what is the bloody point

indiepunkloser  asked:

I think i'm asking a little early, I forgot the date but I just wanted to know if your surgery went well? I figure you'll make a post about it but I just wanted to know if you're doing okay. Anyways if this is pre-op good luck and if it's post op I hope things went well. much love I hope you get back to full health soon!!!

Tomorrow will be a week exactly since I went into surgery. The surgery finished almost an hour early, roughly 4 hours total. I lost almost a litre of blood but I didn’t need any blood transfusions, thank God. The tumor was also bigger than I thought it was, a bit bigger than my actual kidney. 

The first day was very rough; they tried to make me walk and I blacked out and threw up. The second day I was unable to urinate on my own for 6+ hours so I was stuck on a catheter for 2 days. Luckily by Sunday I was able to go on my own. They allowed me to go home on Sunday afternoon, but after removing my drainage tube from my side I got a fever that night of 101.5 degrees and couldn’t move/breathe well. There was fluid in my lungs too, but I think I fended off pneumonia for the most part by practicing the spiromiter thing. I was told to call the hospital if I had a fever or anything but I chose to sleep and drink water instead. My fever went away a couple days ago.

I can’t sleep long hours and still am in constant pain. My parents bought me a walker to walk to the bathroom when I need to, and I went to the hospital today to see my surgeon. He is giving me more pain meds and muscle relaxers to help me sleep at night. Luckily he told me the tumor was tested and wasn’t cancerous, though since I’m so young there’s a chance I’ll develop one on my liver or my kidney again in my lifetime. For now I’m not going to worry about it.

Thank you guys for all the prayers and kind thoughts. They helped a lot while I was in the hospital, and still help as I’m continuing to recover. Hopefully in a week I can move and get up by myself. For now I’m playing it by ear.

2

when your mom calls you by the name of your sibling/dog/neighbor/literally anyone else except for your own name

ok so, this is probably very far fetched but it comes from a well-intentioned place of trying to make sense of what happened in “imagine”:

what if isak was already hurt when the balloon and boy squad got involved? what if it was homophobia but not from the boys?

@georgiegirl70 sent me an ask detailing exactly how much time went by between the last we saw even in the karaoke bar and when sana went outside and it was…super fast. and during a lot of that time, most of the balloon boys (elias included) were still inside the karaoke bar…pointing outside…

and we were talking about it with @evenandsana and how it didn’t make sense and happened in way too little time without most of the balloon squad present for a long time and i started to think: what if isak was already hurt? just like in season 1 when sana throws water in ingrid’s face and we assume she was doing that for her when actually she was defending vilde.

a lot of focus was put on isak and even singing together. the whole karaoke saw them (as opposed the girl who was singing before them and didn’t have much of an audience).
what if even and isak were outside (maybe to talk to mikael, maybe not) and some drunk white guy was out too and started insulting them and isak stepped up and got punched and then the guy fled. what if elias looked out after the event and pointed at isak’s bloody nose like “look, idk what happened to that boy i don’t know but wow”.
but jonas and magnus saw that the balloon boys were the ones to make even stop singing, earlier (we see them turn around towards where even is looking), and they go out now and see isak is bleeding and probably mutta and mikael are near and they jump to conclusions? and that’s when elias steps in to defend his friends and it escalates?
meanwhile, yousef is worried but is scared to confront even (because of whatever happened between them) so he just goes to sana and is like “yeah elias is getting in troubles”.

that would explain why isak and even seemed unconcerned by the fight happening and not scared (because the assailant left already), that would explain why elias said “fucking kids” (because he was angry and frustrated at them jumping to conclusion and attacking his friends), that would explain the time limit (isak got hurt very early on, and not by the balloon boys), that would explain why none of the balloon boys looked bloody (because none of them punched him), that would go well with how people assumed they did it because of prejudice against muslim folks….

idk…it’s speculating wildly but it’s all i got right now.

Violence

Thank you very much to @isexuallyidentifyasanah-64 for messaging me and giving me this idea that I simply had to write! Feel free to reblog and add something if you’d like, or message me with a prompt or thought! Please let me know if there are any grammatical errors.

Enjoy!

-

The word ‘hurt’ wasn’t even in their vocabulary.

The Remolian people were impossibly peaceful, to the point where most humans thought they were a myth.

“Legends say that the Remolians have never had bloodshed…never bred a person with the idea to kill…some say they don’t even have weapons! They don’t even know about wars or conflict!”

They lived on a planet the natives called Pik'loen (Pick-low-en). The planet itself seemed to never have been damaged. No dying atomosphere, no poisoned resources - not one species they’ve discovered has gone extinct!

“Come on, dude, that’s not possible. There’s always at least one guy in a group that wants to hurt others. It’s just…”

“Human nature?”

Now, of course, to people from Earth, this was an otherworldly concept. There was murder and chaos and fights hundreds of times every-single-day on Earth. Children’s games were mostly about slaughtering enemies and causing pain. Gore, death, man-slaughter, mass genocide - there was even a game devoted to commiting crimes and killing everyone in sight!

Truly, when the humans were faced with the idea of no violence, they were shocked. To say the very least.

“But how do they enforce the law?”

“Remolians don’t need to enforce anything. Their people follow every rule. Every-single-rule.”

“What about war? Maybe they went through a bad war to make them this way,”

“Nope. They’ve never heard of war.”

“Have they ever seen blood?!”

“Well duh. Everyone bleeds when they fall down.”

When the Remolians and the humans met, well…that was its own tale.

First, it was Captain Jeut-Bau that encountered a human ship.

“What lovely craftsmanship!” The Captain praised as Captain Chris gave her a tour. “Your technicians must be wondrous!”

Captain Chris chuckled. “Yeah, human mechanics know their stuff. Even if they do argue all the time.”

