that boy with the scruffy hair that you walked by? he’s the boy who lived. that girl whose hair you made fun of? she’s the brightest witch of her age. that dog you yelled at this morning? he’s literally just run away from azkaban and is trying to avenge his bff’s murder
So after reblogging literally every single “humans are weird” post that came on my dash I decided it’s time to make my own!
Consider the following;
Humans are already weird space orcs that like either worship the term “fuck it” or make sacrifices to the ship’s rulebook, basically. They have a strict series of social interactions that even distinguish themselves between cultures. Deviation is rare, and sometimes ostracized, no matter how seemingly arbitrary.
So when the ship of the Vyrg’s first human shows up, they were expecting a smiling (humans smile for a lot of the time) human who will shake their first right hand.
Instead, they got a messy, spaced out creature whose hair was falling in their face and whose things were overflowing from their arms, all seemingly hobbies and random trinkets. A backpack hung on their back.
Their first words were accompanied with a (sheepish…the captain thought) smile;
“Sorry, I overslept and I forgot deployment was today! And I forgot my saline for my contacts back in my room but we’ve got to take off, right?”
Great. The crew got a dumb one.
Or so they thought, until their human explained the entire summary of how their ship’s mechanics worked, and fixed their left engine to work at maximum capacity in record time. The human followed it up with a seemingly random tangent about something called the “Stonewall Riots” and “gay rights”.
“Sorry,” Human-Clara said.
“A bit of light just reflected here and it looked like a rainbow and it made me think of it.”
Human-Clara had a tendency to speak either so fast they ran out of breath, or with so many pauses it sounded like they were gathering their scattered thoughts at that moment.
Life with Human-Clara was – odd. They kept to themselves mostly, quietly chatting with crew mates on certain days or absorbed in their transponder for others. Sometimes they would walk out of their room so wholly absorbed in yet another new hobby that the Captain feared xe’d never pull them out of it. The crew never saw a hobby finished. Sometimes when they were spoken to, Human-Clara responded slowly and distractedly, eyes distant and far away as if still thinking of something else. They regularly forgot to eat, or sleep, or take care of themselves if they were absorbed in something else. Directions had to be written down or sent to their transponder. The Captain learned to be patient, as Human-Clara seemed to excel with patience.
Human-Clara was also oddly sensitive. It was quite a culture shock for them to learn that the Vyrg didn’t really have a notion of “friends” other than immediate family, and was almost – crushed, for a few days, the Vyrg’s usual polite friendliness not enough. They seemed depressed when their crazy, thousand-lightyears-an-hour tangents weren’t paid attention to, so the crew began to adapt, and things became much more harmonious.
Sometimes Human-Clara got angry. They were terrifying when angry. It lasted only a few seconds, really. They would blow up, the explosion big enough to scare even the Captain, and after the explosion, be calm in seconds afterwards.
Stimulant chemicals made them sleepy, which the Vyrg thought was adorable. They watched videos of what they called “stims”, and flapped their hands when they were happy, and slapped them quickly and repeatedly on flat surfaces when they were really excited about knowing something. These were “stims” too. The Vyrg wasn’t sure what these “stims” were, really, but they seemed to regulate Human-Clara, emotionally.
Then they got another Human, Human-Steve. Human-Steve was often condescending in their remarks, saying that if Human-Clara “tried”, they could concentrate. It was then that the Vyrg learned what “attention deficit hyperactive disorder, primarily inattentive” was.
They panicked, a little. Was their first human sick?
“No,” Human-Clara explained. “It’s just where the connections in my brain are different, so some things I do differently. Human-Steve doesn’t have that, so he doesn’t understand”.
The Vyrg didn’t either, but their previous methods of interaction worked just fine, so they kept using those.
(If anybody wants to add anything, you don’t have too, but feel free!)
i am holding hands with a girl at the pet store. i love how her voice changes when she speaks to different animals. round and bubbly for the angelfish, high and breathy for the calico kittens, sonorous and slithery for the python. she loves them all, even the great hairy tarantula that makes me cringe.
i am holding hands with this girl whose halo of hair glows banana yellow under the heat lamps in the reptile section, who offers her index finger to teething kittens. she asks “can’t we have one?” in the voice she uses for only me. a voice i can’t describe without using her name, but i imagine joan of arc heard something similar the day she picked up a sword. she is still holding my hand, and i feel like i’d sink into cartoon quicksand if i let go. so i don’t.
