I saw your post about you being an Atheist and I would just like to say that I love you, Wes, but as a Christian, you are going to meet God and once you do, you will be burning in Hell for not believing in him. I'll be praying for you, boy.
These kinds of threats with eternal regret does nothing but make me pity how much hatred you have in your heart that’s black enough to send me this.
I hope my followers, who are Christian/religious, as you “claim” to be, will look at this post as example of what NOT to be in terms of being a cowardly individual on anon under the guise of “caring” for my imminent demise, as well as loving everyone, regardless of who or what they are.
PRAY before writing me next time – and ask him what you should have said. Because in this message, you haven’t just failed, anon, you’ve failed spectacularly. It’s one of the worst possible “care threats” to me that I’ve ever seen. If you’re a real Christian, anon, you would care for me regardless of my lack of belief and not send me passive aggressive
kindergarten-level threats ever again.
this was removed from tumbrl due to “violating one or more of Tumblr’s Community Guidelines”, but since my wish came true the first time, I’m putting it back. :)
OH MY FUCKING GOD, IT’S BACK ON MY DASH.
THIS SHIT WORKS OKAY, I AM DEAD SERIOUS.
The last time I saw this on my dash, I didn’t think it would happen, so jokingly I wished I could go to a fun. concert.
AND GUESS WHAT, I WENT TO A FUCKING FUN. CONCERT.
THIS SHIT WORKS, TRY IT.
I SAW THIS ON MY DASH THE OTHER DAY AND THOUGHT “ITS WORTH A TRY” SO I WISHED I COULD GET A 3DS
LITERALLY LIKE 4 DAYS LATER MY DAD SENT ME A PICTURE OF THE 3DS XL HE BOUGHT FOR ME WHILE I WAS AT SCHOOL
IM STILL FREAKING OUT ABOUT THIS
holy fuck, I didn’t expect this to work, I was like psh, whatever it’s just a quick reblog, but I wished my Dad would actually respond back to me AND HE FUCKING DID A FEW DAYS LATER, I GOT A FUCKING TEXT FROM MY DAD TODAY WHO HASN’T SPOKEN OR RESPONDED TO ME IN MONTHS HOLY FUCK WHAT IS THIS MAGIC IT WORKS.
I WANTED TO SEE MY BOYFRIEND AND I DIDN’T THINK I’D GET DAYS OFF BUT THIS WEEKEND I’M HEADING UP THERE??? THIS IS CRAZY SHIT
SO LIKE I JOKINGLY WISHED FOR MY OWN LEN KAGAMINE AND THEN LIKE A WEEK LATER I GOT A LEN NENDOROID??? H ELP
WTF OKAY SO THIS SHOT ACTUALLY WORKS BECAUSE WHEN I WISHED, I HAD WISHED MY CRUSH WOULD LIKE ME BACK AND GUESS WHAT? I HAVE A BOYFRIEND NOW. WHAT THE HELLLLL?????
ok I’ve said this before but IM DOING IT AGAIN THE FIRST TIME I SAW THIS, MY WISH DID COME TRUE SO I REBLOGED AGAIN AND SAID IT IN THE TAGS BUT THEN I WISHED FOR SMTH ELSE AND IT LITERALLY LITERALLY HAPPENED LIKE A COUPLE DAYS LATER WHAT THE HELL SO NOW IM WRITING THIS HERE FOR YOU BC I DONT BELIEVE IN THIS CRAP BUT STILL IT’S AN AWFULLY BIG COINCIDENCE
THE BOY I FELL I LOVE WITH LEFT TO TRAVEL THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WORLD AND HAS BEEN GONE NOW FOR 3 MONTHS. WE HAVENT SPOKEN SINCE BECAUSE I DIDNT WANT TO MAKE HIM FEEL TRAPPED TO ME AND NOT ENJOY HIS TIME SO I WAITED FOR HIM TO CONTACT ME FIRST. I SAW THIS ON A PARTICULARLY LOW DAY WHEN I WAS MISSING HIM SO MUCH I CRIED FROM THE PAIN, GUYS I REALLY LOVE HIM, SO I THOUGHT MEH WHAT THE FUCK, AND WISHED HE WOULD JUST LET ME KNOW HE WAS OKAY.
HE FUCKING CALLED ME 20 MINUTES LATER
20 FUCKNG. MINUTES. LATER.
GOOD THINGS DO HAPPEN. AND ITS IN THIS POST.
