unusual young

World's oldest person and last known survivor of the 1800s Emma Morano dies at 117

The world’s oldest person has died in Italy at the age of 117, reports say.

Emma Morano, who was born on November 29, 1899, was officially the last surviving person in the world who was born in the 1800s.

She put her longevity down to genetics, being single and her diet of three eggs, two of them raw, each day for more than 90 years.

Ms Morano died on Saturday in her home in the city of Verbania, northern Italy, according to local media.

“She had an extraordinary life, and we will always remember her strength to help us move forward in life,” the mayor of Verbania was quoted as saying.

She was born in the Piedmont region of Italy, the oldest of eight siblings, and officially became the world’s oldest living woman when American Susannah Mushatt Jones died in May.

Ms Morano took up her unusual diet as a young woman after she was diagnosed with anaemia shortly after World War One.

More recently she had cut down to two eggs a day, along with a few biscuits.

Last year, in an interview with AFP, her doctor Carlo Bava, said: “Emma has always eaten very few vegetables, very little fruit. When I met her, she ate three eggs per day, two raw in the morning and then an omelette at noon, and chicken at dinner.”

Ms Morano also credited her longevity to her decision to kick out her abusive husband in 1938.

“I didn’t want to be dominated by anyone,” she once said.

Her long life was also likely down to genetics - her mother lived until she was 91 and several sisters reached 100.

Love Actually - Nightcrawler x Reader fluff

I see you write for X-Men, may I please request a fluffy Nightcrawler/Kurt Wagner imagine? I haven’t read any new ones in a while. ☺️- sgarrett49

A/N: bolded words are sent messages, italics and bold are sent from ‘you’

Keep reading

Not today

Every now and then, Death would meet a mortal who could see them coming. Angela Ziegler was one of those.

A long study on medical life and dealing with death.

Warnings: graphical violence. Suicide attempt.

Death first met the girl when she was very young, though all mortals seemed young to them. They came with the cold of the night, walking through the ruins, reaping the souls of the wounded and weak as they went. There was dust and debris and the metallic scent of blood mixed with machine oil. The place had been visited by War, they knew, which was as old as humanity itself.

She found the child lying on the arms of her mother. Death could hear the woman’s heartbeat, quieter with each passing moment. She sensed a man’s soul – the father, they supposed – float nearby, already long detached from his flesh.

When they approached, the girl turned to them. Death hesitated for a moment. It was not unusual that the young would be able to sense their coming, while they’re still innocent and their essences were not yet tainted by the joys and sorrows of the material world.

The mother’s pulse slowed down until it was still. Death didn’t have shape and didn’t have limbs, but they extended what the child would perceive as a hand towards the woman.

“Who are you?” the girl asked, looking up from where she laid.

This time, Death paused, tilting their head with surprise and a little awe. It wasn’t the first time they’d met a human who could see them, of course not, but those were rare and had been growing increasingly fewer with the years.

This girl was the first in what even they felt was a long time.

“I am Death,” they said, turning to the child. “And I’ve come to take them.”

(keep reading)

anonymous asked:

Love love love that lads post but I especially loved the phrase "Ramsey's brats" I was just wondering if you could elaborate on that a bit more, maybe on how each of them are "spoiled princes" in their own ways and how Geoff 'totally doesn't' pander to them and spoil them

i always consider that by the time they’re all in the FAHC and going places the Lads are, at the oldest, still in their early 20’s. Which honestly is super young in this world; considering the big bosses tend to be old blood, and of course the young crooks are around, pressing at the edges for more power, but it’s pretty unusual to be that young and actually have any. To already be in a crew with sway rather than just running about causing mayhem or trying to survive playing foot soldier for some big gang to prove your worth. Ramsey’s Lads, on the other hand, have everything. Have respect and power and the ear of the king of the city - far more influence than a pack of miscreant 20 year olds should have.

It’s not like they haven’t earned their places - for all Geoff loves his crew he isn’t charitable, hasn’t gotten where he is by taking in those who can’t give him anything in return – but the Lads have certainly gotten away with a lot more than they would have anywhere else. All that power that early on? The rampant rumours and licence to do near anything they can think of? It has to go to your head; your early 20s are turbulent enough without anyone thinking you’re a god. Thinking you’re a devil. Thinking you either a target or utterly untouchable, deadly threat or merely children playing with disaster.

For most guys their age a bit of temper means some minor scuffles or ruined relationships, a dramatic fight at work or an impressive display of road rage. When the Lads get pissed off they burn down buildings, destroy lives, smash their way through fortunes and race away in stolen super cars. They are ruinous, and Geoff, many would argue, is far too indulgent. Has been from the first Lad to the last, clear enough for all to see; enabling, encouraging, letting them go unpunished even after uncountable infractions.  

A blind man could see the way Ramsey folds for the Golden Boy; they’re always impeccably professional when they work the same meeting, the frontman and the kingpin dominating any they come up against, but on their own time there’s little Geoff wouldn’t do for Gavin. The first of his collection of streetrats, the youngest when he joined, the one Ramsey’s always been soft on, always treated like family. Generally speaking what Gavin wants Geoff inevitably gives, setting the example the rest of his crew bends to, all hopelessly endeared, all far too indulgent. They’ve let Gavin run wild, let him set his own rules, walk and talk and behave however he wants, with airs and graces that don’t belong to him, and look where that’s gotten everyone. Ramsey’s first little prince, the baby megalomaniac with sharp teeth and sharper eyes, collecting a veritable army of protectors he doesn’t even need, the one who has the whole world falling at his feet.

In any other gang Michael would be made to hold his tongue or risk losing it. He might not actually be as temperamental as they say but the boy certainly has a temper, and the kind of frank no-nonsense attitude that has him saying whatever he thinks no matter who he is talking to. It’s not that he’d incapable of tact so much as he doesn’t care for it, refuses to offer respect to anyone who hasn’t personally earned it and has no fear of causing offence. Geoff merely keeps him away from delicate negotiations and lets him loose on everyone else. More than one have called on Ramsey to discipline his dog, to which Geoff can only laugh. Laugh and invite Michael in to say his piece, leave the room as Michael cracks his knuckles, still chuckling as arrogant complaints turn terrified pleading. Michael is Ramsey’s ruthless prince, all sharp edges and brash defiance, the unbridled threat whose never learnt his place, the one who makes the whole world tremble.

Ray has perhaps the strangest expression of Geoff’s unusual tolerance for the Lad’s antics. Ray is, of course, a full member of the FAHC, of the inner crew, as integral and absolute as any of the rest of them, but he isn’t always actually with them. A crew member who is not always around and under Geoff’s command. He comes and goes whenever he needs to, never when he’s needed at home, when he’s got a role to play in some upcoming plan, but often with little if any notice. It’s a particularly bizarre thing for a crime lord to tolerate, to accept and allow and make no effort to punish or stamp out. Which says nothing of Ray’s other eccentricities; the strange vehicles and peculiar paint jobs, the irreverent drawl and inappropriate humour. Ray is Ramsey’s errant prince, distant and aloof and just out of sight, somehow always around when he’s really needed, the one who has the whole world in his sightlines.

Jeremy is a clear-cut example of sensible practicality dying at the hands of the FAHC. When he came to them he was inherently pragmatic; all the Lads were to some degree of course, had to be to survive the way they had, but even in their tensest moments Michael would still lose his temper, Ray would refuse aid to his own detriment, Gavin would take unjustified risk to go after something obscenely shiny. Jeremy was reasonable, down to earth, Jeremy made whatever sacrifices, mitigated whatever risk, planned and prepared and adjusted on the fly for the best chance of survival. He had flare, sure, but at the end of the day he would put aside personal preference for common sense. The FAHC ruined that. Dragged out all the loudest parts of him, the show-off, the pot stirrer, the wearer of utterly ridiculous clothing. One might think the Lads did it, and they certainly helped – latched on and pulled Jeremy into a hurricane of wicked grins and bad ideas, all arrogant confidence and military grade weaponry – but Geoff is hardly as innocent as he claims to be. Not when he kept pushing Jeremy to think bigger, dream higher, to come up with the most ridiculous plans then watch in astonishment as the FAHC made them happen. Ramsey’s newest prince, the one with kind eyes and dark ideas, who pushes all kinds of limits just to see if he can, the one who caught the whole world by surprise.