“are you two… together?”
this is not unfamiliar, but the woman’s voice, the voice she has chosen, is angrily acidic. this woman has laced her tone with arsenic, without even a passive aggressive teaspoon of sugar to hide her poison. she inhales, puffing herself up like a frightened lizard before her final words.
“there are children here, you know.”
in the future, i think of a thousand things to say. we were children too. two girls holding hands after school. two girls holding hands at the movie theatre, two girls in a booth at tony’s pizza, two girls sharing awkward first kisses after two solo cups of wine in someone else’s backyard. two girls holding kittens at a pet store on a saturday afternoon.
i know now that they see us through funhouse mirrors: distorted, disturbed, our monstrous bodies taking too much space, spoiling innocent spaces with our imposing sexualities. our innocence never ours to begin with.
even with this, there is nowhere i would rather be than holding hands with her in a pet store, with her voice like rain on a hot day, her peach lips blowing kisses for fish, her grip tightening as if to say “i dare you to take this away from me.”
takes an interest in a Muggle-born reader, whose hair ties seem to always snap
when she tries to put her hair up.
Draco Malfoy sat at the very far corner of the
library, pretending to be immersed in his copy of Unfogging the Future as the other students around him worked on
their homework or simply read for fun. Truth was, he couldn’t care less about
Divination or Professor Trelawney’s –he was there waiting for someone.
Someone who didn’t even dared glance his way.
And he was okay with that; he was a Slytherin (and a
pureblood) while she was a Muggle-born. They would never cross paths, he was
sure of that. Still, he had acquired a certain fascination of watching her
study at the same table on Wednesdays. Even if he could never talk to her, he
wouldn’t deny himself the pleasure of her presence.
He buried his nose back into the boring book as soon
as he saw (Y/N) walking in, heading for her usual spot just three tables away
from him. After a couple of seconds of re-reading the same line over and over
again, he dared to look up, finding the girl pulling out her books from her bag
and placing them on the table along with a scroll of parchment. Draco then
watched as she took out a small flask of black tint, and a quill. Soon enough,
she was working, and he had to read his book once again. Or at least, pretend
Nearly thirty minutes had passed since her arrival,
when Draco noticed a different motion coming from her, other that wasn’t the
constant dipping of the quill in the flask or hurried scribbling. He watched intently
as she seemed to pull something from her wrist, to then grab her hair and comb
it with her fingers until it was up in a ponytail, held together by her hand.
(Y/N) pulled on the hair tie that lay on her wrist, and began to twist in in
her ponytail, passing the strands of soft hair through the loop.
Draco watched dumbfounded as her fingers moved quickly
around the back of her head, until he was taken back to reality by a snap and a
hiss. He watched as (Y/N) sucked on her finger before pulling out a thick
string out of her hair. The hair tie had snapped.
Mumbling a few curses under her breath, she packed her
things in her bag and, in no time, she was out of the library.
The blond boy closed his book and decided to leave as
A week later, Draco Malfoy walked around the big
aisles of books the Library owned, fishing for a book that might spark his
interest while he waited for (Y/N)’s arrival. Just as he passed the Invisibility
Section, he heard a pair of footsteps approaching the girl’s usual spot. He
quickly dragged a book out of the bookshelf and opened it, pretending to be immersed
on its content. He peeked discretely, noticing that it indeed was (Y/N) who had
just entered the room. She placed her bag on the wooden table and proceeded to
pass her fingers through her hair, pulling it up into a bun. Then, she pulled a
black hair tie from her wrist, and just as she twisted it for the first time…
“Bloody hell!” she whispered, letting her hair fall
back on her shoulders and taking her bag before stomping out of the library.
Draco huffed and
closed his book angrily before stepping into the other aisle, in search for a
useful book that might help him at the moment.
Two Wednesdays later, (Y/N) stepped into the library,
carrying a heavy bag full of books and parchment next to her. She basically
tossed it on the table, receiving a glare from Madam Pince, the librarian. (Y/N)
pushed her bag aside and sat down, taking out her books and a large scroll of
parchment. As she placed the quill on top of her open book, she searched on her
wrist for a hair tie, noticing that she had forgotten to carry one.
