and with that i tentatively return to the land of tumblr

Cloud 9 // Kim Namjoon

Pairing: Namjoon (BTS) x Reader

Genre: Fluff (College AU)

Word Count: 2k+

Anon says:  can u write a namjoon college au ? fluff/smut either one :-)

Author’s Note: I love Kim Namjoon with my heart and soul and he deserves the entire world. Oh, and he’s my ultimate bias. S/O to @kwangie and @1wice for helping with editing and learning how to tumblr. Enjoy~

You finally got through midterms and you couldn’t be more proud of yourself. Not only did you pass every class, but you ACED them. As a self-celebratory occasion you and your best friend decided to go ice skating. You’ve never tried it, but you’ve always wanted to. You think to yourself, “Ah, what the hell, why not?”

When you got to the rink, you looked around and saw that it wasn’t too busy which made you happy. This way you wouldn’t be as embarrassed when you fall on your ass later (which will happen - multiple times).

You and your best friend sat down and were tying your skates on when she turned to you.

“So you know that guy Jimin I’ve been talking to? Well, uh, he asked if he could come hang out with us too. I said it was okay, you’re not mad, right?”

You rolled your eyes but gave her a small smile. You couldn’t be mad when she had been pining after the guy for weeks now.

“I guess I’m third-wheeling again, huh?”

“Actually…”

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well!! i just wrote 2k of a random thread that i’m not actually going to post or make into a full story, i’m just not into s7 enough for it to go anywhere. but i thought i would post it here on the off chance that someone might be interested!

ETA: also apparently tumblr ate all the italics, I put back the necessary ones but y’all are gonna have to imagine my emphases rip!!!


“You might not remember us, but I remember you,” Lucy informs her dad. He’s still staring at her with a vaguely amused look on his face, and he blinks around the bar owlishly, as though he’s never seen anything quite like it before. Which is so impossible, because Daddy’s seen everything. Daddy was born in a world without magic, just like this one, and there’s no way–

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Eloise: Life Before Katherine

Please note: there are some changes to Eloise’s history reflected in this (and future) piece(s). These changes are intentional and meant to reflect the slight differences that the novella will have


The very first memory Eloise had was of laying next to her brothers and sisters beneath the canopy of a covered wagon. She remembered the sound of crickets, creaking wood, and a huffing horse. The dark didn’t frighten her, but the pain in her stomach and rising heat of what would turn into a fever did. She crawled over her siblings to reach the cooler air of outside. The twinkling stars winked down on her as she curled up on the ground, silently crying.

She didn’t specifically remember her mother finding her and coaxing her back into the wagon, though she remembered feeling cold despite being wrapped in a blanket. One of her sisters—she couldn’t remember if it was Marguerite or Lucindy—gave her water and reassured her that she would be better in a few days. It would take two weeks, during which time they completed their long journey from Gloucester to a small plot of land in Acadia. Eloise was too young to understand how strange it was for her family to move there—much of the land was already claimed by French, Acadians, and Mi’kmaq.

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more @jonsa-week goodness, although I am WAY LATE with day 1′s fic so it might not even count, idk:  Day 1: CASTLE or CHILDREN

jumping all aboard the JON BRINGS HOME AN OOPS BABY FROM THE WAR train, because it’s a great train rife with angst potential & there should be more of it

1900 words, T


The air of return to Winterfell is too exhausted to be triumphant, but still relieved, still happy. Jon’s own return is more cautious. As the Stark in Winterfell, Sansa surely had to be there to greet the soldiers and make arrangements for their stay, but Jon is pulling up the rear of this last company, and she is gone by the time he reaches the Great Hall. By design, no doubt. It is not an auspicious beginning.

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Flawless -Scomiche

“Mitch, hurry up! You’ve already spent a half hour on your hair, come on, we’re going to be late!” Scott Hoying yelled from the lounge room of their shared apartment. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming,” Scott’s flat-mate Mitch Grassi called back. He finally emerged from the bathroom, his brown hair straightened to perfection. Folded over his arm were two black jumpers. 

“Finally!” Scott huffed impatiently. “What’s that?” He asked, pointing at the jumpers in Mitch’s arms. 

“Oh, nothing, just a little present,” Mitch said slyly, winking at Scott. He quickly unfolded the jumpers and held them up side by side, so the pink writing on the fronts was visible to Scott. “Which one?" 

"Definitely the ‘No Angel’ one. Why?” Scott responded. Mitch grinned and tossed the preferred jumper to Scott. 

“Happy…. Beyonce Day!” Mitch laughed. 

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Post-Michfest impressions of a worker firstie.

So it’s been a little over a week since dykefaery and I got home from Michfest, and I think I’ve had enough time to process the experience and write something half-coherent about it. The TL;DR version is that it was absolutely awesome and I feel very privileged for having the opportunity to experience it, and even more (thanks to the amazing antilla-dean) for going as a worker instead of a festie and getting to see some of the inner workings of the festival. Organizing something that huge is not easy, and it was amazing to see how the different crews worked together to build it up.

Now for the long version. We arrived on the Land on a Thursday, which coincidentally was my birthday, after a 13 hour road trip, without having the faintest idea of what we were gonna find there. We got to Michigan fine using our GPS, but for the last 10 miles or so of the trip we only had a small printed map, that directed us into a narrow dirt path inside a legit, trees-blocking-out-sunlight-and-no-sign-of-civilization forest. When we finally reached the front gate we were greeted by a very friendly middle-aged woman, who asked for our names, checked them out a list of workers and directed us to the worker camping area.

That’s it, just names. We were firsties, she had never even seen us before, and we weren’t even asked for ID. Which shows me how stupid and/or mean-spirited someone’s gotta be to believe they do “panty checks” at the gate to see if you’re actually female. This is not the Michfest way, as I quickly learned, and it didn’t take me long to shed out my city girl tough shell there.

