winged armchair

Things that remind me of the houses

Gryffindor is being emotionally driven. It is the wild grin on your face as you charge head on into a wave. It is dipping your fingers into wax just after blowing out the flame. Gryffindor is bonfires and sparklers at the end of summer; it is windswept hair and running around in the rain with friends. Gryffindor is good YA novels, the gems hidden in the back shelves. Gryffindor is brightly colored lipstick and kisses that feel like electricity, like passion, like heat. It is belting “Don’t Stop Believin” at the top of your goddamned lungs. Gryffindor is comic books. It is power outages. It is talking back to people in positions of authority because they’re wrong. Gryffindor is racing your friend for shotgun. Gryffindor is earrings that swing when you turn your head. Gryffindor is sailing under a great blue sky; it is fireworks and ginger beer. Gryffindor is summer. Gryffindor is ripped jeans and flannels. Gryffindor is knowing that failure to stand strong all the time doesn’t make you weak. Gryffindor is jumping off a bridge into the ocean with your friends. It is the scream that gets punched out of your lungs on rollercoasters. Gryffindor is hot chocolate and sweatpants; it is naps during the day. Gryffindor is New York City. Gryffindor is hard cider and caramel apples. Gryffindor is stopping mid-sentence to point out a dog across the street. Gryffindor is getting an apartment with your friends after college. Gryffindor is Steve Rogers. Gryffindor is praying that your soda won’t explode. Gryffindor is sweaty ponytails and the shaky feeling in your muscles after a good workout. Gryffindor is road trips with your best friends. Gryffindor is turning your friends into family. Gryffindor is long summer days and even longer summer nights; it is feeling like nighttime can’t stop you. Gryffindor is life. Gryffindor is love. Gryffindor is friendship. Gryffindor is freedom.

Hufflepuff is being carefree of spirit and caring of heart. Hufflepuff is comforting a friend by singing a song you both love until they’re calm enough to sing along. Hufflepuff is blasting the air conditioner so it’s cold enough to sleep under a quilt in the summer. Hufflepuff is flower crowns. Hufflepuff is activism. Hufflepuff is sticking your feet under your friend’s legs when they’re cold. Hufflepuff is cotton candy and sunsets at the fair. Hufflepuff is kissing in the rain. Hufflepuff is the feeling of helplessness that comes from not having enough power to right the world’s wrongs. Hufflepuff is hammocks. It is tattered friendship bracelets. It is getting flour on your face while baking. Hufflepuff is big sweaters and leggings; Hufflepuff is side braids. Hufflepuff is the storm that breaks the heatwave; it is running around the house to shut all of the windows and then collapsing on the floor giggling. Hufflepuff is the Aunt Friend, for when the mom friend needs a mom friend. Hufflepuff is prom night with a group of friends. Hufflepuff is strawberry frosted donuts with rainbow sprinkles. Hufflepuff is Tuscany. It is sunlight reflected in the morning dew. It is the smell of smoke on a cold winter day. Hufflepuff is understanding the value of a child’s mind. Hufflepuff is the first day of spring. It is stopping to smell the flowers. It is warmed milk with spices and vanilla. Hufflepuff is the books from your childhood that you’ve read to shreds; it is the movies you can quote with ease. Hufflepuff is brightly colored eyeliner. Hufflepuff is sunrise over the mountains. Hufflepuff is festivals in the summer with maxi skirts and fresh-picked flowers in your hair. Hufflepuff is sitting under a tree with your friends. Hufflepuff is weighing yourself down with worries to lighten someone else’s load. Hufflepuff is digging in the dirt with your hands to find the cool earth underneath. Hufflepuff is leaving cute messages on your friend’s phone when you’re in different time zones. Hufflepuff is compassion. Hufflepuff is empathy. Hufflepuff is laughter. Hufflepuff is freedom.