A frustrated sigh left her lips, and she hopelessly
introduced a hand to her bag, searching frantically for a hair tie and praying
she had one with her. Just as she was about to give up, a paper swan flying in
her direction caught her attention before it landed on her book, right in front
of her. She glanced around, being too confused as to why the figure had been
sent to her, or by whom. Carefully grabbing it, she opened the swan to find a
small note written on its inside, along with a circular, black rubber.
A hair tie.
Examining the object curiously, she put it aside and
began to read the note.
“The world might run out of hair ties because of you.
To liberate you from your constant pain and bitterness, I gift this to you.
If you manage to break it, you’re a lost cause.
a fellow classmate.”
(Y/N) looked up and exanimated the room, trying to
find the person who had sent her such gift. Seeing it was just Madame Pince and
her, she focused once again in the hair tie, and pulled it. And she pulled, and
pulled, and pulled. Amazed, she began to cut on the edge of it with the end of
her quill, which was made of a sharp metal.
It didn’t break.
Happily, she began combing her hair upward, using her
new hair tie, which was as unbreakable as the Unbreakable Vow, and then
proceeded to open her book and dip her quill in tint.
There, hidden behind the Invisibility Section, stood a
certain platinum blond boy, smiling proudly as he saw his plan had worked.
Give me Dean, muggleborn that he is, imitating Steve Irwin in Care of Magical Creatures class, much to everyone's confusion except for Harry and Hermione who are. On the ground. Unable to breathe. And refusing to explain why.
Give me Harry, demisexual that he is, realizing that the reason he can't stop obsessing over Draco is because Draco is the one who saw - and subsequently disliked - 'Harry', and not The Boy Who Lived. Realizing that Draco was the only one to first talk to him for HIM, in that robe shop, and not his parents or fame (because even Ron and Hermione did that at first). And thus, leading to him randomly starting crying in the middle of lunch and claiming he's doomed, much to everyone's fear.
Give me Seamus, pyro that he is, super happy one Christmas when Hermione buys him a book on fire caution, flammable materials, and elements such as magnesium. Thus afterward, the mysterious fires that have always happened are far more safe and controlled.
Give me Luna, wonderful airhead that she is, being stared at as, calm as anything, she waltzes right into the Slytherin common room and starts talking to the mermaids like its absolutely normal. A first year drops a book he's staring so hard, because HOW DID SHE KNOW THE PASSWORD. Draco just sighs, gets up, goes over to her, and offers her tea.
Give me Draco. Who looks on as Neville offers Harry rhubarb pie that he made himself, as Harry stares forlornly at his Treacle Tart, and makes and annoyed sound. "Dammit Longbottom he hates bittersweets." The Slytherins stare and Pansy just mutters "How do you even know these things. Merlin, help him realize."
Give me Parvati, who is being constantly mistaken for her sister by Ron, who panics and screams "IM A LESBIAN" when it gets to be too much.
Give me Ron, who stares wide-eyes from a distance whenever he sees Padma from that moment on for a full week, until Padma flips out too and hexes him. Parvati awkwardly wonders why Ron starts getting scared whenever she tries to approach from then on, since she knows Ron doesn't have problems due to that sort of thing from how he handles Harry.
Give me the thirty or so of the school's Muggle-raised, who made the mistake of showing their folks howlers, and react accordingly whenever one of the families sends one that is just a recording of Rick Astley, or High School Musical, or spoilers for Doctor Who. And the Wizard-raised just... staring... in fear... watching their savior and multiple other students as they run around screaming and crying in an absolute panic for some reason even though it was a different student that got the weird howler.
Give me Harry, whose hair surprises people by being dark red like his mother's when in direct sunlight. And usually at the Weasley den they're inside, but one day Harry joins them outside for a picnic, and Molly is so confused about where Harry went to then has do do a mental tally of her children.
Give me George, who in the midst of the final battle, hit Lucius with an Anaticula curse, so that every spell he tries makes a duck instead. And the Death Eaters are just so confused. "Lucius... is that a duck?"
Give me the Gryffindor common room. The new first years suggest Monopoly for game night. The entire room goes dead silent. One first year tries to ask what they did wrong. "Never mention that game again," is the only response they get. "But why-" "NEVER TALK ABOUT SIXTH YEAR. WE NEVER TALK ABOUT SIXTH YEAR." Their brave upperclassman Neville yells, trembling. Hermione starts crying. Harry goes into a panic attack. Ron whispers, "There are many reasons we don't talk about sixth year. If The Incident had been the only thing that happened, we would only not talk about The Incident. Many things happened that year. Thus, we do not speak of that year, or of that game."