There are few who know of the FAHC who don’t also curse the existence of the Lads. Who aren’t full of complaints, call them too loud, too proud, too arrogant. Enraged by Ramsey’s glaring favouritism, by the flagrant absence of respect. It’s the crux of the whole matter really, respect. The way it’s expected, demanded. The way the Lads are more willing to die than give it on command. It’s the reason people say Ramsey’s ruined them, let their leashes grow too long, spoiled and self-important, raging egos and unbound impudence.

They’re not wrong, really. The Lads are wild things now, indomitable, untameable. They’d never settle for a harsher ruler, for normal crew hierarchy or forced deference, never let themselves be muzzled or brought to heel, but then isn’t that exactly what Geoff wanted? Isn’t that just what he planned? Vicious and untouchable and entirely his. Too headstrong, too reckless and often blinded by their insatiable destructive drive to chase entertainment, the bane of his life sometimes, but still incomparably loyal. The Lad’s who by all means should be incredibly selfish. Who by all accounts still are, so long as you understand that their sense of self now encompasses the closest members of their crew. The violent little princes who’d do anything for their king, do the utterly unthinkable without batting an eye, who tear into their own kingdom for amusement but will protect it from outsiders with unprecedented fury.

The Lads have been called many things, spoiled brats, violent delinquents, overconfident upstarts. Called ruined, called rotten, thought tolerated irritants, feral complications and dozens of other uninformed underestimations. Some accusations are more accurate; those who call them wicked, call them immoral, reckless, bloodthirsty and disturbingly possessive. The Lads are devious, are unapologetically ruthless and unexpectedly intelligent, they are in may ways older than their years while still immature in all the worst places. The Lads would tear the whole world apart for their crew, but the FAHC would do no less for them, utterly enamoured by the vicious little monsters. Ramsey’s brats, who have the biggest bads in the country wrapped around their little fingers and know it all to well, who’ve come from variations of absolutely nothing and have somehow stolen themselves a kingdom. Who have no intention of letting anyone or anything take it from them.

too late - newt x reader

Prompt: Hey, I think your writing is amazing! Can I request and imagine where Newt and Reader had a thing back when they were in Hogwarts. But after Newt got expelled he left her and never said anything to her again. They meet again during the whole events in New York and she’s already married. She’s angry at Newt but she’s still in love with him. Something like that! I’m not good at explaining I just want angst. Thanks!

Warnings: So Much Angst

so this is also inspired by this song so I included a sprinkling of the relevant lyrics in no particular order!! Enjoy!


[ I miss you when I can’t sleep
  Or right after coffee
  Or right when I can’t eat          ]

There was something so wonderful and comforting about the way you felt around Newt.

There was nothing you would change, you thought to yourself, as you sat sleepily in his arms, the two of you nestled under the bleachers in the Quidditch stadium. It was your go-to spot for late night shenanigans. For you and Newt, ‘shenanigans’ usually meant cuddling and sharing your thoughts in the odd hours of the morning, your conversation roaming and your guards down. There was something about Newt that made you feel as though you didn’t have to censor what you wanted to say. You could speak freely and with complete honesty, and that made you feel completely liberated. Besides, you were often the sort of tired that made you act just a little drunk, and all things considered your filter was completely out the window. The two of you treasured these nights, savoring the closeness and the company, curled up on a blanket and tangled in each other’s arms. Sometimes, your lips would press shyly to his, and the two of you would spend hours pressed against each other, kissing and kissing and throwing conversation to the wind. Other times, his fingers would simply brush idly over your skin, and the two of you would just enjoy the warm comfort the other provided. But your favorite and the most common were the nights when the two of you would talk for hours and hours until you had to go back to your common rooms, and this was one of those nights.

You lay pressed to his chest, his arm curled protectively around your waist and his nose nestled into the back of your neck. Your legs were tangled with his much longer ones, and your back was up against his stomach and chest. The two of you fit perfectly, like a jigsaw puzzle, and the thought made you smile. You placed a hand over one of his, feeling his heartbeat quicken against your back as you traced patterns lightly onto his skin. “Hey Newt?” you breathed, and you felt him shift.

“Hm?” he murmured into your neck, making you shiver as his warm breath ghosted over your skin.

“Do you ever think about the future?” you asked, somewhat nervously, and you felt him tense. Your stomach did a flip. You were usually fine talking to him about anything, but this topic terrified you to no end.

“You mean after Hogwarts?” he murmured, opening his hand and stretching out his fingers to lace them with yours. “Of course,”

You felt your heartbeat quicken. “Well… what do you think about? What do you see there?”

He squeezed your hand affectionately. “Well,” he mumbled, nestling further into the crook of your neck. You tilted your head to allow him access, and he pressed a soft kiss to your pulse. “I’d like for you to be there,” he said sheepishly, as though you might be frightened or unhappy with his response. You let go of his hand and rolled over to face him, your nose brushing against his and your hands resting on his chest. You could see a dim outline of him, your eyes adjusted to the dark, and you hoped he could see your smile.

“I’d like to be there,” you replied, equally shy.

You knew that he was aware of your smile, because his lips were on yours in a moment and he had to have felt it.

Your heart fluttered and you leaned into the kiss, feeling dreamlike, intoxicated. You were both teenagers, young and in love, even though the two of you were ignorant to the world and ignorant to the realities of love and relationships. You hadn’t been alive long enough to realize that life never went as planned, no matter how confident you were in the plans, but in the moment that was the furthest thing from your mind. You, at age sixteen, were convinced that this was how things were meant to be. It was love, right? The sort of love people sang about or wrote down in novels, the love of the century, the only thing that mattered in that moment and the most important thing that would ever happened to either of you. That was how it felt, and you thought you knew everything there was to know about relationships. You both thought that you were experts, and that you were both so unbelievably lucky to have stumbled upon your soulmate this early in life

God, were you wrong.

[ I miss you in my front seat
  Still got sand in my sweaters
  From nights we don’t remember ]


Queenie’s hand shot forward, gripping a frame that sat on Newt’s counter and studying it intently. “Newt,” she said, looking excited. “It’s such a small world, who woulda’ guessed you knew-” She looked up, catching his expression and obviously his thoughts as well, and the excitement dropped from her face.

He glanced at the photograph in her hands, fidgeting slightly. “It was a long time ago,” he mumbled, dropping his gaze to his hands. He looked back up at Queenie, suddenly hopeful. “So you knew her? You knew (y/n)?”

Queenie smiled gently. “Of course, she works at MACUSA!” Her smile drooped a little as she picked up on a few of the thoughts that were whipping through his head. “No, honey, I’m sorry. She hasn’t mentioned you,” she murmured, looking down at the picture of you. It was definitely you, even though it was clearly taken a long while ago. It looked as though Newt had been the one taking the photo, as the setting was casual and you didn’t appear to be posing. You had a scarf draped around your neck, and your hair was much longer than it was now, messy and not at all the professionally pinned style you usually wore nowadays. You were clad in Hogwarts robes that seemed just a little too big, and you looked a whole lot younger. You laughed at the camera, your nose wrinkling and your head tilting back as you flung your hand in front of your face, playfully camera shy. Queenie smiled at the photo. It was unusual seeing you so young, and so happy. She only ever saw you briefly at the office, and you always seemed to have an air of seriousness and professionalism about you.

She looked at Newt, troubled, studying his face and unintentionally picking up on his thoughts. They were dwelling on you now, and she could feel the sadness and bittersweet nostalgia that tainted the memories for him now. He was picturing you, and to her it was a vague picture that seemed very unlike you. To him, you were excitable and bright-eyed, and she felt his thoughts linger on the way your skin felt brushing his, the sound of your laugh, and the soft press of his lips on yours. These weren’t the sort of thoughts that were usually accompanied with the wrench of sweet sadness that Queenie could feel in Newt. “What happened?” She murmured.

