what no job and school leads too

About a Girl [1]

Originally posted by itsrapmonster

Namjoon: dad!au & CEO!au

Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 /Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Final / Epilogue 

Meet the new nanny.

You stared up from the slip of paper that you held in your hand, an address scribbled on it. This was it. This was the building that your newest employer resided in. You took a deep breath before pushing into the buildings revolving door. 

Upon entering you noticed a security guard at a desk a few feet away. Whoever had hired you sure lived in a nice place to warrant security in the building. The man gave you a slight smile, “Can I help you ma’am?”

You nodded, “Yes please. I’m here for Kim Namjoon. He lives in apartment 441.”

The man grabbed a clipboard, flipping through a couple pages. “Could you tell me your name?”


“Ah, yes. Miss Y/LN.” He put down the clipboard as his smile became a little more sincere. “You’re the new nanny to little miss Jangmi I hear. She’s a good girl, I can’t imagine she will give you much trouble. It’s her father you’ll wanna watch out for.”

Keep reading

I Don’t Love You Anymore Pt. 4

My brain is going a million thoughts a second as I swipe the screen, “Y/N! I’ve called you three times! What’s wrong? Are you okay?” she bombards. “Relax, I’m fine. Actually I’m not fine, I just ran into Ashton and Calum,” I breathe out and rub my temples. “Oh my goodness. I’m heading over to your apartment now,” she says and I can hear her jiggling keys. “I’ll buy the beer,” I say. “And I’ll get the Ben & Jerry’s” she replies and we both hang up; this is gonna be a long night.

You can find pt. 3 right here –> I Don’t Love You Anymore Pt. 3

“So…what happened again?,” y/b/f/n asks as she swallows two big spoonfuls of ice cream and finishes her third beer. “I’ve already told you twice,“ I say as I roll my eyes; I love her to death but she can be a real pain sometimes. “Yeah but I learn something different after each time you tell me,” she says, but she really means, “I’m not paying attention.” “Please, y/n last time,” she begs and her words are starting to slur as she reaches for another beer. “No. You’re done,” I snap and take the cold bottle from her hand. This is what I mean, she’s a pain. I’m the one who just went through what felt like life’s worse case scenario, I should be getting drunk, not her. “Awww y/n but I’m not even tipsy,” she says. “I thought you were coming over here to help me figure out what to do with Calum and Ashton, not get drunk,” I say looking down as she ignores me and goes on babbling about some nonsense. This has been a crappy day and all I wanted was my best friend to make me feel better by talking about what happened, her saying a funny joke, or consoling by saying, “I’m out of their league” or “They don’t deserve you” hell, suggest we go out, anything besides what she’s doing now. I open my phone to block out her noise and I notice my Twitter has a million notifications, I open the app to see #Calum&Y/NOfficiallyOverParty trending. My heart beats faster as I read the first tweets: (g/n = girl’s name)

“I’m so happy for Calum. He deserved much more than y/n. #Calum&g/n”

“Calum & g/n are so cute together. I ship them.”

“Calum’s new girlfriend is so much prettier than y/n.”

I throw my phone across the room as tears roll down my face. I literally just seen him 3 hours ago and he didn’t bother to tell me he moved on. No, of course Calum wanted to frick with my emotions and make me believe there was still something there when he already had a new girlfriend. “Y/n what’s wrong?” y/b/f/n asks suddenly sobered up. “He has a girlfriend,” I say looking at her. “Oh sweetie,” she says, immediately knowing who I was referring to, as she pulls me into a tight hug. I cry into her shoulder for a few more minutes before she says, “Sweetie, he is not worth your tears, you already wasted so much on him, don’t waste anymore. Save them for when you’re watching Les Miserables or Lion King,” she jokes making me chuckle. I stop crying and wipe my face on the sleeve of my pajama shirt, “I just wish he had told me. I’d rather hear it from him than Twitter,” I add. “Forget him! There are so many other guys out there, which reminds me why I was calling you,” she says wiping some smeared mascara off my face. “Yes, please tell me why you kept calling,” I say while taking a heaping spoon of cold cream into my hot mouth.

