things i convinced other people to write

Help out a beautiful artist! (Not me, don’t panic)

Now, I’m not one to promote, and there are other worthy causes, but trust me when I say @modmad deserves it.

If y'all didn’t know, she writes this sweet comic called The Property Of Hate, as seen above. Feel free to google it, there’s even a whole website for it!

Point being, she’s having a kickstarter (here: https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/1673195448/the-property-of-hate-volume-2) to print this comic, which would not only be a great thing for us folks who read TPOH, but also a new source of income for @modmad.

Still not convinced? That’s okay, but please reblog so other people can see this. The kickstarter ends on November 8th!

The Madness Vase/the Nutritionist

by Andrea Gibson

The nutritionist said I should eat root vegetables,
said if I could get down thirteen turnips each day
I would be grounded, rooted.
Said my head would not keep flying away to where the darkness lives.

The psychic told me my heart carries too much weight,
said for twenty dollars she’d tell me what to do.
I handed her the twenty and she said, “Stop worrying, darling,
you will find a good man soon.”

The first psycho-therapist said I should spend three hours a day
sitting in a dark closet with my eyes closed and my ears plugged.
I tried it once but couldn’t stop thinking
about how gay it was to be sitting in the closet.

The yogi told me to stretch everything but the truth, 
said focus on the out breath,
said everyone finds happiness
if they can care more about what they can give
than what they get.

The pharmacist said Klonopin, Lamictal, Lithium, Xanax.

The doctor said an antipsychotic might help me forget
what the trauma said.

The trauma said, “Don’t write this poem.
Nobody wants to hear you cry about the grief inside your bones.”

But my bones said, “Tyler Clementi dove into the Hudson River
convinced he was entirely alone.”

My bones said, “Write the poem.”
To the lamplight considering the river bed,
to the chandelier of your faith hanging by a thread,
to everyday you cannot get out of bed,
to the bullseye of your wrist,
to anyone who has ever wanted to die:

I have been told sometimes the most healing thing we can do
is remind ourselves over and over and over
other people feel this too.

The tomorrow that has come and gone
and it has not gotten better.

When you are half finished writing that letter
to your mother that says “I swear to God I tried,
but when I thought I’d hit bottom, it started hitting back.”

There is no bruise like the bruise
loneliness kicks into your spine
so let me tell you I know there are days
it looks like the whole world is dancing in the streets
while you break down like the doors of their looted buildings.
You are not alone
in wondering who will be convicted of the crime
of insisting you keep loading your grief
into the chamber of your shame.

You are not weak
just because your heart feels so heavy.
I have never met a heavy heart that wasn’t a phone booth
with a red cape inside.

Some people will never understand
the kind of superpower it takes for some people
to just walk outside some days.
I know my smile can look like the gutter of a falling house
but my hands are always holding tight to the rip cord of believing
a life can be rich like the soil,
can make food of decay,
turn wound into highway.

Pick me up in a truck with that bumper sticker that says, 
“It is no measure of good health
to be well adjusted to a sick society.”

I have never trusted anyone
with the pulled back bow of my spine
the way I trusted ones who come undone at the throat
screaming for their pulses to find the fight to pound.
Four nights before Tyler Clementi
jumped from the George Washington bridge
I was sitting in a hotel room in my own town
calculating exactly what I had to swallow
to keep a bottle of sleeping pills down.

What I know about living
is the pain is never just ours.
Every time I hurt I know the wound is an echo,
so I keep listening for the moment the grief becomes a window,
when I can see what I couldn’t see before
through the glass of my most battered dream
I watched a dandelion lose its mind in the wind
and when it did, it scattered a thousand seeds.

So the next time I tell you how easily I come out of my skin
don’t try to put me back in.
Just say, “Here we are” together at the window
aching for it to all get better
but knowing there is a chance
our hearts may have only just skinned their knees,
knowing there is a chance the worst day might still be coming

let me say right now for the record,
I’m still gonna be here
asking this world to dance,
even if it keeps stepping on my holy feet.

You, you stay here with me, okay?
You stay here with me.

Raising your bite against the bitter dark,
your bright longing,
your brilliant fists of loss.
Friend, if the only thing we have to gain in staying is each other,
my god that is plenty
my god that is enough
my god that is so so much for the light to give
each of us at each other’s backs
whispering over and over and over,
“Live. Live. Live.”

Beware the Ides of March

this isn’t the fic i intended to write today (or ever really) but it’s the fic that happened so

read on ao3

Bellamy doesn’t believe in any higher power, not really. He also doesn’t believe in fate, or coincidence, or any of those other things that people like to blame random happenings on.

But he will admit that if he did actually believe in any of those things, he would be fully convinced that they were laughing at his misfortune at this very minute which. Honestly, he would be too if not for the stab wound in his side. Stab wounds apparently make the whole laughing thing kind of difficult. Who’d’ve known.

“Would you just hold still?” Clarke huffs as she tries to clean the wound.

“No.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“And your bedside manner sucks, princess.”

She pinches the soft skin on the inside of his bicep and he yelps, glaring at her balefully.

It’s not like he wants to be here, sitting on the uncomfortable examination table in the ER, shirt off, and paper crinkling noisily beneath him each time he so much as breathes. No one ever wants to be in the ER, leaking blood all over the place because they were fucking stabbed in a mugging gone wrong, not even if the opportunity lends itself to a bout of truly morbid humour.

Just this morning he was telling his sophomores about the Ides of March and now here he is, living his own version of it. Again, he would be laughing except- stab wound.

Clarke is bent over his side, wisps of blonde hair escaping her braid and looking platinum in the harsh fluorescent hospital lighting. Her eyebrows are furrowed as she goes over the cut with antiseptic, and he hisses once more.

“That hurts,” he grunts, and then flinches again when she goes back in with another piece of gauze. Most of the bleeding has stopped, but there’s still a lazy trickle that she has to keep wiping up intermittently.

“Stab wounds tend to do that,” she deadpans.

Keep reading

nicoodiiangeloo  asked:

7, 12, or 15 for the solangelo one shots?

(ive done 7 already, find it here~)

(I’m combining the two hope you dont mind !!)

15: “your lips are really warm” 12: “I’m cold, come closer”


Usually winters at Camp Half-Blood aren’t terrible, especially for Nico di Angelo. He’s not one to easily get cold, so the winters dont bother him. Plus, most of camp goes home during the winters unless its too dangerous, so not too many people are around to bother him. 

It also means more time with a certain son of Apollo when he doesn’t have to spend all his time in the infirmary.

True, at this moment he should be in the infirmary and not in the Hades cabin, but when Nico walked through the doors of the infirmary to hang out with Will before curfew, Will’s sister Kayla shooed the two out of the infirmary. 

They found themselves in the Hades cabin  because although Will still hated the inside of it (”it’s always cold in here!” he would complain to Nico every time he would suggest hanging out in there) it was the only place they could go for the chance of privacy.

Well, they never have enough privacy. Nothing would ever happen in there because a certain dumb-skull son of Poseidon liked to decide he needed Nico at anytime of the day and had a habit of walking through the doors of Cabin 13 without knocking. 

So no, they never would do that, not in there at least.

But that didn’t stop them from cuddling on the only queen sized bed (well, not the only, Hazel had one too for when she visited) in the entire camp that Nico had somehow convinced Chiron to let him have (he was almost an Aphrodite kid using charmspeak in the way he could get people to do things) 

And even though Nico sort of hated being touched, these moments were his favorite time of day.

He was half asleep, his head resting comfortably against Will’s chest, the soft yet steady heartbeat serving as a lullaby, their legs tangled together under the white sheets of Nico’s bed when a warm hand snuck under his chin, tilting it upwards so he was forced to stare into the dazing blue eyes. The sight of Will made the edges of Nico’s mouth creep up.

“Yes? You have my attention,” Nico said softly. Will smiled down at him.

“You’re cute,” he replied.

“And you are a dork,” Nico responded as heat crept to his cheeks. Will craned his neck down, letting his lips meet the son of Hades’ briefly. 

“Your lips are warm,” Nico said against Will’s lips.

“Oh yeah, wonder if it has anything to do with me being a son of the son god,” was Will’s reply, moving his head back slightly so he could look into Nico’s eyes.

“Yeah, not a son of Athena with your quick replies. Just an idiotic son of the idiotic Apollo,” Nico argued.

“Hey, watch who you’re calling an idiot, unless you want to be speaking in limericks for the next couple weeks,” said Will, quickly connecting their lips again.

“You need to go,” Nico said when they broke apart. “Curfew.”

“I was supposed to be in the infirmary tonight, so Austin is taking over for me tonight with head counselor duties. And theres not too many people in the infirmary, so Kayla won’t be too mad. And anyways. she’s like Jason when it comes to us.”

“What if Chiron checks into the infirmary and sees you’re not there?”

“If he knows I’m with you he cant get too angry. He likes us both too much for that.”

“Fine. If you’re staying,come closer then. I’m cold,” Nico said, shifting his body to get as close to Will as he could. Will smirked.

“Love you too,” he replied, but Nico was already half asleep again.


thank you for the submission!

submit a number here!