Captain Jeut-Bau paused and removed her hand from the metal wall. “What is…argue? Is that a form of mating?”

“Oh, no,” The human put a hand to her chin. “Well, sometimes. But for the most part, it’s when two people have a disagreement over something, and they become upset with each other. It can get kind of hostile with them always spewin’.”

“Hos…tile?” Captain Jeut-Bau shook her head and put a hand on her own shoulder. “My people do not have these words. I do not know what you mean when you say people argue.”

“Well, it’s like…It’s sort of…” Captain Chris sighed. She waved the Remolian to follow her. “Come with me, I’ll show ya.”

They walked down to the ‘machine room’, as Captain Chris called it. She said it was where the technicians worked and tinkered with the ship’s mechanics.

When the door opened, Captain Jeut-Bau became the first Remolian to witness a fight. They had just walked in on one human male looking upset and raising its voice at another human male, who was doing the same, but making wild movements with its limbs.

“I told you, Oliver,” the first male hissed, holding a screwdriver, “The washer goes on the shaft, then the nylock, and then the damn gear! The washer shouldn’t go after the gear, because that’s just a waste of the shaft collar we’d have to put on top of it! What aren’t you getting here?!”

The second male, called Oliver, raised his foot and put it back on the ground quick and with force. It reminded Jeut-Bau of when her crewmates would stumble and attempt to keep their balance. “What aren’t you getting, you arse?! What is the bloody point of putting a washer where it isn’t needed?! If you insist on having one on engine four, at least try to make sense of it!” Oliver made a noise like a large exhale, but it sounded rude and not tired like Jeut-Bau was used to.

“You Americans don’t ever do anything right!”

“Woah woah woah,” the first male strengthened his hold on his tool and raised it. “Don’t you dare say anything about my country when yours throws a fit everytime a colony rebels against it!”

“Okay blokes! Don’t knock something!” Captain Chris hurried forward and stepped in between the two, cutting off the conversation.

Or was that an…argue? Maybe it was a hostile? Jeut-Bau thought. I have never seen anything like that before.

“Let’s not start the Revolutionary War again on this ship.” The Captain crossed her arms and looked at the mechanics in a way that made Jeut-Bau feel guilty. “Oliver, drink some tea and play chess. Rick, shoot some fireworks and have a slab, eh? Dismissed.”

The two gave each other one last glance - a stronger version of the guilt-inducing look Captain Chris had given - before turning and walking out of different doors.

Captain Chris sighed as she came back to Jeut-Bau. “I’m sorry about that mate, those two are always hot under the collar. Day 'n night, I tell ya.”

“What is…war?” Jeut-Bau almost didn’t want to ask the question. It sounded bad.

Captain Chris blinked and stared at the Remolian. “You aren’t pulling my leg, are you?”

Jeut-Bau was confused. “I am not touching you.”

“No, uh, I mean-” She shook her head. “You don’t know what war is?”

Jeut-Bau was tempted to make her denying gesture from her planet, but decided it would only confuse the human. “No. Could you tell me?”

“Er, well, yeah, just - don’t you know about fights? Battles? Does your planet have weapons?”

“Weapons?” Jeut-Bau suddenly lit up and smiled. “Ah! You must mean the werple creatures we co-exist with!”

“No. I don’t even know what a werple is.” Jeut-Bau watched Captain Chris’ face become upset. “Have you - Haven’t you ever been hurt?”

“Hurt?”

Silence hung thick in the air.

Jeut-Bau didn’t understand what had upset Captain Chris. The pleasant and almost happy body language she displayed when Jeut-Bau came aboard had left her entirely. It was replaced with what could have been many things - all of which, Jeut-Bau unfortunately didn’t know how to interpret.

“I-” Jeut-Bau felt strange when she broke the silence. “I know what upset means. When our young cannot get what they want, the ones who haven’t yet learned how to be paitient begin to do what we call Eecnajk - it is when a liquid-”

“-comes out of their eyes and their face gets all red?” Captain Chris finished quietly. “And there’s a look in their eyes you don’t understand as they make loud noises and cause you to feel upset too?”

“Yes!” Jeut-Bau all but yelled. “Does your planet have this too?”

“Yeah, we call it crying. All humans do it, regardless of age. When you’re young it’s just because like you said; they don’t get their way. When you’re older, you cry because someone made you feel sad. Do you know what sadness is?” Captain Chris was looking at Jeut-Bau in a new way. Jeut-Bau wasn’t sure if she like it.

“I do not…” Jeut-Bau answered slowly. “Is this like an argue?”

“No. When you argue, you’re mad. When you cry, you’re sad. Do you know what anger is? It’s the same as being mad.”

“I do not.” Jeut-Bau felt somewhat alone, as she did not know what these seemingly common human things were.

Captain Chris stared incredulously. “This is ridiculous. You - You mean to tell me that your people have never been angry? Don’t you guys get into fights? Or have small spats?”

“Fights? Spats? No, my people don’t do these things.”

“Battles? Maybe you’ve caused someone pain before?”

“I do not know what a battle is. However sometimes we fall to the ground and experience pain on our bodies! It fades quickly.”

“What about killers?”

“Killers? Are those another race? Or a creature?”

“No!” Captain Chris snapped. Jeut-Bau flinched - it was an automatic response, but she’d never done it before. What was it for?

She felt anxious. Wait, no, anxious isn’t the right word…but it’s the best she can think of. She’s never felt like this - her chest is emmiting somewhat painful and rapid beats, her transportation limbs feel the need to quickly leave, and a part of her wanted to cease conversation with the human captain completely. What was this odd feeling?

Captain Chris immediately took a step back. Her eyes held what looked like vague anxiety or guilt, but with all of these new things humans seem to feel Jeut-Bau wasn’t sure.