“So guess who asked Niall, who asked Luke, who asked me if you were seeing anyone…” she perks up and jumps to sit on her knees, her eyes all big and excited, now that’s the y/b/f/n I know. “You and Luke?” I question as I raise my eyebrow at her, suddenly their relationship taking my interest. “Don’t change the subject,” she warns and I wiggle my eyebrows at her. “We’ll talk about that later. Now come on, y/n, guess!” she squeals as she gently shoves my shoulder. Oh no, another boy I can’t even deal with the two frickers right now, how can I add another to the pot? I stutter, “I-I’m n-not really interested in–

“Come on, y/n. Honestly, you need to move on. It’s obvious that Calum acted that way in the store because he was jealous seeing you and Ashton that close. Remember how adamant he was about you and Ash and how you could never be alone together; it just brought back memories. And yes Ashton is a good candidate but you already dated Calum. Y/n you can’t mess up their bromance. Both I and the fandom will murder you,” she says seriously. She’s right, it’s been six weeks and I should move on, Calum already has and I can’t break up Cashton. “Well, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to go on one date,” I breathe out, finally giving in after weeks of her begging. “Yay!” she squeals, “So, who asked about me?” I ask curiously, “Shawn,” she sings as she grabs my shoulders in a death grip while giving me the biggest smile. “Mendes? He’s like 2 years younger than me,” I groan as I rub my temples. “So?” she asks. “So? Y/b/f/n he’s a child,” I exclaim, how am I supposed to get over two daddies (lol) with a boy. “Y/n, you’re 21 and he’s 19, what’s wrong with that? Plus he’s fine as hell and I know you like him! I saw you eye-fucking him when he was at the 1D release party,” she says as she reaches for the ice cream again. “I wasn’t eye-fricking him!” I gasp as I snatch the ice cream from her. “Okay, so what was this?” she asks as she looks at me with sexy eyes and starts biting and licking her lips. I burst out laughing at my best friend “eye-fricking” me, “Okay, I did not look like that!” I say. “Oh honey, you were worse. But he was doing it too,” she says taking the ice cream back. “He was?” I ask, not believing the girl. “Totally babe,” she says winking at me. “He is cute,” I admit. “He’s having a party tomorrow night and you’re going,” she says as gets off the couch pulling me with her. “Where are we going?” I ask, “To pick out your outfit. We gotta make you desirable,” she says as she turns around to face me. “Oh I don’t know. A simple outfit will be fine,” I tell her as I turn around to sit back on the couch. “Luke told me that he and the guys were gonna go, meaning Calum and Ashton are bound to make an appearance,” she smirks at me. “We better figure out how I’ll do my hair too,” I say popping off the couch and leading the way to the bedroom as she follows me laughing. “And you better be ready to spill the deets on you and Lukey,” I tell her as she stops laughing making me laugh at her.

A/N: Hello beautifuls, I know this is well overdue but so much has been happening right now. I have been offered new jobs and positions at my school and that’s been taking up all of my time. I’m sorry that this is so late but please still tell me what y’all think. I feel like the more I write the more the plot will change, is that bad? Talk to me! Part 5 is coming soon!!!!!!!!

Part 5 —> /i-dont-love-you-anymore-pt-5

The Failure of Perfect Education

Today I realised that math education is an even worse/harder problem than I’d first anticipated.

So, for background, my brother is in the local equivalent of 8th grade. He’s brilliant and came first in the country for the pre-high school standardised tests. He now goes to one of the quartet of The Best Schools* in my country. His teacher was a friend of mine in college who majored in math and is quite good at explaining things. Basically, everything possible is in my brother’s favour.

My brother was home today, so my mother asked me to teach him some math, so that he can n̴̠̈͘é̸̲v̷̢̛̻̓e̵̪̔͗r̷̪̽͜͠ ̵͚̀͝e̶̪̻͒̕s̷̞͇͒̕č̶͓̚a̸͉̬͑̌p̸͉͈͂ẹ̷̇ education. To see where he was, in order to teach him from there, I decided to gradually give him progressively harder problems, starting with what I thought would be the absolute most basic thing possible.

I gave him 60 + x = 2x + 4x

He looked startled and asked how to do that. I asked if he knew how transposition worked. He said yes, but that he didn’t see what he could do there. I said to transpose the lone x…

…And he told me that you can only move terms from the right side of the equal sign to the left side.

I am told my “what the serious fuck” face was priceless but, alas, there was no one on sight to record it for posterity.

Anyway, after talking it through a little, it came to light that he had simply never realised transposition was symmetric. He had thought that “transposition” was basically a magic spell you cast to move a number from one place to another.

He didn’t know why this worked. He’d never seen someone transpose from left to right before, because all his example problems so far had been in the same format. He didn’t know why the sign of the number changed. He didn’t know what it meant for an equation to “balance”.

