this has been in my drafts for long enough

AU where instead of going to Samwell, Jack starts a widely successful Publicly Broadcast show for children.

Jack learns that he is great with kids after coaching them for a little over two years. Moreover, kids are good with Jack. There is no pressure to be anything other than who he is.


It all starts with a local news program doing a fluff piece on Jack Zimmermann’s coaching ability. But then it turned into something completely different when Jack skated onto camera and started to introduce every single one of his kids and what was special about them. He was…really enchanting actually. He didn’t ever really talk down to them. Jack just treated them as a tiny friend. 

They ARE his tiny friends, but that’s not the point. 

The footage they got of “snack time” was really the best. Imagine a good 16 kids piled around this massive man teaching them the best way to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. 

 It should have been obvious that a local channel would contact him. It still surprises Jack. They want him to host a show? Why? Everyone always teased him about how impersonable he was during interviews. Is it because he’s Jack Zimmermann’s son? Or Alicia’s? 

Jack asks all of these questions to his mother and she just laughs. “You made a PB&J interesting to 16 kids just by being you”

Jack figures it wouldn’t hurt to give it a shot. 

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Writing a Novel: Being Unafraid of Failure

Part of the writing process is definitely about having the courage to sit down and write 200+ pages of a novel, but more than that, it’s more recognizably about being unafraid to write something that could potentially be horrible. It’s something that most of us don’t talk about but it’s all somewhere in the back of our minds, “Maybe my book is unreadable.”

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dean doing soft and quiet things for cas

  • helping him fall asleep by holding him close and rubbing his back and lightly playing with his hair
  • forehead kisses in the morning as a greeting when he’s already up and awake and cas stumbles down the hall in search of coffee
  • building cas a place he can garden outside the bunker, researching things like seeds and soil and what will grow this time of year
  • picking out little trinkets and knick knacks for cas for no reason other than “i dunno, thought you might like it”
  • giving him a foot massage while they lounge on the couch watching a movie, cas’ feet in his lap
  • fixing his car whenever he hears any sort of mysterious clank or rattle, giving her a checkup at least once a month just to make sure everything’s good and she’s running safely
  • grabbing cas’ hand just briefly and lightly whenever they walk past each other, stroking his thumb slightly before letting go
  • dean saying i love you to cas with his every action, and cas knowing dean well enough to hear it
Trouble Man

Includes: Sam x reader, Bucky Barnes, fluff

Brief Synopsis: Sam leaves Bucky’s texts unanswered to annoy him without realizing that he is also annoying you. Based on this post.

Word Count: 1k

A/N: It has been way too long since I posted a fic, but I hope you all enjoy this one! Now that it’s summer, I’ve been working on some of my drafts and hope to post more often. Thanks for reading!

Originally posted by anthonymackiesource

Sitting up in bed beside Sam, you could not seem to focus long enough to comprehend what was printed in the novel laying open and unread on your lap. You had already asked him to turn the volume down on the television, which had helped, but then his phone began to belch out a portion of his favorite track by Marvin Gaye when he received a text. Eventually, the texts became so frequent that the tone would only play for a second before starting over again, the inharmonious repetition of sound no where near as euphonic as the entire song. 

“Are you going to answer those?” you nearly growled, your words sounding more like a command than a question.

“Nope,” Sam responded, unaware of your irritated tone as he popped another piece of popcorn in his mouth. He didn’t even bother glancing your way, his eyes glued to whichever movie he was intently watching on Netflix.

“Could you at least put your phone on silent?”

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Blue Kisses.

Pairing: Hoseok / Reader.

Genre: Fluff, angst, some non-con at the beginning

Summary: “But you do know that I care right?” he whispered against the skin of your cheek, his thumb brushing heat over your bottom lip, making your lips part to accommodate his digit.

