impromptu interview

Finding Closure (Part 1)

Summary: AU. Reader left behind a hometown full of misery to make a new home in Brooklyn. A death in the family forces her to briefly return to the place that has haunted her dreams and memories for three years. Will she finally be able to move on, or will a figure from the past change everything?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 2,837

Warnings: angst, language, more angst, mention of alcoholism, mention of death, mention of funeral, mentions of neglect, mentions of estranged family members, heartache, sadness, mentions of sad childhood

A/N: This is the first part of my submission for the talented and wonderful @tatortot2701 ‘s AU writing challenge. (Tay, please disregard until it’s completed!) Y'all wanted angst, well…I took a fluffy prompt and darkened it. I tried not to but this story wouldn’t leave me alone. I’m not sure how many parts it will have.

My prompt was 28 .“____ is not a real word.” “Yes it is!”

Part:  1 - 2 -

Originally posted by brokenmichael

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anonymous asked:

Chat noir + Alya + gossip + excited! Please and thank you

Find the prompt list here

Chat Noir’s jaw dropped. Even with that mask covering half his face, Alya could see the red staining his face, creeping down onto his ivory cheeks slowly like a spreading wine stain. “No,” he said carefully, and his voice hitched at the end of the syllable. “No, she’s not. What on earth gave you that idea?” He looked nauseous. 

Amazing. Alya could scream.

Instead of screaming, she gave him a soft grin. Something reassuring to lure him into a false sense of security as she carefully stepped between him and the club’s exit. The akuma was gone, and he hadn’t even used his trump card to defeat it, so he was in no danger of a forced detransformation anytime soon. Therefore Chat (who famously adored both her and her blog) had no excuse to duck out of this impromptu interview without confirming the suspicion that he was hiding something.

“It’s not really my idea,” Alya answered belatedly. She reached over the bartop, where the employees were too busy cleaning up the mess the akuma had made of their bar to notice Alya steal a handful of orange slices. “Someone posted it on the blog about a week ago, and it spread like wildfire. Even the major news stations have begun to speculate. Surely this isn’t the first you’ve heard of it.”

“No,” he said. “It’s not. But it’s still ridiculous.” Chat looked directly into the camera lens and rose his voice to say, “For everyone wondering, and you can take this as my official statement on the matter: Ladybug is not pregnant.”

“Uh-huh. So where exactly is she then? What is she doing? It doesn’t really seem like her to just go on a months-long vacation from being a superhero. We’re all worried about her.”

“I told you,” he scowled. “I’m not at liberty to answer that. And the weekly videos she posts on your blog should be enough to placate any fears, don’t you think?”

“Videos shot from the neck up,” Alya pointed out. “Suspicious, isn’t it?”

“No,” he ground out. “No, I really don’t think it is. Y’know, Alya, one of the reasons I like you is because you’re usually above all that gossip stuff. But this is starting to feel like a tabloid interview.”

The jab rolled right off her shoulders, and she pointed one of her orange slices at him. “Tabloids aren’t concerned with the facts. I am. The fact is, no one has seen Ladybug in person for almost four months. Yes?”

Chat Noir crossed his arms, and it took him a few moments to realize that she wasn’t asking rhetorically. “Yes,” he agreed reluctantly.

“Except for you. Yes?”

“Yes,” he said, growing increasingly exasperated.

“So you can see why some people are a little angry with you, and wary of the secrecy, right?” Not that she was. But, there were some of the more avid Ladybug fans that wanted Chat Noir’s head for this.

“Yes, yes, and so what? What is the point of–”

“And you agree that Ladybug hasn’t shown herself below the neck in one of her ‘hello Paris’ videos in almost three months, yes?”


“And the baby is yours, right?”

YES, ALYA, the baby is–”

“HA!” Alya crowed so loud and spazzed out so suddenly that everyone in the bar jumped and looked at them, and she almost dropped the camera. Chat paled so quickly it looked like he’d been shot.

“O-oh shit. Shit. Oh my god, you sneaky little– Alya, please don’t air this.”

