brings back memories .

sorcererinslytherin  asked:

I was thinking of that muzzle idea you posted about Michael and what if that was something his old crew boss before FAHC did to shut him up? Kept him like an attack dog and muzzled him if he got too loud? And like, one of the Fakes playfully suggests muzzling Michael as a joke but it brings back bad memories and Michael either flips out or retreats into himself? Cue cute cuddles and assurances their loud boy is loved and can be as loud/joyous as he wants.

yessss. poor michael, his past crew in Jersey was never a good one was it? They’d do all sorts of things to keep control over Michael, keep him in check. They def seem like they would do something along those lines. And Michael would def be more of the flip out kind, yelling at them when one of them jokes about it. its an unrealistic anger that comes from the joke, immediately letting them know something was up.

and of course when they figure it out theres soft cuddles and assurances that they love his loudness and they love his crass words and they would never, ever try to get him to change that, try to muffle him. and its just soft, lovely cuddles over all

oldpaperfan  asked:

5 languages ? That's like... Goals! Which languages do you speak appart from Spanish and English ?

German and Spanish are my mother’s languages. Don’t ask me to speak German because I won’t though, brings back bad memories.
French, it’s a little bit rusty though.
English and a bit of Japanese.
Ara~

anonymous asked:

SING THE SONGS OF GOREY DEMISES AND SHOOTING ZOMBIES IN THE BRAIN! RISE, MOMMY'S LITTLE MONSTERS! Pfft, real talk tho, I didn't think anyone even remember them! Loved em back when I got into em in 8th grade and still love em now at 18. Good to find a fellow fan. Probs gonna go listen to them again for nostalgia sake, bless you Hypno ;w;

OML PLEASE DO! LET ME JOIN YOU! I listened to them back when I was like in what 8th grade too XD Im turning 21 in August oml!

Brings back so many memories

Day One: Homesickness

Thought I’d start off @vldangstweek with something that turns from angsty to fluffy, just because, based on the rest of this weeks prompts, it’s gonna get waaayyyy angstier (knowing me, anyway). Everything will be tagged with vldangstweek and any of my usual angst tags (angst, langst, klangst, etc)

Let my children go home, they’re stressed and tired (under a cut for length).


“Come on Lance, one more time! You need to defeat this gladiator before I can allow anyone to go to dinner!” Allura shouted down from the observation deck.

The quiet groans of his teammates filled his head and Lance winced, stepping back to stand his ground against the bot attacking him. His vision wavered over his helmet and his fingers trembled against his bayard, unable to form it because of the close range combat style. He grunted, rolling as the bot dove for him, sweeping it’s legs out from under it and sending it to the ground. Briefly, he heard Hunk’s cheer of encouragement in his comms, and then the bot was back up again, charging at him.

Lance sighed, side stepping the bot and pressing his shaking hands to his head, trying to stop the swimming feeling in his brain, the burn at the back of his throat and eyes, the tightness in his chest. He took a hit, hard, and fell backwards onto his ass, teeth clacking together.

“Dude, seriously, we’re starving!” Pidge called out. “You need to beat this!”

Lance took a shaky breath, shooting a glare at the deck. “You want me to beat it? Fine. I’ll beat it.”

Before the bot could get any closer, Lance whipped out his bayard, transforming it in the process and ignoring Allura’s shouts of this being a hand to hand fight. Within seconds, the bot was in a smoking heap on the floor and Lance was shaking, sweat curling down his forehead. Allura stormed out of the observation deck and onto the main floor, eyebrows furrowed. “That was not the assignment, Lance. You’ll have to do it again.”

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

Lance ripped off his helmet and chucked it to the ground. When he looked up, Allura took a step back at the ferocity in his face, the tears in his eyes. “I said, no. I’m not doing this bull shit anymore. They’re not either,” he snapped, pointing towards the deck. “You don’t get to treat us this way, we’re the only reason you’re not dead or still in those stupid pods. You called us family, Allura.”

His voice broke and his lip quivered as he stumbled back, shaking his head. “You don’t get to treat family like this. Not when we’re doing all of this for you.”

He swallowed and spun on his heel, storming from the room. Allura hesitated, glancing back at the deck only to find the rest of the paladins and Coran standing behind her. She studied the group, noted the lines on their faces and the bags under their eyes, and frowned. “Do you all agree with him?”

They remained silent for a moment, glancing at each other. Hunk spoke up first, his voice gentle. “Yeah. I do, at least.”

“Me too,” Pidge piped up, staring at the floor and fiddling with her bayard.

Keith nodded silently, rubbing a hand up and down one arm and looking off to the side. Hunk huffed. “Allura, we…I would say we’re homesick, but I don’t know if that covers all of us.”

“We’re Earth sick,” Keith offered. “And Lance…”

Shiro spoke for the first time. “Lance has the most family to miss out of the five of us.”

“And honestly?” Hunk muttered. “You yelling all the time, you pushing him, and us, all the time? No breaks, no relaxation time at all? I’m amazed he didn’t snap before this.”

Allura swallowed. “I’m…”

“It’s okay,” Hunk promised. “We understand, you want to stop the Galra, stop Zarkon.”

“But you have to remember that we’re all volunteering to do this,” Pidge said, fidgeting from foot to foot. “There’s nothing keeping anyone here other than empathy. Don’t give Lance a reason to stop caring, or he will leave.”

Allura bit her lip and glanced over her shoulder. “I should go-”

“No,” Keith said firmly, stepping forwards and resting a hand on Allura’s arm. “We got this. You two go get dinner.”

She and Coran studied the paladins for a moment before nodding in agreement and leaving the training deck.

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10

This is a video I keep in my phone and listen to it once in a while when I’m down. 

