an open letter to my self

It’s around that time of year when kids start getting letters of being waitlisted, rejection and deferment. Just wanted to say hang in there– not everyone’s collegiate path is a strict linear progression. Taking gap years, transferring, going to your ‘B’or ‘C’ school, etc– they’re all completely valid ways to self-discovery and getting to where you want to be. From my own experience, things have a way of working out in the weirdest ways. Just keep your head up & mind open and don’t give up. 

Everything You Need to Know About Writing Successfully - in Ten Minutes

by Stephen King
(reprinted in Sylvia K. Burack, ed. The Writer’s Handbook. Boston, MA: Writer, Inc., 1988: 3-9)

I. The First Introduction

THAT’S RIGHT. I know it sounds like an ad for some sleazy writers’ school, but I really am going to tell you everything you need to pursue a successful and financially rewarding career writing fiction, and I really am going to do it in ten minutes, which is exactly how long it took me to learn.  It will actually take you twenty minutes or so to read this essay, however, because I have to tell you a story, and then I have to write a second introduction.  But these, I argue, should not count in the ten minutes.



II. The Story, or, How Stephen King Learned to Write

When I was a sophomore in high school, I did a sophomoric thing which got me in a pot of fairly hot water, as sophomoric didoes often do.  I wrote and published a small satiric newspaper called The Village Vomit.  In this little paper I lampooned a number of teachers at Lisbon (Maine) High School, where I was under instruction.  These were not very gentle lampoons; they ranged from the scatological to the downright cruel

Eventually, a copy of this little newspaper found its way into the hands of a faculty member, and since I had been unwise enough to put my name on it (a fault, some critics argue, of which I have still not been entirely cured), I was brought into the office. The sophisticated satirist had by that time reverted to what he really was: a fourteen-year-old kid who was shaking in his boots and wondering if he was going to get a suspension … what we called “a three-day vacation” in those dim days of 1964.

I wasn’t suspended. I was forced to make a number of apologies - they were warranted, but they still tasted like dog-dirt in my mouth - and spent a week in detention hall. And the guidance counselor arranged what he no doubt thought of as a more constructive channel for my talents. This was a job - contingent upon the editor’s approval - writing sports for the Lisbon Enterprise, a twelve-page weekly of the sort with which any small-town resident will be familiar. This editor was the man who taught me everything I know about writing in ten minutes. His name was John Gould - not the famed New England humorist or the novelist who wrote The Greenleaf Fires, but a relative of both, I believe.

He told me he needed a sports writer and we could “try each other out” if I wanted.

I told him I knew more about advanced algebra than I did sports.

Gould nodded and said, “You’ll learn.”

I said I would at least try to learn. Gould gave me a huge roll of yellow paper and promised me a wage of 1/2¢ per word. The first two pieces I wrote had to do with a high school basketball game in which a member of my school team broke the Lisbon High scoring record. One of these pieces was straight reportage. The second was a feature article.

I brought them to Gould the day after the game, so he’d have them for the paper, which came out Fridays. He read the straight piece, made two minor corrections, and spiked it. Then he started in on the feature piece with a large black pen and taught me all I ever needed to know about my craft. I wish I still had the piece - it deserves to be framed, editorial corrections and all - but I can remember pretty well how it looked when he had finished with it. Here’s an example:

(note: this is before the edit marks indicated on King’s original copy)

Last night, in the well-loved gymnasium of Lisbon High School, partisans and Jay Hills fans alike were stunned by an athletic performance unequaled in school history: Bob Ransom, known as “Bullet” Bob for both his size and accuracy, scored thirty-seven points. He did it with grace and speed … and he did it with an odd courtesy as well, committing only two personal fouls in his knight-like quest for a record which has eluded Lisbon thinclads since 1953….

(after edit marks)

Last night, in the Lisbon High School gymnasium, partisans and Jay Hills fans alike were stunned by an athletic performance unequaled in school history: Bob Ransom scored thirty-seven points. He did it with grace and speed … and he did it with an odd courtesy as well, committing only two personal fouls in his quest for a record which has eluded Lisbon’s basketball team since 1953….

When Gould finished marking up my copy in the manner I have indicated above, he looked up and must have seen something on my face. I think he must have thought it was horror, but it was not: it was revelation.

“I only took out the bad parts, you know,” he said. “Most of it’s pretty good.”

“I know,” I said, meaning both things: yes, most of it was good, and yes, he had only taken out the bad parts. “I won’t do it again.”

“If that’s true,” he said, “you’ll never have to work again. You can do this for a living.” Then he threw back his head and laughed.

And he was right; I am doing this for a living, and as long as I can keep on, I don’t expect ever to have to work again.



III. The Second Introduction

All of what follows has been said before. If you are interested enough in writing to be a purchaser of this magazine, you will have either heard or read all (or almost all) of it before. Thousands of writing courses are taught across the United States each year; seminars are convened; guest lecturers talk, then answer questions, then drink as many gin and tonics as their expense-fees will allow, and it all boils down to what follows.

I am going to tell you these things again because often people will only listen - really listen - to someone who makes a lot of money doing the thing he’s talking about. This is sad but true. And I told you the story above not to make myself sound like a character out of a Horatio Alger novel but to make a point: I saw, I listened, and I learned. Until that day in John Gould’s little office, I had been writing first drafts of stories which might run 2,500 words. The second drafts were apt to run 3,300 words. Following that day, my 2,500-word first drafts became 2,200-word second drafts. And two years after that, I sold the first one.

So here it is, with all the bark stripped off. It’ll take ten minutes to read, and you can apply it right away…if you listen.



IV. Everything You Need to Know About Writing Successfully

1.  BE TALENTED
This, of course, is the killer.  What is talent?  I can hear someone shouting, and here we are, ready to get into a discussion right up there with “what is the meaning of life?” for weighty pronouncements and total uselessness.  For the purposes of the beginning writer, talent may as well be defined as eventual success - publication and money.  If you wrote something for which someone sent you a check, if you cashed the check and it didn’t bounce, and if you then paid the light bill with the money, I consider you talented.

Now some of you are really hollering.  Some of you are calling me one crass money-fixated creep.  And some of you are calling me bad names.  Are you calling Harold Robbins talented?  someone in one of the Great English Departments of America is screeching.  V.C. Andrews?  Theodore Dreiser?  Or what about you, you dyslexic moron?

Nonsense.  Worse than nonsense, off the subject.  We’re not talking about good or bad here.  I’m interested in telling you how to get your stuff published, not in critical judgments of who’s good or bad.  As a rule the critical judgments come after the check’s been spent, anyway.  I have my own opinions, but most times I keep them to myself.  People who are published steadily and are paid for what they are writing may be either saints or trollops, but they are clearly reaching a great many someones who want what they have.  Ergo, they are communicating.  Ergo, they are talented.  The biggest part of writing successfully is being talented, and in the context of marketing, the only bad writer is one who doesn’t get paid.  If you’re not talented, you won’t succeed.  And if you’re not succeeding, you should know when to quit.

When is that?  I don’t know.  It’s different for each writer.  Not after six rejection slips, certainly, nor after sixty.  But after six hundred?  Maybe.  After six thousand?  My friend, after six thousand pinks, it’s time you tried painting or computer programming.

Further, almost every aspiring writer knows when he is getting warmer - you start getting little jotted notes on your rejection slips, or personal letters…maybe a commiserating phone call.  It’s lonely out there in the cold, but there are encouraging voices…unless there is nothing in your words which warrants encouragement.  I think you owe it to yourself to skip as much of the self-illusion as possible.  If your eyes are open, you’ll know which way to go…or when to turn back.