“Sorry, kitty, but this is a livestream.” She turned the camera toward her face and gave her audience a giddy laugh. “That’s right, you heard it here first folks! There’s nothing at all to worry about. Our bug is happy and healthy and fine. She’s just pregnant, that’s all!”

Fifteen minutes later and four miles away, Marinette Dupain-Cheng stared at her computer screen as the rerun of the interview finished playing, with fury turning her face from pink to red to purple. Seeing this, Tikki slowly backed away on the desktop, then flitted off all at once to take cover. A hormonal Marinette was not to be trifled with. 

The sound of the sliding glass door opening behind her sent the rage into a whirlwind. She wheeled around to find him standing there with the most frightened smile she’d ever seen. Good. “Hey, babe… Funny story…”

“You better start running,” she said.

Watch on

I had a chance to meet the amazing Alison Luhrs when I visited the Wizards of the Coast HQ, and she was kind enough to sit down for an impromptu interview about the history of the official Magic: the Gathering blog on Tumblr!

(Sorry the video is chopped into a couple pieces. My phone kept running out of storage space.)

If nothing else, I HIGHLY recommend watching Alison’s message specifically to the MtG Tumblr community around the nine minute mark. It’s a fantastic shoutout to what we’re all doing here!


This is a little out of character but I tried my best
Jack is such a complicated character but hopefully I did him justice haha

Title: Honest
Pairing: Jack Wilder x reader
Summary: An impromptu interview with Jack gives you more than just an article to write
Word Count: 1,065
Warnings: none

Your name: submit What is this?

             "Jack Wilder!“ you called, sprinting down the street. "Give me 5 minutes to speak with you.”

           He turns around slowly, a reluctant smirk on his face as he waits with his arms crossed against his chest. You catch up to him, barely catching your breath as you stood on the side of the street with you note pad ready and waiting for any quotes he might give you.

           "Are you part of a newspaper?“ he asks, eyebrow raised.

           "Yeah,” you answer breathlessly. “Y/N, I’m with the local newspaper. Could, uh, could I get an interview?”

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voguebikini  asked:

Part 2 for graduation? :)

part one

Harry was lying to himself if he said that he didn’t feel like complete and utter crap at this point, and the thing about him was that his inner feelings reflected his outer appearance and vice versa. He hadn’t been sleeping well since the fight the two of you had about him not being able to make it to your graduation due to an impromptu interview. It really and truly wasn’t his fault, with all of the press that was being done for the new movie he was in, and his tour- he was lucky to even get a decent amount of sleep. 

You on the other hand felt no better than he did. You felt miserable for a multitude of reasons: not being able to talk to Harry without tension or short answers, no longer looking forward to your graduation as much because of the fight with Harry, Harry in general. It was absolutely ridiculous. The fact that you couldn’t even look to enjoy yourself reaching a major stepping stone in your life and graduating, all because your rockstar boyfriend wouldn’t be able to make it.

“I’m so proud of you, honey,” Your mom is standing behind you in the full body mirror as you fix your cap and gown for the millionth time that morning. Your college school emblem was pressed into the gown and you let a small smile creep its way onto your lips. 

“Thanks, mom,” Your voice is small and your mom knows that you’re acting this way because of the Harry situation. You cried about it for a solid two nights, and then finally decided that it was time to focus on yourself. Giving you a kiss on your cheek, your mom leaves your room in your apartment, telling you that she’s leaving to make sure the rest of your family gets good seats. Nodding as a response, you bid her goodbye and finish getting ready. Your phone kept on going off with congratulations texts from family members and friends who wouldn’t be able to make it today. 

“Wow Harry, I at least thought you’d text,” You mumbled in disappointment, looking at your phone with a frown. The last text exchange the two of you had was from two days ago when you told him to stay safe with his travels and he answered with a thank you in return. It was one thing to not show up, but to not even send a text or even call? Bullshit.

