#having a fun time if u couldnt tell

[collineato]

u know when birds sometimes fall in love with they reflection cuz they think itss a different bird. yeah

also a hasmdsone jack smile thumb up

[stargirl230]

rain sought flower // 红红儿

this came out darker (visually) than I expected so pls zoom in for details if u have a moment to spare :)

(no reposts; reblogs appreciated)

[clumsypuppy]

i love reading what ppl have to say abt my work and then going back and trying to find what they saw too <3

[slendershift]

☆ shifting exercise !

inspired by @miiashiifts ! thank u for the inspo i had so much fun doing this

credits to @withluvvenus for the activity ♡

💿 we’ll never have sex by leith ross

hermitcraft dr → spending days in the library with etho, me there to study for my finals and him there because he wants to be. long, almost lonely car rides across the canada/united states border to see each other, the emptiness in the car filled with an overwhelming love and excitement to see each other. a visit to the uk where we both notice something a bit below the surface, everyone else being able to see it, too, but not doing anything out of imagined fear over losing the other. nights on the phone spent editing in mutual silence, giggling at mistakes the other makes in the scrapped footage. whether i am ever able to touch him or not, i know feeling even a fingertip would send shockwaves of love through me so strong i may not be able to handle it.

💿 let’s talk about your hair by have mercy

supernatural dr → driving to everywhere in the country just to fight off demons and ghosts, while also knowing that the relationship i had with the love of my life may not last. running away from sam and dean to live in my parent’s old house, desperate for a normal life, but looking at myself in the mirror and seeing my growing hair and knowing i would never have let it get this bad if sam just loved me. finally seeing sam after half a year and seeing his hair as long as mine. finally seeing i was cared about. a god, a devil, and me, and regaining my wings.

💿 ceilings by lizzy mcalpine

seventeen dr → every little interaction with him being overanalyzed, overedited, overwatched, both by myself but by millions of people. not wanting to leave my bubble of air outside of the cameras, with my friends and with the boy i manage to convince myself loves me. holding my tongue at every opportunity i have to even hint at a confession because of the cameras, whether they’re known or not. writing songs instead of texts, singing to him about how i feel instead of actually telling him, and praying he doesn’t catch on. watching my life and my love from the outside and not liking the movie it’s turned into.

💿 agnes by glass animals

5sos dr → quiet writing sessions with my best friends, each of us humming different things but all being on the same wavelength. late nights in hotel rooms on tour with cal, forgetting about the rest of the world outside of us. tour bus rides where we get too devoted to dumb, simple board games and spend hours optimizing our runs of the game of life. not seeing my favorite four people for merely a week and not knowing what to do with myself. when they’re gone, they’re on my mind.

💿 please don’t tell (…) by pet symmetry

everymanhybrid dr → riding in the car with evan and vinny and jeff and singing our hearts out, despite the danger we were constantly in. falling asleep on evan in vinny’s living room, covered in blood, but overcome with joy and love, not for the blood but for the fact that we had each other and that’s all that we really needed. full nights out, driving away from who knows what and to who knows where, but always waking up safe in evan’s bed. looking out of the kitchen window at the same terrifyingly tall figure but knowing there was no way it could hurt me. tell my father his car is safe, maybe with some dents and a faint smell of blood, but safe.

[faaun]

Met a bunch of people on the stone steps all going through various stages of grief over various things all immensely happy

[testing-tranquility]

Trass.

hi :)

[joelletwo]

😵😵 okay idk if id understand ice ova plot on first watch or if im helped by having read the tvtropes page after last time helping me sort out whats going on but its actually not as nonsensical as id assumed. it is also. Good?

[tacagen]

just came back to this and realized i really formulated it vaguely so you cant even say what i actually implied. elaborating: his ASS was CONVICTED after his first fight with barry and 100% on all the news since 'nothing ever happens in this damn time'!! his NAME is DIRECTLY LINKED TO THE REVERSE-FLASH IN THE ARCHIVES RIGHT BEFORE F*NISH L*NE!! NOT MENTIONING HIS 21ST CENTURY HISTORIC ACTIVITY(tho idk how exactly that works considering there are variants where reverse-flash's identity didnt make it to 25th century but there should be SO much documentation in 1 iron heights 2 ccpd+court since there mustve been trials to put him there in the first place 3 flash museum as it already existed in 21st century, using the information from 2 other sources above (which well. above all must be completely digitalized by 4 freakin centuries after. like cmon TF were they up to for that entire time if it didnt include making the info easier to access/find/etc at least once) so i cant see how that could possibly happen except for eo throwin all that shit fuck outta window at some point to keep the mystery for his pre-reverse era but then again he still needs all that info to check his own history and all the changes and it was shown to be in the archives (collected by other people before him) so? man i wish timey wimey actually made at least some sense in at least 1 flash variant. is it really too much to ask.)!! NO WAY THE KNOWLEDGE IS NOT PUBLIC!! EVERYBODY KNOWS!! ESPECIALLY PEOPLE WHO KNEW HIM FROM HIS PRE-SPEEDSTER ERA!! NOT EVEN MENTIONING THE MUSEUM STAFF SOME OF WHICH FALL ON THE PREVIOUS SPECTRUM AS WELL!!!! AND NO ONE CAN DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT CAUSE THE ONLY PRISON CAPABLE OF HOLDING SOMEONE OF HIS SPECTRE OF POWERS AGAINST THEIR WILL WAS BUILT BY HIM FOR PARADOX SINCE APPARENTLY HE IS THE ONLY COMPETENT PERSON OUT THERE and, well. thawne is obvs not stupid enough to include in the design his own cell (btw. does this mean that thawne as a time travelling time altering genius TM could be the one responsible for the complete incompetence and poor anti-meta/speedster equipment of police/gov forces/etc and lack of means of detention around his time so that he can do his silly little museum work and scheming (AND get to be the hero in case some outside force attacks since again no other compenent people and actual means of defence but him//renegades created by him and hunter??) and well. generally existing peacefully without worrying about getting imprisoned here too considering that even 21st century iron heights does, in fact, have the necessary kinds of technologies and use it successfully on meena and august and whoever else (not mentioning it was PERFECTLY CAPABLE to contain thawne himself for some time) because there REALLY is no other fucking explanation on how THOSE of ALL things are lost and forgotten in 25th as well.). the central city of 25th century just has to live with the fact there is this murderous speedster that still works a normal job, can do pretty much anything with the city and time itself (but actually usually doesnt because hes hyperfixated and busy running his precious museum but yk threat is still there.) and no one can stop him from it and with being fully aware of it all. also if it wasnt enough at least PART if not majority of 25th century public actually thinks he IS a hero after the paradox's defeat. the internet arguments about him must be unmatched. also i think he (and his museum tours especially) is an obscure tourist attraction now. like cc's people at this point be like look at our local little deranged squeak squeak from the flash museum that basically owns the city and can do whatever he wants and also dies an unreasonable amount of times regularly. his appearance was foretold by flash's history because that rat can time travel and you can literally see him both on display and explaining all that including his involvemet live on his museum tours. so silly. so fucking insane. where else could you possibly have this.

typed some Thoughts in the tags but then realized it should be a separate post.

[notlongtolove]

like a lover

he doesn’t answer. he doesn’t even look at you again. he just shakes his head and walks into the bedroom. by the time you follow him, he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like it holds the answer to whatever’s boiling inside him. fine. If he wants to ice you out, two can play that game.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: hurt comfort

content: student!reader gets drunk after a brutal final and spencer is beyond mad. very brief mention of abduction. lowkey spencer is in the right bc #safety but he made reader cry n for that he is found #guilty!!!

word count: 3.1k

note: based off this ask! random fact the last line of this fic was the inspiration for empty my soul but idk why i just couldnt fit it in there, anyways i hope you guys like it! (pls tell me if u do i was struggling with a resolution for this)

a line: Spencer thinks, for a split second, that he’d rather die than ever have to see you cry like that again.