“I-I’m sorry, Captain Jeut-Bau.” She apologized. Her hands seemed to trying to curl in on themselves tightly. “I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s just, you know, hurt is-”

“Scare?” Jeut-Bau realized with a out-of-synchronization beat her voice did not sound like normal. It held a quiver and sounded more nervous than curious, like she meant.

“Uh, yeah.” Captain Chris shifted on her feet. “It’s when you get really nervous and anxious, and your mind is overrun with panicked thoughts. And your body reacts as if preparing to run. But besides that…

“It’s just - that’s crazy, to me, you know?” She sighed and ran a hand through her head-fur. “Humans get hurt all the time, and to think there’s a species that’s never had it before? Hurt is a bad thing, mate! Pain sucks!”

“Wait…so hurt is perhaps when you fall down?” Jeut-Bau had relaxed now, but was still feeling anxious. “Because then I would understand.”

“No - well, actually, yes, but that’s called physical pain.” Captain Chris crossed her arms. “We have this thing called emotional pain, in which our hearts hurt and we feel bad. Like, really bad. Normally it’s only triggered by arguments and…deaths, really.”

“Oh! Death!” Jeut-Bau smiled. “We have this on our planet! It is when an older Remolian that has lived for a long time leaves us and does not return.”

Captain Chris made a soft growling sound. “Mm-hm. The dead don’t come back.”

Jeut-Bau noticed that Captain Chris’ eyes gained a layer of the liquid that came from youngs’ eyes when they Eecnajk. She suddenly felt compelled to move on.

“Perhaps we can carry on with this subject another day!” Jeut-Bau clasped her hands in front of her stomach in a hopeful gesture. “As for this moment, I would love if you would come onto my ship and allow me to give you a presentation!”

Captain Chris looked up. She paused, then smiled and relaxed her posture. “Sure thing, mate, let’s go to your pod.”

Happily, Jeut-Bau began walking alongside the captain back to the pod she used to board the humans’ ship.

“Oh, may I ask a question?”

“Shoot.”

Jeut-Bau decided that meant yes. “Do your young also experience 'hurt’ and 'argue’?”

“Oh yeah, our kids play games that are beyond violent. Like, really messed up stuff, mate.”

“What do you mean, 'violent’?”

“Well, to be violent usually means to kill someone…as in, make them die. On purpose.”

“What?!”

“So that’s the one thing you understand?”

“You allow these activites to influence and entertain your young?”

“Yeah, they enjoy it, so it’s no harm lettin’ 'em have a little fun. Wouldn’t you agree?”

And although Captain Jeut-Bau was the first to encounter a human ship and learn about human life, many Remolians agreed she should also be the last.

The Signs Reaction to Being Roasted

Aries: *is to busy living real life and fighting about other dumb things to really give a damn*

Taurus: *no comment*

Gemini: “Well, what else is new?”

Cancer: “You’ve honestly only have had experiences with undeveloped cancers! If you ever get the chance to meet a developed cancer I can guarantee you, your opinion on us will completely change!!!! We are literally sooooooo nice and caring!!!! You shouldn’t be so closed minded, you are being really mean and disrespectful! Us cancers don’t deserve this hate at all honestly…etc….etc….etc….”

Leo: lol 💁💁

Virgo: “But Beyoncé is a Virgo????”

Libra: “Honestly???? I LITERALLY do so much for you guys, I like try so hard to be like so kind and to like keep like the peace and THIS is like literally how you like treat me?????? This is literally like so literally like unfair????”

Scorpio: “Whatever, I don’t care.” *angrily obsesses about not being liked, to the point of wanting bloody revenge*

Sagittarius: “What?! People don’t like Sagittarius?! But don’t you guys always just want to listen to every little important and philosophical thing we have to say? I know!! How about I give you a nice long lecture!!! That will totally change your mind! Plus, it’s not like we are Gemini!!!”

Capricorn: “Whatever, I don’t care.” *just goes back to work*

Aquarius: “Of course humans don’t like us! They just can’t seem to understand our unique extraterrestrial DNA!!! Once the spaceship comes to take us to our mother planet, we will finally be understood and celebrated 👽👽👽!!!”

Pisces: “WHY DOES EVERYONE HATE US??????!!!!!!😭😭😭”


*Please don’t be offended by this, it’s all in good fun*

6

Reader x Mikaelson family

Requested By Anon


The scream that cut through the night was deafening, lights throughout New Orleans shattered and even the Originals were forced to their knees. As Klaus recovered he helped Rebekah to her feet and made his way to Elijah.

 

“That cannot be anything good.” Elijah sighed as he finally found his footing and fixed his cufflinks.

 

“Well while you two stand here mulling over the meaning of life, I shall be looking for whatever has the audacity to try and blow out my ear drums.” Rebekah sighed and headed down stairs, the men quickly following.

 

Keep reading

Useless

Originally posted by unconditionalloveandunicornspawn


- Y/N’s a runner and gets attacked by a griever while in the Maze. - 

Word Count : 3492


You swiped the sweat off of your forehead with the back of your hand as you stood up. Stretching your arms up towards the sky, you hummed in satisfaction as your back popped and cracked from having been crouched over for so long. You set your basket of crops downs and used the fabric of your pants to brush off the dirt on your hands before gathering your hair up into a ponytail. You winced every time your fingers got snagged in a knot. After a few minutes of combing your fingers through, you managed to secure an elastic band around it and with one last tug you picked up the heavy basket again.

It was a hot day in the Glade and the urge to just sit in the shade and lay about was strong but Alby’s words echoed in your head as if they were engraved into your brain.

Everyone had to do their job and that included you as well. You had to do your part and pull your own weight in the Glade. There wasn’t any time or patience for lazy people.

Keep reading

Don’t you just love it

When as a Liberal ( an actual liberal not what most bloody Americans think when they hear that word) after pointing out how awful the actions of communists are, you get a response like this

and then you get blocked. Just wow. Such a compelling rebuttal.

