they are not mismatched it is just the lighting

anonymous asked:

I feel like this is really random and silly so if you don't feel like answering that's fine! ....but I absolutely love your interior design & architecture and I was wondering if you could share some tips or some of your strategies on building/decorating? Specifically I'm thinking of how you mismatch chairs but they're still cohesive, how you use so many colors but it looks great and not at all messy, aaaand basically how everything is gorgeous :) Thank you thank you so much for your time!


secondly,,,, honestly ive been trying to answer this question for days in a cohesive way but i just cant because even idk what im doing when i decorate. 

but heres some random tips to decorate like me:

  • keep wood colours generally the same-ish - like, dont use super dark & super light
  • blue is a good colour
  • so is yellow
  • anythign that looks good with those two colours works well together
  • i dont rly like purple dont use that a lot
  • plants!!!! LOTS of plants just fucking bomb the place w plants
  • bomb is w ivy too it covers up the weird spots 
  • rugs r ur friend if a room is looking weird add a rug 
  • but the cute rugs not the ugly nana ones 
  • anything from the kids pack/bowling pack/the pack with the water slide/movie hangout looks gr8 together
  • also the gold & teal & magenta swatches from the vintage pack are so good
  • make it rly colourful
  • when it comes 2 chairs pick like,,,, two colours u like and only add chairs of that colour. that way u can have heaps of weird ones but keep it lookin kinda cohesive!

i cant think of anymore im sorry this is SHIT :)))))


Can we talk more about Lextra’s room here?


And also what the actual fuck are those floating candle cages????¿? Why the fuck do they hang so low? Just imagine Clarke getting out of bed at like 3 am to go to the bathroom, half asleep and tired af with her eyes barely open. She knows the rooms layout enough to be able to walk through practically blind but she always forget about those stupid ass candle cages until CLANG she walks headfirst into one and smacks the shit out of her forehead. And Lexa wakes up to the smash and Clarke’s half grunt half roar of pain and salty frustration and immediately goes for her bedside dagger ready to fite like ‘who dare attack me and my Clorke?¿’ ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ
And in the darkness of their room she just gets from Clarke 'jeSUS FUCKING FUCK SHIT FUCK WHY’ and Lexa is so confused and startled and disoriented and ready to kick some ass but Clarke is still going off 'WHY THE FUCK ARE THESE THINGS EVEN REAL WHY THE FUCK DO YOU NEED THIS SHIT LEXA FUCK’ and Lexa’s eyes are adjusting and she can now see that she and Clarke are the only one’s in here so she is just like ?¿ big eyes like the confused puppy she is and like stumbling through the dark towards Clarke with needy grabby hands like 'clorke my sun and my stars I will protect- where you be?’
And Clarke is just holding her forehead continuing to roar obscenities even though it honestly isn’t even that painful she’s mostly just tired and pissed that she has to deal with this shit at 3 am and she’s just 'LEXA GET RID OF THIS SHIT YOU DONT NEED 78 FUCKING CANDLES IN HERE AND 9 OF THEM IN FUCKING FLOATING METAL FUCKING SHIT CAGES’
and yes I did count all those candles and I counted 78 fucking candles fite me (don’t actually I’m small and frail)
And Lexa is just like 'shhhh klark my love come back to sleep’
And Clarke is 'FUCKING WHY LEXA’
And Lexa is all 'shhhh it’s for the aesthetic clork’
Clarke 'bUT WHY-’
Lexa 'shhhhhhhhhhhhh the aesthetic clock the aesthetic’
And a guard comes in like 'HEDA I HEARD SCREAMING ARE YOU ALRIGHT’
And Clarke grabs some random ass candle lying around and chucks it at this poor soul like 'NOT FUCKING NOW WESLEY’

anonymous asked:

Fish question: I have two goldfish in a 5 gallon and they always act erratic and scared when we turn on the tank light at night, is it okay to leave them without a light on at night?

uhm. well for one thing they’re in a RIDICULOUSLY small tank, hell i wouldnt even keep one in a 10 gallon

i can tell you right now that is probably causing them most of the stress, when a fish that is intended to grow large, like goldfish, koi, angel fish, parrot fish, and most plecos, is kept for life in a small tank like that it horribly stunts their growth (their organs grow mismatched to their body size, which is fatal) and stresses them out like crazy, i unfortunately made this mistake MANY times as a kid and my childhood babies suffered for it

so i really hope you have something in the 20 gallon range in mind for them soon, because goldfish live for decades and grow to be 9 times their original size at purchase

and about the light thing: fish have circadian rhythms just like us, they need a night time as much as a daytime, so keeping a light on all the time isn’t recommended and it is 100% a good idea to turn it off before you go to bed (i know my fish get cranky when i wake them up early instead of letting the sun rise in my room)

anonymous asked:

"oops" for nurseydex please :)

Nursey has the first-date jitters, and bad. He’s not graceful on his best days, and the slight shaking of his hands, the nerves he can’t quite seem to curb, aren’t helping him in this matter. He’s clutching the roses (cliche, cliche, cliche) a little bit too tight in his left hand and checking his watch too often. Dex was supposed to be here five minutes ago.

Three days ago they’d started texting, after exchanging numbers in the grocery store. “Everything alright?” Dex had asked, standing with his head cocked to the side, looking translucently pale under the fluorescent lights.

“Fine,” Derek had replied, flicking his eyes over. They burned from staring too long in one spot. He’d been staring at the same soupcan label for several minutes. He blinked, hard. “I just can’t find the organic honey that I like. I think they’ve moved it.”

“It’s probably not in the soup aisle.”

Nursey checks his watch again, the shaking in his hands increasing with every passing minute. Ten minutes. Dex was supposed to meet him here ten minutes ago, and he isn’t here, and everything is going wrong. Nursey’s socks are mismatched and he has pit stains and the flowers in his hand are quivering now, visibly fucking shaking and Dex should have been here fifteen minutes ago.

He doesn’t realize he’s leaving until he hears the sound of his feet crunching against the dirt path. He should have known it was dumb to ask Dex on a date in the middle of the woods because now he’s been stood up and it’s dark and a little bit scary, and who cares if he wanted to take him to the cove with the pond where you can see every star as if they’re close enough to touch? Who cares? It doesn’t matter now. Now, Nursey’s alone with nothing but dense foliage, a dim flashlight, and useless flowers.

Then there’s something big coming around the corner and it bashes into
him, a white and orange and blue blur that knocks him backward onto the ground. “Fuck!” Nursey cries out as the flowers fly out of his hand. He doesn’t know what way they go.

“Oops,” Dex whispers, blank, after a few seconds of silence and staring. There’s an awkward pause as they look each other over. Nursey’s eyes pan from Dex’s mussed hair to his untied sneakers and suppresses a laugh.

“Did you buy me flowers?” Dex asks, extending a hand. Nursey takes it and heaves himself up, holding on for a few seconds too long once he’s up. A slight flush paints itself across Dex’s face.

“I did. But….” Nursey gestures to the bouquet, a mess along the ground.

Dex rushes past him and retrieves two bright red roses, snapping most of the stem off one and tucking it behind Nursey’s ear. He shoves the other one in the breast pocket of his flannel and looks at his shoes. “Sorry I was late,” Dex says to his shoes. “I couldn’t find the trail opening.”

“No biggie,” Nursey smiles, reaching over and giving Dex’s hand a hesitant squeeze. “There’s this sick spot a little deeper into the forest I wanted to show you.”

“Sounds perfect.”

scorpius malfoy with long hair

(fair warning: i switch tenses abt halfway through this lol sorry i took a big break between writing it so~ hope you enjoy it anyway!)

1. Over the summer break after second year, Scorpius decides to let his hair grow longer than he usually does, denying his father’s frankly listless attempts at trying to cut it.

2. Albus doesn’t see Scorpius much that summer, only a day here and there, and during those days  Scorpius tries to hide his hair from Albus so he can surprise him at the start of third year.

3. Cue the start of third year, Scorpius has let his hair grow so that’s it’s now just below his ear, and it’s silky and soft and it gets tangled easily and Scorpius is sure Albus will love it.

4. What Scorpius doesn’t foresee is how much Albus will love it. Scorpius spots Albus a bit away on Platform 9 ¾, and excitedly lowers the hood of his muggle hoodie, pushing through the bustling crowd to get to Albus and tap him gently on the shoulder.

5. Albus turns around, and Scorpius braces himself for Albus’s wide eyed appreciation and smiling mouth, but he gets more than that. When Albus turns and sees Scorpius and his new hair, he literally jumps back in surprise, almost knocking over someone’s trolley. His green eyes are the size of saucers, his hands covering his mouth. Scorpius tries to take this reaction in a positive way, spreading his arms and grinning, “Hey Albus! Did you miss me?" 

