i also have no idea why i made this and why it was sitting in my drafts

{PART 24} I Won’t Stop You // Jeon Jungkook, Vampire!AU

Originally posted by jengkook

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Vampire!AU, Fantasy, Angst, Smut

Summary; Despite everything that has gone wrong for you; you feel like life might start to have a better outlook as Jungkook takes all measures to keep you safe. However, a storm is coming; one that grips and pulls at the strongest winter coat…before you find yourself making the biggest mistake of your life to date.

“The lull, or the calm before the storm took it’s place in the atmosphere, in both of their hearts and their minds. ‘Tread carefully’ he warned her, but she slipped from his grasp the moment he blinked”

Not rated M, but be warned there are some scenes of a suggestive sexual nature.

I update this series every Tuesday evening, 9pm-10pm (UK Time) 

{Part 1} // {Part 23} {Part 24} {Part 25}

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//so I was thinking this morning (always a dangerous sign) that I’ve talked a bit recently about how the Tumblr RP community isn’t always very good at encouraging people to find ways to manage or get to their drafts, and is instead more likely to coddle peoples’ anxieties without actually helping them at all. 

So this is a post of a few tips and tricks that might help RPers manage some of the more common anxieties I see crop up in our circle. Now, I’m not a full psychologist and nor am I licensed counselor. But I do have my master’s degree in clinical psychology with the intention to go on for the PhD (or get licensed to practice if I don’t get into a program) so I do kinda know what I’m talking about. Hopefully some of this advice is a little helpful:

1. “My drafts just stress me out.” This is a pretty common complaint, but I think in most circumstances it’s caused by stress going on outside of the RP world. Take a step back and breathe. Handle whatever is going on in your real life. That always comes first. If you come back and your drafts are still causing you to feel panicky, the next step is to find out the more specific reasons why. That’s going to help you best address the anxiety. Read on for some common reasons.

2. “I’ve gotten so behind, there’s so many and I’m overwhelmed.” This happens all the time! You take a hiatus for a week or two, or life just got really busy for a while, or just lost muse and now it’s back. But in the meantime, your drafts have piled up- suddenly you’re looking at 20, 50, 100- how do you even start? 

The best way I’ve found to handle this is to break them up into smaller chunks. It might be helpful to copy and paste your partners’ replies over into one or more word documents. You can then further organize those word documents even more. One for short replies, one for long, one for medium length. Or you can organize by muses, by how long the draft has been in your folder- whichever way you want to handle this. If you want to put one reply per document, you can organize them into folders instead. How you do this is entirely up to you.

Set a small goal for yourself- even one draft a day is better than no drafts at all. But by breaking the work up into chunks, you’ve taken a lot of the pressure off yourself. A goal of 1-5 drafts a day is a lot better than looking at all 50. 

Another tip- use the queue! Or simply keep completed drafts saved in the drafts folder until you’ve caught up enough to start posting. The queue will stagger your posts so replies aren’t coming out all at once, and your partners aren’t able to immediately reply back. And obviously keeping them in drafts even after they’re done lets you have more time to catch up. These are just a couple of tips, however, and there are probably other good ways to manage drafts. Find what works best for you!

And don’t be afraid to drop a couple if you have no muse for those threads anymore. Just let your partner know, they’ll understand. And if they don’t, they’re just an asshole and who needs that, right? It is better to communicate that you’re dropping them, however, so you’re partner isn’t left hanging.

3. “I haven’t replied in weeks, I’m worried my partner hates me.” I guarantee this is not true. Most people in the rp community are very understanding of slow response time. Your partners want to rp with you- they’ll be thrilled to see a response, even if it’s been several weeks. Responding, even slowly, shows a lot more dedication and excitement over your threads. 

So if it’s been several weeks, and you finally have muse for that thread and want to reply to it, but feel guilty or anxious because it’s been so long- reply anyway. Your partner will be so happy to see your response. 

Another way to alleviate this anxiety is to simply talk to your partner. And I know, this can be scary- but sometimes you have to bite the bullet and do the thing that makes you anxious. Take it slow if you need to, but communication is the best way to feel better about it. And I guarantee, you are going to feel so much more proud of yourself if you did the thing that made you anxious than if you didn’t.

That goes for replying as well. 

4. “I feel so inadequate compared to others. I should just stop.” This is an example of what mental health professionals call a “negative automatic thought”, or “NAT”. And like real gnats, these little thoughts get all up in your ears and start buzzing around. They can spiral out of control very quickly, until you feel absolutely terrible about yourself. These thoughts are very common in people with both anxiety and depression. 

But the thing is, they can be changed. You can actually re-wire your brain with a little work so that it won’t think these thoughts quite as often. One of the most effective ways is to simply replace the negative thought with a positive one- even if you don’t believe it. So if your negative thought is “I’m horrible compared to other people,” a replacement thought could be “No, I’m just as good as anyone else,” or “my writing is unique to me and it has value.”

You will not believe yourself at first, and it will seem a little bit weird when you start. It’s also a little challenging- your negative thoughts are automatic, you’re so used to thinking them that you aren’t even fully aware of it it half the time. But when you do catch yourself spiraling off into those negative thoughts- try to stop them. This is something we teach in therapy and over time, it does help. And it does get easier.

5. “It has to be PERFECT.” Perfectionism is at the root of a lot of peoples’ anxieties. But I challenge you with this- why? Why does it have to be perfect? What will happen if it’s not perfect? 

The answer to that, usually, is “my partners will hate me/lose interest/think I’m stupid or a bad writer.” Perfectionism is usually a fear of judgment, and it’s usually fueled by feelings of inadequacy or fears of failure. So to that, I refer you back to the previous advice about negative automatic thoughts. 

Challenge your thinking about your perfectionism. A good replacement thought for this one is “even if it’s not perfect, my partner will still be happy that I responded. My writing is still valuable to them.” Another good one- “imperfection means there’s room to grow. Mistakes don’t mean I’m a failure or no good.” 

In general, don’t let anxiety say “I can’t do this.” You can do it. Anxiety is not a permanent state. The body cannot sustain it very long- the elevated heart rate, heavy breathing, heightened arousal- it’s physically impossible for it to last. Eventually, your body will start to calm itself and even back out. This is something that is very hard to sit with, because your natural instinct is to run away from the thing that’s making you anxious. Your instinct is to close the drafts folder, to close the messenger, to log out of tumblr and ignore it all completely. But the truth is, that only makes your anxiety worse in the long run. 

Now, if these tips don’t help, or you’re finding your anxiety is so bad that it’s affecting your daily life in almost everything- I encourage people to please see a psychologist, psychiatrist, or some other mental health professional. Anxiety that’s chronically preventing you from doing the things you enjoy is anxiety that probably needs treatment. Having the extra support of a therapist or medication often makes it possible to implement some of these strategies, or find better ones that work for you. Especially if you’re having a hard time managing things on your own. 

Anybody that wants to add to this with other ideas that have been helpful to you, please feel free to do so. 

Roommates: Part One

Originally posted by tomshollandss

Summary: Reader is a ghost that lives in Tom Holland apartment and Tom doesn’t believe in ghosts. Or does he? Let’s play with a Ouija board like all stupid 21 year olds do and find out. 

Warning: Rape mentions, swearing, death, spooky shit, dont play with ouija boards (especially while drunk)

Words: 2k

Special thank you to @axolotlnerd for betareading this for me. <3

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Dystopia of Tarkir

Dragons of Tarkir: the culmination of the last block in the old (old) model, before Wizards of the Coast made the switch to the two-set (or two-block, if you will) model (before they switched again. But, I’m getting off-track); it was an oddball of a thing, for many reasons. One of them is that the idea that birthed the block was “let’s make a block where the first and last set are drafted with the middle one but not with each other” (creative initially thought of a massive ship/vehicle carrying the story from one place to another across a plane, but opted for time-travel shenanigans instead). But Dragons specifically was weird because of how the fans reacted. WotC had the block planned so that the first set would get people hyped for dragons, and then the second set would ease them into it and the third one would throw as much flying lizard goodness at the players as they could. Why? Because Dragons are the base’s favorite creature type, and they have been for a long time. Seemed like a solid plan.

