my-bow

No offense but mama don’t make me put on the dress again. I can’t stand the way it opens when I spin, ribbon bows around my shoulder, and I’m only getting older. Mama don’t make me put on the dress again. Daddy don’t make me fancy dance around, painted up in that make-up like a clown. If I see another stocking, lord - swear to God, I’m walking, lord. Daddy don’t make me fancy dance around. Well, I’m coming home alone for the hundredth time or so, it gets harder on my hard earned money’s dime - To the bottle in my basket, will it answer if I ask it: Doing right or am I doing time?

Ah Florida: I’ve got a twenty attachment Swiss Army knife and a lighter in my purse, kata sticks in my bed frame for easy reach in case of a break in, and I’ve known where my grandma keeps her smith and Wesson since I was seven (looking back, I’m pretty sure she was drunk when she showed me).
Also, gators. They’ve eaten some neighbourhood dogs, so I like to take my bow and arrow and check the traps (unfortunately, they haven’t yet been there to blow off steam by sticking full of arrows when I’ve been home). One time my neighbours/ close family friends went gator hunting and my sis and their daughter were using one of the corpses as a seat and it wasn’t quite as dead as we thought (like some near death or slightly post death nervous system convulsions) so scary as fuck lol.

I was babysitting my little brother when a snake fell down our chimney and I had to catch it in a Tupperware container.

Was visiting the ocean once when we had to hold the dog almost constrictingly tight while boating to keep her from falling off and being eaten by wild dolphins that were right under our boat.

It is totally valid to still have outside physical education classes at nearly 40 degrees Celsius and 70 percent humidity.

Bringing your bikes into the dorm room at the university so they won’t rust in the oncoming hurricane. Otherwise completely ignoring that hurricane while playing cards against humanity with your roommates.


So yes, Florida stereotypes are not exaggerated. We are the Australia of America (although not nearly as bad; your chance of death from wild animals is rather lower here).

dazzled by words, wrapped my heart with bows & arrows. shot me dead with delicate sentence strings ‘round my neck. a love started to blossom in the ribcage garden of our house of bones. i never thought i’d feel someone close to my abandoned body again. you changed the world with a simple stroke of your pen, a quiet clack of your keys. // but there is no ordinary way to love you, a divine breath swoops to my lungs & i am starstruck with a sense of empathy as you tell me your secrets through poetry // a railway to my heart you built with paper scraps & endless coffee grounds, i licked your lips & tasted heaven & freedom. you knew how to steal me from the trance of boxed wishes i kept hidden in my bedroom. & we haven’t dared looked back at what we’ve done to get this far in each other’s spaces, a grueling task we each sacrificed to find comfort in between our palms, glued together by ribbons of time.

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Day 2 of #100daysofpractice! I’ve always felt that slow movements of concertos are more difficult because they require so much decision making, thought, and control. It’s not that fast movements don’t also require those things, but to me they feel more natural - kind of the same way that I always felt more natural dancing faster pieces in ballet rather than slow… like adagios for example - those were torture for me! 🤣
So here I’m trying to work on creating the right “soundscape” with my bow speed and vibrato, as well as connecting the lines in a fluid motion where needed. I’m also trying to think about when and where my fingers need to move while still being able to connect the musical lines.
🎻Philip Glass Violin Concerto No. 2 - Movement 2 (yes, that’s the actual title of the movement)

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look at me - i will never pass for a perfect bride

so i know i already made a retold mulan post but i just LOVE MULAN SO MUCH so here’s another

in the original myth mulan isn’t really a clumsy fish out of water. she’s strong and smart and the reason she goes to war is because she’s the most qualified person in her family to fight, regardless of gender.

so how about this: mulan’s a fighter. she knows exactly who she is, like in the original myth, she’s knows how to be the blossoming flower and the great stone dragon. she’s still mulan though, so she still doesn’t memorize the silly ways she’s supposed to be a good wife and has little patience for appearing graceful while pouring tea. she’s innovative and courageous and beautiful, but no one is under any illusions about what kind of wife she’ll be.

