#if i was a writer i’d be on That

[loaksreya]

i wish there were more miles quaritch daughter reader fics

[tryingonametaphor]

when they make byler canon i’m so sure that all the duffers are gonna say in an interview is “we’ve been planning this for a while. if you go back and watch the seasons you may pick up on some things you didn’t before�� and just move on to the next topic

[writeouswriter]

Look, look, some of the deepest, most intricately detailed, real and profound media I’ve ever seen is also the stupidest, most ridiculous and strangest media I’ve ever seen, promise me you’ll get real weird with it

[perplexingly]

Something both sappy and silly I think the summer is getting to me

The water was still low and they could walk across safely

[cptnwynnie]

Normally, Edwin would probably find a piggyback ride very undignified, but landing in another universe is a rather tiring experience. So, extenuating circumstances and all that…

[toomanylesbiancouples]

That emptiness feeling you get when neither of your fanfic writers have updated their stories and you keep on refreshing their pages but nothing comes up

[ohthewh0rror]

Honestly I love accidentally going back in time reader x Tom Riddle cuz there is alot you can do with it.

I always had this idea of the reader being a muggleborn and having to hide it as they are placed in slytherin. (Which was not their house in the present) and like they have to navigate trying to adjust to the time period and also staying alive with tom always suspicious of them.

I love you and I love this because this almost the exact premise that I think of.

Picture this:

The year? 1996. The setting? Department of Mysteries. 16 year old, Hufflepuff!Muggleborn!Reader being chased through the Ministry. Wand broken, head bleeding, finds herself in a dead end hallway. She hears Dolohov before she sees him, knowing she can’t turn back, darts through the first door she sees and locks it.

She presses her back to the door, eyes shut, trying to control her breathing and just think. Her mind is racing and she feels dizzy, no idea last for longer than a second and she’s forced to open her eyes and inspect her surroundings to see if there’s anything that could help her get out of this place. She was expecting a normal office, one where the walls are filled with photographs and achievements, and a wooden desk sitting in the center covered in personal charms and paperwork.

Instead, it’s a room with singular marble pillar with a small glass box sitting a top of it. Reader takes tentative steps towards it, unsure of what could deserve its own room. As she reaches the pillar she finally sees what’s within the box: a time turner.

She’s hesitant, she didn’t know much about time travel or the intricate details of the effects of time travel, but she just needed to go back an hour. If she could go back an hour she could do something, anything to prevent being stuck in room with a sociopath hot on her heels.

Her hands reach for the glass case, gently opening it, fearful that anything other than a gentle touch would somehow break it. Her hands shake and palms sweat as she holds the fragile rings in her fingers. As she goes to turn the rings, Dolohov’s voice booms down the hallway she was just in, taunting her, trying to coax her to come out.

Her body jolts at the sudden noise and the time turner slips from her grasp. She scrambles to catch it, but it evades her. The time turner hits the wooden floor and the shattering of glass and thudding of golden rings echoes in the quiet room. Reader doesn’t have enough time to panic because just as Dolohov bust through the door, her vision blurs as she feels herself being dragged backwards.

When Reader comes to again her head is pounding and she can feel the vomit quickly making its way up her esophagus. She has enough time to roll onto her hands and knees before it’s spilling out her mouth and onto the cold stone beneath her. If she wasn’t actively vomiting she would have jumped at the feeling of hands pulling her hair back. The person holding her hair waits until she’s finished to ask her if she’s alright.

She gives a weak yes, looking at the kind person that decided to help her, but her heart plummets to her feet. Before her is the most beautiful boy she has ever seen. His hair dark and wavy, perfectly slicked back with a pristine uniform, not a wrinkle in site. She can smell the faint hint of cologne coming off his white button down and if she wasn’t internally shitting herself she would have leaned into his kind touch. But this is no ordinary boy, it’s a 16 year old Tom Riddle, and the curiosity shining through his eyes makes her blood run cold.

A curious Tom Riddle is a dangerous Tom Riddle, and she has just made herself the prime focus of his curiosity.

[ryderwritings]

“nobody will ever be interested in what i write!” false. i am interested. please tell me about what you write

[doni030]

a study of max from the quarry bc im kind of in love with her idk.. 🩷 ^_^

no reposts/any use of my art without permission

[it-meant-nothing]

Evan Peters and Michael Fassbender when they read the Dark Phoenix script and learned that there was no dadneto reveal and that they don’t have any scenes together:

Meanwhile, us:

[4catsinacult]

Listen I love Logan Howlett as much as the next person but why isn’t there more appreciation for some of Hugh’s other characters?

