i said of never do this again

lipip  asked:

Hiya rusty <3 ! i wanted to tell you that you are my favorite artist and i am so happy i found you! :3 so so much time wasted following xansin, her content is boring i let her know that! but now i gonna be following you, and spacejellybean and kayroos more :'3 <3

I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again that you are being crudely disrespectful to my friends and I. We do not appreciate you going to extreme twisted lengths to call out my friends work when you could simply move on from it. Putting labels on us and comparing us to people that you simply do not favor when we’re friends with goes beyond disrespectful. I’m embarrassed by it and and I believe you owe my friend Xansin a HUGE apology. You’re being blocked and I hope to never hear you being so rude to people in the community, if you can’t simply be kind to others then you don’t deserve to be here at all. Remember that we as artists do not like being compared to others or being on pedestals above each other because that type of crap is irrelevant and I know I can speak for others when I say that we couldn’t care any less on how “famous” anyone is. We’re here to make art at will and have fun with it, it gives us something to do everyday and it makes us happy to cater to those who want to enjoy the work we make. You are not ever going to get anywhere by calling out a message or favoring someone over others, ESPECIALLY if you go to lengths to offend them and their personal life. This goes for anyone doing the same thing, this is me letting out my thoughts on this nonsense and we are not talking again. (Apologies for those who aren’t aware of what’s happening, thank you for reading.)

SWEATY PALMS CH3

Summary: “DESPERATE NEED: BASSIST. NO SHIT TASTE IN MUSIC. PLUS: BE HOT.” That was all the flyer had said along with a location. Eddie would usually never go to some random club to try out for a band full of people he didn’t know, but his therapist DID tell him to take some more risks.

Read Ch 1 HERE, Ch 2 HERE

Pairings: Reddie, slight Mike/Stan/Bill

Warnings: internalized homophobia, vomit, hints to sexual content. (please remember that these characters are all over the ages of 21)

Thank you AGAIN @losvcr so much for being my beta for this. What would I do without you??

Taglist: @just-an-akward-fangirl, @hauntedtozier, @achievehuntress, @my-son-richie-tozier, @decaffeinatedpostmoon, @rhubarberous, @littletwinstxrs, @bl0w-ur-dad

The warm skin that Eddie had felt in his hands was replaced with cold porcelain. His knuckles went white as he lurched forward, his stomach emptying once again. Eddie tried to remember what had lead up to this; he had downed some vodka and now he was here. At least the hand on his back let Eddie know he wasn’t alone.

“Damn Eds, you gonna make it?” Richie snorted, continuing to rub circles into his back.

Maybe he would rather be alone. This was so embarrassing. Eddie groaned as his memories rushed back.

Eddie and Richie’s heavy breathing synced together as the music stopped, Richie pressing his forehead to the smaller man’s.

“Holy shit, Eds. Didn’t peg you for the dancing type.” He rested his hands on Eddie’s waist, rubbing exposed skin with his thumbs.

“Me neither.” Eddie let out a breathy laugh, lightly pressing back against Richie’s forehead. He had never felt this free before. His head was spinning. His fingers were tingling. He felt a bit nauseous. Richie pulled back with a concerned look on his face.

“You alright, Eddie? You don’t look so good.” He smoothed back Eddie’s hair before pressing a hand to his forehead.

“R-Richie…I don’t feel so hot..” Before Richie had the chance to back away Eddie was hurling onto his shirt.

“Oh, gross! Alright okay, everyone make some space!” Richie had dealt with puke before, he was in a band after all. Richie ushered Eddie upstairs and to the bathroom.

Eddie groaned, his dread being realized has he looked over Richie’s vomit covered shirt.

“Oh god, Richie, I’m sorry.” He mumbled out, resting his forehead in his hand.

“Don’t worry about it Eds, you were really cool.” Richie kept his hand on Eddie’s back.

“I puked on you, that’s not cool.” He wanted to die right there.

“Eddie, listen. You drank like a champ and were the best dance partner I’ve probably ever had.” Richie flashed him a huge grin and Eddie felt his heart squeeze.

“Really?” Eddie couldn’t help but smile. Richie nodded, scooting closer to him and moving his hand from Eddie’s back to rest on his shoulder. He couldn’t help his gaze from landing on Eddie’s lips. Richie had just watched this guy puke his guts out, why’d he want to kiss him so bad?

There was a knock on the doorframe and both their heads whipped up.

Mike stood in the doorway a glass of water in hand.

“Am I interrupting?” He smirked at Richie who was shaking his head furiously.

“Nah. Han my man, what’s up?” He slowly stood, resting his hand gently on top of Eddie’s head.

“Just wanted to bring this poor kid some water.” Mike’s gaze shifted to Eddie with a soft smile as he walked over to crouch down next to the poor man still kneeling next to the toilet. He held out the glass of water.

“You feeling any better?”

Eddie’s shaky hands took the glass, pressing it to his lips lightly.

“Yeah, thank you.” He nodded before realization struck, he hadn’t just puked on Richie but on the floor as well. “I have to go clean that up!”

Mike shook his head. “It’s alright, I already took care of it.” Eddie’s cheeks went red.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry. That must have been so gross.” He took a small sip of water as Mike laughed.

“It’s alright, I used to work on a farm. I’ve seen a lot worse than a little puke.” Mike smiled wider as Eddie continued with the apologizes.

Richie gently curled his fingers in Eddie’s soft hair, sending chills down his spine. He was about to thank Mike again for about the hundredth time when their attention was brought to a door opening across the hall.

Eddie’s face nearly turned beet red watching what was happening in front of them. Bill had Stan pinned against the open door, trailing kisses down his neck. Both the men’s hands were trying to remove the other person’s shirt as fast as they could. Bill only pulled away to pull his shirt over his head, moving back into what Eddie could only guess was their bedroom.

Stan watched the other man with a look that made Eddie’s insides tighten.

Should I be watching this?

