so help me out maybe

          hey  btw  !!  i  go  by  they / them  pronouns  but  i  might  branch  into  using  he / him  ones  ??  i  might  use  this  blog  as  a  playing  field  to  sort  of  figure  myself  out  pronoun  wise  ,  if  that’s  chill  with  y’all

I Love You - James Barnes Drabble

|| A/N: Okay, so I haven’t written in quite some time so I’m trying to ease myself back into it. I’m gonna try to post more of these little drabbles so that maybe they’ll help me get out of this rut that I seem to be stuck in lately. I’m sorry for any mistakes or if it seems like a part is missing, I’m posting on the mobile app and, as usual, it’s being extremely difficult. Feedback is always welcome! ||

“Do you love me, James?”

Silence. The only sound is that of your heart beating rapidly in your chest. Bucky stands a few feet away from you, eyes cast downwards and a look of complexity on his face. His mouth opens for only a moment before he closes it and visibly swallows whatever it is he wanted to say. With a small nod of your head you turn on your feet and head for the door once again.

“Please, don’t go.” It’s quiet, so quiet that you almost don’t hear him speak at all.

Without turning around, you let out an exhausted sigh. “You haven’t given me a reason to stay, Buck.”

The room falls mute once more and it’s unbearable. So much so, that you don’t give a second thought to walking out the door. That is, until it closes behind you. The weight of everything quickly comes crashing down.

Are you really about to let go of the best thing that has ever happened to you, over the fact that he’s never said I love you back? Maybe, he was finally getting close to saying it and now you’ll never know because you’re leaving. Maybe he does love you but is just too afraid to say it. Maybe four months is to early in a relationship to say I love you.

He’s always done things to make you think he loves you but every time you’ve uttered the words he’s clammed up and completely avoided the statement all together. He’s opened up to you about things he doesn’t talk with anyone else about. He hangs on to your every word when you talk to him. So much so, that he knows everything about you. Your favorite color, favorite songs. He knows which foods you hate and which ones you love. He even remembers what outfit you were wearing the first day he met you, and that Closing Time by Semisonic was playing on the radio when he had picked you up for your first date. A song he had never heard before but was easily one of his favorites, now.

Turning around, you reach for the door knob and just as you reach it, it turns in your hand. Bucky almost knocks you down as he rushes out. His hands catch you just above your hips as he steadies you. He seems breathless as his eyes fall to meet yours.

“You didn’t leave.”

“I didn’t leave.” You look at him with a creased brow, waiting for but also not wanting to know what he’ll say next.

“Y/n, I-”

“You don’t have to say it. I’m sorry Bucky, I shouldn’t push you to say something that you’re not ready to say, or something that you don’t mean. We can forget about all of this if you want to, you don’t have to tell me you love me but I love you and I really don’t want to lose you.”

He cracks a small smile at how adorable you look when worry shows on your face. He can’t believe it’s taken him this long to come to terms with how he feels, but there’s no denying it. “Y/n, I love you more than you could ever imagine.”

“Wha… What? You do? You’re not just saying it because-”

“No, I’m not saying it just to keep us from fighting or just because I know it’s what you want to hear. I’m saying it because it’s true. I’ve never been in love before and it sort of took me some time to realize that that’s what this is. But the way you make me feel… it’s incredibly scary but also really exciting at the same time. So, yes. Yes I do love you, Y/n. I love you so much that, when you walked out of this door it was the worst pain I think I’ve ever felt. And I’ve been through a lot.”

Tears gathered in your eyes and by the end of his speech a few drops had already trailed down to your chin. All you can do is smile at him in amazement, at least, until a third voice chimes in.

“Well are you gonna kiss him or not?” Mrs. Ruth, the elderly woman from the apartment next door asks from down the hall.

“Ruthy! That’s none of our business, now come on.” Her husband, Vincent, scolds her in his thick Italian accent while simultaneously trying to get her inside.

“Are you kidding, this is better than my soaps on TV!”

Bucky lets out a loud laugh and looks back at you, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “She poses a good question. Are you gonna kiss me or not?”

Without making either of them wait you press your lips to his, only pulling away when you hear Mr. Vincent telling his wife to leave the two of you be.

“I love you James Barnes.”

“And I love you, baby.”