I give you an onion. It is a moon wrapped in brown paper. It promises light like the careful undressing of love. Here. It will blind you with tears like a lover. It will make your reflection a wobbling photo of grief. I am trying to be truthful. - carol ann duffy

You probably should’ve stopped five drinks ago—maybe four if you were feeling merciful. That last Vodka cran? A spectacularly bad idea. But whatever. You earned this. You’re young, you’re fun, you look good, and for the first time in weeks, you have no deadlines clawing at you. The final had been a nightmare. You knew your fate was sealed the second you flipped to question three. What the hell is textual and symbolic environmentalisation? But it’s over now. That’s all that matters.

The wind bites at your bare legs as you stand by the curb, aimlessly kicking a pebble. You hug your arms close, fighting off the chill. Maybe you should’ve brought a jacket. Spencer had suggested it, but you’d waved him off. He’s usually right.

You frown, glancing up at the street sign. He said he’d be here. Right? Your phone’s dying battery blinks at you in its final moments, mocking you before shutting off completely. Definitely should’ve taken his offer of a portable charger, too. You sigh, shifting your weight from one foot to the other.

A man stumbles by, reeking of booze. You don’t need to look to know.

"Hey," he calls out, voice slurred and gravelly.

You keep your eyes down, pretending not to hear.

“Hey,” he says again, louder this time.

Where the hell is Spencer?

"D’you know when the bus starts running again?"

You hesitate, half-relieved that he’s asking something semi-coherent. "I—I’m sorry, I’m not sure."

He nods to himself, swaying on his feet. 

"I told you to wait by the bodega on 3rd," a familiar voice mutters. Spencer’s hand closes around your arm, already steering you away.

"Oh, hey," you say softly, relief washing over you. "Is this not—" You glance at the street sign overhead—4 Maple Drive. Shit. "I—sorry, I thought—"

"It’s fine," he says, but the sharp edge in his voice tells you it’s not.

The car ride is suffocatingly silent. When he pulls open the passenger door for you, there’s no trace of his usual warmth. No soft smile, no gentle tease about your perpetually dead phone. Just a click of the door and the quiet thud of it shutting behind you.

You hate this. Hate the tension humming between you, the way his jaw is set tight as he drives. He was so different this afternoon, greeting you after your final with those cupcakes he knows you love from the bakery on the other side of town, his lips brushing yours in endless, giddy kisses. This Spencer is nothing like that. 

"They played ‘Dancing Queen’ tonight," you venture, voice tentative. He knows it’s your favourite. Knows it always pulls you to the dance floor, no matter how tired or tipsy you are. "It was so funny—some guy bought us a round of shots—"

"And you drank it?"

The question lands heavy. His first words to you since he’d started driving. 

"Well... yeah?"

"What else did you drink?"

"Not a lot," you say quickly, tripping over your words. "Just vodka, tequila, a bit of wine—"

"You mixed?" 

The way he says it makes you bristle. There’s a hint of disbelief, maybe even disappointment. 

"Spence," you say softly. "I’m not that drunk, I promise."

Nothing.

His knuckles tighten on the steering wheel. The silence in the air is almost tangible, a crackling, oppressive thing. When he pulls into the driveway and kills the engine, he doesn’t move to open your door. He always does that. But not tonight. 

You’re pretty sure he’s mad at you, though you’re not entirely sure why. It’s not like you go out that often, and you can’t even remember the last time you let yourself get this drunk. Tonight was an exception, a celebration. He understands, doesn’t he?

You follow him inside, trailing behind like a shadow. He doesn’t head to the kitchen like he does after you get back from a night out—no tea, no toast, no quiet ritual of making sure you’re okay. Instead, he walks straight into the study, his back to you. Yeah, he’s definitely mad. 

"You’re mad at me," you say, standing in the doorway.

He doesn’t answer. His hands grip the back of his chair, his head bowed like he’s trying to gather himself. You’re not one to push, usually giving him the space he needs when he gets all broody like this, but the alcohol that’s running through your system is making it hard to practice patience. 

"Why are you mad at me?"

Still nothing. 

When he finally moves, it’s only to brush past you, heading for the bedroom without so much as a glance. "We’ll talk about this tomorrow," he says, his tone flat, clipped. "I can’t talk to you when you’re like this."

This. The word hits like a slap, sharp and dismissive. It irks you. 

"If you didn’t want to come, then you shouldn’t have come," you mutter under your breath, the words slipping out before you can stop them. "I could’ve gotten a ride—"

"You were slurring on the phone." He stops in the hallway, turning just enough for you to see the tight set of his jaw. 

"Yeah, no shit, Spencer. People slur when they drink," you fire back a little too harshly, the alcohol fueling your irritation as you cross your arms defensively.

"Don’t," he warns, his voice low, dangerous in a way that makes your chest tighten.

​​You glare at him, heat rising in your cheeks. "Don’t what? Don’t point out how ridiculous you’re being right now?"

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t even look at you again. He just shakes his head and walks into the bedroom. By the time you follow him, he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like it holds the answer to whatever’s boiling inside him. Fine. If he wants to ice you out, two can play that game.

You head to the bathroom without a word, your movements jerky as you swipe at the remnants of your makeup. You grab your moisturizer, fingers fumbling with the cap. A sharp tug and it goes flying out of your hands, clattering to the floor. 

"Fuck," you mutter, bracing yourself for a bout of instability as you bend down to retrieve it.

Before you can grab it, Spencer moves. He scoops it up, straightening with an ease that feels almost mocking. When you meet his eyes, they’re unfamiliar. It’s not the Spencer you know. Not the Spencer who covers your eyes during scary movies or kisses your forehead when you’re half-asleep. No, this Spencer feels distant, cold. 

"And I’m supposed to believe you’re not that drunk," he says flatly. Your chest tightens, a lump forming in your throat as heat flushes your face. He offers a hand as you steady yourself, trying to rise to your feet, but you brush him off, snatching the bottle from his grip with a bitterness you don’t try to mask. 

"What the hell is your problem?" you snap.

"My problem?" he repeats, incredulous. "I’m not the one blackout drunk on a Wednesday night."

"I’m not—"

"Would you—would you just stop!" he barks, the words sharp enough to make you flinch. "You’re slurring your words. You got the streets wrong. You couldn’t even get the damn moisturizer open," he snaps, gesturing toward you harshly with a mixture of frustration and exasperation.

Your knuckles whiten as you cling to the edge of the sink, unsure if you’re holding on for balance or just to keep from breaking. You spin back toward the mirror willing yourself not to cry. The frustration, the confusion, the ache in your chest—everything wells up at once.

"God, you’re being so—"

"So what?" he interrupts, his voice rising as he steps closer. His eyes bore into yours, daring you to say it. "So concerned? So worried? So—"

"So fucking mean!"

The silence that follows deafening. For a moment, he freezes, the hard edges of his expression softening into something else—shock, regret, guilt—but it’s fleeting.

"So what if I’m drunk?" Your voice cracks as the words tumble out, your frustration too overwhelming to contain. "And yeah, maybe—" You shake your head, swallowing the lump in your throat as you glare at him, "Maybe I’m slurring a little but forgive me for wanting a drink after the final I’ve been stressing over all fucking month."

