Unfortunately, my amigos, we managed to come up with 100 prompts. Here’s part 1:
You’re a ghost haunting your own funeral. You see that nobody showed up.
What are these strangers doing in your house? You’re confused and angry, it’s been a week and it seems like they’re not leaving, they’re not even paying attention to you. You’re the ghost haunting your house without knowing it.
A single man and dog run the Iditarod only to show up with the medicine for his daughter too late. This is his story.
You fight for a noble cause. You complete all the necessary steps. You reach the top of the world doing good deeds to improve peoples lives. It’s your first day of retirement and you watch your hard work comes undone before your eyes.
“You can’t understand how it is to feel this worthless. I just want it all to go away! I want it all to STOP!”
Despite everything they did, everything they went through. It was made clear that their attempts were pointless, as they were too late to save them.
The only thing left for you to do was to leave forever
You didn’t visit your parent figure in hospital the day before they passed away because you wanted to finish your homework. Less than 24 hours later, you get a message from your sibling. “They passed away this morning.”
No matter how hard you try, they just laugh at you. You are a joke, a game, you don’t matter. You’ve had enough.
“Robert, you can’t just leave! There are fifty kids waiting for you! You promised you’d get us out alive. You told them so!” “No, darling, I promised I’d get us out alive. Us, being me and my 500 grand. Thanks for your help, by the way. Sorry about the boiled alive thing. Chao!”
Why did you leave me? It’s been 15 years. Why did you leave? I can’t just accept the fact that you showed up on my doorstep expecting an apology. I have a family now. And I can’t let you pull me into your problems.
Your school, company, or organisation has required you to go to therapy for a potentially traumatic incident. This is the session when you decide to tell the story of becoming estranged from your last living relative.
You can only watch the live news helplessly as, thousands of miles away, an tsunami happens in the country your best friend happens to be visiting
“My head is full of you but my arms are empty.”
Best Friends Forever", we used to say. But now we aren’t even talking anymore. When I see them anywhere, another person is by their side, a new best friend. And I, I am all alone.
Person A shares something that no one knew about them and it is very personal and then they get outcasted by their family and person B is the only one to support them as they cry.
The fire was pretty, swirling in shades of blue and green and purple, if you could ignore the fact it was destroying the planet.
A crying child in the hospital bed looks to you for answers. She wants to know where her mommy is. You have no answer.
“I cannot take it anymore, Sam. You don’t tell me anything, you’ve been disappearing for hours, you have phone calls you don’t want me to hear, and now you forgot our anniversary. I’m done being patient. I have packed my things, you can keep the car and the house. Goodbye.” A small box fell out of his fingers, and a ring with a diamond shining merrily on the band rolled away, as the phone stopped playing out the voicemail.
You unlock your phone, and, ignoring the shaking of your hand, answer the call. “Hey” you say, not even trying to compress the wound, too far gone as you already are, “no, i’m fine. I’ll be with you in a minute or two…”
I knew it would be there, I saved for this special occasion. It was my deserved reward after a shitty day and it was gone. The cupcake was gone.
it was finally summer, his favorite season. He sat up in his bed and told you all about what he did last year. He rode his bike everywhere, he played so many games with his friends, he swam in the town park pool… you were the doctor, and you had come in to bring his parents out of the room to talk to them about how the cancer had spread unexpectedly.
You’ve just had an unpleasant lunch with your family and one of your siblings has just told you that you’ve been horrible the entire meal. What now?
Your mom starts crying
you walk down the street and you see a familiar face. Your heart starts beating faster and you speed up, because Gosh, you haven’t seen them in the longest time, but then as you are about to reach them and scream their name, you suddenly stop because remember that it can’t be them because you’re now on the other side of the world, and you left the person you love far away….
It’s your grandfather’ funeral. The place is packed, he was loved by so many. Then, a small child puts a cup of coffee by his ashes.. (“Have this grandpa, it’s time to wake up”)
The person you love has to be killed in order to save other people. Their death guarantees the others’ safety and it is the right thing to do, and they want to do it, but you have to kill them. So you do.
you have the power to bring back the dead. You quickly realize that this comes with draw-backs since certain parts of them stay dead. someone close to you had an accident and this is the most difficult decision of your life.
the smallest coffins are the heaviest.
Her answer is to gently cup your face with trembling hands. Her smile is gentle and so, so sad. Her breathy whisper reaches your ears, “because love is watching someone die,” and shatters your world.
It had always been her. From the first day you saw her, you knew that she was the one, the one you wanted to spend your entire life with. Day by day, that future became a little more solid, a little more opaque. Until you watched it shrivel, collapse and die when strangers pulled a frail, familiar body out of the wreck.
you wake up to silence, except for the sound of quiet sobbing and a set of packed suitcases in the hall.
“I’m going to… take a nap… just for a minute. I’ll be… right back.” He lies down just where he sat. “Could you… hold my hand?”, he asks of her. She moves carefully around the table, as not to disrupt the game that they will certainly continue. He rests his head on her knees. “Are you there?”, he asks. “Yes, I’m here.” He holds her hand tighter. “Are you there?”, he asks, slowly his voice getting quieter and weaker….
You and your family were in a car crash. You think you’ve survived but in the hospital you found you’ve died and you watch your parents, your SO, your children and your friends mourn. You don’t leave earth. You remain there watching over your loved ones, but when they die, they don’t join you. You are by yourself forever.
Driving home, you hit something. Getting out, you realize it’s your pet who went missing a few months ago
Using the word ‘almost’ is the most melancholic way to describe an upsetting moment. She almost got there in time. He almost caught her. She almost told her. They almost made it.
You realise animals no longer acknowledge your existence. They can’t seem to see or hear you. Your best friend is your dog.
“I’ll never be perfect in my parents’ eyes no matter what I do.”