I want you to love Winter as I do. Between the quiet, the cold, and the surrounding beauty, I can’t pick a favorite.

say you won’t let go | 01

 part 01 | part 02 [final] 

Summary: You’ve been eighteen years old for ten years when Jungkook first moves in.
Pairing: Jungkook | Reader
Genre: Fluff/Angst; Roommate/Soulmate AU (In which you stop aging when you turn 18 until you meet your soulmate)
Word Count: 12,038
Author’s Note: I was going to wait and upload the whole thing in one giant oneshot but for the stake of everyone’s sanity, it’ll be split into two parts. props to @minsvga for always being down to beta! 


The morning comes like clockwork, obviously, but sometimes you wish it didn’t. Sometimes, the morning is like an unexpected gust of wind, blowing away the present and the comfort and leaving you alone with nothing but your thoughts and the disappointing feeling akin to the sensation of something missing from your life. Which, considering everything the world and the fates and the bonds that connect individuals together and all the shit like that, is not too far off from a relevant problem in your life.

The days seem to blend together, time slipping between your fingers but leaving you with no opportunity or way to stop it or prolong it. You certainly feel different, older somehow and probably wiser, and you’re sure it shows in your eyes, in the curl of your lips, in the longing touch of your smile.

But you crawl out of bed in the morning, feet landing like a gentle sigh on the carpet, following the hall down to your bathroom until you’re situated in front of the sink and taking a long glance at your reflection. You don’t know why you insist to yourself to always look at the mirror, because it’s not like anything would have changed overnight, nothing ever really does. You take in your expression, the skin of your face and the darkness of your eyes, a harsh contrast to the youth of your face, the curve of your nose and the sharpness of your jawline—you: fresh, and young and not a day over eighteen-years-old, just as you have been for ten years.

This has been the way of human life since its creation, a science with no explanation and a connection that cannot be seen or heard or even felt. It’s a different kind of connection, moreso the type of link that brings two people together, two people whoever has a hand in predetermination believe would be the best fit for each other. A soulmate, an individual meant to compliment you in every aspect, someone gifted to you from unidentifiable figures; figures you would not even believe existed if not for the world they created and built, a world you now inhabited.

In theory, the unspoken rules of the whole soulmate business seemed easy: a case in which the aging process stops at the eighteen until one’s soulmate came along, done so in order for the pair of them to gain the ability to grow old together, experience life together, be there for each other during the true ups and downs of college and jobs and family. Every single person you’ve ever stumbled upon each has their own story, their own tales of their relationship. You’ve met people in a relationship that never grew, friends who realized they were each other’s everything, individuals who went through years upon years upon years of life with a soulmate fresh out of the gate—always a variety, never a wrong answer or a right one. Yet, they all seem happy, no matter where the path of life seems to take them.

But now that you’ve been eighteen for a solid ten years, you’re ready to call major bullshit on every single individual who dared to look you in the eye and tell you that they don’t care about the unwinding of fate.

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sometimes you need to accept that yes i may have been a little bit manipulative. yes i worded something in a specific way that would make my friend/fp/SO feel a bit guilty. yes i could have handled that situation in a much better way. yes i am wrong.

Hey! So as you all can probably tell I have a lot of thoughts and things to say about this season of Supergirl. Instead of continuing to rant about them here, I wrote this piece. I’d really appreciate it if y’all read it & let me know what you think!

The call isn’t out there at all, it’s inside me.

If Things Were Different - Drake x MC (A Royal Romance Fanfic)

[A little note: Me: reading the latest TRR chapter and thinking of all the glorious angst I could write because I love the two of them together. Me: finally giving into doing it before inspiration withers away].

Racing. Her heart has been racing inside her chest. Beating so loudly that she barely hears his hushed undertones. She thinks for a moment that her ears are playing tricks on her; a dirty illusion because of how much she wrestles with wanting more and the guilt that quickly follows. The guilt of having feelings for someone that cannot be hers, not under these circumstances. She opens her mouth to speak, but shuts it just as quickly by the sudden look of desperation in his eyes.

She’s seen that look before; many times on her own face. From moments where she drops her guard, long enough to give a similar glance in his direction. Moments where the guilt doesn’t feel as thick and she allows her selfish thoughts to think of more. More what ifs and could bes; indulgent fantasies until he notices her intense stare and she has to school her expression again. Until she has to slip her mask once more, for the rest of the world to see. A cool mask, she no longer thinks is hers to wear alone.

He wears one too. She understands it better, except he isn’t hiding behind his now. It is as if he has settled with unraveling right in front of her - unfolding the entanglement of emotions she knows him to bury under snarky wit. Wavering on the boarder of intolerance as it often does - it disappears, and the only shred that’s left behind is seized by vulnerability. 