Ravenclaw is asking why and using the answer. Ravenclaw is reading at night with a flashlight under the covers. Ravenclaw is lightning. Ravenclaw is fuzzy socks. Ravenclaw is lying on your back with a group of friends and looking at the stars. Ravenclaw is forgetting to eat and sleep because you’re in research-mode. Ravenclaw is French-press coffee. Ravenclaw is owning more books than you could read in a lifetime. It is quick messy buns with pencils stuck through them; it is sweatshirts and yoga pants. Ravenclaw is curling up on a window seat with a book as the snow falls outside. Ravenclaw is people-watching. It is old book smell. It is watches with interesting faces and the full moon through the trees. Ravenclaw is bronze eyeshadow. It is Paris. It is hard caramel. Ravenclaw is staying up until sunrise talking about the universe. It is lying on the floor talking to your significant other about anything and everything and then rolling over and kissing them. Ravenclaw is packing your books first to make sure you’ll have room. It is running your hand through your hair to calm yourself down. It is beanbag chairs in the library. It is spending time with people of older generations and trying to absorb all of the wisdom they have to offer. Ravenclaw is the best answers in Cards Against Humanity. Ravenclaw is twirling a pen through your fingers as you think. Ravenclaw is the feeling of freedom on a windy day. Ravenclaw is ornate bookmarks; Ravenclaw is antiques. Ravenclaw is well-disguised sass. Ravenclaw is asking the perfect question to send the class off on an hour-long tangent. Ravenclaw is flirting in other languages. Ravenclaw is doing personal research instead of homework. Ravenclaw is knowing that imagination outstrips intelligence. Ravenclaw is curiosity. Ravenclaw is wit. Ravenclaw is passion. Ravenclaw is truth.

Slytherin is knowing that there are still some things more important than success. Slytherin is being asked “what do you want to be when you grow up” and answering with the same thing you’ve been saying since you were six. Slytherin is the feeling of triumph when your hard work pays off. Slytherin is blazers and sleek ponytails, but it is also team sweatshirts and messy braids. Slytherin is dark chocolate. Slytherin is fog settling in the valley. Slytherin is the feeling of meeting your idol and having them live up to every expectation. Slytherin is the Mom Friend™. Slytherin is surviving on coffee. It is a river so clear you can see the bottom if you’re still for long enough. Slytherin is London. Slytherin is classic literature. Slytherin is knowing that respect is earned. It is reminding yourself that it’s okay to forget about the future and live in the moment. Slytherin is being the designated driver. Slytherin is tattoos is discrete places. Slytherin is “The Bullpen” by Dessa. It is whispering “can I kiss you” before leaning in. Slytherin is chilled fingers wrapped around hot drinks on a crisp fall morning. Slytherin is perfectly winged eyeliner; Slytherin is good posture and a firm handshake. It is the smile for people you don’t like all that much. It is rings. It is armchairs in the back corner of coffee shops. It is the power trip of walking down a hallway in heels. Slytherin is dressing nice to go nowhere. Slytherin is freshly brewed tea in a china set. It is not getting out of your pajamas on the weekends. It is forgive but don’t forget. Slytherin is knowing that intelligence is not all that it’s cracked up to be; it’s knowing that the key is the will to do something with your life. Slytherin is the euphoria of ballet. Slytherin is hunting down anyone who has ever hurt the ones you care about. It is staying up until 4 am and sleeping until noon. It is wing-back armchairs to curl up in. Slytherin is taking study breaks to go out and stand in the rain, letting it clear your mind. Slytherin is drive. Slytherin is protectiveness. Slytherin is hard work. Slytherin is self-confidence.

joz-stankovich  asked:

What are everyone's favourite holiday activities/traditions? Include Erina too, I want to know more about her. (:

Ada: Helping Sole wrap presents for the others. Sole keeps Ada’s separate and hidden away

Cait: Being able to sleep in peace on Christmas morning as everyone is too busy preparing for the day, as well as Christmas Dinner and being able to eat heartily until satisfied

Codsworth: Putting the decorations up around Sanctuary and making everything perfect

Curie: Seeing the snow fall on Christmas eve and on Christmas morning, wrapping up warm to take an early morning walk, greeting the others as they appear, with a hug and a “Merry Christmas, mon ami!”