There were two issues, from what I can tell, or even one if you want to lump them in together, in their plan. Because instead of getting a crescendo of hype from fans, the enthusiasm of fans for the first set of the block can not only compete but, in many cases, even trounce that which the last set received. Now, notice that I am not talking about gameplay here. Yes, megamorph was a thing, and I suppose that if you look at the broad picture that might’ve contributed somewhat to this phenomenon, but I’m referring mostly to the vorthos and worldbuilding aficionados. 

Also note that this post isn’t meant to whine about the decisions that were made in regards to this block or to claim I would’ve done better. I’m writing it because it’s something that’s been sitting at the back of my brain for a while and I want to get it out there. Anyways. I said that I believed there were two or one major problems with this plan. Let’s spell them out:

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Fanfic Writer

Request: Hey, can you write a peter x reader where the reader is best friends with peter and has a crush on him. Then peter finds out that she is a fanfic writer that writes about spiderman?(the reader doesn’t know that peter is spiderman). Love your writings by the way!! thankss 

Warnings: None.

A/N: i actually managed to make this one 1000 words. And honestly I’m exhausted after writing this xD. Also this one is the reader’s POV, And I don’t usually do that, so I was just letting you know.

One day I’ll become known for using unrelated gifs.

Masterlist

Originally posted by mostlycap

‘I smiled as Spider-man loosened his grip on my waist, setting me down on the grass.

“How was that?” He asked me, putting his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath.

“Fantastic,” I replied, “It was fantastic,”

Spider-man had asked me if I wanted to go for a swing with him, he was trying out new settings and things for his web shooters.’

“Y/N! It’s time for dinner!” My mom called for me from the kitchen.

“One sec!” I called back to her, as I saved a draft for my new fanfic. How was it possible I had gained almost four thousand new followers in the past week!? I cleared my throat as I rushed into the kitchen.

“What have you been up to?” My mother asked curiously, handing me a dinner plate.

“Probably more of her writing.” My brother interrupted.

“So?” I asked him, shoving a piece of salad into my mouth. He stuck his tongue out and I rolled my eyes. “So, I like to write, it’s not hurting anyone.” I shrugged.

“Yeah, but it’s allllllllll You do!”

“Alright you two.” My mom sat down at the table. “Y/N? You don’t have any plans for tomorrow do you?” She changed the subject.

“Well, I have a big project tomorrow. I was thinking about going over to Peter’s.”

“Oh! Well, why don’t you invite him here?” She asked excitedly. “I have some friends coming over that I want you to meet. If you could invite Peter over here, I could introduce you, then you could go work on your project. He’s always welcome.” She added.

“Yeah, Cause He’s Y/N’s boyfriend.” My brother teased.

“Is not!” I defended myself, trying to cover up the blush that had spread across my cheeks. “I’m sure that’s fine mom. I’ll text him after dinner.”

She gave me a nod.

I pointed a finger at my brother “And he is not my boyfriend.” I said. Even though that’s exactly what I wanted him to be.

But that didn’t matter, ‘because he doesn’t like me anyway’ I told myself as I tapped my fingers against the table.

“I’m uh, actually not very hungry right now.. Do you mind?” I asked anxiously, nodding my head toward my room.

“Go ahead.” My mom shrugged.

The thought of Peter never liking my had really dulled my appetite.

*Hey, my mom wants you to come here for some reason. Is that cool?*

I texted Peter once I had made it to my room.

*Yeah, That’s fine!* He responded within two seconds.

I smiled to myself and brought out my laptop.

'he was trying out new settings and things for his web shooters.’

I read through the most recent line of my fanfic before realizing I had barely even started, and had promised it would be out by the next morning.
'This is going to be a long night,’ I thought to myself.
.
Other than my family, nobody else knew about my fanfic writing. I was just afraid people would judge me for it, and think that I was weird. So i kept it to myself. But I made one mistake; Leaving my laptop open.

The day had been relatively normal, it wasn’t until I was about to go home when things got weird. Somehow, I got caught up with a group of trouble making kids, who thought it was a good idea to sneak out during lunch.
I was still at school, in the middle of a long lecture from my principle when Peter arrived at my house.

“Peter!” My mother greeted him with a hug. “Y/N’s not home yet, but I suppose she’ll be here any moment. Why don’t you go upstairs.” She ushered Peter away, and into my room.

Peter hadn’t planned on snooping, but I guess when he saw my opened laptop he just couldn’t help himself.
I couldn’t blame him, I’d be curious too.

“-'Suddenly he took me by the hand and kissed me’?” Peter read aloud. He squinted his eyes and leaned forward, examining the article closely.

He soon realized what my paper was; But he thought it was cool.

He had read through the whole thing by the time I got home.

“Y/N! Peter’s in your room, I just sent him up there a few minutes ago.”

My eyes widened. In my room!? Why couldn’t I have just remembered to turn off my computer?

I was walking briskly toward my room. 'Almost there’ I thought. But suddenly, before I could reach my doorknob, someone grabbed my arm.

“Y/N!”

“Hi!” I greeted. What I wanted to say was 'Who the heck are you?’ But I kept that to myself.

“I haven’t seen you since you were just a toddler!”

Oh.

“Well, I’d love to talk, but I don’t exactly have time right now.”

“Oh, it will only be a moment. I just wanted to introduce you to someone else.”

I rolled my eyes as I was dragged back down the way I came.

I scratched my neck as a group of my mom’s friends began to gush over how 'grown up’ and 'pretty’ I was now,

I was never good with compliments.

“I actually have a guest waiting for me upstairs.” I shuffled on my feet.

“Her boyfriend,” My brother exaggerated.

“He’s not my boyfriend.” I huffed one last time before running back up the stairs.

I entered my room and slammed the door shut behind myself.\

“Great.” I muttered when I saw Peter leaning over my desk. “You probably think I’m some weirdo that’s obsessed with Spider-man now.”

“Actually, that was really good.” He said with his eyebrows raised.

“Really?” I blushed.

“Y-yeah. It was.” He scratched the back of his neck.

“Th-thanks.” I smiled shyly.

“Spider-man’s really cool.” Peter said. He couldn’t help but congratulate himself.

“Yeah, he his.” I agreed, sitting on my bed. “Hey, uh, do you want to get out of here before a bunch more of my mom’s friends come in and start bombarding us with questions?” I asked him.

“Sure,” He smiled sweetly. He walked over to my bedroom window and push it open.

“I don’t think that’s gonna work.” I laughed nervously.

“Oh, trust me.” He winked.


June/21/2017


Tags,

@ 8181pjh, @wannabe-weasley,  @flowerprincessofcryptids

Name Games

Pairing: Reader x Jeonghan
Genre: fluff??? friends-to-lovers
Summary: You and Jeonghan use nicknames for each other all the time. But recently, he’s been using one that you makes you feel a certain type of way. 
Word count: 1,971
A/N: This is just nonsense. Also sorry for the terrible title again I think I’m just doomed to shitty titles for the rest of my life

Jeonghan and you were very fond of nicknames. It had very quickly become a staple of your friendship. Light playfulness and excessive teasing just came in the package. There seemed to be a new one every month; sometimes they were witty observations about the other, or they were just dumb. Usually, it was the latter. More often than not, you were the one firing off at him; Fabio, Lucifer, and Sleeping Beauty had been a few of your favourites. Usually, he just called you his fool, or Pabo, or his muffinhead. They were always harmless.

This month, however, he had a new one for you. ‘Babe, can you come over today? I’m lonely.’ That’d be the first time. 'Babe, I’m bored, can we go to the park?’ You’d tried not to think about it too much. 'Babe, can you buy me an ice cream? I left my wallet at home'… 'Ah, babe, that’s not fair!'… 'Thank you, babe!'… You could’ve ignored it, if it didn’t happen so often. You didn’t exactly how why it bothered you so much. It shouldn’t. It was just another nickname. Right? It had started as a joke, after all. A mutual acquaintance had said that the two of you looked good together, and Jeonghan had never stopped teasing you for it. Hence, he’d started using that cursed nickname.It was just a stupid word, but it bothered you so much. That in itself annoyed you more than anything else.

