#jdrabbles

[dryrsheet]

february - drarry server drabble challenge

No Rings "Drop" - 366 words Rating: Gen

“Alright,” Harry said, eyes intent on the ground. “Here’s the plan. Ron, you take the west, starting from the slide. Hermione, maybe start north? The water fountain– Perfect. Draco–”

Draco sat in the grass, his face in his hands. His back made a perfect arch of distress. 

“Draco, why don’t you just try and breathe,” Harry finished sheepishly. He brushed his sweating palms on his trousers and addressed the kids next. “Teddy, search the tunnel. I know you love the tunnel.”

“Yes, sir!” Teddy said with a toothy grin and goofy salute. He nudged Victoire. “What about–”

“Victoire can go with you,” Harry allowed. He rubbed at the line of tension in his forehead. “Dom, maybe you can take the west? We still need someone looking by the swings.”

Dominique tugged at a lock of her hair, watching her parents and a few other Weasleys sifting through dirt in the surrounding flowerbeds. “Alright, Uncle Harry.” 

“I can’t believe I dropped them,” Draco moaned into his knees.

“Breathe, Draco,” Harry reminded him. 

“Our engagement rings. I invited your entire family to watch me drop our engagement rings in a park.” Draco wheezed, eyes huge and wet when he leveled Harry with a look. “Why are you laughing!” 

Harry saved the south quadrant of the park for himself, mostly because it was where Draco was curled on the ground. He squatted next to him and took Draco’s hand from where it gripped his gorgeous, stupid ankle. “You haven’t even asked me yet, you know.” 

Squeezing his eyes closed again, Draco threw himself into the green grass. At least the day was sunny, spring already warming into an early summer, though Harry knew getting the grass stains out of Draco’s shirt would be a nightmare even with Molly’s arsenal of spells. “I haven’t even asked you yet!”

Carefully, Harry kneeled next to Draco’s side and tugged on his ear to regain his attention. “Ask me now.” 

Draco glared. “No. Even you wouldn’t say yes now.”

“Yes,” Harry replied succinctly, ignoring this. 

Draco sat up, a piece of grass still in his hair. “Yes?”

“Yes,” Harry repeated, then added, “I was always going to say yes. Rings or no rings.”

[taekwonduh]

TOTF; Kindle

the ultimate dream team: bts meets hogwarts.

Your first memory of him was at Ollivanders.

Both only four feet at best, and he, the better one, with wide curious eyes and itchy hands when faced with the fantastical extravagance that was your first trips to Diagon Alley. Still just a young wizard and witch, the pair of you, along with the other like-aged children shopping for school supplies to tide them through their first year at a Magical school, had only ever heard of Diagon Alley through the grapevine.

The world-renown wand supplier had been your last stop, and for him, his first. With two cauldrons full of textbooks and scrolls, and a charming Siamese cat waiting for you back at Magical Menagerie, you had waddled in full-handed, interrupting without intention a young wizard in the process of obtaining his very first wand.




A wiry old man was sitting atop a wobbly wooden ladder when you first entered with your cauldrons, and waiting eagerly at the foot was a boy not higher reaching than the length of a thumb compared to you. Though your access to the wizarding world was always limited, you recognized that this man was no ordinary employee— he had been in possession of “Ollivander” for a last name.

As you set down your baggage, the old man had pulled out a long narrow box from the stacks, clambered down his ladder and opened the box before the boy with flourish. In a croaky, well-ripened voice that reminded you of static over a radio, the man had said, “How about this one?”

And you could not help but take a step closer to peer over the boy’s shoulder as he took the wand into his tiny hand. Both you and he had given a moment or two to admire it, until it dragged a second too long into a daze, and Ollivander had cleared his throat.

“Well, go on, give it a wave!”

It was then that the boy finally noticed a third presence in the claustrophobic shop, nearly jumping out of his robes when he turned and found a girl’s face invading much of his personal space, eyes of caramel trained on the delicate tool held between their touching shoulders. His much-warranted flinch had led you to retreat right back between your cauldrons, mumbling an apology for the intrusion, and then a timid encouragement for him to try out his wand, but more so you could see some magic for yourself.




Strapped for words, the boy returned to the equipment in hand, seeming to hesitate for a moment before he performed a quick swish. Along with this gesture sprung a blast of wind throughout the little shop, blowing your shoulder-length chestnut-coloured mane out of your face, and at the same time, the disheveled and misplaced boxes at the higher-most shelves had rearranged themselves into sharp, uniform rows, restoring some order to the organized mess that was the ancient wand shop.