(Please I am begging)

[chr13sakop]

There was supposed to be a post before this but i haven’t finished it yet, so take this for now ig.

Modern au where (honestly just a continuation to the one in my head) Luffy is still working at the baratie cuz he crashed a car into the restaurant, and his friends and brothers come to the restaurant to make fun of him. At this point he and Sanji are dating maybe his friends know, maybe Sabo too, but Ace definitely doesn’t. So Luffys cleaning the table or something?? And His friends and Ace are like making fun of him and then Sanji starts to come over and Ace sees him and is like ‘holy shit a hot blond, gotta lock in’ and so he’s thinking of a million pick up lines he could try right now only for Sanji to come over and peck Luffy on the cheek and tell him to go clean up another table. Ace’s jaw on the floor. Head bangs against the table. Completely devastated cannot believe his dumb little brother bagged someone like that. Sabo is most definitely making fun of Ace now dying of laughter and Sanji is probably really confused and is genuinely like “oh my gosh is he okay?” Luffy is definitely feeling very smug even if he doesn’t show it, “don’t worry he’s always like that, narpepsi runs in my family remember.” “It’s narcolepsy hun” Sanji kisses his head laughing a little, Ace ofc had lifted his head at that point and then banged it again. “Oh my gosh Luffy seriously is he okay” Luffy grabs him by the hip and walks off “yeah he’s fine don’t worry about it” and maybe he turns around to stick his tongue out at Ace.

[about-faces]

“… and I’m sorry for leaving you in the dark.”

[shortbreadly]

went a bit crazy over the weekend and apparently got over my fear of drawing perez

[ninacarstairss]

actually i’m not done with the poseidon stuff. i love all the changes they made and i love all the stuff they kept exactly the same. there’s a fourteen years old me somewhere in the past that is violently sobbing because she finally heard poseidon say the sea does not like to be restrained. there’s the child of divorce in me that is still reeling from last week’s episode with poseidon coming in a heartbeat when sally calls for him. there’s the little hopeful kid in me that is so thankful to the writers for changing the game so that percy missed the solstice deadline and poseidon showed up in a split second to save him, even if it meant surrendering and losing the war to his brother. and there is present me, who just heard poseidon ask his son if his mother taught him greek with that bewildered but actually more than knowing look, because of course sally jackson taught percy ancient greek. there is present me who heard a week ago that poseidon would be by his son’s side when the time came, and he finally was, not just in the fight with ares, because that was actually all percy, that was his powers and his wit. no he was by his side when percy insulted the god of the skies and nearly got himself blasted out of existence, and poseidon came right away just as he did for sally. and when percy finally asked his question, not even knowing how little it took for poseidon to show up in a cafe as soon as sally called all those years ago, poseidon looked at him with the pain of a lifetime spent apart, because how could he ever not dream about sally jackson?

[pupyr0arz]

To Color

to influence, especially in a negative way; distort or exaggerate.

Soap x m!reader: references to reader being AMAB, being a gay man, being in a gay relationship, etc. minimal pronouns. Part 1.

Summary: Every human on earth sees the world in blacks and whites and grey until they touch a specific individual, romanticized as their fates love. You don’t buy into that, you’re happy as you are and don’t need or want a stranger barging into your life just because your eyes decided they were important. Johnny disagrees with this conclusion.

warnings: Johnny is a bad, bad man, and reader is going to be miserable for a while, sorry. General cws for creepy, pushy behavior, sexual harassment, stalking, and Johnny not respecting Reader’s autonomy or ability to choose. More warnings may be added. Mentions of sex. Minors DNI

@gatlily @focalor-hydro-archon hey pst. Pssst.

Soulmates are overrated, overhyped, over-mentioned, over talked about. It’s awfully inescapable, in movies, in ads, on the news, in books, and the looks you get for complaining about it, like you’ve declared a blood feud on the concept. You just want some peace from the expectation and all the assumptions of glitz and glamor for five goddamn seconds, but lately that blood feud is looking mighty tempting.