I dont actually know how good that was but it was fun to write

I added myself to the ao3 queue so whenever I get the invitation I’ll probably start adding my oneshots to that so people can get the link, so tell me if you want me to add this one/request other oneshots for me to add !!

anonymous asked:

Not to be confrontational but I think from your fanfic critique post I feel like fanfic seems just be an ego trip to get accolades for all the "feels" one can elicit. If critique is not something an author is looking for then what is the point? They just want applause but don't want to bother with producing good writing? They don't want to have to improve or edit or rewrite? I'll be honest, fanfic in general is lousy writing that borrows from other authors. I guess I just don't get it.

People don’t write to be critiqued on their writing.

I’ve been writing since I was five (maybe younger), and never once have I written something and thought, gee, I really hope I get a lot of critiques on this. Critiques are a necessary part of the process, to get better, to improve work that you’ve written, to know what to do better next time, but they’re not why anyone writes.

I write because I love to, because it makes me happy, because I have to. Because the words are there, one way or another. And I share my writing to make other people happy.

And yes, the validation feels nice. Having someone else tell me they love my story makes me happy. The same is true for artists, for musicians, for dancers, for anyone who produces a product. People don’t produce them to be told what’s wrong with them.

I want you to consider something about fanfiction, while you’re busy disparaging it. I’ve posted 575886 words of fanfiction on Archive of Our Own. That’s not the amount of fanfiction I’ve written, just the amount that I’ve shared on this one particular site. I did none of that for pay. I got nothing monetary or physical from that. It was my own time, at the cost of time to do other things, because it’s something I genuinely enjoy doing, and that other people enjoy reading. Some people have written millions of words of fanfiction. For free. So don’t you think we deserve something for that work, even if it’s just someone else telling us that they enjoyed the work we produced for them? Because they don’t all think none of us write well.

Dante’s Inferno was Bible fanfiction. So was Paradise Lost. The award-winning musical Wicked was a college!AU fanfiction of The Wizard of Oz. Good luck convincing people those are lousy writing that borrows from other authors.

I’d tell you to read some fanfiction to see what you’re missing, but frankly, you don’t deserve it.

Intimate | 01

Reader x Jungkook x Jimin
Genre:
Smut/Angst
Status: Ongoing
Summary: There’s no such thing as a happy ending. Everyone lives to die one day, so if you were going to die eventually, you planned on living life recklessly and commitment free. No strings attached; nothing. Not even your new, sweet, and sensitive neighbor Jungkook can change your mind.
a/n: YES! I’m re-writing Intimate because I wasn’t too proud of my writing before. I hope and pray everyone will prefer the newly written Intimate! Thank you!


Originally posted by jeonsshi

gif.credit to jeonsshi


“There are two kinds of people in the world; hopeless romantics and realists. A realist just sees a face and packs it in with every other person they’ve ever seen before. The hopeless romantic becomes convinced that God put them on Earth to be with that one person. But there is no God and life is only as meaningful as you fool yourself into thinking it is.”

You were a realist. There’s no such thing as soulmates, fairy tale fantasies, love at first sight, etc. There’s no such thing as a happy ending. Nothing. You live to die, so if you were going to die eventually, you planned on living life recklessly and commitment free.

Your parent’s failed marriage was the trigger to all this; catching your own father cheating on your mother in the house they built together. His face in shock and horror, as you opened the door to find his coworker under him with her naked body exposed. It disgusted you, imprinted on you. He punished you for interrupting as he closed the door and the mixture of their moans continued to fill your home. But he wasn’t even embarrassed or ashamed. You were only thirteen years old, when all that happened.

The weakness of your mother was another reason, you didn’t believe in love. It wasn’t love, it was the dominance and power your father had over your mother that was their love. The physical and mental abuse your father gave to your mother, as he manipulated her into thinking she was nothing without him; “useless and pathetic trash”. Threatening her that he would leave her for someone else, while throwing his hand up to hit her. But what horrified you the most was seeing your mother obey to him. She fell victim to the lies he told her, “I love you”, “I’ll be better”, “I won’t hurt you”, “I’ll change”, was all it took for her to forgive him.

It wasn’t until the sobbing you heard from your mother, two years ago that you realized love was an illness, a drug, cancer. Your father’s affair had been kept hidden for awhile, though everyone knew about it. Your mother hadn’t said anything though for the two years it had continued on since the night you caught him. Until one evening, he had decided to leave your mother to marry his mistress. It was unexpected and sudden, but you knew it was because she had gotten pregnant. Your mother fell to ground, crying, as she begged and held onto your father’s leg, pleading him not to leave her.

“I need you!” She cried, “Stay with me! I love you.”

Without hesitation, he pushed her off and grabbed his luggage, slamming the door shut. No goodbyes, no apologies, and no regrets. The sound of your mother’s wail filled the silent house. They didn’t know you were watching them from the start, observing and listening to every slap and degrading names your father gave and called your mother. You slowly walked down the stairs ready to comfort her. But as you were making your appearance known, you didn’t expect her to point her finger towards you. Eyes full of rage and anger.

“This is all because of you! If I hadn’t gotten pregnant with you, he would’ve never left me! This is all your fault, Y/N!” She screamed, “Just leave me alone, like your father did! I mind as well die alone!”

You still remember her face and voice. It left a deep scar in your memory. Her black mascara running down her cheeks, face as red as blood, and eyes swollen. Her voice hoarse and tired echoing into your ears. And from that moment on, you no longer recognized this woman as your mother, but a monster that had consumed her. A monster that needed a man to define her. A monster that chose love over her own flesh and blood. A monster that no longer cared about you. Right there, you swore, promised, and vowed to yourself that you would never ever fall in love. If this is what love did to a person, you didn’t want any part of it. If this is what love is, you were afraid of it.

Six Years Later

Hungover.

You were hungover. It was definitely not a cute look on you. You didn’t need to see a mirror to know you looked like a disaster. You felt the tangles in your hair, the dry sweat clinging onto your chest. The taste of the alcohol lingering on your tongue, along with a hint of vomit. The throbbing headache that pounded against your head adding on to the pain. You tried to remember how many shots you had taken last night, but that just gave you an even bigger headache. Slowly opening your eyes, you blinked a few times to scope out the room, and of course, it was not your apartment. Though the disturbing punk rock band poster almost had you thinking otherwise, sarcasm intended. Gently turning your head to the radiating warmth you felt on your side, you were greeted with the back of a mysterious man’s head, along with his bare torso. You quickly checked under the covers to see if you too were naked, and to no surprise, you were undressed and fully exposed. Great. That meant more work for you to try to get out without being seen. Trying not to make any noise, you climbed your way off his bed; trying to find your scattered belongings. You finally found your stuff and placed your clothes back on, quickly rushing out of his apartment with no goodbyes, no note, nothing.

It was always like this. You would go to a party, get drunk, and you either ended up back at your dorm with your friends, which rarely happened, or you went to some random guy’s place and spent the night. When you did end at some stranger’s house, you never stayed the morning after for breakfast, or for the awkward, dreadful; morning talk. It always in and out. You didn’t want a relationship, or anything intimate. There was no such thing as love or happy endings. People fantasized about being in love so much, not realizing what they have is just temporary. Eventually one will end up with a broken heart, and you didn’t want to experience that. No thank you.

Quietly opening the door to your apartment, you were greeted with the smell of coffee, which meant your roommate was awake. Kim Taehyung. He was also your best friend, and one of the only guys you tolerated and cared for. You both had gone to the same schools, same classes ever since you could remember, but it wasn’t until high school that you both had gotten closer to one another. Thank you Mr. Lee for assigning him to be your chemistry partner.

“Welcome home, Miss. Promiscuous. Where have you been all night long?” Taehyung smirked, as he grabbed his coffee mug. It was dumb of him to ask, since he knew of your little routines and always teased you about it. You chose to ignore him and made your way inside.

“Tell me, Y/N. How could a beautiful woman like you sleep with random, dirty men?” He frowned, causing both his eyebrows to furrow. You were used to seeing him make that face, since that was his usual look whenever he caught you sneaking back in.

“Oh, that’s sweet. You think I’m beautiful?” You smiled, grabbing his cup of coffee out of his hand, before placing it on your lips and taking a sip.

“Of course you’re beautiful. You’re gorgeous. That’s why–” he grabbed his mug of coffee before you could take another sip, “you shouldn’t sleep with random men. You’re too beautiful.”

“Then why don’t you just marry me?” You giggled.

“Tempting, I’ll keep that in mind.” He raised his eyebrows and licked his bottom lip, “But you didn’t answer my question sweetheart, where were you? See, I can’t marry you if you’re already unfaithful to me.”

You placed your keys on the counter and plopped onto the sofa, before giving Taehyung an answer. “I think the clothes I have on from last night says more than enough, babe.” You moaned, closing your eyes, while rubbing your temples

“Yikes. I could practically smell sex and alcohol off you. Go wash up before you make the sofa stink. Oh, by the way, Namjoon called. He said something about you—”

“Checking out his club tonight, yeah I know. You’re coming with me right?” You sat up and stretched out your arms.

“Namjoon would kill me if I didn’t. Maybe you’ll even find someone interesting enough there.” Taehyung chuckled sipping on his coffee.

“The only one I’m interested in is you, Tae.” Blowing a kiss to him before you made your way to the bathroom.

