent would have been relegated to the last year of Overwatch’s existence (Present time = 6 years since Fall of Overwatch, Comic takes place “7 years ago”).  This means that propaganda/promotional posters like the one in the Hero animation PROBABLY DON’T EXIST.  Which is like.  Really subtle next level retconning.


Analyses


1. “They’re not extremists, Gabriel - they’re TERRORISTS.” How relevant.  I’m convinced Gabriel and subsequently Reaper are now firmly in the Chaotic Gool-Neutral-Evil alignment.  His whole speech about Omnic Rights is FASCINATING for his character because it shows that he is actually sympathetic or understanding of their behaviors on a different level than Reaper previously implied (“Tin cans, a dime a dozen”).  This is VERY GOOD.  His subtle implication that humanity - specifically the UK - has forgotten the origins of rights and freedoms is MASSIVE for him, and reflecting on that through a “minority being abused and denied rights” (a minority he ACTIVELY FOUGHT AND DEFEATED) is HUGE.  This really pushes the theories of Reaper as a “Chaotic Good-Neutral” agent much further, especially if we consider that he may see Talon less as terrorists and more as “extreme anarchists.”  This really greatly aligns with Sombra’s whole mortality alignment and Los Muertos’ “ideals.”  Gabriel is 100% aware (and self-aware) of the issues.


2. Gabriel almost certainly does not want Blackwatch directly involved in this uprising.  His crew is already in hot water, and he has to think about the safety of his agents and their plausible deniability in the face of a UN investigation.  Gabriel’s lines about McCree “being on vacation” and “nothing you need to know” reads as him trying to defend McCree in the event something goes awry with the higher ups, while also giving Jack and Ana the ability to deny information as well.  This, unfortunately, PUTS A MASSIVE TARGET ON HIM AND HIM ALONE.  Gabriel being blamed or implied to be responsible for the fall of Overwatch by other people (namely higher ups) looks more and more realistic and possible.


3. Jack and Gabriel’s relationship (along with their friendship with Ana) is indicated as being deeper and extremely intimate.  Things to note: Jack now being the only character to call him “Gabe” (which Sombra references), Jack being able to pull information out of Gabriel even after Gabriel and Ana engaged in some sassy banter, Jack referring to him as “Commander Reyes” in his discussion with Lena, Jack using the picture of the three of them to remind himself of “what’s important.”  I’m not gonna say this is confirmation of a full on relationship between them, but they are absolutely close.  This, combined with Reaper’s “I know your every move before you even think it” line from Old Soldiers and Reaper calling him “Jack” even after the fallout, is extremely telling.  This is not an ordinary relationship between “coworkers.”


4. Jack listening patiently and calmly to Lena’s speech, being reminded of himself and his passions for defending and helping others…is very good.  Very good for his character.  A little less revolutionary than Gabriel’s speech about Omnics, but good and grounding nonetheless.  This also helps humanize his whole “you need to slow down/okay dad” lines with Tracer in the game as more cute and familial than before.


5. The new timeline is BONKERS.  HOLY SHIT.  So things have started to break down - there’s investigations and complaints against Blackwatch, and growing criticisms against Overwatch.  Other people have speculated that Gerárd has recently died based on the news headlines, but what this means is that the collapse of Overwatch happened FAST: within at least a year, Lena has her temporal problems, McCree leaves, Genji leaves, Ana “dies,” Gabriel and Jack have their “falling out,” etc.  A YEAR.  That’s ridiculously fast for an organization that’s been around for nearly three decades.  This certainly implies that the conspiracy that brought Overwatch down was FAST and THOROUGH.  Sowing the seeds of discontent quickly and efficiently, almost certainly breaking up the “joint-relationship” between Overwatch and Blackwatch within months.  That’s insane.

6.  My friend Sami pointed out that Jack’s office is simple and small - not ostentatious or large.  He literally has nothing but a desk, a massive monitor, and some shelves in there.


7. Jack being willing to step out of line for “the greater good” makes him complicit in ignoring “orders” or breaking “the law.”  This sets up a great parallel between him and Reaper, and other characters like Lúcio, the Junkers, Mei, McCree, and Winston.  And we know that the “higher ups” spun this “overstepping his bounds” as forcing Overwatch as a policing agency onto the world.  Soldier: 76/Jack not being “respected” for his hard-but-morally-correct decisions lends itself well to his jaded, bitter manner later in life.


8. GOD.  DAMN.  TEAM.  UNIFORMS.  YES.  THANK YOU.

elennare  asked:

First, I wanted to say that I love love love your Harry Potter fics and what-ifs! thank you so much for writing them :) And I also wondered if you ever written what if the Dursleys had refused to take Harry in?

When Petunia Dursley refused to take Harry in she forfeited his birthright protection, so Dumbledore took the baby to the safest place he knew: Hogwarts.

The applicable staff (mostly just… not Snape) took Harry in on a rotating schedule as he grew from baby to toddler to child. They traded extra credit for babysitting among the older students, and Harry grew up knowing a few dozen different laps that were safe and warm to nap in.

This was a Harry who grew up among books, among old transient walls and learned professors. They gave Binns night duty sometimes, and let him talk young Harry to sleep. This was a Harry whose world changed, on principle, daily. The stairs moved. The walls became doors. You had to keep your eyes open–you had to pay attention. So he did.

He grew up in a school. Knowledge was power, but knowledge was also joy. This was his sanctuary. There was magic in his world from birth.

“The castle will keep him safe,” said Dumbledore, when McGonagall came into his office to complain for the eighth time about Albus’s rather cavalier take on child-rearing. “That’s what it does.”

Then why do we bother with chaperones ever,” McGonagall said, tempted to shriek it. “Should we let all the children run about willy-nilly at all hours, or just the orphan waifs?!

“He’s not a student. He’s a ward of Hogwarts. It will take care of him, Minerva.”

McGonagall walked off fuming. A cat with spectacle markings followed Harry almost constantly from ages three through four. At some point McGonagall was far enough behind on her paperwork, and had seen enough suits of armor carry the kid back to his room, enough draperies lift off the wall and tug Harry away from edges, and enough stairs creakingly shift their slope for his tiny toddler legs. She gave a grumpy sigh, stole some of Albus’s lemon drops, and resigned herself to a magical world.

The Grey Lady, the ghost of Ravenclaw Tower, didn’t really like boys but she liked children. She especially liked patience, and politeness, and Harry had been raised by McGonagall’s stern table manners, by Victorian portraiture and quite a few House Elves. He said please, thank you, and ma'am, and as a child he was very cunning in how he got bedtime stories and bedtime snacks out of most every adult he met.

The Grey Lady told the best stories, you see, the ones with riddles in them. You had to think and ask questions to get all the way through them. So he hunted her down with big patient eyes and plates of very smelly cheese, and she told him stories that made him think.

When Harry was stable enough on his feet to walk, and then to run, Sir Cadogan would race him through the castle, the knight scattering banquet tables and galloping across landscapes, twisting through the abstract gallery up on the seventh and a half floor. Harry stumbled and sprinted up stairways and didn’t notice for years the way Cadogan waited at the end of corridors for him to catch up.

Harry was a chubby-legged toddler, in this world–cute cheeks and stubby limbs. It’s a cute image, yes– but this is important. He was a chubby kid. He ate in a high chair on the teacher’s dais, getting peas and mashed potatoes on the adults beside him– Sprout laughed. Snape didn’t.

But this is important–Harry filled his plate. He wobbled up on little legs and grabbed biscuits from the table, slurped his soup, got marinara sauce on his chin and forehead and somehow behind his ear. When he was hungry, he ate. If he snuck down to the kitchens at night, it was for the adventure of it and nothing else. When he was hungry, he ate.

When he was four, they started letting him go sit down with the students. Bill Weasley, on route to be a prefect next year, took him under his wing and scrubbed his face down after meals. Harry was passed around the Hufflepuff table; theirs was the House Common Room he most liked sneaking into, with its barrels and cozy warmth. Nymphadora Tonks turned her nose a dozen different shapes to make Harry laugh, gurgling, as a toddler (and then a child) (and then for the rest of her life, honestly–it never stopped being funny).

The whole Ravenclaw table got distracted from meals, trying to solve riddles from a book one of their Muggleborns had smuggled in.Harry pushed his fork through his gravy, trying to draw out his thoughts but only making squiggles.

It was years before Harry sat at the Slytherin table for the first time–no one had ever set him down there, like they had with the others. But he liked green–it was the color of Professor Sprout’s greenhouses, where he went and napped sometimes in winter. It was the color of his mother’s eyes, from the little book of moving pictures Hagrid had given him when he was three.

All the Slytherin kids seemed big, but everyone Harry ever met seemed big–except for Flitwick, who was seeming smaller with every growth spurt. He leaned forward, teetering on the bench, and grabbed a chicken drumstick. “Hi,” he said, because he’d had a childhood full of tea parties with high portrait society– the French nobility and the tired housewife from the third floor and an old witch with her sleeve on fire but very particular table manners. “I’m Harry. What’s your name?”

By the end of the meal, they were flicking peas across the table with their spoons, like catapult projectiles. Harry had been unwelcome in so few places in his life, after he’d left 4 Privet Drive, that he simply didn’t expect it. He asked Warrington, a Slytherin with shoulders like a bulldog’s, to help him with the juice, which was too unwieldy for his kid-sized wrists. Harry sat there blinking, smiling, until Warrington took the jug and poured him a brimming glass.