2.  BE NEAT
Type.  Double-space.  Use a nice heavy white paper, never that erasable onion-skin stuff.  If you’ve marked up your manuscript a lot, do another draft.

3.  BE SELF-CRITICAL
If you haven’t marked up your manuscript a lot, you did a lazy job.  Only God gets things right the first time.  Don’t be a slob.

4.  REMOVE EVERY EXTRANEOUS WORD
You want to get up on a soapbox and preach?  Fine.  Get one and try your local park.  You want to write for money?  Get to the point.  And if you remove all the excess garbage and discover you can’t find the point, tear up what you wrote and start all over again…or try something new.

5.  NEVER LOOK AT A REFERENCE BOOK WHILE DOING A FIRST DRAFT You want to write a story?  Fine.  Put away your dictionary, your encyclopedias, your World Almanac, and your thesaurus.  Better yet, throw your thesaurus into the wastebasket.  The only things creepier than a thesaurus are those little paperbacks college students too lazy to read the assigned novels buy around exam time.  Any word you have to hunt for in a thesaurus is the wrong word.  There are no exceptions to this rule.  You think you might have misspelled a word?  O.K., so here is your choice: either look it up in the dictionary, thereby making sure you have it right - and breaking your train of thought and the writer’s trance in the bargain - or just spell it phonetically and correct it later.  Why not?  Did you think it was going to go somewhere?  And if you need to know the largest city in Brazil and you find you don’t have it in your head, why not write in Miami, or Cleveland?  You can check it…but laterWhen you sit down to write, write.  Don’t do anything else except go to the bathroom, and only do that if it absolutely cannot be put off.

6.  KNOW THE MARKETS
Only a dimwit would send a story about giant vampire bats surrounding a high school to McCall’s.  Only a dimwit would send a tender story about a mother and daughter making up their differences on Christmas Eve to Playboy…but people do it all the time.  I’m not exaggerating; I have seen such stories in the slush piles of the actual magazines.  If you write a good story, why send it out in an ignorant fashion?  Would you send your kid out in a snowstorm dressed in Bermuda shorts and a tank top?  If you like science fiction, read the magazines.  If you want to write confession stories, read the magazines.  And so on.  It isn’t just a matter of knowing what’s right for the present story; you can begin to catch on, after awhile, to overall rhythms, editorial likes and dislikes, a magazine’s entire slant.  Sometimes your reading can influence the next story, and create a sale.

7.  WRITE TO ENTERTAIN
Does this mean you can’t write “serious fiction”?  It does not.  Somewhere along the line pernicious critics have invested the American reading and writing public with the idea that entertaining fiction and serious ideas do not overlap.  This would have surprised Charles Dickens, not to mention Jane Austen, John Steinbeck, William Faulkner, Bernard Malamud, and hundreds of others.  But your serious ideas must always serve your story, not the other way around.  I repeat: if you want to preach, get a soapbox.

8.  ASK YOURSELF FREQUENTLY, AM I HAVING FUN?”
The answer needn’t always be yes.  But if it’s always no, it’s time for a new project or a new career.

9.  HOW TO EVALUATE CRITICISM
Show your piece to a number of people - ten, let us say.  Listen carefully to what they tell you.  Smile and nod a lot.  Then review what was said very carefully.  If your critics are all telling you the same thing about some facet of your story - a plot twist that doesn’t work, a character who rings false, stilted narrative, or half a dozen other possibles - change that facet.  It doesn’t matter if you really liked that twist of that character; if a lot of people are telling you something is wrong with you piece, it is.  If seven or eight of them are hitting on that same thing, I’d still suggest changing it.  But if everyone - or even most everyone - is criticizing something different, you can safely disregard what all of them say.

10.  OBSERVE ALL RULES FOR PROPER SUBMISSION
Return postage, self-addressed envelope, all of that.

11.  AN AGENT?  FORGET IT.  FOR NOW
Agents get 10% of monies earned by their clients.  10% of nothing is nothing.  Agents also have to pay the rent.  Beginning writers do not contribute to that or any other necessity of life.  Flog your stories around yourself.  If you’ve done a novel, send around query letters to publishers, one by one, and follow up with sample chapters and/or the manuscript complete.  And remember Stephen King’s First Rule of Writers and Agents, learned by bitter personal experience: You don’t need one until you’re making enough for someone to steal…and if you’re making that much, you’ll be able to take your pick of good agents.

12.  IF IT’S BAD, KILL IT
When it comes to people, mercy killing is against the law.  When it comes to fiction, it is the law.



That’s everything you need to know.  And if you listened, you can write everything and anything you want.  Now I believe I will wish you a pleasant day and sign off.

My ten minutes are up.

I came out to my parents when I was 18 years old. I left a letter under my mother’s pillow, gave her a kiss goodbye and then embarked on my first tour ever. I remember sitting in the back of a van headed to the abyss of the open road, fearing for my life. Ever since, my time has been swept up by life on the road performing with my band as an openly gay front woman. At the time, I never realized how impactful something as simple as being my authentic self and true to my heart would be for thousands of others out there.

Over the past few years it’s been the most powerful and humbling experience to watch the PVRIS fanbase become such a safe place for people of the LGBTQ community. We have witnessed countless proposals, been a part of coming-outs, read hundreds of letters and have heard so many incredible stories. Thank you for all the love, support and courage you have all given to me to be myself on this journey thus far, and thank you for the love, support and courage you have given yourselves and others around you. I want nothing more than for you all to feel the utmost love and freedom in being yourselves. You are all exceptionally magic.

—  For Gay Pride Month, Billboard asked numerous pop culture luminaries to write ‘love letters’ to the LGBTQ community. Above, PVRIS’ lead singer Lynn Gunn shares hers.

1. I hope you’ve learned to be kinder to yourself and realized that you don’t have to be perfect in order to be loved.

2. I hope you’ve learned to accept your body wholeheartedly and embrace the boundless beauty you’ve always possessed from within.

3. I hope you haven’t lost your sense of wonder and that the simplest things still fill you with excitement and gratitude.

4. I hope that you doubt yourself less and follow your inner voice more faithfully.

5. I hope that the music has not lost its magic on you and that you’ve learned to sing more freely.

6. I hope you’ve learned that it really is okay to let other people in and let them carve out places in your heart. Everyone you meet has something to teach you about yourself if you allow them to.

7. I hope you’ve realized that you’ve been fearless all along and that your resilience is unrelenting and will never fail you.

8. I hope you’ve made peace with the monsters that used to follow you around. The darkness that once filled your heart was the only way to find the light.

9. I hope you’ve learned to live for the moments in front of you and realized that worry is a useless emotion.

10. I hope you’re healed..and whole…and genuinely happy.

See you soon 💖

—  An Open Letter to My Future Self
First Love

Summary: You move into a new apartment and you become enemies with your new neighbor.

Pairing: Min Yoongi / Reader

Genre: Smut

Words: 4.4k

Part 2Masterlist


“Thank you so much for helping me.” You hugged your friend.

“You sure you’re gonna be okay here alone?” She asked concerned.

“I’ll be okay Chae.”

She hugged you once again before leaving.

Now to unpack.

You finally moved out of your parents house and into your own apartment. You wanted a change. The only thing was that you were living in the more active side of town. You were more towards the city so the crime rates were a little high. Plus it was loud.

As soon as you went through your boxes, pulling out picture frames first you heard piano coming from next door. You leaned in closer to get a clearer sound. It was beautiful.

You decided to just go back to unpacking. You did feel a little uneasy being alone. This was a new feeling for you, being on your own.

One of the first things you wanted to do was set up your TV. You hooked up your cable, easy enough and then turned your TV on using the remote. As soon as you turned it on, it seemed to be working fine so you left and went to the kitchen putting away some dishes.

