Taylor Swift REACTS To Question About WHO All Too Well Is About.

𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐌𝐚𝐤𝐞.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟏𝟐.𝟓𝐤 𝐍𝐁: 𝐚𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐡𝐨𝐥, 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐠𝐬, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐛𝐢𝐚, 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭

January 2014

“Now,” Harry said as they reached his house. “I don’t want you to be scared.”

“Why would I be scared?”

“’Cause mum can be… well, she can be a handful.”

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“you can’t forget your mother tongue” okay but have you considered bilinguals and polyglots whose first language isn’t english and whose development during adolescence was shaped by consuming content and media only in english and have ever since viewed that second language, foreign to their own, as a better outlet for their emotions and thoughts? as Yiyun Li said “it is hard to feel in an adopted language, yet impossible in my native language.”

Submission Sunday ayyy

𝐀𝐛𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐁𝐞𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐝.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟖.𝟓𝐤 𝐍𝐁: 𝐚𝐧𝐱𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐲, 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞

August 2013

The clock at the front of the classroom was ticking loudly, it was all 15-year-old Y/N managed to focus on. The slow tick, and then a slower tock. With each one, another ounce of life was dragged from her body. It was physically painful to sit in that chair, in that classroom, and with a paper of unsolved and wrongly executed Chemistry work in front of her. Just touching that piece of paper had the same effect as if she were tickling her uvula. She did not even look down at the paper in total fear of feeling useless, stupid, and nauseous.

Okumaya devam et

so I got into grad school today with my shitty 2.8 gpa and the moral of the story is reblog those good luck posts for the love of god

we’re dancing round the kitchen in the refrigerator light

Based on my favorite post on this goddamned site

thinking about the pettiness of harry edward styles and how he makes the whole arena sing the line "does he take you walking around his PARENTS' gallery" in cherry just bcs he can

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐎𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐋𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐁𝐞𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐝.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 𝟕.𝟓𝐤 𝐍𝐁: 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐠 𝐮𝐬𝐞, 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐲 𝐦𝐞𝐧

A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who reblogged and sent me an ask after last chapter ❣️ I might not have gotten through all the asks yet, but know that I see all of you and I appreciate you more than I will ever find the right words to articulate 🌟 Thank you for the kind words and for reminding me of how fun it is to post my stories on here! Love you sm sm sm 🥰

Tuesday, 4 November 2017

One of the worst things Y/N knew of was seeing someone she cared about go through something troubling. If she knew them well enough, it would be written out on their face and in their gestures, making it so that she could not ever look past it and pretend everything was alright. Her ability to read people, to understand their wants and to see when something was off, was something she had crafted over many years of being a people pleaser. Now, it came naturally to her to study a person’s way of acting, talking, being, and then make them happy accordingly.

Okumaya devam et

𝐒𝐚𝐮𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐞.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 𝟖.𝟏𝐤 𝐍𝐁: 𝐚𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐡𝐨𝐥, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞

A/N: Hiya my angels ❣️ I’ve been on the fence if I should post this chapter or not. The lack of reader interaction, reblogs, and comments I’ve gotten on Bloodsport so far has made me want to stop posting the fic. It just feels like everyone who hyped up this fic for weeks, if not months, have suddenly disappeared or just don’t really care to rb or share their thoughts with me anymore, which is incredibly discouraging and has made me debate why I continue to share my writing on here. That’s not to say I don’t appreciate and see those who do reach out and who reblog! I love you so much it makes me want to cry! But I’ve talked to multiple writers after sharing my thoughts on lack of reader interaction earlier this week, and they all feel the exact same with their fics. Please please PLEASE send fic writers love! Please reblog! Please encourage writers to keep sharing on here! Or else there won’t be much fic to read on here anymore. Enjoy chapter 3, love you x

May, 2013

“Marcela,” Y/N groaned. “I don’t get it.”

“Are you even trying?” Marcela asked, looking up from her notebook perched in front of her on the dining table and over at her 15-year-old sister. “I swear, you never even bother trying.”

“I do try!” Y/N said. “But how am I supposed to try if I don’t even understand what’s being said?”

Okumaya devam et