To be honest, you weren’t too excited about going to the club your cousin, Namjoon, co-owned with his best friend Kim Seokjin. They both had invested the last of their savings and opened it together the previous year after realizing their passion for music and clubs. You knew how overprotective Namjoon was when it came to you, so you were slightly surprised he invited you out. Ever since your mother’s outbreak after the divorce, Namjoon and his family sheltered you and raised you as their own daughter. Namjoon treated you like he would if you were his real sister. He took care of you and protected you from anyone and anything. You were grateful to him, so grateful you once thought to yourself that maybe men weren’t all that horrid. But of course, that didn’t last too long, not because of Namjoon though.

Around ten at night, you and Taehyung left the apartment and headed to downtown Hongdae to Namjoon and Seokjin’s club; Bangtan. As you walked in, you and Taehyung were shocked to see how busy and crowded it was. Handful of people were already drunk and dancing on the dance floor. You noticed how the walls were filled with posters of rappers Namjoon liked listening to. Typical Joonie. But what caught your attention wasn’t how nice the club looked, but by one of the bartenders there. The minute you walked in, you were intrigued by his handsome looks. The way he wrapped his long, slender fingers around the bottle of alcohol before pouring their drinks. You noticed the pleasure he had in his eyes as he watched his customer’s lips meet the rim of the glass, as they took a sip of the poison he fed them. His gaze locked with intensity until the last drop of alcohol was consumed. You excused yourself from Taehyung and made your way over to the bar. There was something about him that made you feel the drawn to him.

“Can I get four shots of vodka?” You smiled at him. He made his way over to you and leaned in. He was much more handsome up close. It’s no wonder all the girls were sitting here drooling over him.

“All by yourself?” His voice was extremely soft and sweet, he also carried a Busan accent, which you found extremely attractive. A little too attractive.

“Don’t worry about me, and just pour the shots.”

“Of course, babygirl.” He smirked, keeping his eyes on you as he grabbed four shot glasses from under the bar, “What’s a pretty girl like you doing here anyways?”

“What else?”

“You tell me. Maybe your boyfriend over there and you came here on a date?”

You turned your head to the direction of his eyes and saw Taehyung standing in front of some girls who were flirting with him. Of course girls would already be on him.

“He’s not my boyfriend, if you couldn’t tell by the amount of girls that are surrounding him.” You giggled, “Plus, he’s more like a brother.”

“Ouch. A brother?” He laughed, causing you to notice his adorable eye smile, as he poured the vodka into the glasses.

“We’re just really good friends that’s all. Nothing more to it.”

“Well how about my drinks keep you company tonight then, baby girl?” Baby girl. It had a nice ring to it, though you wondered how many girls he’s called that this past hour. He pushed the shots towards you and gave you a wink.

“Mm, but I think I’d rather have you keep me company.” You picked up one of the glass of liquor and placed it against your lips. Tilting your head back, you parted your lips, just enough to let the bitter alcohol slip into your mouth. You scrunched your face as it burned the back of your throat; a feeling you’ve grown too accustomed to.

“Need chaser?” He asked, noticing your composure. You raised your hand and declined.

“No thank you. I don’t like to mix my drinks.” Once again, locking your eyes with his before taking your second shot.

“Hardcore drinker here.” He chuckled, still continuing to keep his gaze locked on yours.

“Couldn’t you already tell by my choice of drink?” You smiled, once again taking down another shot, “Three down, one more to go.” Teasingly licking off the remaining alcohol from your lips, earning a smirk from him.

Park Jimin.” He smiled, extending out his hand, “Do I get to learn yours, or do I have to keep calling you baby girl?”

You took his hand and shook it, “You can just keep calling me babygirl. I like how it sounds coming from your lips.”

It was true though. Hearing him call you baby girl sent heat to your center. You weren’t too fond of pet names and would’ve slapped anyone calling you anything other than your own. But you loved the way he so effortlessly called you babygirl. It was hot.

He leaned over the counter and placed his hand on his chin. “If you want, I can show you what else these lips can do. If you can wait til I get off.” You watched him swipe his tongue across the bottom of his pink, plump lips. You felt captivated and curious.

“I hope won’t disappoint me then, Jimin.”

“Trust me, I won’t.” Jimin’s gaze had shifted, eyes full of hunger ready to devour his prey, and you were his meal.

After you finished your drinks, you told Jimin you’ll be back after checking with a friend. Making sure he knew, you weren’t all talk about him showing you what he could do to you. You curious and intrigued by Jimin. He was hot and sexy, and seeing the way he handled the drinks made you wonder what else those hands could do. Excusing yourself to a less crowded area, you took out your phone and texted Namjoon.

To: Joonie
10:20 PM
Hey! I made it where are you?

From: Joonie
10:21 PM
Hey! I see you! Come to the VIP area! That’s where I’m at.

You looked around and noticed some bouncers guarding an area in the corner, which you presumed was the VIP. Making your way over there, you started to recognize more and more familiar faces. You disliked seeing people who knew you at places like this. That meant they had something to talk about, and you didn’t want to be that someone.

“Hey, Y/N!” Namjoon smiled and waved to you. He stood up from his seat and pulled you into a hug.

“Hi, Joonie. Nice set-up you have, I was hoping to be disappointed, but I’m actually digging it.” You complimented, earning yet another smile from Namjoon.

“Glad you liked it! You were always so critique about my choices. But since you’re here, you can’t leave sober!”

He handed you a shot and raised his eyebrows, signaling you to take it. Ready to decline, Namjoon pressed the glass against your lips and began tilting it, forcing you to finish the drink.

“I’m serious, Y/N. You’re not leaving sober!” He laughed, passing you yet another round of shots.

“Yeah, Y/N we know how hard you are. So drink with us.” Seokjin added, “Take it for me.”

“All right, but after this I’m done.” You smiled.

At this point, you weren’t sure the total amount of drinks you have had now. Though if you were to guess, it was around ten, including the ones you had before. Usually, your alcohol tolerance was pretty high, but due to the fact that you had drank yesterday made you feel much more weak and vulnerable. Balance was already becoming problem for you, which never happened to you so soon. Let alone, you couldn’t process anything after Namjoon handed you your second shot. It was definitely because of last night. You decided to just call it a night, since you weren’t in the right state of mind to make any decision. To be honest, you would go home with anyone right now, which made it that much dangerous. Making your way out of the VIP lounge, you tried passing through the big crowd of dancing, sweaty bodies to find Taehyung. You struggled moving and barely even made any progress with the amount of people around you. Almost tripping, you suddenly felt an arm wrap itself around your waist, hoisting you up.

“Whoa, you okay there?” He chuckled. Hoping it was Taehyung, you looked up, only to see an unfamiliar face. But you could barely see his face to determine who he was anyways. Not to mention, it was dark and the neon lights weren’t even helping at all. But you knew it was not Taehyung because of his nose and lips.

“I-I’m fine. Looking for my friend, Taehyung.” You slurred, trying to make it past him so you could continue your search. But the tall stranger blocked your way again, leaning down towards you while squinting his eyes. You weren’t sure what he was trying to do, but you decided to slowly back away from him, just in case you were in his way. But in doing so, you almost fell again, to which he held onto your wrist and helped you regain balance, again.

“Ah. Taehyung? So you must be her.” He chuckled, “Anyways, I think you’ve had a little too much–” You weren’t listening to him at this point. You were drunk and he kept blabbering on about something, probably unimportant. You just wanted to look for Taehyung and jump on your bed. You looked back up at the stranger again, ready to just walk away until he said something that caught your attention, “—I take you home?”

“I don’t just go home with anyone.” You laughed, pushing him off you. He just chuckled and scratched his head, stopping you again before you could leave.

“Just trying to help you, sweetheart.”

“Look I need to find my friend, Taehyung. I’m going to go.” You rolled your eyes in annoyance. At this point, he must’ve been desperate to sleep with you. It was kind of cute actually, the way he tried to get your attention. Plus, even though you couldn’t exactly see him, he sounded attractive at least, “But, I guess you could take me home. I don’t mind.”

He smirked and nodded his head. He must’ve felt so proud and happy with himself, taking home a girl he didn’t even have to try to flirt with. Wrapping one arm around your shoulder, he began walking you out of the crowd. You were snuggled tightly around his hold. Looking up at him, you noticed his concentration, it was admirable. His chiseled jaw line, his smooth skin grazing over it. He wasn’t too bad looking. As you walked past the bar, you could feel a pair of eyes on you. Shrugging it off your shoulder, you didn’t even realize the cute bartender, Jimin, watched you go home with another man. Your figure getting further and further away from Jimin’s eyes, until you were no longer visible.

As you were walking home, you still felt the warmth of his arm wrapped around you. You had forgot that you were looking for Taehyung, as your focus changed to the stranger next to you. You didn’t even know this guy’s name, though you didn’t know a lot of the names of the guys you slept with. But, you didn’t really care as well. He didn’t seem to dangerous, plus he kept asking you if you were okay. Though, occasionally you would catch him staring at you, causing a slight shade of pink to appear on his cheeks.

As you walked up to your apartment door, and punched in your code. Though you were quite drunk, you surprised to hear the successful beeping noise as the door unlock. You weren’t as intoxicated as you thought you were if you could remember. You opened the door and turned around to face the stranger whose back was faced against you.