6. Albus just slowly takes his hands away from his mouth and whispers, "what did you do to your hair?”

7. Scorpius explains he let it grow out over the summer. Albus tentatively reaches forward to take a a couple of silvery blonde strands between his fingers, his mouth open in awe, his eyes now sparkling. “It’s beautiful,” Albus breaths, seemingly caught up in the way the weak September sunlight hit Scorpius’s hair and made it shimmer against his neck. 

8. Scorpius, not expecting this reaction, feels himself blush a deep red and turns quickly away from Albus, pulling the hood of his jumper quickly over his head again to hide his face. 

9. During the whole train ride after that Albus is just staring at Scorpius’s hair in wonderment, running his fingers through it almost like he can’t help it. During this Scorpius’s face is going to melt it’s so hot, and Rose decided to just leave them two dorks to it, leaving the compartment with a sly smile at Scorpius, who chokes slightly when Albus’s nails scratch gently along his scalp.

10. Albus can’t even stop himself at the start of the year feast, keeping a stroking hand at the nape of Scorpius’s neck, his fingers continually running through the strands. Of course everyone notices, number one because, damn Albus can you not? And number two because damn Scorpius can you not?? 

11. Even though he looks absolutely beautiful, Scorpius becomes the butt of many bully’s jokes, ranging from “hey trying to pretend to be a girl so Potter can finally like you??” to “oh following in daddy’s footsteps are we? i always knew you were evil, Malfoy.”

12. Of course, Albus hears most of the jabs and gets so angry at every single one of them, shouting and sometimes even sending curses at every single person who even dares to even look at Scorpius the wrong way. This lands him in a lot of detention, which Scorpius attends too, out of love for Albus defending him but also anger at it. He pesters Albus during these detentions to stop his outbursts, that he can "fend for himself”. Albus always agrees wholeheartedly, more so watching Scorpius’s mouth and they way it shapes words then what Scorpius is actually saying. 

13. Even though Scorpius says he’s okay, sometimes the jokes and the jibes get to him and one night Albus finds the blonde crying in the Slytherin common room, his wand pointed at his hair and a mirror in front of him, ready to chop. Albus rushes over to him and snatches the wand out of his hand, and Scorpius just turns and continues sobbing into Albus’s chest, clinging to the black-haired boy’s shirt with shaking hands. The rest of the Slytherin house find the two in the morning curled up on a couch together, Scorpius’s tear-stained face nuzzled into Albus’s neck and Albus’s hands curled around Scorpius’s head protectively. No one says a thing.

14. Near the end of third year, Scorpius’s hair has grown out just past the line of his shoulders and Albus had never felt more happy. Scorpius has taken to twist his hair up and stick a quill in it to make it stay, and he always runs his fingers through the hair that falls across his forehead when he’s nervous or stressed. 

15. Sometimes in class, when Scorpius has his hair down, Albus can’t stop himself from just reaching over and running his hands through it, twisting it around his fingers and making tiny cute braids in it that Scorpius pretends to hate but secretly loves and leaves in the for the rest of the day. This leads to a lot of teachers reprimanding Albus, and it even comes to Professor McGonagall calling Scorpius in after class and gently requesting him to keep his hair tied up during lessons, so that he won’t “intervene with other students learning”. Scorpius just smiles weakly at her and walks out of the classroom.

16.  So Scorpius does, pulling it up with either a spare bobbin he steals from Rose or one of Albus’s skinny neck ties that Ginny bought the black-haired boy for Christmas, twisting if around and around and leaving the ends dangling so it looks pretty and delicate. This actually just distracts Albus more, because all he can think about when he sees Scorpius with the tie in his hair is that’s my tie on his hair my tie on hIS HAIR???!! By this time most of the teachers have just given up giving out to Albus for fiddling with Scorpius’s hair. All McGonagall does is roll her eyes.

17. And then it’s the summer again and Albus insists on having Scorpius over for the whole summer, and somehow, Draco agrees to this. That summer basically consists of Albus coaxing Scorpius to put his head in his lap so he can play with and braid his hair. Scorpius tries to sound exasperated but everyone knows (including Albus) that he loves it.

18. Ginny finds them one night curled up together in the garden, Scorpius’s head on Albus’s stomach and Albus’s hands just stroking ever part of Scorpius they can reach, including his face, his arms, his neck, his chest, his stomach, his hair. Scorpius has his hands gently grasping at Albus’s own when they’re wandering over his skin, trying to keep them still so he can feel Albus’s warmth. They whisper to each other what they want to do at Hogwarts next year and what new sweets are coming into Honeydukes and how Scorpius just has to try them. Ginny smiles to herself, quietly calling for Harry. The two parents watch in gentle awe, Ginny beginning to beam when she sees Scorpius turn his head to nuzzle his nose into Albus’s stomach when the black-haired boy makes a particularly stupid joke. Harry grins too, guiding Ginny away after a while, knowing the boys wouldn’t like it if they knew they were being watched.

19. All Ginny does that night is smile, unable to sleep because her son has someone that he loves so much and she’s gonna tear up because she’s so happy he’s happy and oh my merlin Harry isn’t it just so wonderful??? Harry agrees gently with his wife, smiling to himself because merlin’s beard he loves his family. 

20. It’s the morning everyone goes back to Hogwarts and Scorpius doesn’t know what to do with his hair because it’s getting scarily long now and wtf does he do with all this tangle???? And suddenly Lily appears out of nowhere and grabs Scorpius by the hand and drags him over to a chair and sits him down, walking around so he has his back to her. “I’m gonna braid your hair, Scorp,” she says cheerily, already working at his hair with nimble fingers. “’M sure Al will love it. You don’t mind if I twist in some glittery ribbon too? It’ll go beautifully with your colouring!” This is the first time Lily and Scorpius have actually spent alone together besides small chats in the corridor when they’re passing each other and knowing smiles across the kitchen table when Albus makes a particularly bad joke, so Scorpius lets her, enjoying the way it feels when she gently pats his head, whispering “you look wonderful, Scorpius.” Scorpius then decided that he loves Albus’s family.

21. Then they’re on the platform and the Hogwarts Express is whistling and Scorpius is hauling his suitcase down the corridor of the train and he passes a compartment of first years who actually stop to just stare. Scorpius notices, of course he does, and he smiles, sliding the compartment door open and sticking his head in. “Are you all okay?” he asks gently, trying to make his voice as open as possible as to not scare the dazed looking eleven year olds. A girl, who herself has a short pixie cut, stutters slightly “y-your hair.” Scorpius grins, grabbing at the end of his braid and tugging at his hair, letting the golden sparkly ribbon that Lily added to it hit the simmering light of the compartment, making it shine brightly. “What about it?” he says, smiling down at the girl. “It’s- it’s long,” she whispers in wonderment, “and you’re a boy.” This widens Scorpius’s smile, and he abandons his trunk for a moment to sit down on the seat next to the smaller girl. “You’re a girl and you have short hair. What’s to say I can’t have long?" 

22. The girl’s expression quickly turns horrified as she stumbles out, "oh- oh no I wasn’t saying it was bad I was saying that it was good like great and amazing and I really like it and um- why are you laughing?” Scorpius explains that he wasn’t laughing at her, and how he thinks it’s amazing that’s she has short hair and how maybe they can be the mismatched duo and they girl just lights up, her eyes sparkling with quick adoration as she looks at Scorpius. “What’s your name?” she says, her words hushed. Scorpius grins. “My name’s Scorpius. How about you?” The little girl’s smile could light up the whole of Hogwarts. “Sam,” she whispers.

23. Sam gets sorted into Slytherin and when she’s sees Scorpius sitting at the table, Albus quietly keeping a protective arm around him, she almost cheers because there’s Scorpius!!! Oo wait who’s that next to him??? Scorpius grins a sparkling grin at her then and motions for her to sit down next to him at the table. All of the Slytherins stare as she does, still clapping about her arrival. Once she’s seated, Scorpius immediately introduces her to Albus, who he had already told about the train incident. 

24. Albus becomes immediate best friends with the girl too, and Scorpius just looks between the two of them fondly as they talk across him animatedly, Albus occasionally sticking Scorpius with his fork because he’s so enthusiastic for this new human being. Scorpius doesn’t mind one bit. 

25. It’s a couple of months later and Scorpius is getting properly worried because his hair is growing so fast??????? It’s nearly down to the middle of his back and he’s silently freaking out with it one morning, twisting it and pulling it and braiding and then re braiding it until his scalp actually HURTS and that’s when Albus wakes up and is like “Scorp just leave it down? It’s beautiful? Please? You’re an actual angel I swear?” And Scorpius is just there bLUSHING and he decides to leave it down for the day.