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anonymous asked:

"You dont want me" ladynoir

Ladybug sat at the top of the Eiffel Tower, her head in her hands, wondering how she could have possibly screwed things up SO badly. 

She heard the light footfall of her partner landing behind her. She couldn’t say she was surprised, he had never been one to leave her to stew in her own misery. 

“So…” he drawled, coming and sitting beside her, “that was an interesting broadcast today.” 

“It was a disaster,” she moaned, still not looking up at him, “I should just throw myself off this tower and put myself out of my misery.” 

“Oh come on, it’s not as bad as all that,” Chat said, patting her awkwardly on the back. 

She turned and glared at him. “It was a live stream, Chat! LIVE! It’s out there. Right now!” 

“True,” he conceded, nodding his head, “but it’s not like you said anything horrible. It was kinda cute actually.” 

“You don’t understand,” she moaned, slumping over so until she was curled up in his lap, “I’ve ruined everything! What sort of an idiot starts babbling about their crush on a live broadcast.” 

“Well, apparently you,” Chat said with a light laugh, cautiously reaching forward to play with the ends of her hair, “and about half of the rest of the known world. It could be a lot worse buginette.” 

“Do you think there is a chance he didn’t see it?” she asked hopefully, looking up at her partner’s thoughtful expression. 

He gave her a pitying smile. “I think you’re pretty much out of luck their bugaboo. You already have a ship name and everything. It’s trending on twitter.” 

“Ugh, that’s terrible,” she groaned, curling up tighter and burying her face against his leg. 

“I don’t know,” Chat teased, “I thought Ladrien had kind of a nice ring to it.” 

“This can’t be happening,” she moaned. 

“Hey, come on. What’s this really about? Is it really going to be so awful for the guy to know you like him? He might be flattered.” 

“It’s not that,” Ladybug said softly, “I mean, it’s MORE than that. I haven’t even told him I liked him- as myself, my not Ladybug self I mean. And now… let’s say he does feel flattered? That just means I have made myself my own competition! And it’s not like I can just go up to him and be like: Hey, by the way I’m Ladybug and, as you already know, I’m totally in love with you! Want to date me now?” 

“Oh god,” Chat said with a sudden sense of horror, “there are going to be so many desperate fangirls trying to do that.” 

“I didn’t even think about that! If he didn’t before he’s definitely going to hate me now. I might be the only person in the world who can simultaneously confess to her crush and make it harder for him to notice me!”  

“You really are one of a kind there bugaboo,” Chat said giving her another reassuring pat on the shoulder. 

“And what if this puts him in danger? I mean I might as well have stamped a butterfly tattoo across his back saying property of Ladybug, please exchange for one miraculous!” 

“Please don’t do that. I am told that models need to be very particular about what they put on their skin.” 

“It’s not funny. What if I honestly made him a target?”

“Hey,” Chat said “I promise you, if anything happens I will be the first person on the scene.” 

“Thanks,” she said gratefully, reaching up and catching his hand in her own.

“So, you’re in love with the model boy,” Chat said softly, rubbing his thumb absently against the back of her hand, “gotta say I didn’t see that one coming.” 
“Yeah well, it’s not like it really matters anymore,” she sighed, “it’s not like it would ever happen.” 

He scoffed at her, rolling his eyes theatrically to show his clear contempt for her pessimism. “So tell me My Lady,” he asked shifting slightly so that he could look down at her with a playful smile, “what is it that you see in this guy anyways?” 

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” 

“You don’t want me, so clearly you aren’t after the guy for his looks,” Chat said wiggling his eyebrows flirtatiously. 

“No,” Ladybug laughed, “although they don’t hurt.” 

“Why My Lady, was that you finally admitting that you find me attractive?” 

“You’ve always been attractive and you know it,” she said reaching up and flicking his bell. “As you can see I’ve just had my attentions elsewhere.” 

“Oh so this is a long standing attachment then? How long have you been dreaming of being M’Lady Agreste?” he teased poking her lightly on the nose. 

“Almost from the first day I met him. It will be two years next week,” she said softly. 

“The start of school,” Chat murmured, “you know him then?” 

“yeah,” she admitted reaching blindly around to catch his other hand and pull him to her like a security blanket. “We were in the same class in college and we still have a few classes together now. Plus our friends are dating so we hang out a lot.” 

“You two are close then,” Chat said a little breathlessly, “that… well that certainly clears things up.” 
“Yeah,” Ladybug said, “it’s not just some creepy celebrity crush. I mean, it kind of was that too. I have like 2 dozen photos of him plastered on my wall that I used to practice talking to because for the longest time I could barely string a sentence together around him, it was kind of embarrassing. I got over it eventually, but by that point I didn’t really have the heart to take the pictures down.” 

Chat gave her a warm smile. “I can see it now, you stuttering and tripping and shooting the poor confused boy adorable awkward smiles before running off in the opposite direction.” 

“Shut up,” Ladybug said but she couldn’t help grinning at her partners soft tone and fond smile. “I got better.” 

“I know.” He raised one of her hands to his lips and gave her a delicate kiss. “So you still haven’t told me what you see in this guy,” he challenged, “If I am getting demoted to your rebound choice I deserve to know what I am up against,” he said slyly. 

“He’s kind,” Ladybug smiled, filling with warmth as she thought about her love. “He always wants to see the best in people,and he… he is just good, you know? The kind of goodness that doesn’t come from ignorance or being sheltered, but that has seen pain and and heartache and loss and yet still chooses to be good. 

“That is high praise indeed My Lady.” 

“You aren’t going to make fun of me for this?” 

“No My Lady. If anything I am going to love you more for it.” 

She gave him another grateful smile before sitting up. The sun had begun to set and she knew she should be getting home. She probably had a dozen of so missed calls from Alya waiting for her. 

“Well who knows,” she said attempting to be flippant. “Maybe he’ll finally just reject me and I will change my mind about you Kitty.” 

“Wouldn’t that be a twist,” Chat laughed climbing to his feet and offering her his hand to help her up as well. 

“It would probably be for the best,” she sighed. “It’s not like we can be together. Not with Hawkmoth still on the loose. There is too much at stake. And I don’t know if I could bear having to hide my identity in a relationship.” 

Chat grinned again. “You are very wise My Lady.” 

“Mostly I am just telling myself that so I can feel better,” she admitted and was rewarded with a loud melodious laugh. 

“You know,” he said, eyes twinkling “you are probably right. Clandestine meetings, midnight makeout sessions, it’s probably better to hold out for the real thing.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Besides, I hate to break it to you My Lady but I have a sinking feeling that #Ladrien is not to be.” 

“And why is that Kitty?” 

“Well,” Chat said looking out at the sunset, “not to be the bearer of bad news but I have it on very good authority that your lover is very much spoken for.” 

“oh?” Ladybug said trying not to let her disappointment show. 

“Yes, completely and hopelessly in love. Someone at his school in fact.” 

“And who is this mystery girl?” she asked. 

“It’s right on the tip of my tongue,” Chat said his eyes glittering with something she couldn’t quite name, “it will come to me. I’ll have to tell you next time I see you.” 

“Well thanks for the heads up,” she said leaning over to give him a kiss on the cheek, “and thanks for cheering me up.” 

“Always My Lady. I should probably get heading home myself.” he pulled out his staff and and extended it. 

“Oh,” he said, shooting her a final grin as prepared to depart, “I do remember one thing.”
“And what’s that?” 

“The mystery girl, I knew there was something about her that I found particularly delectable.” 

“And what is that?” 

“Her parent’s own a bakery.”  

Fanfiction

Summary: Bucky asks to borrow your laptop and finds the smutty fanfiction that you’ve been writing on your anonymous Tumblr account.

Warnings: smut, secondhand embarrassment, fingering, metal arm kink

A/N: Thank you guys for being so nice to me today and sending me asks because I really like getting asks and they helped me feel better. I finished writing this at three in the morning because my anxiety is really bad because I’m waiting for my advisor to email me back about whether or not I can withdrawal my Physics class and I’m going really crazy waiting because I have a Physics test Thursday and welp. Anyway, that’s why you have this fic; I couldn’t sleep so I wrote this. Feedback is welcome and encouraged. If you want to be added to the tag list you have to send me an ask.


“Hey, (Y/N), can I borrow your laptop?” Bucky peered into your room, making sure you weren’t indecent first.

“Yeah, that’s fine.” You unplugged the MacBook from it’s charger and handed it to Bucky. “I’ll be down in the gym if you have any questions.”

“Thanks, doll.” His fingers brushed against yours as he took the metal computer from you. The mixture of his pet name and the tingling from his touch sent a need between your legs. “Mind if I just sit in here and use it?” 

“Not at all.” You headed out of your room and to the gym, ready to work out.

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Think Outside the Lovesquare Day 1: Wrong Number AU

(Just a note to clarify, I elected to use bolded text to indicate Adrien’s texts and italicized text to indicate the person texting him.)


Hey, are you back in France yet?

Adrien stared down at his phone. He wasn’t entirely sure who was texting him, but he could only guess it was someone working for his father. Maybe Nathalie needed a new number and hadn’t had the chance to tell him yet. He shrugged and replied.

Just got back today. I should be home soon.

How’s work?

