i'm still writing this

“I don’t care who you were back then!” Tony yells, frustration in every tense line of of his body, hands curled into fists by his side so tightly his knuckles are starting to turn white. “I don’t care what you did!” His voice breaks on the last word, furiously blinking against the tears in his eyes.

Bucky closes his eyes as though the action might set him apart from this situation somehow, might make it easier, might make it hurt less. It doesn’t, and he would have opened them again a second later even if it had. Because this, doing this properly, is the least he can do.

”You can’t be that naive,” he says, forces the ugly truth out before either of them get the chance to pretend it isn’t there. Standing right here, between them. Separating them.

Tony flinches, but Bucky can’t allow to let that deter him. He’ll protect Tony, protect all of them. Even from himself. Especially from himself. That’s his job.

“There are things I’ve done, choices I’ve made that I’ll never…never be able to make amends for.” He drags a harsh breath in, ignores the burning in his chest, pushes on instead. “Pretending it wasn’t real? It didn’t happen? Wasn’t real me? Won’t help nobody. So…so if you ask me, I’m gonna tell you, Tony. Do you understand? I will. And ‘s long as you don’t ask I won’t tell. But you don’t get to brush it off and you don’t get to pretend it wouldn’t change anything.” Bucky grasps Tony’s forearm then, and even he doesn’t know whether it’s meant as a warning or an apology. “You don’t get to lie to me like that.”

Tony stares at him in silence, chest heaving. Bucky can feel the faint tremors where he’s still holding him, but Tony makes no move to free himself. Finally, he nods, just once, barely noticeable if Bucky hadn’t been waiting for it.

“If that’s what you want, then you’re free to leave,” Tony says eventually. His voice is calmer now, steady, a stark contrast to the wildness in his eyes. “You always were.” Then he leans closer to Bucky, a sudden, jerky movement that causes Bucky to tense reflexively as Tony places a gentle kiss on his cheek. 

“It’s not my place to forgive you, so I won’t,” he breathes, “But if you think I’ll let you use your past as an excuse to push me away for long, then you really don’t know me at all.”

“You need to come back.”

“I’ve told you, Rogers, I’m done with that life. You’ll handle it.”

“Do you really think I’d call you if I thought there was another option? For fuck’s sake they’re going after Pierce, Barnes!”

“Has Romanoff lost her mind?!”

“The team needs you! We need you!”

“I’m a thief, Barnes. I don’t win a heart over, I steal it.”


That’s a whole lot of people and I thank every single one of you who are part of our adventures or just everyday life.  ❤️

psiioniichearts  asked:

Platonic Klavier and Simon with 2 (*coughs*Definitelynotapromptforangstyklavandsupportivebestfriendsimon( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°))

2. “Have you lost your damn mind!?”


“Don’t you think you should take it easy for one night, Klavier?” 

Simon asked this question after Klavier beckoned him to go out with him to a new bar that evening after work.  They were both off the next day, so normally this sort of suggestion would not have been one that Simon would worry over.  While he wasn’t a huge bar or party person himself, going out and just getting wasted would not have been such a terrible idea. 

Unfortunately though, this was not the first (nor second, nor third) time this week that Klavier insisted Simon go out drinking with him at night. 

More than a few times, Klavier had come into work wearing sunglasses with a large cup of coffee in his hand.  His hair didn’t have its usual sheen and he would not really be able to function all too much until around noon.  Luckily, Edgeworth hadn’t caught on…mostly because Simon was covering Klavier’s ass pretty well. 

And this hadn’t started just this week. 

Since Apollo’s departure and Ema’s reassignment to Khura’in, Klavier had been having a rough time.  Originally, he was spending more time with Simon and Athena, but now he was apparently going to bars and clubs every single night.  Self-medicating his depression with alcohol and sex, most likely.

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anonymous asked:

My dude, professor grammar, dr. kid, i read those three fics at least twice a week, they're basically mandatory reading for trimberly, legendary really.

yo, “professor grammar” and “dr. kid” are literally the best nicknames i’ve ever gotten. i want them emblazoned on my tombstone. holy shit, thank you! that’s an insane compliment! i mean, i wouldn’t use the words “mandatory reading” and “legendary,” but thank you so much! i’m just glad people like them!