26. And by golly was that a good idea. By the end of the day he’s made about twenty new first year friends who just adore him and it shocks all the older students cause how tf is that weirdo???? doing that????? And Albus is just there beside Scorpius and all his lil followers with the BIGGEST smile on his face and a casual hand on the small of Scorpius’s back like yes this angel is mine he’s mine you can all just dream of being like him you prats

27. That night Albus steels himself and then quickly scrambles his way from his bed into Scorpius’s. When he opens the curtains and peaks in, Scorpius is there, sitting cross legged, running a brush through his hair. Albus nearly doesn’t want to disturb him now, but Scorpius sees him and smiles, reaching out a hand to gesture him in. “Would you brush my hair, Al?” And Albus just nearly DIES and is like “psh okay yeah alright I’ll do that yup ok”

28. This ends up with Albus lying down with Scorpius on his bed, face to face, heads pillowed on hands and Albus fingers sifting through Scorpius’s newly untangled locks. This position isn’t new to them, after ending up like this most summer nights before school started, with stars in Scorp’s tired eyes and wonder in Al’s ones. But for some reason this time feels different and Albus’s breath speeds up as he feels Scorpius’s hand sliding up his chest to rest at the crook of his neck, fingers gentle but searching somehow.

29. Albus finds himself blurting out “I love you, Scorpius” and then he’s sO red and fuck fuck fuck but Scorp just smiles gently, the fingers on Albus’s neck massaging small circles. “I know Al, I love you too,” he says, and Albus is pretty sure Scorp didn’t realise what he just said, what he meant by it. “No, Scorp,” he murmurs, looking down because Scorpius’s silver eyes are too beautiful and he can’t do this he can’t but he has to and- “I love you. I love you.”

30. And Scorpius is confused for a moment because yeah?? he knows?? But then he sees Albus’s face turning a dark shade even in the dim light and his heart suddenly squeezes in his chest and his body is tingling because he understands he understands he knows oh my god Al I love you too!! But that doesn’t come out because he suddenly realises the position they’re in, noses almost touching, Albus’s hand in his hair and his fingers running down Albus’s neck and he doesn’t think he just acts and pushes forward to press his lips clumsily into his best friend’s

31. Time stops for a moment and all Scorpius can feel is warm, slightly chapped lips unmoving against his own and Albus’s sharp intake of breath and he thinks he’s fucked up and gotten it wrong and shit he’s never been good at reading signals and he’s really done himself in now but then mere seconds later Al is responding, his hand sliding further into Scorp’s hair so he can pull him closer, lips pressing back shakily and Scorp lets his eyes close and he falls into Albus, hand going completely around his neck, pushing up against the other boy.

32. And oh this is so good, so safe because Scorpius realises in that moment, that press of mouth on mouth, that Albus is all he’s ever wanted and that he’s his home. So when Albus finally pulls back slightly to let out a wavering breath, there are big, heavy, happy tears in Scorp’s eyes that he can’t let out just yet because he knows that they will freak out his best friend.

33. “S-scorp,” Al whispers, eyes wide as saucers, lips tingling and brain almost numb and oh my god he just kissed me he just?? I just kissed Scorpius? Scorp? My Scorp?? “What- I’m- I don’t-” and then he’s being shut up by another quick press of lips and Scorpius’s breath washing over his face as he snorts shakily, his eyelashes fluttering like they do when he’s nervous.

34. Albus takes all these little details in, along with how soft and warm and just fucking nice Scorp’s lips feel against his. So he goes in again just as Scorpius is about to speak, and then it’s a game of who can shut the other up faster with sweet, tentative pecks and Al feels Scorp’s hand slide down to rest at the base of his throat where he curls it around the neck of his shirt, tugging slightly. “Let me- let me talk, Al,” Scorpius gasps, his fingers curling tighter. “Let me- please.”

35. Albus is still struck dumb so he finds himself staring, something bubbling up in his chest as Scorp struggles for words. “I- oh my god Al, just, I love you too, you idiot.”

36. “Scorp, I don’t want you to do this just because I said it first-” “Dear god you are a dolt, aren’t you, Potter? Just kiss me again please.”

37. Skip to fifth year and Scorpius Malfoy and Albus Potter are the cutest couple in hogwarts, and Albus has an undercut to compliment his boyfriend’s hair which now reaches past his waist. Albus likes to spell flowers into it. Scorpius is just really in love. 

(apologies for any spelling mistakes or just mistakes in general! hope you enjoyed!)

I’ve apparently been the victim of growing up, which apparently happens to all of us at one point or another. It’s been going on for quite some time now, without me knowing it. I’ve found that growing up can mean a lot of things. For me, it doesn’t mean I should become somebody completely new and stop loving the things I used to love. It means I’ve just added more things to my list. Like for example, I’m still beyond obsessed with the winter season and I still start putting up strings of lights in September. I still love sparkles and grocery shopping and really old cats that are only nice to you half the time. I still love writing in my journal and wearing dresses all the time and staring at chandeliers. But some new things I’ve fallen in love with – mismatched everything. Mismatched chairs, mismatched colors, mismatched personalities. I love spraying perfumes I used to wear when I was in high school. It brings me back to the days of trying to get a close parking spot at school, trying to get noticed by soccer players, and trying to figure out how to avoid doing or saying anything uncool, and wishing every minute of every day that one day maybe I’d get a chance to win a Grammy. Or something crazy and out of reach like that. ;) I love old buildings with the paint chipping off the walls and my dad’s stories about college. I love the freedom of living alone, but I also love things that make me feel seven again. Back then naivety was the norm and skepticism was a foreign language, and I just think every once in a while you need fries and a chocolate milkshake and your mom. I love picking up a cookbook and closing my eyes and opening it to a random page, then attempting to make that recipe. I’ve loved my fans from the very first day, but they’ve said things and done things recently that make me feel like they’re my friends – more now than ever before. I’ll never go a day without thinking about our memories together.

Maybe This Time -- Chapter One “Random”

Tom Hiddleston x Plus Size OFC

No real description yet, It is going to be sweet and fluffy for the most part… but you guys know me… that never lasts haha

Chapter One - Random

It was just a random Thursday night. Why do the best things seem to happen on the most random days and the most random times? If it were a scene in a scene in a movie it would have been a rainy night. A chance meeting in a smoky bar or cafe. A sudden spotlight on the perfect girl in slow motion.

It wasn’t a movie though, so it had far less fanfare. It was a clear and quiet night, it was a hole in the wall cabaret in a neighborhood about halfway to being gentrified, and it was just a woman with a voice.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Fam may I have headcanons on how the RFA + V and Saeran sleep, please?

okay um- 

RFA + V and Saeran~ 

they lay in bed or whatever then when they slowly drift to sleep they first reach 

Stage 1 of sleep, this is the lightest stage of sleep, where they can be easily awakened 

then they reach 

Stage 2 of sleep, which is where eye movement stops and brain waves become slower with only an occasional burst of rapid brain waves

Stage 3 of sleep is deeper sleep where delta waves are seen, which are really slow brain waves and they’re intercepted by smaller waves ever so often 

Stage 4 of sleep is where the brain produces mainly delta waves, it’s extremely difficult to wake someone up from this kind of sleep, Stage 3-4 are called Deep Sleep, in this sleep there is no eye movement nor muscle activity 

There’s another kind of sleep called REM sleep, which translates to rapid eye movement sleep, in which the brain is replaying memories from the day and getting rid of them. Also breathing becomes more rapid, irregular and shallow, eyes jerk rapidly and limb muscles are temporarily paralyzed. Brain waves during this stage increase to levels experienced when a person is awake. Also, heart rate increases, blood pressure rises, and this is when dreams occur, if awoken during REM sleep one can remember the dreams. There’s an average of 3-5 parts of REM sleep, which is what allows our bodies to be refreshed once we wake up as sleep allows our brains to sort through all unnecessary memories. It’s vital humans sleep more the an hour because REM sleep occurs approx AFTER an hour of light sleeping. 

I got most of this information from my Psychology teacher plus my notes from that class, so I mayyyy have gotten a few things wrong! Also there’s a few things missing ech- 

 Hopefully I answered correctly!

Okay but seriously here’s the headcannons //dies//

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Stars in the Night: Chapter 2

If someone picks out the Fable 2 reference, we’re besties now, alright? 

Anyway, THAT ESCALATED QUICKLY, DIDN’T IT. HAH. EVIL!BLINDBAE IS BACK AND HAS ONLY JUST BEGUN MWHAAHAH. Ok, but for real, I hope you like what I did here. Feedback is always appreciated. Lemme know your thoughtttts!!!!

Tagging @nifwrites​ and @cupnoodle-queen​, the soulmate AU buddies. Tagging @stunninglyignis​, @themissimmortal​, @stephicness​, and @lupanaoflaminar​ <3 Love you guys. 

