i say “i’m seeing a therapist” and he takes a step backwards. why he wants to know. what happened. what made me like this, basically. what was the final step that pushed me safely into the side of scary people like them.
there’s a lot i think about. like how my illnesses effect me outside of the actual symptoms. like beyond the weight there’s a second river to drown in.
i mean we don’t talk about having to stare at employment papers where they ask you to self-identify your problems. that little bead of sweat that forms when you worry - what if i don’t tell them and i need help? what if i tell them and they think i’m a risk factor? what if they won’t give me the job?
we don’t talk about the way some people act when they find out. the ones who are rude about it are one thing. but then there’s those people you thought were your friends who act like you just told them you’re infectious. who become weird and distant and suspicious like a switch flipped. like if they get to close to you, you’ll give it to them.
we learn to be okay with things we overhear on the bus but we never get used to it coming out of the mouth of the people we love. we carry this secret with us like a rotted fruit, clutching it to our bodies. we’re ashamed of our scars in front of our boss. we don’t talk about our panic attacks during lunch breaks. when the cop pulls you over “i’m disassociating” isn’t an excuse we can open the page on. when you watch people make these ranting posts about how real friends always text back, how if someone loves you, they’ll find the time to spend. success stories make other people cry with inspiration while some part of your brain is saying you can’t do that, you’re not like them. things are uglier at the bottom. you can’t explain why you can’t just make friends. you can’t write because you’re depressed but when you’re depressed you write best. you can’t eat today and no don’t ask why please. nevermind taking the train. never mind trying to be happy. never mind reading books and watching movies and wondering where exactly are people like you in hero stories. i watch a video where a man tells me that being depressed is just a mindset. when i wear all black someone remarks i look particularly emo today. it’s 2017 does anyone say emo anymore, i ask her, and she laughs, “you just look like one of those fake-depressed girls.” okay.
i don’t tell him my therapist is actually why things don’t happen anymore. why i’m getting a handle on it. my tongue feels swollen. i feel embarrassed talking about it. in the highest twist of irony, i think of how many people know my problems anonymously on the internet. i almost spill out all my troubles onto him. instead i tell him it’s just a precaution. that i think everyone should really see a therapist, they’re brain mechanics and we all need a tune-up now and then. he relaxes.
I will say, hands are some of the hardest things to grasp when learning how to draw! Even people who have been drawing for years can be intimidated by these lil appendages! My methods for drawing them might be a bit weird, but I’m happy to share some of the things I try and keep in mind while trying to capture the essence of The Hand
I hope some people can find this useful! I could probably have gone on and on about drawing hands in this post but it’s already long enough-
This is an expansion of the following idea, written by the lovely @artemis69:
the coffee!AU, where John goes to the same coffee shop every day, and there is this very grumpy, quiet barista that always makes him amazing coffee and keep the best pastries for him. And one day the Sheriff learns that Derek is the one to bake them all, so he decides: this will be my son in law, I need a reason to have this man in my family for at least forty to fifty years. Then he matchmakes with no subtility whatsoever, basically offering his only son on a silver plate, Stiles spluttering all the way (but he takes Derek’s number anyway because the guy is just amazingly cute)
John’s on his regular morning stroll when he stops in his tracks and takes in the brand-new coffee shop, complete with a banner advertising their opening day. The little corner space has been boarded up for over a year, and John had no idea it was opening today.
Any new businesses are a boon for Beacon Hills, especially family-run ones like this one is rumored to be, so John ducks inside. It’s warm and homey, and there’s a pair of young dark-haired people behind the counter, close enough in features that they’re probably siblings. The quiet bickering points that direction, too.
They stop, though, when they see the Sheriff—the uniform tends to have that effect—and he pastes on his public servant smile. “Hi there. I saw this place was open and wanted to come on in and introduce myself. Sheriff John Stilinski.”
“Oh, it’s so nice to meet you,” the woman says, holding out her hand for a shake. A nice strong grip—John likes this girl already. “I’m Laura Hale, and I own this place with my brother Derek, our resident grumpy barista-slash-baker.”
Derek rolls his eyes at Laura, but his smile to John is genuine, if small. “Hi, Sheriff. Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise, son,” he says, perusing the case full of tempting sugary treats. “You made these?”
He nods. “Can I get you anything?”
John hums. “A medium coffee, and…any one of these delicious-looking goodies. You pick. Just don’t tell my son,” he adds, and Derek looks up at him.
“I have slightly elevated cholesterol,” he says, stressing the word. “Nothing to worry about, honestly. But he polices my diet. I don’t think he knows about this place yet, though, so this is great.”
