he actually gardens so this is perfect

When Tiana finds herself house-sitting a mansion, she thinks her life is taking a turn for the better.
Little does she know the house is not what it seems… and neither are the two occupants who both wish to lay claim to her heart.

Contested ownership barely covers what’s happening at The Crossroads

The Crossroads is my NaNoReNo entry this year. It’s a light, romance-focused, supernatural visual novel.

I’m hoping to make it a bit lighter and fluffier than I normally do :D

It will be quite a linear visual novel, with really only the romance scenes and endings differing throughout- hopefully it will mean I can actually finish the project in the month!

            Warnings: Suggestive adult content (but it’s hardly anything!)

> Two love interests
> Personality choices all the way through
> Three possible endings for each love interest
(Love Ending, True Love Ending, and Bad Ending- Bad ending will vary only slightly for each)
> Just general fun and romantic lightness
> Unique Sprites, BGs, CGs, GUI

                               (Concept sketches only at the moment!)

Main Character

Tiana- Name Changeable
After losing her job, her apartment, and pretty much everything else, Tiana finds herself at a crossroads in life and has to decide where to go next.
Luckily, a job offer to house-sit a mansion in the middle of nowhere sounds like the perfect opportunity to take some time for herself.
(A very simple character customisation will hopefully be available- hair colour, skin colour, and eye colour)

Love Interests

The steward of The Crossroads. The man seems to bypass flirting and go straight into… well, full on suggestions! Quite the man to figure out…

Works as the handyman of the house. Sweet and caring, he suits the gentle gardens he spends most of his time in.


So, I really wanted to do NaNo again this year, though definitely wanted something I can actually finish within the month 

I will be soloing this as usual, so progress will be steady, if a bit slower.

I’ll probably be starting on GUI and backgrounds as they are my least favourite things, but I might slip into the sprites sooner because, well, that’s the fun stuff!

Hope you guys like my entry! I’m looking forward to progressing on it :D


Originally posted by nctinfo

· His cloak color is Boysenberry ( check our color reference page )
· His crest is on his left shoulder blade
· The cleanest prince
·  His room is the most organized room in the castle
·  It’s even more organized than the kitchen
· Actually he organized the kitchen himself
· Constantly checks on the servants
·  Because he’s afraid they will misplace something
· Or he’s afraid they won’t clean something well enough
· Looks scary and mean
· But is actually a softie
· Wouldn’t hurt anyone
· Except yuta
· Yuta asks for it tbh
· “If you touch my crown one more time-“ – Him
· “What? What are you gonna do? Hit me in the face with your invisible fist? You won’t hit me” – Yuta
· Actually ends up hitting yuta In the face with a book
· “This is why you shouldn’t underestimate me” – Him
· Likes to be alone
· Because being alone helps him think
· Is always overwhelmed with things
· Passionate about dancing and teaching the local civilians how to dance
· Has his own dance class
· Often feels misunderstood
· Confident when it comes to his looks
· Very nice and caring towards everyone
· Likes to take pictures of nature
· Which is why his room has the best view of the landscape
· Perfectionist
· Hates germs with a passions
· Washes his hands 8 to 10 times a day
· Bites his nails out of habit
· Likes to lay out in the grass and star up at the stars when everyone else Is asleep
· It gives him time to truly appreciate everything he has

· You were a servant
· You misplaced one spoon
· And never heard the end of it
· He watched you like a hawk
· Over time noticed how sweet
· Beautiful
· Charming-
· “Gah, stop it Tae..you’re a prince- you need a princess” - himself to himself
· Constantly biting his lips around you because
· Damn she’s so perfect
· Gives you the cold shoulder
· But only because he doesn’t want to have feelings for you
· So he tries to ignore his feelings
· You soon notice that he started to ignore you And you were actually quite upset
· You soon were able to get him alone in the royal garden
· “Why are you avoiding me? And for a minute I thought you actually cared about me” - you
· And at that moment
· Taeyongs walls fell down and he turned into a puddle
· Because he saw a single tear fall down your cheek
· “Wait don’t cry..” - him
· He cupped your cheeks, wiping the tears away
· “You do care about me after all..” - You
· Taeyong sighed playfully
· “I care about you But not THAT much” - him
· Which resulted in you laughing your ass off
· Because you knew that was complete bull
· You then started laughing and poking him
· “Yeah sure, I literally feel you stare at me” - You
· He tried to stop smiling but he couldn’t seem to
· “It’s not my fault you’re so precious” - Him

The Crumbling Kingdom Ch. 8

AN: I’m sorry in advance

Genre: Mafia!Jeonghan, Mafia!Soonyoung, Angst, Romance, Violence

Word Count: 6,170

CH 1 CH 2 CH 3 CH 4 CH 5 CH 6 CH 7 CH 8 CH 9

Originally posted by gyuhan-17

You hated perfect things. You hated even numbers, clear skies, and even the perfect symmetry of snow flakes. Maybe you didn’t hate perfect things themselves, snow was pretty, but you hated the idea of perfection itself. It reminded you of how the idea of “no one is perfect” was a lie. You always ended up destroying perfection when you touched it. Perfection reminded you of how utterly flawed you were.

The sky was a perfect blue today, and the garden you were strolling through was disgustingly perfect. You tightened your grip on the picnic basket, for any normal person, this would be a beautiful date, but of course you had to make it some complicated mess. But were you the actual reason this whole marriage issue?

You stared at your boyfriend’s hand that held yours, leading you down the flowery path. Soonyoung had a goofy smile painted on his face, he was always got so excited for dates like this–perfect dates. He liked to plan them out and make every aspect of outings beautiful. Unlike you, he could admire perfection. How he loved a flawed being like you, you had no idea.

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anonymous asked:

Dialogue 8 matsuiwa !!

“Come here.”


“Just come here.”

“No, you’re gonna hit me.”

In all his life, Matsukawa has never done anything wrong. Never. Well… Except maybe a few times back in high school. And a few in middle school. And more than that in university-

But that was back in education! He’s a changed man! He’s 45 years old and finally gotten his life together. He got a full time job last week - The one he worked his whole life towards! - with a comfortable paycheck, moved in with his partner about a month ago, and today… Today is the biggest day of his life so far.

