Is it possible to ask for domestic bf/gf headcanons for the minor trio ¿? Thanks in advance ~!
✿ I’m so weak for happy domesticity.
all this man ever wanted was a happy, domestic life.
Seriously, it’s been his dream since he was a child! His parents were weird and absent, Jumin’s dad was… Jumin’s dad, and V has otherwise lead an isolated existance. All he knows of a happy marriage is what he sees on TV, and growing up, he desperately fantasized about having something like that.
He thought he’d had that with Rika, but - well.
V’s life has not been everything he ever hoped and dreamed.
Until he met you, he thought that maybe… those dreams were just that, dreams, ephemeral and transient and something he could never grasp with his own two hands. But you showed him love, happiness, and a light as sweet and gentle as the glow of the fireflies in the summertime, and V tentatively begins to hope.
V begins to find out what a happy routine is like.
He wakes up earlier than you, so he puts on coffee for you both. He’s absentminded sometimes, so you’re the one who does the laundry and folds the clothes, and V does the dishes, because you’re the one who usually cooks, and he thinks it’s Only Polite.
Gradually, spare surfaces in your home are covered with various forms of ornamental cactus. V is minimalist, so, aside from his photographs hanging on the wall and the clothes in his closet, it’s the only real sign that he lives there, too.
V takes pictures of every happy occasion. Valentine’s Day? Your birthday? His birthday, where you make him a cactus cake just because you thought it’d be funny?
He fills a photo album with these memories, and the regular, random, everyday bullshit that he decides to capture with his camera.
It’s a little strange to you, because V’s photographs are so amazing that… he should be taking pictures of amazing, momentous subjects, right? But V doesn’t feel like that at all.
To him, this regular, everyday life is amazing and momentous. The fact that he has a routine with you is incredible.
V takes pictures of what makes him happy, and you trudging into the kitchen to make blueberry pancakes for him every weekend makes him happier than anything in the world.
this boy has no experience with domesticity and it’s weird you’re weird this is weird WHAT’S GOING ON.
You have to teach him to do all this mundane bullshit. How to fold laundry! How to wash the sheets! How to run the dishwasher, because while he’s basically a hacking god he’s never washed anything in his life and thinks that the humming sound it makes is the work of the devil.
(seriously, the washing machine makes a clunking sound the first time he tries to start it and he goes into panic mode thinking it’s going to explode.)
One day you walk into him having an argument with the TV because it WON’T DISPLAY PICTURE and HE TURNED IT ON THE LIGHT IS ON HE SEES THE POWER BUTTTON IS LIT UP WHAT IS GOING ON
sweetie it’s set to the wrong input.
He’s also Not Super Great with the neighbors. Like old little lady Kim tries to say hello to him and he insults her hat and runs inside to hide.
(luckily that is smoothed over by introducing him to little old lady Kim’s dog, who he loves and cherishes and wants to protect.)
Saeran starts putting food out for the stray cats because he Feels Bad, and you end up starting a cat sanctuary in your back yard without meaning to.
this is fine, you suppose, it’s about what you expected.
Every evening when you get home from work and if Saeran isn’t busy with his freelance programming work, the two of you cuddle and watch TV. (Though it should be said that cuddling with Saeran is more like him sprawling across your lap like a needy animal.)
It’s in these peaceful moments where you’re like - yeah. Yeah, okay.
This is pretty good.
Despite everything, things are going to be okay.
Never once did Mary Vanderwood the III expect to be domestic, but they’re actually pretty good at it.
They are hyper organized. They put a white-board on the wall and there’s a meticulously neat white board listing all the chores that need doing them and who’s doing them that day.
(Seriously, they must have drawn the lines with a ruler!)
You make them a bagged lunch in the morning, and always include a sweet note for them to find during their workday. On the weekends, they wake up early and make you a full breakfast, complete with pancakes, bacon, and eggs done exactly the way you like them.