I wish for someone to leave something in my ask.
OKAY SO I ASKED FOR A HEDGEHOG AND NOW GUESS WHO HAS A PET HEDGEHOG
i really hope my wish comes true
my last two wishes came true, one more couldn’t hurt
SO I WISHED FOR AN IMAC THE LAST TIME I DID THIS AND A WEEK LATER MY MOM SURPRISED ME WITH AN IMAC. HONESTLY SHE DIDNT EVEN KNOW I WANTED ONE, I DIDNT TELL ANYONE, IT WAS AN EARLY XMAS PRESENT. Wow this works
This is AMAZING i wished that I would get into South Korea and I did !!!!!!!!
This one time my friend was so drunk he called a taxi to take him home… even though the party was at his house. Also, one time when i was intoxicated, I yelled at a passing semi-trunk “I KNOW YOUR SECRET OPTIMUS PRIME!!”
Author’s Note: This is the first time I’ve felt like I have a story worth writing in a long, long time. I wanted to thank everyone who has made such kind comments on my writing in recent weeks. All of the stories that you’ve seen on my tumblr are at a minimum a year old. You’ve reminded me why I enjoy writing, and I can only express my deepest gratitude to you all. Thank you.
It was not the human warriors that convinced us of their worthiness.
It was not their works of engineering.
It was not their music, it was not their cuisine, it was not their weapons of war, it was not their policies of peace, it was none of these things for how can we measure a species by these things?
A species may fight with ferocity and valor on the field, and scorn their poor.
A species may build great works, and flee before a fight.
A species may sing beautifully, and use that song to pervert the truth.
It is no measure of a species how they treat their poor if they treat those who are not of their species as worse than dirt.
No, no it was none of these things that convinced us of humanity’s greatness.
It was their spirit. It was their resilience, their willingness to take a just cause to the bitter end and to watch their towers crumble and their skies burn before they would sacrifice what they considered sacrosanct.
It was as their great fleets were smashed before the oncoming tide of terror and their armies massacred from the skies, for though we might not judge their race by their martial prowess it was a prowess they had in abundance. And the terror that came from the great void between the stars could not stand before the fury of a human army, and so rained fire on them from the skies.
It was as disaster after disaster befell them, and a single demand was broadcast again, and again, and again.
Surrender. Bend the knee. Permit the terror to stand tall. Let them break you beneath their whips.
Surrender your freedom, and be spared.
And so it was that a human diplomat came to us, the Concordat, the council of spacewalking species, and to my everlasting shame we counseled surrender. Many of us had. It was not wrong to bend the knee to the strongest, we argued.
Humanity, it seemed, disagreed.
“Honored Speaker of the Concordat, my fellow members.” He began, slowly, and I heard something in his voice I could not place then but I know now to be the joy humanity can only feel when they have dedicated themselves to a cause they know deep in their hearts to be so just, so pure as to be worth the deaths of everyone they knew or loved. It was the voice of a man who saw his death on the horizon and resolved to greet it with his head held high and a song on his lips.
“Caution, you have counseled us. It is wisdom you say, to bend the knee to that terror from beyond the void, to let them have our homes and our families to do with as we please. For you say there is no shame to live as slaves. No dishonor in surrender to an evil, so long as we live.”
There was an unspeakable quality to his voice, a deep tenor that echoed throughout the chamber for those of us with the ability to hear it.
“My fellow members of the Concordat you call your policy accommodation and say if we surrender, if we let the enemy into our homes and our hearts he will come to love us.
“Humanity has considered this proposal, and as one we have spoken. As one we have rejected it, for we are not a people who will go quietly into the night we are not a people which will let our children grow up with the yoke of slavery around their necks without a fight.
“We are all retreating under the pressure of this war and so you say that the time has come to surrender because you have heard from your own people pleas for peace at any price. You have heard those that say they would rather live on their knees than die on their feet.
“Honored members of the Concordat those voices may speak for your own people but they do not speak for us. There are things in this life worth bleeding for, worth killing for, worth dying for and the sweet air of freedom is such a thing. We will not surrender. This has been our position from the very beginning, and it has not changed.
“There is no price we will not pay to maintain our freedom, for as we die it is the only thing we have. One day, we all know, that one day we will go to meet our creator or the void. One day we will go into that darkness, and we will be judged, of this I have no doubt. I, my father, my mother, my son, my daughter, my people, my people will go into the void and we will hold our heads high. Our children will enter the void. Our children’s children will enter the void. This we all know.