Danse: Being asked to put the star on top of the tree since he can reach when wearing Power Armor

Deacon: The games families used to play, his favourite being charades.

Dogmeat: Getting the leftovers from the Christmas dinner

Gage: Watching old films with the others while sharing a drink with them

Hancock: Being the one who’s allowed to make the Christmas pudding, though he may go a little overboard with the alcohol and the fire

MacCready: Getting up early to open his presents and waiting to receive a letter from Duncan

Nick: Singing and carolling with the other companions and toasting at Christmas Dinner

Old Longfellow: Being able to sleep in a wing-back armchair after Christmas Dinner, like everyone’s grandpa, with a paper crown tucked over his eyes.

Piper: Doing secret Santa with the companions and trying to figure out who got who and what they got

Preston: Reading the old Christmas stories from before the war and reading them aloud to anyone who wanted to listen

Strong: Hunting the radstag that is going to be served on Christmas Day and spending hours trying to find the biggest one

X6-88: Being able to test out the new toys he’d gotten on Christmas morning, going out and firing at targets propped up against the fence

Maxson: Making his annual speech to the Prydwen staff and Brotherhood soldiers, from sentinel to squire, toasting them and the Brotherhood itself

Erina: Being able to go under the mistletoe with Cait, even for a moment and waking up next to her on Christmas morning, quietly going to get Cait’s present while Cait sleeps peacefully

wish someone would photograph me in lingerie eating a chicken wing in a velvet armchair with my hair in curlers in a townhouse somewhere

punk psychotics (a deidara fanmix)

tracks (9 in order): mutemath - plan b || takeharu ishimoto - a beating black wing || armchair cynics - bang || skillet - live free or let me die || gorillaz - dirty harry || three days grace - riot || brand new - sic transit gloria… glory fades || mindless self indulgence - stupid, sadistic, suicidal || muse - supremacy

Chapter 12 part 2: sans makes a friend | Grillby confronts his past

Oh boy, oh boy!

Author’s Notes:
1) This is part 2 of chapter 12 of the Sans and Grillby saga!
1.1) Part 1
1.2) Sans and Grillby Saga
2) I think there’s only 1 part left to this chapter, but we’ll see how it goes when I sit down to write out the next bit…
3) This was a little cathartic to write; I always like to put some of my own experiences into what I work with. I’ll let you guess which ones are personal - hint: it isn’t having a child. No kids for me, thanks. 

Word Count: 2520-ish
Copyright Toby Fox; all original characters belong to me, all Undertale characters are used without permission for entertainment purposes. 

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Harry Imagine: Hungover

The first thing I noticed when I woke up was that everything single thing in the room was covered in glitter, myself included. But I forgot the glitter the second I noticed that a lanky, dark headed boy was curled against me on the sticky leather sofa I’d fallen asleep on after the party last night.

I slipped carefully out from under the arm the boy had slung around my hip, trying not to wake him. I winced when I glanced out the window, the sunlight felt like it was boring holes through my head.

“Fucking shit,” I muttered, massaging my forehead.

“Well good morning to you too,” a deep, croaky voice said from behind me, catching me off guard and making me shriek a little. “It’s a little early for cuss words don’t you think?”

I spun around to stare at the boy who’d woken up. He look a little worse for wear, brown curls falling in his face and the impressions of the stitching from the sofa across his cheek. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and then stretched, his white shirt lifting up just enough to show a strip of tattooed and tanned skin. How does he look this good when he’s probably got the hangover of the century?

