whimsical things

i really, really want a plot where muse a is a naive, sweet, romantic, whimsical little thing with a whole lot of optimism and sunshine in their veins and muse b is the complete opposite; a total player who has someone new in their bed every weekend and hates responsibilities and just spends a lot of their time fucking around. somehow these two have been friends for a while, despite their differing personalities, and one day muse a ends up having to move out of their apartment due to a fire or an infestation or something and muse b is the one who offers to put them up for the time being. it’s all well and good except muse a has terrible nightmares constantly and one night muse b is sick and tired of it (and deep down a little concerned) so gets into bed with muse a until they stop crying and shaking and fall asleep in muse b’s arms instead. cue awkward muses sleeping in the same bed every night and it actually helping muse a a lot with the nightmares, and lots of cuddling and feelings ensue. muse b, being the player they are, are terrified of the idea of liking someone but muse a is pretty much already head over heels and ANGST !!

Yoongi Scenario: Dead Leaves.

Request: Yoongi is wrecked when you say you will leave him because he isn’t taking your relationship seriously and you found out you’re pregnant + Y/N wants to give up the relationship because she isn’t sure of it anymore so Yoongi does his best to salvage your relation.

Genre: Angst / Romance.

It was another night of you waiting, you had told yourself a while ago that you should just stop doing it, why waste your time in something that was futile? Because you had hope? Because of love?

You were beginning to think it was just your stupid whimsical thinking that things could get better, that when he saw you waiting like this he wouldn’t do it anymore, you were giving Yoongi all the signs of your fight, you have talked about it with him too many times by now and you were tired. Of waiting, of being the one who had to call on him for the lack of attention. 

You waited in your room, watching your phone seeing he hadn’t answered the last text you had sent, you wouldn’t be calling him anymore. Why would you? To fall on the voice mail again and increase your anger? It was again futile.
You thought about your boyfriend, how you had moved together recently so you thought things could get better, but now it seemed having you here was more of an excuse to stay out because he knew you would be home when he got back.
You had a lot to read for work but so late at night with the thought of Yoongi on your mind you couldn’t really concentrate, so you laid in bed waiting to fall asleep, wishing you could do so, but all you could think was that he wasn’t there with you.

First you heard the door which made you lift your head and breathe deeply, finally he was home, then you heard things falling, following by the strident noise of something hitting the floor, it sounded like a glass.

Alarmed you went out of your room to go check out what was happening, your eyes focused on Yoongi, he was holding the wall to keep himself from falling as he looked at the floor with a tired expression.

-Yoongi- you breathed watching everything, his drunken state was evident, he had dropped a glass and its broken pieces were scattered around the floor, your eyes went back to him and you felt your self getting even angrier -Min Yoongi-

This time he looked at you and smiled, he dared to smile. -Y/N- he stumbled from the wall to you. -Beautiful Y/N, I’ve missed you- his arms were around you before you knew it, he supported most of his weight on you, too drunk to hold himself properly, he smelled of pure scotch. -I love you sweetheart, I love you so much-

You bit your lip to not whimper at those words and at the way he held you so close, it wasn’t supposed to be this way.  You pushed him away almost making him fall. -What’s wrong?- he slurred coming back to you. -Come on-

-Yoongi, stop, we can’t do this-

-Why?- he hugged you again, his face resting on the side of your neck, how you dreamed with him coming home to do just these things, but not like this, not after three in the morning, not with him retching of alcohol. 

-Yoongi, you are drunk-

-So what? We can do this-

-No, we can’t, don’t you realize what time it is? Don’t you see that what you are doing? You are never home, and then you get here and expect…-

-You are talking too much much, come, let me…-

You pushed him again, this time causing him to hit the table behind him making him wake a little but his eyes were still glossy with the intoxication. -What’s wrong?- he frowned.

You tried to suppress a scream, but the sound of frustration came out surprising him. -You are drunk, you fucking asshole, you… you are never here-

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fic recs

Some of my favourite fics in no specific order. please support these authors and their works if you love these as much as I did 💖


Liquid Truth  Feasible  @yeolology

Ticking Clocks   A Broken Heart and a Boy in a Car  @whimsical-ness

Hero  The things you do not know  @bread-jinie

Anything For Her   @chanyeolspout

Bruise   @peachykaix


Denouement   @yeolology

Reticent   @suho-mochi

In denial but practically married  @whatstastyinbusan


Flower boy   Just Like Tales  @lufancy

Nothing More @peachykaix

Black and White  @baekingpancakes


Split  @fantasies-from-nami

Stereotypical   @heonseoks

Addewid  @kpopfanfictrash

Exception   @jongintaeminscenarios

Limited  @thesammtimes


Equinox   @bread-jinie


Arranged marriage  @fantasies-from-nami

Good Enough  @pebble-xo


Black and White  @galactichen

Connie, 25

“I am wearing a velvet tank top that I bought in high school (!) and a sequined skirt that I found at a vintage shop in Seattle. The shoes are 90s Steve Maddens. I’m easily seduced by pieces with striking texture or color, or whimsical girly things. I’ve been dreaming of an outfit in pale light green and hot hot scarlet. Whenever I see that color combination on the street I swoon.”