They’re pretty good with the neighbors. They form friendships with some of the other house wives and house husbands around and share cooking tips, cleaning tips, and general home maintenance woes.
ok but Vanderwood would love buying cooking magazines and would collect home decorating tips on pinterest.
Vanderwood is the type of person who buys fancy sugars, salts, and spices, so your cooking cabinet is an amalgamation of exotic (but really good tasting!) ingredients.
They’re always trying new things to make your house cute and homey and it’s adorable.
The two of you read together in the evenings, with their arm around you and your books in your respective laps, and sometimes you’ll read them a line you really like, and they’ll do the same for you.
I’ve been scrolling around on the Alexander the great tag on Tumblr and there are all these posts where people are writing about how they just want to KNOW him, to meet him, to really know what he was like. And it’s not just idle curiosity, there’s a feeling of connection, of longing, that I can relate to and really GET. Alex does something to you.
So sooner or later in these posts someone brings up reincarnation. Maybe we did know him. Maybe we met him. Maybe we fought beside him in another life.
So let’s, for the sake of argument, assume that reincarnation is literally real.
Think about the size of Alexander’s army. At gaugemela the army was about 47,000 in number. And that’s not the highest it ever was. Think about all the men who died, and were replaced, who came later in the campaign, who were dropped off to colonize a new city. Then add to that the number of camp followers: wives , children, slaves, cooks, merchants, carpenters, tailors, metal workers, that needed to follow and interact with this army to make it run.
Now imagine the size of Darius’s army. High estimates say there were 100,000 troops at gaugemela alone. Add to that the size of the opposing army of every battle this man fought. Then add THEIR camp followers, and remember that Persians travelled with even larger and more elaborate entourages.
Now think of the size of the Persian court. Darius’s family, advisors, generals, servants, and courtiers. And then add every small city, state and citadel Alex conquered and passed through. Their nobility, peasants, servants and slaves.
Now add the population of every Greek city state he passed through as well.
And finally, add the population of Pella, a small town on a hill side, nowhere in particular, finally finding its place on the world stage. It was not as big as it would be under Cassander’s reign, it was likely most of the citizens would have interacted with Alex personally at some point. These would have been the people he knew best, cared about, loved.
Alexander interacted with so many people during his short life. We know he was a very hands on king and general who knew the names of many of his men. It is likely he exchanged words at least once with a sizable percentage of this number but even if he did not, think of how many people knew of him, who were affected by him and all he did. Who fought him, who feared him, who finally saw him coming and ,in many cases, realized he wasn’t the monster they had been warned about
Think of how many people would have wanted to know him, to understand him, to meet him, and how many did. And realize that in this number there is room for you. In fact, it is statistically likely.
How big is an army? How big is an empire?
Alexander the great ruled through love. He thrived on it. He needed it, the love of his men, his people, his country. I think, if he too is out there somewhere, he’d be amused, flattered, and somewhat humbled by all the love he still gets. He’d probably want to know us all too. That’s just the kind of man he was.
On love, lust, and other feelings (Sashea) - wordsmithmaybe
A/N: Hey:) This is my first time submitting anything on this blog, but I have my own blog where I have been posting rpdr fanfictions for a while now (wordsmithmaybe). I’m obsessed with lesbian sashea so I couldn’t help but write this 7k au fanfic!! I hope you enjoy it, and please let me know if you want a sequel x
(sorry for any spelling or grammar mistakes. I’m slightly dyslexic, but i tried my best to proof read)
P,S This story is inspired by my own experiences. I’m not trying to offend anyone or their religion.
Hi! I promise I’m not a Jaime’s redemption apologist but still wonder: what’s his degree of implication or intellectual authorship in the Lannister regime? He obviously profits from it, he killed Aerys, pushed Bran, attacked Ned’s men, fought Robb… but the two main Lannister war-crimes, raiding the Riverlands and the Red Wedding, were rather Tywin’s responsibility. To me, Jaime seemed an action man, ready to carry any of Tywin’s (or ocasionally Cersei’s) ideas without a second thought, but not exactly a plotter. He seemed content with his life as Robert’s guard, could he have urged Cersei to kill him? What do you think?