“Jeonghan,” you moaned, snatching your phone off him. “You’re going to clog my camera roll.”
“Yes, but they’re pictures of me,” he drawled. “That’s far better than anything else that you could take a photo of.”
You snorted, swiping through the dozens of identical selfies of Jeonghan. “Yeah, yeah, keep telling yourself that.”
“Oh, you wound me,” he grasped at his heart dramatically, giving you a pitiful look.
“Oh, shut up,” you laughed, knocking him with your shoulder. “You’ll survive.”
“You should be kinder to me,” he smirked. “I know too much.”
“Well, I guess that’s true,” you chuckled, pressing the ‘bin’ icon on your screen.
“Hey!” Jeonghan whined, trying to grab your phone.  
“They’re all the same!” You laughed, trying to push him away with your free hand.
“No they’re not! They’re all subtly different.”
“Jeonghan.”
“Yes?”
“Do I look like I care?”
“You truly are heartless.”
You smiled, leaning to rest your head on his shoulder. “That’s rich, coming from you.”
“You are on the offensive today,” he teased, wriggling the phone out of your hands. You let him have it. “Come now, let’s take a photo together.” He said, holding your phone up to get his ‘Best Angle’.  
“Why?”
“Because I enjoy indulging my vanity.”
“I don’t.”
“Shh, just take the photo.”
“I don’t look good today.”
“You look pretty, babe, don’t worry about it.”

You felt your cheeks heat up. There was that word again. You didn’t have much time to think before smiling for the photo.

Jeonghan looked down at the photo with a smile on his face. “Ah, you’re so cute, babe.”

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Home

A/N: I haven’t written in a very long time. Months, maybe a year in fact. I was going through some drafts and found this from a year ago; I tried to alter and polish it, but it’s still not very good so I apologize for that. I still hope y'all will enjoy it. 

In addition, I am also aware that I have made promises to write things that I never went through with. I also am sorry for that, since I do not plan to write what I promised. From now on, any requests I receive will be taken in as suggestions. Unless I state that I will definitely write something, I will only write my own ideas. With that being said, I am open to suggestions for multiple fandoms (Marvel, DC, Shameless, Hamilton, Dear Evan Hansen, etc). If a fandom you want to suggest is not listed, simply ask me about it! 

Thanks and I hope you enjoy!

Kylo sat in a hunched form on his bed, letting his elbows rest on his knees. He would check over his shoulder every other minute to make sure she hadn’t woken up; so far she hadn’t. It’s not that he was afraid necessarily, he was the great Kylo Ren, he was powerful- what did he have to be afraid of?

Losing her. He was afraid that one day he would wake up and find out she was never really there. Fear of losing his girl was overwhelming for him, especially since he didn’t understand why she was with him anyway. That’s why he cherished moments like this when she was asleep and in her own land. He had her with him then, even if only for a few hours, even if not awake.

Looking over his shoulder again, Kylo noticed her in a new position under the covers.  She was lying on her side with the silk sheets wrapped tighter around her small form. But that wasn’t what really go to him though. No, what really got him was the black cape she had wrapped around her arms, her hands also clutching it. His black cape. Maybe she’d always slept with it, but he hadn’t noticed until now. He didn’t understand why she needed it considering he was with her nearly every night.

Kylo reached over and grasped at the fabric she held to her. He was merely examining it, but as he moved it slightly, the young girl’s face scrunched together. Worried lines covered once flat skin and she began to shake as if she was crying.

“P-please don’t hurt h-h-him. I love him-m-m…” she mumbled softly but so pronounced that Kylo questioned if she was really asleep.

He bunched the fabric in his hand before pushing it back into her grasp, placing it so that it covered even the cold skin of her chest. Staring at her a moment longer, he took in her looks and beauties. And wondered who she was talking about in her dream. Who did she want safe, who did she love? Certainly it wasn’t him, a menace whom he was sure she was only with for safety and pity.

He shook his head rapidly at the thought. He couldn’t let such feelings trick him, especially at this time and at the position he was in.

“Kylo?”

His head snapped to look at the woman before him. She was sitting up on her elbows, naked other than the sheets and cape that covered her. He was only in his boxers himself, but she looked angelic in this form. No make-up, no clothes, just her.

“What are you doing up, Ren? I thought you fell asleep hours ago,” she whispered as if she would wake someone if she spoke louder.

A smile spread on his face and nodded. “I did, but I woke up a few minutes ago,” he lied. He had never gone to sleep. He simply shut his eyes and listened to nothing. He never even drifted.

The woman seemed to not notice the lie and only smiled. Clutching the cape closer to her, she let out a long yawn. “Well, maybe try to get back to sleep. You don’t want to be tired all day.”

She lay back down before opening her arms to Kylo, not allowing him out of her sight. “Come on now. To bed with you.”

Kylo chuckled before going to sit under the covers. He pulled the girl into his arms and smiled as she seemed to relax into him.

Then he remembered the cloth that was still wrapped around her. “Y/N?”

A grumble. “What, dear?”

“How long have you been sleeping with my cape?”

Silence fell between them. It felt like years before she answered.

“When you weren’t here a few months back, I got lonely. I missed you. It got to the point where I couldn’t stand even getting out of bed, I needed you.” Her small form seemed to shake. Kylo pulled her closer and held her so tightly he was sure he was hurting her. He never meant to make her feel this way ever. It was his duty to protect her, not hurt her. “One day I was going through your old things and found the cape. It was old and ripped in places, but it smelt so much like you. I meant to only sleep with it until you came back, but I guess I’d become accustomed to it by the time you returned.”

More silence.

“I can stop if you’d like.”

“What? No, no! It’s fine, it’s very flattering actually. I just… I tried to take it when you were asleep and you said you loved someone, you wanted to protect them. You just mumbled it in your sleep. Were you talking about me?”

The girl pulled away and looked up at him as if he were an idiot. “Of course I was. Why would you ask that?”

Curly hair fell in front of his eyes and he stared at his feet. “We both know you could do better if you wanted. It’s not wrong for me to believe that you had.”

Her dainty hands pushed his hair back and sat on his smooth cheeks. His eyes slowly moved to meet hers and was surprised to see they were soft, understanding. “I know that you honestly believe that, Kylo, and I get why you do; I think like that every time you leave.” Kylo went to interrupt her, yet her thumb moved to lightly cover his lips. “But then I must remind myself that you love me, you’d never leave me. I remind myself that you’ll come back to me. I can’t ask you to believe it, but I just ask you to remind yourself that I’ll do the same for you.”

The girl moved her thumb from his lips and nodded at him to speak.

“You… you mean that?”

She chuckled and nodded.

A small smile formed on the man’s face. “Then I will remind myself. And try my hardest to believe.”

His lover smiled and then nuzzled into his neck, taking in his sent. “That’s all I can ask for.”

Kylo felt her breathing slow over the next few minutes, falling into a soft slumber. He let out a relaxed sigh before shutting his own eyes. For the first time since he’d left his parents, he’d felt at home. Like he was truly home.

Purple

A/N: I hope you like this trash. As always it’s rather long and I am picking up the jealousy theme. Shoutout to @occamy-shadow who has inspired me with her Dean Thomas fanfic. I kinda stole the last scene from her. 

Summary: Fred ad George assign you with the task of designing the outside of their Joke Shop and you start spending a lot of time with Dean Thomas; much to George’s disapproval.

Pairing: George Weasley x Reader 

Word Count: 3758

Warnings: none. fluff!

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I know that @lumiereswig did something like this a day ago, but I swear, I don’t mean to plagiarize.  I just had this picture and I had this draft waiting.  I already had it planned out, so here it is.  Sorry if it looked like I copied; I had no intention of doing so. Anyway…


Okay, so if this really is the case, then that would mean that Adam’s dad probably left on some business trip with some other royals.  This would kind of explain the whole party that Adam throws; he should be a young adult in the prologue, and young adults are stereotyped to throw huge parties when their parents go on trips for work/other stuff.

And that’s not all; I honestly think that if the king was still alive and cursed to forget the castle…well, I think it would be a healing experience for him.  So, without further ado, here are the headcanons I have surrounding this idea/AU.

