I made a Drarry Headcanon

Today, me and my class mate (let’s call her Fangirl) were talking about Tom Felton and Emma Watson.
Me: So yeah, Emma told interviewers that she had a major crush on Tom.
Fangirl: Yeah, and when she got over him Tom started liking her.
Me: Yeah I really hate the timing of this romance that never happened. I mean those two are cute but Dramione is a no.
Fangirl: Yeah, but J.K Rowling had said that the only reason apart from the fact that she was a muggle born, Draco only acted rude to Hermione because he liked her.
Me: *shrugs nonchalantly* Yeah, I mean, why do you think Draco is so rude to Harry.
So we both just like STOP and look at each other for like ten seconds and start screaming because
Me: IT’S CANONNN.
And the history Sir just looked at us like we were a bunch of crazy psychopaths for loving Canons. BUT YEAH.

bighit just announced they have around 240,000 collected evidence regarding antis spreading malicious rumors and false accusations, as well as defamation of bangtan members reputation, and will start with formal investigation to ppl involved in libel activities next week, and they’re gonna continue doing this without any intention of going soft on anyone or doing half-assed job you go bby you do that

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Viola Davis is not the “black Meryl Streep”. She is the first Viola Davis.

Originally posted by gifs-for-the-masses

No One’s Roasted Like Gaston.[Oneshot].

no one writes FANFICS LIKE EMILEE.

Originally posted by luuuuuke-evans

Title: No One’s Roasted Like Gaston.
Pairing: Implied!- Gaston x Reader.
Rating: T.
Words: 2,231.
Summary: Gaston thought he was undeniable to women and even some men. Has he finally found his match?


There was nothing particularly notable about the early mornings, at least, not anymore. The sky above was it usual mixture of pinks, purples and some lighter hues of blue as the sun rose and lit up the clouds, giving them a rather unique looking glow. There was a small wind, but not chilling, and brought in the lingering scent of meadows and trees. You got used to those aspects and they slowly became the norm. You began to not notice them at all, and remarked them as being every day life. If one wanted to really shake things up in a morning routine, they would count the cobblestones that made up each walkway in the village. But, that’s the thing. No one ever wanted to shake things up. They wanted things to stay the same for that is the way they had been living for as long as anyone could remember. With change came the unprecedented fear that something terrible would happen as a result.

It was the hustle and bustle of such a small village did leave one breathless and forgetful on occasion if you didn’t pay attention to where you were going and why you were going there in the first place. If one was aimlessly walking in the morning time while the sun peaked into the valley, one might be trampled by those selling goods and merchandise. Some too expensive, and some not expensive enough and left you wondering whether you had been scammed or if you had gotten a good deal.

Aimless and mindless were surely your vibe this beautiful morning. You had nowhere to be, nothing to do or see and so you actually took your time to walk through the village during one of the busiest times of day. There was a variant of smells, some of which you happened to thoroughly enjoy. Fresh bread, springtime air, a small caddy on the corner before the village square that was selling freshly picked roses. Contrary to the flowers smelling divine, the actual vibrancy of the colors caught your attention and dwindled you to stay and admire them for longer than you had intended . Vivid reds, pastel pinks, yellow whites. It looked as if these flowers belonged immortalized in a painting for the entire world to enjoy.

Smiling at the vendor who was a few feet to your right, you plucked a light, dusty pink rose out of one of the buckets full of water. It dripped down your fingers onto your wrist causing a small shudder to shoot down your arm. Miraculously, it looked as if a skilled painter had dipped their brush in the sky during dusk, mustered up enough color to splotch onto the petals of the flower. Some parts were darker than others, but all around, it was a very delicate and soft appearing flower.

“Beautiful.” You could hear someone behind you say. And without the need to turn around and see the speaker, you were already well aware of who it was. Probably looking at himself in the reflection of a window again, you snickered quietly. It was as if you could see the bright red uniform from your peripheral vision and it was already giving you a headache. Setting the flower back into the metallic bucket, you gave the vendor one more glance over and polite smile before drawing your attention to your left, with the unsuccessful hope of getting out of there without Gaston being connected at your hip.

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