in other news my hand feels terrible

Rumors

Originally posted by jengkook

Word count: 1820

Warnings: ANGST

Author’s note: I feel like I got a lot to say right now. Sorry about that in advance.

First of all this scenario is inspired by K.A.R.D.’s “Rumor”. At first I didn’t liked that song but I started liking it eventually. And damn this photoshoot gets me everytime. Also I don’t have the feeling I wrote a good Jimin story yet so I hope this will be poppin.

Second thing: I guess you noticed that I am repeating the members now. I mostly pick who I think would fit the role but there hasn’t really been any request regarding a certain group/member. Just to let you know that I am open for any suggestion! If not then I am willing to continue my own comeups ;)

For the third and last thing I just reached 400 followers!! ♥♥♥ For that I wanted to welcome every new companion and of course thank you all :D It is overwhelming to me how this blog grew out of nothing :) I will continue as long as you guys like me to ;) But now we will get going!

Check out my masterlist ;)

Most recent release: Second chances


rumor

/ˈrumər/

Definitions: noun; A currently circulating story or report of uncertain or doubtful truth usually spread by word of mouth.

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I cannot express my joy when I discovered that this book was real…and that it was also free to purchase as an e-copy through amazon (it’s like under 100 pages so it’s a quick read). However, that joy was short lived when I actually began to read this book. Maybe it’s because of my lifestyle of memes, puns and general shit-post humour but I was expecting a book with copious amounts of chicken puns, knights wearing KFC buckets as helmets and well…a lot more steamy romance between our darling Harland Sanders and Madeline.

I feel as a long time Colonel Sanders and KFC fan I have a duty to make this story cringe worthy and yet oddly satisfying to those readers who are just like me. So grab a delicious, crispy chicken wing, ignore my spelling mistakes, general crappy grammar and enjoy. And to cover my own ass, all these characters belong to KFC and I mean no offence to anyone. Also I apologies because this got way out of hand and there’s a lot of dirty insinuations involved. Take a bible with you. Also I didn’t read this over because I’m terrified of having these thoughts in my head again. (GOODREADS REVIEW LINK:https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/1996014517?type=review#rating_117050525)

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I Wish It Was You [Part 3]

You were meant to be with the name engraved on your wrist, Luke, but after you met Ashton, you didn’t want to be with your soulmate. 
Part 3 to my imagine I wrote for 5sos-writing-things

[Part 1] [Part 2]

Ashton.

I stood outside his front door, afraid to knock, afraid of what was going to happen. I knew how I felt about him and how he was the only person on my mind when I was with Luke, but I couldn’t admit that could I? Wasn’t it wrong? This whole thing was wrong. It seemed as if Ashton was my true soulmate and I was fighting that to be with Luke. It made no sense and it felt so wrong. I wanted to tell someone who actually linked up with their soulmate to try and be with someone else to see how I felt, but they’d say it was different. But they didn’t understand. I had tried to look up if there were any cases when one soulmate fell in love more quickly than the other, but nothing came up. Apparently they always both had an instant connection. I call bullshit on that. Ashton and I can’t be the only people, can we?

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I hate writing about the terrible things that happen to women, or I suppose it is more accurate to say I hate how I feel obligated to write about the terrible things that happen to women. I feel this obligation because terrible things have happened to me and because for too long I stayed silent. I was scared and ashamed and humiliated. My silence only amplified these feelings, the self-loathing, the isolation. If speaking about violence against women makes other women feel less alone, I am going to use my voice. And still. I hate writing about the terrible things that happen to women. I hate the inescapable feeling that writing about such issues accomplishes so very little. I hate the exhaustion I feel when I see yet another news story about a woman who has suffered at the hands of a man. I hate the guilt I feel because I am exhausted. Exhaustion is such a luxury.