“Impressive…” Commented Ollivander as he straightened the greys of his hair and beard, “The paradoxical wand; it is no coincidence that a wand like this has chosen you, young wizard. Hawthorn wood is gathered from the tree that is both healing and deathly. Paired with a dragon heartstring core and you have yourself quite a tricky wand there. Double-edged, you must be warned. Handle it with care, and it shall do the same for you.”

“Th- Thank you.”

“And for you, young witch! You’re a curious one aren’t you?“ Beckoned by voice and his open palm, you had scurried forward to Ollivander’s immediate vicinity, absolutely brimming with expectation to perform something as spectacular as the boy had done before you. So you wait, rocking from heel to ball and ball to heel, as Ollivander once again mounted his ladder at a different shelf. After a calculated scan through, the man gingerly pulled out a white box. “Perhaps this.”

It was only a half surprise to find the boy still standing in the shop beside you even after he had placed the required sum of galleons on the rickety counter and tucked his wand in the pocket of his robes. Just like you had only moments ago, the boy stood with his body and attention turned to you, small hands folded neatly over his stomach as he watched with sleepy cat-like eyes.

The outcome of the clumsy flick you performed was nothing quite as admirable as the boy’s- instead you had caused every box of wand in the store, all thousands of them, to simultaneously flip upside down in a silly rebellion against the orderliness the boy had placed a portion of them in earlier.

“Blimey, perhaps not!“ Quick to react, Ollivander had taken the wand and returned it to its case, hastily slotting it back and retrieving another from a different shelf. Shuffling and tangling feet with his robes, he came back to you with a dusty brown box, and lifting the cover, he revealed a lightly tanned wand, edgy and rough, with a length three times that of your then child-like palms.

Carefully, you plucked the wand from its case, wrapping your fingers firmly at the grip before you lifted your gaze back to the wandmaker for affirmation. With a gracious, fatherly smile, Ollivander said, “Now, try.”

More gently now, you drew with your wrist a shallow U, and instantaneously the boxes flipped themselves back over, reshuffling into orderly lines. But at the last moment, just as your relieved smile blossomed full, the lids popped open, uniformly falling to the left side of its’ respective box.

Fortunately, Ollivander did not seem at all bothered by the ruckus you were orchestrating in his delicate shop. In fact his composure sort of hinted at a much worse experience that he might have dealt with before, for the grin overflowing with warmth and nostalgia stretched even wider through his snowy beard. “A wand of sycamore. Eager, brilliant, but curious, most of all. When matched with a like owner it demonstrates adaptability and speediness in learning new things. You will go far with this one.“

And so with pockets a little heavier, a heart a little lighter, you had exited Ollivanders, a young wizard absentmindedly trailing behind you, with whom you had forged a wordless and magical connection from that day forth. You turned to the boy, whose narrow eyes widened with startle at your direct attention. Even back then his personality contrasted his appearance so much. At that time you believed it could only be a good thing- that the tenderness and vulnerability were at least concealed, and thus, protected, by the aggressive and fearsome mask that was his natural features at rest. Although, later you would learn it was not the case at all.

Upon stepping back into the bustling shopping street, the skies had turned considerably moodier, with heavy grey clouds hanging low, and the distant rumble of an oncoming shower. The first droplets of rain hit you gently, landing on the tip of your nose, cold as a snowflake, before you stretched a hand beyond the small shelter Ollivander’s porch provided to gauge the rain. Just as the despair of being without weapon to combat the drastic weather change had begun to pelt down on your open palm, the boy beside you was rummaging through a purple velvet sack he carried. Though the bag was no bigger than half an arm’s length, he had managed to stick his entire hand from fingertips to shoulder joint as he searched through its contents. In doing so, his digging actions had caused some clanging, sounding oddly like pots and pans, before he finally pulled out a neat brown umbrella.

By then you had been more impressed by the charmed sack than his kind provision and you did not know you were staring, mouth agape, until he had extended his hand towards you and said, “You- You can use it if you want.”

Your own hand soon came to grasp the other end of the object, all this while your gaze flickered back and forth between his eyes and the umbrella in hand. Your uncertainty was met by a further push of the object into your hand, as well as a tiny, bashful smile upon his thin lips.

“But how will I return it to you?”

The boy was reaching into the sack once more, looking visibly more relaxed of the tension that once occupied his muscles. Now the smile looked a lot more natural and gracious. “At Hogwarts. That’s where you’re headed, aren’t you?” To your prompt nod, the boy continued, “then see you there.”

