#<- said someone who actually did Not have a pinterest account. Somehow I managed to miss out on that entire thing

[thechampagnesocialist]

— Tom during chapter 2 of Deify // Deicide, a short web weaving board thing.

If there's a way out I'll take it - Lora Mathis // Lovers - Jarek Puczel // Disarticulation of the Four Fingers - Jean-Baptiste Léveillé // White Worms - AJJ // Eclipse - Wiktor Jackowski // Diaries, 1910 - 1923 - Franz Kafka

[xo-zozo]

ok ok that jameson social media hcs post was so good so can I request the rest of the hawthorne brothers on social media :)

aww tysm!! ofc

tags | @flowers-for-em @nqds @sophiesonlinediary @reminiscentreader @stqrsbythepocketful @lxvebelle @lyrakanefanatic @x-liv25-jamieswife @clarissaweasley-10 @zoyaaaabear @off-to-the-r4ces

grayson 𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚

he definitely dosent post/go on social media as much as jameson or xander

the few times he does post it’s either for a birthday or for things that are happening with the foundation and the grandest game

occasionally he does lyra though (you’re welcome i mentioned her)

says that only has instagram and no other socials (that he uses) but he secretly has a pinterest account that only max knows out about somehow

although he dosent post that much he definitely comments things on his brothers posts about how low key stupid they are

another kind of thing he would post would be his photography (which by the way did we just come up with this because i don’t remember this being mentioned in the books i’m just going for it)

he posts avery and jameson’s wedding photos because he was the one who took some of them

along with those cute photos he posts weird photos of jameson as a kid in honor of him getting married

everytime he posts there’s always people in his comments asking him to get a snapchat

his posts usually don’t have captions for some reason unless it’s really important

xander 𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚

like jameson, he posts a lot more on his socials than jameson and nash

he has it all too (instagram, twitter, tiktok, snapchat, etc) AND somehow manages to stay active on it

on his stories he posts about random nerd stuff that nobody really cares about still watches because he’s a cutie patootie

he posts all of the gifts that he gives max because it’s like what he’s most proud of

makes an instagram post for every single occasion (birthdays, holidays, trips, etc)

somehow manages to reply to most of the comments on his posts (he dosent get out much)

whenever he posts max, he’s required to her parents accounts just because they said so (idek it just makes sense)

he’ll randomly post a pic of him watching some super popular youtuber and people will go insane

goes to instagram to ask for advice, movie recs, books recs, etc but never ends up taking the advice

if people ask to take photos with him and post it, he reposts it because he’s just so nice

genuinely responds to gossip videos about him and like half of the times he forgets to deny it

sometimes he sees these videos about his brothers or avery and he goes and like actually asks them if it’s true “just to make sure”

nash 𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚

i feel like he would be a lot like grayson and only post on big events

but unlike grayson, when these events come around his posts are always extravagant

he writes super long captions for libby’s and avery’s and his brothers birthdays and everyone thinks it’s really sweet

sometimes people just notice the fact that he’s liked some videos online and it becomes a meme or something

will literally never comment on things online because he doesn’t wanna start problems

unless someone says something about his loved ones then he’s getting into a whole online bettle with them

sometimes libby is the one posting on his account and he dosent even take down the things that she posts

he definitely has a tumblr account as a teenager and he’s mentioned it in interviews but no one has found it yet

and yet again, somehow max is the only one who knows the username

he definitely posted for mr and mrs laughlin’s anniversary and made everyone else do it just for the cause

the wedding post of him and libby was extraordinary on his account

[dhwrina]

♡ ♡ ♡    howdy you lovely little beans !! 🤠 i’m nai ( she/her ; 21+) and i just cried bcs of a kdrama - first, i’m so in love with this rp, the concept ♡ ♡ ♡ , the effort that has been put behind it, my two braincells could never - ALSO y’all are so cute and i already love all of ur muses, someone bring me tissues, grandma is gonna cry ssdnsn anyway, i’m bringng u my bean rina  the cupid canon with a little sidenote that i messed up her age lol wrote she was born 1997 but actually stated in the age section she’s 24, i guess math just does that to me. okay so, she’s a new muse so excuse me if sometimes i myself seem a little lost with her lmao. anyway i made a little PLOT PAGE , a WANTED PLOT TAG , a PINTEREST BOARD and you can read more ABOUT her here. so, if you want to plot please 🔪🔪🔪 LIKE this post. i’m down for everything gimme all the angst, brotps, enemies and fluff pls sdndnssa also if u want to plot discord pls lmk

below i’ll try to shorten her bio and also add some trivia and connections as well, thank you for reading this

tw death , abuse

♡  her life in the normal realm was a happy one. she died a natural death and led a pretty fulfilling life. ( that is bcs i needed to make her suffer extra hard for her life in donghwa do )

♡ due to her never experiencing any difficulties and having very supportive and loving parents, she just assumed that everyone else would be as nice as her parents were. this made her a little naive and overly trusting which wasn’t a problem as it seemed that rina somehow only met nice people ( look at me granting her some extra happy times so i can wreck her life more )

♡ her parents were (still are) the perfect couple which somehow made her obsessed with love. she was that girl who drew heart over the letter “i”. refused to use any marker that wasn’t pink and would always request a romcom at sleepovers when everyone else wanted to watch a horror movie.

♡ her parents the owners of cupid’s café are known for their matchmaking skills and rina probably got that from them. she also helped the people at school to confess to their crush and rumors said that asking rina for help would guarantee 100 % success.

♡ anyway rina herself never fell in love herself and kind of feel like a fraud since she gave out love advice but did not really experience love

♡ so one day, that perfect looking (shady) guy entered the cafe and rina fell in love with him. (tbh he wasn’t even that good-looking or funny it was probably just the way the light illuminated him or some shit that made rina believed he was the perfect guy straight out of a movie.....)

