“When I was 16, when a boy first made my heart skip a beat. I didn’t yet recognize the fluttering of my heart as words. 

When I was 17, when I fell so, so low. I almost drowned on all the lonely space I was left with. I told stories to myself to ease the silence. 

When I was 18, when I conquered the world. I rescued the little story teller within me, and finally, finally found my voice.”

- When did I become a writer?

m.c. - m’s thoughts

xaandiir  asked:

Can you talk about Gene Khan?? I love him already and I wanna know more about him

HOHO! I can talk about him during all day!!!!

Name:Gene Khan, both french both chinese

Age: When I created him he was 17, now he’s 22

Sexuality: Boy, Bisexual

Particular power: Teleportation, flying and fire bending. Actually he’s a regular human with a special armor.

Okay so I love him so much because physically he’s really serious, smart, handsome and dark. And yes he’s actually a villain who becomes a good guy.

But the big joke about him is… he’s actually a normal big jerk so I can draw him like that:

This is why I love drawing him, he can do both!

He’s only extreme, extremely serious or extremely stupid. He’s not crazy, he’s just… extreme!

Haha I think I love him a little too much xD


I posted a song online when I was 17. It definitely didn’t become a hit, but it attracted attention from a bunch of record companies. I signed my deal, and then I toured for 18 months straight trying to build a fan base. I’d say I did it the old-fashioned way, but it’s really the only way

Why I love marvel.

When I was 4, I was the only kid in my class without a dad. I saw Iron man become a millionaire and genius with deceased parents. I knew I was going to be okay.

When I was 5, I was too shy to make real friends, but I saw Rogue battle her anxiety around people. I was strong enough to ask Ryan to play football with me.

When I was 10, I was being relentlessly bullied for being a maths and science junky, but I watched Peter Parker own it and make it his trademark.

When I was 14, I was one of the only brown people in my class. I saw Black Panther slay with the melanin so severely that it didn’t matter.

When I was 15, 16 and 17, I was on a cancer ward bed being pumped full of chemo, watching my hair fall out in chunks and knowing that I had more chance of dying than surviving. Deadpool came out. I fought. I won.

Now I’m 18. I’m struggling with depression, but I’m watching Wolverine battle his demons. I have medical ptsd, and I’m watching Bucky Barnes learn that his body is his own again. I’m disabled and chronically ill, but I’m seeing professor X and daredevil be disabled and spectacular. I watched Steve Rogers become something stronger without losing who he was.

They aren’t just comic books. They are reassurances. They are lifelines.

“I fell in love with him when I was 17, she said, now I’m 21.
It took me 4 years to resign myself. 4 years to fully realize I would never have him. ”

“So, you stopped loving him eventually. ”

“No, no, you don’t understand. I gave up on him because I had to, that doesn’t mean I no longer love him. It’s not the type of love that can possibly end. ”

—  Until eternity

The Curse of Limbo: Age

When I was 1, my mother and father got into their first argument. When I was two, my first baby brother was born– he looks just like mother. Still does. When I was 3, my last baby brother was born– he acts so strange and he’s the luckiest one too. He almost died twice, but an angel is always there to save him. When I was 4, my father moved out and my mother was finally free from his tyranny. When I was 5, my grandmother smiled because she caught me in my first lie. When I was 6, my grandfather passed away– I cried for a whole week… or maybe for the whole day… time is an illusion, yeah? When I was 7, I burned my grandmother’s kitchen down. She covered for me. When I was 8, I made a best friend at school. The next day he was another kid’s best friend, so I cried about it. When I was 9, my grandmother from Vietnam passed away. My mom cried that whole month. Time is still an illusion. When I was 10, my mother still hit us. When I was 11, I questioned my existence. Why am I here? When I was 12, I told her to stop hitting us. She called the cops on me. They said I didn’t do anything wrong. Case closed. When I was 13, I got my first heartbreak. When I was 14, I smoked my first blunt. When I was 15, I popped my first pill. When I was 16, I was single for a whole year. When I was 17, I met a smile with poetry written all over it. When I was 18, she broke my heart. When I was 19, I started to smoke a lot more. When I was 20, I was so damn lost. When I was 21, all we did was fuck. When I was 22, she said that this was enough. When I was 23, I dropped the razor. I’m 24 now. I wonder about 25. I chase after 26. I’m in love with 27. It gets better.