and the matchmaker is the matchmaker for the li family as well, for this great big part of china. and general li wants his son to be married before he goes off to war, wants his son to have a reason to fight to live, like a wife waiting for him. and the matchmaker reads the stars and the tea leaves and the astrology charts, and no matter what all the signs point to one thing: the honorable li shang is destined to marry the insolent, arrogant fa mulan.

the matchmaker isn’t going to let that happen, she refuses to be responsible for that disaster of a wedding. so she sends her most beautiful girls, the ones that are obedient and quiet and know their roles, the ones that are eager to marry into the li family.

and each of them are entertained and met and sent back. shang is many things, but smooth isn’t one of them, he has nothing to say to these quiet girls who smile at him, feels large and awkward around their polite smiles. so he and his father go to the matchmaker’s village, shang reluctantly and his father to demand she stops messing with them and provides a proper bride.

it’s on the day that mulan and the other girls are parading in the street. shang sees a girl - mulan - hurry into the end of the line, jumping over a bench and darting around a careening wagon to get there, and stifles a laugh.

then there’s no reason to laugh at all, because a group of huns have decided that this village is in their way, and attack.

everyone scatters, women hide, children hide, and most of the men do too. shang and his father join the fight with some of the other men who hadn’t hid, and these men are starved, clearly not with shan yu, so even though they’re outnumbered they’ll likely win.

shang sees a hun go to attack the girl he’d seen earlier, the girl for whatever reason hadn’t run and hid. the hun raises a sword above his head to strike her down, and shang is so sure he’s about to see this pretty girl lose her head.

but she doesn’t. instead she rolls out of the way, and pops up, headbutting him in the stomach. she takes his sword from his now-slack grip and plunges it into his chest. without hesitation or pause the girl joins the fight, swinging the sword expertly and cutting down every man who stands against her. soon they’re fighting back to back, and shang has never felt more in sync with another person. she cuts off the head of the last hun, and shang has never seen anyone more beautiful than this girl, dress ripped and make up smudged and covered in blood that isn’t hers.

“mulan,” one of the other girls says, peaking out of a store front, “is it over?”

the girl, mulan, looks out over the dozen dead men and says, grimly, “it’s barely begun.” she searches the crowd, finding and old man and yelling, “gather the bodies, we’ll burn that at dusk outside of the village. everyone else,” her eyes sweep across the gathered people, and shang is struck by the fact that this girl isn’t well liked. there’s anger and disapproval in many of the faces, but they’re listening. these people don’t like her. but they do trust her. “let’s clean this all up. these were bandits, not soldiers. there’s nothing more to fear.”

“what if there are more?” the other girl asks, arms wrapped around herself.

mulan raises her stolen sword and says, “then i will slice them to ribbons. this is our village, and this is our country. any who would try to take it from us - from me - will suffer the consequences.”

and it shouldn’t be comforting, hearing words of violence from this young girl, yet everyone around them relaxes, and gets moving, gather the bodies and tending the wounded.

“who are you?” his father asks, and someone who doesn’t know him might think he was angry, but shang can tell he’s impressed.

mulan turns to them and bows, “my apologies. i am fa mulan, daughter of fa zhou. thank you for helping us.” she stands, and shang meets her eyes for the first time.

he swallows, and blurts out, “you - you fight good.”

his father coughs to hide his laughter, but mulan’s eyes crinkle at the corners. “thank you. you do as well.”

and they just keep standing there smiling at each other until his father claps his hands and is like okay - they’ll have to report this to the emperor, no time to dawdle, have to go now.

so they take their leave, and shang thinks this is the last time he’ll see fa mulan.

except there’s still the draft, and this time mulan doesn’t take no for an answer, won’t hear of it. her father is injured and old and she is young and fit to fight. she will go in his place.

so she arrives at the camp, prepared to pretend and lie - except she goes to meet her commanding officer and it’s him, that boy who had fought with her. shang’s eyes widen, but they’re in front of too many people. he can see it on her face, her fear, and she hadn’t shown any fear when she was facing down over a dozen huns, but she does now. so he makes his choice and says nothing, pretends he buys her story.

