I hate sleeping alone
Terrified with the lights out
I hate living alone
Talking to myself is boring conversation
Me and I are not friends
She is only an acquaintance
I hate dreaming of being alone
—  Daughter - Alone/With You

anonymous asked:

pls pls friendship to lovers headcanons with V

Of course, anon! *You guys have so much love for V and that makes me so happy like wOW YOU PEOPLE KNOW WHAT’S PURE IN LIFE*

  • The friendship would start off little. You guys are acquaintances, not too much of a friendship yet. But what he starts to notice is that you seem to truly take an interest in him. Not crush-wise, but, just being concerned for him and what he has to say, y’know?
  • That leads to you receiving a message from him. He isn’t over the top, he just thanks you for your concern and such.
  • Now of course, you respond. That’s the polite thing to do, you wouldn’t just ignore it.
  • Well he thinks that way too, so he responds to that text. The conversation eventually trails off into something unrelated, and while neither of you know it, you’re giggling softly at each-others messages.
  • So of course, now, whenever you see him in person, you’re actually able to strike conversation with him and keep it going. It isn’t as awkward as it used to be. 
  • Humans are what they are. You two get closer by the day, of course. It’s how nature works. But you’re beginning to feel something more than friendship. My, well, he’s such a sweet man..That’s the main word to describe him. Though you don’t know it, he’s wondering if he’s catching these feelings too
  • Now, whenever you guys talk, you’re both more cautious. You don’t wanna embarrass yourselves, after all. 
  • However, you fucker it all up. Sorta. You choose the worst person to tell, and that’s Seven. Seven swears up and down that he’ll keep your secret safe, and he wants to, really! But that isn’t how it goes. 
  • While in the chatroom one day, he kind of just..blurts it out. Everyone’s awkward and at a loss for words, and V soon explains that he must go, and that he’ll be on again soon. He still messages you, but avoids the topic. You’re left wondering if things between you both are ruined now
  • But, V is the type to talk about things in person. So, the next time you see him, that’s what he does. And once again, you’re lost in that gorgeous, calming voice of his. He eventually gets to the point, explaining that your feelings are not only accepted, but returned. That, my friend, is what starts it all, as your eyes light up with happiness.


“But you DO have friends, what about _____?”

No, I have acquaintances. I have people I sometimes hang out with for a few hours and leave. I have people I share my homework answers with. I have people who talk to me about their day and how their week is going. Friends to me are people you’ll spend 4am nights with, people who share their darkest pasts and beliefs and dreams. Friends are the ones who make you feel comfortable enough to open your mind and heart to, they’re the ones who make you feel vulnerable in the best ways. And they do they same for you. It’s hard for me to make friends because most of the people I meet seem so one-dimensional. They’ll talk about fake and materialistic things all the time, but I’m so tired of talking about drama and the weather. I want a group of friends who I can be my genuine self with, but those people are either in a new chapter of their life or far away.

luna-amiste  asked:

but like... do you think Montparnasse ever doubts whether he really deserves Jehan's love? I mean... There's so many headcanons of them being cute and happy together, I just want a bit of Montparnasse being angsty about their love

Montparnasse never had to ask himself that kind of questions. Not before Jehan, anyway.

If Montparnasse wanted to bang? He’d find a willing partner to bang. He wants that jacket? It’s already on his back. He wants that very expensive thing he certainly can’t afford? It’s his. He’s incarnation of the line “If it feels good, tastes good. It must be mine.”

But it’s not that way with Jehan. It can’t be and he doesn’t want it to be. Jehan isn’t his, they’re not a piece of clothing he can wear on his arm for a while and then drop when it’s out of fashion. He’s never been keenly acquainted with romantic feelings and it’s…. strange. And scary. It’s terrifying for someone to have such an effect on you. And that leads him to wonder what kind of effect he has on Jehan.

Is it a good one? Is it terrible? He knows he’s literally not good enough, that Jehan belongs to warm and beautiful things. What if he can’t bring that to them? What if he’s dragging them down? What if their relationship is just one big Love Song Requiem and he’s the one responsible for it?