♡ turned out he was a complete douchebag. his obsessive behavour forced her to isolate herself from her friends and she kinda had no friends left then. also she actually planned to expand cupid cafe (probably some extra room for her matchmaking business lol) and planned to study but he also didn’t want her to “waste her time on something else” and manipulated her into giving up on that thought. 

♡ when rina wouldn’t listen he’d become violent and rina started to question what love really was and if that what her parents had were just a naïve view on love and that most people couldn’t have the love they did. 

♡ eventually she managed to escape from that relationship, but it did change her bcs 1) he never got punished for his actions (since she didn’t report him or told anyone about what had happened) 2) she kinda lost faith in that concept of fate regarding love but also other areas in life.

♡ that’s why i chose the rebel label for her bcs that belief started to crumble and she’s kinda mad bcs was it fate that she had to go through all this awful things ?

♡ right now she picked up her job at cupid’s cafe again. she is helping out her parents and honestly right now she tries not to think about her past dream about expanding the cafe etc. she’s rather focus on pulling herself together and to appear as normal as possible.

*inserts kdrama ending credits transition to her personality section here*

personality

♡ rina is the person who just likes to talk, she used to be very open and would even tell someone stuff they did not ask for. she laughs about everything she even finds dad jokes hilarious (she might as well love these kind of jokes the most). she’s quite trusting, tell her that scientist found out that fish can talk and she’ll believe you as long as you provide her some website. besides playing matchmaker for everyone she really enjoys photography (even made couple photos and had these couple photo instagram accounts were she’d post them.....). since that certain event, she has *dramatic vc* changed and bcs she tries to put on an act  and be all happy ad that she sometimes comes across as fake ? also she doesn’t used to go out as often as usual and now only does her tasks at work and after that she just goes home and spends some time alone. 

i want to write more but i’m brain dead rn so if u have any questions pls lmk

here are some basic connections if none of the plots on the plot page work

enemies, bad influence, good influence, someone who wants rina to teach them some matchmaking skills, sibling relationship, friends, ex enemies who are now friends, etc.

[let-it-raines]

fic prompt for captain swan! "my flight was delayed so i'm sitting it the airport scrolling through tinder and the man behind me goes "ouch hard no for that one?" and i turn around only to see the man i swiped no on right behind me!" thanks :)))

She hates airports.

They’re basically like forcing everyone into a large (and yet somehow very small) room where germs are passed around, people are pissed, people are tired, and only a small amount are there to actually go on vacation where life is fun. Most everyone is there for work or to visit family, and really, what’s so fun about that?

Okay, so maybe she’s on her way to visit her parents in Chicago, and she’s not exactly happy to have woken up at four in the morning for her seven o’clock flight when it ended up getting cancelled because the weather in Boston and Chicago both seriously suck in February. Seriously. Snow is pretty and all, but she’s tired and wants to be sitting in her parents’ living room eating the breakfast casserole she knows that her mom is making for her right now.

And she’s stuck at Logan standing in the longest line in the world for overpriced coffee.

She doesn’t even really want coffee. She wants hot chocolate, but she really needs the caffeine.

She needs a lot of caffeine.

Sighing, she pulls her phone out of her pocket, figuring that she can at least use the free Wifi and pass the time by scrolling through the internet. And she does, making her way through all of Instagram, Twitter, and Pinterest. Hell, she even goes through Facebook. She doesn’t even know when she last used Facebook.

It had to have been at least a year ago when Ruby and Dorothy got married, and she wanted to see all of the pictures Ruby had tagged her in. But that had definitely been the last time. She should probably just delete the account.

The line moves at a slow pace, and she’s convinced she’s never going to get her coffee, so as a last resort, she opens up Tinder, which is also something she hasn’t used in awhile, probably not since she was trying to find a date to Elsa’s wedding in June.

Why in the world are all of her friends getting married? What is she doing with her life? Woah, Emma, don’t go down that road. She’s fine. Everything is fine, and her mom totally isn’t going to hound her about why she’s not dating anyone while she’s eating the cold breakfast casserole that she’s missing right now.

Her mom is definitely going to hound her on it, especially because her cousin who is younger than her just announced that she was pregnant when they were all eating Christmas dinner. She could practically feel her mom screaming “baby, baby, baby oh” all Justin Bieber style.

Her mom is not as good of a singer as Justin Bieber…not that she would ever admit that…out loud. She’s twenty-seven years old, single, childless, and she can jam out to Justin Bieber and the Jonas Brothers if she wants to while she’s driving down the road late at night following a guy for one of her cases.

She’s a consummate professional. Always.

It takes forever to go through the profiles, a bunch of sleazy guys who pose shirtless in their pictures and write some of the dumbest captions in the world, and while she may not have always had the best taste in guys, she’s not about to go on a date with Matt from Boston who is looking for a “hot girl with an ass that won’t quit.” Her ass won’t quit, but her ass has standards. And it goes on and on like that, every single guy she sees just kind of looking like a douche, so she’s constantly swiping left simply because she can.

“Ouch,” someone groans behind her, right in her ear really, “so it’s a hard no on him, huh?”

She turns around, about ready to chew this dude out for looking over her shoulder, and it’s exactly when she sees familiar blue eyes and dark hair of the guy she just swiped left on.

Well, shit.

She’ll just walk to Chicago. Screw the snow. She’ll walk and then move there so she never has to run into this guy again.

Seriously, what are the odds? She needs someone super smart and good with statistics to figure out what exactly the odds are of having the guy you just rejected on Tinder standing right behind you in line at a Starbucks in Logan International. She’s also kind of regretting swiping left because, well, he’s hot, especially in person. His profile wasn’t bad, it was actually pretty good from the glimpse she got of it, but she was kind of on a roll of rejecting guys. It felt…powerful almost, and the more she thinks about that, the more she realizes that she really is tired if she thinks silently rejecting on guys is making her feel powerful.

But Matt from Boston totally deserved it.