You turned around from the sound of plastic hitting the floor. Sammy. Your cat jumping up on the counter knocking shit off like usual.

“Get down.”

You went back to unpacking your kitchen box when you heard the cable going out with a loud static you had to cover your ears. You immediately went into panic mode trying to find the remote that you only had a few minutes ago.

The noise was unbearably loud that you couldn’t take another second. You heard a loud door bell ringing over the static.

You quickly went to the door opening it up seeing a young guy looking extremely annoyed.

“Shut it off!” He tried to shout over the noise.

“What?” You yelled back.

“Shut it off!” He made his voice louder.

“I’m trying!”

He entered your apartment uninvited and marched over to your TV. He couldn’t find the buttons to the TV so he just reached around and unplugged it.

You looked at him apologetic.

“You couldn’t do that?” He snapped.

“I’m sorry….my cat must of knocked the cable out.”

He rolled his eyes making his way towards the door. “You just move in?”

“Yeah.” You nervously tugged your hair behind your ear.

“Please keep it down.” He glared at you before he stepped out your apartment and you heard the door next door shut. Was he the one that was playing the piano?

You glanced at the time seeing it was 10:30. No wonder he was mad, who wouldn’t be mad.

You decided to just call it a night and dragged yourself to your room.

-

The next morning you got a call from your friends Chae and Jisoo. They wanted to meet you for lunch. As soon as you got ready they texted you the address of the place. It wasn’t too far.

“Hey girl.” Your friend Chae greeted you. “How’s the place?”

“It’s pretty nice, and cozy.” You smiled.

“Did you finish unpacking?”

You shook your head. “Too tired.” You leaned back in your chair.

“What apartment complex did you move into again?” Jisoo asked.

“The Gardens.”

“Really?” She asked. “My brother lives there.” She smiled.

“That’s cool.”

“Now I can visit you both at the same time.”

“You go there often?”

“Not really, my brothers always busy.” She pouted.

-

You didn’t stay long, you still had a lot of packing to do. Before you went upstairs you stopped at the main office claiming your mailbox. They gave you a key and they told you to make sure it works from it being a little out of date.

You went back to the front door where the mailboxes were and attempted to open your mail box. As soon as you opened it you saw a letter already.

Welcome to The Gardens.

That’s it?

You heard noise next to you as someone else was getting their mail. The guy from last night. You tried not to cause attention to yourself. You walked back over to the office saying your key was fine and headed towards the stairs. You had to pass the mailboxes again to get to there.

You saw the guy look in your direction as you walked forward.

“Hey….I’m sorry for last night I was just trying to finish my work.” He apologized.

“No I’m sorry for making so much noise.” You smiled.

“I’m Yoongi.” He reached out his hand.

“I’m (Y/N).” You shook his hand.

“Do you need any help unpacking?” He kindly offered.

“No that’s okay I only have a few boxes left.” The shy person you were avoided any confrontation as possible. Even how cute this guy was.

“Okay well, you know where to find me.”

He went to the elevator. You were honestly afraid of elevators you avoided them at all cost. You were only on the third floor so it wasn’t a big deal.

As soon as you got to your room you continued unpacking, you had more then you led on.

“Sammy, don’t you dare touch that TV.” She looked at you then swatted at the cord making it fall out again. The irritating noise come back.

“Sammy!” You ran to your TV hitting the power button turning off the sound. You didn’t bother even looking for the remote because you knew you wouldn’t find it.

You heard a instant knock on your door. “You’re making me look bad Sammy.”

(I actually talk to my cat, not crazy cat lady way but like this, so I hope this is not weird xD lol)

You opened the door to see the familiar face of annoyance. “Need help with your TV again?”

“I’m sorry but I turned it off quicker this time.” He walked into your apartment again uninvited. He sat down in front of your cable box attempting to screw in the cable.

“Here’s your problem.” He sat up. “Your cable adapter is broken….it just spins it doesn’t tighten that’s probably why it keeps falling out.”

“Oh.”

“Your gonna need a new one.”

“Here I have a better idea.” You grabbed the duct tape and started to unwrap it.

“Really? Duct tape doesn’t fix everything.” He arched his eyebrows.

“It will do for now so Sammy won’t knock it out again.”

“Sammy?” He asked.

“My cat.” You confirmed.

He laughed. “Of course.”

His laugh was beautiful.

What were you thinking, you just met this guy and he seemed like a grouch. No offense.

He looked around your apartment seeing the mess. “It looks like you still have a lot of work to do.”

“Yeah….I’m not exactly sure where I’m putting everything yet.” You bit inside your cheek.

“Need any help?”

“That’s okay I’m gonna call it a night.”

“Okay.” He nodded and made his way towards your door. “Hopefully your cat can keep it quiet.” He smiled causing you to blush.

Why was his smile so perfect? Why was he effecting you this way?

-

You woke at 5am on this Saturday morning so you can start your morning shift at 6am. You worked with your parents twice a week but you also had a full time job at the local restaurant for about two years now.

It was nicer since you only had to travel a few blocks but now you were on your own so it was either walk or city bus since you didn’t have a car.

You hated working at the restaurant, it was always busy at night and you had to deal with rich snobs. There was occasional sweet people who left you nice tips but that was a rare occasion. You were trying to work your way through school. You still had two years left.

“You’re late sweetie.” Your mother scolded you.

“I’m sorry, the bus was late.”

“I don’t feel comfortable with you taking the bus.”

“It’s fine mom.”

“You should of worked on getting a car first before moving into an apartment.” You rolled your eyes. She was always like this.

“Mom I’m 21 now, I need to be on my own.”

“Okay fine then be on time.” You squinted your eyes.

Your parents owned a local pharmacy in the city.

-

As soon as you dragged your self off the bus you were already tired. Saturdays were your busy day at the pharmacy. When you reached your apartment entrance you decided to stop at the mail box.

You opened your box and it only had a few letters in there. You couldn’t imagine you having mail already. As soon as you pulled them out you noticed the name saying Min Yoongi.

You felt a mini anxiety attack meaning you had to bug him again.

When you got to your floor you stood outside his door taking a deep breath before you lifted your fist and softly knocked.

You heard the door handle turn not to long after. When he opened the door he seemed surprised to see you there.

He didn’t say anything he just stared waiting for you to say something.

“Um….your mail was in my mail box by accident.” You looked down handing over his mail.

“They do that a lot…they probably have dyslexia.”

You pursed your lips. “Okay well-” You started to turn around.

“Wait.” He stopped you suddenly. “Can I ask your advice on something?”

You looked at him confused. He moved to the side so you could walk through. He shut the door behind you making you jump. You didn’t know why you felt so intimidated by him.

You waited until he led you to a open space next to the living room. He had a grand piano next to a Yamaha electronic keyboard.

“I want advice from an outsiders point of view instead of my friends who hear my stuff all the time.”

He sat down at the piano and he looked at you signaling you to sit next to him. You noticed the music sheet on the stand labeled ’Butterfly’.

He brushed the keys before he pressed down playing the first note. The song was unbelievably gentle. It gave you some inner feeling you couldn’t explain. You had chills, you have never heard anything so beautiful in your entire life.

The song felt emotional.

After he was done he looked forward, like he was thinking until he turned to you. “Was it okay?”

“Okay? It was beautiful.” You sweetly smiled.

“Really?”

“Yeah….you wrote that?”

He nodded. “Amazing.”

“Thank you.”

-

For the past week you couldn’t get Yoongi out of your head. The way he smiled, even though that wasn’t often. But yet you couldn’t figure him out. One moment he was grouchy the next he was sweet.