  • The king was just as affected by the queen’s cheerfulness as everyone else; she was a shining light in his otherwise dark life.  When she died from a sickness, the king irrationally blamed Adam.  My reasoning behind this is this video.  Instead of it just being a deleted scene, I like to think that it actually happened.  Adam was sick with the same illness, and the queen would spend time in his room with him, singing to him and saying soothing things.  Adam healed, but a few months later, the same illness struck the queen.  
    • And this is the reason why the king twisted Adam’s kind nature around after the queen died, because while being the cause of her death, he also reminded the king of her.  And that only hurt even more.
  • While the king was away, he, like everyone else, forgot about the castle, but he remembered his wife. (I like to think that the king was important enough to have another castle somewhere that he believed was his home; to be king and to be homeless would be really confusing to people.)
  • And over time, he realized he was a rather bitter man, and he never knew why.  He thought that it was because his wife died of an illness and that they could never track down the source of the illness.
  • But soon, it started to dawn on him that because he was so bitter over his wife’s death, his memories of her were starting to dim and cloud over; he wasn’t remembering her the way she should be remembered.  So he decides to start treating his people the way she would have, so she could still live on in his heart and his people’s hearts.  And slowly, but surely, it starts to rub off on him.  He becomes more forgiving of his servants, casts a softer eye on his peers, and allows himself a smile every so often (that was the hardest part; remembering how to smile).
  • And one morning, he’s sitting in his room, reminiscing about the way the queen used to smile at sunrises like these, when he remembers another smiling face, a child, with the golden light playing across his face.  And suddenly the curse is lifted, and the last few years of his life crash down on him as he remembers the real reason why he was such a bitter man—it was Adam, he blamed his own son for something that obviously wasn’t his fault; he could see that now.
  • And he hates himself.  He feels remorse, regret, horror at what he did to his own son, how he twisted Adam over and over again, erased his own mother’s wonderful influences from him.  He hates himself for forgetting—because the poor boy’s been alone all this time—but he hates himself even more for his treatment of Adam.
  • Suddenly, he has to see him.  The king calls for a carriage to the castle; he wants to see his son, apologize, tell him he loves him—oh Lord, it’s been more than a decade since he’s done that…
  • And by midday he reaches the castle and sees the villagers all crowded around it.  It would have angered him originally, but instead he runs through them, asking frantically for Adam, the prince, my son, where is he
  • And he sees him from afar, coming out of the castle.  He tries to get through to him, but the villagers have crowded around him.  He contemplates pushing through them, but waits, because he sees Lumiere embracing him.  Embracing him!  From what the king remembered, Adam never allowed the servants to touch him unless it was absolutely necessary.  And then Mrs. Potts’ son, Christopher, is hugging a girl next to Adam who shares the same smile, and the way that the gaze into each other’s eyes…there’s no mistaking it, they’re in love.  She’s dressed rather simply—in white, but simply—she must be a villager.  But that hardly matters to him anymore.
  • And then Adam’s eyes sweep across the crowd, shining with tears, and oh, she’s there, the queen’s there, his eyes are hers, filled with all of her wonder and joy.  His heart immediately lifts; he has still managed to hold on to his mother.  But there is still how he has treated him, and that is still unforgivable.  So after a few hours, the king approaches him, and the interaction goes a little something like this:

“Adam?”

Fear.

It isn’t the word that’s spoken; he hadn’t been called by his name in years, not even by the staff, and the mention of his name should bring him joy, relief that he’s not cursed anymore.  No, it’s the voice that spoke, the voice that made every word, and every name, a curse.

He didn’t want to turn around.  He didn’t want to face him. He was the one part of his past that he would be happy to forget, happy to shove underneath the memories of his empty life of luxury.  The bruises, the tears, the darkened rooms full of anger and hatred, all are forced to the forefront of his mind.

He can even feel the staff’s reactions around him; they way they all stop talking reminds him too much of how they walked through the halls when he was little, how they had gone from friendly to faceless upon this man’s orders.

This man. Adam refuses to call him his kin.

But then something else happens, something that—even after all of his time with these people—he does not expect.  They draw close to him.  Lumiere lays his hand on his shoulder, offering support. Chapeau hovers nearby, his hands clenched, his expression protective. Cogsworth is still weighed down by Clothilde, but he shoots the king a look of warning.  The king does not meet their eyes.  Mrs. Potts breaks off from her husband and starts toward Adam, laying her hand in the one that is not grasping Belle’s.  And Chip soon follows, though he is half-hiding behind his mother’s skirts.

Then there is a squeeze on his other hand, and Belle’s eyes meet his, concerned, worried.

She is fearless.  She does not know what he’s been through—what a kind, loving father she has—but he can see her strength there.  She risked life and limb to see him, to heal him.  What is he if he cannot face his own fears?

He tries to keep his face neutral as he turns around to see a man shouldering his way through the throngs of moving villagers.  His jacket is much simpler than the extravagant ones Adam remembers, and he doesn’t wear a wig.  His hair has gone gray, and his eyes have lost their dull, flat look.  He stops a few feet from Adam, and Adam cannot place his expression.

“Adam…”  

His voice, again, makes every nerve in Adam’s body want to flinch away, but he held tight to Belle’s hand and closed his eyes as the man came closer.  His hand came up slowly, and though it was not sudden, the memory of that gloved hand against his cheek…no.  If Belle could face the worst in Adam, then Adam could face it too.

“My boy…my son…”

And suddenly his hand is on Adam’s cheek, but how is it his? His touch is so gentle, so kind, and his eyes, as soft and forgiving as newly laid earth, are filled with tears.  

“Look at you.  You’ve grown so much…I can’t believe I didn’t realize…”  His hand is shaking on Adam’s cheek, so he moves it to Adam’s shoulder.  He can’t meet Adam’s eyes anymore; he bows his head, trembling.  Scared.

“Your mother, she…she would have been so proud of you,” he continues.  “As am I.  And…I don’t know how I can begin to ask forgiveness…for the horrible, horrible things I’ve done to you…”

Adam has one memory of the king’s smile.  It was years ago, when his mother was still alive.  She and Adam had been in the garden, picking flowers for a bouquet for the king’s birthday.  Adam had put together a bundle of different colored roses, carnations, and baby’s breath and ran back to the castle to give them to the king.  And he had laughed, and smiled, and patted him on the head.  He had cared for it until the flowers began to wilt, and even after that.

This is the man that Adam sees now. He used to think this man was dead.  But here he is, with more wrinkles on his hands and a lined face that has suffered a lot more than it used to let on.  Here he is.

“Father?”

The man wrapped his arms around his son, his tears now prominent in his hitching breath, his clutching fingers.  “Adam…I love you, I h-haven’t said that e-enough, but I do, and I will…”

Adam lets go of Belle’s hand and returns the embrace, albeit with a little hesitancy.  It will take time, to adjust to this, but even so, his heart is above the clouds, in both shock and joy.  A little of his old life has been given back to him because of this.

And as of right now, he is not going to let go.

artdigy  asked:

God, when you want to make a character, YOU DO IT. Can you talk a little about your process? Where you got the idea for Mother of Pearl, your jasper ame fusion, etc? Whenever you make them, you go by theme and intense detail. Ily and your art so much

thank you so much!! im gonna describe my design/headcanon process under cut because its kinda a wall of text with some pics of older versions of maxima as an example. hope this inspires and helps you!

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“I think a large amount of my dislike for QiTN Sansa stems from two things,

The first and main reason is that a lot of the time when I’m seeing ideas revolving around QiTN Sansa, a lot of these ideas erase both Arya and Bran. Both characters who have an incredibly strong and powerful connection to Winterfell are pushed aside. Bran most often depicted as turning into the weirwood or Arya serving her sister as the Commander of KG or just gone. There is an immediate erasure of both Bran and Arya, two very important characters and yet they are pushed aside.

However, it is more than just that. A lot of the time, when I see an argument about QUiTN Sansa, it is connected to her knowledge of politics but the thing is, it’s Southern politics that Sansa has knowledge of and it has been consistently highlighted that the North and South are two very different areas. They are no way in the same and so Sansa’s ability to do politics in one area is not only potentially useless but also perhaps even debilitating. The Northerners at this moment in time are wary of anything to do with the South and while Sansa is no Southerner or Lannister, she has spent a huge portion of her time not only in the South but married to a Lannister. 