Adrien raised a brow. Nathalie had been with him until the last two days, so she already had a pretty clear idea on how most of the work had gone. Maybe she just wanted to know about the last shoot.

Fine. Everyone seemed pretty happy with it.

Cool. Are you free this weekend?

Adrien checked his schedule, a bit confused that Nathalie was asking him, instead of the other way around.

I should be, yeah.

After all, she’d promised him a few days off after the grueling three weeks of travel and photo shoots and media attention. His calendar was indeed free aside from a fencing lesson he’d chosen to keep.

Wanna meet up?

Now he knew something was wrong. Nathalie wouldn’t ask

Wait. Is this Nathalie?

What? No, this is Nino.

After a moment, the mystery person added on.

I sat behind you last year.

Adrien frowned. So, it wasn’t Nathalie after all. That didn’t explain who it was, however.

Sat behind me? Where?

In class. Remember?

Now it was beginning to make sense. Adrien flopped back onto his bed and stared up at the screen. It really should have been obvious. After all, Nathalie and Chloe were the only ones who texted him.

I think you have the wrong number.

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My Boss’ Son

So I uh…wrote fic. This is the first thing I’ve finished in a while. Just a quick thing I wrote while at work. It’s unbeta’d with no reread because I didn’t want to give myself a chance to hate it.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Stiles liked his boss. He knew a lot of people didn’t like theirs, and he knew he was lucky. Talia Hale was beautiful, and could be pretty tough if you didn’t do your job, but Stiles loved what he did too.

Network administration wasn’t for everyone, but Stiles saw doing it for a rapidly growing business as a challenge. The pay was nothing to sneeze at either. At this rate, his student loans would be paid off in half the time, and Talia always listened if Stiles needed something. Especially new equipment.

The only problem with Talia was that she kept trying to set him up with her son.

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❝ I know, but I am your idiot ❞

Plot: Jungkook jokingly makes fun of you and hurts your feels but makes it up to you 

Pairing: Jungkook xReader

Words Count: 2,1k+

Genre: Slightly angst/ Fluff

For Anon, I hope you like it cutie!

 - kyu.

Gif isn’t mine, credits to the owner!

Originally posted by jengkook

‘Jagiya!!!’ A voice called through your apartment.

‘In here!’ You called from the lounge.

Your handsome boyfriend came walking in with a smile on his face, ‘And just where I left you.’

‘Ha-ha-ha, very funny.’ You mock, jumping up from the couch and into his arms.

He happily received you into his warm embrace as he wrapped his strong arms around your built and lifted you into the air. With one fluid movement, he spun the both of you as your legs wrapped around his waist. Coming to a stand still, you both looked into each others eyes before he closed the gap between the both of you. You accepted his soft touch, as your lips moulded together and he inserted his tongue when your lips parted for him. He tasted every inch as if it was his first time.

Air being needed, you pulled away and pecked his nose, ‘How was America?’

‘Oh sweetheart,’ He carried the both of you to the couch and sat down, ‘It was amazing. Like the language was slightly hard but Joon hyung helped us every step of the way. I wish you were with me!’

‘You know I would have come if I could.’ You stroked his face, ‘I missed you a lot.’

‘I miss you too.’ He replied, brushing your short hair out of your eyes before a teasing smile spread on his face, ‘Yah! Why can’t you have long hair like normal girls?!’

‘You know that I don’t like long hair.’ You rolled you eyes.

This hadn’t been the first time Jungkook teased you about your choice in having short hair. You liked the way it looked on you and to be honest, it was less admin compared to long hair. It wasn’t as if your hair was cut in a boy hairstyle, but being Jungkook, he didn’t ever take that into consideration. You loved him very much, but his childish qualities made you want to run into the wall sometimes.

‘And why can’t you wear skirts and dresses like other girls?’ He joked around once again.

‘Because shorts and jeans are more comfortable.’ You rolled your eyes.

He placed a hand on your leg and tugged at the material slightly, ‘More like sweatpants and pyjamas.’

‘Only when I am home!’ You retaliated, anger running high and feeling hurt, ‘Did you comeback from America just to point out what it wrong with me?’

’Well n-no Y/N -’

‘If you hate the idea of how I dress and look, then why are you with me?’ You pushed him away, tears brimming your eyes, ‘I am sorry that my comfort and choice of clothing does not suit your ideal type, Jungkook.’

‘Jagiya, I-’

‘I’m sorry that I am not like those female idols and models. I AM SORRY THAT I AM NOT GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOU!’

With that, you ran towards your bedroom and slammed the door with a swift lock, ‘I was just joking….’

Throwing yourself on the bed, you sobbed into the pillow that still lingered with his scent. Angry and pissed, you threw it towards the chest of drawer located close to the door. The object hit a picture frame that came crashing to the ground, shards of glass decorating around the wooden frame. Clutching your legs to your chest, you cradled yourself as the tears flowed from your eyes. Crying, a knock came from the other side of the door.

‘Go away!’ You shouted, ‘Get out of my apartment right now!’

‘Jagiya, I am sorry.’ He apologised, resting his forehead on the door while his fist still stayed attached to the wood ‘I didn’t mean to upset you. I was just joking.’

‘Well you have a pretty cynical way of joking.’ You sniffed.

‘You are just so cute when you get all upset.’ He tried to lighten the mood.

‘Then I must be fucking adorable right now!’ You seethed, ‘Just get out!’

‘But you tease the ones you love!’ He tried to reason.

‘LEAVE!’

Sighing, he walked away from the door. Message after message, he flooded your phone.

I am sorry baby!

Please let me in? I never meant to hurt you, I would never do that on purpose!

BABY PLWEAAASSEEE! You know I will beg until you let me. You are my one and only, I tease you because I love you. Baby please….

Eventually the messages stopped going through and he figured that you switched your phone off. Every now and then, he would knock on your door and you would scream and shout at him all over again. Jungkook teased you a lot, and you were okay with it. This time just made you feel lower of the low. He had just visited a different country with thousands of beautiful woman and was surrounded by dozens on a daily basis. It felt as if he was comparing you to something you knew you could never become. You were a simple girl studying animation, nothing more and nothing less. Just mundane.

‘Baby?’ He knocked for the fiftieth time as two hours passed before an idea kicked in, ‘The spare key!’ Running to the counter, he opened it up and found the treasure, ‘Bingo!’ Back before your door, he unlocked it with a victory ‘Jagiy….’ He faded out at the sight of you passed out on the bed, ‘Aish, why did you cry yourself to sleep?’

Stroking the side of your face with his index finger, he pulled the sheets back and tucked you in. You snuggled into the sheets and all but smiled when you felt a pillow in your arms. It was the one you threw away. Jungkook pecked your forehead and walked to the shattered frame on the floor. Clicking his fingers, he ran a few errands before coming back to your place an hour later. Slowly you shifted and sat up, rubbing your eyes. Blinking, you noticed a bunch of roses on your chest of draws alongside the picture. But it was in a different frame. Slowly the door opened and Jungkook peeked in.

‘You awake.’ He beamed, pushing the door more and entering with a tray,

‘Did I not ask you to leave?’ You crossed your arms, glaring at him.

‘You did,’ He agreed, placing the tray down, ‘But you know I don’t listen, I am the maknae at the of day.’

‘I don’t want to repeat myself, Jungkook.’ Your voice cold.

‘And neither do I. I made your favourite by the way, but it’s hot so be carful.’ He motioned to the cup of steaming hot chocolate on the bedside table.

‘Jungkook…’ You were about to complain before he placed a finger on your lips and silence you.

‘Enough with the threats, okay?’ He stated, ‘Listen I am sorry for what I said. Sometimes I speak and think you will understand what I mean, but this time I was wrong. So wrong that it caused you pain, and to be honest baby, I hate myself more then anything. The fact that I made you cry made me want to run into moving traffic.’ He held your cheek, brushing your hands over the tear stains, ‘Those tears should never be anything but good happy ones.’

‘But-’

‘Let me finish. Yes you aren’t an idol or model, but I do not care! If I wanted those types, I would be dating them. Y/N, we have known each other since junior high and I have never been the happiest when you agreed to be mine.’

‘I’m so plain and boring.’ You sighed, pulling away from his touch.

‘You say that, but I see a girl who is interesting and different.’ He encouraged, ‘A girl that doesn’t care what anything thinks,’ He leaned in and brushed his lips against your, ‘A girl who makes me proud and happy that she is mine…and only mine.’

You leaned in thinking he was going to kiss you but he quickly scooped you in his arms, flinging you over his shoulder ‘Yah!! Kookie, put me down!’

‘No,’ He looked behind him with a warm smile, ‘I am still apologising.’

‘Still?’ You asked him with a raised brow.

‘So first, we are adorned with a bouquet of beautiful roses,’ He walked by the drawers, ‘The scent that lingers on you everyday and makes me feel like I am floating. Second we are confronted with a picture of you and I. The picture taken on your senior dance and one of my favourite moments I have shared with you so far, and with many more to come. The frame is a sleek black one because of the dress you wore.’

‘You are so cheesy.’ You huffed.

‘Oh baby, you don’t even know the half it.’ He walked out the door.

Your nostrils were ambushed by the scent of sweet smelling fumes and was lightly light with fairy lights. The furniture was rearranged and pillows scattered on the ground. In the middle lay a tray of all your favourite foods and drinks. The TV was on and before it laid a bunch of DVD’s which were all animation. Walking in, you still hung on his shoulder before he got into the centre of the room. Placing you down, he circled his arms around your waist and kissed your neck as he stood behind your body.