The venue for the graduation was average, but no one really cared because you were either there for your diploma or to cheer on whomever got that diploma. Decorations were such a last thought at that point. The dean of your learning department kept on calling names and you looked out into the crowd, a small piece of you hoping that maybe, just maybe he was able to pull a few strings and show up. You didn’t catch a glimpse of his chocolate coloured hair that you loved to death, and your lips set into another frown. The person before you’s name was called and your heart began to race. This was it, this was it-

“[Y/N] [Y/L/N].” There were a chorus of whoots and hollers from your family members and you ducked your head down in embarrassment. Grabbing your diploma and shaking your dean’s hand, you smiled for the camera even though on the inside you couldn’t help but feel a tad sad. 

“Hell yes!” By then the clapping had died down just a tad, and your eyes snapped at the sound of the familiar, thick accent. Everyone was too engrossed in the next person being called, but you heard him clear as day. You don’t even try to make it back to your seat, instead making a beeline towards Harry who looks so very very tired but he’s smiling wide none the less.

“Thank you for coming,” Your eyes a shut tight as you take in his cologne that you bought him for his birthday earlier that year. Your diploma was sticking into his back and either he didn’t notice or he didn’t care because he pulled you closer to him, pressing a kiss to the side of your face.

“I’m sorry that I ever gave you the intention of my career coming before us.”

send me headcanons to write about or a number from this list :)

the art of falling (1)

“What do you know about the artist?”

“Zero. Zilch. I wish I knew, a name, anything.”

Summary: Having stumbled across an art exhibition, she came to admire pieces of art work by Minho. Although she was not aware of this as he had been using a pen name. On a late night during one of her visits, Minho happens to be there too. 

Part 2 | Part 3

There was something about being in the company of oneself. Something about being alone without the exhaustion of trying to keep up with anyone else. It was what she needed after going through quite possibly the most hectic period of her life; her mind was in dire need of some peace and quiet.

Her fingers fiddled the edges of the tickets, two to be exact as she made her way into the museum. She was supposed to be here with someone she thought of forever with, and to this day the thought made her laugh. How so blindly naïve she had been throughout the course of the dead-end relationship. This wasn’t anything new, the fact that she’d turned up alone for a promise he made.

He knew she had a thing for art, and so when it was announced that the local museum was holding out guided tours for their exclusive exhibition this season, he didn’t hesitate to pre-order admission tickets specially for her. It came in the mail a few weeks back, and to be quite frank, she wanted to rip the thing to shreds the second she laid eyes on his name. But it wasn’t every day that anyone could get a free pass like this, and it was valid for a good three months so why the hell not?

It was exactly three months ago today that she ended things with him and it was foolish of her to drag it out for so long. Her flatmate or go to person or personal therapist, Sora, had warned her about it. But being the overly skeptic person Sora was, she’d always brushed it off, always taking his side.

“So I guess he was out in some other girl’s pants during those so called study groups you were always on about?”

“You don’t need to say it again, I got you the first time.”

“Excuse you? The first time I ever brought it up you were so far up his cheating ass, you said I was delusional. Did you have to wait to see her tongue down his throat—”

The thought made her cringe. The memory of her walking on the two of them going at it seemed to grow more vividly each passing day. It left her horrified how it may never go away and forever etched in the back of her mind. Sora was less tense and had grown to soften up, witnessing her lose so much of herself into the break up.

“Hey, you invested so much of yourself into that messed up relationship, you should’ve left some for yourself. Look at you.”

Sora prodded her by the arm who laid curled up under the safety of the covers.  The room was dull and depressing, Sora was tempted to ask her how long she had been cooped up in her room this way.  Clearly it had been days.

“I’m fine, go ahead to class. Don’t wait out for me.” She voiced, muffled and dry from the evident crying.  

“You’ve skipped classes the entire week, you can’t go on like this. Let’s get some sun, hm?” Sora tugged the curtains open impatiently, catching her best friend squint at the sudden burst of light.  

“I am getting some now.”

“That’s not what I meant— good god, how long has it been since your last shower?”

It was rather gratifying, to be here for herself and not constantly be worried for someone who only made her an option when she gave him so much more. But regrets come later, and Sora was right; she shouldn’t have taken so long to realize the bitter truth.

A group of people huddled by the hall and upon reaching the venue, she was breathless. It had been sometime since she last visited an art museum and containing her excitement was easier said than done. She practically had springs on her heels as she skipped as subtly as she could manage the entire way there.