“Are you going come in?” You bit the bottom your lips and waited for an answer. He turned around with a confused face and chuckled.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you walked me all the way home. The least I could do is reward you.”  You whispered making your way towards him until your chest hit his. You peppered kisses along his jawline, up until you met his soft lips. You usually didn’t initiate the kisses first, so you started off slow and gentle, but you guess he liked it since he cupped your face, bringing you in closer. Still realizing you were both outside, he began to slowly back you up until you were inside you dark apartment. He shut the door closed with the back of his foot, lips still on yours. What started off as slow and gentle progressed to a much more hotter and passionate kiss. He was taking control now, hands moving from your cheeks down to your waist. You felt his hardened member against the thin fabric of your dress as he pulled you into him. You were enjoying this, until suddenly he backed away, leaving you wanting more. You opened your eyes and noticed his dark, lustful eyes.

“God, you’re so hot.” He chuckled, “But I don’t want to take advantage of you, sweetheart.”

“W-what? I am fine though.” You replied, tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear. He just chuckled and unlocked your door, waving goodbye before he left you alone in your dark and empty apartment. You weren’t sure how to feel, embarrassed or thankful? Usually guys would be begging to fuck you, and here this random guy was, rejecting you. You never got rejected. Never once in your life have you been rejected. Making your way to your bedroom, you sat down on your bed, touching your lips. It was interesting. He was interesting. It was too bad you didn’t get his name.

Hungover.

Two days in a row, that’s a record. You didn’t even remember how you had gotten home, actually you were surprised you were home at all. The last thing you remember was Namjoon’s shots and your plan to go home with Jimin, but obviously that didn’t happen as you looked at your empty bed. You tried to recollect your memory but it was all a blur. You really couldn’t remember why you didn’t go home with Jimin, or how you were home. You sat up from your bed and felt your head throb. Now that was a feeling you could never get used to. Dragging your heavy body out of bed, you made your way to restroom and began to wash up. You have slowly begun to accept your hideous hangover look, it was growing on you. The dark eye bags, the messy bird’s nest, very stylish. You groaned as you stepped into the shower, still trying to retrace your steps of last night. Then you remember Taehyung was there, maybe Taehyung would remember or tell you what had happened. You hoped it was Taehyung who had brought you home.

You smelt the aroma of Taehyung’s usual morning pot of coffee, which smelt like what you needed right now. You quickly threw on some clothes and left your room. Following the scent of the coffee.

“I hoped you made me a cup too, Tae.” You smiled, closing your eyes as you sat down on the chair in your dining room,“By the way, were you the one who brought me home yesterday?” You asked grabbing his cup of coffee and taking a big gulp. To which, Taehyung shook his head and grabbed his mug out of your hands.

“No, actually I asked–”

“Me. I took you home, sweetheart.” A familiar voice from behind you chuckled, interrupting Taehyung. You turned your head and saw a tall muscular guy standing up from your sofa, “Thanks for the coffee, Taehyung. I needed it.”

“No problem, I told you I owed you one for taking her home. She wasn’t too much of a problem right?” Taehyung groaned, while darting his eye towards you, “She has a tendency of being a little too touchy when she’s drunk.”

“No, no. She was fine. No touching. She was a good girl.” He smirked. All it took was that smirk for you to recognize who he was. He was the guy who left you alone in your apartment, alone and turned on. Seeing him in the morning made his face all so clear and memorable now. The prominent nose, and the devilish smirk was the cherry to the top. He turned to you, the corners of his lips curving into a smile as he watched you try to process everything.  

“By the way, I didn’t get to introduce myself yesterday, I’m Jungkook. I just moved next door with my brother, but I hope we can be friends, neighbor.”


a/n: I edited some parts and added some more things for clarification (plus I accidently deleted my original post.) Please let me know what you guys think or feel about this series, I would really like some feedback. If you guys read my old “Intimate” let me know if you preferred this one or the old one. Thank you for reading! Much love, until next time. xoxo

anonymous asked:

if it's not too intrusive, wht is your job exactly? weather?

(don’t reblog, just in case, but I wanted to answer this honestly because I know research was one big question mark when I was just getting started!)

I do indeed study the weather! I’m a researcher, and my specialty is coming up with ways to use artificial intelligence to help us forecast and better understand tornadoes.

Here’s the idea: humans are fabulous at recognizing patterns, whereas computers are kind of terrible at it… but unlike humans, computers are very, very good at dealing with absurdly large amounts of data. So on the AI side of things I’m working on closing that gap by teaching computers what they should be looking for by training them on just ridiculously huge amounts of data… and then, ideally, letting them figure out for themselves what they’re doing wrong so they can adapt and improve.

So I’ve got a few tens of thousands of cases in which tornadoes occurred but we didn’t issue a warning ahead of time, and then a few tens of thousands of cases in which tornadoes didn’t occur but we really, really thought they should’ve (to the point of issuing tornado warnings), and then a few tens of thousands of cases in which tornadoes didn’t occur and we successfully realized it was gonna be a quiet day and didn’t put out any warnings. I’m teaching the program in very broad terms what to look for, and then setting it loose on these tens of thousands of cases to try to figure out what the best way would’ve been to distinguish between those three categories. If we can find reliable markers in the environments of tornadoes that aren’t present when there are no tornadoes (or vice-versa), that’s a huge, huge deal, because it means human forecasters can be on the lookout for those markers in real-life situations and be able to predict this kind of thing possibly even hours in advance.

That was my PhD work, which I’ve now published in a couple scientific journals, but I wanted to make sure this stuff didn’t just stay in the theoretical realm, so I moved down here to do a postdoc, right up close and personal with the people actually issuing the tornado watches and warnings for the government weather service. My day-to-day involves (or will involve, once I’m officially working) developing code to do all of the above stuff and writing papers and attending conferences and workshops to try to convince other people in my field that these AI methods can be extremely helpful for them in their work, but now it also incorporates meetings with forecasters to figure out (a) how the AI’s findings gel with their knowledge of forecasting, and (b) how we can get these findings seamlessly integrated into their workflow when they’re already dealing with information overload (at a meeting this week we were trying to figure out how to scale down alllll of the data the AI produces into one easy-to-understand number).

My stuff’s also becoming more and more interesting to researchers because you can sort of reverse-engineer things: if the AI program goes “hey man, when the winds are like this and the temperature’s like that, really big tornadoes tend to happen in the southeastern part of the US but not in the great plains”, you can then take a look at those winds and temperatures and try to figure out what’s going on physically that might be inhibiting or encouraging the growth of tornadoes in different regions. So it’s not just contributing to forecasting, it’s contributing to a better understanding of how and why these things form on a fundamental-science level, and any project that can marry practical applications with theoretical advances in science is like catnip to granting institutions. Hence, I guess, why I’ve got this job interview in a couple weeks for a faculty position.

Basically, it’s the coolest job ever and I love it a bunch. Probably way more information than you wanted, haha.

Touken Baby AU Part 1

Okay, here’s the post I promised with my headcanons for an AU I had planned on writing years ago, but then other people started doing the same thing and I felt discouraged.

Here it goes: 

  • Kaneki decides to fight in the Anteiku Raid, but before going he visits Touka, knowing he could die. He goes to her apartment, trying to apologize or make her understand, but Touka in a spur of the moment decision kisses him. They end up having sex, before he leaves for good.
  • Touka wants to go after Kaneki, but Yomo convinces her to leave. She escapes with Yomo, being hopeful that one day Kaneki would return.
  • Kaneki, like in canon, “dies” and is taken away by Arima.
  • About two months after the raid, Touka realizes she’s pregnant. Scared, she ends up confiding in Yomo, who promises he’d always be there for her. Yomo also confesses he’s actually her uncle. Touka cries because she realizes she hasn’t lost her entire family.
  • Touka can no longer eat meat, for she just throws it up. She decides to try human food, and although it tastes horrible, she doesn’t throw it up.
  • Yomo finds a small apartment so that they can settle there.
  • Touka grows weaker as time passes by, which worries Yomo.
  • When Touka is around five months, they contact Nishiki again. 
  • Nishiki is surprised to find that his friend is pregnant, and when he notices how pale Touka looks, he decides to help her.
  • Nishiki researches about pregnancies, and what he knows about ghoul anatomy to help Touka. He’s not convinced the baby will make it, but creates a diet for Touka which includes both human food with nutrients as well as human meat. After her diet changes, Touka feels much better, and the baby seems to be healthy as well for it moves a lot.
  • Touka is also depressed because there have been no sings of Kaneki and neither Yomo nor Nishiki are confident that he’s alive. She wishes he was there for the baby. However, she finds comfort on the child growing inside of her and decides to be a good mom.
  • When the time comes for Touka to give birth, it’s honestly a mess. Yomo freaks out while Nishiki barks orders at him to get warm water, towels, scissors and other stuff. Meanwhile, Touka can’t do more than lay on bed. It takes almost a whole day for Touka to give birth. By the end she’s exhausted and honestly thinking that she won’t make it, when Nishiki announces he sees the head. With one final push, she gives birth to a beautiful baby girl. Touka names her after her mother, Hikari.
  • Hikari is almost an exact replica of Touka. She has dark hair, pale skin, and Touka’s nose. However, the eyes are Kaneki’s. Touka is happy she resembles her dad in that way.
  • Nishiki examines Hikari and says she’s healthy, so there’s nothing to worry about. He still keeps a careful eye on her.
  • The first few months, Hikari’s only food is Touka’s milk. Touka tries to keep eating human food to give Hikari the nutrients she’d need, but she can’t stomach it any longer. However, Hikari grows normally.
  • When she’s around five months old, they try giving her human food. They soon discover that there’s a limit with the amount of human food Hikari can consume before getting sick. She can eat human meat too.
  • Yomo buys Hikari a bunny plushie, which becomes her favorite toy.
  • At one point, Yomo asks Touka what she wishes to do now, given the fact she’s a teen mom. Touka says she wants to have her own coffee shop, similar to what Anteiku was. Yomo promises her one day they’ll have it.
  • Hikari keeps growing. Soon they find that even if she looks a lot like Touka, she’s much calmer than her mom. Sometimes, Hikari just sits looking pensive, even for a toddler. Touka smiles because in that sense Hikari takes after Kaneki.
  • Touka reads to Hikari every night before bedtime. She buys books that she thinks Kaneki would approve of for their daughter. Hikari loves books much like Kaneki.
  • Hikari starts speaking faster than Touka thought she would. 
  • As Hikari grows, Touka tells her about her father even if she doesn’t understand that much. She keeps a picture of him, which she shows Hikari telling her that’s her dad. The toddler often points to it, saying “dad” and nodding as if she understands that’s her dad.
  • Finally, they have enough money to rent a place to open their coffee shop. They remodel it, and Touka decides to decorate it with lots of books, confident one day Kaneki will return. That’s why she names it “Re.”
  • When Hikari is about two years and a half, :Re opens.