So I showed him the behind the scenes of transposition. I showed him that the actual process happening was:
60 + x = 2x + 4x
60 + x = 6x
60 + x [-x] = 6x [-x]
60 = 6x - x
60 = 5x
12 = x

That bold step? He didn’t know that was a thing. He didn’t realise subtraction was happening at all and just conceptualised transposition as picking something up from the right side and plopping it down on the left side. After I explained the “balance” of equations to him (including wtf “=“ meant), he had a look as if a dozen gears had clicked into place all at once. He was Enlightened.

Now, I’ve tutored kids before, so I knew all sorts of weird ideas could pop up. However, they’d never been the best students in their class, and they’d had lousy teachers, and they went to poor schools, etc. So it always made sense to me that they’d have wound up with misconceptions.

Today I learned that, even if you have the literal best student being taught by someone who fully understands what they’re teaching while in the one of the best schools -
- That, even then, sometimes learning just straight-up doesn’t happen. That, sometimes, that perfect student doesn’t know wtf an equals sign really means.

I don’t know what happened to lead here, to be honest. It wasn’t too much for him to understand - he completely got it under two minutes. He isn’t being taught by someone who can’t explain things, because his teacher did an excellent job of explaining physics stuff to me when we were both in college. His peers are some of the brightest kids in the country, because our school system rations students to schools by test score.

Maybe the classroom environment is just bad for learning? Maybe it’s too noisy for focus? Maybe the teacher can’t go into enough depth for everyone to fully get it? Maybe the students don’t ask enough questions when they’re missing something? Maybe no one quite realises that they don’t know something when it’s not being worked through one-on-one?

I don’t know! Learning is failing to occur under the best possible schooling conditions and I don’t know why! What I do know is that that is terrifying.

* They’re a quartet because they’re every intersection of [Catholic | Anglican]*[for boys | for girls] My brother goes to the Catholic boys’ school, my father went to the Anglican boys’ school, etc.

(The other place I’ve expressed concern about our schools)

Promised ~ pt.1

Author: completedylantrash

Characters: OFC x Stiles (and other TW characters)

Rating: Mature 18+

Word Count: 4202

A/N: This is a AU multi. There will be smut but I wanted to try to build it a little. So here it goes, hope y’all like it!

Fate is believed to be the hidden power that controls what happens in the future. But is it real? Is there someone, or something, each one of us is destined for? Some people believe yes. Others, like me, not so much. I just think that everyone is responsible for their own life, their future, not some force that determines how they’re meant to spend their life.

Keep reading

“He was very dedicated. Whatever task you gave him, he would exert 100%—no, 200% of his effort in order to see it through. If he needed to achieve something, he would give all his time and energy to make sure it happened, even if it was as impossible as salvaging a doomed project.

“My mom wasn’t too happy about that, and they fought a lot about his absence and how he spent too much time at work. And she would always point to me as the reason for her frustration, saying that he was being a terrible father for never being home for me.

“But he was far from terrible in my eyes. He might not have been present all the time, but he made sure that I felt his presence through the letters we sent each other. He would send me gifts as small as a nice-looking shell he found while he was working or as big as a Shelgon he caught in his research, and I would send him drawings I made in Trainers’ School and pictures of outings with my mom and her, as I called him before, ‘new friend’. Before his job became too time-consuming, we would always stargaze in Route 115 at a certain time at night, so he always ended his letters reminding me to watch the stars with him so we could continue that tradition.

“Unlike Mom, I actually admired all his dedication and hard work, and I remember thinking that when I grew up, I would be as hardworking as he was. And in a way, that’s what got me through those long years leading up to being an astronomist. I might not have seen him much after their divorce, and the failure of New Mauville certainly didn’t help him with being present, but he never stopped being an inspiration to me.”

“If by any chance he sees this, what would you like to say to him?”

“Daddy, I…I still watch the stars at night, and I hope you do, too. I always imagine you looking at the same set of stars wherever you may be, and it feels almost like when we were stargazing long ago. I hope we can do that again someday, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned from you, it’s to always believe. So I’ll never lose hope, Daddy, and I’ll never stop believing that you’re still stargazing with me, wherever you are.”