Seokmin… oh Seokmin! Happy Birthday!

Happy Birthday to this attractive

Originally posted by ldks


Originally posted by pabospoiler


Originally posted by wonnhao

And of course, talented young man!

Originally posted by 7teans

Originally posted by dokyummm

Seokmin is a member about whom I was originally on the fence about.


Well, because I plead the fifth… I was quite confused when i got introduced to 17. I didn’t quite know how to describe his looks or his self. 

And then one day I decided to listen to some acoustic or live versions of Seventeen’s songs. And suddenly I felt blessed, blessed to be able to hear the voice of an angel. And when i discovered that it is him whom I was on the fence about, I immediately started researching him more and I fell in love with him as a whole.

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Don't make my girlfriend cry.

(warning: long story)

Okay, so this was a good few years ago, back when I was in high school.

In case my username didn’t give it away, I am happily and openly gay af, and I came out at about 14, around year 9 in highschool (I’m British). And from that second on, I was even more of a target.

I was already the preferred bullying target. The school was aware of it, they were also aware that my family didn’t take kindly to this (in my previous school, my Mum had brought the police into school on the day where the younger kids were coming to see if they wanted to go there, because they weren’t doing anything about me being bullied) so pulled a big huff and puff smoke screen to try and make it seem like they were fixing the issue, though they never did anything.

I had plenty of small ‘regular’ or 'petty’ revenges throughout my years. Getting people kicked out of classes, forced into counselling, etc etc. But this is the big one.

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Becoming Queer

When I was 8 I was obsessed with Disney’s Aladdin. Not just the original movie, but both of it’s poorly made sequels too. I watched them everyday after school while I drew pictures in our basement TV room, simultaneously fixated on their adventures and creating my own on paper.

I remember being absolutely in awe of how handsome Aladdin was, but also of the beauty of Princess Jasmine. They were the most attractive people I could ever imagine existing.

When I was 10 my mom gave me an American Girl book all about puberty and the female body. I only read through the whole thing once, but I left it close to my bed because of the one page I looked at nearly everyday.

It was one of the sections of the book on bodily changes throughout puberty– body hair, periods, etc. At the bottom of was a picture of several girls in front of a mirror, completely naked, to illustrate the different sizes and shapes of breasts. I was absolutely fascinated by these girls: the soft curves of their hips, their round and full breasts, the way their thighs came together. Despite their cartoonish nature, this was the closest I’d come to seeing a grown girl’s body. It was foreign and beautiful to me.

Somehow, I knew this wasn’t normal, so I always hid the book after I was done in case mom asked why I still had it.

When I was 12 I found my self distracted in classroom discussion circles looking at girls chests and lips and thighs. Every time I caught myself I’d immediately look down at my lap and blush. I’d learned by now that it wasn’t normal for girls to look at other girls like that, what it meant to be gay. But I’d eventually find my eyes wandering again, my thoughts focused on how beautiful one of my female classmates was.

I remember walking down the hallway one day mentally reciting “you can’t be a lesbian, you like boys… every girl must look at each other like this.”

When I was 13 one of the girls that I clung to during PE (because they were just as repulsed by physical exertion as I was) told us she was bisexual. This was the first time I’d been told someone could be attracted to boys and girls at the same time. It was confusing and enlightening at the same time.

I remember she put her arms around my shoulders once, during badminton week, her face inches from mine. It made me nervous, but in a way that I’d never felt before. My stomach had dropped, and I didn’t know why. It wasn’t like the fear I’d felt from scary movies and my dad yelling at me, but it wasn’t quite like when I felt exhilarated from riding a rollercoaster or binging on sugar with my friends… it was something in between, and entirely new.

I’d told my mom about it and she immediately wanted to call the principal and make sure the girl didn’t touch me like that again. That scared me, her reacting like that. I started acting repulsed by the girl afterwards, telling my friends she had flirted with me even though I wasn’t entirely sure she had, how weird it was and how weird she was.

Looking back, I probably wish that she had been flirting with me.