With the money saved up from his part time jobs, a box in his back pocket burns against his leg with a soothing warmth that feels light as air. It’s heavy, but he’s so happy. He stops at Hanamaki and Oikawa’s since it’s only a few doors away and they give him all the encouragement he needs, complementing his choice of what’s in the box, and forcing him to accept ‘sprucing up’.

With his hair as naturally curly as ever, it looks a hell of a lot different when it’s been intentionally permed. Hanamaki passes him a suit with a thumbs up and grin. Where he managed to get Matsukawa’s measurements, the man has to wonder. Oikawa douses him with a couple of spritz of cologne, combining about three or four brands with the explanation that they balance each other out.

Shoved out the house with a bunch of flowers fresh from Hanamaki and Oikawa’s garden, Matsukawa takes a deep breath and confidently walks up to his own front door just a couple of minutes away. If he looked down the street, he’d probably still see Hanamaki and Oikawa eagerly watching him from behind the hedge in their front garden.

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Ten Things I Have Learned (by Milton Glaser)
  1. You can only work for people that you like. This is a curious rule and it took me a long time to learn because in fact at the beginning of my practice I felt the opposite. Professionalism required that you didn’t particularly like the people that you worked for or at least maintained an arms length relationship to them, which meant that I never had lunch with a client or saw them socially. Then some years ago I realised that the opposite was true. I discovered that all the work I had done that was meaningful and significant came out of an affectionate relationship with a client. And I am not talking about professionalism; I am talking about affection. I am talking about a client and you sharing some common ground. That in fact your view of life is someway congruent with the client, otherwise it is a bitter and hopeless struggle.

  2. If you have a choice never have a job. One night I was sitting in my car outside Columbia University where my wife Shirley was studying Anthropology. While I was waiting I was listening to the radio and heard an interviewer ask “Now that you have reached 75 have you any advice for our audience about how to prepare for your old age?” An irritated voice said “Why is everyone asking me about old age these days?” I recognised the voice as John Cage. I am sure that many of you know who he was—the composer and philosopher who influenced people like Jasper Johns and Merce Cunningham as well as the music world in general. I knew him slightly and admired his contribution to our times. “You know, I do know how to prepare for old age” he said. “Never have a job, because if you have a job someday someone will take it away from you and then you will be unprepared for your old age. For me, it has always been the same every since the age of 12. I wake up in the morning and I try to figure out how am I going to put bread on the table today? It is the same at 75, I wake up every morning and I think how am I going to put bread on the table today? I am exceedingly well prepared for my old age” he said.

  3. Some people are toxic, avoid them. This is a subtext of number one. There was in the sixties a man named Fritz Perls who was a gestalt therapist. Gestalt therapy derives from art history, it proposes you must understand the ‘whole’ before you can understand the details. What you have to look at is the entire culture, the entire family and community and so on. Perls proposed that in all relationships people could be either toxic or nourishing towards one another. It is not necessarily true that the same person will be toxic or nourishing in every relationship, but the combination of any two people in a relationship produces toxic or nourishing consequences. And the important thing that I can tell you is that there is a test to determine whether someone is toxic or nourishing in your relationship with them. Here is the test: you have spent some time with this person, either you have a drink or go for dinner or you go to a ball game. It doesn’t matter very much but at the end of that time you observe whether you are more energised or less energised. Whether you are tired or whether you are exhilarated. If you are more tired then you have been poisoned. If you have more energy you have been nourished. The test is almost infallible and I suggest that you use it for the rest of your life.

  4. Professionalism is not enough or the good is the enemy of the great. Early in my career I wanted to be professional, that was my complete aspiration in my early life because professionals seemed to know everything —not to mention they got paid for it. Later I discovered after working for a while that professionalism itself was a limitation. After all, what professionalism means in most cases is diminishing risks. So if you want to get your car fixed you go to a mechanic who knows how to deal with transmission problems in the same way each time. I suppose if you needed brain surgery you wouldn’t want the doctor to fool around and invent a new way of connecting your nerve endings. Please do it in the way that has worked in the past.

    Unfortunately in our field, in the so–called creative—I hate that word because it is misused so often. I also hate the fact that it is used as a noun. Can you imagine calling someone a creative? Anyhow, when you are doing something in a recurring way to diminish risk or doing it in the same way as you have done it before, it is clear why professionalism is not enough. After all, what is required in our field, more than anything else, is the continuous transgression. Professionalism does not allow for that because transgression has to encompass the possibility of failure and if you are professional your instinct is not to fail, it is to repeat success. So professionalism as a lifetime aspiration is a limited goal.

  5. Less is not necessarily more. Being a child of modernism I have heard this mantra all my life. Less is more. One morning upon awakening I realised that it was total nonsense, it is an absurd proposition and also fairly meaningless. But it sounds great because it contains within it a paradox that is resistant to understanding. But it simply does not obtain when you think about the visual of the history of the world. If you look at a Persian rug, you cannot say that less is more because you realise that every part of that rug, every change of colour, every shift in form is absolutely essential for its aesthetic success. You cannot prove to me that a solid blue rug is in any way superior. That also goes for the work of Gaudi, Persian miniatures, art nouveau and everything else. However, I have an alternative to the proposition that I believe is more appropriate. “Just enough is more.”

  6. Style is not to be trusted. I think this idea first occurred to me when I was looking at a marvellous etching of a bull by Picasso. It was an illustration for a story by Balzac called “The Hidden Masterpiece”. I am sure that you all know it. It is a bull that is expressed in 12 different styles going from very naturalistic version of a bull to an absolutely reductive single line abstraction and everything else along the way. What is clear just from looking at this single print is that style is irrelevant. In every one of these cases, from extreme abstraction to acute naturalism they are extraordinary regardless of the style. It’s absurd to be loyal to a style. It does not deserve your loyalty. I must say that for old design professionals it is a problem because the field is driven by economic consideration more than anything else. Style change is usually linked to economic factors, as all of you know who have read Marx. Also fatigue occurs when people see too much of the same thing too often. So every ten years or so there is a stylistic shift and things are made to look different.