Derek hums. His tongs hover over a muffin—lemon poppyseed, it looks like—before moving to another one. Raspberry-almond, according to the sign, and well, John isn’t picky. Derek drops it into a little bag and hands it over.
“Happy to help,” he says.
John thanks him and opens the bag. Laura’s still pouring his coffee, but it smells so damn good that he can’t resist.
“Wow,” he says, his mouth full. “This is delicious.”
Derek looks quietly proud, and Laura claps him on the shoulder as she reaches over to hand John his coffee. “On the house, today, Sheriff,” she says. “Thanks for stopping by.”
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” he promises.
“Thanks, Nina,” John says dryly, leaning back so she can put his plate in front of him.
“You’re welcome, Sheriff,” she says with a friendly smile, ignoring his stink eye.
Stiles just grins at both of them and digs into his French toast. He insists on having their weekly father-son breakfast at Paulie’s Diner because no matter what John orders, Nina will only bring him an egg-white omelet with a dry English muffin. Stiles must have some serious blackmail or be paying her off somehow, and John is, he has to admit, grudgingly impressed.
“Don’t look so bummed out, Pops,” Stiles says, around a mouthful of what’s surely syrup-drenched deliciousness. “At least I let you have turkey bacon.”
“It’s not the same,” he says grumpily, poking at it. “But at least I’m getting a steady stream of baked goods now.”
Stiles glares at him. “Are you serious? From where? I thought I had paid everyone off.”
He knew it. “I’m not telling you,” he says, a little displeased with how childish he sounds.
“Fine,” Stiles says, sniffing. “I’ll figure it out, you know I will.”
He will, John knows. Goddamn, he loves his kid, even if his life goal seems to be depriving John from any and all delicious food. “And speaking of, I met someone the other day,” he starts, and Stiles gasps theatrically, his hand coming up to cover his mouth.
“Is this you crapping all over my dream of having Melissa as my stepmom?”
John sighs at the reminder. Melissa is…well, she seems happy with that Argent guy. Whatever. He’s not bitter.
“Not for me, Jesus,” he says, shaking his head. “For you.”
“Oh my god,” Stiles says, slumping back in the booth. “Eye roll” is too mild, John thinks. It’s more of a whole head roll. “Seriously, Dad, I’m only 25. You don’t have to marry me off quite yet. You’ll get your grandchildren someday, I promise. Stop trying to set me up with people.”
“I’m just trying to be helpful!” John protests. “He seems nice.”
And makes really good treats, he adds in his head. That’ll be a good trait for a son-in-law.
“And who exactly is he?”
John pauses. “I met him at the aforementioned undisclosed location.”
Stiles snorts. “Find out if he actually likes dudes, then get back to me.”
“…I’m gonna show you tonight! I’m alright! I’m just fine! And you’re a tool so, so what?”
You belted your heart out up on stage, pumping your fist in the air to empower your words even further. It was a good thing you knew all the words, too, because your mates had bought you so many drinks your vision was crossed and blurred you couldn’t have read the lyrics to an unfamiliar song. Then you would have just been a blubbering fool butchering a karaoke performance. And that would have been embarrassing.
Singing yourself blue in the face—and drinking yourself into oblivion—served as the perfect outlet for your aching heart. Hours earlier, you’d been dumped. Or more accurately, replaced.
It’d been a week since you’d heard from your long-term boyfriend, and while you knew he was on holiday with his mates—a holiday you hadn’t been invited on—it was still odd that you hadn’t heard from him at all. Not even a text to let you know that he’d made it to Amsterdam. You didn’t expect too much communication; you trusted him to treat you right, but, silly you, you thought your boyfriend might actually miss you and want to say hi.
Last night after seven and a half days of nothing, you completely lost it and called him forty-seven times in a row. And not a single one was answered. So you rang your closest friends and they came over, laptops and tablets in hand, and intense cyber-stalking commenced.
It only took thirty-four minutes for your good mate Lindsey to unearth a damning post on Insta that your boyfriend was tagged in by a girl you kind of knew. The picture itself wasn’t awful; honestly you couldn’t make out much besides silhouettes and drinks. Even the caption wasn’t much; all it said was, “this guy” with a random slew of emojis. But the funny thing was, when you tried to search for it yourself, nothing came up. Meaning you were blocked. You weren’t meant to see this picture.
Twenty-two minutes of super-sleuthing was enough time for your oldest friend Ashley to find every social media account the girl had, and then eventually uncover her phone number.
In thirteen minutes you had a text drafted to her that was so long it was broken into five different parts when you hit send.