When you were 7, you were kidnapped when for 15 years. At the age of 22, you are finally rescued. Write about your time held in captivity and what it was like when you were saved.
Time and time again, the prompt guy refuses my Danny DeVito suggestions
“You’re the worst teacher I ever had, but I don’t want you to leave, because you were also the best, in a way.”
after always feeling like you were never wanted around, someone decided to tell you how you felt is exactly right. and now you have a fire in your heart you’ve decided to do something about it.
He was supposed to protect me. Instead he became the one I needed protection from.
“We’ll be finally be able to be together. Just one more year. Then we can finally be happy.” That was the last thing you said to your lover before going back off to war. Now you find yourself in an empty house, holding one last letter addressed to you and the memories of a lifetime of unfulfilled promises.
I’m not sure which was worse: keeping it a secret for so many years, or the look on my mom’s face when I told her.
you moved in a new town a few months ago. One of your friend tells you that he heard your best friend say “There’s no point staying in touch, we won’t see each other ever again.”
“I’m sorry sir, but we’re all out of chicken nuggets.”
You are a stray dog. Your master lost you 3 years ago. You go on an epic and heart-filled journey to find your master, not knowing that they are already dead.
It was the first time your parents said the word proud in relation to you, but you could just feel that was nothing more than a backhanded compliment. It only made you feel terrible.
After five years, they were finally back together. But time had torn them apart and as much as they tried, they were unable to love each other again.
The dark and dreary realisation finally hit you: You’re the one in the coffin. This is your funeral. All these people are upset and crying over you.
The war had been ravaging the country for years. You fought for your country, you shed your blood, you did your part. And yet a mistake is going to be your undoing. Write your last letter before your execution to a daughter you will never come back to.
Your siblings played a game with you, it was called “Who can ignore you the most”. But it’s okay, you knew they love you, because there was still food on the table, and bedtime was still shared in the same room. It’s been years, you’re in the worst time of your life now, and you feel the need to reach out for help. You hope the game is over by now.
You’ve been messaging someone online for years now, chatting with them about this and that every so often. They stopped logging on a month ago. You have no way of knowing if they’re okay, and can only watch and wait for a reply.
You read a late familiar’s diary from decades ago. You knew nothing about them before this moment.Their insight in life is what you need to solve your problems, and your insight could have helped save their life.
“I am so tired.” She whispered to him, inches away from jumping of that bridge.
Every time your father leaves for work, you wonder if he’s going to die. You make sure to say “i love you” every day before he goes, but one day you forget…
you’re the last member of your species, your culture, your language. Scientists are around you, waiting for every bit that you can share, for them to document. They don’t care about you. Although you’re surrounded by people, you’re alone.
your idol, a vegetarian, was forcefully fed a hotdog
Write about the small and big sacrifices mothers make for their children.
You are trapped in a “coma” can hear everything around you, including friends and family coming to say goodbye before your life-support is taken away due to lack of insurance. They can’t prove you aren’t brain dead. You can’t say goodbye back.
“The monsters won’t come and hurt me will they daddy?” “As long as I’m around,” he said, giving you a goodnight kiss. “No one will ever hurt you.” “You’ll come home right? Promise?” “I Promise.” But he failed to keep his promise. He never came home and the monsters got you after all.
Tell the story of someone who goes about daily life, well, tries to anyway. It’s hard for them because they had severe depression. Tell of their struggles and trials. But also tell of their successes.
For Sale: Baby Shoes. Never worn.
you’re the last person in the world and you just lost hope for finding anyone else
You went on a great quest with your friends. You slayed monsters together, fended off enemies, and overcame all challenges that came your way. However, your friends perished at the final boss. You’ve just defeated him, and the reality is sinking in.
You are the new Death. The torch has been passed down to you for reasons you don’t know. It is now your job to take the lives of those whose time is up, old or young. Are you prepared to do it? And why were you chosen?
You have become immortal through a game that destroyed your universe. You and and your friends recreated the universe. You remember, they do not. The big bad from the game haunts your dreams.
You wake up and smell something burning. You think someone is making breakfast. You get up to see your house is on fire and you’re the only survivor.
As the crowd around you cheers for your brother’s assassin, you hold him in your arms as you watch his life fade. He was the most hated man in the world, a brutal dictator, a tyrant worse than your father ever was. He was the very kind of man who you hated yourself. Yet you’re crying, looking down upon his smiling face as he watches the crowd and his killer in his final moments, because in the end this was what he promised you. He promised to make a world where no one would have to fight anymore, where there can be peace. And now that the most hated man is dead, there can be.
After a long fulfilling life, you find yourself in the past, at the lowest point of your life. Your family is gone, your friends don’t know who you are, and you’re left with nothing. What do you do?
there’s no pizza in the fridge
You love children and plan to have some one day, until you find out at a doctors appointment that you are infertile…
It’s the effort that counts but it’s the result that’s remembered. Write a story about someone who spent years devoted to their passion but their efforts remain unrecognised, unappreciated because they were ultimately unsuccessful, even after death.
“…you never really loved me, did you.” and the silence said it all
you are a dog going into the vet. You have no idea why your owner is crying. You have no idea that it’s your last visit.
Your parents just told you that they’re getting a divorce.
Your best friend/SO has wronged the gods and has 24 hours to live. You can trade your life for theirs by putting your essence by the mercy of the gods. What do you do?
he spat angrily as he raised what remained of his son “I NEVER LOVED YOU”
write a story where you build up to one character’s death. In the end, that character survives, but another character dies instead.
You are a time traveler, but you never knew it. The only time you successfully did it was when you were a baby, and you’ve grown up a long time away from your original life. One day, you find a shrine… Dedicated to you, by your original family.
You sat across from them at the table, and realized that you had both run out of things to say to each other.