I believe Jaime is content to be the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard for life, but I don’t think he was involved in Cersei’s plan to get Robert killed. (Maybe I’ve forgotten something in the text, though?) That being said, I think Jaime would have happily killed Robert without a second thought if he felt he had cause. Even Robert believed Jaime would have killed him, given cause, which is why he never hit Cersei on the face.
Ned touched her cheek gently. “Has he done this before?”
“Once or twice.” She shied away from his hand. “Never on the face before. Jaimewould have killed him, even if it meant his own life.“
What’s Jaime’s degree of implication or intellectual authorship in the Lannister regime?
What degree of implication do you assign to Erwin Rommel in the Nazi regime?
… um … this post is gonna get wild. Assume this post contains mentions of everything you might expect as soon as I bring up Nazis (possibly extremely triggering), as well as some things you aren’t expecting. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
If there’s one thing that I learned, it’s that endings never work out the way you want them to—that they’re terrible, and this one is no different. Closing circles, shutting doors, finishing the last chapter of a good book , or the last afternoon of summer. Endings are like flat tires and wet pairs of socks and cold dinners. They’re the sort of thing that—no matter the effort, no matter the discipline—no one can get right. This is one of those days for us. When we have to say goodbye to everything familiar and safe and be exposed to a new world out there while leaving great memories behind. But believe me when I say, there are far greater things ahead than any we leave. What we can’t do is live our lives always afraid of the next goodbye and the coming beginning, because chances are they’re not going to stop. The trick is to recognize when a goodbye can be a good thing: when it’s a chance to start again. And although our high school life has to end, our love for each other doesn’t.
And I don’t think I can set foot into the new world without guardian angels on my side and on my heart. -This one’s to the teachers, who took minutes of their own time to deliver a message to us. -To the teachers who tolerated our class room drama and helped us be the best -Who let us sneak snacks in class and pretended they didn’t see us, although obviously the class smelt like food. -To the ones who understood our cravings, and made their wives cook for us because they knew how much food meant to us. -To the teachers who took us out to play paintball and were the reason for our bruises. But that’s okay because they were a good kind of bruises. The memorable kind. The kind you never want to get rid of. -To the teachers who developed our skills in various way and guided our way to success. Thank you.
And then there are those lovely tremendous and extraordinary people sitting among you. Our families and parents and brothers and sisters.
-So, this one’s for my Mother, who I could tell everything to and who always understood me, advised me and gave me all she had. Who dried my tears when I had a broken heart, defended me even when I was wrong and taught me that the world is cruel but I’m strong enough to survive in it. -To my father, who not only spent half of his paycheck so I can buy new clothes and travel out of the country or get a proper education, but who was also very open minded and not afraid to expose me to new things out there because he knew that to gain experience and wisdom, I had to see the good and the bad of everything. Mom, dad, just because I’m graduating or possibly going anywhere doesn’t mean your roles as parents end here. I’ll always need you no matter how many times I say I don’t. -To my brothers, both of them, who loved me, cared for me and drove me around when I needed a ride. -To my sisters, the ones i never had but whom my best friends played the perfect role of, who were there for me through the ups and downs and happy and sad times. Thank you.
And last but not least, This one’s for the bunch of kids sitting way over there about to get their diplomas, graduate and be free and not kids anymore. Me among them, of course.
I know that we’ll all be stories some day, and our pictures will become old photographs. We all become somebody’s mom or dad. But right now, these moments are nor stories. This is happening. We are here, gathered by the people who love us the most in the world. We’re the heroes of our time, we’re infinite as the universe and we’re making a promise to always remember that our young hearts should always shoot for the stars and change the world.