Aug 18, 2017 ∙ Lower East Side
The signs as things I should've said
  • Aries: I miss you.
  • Taurus: I need help.
  • Gemini: I don't care what you say, that joke was offensive.
  • Cancer: I think I love you.
  • Leo: Sometimes you make me feel really bad about myself.
  • Virgo: Excuse me? Excuse you.
  • Libra: No, wait, come back.
  • Scorpio: Fuck you
  • Sagittarius: I think I might be bisexual.
  • Capricorn: You inspire me.
  • Aquarius: I completely disagree with you.
  • Pisces: I really, really like you.

dating jeon wonwoo would include:

- definitely starting as friends and then evolving into lovers

- he’d be so shy and apprehensive about it at first

- would just want to make you happy 24:7 

- kisses on the cheek

- you could be doing homework or washing up and he’d just give you a little peck

- doing projects and homework together

- dates would consist of art galleries or museums occasionally 

- he’d love when you took notice of his interests

- gifting you flowers on each date

- blushy! wonwoo

- wonwoo would probably pay for most things purely because he’s a gentlemen and would refuse to let you pay 

- playing with each others hair / he’d find it so relaxing

- teasing each other

- stealing each others food

“i love you so much it hurts slightly” 

- wonwoo just watching you out of the corner of his eye despite you not doing anything particular interesting 

- linking your arms together

- doing cute whimsical things such as star gazing just for fun 

- i dont think he’d introduce you to his members straight away i think he’d want to wait for a while so he could have you to himself

- but watch him turn up to your apartment and your having coffee with mingyu like honestly 

- really though he’d like the way you mingled with his friends so easily 

- mingyu sending you pictures of wonwoo during the day with captions like “he misses his hunnie bunnie” (we all know how lame mingyu is c’mon) 

- wonwoo making you playlists 

- wonwoo attempting to make you dinner one time 

-  i̶ ̶m̶e̶a̶n̶ ̶i̶t̶s̶ ̶g̶o̶o̶d̶ ̶b̶u̶t̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶k̶n̶o̶w̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶m̶e̶m̶b̶e̶r̶s̶ ̶l̶o̶w̶ ̶k̶e̶y̶ ̶h̶e̶l̶p̶e̶d̶ ̶a̶w̶

- arguments would be short lived i think

- wonwoo would be kinda stubborn but if you cried he’d crumble instantly

- texting you at 3am just to make sure you’re okay 

- whiny! wonwoo 

- inside jokes???

“mingyu said you loved him more tell him hes wrong” 

- random pet names 

- inviting you to concerts etc

- wonwoo getting flustered easily around you 

- he’d want pets trust me

- memes 

- emo wonu activated ^^

- pointing at random things and each of you going “das you” 

- days out in IKEA (a/n: i love IKEA) 

- i think he’d want to travel with you 

- you, wonwoo and your 12 children rocking up to the movies 

- he’s the type of guy to start passionately singing ballads to you in the grocery store im just saying

“1+1 equals 2 but I want you forever”

 “Wonwoo that doesn’t even make sense you dork” 

- poking your cheek??er yes

- dont expect him to want to spend a lot of time away from you, he’s too in love for that 

- “why were you sending me pictures of emus at 3am?” 

- because reasons ^^ 

- teasing him with his own music videos 

“i love you like a butt ton,”

 “how romantic y/n, how romantic” 

a/n: i hope this is enjoyable to read, i think this one is ok compared to my jun version :’) i think me + wonwoo are a like so i find writing about him super easy and fun so look out for more wonwoo stuff in the future! + also im currently writing a request piece i received so a longer imagine will be up sometime this week ; 


requests are open


Root’s fingers know this dance like she’s been doing it for years—which she probably has. Perfect sections, evenly sized. Each line of motion across the scalp fluid and precise, like an oar in water. 

Her fingers are sure, firm—not gentle, exactly, but tender. She hums a little as she works, pulling a strand just behind the ear, her fingertips brushing over the soft skin there in a way that sends a wave of shivers all over. The kind of shiver that a few months ago would have prickled, but not anymore. Like the brush of a shirt against clean skin, or the rustle of cotton sheets: there’s a rightness to it, a whispering feeling that can’t be put into words.