    Typefaces go in and out of style and the visual system shifts a little bit. If you are around for a long time as a designer, you have an essential problem of what to do. I mean, after all, you have developed a vocabulary, a form that is your own. It is one of the ways that you distinguish yourself from your peers, and establish your identity in the field. How you maintain your own belief system and preferences becomes a real balancing act. The question of whether you pursue change or whether you maintain your own distinct form becomes difficult. We have all seen the work of illustrious practitioners that suddenly look old–fashioned or, more precisely, belonging to another moment in time. And there are sad stories such as the one about Cassandre, arguably the greatest graphic designer of the twentieth century, who couldn’t make a living at the end of his life and committed suicide.

    But the point is that anybody who is in this for the long haul has to decide how to respond to change in the zeitgeist. What is it that people now expect that they formerly didn’t want? And how to respond to that desire in a way that doesn’t change your sense of integrity and purpose.

  7. How you live changes your brain. The brain is the most responsive organ of the body. Actually it is the organ that is most susceptible to change and regeneration of all the organs in the body. I have a friend named Gerald Edelman who was a great scholar of brain studies and he says that the analogy of the brain to a computer is pathetic. The brain is actually more like an overgrown garden that is constantly growing and throwing off seeds, regenerating and so on. And he believes that the brain is susceptible, in a way that we are not fully conscious of, to almost every experience of our life and every encounter we have. I was fascinated by a story in a newspaper a few years ago about the search for perfect pitch. A group of scientists decided that they were going to find out why certain people have perfect pitch. You know certain people hear a note precisely and are able to replicate it at exactly the right pitch. Some people have relevant pitch; perfect pitch is rare even among musicians. The scientists discovered—I don’t know how—that among people with perfect pitch the brain was different. Certain lobes of the brain had undergone some change or deformation that was always present with those who had perfect pitch. This was interesting enough in itself. But then they discovered something even more fascinating. If you took a bunch of kids and taught them to play the violin at the age of 4 or 5 after a couple of years some of them developed perfect pitch, and in all of those cases their brain structure had changed. Well what could that mean for the rest of us? We tend to believe that the mind affects the body and the body affects the mind, although we do not generally believe that everything we do affects the brain. I am convinced that if someone was to yell at me from across the street my brain could be affected and my life might changed. That is why your mother always said, “Don’t hang out with those bad kids.” Mama was right. Thought changes our life and our behaviour. I also believe that drawing works in the same way. I am a great advocate of drawing, not in order to become an illustrator, but because I believe drawing changes the brain in the same way as the search to create the right note changes the brain of a violinist. Drawing also makes you attentive. It makes you pay attention to what you are looking at, which is not so easy.

  8. Doubt is better than certainty. Everyone always talks about confidence in believing what you do. I remember once going to a class in yoga where the teacher said that, spirituality speaking, if you believed that you had achieved enlightenment you have merely arrived at your limitation. I think that is also true in a practical sense.

    Deeply held beliefs of any kind prevent you from being open to experience, which is why I find all firmly held ideological positions questionable. It makes me nervous when someone believes too deeply or too much. I think that being sceptical and questioning all deeply held beliefs is essential. Of course we must know the difference between scepticism and cynicism because cynicism is as much a restriction of one’s openness to the world as passionate belief is. They are sort of twins. And then in a very real way, solving any problem is more important than being right.

    There is a significant sense of self–righteousness in both the art and design world. Perhaps it begins at school. Art school often begins with the Ayn Rand model of the single personality resisting the ideas of the surrounding culture. The theory of the avant garde is that as an individual you can transform the world, which is true up to a point. One of the signs of a damaged ego is absolute certainty.

    Schools encourage the idea of not compromising and defending your work at all costs. Well, the issue at work is usually all about the nature of compromise. You just have to know what to compromise. Blind pursuit of your own ends which excludes the possibility that others may be right does not allow for the fact that in design we are always dealing with a triad—the client, the audience and you.

    Ideally, making everyone win through acts of accommodation is desirable. But self–righteousness is often the enemy. Self–righteousness and narcissism generally come out of some sort of childhood trauma, which we do not have to go into. It is a consistently difficult thing in human affairs. Some years ago I read a most remarkable thing about love, that also applies to the nature of co–existing with others. It was a quotation from Iris Murdoch in her obituary. It read “Love is the extremely difficult realisation that something other than oneself is real.” Isn’t that fantastic! The best insight on the subject of love that one can imagine.

  9. On aging. Last year someone gave me a charming book by Roger Rosenblatt called “Ageing Gracefully” I got it on my birthday. I did not appreciate the title at the time but it contains a series of rules for ageing gracefully. The first rule is the best. Rule number one is that “it doesn’t matter.” “It doesn’t matter what you think. Follow this rule and it will add decades to your life. It does not matter if you are late or early, if you are here or there, if you said it or didn’t say it, if you are clever or if you were stupid. If you were having a bad hair day or a no hair day or if your boss looks at you cockeyed or your boyfriend or girlfriend looks at you cockeyed, if you are cockeyed. If you don’t get that promotion or prize or house or if you do—it doesn’t matter.” Wisdom at last.

    Then I heard a marvellous joke that seemed related to rule number 10. A butcher was opening his market one morning and as he did a rabbit popped his head through the door. The butcher was surprised when the rabbit inquired “Got any cabbage?” The butcher said “This is a meat market—we sell meat, not vegetables.” The rabbit hopped off. The next day the butcher is opening the shop and sure enough the rabbit pops his head round and says “You got any cabbage?” The butcher now irritated says “Listen you little rodent I told you yesterday we sell meat, we do not sell vegetables and the next time you come here I am going to grab you by the throat and nail those floppy ears to the floor.” The rabbit disappeared hastily and nothing happened for a week. Then one morning the rabbit popped his head around the corner and said “Got any nails?” The butcher said “No.” The rabbit said “Ok. Got any cabbage?”