He steps closer and she can’t fathom a reason to step back, to look away, to tell him to leave. All the reasons why she should are in her head but she cannot say them out loud. 

His eyes don’t waver from her face, unblinking they search her eyes. They are penetrating, seeking, looking for something - anything.

Her throat has gone dry and she’s suddenly very afraid. Can she admit it to herself? To him? Her own desire of wanting him to speak, overrides her better judgement. She’s scared of waiting anymore for the other shoe to drop.  But she’s nearly terrified of wanting more. Her heart wants him to finish. Her mind implores to instruct him to go. 

“..If you hadn’t been our waitress that night.” His gaze holds hers,“and I hadn’t been sitting next to Liam…” He trails off but doesn’t look away. He’s looking at her as if he wants her to stop him.

This is her chance. This is when she should say it. I can’t do this to Liam. I can’t do this to you. I can’t do this to me. I can’t do this to us. The words are in her head, screaming at her for release. But she doesn’t. Her eyes are glued to him, and his every move.

“Do you think all of this…”  A ragged breath escapes his lips. His jaw sets like steel before he straightens his shoulders. “Do you think…it could’ve been different between us?” As soon as the words leaves his lips, he stiffens as if he’s waiting for her to react differently. As if he’s waiting for rejection.

Yes. Her heart wants to yell that simple word into existence and she bites her bottom lip in an attempt to stop herself from doing so. Saying it out loud is different from thinking it. Saying it makes it real. 

But she wants it to be real. She wants it so desperately that she feels tears prickling at the side of her eyes.

Her mind indulges again in another fantasy, yet another pointless dream of what ifs. But she doesn’t want to block this one - the images burn so brightly, so vividly that she forsakes her sanity.

She pictures them meeting differently, without Liam - without this royal fairytale fantasy hanging in between them like an unspoken barrier. She’d still be in New York instead of Cordonia, bustling tables for any semblance of a good tip every night until she misses a ride home with her one of co-workers; and has to drag her tired feet across the street. She won’t even notice him at first. Not until she sees him standing under the same bus shelter. His hair is as long as it was right now; except it’s pulled back from his face and he’s wearing a thick jacket when he spots her too.

The weather would have turned bad by then, with the downpour of heavy rain stopping either of them from creating a wide berth of each other. She’d be shivering from the cold, and he’d say something irritably about women not bringing their jackets when he’d notice the lack of one on her. And she would snap back at him about chivalry being dead. His lips would curve into a smile then; not a full smile because those are rare but just a small twist. And it would be just enough to make her miffed, and ignoring all his efforts of taking his jacket would seem as the natural course of action. Until her teeth started to chatter. Until she’d have no choice but to begrudgingly accept. Then as the weather turned worse, they’d huddle against each other for warmth and start talking about the crappy weather. Maybe he’d even mention where he was staying and why he was in New York to begin with.

Her heart twists at the thought and she pictures them walking hand in hand walking across New York Times Square, enjoying their first Christmas together months later.

Yes. Things could have been very different.

He’s been staring at her this entire time, waiting for her to say something. When she opens her mouth again, finally words have come out. “It would’ve been different.” She says simply, lowering her gaze. “Sure you would’ve still been gruff and I would’ve have let you get away with anything…” A small smile stretches across her cheeks as she glances up at him again. “But all the rest? Yeah, it would’ve been different.”

She can’t help thinking about the other versions of her, of him - the ones that had the chance to meet under bus shelters and spent moments in bars sharing their favorite glasses of whiskey. Her heart aches for the versions of themselves she will never meet. “Maybe everything would’ve been different.”

“Riley…” He trails off and his voice has gone hoarse.

The distance between them gradually disappears until she feels his cool hand across her cheek. His eyes flicker and darken until they steal her breath away. Leaning her cheek towards his gentle caress, she closes her eyes for a moment to savor his touch. “Drake…” She mutters softly, stepping closer.

He freezes and suddenly his cool mask is back on. The moment between them has shattered. “Dammit.” He swears. “What am I even doing?”

She watches those dark eyes turn furious and reels away as if she’s been slapped. 

He releases a tired breath and runs his hands through his tousled hair. “I need to go.” He mutters. “I should go.”

He’s going to leave. He’s going to pretend none of this ever happened. The thought terrifies her, and before she can stop herself; her hand reaches out pulling on his wrist until he goes completely still. With her heart hammering inside her chest, she presses her cool face against the slight dampness of his back. He feels like home.