“you only like thomas brodie sangster cause he’s attractive”

Whispers in the Dark [Tom Riddle x Ravenclaw! Reader - Pre-Hogwarts]

Originally posted by my-harry-potter-generation


PROMPT ♥
   Y/N L/N has a family notorious for writing school books, and this causes her to be teased and taunted mercilessly by Hogwarts students of every color. Tom, however, regards the girl with intrigue, and this leads to a relationship both passionate and consequential.
♥ A/N ♥
  I wanted a new set-up for my imagines, so here I am with a different kind. Putting that aside, [3] was the winner! Sorry to fans of [5], but fortunately, that will be the next series I begin after my other two series meet an end. I’m particularly excited to get started on this series, as I’ve always been really big trash for Tom Riddle. His backstory is so intriguing and anything to do with him enraptures me. Should I be ashamed? He’s really hot as a youngster, so I’m not very ashamed. By the way, everyone, the story is told in third-person like Not Your Girlfriend is. If you all want that changed, just message my inbox! Thank you all for requesting. It makes me so happy when I see my inbox filled with requests. It gets my creative juices a’flowing. So thank you. And also, I apologise for the long wait. And let’s begin!
WARNINGS
Swearing, Angst, Death, Horror, Romance
WORD COUNT
2312


 Y/N was desperate, her head whirling as she tore and fumbled with books of varying deterioration and length. She needed to find the book with the right answer, the book that would change everything—fix everything. Was she a fool? Did looking to books for an answer to something so big and blatant—something she merely needed to ask a professor herself to receive a solidified answer—make her the world’s biggest clod? She remembered a certain quote then, one she learned when a mere toddler home-schooled in all things literature and magic—Shakespearean, filled with meaning and metaphor. “The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool.” Was she somewhere in-between such, caught in the middle of wisdom and dolt-plagued tomfoolery? Her parents might have denied it, but Y/N wasn’t convinced. She never believed in fairytales, nor did she believe any single compliment was sincere.

It was something she got from him.

“Bloody hell,” she whispered, grabbing at her left temple as it began to pound at her, like a stick against one’s drum. It was like a war inside her head, with screams and groans coming from every direction. Monsters—demons of all shapes and sizes—were tearing at her mind, ripping her sanity into shreds. The books became weights, only they weren’t on her shoulders—each page-flip required every bit of stamina Y/N had left. But she needed the answers—
she needed them. She didn’t care for the pain if it meant she’d come out victorious in the end. A few bumps and bruises were nothing; they were miniscular compared to the tragedy that’d befallen her all throughout her life.

One book fell to the ground, then another. This one made her pause in her quest. The second was a book her own mother had written—a research book, filled to the absolute brim with history. It explained the legacy of Grindewald, it brought to attention the achievements of several Pureblood families, and it also highlighted the atmospheric beauty of Hogwarts. Nowhere did it have answers. What was the bloody point in her mother writing a book if it answered nothing but the questions that came with the pesky curiosity of an insolent youth? It was pathetically unhelpful—it gave nothing but a headache, a certain vibration that ran from each synapse to the next, bringing with it tremors of nerves.

But he needed her help. He was waiting, ever-so-patiently and ever-so-kindly. And she was desperate to please him and to bring him news of success. She wouldn’t have the heart to look him in the eye and give a sad shake of the head. What was the point in a visitation when she would only be the bearer of bad news?

Finally came along a book with black and violet coloring, velvet lining, and medieval font. There were apparent crucifixes aligning the front, but for some reason, the only illustration that comeform inside her head was that of a serpent. Y/N could only stare at it for a moment, her eardrums giving a faint “thump, thump, thump” as both her heart and her ears became one, drilling into her a resonant, “
Open it, Y/N. Open it.” She would, but only for him. She had no need for this book, so fabrication was a necessary process. Motivation was nonexistent, so for him, she’d try. She’d give herself some, even if it tore apart her comprehension and lucidity in the process.

Slowly but surely, she creaked open the book. Inside was a short introduction, then a table of contents, located on the next page. Y/N nearly skimmed past, so lost in her thoughts that she was faint of observation. When she saw the list for the fifth chapter, she smiled with delight. There in bold letters, she seen the word “Immortality.” And right below, there was the word that made her both breathless and sore, a strong feeling of befuddlement setting in her intestines.

“…Horcruxes…”

And like the whisper of a Parseltongue hissing at a reptilian bastard, there it came… like a song, menacing and alight with fear and foreshadowing and darkness

“First comes murder, so evanescent and divine,
then comes a spell, wretchedly dissolved into brine.
Salt in the wounds, a fool’s dying breath leaves,
‘To those that live; retain your mask and identity.’”

They’d never take them alive. Never, never, never
       

-

Y/N L/N awoke with a gasp. Air felt finite when her chest both heaved and sucked for just a single breath, enough for her to retain a chance at life. The atmosphere felt hot and sticky, just like always—it was a family trait to have a house that reeked of sweat and humiliation. Her room was the least obvious, as she always casted a spell to interchange the scent, but every morning was the same. She’d awake with her throat sore and choking, then she’d breathe in the essence of her home. The home that bore so many memories, yet gave her chills down the spine whenever she entered it.

She’d been having nightmares ever since she could remember. For her, life was Hell in itself, and even in her dreams she couldn’t find solace. Everything was a cycle; life ran and repeated, much like history did, and it was all so fucking inescapable. Maybe that should have meant something to her. She was born in this house, raised in this house, taught in this house; it was a cycle, a rinse-and-repeat process that everyone in her damn family went through from their first breaths to their last. Nightmares weren’t meant to be in the cycle, and maybe that was the first sign—the first showing that Y/N was nothing like her family.