  10. Tell the truth. The rabbit joke is relevant because it occurred to me that looking for a cabbage in a butcher’s shop might be like looking for ethics in the design field. It may not be the most obvious place to find either. It’s interesting to observe that in the new AIGA’s code of ethics there is a significant amount of useful information about appropriate behaviour towards clients and other designers, but not a word about a designer’s relationship to the public.

    We expect a butcher to sell us eatable meat and that he doesn’t misrepresent his wares. I remember reading that during the Stalin years in Russia that everything labelled veal was actually chicken. I can’t imagine what everything labelled chicken was.

    We can accept certain kinds of misrepresentation, such as fudging about the amount of fat in his hamburger but once a butcher knowingly sells us spoiled meat we go elsewhere. As a designer, do we have less responsibility to our public than a butcher?

    Everyone interested in licensing our field might note that the reason licensing has been invented is to protect the public not designers or clients. ‘Do no harm’ is an admonition to doctors concerning their relationship to their patients, not to their fellow practitioners or the drug companies. If we were licensed, telling the truth might become more central to what we do.
Three Little Words, a Ryan Haywood x Reader Fic

Summary: Despite having been together for over 2 years, Ryan has never uttered the words “I Love You” to you. But when he does, he does it with fervor.
W/C: 1,568
Notes: WOW look at that a prompt from January finally getting filled…in April. I’m so sorry wow. Also I married this prompt with the one where the reader is Geoff’s little sister, sorry they didn’t each get their own fic.

“So, how are things going with Ryan? Any signs of the big question yet?”

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Please take a moment to imagine Enjolras and Marius as best men at the Courferre wedding  

  • Enjolras is scandalized when Courf tells him first because what, he can totally handle this on his own, he can do that, he doesn’t need help but he agrees because Courf says it’s really important to him and Enjolras promises to be ‘nice’ because it’s not about him, it’s about his friends and yeah, also he is going to be the BEST BEST MAN OF ALL TIME, JUST YOU WAIT
  • and Marius is just …. sooooo happy and moved when Courf tells him
  •  then he’s mortified
  • so the first time Enjolras and Marius meet to talk about the whole thing Enjolras pulls it off to look extremely terrifying sitting on the floor in the living room between stacks of wedding catalogues
  • there are a lot of long silences, glares from Enjolras and polite (nervous) throat-clearing from Marius who knows surprisingly much about flowers (gardening with Mabeauf), cakes (baking with Cosette) and music (living with Courf)
  • and Enjolras begrudgingly admits to Courf then that alright, Pontmercy might possibly, actually be quite useful
  • alright maybe more than useful because he had no idea there even was a different between powder blue and light blue
  • so eventually, after more silences and more throat clearing, they form this really strange yet effective sort of co-operating where Marius makes the creative choices and Enjolras does all the phone calling and talking to people to get them exactly what they want
  • and in the end the wedding is just positively perfect
  • and they’re supposed to make their best man speeches but they’re both like really emotional and Enjolras who was supposed to go first but has a really hard time keeping it together right then is like, ‘No, no, you go first’
  • and Marius is like, ‘What no, you should go first’ because he wants to be confident and witty and make a great speech and he really is about to cry okay
  • so they go on like ‘No, without you none of this would have never worked so well’, ‘No, really, you did all the actual work’, ‘but you spend ages working out that colour scheme’, ‘but you’ve been so great arranging the seating plan’ and continue saying what an amazing best man the other one is while getting louder and more chocked with every sentence
  • (everyone starts to get really amused/confused)
  • and in the end Marius is like, ‘but you’ve known them for longer, you’re really more important’ and Enjolras just cuts him off like, ‘Shut the fuck up Pontmercy, you’re an amazing, DEVOTED, LOYAL FRIEND AND I’M SO FUCKING GLAD MY BEST FRIEND HAS A FRIEND LIKE YOU’
  • and Marius just stares at him for a moment until he says, ‘me too’
  • and Enjolras is like, ‘good’ while he’s not so discretely sniffling and Marius is not much better and then Courf is like, ‘boys’ and hugs them both and in the end all three of them are crying and Ferre is crying because Courf is so happy and he’s so happy
  • and in the end Chetta has to read the speeches because she’s the only one who can actually keep it together for five minutes

I used a poor choice of words by saying white people and generalizing because I know not all “white people” do this but Because when my mom came here she was told NOT to dress like this because ppl would think she’s “chola”, implying that it’s a bad thing, because people at school would say my dad is a gardener when he actually worked at a five star restaurant, because if I speak Spanish it doesn’t mean I’m from Mexico, because people love our culture but hate our people, because growing up girls would hate on our skin color yet go to tanning salon like it’s their business, having pride in your culture and people isn’t racist. America isn’t perfect but it has given me and my family so many opportunities that I’m grateful for always. #HispanicGirlsUnited

anonymous asked:

12 Rusame please! Btw your writing is amazing!

Thank you anon~!  :)

Prompt Fill- “I know they say that violence isn’t the answer, but I’d really like to test that theory out right now.”

America’s got his fist clenched and he’s staring at the back of the man who’s just spoken to him. He’s lucky he has England next to him to put a hand on his shoulder to stop him from striding forward and slugging the man. He still wants to, but lets his fist fizzle out and stretches out his long fingers. His hand still shakes in anger.

“Calm down,” England chastises him, eyeing him carefully. “You’ll make a scene.”

“I know.” America turns away sharply. He stalks over to the windows by the garden and stands next to the curtains. It’s hot even with the sun slipping under the covers of the horizon. The air smells like jasmine and it’s almost enough to calm him down.

“Now,” England says as he joins him by the window, and hands him a glass of wine he’s swiped away from one of the numerous waiters flittering through the crowd, “What the hell was that?”

America mutters into the glass of Malbec. It makes his throat feel tight and he fidgets under England’s green gaze. He pulls at the suit cuffs. “He insulted someone.”

“Someone,” England says dryly. He looks over the crowd of the well-dressed women and men. Surprisingly, it’s not a diplomatic party. Rather, it’s a wedding of a daughter of someone they both know and have worked with in the past. America’s waiting for his plus one still, whose plane was delayed due to thunderstorms. England’s going stag. He has a plane to catch in four hours anyway, as he uses as his excuse whenever anyone asks.