What sucks is to watch yourself slowly fall back into old habits that you’ve tried a million times to break. It’s like every time I find myself climbing out of this deep hole, I slip right back in. Why am I such a failure?

au where padme lives and raises her two children thinking that anakin died on mustafar and works behind the scenes in the rebellion

and anakin/vader thinks that he killed padme

and they both think the other is dead and vader hates the shadowy leader of the rebellion and padme hates the emperor’s black-suited attack dog

i just have a lot of ideas about this idk

I miss you. I won’t admit that to your face, or over text, but right now my heart feels like it’s shattering over and over again and I just want you right now.
—  An excerpt from a book I’ll never write. (#60)

Let’s hear it for the ones who are doing everything right, but still have symptoms.

The ones struggling to find the right treatment, putting up with side effects and still not getting any relief.

The ones who found something that worked… until it didn’t, and now have to start all over again.

I know it’s frustrating. But please, keep going. You’ll get there.

I’m not the same person you fell in love with, nor will I ever be that same person again. My heads gotten a tad darker, and my hearts’ gotten a tad colder, but I still know who I am. There’s a lot that’s changed about me, yes, but the way I look at you and want to grab your hand every time you’re around has never changed. My love for you has never changed darling.
—  An excerpt from a book I’ll never write. (#58)
  • me: wow, it's a real shame that we didn't get to see much of will byers in the first season of stranger things, he seems to be such a sweet kid. i'd love to see him take a bigger role on the next season!!!
  • netflix: :) :) okay
  • netflix: *drops trailer showing will crying and suffering with his struggle to readjust to his normal life*
  • me: wait no

I’m angry. I have been, for weeks now.

I didn’t want to make a post or say anything because I don’t think enough people will notice or care. But fuck that, because I’ve got something to say.

I’m a fanfic writer for Haikyuu, I’ve been one for over a year; going on two. I’ve written 50 fics for this fandom, and I’ve been posting one fic or chapter update every week since the beginning of this year.

I write because I love writing, because I have a lot of ideas, and because I love the characters. I post my work because I think other people might enjoy my work, too.

But I’m also sick of it.

I’m sick of spending all my free time on writing only to get ten notes max on my fics on tumblr. Which, you know - it might just be that people don’t like my work. But it’s not just me.
I’ve participated in events, and if you look at the pages for any fandom-related project that includes artists and writers, I can assure you that you’ll always find the same thing: art with over a thousand notes per pic, and fics with less than twenty.

Don’t get me wrong. I love the art that people are creating in the fandom, just as much as the next person. I buy every zine I can get my hands on. I commission artists when I can.

Recently, I commissioned a writer. I didn’t even know that was a thing until a couple months ago, and even then, I’ve seen writers offer 1k words or more for as little as 3$. Are you fucking kidding me. I paid 25$ for 4k and I wish I could have tipped more.

I guess what I’m saying is that I’m done with this.

I’ve been thinking every single day for the last three weeks that I want to just say I’m not going to be writing anymore. Because I’ve got no more energy for this. I’ve got enough other shit going on, and constantly being angry about how writers are treated is not helping, and it’s not something I can turn off. Every day I’ve been thinking “you should just go. For your sake. Stop this shit.”

I can’t do that. When I finally reached that point, and made the decision today that I’d stop, I’m done, I’m out - I immediately felt AWFUL. I love writing, and I love the friends I’ve made through it. I get really sweet and supportive comments sometimes. I feel like my work has maybe impacted a handful of people.

But I hate this. I hate the way the fandom treats us. I hate getting 1k hits and 2 comments. I hate getting 20 notes, only one of which is a reblog. Who’s going to see my work? No one. I hate it, and I don’t know what to do about it.

I guess that’s all. Expect a new fic from me next week, as always. Because as much as I hate it, I can’t leave. But I’m done pretending I’m not angry. Because I am.

@babsxxxx: Okay soo a harry hook x reader idea for you: the reader grew up in the isle but is helping mal with saving Ben. She knew Harry from when she was growing up but hasn’t seen him in ages but he is mad at her for leaving him behind…. so yeah put your own spin on it and make is as angsty and fluffy as you can!

OK, so I may have gone a smidge overboard with this one, but I really like it. So, enjoy!

Word Count: 4336

There was a knock at your door.

You looked up, frowning for a moment, before taking this as an excuse to put off doing the homework for Fairy Godmother’s class. Getting up from your desk, you wandered over to your door to open it.


Sure enough, there she was.

“Y/N, we need to talk,” Mal said, pushing through into your dorm room.