He doesn’t move at first and they are both quietly still. Neither of them speak and Riley is only aware of the sounds of their uneven breathing. Minutes passes by, and neither one of them are willing to let go until finally Drake clears his throat. “Tinsley…you shouldn’t.” He inhales sharply. “You can’t.”

She wedges her eyes closed and doesn’t loosen her arms around him. She hates herself for being so weak, for wanting more. Isn’t he allowed to be her weakness too? “Don’t you get tired of being so careful all the time?” She whispers. She is, she’s so tired of fighting - tired of pretending she doesn’t want this. Whatever this is between them. The pull and push connection she’s never felt with anyone else.

“Constantly.” He mumbles back, before twisting until she’s finally facing him again. 

The cool mask dissolves into an uncertain smile, and she’s struck by how differently he’s looking at her. She’s so used to seeing him smirk that the sudden softness in his express has taken her off guard. He’s looking at her as if she’s special, as if he wants her - no needed her. 

Her throat has gone dry again and she can’t tear her eyes away. 

His eyes dips to her lips and suddenly she’s forgotten how to swallow. “I’m so damn tired of it.”

She feels his fingers softly brush by her ear before travelling along the soft folds of her hair, untangling it’s wavy ends and arching her chin forward. Her eyes grow wide but she makes no move to stop him, when he finally closes the remaining distance between them.

His breath is hot against her lips. Her heart surges and her hands have gone slack beside her. They feel heavy, and her chest feels as if it’s about to burst. When she opens her lips slightly to meet his - she is suddenly met with cool air when he lurches away. 

For a moment all she can do is blink. She blinks a few times, until rationale has begun creeping back in. Standing very still, she watches the man in front of her let out a frustrated cry before stepping away completely. 

She steps back too, and when she stares up at him again, he’s a safe distance away. Her heart sinks with disappointment. 

“I’ve,” His eyes glance up at her again. “I’ve got to get out of here.” He steps towards her but frowns just as quickly once he realizes his mistake. “Now.” 

“Drake -“ 

“Before I do something we might both regret.” His face curves into a bitter smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. 

She doesn’t trust herself to speak, simply nods as he wanders to the door. He pauses to look back at her and she sees everything she’s ever wanted laid out in front of her. 

A man that doesn’t expect more than what she’s able to give. A man that could love her a thousand different ways, over a thousand different lifetimes. But she tells herself she can no longer indulge fantasies, in different versions of their lives that has never existed. She cannot afford to expect a different ending to their probably tragic story.

there will be people who use you. they are good at getting close so you care about them. when they see your scars, they’ll flash their own. you will feel kin to them. you know what it is to struggle with things.

and at first you think: they’ll help me if i help them.

but it doesn’t happen. you love them deeply so you always pick up the phone. it doesn’t matter that you have a test the next day or that you’re going through things of your own. you support them.

they are good at pretend. they will play like they are your friend, so you endlessly give to them. after a while you realize: it really doesn’t matter what’s happening in your life, some more pressing emergency is always happening to them. it is a hard thing to recognize, because you don’t want people to hurt like you do. 

i have a friend who never asks me if i’’m okay. she only ever texts me to tell me she wants to die, but never goes to therapy or does any of the things i tell her to do to help herself. once when i came back from my grandfather’s funeral she demanded to know why i’d been gone, and when i explained, she said that without me, she’d almost passed out of this world. i had to lay down on the floor; nothing made sense anymore. i want her to get better. i want to help.

but there are people out there who will use you. who don’t care about getting better, they care about you giving up your time, your effort, your everything. until you are drained of it. i don’t mean those who give back, who will gladly do anything for you, who you know you can trust. who you don’t mind giving up the test for, because you know they’d do the same in a similar spot.

i mean those who don’t know you. who pretend that they care about you but are using your empathy as a sore spot. who take more than they need. who demand your attention all of the time but don’t care if you bleed.

House of Cards | one


genre: angst, fluff

word count: 12.3k 

preview, one, two

I looked at the teacher yet again, still not being able to completely focus on his words. Not because I didn’t want to or because I thought that his class was boring. I loved his class, it was actually my favorite. I couldn’t understand what he was saying because the people out front, the popular kids, were being too loud for whatever reason.

I rolled my eyes at them and tried my best to block them out. I had done the same thing many times before so it shouldn’t be a problem to do it once more. But when I finally managed to do it I wished that I had stayed oblivious for the rest of the class.