It’s one hell of a gifset, but I just don’t want to cut anything he said because every word shows his precious growing mindset. Everyone has weakness and difficult times, but it is so important that one can be critical of oneself even if others are lenient, be conscious of their ability and goal, be realistic but also optimistic about the future, and have a fire to keep going despite hardship. Each of those characteristics is good enough, but it’s such an amazing thing to find this all in one person, and condensed in just a few sentences in this interview.

Beside his lovely performances, this is the reason why I admire this person so much. And because life is so hard for me recently, let me just translate this and gain some strength from it now then.

2

hesitant to let go // ready to open a new chapter

Chrysalism

/noun/ the peace of being indoors during a thunderstorm

Summary: Bookstores have always lured you in with the promise of the quiet, the serene, and, most recently, him.
Pairing: Jimin | Reader
Genre: Fluff
Word Count: 2,644
Author’s Note: This story was on one of my old Tumblr writing accounts that I just deleted, but it was one of my favorite stories and didn’t want it to collect dust in my drive.

.

You’ve always had an endless fascination with books and novels of various different shapes, sizes, and lengths. The way someone could paint an entirely different world with the mixture of just 26 letters, whisk the mind away from reality, stir emotions inside someone—emotions of laughter or sadness or one of complete contentment. The influence a simple novel could have on a person’s viewpoint has always fascinated you.

During your younger years, you would find yourself trekking to the nearest bookstore, if only to simply run your fingers along the spines of all the latest releases. You would open a random novel, just to skim the first sentence, allowing the words of a complete stranger to fill you with familiarity.

Not much has changed in the years following your childhood. Something about corner bookstores have always lured you with the promise of peace and quiet, an escape from the harsh reality you occupied yourself with. You constantly looked forward to the days you could run away and hide within the shelves of the shop, no matter rain or shine, sleet or snow, 30 pages of homework to get done during the night, you always made an effort to visit at least once or twice a week as soon as you entered college.

Today is no exception to the rule. With midterms rapidly approaching, you’re already drowning in papers, projects, and upcoming tests, the stress practically eating you alive. But still, instead of returning to your apartment, you find yourself turning down the familiar sidewalk in the opposite direction. The rain overhead is steadily pouring down today, serving as little warning bells that perhaps making the trip to the bookstore might not be the best option.

Judging from the gray clouds, it’s clear that the weather has other plans for the remainder of the day—the lightning that suddenly shoots across the sky is a clear indication of that—but you find yourself not minding much. The heels of your boots clash gently against the sidewalk, your hair curling slightly as the water comes in contact with it, but all those worries and annoyances dissipate off your skin like steam as the familiar shop comes into view. With the lights on inside, the place looks like a beacon of hope, allowing the smile to spread itself across your face as you quicken your pace to shoulder open the door.

The bell rings overhead as you gently shut the door close, running your hand through your hair quickly to rid some of the water trapped in your locks. After exchanging a smile with the familiar cashier at the counter, you make your way deeper in the store. Like usual, there isn’t anything in particular you’re seeking, but just being surrounded by text, aisles and aisles of hardcovers and paperbacks fills you with comfort.

You’re just starting the turn into contemporary novels, when one particular black, hardcover spine catches your attention, causing you to stop dead in your tracks, eyes widening with recognition as you distinctly remember this particular novel being one of the very few you’ve wanted in your own personal collection of books: John Green’s Looking For Alaska.

Your lips curl up into a smile, momentarily unfazed by the fact that the book had been placed on the highest shelf, towering a few inches above you, even as you stand on your tippy toes, even as your fingers barely manage to graze the book you want. It takes five times before you plant both feet firmly back on the ground with a gentle huff, considering the next movement to grab the book.

You’re just about to consider getting a running start between the two shelves, before a slightly amused voice cuts in through your concentration: “Need some help?”

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6

Anon said:

Edward and Winry

32. “I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified.”

I love that Ed’s canon reaction to his feelings is “wth is this, make it stop”. while Winry’s is total resignation.

Dorks, both of them.

from this challenge that I reblogged like a million weeks ago and couldn’t get to do until now. I already have enough in my askbox so please don’t send more.thx

Muse

Summary: In which you realize that perhaps all you needed to break your artistic block was the shy boy in the bomber jacket, who sought calm in the adventure and city lights.
Pairing: Taehyung | Reader
Genre: Fluff with a touch of angst; Artist AU 
Word Count: 8,269

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Seven days before.

This is supposed to be your work of art, your masterpiece, your piece for the showcase; something you have worked tirelessly on for minutes, hours, days on end. It’s bright and colorful, glowing exactly where it needs to be, yet it’s—!

“Not right,” You say, dropping your arm uselessly to your side, paintbrush dangling from in between your fingertips. Your teeth come out to gently nip at your lower lip; the anger, the frustration not building up like you expected it to. Instead, you feel rather numb, because the showcase is in less than a week and you still have absolutely nothing of satisfaction to display proudly to classmates, professors, or wanderers.

Besides you, your roommate lets out a gentle sigh of sympathy. “Maybe you’re just tired,” He says quietly. “You’ve been working on this nonstop for two weeks, I think you just have to step away from it for a day. You’ll have a new perspective of it tomorrow, and I’m sure you’ll love it then.”

You whirl around to face him, wearing a rather disgruntled look. “I don’t have time to step away from this, Jimin, the showcase is in a week and I hate this painting.” You want to slash black paint across the canvas to prove a point, but the look Jimin is wearing stops you from doing such a thing. You’ve always been slightly too reckless for your own good, anyways.

Jimin shrugs a little. “I think it looks fantastic, Y/N, you push yourself too hard.”

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