And one minute and fifty-four seconds is all the time your boyfriend—well ex-boyfriend—allowed you to speak to him today before he told you he was coming back tomorrow and there’d be no need for you to come see him. Tomorrow or ever again.
So your mates did what they knew best. They took you out, got you absolutely smashed, and then got you up on stage to pour your heart out. Somewhere in between I Will Survive and Total Eclipse of the Heart, you got a bit weepy and ended up calling your brother from the toilet. It took you awhile to realize you weren’t actually sobbing to him but his voicemail, and as soon as you did you pulled yourself back together and headed out for another drink and a rousing rendition of Since U Been Gone.
The few other patrons in the pub were hardly paying attention to your drunken warbling on stage, only breaking from their conversations when your mates would cheer at the end of each song, some of them even offering half-hearted claps. If they were annoyed, they certainly didn’t let on. Most likely, they pitied you; for Christ sake, you pitied you.
When your song ended, you finished the rest of your drink and began flipping through the songbook. Liberation was surging through you and you wanted a song to match your mood; something to serve as a proper fuck you to the twat you’d wasted the last few years of your young life on.
The book closed on your fingers, and you stumbled back in surprise. Were books automated now too?! You still weren’t over the automated tills at Tesco, would you now have to get used to robotic books closing on you when they’d had enough?!
You looked up, your blurred vision slowly coming into focus as you swayed on the spot. A robotic book didn’t close itself on you, a person had closed it. Which was rather rude of them.
“[Y/N],” he repeated. Finally he came into view and you cocked your head in confusion.
“Hazza?” you slurred, taking a step closer to get a better look. You nearly toppled off the stage, but Harry was quick to grab you by the waist and steady you before easing you down.
aquiver (adj.) [uh-kwiv-er] in a state of trepidation or vibrant agitation; trembling; quivering
• pairing: min yoongi x
reader • genre/warnings: mature
themes, talk of masturbation, smut, language • words: 10,110 → summary: Yoongi can’t
remember the last time he was able to successfully bring himself to the point
of orgasm, then Namjoon gives him a business card advertising ‘Healing Hands’,
and that’s where he meets you; pretty and innocent looking, who gets paid to
provide hand jobs for a living… • note. inspired by the
novella ‘The Grownup’ by Gillian Flynn, literally just the character’s past
Hello!! Can I ask for a friend zoned MC feeling unrequited love to the RFA + V & Unknown which ends in a "I like you god damn it" confession?? And they like you back?? Thank youuuu (: I love your blog btw
Author’s note: sorry this is so rushed I have to post Saeran/V’s separate bc this is so long || So some of these aren’t as much confessions as
they are cute, BUT I HOPE YOU ENJOY THEM NONETHELESS ♥
“To the left, MC!!!! NO, YOUR OTHER LEFT!”
You smashed the buttons of your
controller down, hoping something good would happen
I have no idea what I’m doing.
“I think I just died.”
You set your controller down and
glanced over at your best friend
His eyes were glued to the screen,
tongue sticking slightly out just like it always does when he’s focused on
The light from the monitor flashed
white and Yoosung jerked forward, causing your knees to collide
You felt your face heat up at the
skin on skin connection
“Not now, MC, I think I can win
Yoosung leaned over in front of
you, trying to get a better angle of the screen
You got a whiff of Yoosung’s shampoo and your heart skipped a beat
I don’t know how he smells this good after playing video games all day.
You involuntarily reached out and
ran your fingers through his hair
For a second you though you felt
Yoosung leaning into your touch
But that’s probably my imagination…
The screen flashed again and
Yoosung turned around to look at you
He was still leaning over on your
side, your faces now inches apart
Yoosung gave you a close eyed
…That damn smile.
When you didn’t respond to him,
“What’s wrong, MC?”
You summoned every ounce of
strength you had and closed the gap between his lips and yours
Before Yoosung could react, you
“U-Uhhh,” you looked at Yoosung’s bright
red face, “Congrats on the win?”
Do it!! Tell him how you feel!
It was just another average friend
date with Zen
You, him, a small bistro, hundreds of fans all begging to get a
picture with him
Just a normal day
“Zen, over here!!!”
“Sorry about the flash, I just
HAVE to make sure it’s a good picture.”
“Are you stupid??? ALL of Zen’s pictures are good!”
You turned to look at your friend,
who was soaking up as much of the limelight as possible
He stood up and tapped on his
glass with a fork
“Ladies, ladies, you can all get a picture with your Zenny, just be patient!”
“Since when are you theirs?” you mumbled, crossing your
Zen glanced back at you
Crap, did he hear me?