Give me McGonagall, who struggles to control the cat population, because while students are told to have their cats fixed you know not all 100 students that brought cats did so. Her curling up around a litter that lost their mother to illness. Training them to stalk the corridors. Albus had his ways of getting information, and hers is the spy network of cats.
Give me muggleborns singing everything from Phantom of the Opera to Katy Perry in the corridors. Singing We Will Rock You to a pureblood who disses them for it. The purebloods thinking the weird songs and their tunes are some kind of Rite of Passage and fleeing whenever a muggleborn student starts singing. Altering song lyrics. "I throw my ferret in the air some-times, singin EEEEEEEYO, this is DRAAAAAACO!"
Give me muggleborns that are really confused about the whole quill instead of pens things, throwing transfigured pokeballs in Care of Magical Creatures, the band students bringing kazoos and harmonicas and the wizrd-raised students that are just so confused as to how those things even work, because it must be some sort of air magic, right??
Give me muggleborns making entire conversations out of pop culture references specifically to confuse some Slytherin who just called one girl a Mudblood. "These are not the droids you were looking for." "I'm right on top of that now Rose, I promise." -jazz hands-
Give me muggleborns with Patronus that are things like Pikachu, velociraptors, the quiet Canadian transfer student with a moose patronus the size of a SMALL HOUSE, the one whose is a angeled-out Castiel, the one whose patronus is the democrat donkey and another the republican elephant and the two, previously best friends, become mortal enemies rivaling the fame of Harry and Draco.
Give me muggleborns hugging each other before break, promising to 'call' each other, trading weird codes, how they can't wait to go for 'sushi' or planning that trip together to 'disneyland' where they can go flying?? But no one's allowed magic?? Or flying?? And the wizard-raised think that somehow, shockingly,<i> these children totally new to our world have developed a way to cheat the system?? Muggleborns are badasses!!</i>
Give me muggleborns who are fully aware that the anti-tech wards were made when, like, radios barely even existed, much less cellphone towers and microprocessors, so while they can't turn them on inside the stone school walls there's this group that Harry joins constantly that just sit there in silence staring at these tiny things and sometimes randomly laughing hysterically, and every now and then standing and just running all the way across to the other side of the lake all at the same time with no signal whatsoever. The purebloods are <i>terrified</i> of this frequent happening.
Give me Harry, Hermione, Dean, and Justin from the D.A, muggleborns they are, doing a movie night every week to help the D.A. relax and bond. They re-start this after the battles, during eighth year, with several other people such as the returned Slytherins joining in. The entire year they play things like Tangled, The Breakfast Club, Brave, Lion King. But then the last four weeks, they announce they don't want to mislead everyone that everything is all fun and rainbows. The last four movies are My Sister's Keeper, The Shining, Marley and Me, and for the last week, a marathon of the entire Jurassic Park series.
Give me Hufflepuffs, who secretly are very relieved to be the 'normal' House. Jocks over there, know-it-alls over there, goth wannabees over there, now lets go camp out by the kitchens we're gonna need it to survive the next seven years like this.
Give me Ravenclaws who are so done with the riddles when they stumble back at midnight after having fallen asleep in the Library. "What's the truth?" "THE TRUTH IS THAT I WILL SET YOU ON FIRE IF YOU DON'T LET ME IN."
Give me the Trio, who use the Marauder's Map to find the most absolutely ridiculous routes to class, knowing every single one of the shortcuts. It's not odd for them to simply appear out of the ceiling. One day the new first years try to follow them, to learn the school better, but it doesn't go so well because then they try to go through a disappearing wall the Trio just did they instead run headfirst into it, and the next time they do behind a tapestry, down a waterside, around some sort of tower, causally past an entire doorless room full of bats, and somehow come out on the complete other side of the castle.
Give me Draco whose just completely had it with Harry's staring and confronts him, like they always do, and Harry just blurts out that he likes Draco's new haircut and can he touch his hair, and Draco so shocked he lets him. "Potter stop treating me like a cat I'm evil remember? Bloody hell have you gone daft?!" "But... it's soft..." "I hate you." But he just can't find any anger over this, so there's like no venom whatsoever in it and Harry can't stop giggling.