Write a story about an adventurous character who somehow survives all the trouble they get into. These are the memories of an old person, as they remember what they did, with a week of less left before their last breath.
Everyone else had moved on further. You have missed your opportunity to move along with them, and you are the only one left behind in the gray lands. All because of your most annoying habit
“But I rescued you from-” “You killed the dragon! You killed my best friend!”
When you were little, you lost your parents in a house fire. Now, you’ve found out that you have the power to control fire, and are starting to suspect that the fire that killed your parents wasn’t a cooking accident after all..
You spent the past 10 minutes walking back and forth from the lobby to the dance floor in search of them, worrying your ass off. They finally decide to come out and they curse at you for ruining their night.
It was horrible, a pain unbearable to you, the feeling of your soulmate breaking down. The person you once loved, now shattered and scarred from trauma. The worst of part of it, you were helpless. All you could do was sit and watch, but you’d get your revenge. On Death himself.
Your maths teacher gives you a school detention despite the fact that you are 110% innocent of everything you’ve been accused of. You are forced to stare at a wall for half an hour in silence to think about ‘what you’ve done.’ What happens now?
You confess to your parents about your depression and suicidal thoughts, but they just shrug it off as you being over dramatic. Months later and the sight of your parents still hurts you deep inside, because they never understood you.
You’re in love with your coworker, who’s married and has two kids. He’s quitting job today. He tells you that he loves you.
You’re in a room full of onions.
You’re just about to start your period and you’ve been craving Chinese food all week. You finally get said Chinese food, get home, pull it out of the bag and drop it. You start scream-crying, and your family runs into the room to check on you. What happens next?
Your daughter has been bullied ever since she’s started school due to the fact that you aren’t the richest of families in a pretty nice neighborhood. When she begs you to buy her a doll everybody likes, you know you won’t be able to afford it.
You hide in your room and clutch a pillow, listening to the abusive language your family members through at each other. You hear your youngest sibling being physically abused again, and his screams echo throughout the house.
“We found cancerous tissue. I’m sorry.” “What a way to start my first day of college.” (comment: this actually happened to me, I was diagnosed with cancer my first day of college)
An old man is on his death bed, riddled with dementia. Volunteering for the elderly with no family left, you visit, but he mistakes you for son or daughter.
I looked in the mirror and realized who was staring back. It was someone I wasn’t content with.
Write a story through the perspective of an abused cat on their 9th life.
Tell a story about a person who never appears in photographs because they were always behind the camera, looking wistfully at everyone’s smiling faces. It is only after they’re long gone that someone finally notices. Old memories are brought up.
Dear friends, I urge you, as foreigners and exiles, to abstain from sinful desires, which wage war against your soul. Live such good lives among the pagans that, though they accuse you of doing wrong, they may see your good deeds and glorify God on the day he visits us.
A/N: So I collabed with @daveeddiggsit for this one and it ended up way cuter than we expected?? lol hope you enjoy!! (also there are several criminal minds references bc i’m like that)
You pushed your glasses back up the bridge of your nose as you continued typing away at your final thesis paper of the semester. Hair up in a bun, and some ratty university sweatpants on, you were looking a little worse for wear. But that was normal during finals week, right?
The library you had been holed up in for the past five hours was dead silent, allowing you to completely focus on your paper. Your eyes were glued to your laptop screen when you heard the sound of a chair scraping backwards but you were too in the zone to look up. As long as they didn’t disrupt your concentration, you’d be good.
“You ever think that the reason you’re wearing glasses is because you’ve been staring at that screen pretty closely for about two hours straight?” You heard a curious, deep voice interrupt your thoughts.
“You ever think about how the library is a quiet place for people to work,” you retorted without looking away from your screen.
“If you really want a quiet place to work, we could head back to my place and work on some other things too, if you know what I mean.” You could practically hear the smirk grow on his face.
“That sounds like one of the first lines in a Criminal Minds episode. Hard pass.”
“You like Criminal Minds? How about you let me profile you.”
You finally glanced over and you could see that there definitely was a smirk on the very attractive man’s face. His hair was wildly curly, yet somehow tamable to an extent, facial hair adorned his defined jawline, and his amused brown eyes stared into your slightly-narrowed ones.
If you weren’t supposed to email this paper to your professor in six hours, you probably would’ve taken him up on his advances, but what was more attractive than Smirky Guy was an A on your paper. Which you then turned back to.
“Are you seriously just going to keep ignoring me?” He asked.
“I’m just going to keep flirting with you until you talk to me.”
“You call saying random pick up lines to a girl whose name you don’t know and receiving little to no response flirting?”
“Yup.” He said, mocking you.
You rolled your eyes and continued to type your paper.
“Aww, come on, four eyes, take a break and talk to me. It won’t hurt anyone.”
You completely turned to him. “‘Four eyes,’ really?” You raised an eyebrow at him. “What are you, five?”
“Hey, ‘four eyes’ isn’t a bad thing. You look cute in glasses.” He grinned at you and even added a wink this time.
A/N: OK SO, I changed my URL from zuberrieee to house-of-seoul for anyone and for my followers (WE REACHED 350?!?!) who might have any questions. As for Saudade pt 3 umm, I’m currently editing it rn. but I just was feeling florist au today and look where we are right now. please love it, raise it, take care of it, and send it off to college. maybe ill make another part to this if y’all want me to. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ don’t hate me <3 <3 <3
Serendipity;↪ the occurrence and development of events by chance in a happy or beneficial way.
The frigid winter air curled around the silk petals of the flowers. They shuddered in pleasure as their colours brightened in comparison to the darkening clouds looming above you. From far away, the diverse array of petals looked like the aftermath of an explosion, bouts of confetti splayed across the wooden stall. Closer up, the green foliage rolled off into leaves and the bulbs of colour peeled into layers upon layers, outlining the delicate flora of nature itself.