“Hey Dar,” I called, coming into the shared apartment of ours we bought after Sodapop turned eighteen, “can I invite an old friend over tonight?”
He came out if the kitchen wearing oven mitts, and an apron that fit him a little too tightly, making him look so funny. I chuckled a little when I looked at him.
“Well well well,” you said raising your eyebrows, “who’s looking sex-y tonight?”
He glared at me, giving me a sarcastic “ha-ha.”
I giggled slapping his but playfully, “so is that okay with you?”
“Having an old friend over, Kath?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Great!” you exclaimed, getting on your tippy-toes and giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Can you start cooking some pasta or something?”
“Okay, I can make some really good lasagna that mom taught me to make before she died.”
“Oh my God, YES! I could bath in that tomato sauce!” You yelled out, not really paying attention to your words.
Darry chuckled at the way expressed that the sauce tasted good. You blushed before going off to take a shower and change.
The buzzer rang (I don’t know what you call it in America, I keep forgetting even though I’ve lived here since I was six) and you yelled out that you would get it to Darry who was mixing some lemonade.
“Bay!” Kath exclaimed, giving you a hug. He, yes, he, gave you a bouquet of multicolored flowers.
You and Kath were friends since dipers, and he recently came out to his parents about being gay, they kicked him out, he moved to Tulsa from your hometown, (Y/H/T), and is renting the small bedroom above the ice cream shop four blocks down. You had to admit, he was a really good looking guy. Muscular and perfectly sculpted jaw. You had a crush in him during middle school, and then freshman year, he sort of came out to you. Only you.
“You have to meet my boyfriend, Darry! You two will get along amazingly.” Just then, Darry came in with a dish towel in his hands.
“Hello,” he sternly said, looking Kath strait in the eyes.
“Hey,” Kath awkwardly mumbled, sensing the tension.
“Well,” you cut in, “I’m starving!”

*while eating*

After putting the flowers in a vase, you sat down at the circular light wood table.
“So,” Darry sharply started, “Kath, what kind of name is that?”
“Oh it’s Greek. It’s actually Kathoup, but I thought that sounded too much like ketchup, so I just go by Kath.” I heard Darry chuckle as if he was saying, “that’s not much better,” so I kicked him.
“You got a job?” Darry asked with a facxe that said he was in pain.
“No, but I have an interview at the music store. I love music.
"Kath was the lead in almost all of our school plays.” You chirped, almost bragging for him.
After that, it was sort of an awkward silence. You knew Darry was jealous, which sort if hurt you because you had already established that you two trusted each other.
“So tell me,” you said, breaking the ice, “have you found a BOYFRIEND yet?” You sort of yelled boyfriend so you were sure Darry heard.
“Oh, my God. There was this amazing looking guy at Zippies last night,” Zippies was a gay bar, and Darry’s reaction was priceless, “His hair was so blonde and his eyes were so green and MMM… I could just, oh yummy.” You giggled at his fangirling. Kath was probably the biggest fangirl/guy in the world.
“Wait, you’re-”
“Gay? Yes.” Kath answered Darry.
After that, Kath and Darry got along perfectly, and soon, Kath had to leave.
Darry and I both have him hugs and the extra lasagna.
“Well, well, well. Someone was jealous.”
“I didn’t know he was gay!”
“So what if you didn’t know? Tou should still trust me!”
“I know,” he said, running a hand through his gelled hair, “I’m sorry.”
“I forgive you.”
“Good,” he said while smiling.
“Now we have to clean up the kitchen so hurry dat ass over there!” He laughed as we made outer way to the kitchen.

For the TOI24 February winner, bay-998

“I’m fat? I HAD NO IDEA” -No Fat Person Ever

Let’s talk bodies. Specifically, let’s talk about bodies with a higher percentage of fat on them. Fat is one of these few “anomalies” left that is socially acceptable to comment on, to shame, to make fun of. Though progress is being made through body and fat positivity movements, there is still a long way to go before people (both fat and thin) can feel accepted an any size. 

What qualifications do I have to speak on this matter? Let me introduce myself. This is me:

I’m 5′5″ and roughly 290 lbs. I am fat. In fact, there is no period in time that I can remember that I wasn’t. That’s 25 years of fat experience you’re looking at. Most of that time was spent absolutely hating myself for it, wondering why I had to be built this way. 

You know what people think of when they look at me? They think I’m lazy. That I eat nothing but fast food, or that I eat constantly. When’s the last time I went out for a walk, got some exercise in? Maybe if I ate a salad every once in a while I wouldn’t be in this predicament. My body shape screams diabetes, high blood pressure, high cholesterol. It is assumed that I just don’t take care of myself, period. These assumptions cost me in real life. Being fat makes it harder for me to get the job offer, to get the promotion. Being fat costs me extra money, in the clothes I sometimes have to go to specialty stores for, and for the big one: medical care. 