Suddenly, Stan turned his attention over to them; more specifically Mike. A grin broke out over Stan’s face as he pointed to the now blushing Mike, making a calling motion with his finger. Mike stood quickly, brushing his hands over his pants.

“Well have a good night you two. Feel better Eddie!” He quickly made his way to Stan and Eddie could barely make out what the curly-haired man said as Mike closed the door behind him, but he heard it.

“Did you really think we’d start without you?”

Eddie stared into his glass of water, his cheeks still flushed while Richie sat on the edge of the bathtub and watched Eddie squirm.

“Does that stuff make you uncomfortable?” Richie stared him down.

“Sex? I’m not a kid, Richie.” Eddie couldn’t look up from the glass.

“No I mean- does it make you uncomfortable ‘cause they’re all guys?” Eddie shrunk in on himself, trying to ignore his mother’s words bouncing around in his head.

Faggots! Disgusting! Eddie you’re not like them! You’re not gay Eddie, we’ll get you help!

Eddie shook his head before downing the rest of his water.

“It doesn’t bother me.” He didn’t sound very convincing. His eyes shot to Richie who was just frowning, and Eddie let out a sigh.

“I wasn’t brought up by the most accepting person.” His eyes were back to the now empty glass.

As Richie stoop up, Eddie’s stomach dropped. He was sure Richie was going for the door. How could he have already fucked this whole situation up? Richie had to hate him now.

Stupid, so stupid, Eddie.

His thoughts stopped dead when he felt Richie’s hand on the top of his head again. It was just as gentle as the time before.

“Let’s get you to bed alright, Ed’s?” Eddie looked up to the taller man who had nothing but love in his eyes. It made Eddie’s stomach flip.

“A-Alright.” He slowly stood and Richie placed a hand on his arm to steady him before they made their way to Richie’s bedroom.

It looked exactly how Eddie would have imagined it; posters lining every inch of the walls, clothes strewn all over the floor, and a desk covered in pages of music and lyrics.

“Sorry it’s a mess.” Richie apologized, rubbing the back of his neck. Eddie just kept taking in all the stuff that Richie had; most of it looked like junk, but cool junk. He walked over to Richie’s desk, smiling fondly as he picked up a Magic 8Ball and sat down onto Richie’s bed.

“Are you twelve?” He looked up to the taller man who was now blushing.

“Hey! That thing has helped me write a lot of songs, alright?” A grin formed on his face as he kicked off his shoes and sat down next to Eddie.

“You do know they’re completely random, right?” Eddie went to shake the 8ball but Richie took it from his hands.

“I’m telling you these things really work, Ed’s” Richie shook it in his hands. “Is Eddie going to be a good addition to the Losers’ Club?” Eddie blushed as Richie asked the question. The answer showed: Very Likely.

“See! It’s magic!” Richie had the biggest smile on his face as Eddie took the 8Ball back.

“Is Richie a total nerd?” Eddie beamed back at the curly-haired man as the answer showed: Yes.

“Woah Richie you might actually be right!” Eddie laughed, and made Richie’s heart squeeze.

“Alright smart guy, give me that!” Richie playfully tried to wrestle the 8Ball from Eddie’s hands.

“No! I’m not done!” They continued the struggle before they both fell back onto the bed, Richie holding himself up over Eddie on shaky arms. The room went silent as Eddie stared up at Richie, their faces only inches apart. Eddie’s hand went limp, the 8ball rolling onto the floor.

After a moment, Richie finally broke the silence. “Do you like the left or the right side?” Eddie’s cheeks flushed while Richie slowly stood up. “Or I could take the floor, I don’t mind.”

Eddie shook his head.

“I-It’s fine. I don’t mind sharing.” Eddie sat up again, pushing off his shoes and scooting onto the left side of the bed. He watched as Richie opened his closet and sifted through a pile of clothes before pulling out a clean shirt. Eddie’s cheeks warmed again as he remembered why Richie had to change.

Richie pulled the dirty shirt off and Eddie couldn’t help but stare. Richie was tall and skinny, but his arms and back had enough definition to show from all the playing and lifting of equipment he did. Eddie felt a dryness in his throat as he watched Richie’s bare back flex, but Richie frowned as he caught a look of himself in a standing mirror he had next to his closet.

Fuck, I look like shit.

After Richie pulled on the shirt and ran his fingers through his hair, Eddie was quick to lay down and pretend he hadn’t been staring when the curly-haired man turned his attention back to the bed. Without warning, Richie flung himself onto the side next to Eddie, a grin on his face while Eddie tried his hardest not to look. A a blush was still creeping up his neck.

Why was I staring? That’s so creepy.

Richie leaned over Eddie to place his glasses on the nightstand. Eddie’s heart was beating like crazy.

“Night, Eds” Richie laid on his back, closing his eyes. Eddie studied Richie’s face for a moment before turning to face the taller man and closing his eyes tight.

Maybe I shouldn’t drink anymore

It had been about an hour until Richie was sure Eddie was asleep. He could hear soft snores over the muffled music still playing from downstairs. Richie turned to face the man sleeping next to him and he carefully reached out to gently push a few strands of hair from Eddie’s face. Eddie may not have understood, but Richie wasn’t a stranger to these kinds of feelings. If only Eddie Kaspbrak was gay was all Richie could think to himself.

I’m so fucked.

Losing

Originally posted by dolangram

Gif Not Mine.

“Pete I’m sorry I have to do it.” I promised myself I wouldn’t back down this time.

“Please Y/N I’ll do anything. Please just… I can’t lose this.” He sounded so distraught, I almost felt sorry for him.

“It’s not that big of a deal Peter. You’ll survive.” Y/N huffed out, slightly annoyed.

“That’s true, but I’ll never trust you again,” he said.

She rolled her eyes. “Peter it’s just Mario Kart. It’s not the end of the world.”