“Yoona, you’re paired with Jungkook”

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skull--master  asked:

You are one of the most inspirational artists I've ever come across! Your use of color and conceptualization is amazing! That said, do you have any tips about how to effectively boil down ideas to one image? Whenever I try, I'm always underwhelmed by the results as they seem very obvious to me. I know it's kind of a hard question, so can you maybe share your thought process behind your work? Thank you and keep on rocking! :)

I hope you keep on rocking as well : )

What’s that Malec fic where Alec is still a Shadowhunter and Magnus is of course, a warlock- BUT they meet in a coffee shop and they start seeing each other but they both think that the other is Mundane. I need it for my fic rec list but I don’t remember the title.

I just finished Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard ship of the dead and I don’t know what to do now. Come scream in my asks or messages with me if you’re done or reading it just let me know not to spoil anything if you aren’t finished

hello, babes!

i’ve received quite a few messages from “anonymous” tumblrs (aka they just make another account, which? i don’t understand? why waste your time?) and a couple of other people on ao3 telling me that tmtts is far too long and i should cut it down. someone even mentioned that if i had an “actual beta”, the word count would be much more limited.

which is funny, because that’s what i’ve done for all my other fics. they’re not as long and they’re oneshots because i’ve managed to cut down the word count, as i am absolutely very aware i can do, and am capable of doing. please don’t treat me like i’m someone who doesn’t know the basic principles of editing.

that said, the reason tmtts isn’t as concise is because a) isak talks a lot. were each chapter split into maybe five chapters, you wouldn’t feel it as much, because they’re not all in one chapter, so, y’know, this probably wouldn’t be such a big deal then, would it? and b) this is fanfiction. this is a place and a medium in which i can write however much i want, and i have to professionally answer to nobody. when i write an actual book, maybe, one day, i’ll know exactly how to keep the word count limited and things to the point. the reason why it’s difficult – and i use that word lightly, since it’s mostly my enthusiasm for the stories and the characters, not my inability to keep it short – is because i’m writing this story for free, and i am not obligated to listen to anybody who tells me, “cut it short”. at the end of the day, it’s my story, and my main character will think as much as he wants.

(p.s., my betas are amazing and they have helped me out a lot. so maybe don’t indirectly call them out, too.)

with all that being said, however, if the majority of you feel like the chapters are way too long (someone once called me “mouthy”, lol, but this wasn’t privately, just a person i used to call a friend a couple of months back), i will happily abide by your wishes and shorten them. there won’t be as much description of the scenes, and you’ll maybe get 10k or 15k at most for the rest of each chapter, but if this is what you want, then i will gladly do so for you. why? because even though i’m writing without having to answer to anyone, i’m also writing for your enjoyment, and if your enjoyment is being hindered by my word count, then i’ll cut it short.

all of these messages – who may be from the same person, who knows, they deactivate immediately after lol – are seriously killing my inspiration little by little, which is annoying, because i’ve only just started to get it back. it kind of sucks to sit back down in front of my computer and not be able to get through two sentences without thinking, “is this a lot? is this even good? maybe i’ll leave it for tomorrow.”

it really, really does take a toll on a writer. i know it may not seem like it to you, but this is what i do to contribute to the fandom, to share my stories, and the more people point out what they believe is a glaring flaw, the more i doubt every word i write.

ANYWAY. the ironic part about this is that it’s so long, lmao. i just needed to get that out there, because it’s been bothering me for a while, and i’m finally just too tired to put up with it in silence anymore and without asking for more povs. again, if you think i should shorten the chapters: let me know! i will. until then, thank you to the wonderful people who think they know best by me, for probably getting what they want: me hating everything i write.

side note to the people in the tumblr IM and friends on whatsapp: i will get to you soon, i promise. i just need to stop feeling like shit!!!!!! ily’all.

ear-ection  asked:

hi, so this is super random and weird but maybe you can help me out. i vaguely remember reading a story on either your tumblr or sixpenceeestories like years ago (i've followed you for a while). it was written from the point of view of a man who the reader thinks is homosexual as they read, as he gets rejected from his family ect. but at the end it is revealed that he is a child molester. do you happen to know what i'm talking about? i'm trying to find it and can't remember the name or author!

I’m sure someone will recall quicker than I can.


What am I to you? PART 4

When your heart got ripped out, wonho tried his best to heal it. And somehow he managed it that you felt safe again. Just as you began to fall in love with him, the man you loved the most appeared. 

GENRE: Angst, Fluff

Originally posted by wonhontology

Originally posted by monbeboo

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