“Seriously,” she whines when she looks up at him and the way his lips are stretched into an actual smirk. A smirk. In real life. And not on a Disney character. It’s insane. He’s smirking at her, his thick brows moving across his forehead, and she’s still considering just not going to visit her parents for their thirtieth anniversary party. “So I’m guessing you saw that.”

“I did just see you reject me without really even reading my profile,” he laughs, his British accent coming out stronger than it did when he first spoke. She didn’t even realize he had an accent at first. “I mean, come on, love. My profile is pretty good.”

“Obviously not if I just swiped it away like nothing.”

“Ah,” he sighs, crossing his arms over his chest and adjusting the backpack on his shoulders while his lips press together into a straight line, “well, maybe. Or maybe you were simply rejecting every man in Boston all while waiting in this ridiculous line. You were going pretty fast.”

“And you were invading my privacy.”

He shrugs, almost like he doesn’t have a care in the world while she feels irritation prick up over her skin. “I don’t mean to point out the obvious – ”

“Which is exactly what you’re about to do.”

“Aye,” he laughs, his eyes crinkling at the sides, and oh no, she will not find that attractive, “I am. I really didn’t mean to pry, but I’m a wee bit taller than you, and the way you’ve been holding your phone is directly in my eyeline while I watch the television playing. And imagine my surprise when a beautiful woman rejected me without even giving me a chance. I wasn’t planning on getting rejected this morning.”

“I’m guessing you don’t get rejected a lot.”

“It has something to do with my devilishly handsome good looks.”

“Oh my God,” she groans, rolling her eyes while he moves his eyebrows again. Why does he keep moving his eyebrows? “That is so conceited.”

“Or confident.”

“Conceited.”

He shrugs. “Whatever you say. So why the rejection of men on this fine Thursday morning?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“I would. That’s why I’m asking.”

“Flight’s delayed, I’m bored, and I really want coffee.”

“The same could be said for me, but I do feel like I would give your profile a chance.”

“Guess you’ll never know now.”

“Perhaps.” He smiles down at her before he uncrosses his arms and sticks his hand out. Oh wow. He’s really about to introduce himself to her. Maybe the guy really does have confidence. “Killian Jones.”“Emma Swan,” she says warily, taking his hand in hers and shaking it up and down three times. She definitely doesn’t notice how warm his hand is. Nope. “It’s nice to reject you.”

“It’s nice to be rejected.”

She and Killian talk as they move through the rest of the line. It’s awkward and stilted sometimes, but he’s a pretty persistent guy. And obviously he does not feel embarrassment because he powers through it all and chats away about his job at an engineering firm and then asks her far more questions than necessary about what it’s like to be a private investigator. He seems genuinely interested, and that may be the first time that has happened…ever. But he’s a nice guy, funny at least from what she can tell, and when she finally gets to the front of the line, she pays for his coffee.

She’s not really sure why she does it. Maybe it’s some kind of apology for rejecting him, even if she doesn’t need to apologize for that, and maybe she just figures there’s no harm in being nice. Plus, he drinks black coffee, so it’s not like it was expensive.

She was really scared he was going to order something complicated for a minute there. He seems like the type of guy who would do that.

He also seems like the kind of guy who would part ways after he got his coffee and leave her be, but he asks her if she wants to find somewhere to sit. She does, so she follows him until they manage to find a spot on the floor next to the windows, settling down on the ground and completely ignoring how disgusting this has to be.

It just has to be.

She’s sure of it.

Killian’s apparently flying to New York for a conference, something he’s not at all looking forward to, and his flight has been delayed until at least one. So really, he’s going to miss the entire first day of it, and a part of her feels like maybe the man is happy to be stranded in an airport.

She’s kind of happy to be stranded in an airport.

Yeah, this has got to be like that movie where the girl gets trapped in a romantic comedy? She doesn’t meet men in airports who are charming and funny, especially men who also use Tinder. She really can’t say anything. She uses it too. Maybe he was simply looking for a wedding date. Maybe he was looking for a hook up. She can’t blame him there either. Sometimes you just need to scratch the itch.

She does have a bit of a hard time believing that he has trouble finding someone to scratch the itch with, but hey, maybe he doesn’t always have a great first line like calling her out for rejecting him.

She wonders if people still even use pick up lines. She also wonders if they’ve ever worked. If someone walked up to her and said “Do you believe in love at first sight or should I walk by again?” she’d definitely have to hold herself back from slapping someone or tossing a drink.

She swears she’s not a violent person.

Maybe just a little.

“So tell me, Swan,” Killian begins, fiddling his fingers over his thighs and the suit pants that are stretched with the muscles, “you’re from Boston, correct?”

“That would be correct.”

He smiles, all of his white teeth on display, and she wonders what dentist he goes to. “And I assume that you’re single from your use of dating apps.”

“You’re a very smart man, Jones.”

“Oh, well that’s never been a doubt.”

“Stop,” she groans, reaching over and knocking her shoulder into his while she laughs.

“Never,” he promises, twisting a ring around on his thumb. It’s weirdly hot, especially since she knows it’s not a wedding ring. This conversation would have stopped before it started two hours ago because they have definitely been flirting, and she’s not going to flirt with a married man. It’s been awhile since she’s flirted with someone outside of work, but she knows how these things go. “So you’re from Boston and you’re single. It’s a funny coincidence because those two things happen to be true about me as well.”

“I’m glad we finally found something we have in common.”

“Aye, me too, even though we both have fantastic taste in comedic television.”

“That’s true,” she laughs, her lips stretching into a smile while her entire body buzzes with energy. She knows where this is going, and she likes it, which only surprises her a little.

“So I was thinking, maybe when we get back from our trips, you might like to go out to dinner with me.”

She hums, tilting her head back against the glass while Killian scratches behind his ear. “I think that might be a good idea. But I should warn you that you’ve already been rejected once, so I would suggest that you be on your best behavior. Or your worst. It kind of depends on how you want the night to go.”

“I’ll have to think on it. I do so fancy you when you’re irritated with me for peeping over your shoulder.”