Word count: 12, 821

Note: Oh my god, this is easily the longest thing I’ve written so far, seems appropriate that Hobi would do it ;). Happy Valentine’s day everyone! I hope you’re not alone as me cri. Btw, kudos to the lovely @2-1stcenturygirl who proof read this and hyped me up :) Anyway I hope you enjoy! :^D  )


After standing alone in a unfamiliar living room for the last half hour, you were officially ready to kill Jung. It was no secret that you hated frat parties, favouring curling up in your second - hand (hey, it was cheap), worn chair with one of your favourite books or watching reruns to staying out late with drunk students. You could be quite shy around those you didn’t know, and hated being forced to down bitter tasting beer while drunk classmates would pull you into their sweaty embraces. Also, due to your dislike of alcohol, you were often the only sober person in the house, having to deal with your classmates drunk antics. You would never forget that on the rare occasion that you went to a party, the boy who sat next to you in Art History had pinned you to a wall and tried to shove his tongue down your throat. Obviously he was too drunk to aim and ended up with a mouthful of hair rather than your lips, but it was enough to put you off parties even more than before. You hadn’t been able to look at him the next day, awkwardly nodding when he had apologised. However you did try to enjoy yourself on the weekends, earning it after the gruelling week. Sometimes you would invite some of your friends to your tiny dorm room provided by the school to go on a movie marathon. There had been a slight mix up with the rooms at the collage, meaning you didn’t have a roommate, and the school hadn’t assigned you one yet. However after a disastrous week, chock full of meetings and assignments due in, you were ready to get a pizza, hide in a mountain of blankets and fall asleep in front of the season finale of the crown. However when Jung had arrived at your door in the early evening, and almost broke down your door with her violent knocking, your plans had been thrown to the wind.

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2

He immediately moves her against the wall, out of harms way. He nervously squeezes her shoulder and smooths her coat, leaning in close to look her in the eyes and holding onto her maybe a little longer than necessary while he makes sure she’s not hurt, but not long enough for him because his hand shakes and he’s desperate to hug her. He and Glenn must have been panicked out there, following the trail she left.

When he hugs her, it’s definitely to comfort her but it’s also to reassure himself that she’s really there, alive and okay. It’s pretty obvious that he absolutely loves her.

Meeting You (King George III x Reader)

Requested By: Anonymous

Summary: Song-fic based off of “This Is My Idea” from the movie The Swan Princess. For as long as you can remember, your parents forced you to spend time with your future husband, even though you couldn’t stand each other. Throughout the years you both mature, does your relationship?

Warnings: None!

Time Period: Pre-Hamiltime? (It takes place during King George’s life, but it doesn’t have to do with the American Revolution.)

Words: 1983

A/N: Two stories in two days?? Wow, go me!! Anyway, this has been siting in my drafts for a while and I’m finally happy with it. This was super fun to write because I love King George and there aren’t enough reader insert stories about him. Like I said, the inspiration and many lyrics are from The Swan Princess movie. Without further ado, I hope you enjoy and have a fabulous day!!


From a young age, you had been betrothed to George. Before you were even born, your parents had come up with the arrangement that you and George would marry as a way to strengthen your countries.

Every summer, you would be pulled from your home and sail to England. The idea was for you and George to spend time together so you would love each other by the time you were to be married.

There were four of these summers that stood out in your mind when you thought about how you met George.


The first memory was the first time you had ever visited him. You had been told by your parents that you would sailing to England to meet a very important boy who was only a year older than you. At first, the idea excited you. There would be another child to play, even if he was a boy. At the young age of 6, there weren’t many people to play with, seeing as you had no brothers or sisters and the thought of playing with a servant child was unimaginable.

After a long, boring journey, your parents guided you to the castle where you were to meet the King and Queen of England along with their son. The trio stood waiting for you, looking regal, and suddenly you got shy. Hiding behind your parents, you protested as they pushed you forward. George’s parents did the same.

“I’m very pleased to meet you, Princes (y/n).” he grumbled.

You went to curtesy just as you had been taught and automatically replied, “Pleased to meet you, Prince George.” However, when you looked up George had turned away from you in a rude manner.

His mother gave him a sharp look and pointed towards you. Begrudgingly, he dramatically stomped to you and looked at your suspiciously. You glared at him before he kissed your hand and instantly pulled away with a “Yuck!”

The first thought you had was not very kind of Prince George, and you could tell that you would never like him, much less love him enough to marry him. “He looks conceited, what a total bummer.”