You gave him a big smile and a
That ought to throw him off his tracks.
Zen turned back to the sea of fans
“I’ll be outside in ten minutes,
so if everyone could make a line outside, that would be perfect!”
In the blink of an eye the
restaurant was empty again, a flood of screaming girls and guys retreating
outside to wait for their prince
A sigh of relief escaped your lips as Zen sat down
“Are you mad at me?”
You looked down at your food and
began messing with it
“Don’t play with your food, MC.”
He sighed, “If you aren’t going to
answer my question I’ll just go outside right now.”
Zen put his hands on the table and
started to push himself up
You grabbed his arm and pulled him
“I’m not mad at you,” you sighed, “I’m
just mad that we never get to spend time together like we used to.”
Zen put his hand on top of yours and
leaned in toward you
“What do you mean? I see you all
the time up at work!!”
You stared at his hand
He’s touching me.
He’s holding my hand.
ZEN is holDING MY FREAKING-
You awkwardly coughed and pulled
your hand away
“Y-Yeah, uh no… what were we
Zen leaned back in his chair
“Never mind… let’s just eat.”
He lifted up his glass of water to
“I love you.”
You pushed away from the table and
“You spit all over my shirt,” you
gestured down to the wet material that clung to your chest, “my WHITE shirt!!’
“W-Well you said that you… you
And all of sudden, the floor
became veryyyyy interesting
I wish I had the power of invisibility…
“MC, look at me.”
While you were contemplating
superpowers, Zen had taken the time to walk over and stand in front of you
“Nah, I think I’m good,” you continued looking down, “the floor
happens to be my favorite shade of… brown.”
A soft and warm hand tilted your
chin up, and your eyes met his scarlet ones
“I love you too.”
You slowly leaned in-
“ZENNY, WE’RE WAITING~”
Zen stepped back and glanced at
the girl peeking through the front door
There was the click of a camera
and a squeal, and she was gone again
Zen scratched the back of his head
“Sorry, I guess it’s-whoa whoa WHOA, what are you doing????
You flung your wet shirt over the
back of the chair and shivered
“Man, this place is kinda cold,”
you looked up and smirked, “then again, I am wearing just a bra.”
You heard a very inhumane noise come from the back of Zen’s throat
“The fans can wait.”
Zen grabbed your wrist and pulled
you into his chest, his lips crashing against yours
The beast was NOT contained that
On your way out of the RFA
building you glanced at your watch
Damn… it’s already 11pm? I stayed waaaaayyyy too late.
When you walked past the break room
you heard the familiar sound of the copy machine clunking turning on
“…damn Jumin and his damn
I wonder if that’s…
“-with his damn cat and the damn
Yup, that’s Jaehee.
You peeked in the room and watched
as she stuffed a stack of papers into the copy tray
She wiped her hands on her skirt
and sat in the chair next to the whirring machine
“You should go talk to her.”
Seven put a hand over your mouth
and pulled you away from the door
Jaehee glanced up and sighed
Seven removed his hand and you
lowered your voice to a whisper
“What the hell do you want?”
He glanced at the breakroom and
then back to you, giving you his famous ‘I have an idea that could go horribly
wrong or perfectly right’ look
“Good luck,” was all he said
before grabbing you and harshly shoving you in the breakroom
But it was too late
In a flash the redhead was gone,
and you were alone with Jaehee
She looked up and smiled
“MC? I didn’t know you were here
so late! It’s nice to have some company.”
You stared at her, unsure of what
Jaehee stood up and stretched,
letting out a tiny yawn
“How much longer does Jumin have
She picked up the warm copies from
the tray and leaned up against the machine
“I just have to run this back to
his office and I’m done! At least, until he inevitably
calls me at midnight asking for more cat food…”
You walked with her to Jumin’s
office, continuing to listen to her rant about his late night antics
When the two of you finally got
there, she plopped the papers in a box outside the door
She glanced over at you
“You wanna go grab some late night
coffee? Since, you know, Jumin should be calling you in about,” you checked
your watch, “30 minutes.”
“Sure!! That’s exactly the pick me
up I need, a nice little frienddate!”
“Yeah, I was thinking-”
“I like you. A lot.”
Jaehee stopped and turned to you
“A-As a friend?”
You stepped closer, “More than a friend.”
Her eyes widened and a deep blush
spread across her cheeks
You felt your heart break in two
She doesn’t feel the same… dammit, this is why you never fall in love with a straight girl.