When the boy was gone with his own blue umbrella to shield him from the rain, you remained rooted under Ollivander’s porch, a sensation of falling flower petals amidst dizzy fireflies flowed over your skin, which was considerably warm- hot, even- compared to the cool weather you stood amidst. So with an umbrella labelled “YOON” in scrawled carving at its handle, you began your journey home in the opposite direction, looking forward, more than ever, to your coming years at Hogwarts.

That was your beginning with him, a beginning that felt like eons ago, buried so deep under all the new pages, all the new chapters, written in the years following that meeting. Though the duration it took to recall that encounter, to immerse yourself in the sounds, sights and sensations, grew longer and longer as time went by, and though your head might eventually become incapable of recalling and replaying this memory as accurately as you could now, you trusted your heart would remember.

You could never forget a boy like Yoongi.

[bestbusinessguides]

Refugee festival brings people together in downtown Winston-Salem - Winston-Salem Journal

Winston-Salem Journal

Refugee festival brings people together in downtown Winston-Salem Winston-Salem Journal Bantigue volunteers with the family to help them learn English. “I love that this festival celebrates the diversity of Winston-Salem,” she said. “Things like this bring us together and show us the world isn't so big after all.” jdrabble@wsjournal.com ...

source http://ift.tt/2vpYFH1 from Blogger http://ift.tt/2vpVLly July 15, 2017 at 10:44PM

[freeeasyenglishlessons]

Refugee festival brings people together in downtown Winston-Salem - Winston-Salem Journal

Winston-Salem Journal

Refugee festival brings people together in downtown Winston-Salem Winston-Salem Journal Bantigue volunteers with the family to help them learn English. “I love that this festival celebrates the diversity of Winston-Salem,” she said. “Things like this bring us together and show us the world isn't so big after all.” jdrabble@wsjournal.com ...

http://news.google.com/news/url?sa=t&fd=R&ct2=us&usg=AFQjCNHLnGCOT1QToFiMa5R20H0YRf709g&clid=c3a7d30bb8a4878e06b80cf16b898331&ei=xuBqWcDkHYj8zAatqqO4Aw&url=http://www.journalnow.com/news/local/refugee-festival-brings-people-together-in-downtown-winston-salem/article_00b66924-5619-5c4b-930a-5c01fc353ed0.html

[taekwonduh]

→ untitled vampire!au

Tags: Namjoon, angst, olden day au, PG

“You swore to father you would protect me, yet here we are, halfway ‘cross the damned country as you deliver me to the Capital that got him killed in the first place.”

“Well if you ask me-”

“-Better to someone we know than to a creepy old Lord on the other end of River Maisely.”

“There you go.”

Namjoon was a man that could not be out-talked, thus the headache that was slowly beginning to throb in crescendo at the back of your head while you tried to reason with him was warranted and expected. Or perhaps it was just the heatwave kicking in as your entourage of horses, carriages, carts and footmen pursue your third day of journey through the Drylands, an expanse of abandoned land that laid between the Capital and the rest of the nation. 

Sparse of words, you had made sure to announce your defeated frustration with a huff from your cracked lips, and your body angled away from the stiff authority that sat straight-spined, leveled-chin, fists-to-knees, opposite of you, the authority that you called brother. Namjoon made no comment of your otherwise characteristically petty response, one which you have unfailingly, for the past seventeen years of life, delivered when you yet again lose an argument to the boy that was your senior in every aspect you could think of. 

Determined to navigate away from the dreadful topic and even more dreadful destination that loomed ahead of your party, you had raised a tentative yet curious hand to the thick velvet drapes that hung protectively over the carriage windows, drawn shut for the entirety of your occupation in the suffocating, claustrophobia-inducing wooden box on wheels. 

The moment your fingertips had come into contact with the smooth, furry fabric, your brother’s voice had sounded, knowing and warning, “Don’t.” To this you were normally obedient of, particularly during the fragile months following the loss of a parent and a half, but call it the stormy adolescence of a flowering vampiric beauty, your brother’s warning went unheeded, and the drapes were drawn. 

There had been no deafening shriek, your skin did not burn, neither of you turned to ash. There was only gentle warmth upon cold, snow-like skin, a mild-temperatured breeze (much cooler than the stuffiness within) drifting past the small cut-out from which you were currently looking out. 

“That’s enough now, they are our men but the scent of a Pureblood tempts all men the same, especially when they are worn from travel.”