He didn’t have to respond, but he smiled sadly and shook his head. “Nothing,” he said nervously, clearly uncomfortable and trying to get her to drop the subject entirely.

His thoughts betrayed him, and Queenie got the urge to run over and comfort the man, but she stayed put. “Oh, honey,” she murmured.

His head snapped up, his face somewhere between uncomfortable and distraught. “Please, just-” he mumbled. “I’d prefer if you stayed out of my head,”

“I’m sorry, I can’t help it,” she replied apologetically, eyes swimming with pity. She could feel how uncomfortable he was, and she felt terrible, but she really wanted to help. She hesitated, then opened her mouth to say something before Jacob came over and interrupted their conversation. She didn’t address it again that evening, but every so often she picked up a brief flicker of you in Newt’s thoughts. One feeling that overwhelmed the others in his head was guilt, and she wanted desperately to console him, but she didn’t dare overstep her boundaries any further.


[ Always missing people that I shouldn’t be missing ]

It felt wonderful to hold his hand in yours as you, Newt, and Leta wandered through Hogsmeade together. He was warm and soft, and you smiled to yourself. Leta walked on the other side of you, and the two of you were involved in a casual chat. You were quite the trio, though you felt terrible when Leta had to be the third wheel, so you did everything you could to include her in your conversations and activities. She had been Newt’s friend before you had met him in your Herbology class in your second year, and you felt sometimes as though you were intruding on their friendship, but she seemed to like you well enough.

Secretly, you were craving some alone time with your best friend, so when Leta said she was going to go shopping for a new quill, you were thrilled. She disappeared into a little shop full of school supplies, and you tugged Newt out of the cold snow and into the welcoming little cafe.

The two of you had ordered coffees and pastries, and you particularly had way too much fun with the whipped cream it was served with. He ended up with some in his hair, and he was staring at you with mock-annoyance that quickly melted to amusement as he reached over swiftly to dab some onto your nose. It was one of your favorite memories for a while, and sometimes you actually thought of that look on his face to summon your patronus. It was the sort of memory that you’d conjure up without realizing when your thoughts would wander, and someone else would clear their throat and ask you what in the world you were smiling about.

Much to your dismay, all of the treasured memories of him had taken an oddly abrupt transition from pleasant to painful.

[ Sometimes you gotta burn some bridges 
         just to create some distance               ]


[ I know that I control my thoughts and I should stop reminiscing ]

“Ms. (y/l/n)?” your secretary’s voice snapped you from your thoughts, and you looked up from the morning cup of coffee you had been stirring sugar absent-mindedly into for the last minute. “Sweetie, are you okay? You look awful tired, do you need to run home and rest? I could just-”

“Thank you, but I’ll be fine,” you said, smiling and waving the young woman out of your office. Little did you know, this was a bad start to an even worse day.

You were called out to assist in the cleanup after all the damage Creedence the Obscurus had done, and as you made your way around town, carefully repairing buildings and muggle cars with flicks of your wand just about the last person you were expecting to see caught your eye across the street. You had heard, of course, about the man with the suitcase full of magical creatures and the havoc they had probably wreaked on the city, but you hadn’t ever picked up the man’s name and as you saw him making his way down the street with a case in hand, everything made perfect sense.

Cleanup forgotten, you set your shoulders, determined, and strode over to the man. He was walking along with two women you recognized, Tina and Queenie Goldstein, and Queenie saw you before anyone else. Her eyes grew a little wide, and she stopped in her tracks, gripping Newt’s sleeve and murmuring “Newt, honey,” in his ear.

He stopped as well, and when his eyes met yours you felt a painful jab in your chest. His features were achingly familiar, but clearly older. He was still lanky, but it suited him more and was no longer awkward. His hair hadn’t changed a bit, but his chin was unshaven and you could see lines etched into his skin. He had always had the smile lines on the corners of his mouth, you thought fondly, but now it seemed as though all of his features were shadowed, more defined, and you spent a moment just studying his face.

He did the same, marveling at the features that were so familiar and yet so much more mature than the ones in the photograph he kept. Your hair was pinned back professionally, and you stood at your full height, no longer slouching. You looked tired, and all he wanted to do was step forward and hold you in his arms, showering you with kisses and apologies and a million other gestures that would make you forgive him for what he had done.

“Newt Scamander,” was all you could muster, your eyes troubled and your heart heavy. He wouldn’t maintain eye contact, but smiled.

“Hello (y/n),” he replied meekly.

You felt tears welling up in your eyes as you heard his voice. It was such a lovely voice, though deeper and more adult now. You swallowed hard, but couldn’t banish the lump in your throat. “Merlin’s Beard, Newt,” you choked out, and Queenie excused herself, dragging Tina along with her. “I pictured you in my future, but I sure as hell didn’t picture you like this.”

He looked up at you through his messy hair, and you noticed with a pang that his hair hadn’t changed. Always a mess, always in his eyes, and always the same shade of light brown that greatly resembled cinnamon. “I know,” he replied, his gaze filled with guilt.

“You knew where I lived. You knew where you could send an owl. You didn’t have to explain yourself, or give me a detailed account of why you were expelled, but you could have at least written one measly little letter just to tell me you were okay. I didn’t know what to think. I wrote to your house and all I got was a letter telling me you’d left,” you could feel the tears brimming in your eyes.

“I was afraid you wouldn’t want to hear from me anymore,” he replied lamely.

“Well, you couldn’t have been more wrong. You broke my heart, Newt. I didn’t know what to do. Nobody would talk to me, Leta included, so I breezed through Hogwarts and as soon as I graduated I moved here. I couldn’t stay, it hurt too much to see all these things around that reminded me of you, that reminded me that I wasn’t worth a single letter,” you rambled, spilling everything you had internalized for so long.

He looked taken aback, his eyes wide and his shoulders drooping. He averted his gaze. “You were worth far more than that, which is why I couldn’t send you anything. I figured it would be in your best interest to move on and forget about me and all I had done.”

Your eyes blazed. “I didn’t care what you had done. I just wanted you,” you murmured, feeling like you were sixteen again, tears running down your cheeks as you watched him go without a goodbye, without even a glance in your direction, without offering you any sort of closure. It all came rushing back, and you buried your face in your hands.

“(y/n), don’t-” he placed his hand gently on your arm, but he observed with a pang a wedding ring glittering on the ring finger of your left hand. A heavy weight settled in his chest. “Don’t cry,”

You allowed the contact, and secretly you were yearning for more. You hadn’t ever stopped loving him, and you didn’t think you ever would. Nobody would take you seriously, chiding you that it was just ‘puppy love’ and that you would move on when you found the right person, but you never truly did. You loved your husband, and you were incredibly loyal to him, but he wasn’t Newt.

You pulled your shaky hands away from your face, and he reached up slowly to wipe some of the tears away. “It’s too late for that,” you said quietly, lip trembling. “At least sixteen years too late,”


[ I hate you, I love you,
  I hate that I love you
  Don’t want to but I can’t put 
         nobody else above you ]

{the professor} || Eisuke Ichinomiya x MC (Reader)

WTH why do I love this guy so much? I can’t seem to stop writing for him.

**please don’t repost or plagiarize.

WARNINGS: none, totally SFW.

{the professor}

[college au]

//professor!eisuke ichinomiya x student!reader//

You remain in the back row of your classroom, trying to ignore all of the girl’s excited whispers. You frown upon hearing the whispers increase to an annoying echo and attempt to listen to Mr. Ichinomiya’s lecture once more.

“The basics of all corporations is this: the concept of supply and demand. As long as companies are willing to give consumers what they crave for the most, rest assured they will-”

“Oh my God, he’s so gorgeous!! I was so happy I got to take Macroeconomics with him!”

“Yeah, same with us too, Erika!”

You moan and rub your fingers against your forehead, hearing the girls whisper excitedly about the professor yet again. All I want to do is pass my classes and get my degree in Business. But with all of these interruptions, there’s no way I can remain focused enough.