This isn’t something that will just go away. She was disinherited (more specifically pushed down the inheritance line) by Robb because of this very reason.

“Young, and a king,” he said. “A king must have an heir. If I should die in my next battle, the kingdom must not die with me. By law Sansa is next in line of succession, so Winterfell and the north would pass to her.” His mouth tightened. “To her, and her lord husband. Tyrion Lannister. I cannot allow that. I will not allow that. That dwarf must never have the north.”

While we have seen no mention of Robb’s will, it is very likely that it is something that will once more pop up. One does not just bring in a will that dictates the future of a hugely important region such as the North and not use it. Robb’s will is a Chekhov gun hanging on the wall and it something that is certain to come into play. Especially when we take into account Littlefinger and his intentions. 

When they come together for his wedding, and you come out with your long auburn hair, clad in a maiden’s cloak of white and grey with a direwolf emblazoned on the back … why, every knight in the Vale will pledge his sword to win you back your birthright.

We as readers know LF’s plans will fail. We know he won’t win so why therefore would we believe that he could place Sansa on the throne when we have Robb’s will – Robb who was an obvious hero – that throws LF’s plan into confusion and stands as an obvious adversary to Littlefinger’s desires. 

There is also what Sansa wants. A lot of the queenly motifs within Sansa stories are things forced upon her by other people. They aren’t her desires specifically. Even in GOT when queenhood was within her future, it was never so much the concept of power and being a queen that seemed to excite her but rather the possibility of having a prince, of having Joffrey. Sansa has not shown any interest in being queen and I think this is clearly demonstrated here. 

She pictured the two of them sitting together in a garden with puppies in their laps, or listening to a singer strum upon a lute while they floated down the Mander on a pleasure barge. If I give him sons, he may come to love me. She would name them Eddard and Brandon and Rickon, and raise them all to be as valiant as Ser Loras. And to hate Lannisters, too. In Sansa’s dreams, her children looked just like the brothers she had lost. Sometimes there was even a girl who looked like Arya.

When Sansa realises that being queen is no longer a possibility, she does not mourn that loss or even seem to care and when she is presented with Willas, it is not the concept of power and ruling that she focuses on but rather on domesticity and family and home. Sansa has absolutely no desire to rule at all. 

The most important thing that stands within this is that Winterfell is more than politics, it’s rulership is about more than games and politics. It is a place that was built to withstand the Others, a place that has magic woven into its walls. It is strange to outsiders and otherworldly. It buries its kings underground and thrives in the dark.  This concept and idea of darkness, of the security it offers, is something seen in the Stark chapters, most overtly Bran’s. 

“ Never fear the darkness, Bran. The strongest trees are rooted in the dark places of the earth. Darkness will be your cloak, your shield, your mother’s milk. Darkness will make you strong.”

It is through darkness that Bran thrives and gathers strength. When Winterfell is being attacked, it is in the crypts that Bran gathers strength and survives. Darkness is a safe place and such a Stark, kingly concept. 

“The stone is strong. Bran told himself, the roots of the trees go deep, and under the ground the Kings of Winter sit their thrones. So long as those remained, Winterfell remained.

The Northern Kings root Winterfell. Darkness is where Winterfell’s true strength lies. More than that, I don’t think it’s a mistake that we have Bran who is learning and growing in a place that is underneath the weirwood roots, who knows and sees Winterfell better than anyone and who has so many connections to Brandon the Builder, the founder of the Starks. Bran just like the Kings of Winter is heavily connected to darkness and roots in a way that has never happened with Sansa before. His connection to Winterfell exists on a whole different level and he knows it better than anyone else.

Bran could see all of Winterfell in a glance. He liked the way it looked, spread out beneath him, only birds wheeling over his head while all the life of the castle went on below… It made him feel like he was lord of the castle, in a way even Robb would never know.

Novel Writer!Mark

Masterlist

• this is my first mark bulletpoint au, so i hope its alright!! i didn’t initially write any of the maknae line in my first series because they’re all younger than me but i tried my best with this

• i could make a million mark jokes but i’m just gonna say i’m glad that his hair is brown again. blonde was okay but like….it cannot have been good for his scalp

• let’s goooooo


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Comma after dearest // A Lin-Manuel Miranda Imagine

Here am I, yet again, a brazilian teenager writing about a man almost twice my age. Anyway, I always dedicate my stuff to my friends but this time I’d like to dedicate this to the writers that inspire me to keep on writing, so thank you: @alexanderhamllton , for being a great writer and one of the brazilian people out there that I (sort of?) look up to. @fragmentofmymind , you are so incredible, I still cant believe you follow me and @lookaroundlookaroundhowlucky , my friend you are incredible beyond words.

My other stuff is here!

Requests are always  open!

Word Count: 4030, like wth????? This is the biggest thing I have ever written???? I am not even sorry though.

Warnings: None???? Maybe a curse word or two?? Some (a lot) inacurracies on his persnal life??? And a cheesy-ass plot?? But I like it very much. Also, please take note that this happens before Lin’s Ham days, other than that, have fun. 

-

The italicized parts are flashbacks.

         Shit.

         Shit. Shit. Shit.

         Lin stared at his phone in exasperation, thinking just what he was going to do about the promise he made to his mother. The text stared up at him accusingly from his cellphone screen. I can’t wait to meet your girlfriend.

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CLF: Un Peu, Beaucoup (B)

A/N: So. For the people who don’t want to google the French involved, “Cherchez la Femme means, “Look for the woman.” It was a super sexist phrase in France which basically meant if a man was acting like an asshole, look for the woman behind him who’s probably the reason he’s acting like an asshole. Example: Man has no money? Cherchez la femme. That said, I’m still using the idea that “if a man is acting out of order, look for the woman who is the cause of it”, but it’s taking on a much darker tone. That comes into play later. The sections of the fic are named after a French rhyme that goes, “Un peu, beaucoup, passionnment, a la folie, pas du tout.” In English, that goes, “A little, much, passionately, to madness, not at all.” If that sounds slightly familiar, that rhyme is where we get the “he loves me, he loves me not” crap. 

A/N: I will have access to good WIFI for a few days, so you may get another part tomorrow. Maybe one a day for until Sunday. I don’t know. Depends on if you’re nice to me. :) Also depends on how much this is being read. 

WARNINGS: Swearing, mentions of Steve’s illnesses, A LOT OF AWKWARD, EVERYONE IS AWKWARD.

Word Count: 2545

PART ONE

UN PEU BEAUCOUP B TRACK: The Way You Look Tonight–Frank Sinatra

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Party hard

Based on: this request by Anonymous (I really hope you like it!!! This was very, very, very funny to write…. ) + imagine 1 from @thereandbackagainimagines + imagine 2 and imagine 3 from @imaginexhobbit.

Originally posted by kili-fili-thorin-hot-dwarf

“Rise and shine my beautiful star…” A sultry voice reached your ears as you woke up slowly.

You felt the sweet sensation of someone softly kissing your closed eyelids and you smiled before you opened your eyes and you looked into the face your held so dear. Your King and Lover, Thranduil, was looking dreamily at you with his icy blue eyes; he was lying close to you in his large bed, his head was leaning against his hand and his elbow was pinned against the mattress. His blonde hair were straight and perfect even if he had just woken up and he had an amused smirk on his handsome face.

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iv-b. i knew i loved you then

but you’d never know

ft. midorima shintarou

This is the thing that made me want to rip my hair off my head because of my PC randomly blue-screening me. To those who responded to the rant, thank you for your understanding!

@ourneverendingpossibilities​ it’s nice that you have such a positive outlook in life!! I was so mad when it happened, but since it’s complete now I guess everything’s okay ヽ(*>∇<)ノ 

@squirrelsass13​ thanks for the encouragement! I rarely ever write on Word (it transfers weirdly when I copy and paste the text on tumblr) so I was typing straightaway on my Drafts… I click on “Save Draft” every paragraph now lol

Faint connections to the previous installation of Cantabile

Fem!Reader. Semi-NSFW. Long (2728 words).