she tracks him down that night and demands an explanation. he says this war is too important to kill good warriors, whatever gender they are. he swears to keep her secret. mulan is his best soldier from the beginning, and means to treat her like anyone else, but it’s impossible. she isn’t like anyone else, is strong and smarter and braver than them. they argue tactics, and she’s the only one who can give him a workout in hand to hand, and he doesn’t have trouble finding his words with her. he finds himself falling in love with her, but doesn’t say anything. she’s not here for love, she’s here for a war. he vows to say something if they survive this, but it’s unlikely that will happen.

they head to the front earlier. they get there in time to provide back up for his father and his army, and it’s a loss but not a slaughter. his father is too distracted to notice ping is the girl from the village. all he knows is this soldier had led the second wave of attacks, and it was thanks to her any of them were alive at all. they prevent half of the huns from getting through the pass, but that’s still an army heading for the imperial city. the general is injured, so mulan and shang lead the army after him.

they find him at the mountain, and just like before mulan uses the cannon to destroy the army. she knew it would spell their death, but it was worth it, for her people, for her country, for her family. this time it’s shang that won’t accept her death, that tries to drag her unconscious body to safety. only he fails, and mulan becomes buried under the snow.

they return to the city, and shang is besides himself - the woman he loves is dead, she saved them all and she’s gone, and he’ll never recover from this. only he can’t tell his father this, their friends. they think he mourns a friend, not the woman he wanted to make his wife.

except mulan survives, and sees the other huns as well. only she kills them there before they can get to the city, and decides this is for the best. fa ping dies honorably in battle, and fa mulan is free to return home to her family.

so general li decides that it’s time to go to that matchmaker again, and demand she stop playing games. the matchmaker confesses that she thought the bride was unsuitable, and the general demands she send her anyway.

so mulan has barely had the chance to settle back home when the matchmaker shows up at her door saying she’s sending her to see a potential husband, but not who. so mulan shows up all made up to li household and shang drags himself into the room, already resigned to a loveless marriage, when they see each other. “mulan?” he demands, and his father is all pleased because it’s the fighting girl from the village.

but then his son starts crying and they run to each other. shang picks her up in his arms and she clings to him, and shang is babbling about how he thought she was dead, and mulan is so overjoyed that she’s with shang, and shang wants her, that she kisses him without explaining.

except now shang’s father demands an explanation. so they give it to him, the whole story comes tumbling out, and he stares hard at her, and remembers her as ping, the brave soldier that had saved them all. he’s not upset - he ecstatic. he goes to the emperor and tells him everything, and the emperor officially offers mulan an officer position in the army. she accepts, as long as shang is by her side. shang seconds this, and they set in motion the plans for the wedding.

fa mulan and li shang get married and lead armies and live happily ever after, just like the stars intended.


read more of my retold fairytales here

Context: Our characters are stranded in the past, more or less in the middle of nowhere with limited provisions. They are trying to look after this child that they know will grow up to be one of their friends in the future. We also have with us a very smart and highly educated NPC who is in charge of the whole time travel shenanigan. As we set camp, we agree to take guard shifts. This happens on my watch:

GM: “As you sit by the fire, nothing seems to be out of place. The only thing you see is a curios hare poking its head from the bushes.”

Me: “I shoot it.”

GM: “You what?”

Me: “I shoot the hare. We don’t have much food on us, right? This should help a little.” *I roll and succeed easily. It’s also worth noting here that my bow is blessed so it’s effective against unholy creatures*

GM: “As your arrow pierces the hare, its eyes flash in green flames for a second before dying out.”

Me: “Wait, what? So the hare was possessed?”

GM: “Yep.”

Me: “And I just killed a potential demonic spy/assassin by accident?”

GM: “Yep.”

Me: “OK… [My character] goes to pick the hare up and goes to one of the tents.” (In-character) “Hey, [smart NPC], if an animal is possessed and you kill the demon the meat is still safe to eat, right?”

Our characters had the hare for breakfast.