“So the question before us is not ‘will our children live’ for our children will die. This is our burden to bear. The question that lies before us is how will they live. How can we look our children in the eyes and say ‘we did this for you’ as they are broken beneath the heel of a tyrant.
“So members of the Concordant, we will set our children to flee. We will send them and our parents and those we can spare far, far away. We will send them further than the terror can follow and they will grow up free.
“And we, we who can? We will fight. We will fight in the space above our colonies, we will fight in the atmosphere of our homes and we will fight on the landing grounds of the terror. We will fight, and fight, and fight until the terror no longer comes, or the last of us has fallen.
“And we will pray to whatever God we believe in. We will pray to be made fast and accurate. We will pray for true aim and quick hands and minds. And we will not pray for victory, for we will not leave victory up to the fickle hands of fate. We will take victory, and our victory will be the free lives of our children.
“We will not pray for victory. Our victory is assured. So members of the Concordat, we do not ask for your prayers for our victory. We ask that you pray for us to die in piles of empty brass.
“We will die on our feet so that our children will never know the agony of living on their knees.”
Only those in a bond of marriage are allowed safe passage. It’s a just negotiation deal for Clarke—but Octavia knows her brother thinks otherwise. // read on ao3
The Grounders all have their arrows cocked, ready to fire at a
single command from their Head—who, much to Octavia’s astonishment, is an
elderly woman. She is carried on a chair by several warriors, and is voiced by her
much larger, stronger Second. She tries not to stare at the elder, she really tries—but
the sight is so rare. She can’t remember the last time she saw someone so old.
Clarke’s voice pulls her away from her gawking. “We mean you no
harm,” Clarke is saying, “Osir laik
skaikru en osir gaf gothru klir.” We are skaikru and we seek safe passage.
The Second hisses, “We do not welcome strangers.”
“We have protection from—”
“We are part of no alliance. Turn around at once, or be killed.”
Octavia scowls, a hand reaching instinctively to her dagger. Clarke continues,
desperation tinting her voice. “If you don’t let us pass, we are all going to
The Second, eyes flaring, opens her mouth, but is stopped by a single
lift of a hand from the elder. Her voice is quiet, barely decipherable. But
Octavia hears the words: “Teik em.”
The Second’s mouth falls. She hisses, “Ogeda em?” All of them?
The elderly shakes her head. “Hedon.“
The Second’s eyes scour over each of them. “Our Land is sacred
ground,” she says. “Only the truest of bonds may pass.”
“What bond?” Octavia asks.
The fire of the Second’s eyes now targets Octavia. “Hodnes.” Love. “We require a bond of
how dare she makes a mistake to a question about comics, video games, etc that you don’t even know the answer too. Girls aren’t allowed to have a genuine interests in anything without those who feel threatened ridiculed them for it. It’s horseshit.
Let them be interested in whatever the hell they want.
I haven’t had the chance to read it over so I apologise for any mistakes!
In the middle of the room, there’s a desk ringing around in a circle. It’s made of marble and shaking vines of grey stone runs through the beige. The lights dangle from the high ceiling and they cast a yellow glow over every inch of the room.
People are standing around, leaning against tables, sitting on chairs. They hand over cheques and withdraw money, their hearts beating at a regular pace, much to Justin’s disappointment.
He can see Y/N standing just outside the double doors. Her hands are drumming against the side of her thigh while she looks from left to right. He can see she has her leather jacket wrapped tightly around her body and he knows it’s because her weapon is being held within.
Justin let’s his eyes linger on her for a few seconds longer than he should. As though she can feel his blazing eyes burning into her back, Y/N turns and glances in through the doors. She can see him watching her and she sends him a wink, followed by her blood-red lipstick sending him a kiss. He grins evilly with both lust and adoration for his girlfriend-stroke-sidekick and winks back in her direction, hoping no one catches on to dishonest scheme the man and woman in the matching leather jackets are preparing for.
In the small pocket of his jacket, the 44 Magnum gun sits quietly, it’s cool exterior burning his hand. The pad of his thumb tapped the side of it continuously as he awaited the perfect victim.
A well-built man walks by and Justin is far too experienced to know it would be a mistake to attack someone of that size, so he shifts his gaze away and manages to clock a man who seems to be trembling as he walks. Draped in a fancy suit with spectacles on the bridge of his crooked nose, the hair on the bank manager’s head is thinning and it’s clear to Justin that he’s the one he needs.