The pale pink apron flapped against your knees as you scuttled back to your flower stall, away from the reckless gusts of wind. You noticed how some of the stems had become dislodged within the bunch, looking like colourful arrows piercing the air. Your expert fingers tucked them back into place and then ran through the disarray of your hair, quickly trying to smooth back any stray strands. Goosebumps arose on your exposed skin and a shiver tumbled down the knobs of your spine.
It was definitely wintertime in Seoul.
Customers hurriedly ran through the streets, sparing passing glances to the flower stall stuffed to the brim with colour. You would describe the stall as a mirage of beauty in amongst the dullness of the city. The scent was overwhelming, yet so delicate at the same time.
The previously darkening grey clouds were now beginning to burst with speckles of rain. You noticed how there was something else which slipped under the scent of your stall. It was a bitter musk that was sometimes sparkled with sweetness and cinnamon. It slipped through the doors of the neighbouring café and latched onto a gust of wind, travelling over to settle into the splinters of your wooden stall.
You didn’t know a time when the scent was not present. Coffee was strong and overpowering – it was a rush. Flowers were quaint and delicate – it was a gentle trickle through the veins. Coffee and flowers were opposites, but both fit together like a lock and key.
It was late in the afternoon and you were trying your very best to keep the smile on your face. You loved your stall – adored it in fact – but the weather was buzzing too close to your skin and the ever-looming rent to pay was closing in on you. It seemed as if luck was entirely against you when you spotted a young man looking as if he was about to edge his way over when the heavens well and truly opened. Your encouraging smile was washed off your lips when the suited man had scurried down the street before you could’ve even had blinked.
Thankfully, the drooping canopy above covered the flowers from getting water-clogged, all the while, though, the rain was making sure that you would be drenched by the time it had stopped.
You were leaning against the stall, head down and arms wrapped around yourself in a bid to contain some heat, when you noticed a russet-crowned angel tottered over to you. You giggled internally at yourself because since when did angels totter?
Of course, it was not an angel, but in fact a petit, espresso-haired, espresso-smelling, but a fairly light-skinned boy, teetered up to you. You instantly named him espresso, but then had a sudden urge to know what his real name was, because you were sure that that name was not worthy. You did think that, though, the boy could possibly be some type of descendant from God because small hands were passing over a steaming cardboard cup. The heat radiated from it and tingled at your skin. The sweet smell of tea and the tinge of bitterness fused with the smell of lavender and lilac made your heart fuzz with warmth.
He had a small smile on his lips. It was somewhat weak, nervous as if he was worried that he was overstepping the general societal boundaries. It reminded you of a snowdrop. His eyes could only be described as copper against honey and sage. You wondered if they blossomed into a stronger, deeper, colour. His dark brown fringe was pushed across his forehead but the rest was covered by a black hood. He still had his apron on; Café Amour standing stark on his chest in white embroidery.
“I thought you could use a bit of warmth,” the boy said, looking at you with such sincere care.
“You didn’t have to,” you muttered, voice quiet and shy, though still laced with thanks.
“You’re freezing out here in the cold, of course I had to.” The boy said it with laughter behind his tone and a smile toying at the corners of his lips.
He pushed the beverage closer to you, practically forcing it into your hands. You cradled it between your hands after accepting it. The heat was in such contrast to the coldness of your skin that it scalded, tiny pinpricks of pain stabbing at your pores.
“Thank you,” you simply replied. “I- you really didn’t have to, but I appreciate it, honestly.”
“’it’s my pleasure,” shrugged the boy.
You blew it, mesmerised as usual by the little storm that you created, the ripples in the light brown liquid that pushed to the edge. After taking a sip and sighing in relief as it trickled down your throat, warmth spread through all of your veins until it cradled your head with a lovely haze.
When you looked back up, you saw the boy smiling quaintly at you, hands tucked under his armpits as he hugged himself tight.
“You’ve got a lovely stall here,” he said, eyes scattering glances over the flowers.
“Thanks, it’s kind of my pride and joy, so, yeah.”
“I can tell,” is the reply, along with a knowing smile.
“Oh,” you said suddenly. “How much do I owe you, uh…” you posed it as a question, your slow drawl rising in tone at the end.
It took a few seconds for him to catch on, but then he was shaking his head and smiling even more.
“Jimin. My name’s Jimin.”
He held out his hand, waiting for you to shake it, but promptly realised that your hands were currently occupied by the steaming cup of tea and giggled to himself. You found yourself chuckling, too, the laughter from the boy being somewhat infectious.
“Y/N,” you replied in a slightly flushed voice. You cocked your head to the side and smiled widely, nodding your head as a greeting. Jimin just smiled more. The rain was still pitter-pattering around you, but you didn’t seem to notice, let alone care.
“And you don’t owe me anything, think of it as a gift to a neighbour, or something.”
You frowned, “But I have to give you something in return, that isn’t fair.”
“I honestly don’t need anything. Think of it as you helping with my good deed of the day.” He said it with such truth and kindness that you wanted to know why you ever thought the world, people, had changed for the worse.
“Anyway, I have to get back to my shift, but stay warm, yeah?” Jimin said, turning away with a smile.
“Yeah…” you murmured. Suddenly, an idea sprung into the forefront of your mind. You quickly slid the tea onto the counter and scanned the bunches of flowers. Reaching out, you let your fingers wrap around the thin stem and grasp it tightly. You turned around and called out Jimin’s name.
When the boy turned around, water flicking from the tip of his hood and eyes wide, the first thing he saw was the single pink carnation held out in front of him. Its petals were smattered with droplets of water and an edge of an outer petal was curled over, but it still looked pretty as ever. It was baby pink in colour and the petals were wounded together in an intricate design. They were a maze of expensive silk, a perfect mess.