You couldn’t even tell if he likes you or not. He’s either knocking on your door telling you you’re being too loud or he’s inviting you over for advice then kicks you out.

You were a dance major so once you hooked up your stereo you were always practicing, which often caused Yoongi coming over asking you to lower the music.

-

You were living at the apartment for a month now and you had a huge audition coming up so you had to practice as much as you could.

You had your music at a dim volume so Yoongi wouldn’t come pounding on your door again, it got to the point that every time he saw you he was constantly wearing a annoyed expression and he hasn’t invited you over since that one day two weeks ago. You came to the conclusion that he didn’t like you.

You practiced your whole routine twice through still needing to practice it.

As you started the third time you heard loud music coming next door. You stopped immensely to turn your music up a little more but that made no effect. It seemed his music just got louder. For the past ten minutes you just tried to ignore it but it had no use. You stopped your music and left your apartment in a rage.

You buzzed his doorbell and knocked as loud as you could. He opened the door arching his eyebrows. You heard a echo of his music coming from another room.

“Can you please keep it down?” You shouted.

“Sorry am I too loud?” He smirked.

“I’ve been keeping my end low lately.” You argued.

“I can still hear yours, so I just decided to turn mine up.”

“I have an important audition coming up.” You basically whined.

“Oh, that’s why your dressed like that.” He referred to your ballet sweats.

You glared at his cocky smile. “I’m being serious.”

“Well sorry I’m doing my job.”

“Is your job being rude as fuck?” Your shy side no longer an issue.

Yoongi stepped back with a surprised expression but he still had a smile on his face. You also saw that he had guest so you immediately toned down.

“Okay I’ll turn it down if you do.” He smirked again.

You rolled your eyes and stormed back to your room.

You knew you weren’t being that loud he’s trying to get back at you.

“You have a friendly neighbor.” Jhope laughed sarcastically at his friend.

“She’s cute.” Jimin said making Yoongi smile.

-

You wasted too much time angry at Yoongi that you had to already get ready for your night shift at the restaurant.

It was 9:30pm and you were counting down the time you could go home. You still had a dreadful four hours. You stood to the waiting area for another family or couple to be seated. You looked at the direction of a young couple entering the dinning area. Your eyes widen as you had to take a double glance towards the pair.

It wad Yoongi with a girl. She was beautiful. Of course he has a girlfriend.

Wait a minute, why did you all of a sudden feel jealous? After today you never want to see or hear from him again.

You don’t care. You don’t care.

You kept repeating.

“(Y/N)!” You heard your manger whisper shout at you. You looked at him and he pointed to the young couple.

Of course. You have to seat him.

You made your way over to them and bowed. Yoongi looked at you with wide eyes and then he smirked. He didn’t say a word that he knew you, which you were kind of grateful for. You lead them to their table and pulled out your pad.

“Hello I’m (Y/N) and I’ll be your server, can I start you with some drinks?” You asked professionally.

“I’ll take a water….Suga?” She tried to get his attention. He looked up from the menu.

“Same.” Then looked back down.

You walked away getting ready to get their drinks. Why did she call him Suga? Was it some cliche couple name? Why were you caring so much?

“Why so grumpy?” One of the cooks laughed as you set up the drinks.

“Nothing.” You smiled sarcastically.

“Are you guys ready to order?” You said as sweet as you can while putting their drinks on the table.

“Yeah.”

She ordered and then he just agreed on whatever she was having.

The rest of the night was a blur, as you waited in your service area, you occasionally caught Yoongi glance at you and he would do his annoying smirk.

You honestly couldn’t get him through your head. Was he purposely trying to annoy you or make you uncomfortable because it was working.

Cleaning up their table you collected the envelope where they placed the tip and put it in your pocket with the rest of your tips.

Later that night you dragged yourself up the stairs through your apartment complex. You dreaded this job, but it was too good of a paycheck to pass up.

As soon as you entered your room, the shoes came flying off. You heard faint piano keys from the room over. What was he still doing up? It was 1:30am.

It reminded you to check your tips. You opened the envelope from.his table. You pulled out the amount and looked at it confused. This must be a mistake. $300. You never got that high of a tip before.

You knew he was up so you made your way next door knocking. You heard the piano stop suddenly and not to long the door opened.

He had a habit of not greeting you, he would just stare and wait for you to speak first.

“I think you accidentally gave me too much money.” You waved the envelope.

“No.” He shook his head.

“Yoongi this is $300….even rich people with ten houses don’t give me that much.”

“That’s how much we gave you.” It looked like he was almost going to shut his door in your face

“Well…its too much….I appreciate it but I’m not struggling or anything.”

“It’s fine, my friend has a lot of money….you deserve it.”

Before you could speak he did shut the door in your face.

You deserve it? You went back to your apartment confused. How would he know? Yoongi was a puzzle that you were trying to figure out. Even though your close to finishing it there’s always one piece that’s missing.

-

It was the end of next week and your last day to practice your dance routine and of course Yoongi had his music interrupting your music again.

You marched back over pounding on his door. His music never stopped so he probably didn’t hear you. You jiggled the handle and saw that it was opened. You didn’t see him once you entered. You just followed the music until you stood in front of another door. You turned the knob and saw a studio type den.

He was sat down in a chair in front of a panel filled with hundreds of switches and buttons.

“Yoongi!” You shouted over the music. He slightly jumped and turned the music down to a dim.

“What do you want?”

“Don’t you own a pair of headphones?” You snapped.

“Yes.” He smirked.

“Why are you doing This? To get back at me? I’m sorry for the past few weeks okay…..so can you please stop punishing me I’ve been playing my music low every night for you.” You rambled.

“Why should I, I pay to live here and I’ve gotten no complaints till you lived here.”

“Why are you such a jerk?” You yelled.

“If I’m such a jerk then move.” He stood up.

“You know what, good idea.” You turned around and headed towards his door.

You were close to his opened door but before you could leave he beat you to it and closed the door with his presence behind you.

“I’m sorry okay.” You turned around and walked backwards until your back hit the door from how close he was. “I don’t want you to leave.”

“Why do you care….you hate me.” Your tone of voice was still agrivated.

You saw him lean in closer. “I dont hate you.” He glanced at your lips before looking into your eyes again. You saw him lean in even closer that you could feel his breath on your lips.

You were tempted to fill in the rest of the space but your mind flashed back to the restaurant. He had a girlfriend. You weren’t gonna be some homewrecker to some innocent girl who has a cheating boyfriend.

“Can you let me leave please.” You said softly.

“Do you hate me?” He asked sadly.

You didn’t answer you just closed your eyes to avoid his gaze. “Please Yoongi.”

“Why didn’t you say so?” He backed up and opened the door. After you left you couldn’t help but feel guilty. The look on his face was haunting.

-

The only positive thing this week was that you passed your audition with flying colors but the rest of the week was quiet. You didn’t have to practice or neither did you hear Yoongis music through your wall. You were happy but yet you felt lonely.

But you tried to not feel guilty, he wanted you to suffer and you did.

It was Monday so you had the night off. Thank God.

You were about to cook yourself some dinner when you heard a loud irritating noise. You looked over to where it was coming from and you saw your cat playing with the cable again.

“Sammy!” You ran over and chased her away from the TV. You quickly hit the switch making it quiet again. You expected a knock on your door immediately but nothing. You went back to the kitchen to go back to cooking. You were actually quite sad honestly, you wanted him to go to your door like before.

After you finished your meal, you went back over to the TV and plugged the cable on. When you turned it on it was still a loud irritating static.

What the hell? The cable was in. You turned your TV off again to make it quiet. You pulled out the cable to look at it. It was broken, actually more chewed off.