Both of you turned to your parents and mumbled together, “If I get lucky I’ll get chicken pox.”

After receiving stern looks from both Kings and Queens, you rolled your eyes before turning back to George with the fakest smile you could muster.

“So happy you could come.” he bowed, mockingly.

“So happy to be here.” you curtsied, but put no respect in it.

At the same time, you both crossed your arms and complained. “This is not my idea of fun!”

The rest of the summer was spent fighting with George. Since your parents wanted you two to get along, they believed the best way to do this was for you to spend every day, with him. For some reason, they were oblivious to the feud you and George had.

That summer was one of the longest summers ever. When you finally got on the boat to head home, you were relieved you wouldn’t have to see that boy for almost another year.


The second summer that stood out in your mind was when you were eleven and George was twelve. That past year, you had discarded the dress laid out for you, instead opting to wear pants and a tunic shirt much to the dismay of your parents.

You tried you hardest to tell your parents they had to postpone the voyage, but they wouldn’t buy any of it. They escorted you on the boat and had a trunk thrown together, all in a matter of ten minutes.

Once you arrived in England, you were greeted by the usual; George, the King of England, and the Queen. However, this year, George’s annoying friend, Samuel Seabury, was with him. All summer, they never let you join in their games.

Anytime you tried to play whatever game they were playing, they would run off to their “secret’ treehouse. About halfway through your stay, you had enough. You chased them throughout the castle, trying to force them to play with you. “Wait up guys!”  you cried after them, frustrated that they wouldn’t slow down.

Disappearing out of sight, you almost gave up hope, but luckily you managed to track them down. Now only a few yards behind them, you thought you could catch up. Unfortunately, they reached the treehouse, climbed the ladder, and took away the ladder before you could put a foot on it. On top of that, they hung a sign on the wall that read, ‘NO GIRLS ALLOWED!’

“This really isn’t fair.” you whined, crossing your arms with a pout on your face.

Instead of apologizing, they laughed and said in unison. “We really couldn’t care.”

“Boys it’s all or none!” you thought.

Taking a step to the supporting boards, you kicked one out of anger. Not expecting to cause any damage, you were surprised and horrified to see that kicking that one little board out of place sent the entire structure tumbling.

That summer you got to leave early, but you left with a bruised face and broken arm, and livid parents.


The third summer with George that stood out in your mind was when you were seventeen and he was eighteen. You had finally grown out of your “awkward phase,” and felt beautiful and confident. Your confidence soared even higher that summer when you caught George staring at you a bit too long when you first arrived.

However, if you were being completely honest, you were equally as guilty. Some might have said that you had developed a crush on the future King of England, but that was not true. Although he looked quite handsome, he was still that annoying boy who had never treated you kindly.

The day pigs flew would be the day you had a crush on George.

However, that was the first summer that was different then the rest. In your mind, it didn’t feel like a terrible time. First, you were able to convince George to do what you wanted more easily. Gone were the days where you were running to catch up with him and Samuel. Second, you began to talk to more people in the castle, including the castle gaurds. It was fun just being able to flirt with them, laughing at what they said, leaving your hand on their shoulder for too long, etc, even if it didn’t mean much.

“She’s always flirting with the castle gaurds!” George complained as he and Thomas watched you from afar. That particular day, you were feeling extra flirty. Your arm was lingering on the guard’s shoulder a bit to long and the way you batted your eyes could make any man weak in the knees.

“You’re just jealous because you like her. Fess up.” Samuel teased, elbowing George in the side.

George’s head whipped around as he glared at Samuel, daring him to say another word. Although he would never admit it, George had began to harbor a crush on you. You weren’t the whiny six year old you once were and you most certainty weren’t the boyish eleven year old he had once known, but you were still the annoying girl he didn’t want to marry.

Right?

“I’d like her better if she’d lose at cards.” George countered, still upset over the fact that you always won.

You even won when they boys were cheating. Samuel would stand behind you and glance over your shoulder, mouthing the card numbers to George. When the game came to an end, George laid down his cards quite smugly, prepared to gloat over his victory.