The boy looked up at you in confusion.
“It means gratitude. To say thank you. For… you know.”
Jimin’s eyes flickered between the flower and you.
Uncertainty crept up your neck, causing you to raise your hand and rub at the skin. “It’s not much, I know, and it’s probably stupid but-”
“Thank you,” Jimin interrupted. He carefully took the flower from your fingers and studied it carefully. His eyes were wide and brighter than before. His fingertip prised apart some of the soft petals, ever so carefully and cautiously, as if he was scared to damage it.
A voice scraped through the atmosphere, the calling of Jimin’s name, and the boy was suddenly snapped out of his daze. He gripped the flower as he parted from you with a raise of his hand, and disappeared into the shop.
The rain stopped soon after that.
The weather was dull but the afternoon held faith in the small glimpses of the sun as it peeked out from behind the clouds. You could not help but smile truthfully as customers passed. The breeze was twisting its way in between your hair and the dampness that resided in the air kept you breathing in and out, in and out.
You remembered the elderly man who arrived at your stall no less than ten minutes after opening. His frail fingertips had traced the petals of a lilac, before settling on a bunch of white carnations. You had asked him whether he knew what they implied, and the man had nodded his head with a wry smile. A story unfolded soon after from the old man’s lips, a one founded before you had even graced the earth.
Soon after, customers arrived throughout the day, but you were still stuck with a cluster of now-wilting daisies. You felt good though. Nice could be an adjective to describe it, regardless of how generic and lacklustre it may be.
A waft of sugared air swept under your senses and forced you out of your reverie. It was at that moment you realised that maybe Nice is about to extend its arms to, well, Extra-Nice.
The boy – Jimin – came traipsing out of Café Amour, and you suddenly realised that the skipping of your lunch was not your best idea. In fact, your stomach grumbled at the smell of honeyed treats and other delights.
He was there, in front of you, holding out a maroon cardboard cup and a twitching smile.
“Hello,” is all you could conjure up as a reply.
“I brought you more coffee. Because. Well- I actually don’t know, but- um, here,” Jimin stammered, passing over the cup.
You looked up at him from under your lashes, a small smile playing your lips. The stall was clouded with the smell of flowers, but Jimin was as clear as anything. “Thank you,” you said because you did not know what else to add. It didn’t feel enough, but your words seemed to be stuck in your throat.
You took the drink and held it close to your chest. The weather was not as cold as the last time, but the warmth left a lovely bubble in your chest. Or maybe that was something else, who knows.
“Are you okay?” you asked because the lilac pouches that draped under Jimin’s honeyed irises looked a worrying shade too close to last month’s batch of violets that only lasted a day or two, at most.
The boy shrugged and let out a sigh, unintentionally, you presumed, and tried to smile as best as he could have had. It was lacklustre and weak, but it was something, so you grinned back so hard that a dimple pierced your cheek. In turn, Jimin’s smile widened, so you counted that as a success.
“Enjoy your tea,” Jimin said quietly, before turning around to leave.
Only letting yourself gaze at the retreating figure for a second, you carefully placed down the tea and scuttled down to your stall. There, you picked out the brightest, yet richest, yellow coreopsis that you had.
It happened similarly to the last time; you calling out Jimin’s name, him turning around to be faced with a large, round, scented thing so close to his nose that it tickled.
“Yellow coreopsis: cheerfulness.”
Jimin’s eyebrows furrowed as he plucked it from your fingers and inspected the small beauty. He looked up towards you, whose smile matched the flower almost exactly.
“And, well, I think you need cheering up, so- yeah, here.”
Jimin’s eyes flittered down to the flower. His eyelashes were thick and long, fanning over the sunny petals. He leaned down and breathed in the scent. Warm stripes of brown cut through the black veil of his lashes as he looked back up at you. “Thank you,” he said with true sincerity, eyes glittering.
You just smiled because, hell, somehow you have moved from Nice to Extra Nice, to Downright Happy.
You sighed happily as you remembered your sweet grandmother. Whenever you visited her, you would carry, hobble, and walk her out into the back garden where rows and rows of flowers blossomed from the soil. As a young child, the smells and colours made you one of the happiest kids around. Somehow, though your grandmother knew that it was more than just the aesthetics.
The clouds today were high and the air was dense.
The petit man cradling a cup of tea appeared yet again today, only this time, his eyes were dulled with a shroud of darkness and his lips had been sewn with a certain downturn that alerted your conscience.
“You’re stressed,” you stated because it was true. Jimin’s foot was shifting restlessly against the stone pavement and his first fingertip of his right hand was tapping rhythmic patterns against his bicep. His eyes flitted from places to place.
Jimin looked surprised at your words. Finally, focusing his eyes on you, he looked almost relieved. A sigh heaved from his body and his shoulders slumped into slopes for his stress to tumble down.
“Yeah,” he said, voice raspy, “I really am.”
You leaned back and took a sip of the tea. Jimin pushed his fringe off his face, body still tense, as your eyes searched his form noncommittally. “Anything I can help with?”
Jimin smiled wryly and glances up the street. “If you can perform instead of me at my dance recital tomorrow evening, then yeah, you can help me.”
You scrunched your face up and feigned thought. “Just give me time to put some shoes on my knees, straighten my hair, and re-watch the High School Musical series, then yeah, I think I might just be able to help.”
Jimin’s mouth cracked opens into a humoured smile. His eyebrows raised involuntarily and his eyes ignited with the fizzle of peace. Unable to hide his glee, a giggle bubbled from in between your lips.
Once Jimin’s laughter has spiraled out, he shook his head at you. His eyes were lighter than before. A twist was still curled at the corner of his lips, and it was evident that his action was not done in a sardonic sense, more so disbelief.
