#otherwise I’m flying to Turkey to have a word with the writer

[punchdrunkdoc]

OK but the ending of Yargi season 1 is a big fake-out/misdirect, right?!

SOMEONE PLEASE TELL ME THAT ITS NOT REAL!!! MY HEART CANT TAKE IT!!

#yargı #yargi #it better be a fat load of concocted nonsense #otherwise I’m flying to Turkey to have a word with the writer #because holy shit what a plot twist #turkish telly

[orbitariums]

winter with a weasley | fred w. + black fem. reader

i was tired of searching high and low for hp imagines with black readers so !! here goes my own :) send me recs of hp writers who write for black girls!!!

reader is a black woman and a ravenclaw!

happy holidays <333

word count: 5k

     The pitter patter of snow could be heard from inside the dimly lit library, wet snowflakes streaking down the window panes of the large window beside you. The night sky was falling upon you, twinkling stars forming around the top of the castle. The air was clear, no fog to be seen, but your eyes were glazing over as if you were in the midst of a fog storm anyway, your nose buried deep in a copy of “Winograd’s Wondrous Water Plants.” You blinked away the sleepiness clouding up your eyesight, stifling a yawn. The candle in front of you threatened to burn out, and you flicked a lazy finger towards it, the flame rising once again. You were grateful for the cozy, thick sweater Luna had knitted you, protecting you from the slight chill that was penetrating the glass window. You pulled it closer to you, though its warmth threatened to make you fall asleep. 

     You had hardly realized that your cheek was dragging against your palm, and that your eyes were feeling droopier than ever, until you were jolted to a start when you heard Harry Potter’s voice from beside you. He was standing at the side of the otherwise empty library table that you were sitting at, a book clutched beneath his arm. 

     “There you are, everyone’s been wondering where you were. Well, mainly Fred,” Harry admitted, his eyes glancing at you, hunched over your book with nothing but candlelight in front of you. “What’re you doing in the library anyway, exams are over.”

You pushed your shoulder blades back, relieving some of the tension in your body from being curled up with books for hours after classes had ended for the winter break. You were slightly relieved to see Harry, as you were starting to get sort of a headache from all the words jumbling up together on the page. You replied with a small smile.

     “Just doing some after-exam review, that’s all. I want to see what I missed, if anything. 

That way I’ll know what to study harder for next time, that’s all,” you shrugged, and Harry couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face.

     “Just like Hermione,” he noted. “I’m only in here because I’m returning a book. Fred will think you’ve gone mental, studying after exams.”

You chuckled to think of the pink-faced, tousle-haired Weasley twin. He was crazy about you, and everyone knew it. You, on the other hand, were far too focused on your studies to pay him any real attention. He was a distraction, and a horrible one at that— you’d never ace your exams if you were with him, he’d probably have you helping set up him and George’s next prank. Your playfully unamused demeanor towards his advances didn’t stop him anyway, he still teased you and flirted with you every chance he got, because no matter how much you told yourself you shouldn’t have a boyfriend, he always caught how bashful you became at his flirtatious remarks.  

     “Well, he’ll survive, won’t he?” you shook your head playfully, and Harry nodded in the other direction, out of the library.

     “Take a break, we’re having a little party in the common room, you should join us,” Harry suggested, and you took one glance from your books to the lanky boy in front of you before sighing and closing your book. Why not?

     When you clamored through the entrance to the common room after avoiding the Fat Lady’s attempt at a poor rendition of Deck the Halls, you were met with all the holiday cheer you’d ever need for a lifetime. The Gryffindor common room, already in the Christmas spirit with all its red furniture, was draped in Christmas lights and holiday wreaths. The sound of holiday music blasted through the room, bewitched so that it was unable to be heard by passersby, in the hopes that no one would break up their little party. 

     The smell of baked goods wafted past your nose as you entered, and you found your stomach growling— you’d spent lunch studying, hardly eating a thing, and you’d skipped out on dinner to huddle up in the practically deserted library. In the corner of the room was a tree that changed colors each time someone passed by it, and you could see aggravated gnomes shuffling about on one of the window sills, griping about how they were forced into itchy, tiny holiday sweaters. The room was warm and full of Christmas cheer, and you could even spot a student with a permanent drizzle of snow over their head, covered in a coat and a beanie with white flakes spotting the top. 

     You couldn’t help but giggle at the sight, covering your mouth with your hand. You were glad Harry had gotten you out, otherwise you’d probably still be in the library half-asleep. This was much, much better, and you weren’t just saying that. You could see Hermione and Ron approaching you, broad grins on their faces.

     “There you are! We were hoping you’d show up,” Hermione gave you a hug, followed by Ron.

     “Harry says you were in the library. Honestly, I don’t understand you two,” Ron said, meaning you and Hermione. 

Hermione rolled her eyes while you just chuckled, though you were promptly distracted,

     “Well, I’m here now. Is that treacle fudge?”

You headed over to the table of food in a hungry daze, your mouth threatening to water the closer you got to it. You were stacking on food onto a holiday themed plate before you knew it, chicken legs smothered with gravy, greens, cornish pasties, pumpkin sandwich cookies, and treacle tart. You were about to grab utensils, your eyes focused on the table below you, until you were barricaded by two all-too-familiar figures on either side of you. You sighed in exasperation, looking up at Fred Weasley, who was in front of you, then turning to George Weasley, who was directly behind you. 

     “Fancy seeing you here!” George exclaimed, a wide grin on his face. 

     “Really, would’ve thought you were gonna be a no-show!” Fred cupped your shoulder with his hand, spinning you to face him.

     “Though, how could he miss you?” George started, making you turn again to face him this time.

     “You positively light up the room when you walk in,” Fred answered George smoothly, spinning you by the shoulder yet again for you to face him.

You were dizzy from the amount of times the twins had you spinning this way and that, but you steadied yourself in enough time to wag your finger disapprovingly at Fred, the main culprit in all this,

     “Must you always surround me?”

You reached for a fork and a knife, but Fred conjured both from his robes pocket, teeth sparkling as he grinned widely at you. 

You rolled your eyes, but took the fork and knife anyway, muttering a thanks.

     “Really though, where were you?” Fred asked, following you even as you walked away, side by side. 

     “The library,” you answered shortly, and Fred stared at you, shaking his head in clear disdain,

     “Honestly, woman, don’t you ever take a break?”

You turned to face him, snickering as you rolled your eyes and took a bite of your treacle fudge,

     “Don’t you ever take a break?”

Fred smirked, poking underneath your chin with a coquettish finger,

     “Not from you.”

You couldn’t help the heat that flooded your cheeks even if the response was corny. Fred Weasley was always quick on his feet, and never one to back down from a challenge. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t like him in the way he so obviously liked you. It was so amusing to watch, even if it could be annoying— no matter what, Fred was shamelessly, devastatingly in love with you. He wasn’t embarrassed to be turned down, or to show it in the only ways he knew how: through poking fun at you and using the most annoying, yet memorable pick up lines in the book on you. 

     “I’ve noticed,” you cocked your head with a smug expression, and Fred only shook his head, gearing up to say something just as smug as you until he was interrupted by the soft hum of Luna Lovegood’s voice as she zoomed up behind you, happy to see you wearing her sweater.

     “YN!” she exclaimed, her voice wispy and cheerful as usual. 

     You turned to face her, completely dismissing Fred, who decided he’d get you back later. You engulfed her in a hug, and the two of you got to talking, dancing, and sharing a jug of butterbeer that George had smuggled in. 

You had finished the jug and your food, and you were laying back on one of the couches in front of the crackling fireplace, which was roaring high with orange-hued flames. You were tired, but the good kind, not from spending hours hunched over a book this time around, but from partying and eating so much you could hardly move. Ron, on the other hand, was sitting on the floor in front of you, scarfing down another turkey leg. 

      “Honestly, Ron, do you ever stop eating?” Hermione hissed on the floor beside him, and Ron frowned, whining through a mouthful of food,

     “It’s the holidays, Her-my-knee, let me live for once.”

     Apparently, it was now time for the gift giving, which the Weasley twins were in charge of emceeing, and they were making a very big deal of it. Each time someone was up to give a gift, they used their wands as microphones, their voices booming around the room as they called the names of the people meant to collect their gifts from the receiver. Harry had gotten Ron a Chudley Cannons quidditch shirt, you already had Luna’s sweater and you had given her a pair of flying sneakers to make flying that much easier. All the gift-giving and receiving was quite lovely to watch, and everyone ended up satisfied. The twins had made sure no one left empty handed, giving people goodies that would probably turn into toads in an hour or two. 

     “And now, the last present of the night, and we truly do save the best for last,” George announced with a proud, thunderous voice. 

Fred eased up beside George like a sneaky weasel, George throwing an arm around his shoulders. Fred had something in a sparkly, glittering gift bag, and everyone was intrigued, leaning forward to see what it was. 

     “Take it away, Freddy,” George patted Fred’s shoulder, then slinked away so Fred could have the floor all to himself. 

     “This gift goes out to a special someone,” Fred wiggled his eyebrows, deliberately making his voice deeper, and everyone started to hoot lowly. “A certain little smartypants Ravenclaw girl who has my heart.”

You chuckled, rolling your eyes playfully and looking away from Fred, who had zeroed in on you. 

     “She’s a bit shy,” Fred joked, making the room erupt in laughter. 

     “Go on!” Luna prodded you, her eyes twinkling as she smiled at you. 

      You lugged yourself up off the couch and got up, making your way over to Fred, who was standing in front of everyone next to the color-changing Christmas tree, which burned a passionate red when you stood in front of Fred. 

     “You idiot,” you remarked playfully, and he only grinned, handing you the bag.