He hates growing a conscience. It’s like a weed that makes him second guess everything he does. As selfish as he is, as self-absorbed, having Jehan in his life makes him consider another person than himself. And he wants to protect that other person. Even from himself.

“If you wanted to leave me,” he says one night, as he can’t sleep and Jehan is curled up against him, “I’d understand.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“I mean… It’d be fine. Well, no, it-you know, I-” *frustrated sigh* “If you left me, I’d get it.

“Parnasse, I know who I’m dating. You haven’t tricked me into something I don’t want to be a part of. I want to be here. I’ve known from day one.”

“But I’m not exactly…. boyfriend material.”

Jehan frowns before echoing his sigh. They drop a kiss on his forehead.

“Leather is a great boyfriend material.”


It’s All Good

Trailer for crowdfunded film about film-makers who blow all the money of their crowdfunded film:

Three filmmakers (Aaron, Vinny and Cooper) are dead broke and ready to give up on their pursuit of success in the movie business. Desperate to keep the dream alive, they turn to crowdfunding for their first feature film and raise $75,000 dollars. However, they are overtaken by greed and instead blow the money on frivolous luxuries. Now they must face the consequences, including some shady acquaintances interested in their fortune, and an onslaught of angry donors who have been deceived. 

No idea if the film is any good, but the trailer and publicity stunt (telling their backers the film is cancelled) has been entertaining.

More Here

an incomplete* playlist of songs for frankie to get her acquainted with what’s good. 120 songs, in chronological order from 1937 to 2016. 

(*entire genres of music are absent from this playlist, and this in no way represents a complete musical education and is not meant to suggest the genres represented on this list are superior to other genres! song selection was based upon hysterical naked’s sound and general relevance to d&b)

[listen here

ask-kyran-and-lucita-darkheart  asked:

{ lucita was in her room making light crystal sculptures in here room. Kyran was heading out after he told past and lucita that he was going to help an old acquaintance fine someone, Kyran was gone for 3 hours until he finally returned to the cabin, kyran has multiple slashes and corruption burn marks as his jacket was slashed and stained in his blood as lucita heard the door opened and helped him to a near by chair } lucita: brother are you okay?

*Past was now 3 months pregnant. She sensed he was hurt and rushed to his aid.* “Oh my gosh what happened?”

you know when facebook tells you that it’s the anniversary of your friendship with someone who you haven’t spoken to in like thirty years (or worse someone who you had a falling out with) and you know they got the notification too but obviously neither of you will say anything and even tho it doesn’t involve any interaction with them at all it still for some reason feels awkward

it’s like the online equivalent of seeing some vague acquaintance in public and pretending you didn’t see each other except i should not have to deal with that on the internet, in my SACRED SPACE,

I am always left behind,
Whether by old friends
Or new acquaintances.
They may nod in greeting
Or avoid my gaze entirely,
But they will not speak to me.
They will carry on without me,
Happy and content in their lives,
While I struggle to continue
And wonder why they left.
And now,
You’re the same way.
You’re spending more time
With them
And less time with me.
Please tell me what I did wrong,
Please give me a chance to fix it,
Please forgive me for my mistakes.
—  please don’t leave me alone too.
The Moment I Knew

Shining lights, sparkling stars, glittering gowns and dresses, swishing through the crowd.

Hanamaki stands in a corner of the room, nervously clutching a wineglass, trembling fingers causing tremors in the liquid inside. Punch, not wine, because he is a model daughter, the perfect example, and even though it is his party, his day, his limelight – his time, his life, they belong to his parents, and he has to live it for them, tugged along on the strings they have tied him up with.

(Even though he’s told them a million times, I’m a boy, they’d never accepted it, just pushed him along and forced him, forced him to be their perfect daughter, and what can he do, with society the way it is?)

He stares at the door, the closed wood of their ballroom, and waits, waits, waits.

You said you’d be here.

An acquaintance – Keiko, from his dance lessons – approaches him to make small talk, and he obliges, but his eyes keep straying back to the firmly shut door, at the shiny knob that refuses to turn.