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair, his frustration barely contained. "It’s not about you having a drink. It’s about you not knowing your limits—"

"Oh, for fucks sake," you interrupt, throwing your hands up. The movement makes you sway slightly, and you hate how it only seems to prove his point. "Newsflash, Spencer, I’m a university student. Sometimes we get drunk. You don’t get to make me feel like shit just because you don’t drink.”

You push past him, your shoulder grazing his as you move to sit on the edge of the bed. The mattress dips under your weight, and you grip the edge, willing the room to stop spinning.

"You were being reckless," he bites back, the word hanging heavy in the air. "You don’t see what I see. You’re out alone, you don’t—"

"I wasn’t alone," you say, your voice rising to meet his. "I had friends—"

"Yeah, friends who left you alone on a curb at 3am," he shoots back, cutting you off. The words land with precision, a calculated jab, but you refuse to flinch.

"Because you said you were on the way!" you fire back.

His voice is cold now, practically seething. "And what do you think would’ve happened if I hadn’t reached you just as that guy was coming on to you?"

"He was asking for the bus!" you shoot back, the words ringing out louder than you intended. You hate everything about this fight. You hate how unfamiliar he feels, hate the part of you that wonders if you’re the one who brought this out of him. "Nothing would’ve—"

Spencer’s expression darkens, his gaze narrowing. "Nothing?" He scoffs. "Tell that to Nina Radha. To Caroline Wrenley. To Mindy Denver. They were all ‘just waiting for a ride home’ last week. And now? All abducted. All dead." 

The room goes silent. Your chest tightens, and the fight drains out of you as his meaning sinks in. 

"You’re being cruel," your words are barely audible, trembling on the edge of your lips. The tears come faster now, streaking your face, but you don’t bother wiping them away. "Why—" you whisper, weak and watery, "Why are you being like this?" 

When Spencer finally turns to look at you, the sight of your tears stops him cold. They streak your face in uneven paths, and he feels something inside him splinter. Spencer never likes seeing you cry—he hates it, actually. It’s not just discomfort or unease; it’s a literal, physical ache. But knowing he’s the reason for your tears tonight? That’s pain in its most visceral form. It’s failure in its purest state.

"I—" he starts, his voice faltering. It cracks mid-sentence, and he stops, swallowing hard. His breath shudders as he exhales, trying to find the words, but all that comes out is a quiet, broken, "I was scared." 

Your tears have momentarily slowed, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his tone. The anger in his voice has faded, replaced by something softer, something raw—fear, tangled with guilt, with regret. He takes a tentative step closer, then hesitates, unsure of what to do. 

"I thought that… something could’ve happened to you, and I—I didn’t know how to handle it." 

After a moment, he lowers himself to your level, crouching in front of you. He lifts his hand, reaching out to wipe away the tears that stain your face. But the instant his fingers near you, you flinch, turning your head to avoid his touch. The movement is small, but Spencer’s heart shatters at the rejection all the same. He hates that he’s made you cry, hates that you won’t let him near you, hates that you won’t even look at him.

"I’m sorry," he says, the words low and weighted with sincerity. He knows it’s not enough, but it’s all he has left to give. 

Your tears fall, dripping onto your hands that rest limply in your lap. You shake your head, your shoulders tense, refusing to meet his eyes. The rejection stings, sharper than he expected, but he doesn’t blame you. He knows he deserves this. The room is still except for the sound of your quiet sniffles. 

Spencer tries again, his voice quieter now, almost pleading. "I just—" His breath catches as he exhales, his hand running through his hair in agitation, the movement more to calm himself than anything else. "When I saw you standing there alone—alone and with that man, I got scared. And I lashed out. I shouldn’t have. You didn’t— you didn’t deserve that."

The silence that follows is thick, but finally, you break it. Your voice is quiet, bitter. 

"I’m not them."

You’re still not meeting his eyes, still keeping that distance, but at least it’s something. 

"Those girls… I’m not them, Spencer."

"I know, I know. I was—", his voice is low, the regret weighing heavily on every syllable.

​​"That case was tough on you, I know it was," you interrupt, "And what happened to those girls, it was horrible. But I'm not them, Spence. I'm not…" Spencer watches helplessly as you furiously wipe away a tear from your cheek. 

"I'm not dead. I'm here."

“I was projecting, I—” His voice catches, “I shouldn’t have taken it out on you,” he admits quietly. You nod, grimly. Another single, heavy tear slips down your cheek and Spencer feels his heart break all over again. 

"I know you’re scared. How do you think I feel every time you go out into the field?" You take a deep breath, and say bitterly, "I get it." 

Each word is a struggle, but you say it with conviction. He can see how much you’re holding in, the effort it takes for you to keep your voice from cracking. 

You pause, swallowing hard as you steady yourself, "But you—You don’t get to talk to me like that." When your eyes meet his, they flash with both anger and sadness. "You don’t get to take that out on me." 

"I know, I—That was—I was being horrible, I was an ass," Spencer admits, his voice small. "You didn’t deserve that, honey. God, I’m just—I’m so, so, sorry." 

You look at him for a long moment, searching for any sign that he’s being sincere. All you see is regret, raw and heavy. And something else, something softer. Love. He reaches out, and this time you don’t pull away. Just getting to touch you is a brief, bittersweet, blinding relief. Spencer lets his fingers graze your cheek as he wipes away your tears gently, his thumb brushing over the wet path they’ve left behind. 

A soft, almost bitter laugh escapes you. "An ass is putting it lightly." 

Spencer’s chest tightens, a small breath of relief escaping him, though it’s quickly replaced with guilt. "M’so sorry sweetheart," he breathes out, comforted by the familiar bite in your tone. It lightens the air between you, just a little.

He shifts to sit next to you on the bed. "I didn’t—I really didn’t mean to," he says quietly. You rest your head on his shoulder, letting out a soft sigh, the fight slowly draining out of you. Spencer gently takes your hands, cradling them in his. 

"I—I never want to hurt you, never want to make you cry. Ever." Spencer's voice cracks slightly as he talks, fingers tracing your palm. "You know that, right?"

You nod, your voice small but steady. "I know."

Shifting, you tuck your legs beneath you, turning to face him fully. Your hands lift to cup his face gently, your thumbs brushing against the faint stubble on his jaw. The touch is tender, almost protective, as you guide his face to meet yours. His eyes can’t hold your gaze for long, shame clearly written across them.

"I was just—I was—" He stumbles over his words.

"Scared," you finish softly, filling the silence for him. 

"I—I’m sorry," Spencer’s voice falters, "I’m really sorry honey, I should’ve never—That was—"

Your hands guide his face back toward yours, coaxing him to meet your eyes. This time, he doesn’t resist, his breath shaky as he clings to the comfort you offer. "S’okay, baby. M’not mad anymore," you murmur.

"Sad?" he asks, his voice barely audible, like he’s afraid of what you’ll say.

"No," you smile faintly, shaking your head, "Not sad, baby," you whisper, leaning closer. Your thumb traces the curve of his cheek in silent reassurance. His shoulders relax just a little. "I just—" you sigh as you let out one last, quiet sniffle, "I really hate fighting." 

Carefully, he coaxes you into his lap, his arms wrapping around you. "Me too, honey," he says, his voice thick with emotion as he shifts closer. You don’t resist, letting your head rest in the crook of his neck, your breath warm against his skin.

"S’not nice," you murmur against him, your words muffled.

"I know, I know," Spencer whispers, his fingers tracing slow, soothing circles along your back. You let out a shaky sigh, sinking further into his embrace. “Was awful, wasn’t it?” he says, quietly.