“Four sevens and a ten.”

“I think I won again.” you stated, laying down the cards you had collected on the table.

And even though Samuel had seen your numbers, you had seem to win. Again! The boys could never catch a break.

“This is my idea.” you began, returning George’s smug smile.

“This isn’t my idea.” they pouted.

“Of fun.” all three of you spoke at the same time.


The last summer that stood out in your mind was when you were 20 and George was 21.

For as far back as you could remember, your parents had constantly reminded you that you and George were to someday wed. Every June through September, they would force you to spend time with the boy who you didn’t even like.

You wanted to be in a marriage that was based on love, not politics, and you knew that was something that you could never achieve with George. Even though you tried to explain this to your parents, they acted like they couldn’t hear you.

There would be times that you would beg and plead with them, or even refuse to leave the carriage. If this ever happened, your parents would pick you and drag you to where George was. It felt like their were bruises from their fingerprints.

You could feel the pressure for you and George to marry greater then it ever had been. You knew you were almost passed the acceptable age of not being married, and your parents wanted you to be well off.

When they shoved you in the ball room, you crossed your arms and tried to reason with them. “He is so immature!”

The sound of another door closing on the opposite side of the room caught your attention. You turned and saw that George was standing there, and your knees were buckling slightly. He had grown so incredibly handsome and something about him seemed different.

You could understand why, but some switch inside you flipped and you could see all the great qualities George had in him. He was kind, caring, intelligent, witty, and charming. He was the man you had been dreaming of.

The way he stared at you, made you blush. Unknown to you, he was having similar thoughts of seeing you in a brand new light. While he may of thought you weren’t the prettiest when you were younger, looking at you know you were like an angel.

As if his eyes were finally clear, he saw your beauty, grace, poise, elegance, kindness, humbleness, intelligent, and humor. All of the wonderful characteristics drew him towards you, meeting you half way in the room.

“So happy to be here.” you curtsied, just like at the age of six, but now you meant in with all of your being.

“’Till now I never knew.” he whispered, bowing to you.

“It’s you I’ve been dreaming of.” you both spoke, inching closer and closer to each other until you were mere inches away.

He cupped your cheek in his hand and brought his lips on top of yours. Almost as if a spark had been lit, you felt fireworks booming in your chest as you wrapped your arms around George, pulling him closer to you.

When the two of you finally pulled apart, you couldn’t help the smiles that adorned your faces. You had finally found your soulmate, and he had been standing in front of you your entire life.


“And that is how your mommy and I feel in love.” George spoke lovingly to the bump that was your stomach, rubbing it softly.

You could feel soft kicks from the baby growing inside of you, and you smiled down at the sight of your husband connecting with your unborn child. “I think she liked the story.” you giggled, running a hand lovingly through his hair.

“She?” he questioned, looking up at you with a goofy grin on his face.

“Well I’m not sure, but I think it’s mother’s intuition.” you admitted.

“I love you so much, my little princess.” George whispered, pressing a small kiss to your belly. “And I love you so much, my queen.” he whispered in your ear, pressing a kiss to your lips.

Drawn To Life

Diego Luna/ Reader

Originally posted by diegolunadaily

Words: 1,639

Summary: You never expected to get a reply at two in the morning, let alone have these marks change your life.

Prompt: “Whatever mark you get on your skin your soulmate gets it too so one day, you just kind of just get a sharpie and start writing on your skin. You definitely didn’t expect to get a reply, but you did. Now it’s five in the morning and you’re just about covered in ink and this will be a pain to wash off later.”

Tagging: @kwaiky, @myfriendmagislit

Requested by: @ly–canthrope

Author’s notes: Oh, shit, this request has been sitting in my drafts for so long. Thank you for your patience, Madison!! I haven’t written RPF in a loong time since I’m always afraid people will come at me with pitchforks and fire bc I wrote RPF. Oh well!


Another sleepless night, huh?

You stare at the ceiling for a few more seconds before you roll over to turn on the lamp.

The clock glows a disappointing 2:13 AM.