A/N: I will try to upload something for real today but I’m pretty blank on ideas rn.

okay so. i’ve said a lot of this before. but i’ve never written all of it out in full and the original post was really… patchy and note-like and missing important points and it’s honestly been bothering me for months

so i guess ?? charlie smith and brainwashing, take two:

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

I hope Lisa will appear in the crossover as well. It would be cool to see a different version of her, too. (Maybe with powers.) I just want to see the Snart siblings together again and kicking ass.

I would absolutely love that! I honestly don’t understand why the writers haven’t bothered to do more with her character, considering she was fantastic and her appearances seemed to have been well-met by fans? Not to mention the actress has said she wants to come back?

I’ll continue to keep my fingers crossed we end up seeing her (especially the Earth-1 version of her, because the crossover is already a bit of a mess in my opinion and I’d rather see ‘our’ Lisa again without the Nazi overtones, if I got to choose ^^;).

But I do agree, seeing the sibs together again would be lovely, as its something I we never got on Legends and something I continue to miss in canon.

Everything You Need to Know About Writing Successfully - in Ten Minutes

by Stephen King
(reprinted in Sylvia K. Burack, ed. The Writer’s Handbook. Boston, MA: Writer, Inc., 1988: 3-9)

I. The First Introduction

THAT’S RIGHT. I know it sounds like an ad for some sleazy writers’ school, but I really am going to tell you everything you need to pursue a successful and financially rewarding career writing fiction, and I really am going to do it in ten minutes, which is exactly how long it took me to learn.  It will actually take you twenty minutes or so to read this essay, however, because I have to tell you a story, and then I have to write a second introduction.  But these, I argue, should not count in the ten minutes.



II. The Story, or, How Stephen King Learned to Write

When I was a sophomore in high school, I did a sophomoric thing which got me in a pot of fairly hot water, as sophomoric didoes often do.  I wrote and published a small satiric newspaper called The Village Vomit.  In this little paper I lampooned a number of teachers at Lisbon (Maine) High School, where I was under instruction.  These were not very gentle lampoons; they ranged from the scatological to the downright cruel

Eventually, a copy of this little newspaper found its way into the hands of a faculty member, and since I had been unwise enough to put my name on it (a fault, some critics argue, of which I have still not been entirely cured), I was brought into the office. The sophisticated satirist had by that time reverted to what he really was: a fourteen-year-old kid who was shaking in his boots and wondering if he was going to get a suspension … what we called “a three-day vacation” in those dim days of 1964.

I wasn’t suspended. I was forced to make a number of apologies - they were warranted, but they still tasted like dog-dirt in my mouth - and spent a week in detention hall. And the guidance counselor arranged what he no doubt thought of as a more constructive channel for my talents. This was a job - contingent upon the editor’s approval - writing sports for the Lisbon Enterprise, a twelve-page weekly of the sort with which any small-town resident will be familiar. This editor was the man who taught me everything I know about writing in ten minutes. His name was John Gould - not the famed New England humorist or the novelist who wrote The Greenleaf Fires, but a relative of both, I believe.

He told me he needed a sports writer and we could “try each other out” if I wanted.

I told him I knew more about advanced algebra than I did sports.

Gould nodded and said, “You’ll learn.”

I said I would at least try to learn. Gould gave me a huge roll of yellow paper and promised me a wage of 1/2¢ per word. The first two pieces I wrote had to do with a high school basketball game in which a member of my school team broke the Lisbon High scoring record. One of these pieces was straight reportage. The second was a feature article.

I brought them to Gould the day after the game, so he’d have them for the paper, which came out Fridays. He read the straight piece, made two minor corrections, and spiked it. Then he started in on the feature piece with a large black pen and taught me all I ever needed to know about my craft. I wish I still had the piece - it deserves to be framed, editorial corrections and all - but I can remember pretty well how it looked when he had finished with it. Here’s an example:

(note: this is before the edit marks indicated on King’s original copy)

Last night, in the well-loved gymnasium of Lisbon High School, partisans and Jay Hills fans alike were stunned by an athletic performance unequaled in school history: Bob Ransom, known as “Bullet” Bob for both his size and accuracy, scored thirty-seven points. He did it with grace and speed … and he did it with an odd courtesy as well, committing only two personal fouls in his knight-like quest for a record which has eluded Lisbon thinclads since 1953….

(after edit marks)

Last night, in the Lisbon High School gymnasium, partisans and Jay Hills fans alike were stunned by an athletic performance unequaled in school history: Bob Ransom scored thirty-seven points. He did it with grace and speed … and he did it with an odd courtesy as well, committing only two personal fouls in his quest for a record which has eluded Lisbon’s basketball team since 1953….

When Gould finished marking up my copy in the manner I have indicated above, he looked up and must have seen something on my face. I think he must have thought it was horror, but it was not: it was revelation.

“I only took out the bad parts, you know,” he said. “Most of it’s pretty good.”

“I know,” I said, meaning both things: yes, most of it was good, and yes, he had only taken out the bad parts. “I won’t do it again.”

“If that’s true,” he said, “you’ll never have to work again. You can do this for a living.” Then he threw back his head and laughed.

And he was right; I am doing this for a living, and as long as I can keep on, I don’t expect ever to have to work again.



III. The Second Introduction

All of what follows has been said before. If you are interested enough in writing to be a purchaser of this magazine, you will have either heard or read all (or almost all) of it before. Thousands of writing courses are taught across the United States each year; seminars are convened; guest lecturers talk, then answer questions, then drink as many gin and tonics as their expense-fees will allow, and it all boils down to what follows.

I am going to tell you these things again because often people will only listen - really listen - to someone who makes a lot of money doing the thing he’s talking about. This is sad but true. And I told you the story above not to make myself sound like a character out of a Horatio Alger novel but to make a point: I saw, I listened, and I learned. Until that day in John Gould’s little office, I had been writing first drafts of stories which might run 2,500 words. The second drafts were apt to run 3,300 words. Following that day, my 2,500-word first drafts became 2,200-word second drafts. And two years after that, I sold the first one.