“Sammy.” You mentally argued. She must of just did that. You put your shoes on getting ready to leave. You needed to buy a new cable, you couldn’t just sit in silence for the rest of the night.

As soon as you opened your door, Yoongi was waiting on the outside. “Having trouble with your TV?” He smirked.

“My cat chewed it up.” You looked down.

“You need a spare?” He asked.

“You have a spare?” He nodded.

“I was gonna give it to you before but then you pulled out the duct tape.” He smiled making you blush.

He tilted his head for you to follow him. And you did.

When you entered his apartment you closed the door behind you. He went to the end of the hall into a walk in closet. He leaned down and grabbed a fresh new cable that was still in its package.

He stood back up and handed it to you. He looked at you with hungry eyes. You felt butterflies in your stomach.

“Thank you.” You softly spoke as he handed it to you.

“Do you need help hooking that up?”

“Um…I-” He caused you to stumble over your words as he leaned in closer to you, resting his hand on the wall next to you.

He smiled as you attempted to speak. You closed your eyes. The last thing you saw was him leaning in closer but this time you were frozen. You finally felt his lips brush yours. It felt nice. You didn’t push him away, your lips actually responded against his. He gently pulled your hips to his feeling every inch of him closer to you.

Before you could go in any deeper. You softly pushed him away. “What about your girlfriend?”

He laughed. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

You looked at him confused. “But what about at the restaurant-”

“That’s not my girlfriend…we work together and she invited me out for dinner.”

Now that you thought about it, that night you never seen them being affectionate. It was wrong for you to assume.

“So…” He waited for you to do something. “Can I kiss you again?”

You blushed as he leaned in forward. You bit your lip nervously while you nodded in approval. He once again broke the free space bringing his lips towards your.

This time he didn’t hold back, he kissed you desperately. Like he wanted to for a while. He lifted you up and carried to the next room over which was his studio. He sat you on his desk and immediately started sucking on your neck. You wrapped your legs around his waist to feel him closer.

You felt his hand make it’s way up your shirt playing with the hooks of your bra. You toyed with the waist band of his sweats making his voice moan vibrating your skin. You felt chills run down your spin.

He left your neck and went back to your lips. He moved his tongue inside to explore every inch. The butterflies went off when You felt his member poking you through his thigh. You had the urge to reach through his pants grabbing him but your shy side didn’t want to make anything uncomfortable.

He pulled away noticing how you stiffened up. “You can tell me to stop, I don’t want to force you to do anything you don’t want to do.”

“I feel that way about you.” He arched his eyebrows confused. “I want to um-” You nervously stumbled.

“Say no more.” He leaned in kissing you again tugging on your sweat pants. He pulled them off in a swift motion dragging down your underwear also. He pulled away slightly to admire your body. You smiled as he started tugging on his own pants.

But before you could get a look at him he kissed you again. You felt his member brush your folds before pushing in. You arched in pain as you tried to adjust to his size.

He didn’t give you much time as he started thrusting into you. The pain was visible for the first few pumps until it turned into pleasure. You tilted your head back enjoying the pleasure.

You heard him giggle watching you skirm. You grabbed onto the edge of the desk as you felt your body reach its climax. Your moans were pretty much uncontrollable at this point. The feeling hit you immensely, you felt weak but he kept his quick pace working up his own release.

He continued to rock against you until you heard a ring enter the quiet room. You giggled as he rolled his eyes but he didn’t stop. You leaned in and kissed him passionately while he hit his release.

You both took a second to catch your breath. “Your phone’s still ringing.” You whispered.

He leaned back and made a cute groaning sound. He pulled his pants up while going to his phone.

“Yeah?” He answered annoyed.

“What took you so long to answer the phone?” You heard the other end. You slid off the desk and pull your pants back up.

“I was busy.”

“I’m outside your door.” You heard the female.

You watched as his eyes widen. Then turn to annoyance. “Okay.”

Then he hung up. “What’s wrong?” You asked.

“My sister’s here.” He walked out of the room while you followed him.

“You want me to go?” You asked before he made it to the door.

“No…please stay.” He begged.

You went over to the couch and sat down. He opened the door for his sister greeting her in the process.

You glanced back and you never felt more anxiety.

“(Y/N)?”

“Jisoo?” There stood your best friend, who happened to be sister’s with the guy you just slept with.

-

Masterlist | Part 2

Hey Future Self,
How have you been? You must be smiling right now, did my decisions today went well? If not, I hope you understand why I chose this way. Are you happy? If yes, you are truly proud and honored! I guess, my overall journey sprinkled with failures, pain, sadness, hardships and heartbreaks became your recipe to your happiness.
Remember that day you were stuck and couldn’t find a way to move forward? Remember how many times you have questioned your existence? You keep trying to figure out who you really are, where do you belong and what is your purpose? Remember how scared you are to let someone go out of your life because you’re afraid of being alone? So, you keep holding on even if there’s nothing to hold on; you keep looking for your worth within someone else. Remember how you left yourself with withered flowers, yet you planted flowers on someone’s yard? Well, look at you. You have made it this far!
Life may not offered you the most clarity, however, you’ve come along the way. I am glad you have learned to let go of your fears and embrace pain for what it is. As terrifying yet beautiful, how it is right now for me, and was back then for you, that you have become your own best friend. Though you still have that space in your heart to love everyone—your family, friends and even those who have hurt you. I am certain that this quality of you and me remain. Anyway, how are they treating you there? Did they made their promise that they’ll stay? Or did they leave you like some other people did to me?
But you see, I know everything that’s not happening for me right now has a bigger plan for you. Don’t worry, you should know that all the stress and pain I am drowning in right now were the key to who I need to be—and that’s the person you are right now.
I just want to remind you that you are not what they define you—you are you. A poetry trapped in a girl’s body, a word that was not yet spoken, a book that was not yet published; a masterpiece. And if there is still no one to tell you that, just don’t forget who you are.
I hope you are stronger, braver, healthier and happier than you were the day before. Sometimes, I want to catch up with you faster, because often times, when emptiness hit me, I seem to crash.  But trust me, I am working every single day to make myself better for you.
The thing is, I am starting to love myself today, but I am excited and I do love the thought of you. The reason I’m telling you this is because I want you to remember how much you’ve already lived in the little moments that have shaped your world and molded your heart in the most beautiful way possible. I want you to accept the wonders of this crazy journey that only you have lived and that you continue to live. I want you to appreciate everything and everyone, as much as I do right now.
Although I am the past to you, I still am very much you. In this moment in time, I don’t know where you are or what you do, or who you become, but I’m still you. anyway What I do know is for you to be the best version of myself. And when that day comes, I will be proud of the person you are. I also want you to know that I am doing just fine and so are you. I will continue to be “old enough to know better, but young enough to do it anyway.” So, laugh about all the silly mistakes I am making at the moment and be grateful, because it led you to be the person you are right now.
Whatever happens, keep going!
Much love,
Your past self
—  a postcard, m.a
5

Today is September 4th 2014. It has now been 8 years since the death of one of my greatest heroes.Steven Robert Irwin. In that time, and unlike what my comforting mother, and friends assured me, it has not become easier. In the years since his passing I have watched as animal media feed into the hands of the uneducated, sensationalist, and often even cruel TV show hosts only content in showcasing the brutality, and deadly aspects of wildlife. I have seen no one step up to the plate, no one fill that void he left in the world. Consider this an open letter, to all those as tragically in love with the natural world as I. Get out there, be loud, show your self and your love to the world, educate, experience, and just and just freaking live. We are but one species on what may be the most biodiverse planet in the universe. So get up, and make some damn noise, lose the fear, and show them what you love.