"Mhm," you mumble quietly, your voice soft but pointed as you lean into his touch. "Made me cry," you say, looking at him through wet lashes to prove your point. Spencer thinks, for a split second, that he’d rather die than ever have to see you cry like that again. After a beat of quiet, he tilts his head just enough to press a soft kiss to your temple. 

"I love you, you know that?" 

You hum softly, nuzzling your face into his neck with a contented sigh, "Love you too."

"Love you so much, sweet girl," he says again, quieter this time, like it’s a truth meant only for you.

"Sap," you tease, lifting your head just enough to meet his gaze, the faintest hint of a smile on your lips.

Spencer grins, soft and boyish. "Always for you," he mumbles fondly, and before you can respond, he leans forward, pressing a playful kiss to the tip of your nose.

You stick your tongue out at him in mock protest, but he’s already chasing the moment. A kiss lands on your cheek. Then another on the other side. Each one dripping with easy affection. 

"Spence—" you laugh, the sound bubbling up. It spreads a warmth through Spencer’s chest. 

"My sweet girl," he says quietly, almost to himself. 

His smile only grows as he drinks in the sound of your giggles, tears long gone. He presses a fluttering series of kisses across your form until you’re laughing into his lips, each kiss softer than the last. 

One on your cheek, two on your shoulder, a thousand on your lips.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you for reading! feel free to like or reblog or comment or reply!

ᯓ★ song recs if you feel like it: false god by taylor swift moon river by frank ocean

[shakethediseeas]

ALIEN STAGE CHARACTERS WITH AN ALIEN READER

alien stage x reader

maybe ill make more (ivan, hyuna and sua)

CHAFACTERS: TILL, LUKA, MIZI

On your 15th birthday your parents decided to give you a planet as a gift, they took over and made a stage to keep you entertained! its so fun! its humans trying to survive by performing music you've never heard of before.

One day, you decide to visit the garden to take one for yourself and when you saw that figure running by, you knew you want that one.

heads turned at the sound of children going 'woah' as you twirl and walk past them, looking at them as if they were animals in a zoo. two aliens behind you as you keep searching and start getting frustrated-- no one was appealing for you.

just when you were about to turn and head home to complain you finally spot one. they were running after someone with flowers in their hand, and more kids chasing after them.

they stopped when the kid bumped into you, and it went silent. They fell to the floor as you brushed your outfit clean of their filth before pointing down at them.

"i want this one."

to take them of the joy and friends they had in here didnt really matter to you. to you its like picking an animal from a shelter, bringing them to a better home where the only one they would rely on would be you.

that smile you saw before you picked them no longer existed. They were quiet and nervous of getting any negative reaction out of you which only made you mad but you had to be patient with them in order for them to be happy!

'first few months'

how come these humans dont come with a manual because this human was shattering things in rage when they thought you werent home and they hide in a corner so they dont get caught.

You heard of their behavior problems before picking them up, but you didn't care as long as you got to see that smile they had—but since they weren't smiling, you'd have to fix that.

you took Till to visit the garden for a bit, even though your guards were against the idea but who were they to tell you what to do?

He was so happy—the happiest he's ever been since you took him away. When you came to pick him up, he shyly asked if he could ever visit again, to which you nodded.

'you werent THAT bad' is what he thought after you gifted him a custom guitar. you noticed he played with an imaginary one so you decided to build trust and gift him a fancy new electric guitar!

and you still took him constantly to see his friends even though he heard you being scolded for it, that fake argument made him feel more appreciated.

'a few years later'

he jumps to sit down on your bed before demanding to visit a friend who was with their owner, you half listen, too busy painting your nails and kicking your feet in concentration.

mid rant you push the nail polish to his face and say "paint my nails first then ill think about it"

and he does so with a red face.

'first few monthd'

you were pretty sure you were speaking their language so why the hell was this human just staring off into space while drool escaping its mouth. you recoil in disgust and start regretting your decision a bit.

it took you a lot of patience and time to figure out what he likes, you ended up spending a lot of coin on the human for him to at least look at you with stupid big eyes.

you had to spoon feed luka unless you wanted him to starve to death, he couldnt sleep or change properly without you there glaring at him before reluctantly helping him.

you suppose it was okay, if he relied on you too much that would mean he couldn't really leave you, you were in charge.

'.....' though you wished he was a bit more vocal, you thought about it for a long time, if he didnt have the brain capacity to say a nice thank you maybe he could sing for you.

so he did. you bought him whatever you deemed necessary, and he sometimes mentioned another small thing and u gave it to him.

'a few years later'

you dont know why he wanted to sing for anyone else other than you but you allowed it. ever since you took him to see the stage in the VIP section he finally voiced out 'i want to do this' well not really but his face said it.

you get back home, a bit tired and hes tailing behind you as always. you land on the bed exhausted before flicking your hand in the air to signal him 'sing me a song'

after hes done he asks if you requested anything else, noting how tired you looked. but you just shook your head and tell him do whatever you want.

what you didnt expect him to hug you from behind. you couldnt see his face but youd assume its that blank face as always. only he knew that you were wrong.

it was face of pure adoration, a face that said 'you will never leave me' and he held tighter before saying to himself 'im in charge'

oh how you jumped around excitedly at this well behaved human! so sweet, like a cherry, they tried to have a conversation with you by asking "do you like making flower crowns?"

of course you havent who those this human think you are? but instead of saying something like that you shake your head and deny, before asking if they would teach you.

you make flower crowns with Mizi. you demanded to your guards any flowers she would ask for and bring batches of them to her before saying 'where do we start?'

shes happy at first but then you notice that she starts looking a bit sad, you ask her whats wrong and she looks at you with big eyes and says "when will i see my friends again?"

oh well with that sweet face how could you not take her to see her friends every day. and with a big smile she cheers and every day she makes new flower crowns or crafts for them.

'a few years later'

you start thinking 'maybe i spoiled her too much. maybe listening to her every request was a bad idea' as you cross your arms, on your custom designed chair in the center of the audience, the VIP section.

you stare as shes almost shot down by soldiers. you stare as shes taken away from you. you stare at the 'MISSING' message with her face plastered on it.

of course, you knew where she was. you had a tracker on all your pets. but for some reason, you let her run around. it wont be long until she realizes she wont have anyone left anymore.

it wont be long till she realizes she has no one else but you.

[m4y4wasnthere]

soc!reader x dallas winston hcs

cw: minor smoking mention, suggestive ones at the end

you were friends with Pony and Johnny because of Cherry

Pony and Johnny always would talk abt how tuff you were, Dallas once overheard them

He didn’t like you, he wasnt fond of the fact you were a soc, regardless of what pony and johnny said abt you. the only reason he didn’t hate you was because of how Cherry proved herself to be a good person

they had to beg darry to let you come over

you were wearing a white sweetheart top with some simple jeans. you loved pearl necklaces and was wearing a pink bow in your hair

when he first saw you, his first thought was how pretty you were. he liked the fact you were slightly dolled up just to meet your friend’s crew

“whats your name dollface?” dallas completely set aside his soc hatred for you

his reaction left pony and johnny shocked lmao “dal i thought you didnt lik-“ dallas shoved pony before he could finish his sentence.

you didnt hear alot about dallas, but you knew he was a hood who got into jail every other week.

you couldnt help but giggle to the nickname, “my name is y/n, nice to meet you, um dal is it?”

his heart fluttered at you calling him that. “uh- the name is dallas winston but yea, you can call me dal.” he tried and lean on the doorway behind him but he missed and slipped before quickly catching himself

he mentally facepalmed , he knew the gang was gonna make fun of him for this later

he loves seeing all your outfits and all the different accessories you have

you have a white/pink mustang and he engraved D.W + (ur initals) on it

you were a bit angry when you found it but it was small and hidden enough to the point where u decided u werent gonna get it fixed (you secretly thought it was cute the whole time)

hes snuck into your room plenty of times, and you love putting a bow in his hair

“cmon doll, y’know i dont wear this girl stuff” he sat on your bed, slightly sinking on the mattress.