     “See what’s inside, won’t you!” George hollered, and you glared at him before opening the bag. 

     Inside was a flower in a pot full of red soil. Not just any flower, but perhaps the most beautiful flower you’d ever seen. Its leaves, a pale pink color, seemed to shine, light radiating off of the petals and basking your face in a warm glow. The petals were fat and wide, spiraling at the end into little hollow heart shapes, all of which were of varying colors. As it got closer to the center, the colors of the flower grew into deeper myriads of pinks and purples. You had never seen such a plant before, and you were a top herbology student, plants and flowers were your specialty. It was so beautiful, and probably rare as well. You didn’t know what you were expecting, but nothing like this. You were so surprised, you half expected it to be a prank of Fred and George’s, thinking it might transfigure into a mole rat.

     The rest of the students in the packed common room were just as shocked as you were, gasping and whispering amongst themselves, immediately enamoured by the unique beauty of the flower that made cooing noises in your hand like a little puppy. 

     “Fred,” you gasped, looking up at him with widened eyes.

     “Thought it’d fit you, know you’re into plants and all that smart people stuff,” Fred grinned, clearly satisfied with your reaction. 

     “I-it’s amazing, I-”

     “That’s not all, he’s got more for you in the bag!” George cut you off, and Fred shoved him playfully, laughing, 

     “Shut up, you bloke! Let her see for herself.”

     You ruffled through the bag, which was indeed full of your favorite sweets— honeydukes chocolate, pepper imps, Bertie Bott’s Every Flavored Beans, chocolate frogs, and more. You could hardly generate a response, your mouth stuck open in an o-shape. You liked Fred, but you didn’t expect this from him.

You chuckled, still shocked, and grinned, bemused,

     “Fred, this really is a lot, I honestly didn’t expect it. I-I don’t know how to thank you!”

Before you knew it, you were lunging forward to embrace him, hugging him tight in front of everyone. He was lucky he could cover his face in your shoulder, because he was red as a tomato. You gazed at the flower in your hands when you pulled away, still entranced by it. 

     “‘M glad you like it,” Fred murmured almost shyly, the first you’d ever heard him sound anything other than cocky.

You frowned, truly feeling terrible— you weren’t expecting anything from Fred, and so you didn’t get him anything. Now you felt horrible, standing there empty handed when he’d just given you the most thoughtful, beautiful gift. 

     “Oh, Fred, I didn’t get you anything!” you bemoaned, your eyebrows furrowing together. “I feel horrible.”

     “‘S alright, you’ll make it up to me,” Fred smirked, leaning back against the wall of the fireplace and folding his arms. 

The room filled with a plethora of suggestive “oohs” and “ahhs”, and when you turned to face Ron, you saw he had gone red from watching his brother flirt with you, meanwhile Harry was stifling a laugh, and Ginny was burying her face in her knees while Hermione rolled her eyes. You looked back over at Fred and couldn’t help but smile, shaking your head slowly. 

     “I just might have to,” was all you said, George leaping onto Fred in celebration. 

After the gift giving was over, well, it had ended with you, (and it really was best for last), the party started to wind down as people began to say their goodbyes and make their way back to their dorms. Most people would be going home for Christmas, but you’d be staying here at Hogwarts, scraping by with the few friends who would still be there. But, you weren’t getting away with it that easy. While talking with Fred, George, Hermione, Ron and Harry, you mentioned how you’d be staying in the castle for break. They all made an uproar in disagreement, shaking their heads and complaining.

     “That’s rubbish, you’ve got to at least come to our place over break,” George threw his hands up, and Fred nodded vigorously— you couldn’t help but think this had been on his mind the longest.    

     “Yes, do come to The Burrow, I’ll be there as well,” Hermione insisted, clutching your arm. 

You smiled, looking around at all the needy faces. You hadn’t expected them to be so welcoming, it was already a full house. You didn’t want to intrude, “Won’t your mom be so busy? I mean, all of us? I don’t want to make her holiday stressful.”

     George scoffed, 

     “The woman will make it stressful no matter what.”

     “Really. Besides, mum loves you,” Fred persisted. “She can’t get over me being with a smart Ravenclaw girl who’ll keep me out of trouble.”

You snorted,

     “But I’m not with you.”

     “You will be,” Fred shrugged, unbothered, and you refused to meet his eye because you knew you wouldn’t be able to restrain your smile if you did look at him. 

     “Come on, just come with us! We’ll be leaving in a few days and get there just a day before Christmas Eve, that’s more than enough time to pack your things,” Ron demanded, and you couldn’t help but give in, your body shaking with laughter. 

     “Alright, alright, I’ll spend the holiday with you.”

The circle of friends erupted into cheers, and you grinned, your sparkling eyes meeting Fred’s, who was truly glad he’d have you there for the break. 

     Things were really beginning to wind down shortly after, and you were getting ready to head back to your dorm and go to bed. Luna had already left, and you were one of the few people still remaining. You’d spent the rest of your time talking to that circle of friends, though Fred got next to you whenever he could and talked your ear off. When you were on your way to leave, holding your gift in its sparkly gift bag from Fred, you turned around at the sound of footsteps thudding behind you. It was Fred, running up to you, coming to a stop in front of you,

     “YN, wait. I’ll walk you back to your dorm.” 

     “Sure,” you grinned warmly. 

You and Fred left together, walking side by side in the dark, winding halls of the castle. You talked quietly, Fred taking any chance to make you laugh, and you did laugh each and every time. You stopped in front of your dormitory and stood there, facing each other, not quite saying anything, just smiling stupidly at each other. It was almost humorous how you tried to avoid your fate with Fred, knowing you liked him back. But you always beat around the bush, because you were really a very studious girl and you knew Fred Weasley would just be a distraction. But you knew he wasn’t that bad. How could he be?

     “Well,” you sniffed awkwardly, cupping your gift bag in your palms. 

     “Welllll,” Fred echoed, dragging out the word and making you laugh. 

     “Really, Fred, thank you, I can’t imagine how you even got this, it’s beautiful, really.”

     “Reminded me of you.”

     “Oh, Fred,” you groaned, making a face like you’d just tasted a sour lemon and laughing. “You’re so cheesy.”

     “But you like that about me,” Fred squinted his eyes at you, as if he was seeing right through you. 

     “I can neither confirm or deny that statement. Your head might explode if I confirm,” you teased, and he simply nodded in agreement.

     “You’ve got a point.”

     “Really though, how did you get this? I’ve never seen such a thing before. Don’t tell me you stole it from Professor Sprout.”

     “Honestly, how much of a git do you think I am? I’ve got my connections, that’s all. It’s special, keep your eye on it.”

     “Alright,” you grinned, sniffing the fragrant, honey-nectar scented center of the flower.  “I’ll leave you be. I really do feel bad that I didn’t get you anything though. If I’d known I would’ve-”

Fred shook his head, 

     “Oh shut up. Of course I had to get you something, all I wanted this holiday was to get you something you’d like. And you like it, don’t you?” You nodded, and he smiled. “That’s all I need.”

You smiled, pleased, then sighed,

     “I really should get going to bed though, and you should too, it’s nearly curfew.”

Fred merely shrugged carelessly,

     “Meh, I’m on break, who gives a rat’s ass what Filch tries to do.”

     “Okay, Fred, whatever you say,” you grinned, shaking your head playfully at his devil-may-care attitude. “Goodnight, now.”

     “Goodnight,” Fred smiled at you.

You started to turn to your dorm, but you turned back at the last second, saying his name,

     “Wait, Fred?”

     “Yeah?” he replied, only for you to lean forward and kiss him softly on the cheek, pulling away slowly and blinking ever so gently. Blush was rising up his cheeks steadily, and he looked like he had melted on the spot, gawking at you. 

You smiled, satisfied with yourself, and spun around, actually about to leave this time,

     “See you in the morning!”

That night, you could’ve sworn your flower grew at least an inch taller, and you hadn’t even done a thing to it.

In the few days you had left at Hogwarts, you and Fred had been spending an awful lot of time together. You were actually taking the time to get to know him, because deep down you knew it was what you both wanted. Each time George passed by you two talking in an empty corridor, he coughed, “lovebirds!” And finally, it was time to leave. You all boarded the train back home, you sharing a car with Ginny and Hermione while the boys stayed with each other, though Fred passed by every hour or so to try and amuse you. 

     “D’you like him, Fred?” Ginny asked, leaning her head against the cool train window. 

You looked down at the table, unable to hide your smile,

     “Yeah, I do. And he knows it.”

     “I think you two would be cute,” Hermione beamed, glancing up from the newspaper. 

     “I have to say, Fred’s never picked a better choice,” Ginny smiled. 

The holidays at the Weasley house were hectic, but they were lovely all the same. George didn’t lie when he said his mother, Molly Weasley, made holidays stressful, but it was the good kind of stress. You were never bored, or lonely for that matter. You always had something to do, whether it be crusting pies, helping Molly magically wash the dishes, pillow fights with Ron and Harry, or listening to Hermione go on and on about her marks for her exams. Besides, Molly really did love you. She kept gushing over how smart and well-behaved you were. And you were convinced Fred had lied and told her you two were a couple, because any time she saw you and Fred together, she cooed, “you two!” and snapped a picture, leaving you blinded by the flash of her old camera. 

It was probably the most bustling Christmas you’d had yet, and everything was going well.

     The afternoon before, Molly had cooked a wonderful feast to be scarved down for tomorrow, and she put charms on all the meals to keep them warm and protected from the boys, who she knew would try to sneak down and take a bite before it was time. You sauntered around the kitchen on Christmas Eve. It was nighttime, and the kitchen was pitch black except for the light emanating from the tip of your wand. You opened the fridge, trying to make yourself a glass of warm pumpkin juice before bed. You’d stayed up late reading, thinking everyone else had gone to sleep. But you were wrong, and you gasped when the kitchen light turned on suddenly. 