In two seconds Justin manages to turn swiftly and pull the man into a headlock so that his arm is digging into his Adam’s Apple. A shriek emits from the dry lips of Justin’s helpless prey and fingernails as sharp as pins dig into his arm. As a result, Justin presses the head of the gun against the shining temple of the man.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Justin whispers before pointing the gun back to the crowd of cowering people. “Now, listen up! Things are about to get interesting!” Justin lets out a sharp laugh with a huge grin on his face. There’s a mad look in his eye.
No one dares to move with the barrel of the gun staring at them, instead they raise their hands in the air or curl in up in a ball on the marble floor.
“I want all of you to sit pretty for a little while, I don’t really want to hurt any of you but if you move even a muscle, I won’t hesitate to blow your brains out and paint a picture on these lovely marble walls with your innards.” He walks slowly into the middle of the room - the manager now sweating heavily under Justin’s grip - and still wears a devilish grin on his lips. “Now, come on Mr. Bank Manager. You’re gonna show me where you keep your treasure.”
“W-what do you want?” the shaking mess asks hesitantly.
“Have you not caught on yet? I want all of your money. D’you think you’ll be able to show me where you keep it?”
“We, we don’t keep it all here, on-only a percentage-“
“And that percentage is what I’m after. Lead the way, Sir,” Justin chuckles roughly into the manager’s ear and it sends a shiver down his spine. His feet threaten to give way beneath him but Justin’s grip forces him to stay on the balls of his feet.
The two men walk slowly around the room, Justin’s gun glares at anyone that makes the slightest movement or the slightest whimper of panic.
“There’s s-some in there.” A shaking finger points towards the cash register behind the high marble desk. “We have tills to-“
“I don’t need to know the bank’s fucking history,” Justin hisses and begins to stride towards the till. He frees the man of his strong hold and points the gun towards his head. “Open it.”
While Justin is busy making his way around the machines and the hidden safes throughout the bank, Y/N hangs around outside under the warm sun. There’s a gun hidden in the depth of her jacket and she can feel its figure against the palm of her hand. She can feel the high levels of power she has with such an object and it sends a wave of recklessness through her entire being.
She risks a glance inside every now and then and she’s able to see Justin pacing around. His hair falls in his face and every now and then, he’ll bother to swipe it back. She remembers the feeling of each strand passing her fingers when she does it for him.
He doesn’t have the slightest look of doubt or fear in the way the way he presents himself and she licks her lips with lust for him.
She realises she’s distracted herself and she quickly shifts her attention back to her surroundings. There’s men and women going about their day, oblivious to what they’d witness if they just turned their attention to anything but their phones or the pavement passing under their feet.
It takes at least another ten minutes before her phone buzzes in her pocket. Not wanting to look too suspicious, she takes her time pulling it out and answering it.
“Get in here, babygirl,” Justin’s deep voice rasps through her ear as though he was stood directly beside here. “I have some friends I want you to meet.” A throaty chuckle chases his words before the line cuts off. I turn on my heels and push open the double doors.
“There she is!” Justin grins madly while holding a gun to the man’s temple. “Mr. Bank Manager, you guys,” he says, waving the gun effortlessly towards the group of flinching men and women, “this is my sweetheart. Isn’t she a beauty?”
Y/N comes to Justin’s side, resting her arm on his shoulder. A small smile plays on her lips but she says nothing.
Robbing the banks and keeping watch is the part she loves; taking money from those who had too much, but frightening the victims and playing with their lives is Justin’s strong point.
“You know,” Justin starts, as though it was the first time he had spoken in a while. “This has been fun. We should do this again.”
The panic on the people’s faces doesn’t seem to disappear but instead, they seem to worsen.
“Princess.” Justin turns to look at Y/N. “After you,” he says and licks his lips when his eyes latch onto the bright red lipstick.
Y/N stares back, a subtle smirk now playing on her lips as she realises her favourite part is coming up; the part where the pair of them because insanely rich in a matter of seconds. She sways her hips because she knows Justin is watching, and her eyes shine onto the sacks that having kindly been filled to the brim with wads of money. She guessed it was Justin’s way of keeping the group busy.