Where are you?

Another girl comes up to him – someone he doesn’t know – and compliments his dress. He dips his head politely, softly replying that his mother picked the colour and material, and she’s such a good seamstress; look at this embroidery. It was done by her.

And they ooh and ahh, but he couldn’t care less, not about slippery silk and smooth satin, not about the jewelled tones of the embroidery on his corset. His eyes drift to the door again, and he stops himself from biting his lip just in time. He cannot show weakness, or nervousness.

He will come. He must.

But the door remains shut, its knob unmoving, even as the night wears on, as dusk turns to evening, as his hands clenched and unclench, the perfect cherry pink of his dress sliding through his fingers.

(Where are you, where are you? I picked this dress for you.)

He can feel them staring, the sorority girls, their whispers hidden behind their hands, their glances sharp and darting. He knows what they’re saying, their words harsh and unforgiving, and his face burns with shame.

He looks desperately around the room, eyes sweeping from the table of treats to the mini orchestra in the corner, to the small dais which his parents will drag him up onto later, and declare his engagement.

(He doesn’t want to think about it, no matter how gorgeous his betrothed is.)

His gaze slides over the crowd, his breathing quickening when he sees them in their little groups, when he sees them standing with their partners. His heart aches, when he sees the men picking up hands and brushing kisses across them, the women hiding behind their hands and fans, twittering excitedly.

He takes a deep breath and bites on his lip, turning to run out of the ballroom, intent on getting to the restroom with no further incident.

Of course, no-one wants him to be alone.

He is followed by his ‘closest friends’, and they pen him in, dripping sympathy and gushing condolences, asking, asking, asking, what’s wrong?

And he doesn’t want to tell them, doesn’t want to give them anything to hold over him. But his mouth is traitorous, and a small sob escapes, and he turns to see himself in the small mirror, red lipstick scraped off, pink ringlets tumbling over his shoulder in a lovely mess.

He said he’d be here.

And then there are clear drops slipping down his cheeks, splashing into the small basin, and the girls twitter more, but only one offers her handkerchief to dab at the hot tears, and he feels so hopeless, so broken, so angry and afraid because now they know.

(Now they know that the one who was supposed to save him didn’t turn up.)

They file out one by one, murmuring their false sympathies, until he is left with the one girl who offered him her handkerchief, but she turns to leave as well, with the faintest whisper of I’m sorry.

There are tears on his cheeks again, and he dabs furiously at them, because he cannot afford to ruin what’s left of his makeup, but they keep coming and coming, and he’s just so sad.

You said you’d be here.

He cleans up the best he can and returns to the ballroom.

There is enthusiastic clapping when he re-enters the room, and a loud chorus of ‘Happy Birthday’ starts even as the crowd parts, and his betrothed emerges from it, offering his hand.

Hanamaki smiles, a small, weak thing, and places his hand in his.

His parents declare their betrothal as they stand on the dais, but his eyes are still fixed on the door, begging, begging, in his heart of hearts for it to open, please. Where are you?

Then he is being turned to face his betrothed, and slim fingers lift his chin, a chaste kiss placed on his lips. Polite claps echo around the ballroom even as he smiles tightly at the man whose name he is going to be forced to take.

Oikawa smiles, and asks him to dance.

Halfway through their waltz, he leans close, and whispers, I’m sorry.

Hanamaki buries his face in his lapels, refusing to let the tears fall.

Because he knows, too.

Later, in the darkness of his room, his dress on the floor, unseen by the only one whom he wanted to see it, the phone rings, and he picks up, staring into the darkness.

“Makki? I’m sorry I couldn’t make it.”

He bites his lip, forcing a slow exhale, and whispers back, I’m sorry too.

“We’ll always be best friends, even though I missed your betrothal party.”

He takes a deep breath, nibbles on his ruined lipstick. Yeah. We will.

“Oikawa’s not so bad. He’ll treat you right.”

Hanamaki chews harder on his lip, but his heart is shattering, smashed into tiny, tiny fragments.