“It’s a little to early for anything other than going back to sleep with the hangover I’ve got,” I said, flopping down on into the winged armchair across from the sofa.

“Sunglasses and Advil, last night was mad real, sun coming up 5 a.m., I wonder if they got cabs still,” he replied while stretching out across the whole sofa. He was easily 6 foot. He caught me staring at him and raised an eyebrow in response.

“Did you,” I stuttered, “did you just quote fucking Kanye West? At 6 in the morning? The morning after what the hell went down last night?”

“First off, yes, yes I did quote just quote Kanye West. Second off, it’s,” he stopped to peer at his phone, “it’s actually 7:18 to be exact. Lastly, I don’t exactly remember what happened last night outside of the haze of boozed induced debauchery but I’m guessing that it would be a story of the ages.”

“Do you always talk like that?” I asked, tucking my legs up under me. Only then did I realize I was only wear a button down and underwear, the rest of my clothes no where in view. 

“Talk like what?”

“Talk like the bloody Dalai Lama,” I said, trying to yank the hem of the button down further down my legs. 

“I like to think I’m eloquent but I’m far from the verbal finesse of the Dalai Lama,” he said, shrugging at me.

“Oi, hush up. Big words, bad hangover, early in the morning. None of the above should been involved with any of the others,” I scrunched my nose up at him. “For the love of all that is holy, will you please leave me to suffer in silence?”

“You know what I forgot?” he said, blushing slightly and looking embarrassed.

“What? Your thesaurus?” I said sarcastically. He laughed in response, but not in a mocking way. Instead, he laughed like a person who was used to telling jokes that no one else found funny.

“That’s actually quite funny, good on you,” he nodded at me. I rolled my eyes at him and threw a pillow at his head.

“Please for the love of all that is holy, I beg you. Please. Please be silent.”

“I forgot to introduce myself!” Harry bounced on the sofa, reaching out to shake my hand. “I’ve quite forgotten my manners haven’t I?”

“What would your mother say?” I asked him sarcastically.

“Well she’d probably tell me that she raised me better than-” he stopped talking when he looked up and realized I was mocking him. “Oh you were making fun of me.”


“That’s rude but I’ll opt to look passed that,” he reach out to shake my hand again, “I’m Harry. Harry Styles.” 

My mouth dropped open, of course thats who he was. How could I not have realized that? It was so obvious. I should have known he had been at the party last night. 

His band member Liam, a childhood friend of mine had called me up last night to invite me to a party at his house. The last thing I could actually remember was the sixth shot of tequila, after that it was just a shadowy haze.

“Right, of course you are,” I said, shaking my head before I introduced myself.

“That’s sorted isn’t it. Now, we have two options,” Harry said.

“Does one of those options involve you not talking and me going home to sleep?” I asked him but all I got in response was a slight frown.

“You’re extremely rude, you know that don’t you?” 

“I’m extremely hungover actually but rude and hungover are pretty much the same thing aren’t they?” Harry ignored my comment.

“Our first option is finding the others and trying to piece together what happened last night and our second option is to go get breakfast,” Harry said, ticking the options off on his fingers.

“Breakfast, oh god I’d kill for pancakes right now.”

“I want a plate of greasy bacon and-” 

“Please,” I put up a hand, “don’t talk about anything greasy or fried or I might throw up.”

“What? Don’t you know the cure for any hangover is a greasy breakfast?”

“I don’t believe that and I never will.”

“Fine, ignore the facts,” Harry shrugged at me. “So, breakfast?”

“Yeah, yeah in a minute,” I stood up looking for my clothes but I could only find a single heel. “Fuck, where the hell is my stuff? I mean there wasn’t even that many of us last night, how did things get that out of hand?”

“You’d be surprised at the damage a party of twenty year olds can do on an flat.”

“Or on our livers,” I mumbled. 

“Innit,” I turned around at the new voice to see Niall leaning against a door frame in nothing but his boxers. Harry seemed to perk up when he say Niall.