‘Before us we see the setting of our first day,’ He reminded, ‘The night we made a blanket fort and watched movies all night with laughs and amazing food.’

‘Kookie…’ You whispered, all anger seeping out.

‘The movies on the floor represent you and I.’ He pointed at them as you removed yourself from his hold and picked up the films, ‘And since you learning to be an animator as well.’

‘Lady and the Tramp?’ You asked with a raised brow.

‘You are my lady, elegant and beautiful while I am the run of the mill tramp.’ He pointed out.

‘You aren’t a tramp.’ You chuckled before picking another, ‘Tangled?’

‘What more then an artistic girl and a goofy man who fall in love through adventure. I want to have many with you Jagiya.’

‘Beauty and the Beast?’

‘A little rough around the edges but I have found my beauty who will turn me into the prince.’

Tears slowly began to well in your eyes as you looked at movie after movie, finally looking at one with a cocked head, ‘Big Hero 6?’

‘You will always be my Baymax, to hold and comfort me through the hard and rough,’ He knelt before you and kissed your forehead, ‘Someone who will never give up on me and always make me feel better.’

‘Jungkook….’ You sniffed.

‘No more tears…please.’ He pressed his forehead against yours, ‘I have caused enough pain for one day.’

‘But this isn’t pain,’ You looked at him, ‘This is tears of happiness, the only tears I am allowed to shed remember?’ He nodded in agreement, ‘But why are you doing this?’

‘What?’

‘Showing me all this love after I wanted you out?’

He chuckled with a hearty laugh, ‘Because you are my Princess and I am nothing but the little frog that will make you happy even if you don’t see it quite yet.’

‘Princess and the Frog reference?’ You asked with a raised brow.

‘I would say its my life motto, but sure, movie reference it is.’ He kissed your nose.

‘Neither,’ You said softly, ‘You aren’t a frog. You are the handsome Jungkook whom is my prince and man I love with every ounce of my heart.’ You admitted, ‘I am sorry for snapping at you…’

‘No I deserved it. I shouldn’t have said what I said, it was wrong of me and I am the one sorry for teasing you.’

‘Well you know what they say, you tease the ones you love.’ You smirked

‘Yah! That isn’t fair, I said that and you wanted to throw me out your house!’

‘That shows how much I love you.’ You smiled, brushing your lips against his and closing the deal with a sweet simple kiss.

It was nothing but a pressing of your lips in his. There was no movement at all, just the two of you frozen and soaking up each others presences and warmth . He had done a lot to make it up to you and proved that he was dearly sorry and loved you will every ounce of his heart. You felt his thumb stroking your cheek as you pulled apart and looked into his eyes deeply.

‘You are such a tease.’ He said softly.

‘Says the pot to the kettle.’ You shrugged your shoulders, standing up with him in tow. He laughed as he shook his head and lifted you in a tight hug, ‘You are such an idiot sometimes.’

‘I know, but I am your idiot Y/N. I love you….’

Some quick musings on the new update

thelostspecial.com

Here is the text, with my first thought comments in bold:

I was going to draw this out longer but the truth is, I’m bored.

OK

There is no Lost Special. There never was, and there never will be.

And you know this objectively?

Once again, in their need to keep this midnight train going, TJLC fans created something out of nothing.

Even if that is that case, why do you care?

Seeing this obsession with “The Lost Special,” even though series 4 was clearly over, I couldn’t resist the opportunity to run a sociological experiment with a vicious fandom in denial.

Steven brought it up, not us.  Also, even if the series is over, that doesn’t mean it’s over.  They’ve repeatedly said they have through series 5 mapped out. It was only in December 2016 they started hinting at “we don’t know, this could be it.” Sure Jan.

My poorly assembled website took not more than twenty minutes to cobble together (as some people rightly pointed out) and very little effort to maintain.

This is a lie.  

“By the pricking of my thumbs (something wicked this way comes)”- I edited an ominous message into the code and title, referencing the Macbeth quote used in The Six Thatchers. It was strange to see how many people didn’t recognise the “pricking” quote and even criticised the website because it allegedly didn’t call back to Sherlock in any way- except that I was directly quoting a series 4 episode.

Except most of us did recognize this?  What about your dancing man code reference to Unto the Breach?

Watching fans defend how shoddy the website is, in their need for thelostspecial to be real was especially funny. It was also funny to see the people who guessed the website was fake and said as much, but didn’t even care because they desperately needed something to hold onto, with Sherlock over.

Whichever, why do you care?  Why would it be funny to you?

Then there’s the people who clocked that thelostspecial.com wasn’t “real”… and yet never question their own dedication to TJLC and/or the existence of a fourth episode of series 4, concepts entirely created by Tumblr.

The lost special site was only one of hundreds of indications something is fucky.  

 Anyhow. Next, I threw a random bunch of numbers and photos out there to see how people would scramble and react, and you didn’t let me down. Mostly I chose the first photo I found of a character that I liked the look of, in Google; there wasn’t real logic. I re-used some images out of laziness. I used an online generator to make the Dancing Men/Henry V code post.

So the meanings we found in everything, tying it somehow back to Sherlock, or ACD canon, or anything else were all coincidences?  

What do we say about coincidences?

40, 27, kra, the various “hints” you think you found on the website and found countless possible meanings of, they were chosen at random. Even the elephant photo was chosen at random. It wasn’t until after I edited it into the main website photo that I discovered the poor thing was named Mary and had been shot and executed for killing a man (on 9.13.16. Everyone overthought that one too much.)  So I used that info because it was serendipitous. “The universe is rarely so lazy?” Friends, the universe is often lazy.

“They were chosen at random.”  “The universe is rarely so lazy?

Sure Jan.

When I added a black image with five pixels of colour to the website, you did not let me down. People played with the image until they became convinced it was QR code spelling something out. It was just five meaningless pixels of nothing, created in MS Paint.

Yet you did the whole thing in 20 minutes.

The static gif was taken from a YouTube video of TV static from some movie, with an old Moriarty close-up thrown in.

We know, 28 days later.  With Moriarty loaded in.  Again, whole thing in 20 minutes.

The photo of John and Sherlock sitting in the watery 221B, I got it from Farfarawaysite.com, and scaled it down a little because the photo was large. That’s it. I didn’t change the proportions in any way, or alter the colours, or add anything to the photo. Anything you saw in it, you imagined. I left the big black header on the website as a hint to keep your eye on those, since the thing I changed on 2/11 was in the similar Twitter header.

”That’s it. I didn’t change the proportions in any way, or alter the colours, or add anything to the photo. Anything you saw in it, you imagined.”

Like Murderous Mary being photoshopped into the back picture? Sure Jan: http://whimsicalethnographies.tumblr.com/post/156824256785/221bloodnun-whimsicalethnographies

I changed the plain black header of the Twitter to a black one with a word embedded in it. The profile photo was changed to a plain black photo with XX hidden in it. No one bothered checking it, though clearly the account was active again, so I changed the profile photo to show the Xs, as a hint to look deeper. Finally people found the “clue” today, not that it matters. The word spelled out there is another blind alley that leads nowhere.

Then accept all our follow requests.  

MMTE: The source code message was a hint toward Murderous Mary the Elephant, which some of you guessed but no one looked for it.

murderousmarytheelephant.tumblr.com

(Don’t bother trying to access it, there’s nothing in there.)

DON’T LOOK NOTHING TO SEE HERE, EVEN THOUGH THERE’S A PASSWORD.

There was no set schedule for changes to thelostspecial. I used intermittent reinforcement to keep people frustrated but coming back for more. That’s why I added and removed things at unexpected times. There is no pattern.

Ok?

For people wondering, wow, why would anyone take so much time to do this? Well, I didn’t. Creating the plain black squares with a few letters, throwing a message into the source coding,  and uploading the new website photo of John and Sherlock took maybe 5 minutes. Creating a side blog with no posts and keeping it private takes one minute.

Except the photoshopping you DID do as established would have taken more.  Even searching for the first image you found would have taken time.

Overall, it takes less than twenty minutes a week to do this, once it was set up, because really? You do all the work for me. You all did what TJLCers do best- you took a bunch of random data, inflated it into something much more complicated than it really was, and created your own narrative out of it. Even knowing it might be nothing, and was probably just a fan-made site, you’ve still allowed yourselves to get worked up over it and allowed yourselves to hope. You’re reading into nonsense and finding clues where there are none, and naturally most of those “clues” pointed exactly where you wanted them to point to. Confirmation bias at its finest.

Well all I get from this is that we’re smarter than you are.

Learn from this.

Stop falling into conspiracies. Trust yourself when you can see that something isn’t real or likely. Alternately, find something that doesn’t make you feel sad or heartbroken.

Seriously?  “Trust yourself when you can see that something isn’t real or likely.”

Instincts are to be trusted, John.  

Also, my instincts have gotten me into a pretty good place. I’ll keep trusting them, thanks, and they tell me something is fucky.  We’ve seen this episode before.  

Goddamn you’re arrogant.

A few final notes:

“And in conclusion *jerk off motion*

I was somewhat entertained by the several dozen times people attempted to reset the password for the website and access the control panel. If I was petty, I would’ve logged your IPs and reported you to your ISP. (Don’t worry, I didn’t. I don’t care that much.)’