When I was 14 I was acquainted with the first queer couple I’d ever met. They were in theatre with me, and I’d been wanting them to start dating for months. At this point I’d stopped acting weirded out by gay people and claiming that bisexual people were “selfish and should just pick a side already.” I openly showed my support for gay people, citing my theatre friends of examples of how “normal” they could be.

I walked in on the couple in the dressing room one rehearsal, shocked to see them making out. I stood in the doorway a moment, then walked out without either of them seeing me.

I thought about their kiss for the whole day, wondering how their relationship worked, what it was like to date someone of the same gender as you. I was dating a boy at the time, my first boyfriend and the one that would create fear and an inability to trust for my entire high school career when he started abusing me. I wondered if this couple’s relationship could be anything like ours.

When I was 15 I joined Tumblr. I’d just moved from Michigan to Alabama, had my heart broken by my abusive boyfriend furthering the pain he was inflicting by cheating on me, and was just beginning to realize that I had an eating disorder with no idea how to feel about it or whether or not I wanted it to go away.Tumblr became a place for me to escape all this into “fandoms” and “fitblrs” and personal posts from strangers I didn’t know but whose lives intrigued me. It was on Tumblr that I first encountered the word “pansexual.” I was 16.

I was intrigued and slightly obsessed with the concept of it, pansexuality. I’d only just begun to learn about transgender and heard rumors of other genders outside of men and women, and being attracted to all of them or being “genderblind” seemed impossible, but incredible. I spent months randomly researching sexual orientation and transgender people before finally adopting the term as my own.

Though, it was only in my head that I claimed pansexuality as my own. I didn’t want to tell anyone… not because I was ashamed so much, I’d forgotten that stigma several years ago, but more because I was afraid that I only wanted to be pansexual, not that I actually was.

After all, if only ever been in relationships with boys at that point. How could I know if I was actually attracted to other genders if I’d never dated them?

When I was 17 I got my first crush on a girl. I didn’t recognize that that was my motive at the time, but I was constantly staring at her in the two classes we shared, payed special attention when she spoke, and the day she announced that she had a Tumblr I made it my goal to be a part of her life.

By winter we were best friends. By summer I’d begun to realize the extent of my feelings for her. The first time I got drunk at 19 I blurted out that I thought about making out with her all the time. I told her how I felt at 20, 3 years of pining later.

She told me she didn’t feel the same.

When I was 18 and in my first year of college, I binge watched all of Laci Green’s videos on YouTube, deciding that it was time I figured out how my body and how sex worked. Through her I found not only the courage to masturbate for the first time, but my first confrontation with “third genders.”

I obsessively studied nonbinary genders, claiming to just be interested in them, giving speeches and presentations on them for class, messaging nonbinary people to ask about their experiences. I came to accept that I identified with this term the summer of my sophomore year of college.

When I was 18 I also came out to my dad. I’d already come out to my close friends, sisters, and mother at this point– all giving me generally positive responses. This was not the case with my dad.

We were fighting in the kitchen, something that had become a regular thing since I’d started expressing my feminist and liberal beliefs. He was making homophobic comments and I guess I must of have been very clearly upset by this, because he asked, “do you have a problem with that?”

To which I responded, “Yeah, because I like girls, dad!”

My outburst led to two and a half years of him telling me that my identity was fake, a scheme to get attention, that all I believed was a result of my being brainwashed at college and my own self delusion. The full force my panic, bipolar disorder, and depression came out during this time. The first time I thought of killing myself was when he threatened to kick me out and cut me off from my sisters if I didn’t stop with this “feminazi LGBT bullshit.”

When I was 19 I started dating one of my best friend from high school– a boy, but pansexual like myself, I felt like this was the first queer relationship I’d been in.

He told me he didn’t want a monogamous relationship, that he identified as polyamorous– which I knew because this was one of the reasons his last relationships hadn’t worked out. Thinking I wouldn’t fall as desperately in love with him as I did, I agreed to an open relationship.

Two months into the relationship and much research and self reflection later, I’d come to accept that I was also polyamorous and I never wanted a monogamous relationship again.

When I was 20 a girl on Tumblr reblogged a set of selfies that I’d posted, exclaiming in the tags about how handsome I was. I took one look at her blog, saw the profile picture of her staring directly at the camera with intense blue eyes and an expression impossible to read, and immediately followed and messaged her my thanks.