“You’re sure are something, aren’t you?” he posed, although it was more of a statement than anything.
“Anything to help,” you replied with a shrug of your shoulders and an overzealous grin slicing in between your reddened lips like a white Amazon lily in between a flock of red celosia.
The two of you stared at each other, taking the time to let your eyes drawled over his soft features, memorising every line on his face.
“I should probably go,” he said, without any conviction whatsoever, “I’ve got coffee to pour and cookies to steal for later when I have my inevitable breakdown at two in the morning.”
“And I’ve got to pretend to preen the flowers even though I’ve already done it about ten times in the past hour.”
He smiled, “Sounds like hard work.”
“The hardest,” you answered, smirking through your smile.
The breeze whistled in the background as you two just stood there, staring and smiling quietly. After a moment, a while, Jimin spoke. His tone was soft and quiet, timid, almost. “Thank you.”
You merely smiled at him before you nipped around the other side of the stall, eyes roaming the many colours. Your fingers curled around the correct stems and pull them gently from their bouquet. Blanketing the two single flower stems with his heated palm, you meandered back around the stall and approached the still-waiting Jimin.
“Here,” you offered the two flowers to Jimin.
His eyes glanced down and swirled around the heads of the flowers. They flit back up to you before returning to the beauties, dusting the petals with his attention. “What do they mean?” he enquired.
“The iris is for inspiration and the black-eyed Susan is for encouragement. Thought you might need them.” you said, shrugging your shoulders and pressing your lips together, suddenly coming across somewhat shy.
“Thank you,” Jimin repeated, staring at you with great sincerity and true honesty. If his eyes were a smell, they would be vanilla frosting on cinnamon cupcakes; warm and comforting, true care and true kindness.
You smiled back and replied, “Good luck, Jimin.”
With a blink, a smile, and a nod, Jimin turned and wandered back into the coffee shop. And if you spent an inordinate amount of time staring at an iris and trying to figure out just what made it so Jimin-like, then, well, nobody has to know.
really liked learning more about Yoongi. You liked that he didn’t need to
whisper all of his deepest secrets into your ear because you felt like you
could see into his heart- see who he truly was behind all of the fronts he put
up in front of others.
With Ramadan around the corner, I want to create a Whatsapp group for sisters only (I hope there is enough interest) so we can share tips and tricks, encourage eachother to do good deeds, read quran, discuss things, share beneficial links and podcasts, recipes, day schedules etc … If you want to join, send me your number in sha Allah and I will add you.
Let’s make ramadan as productive a possible in sha allah.
Harry repeats the question as though Tom’s blank stare means that he simply has not heard him. His face would have been expressionless, were it not for the fire of tangible annoyance flickering in his eyes.
“…Just make my coffee.”
Harry quickly looks Tom up and down, then shrugs, like he’s unimpressed. “Bet you’re a Cancer,” he says.
Harry just catches the way Tom’s brows furrow before turning around, making his drink. Tom doesn’t say anything, but Harry can sense his irritation radiating around him, can practically feel the heat from Tom’s glare burning holes into his back.
Harry smiles and hands him the double espresso. “That’ll be $3.50.”
“What was that supposed to mean?”
“That espresso is expensive?”
Tom’s jaw visibly tightens. “Why would you think I’m a cancer?”
“Because you’re very… mysterious. And temperamental. Mysteriously temperamental.”
Tom thrusts a ten dollar bill at Harry with a bit too much force. “Such a Cancer,” Harry says, rolling his eyes and internally laughing.
“I’m a Capricorn, if you must know,” Tom hisses.
“Really?” Harry cocks his head to one side, genuinely surprised. “Oh. Well. Then here. Take this back; this one’s on the house.”
Tom accepts the bill slowly and with great skepticism. “…Why?”
“Capricorns are terrible with money. I’m considering this my good deed for the day.”
Tom’s face contorts with fury for a moment before the emotion slips away entirely, suddenly blank. “First of all, that’s incorrect, and you know it-”
“Do I? Because you spend about twenty bucks a week on coffee-”
“And second of all,” Tom goes on, speaking over him, “if you are trying to hit on me, you are doing so with the tact of a sledgehammer.”
Harry’s face turns a furious shade of red, and his wit leaves him in a second. Tom smiles in a manner which is as twisted as it is charming. “I-I’m not- I wasn’t-”
“Thanks for the drink, Harry,” Tom murmurs, practically a purr, and Harry’s face burns even hotter at the sound of his name being spoken like that. “And you should know that I’m not terrible with money. I’m not terrible at anything… And I could think of about a thousand other, better things you could do for your good deed of the day. But please… Continue to waste them on me.”
He then turns and leaves, taking his usual seat at the far end of the shop, facing away. Harry is snapped out of his state of tingly, indescribable numbness by a giggle.
Hermione is grinning like a Cheshire cat, having discreetly watched the entire interaction from behind the counter. “Boy’s got game,” she says slyly.
Min Yoongi, everyone knew, could find the beauty in all the ordinary.
His hands produced magic within every photograph, with every click and shutter of his lens. He could be found standing in the glow of the afternoon sun, scarf wrapped around his neck, beanie on his head, his camera raised to his face as he attempted to seize the little moments. The short, flitting moments in time that went by unnoticed to most but Yoongi saw otherwise.
“There’s always something in all the nothing.”
That was his philosophy. Photography was the reason you managed to find him. When you saw his photographs displayed in an exhibit, your breath had been knocked straight out of your lungs. There was the depth to his compositions, shadows positioned perfectly to highlight his subjects. They were unedited, you had been reminded by the brochure. All of these photos were untouched. Pure. There was beauty in that fact. Too often you’d find photographs altered to enhance the tiny potential. But Yoongi, instead of relying on human-produced tools, had drawn out the potential of ethereal reality through his lens. This was the reason why you’ve been trailing after his work for so long, trying to pick up the puzzles of every piece he made.