Okay, since this was becoming too long, wait for part 2. It’ll feature the events of Re. Hope you liked it.

anonymous asked:

How, do yo think, will Rey come to terms with what Kylo has done (especially killing Han Solo)?

I think the bigger obstacle is for Kylo himself to come to terms with it.

Best not to look at fictional characters in a literal, real world sense though. Certainly, I think it’ll be a struggle for Rey to understand what he’s done and why, but I think that’s the job of the storytellers to do so.

Some ways of doing that would be – if I were to be the writer of this story:

1) Having Rey’s mind be overtaken by Snoke so that she can understand the sheer force of his influence and power over Kylo – that Kylo was helpless in facing that alone. He was bound to fall to manipulation. Seems like we might be getting this in TLJ.

2) Having part of Kylo/Ben’s past be a misunderstanding from what’s been presented to the audience at the offset – ex: the Jedi Academy massacre wasn’t actually what it appeared to be. Ben didn’t heartlessly murder his peers – there’s something more at play there (whether an accident, or he was framed, etc.). Looks like we might be getting this, too.

3) Have the character do an act (or acts) of true atonement to show their development in character – they truly and genuinely regret the actions they took in their darkest hours. This is usually through a willingness for self sacrifice in which they build a huge foundation of trust between other characters in the process. Looks like this is in the works for TLJ according to interviews and the way the story is going.

4) Show that there was some noble logic or reasoning behind their terrible act that made it unavoidable. For example, they HAD to do the terrible thing or other people would die/suffer. Not sure if this angle will be taken in Kylo’s arc though. I think the closest we’ll get with Kylo on this point would just be that he thinks serving Snoke and being on the Dark Side is in some way beneficial to the greater good of the galaxy. For whatever reason.

There are more ways, I’m sure, but those are a few I would pose.

You’d be surprised how well good writing can convince you that a character is worth rooting for and forgiving.

anonymous asked:

No one mentions the fact that when Sansa accuses Littlefinger of murdering Lysa, she's going back on her testimony to Bronze Yohn Royce and Anya Waynwood in season 4. Is Bronze Yohn not upset or even going to mention that Sansa previously said that Lysa committed suicide? Also, why are the Vale lords taking Bran's vision has some sort of proof that Littlefinger did all the things he's accused of? Not saying he didn't do it, we all saw it, but still, there's no physical evidence.

The whole thing plays out like a giant he said, she said. No proof was offered at any point. No witness accounts, nothing. Sansa made assertions, Littlefinger denied them, Sansa made more assertions. Then Littlefinger crumbled, essentially because he was spooked and panicked in a situation where he should have been at his most able. (”I confess you make me curious.” The nerve of that guy.) It’s one of many things that made that scene ridiculous.

That said, the showrunners have been failing ever more conspicuously at writing persuasion. For seasons now, Jon’s been trying to convince people about the White Walkers, almost purely by saying “I’ve seen them!” That’s no better than ‘trust me.’ Jon doesn’t include details such as, like, what the army of the dead looks like, nor ever thinks to bring along any of the many, many other people who have also seen wights and Walkers. Sam makes the same mistake in season seven. In a context like that, no wonder “you did it! you totally did it! I wasn’t there and only heard it from sketchy sources secondhand but you totally did it!” looks like actual evidence to people.

I can see how Bran’s visions of the present might be considered relatively reliable after he saw the army of the dead on the move. Visions of the past should be a bit different. Sansa, for instance, initially showed some skepticism - but every minor character seems to have come around when she did, offscreen.

MY DATE WITH THE McCARTNEYS

Do you know how to work the washing machine, Sir Paul? Can I have a discount, Stella? Will you adopt me, Mary? Deborah Ross meets Macca and his girls to celebrate Linda’s legacy – and leaves wishing she could be one of the family

MAY 6, 2017 (Robert Wilson/The Times).- So, off to meet Stella McCartney (fashion designer), Mary McCartney (photographer and food writer) and their father, Sir Paul McCartney, who was once in some band or other, back in the day. (It may come to me.) I had previously been asked: did I wish to meet Stella and Mary and also Sir Paul, who was in some band or other, back in the day? I said, “Yes,” and, “You bet,” and, “Is Stella generous with discount cards if you suck up enough?”
So I was committed, prior to realising the proposed encounter had “poisoned” and “chalice” written all over it, as it would be strictly about the 25th anniversary of the Linda McCartney frozen food range, and Linda’s legacy in this regard, with any other subject being verboten. Also, it would be brief. (Forty-two minutes, as it turns out.) But I was determined to look on the bright side, as in: is Stella generous with discount cards if you suck up really, really quickly?