Her chest was burning. She felt like Frigg, just moments before her son Balder died in her arms from a mistletoe dart. That sensation of grief surrounding your senses, of denial festering in your bones, of heartache manifesting as a persona—that was something she emphasized with, whether she wished to admit to it or not. This nightmare—it was quite unlike the others. It hurt to think about; hell, it just plain hurt. It was nothing but a figment of Y/N’s imagination; it wouldn’t hurt her. It couldn’t. It was a bloody dream; it shouldn’t have any damn power over her. Should it? Could it?

Y/N kicked off her sheets and sat up in bed. She ran a hand through her Y/H/C hair, flinching at the tangles that stung with each violent tug. She kept thinking about the dream, sweat drenching her brow and her knickers. Shivers tremored up and down her back, but she couldn’t tell if they were from fear or pleasure. It was like the nightmare both excited and unnerved her. She felt the temptation to panic, but she also wanted to calmly drink in the world around her. She wanted to know what this meant. To Y/N, it appeared to be some sort of premonition. And it scared her to death to think that that might be true.

A face was something she was missing. She had a book, a mysterious object called a “Horcrux,” and an apparent desperation to please someone. But a face was missing… and that was the one way to determine if this was really a nightmare… or if it was a presage for what was to come. This thought frightened her into a sleepless stupor that lasted the rest of that night. Her only regret lay in knowing that she’d be up at nine that same day to pack and head off to Platform 9 ¾. Even then, she couldn’t help herself but shake silently in bed, head clouded in fantasies of a life where she didn’t loathe her own existence and nightmares didn’t plague her sleep.

That following morning, a mere four hours after her abrupt awakening, Y/N could feel the slight dusting of crust in the corners of her eyes and the stress on her brow and cheeks that caused premature wrinkles to coat her features. She hated that feeling—that horrible feeling of sleep-deprivation and weakness—but why should that have bothered her? It was a chronic feeling; there was nothing unusual about this. Nothing—nothing at all.

But then, she thought about her dream. The Parseltongue, the song—the implications, the premonitions. This time, it wasn’t just fatigue weighing down her shoulders. It was fear.

“Y/N, darling, the train has no use for rocks as passengers!” It was her mother, a flamboyantly-dressed, spiky-haired woman that was known to be continually-perky and full of life. She was ignorant to the things that society said behind her back. Y/N didn’t know whether to sympathize with her or find amusement in the situation. “Get up, get up! Time to dress yourself—blimey, Y/N, you look like death!”

Her mother had just opened the door, and she was staring at Y/N with wide eyes, her mouth agape. The youngest of the two just scowled hard, feeling self-conscious all of a sudden. It was one thing for her peers to make her feel terrible, but it was a whole other thing when her mum uttered something regarding her appearance. It stung less, but brought more to attention. Though she felt bad for it, she honestly just wished her mother would bugger off. She told her mother so. “I’d rather not have you here when doing so,” Y/N said, throwing her mother a dark look. “Can you leave?”

Her mother blanched slightly, but covered it up with a smile. “Of course, darling,” she said. “We leave twenty minutes till!”

Y/N rubbed a hand over her face. Standing up, she stretched her limbs and looked to a nearby mirror. Her reflection caused her to instantly look away, a frown adorning her mouth. It was time to dress, she supposed. She definitely could see why her mother was shocked by her appearance.

She threw on an old shirt of her father’s, then a pair of denim jeans. A pair of trainers were slipped on her feet, partially dirty but presentable enough that Y/N shrugged off their flaws. She went about the room, cleaning up any blatant messes and taking all the objects that she knew she’d need in her 5th year of Hogwarts. Clothes, robes, books, wand, and owl—those were the basics, the barest necessities.

The thought of someone controlling her plagued her, leaving her to contemplate it for a solid hour… and then her mother and father came, telling her it was time to Apparate to the platform.

An expression of embarrassment was permanently set into Y/N’s features as she arrived at the fantastical platform hidden within the walls of King’s Cross Station. She looked around, eying all of her peers with an expression of reproach. Though she hated them with every fiber of her being, she hated her parents the most. They were the ones that turned into a mockery. They made her into a puppet, controlled by the whims and jeers of people that only knew her by her last name. It made her into a hateful, spoiled little girl, and she was aware—but she couldn’t help it. She was filled with an uncontrollable bubble of rage, and it was completely a part of her.

She ignored the mirth-filled stares she was getting around the station and turned to look at her parents. She felt guilty for the way she was thinking about her parents, so surprising the two, she wrapped them into a hug. “I love you,” she mumbled, making a face as she pulled back. The two parents could only watch, dumbfounded, as their only child made her way to the train. Y/N was an enigma neither parent could solve or even fathom. She wasn’t the only one filled with fear at that moment.

Y/N strolled her way from corridor to corridor, face pulling into a frown every time some nasty git caught her gaze. She was hardly paying attention to where she was walking until a tall body knocked directly into her, pulling her and her bag to the floor from the impact. It bleeding well hurt, and she was meaning to give the person a comment on his lack of coordination, but then she looked up and she lost all ability to talk.

Tom Marvolo Riddle. Slytherin Prefect, judging by the badge, and the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome. He had eyes you could get lost in, and a frown that was permanently imbedded into his mouth. He looked like he knew his way around a wand and his way around socialization—while he looked brooding, he also looked manipulative. Dark. Malevolent. Haunted.

Y/N stared at him, and Tom stared at her. Y/N was the first to realize how utterly ridiculous she was being, and she quickly frowned at him. Not a scowl, no—but somewhere in between. “I’m sorry,” she said, and she couldn’t tell why she wasn’t being standoffish. “Didn’t look where I was going.”

Tom quirked an eyebrow at her. His brown eyes were full of curiosity. Such a strange feeling for someone so mysterious. “It’s alright,” he said quietly. He extended a hand, and Y/N gladly took it. She tried to ignore the sparks she felt when she touched his hand.