You were still a little thrown from her sudden appearance. “I thought you’d gone back to the Isle? And your hair…you went back to purple?”

Mal waved a hand to cut you off. “We don’t have time for questions right now. I need your help.”

That definitely caught your attention. “What? Why? What’s wrong?”

“Ben’s been kidnapped,” Mal stated, her voice low. You’d never heard her sound so emotional, so sincere.

You blinked. “That’s horrible…but why do you need me? Shouldn’t we go to Fairy Godmother or Ben’s parents or–”

“Uma and her crew took him,” Mal revealed.

Oh. Everything clicked into place.


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She moved on. I never understand how she did, or how she could bring herself to, but she did. She was living her life to the fullest day by day with that amazing smile I fell for. And as I sit sipping on this glass and feeling myself slip into a dazed and foggy state of drunkenness, I seem to miss her more and more.
—  An excerpt from a book I’ll never write. (#62)

“We won the war,” they say.

Harry isn’t inclined to agree. How can they say that when former Death Eaters are still being persecuted, when their children are being outcasted for something out of their control?

He sees Draco Malfoy’s child, Scorpius, sitting in the front of the class, keeping to himself, and feels his heart break. He hears the jibes that the other students, his own students, throws at the poor boy, and it makes him angry. A punishment is enough for the offenders, he thinks, because they’re still young. They have time to learn. The parents, he knows, are the ones who won’t change. He sees it in their eyes, the way a haunted expression washes over and clouds their judgment. It’s frustrating to see that all his efforts didn’t change anything at all.

“I didn’t fight a war for this,” he wants to scream, “I didn’t risk my life just for another group to be discriminated against.”

“Why didn’t you marry Ginny?” they ask.

Harry’s tired of people asking. Molly’s a lovely person, the mother figure that he never had, but she doesn’t understand. Marriage wasn’t the answer, not at the time. He would wake up in the middle of the night screaming in terror. He would flinch at the sight of a wand pointed at him, whether it is with good intentions or not, and would have to fight the urge to draw his own wand. His eyes would dart around a place, searching for exits, even if he knew it to be safe. For a time, his hand never strayed far from his holster, fingertips always in contact touch with the wand in case of an attack.

 Harry knew that he wasn’t stable, that he needed time, time alone, to heal his scars (if they ever did heal). Ginny wasn’t happy about that, not understanding his exact struggle, and thus they had to separate.

“I was broken,” he whispers softly, “I am broken. Can’t you see?”

“How can you forgive him?” they wonder.

Harry just does. Draco had apologized and offered to repay a Life-Debt, but Harry refuses. The past is in the past and there’s no use in dwelling on it. Draco had been young and he made all the wrong choices. Harry wasn’t going to fault him for doing what he thought was right. He’s just happy that Draco had changed, seeing the error in his ways.

It did, however, come as a surprise when Draco came to him after his classes had ended with flowers in hand. They had been talking more and more with Draco constantly checking up on Scorpius. It’s cute, Harry thinks, but he keeps that to himself.

“To apologize again?” Harry asks bemusedly. Draco hasn’t sent an apology gift in a while, but he couldn’t for the life of him think why Draco would get him flowers.

Draco shakes his head. “No.” His cheeks are dusted a light pink. “To ask you out on a date.”

“Everyone deserves a second chance,” he replies. “And to answer your question, how can I not?”

“You deserve better,” they patronize.

Harry’s response is quick and sweet.

“And, I got it.” He smirks and walks away to where Draco and Scorpius are waiting.


Louis Tomlinson, famous pop star, participates in a round of Celebrities Read Mean Tweets. 

Kimmel’s staff is going nuts trying to figure out who was able to switch the tweet that went to air. Harry the PA assures everyone it was a harmless mistake.

20 minutes earlier:

(Inspired by this ask @smittenwithlouis got)

Mate. Claim. Home. 

Sterek AU: Alpha Mates

Stiles found the perfect gift to commemorate the 1 year anniversary of their Mating ceremony. Who knew a tattoo of Derek’s cherished triskelion in the midst of his claiming bite would drive the born wolf frantic in all the right ways? 

Stiles could have only hoped.

It was the rarest of occasions,True Alpha mates torn apart for hundreds of years, cursed to tread the earth forever in search of a part of themselves long lost; restless, without an anchor. Until one day, fate found a way. A sliver of light upon a hidden path, a way back to each other, a way back home.

A little glimpse into a fic I’ve had in the works for the past 7 months.