When we arrived in Workerville - the patch of Land between Crafts and the Night Stage that’s closed to the general public - we were completely, utterly lost. We didn’t see anyone we knew, we didn’t know how anything worked, we didn’t even know where we could park the car, and to make it even more confusing we arrived during some sort of administrative meeting, which meant the staff services tent was empty. We stood around looking confused from a few minutes until a woman approached us and kindly directed us to the tech support trailers, where this cheerful elderly butch gave us a crash tent to sleep for the night (because it was getting too dark to set camp), a cart to unload our car and directions to where we could get food and a shower.

That’s another thing about Michfest, and more so about the worker community. Everyone is incredibly helpful and friendly, and not in that fake religious fundamentalist way where you know they’re only being nice because they want something from you. No, these women call you “sister” and they really mean it, because we’re all together there and we all have work to do. It’s the complete opposite of mainstream culture. In Michfest people assume you’re well-intentioned and treat you accordingly. You follow the rules there not because you’re afraid of punishment, but because you want to keep everything working well, because it’s a lovely space and you don’t want to ruin it. And when you’re working to build the Festival you get a sense of pride in your work that you really don’t get while working in the corporate meat grinder of the outside world. There you know you’re building something great, that you’re a part of it.

Being in Workerville also builds a sense of gratitude and appreciation for every job that gets done. Though not all workers camp there, pretty much everyone eats there, and you get to sit and share a meal with every kind of worker, from administration to sanitation, from childcare to tech support, from the people who build stages to the people who cook your food, and you feel thankful for every one of them, because all of these women make the Festival possible. Michfest was the place where I heard the most sincere thanks in my life. I had women expressing gratitude for my work when I was doing a workshop before my shift, or when I was browsing the craft stores, because they truly appreciate what I did. It’s such a glaring difference from a life as a freelance artist, where people at the same time devalue your work and feel entitled to it. And in return I also felt thankful for all the wonderful women who work at the Fest, for the ones who organize it and build it and mantain it, for the volunteer workshifters that took time out of their festival to help us out, for the marvelous, amazing women who allowed me to eat a hot meal at one in the morning when I got back from a night shift (if any of you is reading this, I remember those spicy sesame noodles very fondly). This is a sense of community and gratitude you just don’t get anywhere else, and I’m glad I could experience this and see it is possible.

I also enjoyed, of course, the sense of freedom and safety. That’s one thing everybody seems to comment on, and it is very true. It’s good to be able to walk around shirtless on a sunny day. It’s even better to be able to walk in the woods at night without having to look over your shoulder all the time, without fear and worry. It’s nice to shower in the open and see what a huge range of women’s bodies exist, women of all sizes and colors and ages, and feel no shame, but instead a connection. Hell, one woman asked my girlfriend in the showers if the bumps on her nipples (her Montgomery glands) were normal, and when we answered they were, she shouted out loud “IT’S OK, THEY’RE NORMAL”. Where else would you get that? Where else could you be so non-chalant about the little bits and bumps of your femaleness?

Where else could I got to see elderly butches walking around with canes and wheelchairs and at the same time see 7 year old girls with short hair and “boy” clothes running around, getting dirty and climbing trees without anyone to yell at them to “act like a lady”? To feel part of a continuous lineage of proud, defiant women, to feel accepted and cherished for being an angry, unfeminine lesbian, not despite it? To hold my girlfriend’s hand and kiss her without any fear and the only thing people would comment is that we’re a cute couple?

And this does not mean everyone there had exactly the same political and ideological stance. I’ve met people who had a completely different view of gender than I do. There were people who identified as non-binary, people who were into the sex-positive stuff, trans men and women, army veterans, little girls raised in traditional hetero households and little girls with lesbian moms and hyphenated last names, old second-waver crones who were living vaults of herstory and been attending fest for thirty years and young firsties with tumblr accounts who went there without knowing if they’d be provided with food and showers. And we somehow managed to get along. Yes, there were discussions and disagreements, and I was part of some of those, but not once I’ve seen the level of thrashing and insulting I see around here on Tumblr. We didn’t need that. The bottom line was, we were all there, sleeping on the floor, getting all kinds of bug bites and shitting over other people’s shit in porta-janes because we all felt the need to be around other women. Because we all felt the need of female-only space, regardless of our politics. We all felt a need for a sanctuary, for respite, for a break from the patriarchal way of life, even if for a few days. And we were united by that undeniable truth. We were all there because we knew the weight of being a woman in this world.

I believe that’s what scares people about Michfest, in the end. It shows women that we don’t have to live in fear and submission. That another way is possible. Men and their man-coddlers have a hard time handling the truth that thousands of women - including elderly and disabled women, and mothers with small children - would choose to be in the woods, without any of the comforts of civilization, without even a flushing toilet, just to be away from them. And once you’re there, you realize you don’t even miss it that much. That you could bear to leave it all behind and stay in the Land, if you were allowed to. You realize it’s so good to be around all those women, to feel safe, even if you don’t have much privacy and you’re always kinda covered in dirt and there’s a whole ecossystem of spiders and frogs living under your tent fly. All the accusations, misrepresentations and crazy ideas about Michfest being a hateful place are born out of fear. They don’t want us to realize there’s another way. They don’t want us to taste that freedom.

But it’s too late now, we’ve tasted it for 40 years, and once you had it you won’t forget it easily. The music festival is over, but all the things I’ve learned there are mine to keep. We’ve all seen what women are capable of doing. We’ve seen first hand that all the things we’ve been told our whole lives, that we’re weak, that we bicker all the time, that we depend on men, that we’re prissy and futile, are all a huge load of bullshit.

And we’re gonna do it all over again.