You haven’t been getting much sleep lately but found that doodling often calmed you enough to lull you to sleep. Digging into the bedside drawer for a Sharpie, you start to play around with a flower design. Marveling at your handy work on your forearm, you start to notice a mark appear next to one of the flowers.

No. Way.

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Rose Hips | A TAMB/MTnY fic for Tumblr

Part I: She’s Been Growing


I poke my nose into the room as an inquiry, because I can feel her registering surprise.

Chise?

She gives no indication that I should leave, and I press a little further into the close slot between the door and the frame, wood slick against fur, the door’s weight squeezing my temple and dragging at an ear so that for a moment its movement is all I can hear. The view this grating action provides reveals Chise standing in front of a mirror with an arm crossed over a bare chest and a swimming costume—suit, they’re called now—tugged awkwardly around her hips. Its edges press indents into her skin that make the flesh to either side of the elastic seem to pucker, though there is no soft or flaccid part on her anywhere. Chise is like Isabel that way: She’s a very slight creature. Sometimes I’d like to feed her more, maybe chase down something wild and rich and offer it up fresh, but that’s frowned upon.

Chise’s expression in the mirror is a somewhat wide-eyed mixture of consternation and bewilderment.

“Is something wrong?”

“It’s… Too small.”

Inspecting her with a pricked ear and a tilted head yields no explanation of why this is surprising.

“Did the Silver one bring you the wrong size?”

“No. Well, it’s a small like I asked for. I was worried it would be too big, but it won’t fit.”

She slides her free hand, less tactilely sensitive than it used to be before the dragon’s curse, down her side and settles her fingers around the curve of her own hip. She tilts her head, inquisitive, and for some unfathomable reason, takes some of the flesh where thigh becomes hip and pinches it between her fingers with her eyes looking dazed in the mirror.

“You grew,” I tell her. “that’s normal. I saw Isabel do it, too.” All kinds of new weight in new places and little changes in her smell followed for years after her first rapid burst toward adulthood. Surely, Chise is no different.

“I know,” she says, “that it is. I suppose … I just didn’t realize. Ruth?”

“Hmm?”

“Do I look a lot older to you?”

I press the rest of my body into the room and settle on the floor for a long look at her.

Definitely,” I conclude. “And it isn’t just the wrinkles.”

I point with my nose at her arm. I think it’s a morbid thing to joke about, but she welcomes unruly and off-color humor, which I imagine explains some of how well she gets along with her shadow betrothed, whom she never refers to as such.

Her expression screws itself up into a knot of contrarily moving eyebrows,and a crinkled nose, and a little parting of her mouth for a moment before she laughs. She does that more often these days than ever in the brief time—feeling like a lifetime—that I’ve been with her. It’s a strange thing. I asked her once about it, and she said “I think I decided how I want to live,” and no more.

She shakes her head and returns her eyes to herself in the mirror.

“Well,” she declares, looking herself over and again tracing the shape of her side where her delicate ribcage yields a tiny waist, tracing down to where her pelvis has burst outward by a couple of inches which have somehow transformed the bottom half of her. A touch knock-kneed and still so thin everywhere else the little bit of broadness that’s quietly added itself to her bones looks as strange in her mind’s eye as the changes she is just now seeing in her face, though they have been taking shape for some time.

“I’ll go tell the silver one,” I offer without breaking her reverie. “you should get redressed.”

“Oh, probably, yes. Thank you Ruth.”

She rejoins me halfway down the stairs moments later, once again in her usual clothes. Under the higher waists of pants and skirts, she hardly looks different, though the Silver One sizes her up delightedly. Her requisite silence, voice traded for a home, buzzes with eager intensity as she siezes Chise’s wrists and directs her into an about face turn right here on the staircase, dismissive of my disapproval, silent or barked. She nudges Chise rapidly up the stairs.

I wait in the hall, nose to tail in the hallway, breathing against Chise’s door. I can feel chagrin and, primarily, bewilderment along with the sort of whirring, whirling sensation of trying to track an exuberant Silky back and forth from closet to Chise to Chise to drawer, silently insisting her little lady of the house with her new hips try on all of her old clothes for reapproval. I can feel the lukewarm—cold contrasted with the air in the room—on the measuring tape around Chise’s body. She jumps away from it to no avail.