I’m sorry if this sucks but… yeah.


Originally posted by lightpaleroses

Why do you play?


Isn’t being a doctor busy enough for you?


I’d ask you to tutor my son if you weren’t so busy!


Wow, you’re very ambitious. 


Those are words spoken by housewives, small medium enterprise owners, and white-collar workers. Midorima doesn’t think that they’re somehow lower than him in any aspect—sure, they earnings are technically lesser than his, but how does that define someone as a person? He meets these people everywhere, the people that make up his community, his society: at the clinic, in parties, at the grocery store… It’s no secret that he’s seen as an outstanding person by these people. 

Twenty-seven, has the letters “M.D.” behind his name, helps people get over all sorts of sicknesses from light ones like a common cold to not-so-light ones like diabetes, plays piano as a hobby.

It’s not really surprising to the people who ask him “what do you do in your free time?” because, you know, doctors. They’re classy and smart and all. Sure they can play the piano—he can probably play the violin, too.

But you can see their eyes significantly widen when they know he has a diploma in piano, certified by the Associated Board of Royal Schools of Music. Where is that name from? The United Kingdom. Why did you take it?

He always tells them it was just for fun, but a small voice inside him knows the truth: somewhere deep in his heart, he wanted to be a pianist.


His first words to you are: “It’s a common cold.”

“That much I can see, Doctor,” you deadpan, holding a tissue against your runny nose. He sighs. 

Midorima is used to handling all sorts of patients: naggy, rude, stubborn people… he’s seen them all in the past four years of his practice. Today, however, it’s only after lunchtime and he already wants to go home already. Maybe attending Akashi’s party last night isn’t really a great idea. Sure, it’s not a DJ-inviting or dance floor grinding kind of party, so he’s not physically tired—he’s tired from all the socializing with fake people. “Meet new people,” was Akashi’s reasoning for inviting the doctor, and of course Midorima did, but none of them were enjoyable.

To be precise, he can’t tell if they’re really enjoyable or not through layers of faux talk. Akashi texted him earlier, expressing his regrets that it was somewhat an unpleasant experience for Midorima. He also wrote “but I won’t stop inviting you to these social events—I understand how you think they’re superficial, but I can guarantee you that they genuinely enjoyed your piano very much.”

Well, if there’s one thing Midorima likes about those parties, it’s that he’s presented the opportunity to play.

“As a doctor, I have to announce the diagnosis to you, don’t I?” He replies, scribbling a pen on his prescription pad. “I’m prescribing you to these basic medications, but since your cold isn’t a serious one—yet—I highly recommend that you consume home remedies before resorting to these medicines.”

“M-hmm.”

“Turmeric tea, ginger tea, a mixture of lemon, cinnamon, and honey.”

“Got it.”

“Control your diet; you don’t want to eat food that’s going to worsen your cough.”

A sound of ripping paper. He hands the slip to you.

“You don’t remember me do you?”

That takes Midorima by surprise.

“Have we met before?” He asks warily as you take the prescription paper from his hand and fold it, putting it inside your handbag. Your lips form a small smile, and Midorima eyebrows furrows.

“You sang last night, didn’t you.” It sounds like a question, but his tone makes it clear that it’s rhetorical. He knows for sure that it was you who was dragged by one of your acquaintances that claimed you to be the best singer in a ten-mile radius—the expression itself is a horrible exaggeration, but when Midorima hears you sing, he has to admit that you do have an exceptionally lovely voice.

His first words to you turns out to be “what key?” instead of an illness announcement because he was the pianist accompanying you.

“You look different, Ms. Fly Me To The Moon,” he says aloofly, writing something on a document. You chuckle at the nickname, not knowing that the stoic doctor-slash pianist has the capacity to be somewhat playful, and towards the opposite sex, nonetheless. Midorima can only admire how melodious your laugh is, even when your voice is nasally from the cold. 

“At least you remember what I sang.”

“Like I said, you look different,” he repeats. You were clad in an elegant evening gown for the party last night, and although Midorima doesn’t have the eye to identify expensive clothing brands and such, he is able to appreciate how attractive you looked in the attire. Your hair was done simply in a style that matches your dress, and among the slight make-up you applied, he notices the suppleness of your colored lips first. 

The person sitting in front of him doesn’t carry the glamour of the party—you’re slightly pale, dressed humbly in a sweater and jeans—but the lack of make-up, fancy hairdo and dress doesn’t affect how beautiful you look, in his opinion. Your eyes still glows the same captivating way as he witnessed last night.

“Yes, well,” you sigh with a smile as you stand up, “you better engrave how I look last night deep in your memory, doctor, because I’m never going to attend one of those high-end social events ever again.” The first part was sarcastically said, but Midorima finds himself doing as you told, picturing the details of your gown and hearing your singing voice echo in his mind. Being a quite introvert doesn’t mean he’s immune to any of your charms.

“Shame,” he finds himself saying. You smirk, pausing right before you walk out the door.

“What, not being able to see me all dressed up again?” Ten years ago, Midorima would’ve easily flushed red at the teasing remark. He’s way past that now, and instead of reacting like the teenage boy he was, he looks straight into your eyes when he says:

“I was talking about how it’s a shame that I won’t hear you sing again, but that too.”


Two months later what you said proves to be a blatant lie. You’re standing beside Midorima, arms hooked with his, a casual sign that the two of you are attending together, presumably as a romantic couple. This time it isn’t Akashi’s, but a business partner of his—he nevertheless invited Midorima along to provide him the audience for his piano, and regarding yourself… well, you’re accompanying the pianist. It’s not like you’re crashing this party or anything.

It’s only your third “date” with the man, so to have the opportunity to see him up-close in a formal setting that requires guests to dress up is exhilarating, to say the least. Midorima’s handsome enough in his casual attire—having to stand next to him wearing a nicely tailored, dark-colored suit while having to keep your hands to yourself is almost some sort of punishment. And the collar button of his shirt! He always buttons his shirt all the way up and wears a tie to complement the outfit, but for some unknown reason he’s left it open this time and disregarded the tie.

If you didn’t know any better, he’s trying to tease you. 

“It’s rare to find you with someone by your arm, Midorima-kun.”

“Akashi,” Midorima acknowledges the voice. You turn to meet the redhead face to face, smiling softly.

“Good evening, Akashi-san.”

“Hello, _________. Good to see you,” he replies smoothly, as you reply in a similar manner. “Even more surprising finding out that you’re with him tonight. Are you two…?”

The two of you exchange looks as if telepathically deciding who should answer, and turns out you are. 

“Sort of,” you say, and the hint of mischief in your smile cannot be missed by even the most oblivious person in the room. Akashi surely isn’t one, but thankfully he doesn’t push you further.

“It’s a long story,” Midorima chips in, as if his relationship with you bloomed out of a blackmail kind of situation of some sorts. You chuckle, and so does Akashi —the latter is gracious enough to show the two of you to where the piano is.


“What are we?”

You are in his arms, as naked as he is, leaning your face against his chest and feeling the beat of his heart when you ask the question. It’s a summer night, and the sheets are loosely resting on your waist, the two of you too hot and sweaty from your previous activity to pull it all the way up to your neck. One of his hands is drawing soft circles with his thumb on your bare skin, while the other one that is untaped (very uncharacteristic of him, but it’s a sign of a good night) brush your hair in long, loving strokes.

He doesn’t respond. You snuggle closer into his chest, relishing the sensation of his nakedness against yours while you think of all the times you’ve spent with him. That one time you had lunch together, those meaningless parties you go to just so you can watch him play and he can hear you sing, the nights you stay together at his place. You’ve spent at least a hundred hours with him, though it doesn’t feel long or dragged—those hours are cherished and enjoyed to the fullest, arguments (petty or not) included.

But it’s his reserved nature that makes you feel insecure sometimes. Tonight is one of those nights.

You move up so that your face is right in front of his because you want to look at him in the eyes. He’s beautiful, the viridian undisturbed by the lenses of his glasses—the eyewear is carefully situated on the nightstand before all this began. You’re sure he can see you clearly from this proximity, your nose against his, your hand caressing his cheek. His hands drift down from the crown of your head to your chest, cupping your breast and playing with a nipple as his eyes grow half-lidded.