When I think of each and every personality of you guys, I just realize that this year would have been completely different if any of you were missing. I admit that I probably didn’t get along with like a quarter of you. Okay, half of you? Three quarters? Ok, let’s not push it.
So, fellow graduates and young volcanoes, this one’s to you, -To the girl who likes reading, good music and wanderlust -To the girl who likes helping people and is the friendliest and kindest person I ever met -To the girl whose face goes red as a tomato when someone talks to her -To our future Einstein -To the girl who can make us laugh no matter how serious the situation is. -To the girl who can’t wait to graduate and get out of here. -To the girls who like good music and have an awesome fashion sense -To the girls whose laugh is funnier than the joke itself -To the girls who like drawing, singing, dancing and just having fun. -And To the neat/ sarcastic/ intelligent/confident/kind hearted and remarkable girls I know. -To those interested in photography. -To the guy who’s so smart in calculus, physics and Ap chemistry, that Walter White from Breaking Bad probably died because he wasn’t as brilliant as him. -To the musicians who banged their drums and strummed their guitars and made everyone happy. -To the guy whose best quality is that he’s caring, responsible and short, just like I am. -To the guys who’re creative and misunderstood and always hungry, and to the guy who’s anti-mainstream. Although being anti-mainstream is actually mainstream. -To the guy who’s the main reason I even came to this school and will always be known for his curly hair, golden voice and amazing basketball skills. -To the guy who puts the B in BOSS, and likes being called The President. -To the guy who likes football more than his own mother. -To the guys I probably never had a real conversation with until this very day but I still won’t forget them.
-And most importantly, to the class of 2014 who, let’s admit it, is the best thing that ever happened to this school. Right?
So, I hope you enjoyed my speech and if you did not, I hope you had a good nap. I’ve had enough memories in this school to keep me smiling all summer, and even after if I wasn’t going to college in September. So, enjoy the rest of the evening, and the rest of your life, save your tears for later, say what you always wanted to say tonight with no fear or regrets because you might not have another chance, and make even more memories to tell your children when you grow up. Friends, families and everyone joining us tonight, You know what they say it’s not a goodbye, it’s a see you later. I love you guys,
There’s a new issue of Otona no NEWS featuring Tegoshi and as I looked through it I felt like retelling about it in short. I’ll try to cut back on comments though probably a few will still slip in.
He starts by talking about his mother coming over to clean up his place. She does this about twice a month and brings Skull along if she takes him for a trim. He says his mother would do anything for him and he’s very grateful for it. He then says there are husbands who complain about their wives’ cooking or cleaning and if he was a wife… “If I were a wife I’d be like ‘Do not complain!’” He explains that gratefulness makes both sides happy while complaints only cause stress. Also he says he wishes wives and people in general lived more for themselves than for others. For once, I get where he’s coming from but I feel like it would be hard to find a husband with that kind of attitude in Japan.
Then he gets back to cleaning talk and says his apartment is generally tidy except for headphones lying around. That is because he needs to know how different people hear NEWS music so he listens to it in different headphones. He also checks the sound at concert venues. He sees it as his role in NEWS, while others do other things like making costumes and organization. It’s cute how he thinks he puts equal amount of effort into the band… Sorry, I tried.
When I was growing up, my dad worked for a landscape company and the manual labor was Mexican dudes. The company is local and family owned so employee legality was always never in question. My dad fit in because they said he worked like a Mexican and as they learned English, he learned Spanish over the 20 years he was there. During that time, with solid work ethic, he worked his way up to Director of Operations. I was around all the time because Dad picked me up from school and went back to finish work. I even earned the nickname Sarita which is a term of endearment meaning “little Sarah”
Every May 5th, the boss let everyone throw a party after work. Corona, grilled tilapia, and all food was authentic. They would even compete amongst one another who could eat the most habaneros before tapping out. For a gringo, Dad would get the better of the Mexicanos more often than not.