You had allowed for your arm to drop, and the drapes swung back into place. You turned back to look at him. “So let them rest. Dusk is upon us, they’ve been on the move for days.”

“We cannot afford to stop now. We are in the Drylands, we will not be able to fend off an attack by savages in their own territory. We will keep moving until we’ve reached Capital outskirts, then I will let them rest for two moons.”

It was a tendency of all younger sisters to retort their brothers, but you knew well enough that Namjoon was right. The Drylands was twice the size of the Capital, home only to creatures who have spent decades building skills and tolerance against the harsh elements of this desert. Nobles from all corners foreign to the territory would stand no chance if left unprepared.

Of the many unspeakable species that call the Drylands their home, Rabids were the most notorious. Far lower than the sinful product of a Pureblood Vampire and Human, Rabids were the final destination once Halfbloods completed their inevitable degradation, and they would suck the life out of anything remotely living, be it animal, man, or the Vampire they once were. The carcasses, completely dry of blood, left scattered throughout the plains was how the territory earned its’ name. 

Void of sanity and moral, Rabids were those who had fallen out of Vampiric rank, pests of the Council and predators of those who could not afford to build hundred-foot walls on the perimeters of their homes. The primary source of unrest and terror to the people, torching Rabids were the only way to properly exterminating them, so the Council had set fire to the area housing the highest concentration of Rabid-incited killings, thus the Drylands have and will continue to expand as the centuries go by.

“I still cannot believe you are sending me away.”

“The prince is shallow, simple-minded, predictable, and therefore controllable. It is much safer for you there than in the castle of some foreign Lord you have never even met. The prince you have at least seen before!”

“Yes, once.” Upon noticing the attitude that began to slip under your tone, the man diagonal to you had angled his chin down, and cat-like, amber eyes up in intolerance, as well as palpable condescension with just expression alone. But you forthrightly pushed forward with your argument, for you knew there was nothing else you could do but pitifully protest once a man like your brother had finalized his calculations. He was always more like father than you were. “Do you not remember what happened the last time we visited the Lunar Palace? He quite nearly executed a handmaiden for accidentally stepping on my dress- on his own inaugural!”

“Alright.” Along with the release of a breath that he might have been holding from the time you departed from your castle six days ago, Namjoon had broken out of his stiff posture, back hunching and shoulders deflating, arms folded loosely across his broad chest. “His decisions are not always the wisest or most merciful, but one thing is for sure and that is he will be the last person to ever hurt you.”

“How do you know that?”

“The prince likes pretty things, and rumours of your beauty have spread far beyond the Drylands.”

“Flattery is not going to change my position on this matter, if my position even means anything at all to you. He’s a tyrant, Namjoon, you’re marrying me to a maniac who gets off beheading anyone who dares drop an opinion atop his!”

When your sweet, tangerine hued eyes, bearing dead resemblance to your mother’s was raised to meet his, your brother only shifted his position so that he was now sitting directly across you instead of diagonal, his longer, thicker and sturdier legs meeting your own daintier, but not any less-travelled, ones at the tips of bent knees in the cramped confines of your carriage. In mulled silence, he took your fists, previously clenched agitatedly at your sides, into his broad and warm palms, clasping your ivory-skinned hands tight within his own.

“See? You already know what not to do around him. You are a smart girl, my sister, you will know how to protect yourself in the palace. I have my eyes in there too, I will not allow for any harm to come to you whilst you are there. And… if it comforts you any, at least the prince is young and handsome.”

“I don’t care for any of that.” Your voice had grown soft, inevitable when you were borderline terrified of the events that laid ahead of you once you have arrived at the Capital. “If father were here, he’d never let this happen.”

Your brother’s grasp sharply tightened, startling you enough for him to at least curb his voice into a gentler chide at last minute, all the while remaining darkly firm and reminding of the lack of presence of your valued guiding figure when he spoke his next words: “Well father’s not here.”

You had always strove to avoid bringing your father into any matter since his passing, out of pride that you did not want to be the one dragging your brother on a guilt trip when he was so young when the title as head of the family was thrust upon his shoulders and yet had still managed to wear it like a champion. But just as unprepared as he was in the beginning, you were, after all, a girl who grew up knowing only the warmth of her father’s cloak. 

“… We are the only ones left, we have to look out for each other. I only want the best for you, just as father has.”

“But I will miss you very much.”