A few fellow visitors turned their heads when she hopped into the back of the line, breathing heavily as she tried to catch her breath. She nodded a soft apology, a stark contrast to the beaming smile on her face.

She loved being in such premises. Having visited countless art galleries before, she had grown to adore every single one of them. These visits meant something more, almost like having the privilege to delve into someone else’s mind and to see their dreams brought to life in more ways than she could imagine. Some she could relate to while some were too abstract, too complex for her to deduce the hidden meaning behind it. Yet it more ways than one, they surprised her. In a sense that some pieces were not meant to be as complicated, that it was just inspired by something simple, a feeling.  The options were endless, and for her, it was an escape that she left idled ever since she finished high school.

The tour guide introduced the group to the new exhibition, and as she strolled along, one artist caught her eye more than any other.

The museum dedicated an entire hallway for this artist, and she was too absorbed with the pieces of art that decorated the walls. So much so, she did not realize that the group had went on to the next part of the tour. The paintings were hung so neatly yet its content were anything but. The gallery gave no clue on who the creator was, it was the only collection that had no mention of a full name. Her eyes scanned every piece meticulously hoping for a hint, only to spot a small M engraved by the corner of every art work. 

Days passed since her visit to the museum and once again, she was drowned with the workload from school and part time job. She didn’t mind, the fact that she managed to get back into the swing of things instead of being locked up in her room feeling nothing but sorry for herself.  

Yet no matter how overworked she was, the paintings she saw last week always seemed to find its way back in her endless train of thoughts. Frustration picked at her, the way she was too curious for a name, or anything that could lead her to the artist. It was nearly impossible to trace the pieces of work without a name online, and if it weren’t for prohibited photographs of the paintings, she might have gotten somewhere by now.

She figured that perhaps, the artist did this intentionally. That it was solely for being known by their creations alone; allowing their audience the freedom to create their own version of who they are through the creations they chose to display.  After all back then, the tour guide didn’t fail to emphasize on the artist’s famous reputation for their anonymity.  

And so it was from then on, her legs just seemed to make their way back to the gallery whenever she was close by, whenever she had the time. It became her favourite past time, spending a generous amount of time to let each piece sink into her as she interpreted each stroke, each line.

There didn’t seem to be an obvious theme to the collection. It was hard to pin point, but if art could be any more free spirited, then this was it. Some were abstract, all over the place and some were more defined, with caricatures here and there. Some stuck to one evident colour palette, some exploded in an array of colours. She couldn’t help but wonder if the artist was just as exciting as what was portrayed.

It wasn’t until one night she was a little too engrossed, standing much too close to a painting rather strangely.

“Try looking at it from a distance.” 

She jumped, startled at the sudden interruption. She turned around and was met with a young man, standing tall as he looked straight ahead to the same painting she almost face planted.

“Pardon me?”

“Here.” He offered a small smile, tapping his feet to the space next to him. “You’re a little too close, don’t you think?”

His voice was deep, rich, with a low tone. It didn’t match how innocent he looked. The way his dark hair fell over his forehead, a pair of round spectacles that rested on the bridge of his sharp nose. He was perfectly bundled up, a dark turtleneck over a contrasting yellow coat. 

“Too close?”

“Yeah, you’ll see it better from here.” He nodded.

Curious, she walked over slowly and took her place next to him. He was right, she could make out what it was far better than up close. Of course, if anything art had taught her, was to take a step back and admire it from a distance.

She absentmindedly let out a soft hum in agreement before catching him with a pleased smile. He was gorgeous.

“Do you like this one?” She was quick to look away when he turned to face her, worried that he had caught her staring a little too long.  

“I do. I love all the pieces on this wall.” She brightened up in an instant, bringing about a curious spark in his eyes as he shot her a satisfied look once more.  

“What do you know about the artist?”

Even though it was starting to feel like an impromptu interview, she didn’t mind it one bit. If anything, she could talk about this all day long for all he knew.

“Zero. Zilch. I wish I knew, a name, anything.” She chuckled quietly, her eyes wandering.

“What do you think he’s like?”

He? Do you know who

“No, I don’t. I was just curious.” He forced out a hoarse laugh, clearing his throat.