You cared enough to look.  

I didn’t send the “mole” anons or any other messages on Tumblr. I think other fans decided to join the game. I imagine they’ll continue until they get bored, too.

Read: I can’t say why everything else is fucky too.  Must be more people like me.

The only twitter account connected to thelostspecial.com is twitter.com/thelostspecial. I have no idea who runs the “contact” twitters but I’m positive they’re fan accounts. (If you think BBC-sanctioned accounts would post like that, I have a bridge to sell you.) As for my twitter, I set up the thelostspecial twitter account, followed some BBC-related accounts and left it alone for a week while TJLC fans went wild trying to suss out who I was following. That’s all I did with it.

Then accept my follow request.  Seriously, YOU’RE SO CLEVER I need to follow you to learn your secrets.

I didn’t start thelostspecial Instagram account. Someone else did that, I don’t know who.

Nobody asked.  Actually, I didn’t even know there was an instragram account.  Did anyone else know?

And if you enjoyed hunting, try a legitimate online riddle game, such as Amnesya.com for a challenge! All the fun, none of the TJLC and fandom “fucky” business.

Well, since you brought up “fucky business,” why are they screenshots of the Shrewd Living posts in the “Museum?” Did you do that too? Wow.  In charge of a scam website.  Oh, you don’t know about that?  Then why put it in there?  Why, John?

Nah.

Sherlock Series 4 is over. This is the end.

Thanks for playing TheLostSpecial! Goodbye and God bless.

Seriously, we’ve seen this episode before.

WE’VE SEEN THIS EPISODE BEFORE.

Mother Knows Best, LMM/Reader

Prompt: The Oscars’ luncheon breeds a new relationship for Lin.

Words: 2,450 (Good LORD)

Author’s Note: I’ve been looking for some smaller things to write as I gear up for the write-a-thon, and Lin was tweeting about the Oscars’ Luncheon. Got a bit of an inspiration. (Y/M/N) = Your Mother’s Name. I know that some people don’t have mothers but this prompt required a parental figure. Feel free to change it to anyone you want!

Warnings: General lack of knowledge as to what happens at an Oscar Luncheon.

Askbox | Masterlist


“I’ve never even heard of this.” You sigh into your phone, your publicist trying to maintain an even and calm tone with you. “I mean, yeah, any day I get to stand in the same room as Meryl Streep you can count me in.”

“Amazing! I’ll get in touch with your stylist-” You allowed the eccentric woman to go off about a list of her duties as you boarded your subway, weaving through bodies to find an empty spot next to the handrail.

“Nothing too insane. This is a luncheon, I’m not meeting the queen.”

“This is the Oscars, Y/N! No one will be in a sweatshirt and Levis!”

You certainly wish you could be.

The past year has been a bit of a whirlwind for you - interviews and movie offers and an Oscar nomination. Everything was still very new to you - you had never even gone on a talk show until just a few months ago. A year ago you were struggling to pay rent and scraping together money to be able to feed both you and your dog.

Then a once in a lifetime chance came your way and you jumped on it before you could blink.

Keep reading

Family portraits

Batfamweek 2017, day #1: family.

Read on AO3


It starts with a casual comment, one that shouldn’t bother him so much. And it doesn’t. Not right away.

“You don’t have any photo on your desk”, the new girl says. She started working at WE two weeks ago and Tim thinks her name is Kathy, or July, or something like that. He’ll pick it up eventually. Now he just blinks up at her from behind the pile of reports he’s working on.

“Sorry?”

She bits her bottom lip, now looking embarrassed at her own straightforwardness, and vaguely gestures at his desk again.

“No photos”, she repeats. “People usually have photos on their desk. Family. Girlfriends or boyfriends. You know?”

Family, girlfriends, boyfriends. Yes, Tim knows.

“Well”, he smiles politely. “I’m just trying not to look like I’m fifty and live only for my work, to the point to spend all my time in my office and need photographic reminders of what my family looks like.”

Kathy or July or something like that frowns at him.

“Beside, my family is really ugly”, Tim continues, going for less subtle sarcasm, but the joke doesn’t really comes out his mouth as a joke, and KathyJulySomethingLikeThat looks more confused than before.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Hi!!! I was wondering if you could do how rfa+v+Saeran would react to seeing old self harm scars on MC or MC relapsing? I am almost 1 year clean from Self harming but today is one of those bad days I get urges to do it. If you don't feel comfortable doing this it's okay :) Hope you have a good day and keep working hard 💪🏼❤

i’m so proud of you for staying clean so long, i know how hard it is!! i have scars myself from 1-2 years ago, so this was comforting for me to write as well :) i hope it helped you feel a bit better, remember that you deserve being happy! ❤ i’m always here if you need someone to talk to 


Trigger warning: self harm


Zen (this turned out really long whoops)

  • A lot of his fans were jealous of you, so you got a lot of hate for being “to ugly and fat for Zen”
  • You were home alone as he was at rehearsal, so he couldn’t scold you for looked down at your thighs in disgust
  • They were faint, but the old scars on them gave you an idea. You hadn’t done it in a long time, but you remembered that it did feel calming to a certain degree
  • You went to the bathroom, popped out a blade from your razor, took a deep breath and let yourself feel that familiar burning
  • Suddenly you heard the front door open and Zen’s voice telling you he was home early
  • You scrambled to find something to wipe the blood away with, and ended up just messily wiping it away with a paper towel before pulling on a pair of his sweatpants and going out to greet him
  • He smiled when he saw you, then frowned
  • “Princess, I feel rude to ask, but are you on your period? You’ve got blood on your pants”
  • Shocked, you looked down and saw that the cuts appearantely were too deep for your messy wiping, so there was quickly growing blood spots on your legs
  • Zen was no stranger to people with bad mental health around him as he was a public figure, so he quickly suspected what you had done
  • When he saw that the spots got bigger his fears were confirmed, and you saw his entire face fall
  • “I-I can explain…”
  • He cupped your face and looked straight into your eyes with the saddest look you had ever seen 
  • “Listen here… I know a lot of my fans don’t treat you right, is that it?”
  • His worried stare was too intense, so you looked down with tears in your eyes and just nodded
  • He sighed and pulled you close to him, kissing your head
  • “I love you so much, it hurts me too… But harming yourself won’t do anything good, you understand that? Can I see..?”
  • Hesitantely, you nodded again and pulled down the pants so he could see, and he got down on his knees and started kissing your thighs, not caring that they were bloody
  • “I love every single part of you, you understand that? Let’s go clean and wrap this up, I will protect you. Even if it’s from yourself”


Yoosung

  • He convinced you to cook with him
  • You were supposed to make cookies, but the only thing you managed to make was a total mess
  • By the time you finally got them into the oven, you both had dough and flour all over from the food war you had
  • He offered to clean some up from you, and when you agreed he blushed and kissed you
  • When you smiled into the kiss because he tasted like cookie dough, he gained confidence and slowly pushed you back to the wall, where he pinned your wrists over your head
  • You moaned softly in suprise as he wasn’t usually this dominant and it was really hot I’m always a slut for dominant Yoosung
  • Wanting to see what effect he had on you he pulled away for just a second, when his eyes were pulled to where he was holding your wrists
  • The sleeves you usually made sure were always covering your scars had rolled down to your elbows, revealing all of them
  • You saw his eyes go from filled with lust to filled with worry, and you looked away from him in shame
  • “They’re all old… Right?”
  • You nodded and he sighed relieved, before he hugged you tight
  • “You mean so much for me, I don’t want you to ever feel like that again. Please talk to me if you feel bad, okay? Can you promise me that?”
  • You agreed and he kissed your head
  • “I think it’s time for cookies and cuddles”


Jaehee

  • You had such a crush on her, but she was either really oblivious or just didn’t like you back
  • No matter what the reason was, it really hurt and you couldn’t help but feel insecure when all of your flirting got turned down
  • You really didn’t want to stoop so low as to go back to your old self harm habits, but it was so hard
  • In addition to the fact that you lived with her, the stress of running a café and your parents not accepting that you had a crush on a girl, it all got too much for you
  • One day when she was grocery shopping, you couldn’t help but find a small knife in the kitchen, locking your bedroom door and resume your old habit
  • You tried to keep them relatively shallow so they would heal quicker and lower your risk of getting caught, but once you started you found it hard to stop
  • You sobbed softly but because of that you didn’t hear Jaehee return from the store
  • Not finding you in the couch where she left you, she wandered around the appartment untill she heard you and stopped in front of your room
  • “MC? What’s wrong?”
  • When you didn’t answer she got worried, found a spare key and unlocked the door with a warning
  • You didn’t even bother trying to hide what you were doing, you just hung your head in shame as she gasped in shock
  • “W-what do you think you’re doing? Give me that knife!”
  • She quickly took it from you, ran to the bathroom to get a first aid kit and found you full on crying on the bed
  • Putting bandages on your wrists she softly said “Shh… I don’t know why you did this and you don’t need to tell me if you don’t want to, but please know that this isn’t going to make anything better”
  • When this just made you cry harder, she kissed your newly bandaged wrist
  • “I… I care way too much about you to see you like this, you should know that. Please come to me if you ever feel like this, okay? I can’t ever lose my reason for happiness”


Jumin

  • Whenever the two of you made out, you would always stop him when his hands started roaming under your shirt
  • Which he thought was fair, considering that your relationship was still new and you probably just weren’t comfortable enough with him yet
  • A few weeks after you started dating he offered to take you on a vacation, figuring you needed it after the stress of the party and hacker and all that
  • With Elizabeth the 3rd safely at V’s house and a mansion by a private beach rented for the weekend, he wanted to spend some time alone with you
  • He was suprisingly fond of the beach and wanted you to take you swimming there, but you kept declining
  • Kind of upset, he asked if there was any spesific reason why
  • You shrugged it off and said that you just weren’t in the mood, that you were tired and wanted to nap instead
  • He encouraged you to do as you pleased, not showing how hurt he was that you declined his offer
  • An hour or so after you had fallen asleep, he got bored and went to check on you and saw you sleeping, your shirt riled up revealing dozens of scars on your belly
  • His heart broke when he realized that was probably why you were so insecure about intimacy and going swimming
  • Careful not to wake you up, he hovered over you on bed and kissed your stomach
  • Despite his efforts you still woke up, and squeeled suprised when you saw him practially praising your biggest insecurity
  • “Kitten, I don’t ever want to see you do this again, but please understand that I love everything about you and you have nothing to be ashamed of. You’re like a tiger, these stripes show that you are strong. Promise to not hide yourself from me anymore, okay?”