“Well,” Justin announces. “We’ll be getting off.” Y/N can almost hear the relief setting into everyone’s bodies at Justin’s words. “Is the van outside?” he mutters into her ear. It startles her because she isn’t aware he’d moved across the room. Turning to look at him, she can see him watching her with a hungry look. She nods. “Grab a bag, baby, this is all yours.”
She’s unable to let the idea of it have an affect on her because his lips come in contact with hers and she’s taken under. They’re hot, harsh and hungry for her, and she’s more than happy to give they what they want. Justin growls against her lips in the way he knows she loves, a wave of affection washes over her.
All the while, the gun in Justin’s hand has lowered and Y/N thought it was lucky that no one in the room had the confidence to strike while Justin was distracted.
She watches for a moment as he while his phone out of his pocket to call the few men they had dragged along to help them at this time. Y/N can’t help but notice how the roughness of his face makes him look so attractive. He has a slight mad look in his eyes and she adores it. She remembers a few nights ago when she told him she thought a beard would suit him, and she notices he’s now a few days unshaven.
He turns back to the crowd and continues watching guard, the gun was now in full force. She has to shake her head from left to right to bring herself out of the trance she’d fallen into before grabbing a few of the hefty bags and heading for the door. It opens as her fingers are about to wrap around it, and three familiar faces appear.
She doesn’t have to speak to them; they merely nod at her before silently making their way towards the heap of bags of money. Y/N can hear Justin entertaining the group as they load the van.
Because they’re eager to escape with success, it takes just under fifteen minutes for all the bags to be transferred. Once they’re ready, Justin begins to retreat for the door, making sure the group of - still - shaking men and women don’t move a muscle.
“If you’re going to call the police, please refrain from doing so until we’ve managed to get within a decent radius,” Justin chuckles and the hard grin makes another appearance. “Pleasant day to you all.”
He makes an effort to get to the door as quick as his feet can take him, and once the door is slammed shut and the cool wind is stroking his skin, he lets out a breath before jumping into the front seat of the van. It feels heavy with success.
“Get out,” he says to the three men hunched over in the back. He speaks again before they can protest. “You’ll get your share soon, just get out, and I’d run if I were you.”
A few incoherent curse words are thrown into the air but Justin doesn’t seem to care. The door is slammed shut and not even a second later, Justin and Y/N are gliding around the back of the building at full speed.
“We did it again, babydoll,” Justin grins with triumph, it seems to get bigger when his foot steps harder against the pedal. The engine roars like a riled lion.
“When do we ever fail?” She returns the grin and a familiar look washes across his face like a mask.
“You can have anything you want. What do you want, baby? Anything in your wildest dreams, it can be yours.”
Justin loves her response, and he has to refrain from growling. A hot rush blinds his sight and he presses his foot down even further, the outside world is one big blur as they speed down the highway.
“Yeah?” he replies before throwing his head back and laughing. “That’s a very dangerous thing to say, babydoll. You know damn well if you play with fire, you get burned.”
His hair is wild and ruffled and she decides he looks beautiful.
“I could snap you like a twig, I could cut you like a rope.” He takes his eyes off of the road to look at her, and all he can see is affection. He’s overcome with adoration and is almost unable to control the hand that reaches across to touch her throat. “And you’d let me, wouldn’t you?”
The two of them are hurtling at full speed, and Justin shows now signs in slowing down. His fingers tickle her throat, but make her skin burn, too. He pressed them in deep for only a few seconds before retracting them suddenly.
“I adore you,” Justin licks his lips and Y/N feels a strong desire to bite down on the bottom one. “I very much want you to play with me, I want you to play with me, even if you know you have a relatively high chance of being burned to death.”
Justin takes Y/N’s hand in his own. His grip is strong and dominant around her small and fragile one. His hot lips drop the psychotic smirk to kiss the top of her hand, it leaves a burning sensation.
Ms. Bustier paced in front of the classroom with her clipboard in hand. She continuously tucked a stray strand of red hair behind her ear as the remaining students filed into the classroom. Alya and Marinette crowded around the brunette’s tablet, reviewing the latest photos of Paris’ favorite heroes on the Ladyblog. Alya had managed to get a decent shot of the flirtatious Chat Noir in his latest endeavor. Marinette stifled a giggle as her best friend flipped through more photos. Marinette enjoyed mornings like this. The normal ones. The ones where she came to class on time and talked to Alya without a care in the world. Admittedly, seeing her superhero self on the blog was always a bit embarrassing, but there wasn’t much she could do about that.