Your cynicism in regards to fated lovers wasn’t part of anything dramatic, like in the movies where the skeptic always got revealed to be the child of a divorce caused by soulmates or something equally inane. Your parents weren’t soulmates, which was honestly average. Most people never met their soulmates and lived perfectly fulfilling lives. Soulmates weren’t the end all be all of love, and when they did show up they certainly didn’t all fall into the simple shapes a romcom would tell you.

Your father could see color, his soulmate was platonic in his cousin, the two of them were close friends and they lived just down the street. You’d come up on the porch while your cousins played in the yard and sipped sour lemonade and bother them about how colors looked, and they’d argue about shades and how to describe it. Your father always wanted you to meet your soulmate, wistfully regaling the first time he ever saw the blueness of the sky. Uncle Jeremy would just pinch your cheek and wave you off with a laugh. You had a really normal childhood, honestly.

You got tired of the game in high school, when blossoming hormones and teen drama rocked the school for weeks on end over and over about the same damn things. You were old enough to really have coherent opinions about the world, and fated lovers had turned from funny stories from your father and ads on tv to in your face irritants. One of your friends friends faked seeing color for two weeks to date a guy she really liked. You weren’t extremely close to either, you sat with them at lunch and watched them in periods and they seemed happy. He dumped her in a flash, and moped around school afterwards and all you could think about was why color seemed to matter so much to people.

It sounded fantastical, sure, you wouldn’t mind having an extra sense. You daydreamed about color coming to you in a whirl, setting the world alight in a billion lights, seeing things in new clarity and depth. It was hard to imagine, some other attribute lurking just outside of vision that stained the world in strange, vivid ways.

Bonded people opened museums, attractions built for viewing color in odd ways that blended and blurred together to your black and white vision. Hidden objects and paintings and other things that they cooed over, long essays about vibrancy and the million metaphors for color. You don’t really buy into any of it, if you could taste the crispness of a shade of ‘red’ then what’s the deal with feeling it with your eyes? You’ve eaten apples before, you don’t need to see the flavor to enjoy it. Why should you be so desperate to sacrifice so much, when you already have senses that give you joy?The thing is, with fantastical things is that they’re fantasy, they aren’t grounded in anything solid or real, and you weren’t enthusiastic to take that leap of faith and step onto open air and pray it was a trust fall, not a jump to your death.

You could live without color, and honestly thousands and thousands of people got on perfectly fine. It’s not like any part of society was really based on seeing color these days, other than the fine arts. You weren’t artsy anyways, you never managed to get into it. So what if you didn’t really know whatever ‘green’ really was, did it really mean the end of the world? the end of a relationship? Why would you throw away something that made you happy, something stable, for a complete stranger? Your mother was perfectly happy with your father, and she had never met her soulmate. What if your soulmate was a family member, or a friend? Why did everyone always hold out hope they’d find a perfect marriage partner, when it seemed like soulmate bonds could be something like a perfect smoking buddy to a perfect brother? Honestly, romance didn’t seem so dependent on the whole farce at all. You could build something that didn’t need anything but whites and blacks and all of the shades between. You might not be able to see the red of a rose, but you could enjoy the shades of gray that painted the world with someone you could trust to always hold your hand and have your back.

You dated a handful of people, most of whom were still holding out hope of brushing fingers with their ‘truest love’ to see the beauty in the world. As you got older, more likeminded people cropped up, less likely to vanish and ghost you to wander off on their ‘journey’ to find their soulmate. You had your first kiss, lost your virginity, moved in and out with other people. Relationships blossomed and fizzled and died and you picked yourself up afterward with the occasional thought of ‘Jesus, I couldn’t imagine trying to make THAT one work as my one and only’ before you carried on. But all of that was before, in the section of your life cut so neatly and sharply in two that it was hard to believe they were ever, or could ever be joined.

All before you met him.

You met him on a dating app, which was remarkable enough. It was built for quick hookups, but most dating apps that advertised themselves for long term relationships were soulmate based and you found that crowd to be endlessly irritating. He’s bi-curious, you’re the first man he’s ever dated and honestly that almost turns you off entirely. But you decide you have no better prospects at the moment, so what the hell.