“baby if you want to keep sneaking in here then yes, you do wear this girl stuff.” After the bow was clipped on, you kissed his cheek and he seemed to not mind anymore.

Tries his best not to get into jail as much anymore because you hate it. not only do you hate being separated from him, you want him to have an okayyy rep when he meets your parents

hes not completely sober (yet? lets hope 🤞) but he starts to limit how much he smokes since he doesn’t want to be a bad influence on you. If you guys are around each other, then he won’t smoke. Even if that means no smoking for a whole day or 2

you get super scared whenever he surprises you by walking to your house because you dont want him to get jumped by other soc’s

you were chilling on your couch when you heard someone knock on the door, you were in pretty floral silk-like pajamas and had your hair up.

you peeked before seeing your boyfriend. “Dal what’re you doing here? Did you walk here?”

“…yes, but im fine doll s-“

“Dallas Winston, I told you to not walk here by yourself, especially in broad daylight! What if you got jumped!” He walked in, and you locked the door. You crossed your arms, not stepping towards him.

he hates it when you use his full name, his head was down and he fake pouted. “ ‘m sorry doll, forgive me please. I’ll make it up to you.” He held his arms out for a hug.

As much as you wanted to stand your ground, you gave into his hug.

lets just say you guys were kissing.. alot, he promised to make it up to you 🤷‍♀️

He secretly loves saving up whatever money he has to buy you nice things, makes him feel like he actually deserves you. Probably would play it off by saying stuff like “saw this lying around and…” “i picked this up on the way…do you like it?”

His insecurity about if you actually want him and if hes good enough for you is pretty apparent. He doesn’t think you see it but you’ve caught on and make sure to tell him you love him a lot.

• suggestive ones •

Loves praising you, especially if your giving him a blowjob or right when the round finishes

“Your eyes are so pretty looking up at me doll”

“You’re taking me so well”

“You were so good doll, I love seeing you feel good because of me”

You once wore a pretty white lingerie set, and he couldn’t keep his hands off of you for hours

Teases you a lot about your matching bra/panty sets

“You matched for me doll?”

“The white sets’ my favorite”

Can’t get enough of your beautiful face, he once gave you a facial and ever since then, he always hopes you allow him to do it everytime

[highonmarvel]

heyy lov ur fics. saw you wanted some bucky recs so i got one. how about like bucky and reader have been dating for 2-3 months and he's always sweet to her and always making sure she was happy. he even promised to get rid of almost all of his weapons. but then he secretly didnt. he still had them, for "saftey purposes" he couldnt let anything happen to u. so he kept them in a secret room along with some pictures of u he took when he was observing(stalking) you before he entered into ur life -P1

that’s actually such a scary idea, i love it. okay, okay, you had a lot so apologises if it’s a bit different than you were expecting, but i tried, and i had fun! let me know if you like it! and my sweet sister @thehydraethereal, tell me what you think.

The Sun

Bucky Barnes: Bucky’s world revolves around you, The Sun, his sunshine, and he’ll do just about anything to make you happy, but everything to keep you safe.

CONTENT WARNING: This is a dark fic, please read content warnings here! 18+!

You’ve always been more of a glass half-full type of person, but with Bucky, you’ve really turned into a ray of sunshine—he just brings that out in you, treating you as precious as every breath he takes and as vital to life as the Sun itself. He said that to you once, when you asked why he calls you sunshine while laying your head in his lap, smiling in bliss as he stroked your hair. He said, “My world revolves around you.”

Even after three months, he still treats you with the same respect and gentleness and love and patience as that very first day, if not even more. There was only once you two had had a serious disagreement—it wasn’t really an argument, no one was angry, but it certainly could’ve been a massive dealbreaker for you.

Bucky never spoke much of his childhood, his teenage years, or even his adult ones, he only really went three years into the past, max, but you had pieced together he’s been through a lot, and so you never pushed him, but you made sure to make it clear you’d be there for him if and when he was ready to talk about it. There was a lot he did that showed you he was a war vet, and that as reluctant as he may be to admit it, he was suffering from some form of PTSD—he doesn’t like watching espionage films, or even movies with too much violence (which you don’t mind skipping, you don’t care too much for them either way), he’s sensitive to loud noises and a few times he’s jolted you out of your slumber with his nightmares, but he claims they’re much better with you than before. The metal arm also fascinated you—he said it’s made of vibranium, and you frowned at the thought of why he would need such a strong arm, but that you managed to get used to. What you couldn’t get used to, however, was his weaponry.

You had been sitting on the couch together when there was a thud from the next room over, and Bucky jumped up, soldier stance and everything, ready to go check it out. You were about to assure him it was nothing, tell him you forgot to close a window and a breeze probably knocked something over, when he slid a knife out of his boot and your breath caught in your throat. You followed the silver glint with your eyes as he stalked around the corner and then disappeared for a few moments.

“Birdie slammed against the window,” he said, relieved with a small smile, and you could hardly believe the juxtaposition between his use of the term ‘birdie’ while he held a knife securely in his hand. When you didn’t respond, staring at him with wide eyes, his brows turned downward in show of concern, and his voice came sincerely, “What’s wrong, sweetheart? It was nothing.” He incorrectly assumed the noise had scared you, but quickly came to understand when he noticed your gaze fixed on the knife.

“This?” he asked, casually, spinning the knife on his finger, but when you jumped back, he quickly hid it behind his back and cast his head downward in shame. He hadn’t meant to scare you, and though he felt bad, he couldn’t help but feel a little offended you’d think his arsenal was something to be afraid of. He’d never lay a hand on you, let alone a tool, why were you scared? Did you not trust him? He only kept this stuff to keep you safe. And besides, you knew about his slight paranoia with defence, so why did this catch you off guard? Sure, maybe the knife in the boot was a little too much for you to handle, but you seemed to take more issue with its existence rather than his convenient hiding.

“Sorry,” he mumbled an apology, managing to look up at you. “I didn’t mean to scare you, just had to make sure everything was alright.” He offered a weak smile in hopes of setting you at ease, but it faded when you stood up to confront him, shaking slightly.

“Why do you have a knife?” you asked in horror, voice raising in pitch. “What— do you just— do you just always have that on you?”

It’s the knife you’re worried about. Darling, if you knew the half of it.

“Protection,” he answered simply, innocently, not understanding your reaction.

“What— what else do you have? And— and in your house? You have to get rid of it!”

At any other time he would have pushed back on this (gently, of course), but in your frantic state he knew it wouldn’t serve either of you very well. He really hadn’t expected you to start hyperventilating about it. He switched to soothing you, holding you in his arms and promising he would get rid of all that, that you could feel safe… even though in his mind, his weapons were to make you feel safe, to keep you safe.

There’s a cupboard in Bucky’s house that’s always locked, and he tells you it’s just tools and some clutter he needs to clear out. But what you don’t know is he’s still got his shit in there. In any other circumstance, he would do anything you asked of him, but in this case, he got the impression you didn’t understand, that you were a little naïve when it came to this sort of stuff, like you’d always been sheltered and protected in a way that never needed violence. But he knows what the real world is like, and he knows what he’s got to do to keep you safe.