We started messaging frequently, talking about such expansive and random things, things I’d never talked about with anyone. Soon we were messaging everyday and I began to realize how hard I was falling. I wanted her, I wanted her so badly.

I hadn’t had a crush on a girl that’d worked out in my favor and I was constantly pining for a girlfriend. I loved my boyfriend, I was still attracted to men and non-feminine genders, but I felt not only “too straight” to be queer at that point, but also like I was missing some sort of affection in my life that only a feminine partner could fill. And I was beginning to wonder if this girl was the person who could finally end my wanting.

The only problem with this girl was that she lived an ocean away from me, in Denmark to be specific. But my feelings became so strong that I couldn’t just be silent anymore: I told her I liked her.

She said she felt the same.

Today, March 2nd, 2017, Hayley Kiyoko released the music video for her single “Sleepover.” It wrecked me.

Hayley has become someone that I not only admire, but someone who makes me feel so validated in who I am. A mixed, Japanese American, queer girl in love with art and comfy clothing. Before Hayley, I’d never felt like there was anyone in the media who was even remotely like me. With great music and a connection I’d never felt in any other celebrity before, I became an avid fan. So naturally, when the video for “Sleepover” was released it only took me minutes to find it on YouTube and watch.

The music video was so much more than I could have anticipated, actualizing all my experiences as a queer feminine person, admiring from a far, living in my head with my fantasies and no hope of ever being able to experience them in reality. With this video I was thrown back into all the years I spent confused and afraid of how I felt and who I was, all the girls I wanted to be with but knew they couldn’t work out, or didn’t work out even when I tried. And as melancholy as these thoughts were at first, it pushed me to the realization:

I love who I’ve become. I love that I’m queer.

And despite how grueling the process of it all has been, I wouldn’t trade all that heartache for a normal life if I could. I wouldn’t give it all up to be the straight girl with no struggles or worries about who she loved as I once believed I would. Even with the pain that it had brought, becoming queer has made me the person I am today.

And I love that person, even if there are still rough edges to be smoothed, I am finally unafraid of who I am.

Oh Sehun//Love Thy Neighbor

Originally posted by wooyoung

Summary: You move into a new apartment after your boyfriend leaves to go abroad, making your relationship long distance. You’re tired, stressed and missing him - and your next door neighbor isn’t making life any easier. (Part 1/Part 2)
Scenario: neighbor!AU, slightly angsty
Word Count: 3,712

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“As far as the need to rebel against the idea of you, or the image of you: Like, I feel no need to burn down the house I built by hand. I can make additions to it. I can redecorate. But I built this. And so I’m not going to sit there and say, ‘Oh, I wish I hadn’t had corkscrew-curly hair and worn cowboy boots and sundresses to awards shows when I was 17; I wish I hadn’t gone through that fairy-tale phase where I just wanted to wear princess dresses to awards shows every single time.’ Because I made those choices. I did that.”

Petals for Scars

Title: Petals for Scars

Paring: Pynch (Adam/Ronan)

Rating: T

Summary:   “The flowers are supposed to bloom when you’re ready to fall in love, so he waits every day to watch them wither on his wrist, decaying into the dead thing he’s become.” Soulmate AU.

A/N: Alright, first Raven Cycle fic! (First published fic in a while, actually). It had to be Pynch of course. Also, my first time writing a soulmate AU. This is one I found particularly interesting: where everyone is born with a tattoo of a closed flower bud and it only blooms when you’re emotionally ready to fall in love. I’m trying out a bit of a different style here so I hope you guys like this and a big thanks to those who read this over and gave me the confidence to publish it!