Word Count: 2,148

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

“You were brought to me by the astrals. Created by Shiva herself, Stella! She named you for the stars in the night sky!” Her mother shouted out loudly from her wheelchair. Stella lowered her head from view, hiding from the onlooker patients that shot dirty looks to her mother.

“There she goes again. On and on about Shiva all day and night!” Another female patient grumbled, rolling her eyes. “Stella this and Stella that! I hope they kick her out soon.”

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havannasajotnap  asked:

Can you write me something about how sasuke could've possibly asked Sakura to marry him? And their wedding day 😊

thank you for being so patient with me, love ♥ i hope this is okay? anywho, i hope you enjoy!

The air smelled sweet, like maple, and coated in a chilly breeze due to Fall playing out. 

He walked lightly among the orange leaves, yellow and auburn lining the branches like a messy painter’s pallet, showing the true colors of Autumn. The sky was rimmed in blue, extending across the sky with no clouds in sight, while the grass below his feet began to fade out with a burnt brown, dusky yellows mixing into the dead scene.

Sasuke noticed how easy it was to breathe, how easy it was to adjust to his new life after his trip of redemption. He never knew life could be this easy to withstand; then again, he never knew that it would be this easy to reciprocate his feelings of love to Sakura, showing her exactly how he felt.

From years of concealing feelings, to years of being away, he craved that innocent touch of her presence, to the pure look in her evergreen eyes; raw and beautiful, uncut and sincere.

It was when Fall began to fade, winter entering their lives and leading their journey through the Northern Lands that he stopped her in her tracks.

Sakura turned to him; nose red from the cool air, waterlines rimmed in red and coated with water, her pale ruby lips parted yet turning up at the corners as her emerald green eyes shimmered with fascination.

“Sasuke?” She asked quietly, her eyes averting to his hand, fingers wrapped gently around her wrist.

“Can we stop for a second?” He felt himself asking, his heart rate picking up, legs buckling, mind numb.

He wasn’t sure what it was, whether it be from the weather, or from being exhausted, or just because he wanted to stop and look at the view. Though, it was none of those; it was Sakura that he wanted to stop for a second, look her deep in the eyes, say something meaningful and let her know just how important she is to him.

But she doesn’t move, only nods her head and turns.

The pair is located at the top of a hill, overlooking the land below as its showered in a golden light. The rays of sun soaking the rolling land, casting its light and golden flecks of warmth on the frosted mounds, casting a shimmering light into the air.

It’s there that he holds his breath, clenches his fists and closes mismatched orbs before exhaling sharply and grasping Sakura’s hand in his own, intertwining their fingers and pulling her to him slightly.

She lets out a soft squeak before looking to Sasuke, a smile playing on her lips once more.

He doesn’t drop to his knee, doesn’t take her hand and kiss it gently before announcing his proclamation of love.

He doesn’t need to. It’s in her eyes that he sees his reflection, the nervous wave that washes throughout him, yet he keeps his porcelain face calm and composed, like a million thoughts are currently running through his mind.

Sakura doesn’t say anything, only looks on at Sasuke and its when he tucks that loose end of hair behind her ear and runs the palm of his calloused hand down her jawline that she leans into his touch, devouring the physical contact that he’s graced her presence with.

His heart beats one, twice, three times before it comes out. Anxiety, stress, panic, it all washes over him. Sasuke feels his lips move on their own, unaware of the words that come out but the meaning behind them means more than anything in the world right now.

“Marry me.”

And there’s something new in her lovely eyes, something that comes to life, a snapping rubber band, and she smiles that soft smile that he loves oh, so much, and says the words that light up his world and kick start his heart.

“Of course, Sasuke.”


She’s beautiful, her face lightly powdered in a fine coat of make up, lips painted red, while her pink lashes wear a thin shell of make up. Rose quartz hair pinned back into an elegant bun, knotted at the base of her head, while the remaining tresses that are too short to reach, fall lightly and frame her face.

Sakura is dressed in a white kimono, simple and elegant, while Sasuke’s robes are black and graceful, flawless.

She can only see promise sparking in his onyx orb, while the violet one hangs behind sleek obsidian hair, shiny from the relaxed winter sun.

Their ceremony is small, only containing the two of them on the day of another Uchiha joining the clan, but it’s what Sasuke wants.

His face is calm and lovely, gorgeous as ever while his jawline is strong and taut as he stares at his wife with adoring eyes.

They say their vows with a slight breeze blowing through the outdoor garden, frost picking up from the blades of grass and glistening as it rides along the wind and blows through the air.

As Sasuke looks down at Sakura, staring into her eyes, he places a small kiss upon her cheek, another on her high cheek bone and pulls away. She smiles softly, her eyes closed in adoration and when he places his fingers to her forehead, she opens them and reveals alert jade eyes.

Much like in their youth, he has his digits pressed lightly to her Yin seal, a smile pressed on his lips and a shimmering dark eye that shows more emotion than she’s ever seen.

“Sakura, thank you.”

He’s not thanking her for marrying him, but for not giving up on him. Not turning her back like many others did, for traveling with him across the lands, fighting alongside him, joining him and accepting him for what he truly is.

“Thank you,” he whispers softly before pressing cold lips to hers.

To Sakura Uchiha.

Infinitely Wallflowers: Chapter two

Eventual Peter Parker X Reader

Warnings: Mentions of drinking, Cussing, Bullying, high school.

A/N: This is based off of “The Perks Of being A Wallflower” if you haven’t read it or seen it, i highly recommend you make a trip to the library. 

 Also, It’s been such a long time since i’ve written the first chapter, but i finally did it! Yay! There’s so many reasons why but i don’t feel like i need to say them. I just hope you enjoy and thank you for sticking around for this long!

{Chapter One Here} // Song to listen to: Temptation

Words: 1,556

August 24th, 2016

Dear journal,

Sometimes I wonder what it’s like to not have powers. To not be that awkward kid who sticks around walls whenever possible. Would it be better to fit in? To be popular? Besides the kind of popular in middle school where you held hands with anyone who could breathe. The kind of popular where people actually liked you and looked up to you.

Besides my slightly angsty wannabe poetry, I’m doing okay.

Well, as okay as you can be when everyone around you seems to want to force hell on you every single time you step one foot on school grounds. Though I firmly believe that things get better. Thing have to, right? Not everyone can be so bad.

Always ~ Peter P-

He thought maybe, just maybe that school might not be as bad the next day. But god, was he wrong. Some could even say it was worse. Time seemed endless in the dull hallways of the germ-filled building. It was all just… useless.

He wasn’t learning anything, really. Some things, yes. But nothing that would help him five years later. And he hated it. Everything about it. The wasted time could be spent patching up old computers and saving the world.

Peter stuck to his plan of staying close to the walls and not saying much. Becoming part of the limitless amount of students. Keeping quiet during classes, too. It certainly made things easier and harder at the same time.

But despite all of his efforts, this only worked moderately well. People still pushed him over, still snarled “loser, pick up this,” as they ripped some of the pages straight out of one of his history books, throwing them across the room. They left with a smirk on their faces, satisfied with ruining another life that day. Peter sighed, clenching his fists tight, his knuckles going pale white and even pink. It sounded stupid, but he could feel something inside him, power, maybe. But more uncontrollable than usual.

The last thing he wanted was spider problems in school.

1,384 days till he was out.

He overheard students yelling about a football game, and how it was going to be “the bomb.” Though he never really liked sports, it would just be a shame to miss the first game of the school year. And, he didn’t want to be around when Derrick came around to pick up Aunt May for yet another date. It made him sick just thinking about it.

When Peter arrived to the game, he was shocked to see how many people had come. He was expecting 100 or so, maybe, but it seemed as though everyone and their friends had come. And, unfortunately, Peter had turned up late. He wove his way through the heavy crowd of sweaty teenagers, trying to find some sort of empty seat anywhere. But it was pointless.

Just when he was about to turn around and go home, he heard a voice.

“Hey! Looking for a seat?” Someone waved to him, motioning to the saved seat next to them. Realizing it was Patrick, Peter quickly made his way over, silently glad it was him, since he seemed to be the only sane person in the whole damn school.

“Thanks,” Peter muttered, sitting down on the end of the awfully uncomfortable metal bench.

“You’re in my workshop class, right?” Patrick asked, turning to talk to Peter. He seemed truly interested in Peter, which was a new thing. No one had ever wanted to know anything about him before.

“I’m pretty sure, yeah,” Peter tried to reply as casually as possible, but he thought it was quite obvious he knew for sure. He had always been a horrible actor, anyway.

“I never was good at workshop. Though I think you can tell by the clock I tried to make today.” Patrick gleamed, laughing at his own joke, his face lighting up instantly.

“Oh, hey, Y/n!”

It was the girl from the day before. Still just as gorgeous as she’d been the previous day.