Elias appears down the hall, smelling the heady way of heavy sleep, at mid morning. I don’t feel his presence in the way Chise does, in that way I can’t define through aight or smell or heart, but I feel him nevertheless. He doesn’t feel fae, or otherwise familiar, nor human—at once interesting and dismissible—and the lack of particular identity is what makes him pop at the edges of awareness. He has a gravity to him, a disturbing weight of immense power coupled with that void of identity. Like a dark hole with something in it. It isn’t threatening, in and of itself. But it’s distinctive, and I register him as rapidly as he does me, with a cock of his head that threatens to tip a horn into the wall.

“Is something the matter? Why are you locked out of her room?”

“The Silver One is scrutinizing her wardrobe.”

“Whatever for?”

Elias is, very much of the time, very much of a pup.

“She’s outgrown at least half of it.”

Elias hums to himself, the sound reverberating through the cavities of his skull, empty except for shadow.

“Silky must be beside herself. If she isn’t done within the hour, I’ll find something for one of them to do. Chise will need rescuing.”

I offer him a nod a not quite bark. “undoubtedly.”

Elias turns toward the stairway. I feel his halt before it comes, a little change in the weight of void that follows him everywhere. He pivots halfway round, just far enough to point the red pilot light of one unseen eye in my direction. Despite a mouth full of teeth to rival mine, he has the eyes of prey, on the sides of his head. I sometimes wonder what it must be like for him to see.

“What was the offending piece of clothing that got her started, I wonder.”

He knows what he’s asking. I know what he’s asking. There’s no point in talking around it.

“Her bathing suit, for her trip with Alice.”

He hums again, now a short, glottal sound.

“So she’s still planning that.”

I don’t growl at him, I chuff. But I don’t answer, either. He takes my meaning, ducking his head some small increment of submission.

“Of course she is,” he says, and disappears down the stairs.

I’ve been lying at the door’s feet long enough to behoove me to get up, turn and resettle myself, feeling Chise’s scrambling to keep up with the Silver One peak to a quiet, curious excitement in the room beyond as the silky drafts new outfits and places new orders, when next he appears.

“She still has her trapped,” Elias observes.

“She doesn’t mind much, for now.”

She really is growing up.

“I doubt she’d object to an out.” He approaches the door. I don’t move from it except to drop my chin back to the hardwood. I’m not going anywhere.

Elias, without pause, reaches over me to wrap once on the door. He smells powerfully of new clothing and old magic and something else I can’t decide if I like. It’s the kind of smell that puts an itch between my shoulders and at the end of my nose, not a smell likeanything, but strong and distinct and interesting. Not quite enticing. He smells the opposite of appetizing without even the universal hot smell of mammals and rodents and things which move in the woods. Chise can’t smell any of that anyway, though, with her weak human nose, and she always says she likes how he smells, for the most part.“It is a little … Musty. But I don’t mind. In fact—“

She wouldn’t finish that sentence where i could hear, but I remember the little turning, clenching feeling that came with her thoughts.

She feels that way often around him.

“Chise.” His voice through the door registers in her as a heat that I feel far more potently than most of her signals. It’s a powerful feeling, love.

“Oh, yes Elias?”

“Do you need rescuing?”

The silver one, if she is indignant, can say nothing about it. But Chise allows a small bubbling laugh up her throat.

“It’s all right,” she tells him.

He hums at her, that low resonance again.

“Don’t be all day. The garden needs tending. The chamomile misses you.”

The chamomile, I think, as he hovers at the door. Sure.

When ya realize you’ve been stuck with a fucking lunatic who talks about aliens 24/7 and never knows what he’s talking about after 87 hours of him talking about it then losing trance making the 87 hours wasted and hearing about his damn cats ,,, fucking Kim and Kanye ,, why the FUCK did he name them Kim and Kanye , and have been thrown guitars at, the violence has to end , and ya decide to throw your whole fucking drum kit at Matt bc you’ve had eNOUGH and seen him break his foot twice because this motherfucker doesn’t know what shOES ARE AN-

Dance With Me Tonight 

banner by eriza


“Whilst on their year (or so) long hiatus young Harry Styles has been drafted into the whirlwind of the Strictly Come Dancing experience, or so the rumours would lead you to believe.