Tiny hands wrapped around your
own, causing you to look back up
Jaehee had a soft smile spread
across her lips
“Me too… a-about the not friend
Her gripped tightened, “Not that I don’t consider you a friend! I’m just, well, what I’m trying
to say, or rather, what want to say-”
“Would you two KISS ALREADY???”
Both of your heads snapped
in the direction of the voice
“Seven, whyyyyy are you still here?”
“Yeah, he was here earlier when-”
“-When I set you guys up!”
As you and Seven began arguing, Jaehee
looked between the two of you and sighed
She interlocked fingers with you
and pulled you away
“Sorry, Luciel, but we have a date
to get to.”
You stuck your tongue out at him
and he rolled his eyes
“Whatever… have fun you two love
You looked over at Jaehee and
Oh, we will.
Dammit, he closed the blinds.
You rolled your chair closer and angled
your head in an attempt to see into Jumin’s office again
“Peeping tom much?
Zen sighed and leaned up against
“I still don’t understand what you
see in him.”
You rolled your eyes and looked
over at Zen
“You promised you’d be supportive-
“-And I am,” he held up his hands
in surrender, “I just think you could do better.”
“What? Like date you?”
“Well, not that much better.”
Zen smirked and you playfully hit
him in the stomach
Within the next second the two of you burst out laughing
“Wow,” you wiped a tear from your
eye, “I don’t even know why that was so funny.”
“MC,” Jumin’s voice boomed, “Can I
see you in my office?”
Zen raised his eyebrows and pushed
himself off your desk
“Good luck,” he glanced back,
“with him, you’ll need it.”
You rolled your eyes and stood up,
cringing when your knees made a loud pop
Could my body, like, not embarrass me? No? Alllllllrighty.
You walked into the room and Jumin
closed the door behind him
“So, what’s up?”
Jumin turned around and sighed
“I believe some… congratulations
are in order.”
“Did I get a raise?”
Jumin chuckled, taking one big
step toward you
“No, I’m talking about you and
“I’m a little lost… what do you
“Your relationship. Are you not
romantically involved with each other?”
Said that one out loud this time…
You mentally kicked yourself, “Zen
and I are just friends.”
Jumin scratched his chin,
completely lost in thought
You took a deep breath
Here goes everything nothing.
“…I actually have my eye on
Jumin snapped back into reality
“Who? If that, well, if it isn’t
too much to ask.”
“Is it really not Zen?”
Oh my god.
“You know,” you grabbed his tie,
“you’re pretty clueless for a CEO.”
In one gentle tug, your lips
connected with his
After a few seconds, Jumin pulled
“So, it’s me then?”
You shook your head and grinned
“Of course, you-“
Jumin’s lips crashed on to yours
again,his hands cupping your face
And let’s just say you were now very
thankful for the closed blinds
You grabbed the two tools from
“You know, you don’t have to
repeat everything I say.”
“Repeat everything I-OUCH! MC, why’d you kick meeee?”
Seven hugged his shin and hopped
up and down
I’m surprised he has this much energy at 2 in the morning….
You looked back up at Seven, who
had miraculously gotten over his bruised shin and was chugging a can of Dr.
…Who am I kidding, he never sleeps anyways.
It had been about an hour since
Seven called you asking for help fixing his chair
You had gone to the furniture
store IKEA anyone??? with him earlier that day and actually took the time to READ the damn manual
You clapped your hands together
“Wanna test it out?”
Seven gave you a mischievous grin
“Don’t mind if I do!”
Before you knew it, Seven grabbed
your waist and pulled you into his lap, causing both of you to fall back into
It creaked under the combined
weight of you and Seven, but surprisingly remained stable
“Hey, you really did fix it!!”
Seven began spouting off nonsense
about how crappy it was earlier, but you were too busy thinking about the fact
that you were sitting
In his lap
INCHES away from his face
He’s so warm…
“-Plus, it kept making weird
noises! I’m so glad you came over tonight.”
“Uh, earth to MC?? Agent 707
calling, can you read me??”
You shook you head, zoning back in
Seven sighed, relaxing back into
“Thank God Seven you’re okay… I can’t have my best friend dying on me…
literally,” Seven chuckled at his own joke
I love that little laugh.
Seven looked back at you
“What’s on your mind, MC?”
DID I JUST SAY THAT OUT LOUD?
Here we go.
“Seven, I like you.”
“You mean,” Seven furrowed his
brows, “You like me, or you like-like
You rolled your eyes, how old is he again??
“You’re so ridiculous.”
Seven looked at you patiently
“I like-like you.”
You felt lips lightly press on the back of your neck
“Well that’s not fair,” Seven
tightened his grip on your waist, “because I love-love you.”