She was wearing a oversized varsity jacket and overalls that were really mismatched. It seemed as though she didn’t want to fit in, and that was something so rare nowadays. Slightly refreshing, actually.

“Question: could the people here get grosser?” She smiled the warmest smile he had ever seen. He tried not to stare, but his eyes were letting him down. She scooted right next to Peter, causing him to suddenly be aware of the lack of space between them. Peter’s breath became ragged, and he didn’t quite know why. It was just a girl. Yes, the most beautiful girl he had ever met, but still, a person. He didn’t know what to do. Talk? No. He could always fuck that up. Best to stay silent, as always.

“We’re not going to Ruth’s, by the way. Her parents caught her buying rum for the party,” Y/n spoke up, leaning across Peter slightly to talk to Patrick. Her tone was loud, though dimmed by the roaring of the students whenever anyone did anything on the sports field.

“Damn it, Ruth. I always tell that girl that paper bags are a dead giveaway.. So, we wanna go to Queenies instead?” Patrick rolled his green eyes, clearly disappointed by their friend.

“Of course,” she said in a joking tone, like it had been blatantly obvious. Then, she turned to him, with that smile of hers, and a shimmer in her eyes. “Peter? That’s your name, right? Would you like to go to Queenies with us after the game?”

“T-that’s my name. And I’d love to, if that’s okay. I don’t want to ruin your fun,” Peter spoke up, stuttering a bit, which he mentally slapped himself for.

“I invited you for a reason. If I thought you were a buzzkill, I’d move away as soon as possible.”

Noise flooded his ears, so he looked over at the scoreboard. Seemed like he had missed quite a bit of the game, since many points had been added since he last checked. For a little bit, he forgot that they had even been at a game, but with the roaring crowd, the cozy atmosphere surrounding the three of them cracked instantly, bringing him back to harsh reality.

“GO SPORTS!” Patrick yelled over the crowd, clapping along with everyone else.

“So,” Y/n started as soon as they sat down in a empty booth in a darkish corner of the small diner. It was a cozy place that smelled like milkshakes and heartburn, but in a good kind of way. “Peter, what music do you like?”

“Answer this carefully. You might get on her bad side if you hit a nerve,” Patrick smirked devilishly, wiggling his eyebrows.

“I’m not that bad, I swear.” She slapped Patrick’s arm with the back of her hand, rolling her eyes at him. “Tell us already!”

“Oh, well…” Peter started, but drifted off. All of his life, people had made fun of him for what he liked in music, or anything, really. Though Patrick and Y/n seemed nice, would they be like everyone else and judge him? “It’ll sound stupid.”

“Nothing truly sounds stupid,” Patrick said, pointing right at Peter, “and never think otherwise. Your taste matters in this cruel world.”

“Okay. Mostly I listen to David Bowie, Prince, Duran Duran, U2, The Smiths…”

“Ohmygod! Someone who likes good music! Our music!” Y/n squeaked, beaming head to toe. Peter couldn’t recall someone being so happy over a small topic like music, but he thought it was cute. She gripped Patrick’s arm tightly, shaking it vigorously.  “Can we keep him? Peter, can we keep you?”

“Yes?” he said with more of a question than an answer in his voice. These people must’ve been slightly insane, but he thought he liked it, strangely enough. Never had he thought that people like them could exist. So free spirited; people who didn’t care and didn’t want to. They were just… them. And that amazed Peter.

“Do you know The Electric Fetus?”

“Yeah, I love that band.” Peter lied. He really didn’t know who it was, but the last thing he wanted to seem like was clueless.

“It’s actually a record shop, but good enough.” Patrick smiled. He did not even make a big deal about it. Just a casual mess up. Another new thing to add to the list of what makes a decent person. Not everyone had to point out your mistakes.

“Tell you what, sometime over a weekend, I’ll take you there, okay?” she offered. There was a constant undertone in her voice that sounded so welcoming, but he couldn’t place a finger on exactly why. It was something you could get addicted to hearing. “Show you some more good music…”

“Be careful, you start listening to that shit and it’s basically a popularity plague. One old song and your rep is dead.”

“I’m pretty sure my rep can’t get any worse…” he muttered. And at that, they burst out into sudden laughter, startling Peter a bit. Y/n was even wiping away tears from her eyes. Soon enough, Peter joined in with laughing, not fully sure of why yet, but it was just contagious.

“We’ll see about that,” Y/n managed to say, smiling ear to ear. “we can ruin anyone, kid. You’ll learn that soon enough.”

Tagging List: @potterjamesharry@local-dreamerrs@strangecoincidencesoccur, @trxmrs, @epicawsomequicksilverspidergirl, @masual, @143amberrose, @andreuskystuff

(Note that i’m tagging everyone who liked it, since they probably forgot by now… If you want to be un-tagged message me! Same goes for if you want to be tagged in the next! I swear it won’t take this long next time.)

A Birthday In Color-- Daveed Diggs

Request!: N/a I just got an idea

Prompt: Soulmate AU! The one where you can only see black and white until you touch your soulmate

Paring: Daveed Diggs X Reader

TW: Cursing? Maybe?, Clipping. songs so yeah: cursing, drinking

WC: 1355

A/N- i came up with this a few months ago, but I never had time to write it. Well, after months of struggling to balance all of our requests I FINALLY GOT THIS DONE


“Happy Birthday to you! You live in a zoo! You look like a monkey…. Aaaaaaaand you smell like one too!” Jaz sung as you closed the door to your apartment and dropped the shopping bags in the hall.

You rolled your eyes, “Really, Jazzy?”

“Hey, lighten up! It’s your birthday, and also I have a present for ya!” She raised and lowered her eyebrows. You gave her a smile.

The two of you currently sat in your living room, it was around five o’clock, and Jazz had joined you throughout the day for your birthday. After a day of massages and shopping you were surprisingly tired.

Keep reading

Sam’s Ultimate Failproof Guide to Packing

Extensive Packing List

Warning: This will seem like a lot, but it doesn’t once you get there, and you can use your own judgment as to whether or not you will need something. Also, this particular list is geared towards my specific univeristy

  1. Bedroom
    1. Bedding
      1. Duvet cover and insert or comforter
      2. Matching sham
      3. Sheets and pillow cases (I recommend two sets of cotton minimum, one set of flannel in addition is optional)
      4. Egg crate topper (super cheap but super comfy after the first few nights—you may want to get a second one towards the end of the school year)
      5. Mattress pad—holds the topper in place
      6. Mattress protector (as recommended by an Anon). Some universities have bed bug problems, and you never really know what happened on your bed before it was yours, and this will help ensure a little more help on the cleanliness front.
      7. Pillows
      8. Stuffed animals
    2. Desk Area
      1. Stapler
      2. printer, ink, and paper
      3. Three hole punch
      4. Binders and notebooks
        1. For some classes you’ll want to keep every piece of paper ever (things related to your major and math classes), so these will need to be in binders.
        2. Math and science classes lend themselves to hand-written notes, so you’ll want to use a binder with loose leaf paper or the notebook of your choosing for those.
          *note* My personal favorites are Mead Five Start Flex Hybrid Notebinders
      5. Pens, pencils, Sharpies (you will use black and silver frequently for labeling random things)
      6. Tape dispenser (can be a cheap $2 plastic one, or a heavy duty, belongs in the office of a CEO one)
      7. glue sticks (yes, you will use them)
      8. Headphones
      9. Phone and laptop
      10. Phone and laptop chargers
      11. HDMI cord (literally the most used item in my dorm room)
      12. Power strip
      13. Desk lamp
      14. Post Its, paperclips, extra staples, push pines
    3. Closet and Laundry
      1. Leave your high school shirts at home unless you want to use them as sleep shirts. You’ll get plenty of shirts from your college or university.
      2. Hangers. Mine are mismatched and plastic and came straight from my closet at my mother’s.
      3. Hamper. You can choose your preference here. I prefer sturdy plastic with handles, but my roommate loved her fabirc one. Walmart has one that rolls, which is cool. Maybe you just want a laundry bag.
      4. Detergent.
      5. Fabric softener and Downy balls
      6. Dryer sheets
    4. Other
      1. Fridge
      2. coffee mugs (can use for tea, coffee, soup, ice water, milk for cookies, Spaghetti-Os, literally anything you can think of)
      3. microwave if you don’t have one in the common area/common area is far away
      4. Small table lamp or floor lamp (put this somewhere across the room from the desk lamp because overhead lighting is the worst)
      5. Books and movies
      6. TV (optional, I use mine as a second monitor pretty frequently)
      7. Video game console, accessories, and games (if desired)
      8. Purse/wallet
      9. Trash bags
      11. Canvases, posters, pictures, corkboards, etc
      12. Command strips (the Velcro kind of the absolute best) and sticky tack (Loc-Tite brand, it’s blue)
      13. Keurig or coffee pot (if you’re into that) and all the fixin’s
  2. Bathroom – some of these are included because I have a bathroom within my dorm room
    1. Trash can
    2. Shower curtain, liner, and rings
    3. Bathmat
    4. Toilet brush and cleaner
    5. Plunger. Plumbing on campuses can be iffy
    6. Lady supplies (if you need those sort of things)
    7. Toiletries and makeup
    8. Some sort of caddy if you’re living in traditional or you’re sharing your bathroom with multiple people and don’t want to clutter the counter
    9. Toothbrush holder
    10. Soap dispenser
    11. hand towels, bath towels, wash cloths

anonymous asked:

I don't know if it's a prompt but I always wondered what did Mulder and Scully do right after they walked off into the sunset, in the last scene of FTF? what did they feel?