“Oh.” She nodded slowly, dejected. “I don’t know, I imagine him or her as someone a little too loud, obnoxious, happy… yeah. Definitely happy.”

He supressed a smile as she spoke.

”But someone who feels deeply all at the same time.” She continued.  

“You think so?” He tilted his head in question, something that she noticed to be somewhat too adorable for a grown man.

“Yeah, but that’s just one point of view.” She laughed lightly. “After all, art isn’t always what it seems.” 

“I think he’s quite the opposite. You know, the quiet, reserved type. Hates all sorts of human contact, always grumpy, hates food, amazing vocalist.” He was all sorts of amused making her wonder how he could have come to such spontaneous conclusions.

Hates food and sings well?

It was about time she met that strange weirdo from the museum, just how Sora had foreseen after finding out how much time she spent in this very place. 

“Song Minho.”

“I’m sorry?”

“A name right?” He grinned, flashing her a trademark smile and perfect teeth.

“Minho, my name’s Minho.”

In that moment, her heart dropped as that familiar “M“ signed at a corner on every piece of work that she came to admire, flash before her eyes.

An Impromptu Interview with Yes

Former Yes members Jon Anderson, Rick Wakeman, and Trevor Rabin just crashed a radio talk show doing a live pre-show cover of the Rock-and-Roll Hall of Fame induction on April 7, 2017. 

Includes lots of Jon being a ray of sunshine and a (possible, it might have been facetious) big announcement about the future of Yes????

anonymous asked:

Has Harry met scorpius: I want him/Draco to see how cute their sons boyfriend is, part 1. Al says early on he knows Harry doesn't like scorp implying Harrys met scorp though it might be JUST bc he's Dracos son. 2, scorp and Harry don't acknowledge each other when scorp runs up in 1st alternate reality. Bc they already met or bc of the current circumstances? 3, Harry later says to al that he can nowsee scorp is not the black cloud implying he's never properly interacted with his fluffiness before

Has Harry met scorpius: I want him/Draco to see how cute their sons boyfriend is, part 1.

Oh they’re definitely cute, but I think Harry and Draco are mostly going to see how happy they are together. Harry will notice how the smile never leaves Albus’s eyes and how he doesn’t curl his hands up into his sleeves when he’s with Scorpius. Draco will notice how Scorpius lights up around Albus the way he’s only ever seen him do in bookshops…. and sweet shops. Oh and that one time he took him to a muggle zoo- ok. Bad example. But he sees, they both see, how completely comfortable their sons are with each other. It’s like they belong together, you know? But Draco would only mock Harry for using the word ‘cute’. (Even if he secretly uses it himself when he’s telling the photograph of Astoria about them in his office later on.) And anyway, Harry should have seen three year old Scorpius on his first toy broomstick wearing full Quidditch gear, goggles and all. Now that was cute.

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Look at this deeply authentic totally spontaneous impromptu interview with Brent Spiner. 

anonymous asked:

Modern AU: Eren is a vlogger and is vlogging in a shop where Levi sees him and talks to him! Thanks!

Here you go! Hope you like it! :D 

“Levi, I swear to god just pick a fabric.” Hanji incessantly tapped her foot as Levi held swatches in his hand.

“Shut up, four-eyes. You agreed to come with me.”

She groaned. “I’m waiting in Starbucks. Just get me when you finish.”

Levi put one of the swatches down and surveyed the remaining four. “You can’t go. What if I need a second opinion?” Hanji slumped against the back wall of the shop and slid to the floor. The bell attached to the front door rang.

“Oh, someone else is here. Maybe they’re working on their final project, too.”

“For the last time, it’s not just a project,” Levi snapped. “It’s my senior thesis and Zackley’s looking to bring one student’s collection to fashion week. So, either help me, or quit complaining.”

“Every idea I had, you shot down, so I’ll just do nothing.”


The store owner burst through the back door and scurried to the front of the store. Levi and Hanji could her excited, indiscernible chatter.

“What’s going on up there?”