In response to your affection, Namjoon had allowed for the first smile since you had left behind the familiar comfort of your home to smooth out the worried creases in his forehead, to even out the pinch between his brows. Now much more tender, more brotherly than leaderly, he said, “You may cry on the first night. But no more after that. Daughters of the South are as strong as sons, you must never forget that.”

[taekwonduh]

Home

Characters: Taehyung x Reader Words: 604

masterlist.

There are nights, although rare, when you arrive home from work to find Taehyung already sprawled on the loveseat, too-long limbs dangling off the edges, while Spirited Away screened on your television.

There are also nights when you come back to the smell of something burning in the corridor to your flat, the source of it being Taehyung trying to fix himself a meal of instant ramen. 

(… Is he cooking noodles with a spatula?)

In the former situation, you would drape his favourite fleece blanket over him, because he says it smells like you and your shampoo, and turn down the lights but leave the movie on. Because from experience, you know Taehyung has an inborn Spirited Away sensor that alerts him whenever you try to turn it off thinking he might sleep better.

And in the latter, he would hear you at the door and rush out to meet you, defending himself with a barrage of apologies and ’I was too hungry to wait’ and ’I’ll clean the mess I swear!’ before you could even remove your second shoe. Your only answer is ushering him back to the couch and tucking him into his fleece blanket with the promise of your homemade carbonara recipe, because Taehyung likes eating noodles on Thursdays.

When you’re about to plate, he comes slithering to you asking for a bite, but backs down when you cluck your tongue. He settles for locking your waist between his arms, chin on your shoulder, sleepy voice mumbling out another baritone apology that settles in the bed of your ear, warm lips planting flowery kisses down your jaw until he finally, finally gets to the corner of your lips.

(He never kisses you when you’re cooking. Probably because he won’t stop himself and neither of you will ever get to eat.)

You eat dinner over the coffee table, and even though it is the thousandth time you’ve seen this movie with him, you react enthusiastically to his commentary, only musing inwardly that it is amazing how he says the same thing about the same scene every time he watches it.

Taehyung literally fights you to do the dishes, because he can’t get over how sorry he is that he’s making you cook the moment you get back from a long day. And you let him, because the exhaustion is indeed starting to cling to your feet.

When you come out of a much needed shower, he’s already in bed, blanket tangled at his feet while he scrolls through some material on his smartphone. But he puts everything aside for you once you join him, his limbs moving to drape over yours in an instant.

In the summer he would smell of sweat and the body soap you share.

(He has his own “men’s” one, but he stopped using it once he decided he likes the smell of yours much better and you like the smell of it on him.)

In the winter he would smell of gingerbread cookies and cocoa.

(Perhaps because he has spent too long eating fragrant air in the bakery across the street that you sent him to buy Christmas log cakes from half an hour ago. But least he came back with a cake.)

And when you adjust and align the symmetries of your bodies, fitting together like a two-piece puzzle, when the commotion of whatever type of day you both had led settles down into quiet breathing and the sound of your hearts beating to one rhythm, it is then that you decide there is no place like his embrace.

That there is no place like home.

[taekwonduh]

Characters: Taehyung x (she/her) Reader Words: 319 Next: (x)

You first see him at your front yard, which, you think, is a tad too deep into your boundaries for a first meeting. You see him in a navy blue polyester uniform of a short-sleeved button shirt and shorts, white socks that reached up to mid-shin, polished black shoes whose shine was rivaled only by that of the sparkle in his chocolate brown eyes.

You see him retrieve two cartons of milk from his oversized shoulder bag, almost two times his size, and place it tenderly atop the daily paper. You see the jump in his step, the joviality, the goodness of his spirit, the peace of knowing how the cruelly the world worked and having the ability to accept it for the way it was.

Every day he would come, and every day you would watch him from the corner of your bedroom window, how he would first align the newspaper along the potted flowers by the front gate, how he would then place two cartons of milk side by side in perfect symmetry. If the neighbour had been walking their golden retriever, he would stop to say hello, gentle petting hands lingering as long as they can before he has to mount his bike and move on to the next house.

Time goes by, he grows into his uniform, his shoulder bag no longer looking like it could swallow him whole. The seasons change, the neighbours come and go, but each morning at six o’ clock, the boy would arrive without fail, sometimes with a skip in his step, sometimes with feet so heavy even the radiant smile on his face could not lift it up.

You watch peacefully, patiently, waiting for the day he would lift his head and look through your window. But your first love ends up tasting like sour milk and dew of all the mornings you waited and Taehyung no longer came.