America looks out at the dark gardens. Topiaries are strung with globes of light and they line a white gravel path through colorful flowers and elegantly trimmed shrubs. The phone in his pocket feels hot against his leg and he itches to check and see if his plus one has landed.

“Someone.” America confirms.

“Someone Russian?” England asks.

America frowns and folds his arm, looking dourly into the dark wine. “Maybe.”

“Truly, how did you end up talking politics with these people? I’m sure Yvette even wrote not to do that as rule number one on the invitation.” England huffs in exasperated laughter. He looks away from the party and back at America. He frowns at the dark look in the other’s eyes.

“I didn’t” America says. When England pushes him slightly with his elbow, America sighs. “We were talking about travel plans.”

“Ah,” England takes another sip. “Going off to see Ivan soon then?”

“Nope.” Alfred puts the empty glass on the windowsill. “Bermuda, actually.”

“Oh?” He furrows his brows together in thought. “Then what did they say to make you so angry? I thought you were about to start a row.”

America taps his fingers against his folded arm. There’s a quartet playing although it looks like there’s DJ getting ready to start. It might liven up the party a bit. “He insulted Ivan.” America mutters.

“Well, it isn’t exactly uncommon to hear anti-Russian sentiments around here.” A lot of the people they know in attendance tonight were active in the Cold War. Sometimes sentiments died hard. “Shouldn’t exactly rile you up like that.”

America shakes his head. “No, I didn’t say Russia. I said Ivan.”

England glances up at the American in confusion. “What?”

“He insulted Ivan as a person.” America’s lips curl down in anger and he tenses his jaw before muttering, “Lloyd’s a finance guy. Apparently they’ve met twice before.” Cobalt eyes drift down to the floor. “Never really liked him before. Now I really don’t.”

England squints at the offending man’s back. He’s talking loudly to someone at a table, explaining something while using his fork, knife and water glass as props. “Wasn’t he nominated for a Nobel Prize once?”

“What, they can’t be assholes?” Alfred says and leans against the wall. He puts his hands in his pant’s pocket and chuckles. “Good to know.” A waiter comes by during their lull in conversation and Alfred takes another glass of wine. England abstains. The taller man is still staring out at the crowd, eyes dark and intense. Its like looking into a storm and searching for the spear point of soft blue daylight.

“Stop trying to imagine how you’d murder him.” England says.

“What?” America laughs and turns to England. “Why would you think I’m doing that?”

“Old habits?” England says and smiles at America’s exasperated glance. “Alright. Maybe not. How about replaying the conversation for the perfect comeuppance?” 

“Ding, ding! We have a winner,” Alfred chuckles. 

“So how does your version go?” England turns and looks out at the garden now. He leans on the windowsill and takes a deep breath of the jasmine laced air. 

“Well after he tells me that he surprised how well I seem to like Ivan, do not give me that look Arthur– and no I didn’t say we were together–anyway, he says how ‘surprised he is that the man doesn’t realize how everyone just tolerates him. No one actually likes him’.” America pauses and looks at England with a sheepish glance. “Sorry I gave him your accent. It’s kind of automatic when I mock people.”

“I’m going to ignore that, for now.”

“Thanks. So then he goes on with how much of an ‘obstinate moron’ he is and I think he way have said something about how he was obviously built for brute force and not brains? I’m not sure on that last one. I kind of was focusing on not decking him. Which of course, in my head, I’d go ‘I know they say that violence isn’t the answer, but I’d really like to test that theory out right now.’ and if he didn’t back down I’d deck him.”

“Isn’t he in his 80s?” England asks and pulls off a white flower from the climbing vine near the window. 

America snorts. “He’s younger than me.”


“If ‘ya got frail bones you shouldn’t throw around insults.”

England hums. He looks at the garden path and shakes his head. “I think you should go take a walk to cool off.”

America frowns and finishes off the second glass of Malbec. “I’m not going to actually deck him.”

“Alfred,” England says and looks at him pointedly. There’s a moment of silence between him before America puts down the glass with a sharp rapt and stalks out of the ballroom, stowing his hands in his pocket. England waits for him to leave the room and pass through the doors. He watches his form curve around the path and salutes him when Alfred passes by the window with a scowl.

“Have a good night,” England says. America looks confused until the crunch of gravel further down the path can be heard and he looks to see Russia walking through the dimly lit garden, distress at being late clear on his face. 

America’s face lights up and he walks over to Russia. They should be far enough away that England can’t hear him, but the American is naturally loud.
“I thought you weren’t going to make it at this point.”

Russia says something that makes America laugh and he pulls at the other’s arm. They’re walking away from the party. Apparently Russia questions this because England can hear America faintly say. “Forget the party, it’s been really fucking dull anyway. The stars are really bright tonight, anyway.” He can hear America laugh once again and the two turn around on the gravel path and slip out of sight between the topiaries. 

England turns and pockets the flower he’s been bruising under his thumb and forefinger. He goes back to the party, knowing he only has an hour more before he has to leave to catch his plane so he can go home and maybe look at the stars with someone. 

They really are bright tonight. 

Rock facts Fun facts from the commentary : 

  • all of Quincy Endicott’s speech patterns were improvised by John Cleese
  • at first Fred Stoller hadn’t realised he would be required to do horse sounds for his role as Fred the horse so he recorded some with his phone and was like “I don’t think I can do horse sounds” but was told that “it’s perfect for this particular horse”
  • while working on the show the crew found out that doorknobs were a much more recent invention than you’d expect (I looked it up and they were actually created around 1878. What) so they made sure not to have any in the Unknown if possible.
Date Night (Suicide Squad)

Prompt or Request: Request!

Floyd Lawton (Deadshot):

A regular date with Floyd would be going to a jazz club and getting a few drinks. Nothing hectic, no assassin talk, no Zoe (although you love her) – just you and your man.

The first ever date would probably be a very classy restaurant that you both ditch to go to a crappy diner and then proceed to go for a walk through Gotham.