So here it is, with all the bark stripped off. It’ll take ten minutes to read, and you can apply it right away…if you listen.



IV. Everything You Need to Know About Writing Successfully

1.  BE TALENTED
This, of course, is the killer.  What is talent?  I can hear someone shouting, and here we are, ready to get into a discussion right up there with “what is the meaning of life?” for weighty pronouncements and total uselessness.  For the purposes of the beginning writer, talent may as well be defined as eventual success - publication and money.  If you wrote something for which someone sent you a check, if you cashed the check and it didn’t bounce, and if you then paid the light bill with the money, I consider you talented.

Now some of you are really hollering.  Some of you are calling me one crass money-fixated creep.  And some of you are calling me bad names.  Are you calling Harold Robbins talented?  someone in one of the Great English Departments of America is screeching.  V.C. Andrews?  Theodore Dreiser?  Or what about you, you dyslexic moron?

Nonsense.  Worse than nonsense, off the subject.  We’re not talking about good or bad here.  I’m interested in telling you how to get your stuff published, not in critical judgments of who’s good or bad.  As a rule the critical judgments come after the check’s been spent, anyway.  I have my own opinions, but most times I keep them to myself.  People who are published steadily and are paid for what they are writing may be either saints or trollops, but they are clearly reaching a great many someones who want what they have.  Ergo, they are communicating.  Ergo, they are talented.  The biggest part of writing successfully is being talented, and in the context of marketing, the only bad writer is one who doesn’t get paid.  If you’re not talented, you won’t succeed.  And if you’re not succeeding, you should know when to quit.

When is that?  I don’t know.  It’s different for each writer.  Not after six rejection slips, certainly, nor after sixty.  But after six hundred?  Maybe.  After six thousand?  My friend, after six thousand pinks, it’s time you tried painting or computer programming.

Further, almost every aspiring writer knows when he is getting warmer - you start getting little jotted notes on your rejection slips, or personal letters…maybe a commiserating phone call.  It’s lonely out there in the cold, but there are encouraging voices…unless there is nothing in your words which warrants encouragement.  I think you owe it to yourself to skip as much of the self-illusion as possible.  If your eyes are open, you’ll know which way to go…or when to turn back.

2.  BE NEAT
Type.  Double-space.  Use a nice heavy white paper, never that erasable onion-skin stuff.  If you’ve marked up your manuscript a lot, do another draft.

3.  BE SELF-CRITICAL
If you haven’t marked up your manuscript a lot, you did a lazy job.  Only God gets things right the first time.  Don’t be a slob.

4.  REMOVE EVERY EXTRANEOUS WORD
You want to get up on a soapbox and preach?  Fine.  Get one and try your local park.  You want to write for money?  Get to the point.  And if you remove all the excess garbage and discover you can’t find the point, tear up what you wrote and start all over again…or try something new.

5.  NEVER LOOK AT A REFERENCE BOOK WHILE DOING A FIRST DRAFT You want to write a story?  Fine.  Put away your dictionary, your encyclopedias, your World Almanac, and your thesaurus.  Better yet, throw your thesaurus into the wastebasket.  The only things creepier than a thesaurus are those little paperbacks college students too lazy to read the assigned novels buy around exam time.  Any word you have to hunt for in a thesaurus is the wrong word.  There are no exceptions to this rule.  You think you might have misspelled a word?  O.K., so here is your choice: either look it up in the dictionary, thereby making sure you have it right - and breaking your train of thought and the writer’s trance in the bargain - or just spell it phonetically and correct it later.  Why not?  Did you think it was going to go somewhere?  And if you need to know the largest city in Brazil and you find you don’t have it in your head, why not write in Miami, or Cleveland?  You can check it…but laterWhen you sit down to write, write.  Don’t do anything else except go to the bathroom, and only do that if it absolutely cannot be put off.

6.  KNOW THE MARKETS
Only a dimwit would send a story about giant vampire bats surrounding a high school to McCall’s.  Only a dimwit would send a tender story about a mother and daughter making up their differences on Christmas Eve to Playboy…but people do it all the time.  I’m not exaggerating; I have seen such stories in the slush piles of the actual magazines.  If you write a good story, why send it out in an ignorant fashion?  Would you send your kid out in a snowstorm dressed in Bermuda shorts and a tank top?  If you like science fiction, read the magazines.  If you want to write confession stories, read the magazines.  And so on.  It isn’t just a matter of knowing what’s right for the present story; you can begin to catch on, after awhile, to overall rhythms, editorial likes and dislikes, a magazine’s entire slant.  Sometimes your reading can influence the next story, and create a sale.

7.  WRITE TO ENTERTAIN
Does this mean you can’t write “serious fiction”?  It does not.  Somewhere along the line pernicious critics have invested the American reading and writing public with the idea that entertaining fiction and serious ideas do not overlap.  This would have surprised Charles Dickens, not to mention Jane Austen, John Steinbeck, William Faulkner, Bernard Malamud, and hundreds of others.  But your serious ideas must always serve your story, not the other way around.  I repeat: if you want to preach, get a soapbox.

8.  ASK YOURSELF FREQUENTLY, AM I HAVING FUN?”
The answer needn’t always be yes.  But if it’s always no, it’s time for a new project or a new career.

9.  HOW TO EVALUATE CRITICISM
Show your piece to a number of people - ten, let us say.  Listen carefully to what they tell you.  Smile and nod a lot.  Then review what was said very carefully.  If your critics are all telling you the same thing about some facet of your story - a plot twist that doesn’t work, a character who rings false, stilted narrative, or half a dozen other possibles - change that facet.  It doesn’t matter if you really liked that twist of that character; if a lot of people are telling you something is wrong with you piece, it is.  If seven or eight of them are hitting on that same thing, I’d still suggest changing it.  But if everyone - or even most everyone - is criticizing something different, you can safely disregard what all of them say.