707

  • Yet again he was doubting your love and pushing you away
  • He yelled when you tried to hug him, not knowing that the reason why you were clingy was that you were feeling like shit and needed to be comforted
  • You knew you were overreacting when you stopped by the bathroom to get a razor before returning to your shared bed (that he rarely used), but it just hurt so much that he didn’t trust you even after months of living together
  • Taking a deep breath, you pulled the leg of your pants and traced the outline if your old scars on your shin with the razor blade
  • Seven did realize how much he had hurt you, and just to be sure he checked the security camera he had installed in your room
  • When he saw that you were hurting himself he rose from his chair and ran to the bedroom, desperate to stop you
  • “Stop what you’re doing right now!”
  • You looked at him with tears in your eyes and yelled “so now you care?!”
  • With a firm look he pulled up the sleeve of his hoodie, showing his own scars and cuts
  • Taken back, you looked confused at him
  • He just smiled sad
  • “I know life is hard, okay? I know I am a shitty boyfriend, a shitty brother, a shitty person. But that doesn’t mean you are, do you understand that? It might not seem like it right now, but I really do love you. Like, I really love you. Can we make a deal? If you try to never do it again, so will I”
  • You nodded and hugged him, both of you apologizing for not being there for each other


V

  • Being practically blind, he depened a lot on his touch
  • Because of this, he had really sensitive finger tips
  • As weeks passed and you got closer to the handsome photographer, you let him touch and explore more and more of you
  • His new favorite hobby was to just run his hands over your smooth skin, trying to picture exactly what you looked like
  • During a particularly steamy makeout session you were on his lap, his hand travelling up your thighs where he could feel raised lines on your otherwise close to perfect skin
  • Pulling away from the kiss and raising an eyebrow questioningly, he kept tracing the lines
  • You hesitated before you admitted that you had self harmed, and he asked you if you had any other scars
  • Nodding despite his lack of sight, you took his hand and placed it on your wrist so he could feel them
  • He smiled sad and kissed your wrist
  • “You don’t have any fresh, do you?”
  • When you confirmed that you didn’t, he held you closer and kissed your nose
  • “I like everything about you, you know? You’re human, bad things are bound to happen sometimes. You got through it though, and I’m proud of you for that. Please remember that”


Saeran/Unknown

  • He didn’t like to admit it, but something about you pulled him towards you
  • The way you always put up with his bursts of anger and sadness and comforted him, made him care for you more and more as time passed
  • So when he saw you sleeping on the couch, his first reacting was to smile as you looked cute and carefree
  • And as he did find you quite attractive (not that he would ever admit that), he couldn’t help but let his eyes roam over your sleeping body
  • When he saw the scars and cuts on your wrist where your shirt had riled up your arms, he got mad
  • ?? Who had dared to hurt someone as nice as you??
  • He woke you up suprisingly gently, wanting to know who he needed to kill
  • Disoriented from sleeping, you said that he didn’t need to worry but he refused to give up, so he asked his brother
  • He admitted that he had seen you harm yourself but hadn’t really figured a way to confront you about it yet
  • Saeran got even more mad and walked back to the couch where you had gotten up and was now lazily stretching
  • “Why the fuck are you hurting yourself? Explain!” he growled and pushed you against the wall
  • Stuttering and ashamed you explained that it was a way to deal with sadness, but he didn’t get it at all
  • “Giving yourself another type of pain will just make you more sad, you idiot! God, what’s wrong with you?”
  • Hearing the guy you were crushing on saying this to you and literally growling made you tear up, and you saw his expression change to one of sorrow
  • “I-I’m sorry, okay? It’s just… You’ve helped me so much and I want to return the favor, but I have no idea how to. You… You are special, I don’t want you to be sad”
  • You met his eyes and saw how sincere he was, and was suprised when he hugged you tight
  • “Please don’t ever do it again, MC”
BTS REACTION (Hyung Line): He mistakes your quinceañera photo for a wedding photo.

I did this for pure funsies. To all my fellow Latinas out there.

Fun fact: My quinceañera dress was actually a wedding dress but because it was champagne nobody really thought much about it xD Please enjoy!

-Admin Goddessmoony


S E O K J I N:

He is cleaning out the closet and finds a box of yours that has dozens of pictures in it. He sees a photo of you in a white dress with a bouquet of pink roses in your hands, eating a piece of bread given to you by a priest, and next to you is a man kneeling in a black suit doing the same. The picture is blurry but the effect it has on him is clear. He has a ring in his pocket and a future planned out, but how can he propose when apparently you don’t trust him as much as he thought you did?

He wants to talk to you about it immediately and goes to the kitchen where you are enjoying a bowl of cereal as a snack. He slides the picture to you, “What is this?” His tone is one of frustration, that causes you to scrunch your brows and pick up the photo.

“A photo of my quinceañera ceremony? Wasn’t this in a box in the closet?”

“A photo of what?”

“My quinceañera…In my culture, at the age of 15 girls are considered women. Families hold a religious ceremony and big party in celebration.”

He gives you a wtf? face, “Then why do you look like a bride?”

You huff, “Years later and I still get this shit! Wait, did you think I was married?!”

“What? No…” Before you can reply back he pecks you on the lips, “But what do you think of becoming a bride?” He takes out the ring from his pocket and gets down on one knee, “Will you marry me?”

Originally posted by jhopefluxo

too smooth

Y O O N G I:

He takes a quick glance at the picture on your desk of your office. It’s a photo of you in a white dress, laying your head on the chest of a man in a black tux with his arms around your lower back. You and the man are looking at each other with joyous smiles. And guess what? He literally does not give a fuck that you have already been married. In fact, he’s thankful that your fool of an ex-husband let you go because then you wouldn’t be with him.

From then on, he will be extra affectionate towards you. Letting you know how much you means to him and expressing his love more often. He doesn’t want to risk losing you over him appearing to be unappreciative of you. It’s not until you introduce him to the man in the photo that he even remembers you had been married before.

“Yoongi, this is my best friend [male friend name].”

He will look at him with a tilted head and scrutinizing eyes, “You’re that guy from the picture on her desk.”

Your friend laughs, “That picture from her quinceañera? It’s so old but it’s her favorite one of us.” He discreetly googles quinceañera. Satisfied with the information that you were indeed not married to your best friend, Yoongi asks him for advice on how to propose to you.

Originally posted by dreamyoongi

H O S E O K:

He is helping you unpack your stuff into the new apartment. While you are in the kitchen fixing up lunch, he comes across a white lace album with a gold heart that has August 25 threaded in white on the lower left. Curious, he opens it and on the very first page there is a picture of you in a beautiful white dress with a bouquet of hydrangeas in your hands and a handsome man in a white suit with his arm around you. Your smiling the widest he’s ever seen and the man is looking at you affectionately. Hobi doesn’t notice the subtle signs of youth, too taken aback by how radiant you look. Then his mind goes to a screeching halt, ‘WAIT, SHE WAS MARRIED ADFSJKL?!?’

He would begin to wonder why you haven’t told him, aren’t you two in a serious relationship? You are moving in with each other after all! But then he thinks of all the possible reasons for you to get divorced when you clearly looked happy and becomes determined to express to you that you can confide in him more.

You walk in with a plate of sandwiches and see the album in his hand, “Oh, is that my quinceañera album? I never finished that.”

“Your what?”

Originally posted by jkookisdaddy

after explanation

N A M J O O N:

He is waiting for you to get ready for your date, and while it isn’t the first time he’s been in your apartment it’s the first time he actually pays attention to the things around him. Looking at all the pictures you have on your fireplace, he notices an elegant silver frame that’s been pushed to the far back. He wipes off the dust on the frame with his sleeve. The picture is of you in a white dress, holding a man’s hand with your right, in your left there is a large bouquet of baby breaths. The priest behind the two of you has a bible against his chest and is wearing a fatherly grin. You are wearing a smile that shows all teeth and the other person is looking at the floor with their own toothy one. The picture is taken from a distance so your age isn’t discernible.