“Your hair is made for braiding,” says Root, twisting a strand into place. “Easy to handle. Nice and thick. It looks… sure of itself.”

“Sure of itself. We are talking about hair, right?” It’s the kind of weird, whimsical thing Root likes to say, that sometimes takes a little digging to get to the bottom of.

“I mean, as opposed to those anemic braids. The kind that get all wispy at the ends.” Sift. Pull. Twist. “My braids used to look like that when I was younger. Before my hair turned brown and got thicker.”

“Turned brown? What color was it before?”

“I was blonde as a kid. And for a few teenage years, not much of a color at all.” Her next stroke is slower, less fluid, like her thoughts are taking up more bandwidth. “That’s about the time I learned to braid my own hair like this.”

It’s hard to imagine Root as a blonde, much less a dishwater blonde. Her eyes and her hair are such a sure brown. Chestnut in the sunlight, the color of black coffee in the shadows.

Root pauses again; she’s not done with her thought. She hesitates, the way she does now and then when she talks about her years in Texas.

“The braiding thing was… actually how I figured it out. Obliquely.”

“Figured out what?” Casually delivered—as follow-up questions have to be, to get her to finish her stories.

“That I liked girls.” She finishes tucking the strand into place and doesn’t pick up the next one right away. “There was a girl at my school who was good at doing braids. She did mine once, and I… I liked it a lot.” Root cards carefully through the strands to straighten out the ends. “A little too much, if you know what I mean. I still remember what it felt like, her fingers in my hair.”

She’s silent as she picks up the next strand. Not from expectation—she never expects an answer—just a little lost in her own thoughts. She’ll come back, eventually.

Mama used to do this on school mornings sometimes. In the days of stickers and crayons. She always talked, too, about how beautiful the braids turned out. You’ll be a beautiful woman someday, she said.

It was torture to sit still, then, enduring the tugging and scolding. But middle school rolled around, eventually; Mama was no longer an all-powerful force, and braiding took too long to endure.

Twenty years later, here’s Root—whose mother probably never braided her hair—handling each strand with ritual rhythm. Root, whose every touch feels intentional, tender in a way that’s not as uncomfortable as it used to be. Sort of nice, actually. There’s something about an acquired taste that flips a switch, opens up new spaces inside—and Root is definitely an acquired taste.

The girl whose hands woke up Root’s body, all those years ago, probably never knew what she’d catalyzed. Never even guessed. But Root remembers—of course she does—the way she remembers everything. That’s her brilliant brain, her gift and her curse: constantly synthesizing and hypothesizing, sometimes getting locked in a repeat string so she can’t let go.

The remaining loose hair dwindles, disappears as Root picks up the final soft strands, which she handles with extra care, stroking down their length to incorporate them into the mass of the braid. From there, her fingers pick up speed.

“Anyway,” she says, finally, lightly, as if she’d only stopped talking a second ago. “It’s funny, the things that stay with us.”

When she reaches the ends, she pulls the elastic band off her wrists and twists it around and around, pulling it good and tight.

“That should do it,” she says. “Want a mirror to see?”

“I’m good. I trust you.”

Root hums, smiles, presses her nose into the braid and takes a deep breath, an audible breath of relief. Like she’s just come up to the surface after being churned underwater. She’s thinking about something—maybe something long ago, maybe far away.

Or maybe she’s just thinking about this moment, a quiet night and the smell of shampoo and fresh sheets, all warmth and peace and silence.

Note: Root references a scene from a coming of age story you can find here.

Little Blue Riding Newt

Based off of this gorgeous, adorable piece of art by @mamin-the-troll
and once the little doodles started coming, I just couldn’t resist writing it. So here it is, Little Blue Riding Newt, the smartest whatever-year-old that ever existed because I don’t know how to fucking write children. Please forgive that quirk.

Additionally, this is now evolving into a full story…so I guess more will be coming soon. XD HOW DID THIS HAPPEN? HOW DID THIS EVOLVE INTO A CHAPTERED THING, I DO NOT KNOW. 

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Interview: Tricia

Today we’re joined by Tricia. Tricia is a phenomenal digital illustrator who does a number of different things. She enjoys drawing fluff muffins, which are like fairy cats. Tricia is also interested in designing various patterns, which makes for some fascinating visuals. Her work is beautiful, brimming with color and detail. It’s very clear that she’s an incredibly talented artist, as you’ll soon see. My thanks to her for taking the time to participate in this interview.