You jumped, clutching your chest and breathing in and out, only to see Fred laughing in the corner of the kitchen. You sighed in relief,

     “Jesus, Fred, you scared me. Thought I was the only one up.”

Fred cocked his head to the side as if he were examining you,

     “Late sleeper?”

You nodded,

     “Sometimes. Why are you up?”

     “I happen to be a late sleeper myself… and I heard your footsteps going down to the kitchen.”

You quirked a brow, amused,

     “So you followed me?”

     “This is my house, if anything, you’re following me,” Fred defended himself, folding his arms.

     “I’m only joking, Weasley,” you snorted, continuing to fix yourself a glass of pumpkin juice.

     “I like when you call me that,” Fred remarked, and you pretended not to hear him, but your cheeks were hot as ever. 

     He got closer to you, standing right beside you at the kitchen counter and leaning against it, watching as your hands shook out of nerves while you poured your juice. Since when did Fred make you nervous? And why was being close to him making you so lightheaded? He was looking at you, but you refused to look at him, keeping your eyes trained on your glass, not even noticing when it almost overflowed because your thoughts were elsewhere.

Fred, who had his cheek pressed into his palm, smirked, and did a onceover of you.

     “Need help?” he taunted you. 

You chuckled nervously, huffing,

     “No?”

     “You sure?” he asked, almost challenging you to look at him. 

You turned to face him, rolling your eyes, but you weren’t prepared for him to be standing up, towering over you. You took a deep breath in, while he simply grinned. You looked up at him, blinking rapidly as if there was something in your eye. 

     “Here,” Fred leaned into you, and you froze, only to realize that he was just pulling out his wand and tapping it against your glass. 

When you picked it up and took a drink, the pumpkin juice was just as warm as you’d wanted it to be, and you didn’t even need to heat it up like you were going to.

     “Thanks,” you grinned, your eyes flickering from his to the floor. 

     “Should be getting to bed. Happy Christmas Eve,” Fred gave you a slick three fingered wave and slinked away up the stairs, leaving you there to exhale a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. You were in over your head, for sure. 

On Christmas morning, you were the first one up, surprisingly. You got ready as quietly as possible, passing Hermione’s cat on the way to the bathroom as you got ready. For Christmas, you decided you’d dress nicely, putting on a well-fitting orange turtleneck with a black miniskirt. You headed down the stairs silently and found yourself in the kitchen, holding your plant in your hands so you could place it on the window in front of the sink and let it get a bit more light there. 

You paused when you heard footsteps coming down the stairs, and when you saw Fred, you bit down on your lip. He grinned at you, dressed in his personal Christmas best, a sweater with “F” emblazoned on it that his mom forced him to wear every holiday season, and black skinny jeans. 

     “Hey,” was all he said with a knowing smile, and you grinned. 

     “Hi.”

     “You’re up early,” Fred remarked, inching close to you so the only thing separating your body from his was the plant you were holding in between the two of you.

     “You are too.”

     “Funny coincidence.”

     “Yeah. You’d almost think you were trying to catch me alone,” you narrowed your eyes at him playfully, a smug smile tugging at the corner of your lips. 

     “Maybe, maybe not,” Fred played along. 

     “You’re a real joker, Fred Weasley.”

     “I know,” Fred agreed. “But I’d be a real Scrooge if I didn’t make one tiny little

improvement to this Christmas.”

     “And what’s that?” you chimed. 

Fred tapped his wand just above him, and lo and behold, a mistletoe flower appeared out of thin air, levitating above your heads. You looked up at it, holding your gaze on the plant for a few seconds before giggling, looking down at Fred who was smiling at you. 

     “Merry Christmas,” he remarked quietly, his brown eyes peering into yours, inching his head forward, spreading his warmth. 

     “Merry Christmas,” you practically whispered just in time for his lips to brush against yours, tilting your head forward to engulf him in a slow, sweet kiss under the mistletoe, the light shining in from the kitchen windows, a healthy amount of snow falling outside. 

His lips tasted like peppermint, and he smelled like mischief, but you wanted to hold him close. His sweater was scratchy and warm and thick, bristling against you. He was tender with you, his hands reaching up to roam your face, caressing your cheek and pulling you in closer to him by the small of your back, the petals of the flower in between you pressing against your chests. After a while, you pulled away, Fred’s cheeks red as ever, and your entire body on fire. You weren’t sure why you’d held back for so long, because now that you had a taste of him, you wanted more and more. When you pulled away, you blinked a bit, coming back down onto earth. When you and Fred met eyes again, you both giggled stupidly, clearly high off each other’s touch. 

     When you looked down at the plant, you noticed it had grown inches taller suddenly, and you looked down at it in bewilderment. It had done the same thing after you parted ways with Fred the night of the holiday party in the Gryffindor common room. 

Fred answered the question you were about to ask, 

     “It’s an Amorfluous flower. It’s meant to be given as a gift from one lover to another, so that each time we kiss, it grows.”

You were in awe of Fred. Not only had he managed to get you a gift that was extremely fitting for you, but he got you one that was even more sentimental than you had managed to realize. You were amazed, and you looked up at him awestruck, tears threatening to form in your eyes. 

He chuckled at the sight of you and hugged you close, careful of the flower,

     “Don’t cry!”

     “It’s- it’s just so lovely,” you sniffled, wiping away the tears from your eyes. “Thank you, thank you so much.”

Fred smirked,

     “You’ve made it up to me, the lack of a gift.”

You chuckled,

     “Good.”

     “Er… should we kiss again? For the flower, of course,” Fred suggested, nodding down at the flower. 

     “Yes, of course. For the flower,” you grinned knowingly and leaned in again, your lips uniting in a sweet kiss once more. 

#harry potter #harry potter oneshot #harry potter imagine #fred weasley #fred weasley x black reader #fred weasley x reader #hogwarts #christmas imagine #harry potter x black reader #black reader #reader insert #poc!reader #black!reader

[burned-to-the-void]

Siegemas Day 17

My prompt: “Everyone shut up and pretend to be happy.”

A pre-Christmas team dinner for GIGN, basically. Or, a tiny step in the process of being accepted.

2.4K words, G rated, no content warnings apply.

Thank you again @dualrainbow​ for giving me the opportunity to participate!!💙 I hope you guys enjoy my contribution to this wonderful event, and please go check their blog to read more from other talented writers if you haven’t yet, you won’t regret! 

🎄 Happy Holidays, everyone ;)

~*~

Twitch leans forward with her hands on the counter, inspecting the food for the umpteenth time despite the fact she knows that everything is up to her standard, which can be considered a synonym for perfection. She has pestered Rook, who volunteered to help her preparing the food, enough times to ensure that. The pâté lorrain smells wonderful, just as her grandma’s used to do, and the roasted turkey, stuffed with plump chestnuts, looks almost heaven-sent with its skin crispy and glistening with rich fat. The desserts are already set on the plates―except for the chocolate mousse that’s still being chilled in the fridge―dazzling in their various colors and shapes.

Really, there is no reason to feel this nervous, it’s just another dinner with her teammates, not a cooking competition. No one is going to point out even if there is something that’s less than perfect, not even Lion would be that blunt.

He's really coming, isn't he. Reminded of the real reason behind her worry, Twitch has to suppress the urge to bury her face in her palms and groan, a bit over-dramatic as she's prone to be.

Inviting him didn’t seem like a bad idea, in the beginning. It’s not Lion himself that she'd like to avoid, it’s the inevitable tension that charges the air like static electricity when him and Doc are in each other’s vicinity, one that she can't help but pick up like a overly sensitive radar, putting her on edge as well. When Doc isn’t involved she has a nice working relationship with Lion, although they rarely interact in more personal settings, making today an unlikely exception.

It was Montagne who suggested that she should invite one more person to the team dinner, which she had meticulously planned out so they can celebrate together before they part ways to spend the actual Christmas with their respective families. Sensing her hesitation, he assured her that he'd have a talk with both of them in advance and personally see to it that they remain civil during the dinner, and this earnest promise from the most reliable man she’s ever known had been enough to persuade her.

Had been, that is, until some assholes decided to celebrate their holiday by threatening the local community with a thrilling promise of random bomb attacks, causing mass panic in the area, and along with several other operators Montagne was picked out to go and intervene. He tried to apologize before he leave, to which Twitch only shook her head because it wasn't his fault terrorists didn't give a shit about other people's holiday plans. But now that the drama of the evening is about to unfold, without him to defuse the situation if the things get heated, she can’t help but lament his absence a little.

“It’s going to be okay,” says Rook, bumping his shoulder with hers lightly, and places a tray of newly baked plum jam cookies on the counter. His eyes linger on them a bit too longingly, and Twitch sighs.

“I envy your optimism. You can have one now if you want, we’re one man short anyway.”

“Well, if you say so,” he grins, and reaches directly for the one that's practically oozing with ruby-red jam, as if he was just waiting for the cue. Twitch is opening her mouth to comment on it but that is the exact moment when the doorbell starts to ring, so she just rolls her eyes and hurries past him to greet the guest.

Doc is standing by the door, the tips of his ears reddened by the cold air but otherwise immaculate from head to toe, with a toned down blue scarf that actually matches the color of his coat, a feat not many men can achieve. Once again Twitch is reminded that without the near perpetual look of bone-deep tiredness he makes a strikingly handsome figure, even to eyes that are uninterested by principle.

Also, surprisingly, he isn't alone.

"We're not too late, are we?" To his credit, Doc's smile doesn't even look that much strained, despite his company.