 But once, just once, you suggested Paint-balling, and he utterly destroyed you. You learnt that you’ll never do that again with him on the opposite side.

Rick Flag:

Your first ever date he was on his best behaviour and did the whole movie-date thing, but he kept fidgeting the during the entire movie so it was pretty obvious sitting for too long isn’t really something he enjoys. 

 So, from then on dates usually involve something that is both enjoyable and keeps Rick moving; normally you drive out to a scenic route and walk the path or go to a beach. He’ll pack sandwiches or you will (depends on whose turn it is), and both of you will eat after your walk.

- George Harkness (Captain Boomerang):

Boomer isn’t your run of the mill boyfriend, and his idea of date night is sitting around and drinking a few beers. It’s usually enough, the pair of you sitting there for a solid amount of hours.

 If you’re at home you both fall asleep after a while, probably cuddling. 

Sometimes you’ll go out to a bar for a change of scenery, but mostly it’s drink-related with Boomer.

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part two! of our ibakari adventure.  after the doll floating festival we explored the expansive grounds of the garden and enjoyed some very serene moments in a bamboo grove with tall, straight trunks reflecting tinted green light, and soft wind rustling the small top leaves.  Across the way was a cedar forest which offered different scenery and different colours, but felt no less charming and refreshing after being in Tokyo too long.  The garden is designed to have areas that are bright and lit/ coloured by sunlight, and areas that are heavily shaded by large, dense vegetation.  I’d love to return on a sunny day when the dynamics are more apparent.   

On the other side was a plum blossom festival among the thousands of peaking ume trees, and stalls selling plum blossom ice cream, mochi, manju, daifuku, wine, juice, and probably more that I didn’t see.  I of course had to try the ice cream, and was so glad I did.  It was the perfect blend of tart and sweet with a lovely aromatic touch that complimented the smell of the real blossoms on the air. The flavour actually reminded me a lot of my grandma’s raspberry sherbet she used to make every summer.

There is also a beautiful old house in the garden open for touring.  It was designed and built by a famous poet for his retreat home.  He would hold poetry and music parties and seasonal gathering here, and each room was designed differently with different types of guests in mind.  man oh man was it crowded, but the details were beautiful and I was very glad to be able to take them in.  We ended the day with hot ume honey juice and then took the train home.

anonymous asked:

"I am afraid. Terrified, actually."

Music-verse. See earlier pieces: 


Music Part 2 

Breakfast to go 


In a public place (M)

Regina wakes in the morning to the whistle of a boiling kettle, and the quiet clink of pottery.

A smile forms on her lips as she stretches out her bare limbs, a bend of her arm reminding her of twining those limbs around Robin’s neck last night, the clench of her fingers recalling the way they had twisted into his hair, a deep breath echoing their gasps, the shift of her legs, the fullness and friction, warmth and bliss of him inside her.

She revels for a moment, and then pushes back the last edges of the sheets and searches out her panties on the carpet.

She snatches Robin’s T-shirt on her way out of the room, tugging it over her head with a fond smile for the deep green color she used to tease him for wearing constantly when they were children.

“Still dressing like a forest, then?” she asks as she enters her flat’s open kitchen and living room.

He turns to smile softly at her, an expression in his eyes and on his lips that melts her heart in a way it hasn’t been melted for nearly a decade. But it’s new, as well—there’s a fire that speaks of an adult who is even more certain of what he feels them to be.

He raises an eyebrow at her. “And if I were to open that closet, your clothes wouldn’t be almost entirely black?”

Her eyes spark at the challenge. “I am a musician.”

She glances at the counter and frowns, then, noticing the minute he picks up on it, because his lips fall to mirror hers.

“What is it?” he asks.

She fights the dampness pooling in her eyes, shaking her head gently. “You’re making tea?”

“With whole milk and one scoop of brown sugar,” he confirms confidently, faltering a second later, “Why, do you prefer coffee now? I could-“

She shakes her head quickly, a hundred beautiful memories blurring into the present, “it’s perfect.”

His brow furrows in confusion. “Then, what—“

Regina sighs, walking to him and stepping into his waiting arms, hers tight around his waist.

“Aren’t you afraid that we’re going to screw this up? It’s been so long, and we were so young…”

He presses a kiss to the top of her head, his fingers threading through her hair.

“I was afraid,” he confesses, “Terrified, actually. You’re this—loving, talented, intelligent, gorgeous violin player, and I’m just a humble gardener who’s been in love with you since we were fifteen.”

She pulls back to smile at him, more radiant even than he remembered in his dreams. “And now?”

He swoops her up into his arms suddenly, spinning them around once, drawing a surprised shriek and a fondly scolding Robin from her lips.

He sets her back on her feet, her giddy, dizzy stumble nearly pulling them both to the ground before he rights them.

“And now, I’m making you tea in your kitchen, and your hair’s all tousled from spending the night in bed with me,” he reaches to touch it again, then trails his hand down to tug at the sleeve of her borrowed T-shirt, “and you stole my shirt and to be honest, I can’t remember what I was so afraid of.” He cradles her face, his callused finger pads against her soft skin.

Regina blinks once, twice, and when she owns her eyes again, he’s even closer, his mouth maybe six inches from her own.

“Fifteen, hm?” she asks, a grin spreading across her face as she cups his jaw and closes the distance between them.

“Mhm,” he confirms against her lips, before slanting his lips over hers, their kiss clumsy for the way they’re both smiling into it.

Her eyes flutter closed as his palm slides under her T-shirt and onto her back to tug her closer.

“When we were fourteen,” she challenges, backing him into the counter and nipping along his jaw until a quiet moan escapes his lips, “you left a bouquet of flowers in my room once a week.”

“Yes, well, I–did have a lot of them,” he manages between kisses. 

She chuckles at him, even as her fingers thread into his hair and his tongue traces the seam of her lips. “Robin?”