He takes a deep breath, ‘Okay Namjoon, so she was married and hasn’t told you. That doesn’t mean she doesn’t trust you. She’s just not ready yet, which makes sense…Even though it’s been six months. But god, we are both in our 20s, she must have gotten married so young. I hope her divorce settled easily.’

You walk into your living room and immediately recognize the silver frame in his hand. “Oh, I thought I lost that!” You smile as you look at the photo from over his shoulder, “That reminds me, it’s going to be my little cousin’s quinceañera soon. I think it’s a good opportunity to have you meet my family.”

“…That makes a lot more sense,” he says out loud, which causes you to look at him like ???

Originally posted by lil-unicorn-yixing

Boooooiiii, where that above 140 IQ at.


Send requests for texts, reactions, scenarios or mood boards °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°

this is more time travel fic

The first time Andrew sees Neil, Andrew is eight and Neil is a strange man handing him a bag of Skittles at the bus stop before school.

“I’m not supposed to take candy from strangers,” Andrew says.

“Yeah, but strangers aren’t the problem, are they?” the man says.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The man stares at him, and then, abruptly, he looks away. Andrew knows about that kind of looking away. It’s the kind adults do when they see Paul dragging him by the wrist, or when Andrew shows up at school with a black eye and an attitude problem.

But then the man looks back.

Keep reading

Love in Colors

☇  soulmates au

genre: soft angst and light fluff

pairing: taehyung // you

word count: 7,034

warnings: people have said they needed tissues but………

Description: Lost as an artist, you travel around in order to find yourself. Then you meet Kim Taehyung - a stranger, a friend, and your soulmate. Only you don’t remember him but he remembers you.

A/N: ahaha i decided to post this a day earlier :) i’m pretty proud of it, so i hope you’ll like it!!



I met my soulmate before I was conceived. we were nothing but constellations composed of dying stars. before the supernovas consumed us, he told me, “Don’t ever feel alone in the years to come. You may have your doubts, but we’ll collide again. They say the universe is infinite, but so is love.


As an art major, you have always been interested in the order of the world and its complex design, a nexus of colors and lights, hopes and dreams, fears and failures, completed with intricate beings that are both so fragile and so strong at the same time. It confounds you when you realize how every single being on this Earth has a story behind themselves. You have learned to appreciate the masterpieces produced by various artists, sculptors, photographers, and musicians alike, their interpretations and impressions always having an impact, leaving you in deep thoughts and moments of stillness afterwards, the final note ringing in your mind or the picturesque landscape imprinted beneath your closed lids. Perhaps this is how the child-like wonder always makes its appearance in your paintings.

Yet you are still searching for yourself and the kind of art that will make you up in the coming years in a world that is so big, a constant cycle of criticism and judgement. You spend nights alone under the starlit skies, agonizing over the smallest of details, dozens and dozens of shredded and crumpled papers thrown around.

To put it simply, you are utterly lost.

You always knew that being an art major was risky; the chances of being actually successful were low, and you were nearing graduation from your arts college with nothing in your portfolio. But from the first time your young, chubby one year old fingers touched the cool, slick paint and stained themselves across paper, you were completely immersed. The urge to draw was something you could never resist, even if you wanted to, and the talent came naturally.

You’ve never, in the ripe years of your life, had an artist’s block, always listening to friends go on and on about them, but you’ve always had inspiration. That is, until now.

You find yourself unsatisfied, constantly comparing your own paintings to those of Van Gogh’s or Monet’s, feeling that none of your pieces of art were alive enough. None of them were spirited or lively, and though yes, they were good, beautiful even, they did not convey the emotions you wanted the audience to feel. Anyone could be an artist that draws, but not every artist could move people. To become truly successful, one had to fully understand themselves to produce the art that they desired, and that was just what you were missing.

The constant strive for perfection is what echoes in your head day and night, and finally you have enough of it. Your friends too, suggest that you take a break and walk the world for a bit, and maybe then you would gain inspiration.

That is how you end up in the Louvre Museum in Paris, only you are still as stuck as ever, and your trip is quickly coming to an end, with only a few days left.

“Yeah, I know,” you sigh into your phone. You are wandering the museum, absentmindedly looking at the works. Nothing really strikes your eye.

“Y/N, seriously though,” comes your best friend Yoongi’s voice. He is the one that understands you the best, the drive for perfection in himself rivaling yours. A pianist, he gives himself up completely to the music. “Don’t get so stressed out. It’s okay if you have to stay another year.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” you finally snap. “You’ve already gotten a couple offers. I haven’t even sent out my portfolio.”

The other side of the phone is quiet. You only hear the soft crackling of his breath.

“Sorry,” you say softly, a little bit guilty for raising your voice. “I’m just - I’m about to just give up. You should understand me, Yoongi, this feeling of imperfection that doesn’t satisfy me. There’s this constant spotlight in my mind, like my end goal, and I’m so close but there’s just this little stretch that I can’t reach. What if I really can’t find myself?”

“Y/N,” Yoongi says quietly, “these things can’t be rushed. The more you rush it, the more locked your personality gets.”

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let’s just be us

summary: based on this post by @bleebug (rockstar!killian and movie star!emma secretly dating, but those pesky fans figure it out…)

word count: ~3500

an: thanks to @swans-and-pirates for being a stellar beta! <3


Emma Swan likes to think she has it all in order.

Being an A-List celebrity is hard enough as it is, with paparazzi discovering her when she so much decides to go visit Starbucks for ten minutes. But, she has a plan and she has tricks that keep her relatively average.

Trick number one: private social media accounts.

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1769 - Steve x Reader

Summary:  You’re an Avenger by the name Anima, whose powers are immortality and invulnerability. You’re on a mission with a few from the team when your abilities are put to a test.

Warnings: Light swearing, light violence.

Words: +2 900

A/N: Please request! I’m up for writing just about anyting! Also, this is my first writing on this blog so please go easy on me :)))))))))

Originally posted by flyngdream

Truth be told, I quite like the thrill of warfare. Call me damaged and psychotic all you want, but there’s something about it that gets me riled up like nothing else. Perhaps it’s the patriotism in me igniting for fighting for my country? Perhaps it’s the built up rage being relieved by punching a few bad guys in the face? Perhaps it’s the fact that I know I won’t fall on the battlefield? I can’t really put a finger on the reason as to why I enjoy it so much. Maybe I am a lunatic? I don’t think I’d know if I were one. Lunacy tends to shield itself rather well from the person it possess. Let’s just say I wouldn’t be surprised if a doctor went on to tell me I was medically mad. The amount of bloodbaths I’ve gone through with a smile on my face are too many to count on my both hands.

“Y/N?” Steve called out as he looked across the Quinjet from his seat to mine, a crease carved between his brows. “We lost you there for a second.”

Had they? I didn’t realize I had been so deep in my daydreaming. “Sorry, just memorizing the Declaration of Independence in my head.” She made fun of the Captain of the America who always rolled his eyes at her nationalistic comments.

“I was going over the plan. Are you okay with being ground-bound on the west side? According to the little intel we have, that’s the side that’s the most guarded area of the premises. Lang and I will head for the center to get the files while Romanoff and Barton guard the entrance. All you need to focus on is the-”

“Bomb, yes, I got it.” She saluted only to receive yet another eye-roll.

“I hate to interrupt, but am I the only one worried that this bomb might go off? Who says it’s not an atomic bomb? We could put a big hole in the middle of Canada’s map here.” Scott said, anxiously looking between the group of five who had been assigned the mission to infiltrate the newly created Hydra facility in the middle of the cold, harsh Northwest Territories.

“It’s not atomic and it won’t blow up. If it does however, I can’t promise that I’ll go to your funeral.” She leaned her head back casually and shut her eyes to rest for a moment.

“Oh- oh you douche. That’s a low blow.” Scott whined.

“Stop it, both of you. This is a serious mission that we have in front of us. Hydra have never had a permanent structure this close to America before. If I were you, I’d take this a little more seriously. God knows what they’re up to out here.” Steve lectured before his eyes trailed out the window to the seemingly endless forests spreading out beneath them. He remained staring out for a while with an empty look in his eyes before returning his focus to within the aircraft. “How far off are we?”

“T minus 2 minutes, according to this shitty GPS system Tony upgraded to.” Natasha informed from her seat in the cockpit.

 ”You know I’m on the line, right?“ Tony’s voice erupted into everyone’s earpiece. ”Talk shit about my equipment agin and you might just have to use your own.“

“I’ll happily do that anyway. Hell, even the GPS on my phone is better than this.”

“Stop!” Steve repeated, louder and more urgently this time. I looked at him and could see the worry in his eyes which was an unsettling sight. The whole mission was really setting him on edge. Hydra had been his arch nemesis since day one as Captain America. Maybe she didn’t know everything about them, but as far as her knowledge stretched, Hydra had never left Europe in this way before, not by settling down at least. Maybe she was too uneducated about the subject to even assume how things had been and how they were, but Steve really seemed to dislike that they were so close this time around.

“We’re approaching.” Natasha broke the short silence which had filled up the Quinjet awkwardly. “I don’t know how high tech these guys are, but if they have radars, we’ve been on them for a couple of minutes at least.”