She’s holding his hand.  He has, honestly, no idea what to do about that.  Days ago, he nearly kissed her, or she nearly kissed him, and it was one of the most terrifying moments of his life, one way or another.  One of the most blissful, nervewracking, heartrending, incredible moments of his life, and then almost immediately one of the worst moments of his life.  He is tired of nearly losing her.  He’s not sure how many more times he can bear it.  

He’s still shivering, even in his suit in the sun in the summer.  He’s seen her shivering too.  They’ve both been drinking more coffee since Antarctica.  He’s been watching her lace her fingers around her mugs, just letting the warmth seep into her.  He hopes his hand is is as soothing to her as the terrible coffee in the bullpen.  

“If I quit now, they win,” she said.  He turns it over and over in his mind as they walk.  He doesn’t know where they’re going.  He doesn’t care.  They’re together.  They survived.  They have their work.  That’s all that matters to him anymore, Scully and the work.  

They walk side by side.  He matches his longer strides automatically to her shorter ones.  The heels help, he’s noticed, but on paper, in person, they’re a complete mismatch, he and Scully.  Short and tall.  Hard science and soft.  Light and dark.  When he was reading her file, when they first assigned her to the X-Files, he didn’t imagine she’d last past the end of the first case.  Six years later, he can’t imagine doing the work with anyone else.  

Her fingers are smooth and cool against his.  She feels delicate.  He knows much, much better.  

“Where are we going, Scully?” he asks.

“Does it matter?” she asks.  “Mulder, we just got back from the ends of the earth, and you don’t want to wander through DC with me?”

“We might get hungry,” he says.  “But I’m in it until the ends of the earth, Scully.”

She squeezes his hand, the pressure of her fingers so quick and light that they can both pretend it didn’t happen, in their endless circuitous obfuscation of their own candelit hearts.  He squeezes back; Morse code signals across the infinite space between them.

“They’ll keep trying to take the X-Files,” he says, thinking out loud.  

“We’ve got health and strength,” she murmurs.  “We’ll steal the rest.”  

“Every time I think you can’t surprise me,” he says, “there’s always something else.”

“It’s something my grandmother used to say,” she tells him, looking up with those seawater eyes.  His heart slops like high tide over a seawall; no matter how high he builds his defenses, love sloshes over them.  Scully, like the moon, pulls at him in a predictable way that he nonetheless underestimates every day. 

“Ethiopian?” she suggests, looking away.  She’s always had more self-control when it comes to this thing between them, whatever they’re not calling it today.

“You read my mind,” he tells her.  He loves to watch her eat with her fingers, tearing off fussy, precise pieces of injera to scoop up the various stews.  She’s easier to tempt with doro wat than with tandoori chicken; maybe injera seems healther than naan in her mysterious Scully hierarchy of foods.  

“We should get a taxi,” she says, but they keep walking, hand in hand, into their future, whatever it holds, because they’re together, and that’s enough.

Burn The Stars

The multitude of stars pulse across the midnight sky gracefully, but the light pollution birthed by one of the most populous cities on Eden-6 makes them hard to detect by mere eyes. Not unlike the stars, elegant tall buildings pulsate with the night life full of bright lights and loud cars; the city is up and alight with energy and excitement.

Two figures fidget in their chairs where they lounge lazily on top of one of the hundred-floor apartments to the east of the city, sharing the general mood. Rhys and Vaughn have less than a day ahead of themselves to get shipped to Elpis, the only moon of the planet Pandora that’s pretty much across the galaxy; they are amongst the select few who got accepted to one of Hyperion’s top universities, a great (and rare) honor and opportunity to attain.

The first spark occurs at this particular moment where midnight melts into the early hours of the morning. Rhys looks at Vaughn, his brown eyes sparkling with anxiety and hope simultaneously; the shorter boy returns the gaze just as fervently, hiding his emotions behind a brave grin.

They sure are nervous and afraid. This will be the first time they’ll leave their planet, let alone travel across the galaxy, leaving their families and friends behind for at least four solid years. But then again, they both worked hard to achieve this; they’ll learn and improve, getting closer and closer to their dream of working for Hyperion one day.

And they will do that together.

With a blush dusting his pale cheeks, Rhys reaches a hand out to Vaughn, fixing the strands of hair falling onto his face with his other hand so that he can buy enough time and be brave enough to look into Vaughn’s eyes.

Vaughn always thought Rhys has the dorkiest smile around, but he’s not the one to judge, as he smiles back just as silly. He huffs as he tries to catch his friend’s eyes, his fingers brush Rhys’s gently before the digits intertwine.

The city provides white noise in the background, the chilly, humid night air ruffles their hair; the stars shine just as bright, Eden-6’s two moons move across the sky without a care in the world, a burst of orange and a splash of peony blooming in the dark.

They have each other, and a bright future ahead. Their hearts swell with love and hope.

It’s almost ten years later that the same cocktail of emotions catches them off guard, blanketed by yet another starry night. Naturally, they have changed throughout the decade- they’re Hyperion now, like they’ve always dreamed to become, with fancy clothes and classy haircuts. Unlike what they planned all those years ago, however, they’re not in one of the grand plazas sipping whatever fancy drink they want. No. They’re pretty much running away from Hyperion after that failed vault key deal that cost them ten million dollars (and eventually, their heads).

Immaculate clothes ripped, fancy shoes covered with dirt and hair disheveled, Vaughn and Rhys pace through the desert, keeping the caravan and their weird ‘teammates’ within their sight while gossiping amongst themselves.

“Look at all those stars!” Rhys points at the sky, his mismatched eyes filled with awe. Vaughn finds himself marveling at Rhys’s dorky smile like he did when they were teenagers instead of the sky. “I guess the only pro of being in the middle of nowhere is the lack of light pollution, I mean, look at how bright they are!” Listening to the cyborg’s excited chatter, the accountant barely stops himself from making a cheesy comment like “None of them are as bright as your smile, bro.” He knows Rhys would love that and let out that silly giggle-snort of his, reserved just for Vaughn’s ears; but he simply doesn’t want to interrupt the taller man, he loves his voice and he loves listening to Rhys after all.

The cold, dry night winds chill them to their bones, so they end up huddling close to seek warmth and intimacy in each other. They end up walking hand in hand, watching the blinking stars, admiring the purple hue of Elpis and the ever-watchful eye of Helios. Winds take handfuls of sand and hurl them at the two man occasionally, and Vaughn ends up with a mouthful of sand because he happened to laugh at one of Rhys’s jokes at the wrong time. Rhys rubs his back and murmurs soothing words into his ear as he coughs up the unwelcome material, and finally takes a breath to calm himself. He lets out an unhappy whine as Rhys gently cleans his face from any lingering particles of sand with gentle hands, “You think we’ll get out of… whatever this is alive?” he asks, looking up at his friend’s eyes. Rhys’s eyebrows furrow as he considers the question, and Vaughn thinks there is nothing more adorable than that little pout gracing the company man’s full lips. Rhys smiles a moment later, and Vaughn is so lost in those pretty eyes that he doesn’t notice the arms sneaking around his waist for a moment. He gasps, but it’s too late and he’s rendered unable to move thanks to Rhys’s noodle arms pulling him close.

Not that he complains.

As Rhys buries his nose in Vaughn’s neck, they’re already blushing hard. The shorter man wraps his arms around the other’s neck and they stand there, as quiet as the night itself.

“We have each other, bro, of course we’ll pull this off.” Rhys mutters into Vaughn’s neck, his warm breath making the accountant shudder involuntarily. He hugs the cyborg close and sighs.

Even on a foreign planet, practically stranded on a huge desert, they still have hope; because they have each other. There’s that spark again, both Rhys and Vaughn can feel it deep in their palpitating hearts. It must be love.

“We should stop meeting like this.” Vaughn says with a downturn his lips, but his amused voice betrays his face. Rhys doesn’t respond, as he’s currently busy ogling Vaughn. Vaughn appreciates it, he really does; the whole Bandit King attire took a lot effort to come up with, after all. He’d just rather… Rhys did something other than just stand so far away from him, frozen as if shot by a powerful cryo gun.