Armed with “Talking Points for Deborah Ross”, as helpfully provided by the PR people involved – “Paul, Stella and Mary continue to be heavily involved in the day-to-day activity of the brand …” – I make my way to the appointed venue, a house in Soho in London that belongs, I believe, to a friend of Mary’s. It is wonderfully stylish inside, all mid-century modern, but it is tiny, and when I arrive there is barely space to take a breath. The photographer and the photographer’s assistants are still knocking about. The Linda McCartney Foods PR is here, as is Paul’s press person. There are various factotums doing this and that and putting a lunch together. I ascend the stairs – out of the way, top-flight journalist with Talking Points coming through! – to find Paul on the top landing. He isn’t doing that thumbs-up thing – he is sometimes known as Paul “thumbs aloft” McCartney – but does have open arms and is saying, “Hello, Deborah,” which is nice, and superfriendly, and does makes me wish that, in return, I could think of that band. (It may yet come to me. Do you know it?)
They are a striking-looking family. Mary, 47, is darkly pretty. Stella, 45, is 82 per cent eyes. (And also pretty. I’m not playing favourites here.) Meanwhile, Paul, 74, has brown hair and looks fresh as a daisy in a crisp, white shirt and a deep navy suit, both by Stella McCartney. “It’s my new menswear,” says Stella. “He’s my male model.” They are all wearing Stella McCartney because, as Paul says, “We had our instructions.” I say to Stella that I apologise in advance should I happen to call her “Stelvis”, because I’ve a niece called Stella, who has always been known as “Stelvis”. “Why?” she asks. I don’t know. It’s a bit funny, I suppose. “Right.” Sometimes she’s also known as “Stelton John”, I could have said, but instead I opt for: “And are you still heavily involved in the day-to-day activity of the brand?” They confirm that they are. (I think I pulled that back, and still have, “Does the brand have exciting consumer-facing events planned for National Vegetarian Week?” up my sleeve.)
Some would say vegetarian food has evolved since Linda McCartney founded her frozen ready-meal brand, that it has moved on from textured vegetable protein and meat facsimiles, but I don’t know. If your household is non-meat and you come in late and tired, or your kids truck up with friends, what are you going to want to do? Whip some McCartney “burgers” out of the freezer or embark on an Ottolenghi featuring 72 ingredients, several of which you’ve never heard of? (Some of those recipes “run to five pages”, confirms Mary.) It remains the bestselling frozen-food range of its kind – sit on that, Quorn! – and I have to say that, when I cooked a load at home, to see what it was like, the “sausage rolls” went down brilliantly well. “People can’t tell the difference,” says Mary. “I think they are amazing. The meat in sausage rolls is so overprocessed. Is it really meat? Or just eyeballs?”
As it happens, I found a copy of Linda McCartney’s first vegetarian cookbook – Home Cooking, published in 1989 – knocking about my house. I know I have used it down the years, particularly the recipe for beetroot with dill and sour cream. “That’s Mum’s Russian-Jewish heritage coming in,” says Mary.
“Borscht,” says Paul, gnomically.
“Borscht didn’t even exist in this country at that time,” says Mary. “Or quiche. We didn’t have quiche in Britain in that day and age.”
“It depended what class you were from,” says Paul. “3A or 3B.”
“This idea,” says Mary, “that Mum took things people weren’t eating in this country and had the courage to write a book and be ridiculed.”
“It was for one reason,” says Paul. “She loved, loved, loved animals. People would see something a bit creepy, like a frog or something, and they’d go, ‘Ewww,’ and Linda would always say, ‘Its mummy loves it.’ ”
“And you can’t argue with that,” says Stella.
I put it to them that Linda was truly a pioneer, no question, but I am not convinced by the recipe for spaghetti omelette. “My kids love it,” says Stella. On the other hand, it could work, I add, really, really quickly.
Home Cooking was, in fact, Bloomsbury’s bestselling book until Harry Potter came along. But finding a publisher was not easy initially. Linda wrote it with food author Peter Cox, and as he is quoted as saying, in Philip Norman’s biography of Paul, “I went to see one woman who was supposedly a legend in the industry, and who always wore white gloves to the office. She told me a vegetarian cookbook couldn’t possibly sell unless it had some chicken in it.”
“That,” says Paul, “was the climate of the time. There wasn’t vegetarian food. There was one restaurant, Cranks, which Yehudi Menuhin was something to do with, and I always thought that was kind of funny, that he called it Cranks. It was kind of self-deprecating and I liked that.” Was it good? “I never went there as I wasn’t vegetarian then.” I guess we’ll never know.
I say the other thing Peter Cox said is that, throughout the writing process, he kept a copy of Jane Asher’s bestselling book on cakes to hand, so that whenever Linda’s attention flagged, as it was wont to do, he’d take it out and start flicking through it with great interest, and that brought her back into the room. Paul laughs and claps, while Stella says, “That is very funny … Would bring her back into the room!”
We then flick through Linda’s book while I comment on the dated photography, which makes everything look so … dingily brown. The “macaroni turkey” – a substitute for a Christmas turkey, sculpted from macaroni – looks especially worrying. “You had to make it because you couldn’t get a vegetarian turkey at Christmas,” says Paul. “It was great,” says Stella. I can now see it could be great, I say, really, really quickly.
And do you remember Linda writing it? “She would have Peter Cox round,” says Paul, “and quite often I’d be in the kitchen, because I was just there, and she’d cook something.” And then photograph it in brown? “And then she’d photograph it in brown.”
“Mum,” says Stella, “was instinctive in the way she cooked, and Peter had to stop her.”
“He’d say,” continues Paul, “ ‘Just before you put that in, let me measure it.’ ”
“I remember,” says Mary, “making a stew and thinking, ‘This tastes rubbish,’ and I phoned Mum and the extra thing was celery.” “Celery is critical,” adds Stella. “She would start all her soups with celery,” says Paul. “Mum and celery, it’s true,” concludes Stella.
Linda – who died of breast cancer in 1998 – was, indeed, ridiculed for her vegetarianism, as all the McCartneys have been. Oh no, here they come, the bloody McCartneys, banging on about not killing cows, and now fish, too. “At the end of the day, what people are forgetting to talk about is fish,” says Stella. “We need to be aware that fish is a stealth industry,” says Mary.
But they’ve proved themselves menschen, have kept at it, haven’t caved on their principles, or gone away quietly. “Almost a third of land is used for livestock production,” Stella might say. “Ninety-five per cent of soya is grown for farm animals,” Paul might add. “The reality of the conversation is that it has to become political,” Mary might further add.
But more and more people have come round to their way of thinking, which must be satisfying. “When I was a child and we said we were vegetarian it was a case of, ‘Why don’t you kill animals to eat them?’ I was the outsider, and you did meet a lot of aggression and anger. But now the landscape is changing,” says Mary. I ask if they’ve seen Simon Amstell’s Carnage, which puts the best case against meat-eating ever. Not yet, they say. You should, I say. They will, they promise. I can’t believe I had to alert you to it, I say. How have you all managed without me for so long? “I’m all for shadowing you and just absorbing,” says Mary. I’m busy, but might be able to fit you in for an afternoon, as a favour. “Thanks,” she says.
I am quite interested in Paul’s food memories. As a working-class boy from Liverpool, when did you first encounter an avocado, say? “I was in Soho,” he remembers, “and we went to a restaurant with George Martin. We were all slightly mystified by the menu and I thought, ‘I can do this,’ so I ordered an avocado pear for dessert, because I’m thinking pear melba, or maybe it’s going to be like stewed pears, and this sniffy Italian waiter said, ‘That is not a dessert, sir.’ I said, ‘Yeah, I know that. Just kidding you.’ I was about 21.”
“And your dad,” says Stella, “brought you back bananas, didn’t he? Because he worked in the cotton trade.”
“It was after the war,” says Paul, “when nobody had had bananas, and he brought some back and said, ‘Look! Bananas!’ We’d never seen them or tried them or anything, and we didn’t like them. He was annoyed.”
And was your mum a good cook? “Yeah, in the traditional way. I ate what everyone else ate growing up. There was no variation. You knew that if you went to a friend’s house it would be the same as at your house. Just like us, they would have mandarin oranges from a tin with Carnation milk. That was very well accepted.”
After you left home and before Linda, would you have cooked? “I lost my mother when I was 14, so there was my dad, my brother and me. My dad would drop into the Cavern where we were playing at lunchtime and he’d say, ‘Here’s tonight’s meal, son,’ and he’d leave me a few chops. I’d get home before him so I’d grill the chops and do mashed potato.”
“It’s always his job, the mash,” says Stella.
Are you competent in other domestic areas, Paul? Could you work a washing machine? “No, I can’t.”
“But,” says Stella, “you can hand-wash in a sink with soap.”
“When we were on tour you did do your socks, because they would get a bit smelly,” confirms Paul. “So before you’d go to bed you’d give them a good rub in the hotel sink, with the little soap, then rinse them out and hang them on the radiator.” I think he is referring back to when he was in that band, whatever it was.
They do miss Linda dreadfully. We meet just before Mother’s Day, and I think they wouldn’t have been willing to say how much they still miss her if I hadn’t mentioned it’s a hard time to get through when you’ve lost your mother, as I have, and there’s all this stuff in the shops. They do it because, much as I’ve been joking around, they are, clearly, kindly people. “You definitely notice it,” says Mary. “I also notice mums and daughters walking down the street and you know they are having a lunch or a shop and are having that little moment.”
“At the end of the day,” says Stella, “for a fraction of a second, I think I can’t believe Mum hasn’t called me today.”
“You did that recently?” asks Paul. “That’s normally the first year, when that happens a lot.
“A friend has just lost her husband and I was saying to her, ‘You think he’s going to walk in the door, don’t you?’ And she said, ‘Yes.’ ”
“You’re going to get me going,” says Stella.
“But look at Mum’s achievements,” counters Mary. “They are so relevant. The balls she had. I am so proud she left a legacy and that she is in each and every one of us.”
Stella adds that she gets it in the neck “for not using fur or leather in my career”, but she doesn’t care. Is grateful to her mother, in fact, “for giving me the spectacles that have allowed me to have a point of view”.
The PRs are madly trying to wind us up now so, as she’s mentioned her fashion range, I decide I’m just going to have to come out with it straight, so I do: can I get a discount? “Yes,” she says, adding, almost with a wink, “and Stelvis.” We’ve bonded. I’ve arrived.
Typically, I then push my luck. I could be up for adoption, I say to them all. I would make a good McCartney. I would bring my own celery. And I’d bring your Jewish quotient zooming back up. “My wife [Nancy Shevell] is Jewish,” says Paul. Decent cook? “No, bless her. When we married she was intimidated by Linda’s reputation, so she said, ‘I’m a lousy cook.’”
“She’s a very good orderer,” says Stella. “She is a very good orderer,” confirms Paul.
They’re half out the door, but time for one last question. Paul, were you in some band or other, back in the day? “Yes. The Quarrymen.” Were you any good? “Damned good. Great little band.” Never heard of them. Sorry.

Deborah Ross has since given up meat
——–
Photos: Robert Wilson
Shoot credits Stella McCartney: Make-up Jane Bradley, hair Lewis Pallett

Fanfic writers are the most dedicated and passionate group of writers I’ve ever met. AND the most hardworking. Do you know how many people I’ve encountered that are writing “totally original unique work” that have NEVER finished a single thing? After YEARS? A lot. Meanwhile myself, and countless others, have written novel or above novel length work whose stories have actual meaning, substance, and value, with plots that have taken dedication and research.  Not to mention having to know the characters well enough to convince the reader that this au makes sense. 

THIS IS ALL FOR NO GAIN. No money, no outside recognition. People who write NOVELS in their spare time. I’ve read fics that read like poetry that’s how good they are. Don’t get me wrong, I work on original stories as well. But I don’t have this bizarro idea in my head that it’s worth more than fanfiction.

And these “original” people that peddle the idea that fanfiction is just lazy easy fiction are HILARIOUS. As if my word count just shot out my ass because the characters already existed. 