“Do you like it?” A man had stood by your side, headphones hanging loosely around his neck. He looked a little young, fresh-faced.
“I love it,” you smiled honestly.
“Why?” He asked, curiosity in his tone.
You had laughed, biting down on your lip, “I honestly can’t say much about technique since my strength isn’t in photography. But there’s something raw in all of these that just gets to you. Something so incredibly normal about it that makes it a little abnormal. In a good way. Does that make sense?” Turning to face him, you had been taken aback by the look of sheer surprise in his face.
“Good to know someone understands,” he murmured under his breath. Before you could respond, he was already walking away, headphones over his ears. You hadn’t known then that the mysterious, enigma of a man, Min Yoongi had been standing right next to you.
Summary: Gaston made all the wrong choices in life, and when a dramatic fall from the Beast’s castle leaves him wounded and near-death, he thinks it’s the end of his time. Suddenly, an old beggar woman appears at his side and heals him back to his normal self but gives him one year, and only one year, to find true love before his time on earth and the town’s memories of him come to an end.
As the evening melted away to the morning of Belle and Adam’s wedding, Villeneuve awakened with zeal as the sun warmed the narrow maze of winding cobblestone streets. For the first time in years, the villagers became enlivened with the day’s eagerness before the sun was fully present in the sky, and soon enough, the little town of Villeneuve was chaotic and cluttered with last-minute wedding preparations. The uneven, decomposing garden fences were crowned with garlands of golden and royal blue flowers while hanging baskets of roses greeted every front porch. Though peculiar to see such vibrant colors in February, the weather had been strangely pleasant and most people linked the sudden temperature increase to the magic that surrounded the castle.
“Of course it feels like spring,” a woman huffed to her three daughters, dressed identically in bloated gowns of pink. “The castle is enchanted, I bet the Prince ensured this weather would be perfectly suited for the wedding.”
“Was, mother. The castle was enchanted,” one of her daughters responded, to which the woman replied, “Are you sure about that?”
Every doorstep held a decoration, a flower of some sort, in honor of the wedding, and as the villagers filed into the streets for their journey to the castle, most of them noticed that Gaston’s Tavern remained bare and withdrawn. The townspeople, dressed glamorously in their pastel wardrobes, shook their heads with disgust as they mounted their horses and passed the tavern, muttering vindictive comments to the closed door:
“Better not show his face ‘round there.”
“The nerve of that man; He can’t even extend his congratulations.”
“I hope Prince Adam gives that monster a piece of his mind.”
The inside of the tavern, however, was particularly unpleasant as Gaston impatiently waited in the upstairs hallway while LeFou, finger tapping rhythmically against his lips, critiqued Gaston’s appearance. He didn’t look quite…appropriate. It wasn’t necessarily the hunter’s outfit choice, his beige war coat with scarlet lining certainly suited him, but his raven hair hung pathetically into his eyes, shielding the life within them and giving his complexion a pallid and exhausted appearance.
“This is ridiculous,” Gaston grunted, filled with absolute displeasure. “I’m not going beyond the gates, LeFou, you don’t need to do that,” he added as LeFou grabbed a handful of Gaston’s mane.
“Actually, I do. It’s not for you or the wedding, it’s for Anne,” LeFou insisted as he smoothed Gaston’s hair into a striking ponytail. Gaston’s eye roll was easily detectable. “Much better,” LeFou then added as he faced his friend.
“I no longer feel comfortable with this,” he wrinkled his nose and curled his upper lip with disapproval as he flattened several strands of hair.
“You no longer feel comfortable with anything, Gaston. Look, just try to impress Anne. Don’t be so downhearted today. I don’t know, maybe her presence will distract you from the wedding.”
As he fell to silence, Gaston questioned the day’s agenda, more specifically, the townspeople’s agenda. They were expecting him, word already traveled that the new girl would be in attendance, and he couldn’t help but feel some type of sorrow that he wouldn’t be with her. He wanted to stand by her side, the occasion was special and new to her, and yet he refused. If any villager witnessed Gaston on the castle grounds, an uproar would undoubtedly ensue. He was aware most people wanted him banished, but others wanted him dead. It was best to stay away.
“Hello? Gaston?” LeFou, obviously repeating himself, snapped a finger in his friend’s direction.
“Don’t do that.”
“Sorry. I was asking if you bought Anne flowers?”
“What? No…” Gaston was confused. Since when was it required to buy her flowers for a terrible wedding?
“What, LeFou? What could possibly be so shocking?”
“It’s a wedding. You should have been a bit more prepared,” he muttered, but Gaston overheard him and reacted with an intimidating step forward.
“Then I’ll just borrow some flowers from the villagers’ gardens. They won’t care, now will they?”
“Now, Gaston, I thought we were going to start doing some good deeds. Does stealing from other people sound like a good deed?” The two friends had been speaking more frequently since Anne had arrived and bickering back and forth had now become a daily routine.
“It is a good deed when those imbeciles insult me and my tavern every day!” His voice was raising, blood rushing to his reddened face, as his knuckles turned white with pressure from his clenched fists.
“Deep breaths, Gaston,” LeFou replied in a sing-song tone. He places his hands on the war hero’s broad shoulders as their deep breaths mimicked one another’s. “Very good,” LeFou then added. “Shall we proceed?”
“Yes,” Gaston grumbled, staring at the worn wooden floorboards. Forcing himself to change the subject, he straightened his posture, displaying the polished gold buttons on his jacket.
“How do I look, LeFou?” He then added smugly, already cognizant of his magnetism.