Yeah, he probably will.

There’s no guilt, no worry in his best friend’s tone. “I’m sorry, again. Talk to you tomorrow?”

Yeah. He breathes deeply, sucking in air that isn’t enough for his deprived lungs.

(I already knew.)

(You can’t and won’t love a boy trapped in a girl’s body.)

See you tomorrow, Mattsun.

anonymous asked:

Naspar: Return to work area to find it's turned into a robot brawl zone. Avoid lobster claw.


One of your acquaintances in Maintenance calls you just as you’re about to put down the schematics and try to sleep. (You have, STRANGELY enough, a fairly good working relationship with most Maintenance trolls.) “If you’re interested in catching people in the act, you might want to visit the workblock now.”


In the workblock, several tables have been pushed aside. Callea, Komlee, Rayshe, ZAHHAK, and a dozen others, some of whom you don’t even recognize are standing around cheering on two mostly troll-shaped robots battering the hell out of each other.

The fuck.

I’ve been wondering a lot about how much of my culture shock is because DC and Salt Lake are different places and how much is because moving 2000 miles away to a place where you don’t really have connections is a big deal regardless of what the places are.

The thing I miss the most is a sense of social trust. There’s more social trust in Utah, but I also had more ties in Utah. I severely underestimated the value of casual acquaintances until I had to start over from scratch after spending my life so far in the same place. The only other time I “moved” was when I stopped living with my parents. I moved 15 minutes away and the main takeaway from that was that everything I had previously thought I didn’t like about Utah was actually what I didn’t like about living with my parents. The change wasn’t anywhere near this magnitude.

anonymous asked:

"I'm going to break you, Stanford Pines. I'm going to humiliate and degrade you until you're but a shadow of your former greatness, until the very image of you becomes a mark of shame. I'm going to use you and show the entire world, they will see you violated and desecrated within an inch of your humanity until you finally lose your damn mind and become less than an animal. You are going to become my toy, mine to flaunt, mine to play with and utterly, absolutely, MINE."

Terror was an emotion Stanford Pines had become well acquainted with thanks to his former muse, and by now- through trial and error, blood, sweat and tears- he knew how to distinguish Bill’s lies from his truths.

Bill wasn’t lying. For the first time, he wishes Bill was lying, and would keep lying and this wouldn’t happen. It wouldn’t happen- it wasn’t going to happen. It was only some sick fucking joke to make Ford sweat a little, back him into a corner and make him squirm–

this is what it means to play hero, he can hear Bill shouting those words proudly inside his head as if he’d just won a prize at a fair. Maybe these thoughts are Bill’s words– maybe? Maybe…

He can hear it, ‘The bad guy’s won Stanford. This is what you meatbags do to demonstrate your dominance, right?

The voice inside his head sounds too much like Bill Cipher.

He knows though, he knows…this voice is not the first thing of Bill’s to enter him, and it won’t be the last.

i have an unlimited amount of anxiety right now and feel unwanted/out of place and honestly thank god for even the smallest gestures of friendliness because they really stand out to me. thanks friends/acquaintances I just really need it right now

@freyatheeldest coming off hiatus just for this tbh

Highgarden was nothing as he originally imagined. It was more STUNNING than his father had described to him. Dismounting his horse he watched one of the Tyrell girls approach. He put on a CHARMING smile and nodded to the young woman. “Lady Freya. It is a PLEASURE to finally meet your acquaintance. I have heard much praise about you and your family.”

He took her hand in his and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “I do hope our arrival here causes no INCONVENIENCE to you and your family.”

@lylaizabella | Continued from HERE

[ SMS: Jax] Brooke has been teaching me about emoji
[ SMS: Jax] first one is your favorite part of my anatomy. Second is my favorite part of yours. Third one I think you know what it means.
[ SMS: Jax] so hurry home?

[SMS: Lyla] Yes, but the second part doesn’t get too acquainted with the first

[SMS: Lyla] Even in picture form right?

[SMS: Lyla] If so, I’m missing the good part of that deal.