“Hey there, Alya!” Nino exclaimed, quickly coming to the girl and giving her a squeeze. Marinette felt a sense of pride. She knew it was her fault they got together, but she was glad that she had locked the pair into that cage when Animan was rampaging. That was six months ago and they were still going strong.
Adrien trailed in behind the overly energetic music lover. He waved to the girls. Alya returned the gesture while Marinette shyly hid behind the tablet. Alya kicked Marinette beneath the table. It was a usual routine, but it had to be done. At least, that’s how Alya felt about the whole affair. Marinette mentally cursed her friend as she feebly waved to her crush. She liked Adrien. A lot. Ever since he gave her his umbrella at the beginning of the year, she’d been infatuated with him. He was, well, perfect. He was kind and was so hard working with all of his extra lessons and modeling work on top of school. His talent for physics only added to his charm.
Adrien smiled as he sat down. He always thought Marinette was cute, not quite adorable, but she was cute. He liked to be around her and Nino always bugged him about hanging out with her more (especially since she was friends with Alya). Seriously, what was this though? A love square? Adrien always thought it was dumb idea. Why would he date Marinette just because Nino was dating her friend? Even if he started dating the girl behind him, he knew it wouldn’t be genuine. His heart had been taken by his spotted partner in crime fighting. He couldn’t get Ladybug’s triumphant smile or bright blue eyes out of his head. Ever. She was a constant entity. Sure, he’d never really had a deep conversation with her or anything, but the connection he felt was undeniable.
The bell rang, making Bustier sigh. She placed the clipboard on the table, leaning on it as the room’s speaker whined to life. Principal Damocles coughed into his microphone, making the speakers pop.
“Attention students,” he huffed, shuffling papers across his desk. “I am pleased to announce the coming spring festival. I am sure that our returning students remember the success of last year’s festivities and it is my hope that we will see the same amazing results this year.” The speaker buzzed as Damocles shut off the microphone. Ms. Bustier tapped her table, calling the attention of her chattering students.
The students faced the front, still exchanging an occasional whisper with their seat partners. Marinette didn’t know if she should’ve been excited about or dreading the coming event. Being class representative wasn’t that hard most of the time, but this little wrinkle only meant more work. How the hell was she supposed to stay late and work on this while saving Paris from Hawk Moth and his akumatized minions? She remembered how her class did the worst in last year’s festival. Chloe’s ‘fashion show’, with her as the only model, flopped with only her father and a few teachers in attendance. Marinette didn’t want that to happen this year. She wanted the whole class to come together and create something great. A sigh escaped her lips. Who was she kidding? She’d be lucky if she doesn’t collapse during this time.
She thought about poor Chat Noir and how many times she’d most likely be late in the coming weeks. Alya elbowed her friend with a wink. Marinette didn’t know what she was planning but the girl’s gut told her that she was not going to like it.
Ms. Bustier stepped in front of her table, resting against the black top. “Now, now guys. With this new development, we have some work to do. Now, will our representative and deputy please come to the front of the room?” Alya and Marinette walked to the front of the room while Chloe steamed. The class brat refused to face the front, preferring to mess with her ponytail and fix her lipgloss with the help of a small compact mirror. Ms. Bustier noticed her behavior but ignored her to redirect the class’s attention to the class officers.
Marinette gave a small glance to her friend, unsure what to do. Alya returned the look with a small shrug. Marinette glanced around the room, searching for a good segue. Her eyes met with Adrien’s and she soon ran to the board. With blushed cheeks she grabbed the chalk from the board’s tray. “A-alright.” she said, writing ‘ideas’ in rounded letters at the top of the board. “Anyone have a suggestion for what our class should do for the festival?” She hoped for anything. A play? Show? Bake Sale?
Chloe raised her hand first. Alya and Marinette shared a groan as the brunette called on the over enthusiastic blonde. She offered the same idea she had every year. A fashion show featuring designs from all of her father’s opulent friends. The whole class rolled their eyes, but Marinette still wrote ‘fashion show’ onto the board. Ms. Bustier pasted on a smile as she played with her clipboard’s clip.
“Anyone else?” piped in the teacher.