  • Jenna: Dumbest scar stories, go!
  • Brooke: I burned my tongue once drinking tea.
  • Chloe: I dropped a hair dryer on my leg once and burned it.
  • Christine: See this little scar on my arm? I got that when one of my cast mates dug their nails in my arm during bows.
  • Rich: I have a piece of graphite in my leg for accidentally stabbing my self with a pencil in the first grade.
  • Michael: I was taking a cup of noodles out of the microwave and spilled it on my hand and I got a really bad burn.
  • Jake: I have a few scars on my arm from crashing my skate board.
  • Jeremy:
  • Jeremy: I have emotional scars.
Those Eyes

Pairing: Harry Hook x Reader

Word count: 504

A/N: hope you enjoy!


Maybe if you hadn’t looked into those damned ocean blue eyes.

The sound of metal clashing against metal filled your ears, and you had to pull your mind out of the water to focus.

That smile.

Your sword clashed against the pirate’s, and you almost shivered when you saw his grin.

His voice.

“You’re quite impressive, might I say,” he cooed as you deflected his advances. “Not many princesses can sword fight.”

“You’d be surprised,” you responded with a voice stronger than you’d imagined. You continued to take jabs at him, slowly pushing him backwards.

“Merida’s daughter, right?” he guessed.

You nodded, not daring to look him in the eyes again. “(Y/N).”

“Lovely name,” he flirted. “I’d bow, but,” he gestured to the swords between them, “I think we’re both a bit too occupied.”

“I’ll take a timeout if I can see the infamous Harry Hook bowing at my feet,” you taunted, a smirk growing on your face.

“Maybe another time, love,” he said. Harry raised his sword and delivered a blow that threw off your balance, and he took that opportunity to advance towards you, inching you closer and closer to the water. You began to fight back, moving your sword faster and entangling it with Harry’s hook. With a firm yank, you pulled his hook right off of his hand.

“(Y/N), love,” he began to beg. He dropped his sword and held out his hand. “Alright, you win, princess. Just hand it over.”

“I don’t know, Hook,” you pretended to consider it. “How about that bow you mentioned before?”

He immediately got on one knee and bowed, even taking his hat off to reveal a mess mop of brown hair.

“Princess,” he looked up at you, and you were encapsulated by his eyes again, “please.”

You slowly moved your sword towards him, and you watched the excitement grow in his eyes as he fought off a grin.

“On second thought,” you muttered, before quickly turning around and tossing his hook into the ocean. He stared at you for a moment, dumbfounded, and stood up.

“(Y/N), you’ll be the death of me,” he whispered. His gaze continuously flicked towards the water, but he edged towards you. Not knowing what he was doing, you backed away from him until you were pressed against the railing. Harry grabbed your face and threaded his fingers into your hair, forcing you to stare into his ocean blue eyes.

You prayed that he couldn’t feel your racing heartbeat.

He brought his face right up to yours, and you could feel his warm breath against your lips. His mouth hovered over yours, lips barely touching.

“I hope I’ll be the death of you too, sweetheart,” he whispered, his lips brushing lightly against yours. You were about to lean in for more, but he backed away from you and jumped off the ledge, swimming after his hook. Sighing, you turned around and leant against the edge, watching him disappear under the water.

Those eyes would be the death of you.

The Many Faces of Rick Grimes

(admiring his wife, Michonne, edition)

Source: @ready2rocket

The “OMG, that’s my wife” face

The “How the hell did I manage that?” face

The “That’s right, wifey” face

The “Anything you say, gorgeous” face (aka the “I’m seriously aroused right now” face)

The “I bow to my queen” face

The “OMG! OMG! OMG! That’s my wife!!!” face

The “Can you believe that’s my wife? Also, you better listen to your mother, Corl” face

His || Jungkook || 0.20

Member: Jungkook x Reader

Type: Angst, Fluff, Smut.

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Sleep Alone (Peter Parker)

Originally posted by peterbparkerr

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Warning: Cursing

Summary: After a long night of crime fighting, Peter visits his best friend as he always does, only to discover that she had fallen asleep while waiting for him. 

Author: Dizzy

A/N: This is just a little fic with your friendly neighborhood spiderman being a little cutie. 