She now stood up, glancing up to Tom with a shy expression, all of a sudden. “Thank you,” she said, just as quietly. She watched as Tom quickly headed down the corridor. She was stricken. Was it fear? Attraction? Intrigue?

They all felt the same to her. Maybe it was all three.

“First comes murder, so evanescent and divine,
then comes a spell, wretchedly dissolved into brine.
Salt in the wounds, a fool’s dying breath leaves,
‘To those that live; retain your mask and identity.’”

Even then, she didn’t notice her mistake.

At Your Service

WARNING: IF YOU HAVEN’T SEEN 6X11 STOP READING, STOP READING NOW!! UNLESS… you like spoilers. :)

Prompt: When Emma sent old fat drunk Hook back to the Jolly Roger, she wasn’t aware that there was no Jolly Roger in the Wish Realm. So instead, Old Hook ends up on the deck of the Jolly… docked in Storybrooke. What happens when he comes face to face with this new realm… and his spry younger self?

Author’s Notes: Thank you, @irishswanff for letting me use your prompt, I had a blast writing it! And thank you, once again, for your on-point beta skills. <3 Everyone should visit @irishswanff‘s Tumblr to see more amazing prompts!!

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Killian


Strange things were happening in Storybrooke. Strange, strange things. Unusual things usually happened in Storybrooke, but this was by far the strangest. Even stranger than that time Emma’s boy accidentally found a way to bring pixies into Storybrooke. But at least Killian understood what was going on then. Sort of. But this…

It had started this morning. He had decided to pick up a grilled cheese sandwich for Emma. She remained in their bed, fast asleep. It was to be expected after all the sleepless nights spent in the Wish Realm. Especially considering when she came home, she was forced to battle Belle and the Crocodile’s infant.

Well, not an infant. Not anymore at least.

So he thought she at least deserved a surprise. And if a grilled cheese sandwich could put a smile on her face, he was happy. He knew, as always, that he would have to ask for onion rings over fries, and that alone would keep him in her good books.

He pushed open the door to Granny’s. It wasn’t very busy; only a few people sat in booths, mostly the dwarves. There wasn’t a queue, which was good. It meant that Killian could order, grab it and leave. He would return to Emma before she even awoke, and he would wake her, with kisses and grilled cheese.

His gaze flew to the counter as he stepped inside. There was an intake of breath and a, “There he is! Get him!”

Before Killian knew what was happening, he was ducking to avoid a bottle aimed at his head. It shattered above him, sprinkling crystal-like glass into his hair. He emerged to see Granny pointing a shotgun at him.

“What the bloody hell?” he shouted.

“Don’t you ‘what the bloody hell’ me, mister!” Granny growled. “You know what you’ve done. And you’re going to pay for it.”

What he’d done? What had he done? He didn’t remember doing anything. He’d been with Emma all night and all morning, for heaven’s sake.

He tried to keep his voice calm as he said, “Pay for what?”

She cocked the gun higher, right at his face. Her eyes were narrowed as she checked her aim. He heard the damn thing click. He raised his arms slowly above his head, heart beating fast.

“Don’t you give me that. Once a pirate, always a pirate, huh? Did you think that disguise would fool me? Granny?”

He kept his hands above his head. “What bloody disguise?” He wished his Swan was here. Emma would sort this out. She was the Saviour, after all. She would slowly talk Granny down, and ask her what on God’s earth she was accusing him of. Perhaps Granny had finally lost it.

“That wig. And that pot belly. But I knew it was you. I saw you! I know what you did.”

Keep reading

Okay but forreal are the White Walkers going to arrive at Winterfell before the LoveBoat does?

Because I am gonna have some feels about that.

JON GO AND GET YA GIRL.

I need Arya to teach Sansa how to physically defend herself, please and thank you.

Where’s the Dragonglass?

THIS is why we haven’t brought up the burnt food- Winterfell will be the base of command and Sansa barely has enough to feed the Northerners and The Vale. How is she going to be able to feed Delilah’s people/armies?

Will there be any more Castle Black scenes? I mean

TORMUND 😩

Ghost?!? Anybody?!? If he doesn’t side eye the fuck outta Delilah next season I will be pissed.

Littlefinger was speaking to all of us in this moment: “Sometimes, when I try to understand a person’s motives, I play a little game. I assume the worst. What’s the worst reason they could possibly have for saying what they say and doing what they do? Then I ask myself, how well does that reason explain what they say and what they do?”

Hey Littlefinger, what’s the worst possible reason for my boi Jon choking you out in the crypts? As a man who lived in King’s Landing with Jaime and Cersei for 10+ years, I doubt it was brotherly love. JS.

How TF did undead Viserion fly with those raggedy fucking wings?

Why the hell did Samwell Tarly just head straight for Bran? Why not Sansa the LADY OF WINTERFELL?

Are they saving Cersei’s bloody bed scene for next season? What is the whole point of that pregnancy plot thread? Idk.

Missandei has better sex than Delilah does, and her dude is a eunuch. That is all.