Give me Ginny, who can't stop giggling as Luna confuses the fuck out of an entire crowd with her way of speaking, and who during seventh year could 100% get away with insulting the Death Eaters because of the way she said things. Who after Luna used said tactic to get her out of a Crucio punishment just clung to Luna, shaking, and realizing that she loves Luna so much for this very reason. That there will never be another person like Luna in her life, ever.
Give me Harry, who was not really well educated while living at the Dursleys, who couldn't read very well but was wonderful at sneaking around, little tricks like hiding things, and loved music. He taught himself magic tricks, and MERLIN ALMIGHTY THIS 11 YEAR OLD KID HAS MASTERED VANISHING SPELLS, WHAT, HOW, and Percy, uptight prefect he is, just looses it.
Give me Ron walking in on Harry talking to some random snake in their dorm room, laughing like the snake said a particularly good joke, tipping his head and smiling as he responds, the python slowly curling up his arm to rest over his shoulder. Ron freezes, stares, and then slowly backs away, closes the door and stands there staring at it for a full half hour in absolute horror.
Give me the rest of the D.A. walking into the Room of Requirement and hearing screaming, Dean shrieking that he's going to murder someone, Hermione crying, Justin cursing like a sailor yelling for everyone to stop, and the rest panic and run around the corner and there the four Muggle-raised students are. With some sort of odd device in their hands. Playing Mario Kart.
The High Lord of Summer had gone still, too—and it was pain, real pain, and fear that shone in those stunning blue eyes.
Eris would bring us to Beron, and the High Lord would either kill us for sport, or hold us indefinitely. And after what they had done to Lucien’s lover, what they’d done to Mor…
“Kallias,” Rhys said to the white-haired one, whose skin was so pale it looked frozen. Even his crushing blue eyes seemed like chips hewn from a glacier as he studied Rhys’s wings and seemed to instantly dismiss them.
Tamlin’s still-masked face twisted into something truly lupine as he raised his eyes to the queen and snarled. Fangs lengthened.
Amarantha backed away—away from my corpse. She only whispered “Please” before golden light exploded.
How to Be a Pirate (You will be remembered, my dear)
If it is the ocean that sings to you, or the
thrill of Aztec treasure, or other kingdom’s riches, know that you cannot go
back. Once you set sail, the saltwater will haunt you even if you retire to a
desert. There will never be enough golden coins or golden islands that will
satisfy you. The life of a pirate is a thirsting life, and it is common knowledge
that saltwater does not quench.
Kiss your mother and father’s graves goodbye
before you set sail. If the ocean will not be your grave, the gallows are too
far from the churchyard to comfort your spirit. Keep your farewells frugal.
Better yet, disappear without a word. Legends are not borne out of nostalgia.
Turn a blind eye to the third mate whose hair is
bunched into their hat and keeps their chest wrapped tightly under their
bleached tunic. Her hands may be small, but they will build callouses just like
yours once she scrubs the deck long enough. Bad luck is not the fault of a
stowaway woman, and the storms are not her doing—after all, the crew had thrown
Jonah into the sea to calm it. You’d be better off watching out for the storm
that is the woman. She will put you to shame when she sets fire to your enemies
to fight tooth and nail for the freedom she earned.
Treat a mermaid gently if one accidentally gets
tangled in your fishing net—comb the hooks out of his hair and don’t curse if he
bites your fingers. Offer him your hat to shield his eyes from the sun and
answer his questions when he asks in panic why his fingers are wrinkling. If
you must chuckle, try to do so silently, so that he does not think are laughing
at him. Mermaids are born singers—their egos are easily bruised.
When a man goes overboard in the midst of a
storm, throw the rope to him. If he cannot cling onto it, lower yourself in a
rowboat to help him from the bobbing waves. But remember to never jump in after
him, if he turns away and rides the waves into the deep. Do not blame yourself.
You could hold your breath forever and still cannot rescue a drowning man who
swims away from a lifesaver.
Whistle while you work. The songs that your
mother used to sing you to sleep with are not a curse just because it is from
the past. And melodic tales about purple mountains and golden cornfields will
stun your mermaid guest—he will ask you again and again how fast horses run,
and how do flowers smell like. He will test your patience, but even pirates
enjoy basking in Scheherazade’s glory. We all like to be heard other times than
when we’re shouting orders.
There is little use in envying your legendary
predecessors. Madame Ching and Blackbeard’s skin peeled under the sun just like
yours. Legends never feel like legends when their shoulders ache.