If you had a choice as to who was your professor, you would have definitely chosen anyone that wasn’t Mr. Ichinomiya. It wasn’t that he was a bad teacher, no, it’s just he was a tad bit too popular for your liking.

You knew how he was pretty much the King in all of Tres Spades University and how popular he was with the female students. Not only was he just a professor here, he was the son of the Dean of this university.

But luck doesn’t seem to be on my side. You yawn and rest your cheek on your right hand, dutifully facing forward as you listened to the professor’s lecture to the best of your ability.

It’s weird; when I have to take the courses Mr. Ichinomiya also HAPPENS to teach, I always seem to end up in his class without fail.

Your eyes were glazed over as you thought about how strange it was that you were always in his section. When you turn your eyes to face the front again, you jolted a little bit in your seat.

Mr. Ichinomiya’s golden eyes were trained on yours, and his gaze was so intense that you had to look away.

This is awkward. Why is he looking at me like that?

“Eeeeee! He looked this way!! Ugh, I can finally die happy now!”

“Oi, pay attention.”

“Y-Yes sir!”

Erika and her lackeys continue to whisper excitedly throughout the class period, and you forget all about how Mr. Ichinomiya was looking at you. You let out a disappointed sigh, seeing as though you only managed to write down a few words here and there across your notebook. The rest of the class period flies by until Mr. Ichinomiya states that class is over.

As always, you remain in your seat, waiting for all of the class to walk out before standing. You gather up your belongings and frown when you feel a presence in front of you. Looking up, you softly gasp and take a step backwards, seeing him before you.

“Mr. Ichinomiya! H-Hello.” You mentally curse at your stuttering, “Uhm, can I help you with anything?”

He gives you a disappointed expression, “I see that your quizzes have been dropping lately.”

“Er yes.” You clear your throat, placing your hands behind your back, “I suppose that I am, but to be honest I believe an 80 is a B in your class, right?”

“As if I would accept such a pathetic excuse from one of my top students. I expect no less than a 100% from you, [Name].”

You watch as Mr. Ichinomiya holds out his hand, “Give me your notebook.”

“Yes sir.” Reaching back into your bag, you pull out your Macroeconomics notebook and hand it to him. You watch as his fingers flip through the pages, stopping at today’s date, “These notes are terrible, you didn’t even get half of my lecture down.”

“Sorry, it’s just a little hard to focus while sitting behind Erika. She’s…distracting.”

“Don’t blame your shortcomings on my other students.” Mr. Ichinomiya slams your notebook shut before handing it back to you, “If you’re so distracted in the back row, then why don’t you just move to the front row?”

He adjusts his tie before making his way back to his desk, “It’s settled. Starting next class, I will be assigning seats from now on. You’ll be seated in the front row directly in front of me.”

“Yes sir.” Although the prospect of sitting in front of class wasn’t too appealing to you, there was no way you could argue against him.

You were close to exiting his class when you suddenly hear him call out to you. “Ah, yes?”

His back was facing you when he spoke, “Tomorrow, at 3 pm, come to my office. I’ll go over today’s lesson again so you better come prepared to take better notes.”

A happy smile graces your features as you respond, “Thank you so much, sir! I promise, I won’t be late!”


It was the next day, and you were heading out of your dorm while walking to Mr. Ichinomiya’s office.

As you were heading toward his building, you pass by an unusual sight, seeing a young man with caramel colored hair splashing several young women while in Tres Spade’s grand water fountain.

You frown and place your bag down on the ground, “Ota, you shouldn’t be swimming in the fountain, what if the Dean sees you?”

Ota hears your voice and faces you, “Oh, if it isn’t [Name]! Come on, don’t be such a wimp, come in here and join us!”

Several giggles were heard as the young girls wrap their arms around the young artist. “I…no, thank you, I don’t swim.”

He smirks before gasping, beckoning you to come closer to him. “Whoa, there’s something on your face! Come over here real quick!”

You panic, not sure what he was talking about when you come closer to him. You see Ota reach out to you before pulling you into the fountain.

“WAHH!!” You land in the shallow waters head first, the chilly water soaking you to the bone as you shivered.

“That’s more like it!” A playful smirk crosses Ota’s features as you gasp for air, feeling embarrassed as the girls surround you. They each point a finger at you, laughing at how your blouse was now see-through because you were soaked.

Before you could cover yourself, a strong pair of arms pulls you out of the fountain, “You’re late.” A cold voice whispers within your ear.

You freeze, seeing Mr. Ichinomiya holding you in his arms as he pulls you out of the fountain. “What gives, Eisuke? I just wanted to give your favorite student a good time.”

“You pull that stunt again and I’ll kick you out of this school for good, Kisaki!” He yells back at the young man before walking away.

You were pressed against his chest, thinking about how surreal this was at being in his arms. Several strange looks were given to you as you remained in his arms, further embarrassing you. “Sir, I-I can walk, honest.”

“Tsk, shut up.” He leans down suddenly, capturing your lips with his in a quick kiss. When he slants his lips over yours, you felt all reason fly out of your mind. The kiss was dizzying and addicting to you, and you couldn’t find the proper words to respond to him when he pulls away.

Adjusting his hold on you, Mr. Ichinomiya continues his stride across campus, reaching his office building as you wiggled in his grasp, “W-Wait! This is too much, why did you kiss me like that?!”

“The same reason why I kept you beside me all of these years.”

He reaches the elevator and slams his hand on the elevator button, stepping into the cramped space before pinning you against the wall.

You feel Mr. Ichinomiya run his hot lips across your neck, causing you to moan. “I…I don’t understand. I’m your student, so why…?”

“It’s your damn fault for not fawning over me.

It’s your damn fault for being different, for making me want you for two years straight.

Who do you think it was that made sure that all of your classes were with me?”

You gasp at the revelation. He…He’s admitting it! So he was the one who made me take so many courses with him?!

The elevator slides open again, reaching the floor where his office was located. Picking you up, Mr. Ichinomiya keeps you close to him before placing you on his couch.

Your back meets with the leather cushions, heart racing as the devastatingly handsome man hovers above you. You were enchanted by how gorgeous his golden eyes looked while peering into you, “Mr-”

“It’s Eisuke, call me Eisuke.

Nimble fingers work at unbuttoning your damp blouse, “Now that we’re alone and in my office, let’s get started on your lesson.”

When your collarbone was free for his eyes to see, you feel him bend down to gently nip at your skin. Your hands automatically bury themselves in his strands of soft, dark brown hair, making you gasp as you ask, “And what will you be teaching me?”

A rich chuckle fills your ears, and you hear him whisper hotly, “How to be my girlfriend.”



  • Name: Stefano Antonio Salvatore
  • Age: 22
  • Title: Prince of Italy (2nd in line)
  • Siblings: Damon & Malachai Salvatore


    The Golden Boy; the ideal prince. Luckily for Italy, he was one.
     As any passionate kingdom would be, Italy was overjoyed to see a second pair of tiny hands enter their nation as a potential future ruler—another boy, no less. It came as no shock, it was customary for the royal family to have many children, it was secured that the nation would have a future ruler. Every kingdom needed the spares, and Stefan, to be entirely honest, didn’t mind that that’s what he was.
    Though Stefan was just as polite, educated, trained as his family hoped he could be, he failed to understand the hierarchy he lived in until he was much older. It wasn’t unusual to find the young green-eyed prince playing with other peasant children as a boy or talking to strangers in spite of his usually introverted tendencies. He was always curious about people, fascinated by their vast differences, what brought them to that very moment in time. Like his brothers, stories fascinated him, and he eventually became equally fond of reading people as he did reading books. He’d been bound so tight by the limits his title set that he usually found himself living vicariously through others. He envied the commoners; their freedom, their choice. Of course they had their limits as well, they were equally bound to their class, but Stefan felt he could do nothing for them in his current position. He saw their struggles, smiled with their happiness. He had a deep desire to get to know the kingdom that his family ruled. More importantly, though he is one of the people who could be considered symbolic of the kingdom, he hardly felt like he was part of it.
    He’s hardly ever had much interest in the throne. In spite of what they all know his father thinks, Stefan has faith in his older brother to be a good man and rule well, and encourages him to do so. Not only does he trust his ability, but he knows that the better Damon does, the further he, himself is from having to take over. While he knows he would be more than capable, perhaps even exceed at the task, Stefan longs for a life without titles or predetermined direction, which makes the voyage to Norway feel a little redundant to him, not that he isn’t curious about the outcome.