Brave/Peter Pan Fluff

Originally posted by neverland93

Most of these are taken from my Wattpad account! (Twtrash01)

Send me requests for the following Fandoms: Teenwolf, Vampire Diaries, Dolantwins, OUAT(Peter Pan, Robbie Kay, Supernatural, Suicide Squad, The 100. Basically I’ll write for any fandom. I’ll write non-smut as well. Be specific in what you want! *I DON’T OWN ANY GIFS*

Request:  Hi can you do a sad/fluffy imagine with Peter Pan? The reader is a bad ass warrior princess hence her nickname “Brave Princess” with her sword and bow and arrows. The reader gets shot and Peter (who secretly lives her and vica versa) tries to heal her before she blacks out. Maybe a confession scene between them in his tent? Plez and thank you:-)

Keep reading

Engagement

When Robin had set out the night before he never thought it would be anything other than a fairly routine trip, a chance to further get to know this band of aptly named Merry Men that another version of him had forged a family with.  They’d been hesitant of him at first, some still are, but Tuck has been welcoming.  He’s listened patiently and intently to their unbelievable story, then shook Robin’s hand and pulled Regina into a warm hug.  Since then, the man has become the only true friend Robin could ever claim to have.  Asking Tuck to accompany him to acquire an item that would change Regina and his lives had seemed natural; as did the endless ribbing he received the entire trip back to the castle.  It was all in good fun, Robin could tell the older man was happy for him, happy for them, and the jovial back and forth had continued until the ground shook and the skies turned black.

“What the bloody hell is that?” Tuck asked, pointing to the east and the billowing darkness that was fast approaching.  Robin didn’t bother to respond.  Both men quickened their pace as the black magic seemed to nip at their heels.  It was a race back to the castle that Robin had no intention of losing.

She’s standing on the balcony when he enters the courtyard, breathless from the sprint.  He can’t see her features, couldn’t possibly make out the hardened determination there, but he knows.  Somehow he just knows what she is about to do.  He screams her name as he sees the red of her cloak flutter out with the raising of her arms, but her name is swallowed up by the wind and the CRACK of magic that explodes out of her palms.  He stands frozen below, awestruck at the sight of her wielding such power.  In his mind he always knew her capable, but to see her standing alone against the force of this dark magic, to see her holding it back by sheer strength of will…Robin has no words to quantify the mixture of adoration and terror that courses through him.

Regina is at the eye of the storm.  Her magic flows freely, stronger than she’s ever felt it before and she knows it’s because she doesn’t draw on the rage that always simmers just below the surface, but of the image of a boy, realms away, who called her mom and who she will not leave to face this darkness alone.  They just need time.  Her family can escape if she just holds on.  She swears she hears Robin call her name when the force against her is almost too much. His voice carried to her by the winds and it gives her that little bit of strength she needs to hold on.  

He watches her until the destruction forces him inside and then he’s running again, desperate to reach her while he still can. The darkness pushes; Regina pushes back.  She holds out until she knows she can do no more, until she knows she’s given her other half every second she possibly can.  Even through the menacing cyclone, she feels him behind her.  She drops her hands to take his, exhausted, as he pulls her to his chest, shielding her as best he can against the inevitable.  She feels his heart beating steadily under her hand before she feels nothing at all.  

Robin’s watching her now as he does each night from the shadowed corner of her balcony.  He adores this nightly ritual that she thinks she keeps to herself.  Loves to watch her undo all the trappings of her alter ego and slip into the skin she’s growing more and more comfortable with each passing day.  He’d spent brief, chaotic moments with the other Regina, but often wonders if she ever stared her demons down the way his Regina does. Maybe he’s biased, but he doubts that she is as much of a force as the woman he watches in the mirror.

He thumbs the ring still in his pocket, flips it over and over between his fingers as his gaze roams her bare back, her curves, but always back to her eyes.  He’d thought about being conventional; dropping to one knee, reciting some love sick poetry, presenting the jewel as he bowed before her as if waiting for a blessing to be bestowed.  But their journey had never been conventional; their love never followed any script.  In fact it seemed to defy them all.  She was a woman, split from herself; he, a man that shouldn’t exist.  And yet they had found each other.  Loved each other in a way that was uniquely their own.  

His life became an adventure the moment she walked into that tavern.  It was a slow burn to love (the slowest he thinks) but worth every scorch along the way to be able to say that he has found himself in the dark heart of his not-quite-evil queen.

She runs her brush through hair again, the perfect curl refusing to give up its shape.  There’s a far off look in her eyes tonight, a smile pulling at her painted lips.  He wonders if she thinks of her son, of the life she gave up for a second chance at a happiness of her own.  Or of the family that her almost sacrifice helped to save.  Or of him.  Or of the simple fact that they are alive after everything and allowed to go on to whatever adventures they create.  His heart beats faster thinking back on what they could have lost, of how precious each second of life is, and how he doesn’t want to squander another moment of it. His mind is made up in an instant and he’s scrawling a message on the parchment in his pocket, pulling thread loose from the cuff of his shirt, and fastening the diamond his lucky arrow.  (No need tempting fate when his future is so near.)

She doesn’t even flinch at the hiss of the arrow past her ear, or the whack of it embedding in her vanity mirror.  It’s hardly the first arrow that has nearly taken off her head.  She knows it’s his, glances at it with a coy smile before she sees ring hanging from the shaft, still swaying with the momentum of impact. It’s only seconds before she moves, but it feels like an eternity before she reaches for the ring, holds it securely in her palm as she tosses the string aside and reads his proposal.  Ready for a new adventure?  Her smile is instant, bright, elusive, yet always satisfying.  It’s the only answer he needs.

She turns towards the balcony and finds him leaning against the wall, bow slung casually over his shoulder, smile matching her own.  She moves towards him slowly, reaching for his hands when she’s close enough, letting him pull her forward to close the distance.  “Ok, thief,” Regina says as he takes the ring from her palm and slips it onto her finger.  “Where do we begin?”

10

Parks and Recreation: First Lines vs Last Lines

“All I’m saying, Swan, is that it would make far more sense if it was called the Easter Hen.” Killian says with a grunt as he straightens up from placing yet another rainbow colored egg in yet another bush. His spine cracks ominously when he’s upright and he grimaces, eyes closed for a moment in order to gather some much needed patience. 