Adrien spun his pencil around as crickets filled the room. Nino laid his head down grumbling about doing ANOTHER one of Chloe’s fashion shows. Adrien had never been to one of these festivals, but he had to admit that a single model fashion show was probably not the best pick. The class’ activity had to be something that everyone could participate in. From shy Nathaniel to friendly Rose and even Chloe and Sabrina. Adrien laced his fingers beneath his chin, thinking past the crickets. Alya and Marinette glanced at each other then to the class. Marinette was frantic for another idea, anything really. She didn’t want to design clothes for Chloe to prance around in. She didn’t want her class to become a laughing stock again.
Adrien thought some more. He thought about the fun he had at the bakery with Marinette when they played games and the time he came as Chat Noir. He enjoyed that place with its warm atmosphere and delicious food. His mind wandered to that visit where he and Ladybug had visited the cafe on business. Costumes and cafes….
Adrien raised his hand. Marinette’s cheeks turned rosy as Alya called on him. Adrien cleared his throat. “How about a costume cafe?”
The students milled around, whispering to one another. Their excitement slowly built before Ms. Bustier clapped her hands. Marinette quickly scrawled the idea onto the board, her ears and cheeks still full of color. Alya smiled at her bashful friend as she leaned against the table. She asked for more suggestions but the room went silent.
“Well, looks like those are our options,” Ms. Bustier said with her clipboard back in her hand. “Alright, who would like to do the fashion show?” Chloe and Sabrina raised their hands with triumphant smiles. Their confidence quickly dwindled when the rest of the class kept their hands on their laps. “Ok… who wants to do the cafe?”
The decision was nearly unanimous.
Alya and Marinette smiled at each other, prideful over the fact that they finally defeated the annual disaster known as their class’ ‘fashion show’. Chloe piped in, saying it was unfair since everyone else had no idea what they were doing. She said that having top designers at the school would improve the school and that only her and Adrien were worthy of being displayed before the student body.
Ms. Bustier stood up straight, her lips stretched into a line. “I’m sorry, Chloe, but the class has spoken. We will be doing a costume cafe this year.” Chloe pouted and began to open her mouth, “And calling your father will not help you in this matter. That is final.” Bustier snapped. Chloe fumed with her arms crossed in front of her chest. Bustier sighed, knowing the headache that was going to ensue for the coming weeks. She pasted on a fresh smile as she turned to the class officers. “Now, the coming homerooms will be dedicated to organizing this event. Please plan carefully and have jobs delegated by next session.”
The bell went off, signaling the end of homeroom and the beginning of normal classes. Marinette sketched in her notebook for the remainder of her classes. During breaks (and even in class) Marinette and Alya exchanged ideas for the exhibit. By the end of the day, Marinette had half a notebook of costume and decor ideas as well as a tentative list of jobs and the classmates assigned to them. The final bell rang and Alya took the jobs list from Marinette.
Alya gave her friend a wink. “Don’t worry about it girl, I’ll email this to Ms. Bustier.”
“Are you sure? I don’t mind doing it.”
Alya patted her friend on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, don’t worry. Just go home and rest. We’re going to get busy,” she finished with a grin. Marinette had a bad feeling about this but relented to her best friend. What was the worst that could happen, right?
Summary: Sometimes a normal life is a good one to lead; its nice…its easy… But sometimes, normal isn’t the way that things were meant to be. And when you’re chosen as a possible candidate for one of the kingdom’s 7 princes, life isn’t as nice and easy as you always presumed it to be…especially when you catch the eye of more than one of them…
With the further away from the party you’d been pulled, the
more agitated and unsure you’d become. You didn’t know whether it was because
you’d made the promise to Hoseok to stay put, or whether it was just the dark
shadows creeping in around you as you ran through the gardens, but an edge of
fear had begun to build in your stomach, and its not until Taehyung stops in a
small grassy opening, the circumference of which is lined with blossom trees
and rose vines blocking out any further view, that the feeling begins to ease.
‘Are you okay?’ he asks, and his voice suddenly breaking into
your distracted analysis of where you were has you realizing he’d come to stand
in front of you, his hands suddenly letting go of yours to cradle your face,
forcing you to look up at him and to see the way he was almost towering over
Its in that moment that the dream you’d had of him saving you
from Hoseok’s room, and the monster that had been hiding within, comes back to
hit you full force, and for a minute the only thought you had was about how his
lips looked just as full and inviting as they had in the dream, his pitch black
eyes staring down at you seeming to draw you in-
is a member of the Golden Path. Under Amita’s command you have to sneak to the
Royal Palace to kill Pagan Min. But when you’re about to fulfill your mission,
you find youself unable to – under charm of king Min, you decide to switch the
path and stand by the side of the Royal Army, becoming one of the leaders.