  • ( + ) Kind, loyal, encouraging, genuine, family-oriented, intelligent, reliable, hopeful, protective, passionate, concerned, courageous, listener, friendly
  • ( - ) Introverted, insecure, naive, overly trusting, easily persuaded/influenced, emotional, doubtful, stubborn, oblivious, quiet, broody, hesitant, inexperienced


  • Damon Salvatore ( @eternalstud ): His older brother, Stefan looks up to him and has adored him his whole life. Stefan does his best to look after Damon as much as he does the younger two because he feels like he doesn’t usually get the same support. Ideally, Stefan hopes to become the kind of man he sees his older brother as, though there have been times where he’s felt an undertone of competitiveness with him, not out of spite, but merely out of the ways that their parents have pushed their roles in the royal family upon them. 
  • Malachai Salvatore ( @gcminikaii​ ): Younger half-brother, Stefan is always concerned for him and very protective. Stefan isn’t aware that he’s only his half brother, but he loves him either way. Stefan is just as close with Kai as he is with Damon, though he sometimes feels like he can’t reach him on the emotional level he needs, like there are things he isn’t telling him. 


  • There are times when Stefan feels that he’s the odd man out, like he’s on a different wavelength than not only his parents, but also his brothers, and though he doesn’t realize it, it’s primarily because he is the only one unaware of his true relation to his younger brother.
  • Stefan has immense respect for his royal family and he will make sure you know it. He’s slowly become more open about his adversity to ever replacing his brother, but will continue to defend the position to anyone who he deems disrespectful. 
  • That being said, his family is the most important thing to him. Stefan could easily be considered the favorite child, having the best relationship with their parents of the three princes, but that doesn’t mean he agrees with them. Stefan is good at avoiding unnecessary conflict, which is particularly easy when he’s ben kept in the dark for so long. He’s never understood why his mother talks down to Malachai or why his father thinks Damon is so unfit to rule, but Stefan works hard to do as much damage control with the two as he can. He’s the most in touch with his emotions of the three and does his best to remind them of what’s important. His brothers are his top priority. He hasn’t ever understood why his family operates the way it does, but his confusion and helplessness to fix any of it play a part in what’s driven him away from wanting anything to do with government, in spite of likely being best bred for the job.
  • His current beliefs (and behaviors) are not set in stone, therefore, are subject to change via plotting and writing.

anonymous asked:

Minghao×Jun 69 73

69. Teacher

73. Under the desk

Usually people had a lot more innocent crushes on their professors (or that’s what he thought), but Jun’s… it was far from innocent.

He enjoyed the unusually young professor’s - Xu Minghao’s - voice a lot. Maybe a bit too much, considering how often he wondered what he’d sound like when he was begging for more. He liked his lips, too, but found himself often imagining them stretched around his cock, or parted in loud moans while he would thrust inside of him.

In all honesty he wasn’t sure if he was crushing on or just lusting over his professor, but his ears twitched either way when the soft voice said “Ah, Junhui, could you stay for a bit?” after the last lesson before lunch break.

When the auditorium had emptied and the door had been closed and thus locked, Minghao brought up the rumors he had heard circling around regarding Jun and how he… viewed his professor. He was blushing slightly while asking, and Jun had a hard time controlling himself; hard enough to just blurt out the truth.

“Uh, yeah. I mean, I kinda wanna suck your dick and do you on your desk, but that’s no one’s business, is it?”

Damn. He could’ve been a bit more careful with his words, but then again, the way Minghao’s eyes widened and his lips parted while his Adam’s apple bobbed didn’t go unnoticed by Jun, who just grinned, the regret long gone.

“Well… I have you guys’s exams to grade, so…” Minghao began quietly, slowly bringing his hand to Jun’s arm. When the other one didn’t budge and just looked him square in the eye almost challengingly, Minghao got a grin on his face, and what he said next almost had Jun moaning at the contrast between the words and how he usually portrayed himself. “…if you want to, you can suck me off while I do that.”

Much to Jun’s delight, he was soon on his knees in front of Minghao’s seat, slightly under the desk and with his nicely sized, seemingly perfect cock in his mouth. Minghao could barely sit still or quiet; his toes were curling and his legs were tensing, and quiet moans and grunts tried to get through his tightly pursed lips.

“I want to hear you, professor,” Jun cooed from the floor, looking up at Minghao with his tongue running up and down his shaft slowly before he merely sucked on the head of his cock with a playful glint in his eyes and the tip of his tongue sliding against the slit.

Minghao hissed, and with that, a moan escaped his lips while the pen in his hand dropped to the desk. “Fuck, I give up.”

He brought both of his hands to Jun’s dyed hair and he shut his eyes, allowing himself to focus on the feeling and the wet sounds of his mouth moving on his length. Jun sucked while bobbing his head and nearly chuckled when Minghao tugged at his hair, bringing him up.

“Can I fuck your face?”

This time Jun actually did moan at the contrast between the usually proper, reserved professor and what he had just let out of his mouth.

- Kay

Jung Joon Young Reveals Unusual Favor He Did For Legendary Producer Quincy Jones

Jung Joon Young Reveals Unusual Favor He Did For Legendary Producer Quincy Jones

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Jung Joon Young recently recalled a very special moment he shared with legendary record producer Quincy Jones!

The singer appeared as a guest on the March 8 episode of JTBC’s variety show “Ask Me Anything,” where he revealed the time he danced with one of Quincy Jones’ daughters at an industry event.

“Quincy Jones and Michael Caine were sitting in a very refined way together when he told me, ‘My…

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Another Victuuri Hogwarts AU: The forest surrounding Hogwarts was one not only consisting of danger, but also held the opportunity of reflection and peace. With a nose filled with the sweet scent of pine, Yuuri often found it a place of tranquillity, one where he could escape the hectic life of Hogwarts and breathe in the serene atmosphere of nature. However, one day his mindful walk was followed by a certain grey haired student, whose curiosity drew him to the unusual path of the young man. Never straying more than ten steps behind him, Viktor spent the afternoon tracing the man’s steps, mesmerised by the way the rays of sun light bounced off his raven hair. ~ Annabeth


(M!Corrin x Soleil)

“Aaaah! It’s so cute, I love it! I love it so much!”

What had happened was that Soleil had been invited to Corrin’s throne room. It was not unusual, the young king loved spending time with his wife. No, the unusual part was what Soleil saw when she had walked in. Instead of Corrin on the throne, it was a pink kitty. Soleil wasted no time in scooping it up and cuddling it.


“Haha! He likes me!”

Corrin smiled. “Sure does!” Then the smile went away. “At least, I think that was a happy meow.”

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Incessant Infatuation

Synopsis: Fareeha has a crush on super cool big-kid Angela, and she goes to McCree of all people for help.

The midday sun cast its rays upon the desert field, sending shadows directly underneath the figures that owned them. Small reptiles crawled out of their hiding spots to bask in the sunlight, while many of the mammals refuge from the blazing heat in their burrows and holes. A small woodpecker started to cut out a hole in a thick Saguaro, hoping to create a shelter to reside in.


The percussive noise reverberated along the sand, echoing off rocks, being sent in every direction.

Another crack.

Jesse McCree looked down range at his target, and walked out towards the paper cutout for closer inspection. While two shots were fired, only one hole seemed to be made. It was not until the paper was in Jesse’s hands was the imperfection shown. A small crescent deviated from the original circumference, another circle offset by millimeters, with barely any paper to puncture. Jesse smirked and flicked the paper with his finger, letting out a puff of his cigar. “Not too bad for warming up” he said to himself, making his way back towards the shooting station. He set the paper target aside on the small wooden table beside him, and he picked up six fresh victims to set out in the range.