"You two came together?" Twitch has to ask, blinking up at the hunched form of Lion who is tailing behind Doc, and for the lack of better word, sulking. Doc shakes his head with a chuckle.

"God, no. I just caught him fidgeting in front of the door."

"I didn't fidget," Lion mutters a protest, clearly still fidgeting. Doc, his smile somehow both sympathetic and smug, doesn't bother a reply but Lion glares at him as if he's heard one anyway. Twitch hastily beckons them inside to break the tension before it has a chance to develop.

Doc gives Twitch a quick hug on his way in, careful not to press her against the cold surface of his coat, and brushes past her into the dining room. When it's Lion's turn they both stare at each other, unsure, until he shoves a bottle of wine into her hand, almost as an afterthought.

"Thought I'd bring a gift," Lion explains with a sheepish expression.

"Thanks," Twitch arches her eyebrow, caught by surprise, albeit a pleasant one. Lion nods, looking satisfied, and follows Doc before she can find any more words to add.

"Mmm, something smells wonderful in here," Doc comments, taking his gloves off and rubbing his cold hands together.

"Hey, guys," Rook sticks his head out from the kitchen, oblivious to the fact he's got some cookie crumbs on the corner of his mouth. "And no, everything smells wonderful in here, we really put a lot of effort into it this year. Especially the desserts."

"I can tell," Doc deadpans, but not without a hint of indulgent smile, and rolls up the sleeves of his shirt to help them with the last of the preparation. He's no stranger to her kitchen, after all. Lion hovering near the counter, on the other hand, definitely is, so Twitch ushers him to the table and points down at one of the chairs.

"Sit," she orders, which he follows without any complaint.

"He's only playing nice because it's you, you know," Doc grumbles to her, when they're left alone in the kitchen by chance. Twitch only snorts.

"So, it's a bad thing that he respects me enough to listen to me?"

"Well… no," he admits reluctantly, adding sauce over the plate of oven-baked trout fillet with a skilled flick of his wrist. Twitch steals a glance at the table, where Rook is trying to make a small talk with Lion, although it's impossible to tell about what, and more importantly how smoothly, from where she's standing. Lion is drumming his fingers against the table, feigning collected boredom, while his whole posture screams tension. Not used to saying yes to personal invitations, her brain provides. When he did, he must have had no idea that Montagne, his social bridge when it comes to team dynamic, would be missing from the scene.

"Try to give him a chance, Gus. Just for tonight."

Doc's fingers falter, in the middle of putting up the garnish, but only for a split second. When he answers his voice comes out soft and pensive.

“For tonight,” he agrees, and Twitch lets herself hope that maybe, just maybe this evening won't end as poorly as she had imagined.

~*~

In retrospect, hope rarely does anyone a favor.

With the help of warm, quality food and a few glasses of wine, Lion slowly loosens up, looking less out of place, his answers not so clipped anymore. He participates in the conversation without being pressed to, although his smiles are still rare and fleeting, and as the host Twitch could have counted it as a victory, was it not for the way―

"Your claim here is outrageous, Kateb," Lion blurts out, cutting her off from her thoughts, and at this point, she neither knows nor gives a fuck what their current argument is about, or who started it this time. No point in keeping the score when they're so determined to make it a tie.

"I have statistics to back me up, and I might have shared them with you if you weren't such a stubborn asshole," Doc replies, his enunciation precise, but Twitch knows it's just because he's putting extra effort not to slur. Lion growls, unfailingly rising to the bait.

"Statistics can be flawed, more so when they're taken from the field. Too many variables."

"Actually, they're from the lab. Admit you’re wrong, it really is more fatal than a heart attack. The survival rate is almost―"

Across the table, Rook shares a pained look with Twitch. This semi-drunk, almost childish bickering has been going for god-knows-how-long over several different subjects now, changing the topic only serving as a temporary solution, and while it's better than the full-scale war they usually wage against each other, it's still giving her a migraine. She drinks what's left in her glass nonstop and sets it down with more force than she has to. It's not like they would notice anyway. Her phone buzzes from her pocket, signalling an incoming call. Twitch fishes it out in a heartbeat, eager for anything to distract her from this.

"It's Gilles," she announces, which goes largely unheard amidst the raging debate. Calmly, she takes a deep breath and slams her fist on the table, hard, making all of the plates and glasses shudder and clatter in their places. Instantly three sets of eyes fly up to her, stunned, but finally no one is using their mouth for purposes other than gaping. Good.

“I said, it's Gilles on the phone, and I’m gonna pick up now, so everyone shut up and pretend to be happy.” Just before tapping on the receive button, she adds a belated please, which does nothing to soften the blow.

Lion is the first to recover from the shock, and he gets up from his seat to exit the dining room altogether, huffing out loud. Twitch directs her gaze toward Doc, who is adamantly not meeting her eyes, his face flushed with mild embarrassment. Rook, of all people, is the only one who looks vaguely apologetic.

"Gilles!" She answers, aiming for the bright tone and probably failing, and puts him on speaker. "Glad you called, I was planning to check up on you. The mission went pretty smooth, I heard?"

"Oh, better than smooth. Turned out they were just a bunch of amateurs. The bombs wouldn't have even detonated properly, Monika said. The actual hard part was dealing with the panicked citizens, wanting to know if the packages they've just got can be timebombs in gift wrappers."

Twitch hums sympathetically, the mental image of people swarming up to IQ demanding she should take a look at their present boxes with her detecting device―that may even contain questionable items, only that they’re not bombs―vivid in her head.  Doc and Rook scoot closer to add their own hellos, and Montagne is quick to notice the absence.

“I take it Olivier couldn’t make it?” he asks, and at his troubled tone Rook jumps in hurriedly to correct him.

“No, he's here. He just went to kitchen to fetch, uh, something.”

“He is?” Montagne sounds surprised, but also genuinely pleased, probably seeing the fact he didn't bail out as a personal progress, and would be terribly disappointed to find out he is still, to some degree, trying to. Twitch feels she has no choice but to jump into the lion’s den herself.

“Yeah, I’ll go and see what’s taking him so long,” she mutters and picks herself up from her seat to follow him outside.

She's ready to drag him in by force if needed, nevermind the solid thirty kilograms he has on her, but she hasn’t expected him to be actually heading back in, and almost bumps into him in the doorway. Lion takes a step back, quick apology on his lips.

“Gilles wants to talk with you,” Twitch informs him, but it comes out as an accusation. Lion, having no problem recognizing it, just nods along.

"I just needed to get some fresh air, before I go back to pretending I'm enjoying this... new-found peace treaty with our doctor," he smiles darkly, earning himself an incredulous stare.

“You call that peace?”

“Compared to what we normally do? Yes. We’re talking and not hating each other’s guts for once,” he shrugs, as Twitch steps aside to let him in.

“Whatever you say, but keep it down a notch. I’m positive my ears are bleeding by now.”

He does have a point though, so Twitch is willing to let the conversation slip as it is, but the way he casts his glance down and frowns suggests he has more to say, so she chooses to wait, despite the chilly air.

“I want to… thank you, for inviting me. I know I’m not the most welcomed person in house parties.”

Considering the context, his following smile could be more bitter, but it remains neutral. Not really self-deprecating, just stating what he’s accepted as a fact. The attitude suits him, Twitch thinks. Sharp and precise assessment delivered in the bluntest way possible, applied even to himself.

“No problem. The more the merrier, isn’t it? And cooking for one more isn’t that much of inconvenience,” she replies, and smiles as a thought crosses her mind. “You’re not that bad, as a guest. See, you're the only one with who brought gift today."

Lion makes an noncommittal noise at that, looking skeptical, and yes, maybe that only means he is still a guest in this house, when rest of them is a family, but it's a starting point, one that now Twitch is determined to make the most of it. And the thing about acquired family is, they all started from ground zero.

“Let’s go back in, poor Gilles must be thinking either we lied to him, or that you ran away. And in case you’re considering it, you’re not going anywhere before you try the desserts.”

"I wouldn't dare," Lion chuckles, and opens the door to the dining room. After a short break, the air feels pleasantly warm, overflowing with the rich smell of butter, chocolate, and cinnamon. It seems like Rook has begun to set out all the desserts, ever the enthusiast, while Doc has been keeping Montagne's company. Twitch momentarily forgets to announce their return, in favor of soaking in every detail of the scene, from the way the soft, golden light makes everyone's face glow in the same hue, to the sound of their shared laughter, feeling so fiercely right in place―and hopes one day, if not today, it would be the same for Lion as well.

#rainbow six siege #r6s #r6s twitch #r6s rook #r6s doc #r6s lion #r6s montagne #fan fiction #siegemas 2019

[krystalkoya]

Paint Me Over | 01

Summary: Amateur writer Hoseok is in a slump. When his friend Taehyung drags him out to another one of his art shows, he can't help but be intrigued by a peculiar local artist he meets there...

Here’s something with Hoseok in the writer/english teacher role. The first chapter is titled 'Chicago Boy' after Ari Lennox's song (go check it out!). It describes the OC’s first impression of Hoseok, however this chapter is in his perspective (it makes sense if you read the lyrics, if it doesn’t oh well... enjoy!) 

read on ao3!

pairing: writer!hoseok x reader

genre: fluff, future angst, future smut 

rating: +18

word count: 4k

chapter warnings: none!

01 | 02

...

Chicago Boy

Hoseok’s starting to think he wasn’t cut out for this.

Granted, things haven’t been going great in his life lately, (they weren’t terrible, definitely not great) but for the life of him he couldn’t understand why he couldn’t put thoughts to words and type out the remainder of this scene.