Charlie’s cute, and he greets you with a nervous smile and can barely meet your eyes, he tells you with red eats that he’s ninety nine percent sure that he’s gay and that his friend has been begging him to just take them plunge and you nod and give him some dutiful advice. You’re definitely not looking to be a guys experiment, that rarely ends well, but he invites you out to dinner where he loosens up after a glass and goes on an impassioned rant about theater etiquette and suddenly things are actually interesting and you’re talking too loudly for the table over but you couldn’t care less.

He’s funny, nervous but out there and you talk about musicals you’ve never heard of and tv shows he’s never seen for forty five minutes before you reach across the table and grab his wrist. The sex is light, he makes you laugh through blunders like banging his head against the wall and you kiss afterwards and it feels light and sweet. It’s blissful, honestly, something you’ve forgotten you were missing at all until you’ve been handed it. You keep things non penetrative, he’s far from trying bottoming and you’re not a fan of being on the other side of it, and you have plenty of fun keeping him awake with all the other options. You talk to him again the next day, and then the next, and then his number is in your phone and you’ve been going steady for months.

Charlie isnt a perfect Prince Charming, he’s got his issues. He’s over the top and he pushes himself to meet standards and crumbles at the last second and you’ve had your fair share of screaming arguments. Work is stressful and some nights you go to bed in different rooms because you can’t stand dealing with him. You have your own issues and Charlie complains more than once, rightfully you’re forced to admit, about you being cold and reclusive when you get angry at him, and you’ve had to buy apology ice cream more than a couple times. But you have movie nights and kisses and cake together and a warm, building feeling in your chest. You go out to the zoo, try and fail to learn how to knit together and eat buttered toast with too much black pepper over the kitchen sink on Saturday mornings. You don’t get into anal but he gets really good at giving blowjobs, and those slept mornings spend kissing and exploring each others bodies fill you with a precious glow.

Charlie isn’t your one size fits all, but you’ve managed to find him a slot in your puzzle, and built him a home in your heart together. You love Charlie, and he loves you too, tells you so with cheesy flowers and you buy him one of those dumb necklaces that click together that you totally don’t love. He brings you lunch at work and you drive him home from visiting his parents, and your friends are fine enough with his to go drinking together every couple of times. His best friend does your tarot readings and gets an awful tattoo you laugh about together. You cry and he doesn’t

Life is good. It’s not effortless, it’s not magic, but it’s good because you made it so. You’ve pushed and pulled and made something with your bare hands, and you have the luxury to sit back and watch the alabaster glow of the sun brighten Charlie’s face into a million beautiful shades of gray.

Life settles into a comfortable rhythm, and soon Charlie’s inviting you as plus one to a wedding and you start thinking about rings and commitment.

That’s all before you met him, though.

It happens like in a storybook, so trite that hours after it happens you’re wondering if you suffered some serious brain damage. Maybe you got hit by a car, or had a delayed reaction to the weed your friend passed you last week, or something happened to scramble your thoughts into this strange new unreality.

You’re visiting the library when it happens, dropping by after your shift to pick up some new reading material, not looking where you’re going. Charlie’s texting you a million and a half recommendations while you’re planning on picking up some awful garbage to groan and complain about later while he makes fun of you, and you’re typing a dick joke involving one of the sillier titles you spotted on the shelves. You bump into him, not a shoulder check but you run into him like a wall and he barely stumbles back. You’re not a small guy in the slightest but he’s built like a brick shithouse, Jesus.

“Ah, hell, sorry man.” You apologize, giving him a sheepish smile. “My foul. I should watch where I’m going.”

He doesn’t puff up with anger or anything but flashes you a toothy smile, so you relax. “Dinnae worry ‘bout it, mate.”

Oh, he’s Irish or something, the accent is thick as all hell. It sparks your interest, a definite standout from the midwestern folks living here, and you don’t rush away to continue your browsing. You don’t walk away, like you should’ve, you don’t realize that in two years this will have become your biggest, most shameful regret.

He peers down at you, light eyes, ivory maybe? He’s got a weird haircut, some kind of half committed Mohawk thing. It’s an awful haircut, really shitty, so you politely avert your eyes from the active train wreck and send a prayer for any casualties, and realize you’ve dropped your phone on the ground.

“Ye dropped—“

“Ah, let me—“

You both reach for it at the same time, and your fingers brush, and the world changes, and you have all of a half a second to freeze in shock and confusion before you accidentally headbutt him and fall over.

Maybe he had a thick enough skull to really hurt you. You would know.