“Something stupid, I’m sure.” Levi glanced up the aisle and saw two guys talking with the owner. “Wait a second.” He took a couple steps forward. “I know that kid.” He looked on as the brown-haired boy scratched at his beanie barely hanging onto his head. He had the sleeves on his flannel shirt rolled up to his elbows with torn skinny jeans tucked into brown combat boots. The blond guy with him said something that made him laugh. “Oh my god, it’s that fashion vlogger.”

“Huh?” Hanji pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and squinted down the aisle.

“Don’t stare!” he hissed, pulling her back. “His videos get millions of hits and he’s gotten into a ton of high-end events and he’s only, like, twenty. What the hell is he doing here?”

“Why don’t you go ask him yourself?”

Levi scoffed. “You’re joking, right? I’m just a student and he’s been all over. Last week, he did a video talking about how he’d be at fashion week. Shit, could you imagine if he interviewed me?”

“What’s his name?” Hanji whispered, thumbing through Levi’s discarded swatches.

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know? Don’t you watch him all the time?”

“I mean,” Levi growled, “he doesn’t use his real name in his vlog. He just goes by his username.” The blond guy took out a camera and started filming. “They’re doing a video here?” he gaped. “Fuck it, I’m going.”

“Wait what about the swatches?”

“Good idea.” Levi snatched them from Hanji and brought them with him to the front of the store. His own boots’ heels click-clacked against the tile floor and, as he approached the three mid-interview, he felt them turn to cement. “Oh god, I can’t do this.” His palms grew sweaty and he swallowed hard.

“Why not?”

“Just look at him. Those green eyes and that smile, shit, he’s too pretty. I can’t.” Levi pushed his hair back and scratched at the shaved underside.

“Oh, suck it up,” Hanji sighed before shoving him forward.

“Hey, you’re in the shot!” the blond exclaimed. “Cut!” He pressed a button on the camera and lowered his arm.

“W-What are you doing?” the owner stuttered, horrified. Levi remained in place with four sets of eyes staring at him.

He glanced back at a smug Hanji. “You’re dead,” he snarled.

“Who’re you?” the brown-haired kid asked, approaching Levi. His green eyes were trained on his face and Levi felt his cheeks grow warm. Damn, he’s hot in person. “I’m Levi. Levi Ackerman,” he said, attempting to regain his composure. “I just wanted to say I’m a huge fan of your show.” He wrung the fabric in his hands.

“Eren Jaeger,” the green-eyed kid replied, glancing down at Levi’s hands. “Are you a designer?” 

Levi swallowed hard after hearing the vlogger’s real name. “Yeah, I’m working on my thesis. I was wondering if-if maybe you had some suggestions?” He offered the swatches to him. The Eren’s eyes didn’t leave Levi’s face.

“You know,” he began, “I don’t usually have impromptu interviews but for you I’d make an exception.”

“How forward.”

“What can I say? It’s not often that this happens.”

“That what happens?”

“A gorgeous designer makes an appearance.”

“Well, it’s not every day a wildly popular and cute fashion vlogger shows up in my fabric shop.”

Eren smirked and leaned against the counter, inching closer to Levi. Levi remained still and raised his eyebrow. “So,” Eren began, “maybe we get coffee after this and you tell me about your work?”

“Maybe.” Levi felt his stomach flip.

“Guys,” the blond interrupted. “We’re filming an episode, not porn. Is this gonna be an interview or not?”

“Y-Yeah,” Eren answered. “Yeah, start rolling, Armin.” He turned back to Levi. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“Hell no, I don’t.” He crossed his arms and leaned his back against the counter.

Eren joined Armin behind the camera and adjusted the shot. “You look good on camera,” he said.

“Thanks.” Levi’s cheeks went pink.

“Maybe I should make you a regular.”

Levi scoffed again. “Please. Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“That’d imply that I don’t keep promises.”

Armin toggled a button on the camera and said, “Rolling.”

Without any hesitation, Eren hopped over to Levi and coolly began, “So, now it’s time for a little designer spotlight. I have here the one and only Levi Ackerman.” Eren looked over to Levi. “He’s an up-and-coming designer whose talent and striking good looks are bound to take the fashion world by storm.”