Keep reading

#15: My First Time/#21. Cracked

Juice Ortiz/Reader

Prequel to #20. Diet and #18. Borrowed


“Holy shit!” Juice yelled, jumping up as number 12—Rossi—hit a home run. “I think he cracked the fucking bat!” I laughed at how adorably enthused he was, since only a few hours ago he’d been whining and griping to come here. Baseball, it turns out, wasn’t something he thought he would ever enjoy.

“This is awesome, baby,” he laughed, plopping down again and pulling me into a fierce side-hug. “I am so sorry I ever doubted that I’d enjoy this. We should do it more often!”

“Juan,” I laughed, pulling back slightly, “I love that you’re having a great time, and you know I love you so, so much, but you’re definitely going to have to bring one of the guys with you to this next time, my dear. Because I fucking hate baseball, but it would have been so incredibly rude to turn down the tickets from my boss.” He pouted a little and I leaned over, kissing him on his cheek. “Sorry, sweetie.”

“But, babe,” he whined, begging now; the crowd erupted into cheers as the batter brought two of his teammates into home plate, causing Juice to yell a bit. “What’s not to love about this place? There’s beer, hot dogs, and my irresistible face,” he teased, waggling his eyebrows.

I simply crossed my arms and stared at him, quirking my own eyebrow for emphasis.

“Ok, you hate beer, and you’re not fond of sports in general, but my face!? You love my face!”

“I do love your face,” I cooed, kissing the pout off his lips. “But I hate this game. Maybe Chibs or Hap’ll come with you next time. He likes bats! Although for a totally different reason…”

“Aww, fine” he huffed, “I’ll drag Chibs next time. Party pooper.”

“I love you, Juan.” I laced my fingers through his and put my head on his shoulder, batting my eyelashes at him.

“All right, all right,” He sighed, kissing my forehead. “No need for dramatics. I love you too. And thanks, baby.”

“For?”
“Dragging me to this damn game. Never thought I’d like it—not exactly something my stepdad ever took me to or anything. So…thanks for making my first time, the best time. Yea?”

“Any time, baby, any time.”

We watched the game in relative silence for a while after that, except when something good happened and Juice would cheer and stomp with the rest of the crowd. I just watched him, having a great time and being free from club stress for the first time in a while. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for this man…well—almost nothing.

“So,” he asked, breaking the silence between us, “Does that mean proposing on a big screen is probably out?”

I shoved his shoulder, both of us laughing so hard, we were nearly in tears.

“You’re such a dork, Juan Ortiz.”

“Yea, I know,” he laughed, kissing my temple. “But I’m your dork.”


“Oh, come on! Penalty!” Juice yelled, leaning up quickly and nearly sloshing his beer into Chib’s lap.

“Oi! Juicey! Watcher!” Chibs yelled, jumping up as well and just barely managing to miss the spill. Juice mumbled an apology and flopped back into his seat.

“Dun’ know wha’ yer getting’ s’ damn uppity abou’, lad,” Chibs complained, sitting back down and taking a sip of his own glass. “This game is dull as shite! Cricket’s more fun ‘n this, or football! Not yer Yankee shite, neither—”, quite a few glares were thrown his way, but he pressed on—“but real football!”

“Chibby, maybe we can go a bit easy on bashing American football?” Juice asked, nervously, scratching the back of his head. “But, ‘tell ya what, if you can sit through a few games of baseball with me, no complains; I’d be happy to join you to watch a few games of soccer, k?”

“Hmm…Throw in some o’ yer Ol’ Lady’s brownies, and ye’ve got yerself a deal, lad! Now, explain to me what th’ bloody fuck is the point of a round bat?! What moron though’ tha’ up?!”

“Shaddup and drink your beer, ya crazy bastard,” Juice laughed, nudging Chibs with his arm before they both turned back to the game.


Kudos again to the lovely @a-daydreamers-stories and the wonderful @red-w00dy ;D

2

Thesival   |   Modern Long-Distance Relationship AU

Fic - Coming soon
[Because this AU inexplicably managed to kickstart my imagination XD]

“And that’s why I’ve decided that I’ll be the designated driver from now on.”

“Oh my god!”

“It’s not that funny.”

“I’m sorry. But I’m just imagining you earnestly doing the macarena and it’s fucking hysterical.”

“It’s what people did,” Percival sighed, waving a hand at his laptop as Theseus carried on giggling over the speakers. “It wasn’t so bad then. People didn’t have video cameras. Now though…” he shuddered dramatically. 

He looked up, smiling in spite of himself as Theseus started cackling anew. 

“They don’t do the Macarena anymore either,” the other man pointed out between shaky breaths. “And it would be on youtube.”

Percival pulled a face at the thought. 

“That there is more than enough reason to stop drinking in public I’d say,” he scoffed softly, propping his head up on his knuckles. 



Theseus chuckled quietly as Percival pressed a hand to his mouth, shoulders starting to shake as he tried to contain his laughter at the video. 

“Thought you’d find that funny,” he laughed, a grin of his own spreading across his face. “Saw it at work today and thought, ‘That’s something bloody Percival would say’.”

“What? The guy’s making a valid point,” Percival chuckled, rubbing his face quickly before leaning back in his seat. 

He smirked, arching a thick brow as he cocked his head to the side. 

“You were thinking about me at work?”

“Always, Pup.”

Dramione AU#10

Hermione rushes over to the Gryffindor table in the great hall. she was late to lunch. as she sat down, she was receiving strange looks from everyone but she ignored them. Meanwhile, Draco walked to the Slytherin table, also receiving strange looks from everyone. He reached down to fix his tie, but he realized that he was wearing a Gryffindor tie, Hermione’s tie. Meanwhile at the Gryffindor table, Hermione sat down. Ron let out a gasp.
“what the bloody hell is that?”, he asked, pointing to her tie.
confused, Hermione looked down, realizing that she was wearing a Slytherin tie, Draco’s tie. she blushed, thinking of what happened moments before.