He'd been staring at the computer screen for over an hour now, repeatedly starting a sentence only to delete it moments later because nothing. sounded. right.

An hour in and the most he’d accomplished was one measly paragraph - could three sentences even be considered a paragraph? As an English teacher he felt like he should know this. His grammar? Astounding. Word choice? Phenomenal. But It's a shame he'd written the same thing just in different words merely five sentences ago.

Hoseok sighed, leaning into the uncomfortable lumps of his sofa cushions and away from the laptop perched on his coffee table.

He was getting nowhere.

Running a hand over his face, he stared up at the dim lighting fixture on his ceiling. He really needed to replace that one blown-out bulb up there, maybe then he’d actually be able to see when he sat in the living room to grade papers. No use burning electricity when he didn’t even get any use out of it.

An incessant buzzing in his ears alerted him that his phone was ringing. It was inches away from vibrating right off the coffee table when he snatched it up and pressed to his ear.

He sighed into the receiver when he heard who it was.

“Hoseok, my man. You sound frustrated, why are you frustrated?”

Hoseok leaned into his couch cushions again, placing an arm behind his head to get comfortable, because there was no way he was getting back to work now that Taehyung was on the line. Not that he was making any progress before, but placing the blame his friend's incessant need to talk his ear off rather than his own lack of motivation to get anything done sounded nicer.

“I’d tell you, but I have a feeling you already know why.”

“Is it the book again? I told you to stop stressing. All that pent-up tension isn’t good for your creative flow. Relax—did you slow your breathing? Try meditation?”

“Have you been watching those spiritual healing DVDs again? You know that’s all just neatly packaged bullshit right?”

“Excuse me, the nice old woman at the holistic medicine shop said otherwise. Sure, the place was a little sketchy, I think she could’ve been a witch to be honest…" he trails off in thought. "But she said I could get a discount if I bought all three volumes! That’s a steal, I’d be an idiot if didn’t take it.”

“Right, not cause you okay…”

“Anyways, I was just calling to see if you wanted to come out with me tonight.”

“I’m not going to another one of your yoga sessions with you if that’s what you mean.”

“That’s not what I—although you could use it, no. I called to see if you wanted to come to an art show with me.”

Hoseok pursed his lips. Tae had offered to take him to a couple art shows before, some he participated in, others just to view. He’d gone to a few and honestly enjoyed the work all made by a few of the local artists in town. He had no idea such talent existed in this city before he went to one of Tae's shows. And he would never tell him this of course, but Taehyung was kind of endearing when he was geeking out over all the art he was surrounded by.

“Come on, when was the last time you’ve been out? I’m not even asking you to the strip club or anything! This is perfectly tame. Although, fair warning, a lot of artists aren’t adverse to nudity in their works so...”

Hoseok chuckles, “Yeah I know. I would've appreciated the warning the first time you took me to one of your shows but sure I'll go. I mean, why not?”

There was silence on the other end for a moment, and Hoseok knew from prior experience that this was just the time it took for Taehyung to process even slightly shocking information.

“Really, that easy? Okay great! The gala starts at 7. I’ll text you the address and you can meet me there.”

As Hoseok and Taehyung finished up their call, Hoseok elongated his limbs for a much needed stretch after being seated for so long.

He perched his elbows back on his knees, staring at the word document that was mostly filled with blank white space. Realizing that nothing was going to come to him tonight he shut his laptop down, not before hitting save of course—he learned that the hard way one night that resulted in him losing over twenty pages of text. He shuddered. Never again ,he thought as he made his way to the small kitchen of his studio apartment to make himself a quick bite to eat before the gala.

Apparently staring at his computer screen willing words to come out of his brain and onto paper wasn’t going to accomplish anything. That was fine, all writer's hit a wall sometimes, he’d just have to wait until this slump passed. Either that or who knows, maybe he’d get inspired tonight. Wasn't there a saying that looking at art makes you feel more artistic? Perhaps he could channel that inspiration into his own work. He could only hope, he thought as he took a bite of an unappetizing turkey sandwich.

Surprisingly, the gala did not disappoint. It was interesting, for sure. Not in a bad way, just interesting as in... well it was all over the place for one. Much like the few others he's been to with Taehyung, there was a collection of artwork displayed around the room made by local artists for the audience to view and ask questions about at their discretion. Taehyung carted him around the room, bouncing from piece to piece as he chatted with the artists about their inspiration for their works.

There was one he remembers vividly, a collection of paintings by one artist. The first was a painting of a sunset over a horizon of water, but in grays and cool blue undertones. After striking up a conversation with the artist, or rather, Taehyung did, Hoseok came to find out that the she intended to emote sadness in the viewer, almost as if all the life had been sucked out of the image. She had been open enough to share that it was painted during a very dark place in her life.

The next piece in the collection was the same sunset, but painted in vibrant pinks and oranges and blues. This one was made right after the birth of her first daughter. Hoseok even saw a flock of birds flying high in a portion of the sky that hadn't been present in the first painting.

The last was the same image, in muted pastels, not as vibrant as the second, but still evoked feelings of warmth and content in his chest. The artist said this piece represented her now. She was at peace with herself and the direction her life had taken. A mother of two who was well on her way in life, glad she had been given a second chance to form a place for herself in this world. She said the goal of her collection was to show that even the most beautiful of sceneries could be distorted by your emotions at the time of viewing. If that wasn't inspiring, he doesn't know what was.

Hoseok was truly astounded by how much the artists were willing to share about themselves but he wasn't put off by it. He found the experience enriching, learning about people through the art they created.

There were others too. Artists whose messages centered around current events. One that caught his eye were cartoons of the current leaders of America, Russia, and North Korea. Except instead of having adult bodies their heads were attached to infants bodies, diapers and all. Try imagining a crying Donald because Vladimir stole his rattle, meanwhile baby Jong-Un played off to the side with toy 'rockets'. Fucking hilarious. Political satire, if it was done well, always got a chuckle or two out of Hoseok.

And that seemed to be just one in a series of political cartoons that Hoseok would've loved to stay by and read, if only Taehyung hadn't pulled him off to the next booth.

They were about halfway through the gallery when Taehyung stopped chattering away with strangers for a moment to ask him a question.

"So, what do you think?"

Hoseok could not for the life of him take him seriously with that painter's beret on. Why did Taehyung insist on dressing like a 1970s French erotica film star? Or you know, a millennial art hoe.

Hoseok tilts his head up in thought. "It's nice. There's a lot more variety than the last time I came with you. Significantly less nudity than I expected though."

"Yeah, I know. There was no theme this time. They kinda went for a... do whatever you want kind of vibe today. Why are you disappointed?" He asked with a smirk.

Hoseok plays along. "Absolutely. You know I can’t resist seeing all those sculpted men in their nude glory. One of my favorite pastimes is comparing one micropenis to the next. Some have bigger balls, others are girthier. Some made out of marble, others, stone.”

He laughs at his own joke when all Taehyung can muster is a shake of his head in amusement. trying, and failing to mask his boxy smile.

“So I take it you didn't want to participate this time around?" Hoseok asks him when they sober up.

"Nah. I wanted to, but I didn’t feel good about any of the photos I took lately. Glad I came to check things out though. These pieces are amazing."

They came to a stop in front of the next artist’s booth. Hoseok's eyes were drawn to a painting of what looked like a garden.

It was beautiful, simplistic, yet so realistic in the way it was painted that he was starting to wonder whether it was an actual photo instead.

But it wasn't. He could see the impressions of the brush strokes against canvas as he leaned in closer. The yellows and reds and purples of the flowers stood out against the forest greens of the bushes and grass that littered the page. There, off to the left, looked to be some children playing in the sun, smiling happily as they ran along. There were several tufts of flowers littered about the page but toward the right he noticed one lone sunflower resting under the shade of a tree. It was wilted, not as tall as the others, he assumed because of the lack of sunlight. A lone bird perched atop a high branch of the tree, almost as if it was surveying the land in search of something. For what, he didn't know.

"Wow, this is beautiful. What was the inspiration for it?" Hoseok looks up to see Taehyung observing the painting as well, that concentrated expression he always takes on when analyzing a new work of art on his face yet again.

But then his eyes are drawn in front of him when he hears a voice, presumably belonging to the artist. Come to think of it, you looked just like an older version of one of the little girls in the picture. You stand there, hands clasped behind your back as you peruse the two newcomers.

"No inspo. Just life I guess."

"Then wouldn't you say life is the inspiration?" Hoseok counters.

You shrug your shoulders.

Hoseok straightens up to view you better. "So... what's the meaning behind it?"

You narrow your eyes at him. "Meaning...?"

Hoseok is just a little put off by your behavior. What is he speaking a different language? Had he slipped into Korean unknowingly? No, Taehyung would have given him a weird look if he had (it's happened before, don't ask). He may be reading to much into things but it's almost as if you are bored with his conversation. And Hoseok prides himself on being a good conversationalist. What kind of English teacher would he be if he couldn't hold an intellectual conversation from time to time?

Hoseok explains hesitantly, "Yeah, the meaning. I mean, it can't just be a garden."

You relax back onto your heels. "Oh, that's exactly what it is. Just a garden." A loud pop of the gum in your mouth follows.

"It can't just be a garden." he deadpans.

"It certainly can be." You counter.

He scoffs, then looks at Taehyung who still looks deep in thought.

"I get it." Taehyung nods along, finally tearing his eyes away from the painting. "Yeah, I get it."

"See?" You point toward Taehyung, as if saying that 'if your friend gets it, you should too!'

"What do you get Tae?"

"Hey man, maybe it's just a garden."Hoseok looks at his friend incredulously, though he's not surprised he isn't taking his side. He shakes his head vehemently.