Midorima is the one to lean in first, engaging you in a chaste kiss, a perfect juxtaposition what with his hand groping your chest and the other slowly travelling down to your ass, stroking every inch of skin possible. You are the one to pull away, arms around his neck and eyes clouded with lust, thanks to the things he’s doing to your body.

“Do you love me?” The question comes out as a whisper.

“I’ll show you how much,” he answers in a heartbeat before he kisses you again, bringing your body under his. 

He never fails to convince you.


The afternoon sunrays shining through the high glass windows of the music hall are almost blinding, considering how dark it was just a few moments ago in the auditorium. You’re by Midorima’s side as per usual, looking around nervously with a bouquet of daisies and orchids in your arms. Your husband seems to be scanning the area like you are, and when you hear a shrill yell of a young child you know it’s who you’re looking for.

“Mama! Papa!”

The little girl, currently nine years old, runs towards the two of you with two or three large bouquets in her arms, the majority of her face covered by flowers. You laugh at the sight, crouching to hug her tightly once she reaches. Noises of plastic being scrunched can bother you less, as you feel your daughter burying her face against your chest. She pulls away to immediately look up at his father with bright eyes.

“Papa, how did I do?!”

“You did good, nanodayo,” he answers, a faint smile on his face as he fixes his glasses, “although there’s room for improvement in terms of arpeggiation—”

You gasp exaggeratedly, drowning the remaining of Midorima’s sentence. 

“Shiina! Papa says you did a good job! Do you know what that means??”

“No!” She replies, confused but ecstatic.

“I promised you we can go have dinner wherever you want if Papa praises you,” you reply, and the confused expression on her face melts into real unabashed excitement.

“Mama, are you serious!?” Shiina’s voice has become high-pitched from the bubbling enthusiasm that seems to have taken over her whole small body. “We can go anywhere I want!?”

“Yep,” you nod for further affirmation. “Papa has agreed on this, too,” this time you look over at Midorima, only to be amused to find the deadpan expression on his face. You give him a wink, and Midorima, witnessing his own daughter having such a great time just because you told her she can eat whatever she wants for dinner, can’t help but melt a little.

“Maji! I want Maji!”

“Sure, we’ll go to Maji tonight,” you say accommodatingly. Midorima can only smile down at the girl when she looks up at him, a face-splitting grin on her face. Even though her physical attributes are definitely inherited from him, she obviously takes after you in terms personality.

“And then I want to have ice cream after dinner! Can I, Papa? Let’s go home so I can prepare for dinner!!”

“You may, Shiina,” he sighs amusedly—what does a nine-year old kid want to do to ‘prepare for dinner’? “But before we go home you must meet Uncle Akashi first. He came to see you perform, you know.”

“Uncle Akashi is here!?” 

You chuckle. It’s a wonder how said man is viewed as intimidating and merciless among most adults dabbling in business, but is the opposite in the eyes of children. Shiina is almost obsessed with Akashi, what with his gentlemanly behavior that reminds her of Prince Charming. Shiina once even told you that since she can’t marry Papa, maybe she’ll marry Uncle Akashi instead—you have yet to tell Akashi this, but you have a feeling he already knows.

Speak of the devil, the redhead can be seen from twenty feet away thanks to his hair color, maneuvering amongst the crowd to approach your family. Shiina’s acting very much like an excited puppy, and you wonder if it’s immoral to compare the behavior of your human child to an animal (despite said animal being unbelievably cute as well), but that doesn’t matter anymore because Shiina is already in Akashi’s arms as he lifts her up in the air, chuckling amusedly.

Midorima looks at the scene with mild jealousy in his eyes—not that his eyes aren’t green in the first place.


“Mama?”

The usually animated voice of your daughter is now tired and soft as you tuck her in. She must’ve been exhausted after the performance.

“Yes, honey?”

“Can you tell me a bedtime story?” This piques your interest a little, because she’s stopped asking for stories before bed for almost a year now.

“Sure. What would you like to hear?” 

“The other day… Mai-chan and Reika-chan were talking about how their parents met and fell in love,” she says shyly, hiding her face behind a beloved doll. “Can you please tell me how you and Papa met, Mama? You’ve never told me that story before.”

You chuckle.

“You’re gonna have to ask Papa for that, honey. It’s a long story anyways, and you’re tired. Best go to sleep soon.”

“Okay…” Shiina says, and it’s not hard to pick up the disappointment in her voice.

“Goodnight honey,” you kiss her cheek before turning off the lights.

“’Night, Mama.”


Truth be told, there is no ‘long story’. Midorima just called you one day to ask you out for coffee with a tinge of nervousness in his voice that you can spot even from the other side of the line. You ended up scheduling a lunch instead, and if Shiina asks him to tell her how you fell in love with each other, he’ll have no explanation except of how breathtakingly beautiful you look with sunshine on your skin and a smile on your face as you talk about music and food and the stars. 

He will ask Shiina to keep it a secret from you, of course, because if you know he’s been in love with you for that long, he knows you’re never going to let it go.

10

Your Most Beautiful Moment in Life pt.2: Ch3
(Non-idol!AU) It’s summer when you and Jungkook meet, and immediately decide that you didn’t like each other. But Jungkook proposes working together, and you agree to team up with the frog prince from Seoul, for a good cause.

P | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33A | 33B | 34 | 35 | 36 | E


You’re musing about how there aren’t enough people in town to make Seokjin’s barbecue restaurant as crowded as it is, until you realize that there are more than just people from town. Aside from the off-season tourists, there are several tables filled with city-folk, sniffing about how quaint and old everything in town is.

Seokjin runs around getting your booth set up, leaving his two employees to cater to the paying customers. Lastly, he brings plates of bulgogi and dak kalbi, and a huge tray of unmarinated meat slices, half of which is samgyeopsal. He’s about to take the vacant seat next to you when Jungkook scrambles off the spot next to Saren and plops down beside you, forcing Seokjin to take his former seat. Saren looks even tinier as she seems to draw herself in, sitting between Seokjin and Hongbin. Over the top of her head, Hongbin inclines his head politely at Seokjin, who returns the gesture.

“Noona, you like samgyeopsal, right?” Hongbin asks.

“Should I grill the samgyeopsal, Saren?” Seokjin asks at the same time.

“Well, anything’s fine…” she looks at you for help.

“Chicken please,” Jungkook requests.

“For me too,” Hyuk says. “But who cares about that, huh?” Their respective older brothers don’t even seem to hear them, as they cover the grilling plate with pork slices.

When you’re sure the other three across the table are preoccupied with their own awkwardness, you round at Jungkook. “What did you do that for? I’m getting secondhand stress just looking at them.”

“Not me,” Hyuk pipes up. “I think it’s exciting.”

“Same,” Jungkook agrees.

“I hope you both choke on your stupid chicken,” you mutter. “Everyone knows bulgogi is the best anyway.”

When the first batch of meat is done, Seokjin and Hongbin both make neat, pretty lettuce wraps and hold them out for Saren at the same time. As if that isn’t enough, Jungkook and Hyuk present you with their haphazard wraps.

“Come on, eat it,” Jungkook urges.

“Don’t be shy.” Hyuk winks.

You scoff at the absurdity of it all. What kind of ridiculous drama situation… You take the ugly wraps offered to you and stuff them in your mouth. Both Seokjin and Hongbin looked horrified by your unlady-like display, yet both Jungkook and Hyuk snort in hilarity. You make a wrap as you chew and swallow violently, then offer it to Saren.

“Ahh–unnie! Ahhhh…” you prompt.

She gives you a small, amused smile and leans forward to eat the wrap from your hands. Seokjin and Hongbin sigh in unison and offer the wraps to their younger brothers, who are both busy scarfing down the remaining samgyeopsal.

“Eat it yourself,” Hyuk tells his older brother.

Jungkook shakes his head. “My hard-working hyung… you should eat a lot.”

While the next batch of meat is on the grill, Jungkook pulls out his tablet and presents his fundraising plan. His idea is to revive the spectacles from the flower festival of the old. To raise funds, the festival will be organized around a fair with rides, food stalls, game booths, and live entertainment. He even put together a list of possible sponsors.