That was a few months ago. Now, trying to watch a film from the 40s—something with Jimmy Stewart, to grant Bucky a little nostalgia and tick another movie off your cinephile list—you both doze off, but you wake up before him. He usually wakes up earlier than you and falls asleep later, so you rarely see him asleep, only once you had to wake him up from the vivid nightmare, but here, now, he’s peaceful—his eyes are shut, his breathing is steady, his muscles aren’t tensed, this is the first time you’ve seen him lose himself to unconsciousness, and your heart swells at the realisation he feels safe enough to be so vulnerable around you.

As much as you would have loved to watch him breathe, after all the snacks you ate during the movie, your hands are sticky and you can’t really fall back asleep without washing them. On the way to the bathroom, you pause just before the door. The cupboard Bucky keeps his tools in is slightly ajar, it’s always been locked. And you’re not sure what compels you to head over to the door, but you carefully open it, wincing when it creaks slightly, before gasping at the scene.

He said he’d get rid of them! Not only are there multiple sharp blades of varying lengths, there’s more ammo that you could ever imagine needing, pistols, and a shotgun on the wall, you’re pretty sure you spot a fucking grenade, but maybe most terrifyingly is a mask. If this really was for safety (you’re really trying to give him the benefit of the doubt here) why the fuck did he have a mask? Like he was hiding behind it. He wouldn’t need to hide his identity from an intruder, he’d only need to if he was trying not to get caught if he was doing something wrong, if he was—

Bucky drops the bat to catch you before you hit the ground, wincing at the sight of your limp body in his arms. Fuck, he had stuck up a few more pictures of you earlier that day, and clearly forgot to lock the closet. The guilt from hurting you is enough to make him sick, but he’s got to figure out how to savage this.

If he just sets you right back on the couch and puts on some kind of thriller movie, you’ll think it was a dream when you wake up again, right? That your subconscious mind was taking in what was playing on the TV and affecting your sleep. That makes sense, that makes perfect sense, and that’s for you to figure out on your own; he won’t need to explain it or answer questions because really all it was was a bad dream, and he knows about those, you know he has experience with them, you’ll believe him when he tells you how real they can feel—you’ve seen it—and trust that everything’s alright, and he’s good to keep you safe.

After an hour, you begin to stir, and he redirects his gaze from being hyper focused on you to watching the film intently, though this far in he doesn’t know anything about the plot and hopes you don’t ask too many questions about it.

When he hears your quiet moans indicating you’re awake now, and feels your stretch beside him, he looks back at you. “Mornin’, Sunshine,” he teases, hoping you’ll giggle and say something about not realising it was dark outside. But you don’t, instead you startle and recoil back slightly, eyeing him suspiciously.

He forces his brows to furrow in confusion as he sets his half empty bowl of popcorn down on the coffee table. He tries to shift towards you but when you shift back, he sighs and stays in place.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” he asks in a low voice, his tone sincere and soothing. But he can tell you don’t buy it.

“You said you’d get rid of them!” you yell, and he winces slightly—you’ve never raised your voice at him, and if you’re this worked up over it it might take him a little more patience than anticipated to do some damage control.

“Get rid of what?” he asks. The best thing to do here is just play dumb.

“Your— your weapons! There’s— there’s so many of them, you said you’d get rid of them!”

“Baby, baby, baby,” he coos when you start breathing heavily, tears forming in the corners of your eyes. “You just had a bad dream, okay? It’s alright…”

“No!” you shriek, kicking him away from you. “In the— in the closet!”

“What closet?”

“The— the one with the tools!”

“There’s nothing in there, sweetheart.”

“Then open it.”

He freezes for a second—he hadn’t expected you to ask that. “I don’t— I don’t know where the key is.” Fuck. He’s fucked. He knew it from the moment he hesitated, and his stuttering further solidified his guilt in your mind. His eyes grew just a little wider as he waited for you to respond, hardly breathing. You can read him like an open book, and he knows he can’t backtrack the few small ticks that set you on the scent.

You narrow your eyes suspiciously at him for a moment, but blink, and then nod, slowing your breaths down and directing your stare to the floor. “Alright,” you say, and Bucky himself can’t help but sigh in relief.

“I’m sorry you had a bad dream,” he coos as he shifts closer to you, and this time, you don’t shift away. He puts his arms around you and comfortingly rubs your shoulder, resting his head on top of yours.

You don’t buy it for a second.

That’s way too specific a dream for you to have months after even thinking about that stuff, and you’re not fucking stupid, you can tell what’s real and what’s not, and that was real. But for the time being, it seems easier to appease him. Maybe you really did imagine it… you doubt it, though, especially when Bucky’s body went rigid in response to your request. Even if you didn’t see what you thought you did, he’s definitely hiding something in that closet.

His phone rings, and he sighs, apologising as he carefully unwraps himself from you, reaching into his pocket to answer the phone as he stands up. “Hello?” There’s a few quick and low words from whoever’s on the other end and the groan he lets out allows you to guess it’s something Avengers-related. Though he isn’t an Avenger anymore (he gave up all violence, even in the name of justice) Sam does occasionally call him up to ask for advice on espionage matters or blueprints or just his thoughts on whatever’s going on.

“I’ve got to run, sweetheart; Sam’s being an asshole and I need to do some damage control,” he chuckles, and looks back down at you hesitantly, waiting for a response of some kind, but you’re quiet, arms crossed over your chest, slouched on the couch and looking at the floor, almost petulant but more… pensive. And that worries him.

“I can— I can stay if you want me to—”

“No,” you answer so casually it’s like something in him shatters. Sure, you’re not always grovelling at his feet when he opens the door but you’ve never been so nonchalant about him leaving to go take care of stuff. Even if it wasn’t all that sincere, you’d still make a little scene out of missing him so much. “I’ll see you later.”

He opens his mouth to say something, but quickly shuts it, pressing his lips into a thin line as he nods, and then sighs.

He can’t leave you alone here: you’ll either run the second you can or hurt yourself trying to figure out how to get the cupboard open again. In both cases he won't be able to keep you safe, you’ll get hurt. But you’re also not yourself right now, and he doesn’t want to come on too strong and risk scaring you off for good. Not that he’d ever let you get away.

So he leaves, locks the door, but doesn’t get in his car. Usually he would grant that you’d be able to see the red flag there but you seem hyper focused on getting to his shit and he surmises he can get away with it. Between the tall plants covering his windows, he can just about make you out, sitting completely still on the couch for a few moments, it’s like you’re not even breathing. He subconsciously finds himself holding his breath as well—Are you waiting for him to start the car? Have you noticed he didn’t take his wallet?—narrowing his eyes at you, trying to anticipate your next move.

60 seconds, and you jump up.

***

You take a very quick look around the lounge, just to really make sure he left, and with no sign of him, you start off down the corridor again to his cupboard. It’s locked, and you know better than to even try to look for the key. But you have to do something: how could you live with yourself knowing that either you’d have broken up with your seemingly perfect boyfriend for no reason at all, or ever feel at peace again when there’s this heavy suspicion just hanging there?

You don’t know how you ever learnt it but you pull a pin from your hair and unfold it, closing one eye and sticking your tongue out slightly as you wriggle it around in the key slot, muttering “Please, please, please, please, please” to yourself over and over as you strain to hear for the clicks. One, two, three clicks and it opens! And you have no idea how you did it but it’s done now. You quickly open the door and gasp. You really shouldn’t be surprised—you know it wasn’t a dream—but the double confirmation really takes the wind out of you, and you feel betrayed. He lied to you, why did he lie to you? But there’s something else you didn’t notice before. On the inside of the door, polaroids of you that you know are before you met him are hung up haphazardly with messy tape—and they’re pictures of you doing mundane tasks, your everyday life. With shaking hands, you reach towards one that you’re afraid is of you in the shower, tears collecting on your lashes. As you reach for it, your elbow hits a shotgun and it falls and fires.