"It can't just be a garden. Look at it. There's too much to unpack here."

"What do you do?" The question catches him off guard.

Hoseok turns back to you. Something about you makes him feel like he shouldn't tell you anything. The way you are looking at him expectantly, with narrowed eyes as if you already know and are just waiting for him to prove you right gives him pause. But another voice in his head urges him to say it. At least just to see where this was all headed.

"Me? I'm an English teacher."

The twinkle in your eyes at as soon as the words leave his mouth lets him know that your suspicions were correct. And you were proud of that fact. "Figures." you laugh dryly.

Okay, ouch. Was he supposed to be offended? Yes, of course he was, you blatantly laughed in his face when he told you his profession.

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, just you English majors always need to give everything a meaning. Everything isn't intentional. Sometimes a tree is just a tree."

"Again, you can't say nothing and then follow it up with something," is Hoseok’s only argument. A weak one, but it stopped you from getting the last word in nonetheless.

But to his dismay, you and Taehyung share a terribly stifled laugh over how riled up Hoseok seems to be over a silly painting.

Taehyung, who can barely control his laughter, places a hand on Hoseok's shoulder.

"Come on 'seok, we still haven't viewed the rest of the works yet."He pulls him along and you smile and wave off the pair while Hoseok, for some unknown reason, can't look away from your little booth or the mysterious woman who painted randomly with 'no message' in mind.

At the end of the gala Hoseok and Taehyung ended back at the front. Not too long after they arrived Taehyung wandered off to talk to some of his 'art buddies' which left Hoseok alone to wander around aimlessly. He walked around for a bit but to be honest he already saw all of the works here, and he did not feel like circling all the way through again. Luckily, near the entrance there was a refreshments table where Hoseok found himself gravitating towards the longer Taehyung was gone.

He grabbed one of the small plastic cups of punch off the table along with a one of those sugar cookies from the supermarket he liked so much, but never bought. After buying a tray and eating the whole of it by himself the first three nights he’d been too guilty to pick up another since.

"Jeez, they could've given us some bigger cups for this punch. Two sips in and I'm already done."

Your voice almost startles Hoseok enough to spill juice down the front of his shirt. Luckily, it wasn't a lot and he's glad he made the last minute decision to wear a black t-shirt instead of white under his jacket tonight.

He grabs a napkin and hastily dabs at the liquid before it can dry.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to startle you." You say sincerely, but the poorly hidden smile on your face makes him question your genuity.

"It's fine, it'll come out eventually. Where'd you even come from anyway?"

You eye him over the rim of your cup. "Over there...?” you point vaguely in the direction of your booth. “Relax, I just left for a bit to check out some of the other artist's work. I'll be back soon to tell anyone else who has a question that's it's literally just. a. garden."

Hoseok squints his eyes at you unamused. "Haha, very funny."

"Glad you think so," You laugh into your drink. "Come on, lighten up. It can mean whatever you want it to mean. Art is subjective."

"Sure, I guess," he rolls his eyes. "But hear me out. I'm no expert but artist's usually have a message in mind that they want to send to their audience, at least the ones that want to be taken seriously. I mean, that's the theme I picked up from literally everyone else here." He gestures to the room around him.

"Okay, well. I had a message- I wanted you to see my tree as, get this...a tree."

Hoseok shakes his head in annoyance that you aren't getting it, downing the rest of his drink in one go. Which wasn't hard. You weren't wrong about the cups.

You laugh again, airily and the sound is a nice one, he thinks.

You perch on the wall beside him. "What's your name?" you ask him, eyes alight with interest and Hoseok thinks not for the last time that he shouldn't tell you. But again, for some reason he wants to.

"Jung Hoseok, your local 6th grade English teacher with a stick up his ass, according you."

There's that laugh again, and Hoseok likes that he gets to hear it because of something he said and not because you were making fun of him again.

"Hey now, I didn't say all that! But if you want to go there..."

"My students like me the most, just you know. They say I'm their favorite teacher. What about that says uppity snob to you?" You smile as you bite into your unfinished cookie.

"There you go again, putting words in my mouth."

"You were thinking it, don't lie." But his tone is less accusing now, more playful. Would you look at that, he was warming up to you.

"I was thinking that those students of yours just wanted a passing grade and had no qualms about kissing up to you to get it. But hey, whatever helps you sleep at night! I'm ___ by the way." You hold out your unoccupied hand for a shake.

He takes it, saying, "___, beautiful artwork but I suggest taking on a project with more meaning to you next time. It can be quite fulfilling."

Your smug nod in agreement, like you actually value his opinion wouldn't fool anyone. "Noted," you say. "But if you don't mind me asking, what makes you such an expert? Are you an artist as well?"

He thinks about it for a moment before nodding slowly. "Of a sort."

You hum in response, and he can see the way your eyes peak with interest. So it doesn't come as a surprise when you ask him what he does.

"I may or may not dabble in writing," he murmurs, rubbing the back of his neck hesitantly.

"Figures." You scoff.

Again with the scoffing. "There you go again. Clowning my profession, now my hobbies? How cold are you?"

You chuckle lightly but shake your head in denial. "Shut up, I'm not laughing at you. It's just... how typical, an English teacher who writes too? You should let me read some of your work sometime. Let me give you some pointers— so that way we'll be even."

"Maybe but you should know this, I don't let just anyone read my work."

You send a dazzlingly smirk his way as you say, "Is that so? Then I'll have to figure out a way to become 'not-just-anyone' now won't I?"

He's grinning down at you as you continue to stare him down with that same smug expression on your face.

If he wasn't mistaken, this was flirting right? He wasn't sure, he's been out of the game for so long now that he had to make sure before he said anything that would make himself look like a complete fool in front of you. But the way you quirk your head at him, as if anticipating his response in earnest has him thinking that yes... you were definitely flirting.

He's just finished formulating a response in his mind when he hears his name being called from across the room. He looks up to see Taehyung waving him over. He's surrounded by two other guys who are also looking his way, which can only mean that Tae is calling him over to meet some of his art friends.

You smile endearingly when you see Taehyung's exaggerated movements to get his attention. "It looks like your friend's summoning you," you giggle when Taehyung starts directing Hoseok like he's an airplane landing on a runway.

"I should get back to my booth anyway." you say. "Someone must be wondering why I decided to paint the grass green of all colors. See you around stick." You send him a smile and a wave goodbye. You're already walking away and he's left to wonder where the nickname 'stick' came from. He recalls his words from earlier and mentally face palms. He can only blame himself for that one.

When he gets home that night he still can't write. Not to say he wasn't inspired tonight. Seeing all those artists display a body of work they created themselves motivated him to finish his own.There was so much talent today that there was no way he didn't feel renewed enough to tackle the scene he couldn't seem to find the right words for earlier in the night.

So no, it wasn't that he didn't feel inspired. It was more-so the fact that his attention was completely elsewhere. For some unknown reason his mind was still stuck on a particular artist he met that night. Partly because he couldn't figure you out and your seemingly simplistic art that had no backstory, no motivation, no message behind the scene. He just knew there was something there. There always was.

Secondly, he really enjoyed his conversation with you at the end of the night. Which was shocking because after his first interaction with you, he wasn't so sure he could enjoy speaking to someone who literally lit his mind alight with a mix of confusion and frustration. But you were the first person to show interest in him since...since then. He didn't want to jump to conclusions now (because he did tend to do that) but your flirtatious smile cast in his direction had to have meant something, right? He'd never forgive Taehyung for dragging him away before he could see where your conversation was headed. Would he ever see you again? Probably not. It wasn't a big city, but it wasn't that small either.

He burrowed deeper into his blankets, trying and failing to get his mind off the puzzling woman from the gala. Well, he sighed, it was better this than falling asleep to all those sentences still left to write.

#hoseok x reader #jhope x reader #writer hoseok #english teacher hoseok #artist reader #kim taehyung #arthoe tae #future angst #future smut #hobi x reader #hobi x you

[eldritchsurveys]

971.

5k Survey LX

Is it true that you... 3051. are politically correct? >> I don’t know what this actually means and I’m not inclined to try and figure it out. 3052. are too nice to say how you feel? >> I don’t say how I feel not out of niceness but because I don’t comprehend why anyone would want that information. 3053. don't think the world government affects you? >> The “world government”? What on earth is that? 3054. think that all people who are fat are ugly? >> False. 3055. think all people who are thin are shallow? >> False. For the record, I don’t think of people in general terms like this often at all.