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When I was 5,
I sat on the edge of my chair with my legs spread.
I felt an itch between them, so I reached down to scratch,
but my grandma grabbed my wrist to stop me and hissed:
“Girls don’t do that!” I asked her why,
because I had seen my father doing it, I had seen all the boys in primary school doing it, too.
And it itched and I wanted to scratch it.
Her answer was: “It’s just how it is. Girls don’t do that. Also, don’t sit there with your legs spread like that. Girls don’t do that, either.”
When I was 6,
I spent a day on the beach with my family.
I was excited about the new bikini my mum got me,
but confused as to why she asked me to keep the top on when I went for a swim.
She hadn’t made me wear it the years before,
but suddenly, she was very fussy about it.
“Look, I’ve got one on, too.”, she said to me.
And I thought I understood: Women had to cover their breasts,
because they were bigger than mens’. But I wasn’t a woman.
I was a child.
Later, I overheard a talk she had with my dad.
“I don’t want old men to stare at her.”, she whispered.
I interrupted them and asked her why she thought old men would look at me.
Her answer was: “It’s just how it is. It’s because you’re a girl. And men do that.”
When I was 9,
I got in a fight with my best friend.
I went home and complained about it to my grandma, who lived with us.
She told me I should have seen it coming.
“That’s how girls are.”, she said.
“A friendship between girls is always also a competition. Girls are jealous, manipulative and backstabbing. You can’t trust them.”
But I had never fought with my best friend before
and I knew we’d forgive and forget the next day, anyway.
So, I asked my grandma why,
and her answer was: “It’s just how it is. Catfights will happen. It’s normal. That’s how girls are.”
When I was 13,
I fell in love with a boy from the neighbourhood.
I couldn’t hide my excitement.
He was on my mind all the time
and I caught myself wishing we were together,
so I could hold his hand and kiss him, too.
I wanted to meet him, get to know him better,
and I told my dad about my plan of asking him out.
“Don’t do that.”, my dad said. “It’s not appropriate for a girl to ask a boy out.”
Though I partly agreed,
since I had never seen a woman proposing to the man in a movie,
or read about a girl kissing her crush first,
I still didn’t understand what would be so bad about being an exception,
so I asked my dad why I had to wait for a boy to show interest in me
in order to be allowed to openly requite it.
His answer was: “It’s just how it is, darling. The man makes the first move. It’s always been this way. Boys like to conquer, and girls love being chased.”
When I was 17,
I was part of a large group of friends.
There was a boy who fancied me.
I didn’t like him back,
but I wasn’t used to anyone crushing on me,
so I enjoyed the attention.
He’d always tell me I was special.
One of a kind. Different.
“You’re not like other girls.”, he said.
“You’re not a bitch. You’re funny, laid back, intelligent.
You don’t just care about your nails or your hair. You get my sense of humour.
You’re not like most girls. You’re my best guy friend. But with tits.”
I was flattered in the beginning,
but soon, I started to wonder if his compliments were any at all.
I began to feel disgusted with him.
I didn’t want to be his best guy friend with tits.
So I asked him what’s so good about a girl like me,
a girl unlike what he called a typical one,
and his answer was: “That’s easy to explain.
A pretty model type of girl is good enough to jack off to,
but in the end, a guy wants some drama free pussy.
You’re an exception. The majority of girls is superficial and slutty.
The kind of girl you fuck, but dump when you’re ready to settle down.
Or they’re just plain boring and prude. This sounds harsh, but it’s just how it is.”
When I was 19,
there was a boy I regularly had sex with.
It was nice. Not the breathtaking kind of passionate, ecstatic fucking I had dreamed of;
maybe we lacked chemistry,
maybe it would have been nicer if we had been in love;
but I was alright with it. I adapted, obeyed and swallowed.
Of course I did.
In the beginning, he really put an effort in giving me what I gave him.
He really tried.
But his attempts at putting his tongue to good work quickly faded into halfheartedly rubbing me dry and at some point, he said: “I’m giving up.” I asked him why.
His answer was: “It’s so hard to get a girl off.
You women need ages to cum. It’s so exhausting.”
I laughed and told him I needed about two minutes when I did it on my own.
“Then stick to that.”, he said. “I’ve got a cramp in my wrist.
Women are so complicated. It’s just how it is. I’m sorry.”
I am 20 now,
and I’ve come to realize that my female identity
has been shaped by a biased,
hypocritical excuse based on ridiculous gender roles:
“It’s just how it is.”
All my life, I have asked them why,
and all they said was “It’s just how it is.”
And it didn’t matter whether I’ve asked men or women.
Internalized misogyny is just as harmful.
There were as many women as men who said: “It’s just how it is.”
But that is not the answer I wanted.
Not the answer I needed.
These few words don’t fucking answer the countless questions concerning my gender identity.
Why can’t I sit with my legs spread?
What’s so shameful about what I keep between them?
Why must I cover my breasts?
Why am I being sexualized long before I’m even told when sex is?
Why am I being taught to mistrust other girls?
Why do I have to compete with other girls?
Why am I only a good girl when I’m not like most girls?
Why do I have to keep quiet about the way I feel?
Why am I not allowed to show affection like men do?
Can’t I conquer a boy’s heart, too?
Why must love be about conquering, anyway?
What if I don’t like being chased?
What if it scares me?
Why do boys scare me, anyway?
Why do you make me feel inferior to them?
And why do I have to like a boy in order to be liked?
Why am I being shamed for being a “slut”, them shamed for being “prude”?
Why am I expected to adapt, obey and swallow without praise when boys who return the favour are considered grateful, dedicated lovers, heroes, almost ,because to the majority of them, it’s not fucking understood that if I make them cum, they should make me cum, too?
Why am I exhausting to be with?
Why am I complicated?
Is it because I’m a bitch?
Because I’m an oversensitive little baby?
Is it because I’m a slut?
A prude virgin?
Is it because I’m on my period?
Cause women are just crazy?
Cause I am jealous, manipulative, backstabbing, competitive
or any of the other countless negative traits
that are immediately connected with the female identity?
All summed up, is it because I’m a girl?
I’ve asked them.
And they said yes.
And when I asked “But why?”,
they said it again: “It’s just how it is.”
“It” is that context, is a never ending circle
of resigning acceptance of the circumstance
that girls are being raised to disrespect their own gender from their childhood on.
I was, and am, expected to accept the fact that being female automatically makes me inferior,
and that I should be thankful for being treated equally,
because that’s not the standard.
I was, and am, expected to appreciate
and take it as a compliment when people tell me that I’m not like other women.
Because I was, and am, expected to look down on women
even though I am a woman myself.
But I refuse. I refuse to adapt, obey and swallow.
I refuse to accept that “it’s just how it is”.
I refuse to take this as an answer,
and I will not stop asking why.
I won’t ever stop asking why.
Not because I want people to give me a proper response,
but because I want them to question themselves, too.
I want them to start wondering.
Want them to start doubting the concept of the role
I’ve learned to stick to before I knew how to spell my “typically female” name.
I want them to think about it,
lose their sleep about it, until they ask, too: “Why?”
In order to eliminate misogynic stereotypes, we must unlearn to understand them.
We must refuse to accept “It’s just how it is” as an answer,
until we forget what “it” stands for.
Keep asking why, until nobody knows an answer anymore.
“It’s just how it is” is not an answer.
Neither is “It’s cause you’re a girl”.
Or “That’s how girls are”.
Because girls can be everything and anything they want to be.
That’s how it really is.