You will lose your hand along the way. Some lose
their eye, others their foot, others aren’t as lucky and lose their hope. It is
all part of chasing the impossible. When the time comes—and it will come, when
you are least prepared—there is no shame in weeping. There will never be enough
saltwater. Let your mermaid guest dress your wound and see your tears. He will
miss your tender palms, and you will miss that sense of safety. But let him
treat you; his fingers are nimble and cool to the touch.
When he sings to you the songs of his world and
people, do not be overwhelmed—there will always be a part of the ocean that you
will never see. The greatest pirates will never know what lies beneath their
hull. Most hurl a mermaid out of their sight for fear of deception, and never
lit a candle for him to see a dancing flame for the first time, cautioning him
to keep his hands to themselves.
Keep your plank short and sturdy—no one wants to
walk to their death with shaky knees. No captain can avoid a mutiny, but that
does not mean that you did not do something wrong. Which is why without a
doubt, when your second mate plunges blindfolded into the sea, your heart will
sink right down with him. But a captain is expected to root out betrayal and
never betray themselves. Careful—if you catch yourself calling him name when
you call all hands on deck, your crew might suspect that you regret it.
Buried gold can afford bejeweled, decadent hooks
for where your hand had once been. The richest of pirates can afford hooks of
pure gold and a diamond cuff whose reflection can almost replace the spark in
your dulled eyes. But they will only ever be hooks, and your mermaid will gasp
in pain every time you cut his skin, even if you try to be gentle. He knows
that you can’t help it, but don’t get cross if he shies away from you when you
come too close. Mermaids are not quite used to love which makes them bleed.
Pirates are not heroes. They kill in order to
avoid the gallows. They maroon rather than forgive. All who sail past you will
assume the worst of you, and point their cannons at your sails without
consideration. It may be easier to live up to their expectations and take up
your sword. It is far more exhausting fighting for your nobility.
Your mermaid guest cannot stay for long. The sun
scorches his skin, shrivels his scales, cracks his voice. The explosions of
your ship’s cannons and your musket rounds piercing the Royal Navy shake him to
their core. You can beg all you want, but your hook only hurts him when you try
to hold on to him. He will wait until it is nighttime to quietly throw himself
overboard. Two of your mates will hold you back from diving after him. They
know that they could not save you if you did.
Do not be alarmed when you find yourself under
the starlight missing home. Any captain of a loyal crew will be desperately
lonely when sailing alone in the wide, treacherous expanse that is one’s own
head. I’m afraid, however, that it is too late now to turn back. Your lost
hand, or cold, nimble fingers would not be there home waiting for you even if
Understand that you will never be remembered.
Even if your name is emblazoned with fear in every queen’s heart, even if the
tales of your terror make every captain shudder. They will not remember the
songs you hummed under the moonlight. They will not remember your careful
fingers loosening hooks from their hair. Legends are not borne out of love.
Bifrost Apartments, the guy tells you. He overheard you saying you needed a new place. You’ve never heard of it but you turn where he says and walk where he says and there it is. Right by your office.
Odin is landlord, he doesn’t say much but he does have a unit available. You take it without question. He’s obviously ex-military, but you’re afraid to ask exactly in what capacity.
Frigga is your day-to-day anyway, she told you where the closest laundromat was and which grocery store had the best prices. There had been a casserole pan in your fridge when you moved in, and a quilt on the couch.
Thor lives above you, and he terrifies you until he asks if you need help carrying stuff. Thankfully, he’s a harmless dude-bro, and you ask him where he works out, you need a new gym. He is, of course, a trainer and assures you he will help you get those ‘gainz’.
Sif, his cheerful, spry, yoga-instructor wife, whose hair hangs down to her butt even when braided, is also incredibly kind. She invites you to the vegan cafe down the street.
Idunn owns the vegan cafe, her avocado-quinoa muffins are addictive. Her husband, Bragi, is super talented but she had to ban him from open-mic night. He was a total mic hog and sometimes got a little…experimental.
Freyja and Freyr are so gorgeous you blush in their presence. Freyja invites you to the begginers self-defense class she teaches. Once she asks you to watch her cats while she’s away. You think there are 3 or maybe 5? Freyr, it’s rumored, is the best lay in the whole building, and you try not to think about it while he tells you about how his window boxes are doing.
Loki lives in the basement, though he comes and goes at the oddest hours. He seemed to look a little different every time you saw him, what with the piercings, tattoos, and hair color, and you sort of wanted to borrow the bright pink sundress he was fond of wearing. His wife, Sigyn, was so normal by comparison you would have thought she had just been plucked from a field in Nebraska.