“Our Jungkookie really has a good head for these things,” Seokjin gushes.

“Please, hyung, don’t be embarrassing,” Jungkook says, but his bunny smile betrays his glee.

“It’s true, Kookie, this is a good plan, you must’ve worked hard on it.” Saren says.

“The most annoying part is he made it just last night.” You huff, slapping his shoulder when he raises his eyebrows smugly.

“We should hire him,” Hongbin comments.

“Nope.” Hyuk wrinkles his nose. “Mom and Dad might decide he makes a better heir than me.”

A few adjustments are made to the plan, mostly by your older companions. Hongbin asks for a copy of the plan so he can have his people look into it and Saren says she’ll start drafting the sponsorship letters. The meeting wraps up with all of you thanking Seokjin for the food.

“Y/N, noona–we’ll drive you home. Well, hyung will.” Hyuk says, motioning towards the exit and heading out.

“Thanks, oppa!” you exclaim. Jungkook echoes your words, shooting hearts at Hyuk’s back, and you hit his shoulder again.

“You’ll come with us?” Hongbin beams at Saren and practically glows when she nods in assent. “Ah… I’m really glad. Let’s go, noona.” He leads her out the restaurant, his steps bouncy and giddy.

You’re about to follow them, when you hear Seokjin’s soft voice. “Y/N…” You turn back to find him holding out two stacks of food containers. “If you don’t mind, please take this with you.”

“What’s all this, Seokjin-oppa?” Your eyes widen. “Did you pack the entire restaurant?”

“Ah, well… I was making food for our house last night, so I thought I’d make some more. I mean, you’re Jungkook’s friend, and Saren’s also in your house…” he gives you a sheepish smile. “So that’s why…”

“I don’t know, I think mom just made side dishes,” you fib, not wanting to make Saren uncomfortable. Seokjin clearly intends the food for her, but you don’t think she’ll readily accept it.

But Jungkook takes one stack and pushes it in your arms, and carries the other. “It’s food, Y/N. Don’t waste it. And don’t even pretend that you didn’t like Jin-hyung’s cooking. I’ll help you bring this to Hongbin-hyung’s car.”

“This is for Hongbin and Hyuk.” Seokjin hands another stack to his younger brother.

“Aww, my hyung is too thoughtful,” Jungkook teases.

You can’t help but nod in agreement. “Thank you for the food, Seokjin-oppa. We’ll make sure to enjoy it.”

“Thank you.” Seokjin waves goodbye as you leave with Jungkook.

He looks like a prince, acts like a prince, he’s as nice as Hongbin-oppa, and he even cooks like this. You furrow your forehead in thought. So why would unnie leave someone like him behind?

a few things i’ve learned from trying to write more in the past couple of years

usual disclaimer that i’m not published and these are things that work for me, when i say “you” i’m being abstract and referring to myself, etc, etc

this is a VERY LONG post, to everyone on mobile, i apologize

Keep reading

theguardian.com
Taika Waititi on shaking up Thor and being a Hollywood outsider: 'They take this stuff so seriously'
The Hunt for the Wilderpeople director on joining the Marvel universe, hating biopics and his early script for Moana
By Elle Hunt

When asked what fans can expect from the latest instalment of Thor, director Taika Waititi somewhat unhelpfully says it will be “Taika-esque”.

Asked if he could perhaps describe it in literally any other way, he laughs. “I can’t! There’s no way!”

As far as whetting the appetites of Marvel fanatics goes, it’s a little counterproductive. Thor: Ragnarok will be watched by many more people who are familiar with the franchise than those who know Waititi’s work – but this may be the film that makes the New Zealand director a household name.

The big-budget Thor is a far cry from the Flight of the Conchords, of which Waititi wrote and directed a few episodes, and from What We Do In The Shadows, the 2014 vampire mockumentary he made with Jemaine Clement. And it’s almost the antithesis of Hunt for the Wilderpeople: the family friendly little-Kiwi-film-that-could, which was a surprise hit at box offices around the world last year.

But while the types of projects may differ wildly, his treatment of them – the bit that makes them “Taika-esque” – doesn’t. Even Waititi’s government-funded anti-drug-driving campaign, Tinnyvision – made in collaboration with Snapchat in 2014 – has the same warm, sly humour of his features.

And yet, after 41 years’ experience of being “Taika-esque” himself, he still struggles to describe it.

“If someone asked, ‘What are your films like?’, the best I can come up with is that they’re, like, a fine balance between comedy and drama. And they deal mainly with the clumsiness of humanity.”

Well, that’s definitely true of Tinnyvision.

As evidenced by his decision to set Ragnarok outside the Marvel universe – a ballsy move, given the size of the fandom and budget in question – Waititi is one to do things his own way. And it’s paying off.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Hi! I was wondering if you had any writing tips in general? I'm a huge fan of your writing, it's incredible. I love writing stories, but sometimes I find myself having writers block that eventually results with me believing my writing is trash and I stop 😅 I hope you have a great weekend, and thank you for instilling new found hope in Stydia! We made it!

Here’s my, like, writing holy grail rules: 

  • Read your dialogue out loud. Like, you need to use lots of contractions, have your characters stumble over their words. The hallmark of bad dialogue is dialogue that sounds like it was written. 
  • Read books. Poetry, especially– I would recommend Bluets by Maggie Nelson and The Princess Saves Herself In This One by Amanda Lovelace. Learn how to incorporate different genres into your writing. Learn what you think is pretty, what you don’t like, what makes your heart stop, what makes you roll your eyes. Collect pieces of other people’s writing and fold it into yours. Not their direct lines, but their style. 
    • (This also applies to fanfiction and other types of amateur writing. One summer I spent six weeks at a writing camp with other people my age, and my writing changed for good. It was truly never the same again because of this one girl named Claire who wrote so beautifully, it changed me forever.) 
  • Write a story you want to read. I write stuff that I would love to read or watch because I know nobody’s gonna do it for me. And because of that, I’m always excited to write and I’m never out of ideas. 
  • Make a plan. The enemy of productivity is chaos. Plan out what’s going to happen in your fic. Know where it starts, where it ends, and what scenes you want to make sure you include. Know how you want your characters to grow. 
  • Be nice to yourself. Later on, you’re gonna have to edit and tear your stuff apart, but when you’re writing, go back and reread some stuff you’ve done and compliment yourself. Be like “hey that’s a funny line” or “NOICE what a hella pretty sentence!” Encourage yourself. 
  • Walk around with your fic for a little. Don’t write it down right away, and especially don’t write it right away. Daydream it. Think about it when you’re falling asleep at night. Think about it when you’re listening to music. Think about it when you’re taking a shower. Write your first draft in your head, and I promise, draft 2 that’s actually on paper will be better for it. 
  • Get yourself a cheerleader. Have a friend who has a stake in the story, who you can talk to when you’re stuck, who will get all excited about it with you. It’s always good to have someone to  talk to when you need to iron out kinks, and sometimes they even give you incredible ideas that you never would have had without them. Plus, insta-beta reader. Boom. 
    • Side note: Have a beta reader. And I know you don’t want to, but reread. Edit. Pay careful attention to sentences that seem clunky, that don’t flow well, that don’t fit your style. People notice when stuff is chunky, so don’t let yourself off the hook. (I often let myself off the hook and my beta readers have to clean it up.) 
  • Have a So What? So you’re writing a thing. Why? What’s the point? Why is the reader slugging through all this text to reach a conclusion? What’s the “so what” of your piece? Which leads me to…
  • Learn through your writing. I use writing as a tool to work through my issues, to figure out what i believe about something, to make myself feel like I’m going through something even when I’m sitting in a chair at my desk in my sweatpants. I truly, genuinely do not believe that you simply have to write what you know. In fact, I think that’s stupid. If I had done that, I wouldn’t be the person I am today. I wouldn’t understand myself the way I do. So don’t write what you know– use the tools offered to you through your experiences, through books you’ve read, through movies you’ve watched, to write what you’re curious about. if you’re scared of something or yearning for something, there’s a reason. Find out what that is. 

Hope this helps!