10.  OBSERVE ALL RULES FOR PROPER SUBMISSION
Return postage, self-addressed envelope, all of that.

11.  AN AGENT?  FORGET IT.  FOR NOW
Agents get 10% of monies earned by their clients.  10% of nothing is nothing.  Agents also have to pay the rent.  Beginning writers do not contribute to that or any other necessity of life.  Flog your stories around yourself.  If you’ve done a novel, send around query letters to publishers, one by one, and follow up with sample chapters and/or the manuscript complete.  And remember Stephen King’s First Rule of Writers and Agents, learned by bitter personal experience: You don’t need one until you’re making enough for someone to steal…and if you’re making that much, you’ll be able to take your pick of good agents.

12.  IF IT’S BAD, KILL IT
When it comes to people, mercy killing is against the law.  When it comes to fiction, it is the law.



That’s everything you need to know.  And if you listened, you can write everything and anything you want.  Now I believe I will wish you a pleasant day and sign off.

My ten minutes are up.

~College!au Pen Pal Jungkook~PART THIRTEEN

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [part 6] [part 7] [part 8] [part 9] [part 10] [part 11] [part 12] [part 14:END]

Originally posted by jkguks

Jungkook quickly jogged in the direction of your dorm room. How could he be so stupid? Even if Y/F/N was his pen pal, he was willing to let go of you and your friendship? After everything? What a dick move, he thought to himself.

He didn’t know why you were the one apologizing when he was the dick who didn’t even look in your direction for the past two weeks. He wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t open the door.

“Y/N?” He lightly knocked on your room door. Were you even there?

“He’s here,” he heard a low voice through the door.

“Shut up, Tae!” He heard you shush through the door.

“Y/N, I know you’re there,” Jungkook sighed, leaning his arm against the door.

“I don’t need to hear it. I know I lied to you and I’m sorry, okay?” You murmured. 

“You’re not the one who should be apologizing. It’s me, really.”

“It is?”

“Yeah. I was an inconsiderate asshole who deserted you. Sure, I was hurt because I thought you were just averting me from meeting my pen pal whom you knew all along. But a part of me knew you wouldn’t do that. Yet, I didn’t listen to that part of me. So I stopped seeing you. At first, it felt like I was empty but then it hurt. Really hurt. I saw you around, alone at the cafe or on campus and damn, I was crushed. But I had my stupid pride and ignored your obvious sadness. You don’t know how much I wanted to walk up to you sometimes, but those times were when I was around Y/F/N.”

He heard you scoff at the mention of her name. He continued, “I honestly can’t believe that I was willing to give you up over something so stupid. You’re way too special to me, Y/N.”

“Meaning?” Taehyung shouted from the other side of the door, urging him to go on. Jungkook heard the sound of a smack and Taehyung winced, “Ow!”


From beside you, Taehyung sat criss-crossed, rubbing his arm which had a newly formed red mark on it. “What was that for?”

“Be quiet, would you?” You pleaded, nodding your head towards the door.

“Meaning I care about you…a lot. Maybe a little too much, for my own good,” Jungkook replied vaguely. What was that supposed to mean? You wanted to urge him to elaborate but it seems, once again, Taehyung beat you to the punch.

“Which means?” 

“Y/N, I love you.”

Before you could process what Jungkook had just said, an inhuman sound was heard from next to you. 

Turning your head to the side, you saw Taehyung laying on the ground, clutching his chest, and his eyes shut.

“Namjoon hyung owes me twenty dollars!” He hollered, jumping up. “Y/N, I’m helping you out here. Have fun!” Taehyung opened the door and made eye contact with Jungkook for a split second, before breaking out into a grin. 

“Good luck,” Taehyung patted Jungkook’s arm and slid past him and ran out of your dorm. Your eyes stayed glued to the carpet floor under you.

“You what?” You managed to speak. 

Rubbing the back of his neck, awkwardly, he sighed, “Yeah, I know; funny way of showing it, right? But I guess I was just so hurt by what you ‘did’, and my pride got in the way.”

As if breaking out of your daze, you shook your head, “But I lied to you first. Yeah, you made me feel like absolute shit, but it was my fault. If I didn’t lie in the first place, this wouldn’t have happened.” You stood up in front of him. 

“You had a good reason,” He said, softly.

“Being insecure? Wow, what a great reason,” You rolled your eyes at yourself.

Jungkook took hold of your hands, “I made you feel insecure. I was rude enough to accuse you for not being my pen pal once I got here. I’d do the same if a girl showed up at my door and looked at me the way I looked at you. But believe me, I never looked at you like that again.”

When you said nothing, he took it as an opportunity to keep talking, “As we kept hanging out, I realized how freaking attracted I was to you. Not because of your appearance, not gonna lie though, you rock the whole I don’t give a fuck about my hair look, but because of your personality. Whenever you were looking away or telling a story, man, I only had eyes for you. Call me cheesy but I don’t care. Y/N, I definitely don’t deserve you but please take into consideration my apology,” Jungkook pled, not letting go of your hands.

 Looking down at his hands holding yours, you realized just how well they fit together. Feeling your cheeks heat up, as if you were just remembering that he was confessing, you looked away. 

“Kook, I know you hurt me, but I forgive you.”

“That easily? No way. Can’t you yell at me or scold me?”

“Kook, I’m not your mother. I forgive you. It’s Y/F/N who I don’t, nor will ever forgive.”

Biting his lip, he looked down at you. “No offense because I knew you two were friends at one point, but she’s annoying as hell.”

“Oh, I know,” you scoffed with laugh.

“Seriously! If she wasn’t exposed I probably would’ve found out sooner that she wasn’t my pen pal. She was so…clingy? Definitely not my Sarcastic Princess,” he finished with a smirk. 

Your Sarcastic Princess, huh?” You raised an eyebrow.

“I still can’t believe I didn’t realize. You’re the same person! I mean, at least I don’t feel bad anymore, though,” He scratched the back of his neck.

“Feel bad about what?”