When all the cutouts were put on their posts, he situated himself at the station. He clicked the release mechanism to his revolver, flicking the cylinder open. As he tilted the revolver upwards, two casings dropped to the gravel below, smoke still gently rising from their entry points. This time, Jesse readied six rounds to be fired, carefully placing each one in its proper slot. With a smooth motion, he flipped the cylinder back up into the revolver, the locking mechanism snapping in place with a click.

He glanced down at his wrist before checking his surroundings to make sure he was alone. Seeing nobody nearby, he smirked and placed his revolver in his holster, keeping it unlatched. He bent his right arm, hand hovering over the pistol, his left arm in front, ready for rapid fire.

“It’s high noon” he let out in a low drawl.

The low wind picked up, sending a lone tumbleweed across the horizon. McCree lined up each target in his sights, composing himself. With a sudden motion, Jesse drew the weapon from its holster. “Draw!” He shot each target along the horizon in a swift motion, his left hand cocking the hammer in between each sequential fire. When it was done, Jesse flipped the revolver about his finger before swiftly placing it back in the holster. He surveyed the scene, all targets had a sizzling hole right through the skull. He tucked his thumbs in his belt loops, “Heh, not so bad”

His reverie was cut short.

“Ugh, Jesse. So lame” A giggle came from behind. McCree snapped around on his heel, and saw little Fareeha jump down from her perch. He suddenly became quite flustered, especially now that Fareeha had seen him. She always liked to give him grief for his self-indulgent grandeur, not to mention the BAMF buckle he liked to keep fastened around his waist.

“Fareeha! What are you doing here? You know your Mom would kill you if she found out you were at the gun range” McCree said, emptying the casings just as before, and swiveled the pistol back into its holster.                    

“Mmm is the ‘BAMF’ scared of momma?” Fareeha said with a sly smile, “It is just you and me after all, she doesn’t need to find out. Besides, I wanted to ask you something.”

Jesse sighed, knowing he wouldn’t be able to shake her loose until he paid the ransom. “Alright, what is it then?”

“You’re good with the ladies, right Jesse?”

McCree tugged at his collar awkwardly. No beating around the bush with this one. “I wouldn’t say the ladies per se.”

“Okay, fine. But you know how to sweet-talk them, right? I know you use that silver-tongue of yours to kiss mother’s ass, God help her.”

McCree rolled his eyes. “I guess if you put it that way. To be honest, though, this line of work doesn’t lend many opportunities to speak with many people outside of those in Overwatch. The only women I really know well besides my own mother are your Ma and Angela.”

At the latter’s name, Fareeha started shifted the sand around her feet, looking down the entire time. “What if I were to say that I wasn’t talking about anybody off-base?” Fareeha asked nervously.

Realization began to dawn on McCree, the corner of his lips turned upwards into a sly grin. “Heh heh, does little Fareeha Amari have her eyes set on a certain someone?”

Fareeha didn’t look up to meet McCree’s cheeky expression.

“A certain German lady, by chance?”

“Ugh, Jesse, she’s Swiss!” Uh oh. Now the cat was out of the bag. “I mean… no?” she said, trying to backpedal out of her previous statement, tapping the tips of her index fingers together.

McCree slapped his knee and let out a bought of laughter. He gave her a few teasing nudges with his elbow, while Fareeha tried to bat him away.

“Hah! A crush on Miss Angela Ziegler. I gotta say, kid, you have a mighty fine taste in women.” He said, not trying to fight down the grin that seemed to get broader and broader.

“…Shut up” Fareeha pleaded sheepishly, with heat rising to her cheeks.

“Heh” McCree grunted as his laughter started to subside. “So have you tried working the ol’ Amari charm?”

Fareeha shuffled her feet over one another. “I wouldn’t say that”

“Looks like we’ll need to fix that, then!” Jesse stood up and rotated his hat slightly. “Here, I got a few tricks up my sleeve…”

Angela nervously chewed on the cap to her pen, her foot bobbing up and down as her crossed legs moved about. She had already spent five hours tucked away in her cramped living quarters, trying to work on an article she had been drafting that dealt with the preliminary research in the usage of microscopic machines and how they could be used in the medical field. Juggling that and her responsibilities on base was proving to be a challenge, but it was something she found she could solve by holing herself up in her room. Not many people had access to Angela when she was busy with her workload, which to be fair was nearly every moment of her day. Being an unusually young age for her work, Angela was denied permission by Commander Morrison to look after her own patients. To keep herself busy in the times she wasn’t assisting the current medical director of Overwatch, she had taken to pouring through multitudes of published academic literature and research papers, hoping to gain some insight into the developing field of the nanobiology.

She heard the door creak, but she paid no mind to it. She was intent to carry on with her research, and didn’t want to get bogged down in any distractions.

“Hey Angela” a small voice came from behind, one that could only come from Fareeha.

“Hey Far” Angela said without turning around, still trying to focus on doing her work.

Angela was about to ask how Fareeha’s day was going, but she was interrupted by prying fingers at the collar of her turtleneck. “Fareeha?” She continued to try to turn the collar inside out. “Fareeha what are you doing?” She turned to face Fareeha.

“I’m uhh.. I’m umm..” Fareeha paused as if trying to remember something. “I’m trying to find the tag that says ‘Made in Heaven.’”

Angela paused for a moment, but realization spread across her face. Laughter came forth in droves. “Where did you get that one from?”

Fareeha was a little taken back, and her face flushed with embarrassment. She still wanted to continue, and she looked down at the piece of paper in her hand. Fumbling with the words she was trying to say, she stuttered out the next line “d-do you have a camera?”

Angela was taken aback at the strange request. “Um yes but I don-”

“So I can show my friends proof angels exist.”

Angela let out another fit of giggles before reigning herself back in. “You know you are just adorable, right? Did Jesse put you up to this to annoy me?” She said with a giggle.

Fareeha felt like she wanted to die of embarrassment at that moment. She couldn’t help but stare at her shoes. “Right… to annoy you” she said, defeated.

“Hmm! Typical. I’m going to go knock some sense into that troublemaker.”

Angela sauntered out the door, and Fareeha crumpled the piece of paper in her hand, throwing it out as she sulked back to her room.

~~Twenty years later~~

With a loud hissing noise, the carrier’s ramp opened and lowered itself onto the platform below, forming a rudimentary walkway for the passengers exiting the aircraft. Fareeha slung the duffel bag she was carrying over her shoulder, and stepped out into the midday sun. Looking around, the revitalized Watchpoint looked just like had twenty years ago. The atmosphere felt very similar to how she remembered it. She brought her gaze forward, locking on to the man who was approaching her, clipboard in hand.

“Captain Amari! It is good to meet you. I do hope your flight over was okay.” Not being one for idle conversation, Fareeha smiled and gave a small nod in recognition.

“If you would follow me, I will show you to your living quarters.”

The attendant ducked his head to enter the doorway to one of the entrances. Fareeha followed suit, smiling as she remembered the countless times Jack Morrison had hit his head there, too busy with paperwork to pay attention.

“Winston informed me to tell you to meet him in the officer’s quarters at 0400. Am I correct in assuming you know where that is?”

Fareeha returned her attention to the man beside her, coming out of her small trip down memory lane. “Yes, I do. Thank you.” She glanced down at her watch, just past noon.

Looks like I will have time to explore more around the Watchpoint, and see if anything has changed in the past two decades.

The man lead her to her room, a plaque was placed on the center of the door reading ‘Capt. Fareeha Amari.’

“So this is where you’ll be staying. If you want to request any additions or changes you can contact me and I’ll see what I can do.” He turned to give her space, but then added one last thing, “Oh, and Captain? Welcome to Overwatch.” Fareeha nodded, and he went on his way.

Less than an half hour later, Fareeha had her things set out and tucked away. She was not one to pack heavy, for all she needed were her different military uniforms, her workout clothing, and the other bare essentials. Much of the structured, militaristic attitude she had developed during her time in the Egyptian armed forces carried over through her time working for HSI and to the present. It made things easy for her to stay mobile, not being tied down to any location with mementos of home, but it would be untrue to say Fareeha did not secretly wish to possess said trinkets.