       “Because people want to save, the things that they love.”

             We all miss you mate. 

Part of what makes Persuasion’s letter scene so swooningly romantic is that it’s structured like the revelation scene in a murder mystery, where the detective lines up all of the suspects and explains exactly who the killer is and how they did it.

We have a problem — in this case, not a dead body with no clear killer, but two people who clearly should be together but are not. We know what the solution should be. In a murder mystery, it’s for the killer to be revealed and face punishment; here, it’s for the two lovers to recognize that they are both in love and reunite.

And the scene keeps inching us toward that end, only to frustrate everything: There are Anne and Wentworth in the same room, but unable to speak to each other because Wentworth is writing a letter. There are Anne and Wentworth recognizing the significance of their past relationship, but unable to speak of it explicitly while in front of other people. There is Anne at last recognizing the strength of her feelings out loud — but can Wentworth hear her? What is he writing? The frustration mounts and mounts until Anne can finally, at last, open the letter, and the reader gets the same satisfaction as knowing whodunit in a murder mystery: At last, all is revealed.

Here are some page ideas to help you get started with the new school year! 

  • goals for the school year
  • snack recipes 
  • outfit ideas (with a collage!)
  • motivational quotes
  • songs to blast on your way home from school
  • new people you’ve met (+ their phone numbers!)
  • things you want to learn this year
  • pen swatches (with all your new school supplies)
  • birthdays to remember!! 
  • important dates (such as finals, due dates, holidays, etc.) 
  • formulas you can’t remember (write them down and memorize them!)
  • ‘I’m in school because…’
  • a page dedicated to your college/grad school/career goals
  • interesting words you learned (+ their definitions) 
  • a page to stick receipts/tickets from all the cool things you did during the school year
  • have your friends write you a letter that you can’t open until the end of the school year! 
  • grade trackers 
  • a page for cool stickers you got (from assignments/events/college or career fairs) 
  • a page to write down every single thing that’s stressing you out
  • a solution page to try and get rid of that stress 
  • a letter to your future self (something you can’t read til graduation!) 

I hope these inspired you as much as they inspired me. Best of luck in the upcoming school year, and if you’ve already started, kick this school year in the ass! 

Sometimes I still wonder about your favorite color, your favorite song, what you’re into nowadays. You used to tell me so many stories about your life and I wonder those things still happen you. You were always there to help me and you always supported me. I miss all of our inside jokes and the weird things we did at recess. I miss having you as my other half. I really miss you being a part of my life. But if you would allow me, you know I’ll always welcome you back with open arms.
—  The letter I never sent you..
“The Lyrics to my Music” - Prologue

Pairing: Suga x Reader

Tags: Fluff, Slight smut and angst in future chapters.

Summary: One day you lose your notebook, the most important item you own, it’s filled with exactly 68 lyrics that you wrote, all of them extremely personal to you. Later that same day you discover an iPod filled with different songs with no lyrics. By some strange coincidence that iPod belongs to the same person who discovered your notebook of lyrics. This would cause the two of you to meet and form a friendship. Or maybe even something more…

A/N - Okay here it is! The prologue to my first imagine! I really hope you like it and any feedback would be very appreciated! 

Next chapter is going up next week!


Originally posted by bangtanboysloves

[Y/N]’s POV

All of us have, at some point of our lives, felt the feeling of panic. Whether it was because we were scared of something, or because we missed an important event, or because we lost something. Well, take that feeling and multiply it by a hundred - that’s how worried I was when I realized that my notebook was gone. It was so strong that it made my stomach turn and cold sweat to cover my forehead. My legs were shaking as I was standing next to my parked car digging through my backpack like a crazy woman.

 My eyes were filling up with tears when I finally gave up realizing that my most treasured possession is gone. This notebook was basically my journal, keeping every single one of my secrets. The only difference being that instead of journal entries, it was filled with song lyrics. Exactly 68 of them.

 And now they’re all gone! All my secrets, my dreams, all my fantasies - my deepest darkest thoughts - they were all gone!

 I tried to trace my steps back to when I last remember using it, which was this morning. I took it with me to the park and after my morning jog I sat down on a bench, right next to the lake and spend an hour or two writing.

 Then I went back home to my apartment and when I opened my backpack, my notebook wasn’t there. So I decided not to panic and went back to the park, but by the time I got there it was gone.

 I groaned in frustration. Why the fuck would anyone take a random notebook they found on a park bench?!

 Angry and confused I went back to my car and started digging through my backpack again, in hopes that maybe I just didn’t see it the first time.

 Which leads me to where I am right now - sitting in my parked car, banging my head against the steering wheel with people walking by me completely oblivious to my struggle.

 After about 20 minutes of me banging my head against the steering wheel, crying my eyes out and pulling on my hair in frustration, I tried to tell myself to relax. I told myself that everything is going to be okay, because I wrote my phone number on the inside cover of the notebook back when I bought it, so if anyone did find it they would text me. Hopefully.

 And you might think I’m overexaggerating  things. But I am not! As sad as it sounds, this notebook has like my best friend ever since I bought it 3 months ago. My safe place. And just knowing that right now someone else is holding it in their hands drives me crazy.

I spent a few more minutes trying to calm myself down. But when I looked at my watch I - for the second time that day - panicked. It was 10:55. My work shift was starting in 5 minutes! I started the car engine and headed to work, going as fast as I can without going over the speed limit.

 I work at a small Italian restaurant owned by a very large Italian family. They were mostly nice to me. But even though I’ve worked for them for 3 years now, we never really talked a lot.

 I arrived at work at 11:05. Even though I was late, I was still proud of myself for being - almost - on time. I walked into the kitchen and put an apron on, ignoring the angry look the owner’s wife (who was also the cook) was giving me.

 The rest of my shift was pretty uneventful. I was serving food, cleaning up tables, sweeping the floors and even managed to clean up a few toilets. But I was also checking my phone every 10 minutes or so, to see if anyone has found my notebook.

 But as more time passed, hours and minutes rolling by, I couldn’t help but start losing hope about someone actually finding my journal and texting me about it. 


 It was about 7:15 - exactly 15 minutes before my shift was over and I could finally go home. No one has texted me about the notebook yet, and I was slowly starting to panic again. But work helped a little, at least it was a distraction.

I had one more table left to clean. It was a small table for one at the middle of the restaurant - nothing particularly interesting about it.

That was, until I noticed a small device with a pair of earbuds plugged into it. An iPod - I realized. I didn’t pay it a lot of attention at first and thought that I would just give it to the owners and tell them that someone lost it. It happens often - people losing their stuff and then coming back the next day to get them. 

But then, an unexpected feeling of curiosity hit me. Maybe it was, because I, myself, lost something today and I kind of wanted to replace it. Or maybe it was because the idea of someone else’s iPod, maybe containing just as much secrets as my notebook, interested me. Of course I knew that it might just be full of random songs with no real meaning, but I still decided to take it. 

I looked around to see if anyone was there, because I knew I would get in trouble if the owners see me taking it. When I saw that there was no one there I quickly put it in the pocket of my jeans and finished wiping the table. 


Yoongi’s POV

It wasn’t panic that I felt when I realized my iPod was gone, it wasn’t sadness…it was anger that I felt. After I realized I forgot it at the restaurant it was already 8:00 PM. I drove back to the restaurant, as soon as I could, but when I asked one of the waiters to check for it on the table that I sat earlier that day he came back empty-handed with and apologized, telling me that he asked the other waiters and the owners if they had found anything but they all said no. 

I collected all of my remaining sanity and gave the waiter a quick “thank you”, before storming out of the restaurant absolutely furious at myself for forgetting it. 