I mean it’s something that my mum would be proud of me doing.” He stopped to laugh, “and I guess it would be a great way to keep up my fitness over the winter months.” Taken directly from the man’s mouth, at the premier of Dunkirk in Leister Square.

Is that enough confirmation for you?  It is for us.’

a OU Harry fic to prove the illegitimacy of The Strictly Curse

//COMING SOON TO 1DFF//

Click on more info for a little teaser below

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anonymous asked:

What about a friends with benefits blurb? Like in the movie friends with benefits which I happen to be watching right now lol. Harry and or her realize they actually do have feelings for each other

Friends with benefits anon here again…I feel like a harry is a little emotionally repressed so I can totally see him taking on a situation like that. Also with his work he might feel like it’s too hard to keep a proper relationship up so that’s a good alternative.

Enjoy, sweetness. ;)

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anonymous asked:

An ISFJ and an INFP in a relationship?

Okay. I’m going to try to get back into this. *Crack knuckles* *Cracks back* *Cracks neck* *Cracks ear bones and shit*

Let’s do it.

INFP stretches and takes off her headphones with a satisfied smile, gets up from her computer and quietly enters the hallway from his workspace. Walking toward the centre of the house, she passes ISFJ who is walking in the opposite direction carrying a basket of laundry to another room.

INFP: Hey, ISFJ.

ISFJ: ^o^

INFP: *Double takes*

INFP: Wait, what??

ISFJ: *Stops in tracks*

ISFJ: What… er, what is it?

INFP: I didn’t…

INFP: How long have you been here?

ISFJ: O_o

ISFJ: Are you…

ISFJ: I…

ISFJ: INFP, I spent the night.

ISFJ: We spent the night together.

ISFJ: You… it was your idea.

INFP: *Gazes off in the distance, trying to remember*

INFP:

INFP: Are you sure?

ISFJ: ?? ???? ?? W  hat? 

ISFJ: Yes! I’m very sure!

INFP: Hmm…

INFP: I don’t know, I feel like that was a few days ago.

ISFJ:

INFP: Oh, hey, laundry!

ISFJ: Oh, goodness.

INFP: Whose is that?

ISFJ: Mine. I did yours a little earlier.

INFP: Oh awesome!

INFP: *Gives ISFJ an excited kiss*

INFP: You’re the best, thank you!

ISFJ: I…

ISFJ: Heh, wow, yeah, of course!

ISFJ: It’s no problem, really!

ISFJ: I’m– glad you appreciate all of that, and I’m not just doing it for, nothing, I guess.

INFP: No, yeah, totally. I have such a hard time doing things like that because I get so easily preoccupied with other things. I don’t know how you do it.

ISFJ: Haha, yes, I know, INFP. But I like helping you!

INFP: Hey, you know what, since you’re here today,

ISFJ: (I swear to you I always was. OTL)

INFP: Do you want to go somewhere and do something today?

ISFJ: Um. Well, I hadn’t really planned on it but, okay.

ISFJ: Where do you want to go? c:

INFP: *Shrugs*

INFP: I don’t know yet!

INFP: We’ll figure it out, though. If you think of anything let me know!

ISFJ: Oh, goodness. Okay, yes, I’ll help you figure something out, haha.

INFP: *Spontaneously remembers what he drew for ISFJ on his computer*

INFP: I’m going to find something to eat, but hey, I did something cool to my computer! It’s on right now, you should check it out.

ISFJ: For sure. :)

ISFJ continues down the hall, leaving INFP and sets the basket down in the bedroom. Afterwards, ISFJ shifts to the next room over to look at INFP’s computer. On the screen is a cartoon-esque, autumn landscape with a small piece of writing at the bottom that read “You’re always bright just like the sun, and yet, somehow, even that holds no candle to you.”

Fun fact: I head-cannon INFPs as dorky (possible even cheesy), hopeless romantics.