You like it here, it’s comfortable and safe. Everyone seems to get along(well, mostly anyway) and before you know it, you’ve been living there a year, then two, then five.
Once you see Thor lift an entire fridge and toss it over his shoulder like it was Styrofoam.
Odin finds you one night, crying in the hallway, and before you know it you’re in his apartment, drinking whiskey that even smells expensive, and he listens to you blubber before finally giving you the best, most important advice of your entire life, though you can’t now entirely remember what it was about.
Freyr insists on giving you some plants, just a few herbs, something to brighten up the space. Despite the fact you’ve killed every houseplant you’ve come in contact with, they thrive.
Loki is always smoking, but you never see him lift a lighter.
After a while, Idunn offers to make you an off-menu smoothie, apple-chia-date. It’s…strangely rejuvenating.
Honestly we are blessed to have trans guys who aren’t “traditionally attractive” by shitty societal standards but who are actually most DEFINITELY attractive.
Boys with big noses and ears, boys who are fat, boys with acne and eczema, boys with braces, boys with large pores, boys with overbites and underbites, boys whose hair gets greasy, boys with acne scars, etc.
All are very handsome and important boys, no matter how they see themselves. It is a FACT that they’re just lovely.
@avengerstories - Without you, there would be no ALiL. I can’t thank you enough for you endless support.
You wake up early the next morning, eyes blinking wearily as you struggle to free yourself from the last remaining tendrils of slumber. It’s not a simple task, mostly because you’re still exhausted and all you want to do is fall go back to sleep.
But you can’t. Something woke you up and you need to figure out what it was.
As you begin to come to, so do your senses. A quick sweep around your surroundings lets you know that you’re not in your apartment and the feeling of someone wrapped around you is the only clue you need to figure out that you’re not alone. You turn your head slightly, nose catching the scent of antibacterial soap - a smell that your brain immediately connects to doctors and hospitals.
The last bit of confusion about your current location fades away as your brain catches up with your senses. You’re with Bucky.
Rec’d by anonymous: Routine by thishasbeencary, Teen, 17k (WIP) Viktor pushes himself too hard, he always has, he knows that. Coaching and returning to skating isn’t easy (especially since he expects himself to start back exactly where his career left off, despite being 28 and not having competitively skated for most of a season). And, really, he should have seen this coming.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
Rec’d by anonymous: Shape of You by ViktorBunny, Explicit, 43k (WIP) Yuri is moving to St. Petersburg and Victor is far too excited to show him everything and spoil his Katsudon on his home turf.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
Rec’d by anonymous and anonymous: Something Gold by thishasbeencary, Teen, 2.8k A soulmate’s mark begins to grow the first time that they see their soulmate, and stops growing when they fall in love. Some grow faster than others, so by the time they’ve both fallen in love, the marks are the same.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
Rec’d by anonymous: Unexpected by AlexWSpark, Mature, 52k (WIP) In which one impulsive midnight decision leads Victor Nikiforov to Yuuri Katsuki and, of course, everything changes.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
Rec’d by anonymous: No Less Unthinkable by rageprufrock, Explicit, 79k In which Katsuki Yuuri fights a losing battle with chronic anxiety, the quadruple Salchow, and his own judgment four drinks in — but wins the war.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
Rec’d by anonymous: A Matter of Luck by stillmadaboutpetra, Gen, 33k Victor, a Charm of Good Fortune, promises to give Yuuri the life he wants. The problem is: Yuuri hasn’t a clue what he wants. a thread to weave a home by LiaoftheDawn, Gen, 1.9k “Yuuri, would you mind making a quick stop at Ice Castle before heading back home?” Yuuri’s breathe catches when Victor says the word ‘home’, soft and easy, like it’s his own. Like he plans to make it his own.