The iPod wasn’t anything too expensive or important, it was what was inside that was important to me. In it, was every song I have ever composed, none of them have lyrics (I’m still working on that), but still, they were important to me. 

And yeah, I know, I have the music sheets for all of those songs at my studio, and I can play every song whenever I feel like it, but that iPod was different. I was using it to try and come up with lyrics while listening and re-listening to my songs. 

Usually I’m great with words so I don’t really have a hard time coming up with lyrics. But this time was different. It was different, because in my music I expressed certain emotions that, as hard as I tried, I just couldn’t express with words. 

And now I was standing in my car, in front of the restaurant, wanting to punch myself in the face for being so distracted! 

I sighed and looked around the car, until I found what I was looking for. The notebook. I found it earlier today on a park bench, I know I should’ve probably just left it on the bench and leave, but it was about to rain and I didn’t want it to get wet so I took it with me. 

I didn’t have enough time to look at it, and I knew I probably shouldn’t, but the way it looked made me really curious. 

I took it and put it in my lap, looking down at it. What if it was someone’s diary? I shouldn’t be doing that. But then again, is there really anyone above the age of 10 who keeps secret diaries? 

 I looked at the cover carefully. It was a completely ordinary notebook, decorated with a lot of random doodles and random quotes written all over it. I carefully ans slowly, as if it was made out of glass, opened the notebook to the first page. 

“A letter to my future self”

It said at the top. And I thought that this was, for sure, someone’s diary, because that would be the kind of stuff I would write if I had one. But as I started reading it, sliding my gaze over the words carefully, as if worried that I’m going to read something I shouldn’t, I realized that it wasn’t a journal entry, but rather a poem. And as I kept reading, absolutely fascinated by the way that person used their words, I realized that it wasn’t really a poem either, but song lyrics. It was structured like a song, and it sounded like a song, so it must be…a song. 

When I finished the poem I closed the notebook again and put it aside. I still think that this might be someone’s diary! I just can’t help it! They way the song was written was absolutely stunning, but I feel like it was just a journal entry covered in a lot of metaphors an rhymes. But the way that person wrote it was just so…intoxicating. There are so many words I could use to describe it, but intoxicating was definitely the best. 

I looked at my watch - 8:45 PM. I sighed, remembering my lost iPod. It was time for me to go home.  

I put the notebook aside, giving it one last look before starting the car. 


 3 hours later, I’m laying on my bed, the notebook sitting open on my lap as I was reading through it. I’ve read through 4 of the songs since I got home, each of them getting better and better. Right now I was on a song called “Lights”. It was really deep, but really good at the same time. 

As I was reading it I realized that a lot of the lyrics probably would make a lot more sense to people who actually knew the person who wrote them, because a lot of them seemed to be holding a very personal meaning, but a lot of them could also be interpreted in a lot of different ways. 

For example, I have been rereading the line:

“The lights saved me when nothing else did.” 

I’ve be rereading it so many times that I memorized it perfectly. I was trying to understand the meaning of it. Maybe by lights, the author meant stage lights and that performing was what saved them from dark times. Or maybe by lights the meant people in their life. Or maybe they meant something completely different and I just couldn’t understand it. 

I got so into the songs that I got out a pen and started scribbling down little notes next to some of the lines. 

And as I finished reading “Lights” I realized for the fourth time that night, that the person who’s notebook that was, is an incredible writer. I absolutely fell in love with the way they write. It was just so addictive and they really had a way with words. 

I yawned and lied down in my bed. I was exhausted, but I really wanted to keep reading…

I decided to reread the first 2 songs to see if I can find a new meaning in them and then go to sleep. But when I opened the notebook to the first page I noticed something on the inside cover that I didn’t notice the first time. There was a phone number written in a glittery blue pen, and above it it said:

If found, please text:

I didn’t know what to do. 

I knew the right thing to do was text the person and tell them that I found their notebook. But I really, REALLY didn’t want to give it back! Also, I already wrote inside it. 

And then there was also the thought of actually meeting the person who was behind those words and actually talk to them… It sounded ridiculous, even if I did meet the person they would probably just want their notebook back. Also, I shouldn’t have read it anyways so….

But it sounded so amazing! I really, really want to meet that person! I want them to explain to me exactly what each song means! 

I sighed at what I was about to do next. Before picking up my phone.

My first message was a simple:

“Hello!”

Then I decided to explain exactly who I was and why I was texting them:

“My name is Yoongi and I found your notebook on a park bench today…”

I immediately got a response back:

“OMG! REALLY! THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!”

“Wait, did you read anything that was inside?”

I should say no! I really should! Just say no and give back the notebook and the two of you would completely forget about it the next day.

“Yes, actually.”

“I’m very, very sorry!”

“And actually I was wondering something…”

“Can we maybe meet someday so you can explain some of the meanings behind your songs to me?”

“I promise I’m not a creep! Or a serial killer! I just really like your work!”

I wanted to facepalm myself as soon as I sent the last message. Why would I do something like that? I don’t like people! And I don’t like talking to people! And I especially don’t like meeting new people! So why the hell did I want to meet this random person so badly?

The realization hit me as soon as I asked myself the question. It was, because as I was reading the lyrics, I didn’t just become interested in the meanings behind them, but I also became interested in the person who wrote them.


[Y/N]’s POV

I was lying on my living room couch with my headphones on. My button was hovering over the play button of the iPod for  minutes now. I turned it over in my fingers to look at the back. “Suga” was written on it in a black permanent marker. I didn’t know what it meant, but it kept reminding me that this was actually someone else’s property. 

I took a deep breath and finally pressed the play button. 

There was silence for a moment. But then it was interrupted by the sound of a piano. It was a song. A song with no lyric. Only music. 

And I couldn’t deny - the music was beautiful. Even though there was not a single word in the entire song, it was full of emotion. Emotion that was somewhat contagious. Emotion that somehow moved through my headphones to my ears and inside my body. 

I closed my eyes and imagined a person, their hands hovering over the piano, pressing each key carefully, gently, as if they weren’t touching a musical instrument, but the love of their life.

My heartbeat was getting faster and my eyes were filling up with tears. 

The song was hypnotizing. Contagious…

My thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the loud beep of my phone, informing me that I have a text. 

I immediately removed my headphones and at the speed of light, I unlocked my phone. 

“Hello!”

It said.

“My name is Yoongi and I found your notebook on a park bench today…”

I responded immediately, almost jumping off the couch in happiness:

“OMG! REALLY! THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!”

But then another thought hit me, that for some reason made me nervous:

“Wait, did you read anything that was inside?”

I sat on the floor, drumming my fingers nervously, waiting for a response:

“Yes, actually.”

“I’m very, very sorry!”

“And actually I was wondering something…”

“Can we maybe meet someday so you can explain some of the meanings behind your songs to me?”

“I promise I’m not a creep! Or a serial killer! I just really like your work!”

The messages came one after the other so quickly that I didn’t have enough time to react properly to any of them. He read my lyrics! And he likes them! He likes them so much that he wants to meet me?!

In any other situation I would have said no. But after all, this Yoongi guy found the most important object I own. And I was so happy and thankful that I was willing to do almost anything in return.

“Okay…”

I answered simply after a few minutes of thinking.

“Really?! Thank you so much!”

He answered. 

“Of course:)”

I replied before turning off my phone and putting my headphones back on.

Taming The Brat

Okay so I was supposed to be finishing that Kookie request this weekend, and I’ve actually gotten pretty far into (it’s getting long in length *lol*) but I kept getting distracted by this Jaebum smut idea, probably all the fun research and sexual virgin tension proving difficult. Anyway I couldn’t get this idea out of my head so in the end I decided just to write it and get it out of my system so I can focus on the Jungkook smut and his innocent lady friend (for some reason I struggle to write an innocent girl, who woulda thunk?)