3056. think you are getting solid information from advertisements? >> I don’t pay attention to advertisements. They have nothing to offer me. 3057. don't research the products you use? >> No, I don’t. Not unless I’m given reason to. Otherwise, that’s a lot of time and energy to spend for little return. 3058. believe that the lives of the people you love are somehow more important than the lives of the 6 billion other peeople in the world? >> Of course they’re more important -- to me. That’s how it works. I don’t comprehend how it could work any other way, tbh. 3059. believe that the lives of your country men or woman are somehow more valuble than the lives of people from other countries? >> I don’t care about people based on what country they’re in... it’s about their connection to me, like I just agreed a question ago. 3060. believe your ideas are somehow worth more than the ideas of others? >> Worth more in what sense? Like, my ideas are important to me because... they’re mine. Other people’s ideas can be interesting. Sometimes I adopt them and other times I ignore them and yet other times I’m just neutral to them. I don’t know what else to say about this. 3061. repress things rather than deal with them? >> I try not to repress things. It’s a long-standing habit and I’m working on it. 3062. mindlessly self indulge? >> I don’t mindlessly do anything. 3063. think there is only one right way? >> To what? 3064. think that this one right way could possibly be right for ALL of the 6 billion people on this planet? >> --- 3065. Decide something is UNTRUE just because you don't AGREE with it or you don't LIKE it? >> If I don’t like a fact, then I just don’t like it. I’m not going to declare that it’s not a fact, I’m just going to complain about it. 3066. What do you think of the out-dated chinese custom of foot-binding (tieing a baby girl's toes under her foot, even if you have to break the bone, making her walk with her toes under her foot(or hobble) because chinease men like small fett)? >> What am I supposed to think about it? I don’t think I need to have an opinion about this. 3067. What do you think of plastic surgery? >> Nothing? Like, it’s a thing that exists and people have it done sometimes. What of it? 3068. Is there a difference between foot binding and plastic surgery? What? Are there any similarities between foot-binding and plastic surgery? What? >> The similarity is that they’re both body modification. The differences are everything else, I guess. 3069. Would you be likely to continue reading a book that began: 'It was a bright, defrosted, pussy-willow day at the onset of Spring, and the newlyweds were driving cross-country in a large roast turkey.'? >> Probably not. 3070. If I don't quit smoking then I will sing a song. If I sing a song then I either play an instrument or run a mile. I do not play an instrument or run a mile. Therefore I quit smoking. Is this a valid argument? >> I cannot parse this. 3071. What came first, the acorn or the tree? >> I guess the acorn did. Who knows. 3072. What is surrealism? If you were putting together a surrealist work of art, what would you do? >> I’m sure Wikipedia has a great breakdown on the surrealist movement. I have no interest in being a surrealist artist. 3073. What did you do on Halloween? >> Last Halloween I was in New Orleans on my honeymoon and we went out in ostentatious goth outfits and had a great time. 3074. Some bees have made a comfortable nest for the winter inside your air conditionar. How would you remove the air conditioner from the window? >> The air conditioner is built into our unit, I doubt it’s removeable by the average tenant. The maintenance crew can take care of the bees. 3075. Why is quiet contemplation important? >> I consider it important because it’s a way to sort out my thoughts without having my attention fractured or monopolised by the rest of the world (especially the digital part of the world). It’s important to me to be acquainted with the colour and expanse of my interior life. 3076. Do you spend lots of time in quiet contemplation? How about any time? If not, what distracts you? >> Not lots of time, no. Some time, sure. 3077. What is the lowest you have ever felt? >> Er, low enough to plan suicide? I don’t know how else to answer this? 3078. Who has changed your life dramatically for the better? >> Can Calah. 3079. Is all you christmas shopping done? >> I don’t do Christmas shopping. 3080. Who is the greatest writer you can think of and why? >> --- 3081. Are people either good or evil? >> --- 3082. Can people be BOTH good an evil? >> --- 3083. Is there good in a rapist or a murderer? Is there evil in Mother Thereasa? >> --- 3084. You are in a classroom setting. A teacher has asked for a surrealist project. One person comes in with cards. Each card has a picture. Some of the pictures are a breast, a penis, a urinal, open heart surgery, a woman sucking on a vaccum tube, etc. On the back of each picture is a phrase like 'Fuck you and all of your lesbian fish eating friends' or 'people who speak in metaphors oughtta shampoo my crotch'. The artist asks each person to take a random card, go around the room and at their turn hold up the card with the picture side out and read the phrase on the back. Would you do it? >> This... is legitimately making no sense to me. What the fuck is this. How would you feel about it? What do you think the artist's intent is? 3085. Are you satisfied? >> With what? 3087. How fast do you drive? >> I don’t drive. 3088. What do you want that you don't need? >> All the time in the world to play FFXIV to my heart’s content. 3089. What do you have that you wish you didn't? >> Bills. 3090. What does it mean when someone suggests that you don't own your possessions, they own you? >> As I understand it, they are speaking of the pitfalls of consumerism and placing too much value on acquisition for acquisition’s sake. Or they’re just zealously anti-stuff and probably run a minimalism channel on Youtube. 3091. Where do you get motivation? >> I don’t bother with the nebulous concept of motivation. I just figure out how to work with my brain to get things done without making myself feel like shit in the process. Sometimes I succeed, sometimes I don’t. That’s just the way it is. 3092. Did you ever wanna get with one of your teachers? Did you ever actually get with one? >> Considering my fucked-up social development, I don’t think I actually understood what I wanted when I thought I wanted to be intimate with a teacher. Or any adult who showed me positive (or “positive”) attention, at that point. 3093. Have you ever had this happen, where one day you completely believe one thing and the next day you don't believe it anymore? If yes, do you lie about your change of beliefs in order to appear consistant? >> I mean, maybe. Not sure if it happened quite that dramatically; sometimes I don’t notice my own views shifting and it might seem like I just “woke up one day and believed something different” but in reality it was a gradual process that happened behind the scenes. I usually just go along with it and if someone has a problem with me changing my mind then I know damn well that’s their problem, not mine. 3094. Do you hide things about yourself from others? If so why? Is it because you are afriad they will be scared? Or because YOU are scarred? >> I hide things about myself from others because I have trust issues and intimacy issues and have a major problem with vulnerability. 3095. Do you recognize that some part of you is evil or do you feel like you are all good? >> --- 3096. If everyone were flying flags and putting up yellow ribbons in honor of the people who died in a war and someone put up black bows and ribbons all over the top of therir house what would you think? Would you want them to take it down? Why? >> I wouldn’t think anything. I don’t understand why this would even warrant my attention. 3097. Is a foot massage meaningless or does it have implications? >> Yawn. 3098. Are you sick of technology yet? >> No? 3099. After tattoos and piercings, I believe the next big thing will be implants (horns, metal plates, etc) and after that will come genetic alteration (wings, purple skin, etc). Would you have any of this done to you? Would you let your kids have it done? What do you think the next big thing in body modification would be? >> I doubt any of this stuff would be accessible to me (financially, particularly), first of all. I also don’t trust humans enough to let them mess around with my whole ass genome even if it was accessible to me. 3100. What's the most insulting thing you could come up with to say to someone? >> *shrug* I think insults are most effective when they’re tailored to the individual, not just a generic pejorative word or phrase.

#surveys #survey #5000 question survey

[efguffey]

C’est la Guerre: Thanksgiving Edition

This article first appearned on FreakSugar.com

Original panel from The Vision and The Scarlet Witch #6, art by Richard Howell, words by an Internet Hero.

So, there are quite a few things to rage about or against in the comics world. For example, there  are entire websites devoted to things like Has DC Done Something Stupid Today? (Today? No. 8 days ago, though…), and Is Wolverine Still Dead? (No. No he is not. [Charles Xaiver, on the other hand… well, it’s complicated]). Then you get into Marvel’s Terrible, Awful, Really Bad Year or Two, all of the publisher-distributor-retailer madness so eloquently documented by Brian Hibbs, and the rapidly changing marketplace swinging from floppies to trades, specialty shops to big-box retailers and Amazonian Behemoths, and non-domestic markets. Moreover, all of that is just the thin ice covering a deep ocean of industry woes and complaints, both significant and otherwise. Just taking a cursory look, things look pretty damn awful, and gods help someone thinking about getting into comics for the first time, or getting back into them after a hiatus of more than a year or so.

And yet…. It’s Thanksgiving here in ‘Murica, and in the spirit of the season, and despite all of the above, there are some things in the comic world that I am truly thankful for:

Mark Waid and Chris Samnee on Captain America. Seriously. Thanks guys. After The Run Which Shall Not Be Named, it’s nice to have one of my favorite four-color heroes back.

Chris Samnee’s cover for Captain America #695. #CapisBack #NoMoreNazis #Thankful

Image Comics. Lazarus, Saga, The Wicked + The Divine, Copperhead, Manifest Destiny, The Walking Dead, and on, and on, and on.

Smaller Independent Publishers. The growing strength, quality, and innovation of small publishing houses in the industry is simply incredible. 451 Media Group, Aftershock Comics, Avatar Press, Lion Forge Comics, Oni Press, Red 5 Comics, Titan Comics, and Vault Comics are just a handful of the publishers out there right now that are delivering incredible stories from powerful creative teams every month. If you’re not reading at least a few of these guys’ titles, you’re missing out.

The Return of the Mini-Series. And a lot of these are coming out of the independents, but we’re also seeing some from Marvel (Punisher: Platoon, Astonishing X-Men, the forthcoming Phoenix Resurrection). I love this format, because it helps me to keep new titles flowing through my pull-list. Let’s face it, at $4/book, my monthly comic budget gets eaten up pretty fast, so it’s nice to have some slots opening up every few months for new stuff. Plus, more and more of the industry’s best creators are looking to tell self-contained, complete stories that they really care about – and then move on to the next, different story, so there are some insanely good limited series being produced.

Astro City.  Kurt Busiek, Brent Anderson, Alex Ross, et al. making old school new again since 1995.

Ms. Marvel, The Champions, and the whole diverse teen crowd at Marvel. Suck it haters, these kids are freaking awesome. Hope and idealistic heroism is kinda what the world needs right now. Hell, I even like kid Cyclops, and any franchise that can make me like Scott Summers has to have something going for it. These books do the best job of remembering what made Marvel great to begin with, and I can only hope some of their spirit bleeds over into more books at the House of Ideas.

Wonder Woman. Because she’s always been kick-ass, and now everyone knows it. Dark Knights and Men of Steel? Pffft! We know who run the world.

YAAS PRINCESS! Original art by Francis Manapul, words by @jermainedesign, a.k.a Winner of the Internet.

Cinebook, which is bringing some of the best European comics to American readers who have finally realized that the Old World has more to offer than wine, beer, and cheese.