“Ni, where is everyone else?” Harry asked.

“Well clearly, the three of us are here,” Niall started.

“Niall, either talk fasters or stop talking at all,” I snapped at him.

“You’re a right bloody ray of sunshine, aren’t you?” he said jokingly.

“Oh fuck off.”

“At least you’re a fun drunk. I can put up with a mean hangover as long as they aren’t a mean drunk as well,” Niall said. I shrugged at him. 

“Where’s everyone else?” Harry asked again, a little too loudly, making Niall and I cringe.

“Fine, fine. Well Liam and Sophia are in their room, Zayn and Perrie crashed in the main guest room while Louis and I slept in the one in the back of the house. We didn’t fall asleep until, what? Must have been about 3am.”

“And everyone else?” I asked him.

“Everyone else?” Niall said, raising an eyebrow at me. “Thats it, just the eight of us.”

“The eight of us did this?” I gestured around the trashed living room. Cups, trash, lighters, a bong, several packs of cigarettes and several empty pizza boxes covered the floor.

“Course we did, we know how to party. What? They don’t party like this in the states?” Niall said with a smile.

“Piss off, Niall. I know how to party and I know how to handle my liquor,” I said defensively. Niall and Harry laughed at that, joined by Louis as he lapsed into the room.

“You? You think you’re not a light weight?” Louis asked me, still laughing.

“I’m not a light weight!” I insisted. 

“Oh really, Ms. Blackout?”

“I can drink like any of you.”

“Says the girl who danced on the table last night,” Niall snickered, Louis joining in laughing. 

“I did what?”

“Oh so you don’t remember?”

“No, you twat, I don’t remember.”

“Good thing I got it on video then,” Louis said.

“Oh for fucks sake. Video? You’ve got a video of black out drunk me dancing on a table?” I asked.

“Well you and Sophia,” Louis answered. I put my head in my hands.

“I’m screwed, aren’t I?” 

“It’s not that bad, you two look quite fit actually, dancing on Liam’s dining room table in stilettos. But it’s nothing on the other photos I have.”

“For the love of all that is holy, what did you take a picture of that could be worse than a drunk dance on a dining room table?”

“Well for starters-” Louis started before Harry interrupted him.

“Lou,” Harry’s voice sounded beyond anxious. “Did you send any of those photos to anyone?”

“Course not, I’m not a bloody idiot.”

“How much of this party happened on the balcony?”

“Most of it, we only came in to go to sleep or get refills.”

“I’m fucked,” Harry said. “You’re fucked too,” he pointed at me.

“I’m fucked?” I asked, a little confused.

“You’re a uni student so it should blow over soon but until it does you’ll be getting, um, a lot of social media attention.”

“What are you going on about?”

“Here,” Harry handed his phone over to me, Niall and Louis peering over my shoulder to look at the screen. The headline read “what is it with Harry Styles and Skinny Blondes?”

“Oh my god, how? How did they get photos like this?”

“Probably just a pap with a good tipoff and a really good camera lense,” Harry answered. Below the headline, the article had a spread of photos of Harry and I, clearly sloppy drunk out on the balcony. 

The first photo was just of us standing close, his arm wrapped around the small of my back and my hand on his chest. The second and the third were a million times worse, one of us dancing together, my back to his chest and we both had cheesy, drunken grins plastered across our faces. The last was the worse.

Harry had a hand in my hair, the other still on the small of my back while I had both arms around his neck. Even from the bad angle, it was quite clear we were kissing.

I didn’t say a thing before I handed the phone back over to Harry. I still couldn’t remember a thing that had happened the night before. How could I not remember kissing him? I glanced up, to catch Harry staring at me. We held eye contact, no one knowing what to say in the awkward silence. Louis scooted around in his seat while Niall chewed at a pizza crust that had been sitting on the table in front of us.

“So, breakfast?” Harry suggested.