“You’re a weird guy.”

“Who you’re going on a date with.”

“That I am.”

And it’s one date, then two, then three. And it goes on and on and on as she and Killian travel across all of Boston going to restaurants, museums, and baseball games. Eventually the fun dates slow down. They don’t stop, but they’re replaced by takeout at home, by a run down at the river on Saturday mornings, or by a cup of coffee in the morning before work when she’s staying at his apartment working on a case while he’s rushing off to do whatever it is he does as a civil engineer. She’s not entirely sure, simply because she doesn’t understand the mathematics of it, but she doesn’t really care as long as he’s happy doing it.

She loves him. She loves him a lot, actually, and it constantly surprises her how happy she is getting to have someone by her side who laughs with her and yells with her and who will let her eat all of the junk food in his apartment without complaining.

Okay, so he complains a little bit, but it’s really only when she eats his Doritos. It’s his favorite American snack, and he’s very protective over the cool ranch flavor. Anything else she can have.

She thinks it’s kind of weird, but then one day he’s at work while she’s at home doing research, and she really wants the chips. It takes some maneuvering, some climbing on cabinets because he put them on the shelf she can’t reach, and then she’s grabbing the unopened bag while making sure she doesn’t fall backwards and bust her ass. She doesn’t when she gets the chips, but she almost does when she spies a small green velvet box tucked into the corner. She knows what it is, wants to open it so damn bad that she almost does, but she restrains herself. She knows Killian, knows that he probably put a lot of effort into the ring and into his plan for proposing (holy shit, he’s going to propose), so she puts the Doritos back and pretends that she never saw it.

The weeks pass, and for awhile, she forgets about the ring even though something in the back of her mind is nagging at her, a little doubt trying to freak her out about why he hasn’t asked yet. But she does forget, doesn’t focus on it constantly, and they go about their lives.

It’s only when they’re at Logan again, two tickets in her wallet for them to fly to Chicago to visit her parents so Killian can meet them, that she realizes what he’s going to do. He somehow manages to get them in nearly the exact same spot on the floor as that first day, their thighs pressed together this time with no distance between them, and he hands her a diamond ring and whispers in her ear.

“I know that you swiped left on me the last time we were here, but I’d really like it if you put this ring on your left ring finger. Forever, preferably.”

Needless to say, she deletes the app.

[californiadreaminghq]

Oh good, you made it!

Did you guys know Rose was coming? She brought Birdie May, The Heart of Glass! And just on time! Grab a drink, find a spot, and make sure you finish everything on the checklist. The band is just getting started – you have 24 hours to send in your account! We’re so glad you’re here!

                                     I. OUT OF THE STUDIO

NAME/ALIAS: Rose

AGE: 23

PRONOUNS: She/her

                                                II. ON STAGE

DESIRED SKELETON: The Heart of Glass

NAME: Birdie May

FACE CLAIM: Lily James

AGE: 28

OCCUPATION: Concertina/Keys for Indigo Dusk

                                              III. INTERVIEW

Answer the following questions in your character’s voice:

If you could do anything in the world for a living, what would it be?

“This! I’m doing it, aren’t I? I mean, sure, I’d love to get my go at the guitar once in a while, maybe do some writing, but other than that, it’s hard to imagine wanting anything else. This is the dream, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Nothing in the world could compare to this right here.”

If you could travel anywhere, where would you go?

“You know, it’s funny. I spent my whole childhood wishing I could get away, but now that I’m away, I’m just wishing I could get back home. It’s been a long while since I left, and I can’t remember the last time I saw a sky as blue or night as peaceful/…listening to cicadas in the summer…sittin’ on the porch, some sweet tea…Joey runnin’ ‘round the yard chasin’ Red…” She lost herself in the memories, that too familiar yearning for a time long gone. No amount of wishing could make it all come back - even if it could, she knew the memories were sweeter than the reality. “Of course, Los Angeles is beautiful, but you know…“there’s no place like home”! That starts to seem more true each and every day.”

What is one thing that makes you different than anyone else?

“My winning smile! Nah, I’m just kidding you! I don’t think there’s anything that makes me all that different from anybody. I’m just another girl who loves music. There’s lots of us out there, especially in LA. But I don’t know, maybe my name? You don’t find too many people named Birdie, do ya?”

                                              IV. BACKSTAGE

(death cw, alcoholism cw, restrictive diets cw)

The woman we know today as Birdie May was actually born May Beth Dixon. Sixth child to a farmer and a seamstress in rural North Carolina, little May had to fight to get even a hint of attention. Her older brothers and sisters had their loud shouting voices to break through the crowd while May was, what it seemed like at the time, cursed with an itty bitty bird voice. What were her chirps to her siblings’ roars? If it weren’t for her little brother, Joseph, or Joey as May liked to call him, it’s likely she’d never be heard at all. Joey was everything to May - her sun, moon, and stars, and she’d never let him forget it. Every morning began with a big ol’ “I love you”! and every night ended with the same. They were a team, Joey and May, especially when the family was hard up for cash, which was pretty much always. More often than not, they had to ration a day’s worth of food to last a week, and it was four to a bed in their tiny cabin, but somehow, they made ends meet. That is, till Joey got sick.

It didn’t happen often, someone catching an illness in the family, but when it caught, it never let go. The doctor said it was some kind of flu, but that didn’t really matter in the end. By the time, he was able to get checked out, Joey was already gone. He was eight years old.

In times of trauma, a family can act in one of two ways: they get close or they grow apart. In the case of the Dixons, there was nothing good to come out of their grief. May’s dad tried to manage with a bottle. And another. And another. He’d end up drinking so much that he’d pass out and lay in bed all day. Of course, the effect this had on everyone else was nothing short of devastating, especially considering they were dealing with Joey’s death too - or at least trying to. It’s hard to grieve when you gotta make sure the cows are fed, the crops are watered, and there’s some kind of food on the table. Mama grew distant, and May’s brothers and sisters did nothing but work. There was no time to breathe, no time to think, no time to live.