Keep writing your great american novel, we’d all love to read it. Eventually. 

anonymous asked:

its disappointing that one of the biggest BTS blog isn't a BTS blog n e more

Ahhh first of all I don’t consider myself a big blog, or whatever that means.

I haven’t been a BTS blog for a very long time. I shifted the focus of this blog months ago. I’ve been posting multi-fandom content for a long time now.

Also, I would have opened my writing up to other groups a lot sooner if it wasn’t for the hate mail I was sent by people when I talked about how it was something I wanted to do.

Tbh you’re lucky I just didn’t delete all together. I can show you months of conversations with my friends convincing me not to delete, telling me to just give it time and maybe things will settle.

This damn URL change has nothing to do with my love for BTS or lack there of. BTS is still very important to me. Hobi is very much so important to me.

THAT HASN’T CHANGED and unless BTS royally fuck up and do some problematic shit I don’t think that will change.

I was bullied into submission to run my blog a certain way and to write a certain way. But I’m done making other people happy.

This is MY blog. I’m running it in a way that makes ME happy. I’m over catering to others and having it thrown in my face.

So y'all can either continue to follow me and support my writing, no matter what the URL is, or you don’t.

But quite frankly it’s disappointing that something as superficial as a URL has turned into a huge deal when nothing about this blog has changed.

Now opening up commissions!!

Currently getting ready to go off to university and holy shit is that expensive. So I thought I’d try and make what little money I can to help with minor expenses to relieve some of the pressure off of my parents who are gonna be struggling to help me pay for my tuition.

Wanna help me out more long-term or don’t have a specific idea in mind for a commission? Pledge to me on patreon for as little as $1 per fic.

Don’t have a particular idea but still want to help out? Buy me a Ko-Fi!

So here’s the break down:

Prices:

It’s gonna be $1 for every 100 words so pricing will be as follows:

  • $5 = 500 words
  • $10 = 1000 words
  • $15 = 1500 words
  • $20 = 2000 words
  • $30 = 3000 words
  • $40 = 4000 words
  • $50 = 5000 words [MAX LIMIT]

You won’t have to pay for a fic that’s 5034 words or anything like that and if I just so happen to go an extra 100 words, you won’t be expected to pay for that either. But that won’t be often, so don’t expect it.

Payment:

All payments will be done through paypal. I will only accept your payment once I have completed the fic and you will not get the fic until I have received my payment.

!!!!Important Note!!!!

When paying on paypal, make sure that you select “Pay for goods or service” and on the drop down menu for address you select “No address needed”. For more information on that + visuals, click this link

Ground Rules:

I will have some basic rules for commissions, such as what I will and will not accept, what I’m willing to do, and just basic common courtesy/etiquette when commissioning.

  1. I have the right to turn down any idea I’m uncomfortable with doing or just don’t appeal to/inspire me. I’ll do my best to work with you, but if I say no, there will be no further convincing me. Just find someone else to do it.
  2. I will not do chapter fics. Oneshots/drabbles only.
  3. No OC’s. I am not a personal fan of writing other people’s OC’s. Sorry.
  4. No yaoi/mlm fics. I’m a sapphic woman. This is the furthest thing from my expertise plus I don’t find the appeal in it personally.
  5. I will not do smut for commissioned fics. Again, sorry. I do smut based on my own comfort zone/knowledge/experience so that’s something I just want to avoid people telling me what to do.
  6. Have some sort of communication turned on (preferably the tumblr messaging system but I can work with something else as well) so that I may be able to ask questions about your commission and send it to you when it’s done.
    1. HOWEVER, please do not pester me about your commission. I have not forgotten about it, but I am busy. I am getting ready to move out to university and I’m also working for most of the week. I will get your commission out as soon as I’m able.
  7. If I put out a personal fic before your commissioned fic, please do not get upset. It’s likely I have been working on that fic previously for a long-time. Also, inspiration never strikes exactly, so while I am working on your fic, I may not have been particularly inspired to write it at that current moment in time.

Fandoms:

So I’m in many fandoms, but there’s a select few that I’m willing to write for. You can try something that’s not listed here that I’m familiar with, but it’s less likely that I’ll do it.

Also, if you do a ship I’m not particularly eager about/a fan of, you have a higher chance of being turned down.

Your idea doesn’t have to be a ship one, by the way! Just if it is, keep in mind of the ones listed below.

  • RWBY
    • Ships: Bumbleby, White Rose, Mechanical Rose, Neomerc
  • Gravity Rush
    • Ships: Kat/Raven, Kat/Raven/Yunica OT3, Yunica/Permet, Lumino/Tenebria
  • Overwatch
    • Ships: Emilena, Widowtracer, Spiderbyte, Symmbra, Pharmercy, Sombracer, Emily/Widowmaker/Tracer OT3
  • Carmilla (Webshow)
    • Ships: Hollstein
  • Madoka Magica
    • Ships: Kyosaya
  • Fairy Tail
    • Ships: Nalu, Lucy/Flare, Lesbian!Nalu
  • Miraculous Ladybug
    • Ships: Any part of the lovesquare (although I’m partial to Marichat), Alyanette
  • Soul Eater:
    • Ships: Soma
  • Jessica Jones (Netflix TV show)
    • Ships: Trish/Jessica
  • Legend of Korra
    • Ships: Korrasami
  • Firefly
    • Ships: Inara/Kaylee

Note: Some of these I have less practice with than others. Just a heads up.

Another note: I am also super willing to make any of the het ships into lesbian ones. Just lemme know.

I will have 5 slots available at a time.

Once I’ve cleaned out those 5 slots I’ll open commissions back up. So just hold onto that idea until that happens. :)

The easy bias tests

I was reading my notifications and came across my old post being angry about something one of the “Introverts are magical delicate beings AND EVERYONE ELSE IS LOUD AND STUPID”* sites, and wanted to cover the basic bias criteria for a couple common MBTI issues in a post of its own. Apply these standards to see if someone is just trying to convince themselves they’re the best, or if they actually have something worth saying.

I can’t promise I’m innocent of all of these. I try, and I’m open to constructive feedback.

THE INTUITIVE BIAS

1. The assumption that intuitive types use their judging functions more effectively. To use an example, on average, INTPs and ISTPs should have equivalent use of Ti.

2. The assumption that intuitive types can use sensing functions, but sensors can’t use intuition functions in the same position. Or in other words, an unbiased portrayal would show an ESTJ using Ne just as well as an ENTJ uses Se.

3. The assumption that intuitive functions themselves are inherently more complex or special than sensing counterparts. In other words, both Si and Ni are future focused, using a worldview that is personalized based on either past experience (Si) or conceptual reflection (Ni). That’s it. Se and Ne are both pretty present-focused and divergent. One is concrete, and one is conceptual.

THE INTROVERT BIAS

1. The assumption that ‘extroverted’ activities are somehow more of a burden to introverts than ‘introverted’ activities are to extroverts. Introvert refusal to go to parties is just as hard on extroverts as extroverts inviting introverts to parties.

2. Failure to take responsibility for rudeness.

3. The assumption that intelligence is tied to introversion/extroversion. Honestly, this applies to every MBTI bias, while we’re at it, but it’s I think at its worst with the introvert bias.\

THIS FUNCTION IS THE BEST/WORST!

Can be for any function. If it’s for both Ne and Ni being the best/Se and Si being the worst we’re dealing with intuitive bias.

1. The idea that any function is itself possessing in an inherent morality. For example, there are some super manipulative Fe users or ruthless Te users. There are also some amazingly loving and nurturing Fe users and considerate and just Te users. The functions are the syntax through which the person expresses themselves. They are not good or bad on their own.

2. Failure to acknowledge the limitations of functions. In short: all feeling functions are based in morality and not logic; all thinking functions are based in logic and not morality; all intuitive functions are based in personal reflection and not concrete experience; all sensing functions are based in concrete experience and not personal reflection; all extroverted functions come from external standards; all introverted functions come from internal standards. So all introverted functions do not automatically make sense to anyone else, all extroverted functions assume some level of shared reference, and so on. If you think a function is all-knowing or universally the best way to approach life….it’s not.

3. This bias often goes hand in hand with a belief that functions are set in stone. And while I do believe that it’s pretty much impossible to change type, at least once you’re in early adulthood (also…why would you? Seems like a lot of work for not much difference) it’s definitely possible to improve and change as a person.

IN GENERAL

if someone uses personality theory to excuse bad behavior without consequence, to write off swaths of the population without knowing them based solely on personality type, or credit unrelated skills and traits like intelligence or creativity to certain types, they’re doing it wrong.

*I realized I put an asterisk in and never put in the comment, so this is an edit. Basically what I wanted to say is it’s totally cool to think of yourself (or your type) as special! But so are other people, and if your specialness requires you to convince yourself you’re superior, rather than that you have specific cool things to offer that differ from other people’s cool things…you actually are terrible. It’s not the unicorn stereotype that’s the problem; the problem is that you won’t let others have a dragon stereotype.

F.T.Willz never dies?

Do you remember the theory about FTWillz and his poetry? Around the net, especially in the fandom, this is not news and it seems like this person won’t cease to amaze us.

Since I started to investigate on FTWillz, his poetry has absolutely become my favorite topic.