She pulls back for a moment, dropping her forehead to his as they catch their breaths, his stubble prickling her palms. Affection coils warm in her belly for the boy who left her a bouquet of wildflowers after every recital, the man who brought flowers to her concert and worried he somehow wasn’t sophisticated enough for her, and yet was brave enough to show up on her doorstep anyway,  “I’ve been in love with you since we were fourteen, too.” 

Woken up by an Angel - Imagine

Meeting your idol: A little confusion between you two.

A/N: While writing this I thought about Shawn Mendes, Sammy Wilkinson, Kenny Holland and at moments even some other boys. So I didn’t write it in anyones pov. I was going to come back to edit and to write names in it, but I realized I should just let the reader choose. Who would you want to read about? Because this is about what you want, not what I wish you to think. But I’m interested in knowing who you thought about! :)

She had been working on her essay in the library for a couple of hours, but it wasn’t really going anywhere. So she packed her bag and took a stroll on the library grounds. Some old architect had wanted to make a inner garden  in the middle of the library, so he built a big house with a hole in the middle. While the garden had been loved by most residents, there were people calling it unnecessary, space taking and waste of money. These days there was a garden society full of volunteers that had taken the little garden as a project. As the interest in the library had cooled with the internet age nobody really cared about the extra space it took from the books anymore

Looking around for some inspiration in the quiet inner garden, she noticed a boy lying in the corner. She swiftly walked up to him checking his pulse, but the boy seemed to be only napping as he drowsily opened his eyes. He looked around slowly before focusing his eyes on her. “Sorry, I’m probably not allowed to nap here?” He questioned. 

She was still holding his wrist and he looked down awkwardly at it trying to puzzle the situation together. She dropped his arm and was about to answer him when he continue. “I should be going anyway, thank you for waking me up. I’m probably in a hurry, I’m really sorry if I was bothering someone.” He got up and shook off some dirt from his pants. “I, I.. was actually just checking  if you were alive..” “If i was alive?” He looked at the ground baffled and chuckled. “I’m okay, I was just tired and needed a little time away from everyone else.. well thank you library lady. “ He thanked her giving a smile that would melt most heart. “See ya!“ He waved goodbye as he walked out.

She was about to head back to her desk when she passed a flyer of a event that had happened earlier that day; Meet and Greet at the town square, but it wasn’t the text that caught her eyes but the boy who stood in the picture. She’d been so worried of his health and flustered of bothering him that she hadn’t realized he was one of the new up and coming online idols. The boy had a fashionable get up on the picture and even if she would never admit to anyone she thought he was quite handsome too.   

Many words and corrected paragraphs later she heard a familiar voice: “Library lady, just who I was looking for. What are you writing on? Some story about how you found me or how my lips looked as I slept undisturbed.” You turned around to see the boy grinning.

“No, no just a essay for school.” You blushed. “You’re the boy everyone went to watch at the square, right?”

He nodded. “So you do know me, well I guess that makes things easier,  I thought a library lady would be kind enough to tell me what would be fun to do in this town.” 

She told him of the popular places tourist visited before actually spilling the secret places, cozy cafes and perfect hide-outs if he wanted something else than a library garden, because the volunteers could get crazy if they found him laying on any flowers. “But, I’m not actually a librarian here, I just came here to finnish my essay..” 

“Oh perfect! My be you could spare me a break and show me one of the the places I could get lunch at?” He eagerly asked before rambling on “Or if you only have time for a coffee? Unless you only drink from the library coffee machine, I have coins” He was searching his pockets now. “..I think”

“You really don’t want to try out that coffee, I don’t think they change the filters more than twice a year when the smell gets too obvious.” You wrinkled your nose in disgust.

“Well let me treat you a lunch somewhere as a thank you for your help?” He asked optimistically.

Against her usual reserved demur she agreed, she hadn’t eaten anything all day. “Well sure, I’ll just save this in my mail. “ She typed in some last words before closing the computer and grabbing her bag. “So did you really come for another nap back to the library or just ask me about coffee shops?”

“No, I slept enough or may be even a bit too much. “ He chuckled.  “almost missed a press meeting.” He continued walking next to her. “I honestly just wanted company for lunch.”

“But, didn’t you have a whole fan meeting this morning?” She asked and he nodded while looking at her perplexed before she continue: “I mean, don’t you have people to eat lunch with you around all the time.” 

He grinned at her question. “But I don’t know any other library ladies..” “Im not a librarian” She tried to say, but he continued before she could say anything else “…looking like angels when waking me up.” 

She blushed at his comment and they walked in silence a while before he came up with another subject. The boy and girl ended up spending the rest of the evening together, they both enjoyed each other’s company. On the outside people thought they looked already like best friends or a couple.

//Reblog and tell me who you thought about when you read this, I want to know who it makes everyone think about :) //

Puppy love

[Masterpost] Hi guys! Here’s my new collaboration with Diana sshes-thunderstorms :D She finds the ideas, I write them… It works perfectly! I hope you like this, it’s also full of fluff and cute and we all need that. There might be a next part, eventually, maybe, if you like it ;) Enjoy!

The wonderful people who wished to be tagged: 14000romances allimidori alyssaloca angieptt anglophileyoungblood annemarieted areyousad8118 becauseyouarestrong bitchy-broken borntosik carpe-libris celestev31 ducky17 facephase flxwxry hewittgolightly i-dream-of-emus ililypop @inneedofamoralcompass irish-girl-84 katywright340 kneekeyta kristicallahan lethallylauren lilaviolet llexis malvaloca93 milllott milymargot mirandasmadeofstone mmfdfanfic mmfdftw murderyoursoul mydiaryofemus myfinnnelsonpls ninjarunningzico nenita1978 shashaaussi stinemarine tinakegg twlokigoose voodoomarie wandering-soul-7 you-are-world-class-i-mean-that

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bone-ifiedgenius  asked:

"snow angels!" justin beamed looking out to the covered garden. "please? i know its late... but we can make the perfect ones!" he had a child-like look that was hard to say no to, even though mei-rin had been well for a while thanks to his nursing skills... he worried that she'd catch another cold, but just the thought of actually spending time in the snow filled him with excitement. it never snowed where he was from.