Sometime during her 16th year, May ran away from home. She took her father’s old guitar, a flask of whiskey for courage, and the one picture she had of Joey. Hitting the road, little May hitchhiked her way West. Where exactly she was going, she didn’t know, but that didn’t matter. She just had to get out of there. If she was gonna survive in this life, she couldn’t stay in that tiny cabin. She’d die in there - just like Joey.

Hitchhiking cross country might not’ve been the safest thing to do, but thankfully, minus the occasional creep, she avoided any huge bumps in the road. For the most part, people were friendly and happy to help out a wayward traveler, especially one with such a spirit. Since she had no money, May would thank her saviors with a song or two, if they were up for it. She’d sing them her favorites: Patsy Cline, Johnny Cash, Buddy Holly. If they were enjoying themselves, she’d give ‘em an original or two - if she was feeling frisky, she’d make one up on the spot. This was how she got herself all the way to Los Angeles. It was unlike any city she’d ever seen (granted, the only “city” she knew was Boone with a population at around 3,000), and May could feel it in her bones, this place was gonna last her awhile.

With the success of her musical hitchhiking adventures, and virtually no skills aside from farming and the instruments she picked up when she was young, May decided to try her luck at busking. It got her a few dollars - enough to grab some food, but it definitely wasn’t enough to live off of. This was when she met her first love. Well, he was a love at the time through May’s eyes, but anyone not clouded by cupid would recognize the ugly truth. She saw him as her knight in shining armor, while he saw her as a cute country hick he could use for a little bit and then toss back onto the street. The end of that relationship initiated a string of similar relationships: May finding someone who promised their heart, only to have them crush hers instead. All the while, she kept playing her music, not knowing if anything would come of it, but it felt right. Through everything, there was the music.

Eventually, her persistence paid off: May was discovered and started playing in a band. From then on out, things were looking up. Were. Since joining the band, her professional life has certainly grown by leaps and bounds, but her personal life, well…let’s just say, you can take the girl out of the mess, but you can’t take the mess out of the girl, and if there’s one thing the celebrity news media loves, it’s a mess. She tries to stay out of it, but there comes a point where she’s also gotta live her life. The only thing is, how do you do that without adding fuel to the fire? With every new headline, she wonders if that’ll ever be possible. And is it all even worth it? Yes. Yes, of course it is, but that doesn’t mean it’s not hard.

                                                  V. ENCORE

first of all, i know i said danielle campbell, but we’ll ignore thataslkjfh

i’m really excited for miss birdie’s growth. right now, she still depends greatly on others for her happiness, but i hope to see her independence grow as she’s developed and interacts in the plot!! honestly, my ultimate goal is for her to grow into a no bs-having, fully confident in herself dolly-like figure. we’ll have to see if that actually happens for her!

also, i tried to keep her initial involvement with indigo dusk vague in the bio since i don’t wanna step on visions of how the group was actually formed!

i made a pinterest board for her here and a playlist for her here! (tbh, i’ll probably be adding to them until the submit closesasjkdfh)

a headcanon i have: when may joined indigo dusk, it was decided she needed a stage name (may beth dixon didn’t really have the kind of ring to it they were wanting), so she kept her first name as her last, and came up with “birdie” because that was the nickname joey gave her whenever she’d sing to him.

[notorious-fiction]

The Christmas Prince (A Whoever You Want to Read With One-Shot)

        You two had made a deal.

         Shook hands and all, very solemn looks on your faces, promising one another a very simple thing.

         No gift exchanging on Christmas day.

(You'd just been laid off your job and it sucked balls, and he knew money was a bit short on your end and also knew you would never, in a gazillion years accept any money from him, so he started to come up with a bunch of lame ass excuses to make you feel a bit better.)

("It's cliché", he had snorted when you touched the subject "Exchanging Christmas gifts. Ugh. It was meaningful before but now it's just another "especial" date that lost it's core value to boost capitalism. I mean, you can be a crappy boyfriend all year round as long as you buy your girl an extra glittery Hallmark card and a Tiffany Bracelet, right?")

("Right." You had agreed, although not really, because as much as you found sexy as fuck when he used pretty words - core value, damn - you still flipping loved Christmas and looked forward to it all year long.)

        So no gift exchanging it was.

        You'd spend Christmas day with you family and he would spend it with his - you knew how rare it was for him to take some time to see them - but the day before, the 24th, you had him all to your own.

        Just "a casual dinner, the two of us" (his words, not yours) with some "classic Christmas movies, deal with it, loser" (your words, not his) at your place.

        Going out was a real pain nowadays, with the whole paps, fangirls, Snapchatters, etc thing, so to save yourself from the stress (how come he never failed to look like a Goddamn model on those candids whilst you looked like you were about to sneeze? Ugh.), staying in it was.

        In, with no gifts.

        Or at least you thought so, because mid afternoon on December 24th your iPhone seemed to gain a life of its own, all your social media accounts on a frenzy of notifications as, oh well, your famous as fuck of a boyfriend was spotted loading a box the size of a small poney into his car.

("She is so lucky!!!!!!")

("What did he get herrrrrrr i'd be happy just with his dick on box and by the size of it its prob that lol")

("Ugh i hope its a bomb")

(Insert other very sweet comments here.)

        You controlled the urge to text him (going against your über curious personality with all the strenghth your posessed), instead focusing on the fact that you were...

        Fucked.

        Because whilst your boyfriend was on the posession of a very big, flashy box (what you had no idea what was inside, Christ, what the hell was inside of it?!), you were in the posession of...

        "How The Grinch Stole Christmas", "Elf" and "The Polar Express".

(All masterpieces, in your humble opinion.)

        And the phone of the thai take out two blocks from your place.

(Best pad thai and sticky rice ever.)

(Plus it gave tons of free sriracha packets! Yay for free stuff!)