Masterlist Request Any Of These


Peter let out a content sigh as he found himself feeling warm in the light that illuminated from Y/n’s bedroom window. He calmly ran his finger along the edge of the chipping paint of the frame before opening the window slowly and as quietly as he could before slipping into the cool air that filled the four blue walls. 

“Y/n?” Peter whispered the girl’s name quietly as he looked around the room before his eyes found themselves gazing upon the sleeping form of a girl. 

Y/n’s hair was in her face, in her hands sat a book as she laid on her back, the warm covers beneath her. She was beautiful in Peter’s eyes.

Peter let out a light chuckle as he knelt down beside the bed. He carefully placed a kiss upon the sleeping beauty’s head before sliding the book out of her hands and marking her page. He then lifted her off the bed like a husband would his new bride and placed her beneath the covers before he kicked off his shoes and took his place beside her. 

‘I will never let anything bad happen to you’. ‘I’m so in love with you’. ‘God, you are beautiful.’ It was like a therapeutic spilling of kindness and affection that Peter never said when he thought Y/n could hear him as his fingers grazed over the lines of Y/n’s face and her hair. 

Naturally, feeling the sudden warmth surrounding her and the soft sounds of Peter’s voice and his sweet nothings, broke Y/n free of her dream world as she continued to listen. 

“This is the story of how I fell in love with you,” Peter whispered quietly as he placed a gentle kiss upon Y/n’s cheekbone. “I’ve never told it to you, but it’s not something I think you’d ever want to hear when you’re awake. It’s silly, I know, cause I’m Peter Parker, neighborhood dork and you’re Y/n L/n, cheerleader and popular best friend of said dork. You get invited to parties and I get to make Lego models with Ned. Not that I don’t like hanging out with Ned, I do, I just wished that I could be your date to parties someday.”

Peter let out a long sigh as he placed another tender kiss on Y/n’s forehead, causing Y/n to refrain from giggling at the feeling. “Anyway, I think it all started in the first grade, when we met. I wasn’t in love with you then, not yet anyway, but I made a best friend. You were always the cutest girl I’d ever met, especially with the way you wore your hair and the way you obsessed over those 80′s movies your mom let you watch.

“And then in fifth grade, when you broke your arm and sprained your ankle while we were skateboarding at the park. You were trying to be so brave and tried not to cry, but the moment I picked you up to carry you home to Aunt May, you sobbed and cried out in pain and told me you never wanted me to let go of you. When you had your arms tightly around my neck with your face buried in my chest, I knew there was something between us.

“But, then you and I, we didn’t hang out as much as we used to once we got to high school. I know you felt bad about it, I know you still do, because you had cheer and sports and the only club we were in together was robotics and you weren’t always able to come with your other responsibilities, but we have these nights together and we were one another’s dates to homecoming, even though you were asked by other guys. 

“Speaking of homecoming, that was the night I realized what I’ve felt for years had a name. Love. The way you laughed when I told you not to choke me with my bow tie as you helped me fix it to the way your voice sounded so soft and sweet when we slow danced. And, God, just the way you worked the room like you owned the place when you didn’t ditch me when I fell behind, but tucked your arm under mine and took me with you, introducing me to your friends. I’ve never felt so included. 

“And most importantly, the way your lips felt against mine when you kissed me goodnight. That was my first kiss and if I died today, I’d be glad that it was my last. We haven’t talked about it since then, but I wish I could get the courage to ask you out, to tell you I love you. 

“Cause it was you who initiates everything. You asked me if we could be friends in first grade, you were the one who asked me to homecoming. You kissed me.

“I don’t know, laying next to you makes me wish to never sleep alone, to never be alone. I don’t know if you kissed me out of pity the night of homecoming or if you kissed me because maybe you love me too. But, Y/n, I love you.”

“You know I can hear you, right?” Y/n’s sudden voice startled Peter.

“I’m sleep talking,” Peter said immediately. “This is all a dream. You’re dreaming.” 

Y/n hid a smile against Peter’s neck, a sensation that Peter felt melt his heart, and drew him closer. “I love you too,” she said simply, with a soft sigh, as she drifted back to sleep content in the safety of Peter’s arms, knowing for the first time in her life, love could be reciprocated by even the silliest of heroes.