I have had to switch doctors twice so far, and it’s looking like I’m going to switch a third time. I’m tired of my medical issues being overlooked because of my weight. Every time I have seen the doctor, and spent the $60 copay for the appointment, the reason I made the appointment gets skipped over and goes into the “You know, you’re fat and should look into losing weight” conversation. Like I didn’t know I’m fat, like it’s some sort of surprise, like it just appeared overnight and I can get rid of it just as quickly. The first doctor skipped all other suggestions, going straight into surgery. The reason I was in the office? I suspected I had strep throat. Instead of confronting that issue, he shrugs it off as a cold – and asks if I’ve ever thought of getting the lap band. He was convinced I had diabetes, that my cholesterol must be high and he might need to put me on medication for it. I had to fight to get the step swab, but allowed him to charge me almost $200 for blood tests to appease him. The results? My glucose levels are normal – I’m not even prediabetic – my cholesterol is low, and the blood pressure they had taken? 102/66. A damn near perfect pressure to be at. You know what came back positive? The strep test. The second doctor didn’t lead straight into surgery, though he did try to pitch his Liquid Diet program to me. At least he was honest about the insane costs of it, and did mention that aside from being fat in frame I was healthy. 

What really gets me is when people, especially my doctors, think that because I’m fat, I must be inactive. That’s a fun one. What they don’t know is that I did softball in my childhood, was a cheerleader in middle school, leading into high school, and that even now, after working a job where I’m on my feet for 8+ hours a day I go on runs at night and I go hiking on my days off. Fat people have lives, too. We can actually do stuff and be active. I used to go to the gym every day until I got told to stop keeping the machines to myself, and let people who actually make progress use them. Now I work out alone, away from people with that mindset. I don’t need that kind of negativity in my life. 

And neither do you. 

It took me so many years to be alright with myself. I had to fight through hate, not just from those on the outside who bullied me, but from the inside from believing what they had to say. I used to think that I wasn’t beautiful, that I’d never be successful, and I’d never be loved. I was wrong all on three counts. I finally see the beauty that is me. I’ve had brilliant opportunities to work in companies that I loved and became immensely successful in, and I learned to love myself… and in the process, found the love of a man who proposed to me a few months ago. It’s an uphill battle – I still have days full of doubts, but I know that I’m not just fat. I’m flabulous. 


  • You are beautiful at every size
  • No, really, you’re super beautiful
  • Look in the mirror
  • Do you see it? You’re AMAZING inside and out
  • Don’t let anyone else tell you otherwise, because they are wrong

i think it is honestly ridiculous how many times we, from the true crime community, have to say that we don’t condone the acts of the killers or that we are not romanticizing them.
every single time someone comes to my blog talking shit about me, saying that i condone their acts, that i’m a horrible human and that i should die, i think how people outside the TCC don’t even take some time to look what it’s the community about, what we really talk about, what we honestly think about killers. to me, they’re only making a fool of themselves when they send hate asks like that.
the hate we get it’s stupid, unnecessary and a waste of time. your hate will not make us stop being interested in true crime, your hate can hurt us emotionally, your hate can make someone who were already mental ill get worse.
you’re not better than us for not being interested in true crime.
you’re not superior.
you’re not a better person.
you’re not kinder, more human or special.
our society obsess over violence and crimes all the fucking time. it’s all over the news, schools, universities, jobs, families, friendships, movies, tv shows, books. it’s everywhere. but if we admit being interested on true crime and violence too, we are the bad people? why? why do you think like this? why me posting a photo of a killer with a description of how was their life or what crime they committed makes you so mad?
have you ever thought about how a person can be interested in the human brain? how it works? the disorders? what leads a person to kill? what happened? why it happened? why the press never really focus on the life-before-the-crime of the killer and the victims? why they never really talk about how many school shootings happen in north-america and in the whole world? why it was like it was? i’m not saying this in order to absolve killers from their acts or to say they were 100% good, that they were always victims too, i don’t think that crime really has a justification, i’m saying that there is so many things to read, to try to understand, to search, so many interesting things and it’s not your problem what we like and it’s not our problem if you don’t like it.
you have NO RIGHT to come to a true crime blog to spread hate.
be careful when you spread hate, you never know what the person if going through.
stop being so insensitive and incrompehensive. it is too ridiculous.
be educate and educate your fucking self before your talk shit about others and about others’ interest.
thank you.

i know not every single one who are at the TCC doesn’t condone, but they’re rares and even if they condone something, you have no right to spread hate. never.