Feeling curious, Fareeha left the comfort of her bed to explore the corridors of the Watchpoint.

Many happy memories were made here, even in the short time her mother had been stationed at this Watchpoint. Whether it was hearing stories about the ‘Good ol’ days’ from Reinhardt, pestering Gabriel to play with her, or just hanging out with Angela while she worked on her computer, Fareeha had definitely made this place her home, even if it wasn’t for as long as she hoped.

As she walked down the corridor, a cracked door caught her attention, a faint pale blue light emanated from the cracks. A sudden giddiness filled her body as she read the owner of the room. She silently opened the door, and was greeted by the figure hunched over the desk, typing something at a furious pace. Fareeha leaned against the doorframe.

“Hmm, I really wish I had brought my camera with me” Angela swiveled around to face the unfamiliar voice, “So I can show my friends proof angels exist.”

Angela’s mouth crept up into a smile. “Fareeha,” she said fondly, “it has been far to long.” She picked her self out of the chair and walked towards Fareeha, bringing her into an embrace.

“It’s good to see that some habits never change” Fareeha said with a smirk, motioning her head towards the numerous papers strewn about her desk, byproducts of becoming a part of so many different research groups.

“It’s not work if you love doing it. And I can’t believe you remembered that horrible line,” she gave Fareeha a teasing slap on the chest, “I still remember the first you said it to me. It was so adorable!”

Fareeha rubbed the back of her neck. “To be fair, Angela, you wouldn’t let me live it down.”

Angela lightly touched Fareeha’s forearm, and the giggle she let out made Fareeha’s heart jump. “And I don’t think I ever will.” She let her giggling pause for a moment, and she looked into the deep brown eyes looking down to her. “It’s really good to see you.” She gave Fareeha a quick once-over. “You’ve gotten so tall too! It looks like the army really beefed you up as well, eh?” Now that she was thinking about it, Fareeha had changed drastically. Gone was the frail little Fareeha who bounced around wearing bright dresses her mother bought for her (much to Fareeha’s chagrin). The woman that stood before her had an aura of dignity, enforced by the muscular biceps put on display with her tank top. Angela allowed herself to glance over her frame, and she was impressed at how well she seemed to take care of herself and her body. Uh oh. Angela caught herself. She’s hot.

“You know,” Angela brought her eyes back up, and met Fareeha’s sea of deep brown, “Jesse never put me up to it. Quite the opposite.”

Angela’s face made an ‘O’ at the realization, and she slapped her forehead. “Oh my god. I laughed in your face! Oh my Fareeha I apologize for that.”

Fareeha softly laughed, “It is no matter, Doctor. It was twenty years ago. However…” a smirk crept on her face. “You can make it up to me by giving a tour around the Watchpoint. I have a few hours before I need to report to anyone, and I wanted to explore and see what has changed.”

“Well then, I guess it is only fair,” they both headed for the door. “After you.”

Fareeha gave her a thankful smile, which when straight to Angela’s heart, the beat picking up.

I wonder if she still kept her crush? Angela blushed at the wistful thought as they walked side by side, just as they had done so decades ago as best friends.

Author’s Note: So in other news I’ve recently converted to the lord and savior Scrivener. It’s just so useful. And I can get it on my phone too oh my god. Google drive we had a good run.

I also forgot to think of a title when I first posted it. Oops.

"Little Lady" Part 1 [Percival Graves x Reader ]

Summary: MACUSA hires a skilled trainer for the soon to be aurors and Percival Graves is more than surprised to meet her.

Word Count: 1.1k

A/N: I felt like writing something about Fantastic Beasts so here’s that. I was extremly torn between writing something about Queenie, Credence or Graves.

Originally posted by nalianova

The morning had started off just as any other, after walking for not more than three blocks Mister Percival Graves arrived at his workplace right on time.

“Good morning, Mister Graves!” the brown-haired guy, who had finished his studies in Ilvermorny only two months ago, called out when he saw his boss, the head of The Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

“Morning,” the tall man muttered without looking up from the newspaper that he was holding in his hands.

“Madam President told Jake who told Mary, I mean Miss Greenhill, who came here and told me that she wanted to…” he stopped for a second when Graves shot him an annoyed look over the newspaper.

“Madam President wants to see you, sir,” the assistant said.

“It wasn’t that hard, now was it?” Graves said to his assistant when he placed his newspaper onto the guy’s table and turned around to walk out. The guy didn’t reply, he felt slightly bad for seemingly failing at such an easy task as telling Graves that he is needed somewhere else.

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@casualtyof-akings-fear liked this for a starter

“My lady? You wished to speak with me?” 

It was an unusual occurrence for the young apprentice; Kiara could not recall ever being summoned by Lady Morgana, since her arrival in Camelot several months ago. She could not help but fear the worst - had she somehow found out about her Druid heritage? Had the tattoo on her wrist given her away? Yet, she tried her best to remain calm: perhaps Morgana wished to speak to her about something entirely unrelated to her magic!

anonymous asked:

what nation/bendingtype would batman (brucewayne) , damian, stephanie,cassandra, dick grayson, tim drake, barbara gordon, and the joker belong to

Aha, so I was joking (not really joking) with theflyingwonder that the majority of the Batfam are Avatars, because their specific fighting styles are too fluid to pin down.  Jason is easily one of the most stylized fighters, followed closely by, I think, Tim Drake.

Tim’s weapon of choice is the Bo Staff, in fact, he’s so specialized in its use that he’s considered the best fighter in the world wielding his weapon of choice.  Bojustsu shares some similarities to Waterbending, which is what I would place Tim as.  The Bo Staff relies on wide arcs or circles, strikes, and sweeps; similar to waterbending.  They are also both techniques less reliant on brute physical force in the nature that Earth or Firebending are, but isn’t as passive as Airbending.

The bo staff and Waterbending are both commonly used for jumps/lifting themselves off the ground, the streams of water Waterbenders use resemble a staff-like object, and both styles of fighting keep their opponents at a distance rather than getting up, close, and personal.

Tim is a Waterbender.

As for Dick, well, theflyingwonder did a post on that [HERE], where she talked about how Dick’s style most closely resembles the Kyoshi Warriors.  I can’t really argue with that, and would be hard pressed to oppose her even if I disagreed, considering she has something like 5000 black belts and nerve pinched me the last time I saw her.

As far as bending goes, I don’t think I could easily put Dick in any particular style.  I see him get put as an Airbender a lot which… no.  Sorry.  Airbending is entirely passive, the style is based completely on defense, which is so far away from Dick that the two don’t even belong together.  If anything Dick would end up being some odd mix between Water and Firebending.  Dick utilizes a lot of Firebending’s “always on” offense while retaining the momentum-based power of Waterbending.  In the end he doesn’t match either one well enough to be definitively in that style, and I agree with Shelly that the Kyoshi Warrior use of dual fans is very reminiscent of Dick’s weapon of choice: the escrima sticks.

At the same time, I think Shelly and I are both hesitant to come out and directly say “Dick’s best as a Kyoshi Warrior” because Dick already has a large issue with being mischaracterized as effeminate.  I won’t go into that now, but it should be kept in mind when characterizing him for Avatar-based AUs, just because he might be best as a Kyoshi Warrior, it doesn’t mean he’s androgynous in nature.  Remember that Sokka also became a Kyoshi Warrior, while still maintaining his masculine nature (and it can’t necessarily be said that the female Kyoshi Warriors are particularly effeminate themselves).


Dick is a Kyoshi Warrior.

For Babs, post The Killing Joke at least, I feel like she’s a definite candidate for Toph’s particular style of Earthbending.  While Babs may not be a powerhouse in terms of raw strength (neither is Toph), they both share some very heavy similarities, the main being the inability to leave the ground.  Toph sees via her connection to the earth, so her style (a variation of Southern Praying Mantis) is focused almost completely on arm and upper body movement, with only minimal legwork.  Babs, being paralyzed, would benefit from this kind of style.