we are wired to repeat negative emotions and remember pain; though I’ll keep calling wrong numbers to find a place to leave my voice, keep closing doors for a place to untie the arguments that brought us here, keep sleeping on windows to melt plastic smiles into a conversation we can taste after whitening the bruises that remind us tomorrow we will be the same, tomorrow we will still hurt. Maybe heartache is the only light left in me, broken is the only prayer I’ll be able to recite when we bury the hug I left to goodbye. they say it’s easier for someone to stay if you’re holding their hand, it’s easier to be found if you never take your eyes off seasons you want to become. It was never about being perfect, only never dropping your smile. you leave us past two am and claim that you’d return some day. as you make a silent pinky promise to the ocean, it saves your laughter inside of a seashell. Why would I spend my years searching for you? why shouldn’t i? superman saves his lois lane. the joker secretly loves harley quinn. cleopatra once conquered rome with a simple act of seduction. love has left your face on the moon. when i was 17, i fell in love with poetry. i have quills for fingers and paper for skin, so write your words deep into my lips. i want to feel your lasting impressions. i would love these cold lonely streets back into gold. play eden while we’re downtown. recite robert frost on my worst days. kiss you if you’re not feeling okay. hold your hands when you’re afraid. rub your back if you’re upset. explain to the roses that it’s okay to wilt, just as long as you’ll return some day. and i may no longer look the same at the age of 80, but i’d still hold strong feelings for you as if we’ve never aged a day.
—  The Ate & The Bunso