“I was kind of torn…I had this small crush on her but then I had feelings for you and you have no idea how confused I was as to how I could like two people at the same time. Turns out, it wasn’t two people.”

Rolling your eyes with a smile, you said, “Well, hey, if it makes you feel any better, the feelings are mutual.”

“They are? Even after–”

“If my actions were so easily forgiven by you, why can’t be yours?” You shrugged. “Plus, who needs drama? I miss our lazy days when all we cared about was that essay we needed to write for the next day.”

“I like the sound of that,” Jungkook smiled, thoughtfully. If he didn’t love you as much before, he certainly did now. Relationships weren’t perfect, but for the two of you, your fizzle happened before it actually started, and that was okay.

“So? Past is in the past?”

“First I need to do one thing…Hm, make that two things,” Jungkook grinned. 

“What?” You furrowed your eyebrows.

“Firstly,” He began, before cupping your cheeks and placed a soft peck to your lips. It lasted only a few seconds, but it was enough to make your heart race.

 After pulling away with a cheeky smile, Jungkook grabbed your hand and tugged you out of the room. 

“Secondly, how about we get some revenge?”


WOOP WOOP I LIED! ONE MORE PART OR SO AFTER THIS ONE!

Part 14?👀👀👀

4

Ok so I’ve been thinking a lot about these tweets…

I think I’m faster to forgive than the average person, at least from what I’ve seen, but at the same time I don’t want to be some enabler that sweeps bad choices under the rug like they don’t matter.

Yes, he should’ve never auditioned and taken the job, and continued in that job feeling so guilty about working under a man he believed in his heart molested children. I am upset about that…

At the same time if you were in his place, and the guilt slowly built up until you realized you couldn’t take the money, you couldn’t keep quiet, you had to let the world know what you did– you would have to agree that he did the best he could do after the fact, not being able to go back in time and make it right. He donated his salary, he didn’t have to be so public about how much he believed Woody was guilty, or how much he regrets it. He could’ve been vague about it, feigned ignorance about Woody’s personal life, something to save face a little. But he’s showing true remorse by admitting his cowardice and not making excuses. He’s opened himself up for criticism and he’s not arguing against it, he’s just letting the hate come because he’s upset with his own choice, but all he can do now is apologize and make it a point to recommit himself and stick to his word. The fact that he tweeted that he never wants to compromise his principals like that again means he’s letting us hold him accountable from here on too. We can all point back at it and throw his own words at him if need be. 

And when it’s all said and done, I’m kind of a coward too, I can’t imagine being in a contract with a major movie, only having a little role in one scene, and snubbing a major hollywood player as a newbie. I can see myself trying to think up loopholes why it was ok to continue. “It’s a small part, it’s not like I’m supporting the actors around me”, “I really need this movie”, “Most people in this business are horrible secretly” and any number of excuses would be on my mind. I’m glad he didn’t make those excuses in his tweets at all. He just faced the fact that if he believed it was true about Woody, he shouldn’t have chosen to work in his film.

6

haikyuu ❈ fairytale pages

picking up some small pebbles, he dropped them into the pitcher one by one.
with each pebble the water rose a little higher until- at last!
it was near enough so he could drink.

                                                      (aesop, the crow and the pitcher)

10

Barry/Iris in The Flash Reborn

I don’t know if you can hear me, or if you’re trying to send us a message somehow. I did what you told me to. I kept running, I kept moving forward, because I knew that if I stopped to look back, then I would remember that you weren’t behind me anymore. And it’s been so hard. And when Cisco said that he could bring you back, you know, I didn’t know what to think. What if it didn’t work? What if you were dead? I mean, I thought it would be like losing you all over again. I never imagined this, though. I don’t know what I would do if this is all that’s left of you, if this is all that’s left of the amazing man that I know and love.
Please come back to me. Tell me you’re still my Barry.

It’s like, everything that was wrong in my life, the pain of my past, my mistakes, it’s all just washed away. And all I see is you, and us, and our future together.

Tough Love

No one knew Eddie Kaspbrak better than himself. Even his closest friends didn’t know who he really was, who he wanted to be, who he wished he could be. But then Richie Tozier came along, with his wild hair, passion for film making, and annoying talent of making Eddie’s heart beat faster than normal, and he finally found someone who knew him better than he knew himself. And that scared the shit out of him.

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Breaking the Rules - part 7

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary:  Modern!AU You hate James Barnes with a burning passion and the feeling is entirely mutual. Just when you think things can’t get any worse, you are tricked into attending his sister’s wedding as his girlfriend. Stuck with a bunch of strangers, you come up with a set of rules that are not going to last long.

Word Count:2,176

Warnings: the usual

A/N: I made this extra cheesy so it hurts more. You’re welcome ♥

Breaking the Rules - Masterpage

Originally posted by bisebchris

You plopped down in your seat, avoiding Steve and Peggy’s inquisitive gaze. Your heart was beating so fast and hard, it felt a woodpecker was trapped inside your rib cage.

When Bucky joined the table, he was visibly nervous, but had managed to collect himself a little. Upon seeing the dark hickey on his neck, Peggy jabbed her elbow into Steve’s side. He woofed out a breath and rubbed his ribs before he turned his head to look at her.

She nodded toward Bucky’s neck and Steve’s eyes widened. He reluctantly placed a ten-dollar bill in her awaiting hand.

Meanwhile, you and Bucky acted like nothing had happened. You noticed that he was trying to sneak peeks at you, but you stared straight ahead, ignoring him.