Character Traits

Marilyn’s single-mindedness in pursuit of a screen career extended to every part of her activities - the people she met and cultivated, the books she read, her physical exercise, the people she slept with - in a constant process of seeking approval, and attention. She could never be satisfied, not even when she achieved what, since a child, she had set as a goal.

Not surprisingly, throughout her life Marilyn suffered from a terrible inferiority complex. More than one biographer notes that from her earliest days, Marilyn’s sense of self worth was undermined by her mother, for whom a fatherless child was a major complication, if not to say an outright source of shame. Marilyn was always extremely conscious of her lack of formal education. She always sought out the educated and intellectual, as if contact with them could fill her with at least some of the knowledge she felt she lacked. Her feelings of intellectual inadequacy were compounded in her starlet years, as she consorted with much older and more worldly-wise men who carelessly belittled anything she said. And yet so many people who met Marilyn had their preconceptions overturned. Photographer Elliott Erwitt, for example, was surprised by how she “had always thought that all those amusing remarks she was supposed to have made for the press had probably been manufactured and mimeographed by her press agent, but they weren’t. She was a very bright person, an instinctive type.”

Marilyn almost always felt uneasy with journalists in “live” situations, despite her skill at using certain columnists to express her opinions. The counterpoint to this personal timidity was a streak of exhibitionism that enabled her to parade in front of photographers and fans in dresses which were scandalously revealing for the day. Impersonal public exhibitionism before a crowd was one thing; relating to individuals, or even having to give an impromptu interview, was quite another, as she greatly feared appearing dumb or lacking in social skills.

Marilyn’s lack of self-confidence in her acting, which continued even after masterful performances in her later work, was the result of years of important Hollywood people writing off her talents, and possibly the promptings of people in her entourage whose interests lay in Marilyn requiring their services and succor for as long as possible.

Marilyn’s compassion for others, her sense of feeling sorry for people who seemed shy, defenseless, in need of support and love, may well have included her husbands. After divorcing Joe DiMaggio, Marilyn told a friend that she married him “because I felt sorry for him,” because “he seemed so lonely and shy.” Marilyn’s empathy with animals and her generosity are well-known.

Although many friends have testified to Marilyn’s generosity and graciousness to friends, and biographers note that Marilyn never gave voice to ill-feeling against people she felt had slighted her in the press, she was quite capable of being manipulative. On several occasions during her life she resorted to fabrications in order to elicit sympathy (to John Carroll and Lucille Ryman, who took her in, that there had been an intruder in her bedroom; to Fred Karger that she was living in a seedy run-down apartment when in fact she was at the Hollywood Studio Club), and so she would, effectively, find people and families to foster her, at least for a short while, until the deception ran hollow. Not surprisingly, after her falsifications were discovered she had a hard time making people believer her.

And when angry, Marilyn sometimes flew into a rage which Arthur Miller described as “slashing, out to destroy.”

The Marilyn the world adored was a character she turned on and off at will. Many times with friends she announced she was going to “do a Marilyn.” Susan Strasberg describes an occasion when the two of them were walking up to her New York hotel and Marilyn said, “Do you want to see me be her?” and turned the character on. Eli Wallach had a similar experience walking along with Marilyn in New York. 

Marilyn occasionally spoke of her self in the third person, sometimes with bitterness. She did this in one of her last interviews (with journalist Vernon Scott), but she was already doing this in the mid-fifties, commenting on the kind of things Marilyn would and wouldn’t do, how she would look and move.

And yet a host pf people - friends and journalists as well as star-struck fans - found that when they were in Marilyn’s presence, some of her vitality, her wit, and her talent for having a good time rubbed off on them. 

On the intensity and sincerity of her emotions, Gloria Steinem writes, “Even when she tried to pretend an emotion - for instance, to be confident or gay when she did not feel it - some underlying honesty still gave her away.” This honesty extended to declining countless proposals of marriage, which would have made her financially secure during her penniless starlet days, because she would only marry for love. 

Biographer Donald Spoto writes, “The intensity of her desires clashed with her deepest emotional and spiritual needs. She was someone with a vivid inner life whose desire for recognition caused an outer-directed life: In this regard, Marilyn Monroe may indeed be the ultimate movie actress.”