Babs is Toph.

Cassandra is a strong Firebender, for many of the same reasons I put Jason in that category.  Brute, offensive force with a lot of movement.  I don’t think I need to say much more.

Cass is a Firebender.

Stephanie Brown… Stephanie Brown.  Steph is an interesting character in that she’s probably the least trained out of the whole group.  She ended up getting fired by Batman practically the moment she began, did a lot of self-teaching [maybe(?) studied some martial arts while she was ‘dead’?  I don’t know], and then ended up falling under the tutelage of Babs and Cass.  I don’t really know what Steph’s style would be considered, formally.  I suppose something similar to Cass’, but lacking the skill that comes with decades of training.  To be honest, I haven’t read her solo titles, and so I’m not qualified to really say.

Steph is ???.

Damian is very young but unusually strong.  He certainly falls somewhere between Earth and Firebending, in my opinion.  His comfort with midair attacks is more reminiscent of the latter, but—seriously—his ridiculous amount of brute strength for his size and age really makes me think Earthbender.

Damian is… somewhere.

You also asked about the Joker, which I can’t really say I have an answer to.  The Joker seems to shift back and forth between being immensely skilled as a fighter and virtually helpless, which has more to do with his nature as a chaotic individual than anything.  I have no doubt it’s something completely intentional on his part, since he likes screwing around with people’s perceptions of him, or just his own reactions and attitudes in general.  He is chaos incarnate, at least in his own eyes.  Because of that he doesn’t really have a specific style.  If he were in the Avatar universe, I wouldn’t be surprised if his bending (or if he even could bend) was a complete mystery.  One day he’d come off as an Earthbender, the next day a Waterbender.

The Joker is chaos.

And lastly, Bruce.

I don’t really know what to say about Bruce except:

Bruce is the Avatar.

Seriously, have you seen the list of Martial Arts he’s mastered?  The guy is ridiculous, and he adjusts his style perfectly depending on the situation.  Deus Ex Batman.

chromaticdragonking  asked:

Can you explain Nui's usage of a masculine pronoun?

since asker no. 2 was p vague about what ABOUT nui to talk about, and tis narrows it down, i’ll combine these two, if you don’t mind me publishing!

so, short answer: yes, i can explain this, actually! from a common-anime-tropes-n-tricks standpoint, yeah. but as for a longer answer… this is actually a p interesting & enigmatic thing re: nui’s writing and characterization. 

from a pure & simple standpoint, this can be explained by nui being a bokukko character. bokukko characters are a not-uncommon anime trope, actually, especially in moe shows- it’s when a (young) female character uses the pronoun ‘boku’ to refer to themselves. for those not familiar, yeah- ‘boku’ is a masculine japanese pronoun.

while ‘boku’ is not generally used by girls, bokukko characters tend to make it a cuteness-point for the girl character! (and i’ve heard that ‘boku’ is actually, though unusually, used by girls sometimes modernly- i’ve heard, for instance, that one of the younger members of the idol group morning musume used ‘boku’.) so, very simply: nui is a bokukko. it’s not a completely unusual or uncommon trope.


nui is a very unusual bokukko- in that, like, being a bokukko is usually aligned with certain character traits & used to show things about the character who uses the pronoun… none of which align with nui’s character? like, at all. bokukko characters are often ‘tomboy’ characters, or somehow ‘rough’- ryuko, actually would be more likely to be a bokukko than nui would! (she’s not.) so it’s very, very unusual for a character as ‘girly’ as nui- a character who goes out of their way to be even more girly, even in hyper-cutesy speaking mannerisms (which distinctly drop as the show goes on)- to be a bokukko. it’s a common trope- but the trope codifiers don’t match up. so, nui using ‘boku’ draws an immediate dissonance in nui’s character- one that’s made people notice it, and question why (whereas a trope-savvy viewer probably wouldn’t if she were, say, a tomboy or a delinquent.)

here’s the thing, though- nui being a bokukko is very clearly not a throwaway, unimportant writing quirk. in fact, it’s important enough of a character fact to be mentioned as the second line on nui’s character page on the english language KLK site- literally, defining nui’s (self) identity only immediately after something as important as being the grand couturier

this is especially notable because, well- this is the english language klk site, and there’s really no obvious reason for this to be the second thing mentioned about nui’s character to readers of a language where the nuance- and the familiarity of the bokukko trope- dont apply? nui’s use of ‘boku’ wasn’t alluded to in the english dub at all; it’s too difficult to translate without it sounding more awkward and jarring in english. there’s no clarification reason for this to be here- the page is simply pointing it out, clearly as something important to who nui is. 

nui’s use of ‘boku’ is further complicated in the klk text, too, because of another little thing: ‘boku’ is a masculine pronoun, and nui does, onscreen, adopt a male identity. we see nui present (even if only for the purpose of disguise) as a typical masculine-ish high school boy- and, yeah, the pronoun usage does not change. nui uses ‘boku’ as nui, and ‘boku’ as shinjiro nagita, too. while nui presenting temporarily as a male student for the purpose of disguise would otherwise be (relatively) un-notable, it is here because nui’s identity- as a ‘girly-girl’ character- is already seemingly contrasted by the usage of ‘boku’. having literally presented, onscreen, as a boy student just makes it more, and draws a parallel & pattern where there previously was none.

finally, too, if we are consider nui’s self-identity & character, we have one more very important thing to consider here: nui’s an alien. maybe nui flaunts (japanese) human societal norms, or is unaware of them- because nui was raised as an alien, and has no connection to (japanese) human society. maybe nui simply doesn’t care about this Human Gendered Pronouns concept- or, generally, this whole Human Gender concept. not a lot of nui’s personal identity is more than alluded to in the show, though allusions there are- but we do get a really solid fact regarding this. nui hates humans, and nui doesn’t identify with humanity at all.

so, like- yes, nui is a bokukko character, and yes, this is a not-unusual anime trope for young female characters. but when it’s usage is so deliberate, and so noted-upon in the extra-canon material that’s meant to provide a concise, simple description of nui’s basic identity in the show- when nui is clearly, obviously, not at all presenting in any way analogous to what the bokukko trope is all about- and when you throw in literally temporarily presenting as a male student? when you add, too, that nui is not human, wasn’t raised as human, and probably does’t care for or grasp a lot of human societal concepts (up to & including ‘binary human gendered pronouns’ and possibly ‘binary human gender or whatever, as a whole’)? nui’s use of ‘boku’ is really interesting, and very, very deliberate on the part of the script. it is, somehow, a consistent & deliberate & important part of nui’s identity- and therefore, character. the text just never makes it explicit why

Unexpected surprise - part 6

Happy New Year everyone!!!

Before you read this I want to warn you - not for the people with heart problems. All others prepare a box of tissues… or two.Please, don’t hate me for this chapter… and I hope that I won’t experience a sudden surge of unsubscribes.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9  Part 10  A03

“For the last time, Nino – there is no need for Adrien to drive us home. If you can’t give us a lift, I’ll call for a taxi. It’s not a big deal, really.”

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A Dyson sphere like alien megastructure could surround a star 1480 light-years away

Astronomers have spotted a strange mess of objects whirling around a distant star, named KIC 846285. Scientists who search for extraterrestrial civilizations are scrambling to get a closer look.

KIC 8462852, located 1480 light-years away, and has produced a series of bizarre light fluctuations researchers have not been able to conclusively explain.

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let’s talk about seventeen’s ages

changmin debuted at 15
seungri debuted at 16
sohee debuted at 15
taemin debuted at 14
jeongguk debuted at 15

the youngest member of seventeen, chan aka dino, is a 99 liner
he is 16 YEARS OLD!!!

seventeen seriously are not unusually young and are right on track with the average age for a kpop debut. the MAJORITY of them are 95, 96 and 97 line!!! aka 18, 19, and 20 years old!!! there are no 00 or 02 liners!!! so can we stop pretending that they literally just hopped out of the womb and it’s not okay to stan them??? thx