        But seriously, what the fuck were you supposed to give to a human being who seemed to have absolutely everything?!

        It'd be stupid to give him clothes - he got those for free -, you had no idea what his shoesize was (did that make you a horrible girlfriend? oops) and anything else you could think of was undoubtely lame. 

        What if you made him something?

        Okay so you didn't know how to draw or paint or knit or rhyme or write a song or do anything that required a minimum artistic vein slash handicraft talent but you could...

        Try?

        Throwing your body on the couch, your laptop literally on your lap, you sat on your ultimate comfy position - which he had lovingly nicknamed "Cirque Du Soleil's contortionist catching up on reality TV on it's free time" or "how you don't have a back problem is beyond me" (when he said that last one he totally reminded you of your mom) -, typing on the words that were responsible for many delayed papers at Uni and scurries off the house whilst almost tripping on your shoes as you were late as fuck.

        Pinterest dot com.

(A blessing and a curse to womankind, honestly.)

D. I. Y.

(Do it yourself.)

(Although you actually never did.)

        Scrolling down the screen - DIY baking soda shampoo! DIY mosaic tile birdbath using recycled DVD's! DIY Glittery Bath Bombs! - you noticed that all of them seemed to involve stuff everyone apparently had at home except you like glue guns or spray paint or Scrabble tile holders (...seriously) so after five minutes of Pinterest searching, you sighed in defeat.

(Hard effort wasn't your forte, you had to admit.)

        Even friendship bracelets are a hard task to accomplish when you have the skills of a three year old toddler and if you actually purchased a glue gun you could already picture yourself glueing nothing but your own fingers and spending Christmas Day at the ER.

        But you did have glitter glue, and that wasn't so dangerous was it?

        You also had an old, slightly crumpled piece of cardboard and a "DIY Easy Glittery Hallmark card tutorial!" (snort) at your screen, so you decided to give it a go.

        If it came out okay you'd be able to give him as an ironic gift?

("Oh hey, I know you gave me a super awesome/expensive/fancy/cool/thoughtful - insert whatever the hell could be inside that massive box here Christ the curiosity was killing you - but ha-ha-ha remember that snark you made about glittery Hallmark cards?! Instead of giving money to the greedy capitalist men I made one myself, how about that?! Aren't I the Best Girlfriend Ever?!?!?!")

        And if it came out like crap you could, y'know, throw it in the bin...

        ...So of course it came out like crap.

        Because you somehow managed to put more glitter glue on the tip of your fingers than on the goddamn cardboard, more glitter glue on your clothes as you absentmindedly rubbed your hands on it as you tried to think of what the hell you could do to save your "Merry Christmas" masterpiece.

(Trash.) (That was how you could save it, your dignity, your boyfriend's poor eyes and your dignity.)

(By throwing your masterpiece on the garbish.)

(Fuck ironic gifts.)

        Of course that instead of coming up with another idea after the Glittery-DIY-Hallmark-Card fiasco, your procrastinator side spoke louder, and click after click after click you found yourself going deeper and deeper of that pit called Pinterest, until you blazed on a section you'd never dared to venture on before.

        The recipe session.

        There were gooey chocolate chip bars, chocolate fudge brownies, kale and artichokes dip, quinoa fried "rice" (...why would someone all it fried "rice" if it had no rice in it only quinoa, you wondered...) and everything made your mouth water and stomach growl and you deeply wished there was someone who could make it for you.

        Everything sounded too tempting (and too hard and with too many fancy ingredients and kitchen appliances you'd never even heard of) until you found...

"Easy adaptable chocolate chip cookies with ingredients everyone has at home!!!!! Can be made vegan gluten/lactose/nut/anythying free paleo atkins insert random diet you'd never heard of before here"

        Well...

        Following a recipe wouldn't be that hard... Would it?

        Especially when you could sub eggs for oil if you didn't have any or oil for mashed banana or mashed banana for applesauce or applesauce for honey or honey for agave which were all obviously so much alike, right?

        Throwing everything you had into a single bowl - did you mention it was a single bowl recipe? Seriously, it could not get any better, your dishes-washing-hater-side thought - you frowned as you compared your final result to the one on the screen.

        Pinterest's batter: gooey but firm, looked so good you wouldn't mind spooning it raw directly into your mouth.

        Your batter: two year old's diarrhea, you wouldn't want to spoon it raw directly into your mouth not even if they paid you.

        You somehow managed to put little (balls, on Pinterest, blobs, sounded more accurate to your situation) blobs of the batter onto the baking sheet and onto the oven, too busy freaking out slash trying to understand what the hell you did wrong (ooh two american cups of flour? what were american cups? weren't your cups american? why america has to control everything for god's sake?!) to notice the door being unlocked, only realising you had company when you heard an amused chuckle behind you.

        Turning around so quick you almost broke your neck - fouet filled with sticky disgusting batter held in hand in a threatingly way - you found him staring, all long legs and perfect hair and mocking grin and...

        Empty hands?

        Where the hell was the box the size of a toddler he was seen loading into his car?!

        Goddamit, internet!

(And why did you feel a lil' bit disappointed I mean...)

(...you had him, hadn't you?)

(Best Christmas Gift Ever, am I right.)

        "Hi."

        "Hi. Were you..." A cute little frown appeared between his brows, pearly white teeth still on show as he asked "Baking?"

        Getting a bit defensive - why did he have to sound so confused/terrified? - you dropped the fouet on the sink, replying "Yes, why?"

        "Oh, for nothing! I mean, it smells..."

(Awful.)

        "Pretty good."

(Damn, he was a liar.)

        Leaning to check the oven temperature just one more time - I mean, better safe than sorry, you couldn't push your luck (any further) - you ignored your boyfriend's stare (a cute little smirk on his lips because well, he thought it was cute how you hadn't noticed the chocolate batter on your chin or how you wore an apron thrice your size), asking maybe a little too cheery "So, how's your Christmas eve going so far?"