Small warning, this is probably the roughest and longest (I think) thing I’ve written so far (I still think it’s pretty tame in comparison to some but yeah, definitely the roughest I’ve written) and is basically a D/s AU that relates quite heavily to themes of masochism, so if that’s not your thing I really wouldn’t read this.

Genre: angst/smut - D/s!AU/BarOwner!AU
Requested: NO
Warnings: NSFW, alotta swearing, very minor slut shaming (like, twice?) BDSM/Masochism themes. Breath play. Not sure how rough but it’s the roughest thing I’ve written as of yet. Can’t think of anything else.


Pt.1 | Pt.2 | Pt.3 | Pt.4 | Pt.5 | Pt.5.5 | Pt.6 | Pt.7 | Pt.8 | Pt.9.1 | Pt.9.2 | Pt.10

Originally posted by msmichellec

~ gif is a little too playful for the content but I like it, so…  The photo tho, I’m adding because add some rips in them Jeans and its pretty much how I was imagining him… Obviously feel free to picture whichever era you prefer ~


Envy is an affliction I suffer from often, it always has been, ever since I was young. Maybe it’s because I’m an only child, growing up spoilt with an endless supply of love and affection. Or maybe I’m just a natural born attention seeker, and I would have always been this way, whether or not I’d had a sibling to steal some of my spotlight. I’m just a wickedly envious person at heart, and I know that my Master is all too aware of that fact, so why my reaction to his news comes as a surprise is beyond my imagination.

“You’re out of your fucking mind if you think I’m agreeing to this, Im Jaebum!” I’m practically snarling as I stop my frantic pacing a few feet from where he leans against his desk. I stand with my arms folded, my nails digging into my palms, my hip jutting to the side in defiance. Everything about my body language screams bad attitude, and though this isn’t an uncommon occurrence for us, my bratty behaviour is normally performed with a playful air and a desired punishment in mind. Not tonight though, tonight I’m just plain livid.

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[M] Switched Mail

Originally posted by jackseunie

Reader (you) x Jinyoung

Warnings: SMUT!! and a lil fluff lmao

Word Count: 2.3K

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hey guys! thank you for giving the last scenario so much love haha! truly grateful *clutches heart* jj project is coming tomorrow and I’m super excited. this is just something leading up to tomorrow because aksjdskjfhjd… yeah… haha read well everyone! -Admin Rose


The light shone through the cracks of your curtains, illuminating the dark room as the sun started to rise. Waking up before your alarm, you rolled out of bed to do the daily morning routine. Wash your face, get dressed, have breakfast at a coffee shop just down the street, and then go to work. Your life was average, more so on the boring side since it was like that every day. On weekends, you would either go out drinking with your friends or stay at home to watch Netflix. Almost all your weekends involved a bright screen in front of your face and sometimes you wished for more than silence in your life. That was until you met Jinyoung.

Your first encounter with the handsome man was early in the morning, when he knocked on the door and interrupted your beauty sleep. Furious, you forced yourself out of bed and asked yourself; who could possibly knock on your door early in the morning? With bed hair and absolutely zero makeup on, you opened the door to face a bright smile.

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16 Years

I keep you hidden
Buried between each of my ribs
In an eternal sleep.

I am scared to spill you,
Like ink on parchment,
Or paper,
Or a clean surface that has never been
Corrupted with the rawness of your being.
I keep you buried there,
And I’ve tried for so long to cover you up,
And lull you into a slumber with my
Steady heartbeat and rhythmic breathing.

But, you’re stirring now.
I know you want to see the sun, but it hurts
To let you out into the world.
It burns to allow you into the sunlight.
To let you out would be to break my bones,
And to break open my rib cage with
Restless speed.

I feel you longing for the golden rays
And for the freedom that comes with
Being alive.
But to let you live is to say goodbye to
Another part of me that I’m
Not ready to let go of yet.

My friends, we cannot continue only loving the ones who look like us, who talk like us, who believe what we believe, and act like we act. We must reach across the aisle with love for the very people we disagree with. Love your enemy and pray for those who persecute you. Let us live a life worthy of the life-giving self-sacrificial love we have been given
—  Jon Foreman - An Open Letter To The American Church (x)

Do you remember the time you fell down on your knees and begged the world to stop spinning? Love, it happened. You made it happen. On nights when crying was your only option, you closed your eyes and imagined your room to be filled with stars. The world stopped moving. All you could hear was your breathing. “Let the world claim you tonight,” you whispered to yourself. You found solace. You met Melancholy the first time, then and there, you knew you were alive. The moment you opened your eyes, the world was set to motion. And all you could utter were the words ‘I am alive.’

Your grandmother was right when she told you that you love too much. But look at where it got you. You have made a garden out of the barren land next door. You created a night sky filled with words of love. You have tucked the littlest hope and care in other people’s pockets. You have given away all of your flowers in bloom in hopes of erasing the pain in their eyes. You gave away all of yourself, and love, that’s okay. Go and give some more. Give and give and give until you learn how to let go.

There will be days when waking up is as hard as getting out of bed while the rain hums you to sleep. There will be a lot of meals that will go to waste and yet you will feel as heavy as the world being pulled to oblivion. It’s okay. Let yourself feel the heaviness of the loneliness. Of the world’s snarky remarks. Of the anxiety and panic attacks. Feel. Feel some more. Do not be afraid of tasting the blood. Do not run away from the depth of the ocean. Let the world swallow you whole and you will wake up, one day, with strength you never thought was possible.

Fall in love over and over and over again. May it be with the budding flower you see on the street. The stranger you met in the pedestrian lane with sad eyes. The children’s laughter. Everything. Fall in love with the littlest thing. Give your heart to that guy who told you 'Thank you for choosing me.“ Love the man who have shown you what it means to be weak, how it feels to be held in someone’s arms. Kiss him and make him remember your name in his mouth. Be honest about the things you feel because it’s not everyday you find people who see you behind your armor. Be weak. Be vulnerable. Go and fall in love some more.

You will survive. And you will continue counting the moving stars.

—  an open letter to my younger self // hbg
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ok story time so, about 2 months ago i mailed a letter and the picture above to domis fan mail? address. i had no way of including austrian postage in my self addressed envelope back to myself (i live in the US), so i just included the envelope w/o it. i thought well i’ll just send it and go from there.

so 2 months has gone by and i totally forgot that i even sent the letter in the first place. so i’m looking in the mail today and see my handwriting on an envelope w/ foreign postage and i was like wait. NO WAY. so i opened it and all i saw was the front of the picture with no signature and i was like maybe they’re just sending it back lmfao THEN I FLIPPED JT KVER AMD SAW THE SIGNATURE IN LEGIT SHARPIE AND SCREAMED. THEY ACTUALLY SENT THE PIC BACK WVEN THO IT SAID THEY WOULD NOT SEND FAN REQUESTS BACK IF THEY DIDNT HAVE POSTAGE, I SCREAMED AND IM STILL FREAKING OUT. SO THERE U GO. HAVE A WONDERFUL DAY AND ALWAYS STAN DOMINIC THIEM

[scenario] [request] snail mail

♡ Send me a member + number(s) and I’ll write a scenario! ♡

32: “I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified.”
45: “Tell me a secret.”

Title: snail mail 

Member: Jihoon

Genre: angst w a good ending i promise lmao 

Word Count: 1342

“Snail mail?” You ask, raising an eyebrow at the overly eager Seungkwan, shoving you an envelope, filled with paper. He whines when you turn away, continuing to practice your dance.

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