Rec’d by anonymous and anonymous: Beside the Dancing Sea by lily_winterwood, MapleTreeway, Explicit, 179k New York Times-bestselling author Viktor Nikiforov arrives in the sleepy seaside town of Torvill Cove to cure his writer’s block. After encountering local wallflower Yuuri Katsuki at a party, he discovers that this mysterious dark-haired man has a couple secrets up his sleeve.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
Rec’d by @phoenixwaller: In Our Dreams by phoenixwaller, Explicit, 38k (WIP) Victor Nikiforov, the Junior World Figure Skating Gold Medalist, has a secret skill. He has the ability to dreamwalk; to visit the minds of others while his body sleeps.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
Rec’d by anonymous and anonymous: Fanboy by arkhamcycle, Teen, 40k (WIP) “Love!!! on Ice” is sure to be the greatest Wattpad-hosted love story of Viktor’s day. At its center are Viktor’s idol, world-renowned figure skating champion Yuuri Katsuki, and the silver-haired boy whose heart he steals–Vitaly Nikulichev.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
Rec’d by anonymous: The Weight of Gold by barrelrider, Not Rated, 13k Yuri’s big win at the Grand Prix final poses questions about the future that he hadn’t thought to ask before. And Viktor doesn’t seem interested in answering them.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
Rec’d by @ever-so-nice: Shared Gravity by phoenixwaller, Explicit, 40k (WIP) Yuri Katsuki doesn’t advertise his alpha status, in fact he’d rather it be relatively unknown. He feels that he’s never fit the stereotype, and is much happier blending into the background. However, much to his dismay, his alpha instincts are awakened one summer morning.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
Rec’d by anonymous: Walking Barefoot In The Snow by wingedcastielpie, Teen, 3.9k (WIP) Millions of years before humanity has rooted itself firmly on the ground, two lovers of forbidden origin and passion were forced to live their lives in exile from the Seven Seas. Thousands of years later, they were back from where they started, with a bond more formidable than the oceans’ tides. somewhere only we know by wingedcastielpie, Teen, 1k (WIP) Katsuki Yuuri and Victor Nikiforov were orphans. They formed a bond when they were younger, and they were inseparable for four years. They only had each other. Until one day, Victor left, and Yuuri was left alone to his own devices, forever looking for him.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
Rec’d by @bathsoaps: Come Out of Hiding (I’m Right Here Beside You) by osaki_nana_707, Not Rated, 61k (WIP) After forgetting the words to his song during a vocal competition as a teenager, Yuuri Katsuki decided singing was not for him. Instead he went to NYU to study English. He never expected Viktor Nikiforov, Broadway star extraordinaire looking to direct his first production on the stage, would ever find his up-and-coming lead… in him.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
Rec’d by anonymous: With the Aid of Gravity by notwisely, Teen, 5.3k Yuuri had plastered his childhood bedroom with posters of Viktor—had grown up with Viktor’s irrepressible smile comforting him on the worst days, the promise of his silhouette against the endless blue of the sky behind him: that if Yuuri couldn’t defy gravity and physics and mortality, Viktor would do it for him.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
Rec’d by anonymous: Live, Laugh, Love by Lucien_King, Teen, 9.4k (WIP) Something clicked within Yuuri and even though his manager told him that the project might ruin his reputation, he insisted. What could possibly go wrong? And then, he met the Viktor Nikiforov.
Thank you for all your recs! ₍₍ (̨̡ ‾᷄♡‾᷅ )̧̢ ₎₎
The amazing “YOI Fan Rec Friday” banner was created by @omgkatsudonplease! I love them a lot, check out their blog!
With Its latest class, called Brave Beauty in the Face of Cancer, Sephora all about helping the people whose skin and hair may have been affected by their cancer diagnosis.
During the free 90-minute classes, participants — regardless of gender — will be given a foundation that matches their skin exactly, be taught how to get a more radiant complexion and how to define their eyebrows and eyes, given that their eyebrow hair and eyelashes may have fallen out. Read more (3/23/17)
Jungkook Genre: Smut Word Count: 3980-ish In hindsight, maybe you weren’t that sorry for not locking the door.
A/N: Holy fuck, this is some extra shit. Read at your own risk. The Kook thirst is real. I had this half-written for a while, and then I got a request that was quite similar, so I thought I’d finish it. I might have a thing for the way Kook says ‘noona.’ Shit.
You knew it was a bad habit, not
locking the bedroom door. But locking doors inside your own house had never
been required before – growing up, it was discouraged (courtesy of living in a
one-bathroom house) – and you didn’t really expect anyone to come barging into
your bedroom when you lived in your own apartment.
Then again, you hadn’t expected to
have seven rowdy boys hanging out in your small living room that evening, and that happened so…
Okay, you should’ve locked the
But you didn’t.
And that was how you ended up
scarring Jeon Jungkook for life. Ish.