It was a bit painful, really, for LeFou to see Gaston dressed so precisely and immaculately. Before June, the war hero’s physical impression was a priority - he had to look the best, act the best, be the best - but the days and months following the fall led to the abandonment of those aspects. On this particular day, the war hero didn’t look so defeated, he looked like Gaston. But, as LeFou’s eyes traveled from his friend’s raven curls to his enormous boots, the young sidekick’s heart sank. Gaston wasn’t the same man. He never would be. Although it may have been best for everyone, LeFou still couldn’t stand to witness Gaston riddled with uncertainty and self-loathing. The more time LeFou spent with Gaston, the more he believed his friend was hiding something.
Whoever comes [on the Day of Judgement] with a good deed will have better than it; and whoever comes with an evil deed - then those who did evil deeds will not be recompensed except [as much as] what they used to do.
“I still can’t believe you two kept this a secret,” Mary Margaret cooed. “Well Emma is good at playing her cards close to her chest,” Ruby observed, looking at the other ladies around the table with a knowing eye. “Well I think it’s romantic. From friends, to lovers to husband and wife within a few months? It’s a pretty great story.” Emma nodded automatically at Belle’s words, still not believing that it was happening; that this was her bachelorette party (“‘Hen party’ is what they are called here, Killian had told her. She thought that just sounded weird). Or even more so that tomorrow they would actually be married. “Earth to Emma.” Ruby was waving her hand in from of Emma’s face. “You zoned out there for a minute.” “Sorry, I’m just tired…” “What, has Killian been keeping you up late? I bet he has quite a few tricks in his pants.” She folded her arms on the table and leaned closer to where Emma sat opposite her, “So, is he good?” Emma blushed a deeper shade of red than the dress she was currently wearing. “Ruby!” Mary Margaret screeched, tossing half a breadstick at their outspoken friend. “We’ve all thought it,” she shrugged. “I,er…” Emma stumbled. She had somehow managed to not think about Killian in that way before. Well, only fleetingly when they first met and she saw how tight his jeans were. But even through this whole marriage thing it hadn’t occurred to her that people would assume they were having sex. Much less ask about it. “You don’t have to answer that,” Tink added, tossing Ruby a small scowl. “Ruby is just being an arse.” Ruby stuck out her tongue just as their waiter arrived with a fresh round of cocktails provided the perfect exit from that line of questioning. Emma eagerly accepted her margarita, taking a long sip, letting it calm her nerves. “I do have one question,” Belle asked as she twirled the straw that sat in her strawberry daiquiri. “When did it happen? I mean, when did you get together? You’ve both been very coy about it.” Emma smiled against the rim of her glass. This story they had prepared in advance. There were certain things that they knew would be asked and that was one of them. “It was a few weeks before Christmas and I’d had a pretty shitty day, this guy I’d been tailing gave me the slip and I was down at The Rabbit Hole drowning my sorrows. Killian showed up, to watch some soccer game, I forget which one. And we ended up drinking and talking and… it just happened.” Belle smiled dreamily. “He kissed you.” Emma’s eyes widened. Though they’d talked through the basics of their ‘getting together’ they hadn’t gone as far as the mechanics of the situation. “Um, yeah, I guess he did,” she mumbled, sipping again on her drink to occupy her mouth. The mouth that Killian Jones had certainly never once kissed.
Today marks the MOST important day of my life: my ReBirthday! 7 Years ago I met Jesus, and He changed my life FOREVER. Life before God was cool. I lived a good life, did nice things for people, & TBH, I was happy. I did not come to God w/a desperate need to have my life changed, but that was the problem. I never knew I needed God, until I met Him. I never knew that the deeds I called “good” didn’t really matter at the end of the day if I didn’t even know the One who created me with such purpose. My testimony may not seem all that exciting. Some people meet God while they’re stuck in an addiction, or near death. That didn’t happen to me. I met God, and honestly, truthfully, it just made life more rad! I pray that you too, would have a personal encounter with Jesus. You won’t know the joy that comes with knowing Him until you experience Him for yourself!!! xoxo 😘
Woah, I’m finally posting this! I’ve been working on this for weeks, but with everything that happened with my dad and a lot of other stuff that’s been going on, I never really had time to work on it. I’m really happy to post this, but it probably sucks, honestly.
I promised @lamsbur that I’d tag him in this… so here you go!
Warnings: Swearing, Starbucks, Anthony being awkward, and the reader being kind of a dick.
Nepenthe (n.) something that makes one forget their sadness
“Okay, well, we’re all done. Thank you for coming in,” the woman behind the desk said, cutting your sentence that you had spent hours upon hours memorizing for the past few weeks. You had put your all into this audition, only to be cut off, and you weren’t sure when it would be any different. You inwardly sigh, but force a smile at the woman.
“Oh no, thank you for having me. Have a nice day,” you force out, trying to keep your eyes from reflecting how you were really feeling; like screaming about how much of your life you’d put into this damn thing to get thrown out of the room early by someone with eyeshadow that was too pigmented and a foundation three shades too light for her skin.
Selina loves the way Bruce says her name. The way it barely escapes his mouth, hovering between his lips. He tries to keep himself under control, he really does. But she can see his emotions peeking through, whether it be his flashing eyes or tense hands.
“Selina, ” Bruce grits, jaw clamped shut and eyes closed. He takes deep breaths while she flicks off a stray piece of glass. The kids are shouting in the background. Whether it be in fun or terror, Selina supposes that really doesn’t matter. She’s done her good deed of the day. Bruce opens his mouth again but only emits a growl. He swallows. “Se-lin-a.”
“That’s my name,” she replies, settling her sunglasses on her nose and stretching, “Don’t wear it out.”
She smirks as she hears the stifled sounds of apoplectic rage.
Well. It’s magical to her.
Bruce, on the other hand hand, may have asphyxiated back there.