But that’s fine. He strokes his beard and Rhys’s eyes follow the movement, Vaughn thinks liquid gold fits him more than electric blue. He smiles and takes a step towards the other man and that seems to snap Rhys out of his weird reverie.

The fallen remains of Helios remain a crooked mess in the distance, glowing in a shade of pale lilac in the night’s darkness. With all the lighting up Children of Helios done around the area, the makeshift town shines brighter than the stars glittering across the sky. Rhys ignores the scenery as he runs towards Vaughn, he knows he should be agitated by the mere sight of the satellite’s metallic corpse, but he has much more pressing matters at hand, like holding the Bandit King close.

Feet dangling in the air as he’s given a chest-crushing hug by Rhys, Vaughn simply chuckles and hugs him back. The cyborg finally lets Vaughn go so he can breathe and stand on his own, but that only seems to last a moment as they’re pulled within each other’s orbit yet again. Rhys grabs Vaughn’s face with both hands, silver fingers stroking his beard curiously; the shorter man fondles Rhys’s ass innocently and gets a surprised chuckle from the man.

“I’m gonna kiss you now.” Vaughn declares, nodding to himself. Rhys nods along, his dorky smile making the other tipsy; it never gets old, that smile.

The kiss is a decade late, they never felt any different when they were teens than they do now; but the experience crowning their minds, the sins on their backs and the friends they’ve made along the way make it much more wonderful than it could have ever been. They ended up in a place so much different from where they started off, they should be afraid and worried. But as their hands worship each other’s bodies and their tongues delve deeper into each other’s mouths, they’re anything but those.

When they finally break the kiss with silly smiles on their now-numb lips, they can hear the way people around them holler and cheer. It’s fascinating, how one can feel at home and ease in the middle of a wild planet. It’s weird to think how they hoped to become high-level Hyperion goons once and ended up a CEO of a once-dead company and a bandit leader who leads people with an iron fist and the heart of gold.

It is exciting. It gives the two man hope.

As they hold each other close, giving each other chaste kisses every so often, they’re happier than ever. And there’s the third spark, lighting their hearts on fire.

“I love you.” Rhys whispers into Vaughn’s ear.

“I love you, too.” Vaughn replies, just as calm and quick.

They always have.

For the lovely @nokikissa!

You’re awesome and I hope you like this, my friend!

I’ve apparently been the victim of growing up, which apparently happens to all of us at one point or another. It’s been going on for quite some time now, without me knowing it. I’ve found that growing up can mean a lot of things. For me, it doesn’t mean I should become somebody completely new and stop loving the things I used to love. It means I’ve just added more things to my list. Like for example, I’m still beyond obsessed with the winter season and I still start putting up strings of lights in September. I still love sparkles and grocery shopping and really old cats that are only nice to you half the time. I still love writing in my journal and wearing dresses all the time and staring at chandeliers. But some new things I’ve fallen in love with mismatched everything. Mismatched chairs, mismatched colors, mismatched personalities. I love spraying perfumes I used to wear when I was in high school. It brings me back to the days of trying to get a close parking spot at school, trying to get noticed by soccer players, and trying to figure out how to avoid doing or saying anything uncool, and wishing every minute of every day that one day maybe I’d get a chance to win a Grammy.

anonymous asked:

Do you have any fics of D&H's relationship from other's point of view? like 'After The Battle' by WaitTilMyFatherHearsAboutThis? Thank youu

Hi, here you go!

Only the Cold by blue movies - K+, one shot -
While in Charms class, Vincent Crabbe muses about Draco Malfoy’s feelings for Hermione Granger. Oneshot. Complete.

Observations of a Pure Blood Debutant by rainsrabble - K, one shot -
Narcissa watching Draco watch Hermione. She draws some very startling conclusions. One Shot. Complete.

The Eyes of the Forest by Rizzle - M, one shot -
They make such a beautiful couple, my wayward lovers. A perfect mismatched set. One dark, the other light. One sunshine and autumn, the other thunderstorms and rainy days.

Oblivious by cleotheo - T, one shot -
As Harry watched his best friend getting his heart broke, he couldn’t help but think things might have been easier for Ron if he wasn’t so oblivious. All the signs were there he had just chosen to ignore them. Harry’s realisation of a relationship forming between Hermione and Draco. Dramione from Harry’s perspective.

Below the Surface, Chapter 19 of Amortentia by olivieblake - T, one shot -

Blaise Zabini and the Difficulty of Existing by starkidsftw - T, one shot -
Draco Malfoy was in love with Hermione Granger. He didn’t know it. She didn’t know it. But Blaise Zabini, boy did he ever know it. 7th Year Dramione AU from Blaise’s perspective.


The Upper Hand: Jefferson x Reader {Part 3}

Part 1 | Part 2

Hamilton - Modern AU (Law School) 

Jefferson x Reader

2404 words

Hey, guys! I just wanted to say wow I can’t believe people are actually reading this and, even more shocking, you actually like it! I’m having a blast writing this and the feedback I’ve been getting is super awesome. I hope you enjoy part 3!

Originally posted by yummyfoooooood

With a groan Thomas throws the pen on his desk and rubs his eyes, cursing Y/N and her ambitious, overworking, 110% effort personality. The pressure she is putting on him combined with his other classload is starting to get to him. The two had had a total of four meetings after that first one, and each time she reminded him how much this project was worth and the amount of effort he needed to put into it (he can recite her inspiring (in her opinion) speech with her at this point). Doesn’t she know that he already puts a lot of pressure on himself in his studies? He didn’t become the second-ranked student in their class of 500 by smoking joints and partying all weekend or playing hacky sack or whatever she thinks he does in his spare time.

Her accidental admission of her class ranking had surprised him. He always assumed that she was average, maybe slightly above, that Hammy or one of the other HamilDorks helped her with her homework. Perhaps Thomas could find it in him to respect her enough to accept her suggestions and opinions about their project. She had definitely shown him that she was worth her salt by correcting his misinterpretation of a statute and quoting several laws and precedented cases from memory, which all helped strengthen their defense. One of the HamilDorks is actually useful—surprise!

He groans again just as James walks past his open door. His best friend/roommate lets out a chuckle and leans against the doorframe.

“Having problems?”

Thomas throws another pen against the wall over his desk, disappointed that it didn’t puncture a hole in the wall. “Yup.”

“Let me guess,” James says. “The little milkmaid from Kansas made another schedule for your case?”

For some odd reason, James’ condescending tone creates a little tickle of irritation in Thomas’ chest. His mind conjures an image of Y/N pulling her hair into a ponytail as she leans over her notes, her teeth working her rose-colored bottom lip as she concentrates. “She’s from Nebraska, James.”

“Does it matter?” he scoffs. “I think she needs to pull that stick out of her ass and relax. You’re top in the class. You’ll get it done no problem.”

Thomas clenches his fist and struggles to keep his voice even. “Perhaps you should focus on starting your own project, James. You know Hercules Mulligan isn’t going to be much help.”

He doesn’t see James furrow his eyebrows in thought, wondering why he is suddenly defending Y/N instead of joining in on making fun of her.

“You’re right,” James mutters after a pregnant pause. “Aren’t you supposed to be meeting with her tonight?”

In a panic, Thomas checks his watch, realizing that he’s lost track of time. It’s already eight. “Oh, shit!” he yells, hurriedly gathering his case papers and defense notes and shoving them into his bag. James thoughtfully observes Thomas as he quickly grabs a jacket and pulls on his shoes. His friend pauses in front of the mirror, runs a hand over his shortly cropped beard, and swats at a few rogue curls.

Thomas pushes past his roommate and jogs to the door, pulling it open hurriedly when his phone rings. He answers it, standing in the doorway to their two-bedroom apartment. His eyebrows meet in a frown as he listens to the person on the other end.

“What? The library is closed? Why? … Water pipe maintenance? Sounds like a bunch of—sorry… Uh, I don’t know where else to go. A lot of the local restaurants close at nine, so that would only give us an hour of work… Yeah, I know we need to keep on schedule.”

James appears in Thomas’ peripheral vision and clears his throat to grab Thomas’ attention. “I’m going to Aaron Burr’s for the evening to study for the Theories of Civil Law exam tomorrow,” he announces.

Thomas nods, his face brightening just enough for James to notice. “Okay, how about we work at my place? Madison is gone for the evening so he won’t distract us… Perfect! Let me give you the address…”

“This is where you live?” you ask, following Jefferson into the living room. “This is so…normal.”  

He laughs and motions for you to sit on either of the mismatched  couches (one dark brown leather, the other a god-awful blue and green plaid—you choose the leather). On the light wood coffee table are pens, pencils, and highlighters, along with a variety of sweating unopened root beer and orange soda cans. The perpendicular couches face a large flat screen TV mounted on the wall. Under the TV is a long thin table with what looks like an XBOX, a Wii, and two ugly red and black striped vases.