( "...Loading too many big ass boxes onto your car?", you rhymed mentally.)

        "Well, not too good I mean, I only got to see my lovely lady today." He replied with a charming smile, expecting for you to giggle - alright, fine, he knew you weren't one to giggle, or at least give him love eyes.

        You squinted skeptically.

...Okay.

        "Empty handed, I see."

        "Yeah, kinda glad we decided to skip on that Christmas madness. Had to help a mate out with picking up a complete set of one of those fancy Le Creuset cooking things. Said his girlfriend would love it." He added with a scoff, rolling his eyes "I told him that if I gave you anything kitchen related you'd throw it in my head, but seeing you're apparently into cooking now..." He paused, pursing his lips "Should I write it down as a suggestion for your birthday?"

        Her mind went black.

        Kitchen appliances.

        His mate was giving his girlfriend freakin' casseroles and frying pans.

(Oh poor girl.)

(Poor, poor girl.)

(The disappointment when she opened that huge heavy box.)

(Damn.)

        And you had been freaking out the entire day thinking he'd gotten you something big and awesome and you'd look like the awful ungrateful girlfriend.

        Man, that ugly glittery card would look like heaven next yo, y'know... Nothing.

        "If you ever give me a damn casserole pan I shall rip off your little buddy of you, cut it into tiny little pieces, cook them in the freakin' thing and serve you for dinner." You stated, and he replying, giving you a kiss on the forehead  "Aw, see? I know you so well."

        God, you were glad he didn't get you anything.

        Because being with him was the best gift you could've ever asked for.

(Insert vomiting and cringing here.)

(Fuck you never thought you would be THIS gross and disgusting and loving about any human being in your life after your miserable string of awful break-ups.)

(Yet there you were, with your very own prince charming.)

(Yup, that was it, you guys would be watching The Christmas Prince on Netflix.)

        You showed your appreciation by getting on the tips of your toes and pecking him on the lips, the little wrinkle of confusion between his forehead making you want to kiss him even more.

(How was possible for someone to be so cute slash sexy at the same damn time?)

(Seriously.)

(Ugh.)

        But then, maybe you'd been too distracted by his pouty pink lips - no chapstick or anything, you wondered how the hell he managed to get them always so soft and puffy and kissable - to check the oven...

        And the whole room started to smell a bit smokey.

        And look a bit smokey.

        "Fuck, my Pinterest cookies!" You squealed, startling him.

        You were sort of thankful your fire alarm wasn't working so well, because if the firemen showed up because you almost burned your kitchen down, your landlord would have (even more) reasons to hate you.

        "It looks... Edible." Your boyfiend said matter of fact, poking one of your cookies at the tray with the tip of his fingers with brows furrowed.

        They looked like baby alien fetus.

(Edible, in some outer galaxy cultures, probably.)

        "Want to try them?" You knew by the raise of his eyebrow that it was a challenge, a thing you rarely passed.

        Daringly, you got one - dropping it back to the tray because damn they were hot -, trying it again after a few seconds of you two staring at each other with "Who Shall Quit First" eyes.

        Was he going to make you eat them first?

        By the fake tight ass smile he was giving you, he was...

        So with the biggest grin you could muster, you squeaked "Merry Christmas baby! I made these for you! Hope you like them!"

(Or at least don't get food poisoning and die! Please don't get food poisoning and die! I kinda really really really really really like you!)

(And if you die because of me slash my cookies your fans will murder me!)

        With a small gulp, he picked one of the alien fetus cookies, shaking it off so they wouldn't be "too hot and burn his tongue" for about three minutes.

        You kinda knew he was trying to make as many tiny pieces of it fall out so he'd eat as less of a cookie as possible, but you didn't call him out on it because oh well, he was at least going to eat a teeny bit of them.

        And in the end, after a bit of fake awing "Oh, tastes so good babe" and maybe spitting on a napkin when you turned around to throw the dirty dishes on the sink, he did eat your alien fetus cookies.

        What made him the best boyfriend slash Christmas present ever.

        And after drinking maybe a bit too much wine and watching The Christmas Prince, he drunkenly vowed to never ever give you anything cooking related - as the cookies now rested in peace in your trashcan, on top of your ugly ass glittery card -, and that vow would be proved to be a gift that kept on giving.

(I mean, it would give stomach aches and calls to the fire fighters and be a total waste of ingredients, so you were cool with that.)

(And even if he never gave you anything at all, he dealt with your craziness, your PMSing, you overreacting whenever you let your - very expensive - makeup fall onto the floor, never watched Game of Thrones episodes without you and always let you eat the biggest last slice of cheesecake.)

        And if that wasn't much of a proof of real, true love, you had no idea of what the hell it could be.

           And that was the greatest gift of all.

(Cue to cringing due to cheesyness again.)

-------

MERRY CHRISTMAS U GUYSSSSSSSSS!

Hope y’all have a fantastic one and find all you wanted under the tree! ooh and if you liked it pls don’t forget to click on that like button (i’ve been watching too many youtube vids send help)

lots lots of love

Gabe

ps: i’d like to dedicate this to my favorite humans on earth victoria, nina and lari, who are still my friends even after i’ve been through probably 30 different mental breakdowns this year, love you guise so muchhhhhhhh thanks for always encouraging me to write!!! oh and if you haven’t read my stories based on them you can find them all here 

[beyondforks]

Tour! My Fair Duchess by Megan Frampton

My Fair Duchess (Dukes Behaving Badly #5) by Megan Frampton Genre: Adult (Historical Romance) Date Published: February 28, 2017 Publisher: Avon

The unexpected duchess

Archibald Salisbury, son of a viscount, war hero, and proficient in the proper ways of aristocratic society, has received orders for his most challenging mission: Genevieve, Duchess of Blakesley. How she inherited a duchy isn’t his problem. Turning her into a perfect duchess is. But how can he keep his mind on business when her beauty entices him toward pleasure?