  • *Making my mom watch Ouran High School Host Club (dubbed) while we eat dinner. Twelve year old nephew is with us.*
  • Me: Hey, Bren...listen to that blond one [Tamaki]. He sound familiar?
  • Him: No?
  • Me: Think Fullmetal Alchemist.
  • Him: ...Wait....Is that...Edward Elric?
  • Me: Yeah! Good job! It's the same voice actor [Vic Mignogna, obviously].
  • Him: I....no...I'm leaving. I'm not watching this.
  • *gets up from chair to go to back room*
  • Me: *calling after him* And the lead girl is Winry...and the tall one is Mustang...and Scar and Lau from Brotherhood are in here, too.
  • Him: Ashley, oh my god, shut up, I don't want to hear this.
  • My Mom: What are you doing to my poor grandson?
  • Me: Blowing his mind.
Countdown to Mockingjay: Day 15/100

Banner was made by the talented Deanna dianaflynn22!

If you’d like to follow my countdown you can track the tags #mjcountdown and #mjcountdownffauthors. You can also find the list on my blog here: http://jhutchmyanchor.tumblr.com/countdowntomj.  HAPPY READING!

Author 55: fanficallergy

Story: Spectator

  • Status: Complete
  • Type: Multi-Chapter
  • Rating: T
  • Canon/AU: AU- Canon Divergence
  • Warning/Trigger: Graphic depiction of violence, major character death
  • Summary: Prim volunteers to take a pregnant Katniss’ place in the Seventy Fourth Hunger Games. Peeta vows to make sure Prim comes home alive. Now all Katniss can do is watch and hope that the boy with the bread will keep his word and her sister makes it home. That is until the Capitol finds a way to mess everything up.
  • Why I chose this fic: I really enjoyed reading Peeta and Prim’s interactions while they were in the arena.


Author 56: JavisTG

Story: Hungover

  • Status: Complete
  • Type: One-Shot
  • Rating: M
  • Canon/AU: Modern AU
  • Warning/Trigger: N/A
  • Summary: An office party, a secret crush and a lot of alcohol. What would happen if Katniss went to her office party and drank too much.
  • Why I chose this fic: I love this one-shot because we’ve all been there. We have all made fools out of ourselves at least once (maybe drunk). Luckily, Katniss had a good outcome in this one-shot.


Author 57: chele20035

Story: Twisted

  • Status: Complete
  • Type: Multi-Chapter
  • Rating: E
  • Canon/AU: AU
  • Warning/Trigger: BDSM,
  • Summary: Katniss is so excited, Prim finally made it medical school, on a full scholarship too. What sisters don’t expect is how much it all costs. When Katniss goes looking for a part time job, it leads her to photographer, Peeta Mellark.
  • Why I chose this fic: Peeta. Katniss. Bondage with ropes. Sexy times (with some angst). Overall a very sexy, entertaining story that introduced me to something that I didn’t even know existed.


Author 58: midnighteverlark

Story: Nothing Owed for a Gift

  • Status: Complete
  • Type: One-Shot
  • Rating: T
  • Canon/AU: AU
  • Warning/Trigger: N/A
  • Summary: Lately, Merchants have taken to flirting with unwitting Seam folk as a joke, sometimes going so far as to ask them out on a date. I’ve even heard of a couple instances of a Merchant asking someone from the Seam to marry them, and then laughing hysterically when the poor recipient says ‘yes’. So, when Peeta Mellark approaches me after the reaping, red with nerves and pushing his lips together as if he’s trying very hard not to do something like laugh, I’m immediately wary.
    Peeta can’t possibly be asking me to marry him for real.
    … right?
  • Why I chose this fic: I love this fluffy, feel-good one-shot. And Peeta is adorable in this fic.
The hypothetical story of Chris Argent, who does not give a fuck what you think

I did in fact actually write up that trans headcanon for Chris Argent.  It is approximately six thousand words long, which was not the intended effect, but I apologize for nothing.

(I may have accidentally gotten myself to the point where, rather than ‘wouldn’t it be interesting if?’, I’m going to just continue to interpret Chris Argent as trans whenever not specifically proven otherwise.)