Christmas time was a big ol party. Everyone brought their families and kids. The wives all cooked and primarily brought tamales, which is traditional for holidays and Christmas in particular. Boss dressed up as Santa and every one of us kids got a present. We even got a piñata to beat up and I’ll be damned if I didn’t get candy.
I learned first-hand, beginning at only five years old, they love to share their culture to those who are open to it. Nothing will ever convince me otherwise.
If the women in Manchester were modest, no women, no kids would’ve died. If the mothers stayed home teaching their daughters how to be good wives, (cooking abc cleaning) no kids would’ve died.
I debated not posting this ask because I don’t think you deserve any attention for this disgusting comment and I don’t want people to hate on you either because I’m not about deciding enemies after such a tragedy. However I think this ask maybe a lesson, if you have ANYTHING bad to say about the victims of this then unfollow me right now and keep your thoughts to yourself.
Parents lost their children, families lost their siblings, how DARE you comment such trash when people have lost their lives in such a tragedy. This is not a debate of culture, or religion, or beliefs, this is a debate on morals, and the only individual that had twisted morals in this was the man that subjected these innocent people to this.
Manchester is a city of unity, and community, about multiculturalism and equality. It was the birth place of the Suffragette Movement, and the rise of Socialism, it provided the UK with great music and bands as well as revolutionising LGBT depictions on TV. It is known for it’s togetherness, and it will not be torn apart by comments like this..
(Also what is your point? if no women and children attended, men still would have died and that still would have been a tragedy????)
Sansa’s relationship with religion is far more complex than ‘Old Gods or Faith Of The Seven?’
Before I write this, I’d like to say that the Old Gods isn’t better, or superior to the Faith Of The Seven. Comparing religions, even fictional… yeah, not a fan. These are my thoughts on Sansa’s role within them. I also don’t think you can expect someone who isn’t an adult to have a full blown complex attitude towards religion.
Sansa knew most of the hymns, and followed along on those she did not know as best she could. She sang along with grizzled old serving men and anxious young wives, with serving girls and soldiers, cooks and falconers, knights and knaves, squires and spit boys and nursing mothers. She sang with those inside the castle walls and those without, sang with all the city.
There is a boy out there who gets locked out of his home and he drinks whenever he can carries a bottle with him and he smokes to exchange the coming hisses for coughs because hacking his lungs out is better than contracting his mother’s evil // There is a man out there, lost in the small town streets of America whom I only saw once and he might be dead now, and he was given enough money for a sandwich and he was contemplative and quiet and I don’t know where he went when it rained or snowed // There are kids out there hiding in closets, belts around their necks // There are kids out there, in bathrooms with knives or with syringes or with joints, the fan is on in some of those bathrooms // There are nights when certain young people don’t sleep at all but try to function through red eyes and queasy bellies // Some kids sleep through it and miss all of the action and commotion and the ghost stories at dawn will keep them awake with regret for the next few nights // There are kids on the outside of this, but they have just as much pain in their shoes as the next lost battalion of “platonic conversationalists” // There are people out there who type their hearts out and at the end of the day they don’t really mind the typos // There are people who masturbate, cut, wrap belts around wrists, just to feel something or nothing, they punch themselves, they run until their heads are light, they smoke until their coughs replace something they don’t want to see or deal with // There are people out there with phantom pains of the heart and with spontaneous pains of reality that creep up and then their skin melts off and there’s just instant terror, just add water // No running from the terror, like an annoying neighbor turned house guest drinking your coffee or your tea you need to sit it out // But things carry themselves out like they always have and always will, anyway // The lawns will still get mowed, the stars will still float and glow and maybe gloat and some of them will fall // The Congressmen will go to work, then to their summer homes, the wives will cook and the husbands will wear neckties // All the while someone, somewhere, will be getting the high of their life to escape the lows of a few hours ago.