It was impossible, unprecedented…and undeniably true. Genevieve is now a “duke”, or, rather, a duchess. So what is she to do when the ton eyes her every move, hoping she’ll make a mistake? Genevieve knows she has brains and has sometimes been told she has beauty, but, out of her depth, she calls on an expert. And what an expert, with shoulders broad enough to lean on, and a wit that matches her own. Archie is supposed to teach her to be a lady and run her estate, but what she really wants to do is unladylike—run into his arms. 

My Fair Duchess is the  fifth book in the Dukes Behaving Badly series by Megan Frampton. I'm such a sucker for these Regency Romances, it's pure craziness! And, this author knows just how to write them to keep me thoroughly entranced in her worlds.Genevieve is pretty much tossed into a man's world when she inherits her "Duchess" title. She has no training and has lived in the country her whole life. Someone needs to train this girl. *wink* From the start, Archibald and Genevieve are pretty darn cute. I love their friendship and how they react to one another. Watching them try to fight the attraction is half the fun. Plus, the notes they wrote to each other too?? Whether they sent them or not, they were beyond adorable, and really added that extra something to their story.

The ARC of My Fair Duchess by Megan Frampton was kindly provided to me by publisher through Edelweiss for review. The opinions are my own.

1845, Lady Sophia’s Drawing Room

“There’s only one solution,” Lady Sophia said, passing the letter to Archie as he felt his stomach drop. And his carefully ordered life teeter on the verge of change. “You’ll have to go to London to sort my goddaughter out.” She embellished her point by squeezing her tiny dog Truffles, who emitted a squeak and glared at Archie. As if it was his fault.

He resisted the urge to crumple the paper in his hand. “But the festival is in a few weeks,” Archie said, hearing the desperate tone in his voice. He did not want to ever return to London. That was the purpose of taking a position out here in the country after leaving the Queen’s Own Hussars a year prior. His family was there, and his father, at least, had made it clear he never wanted to see him again. What’s more, he did not want to assist a helpless aristocrat in some sort of desperate attempt to bring order to their lives. Even though that was what he was doing in Lady Sophia’s employ. But working for her had come to have its own kind of satisfactory order, one he did not want to disrupt.

“There is work to be done,” Archie continued, hoping to appeal to his employer’s sensible side.

Although in the course of working for her he had come to realize his employer didn’t really have a sensible side, so what was he hoping to accomplish?

“Didn’t you tell me Mr. McCready could do everything you could?” Lady Sophia asked. “You pointed out that if you were to get ill, or busy with other matters, your assistant steward could handle things just as well as you.”

That was when I was trying to get one of my men work, Archie thought in frustration. To help him get back on his feet after the rigors of war. And Bob had proven himself to be a remarkably able assistant, allowing Archie to dive into Lady Sophia’s woefully neglected accounts and see into her investments, neither of which she paid any attention to.

Lady Sophia placed Truffles on the rug before lifting her head to look at Archie. Who knew, in that moment, that he was doomed. Doomed to return to London to help out a likely far-too- indulged female in the very difficult position of being a powerful and wealthy aristocrat.

Perhaps it would have been easier to just get shot on the battlefield. It certainly would have been quicker.

“It’s settled.” She punctuated her words with a nod of her head, sending a few gray curls flying in the air. “You will go see to the new duchess and take care of her as ably as you do me. Mr. Mc-Cready will assist me while you are away.”

Archie looked at the letter again. “This duchess is your relative?” he asked. That would explain the new duchess’s equally silly mode of communication. An “unexpected duchess,” indeed. What kind of idiot wouldn’t have foreseen this circumstance? And done something to prepare for it?

“She calls me aunt, but she is not my actual niece, you understand,” Lady Sophia explained. “She is my goddaughter; her mother married the duke, the duchess’s father. It is quite unusual for a woman to inherit the duchy.”

“Quite,” Archie echoed.

“But it happened, somehow, and since I don’t know anything about being a duchess . . .” Because I do? Archie wondered. But there wasn’t anybody else. She wouldn’t have asked Lady Sophia, of all people, unless there was nobody else.

Or if she was as flighty and confident as her faux-aunt. A scenario that seemed more and more likely.

“The only thing Mr. McCready can’t do is attract as much feminine interest as you do, Mr. Salisbury.” She sat back up and regarded him. “Which might make him more productive,” she added. She leaned over to offer Truffles the end of her biscuit.

Archie opened his mouth to object, but closed it when he realized she was right. He wasn’t vain, but he did recognize that ladies tended to find his appearance attractive. Lady Sophia received many more visitors, she’d told him in an irritated tone, now that he’d been hired.

Bob, damn his eyes, smirked knowingly every time Archie was summoned to Lady Sophia’s drawing room to answer yet another question about estate management posed by a lady who’d likely never had such a question in her life. 

Archie responded by making Bob personally in charge of the fertilizer. It didn’t stop Bob’s smirking, but it did make Archie feel better.

“And you will return in a month’s time so you can be here for the festival.”

“Sooner if I can, my lady.” If this duchess needed more time than a month, there would be no hope for her anyway. Country life suited him; he liked its quiet and regularity. It was a vast change from life in battle, or even being just on duty, but it was far more interesting than being the third son from a viscount’s family. A viscount who disowned his third boy when said boy was determined to join the army.

Meanwhile, however, he had to pack to head off to a new kind of battle—that of preparing a completely unprepared woman, likely a woman as flighty and often confused as Lady Sophia, to hold a position that she was entirely unsuited for. 

Very much like working with raw recruits, in fact.

Check out my review other books in this series.

Megan Frampton writes historical romance under her own name and romantic women’s fiction as Megan Caldwell. She likes the color black, gin, dark-haired British men, and huge earrings, not in that order. She lives in Brooklyn, NY, with her husband and son. To learn more about Megan Frampton and her books, visit her website.You can also find her on Goodreads, Facebook, Pinterest, and Twitter.

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