Throughout her life Marilyn was intellectually curious, eager for knowledge and learning. In 1955 this curiosity took an inward turn as she left Hollywood for New York and experimented with acting technique at the Actor’s Lab. She began what would be seven years of intense psychotherapy, met new people, and tried to explore what lay behind the persona of Marilyn she had been supporting all those years.

- The Marilyn Encyclopedia by Adam Victor.

milkyleggedminsuga  asked:

Hello :) I've also been gushing about the Taegi vid where Yoongi helps him out with his sentences~ it is so cute how he automatically knows what Tae was gonna say xrgjsgrjgrjdhsffsnnfd ADORBS. do you think Tae's errors happen ONLY when he gets asked impromptu? Like during interviews and such?

Hello friend~ 

OMG YES that video made me fall in love with Tae (and Taegi) even more! I’ve always noticed that Yoongi tends to translate what Taehyung says whenever he mixes up his words, i’m just glad someone finally made a video showing that :) 

There’s also this moment (the video is blocked for me) during their BTS FESTA 2014 when Taehyung was saying his ending ment. The members didn’t understand what he was trying to say and they were all kind of like ????, but then Yoongi swooped in and was basically like “let me translate” lol. He even went on to say that “it’s a language Taehyung speaks” ^__^

As for Tae’s errors I think when he stutters/stumbles over his words it’s because he doesn’t have enough time to think about what he’s going to say.

BUT when he puts his words in the wrong order or says a word that doesn’t make sense in a sentence… I think that’s just him being him. I’ve noticed that the members get surprised whenever Taehyung uses big words or phrases, so I guess vocabulary and grammar just isn’t his strong suit. 

In conclusion, I think his stuttering is only during interviews, but mixing up his words and using them in the wrong context seems like a normal thing for him. 

I could be wrong though, since I don’t know him outside of stanning him so


But I think his stutter is endearing <3


Another moment in which Yoongi translates for Taehyung (Taehyung kept calling it the “cake” pose and the members didn’t know what he was talking about and then Yoongi was like ”isn’t it ‘sandwich’?” and then the members started to catch on to what pose Tae was talking about) : 


And the one time Taehyung translated for Yoongi:


Last month, Scott Walker seemed readily available to any reporter who had a question for him. He was basking in the limelight, holding media scrums and granting impromptu interviews.

But in the wake of a few controversial, headline-grabbing quotes about evolution and President Barack Obama’s religion, the Wisconsin governor and likely Republican presidential candidate has put the brakes on his media availability, reporters who follow him say.

On Friday, Walker toured the Texas-Mexico border with Texas Gov. Greg Abbott. The tour was closed to the press, and Walker did not take part in a media avail afterward. Similarly, Walker visited Greenville, South Carolina, last weekend but refused to take questions from the media. Of the six likely Republican candidates to visit the state in the past two months, Walker was the only one to pass on the press.


Former press hound Scott Walker limits media availability in wake of slip-ups

If Scott Walker can’t handle the media, he sure as hell can’t handle the presidency.


Pairing: NicoMaki
Side/Mentioned Pairings: NozoEli, KotoUmi, RinPana
Words: 19,023
Rating: M
Summary: Nico introduces ship pandering to μ’s.  The following months are a train wreck.
Mirrors: [] | [AO3]

Author’s Notes: This fic is a monster.  It’s the most ambitious piece of work I’ve ever tackled, but I’ve passed so many milestones with it.

I’d like to dedicate this story to my pal nicotachi because this is her extremely belated birthday gift.  I also want to thank maki-is-gay, rectumlord, nishiklnothecatprince, ikusiadblaerofvalenwood, qllvllp for inspiring me and believing in me the whole way through.  Love you guys!

Also, I hope that dropping a 19k word fic makes up for my recent inactivity.   Enjoy!


noun \kə-ˈprēs\

1a. a sudden, impulsive, and seemingly unmotivated notion or action
1b. a sudden usually unpredictable condition, change, or series of changes
2. a disposition to do things impulsively

- Merriam-Webster

μ’s doesn’t spend time with each other anymore.

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