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Ella Fitzgerald and Marilyn Monroe at Tiffany Club 1954

“I owe Marilyn Monroe a real debt … she personally called the owner of the Mocambo, and told him she wanted me booked immediately, and if he would do it, she would take a front table every night. She told him – and it was true, due to Marilyn’s superstar status – that the press would go wild. The owner said yes, and Marilyn was there, front table, every night. The press went overboard. After that, I never had to play a small jazz club again. She was an unusual woman – a little ahead of her times. And she didn’t know it.“ Ella Fitzgerald  

As Friends Do (1566 words)

“Dean, this has to stop.” 
Sam comes barging in through Dean’s door just as he’s making himself comfortable on the bed, trying to watch the latest episodes of Dr. Sexy in peace.
“Cas is stressing me out. He asked me if I’m angry with him for the fourth time this week.” 
Dean takes off his earphones and puts the episode on hold. “And why exactly would that be my fault, Sammy?” he asks irritated. Sam takes a few steps forward until he’s directly at the edge of his bed, looming over him.
“You know exactly why.” He nods to the open door, probably somewhere vaguely into Cas’ direction. “According to him, the stuff you do with him is how friends behave when their friends come back from the dead, and he now apparently thinks that I don’t want to be his friend.” 
That makes Dean splutter and blush; the stuff – what is he even – he didn’t do anything – and everything he did was certainly – “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he finally croaks and slams the laptop shut because he’s definitely not in the mood to watch Netflix right now.
Sam rolls his eyes. “Dude, you’re all over him ever since he came back. And really” – he raises his hands defensively – “I don’t care, but please, just tell him what you feel for him so we can all get this over with.” 
“Jesus, can’t a guy show some hospitality to a new member of the household?” he grumbles, probably still red as a tomato. Yeah, maybe he did stretch the definition of friendship a few times ever since Cas came back, but really, that shouldn’t be an issue, right? He was just trying to make Cas feel as comfortable as possible.
“Dean, practically fondling the guy under your shared blanket on the couch doesn’t count as hospitality, it really doesn’t,” Sam says exasperatedly.
Okay, that had only been one time, and he hadn’t fondled the guy, Jesus, he had only stroked his knee because he had struck it against the counter earlier that day. He opens his mouth to tell Sam as much, but he doesn’t let him.
“And Dean, really, I love Cas – as a friend – but I’d be more than happy to never have to touch his general crotch area in my life.”
“I never –”
“So please, do me a favor and tell this guy that you’d like to bump uglies with him in an extremely unfriendly way so I can stop explaining to him why I don’t want to touch every part of his body and why I never stand up at 5 am to make his favorite pancakes.” He points a finger at Dean. “Don’t even try to deny it, I’ve seen it with my own eyes.” 
Dean’s mouth opens and closes like a fish as he struggles to find words; maybe, eventually, Sam is, at least technically, right. He certainly wouldn’t be averse to do… stuff that’s not covered by a friendship with Cas, but he’s also pretty sure that Cas wouldn’t want that, so why the fuck should he even care? 
The fact that Cas expects the same treatment from Sam, for God’s sake, makes it clear that he’s not really into the whole feel–up–Dean–thing – or maybe he’s a kinky fucker and wants them both, but then – nope. He’s not going to go there.
“Dean,” Sam says again, more urgently this time. “I could probably hear your thoughts across the pond right now. If you really think that Cas is trying to get into my pants, I’m going to have to sue you for ingraining this image onto my eyeballs.” 
“I wasn’t – okay, shut the fuck up. I’m going to talk to Cas. But not about having sex with him, Jesus. I don’t –”
“Don’t even say it. I’m not even listening anymore, I’m done with your bullshit.” Sam puts his fingers in his ears and wanders off, mockingly whistling a cheerful tone. This jerk. 
“Alright, fine,” he tells himself and takes a deep breath. He can talk to Cas. Sure. He’s not sure yet what he’s supposed to say, but he can definitely bullshit his way through all of this. Sam’s just not that much of a hugger. Sam values his sleep over making pancakes, and he’d probably burn them anyway. Sam isn’t used to sharing a blanket because he’s so big he needs at least two for himself. 
Excellent. Now he just needs to tell that to Cas.

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Trespasser

GROUP: BTS

PAIRING: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Fluff (ft a bad boy jungkook)

Word count 1.1k

SYNOPSIS: 

When your frenemy knocks at your door, 3 am in the morning because he doesn’t have another place to crash. What could possibly happen?

A/N: Not requested, just an idea I had. I hope you guys like it!

MASTERLIST


Originally posted by you-made-me-again

“What the fuck do you want?” you stated folding your arms as found Jeon Jungkook standing in front of your door looking clad in his black leather jacket white shirt, and black jeans. Instead of replying he opted to shove you lightly with his shoulder before making his way into your apartment. 

The ease with which he thought he could invade your privacy outraged you. “I am calling the cops if you’re not out of here in 10 fucking seconds” you trailed behind him. He chuckled deeply, which sent shivers down your spine.He turned around, gently tapped your nose, winked and whispered “Give it a try kitten” He made himself comfortable on the couch, propping his feet on the coffee table. “What do you want Jeongguk?”

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Missed You

Harry’s lap was vacant and I couldn’t find a more suitable seat. It didn’t happen often anymore—us sitting together, or rather me sitting on top of the man. As a second priority under work, I had no room in my schedule for him. However, when we did converse, it involved sluggish caresses and pouty red lips, both which I adored. He was neither tired, or fatigued so I took up both roles.

It was book: I would remove my jacket, let it cling on a hook, and mumble a quick ‘hello’ before wandering to my study where I’d bury myself in piles of works. Right now, I wanted nothing more than to drown myself in his scent. With a careless toss of my outer layer, I crawled into the living room.

“Hi,” Harry said automatically. “How was your day?” His expectation was a blasé mutter and a grumpy shrug, and somewhere along the third week, he’s refused to even raise his head to look at me. He didn’t expect my shadow towering over him, and he definitely didn’t expect my crashing figure on top of him.

“What—!” he grunted when I let my body free fall onto him. Harry’s response was hesitant, and after he’d tenderly tucked my head into his neck, he peered around curiously at my face. His nose briefly brushed against mine.

“You alright?” he inquired and the concern in his voice dripped onto my face. My lids fluttered closed, enjoying the way his voice rumbled and vibrated against my ear. A dazed smile spread across my face and I probably looked crazy but I didn’t care even the slightest bit.