WARNINGS FOR: transphobic language (a few disparaging remarks, one brief tirade from an OC), and also Gerard Argent’s version of supportive parenting, which looks suspiciously controlling and abusive.  Also your general terrible decisions such as trying to chest bind with an Ace bandage (do not do this!!!!!), having sex with extremely drunk people to avoid awkward conversations (this is dubcon, do not do this either), and self-prescribing and altering dosages of black market hormone supplements.

ETA–also canon-typical violence and some messy killing and setup to interrogation/torture of OCs.  Which you’d think I’d think to mention.

Titled in the style of The Hypothetical Story of Derek Hale, Who Never Takes Off His Shirt.

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(written by Nikki)

Although I am still a student at school, I too stress a lot due to exams and also having to select subjects that will have an impact on my future job - Which leads to another stress factor: What will I do with my life…? So here I’ve gathered a list of ways that could possibly help you to relax:

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Kick-Ass Chicks: Photographer, Amber Asaly

Sometimes your coolness comes when you’ve lived a life full of experiences and moments that have molded you into who you are today. And that may very well be so, but we are utterly convinced that photographer, Amber Aslay, was just simply born a badass. From her mood ring hair (literally, it’s a new color every month) to her easy-going attitude, there really isn’t anything that ISN’T cool about Amber Asaly. We caught up with this talented photographer one day in LA to chat about her style (psst…she’s a HUGE fan of Sk8-Hi’s), her road to success, and advice she’d give young photographers.

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anonymous asked:

How do you deal with someone placing ahead of your, WQ even, when you think you're just as good as them and danced maybe even better?

Ooooh, this hits close to home. It’s frustrating - devastating, even - when this happens, especially if it happens frequently. There’s no way to rationalize it away. I ask myself lots of questions. I take time to process it. So here’s what I’m thinking:

Did you actually dance better? If you did, don’t you think the adjudicators would have noticed? Aren’t you biased? Isn’t your teacher, friend, parent biased?

If the answer to any of those is yes, that’s probably true. BUT it’s also not always the reason why. I have learned the hard, annoying, frustrating way that adjudicators are more human than we want them to be sometimes. And it’s not because they’re all cheaters, favoring the better-known dancers, or because they have such wonky preferences that they place a mediocre dancer above a clear winner for no apparent reason. They’re human, they have uncontrollable biases (as do we), and they have a really tough job of watching countless dancers for hours on end trying to stack them against each other, most of the time without direct comparison. They are trained to do this, too. I advise against thinking you could have done a better job. Those thoughts can too easily lead to bitterness, anger, and cynicism. Don’t feel them.

All that being said, I know that stuff isn’t helpful. I’ve been on the receiving end for countless competitions where I felt gypped. Was I gypped? Maybe, but I’m still here, aren’t I? Have I not improved beyond what I expected I could? Defeat offers opportunity and growth. Small schools are at a disadvantage. The un-feised are at a disadvantage. The out-of-style are at a disadvantage. The nobodies are at a disadvantage. It’s not fair. The dancing counts, nothing else, right? Right. It’s all that counts, because you can’t control the rest. You can’t control much of the rest of it, but you can control the why. I can control why.

At the end of the day, why do you dance? Are you aiming for high places because you want to push yourself or because you feel like you need to be or deserve to be in those top spots? What difference does 10th place to 4th place really make, other than maybe a sash that will sit in a storage container or maybe hang in your practice space that only you see? What is driving you? Enjoy the dancing. Enjoy the process. Did you give it your all on that stage? Relax in those amazing moments. The friends you make, the connections you find within the community, the places you get to visit, and the discipline you cultivate through dance is more important than a title, a name. I’m asking myself these questions as I write them. Why are you still in it? Why do you keep going? Do you just love the dance? The thrill of the stage? There has to be something else pushing you to keep dancing other than the placements themselves - perhaps the hope of fairer scores, more improvement in your own skill, some of the other dancers retiring. All decent reasons but those things won’t sustain you - you won’t keep going unless there is a more deep-seated passion driving you to keep going.

The disappointments, the unfair scores, the tears all drive me towards one thing: why I’m still here. How do I deal with someone beating me that I feel shouldn’t have? I take it at face value, I figure out what more I can do, I don’t allow myself to get cynical, and I hold my chin up and be the gracious dancer I work so hard to be. Win with humility, lose with grace.