Send “Snow angels” for our muses to play in the snow together

Mei-Rin couldn’t help it. But Justin was so much like her; both of them were so childish when it came to such a weather…

“But… are you sure no-one is going to see us?” she asked hesitantly, glancing at Justin. She was not afraid that she would catch another cold - that was the last thing she would think of. “I know it’s late… but Finny may sill be there…”

Odd frienships (Part 9)


A/N: This one turned out to be super cheesy, I’m sorry (not really).

“It’s been two months, Steve. Why would be different if I stay or leave?” You said picking up all the clothes you had in your room. Two months of desperation searching for Bucky unsuccessfully. Since the night he disappeared you and Steve went to every single place marked on the map with no results.

“I know it’s been hard, but you can’t just leave me… leave us, I mean, Natasha and I”.  Steve was sitting in your bed trying to convince you not to leave.

“Have you thought that probably he doesn’t want to be found?” You asked, regretting immediately your words when you saw Steve’s sad eyes. “I’m sorry, Steve”. 

“No, I understand” Steve said, rubbing his temples in exasperation “This means nothing to you, it’s just another job”. 

“You know nothing about me, Steve” you said closing your backpack, and leaving the room. You and Steve have become good friends, specially since he noticed your ‘enthusiasm’ for finding his best friend, but there were some things you weren’t ready to share. 

“Then tell me, (Y/N)” he shouted following you in the corridor. “Where are you going anyway? Back to Natasha’s place? You are welcome here to stay” he said.

“I don’t belong here!” You answered. ‘If you just know who I used to be’ you thought. 

“Please” Steve said hopelessly, gently grabbing your wrist to stop you. “Just one more week, we really need you”. Oh no, now he was doing the puppy eyes. 

“Don’t look at me like that” you said trying to hold back a smile. ‘Dammit’. “One week, Rogers, but we’ll do it my way” you finally said trying to sound serious. He grabbed your backpack, and his hand slid to yours to hold you better, pulling you back to your room. 

“Deal” he said giving you the biggest of his smiles. “Where do we start?”

“Well, to be honest I have no idea” You shrugged “I thought it will be good if we take a day off…the three of us, maybe we can go out or something” you continued. 

“That sounds good” he said nodding. “I actually have the perfect place”. Never releasing your hand, he took you to the elevator and pushed the up button.

“Guau” You said when the elevator’s doors opened in the last floor of the building, leading you to a garden in the roof, a terrace with chairs for sunbathing. “Very nice” you continued walking in.

“I’ll call Natasha so she can come over” Steve said. You nodded and leaned back in one of the chairs closing your eyes.

Ten minutes later you were about to fall asleep when Steve returned alone.

“She’s busy” He said making quotes with his fingers. You saw that he was carrying a bag, he sat in the chair in front of you and started unpacking glasses, a bottle of wine and some leftovers that he found in the fridge. You couldn’t avoid smile, he was always the nice guy, the perfect man without even trying. He gave you a glass and he noticed your stare.

“What?” he looked up, adorably smiling.

“Nothing. It’s nice to be here relaxing” you said looking at the nice view.

“I come here as often as I can. I like to draw the city” Steve said looking to the horizon filled with the tops of the buildings.

‘Like day and night’ that’s how Steve and Bucky were for you, You felt an ache in your heart just to think about Bucky, but everything seemed better with Steve next to you.

“How was him?” You asked Steve.

“He was awesome” he started, already knowing that you wanted to know about Bucky. “I don’t know what would have been of me without him, he was always a good friend. And just as Natasha, he was always trying to find me dates” he said giggling, but even though, you could hear he was sad. ‘I miss him too’ you thought.

“You look perfect!” he suddenly said, surprising you and making you blush. “Don’t move! The light is great!” he said pulling out a notebook and a pencil from his jacket.

“Oh no! Don’t even think about it!” You said realizing of his intentions, you stood up and started running around the garden with him behind you.

“Come on (Y/N). Be my model, Natasha always refuses to stay still” he said. When he finally got you, he embraced you from behind lifting you up to put you again on the chair.

You were laughing, without really trying to get rid off him because his arms around your body felt good, also, you could feel his warm breathe next to your ear.

“Steve, put me down or I swear I will…” You couldn’t finish, Natasha was standing in front of you with a man next to her. Steve put you on the floor again and cleared his throat, trying to fix his clothes.

“What do we owe the pleasure, Coulson?” Steve said with his formal tone.

“We have news” the man said. “It seems that Barnes’  russian friends are looking for him just like us, but he have killed a few of them in the last days”.

“So he is not with them anymore” Steve said.“He might be remembering and tries to run away from them”.

“Steve, we don’t know that, he killed three guys and we are not sure if they attacked him first” Natasha said. “But we’ll head to the zone where he was last spotted in twenty minutes.Get ready”. 

Steve frowned, Natasha was right, they’ll have to take it easy. He walked towards the elevator and the others followed him. You stood in the terrace for a while more, how could you protect Bucky if he was acting again like the Winter Soldier?

‘James what are you doing?’ you thought while you headed to your room to get ready for whatever it was going to happen.


George on the grounds of Friar Park as a host and a caretaker

“I think Friar Park was a folly for them as much as for the man who built it, There were no boundaries – George’s main goal was to get it back to how it was before the nuns had it and closed everything up. He read everything he could and got all this information from people in the village who knew the house, and it became his passion. Pattie had her mind inside the house and he had his outside the house. He loved the gardens.” -Chris O’Dell

“That’s why Friar Park was perfect, It was so away from everything. he could just be himself there” - Chris O’Dell

‘You know, it was nature really that he loved,And I think he felt closest to God in nature’ - Olivia Harrison to Katie Couric

George: 'I decided to become a gardener actually..’
David Hartman: 'you really love it, don’t you, the gardening’
George: 'I do, yeah, I like the garden. It’s sort of um, you know, like, Chauncey Gardner in the film…Peter Sellers, 'Being There’ ..it’s true you know, in the garden you see all the seasons come and go and whatever you do can affect it all, but at the same time the flowers don’t answer you back, don’t give you no trouble, it’s very nice’ - George Harrison to David Hartman