“Right. Just prepare for drop-off and we’ll handle things as we go. Y/L/N, you’re up first.” Steve ordered and I simply nodded. I unbuckled and stood up, looking down on my black and grey suit with imbedded with hundreds of vibranium disks, making it flexible yet damage-safe of incoming projectiles of as good as any kind. I slid my finger across the keypad by the back and the mechanism to the door began to buzz as the hanger lowered. Air whirled inside violently and wipped my ponytail around my neck to my throat and I narrowed my eyes as I observed the ground that no longer was so far beneath us. There was straight road which cut through the forest, leading up to the Hydra outpost with at least four guard towers along its way that I could see. No doubt there were more around the facility itself.

“Ready for drop off?” Clint, who had been silent for the hour prior, called back to make sure I was good to go. I held up a thumbs up, and on cue, the jet slowed down and steadied whilst hovering in the air.

I exhaled deeply before turning my back to the open back of the aircraft and closing my eyes again, feeling the wind grab onto my snug attire as I let myself fall backwards. As I continued to fall I peaked my eyes open, seeing the Quinjet flying across the grounds to where Steve and Scott would be dropped off. As a couple of seconds passed, I arched my back and raised my arms above my head skillfully until my body swung around in the air and aimed with my feet down. Only a split second went by before I landed with a ground breaking thud, literally. I would like to think that I timed the turn due to skill, but knowing myself it was most likely because of coincidence.

As I stood there, thanking higher forces that I had spared myself from an embarrassing landing with my whole back facing down, bullets began to pepper at my side. I slowly turned towards their source only to find three Hydra soldiers brutally shouting as they did little to none in damage. As they began to realize that themselves, their facial features turned from offensive to defensive and their open fire ceased until none existent.

“I already hate you guys…” I couldn’t help but mumble as I picked up speed with the three soldiers in my sight. In panic, they opened fire again. Bullets rained down on me like a goddamn, tropical storm and I could feel them ricochet off of both my armor and my skin. When I finally reached them, I grabbed a hold of one and threw him over the two others, knocking them all to the ground. They tried to scramble to their feet but before they could I held one of their rifles in my hand and grabbed the end of the barrel.

“Don’t…” I used the weapon as a golf club and hit the head of one of the men, knocking him out. “Be…” I hit another. “Dicks!” I hit the end of the weapon in the head of the remaining soldier and let it go afterwards, the rifle flying down the cliffs which began shortly outside of the fence surrounding the premises.

“Language.” Steve commented into my earpiece and I couldn’t help but let out a long groan.

“Don’t you start with that again.” I warned him, not in the mood to have my profanity pointed out. As the line remained silent after that I grabbed the two rifles left on the ground before I continued my way inside. I put my free hand into the net fencing and tore it apart, creating a hole large enough for me to enter through. A soldier patrolling on the roof of the concrete structure opened fire and I took one of the rifles in my hand and threw it like a dart, knocking the soldier to the ground like someone had slapped a fly with a flapper.

“Tell me when you got eyes on your target, Anima.” It was Steve again, and my focus was pulled from reality upon hearing him call me by my superhero name, or whatever I was. He never used it, never used any of the names we all were called. I can’t honestly tell if I like it or not. I can’t tell in what way he said it either. Unemotionally and negatively, or motivationally and inspiringly?

“Yes, sir.” I couldn’t think of a witty answer. A few soldiers had rushed out upon hearing the shooting and fired at my head and upper body, a few bad shots hitting my legs and the ground behind me. “Could you not?” I turned towards them. As they didn’t as much as stutter in their attack, I took the last rifle and threw it towards them. They flew back into the wall beside the door where they had exited and unconsciously sagged to the ground into a pile.

Anima was not something I came up with myself, but I did allow it to stick around. Originally it had been Peter’s idea. When I first became part of the team, months after things had settled after their civil dispute, a late night in the Stark Tower after an all too long party, a rather tipsy Tony insisted that I should have a superhero name. I had refused at first but everyone else had liked Tony’s idea and before I knew it, Peter had names me after the Latin word for life. It grew in the team and I didn’t really argue about the naming, so it stuck. Now, that A clings onto the upper parts of my suit like an emblem I should be proud to wear, which I actually kind of am.

I was inside before I knew it but things didn’t exactly looked how my mind had pictured. There was a huge room like that of a hangar, a few cars in one end and a dozen of guards surrounding my obvious target in the very center. They opened fire, just like all their coworkers, and I pushed forwards in their peppering ammunition.

“God that’s loud.” Clint commented on the line, referring to noise from my end.

“I’ve tried to tell them to stop a few times now but it seems they don’t want to listen.” I replied as I reached the men. They tried to engage in hand to hand combat instead but I began to knock out one by one slowly but surely. As my focus was on grabbing a guy from the floor and toss him down the large room, a crash filled my left ear as I felt a poke at my cheek. I turned my head around just in time to see the shards of a knife fall to the floor, a soldier standing with its handle by my head where he had attempted to pierce it.

“Did- did you just try to stab me, in the face?” I questioned him, watching the blood drain from his own face in absolute horror. “Do you know how much I like my face?!” I grabbed hold of his body armor and slammed him down to the ground. His helmet pushed up over his forehead but he was still able to see. “Did you seriously think I’d let you get away with that?”

I waited, gave him time to come up with some kind of an answer, but as he began to whimper in fear and rattle like a dry leaf in the wind, I used my head against his own to juggernaut his ass to sleep. I rose to my feet, eyes locking onto the bomb centered in the great hall when I noticed the small screen on it, my limbs numbing upon realization.

“Fuck!” My hands reflexively went to my head to pull at my hair, but it was tightly kept back and I felt my hands drop to my sides.

“Lang-”

“It has a timer!” I interrupted Steve, definitely not in the mood to be scolded cause of my language. “The bomb has a fucking timer on two minutes!”

“What?” It was Natasha, not wanting to believe what I was saying.

“One minute fifty seconds! There are no buttons on it, no wires. I can’t disarm it!” I could feel my breaths becoming shallow, my heart racing inside my chest. I’ve never been worried about dying, simply because I can’t, but everyone I know doesn’t have the blessing in a curse of being immortal and invulnerable. The blast radius of the bomb could be the size of the room it was in, but most likely it would wipe out the entire base and then some. Hell, even what Scott said about it being an atomic one seemed plausible when the timer was ticking down right before my very own eyes.

“Scott, you need to get to Y/N and get inside the bomb. We need to disarm it..” Steve ordered and I just shook my head, not caring that no one was around to see me do it.

“There’s no time! I’m improvising.” I watched as the timer went past one minute as I picked it up, cradling the cylindric piece of metal in my arms. I could hear Steve yell something about not doing anything stupid through my earpiece, but frankly, I couldn’t care less of what he had to say. I was holding a bomb and god knows how much it’ll take down with it if it goes off. I emerged from the door I had entered through, almost tripping over the soldiers still hanging around outside. I began to turn the corner when more billets began to rain down and I threw myself back to the safety of the wall. That way was a no go, so to the left it was.

I walked around the other corner of the extended part of the facility, a clearing which seemed to be a landing area for helicopters and such expanding before me. I glanced down at the bomb, seeing that the timer was down to forty already. “I’m north west of my drop-off point and I really need you guys not to come here right now.” I said as I came to the middle of the landing platform, kneeling to the ground with the bomb resting against my thighs.

“Y/N, I see you.” It was Steve. I looked up only to see him and Scott further away, far enough so that I couldn’t see their faces properly. “Don’t do this. We don’t know if you’ll survive!”

“Get back, Captain!” I called out, probably audible physically as well as over the intercom. “I walked around Hiroshima the day after the bomb dropped. I kissed a guy who died of the plague, whilst he was kissing me! I’ll be fine!”

“You’ve never contained a bomb before, you stubborn idiot! Drop it and run!” Steve truly begged now.

I looked down towards the timer, seeing it count down to ten. I took long breaths, feeling my body relax as I cradled over the bomb and covered as much of it as I could, a smile spreading on my face. “Cover your ears, guys. This one is gonna be loud-”

The bomb detonated. Flames whirled out from the areas where her body hadn’t covered it. Steve and Scott flew into the wall behind them as the shockwave rammed into them. The ground quakes at their feet and the Hydra base around them rattled in the bombs wake. Steve crawled up to his hands and knees before grabbing ahold of the wall for support. His knees buckled but he managed to stand, eyes gazing out over the helipad where he saw nothing but smoke.

“No…” He felt his heart sink. “No, no, no. Please-”

Steve went quiet as the smoke began to clear out, my body being detectable in its midst. I brushed sooth off of my attire, pouring as it stained the grey fabric black.

“Are you kidding me? I just cleaned this.” I tried to rub it with my fabric clad hand, my fingers peaking out from the fingerless gloves being just as black as them thanks to the sooth which was there too, along with the rest of my body.

“Oh you f-…” Steve cut himself off, beginning to jog my way. I tried to not look over at him as if I hadn’t noticed him. Instead, I nonchalantly continued my useless attempts in cleaning myself up. As Steve from out of nowhere was an arms length away, I looked up only to have two, huge arms wrapped around me. My eyes blew open and my body remained stiff as a stick as he continued to hug me without remorse.

“Uh… Steve? You good?” I questioned as I tried to wiggle my arms free and could feel him tighten his grip of me instead. After a few more seconds he let go and looked into my eyes, his being burning red from the smoke around us.

“You’re a damn idiot, you know that?” He seemed to wait for an answer, and I awkwardly broke eye contact before smiling again.

“I was born in 1769, Steve. I think I’ll live a little longer.”