You scream as you jump back, and away from the door, you come face to face with Bucky at the end of the hallway, looking horrified as if it’s you who’s doing what you’re not supposed to.

Why the fuck is this thing even loaded if it’s just sitting around? These are assault rifles and deadly tools just at the ready, all the time.

Bucky carefully calls your name, and you turn on your heel and sprint towards the bedroom door at the opposite end of the corridor, but he catches up to you way too easily. He grabs you and slams your head against the doorway, causing you to black out and fall to the floor.

***

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh fuck! How was he so careless not once but twice? What if you’d gotten seriously hurt or even killed? And he’s mad at himself but he can’t help but feel mad at you, too. Why didn’t you just leave it alone? Sure, he fucked up by forgetting to lock it but why on Earth did you push for it? It was locked this time, why were you so obsessed with this!?

He takes a few deep breaths to stop himself from launching into a panic attack. He can fix this, it’s fine, you just need a bit of time to calm down, but he has a feeling if you took a relationship ‘break’ he’d never find you again. So you can’t leave, you just need to be somewhere safe.

Bucky’s basement is hardly even a room—that’s why he keeps his weapons upstairs, and so that they’re always there when he needs them. It’s small, but big enough for a few shelves and a twin-sized mattress, it’s more a very temporary storm shelter—or a panic room, to a weaker person. There aren’t any windows, and so the thought of getting you situated there for an indefinite amount of time isn’t pleasant. He always gets up before you, and, yes, part of that is nature, and part of it is his awe for your peaceful sleeping form, a level of serenity in darkness he’s not sure he’d ever be able to achieve. The sun peaks in through the curtains and lightly bronzes your skin for a few minutes until you stir and wake up to him beside you, pure adoration in his eyes. And every morning, he knows he’d give up the light of day forever if he could only wake up next to you one more time.

***

You grimace as you wake up, feeling uncomfortable—the room feels somehow cold yet stuffy, and the mattress you’re laying on feels scruffy and a little old. You toss and turn a few times before you realise that this is real. When the thought hits, you rip your eyes open, shooting upright to scan your surroundings while your breathing gets heavier and heavier.

Your eyes land on Bucky sitting at the bottom of the stairs with a book in one hand, his metal one mindlessly twirling a thick chain between his fingers, tightening and loosening it. To test, you tug on your leg and he automatically grips tighter to the restraint, even before noticing you’re up.

“Hey, sweetheart…” he coos, setting his book down and letting go of the chain. He crouches down and sits at the bottom of the mattress, coaxing you with soothing rubs on your shin like you’re a mental patient or a wild animal, unpredictable. “How’re you feeling?”

How are you feeling? How are you feeling?

“Are you out of your mind!?” you shriek, and kick at him—it doesn’t hurt him, but he does raise his palm from your leg. Dropping his voice to a sweeter tone, he tries to calm you down. “You’re alright, you’re safe, everything’s okay, baby.”

He reaches out a hand to stroke your face but you slap it away, looking up at him with wild eyes and messy hair, you let your tone drop to a dangerous low as you warn, “Don’t… touch me.”

He gives a disappointed sigh but eventually tuts to himself in agreement. You just need to get this out of your system, it’ll be fine.

But it’s not. It’s not fine, and it’s taking a toll on him. You’ve never been like this before, so angry and irrational and erratic and unpredictable, but that’s not what he minds. He can deal with you throwing insults his way, swinging at him (in vain, of course) or resorting to silence, but what really starts to tick him off is when you refuse to eat. He let it slide the first day, tried to play it cool and just left the tray down for you, but he went upstairs and nervously paced back and forth until the morning. When he came down with breakfast, he discovered you hadn’t so much as touched your meal, not even the tray itself, and though he asked you in an even tone to eat something (and got nothing but silence in return) it was worrying him, he nearly wanted to plead with you, but he knew if he cracked you’d see a weak spot and keep ramming it until you get your way, and he can’t have that.

It’s the third day now, and he finally decides he needs to feed you. He sits down in front of you and pulls the tray towards him, scooping up some rice on a plastic spoon. He holds the food to your lips but you keep them shut tight, even when he gently pokes your mouth a few times. He’s sure you can see the stress you’re causing him: he’s hardly sleeping, as shown by the bags under his eyes, and he can’t even go for a jog to clear his head in case you do something crazy while he’s gone. With a deep breath, he sets the spoon down and leans back, considering his next move. Maybe you’d drink a smoothie. Not ideal but better than nothing.

“Alright,” he huffs as he stands up. “I’ll be right back, I’m gonna make you a smoothie.”

He’s only just turned his back when he hears clattering, and when he looks back to you, you’ve got fury etched onto your features and the food he so carefully and lovingly prepared for you is strewn across the floor.

“What the fuck is wrong with you!?” he bellows, and backhands you, sending you to the floor. With your mouth agape, you clutch your cheek and look up at him in shock. He’s never even raised his voice at you, let alone yelled, let alone lay a finger on you. “Just fucking listen to me! Eat!” He kicks the tray further back and you startle, paralysed by pure shock.

He takes a deep breath in, and a long huff out, clenching his fists at his sides. His blue eyes you had once thought of as calm oceans are ablaze, he’s shaking with anger, and his voice quivers as he tries to speak in a level tone to you. “I… am going to make you a smoothie, and you are going to drink it, or you’ll never see the sun again.”

When he slams the door shut behind him, you finally allow tears to fall. You don’t know what that threat means—will he never let you out? Will he kill you? At first you didn’t think so, even when he held you down as you screamed and kicked, but you never thought he’d hit you either, you never thought he was capable of such rage, and though he kept it relatively under control, you saw what that was. It wasn’t just ire, it was like flames licked his entire being, engulfing him and lighting him up. While you thought of him as your Sun, now, that was for a different reason—now, he feels like the actuality of the star: unpredictable and unbearably dangerous, but… necessary for survival, and inescapable.

✪

[my beloved taglist; @cowboysnbugs, @buckys-wintersoldier, @keito-123, @vogueprincess, @cjand10]

[bbrissonn]

uhmmm starting at 55:50, the girl starts talking abt a guy pissing on his gf because she made him mad and pouring 2 drinks on head in a bar, the guy later on shares a story abt one of his brother. this is clearly about the hughes brother, she mentioned the pissing guy having acne and girls going crazy over him, which clearly refers back to quinn. honestly no clue if its true or not because she said she got told this by someone (apparently the pouring the drinks thing is known around michigan, but not the piss thing if true). the guy then goes on to share info about the youngest brother “luke” and claims the hughes family (all 5) had taken a spring break vacation at the same time as college spring breaks, and one of his friends claims to have taken luke’s virginity.

idk if any of this is true, all the stuff they’re saying is what they’ve been told by other people. the host also mentions that the whole luke thing would’ve happened 3-4 years ago. i personally do not believe that part, jack and quinn would’ve been in the middle of the season, 4 years ago was 2021, luke had literally tore something in his foot and had surgery, NOT TO MENTION HE WAS 17 AT THIS TIME, and 3 years ago would’ve been during 2022, when luke couldnt have left michigan because they were prepping for the big10 playoff (we got fed by briss and bords that week).

even if the luke thing was true, why on earth would he bring it up???? also, the girl quite literally body shames who i think his quinn for having a lazy eye (HELLO!?!?) and then later mentions that luke had her friend wrapped around his finger, but that he was pretty much too ugly to be given that much attention.