Please, tell us about your art.

I love to illustrate whimsical, nostalgic looking things. One of my favorite things to draw are these little creatures I made up years ago called fluff muffins, which are essentially fairy cats. They’re called fluff muffins because at the largest, they’re around the size of one of those giant muffins.

Lately I’ve also been very interested in surface/pattern/textile design. It’s crazy because once you realize artists make everything, you start seeing their art everywhere. Walking through Target was so distracting because I just kept picking up things with illustrations on them and thinking ‘I could do this someday!’ It’s very exciting, though. I hope to see my work on anything from bedsheets to paper plates someday.

What inspires you?

There’s so much that inspires me. As a little kid, I had a ridiculously strong imagination. I clearly remember this time I went outside to talk to my mom, but it was so windy that the wind picked me up and I was flying in the air for a while until my mom grabbed me, put me back on the ground, and sent me back inside. In reality, the wind just knocked me over a few times, but that’s not how I remember it. I’ve always looked at the world and wondered if there wasn’t something just underneath, something a little bit more fantastical. On a more practical level, I’m fascinated by light and color.

What got you interested in your field?  Have you always wanted to be an artist?

I haven’t always wanted to be an artist, and didn’t really draw regularly until I was thirteen. I decided to work towards becoming a professional at fifteen-sixteen.

I do remember being fascinated with tileable patterns as a little kid though. I would spend hours looking up patterns I could tile for my desktop background. I just recently started designing patterns, but it’s so cool to be on the other side of it!

Do you have any kind of special or unique signature, symbol, or feature you include in your work that you’d be willing to reveal?

Once I hid the Ninth Doctor into an illustration of my original characters. Can you find him?

What advice would you give young aspiring artists?

I know everyone says this, but truly the biggest advice to give is to just keep going, keep practicing. If you’re passionate about what you’re doing, refuse to give up. You may not be very good now, but you will be! Nobody was ever very good in the beginning, trust me.

Most importantly, keep your eyes open and study. Art is all about utilizing a visual library, and observing the world around you is the best way to build that. You’ll be amazed how much you learn just by paying attention.


Where on the spectrum do you identify?

I identify as just aspec (aromantic and asexual spectrum), but if I had to figure out something more specific, I would be a romance and sex favorable aroace, with a potential preference for women. It’s a little up in the air, so I just stick to aspec for now.

Have you encountered any kind of ace prejudice or ignorance in your field?  If so, how do you handle it?

Not in my specific field, but I’ve heard the typical comments here and there, things like “you’ll find the right person some day” and variants of that sentiment. One person told me I “just hadn’t smelled the right cologne yet.” I generally just try to educate and move on.

What’s the most common misconception about asexuality that you’ve encountered?

That asexuality is all about sex repulsion and not about attraction. It’s not that asexuality is a lack of sexuality at all, it’s just the lack of sexuality connected to other people.

That said, something I love about the ace community is its inclusive nature. Asexuality can cover those who are sex repulsed, even if they do experience attraction. It covers those who are traumatized, and it covers those who only experience attraction every once in a while. I’m so proud to be a part of a community that is open to all of the in betweens, I just wish more people knew that was the case.

What advice would you give to any asexual individuals out there who might be struggling with their orientation?

You are not alone, and you don’t have to have it all figured out. Orientation is complicated and confusing, I know. But you’re not broken or weird, and labels are just there to help you understand yourself better. It’s okay if they change, and it’s okay if they don’t. Take care of yourself and don’t force anything you’re uncomfortable with.

Finally, where can people find out more about your work?

You can find more of my work at notifyneelix here on Tumblr. Thank you for reading!

Thank you, Tricia for participating in this interview and this project. It’s very much appreciated.

Love (Hoseok/Reader)

Originally posted by mn-yg

Prompt: Can i have fluffy hoseok date scenario

Genre: Fluff
Words: 1k +
Author: Admin JP
Summary: Just a whole lot of cute and fluff tbh
A/N: So this became an unexpected amount of fluff hahah, I know it probably wasn’t the way you expected though, and for that I’m sorry, but hey! Creative liberty, I guess?

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there were wild stars braided into her moonstone colored hair.
The rhythm of a singing goddess beat like a drum in her pulse,
rattling her bones until she would not cower before those who
viewed her as less than. She was a sky painted in watercolors,
an ocean of pastel clouds floated along her surface. She was
the forest, a home for the untamable creatures that danced to
the language of the trees. She was magic - a soft whimsical
thing with a warrior hidden beneath her skin.
—  a goddess in her youth | Mythology | Ara Kay

every westallen scene ever (91/?)