“What did you expect?” he asks, smirking. “Designer décor? An open floor plan with hardwood floors? A bear skin rug? A roaring fireplace and a wet bar? Four-car garage?”

You shrug. “I dunno. I heard you lived in France for a couple of years, so maybe baguettes and wine? Miniature Eiffel Tower sculptures?”

“Actually, these—” he gestures to the two red and black vases under the TV— “did come from France. What do you think?” he asks excitedly.

Should you tell him your real opinion or lie through your teeth? He looks so innocently happy, like a kid who made a picture frame made of macaroni noodles for their parent. You can’t squash on that kind of pure, unadulterated pride.

“They’re very nice,” you say politely.

“You hate them.” He shrugs. “You’re from Nebraska. What do you know about taste?”

Instead of yelling at him for insulting you and your home state like you would have a week ago, you laugh. Your amiability shocks both of you, and your laughter quickly dies on your lips. Awkward silence. He shoves one hand into his jeans pockets and rubs the back of his neck with the other. You smooth your skirt and lick your lips, looking anywhere but at him or his red French vases.

“So…” Jefferson finally breaks the silence. “I think we have everything we need here. Help yourself to a soda. Unless you want something else to drink?”

You shake your head. “Oh, no thanks. This is fine.”

“Okay. Let’s get to work.” He takes a seat on the other couch and spreads out his defense notes.

The two of you alternately bounce ideas off each other and work in silence for the next hour. You discovered that sitting on the carpeted floor and using the coffee table as a desk is more comfortable than leaning over it while sitting on the couch around the twenty minute mark. He realized that chugging two root beers and one orange soda leads to a lot of bathroom breaks halfway through the orange soda. You both found out that listening to a classical study mix on Pandora through his TV increased productivity after he yelled at you for humming an obnoxious popular hip-hop song you’d listened to on the way over.

“Do you have any more pieces of paper?” you ask after an hour of note-taking and paging through your textbooks.

He looks over the table as if he expects it to be there, frowning when he doesn’t see any. “I thought I brought some out…”

“All I see are pens and highlighters here.”

“I have some paper in my room.” He pulls his long legs out from under the coffee table and stands, groaning as he stretches his muscles. “Ahhh, man, you should really get up and stretch. We’ve been sitting too long.”

He disappears down the hall toward his and Madison’s rooms as you push yourself to your feet, echoing his groans. You start walking, slowly, across the living room floor, stepping over books and your backpack and your shoes, when you hear a crash and Jefferson’s strangled yelp. It sounded like a rainstorm.

Curious and concerned, you follow the sound of his cursing down the hall and into the bedroom on the left. You clap a hand over your mouth as you try to stop the laughter at the scene in his room. Jefferson glares at you, lying prostrate on the floor, partially buried under an avalanche of hundreds of boxes of mac ‘n’ cheese. His closet door reveals another hundred identical boxes stacked on high shelves.

“What on earth…” You shake your head, your shoulders shaking as you try to hold in your laughter. “I have so many questions.”

He curses again and sits up, pushing macaroni boxes off of him. “I can’t believe my precious betrayed me..” he murmurs breathlessly.

“Okay, first question. Why do you have so much boxed mac ‘n’ cheese? This is really unhealthy.”

“Um, excuse you?” Jefferson leaps to his feet, indignant, and begins pacing back and forth in front of you. He reminds you of Washington when he gets really passionate during a lecture.

“Macaroni and cheese is the food of the gods. This is the perfect food for any occasion—birthday, Christmas, christenings, job interviews, bad days, good days, you name it! It should be everyone’s comfort food. It’s cheesy goodness with soft pasta, carbs and dairy, so it’s totally healthy. It’s easy to make—takes less than fifteen minutes. Plus, I memorized the directions so I don’t even have to look at the box. Are you impressed yet?”

“You are insane.” You look over the boxes in disbelief. “How much did this all cost?”

“I buy it in bulk, so less than you think.” His smile widens as he nods eagerly.

“Why was it in your closet?”

“Not enough room in the kitchen cupboards. Madison hates it anyway, so he told me to keep it out of his sight. I have another box of boxes under my bed, too.”

You suddenly realize that you are standing in his bedroom. You take in the décor, the grey-and-white-striped comforter on the bed, the magenta throw pillow, the Eiffel Tower poster hung over his side table, the bookshelf full of books (lots about France and one curiously titled The Miracle of Macaroni and Cheese: Variations of the Best Comfort Food), the desk in the corner strewn with textbooks, papers, and writing utensils. Above his desk handwritten notes, printed quotes, and pictures have been taped or tacked to the wall.

“That’s my Wall of Inspiration,” he says, and you realize he’s been watching you as you look around his room. You take a step closer and read quotes about success and hard work from Gandhi, Martin Luther King, Jr., and Steve Jobs before finding one printed on magenta paper in a large, fancy script:  

Nothing can stop the man with the right mental attitude from achieving his goal; nothing on earth can help the man with the wrong mental attitude.

That’s really true, you think, wondering who wrote it. You read the author’s name in smaller print under the quote:

–Thomas Jefferson

“Ha! You quoted yourself on your Wall of Inspiration? That’s a lot of ego, Jefferson.”

He shrugs nonchalantly. “I am big enough to admit that I am often inspired by myself.”

You shake your head at him reproachfully but you can’t knock the satisfied smirk off his face. His inflated sense of self makes you want to slap him but you also kind of admire him for it. He believes in himself and his abilities. He is comfortable in his own skin and doesn’t care about what other people think about him, which is evident by the magenta T-shirt with the words Qu’est-ce que j’ai raté? You find yourself secretly wishing that you had half the confidence he had.

Beside his quote on the Wall of Inspiration is a picture of Jefferson and a pretty girl with long curly hair and sunkissed skin. She is smiling at the camera, her nose crinkling cutely as Jefferson kisses her cheek. His girlfriend, you realize. You feel the smile on your face fade.

“That’s a cute picture,” you say, trying to act normal. “Who is she?”

His eyebrows move closer together as he follows your finger to the picture. “Oh, that’s Martha,” he says tersely, as if that answers your question. Technically it does, but it also produces more questions. Is she his girlfriend? Are they broken up? Why is she still on the wall? Is she around? Why haven’t you seen her around?

Wait, it’s none of your business, why do you care? It’s not like you like Jefferson. He’s an insufferable, overconfident jerk who wears too much magenta and has insulted you too many times for you to ever like him as anything more than a classmate. That’s what you two are—classmates and partners on a school project. That’s it. There’s no way you could ever be attracted to him.

Almost as though he had heard your inner monologue, Jefferson bends down to begin picking up the boxes of mac ‘n’ cheese strewn across his floor. His jeans tighten around his ass, giving you a front-row view of how round and—for lack of a better word—perfect it is. You can see the muscles in his back as his magenta shirt stretches with his reach. How had you never noticed how fit he was? It was as if someone had given you glasses that suddenly cleared up your vision so you could notice small details that you hadn’t before. Like the swell of his biceps as he lifts a big cardboard box full of boxes of mac ‘n’ cheese back onto the top shelf of his closet. You’ve always been an arm girl, you admit to yourself as you admire his toned muscles.

He glances over his shoulder at you and smirks as if he can read your thoughts. You shake your head hard, clearing your mind.

“We should probably get back to work,” Jefferson says, holding out a blank yellow legal pad.

You nod dumbly and take the pad from him, cursing your face as it betrays you with a deep blush. The blood makes your face hot and pounds in your ears as you follow him back to the living room. You fan yourself with the pad when he isn’t looking. Now you can’t help but watch his muscles as he sits back down, his back against the plaid couch and his legs stretched out in front of him.

Shit, you think. This can’t be good.

“I’ve apparently been the victim of growing up, which apparently happens to all of us at one point or another. It’s been going on for quite some time now, without me knowing it. I’ve found that growing up can mean a lot of things. For me, it doesn’t mean I should become somebody completely new and stop loving the things I used to love. It means I’ve just added more things to my list. Like for example, I’m still beyond obsessed with the winter season and I still start putting up strings of lights in September. I still love sparkles and grocery shopping and really old cats that are only nice to you half the time. I still love writing in my journal and wearing dresses all the time and staring at chandeliers. But some new things I’ve fallen in love with – mismatched everything. Mismatched chairs, mismatched colors, mismatched personalities. I love spraying perfumes I used to wear when I was in high school. It brings me back to the days of trying to get a close parking spot at school, trying to get noticed by soccer players, and trying to figure out how to avoid doing or saying anything uncool, and wishing every minute of every day that one day maybe I’d get a chance to win a Grammy. Or something crazy and out of reach like that.”