I licked my lips.

“I just wanna feel you,” I said innocently as I picked my head up and my arms went around his neck. I smashed our cheeks together and held him tightly. “Missed you.”

“I’ve got a koala for a girlfriend,” Harry snickered.

“You need to shave. I missed you,” I repeated, quieter this time.

“Yeah?” he smiled delightfully, orbs glistening with fond as I knuckled at my eyes. They were bloodshot, I knew. I nodded and released him from my hold, keeping a steady elbow on him as I continued to vigorously rub my eyes until her caught my wrists and brought them down with a soft, but firm, tug. “Gonna pop those bad guys right out if you keep that up, flower,” he advised me as if I were a child.

I liked feeling like a child with him.

Then, Harry properly looked at me with clear eyes and a watering mouth as thrill shot through my spine and all my worries erased with a single of his arched brows. His eyes were kinder than usual and a beautiful shade of green plains. They weren’t tired, like I expected, but dulled down anyways from his work day. He blinked dolefully.

“Missed you too,” he breathed, winding his arms across my torso. His touches were tender. Tender was the only way I could accurately describe him.

My fingers clumsily pressed against him under eyes. They had darkened a couple shades and no matter how hard he slept, they were imprinted on his skin, just like I was. Leaning forward, I dragged my lips over the areas I touched. A laughter burst through Harry’s chest and my fingers tightened their hold on the hair along his nape.

His lashes were soft against the tip of my nose which almost made me sneeze, however I held my breath to savor the moment. When my lungs couldn’t burn and writhe any longer, my eyes watered and I dropped my head onto his clavicle as I sneezed into his shoulder.

It was second nature of his to cradle my head whenever it rested on any part of his body and secretly, I loved it. I cherished it but never told him in fear he’d timidly refrain from doing it again.

“I’d say bless you,” he said as he scrunched his nose. “But I’m afraid you’ll sneeze again, closer to my face.”

“I don’t have sleeves,” I groused with a frown on my face. “Besides, is that a couple milestone? Sharing germs? Getting each other sick?” I smiled sweetly at him as I laid my head onto his shoulder, waiting for his fingers to slide into my hair. When they did, I swallowed a content hum. He continued his torture by scratching at my scalp and I gulped, forcing myself to incarcerate another muffled sound of approval.

Harry didn’t reply. Two minutes passed and he remained stoic expect for his hand that worked in my hair. The television didn’t cease its background noises behind me so I opened my mouth to question his motives, or perhaps apologize. Apologize for what, I didn’t know, but coming home unreasonably late was a good start.

“Hey—”

“Stay quiet,” he almost whimpered as, I suspected, his eyes fell closed and breathing evened. His voice was suddenly garbled a giant my shoulder as he held me like a flimsy doll to him chest. A couple deeper breaths filled the air as he thoroughly inhaled my scent and my own lids dropped to a half open state. I refused to remain quiet during times like these, yet I couldn’t bear to ruin this moment. Eventually, his hands started gingerly rubbing my back and I caved heavily and instantly. He was the first to speak, tapping my thigh twice as a signal to display my face.

His eyes were filled with my universe. I counted the stars with awe as he spoke.

“I’m in the mood for cupcakes,” he lazily grinned, a childish and cherubic expression on his face. How much I loved that face.

I recovered. I stood up and unbuttoned my jeans, feverish at his stare, ready to fulfill his wish.

anonymous asked:

Could you do either jealous!draco or jealous!harry? You're writing is amazing btw!!!💚

thanks for 5k followers!


“I can’t believe Potter is dating that she-weasel!” Draco groaned and threw himself on an armchair dramatically. “I mean, what does she even see in her!”

“Potter’s dating Ginny? I thought they broke up end of sixth year?” Pansy inquired.

Draco sneered. “They got back together. I hate it. They way they’re always snogging in public where everyone can see. It’s disgusting.” He crossed his arms and pouted. “Stupid Potter.” Pansy closed her book and smirked at him. “What?” He snapped.

“You’re jealous!”

Draco scoffed. “Oh please. I am not jealous.”

“Could you want him more?”

“I’m am not jealous, Pansy. I am envious. Jealousy is being protective of what you already have and since I do not have a Potter I cannot be jealous of the Weaslette.” He explained irritable. Just then Harry Potter walked in with Ginny Weasley. Draco glared at them while Pansy looked at her best friend sadly.

“Okay. I’m going to go to the library to study with Luna.” She told her boyfriend.

Harry smiled brightly at her, a smile that Draco always wished would be directed at him. Harry kissed her and she left. He sat down on the couch that Pansy was on, smiling softly to himself. The three of them had gotten close ever since Pansy and Hermione started going out. Draco flipped a page in his book forcefully.

“Isn’t she just great?” Harry sighed dreamily.

“Yeah she’s a real doll.” Draco said, trying to sound bored. Harry laughed. “What?”

“Nothing. That just reminded me of a joke Ginny told me. When is a doll not a doll?”

Draco didn’t answer, but flipped another page in his book violently, almost ripping it. Pansy turned around to face Harry and put on a smile. “When?”

“When it’s a dollar.” Harry started giggling and so did Pansy. Draco gave a fake, meek laugh, without taking his eyes off of his book. “You okay, Malfoy?”

Draco looked up. “Yeah I’m fine. Just tired.” He faked a yawn and shut his book. “I think I’m just gonna go to bed. Good night.” He left the room just as Hermione walked in. She sat next to Pansy who put her arms around her girlfriend.

“Hey.” She greeted them, kissing her girlfriend. “What’s up?” Pansy kissed her back, lingering a bit longer, hoping Harry would leave. Eventually he did so they pulled apart. Hermione smiled softly. “What was that for?”

“I wanted to get Potter to leave… also because I wanted to.”

Hermione giggled and kissed her nose. “Why did you want Harry to leave?”

Pansy smiled. “Draco likes Harry.” She sang.

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