A/N: I’ve decided to separate that little story
for two or three smaller parts. This is the first one. We don’t wanna make
another fanfiction, taking we have two main larger fics at the moment. But I’ve
been in Far Cry 4 fandom for a long time period, so it’s a really nice chance
to me to come back to one of my favorite fandoms. I’ve wanted to create such
story since very beginning, taking that Far Cry fandom was my very first one
ever :) I still have a lot of sentiment toward all those characters, so I hope
you all will enjoy my work.
Terry always says it’s difficult to pick favorite interviews, and I totally agree. I can’t even remember the interview I worked on this week or what we have booked for next week (That’s a slight exaggeration. This week I worked on Jill Soloway. Next week it’s Hasan Minaj.) Still, I will try to point out a few interviews that I will always remember when forced to go through my mental archives.
David Rakoff A lot of public radio listeners will remember the late David Rakoff from his work on This American Life. In 2001, he talked to Terry about his acting career, and being frustrated by the roles that were offered to him. He said they would fall under two categories – “Jew-y McHebrew’ or ‘Fudgy McPacker.’ He did dramatic/hysterical renditions of the lines he remembered. He was so funny, and elicited the much sought after Terry “snort.” Now, I have laughed a lot while logging interviews on Fresh Air, but during this one, I had to stop logging because I was crying from laughing so hard. Fresh Air replayed this part of the interview when Rakoff passed away too soon in 2012.
Thelma Schoonmaker I first stated booking film, TV, and theater interviews for Terry in the spring of 2005, so this is an early one. Schoonmaker is the film editor who has worked with Martin Scorsese for over 40 years. She has edited all of his films since Raging Bull in 1980. She’s just this wonderful, thoughtful artist who works behind the scenes, plugging away, making great films. Terry’s interview with her was one smart lady who loves movies talking to another smart lady who loves movies.
I have loved booking directors, actors, and comedians early in their careers and watching their bodies of work grow. People like Lena Dunham, Flight of the Conchords, and Hari Kondobolu come to mind. I have loved booking interviews with director Mike Mills over the years. We booked him after his first film Thumbsuckerin 2005, then for his movies Beginnersand 20th Century Women. He is the ideal guest: open, smart, self-deprecatingly funny, and talks so well about how his work connects to his life, a favorite Fresh Air theme. I feel their conversations about his films, that in reality are like love letters to his parents, end up leading to larger conversations between Terry and Mike, about their parents who they have lost.
Aziz Ansari and Alan Yang This one is a little more current. I am not alone in this but one of my favorite recent TV shows has to be Master of None. Some of the episodes from that first season (Parents and Indians on TV) live on my list of favorite episodes of TV ever. I loved hearing friends Aziz and Alan talk about their own lives and how they incorporated their experiences into the show. Everyone loves Aziz; I am glad we were able to have Alan on too. We should forever thank them not just for this show, but for their work on Parks and Recreation. And this is just one of the interviews that covered these great, really personal shows based on the lives of a great comedian, sort of the antecedents of Louie. I am glad in the last few years, we have featured interviews with people like Aziz and Alan, Donald Glover, Issa Rae, and Rachel Bloom.
Sacha Baron Cohen I am proud of booking this one. Up until this point, Sacha Baron Cohen was very committed to staying in character as Borat while doing all the promotion of his movie. We were so happy that he agreed to do Fresh Air as himself, thus revealing that he was this accessible, intelligent guy. He was quick to slip into his Borat voice though. We love when guests slip into their characters’ voices.
Greg Marinovich and Joao Silva It was a round about way to book an interview. The movie The Bang Bang Club, starring Taylor Kitsch and Ryan Phillippe, told the story of a group of war photographers in South Africa during Apartheid. We used the movie as an excuse to book an interview with Marinovich and Silva, two of the real photographers who inspired the film. Both of them had lost dear friends to the work. And both of them had been injured while trying to visually capture combat situations. In fact, Silva was recording his part of the interview from Walter Reed Army Medical Center; he had lost both of his legs in a land mine explosion in Afghanistan and was still recovering. At one point, a nurse comes in to talk to Silva. It was such a rare radio moment that we decided to leave it in the interview. Terry has spoken to many war correspondents and photographers over the years. These interviews are inevitably harrowing, tragic, thoughtful, and moving.