I spent days around a lot of tumblr blogs and google researches, finding out things I would have never expected to find.

It may be because of the deep meaning behind his poems, or the simple and desperate need of help FTWillz communicates with his dark writing, that the issue concerns me so much.

First of all he had a myspace, then livejournal and finally twitter. What if this is not all?

Recently, a girl informed me about a really important blog she found on tumblr: f-t-willz-must-die.

To be honest, at first sight I thought “this is certainly a blog like another, maybe an appreciation one… I don’t think he would like to be found out so easily with the final ’‘must die” like Frank’s’’ but I had to think about it again as soon as I opened the link.

I made a quick journey in that blog just to see what I could have find and the first thing you can see is that the blog owner hasn’t written anything since September 2013, four months after he made the first post on his blog.

If you search the blog on whasoever search engine, the website does not appear, so it seems like this blog has been hidden by the owner.

This option can be activated once you register on tumblr, in the settings page, where you can allow the search engines to index your blog. So we can say that FTWillz thought that hiding his blog from other ones would have helped him with not being found out by people.

Or maybe he was just desperately trying to be discovered?

We passed hours on this blog, even though it has just 4 pages, and we noticed a lot of interesting stuff about his poetry.

First of all, the way FTWillz writes is stunningly similar to Frank’s, both the lack of capital letters and the frequent use of dashes on their poems.

There are about 34-35 poems written in there and FTWillz “sends” us a message that we can classify as “full of hate” and “desperate”.

Nothing new, right? All things that connect us to Frank’s poetry, whose poems are really similar to the new FTWillz ones.

Other important things can be the notes and the tags: actually, FTWillz didn’t add tags on his posts and he has just two notes, one of which is the girl’s who told me about this blog.

Seems like Frank didn’t want to be found out.

I immediately thought that the blog was a kind of “refugee” where he wanted to write safely without having problems.

The obvious question is: why didn’t he make a private blog?

You can tell this blog is absolutely interesting from every corner of it.

One of the things M noticed was the last poem he wrote, the 20th September’s one that appears on the top of the first page, where FTWillz mentions a certain Sylvia Plath.

I’m pretty sure someone of you recognized the name.

The same poetess was quoted by Frank in an interview years ago during The Black Parade, as a reference to the album, inspired by the figurative death in Plath’s poems.

Can it be just a coincidence?

Talking again about FTWillz, in the poem written the 25th August, I found an extremely important thing that, from the first sight, I’ve noticed.

Do you remember “From My Head to My Middle Finger, I Really Think I Like You”? The poem both Frank and the (not so) mysterious FTWillz have published?

Well, the same sentence was written by FTWillz must die too the 25th August.

Still a coincidence?

By the way, the 23rd May FTWillz published a poem named “houston we have a…” and the “you’re so cool cool cool” line shocked me a bit.

You have surely recognized this line, didn’t you?

The sentence is the same as Kill All Your Friends and this makes me think that this is not just a coincidence. We can notice that FTWillz is pissed off with a person who changed and who believes he is important so he calls him “arrogantly successful”.

Even if you’re not obsessed with this band you can surely tell that Gerard never wanted to be cool (yeah, we all know the NME interview), so we can assume that the fact that Gerard changed pushed FTWillz to write those angry lines.

There’s another thing that I noticed really easily. I am referring to the 15th July poem where FTWillz writes “club 27 has reached capacity”, which is also the title Frank gave to one of his poems in his website.

Still a coincidence? Let’s think a little about this.

If someone still remembers it, back to 2004, a message from Frank appeared to search for Gerard who disappeared after leaving a message telling him he was going to be the new Jim Morrison, who died when he was only 27 (the same age Gerard had in 2004) of overdose.

Now, let’s be honest, in that recording Frank seems to be crying instead of just being sick, so we can tell he cares a lot about his best friend and the fact that Gerard was basically drunk and on drugs all the time seems to confirm my theory. Seriously, Frank was really worried for him.

If you have never heard it, here’s a youtube video where you can find the recording http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9iwNtBb7CqQ

Do you still think this is just a mere coincidence? This poem is about someone who wanted to commit suicide at the age of 27, come on! It’s obvious now.

Moving on, FTWillz named a poem with a line a letlive’s song, Banshee: “My stomach hates the, hates the bitter taste of the truth” and, in another poem, he uses another line from another letlive’s song, Younger. And I found this thing pretty suspicious.

This could say barely nothing but I made a little research about this group just to see what type of connection they have together and I found something interesting.

Apparently, it seems like the two bands have in common the same label and this explains why FTWillz knows some of their songs.

As I said many times before, you can say this can be just a coincidence and the blog owner could be someone who enjoys making fun of other people and who can perfectly imitate the way Frank writes. And I understand this because I know the fanbase is full of teenagers that do not have anything to do all day, but I’m pretty sure there are a lot of things left and I’m definitely convinced that FTWillz must die is Frank.

Don’t believe me? Take a look here.

Do you think this is something a teenage boy or a teenage girl could write?

I don’t think a fifteen-years-old teenager can write those type of things, especially because I am one. Like the majority of my peers, I’m absolutely disinterested in politics and I’ll never be able to write things like these, not even in a million years. Trust me.

And the main reason I think FTWillz is Frank is the fact that if you open Frank’s page on his university’s website you can tell politics is a topic he is really interested in. I am convinced that he is such an intelligent and cultured man.

Do you think a grown up fan would waste his time making fun of a crowd of teenagers? I strongly doubt it.

In conclusion, I am definitely sure that FTWillz must die is Frank and that he WANTS us to find out these “secrets”. And I am convinced, after I read his poetry, that he was really close to reveal something, something we already know but something they still keep hiding.

Sorry for my not-so-good English and I wanted to thank my “colleague” M for helping me and for tolarating my silliness during this discovery!

We are going to analyze his poems soon so, stay tuned!

I don’t know what I can say anymore, it’s all up to you. There’s definitely more than just “stage gay” between those two.

So… this feels really, really overwhelming for me after writing Janna for years, under different names with a lot of development, and I never thought that this OC of mine would actually.. ending up even more popular than the canon male characters I used to write? It really means a lot to me, after having friends tell me years ago they just don’t care to hear about my OC, and I still often wonder whether people do care and… I am so grateful for all of you. For the people sending memes, liking and reblogging posts, the people talking ooc to me, the people I thread with - I have been on this blog for longer than I managed to keep any other, and there are many people who already left behind their blogs, people I do miss, but there are also so many new friends I made along the way so… Here, if you want to see a small part of the people who make my stay here so great… Under the cut with absolutely no claims to being complete because I ALWAYS forget people!

Keep reading

i just had an idea for a fic with everyone/yoongi

i think of the weirdest AUs istg

i just thought it’d be really interesting if there was an a/b/o fic and everyone in bangtan was an alpha except yoongi

BUT instead of the whole omega!yoongi x alpha!everyone thing, yoongi was a beta

can you imagine

in my head, betas are basically like your everyday human whereas alphas and omegas have the heightened senses and more carnal instincts

and betas are pretty much the minority and the majority are alphas and omegas

alphas have ruts and omegas can have heats (but not the crazy intense things that usual a/b/o fics have but just think of a week  in the cycle where omegas and alphas are extra horny, touchy, sensitive, but still able to function and not losing their minds or in pain or anything)

and yoongi’s just long-suffering, having to deal with these alphas

they’re not that bad though, especially from some of the stories yoongi’s heard about in other groups

actually, except for maybe the occasional scuffle (mostly between maknae line, sometimes hoseok & occasionally jin, namjoon is rare bc he’s incredibly good at self-control though) they’re great

sure they scent mark him and get a bit touchy and protective with him during their ruts, but he doesn’t mind bc all in all it’s not bad

they’re not the stereotypical cocky alphas and they actually listen to him and respect him as the hyung, regardless of their status

they all love him a lot and yoongi loves them all so much (maybe more than he should)

but yoongi’s here thinking, they won’t want me anyway bc i’m a beta and i’m average in every way, what can i do for them

they probably want omegas that can take care of them and be outright affectionate with them and just be everything they need

but nope

they all love him and want him and he’s just super oblivious bc he’s completely in denial about the fact that they could want him

(in this AU polyamory isn’t frowned upon but it is uncommon but relationships between people in the same idol groups aren’t uncommon either since they’re with each other 24/7)

(however mutliple alphas/beta relationship is super uncommon)

(salkghkj what am i doing with my life, why is this a fic that i want)

Arkham City is a fantastic game (that I should have played years ago), but I’m having trouble suspending my Riddler-related disbelief…

  • How the hell does he have so many people spying for him, who would DO that, who would risk betraying Joker/Penguin/Two-Face to feed information to a guy who just wants to know if there are any posters around he can write bad puns about
  • There are Too Many Riddler Trophies. Ed, for the love of god, please.
  • So many of the trophies are inside other villains’ hideouts?? It’s one thing to hide kitschy statues in an underground subway, it’s quite another to convince Penguin to allow all this souvenir swag to just sit around in the Iceberg Lounge.
    • (”So, in the entrance to your base of operations, I’m thinking a trophy and then three big neon question marks behind it on the wall, with sort of a shrine feeling to it”
      “…I literally have a shark I could feed you to, why am I putting up with this”)