Garth Ennis. The man who is sometimes single-handedly keeping war comics in the mainstream, and who also continues to write some laugh-out-loud funny, thoughtful, and occasionally cringe-worthy books. Let’s face it, though: the man hits far more often than he misses: Preacher, The Boys, War Stories, Johnny Red: The Hurricane, Punisher: Born, Punisher: Platoon – I mean, c’mon!

Tom King. See the bit about mini-series above. Also see The Vision, The Sherriff of Babylon, and Mr. Miracle. And let’s hope that DC has the sense to greenlight King’s proposed Sgt. Rock series, because THIS MUST HAPPEN, AND I WILL FLY TO BURBANK AND COME FOR DC IF IT DOES NOT. Just sayin’.

Greg Rucka. I’m not sure this guy knows how to write a bad comic. There are a lot of great writers in the industry right now, but Rucka is far and away my favorite, particularly when he’s playing in sandboxes he built, but he’s no slouch when it comes to other IPs either. Read his Wonder Woman and Punisher runs for instance, but if you aren’t reading Stumptown and Lazarus you should probably seek immediate psychiatric help.

So there you go. Despite all of the problems in the industry, and the challenges it faces, there’s a lot of good stuff going on as well, and it’s not a bad idea to remind ourselves of that fact from time to time. Now go and have a happy Thanksgiving – eat too much, watch the MST3K Turkey Day Marathon, and round out the day with some great comics – just, you know, wipe the gravy off of your fingers first.

The post <strong><em>C’est la Guerre</em><strong>: Thanksgiving Edition appeared first on Freaksugar.

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#FreakSugar #C'est la Guerre #Comics #War Cominc

[prazer-ao-mar-blog]

AI and deep studying can now help you be more famous on Twitter

what’s the point of Twitter? The 11-twelve months-vintage microblogging platform is a social network, a broadcasting tool, a public members of the circle of relatives platform, a shaggy dog story incubator, and a statistics aggregator. It’s a frightening medium, however with the assist of a touch AI, it doesn’t need to be. as a minimum, that’s the basis of submit Intelligence, a social media assistant device launched this week with the aid of a couple of former Google executives. “We’re dubbing it the arena’s first AI-primarily based totally media assistant,” says Bindu Reddy, co-founder and CEO of post Intelligence. “It specializes in troubles within the realm of social media which human beings find tough to do, that require numerous mind energy, like clearly establishing a social media presence, getting fans, writing appealing matters, making insightful comments.” To this end, a user signs and symptoms and signs into positioned up Intelligence with a social media account, and inner two minutes it scoops up a person’s information, and then suggests what kinds of things a purchaser may want to percentage on-line. In my communique with Reddy and in my own revel in, I centered via and massive on Twitter, however the device is likewise configured for fb, and might be advanced to different social networks.

put up Intelligence (or PI for quick; the commercial enterprise employer talents a cartoon of a smiling robot with the greek letter on its torso) become born out of MyLikes, a device that delivered sponsored content material and advertising and marketing for celebrities on Twitter and extraordinary social media. To determine out what celebrities have to percentage, what each matched the emblem and follower pursuits, MyLife used AI and deep mastering. PI is designed to take those tools and practice them more extensively, in place of really curating a web presence for a brand. “We create a deep learning model for every purchaser who joins, and that’s created pretty a outstanding deal on the fly, it takes 2 mins from while you be part of up, and it reads all your posts, whether or not they’re facebook or on twitter, after which it takes as loads records as it can hold close, and then it trains a model particular to you,” says Reddy. “It’s searching to investigate what you post about and what resonates at the side of your goal marketplace, in case you’re a sports person, it’s going to leaf through all of your tweets and now we know you placed up about baseball and who’s succeeding and who’s failing.” to illustrate, Reddy showed a selection of recommendations from PI. Our call turned into on March 2nd, and so the guidelines hit the excessive notes of the day: the looming SnapChat IPO, the declaration that legal professional modern-day Jeff durations should recuse himself from any investigations related to the remaining presidential advertising campaign, and a viral video of turkeys circling a dull cat. This mercurial blend of topics is every the attraction and the barrier for access to Twitter: these varieties of conversations are going on on the identical time, that’s captivating and complicated, after which by way of way of tomorrow it’s all gone. bobbing up with what to mention inside the second may be tough, particularly for folks who don’t spend hours and hours of each day checking Twitter. Reddy, tapping into the zeitgeist, used PI to drag the video of the circling turkeys, and made a comedian story approximately durations recusing himself. i used to be intrigued. So, in coaching for the release, I decided to turn my Twitter over to publish Intelligence, and notice how, exactly, an AI may want to help me Tweet. I set some tips for myself: for the two-day trial length, i’d first-class the use of PI to tweet all through paintings hours. i would hold this up for the two days, and that i couldn’t let each person besides my editor apprehend that this became what i was doing. I’ve been on Twitter for a long time, and characteristic developed what i genuinely want to think of as a honestly amazing voice, so i was curious to look what changed. Screenshot of a draft tweet inside the post Intelligence console. It reads “Later in recent times, I’m going to percentage a story on publish Intelligence, an AI tool that helps humans tweet higher. Will human beings retweet it?” Screenshot via creator, from positioned up Intelligence Screenshot of a draft tweet within the submit Intelligence console. in the positioned up Intelligence console, customers can draft tweets, upload media, schedule a time, after which see a prediction score rating for a way properly that tweet will do. This tweet is best a 2 out of 10. the quick version of the test is that placed up Intelligence told me to tweet less. The day in advance than I started out the test, I despatched forty four tweets. the primary day of the check, PI encouraged I tweet simply 4 times (I in the end tweeted 7, which include some others through the tool). It recommended I tweet at 2:30, 3:30, 7:00, and 10:00pm, and when I requested it to time table a fifth tweet, it positioned it at three:00. one of the neat gear in PI is a prediction rating, wherein it seems on the phrases and connected pix or hyperlinks to a tweet, and offers a score from 1 to 10 on how nicely it thinks that tweet will do. PI favored the honest description for a tale about a comet to my dated meme description for a tweet approximately anchors. the second one day, I leaned extra into the recommendations. a couple gaps in PI’s processing had been right now obvious. It recommended I share tweets from a pair one-of-a-kind debts that I’d muted, or maybe permit me agenda a retweet of a put up from an account that I knew had me blocked. (That tweet did no longer undergo, so it looks like Twitter’s very personal blocking gear stuck it earlier than it went live). as an alternative, I shared advocated tweets from human beings outside my normal feed, which I may not have visible otherwise, and had about the identical degree of engagement as though I’d shared from interior my ordinary timeline. For my second day, too, PI endorsed I tweet just four time a say, which was a frequency I matched lower back when i was posting tweets via text message from a flip-cellular telephone. In that admire, the scheduling come to be a pleasing break: I felt like i used to be broadcasting observations on the arena, as opposed to residing and breathing with the pulse of a social community each second that information came about. Which added me to the number one essential understanding of what put up Intelligence does in practice. It’s a device for those new to Twitter, and people with constrained time to spend on tweets, to broadcast mind into the overall facts stream as it takes place. however it’s not a terrific device for interacting with others. whenever someone spoke back to truly one in every of my tweets, there has been no way to appearance that via the PI interface, and so no manner to respond at once. A graph plotting tweets through success and sentiment Screenshot with the resource of writer, from put up Intelligence A graph plotting tweets with the useful resource of fulfillment and sentiment Tweets in inexperienced are the ones evaluated as remarkable, pink and poor, and blue as somewhere in-amongst. at the x-axis is engagement with the tweet, measured with the useful resource of retweets, likes, and replies. once I requested Reddy approximately mentions and notifications in our name in advance than my trial, she suggested it as a probable future characteristic for PI. with out notifications, PI gives feedback on some unique metrics: first, there’s the likes and retweets of sent tweets themselves, displayed underneath every published tweet in a column in PI, similar to they'll be at the Twitter app itself. and then there’s a whole analytics phase, monitoring Follower increase, a word Cloud, a relationship Graph, Posting styles, and Sentiment. Sentiment is through a protracted way the maximum exciting, as it breaks tweets down into either “positive” or “terrible” (with a few falling in-among) after which presentations a graph of ways nicely tweets of each type performs. “'Trump is a very funny guy, haha.’ Is that a horrible sentiment or a pleasing one?,” says Reddy. To address sentiment, publish Intelligence has their very very own API to strive to deduce context. It’s a project that’s tough for AI and for human beings, too. “That’s some component that social media struggles with, as soon as I’m being sarcastic, human beings suppose I’m being literal. in case you’re being tongue-in-cheek, humans take it certainly.” In my quick trial, it wasn’t sentiment that tripped me up, but just the shortage of interaction with followers. A humorous story made in a moment loses efficiency the next day, and “I’m sorry, it changed into humorous, but i used to be attempting out a device for art work” isn’t the greatest excuse for answering a query an afternoon late. nevertheless, I assume there’s cost to a tool like PI, particularly for people who aren’t glued to the internet for over 8 hours every day. the liberty to plan an afternoon’s tweets in five mins, with automatically supplied topical content material cloth, intended I must consciousness my attention some location else, confident that my on line presence was intact. “Twitter may be very addicting, and it’s a long way very important, at the same time as a organisation it can be best well worth a few billion dollars,” says Reddy, “however it’s simply vital to the way of life of humanity, in a few manner I understand that’s a robust way to mention, it’s established itself as in recent times as November ninth, it can exchange the sector. I assume more human beings need to do nicely on it but don’t, because it’s just so tough to do nicely on it.” regarded because the simplest manner to enjoy Twitter, publish Intelligence is a piece underwhelming, but as a device to get into Twitter, without having to spend hours an afternoon following the records looking for appropriate sufficient jokes and data to share, put up Intelligence makes a quite properly set of training wheels.