its honestly insane to me for people to talk about stuff like that - virginity thing and the whole making fun of their appearance - knowing that it could eventually get back to them. AND LITERALLY ALL THE STUFF THEY SAY IS “I GOT TOLD” with literally no proof. like imagine being painted as a guy who pisses on girls and turns out to be fake but like this girl just told the whole internet. now for that idk if it is true or not, the only relationship that we know quinn has been in is his college gf and olivia. idk how on earth stuff that happened with olivia could’ve had been spread all around their area but oh well.

also the fact that they’re like trying to be discret abt it, but are pretty much just saying who they are is crazy to me. like you think u can mention three brothers that live in michigan and we’re not gonna figure out who it is???

anyways, do what you will with this info.

also shootout to @umichenthusiastsstuff pretty sure they were the first to post this on here from what i can tell

[gorgynei]

hi um i was going to say “can i ask you about werewolves for a uquiz im making” but i don’t actually have any specific questions. can u infodump about werewolves for a uquiz im making /no pressure

this is like asking to open pandoras box oh man. okay heres my best go, i have a hard time infodumping on command so if you have any follow up questions please throw them at me!

werewolves werent always the scary monstery beasts we imagine them as in the modern day and they were not bipedal creatures at all until modern hollywood. historically (12th century england in particular) werewolves usually were noblemen who had this weird curse to deal with. heres an old timey werewolf transformation tidbit thats been lost over time: in order to transform back, the werewolf had to find the same clothing they originally took off to transform. if they couldnt find it, they got stuck as a wolf. werewolves were/are very very influenced by the story of peter stumpps historic werewolf trial (its arguably a historical failure to even consider him a werewolf, but thats complicated). he was a cannibal and murderer and rapist because he was just evil and all those negatives were thrust upon werewolves by association. werewolves werent 100% nice and good before then, but it marked a shift. prior to that, werewolves were generally represented a moral battle within the individual, not just a person who wanted to kill and slaughter for fun

most of the time when people imagine a werewolf nowadays they picture a big burly bipedal creature (reminiscent of an furry/anthropomorphic wolf in many ways), but that wasnt how it always was! bipedal wolf monsters are a creation of hollywood, they never existed in medieval literature or any historical werewolf documents. werewolves were just people who transformed into full-on wolves (not to be confused with shapeshifters, sorcerers, and witches, who could shapeshift but were usually not exclusively turning into wolves and had full control over themselves). its pretty easy to sort werewolves onto a gradient based on their designs:

i got totally lost in the sauce making this, but as you can see there are some clear trends that emerge and its easy to tell which things have been inspired by what other things.

i think ive run out of things to say that arent just me regurgitating the werewolf pride movement. hopefully this helps with ur uquiz somewhat !!!?

[haechani4ever]

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: break up ✧

╰┈➤why would you two break up

. . ⇢ ˗ˏˋpairing ot7 x gn!reader

. . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋgenre angst

. . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋwarnings mentions of cheating

. . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋnote im sorry i know its kinda sad but im feeling very angst these days. also i had so much fun writing this and i hope u like it :)

✦➼mark lee ┈ he didn't have time for you

✦- sadly we all know how busy mark always is. likewise, he tried to give you some of his time, but it wasnt enough. sometimes days went by without them seeing each other and when they did see each other it was for 10 minutes. the good morning and good night messages didnt really make up for anything nor did the other text messages with small updates. probably you were the one who broke up with mark. he's too kind and sweet to do it. he also didnt really realize what he was doing and thats why you broke up.

it was a weekday when you approached him to talk to him. they were both in the kitchen of their house. they had just finished dinner when you told him. mark was shocked when you told him. he knew you were right but he really thought it was something that would happen and they could live with it. he told you that he understood but he was really very broken.

✦➼huang renjun ┈ fell out of love

✦- renjun is someone so sweet and loving but also someone who can lose interest quickly sometimes. i mean once you see something you dont like there is no turning back. you have to have a very strong relationship for it not to happen. but if it happens, i feel for you. it will start with things like stopping being attentive to you and almost completely avoiding physical contact between the two of you.

he told you out of nowhere really. you thought your twos relationship was in a good place, and suddenly he tells you that he doesnt love you anymore. probably it was that way because it was the only way he found to tell you. those words destroyed you completely and when you asked for explanations he didnt know how to give them because he really didnt know what had happened either.

✦➼lee jeno ┈ you no longer understood each other

✦- from one day to the next the relationship stopped working. you didnt understand him anymore, Jeno. It seemed like he no longer trusted you and was hiding things from you. the talks at the end of the day ended quickly and he no longer spoke to you much directly. you thought it was because they couldnt understand each other anymore so the trust between you felt absent.

a few months ago this was a problem in your relationship, suddenly talking to each other was not comforting nor did you listen to each other. every talk led to an argument. he was the one who brought it up to you. the relationship was no longer working, he loved you, you loved him, but they no longer understood each other. the spark that connected them had gone out

✦➼lee donghyuck ┈ cheating

✦- i dont know why but sometimes Hyuck gives me those cheater vibes. it must be because i read a lot of things with a plot about that, but thats not the point. despite being a very intelligent person, haechan can sometimes be somewhat impulsive. he was easily carried away by a provocation or he was simply drunk, we dont know really, but he did it. he swear it was a one-time mistake but it happened again, two more times. but since the third is the charm you caught him in the act.

you couldnt believe it when you saw it, the person you had fallen in love with being disloyal to you. he came out behind you quickly and started apologizing. but it was too late, the mistake had already been made. you told him you didnt want to hear his apology and you left. He tried to contact you in the following weeks but you blocked him everywhere. eventually he gave up looking for you.

✦➼na jaemin ┈ different visions of the relationship

✦- you had been with jaemin for a while when one day you sat down to talk as usual and this topic came up. they realized that they both wanted different things in life and that they didnt know where they were taking the relationship. you were willing to continue the relationship, settle down and maybe start a family one day with him. but jaemin still wanted to continue experiencing life and didnt see their relationship as something serious enough to settle down.

with this information the relationship was no longer the same. there was no point in really continuing with this if one of us thought that way. so one day, you faced him. you asked him if it was really true that he saw the relationship you two had that way and when he said yes, you blurted it out. it hurt him, but he understood and thought it was the best for the two of you.

✦➼zhong chenole ┈ big figth

✦- chenle is someone with strong ideas and sticks to them a lot, so arguments were not something unusual in their relationship. it was always little things like who had to wash the dishes and stuff like that. sometimes things escalated to another level but never like that time.

the argument had started over something that was certainly stupid given the strength with which they ended up arguing. everything got out of control when you reproached him for something. from there, they began to tell each other every bad thing they saw in each other. the argument ended when one of you shouted, "well, if we're so bad for each other we should break up." and that's how it ended, you didnt see him again after that for a long time.

✦➼park jisung ┈ a misunderstanding

✦- jisung thought you cheated on him. he misinterpreted a message that was on your cell phone. at first he denied it (not only because it wasnt true) but because he didnt believe it was true, especially coming from you. but after that he started noticing things that were always there but he had never noticed them. things that had nothing wrong and were purely innocent on your part, but he didnt see them that way.

one day when he got home he told you something that had made him a little jealous, and although he tried to stay calm he ended up exploding and letting it all out. you tried to explain it to him but he got carried away by his ego and didn't let you do it. also relevant is the fact that you had burst into tears because of what he thought of you. in the end you wiped your tears and told him that the relationship was ending.

[mi-co-uk]

wait for a blurb with nerd matt and mute reader what if u do like they're studying together and Matt gets confused on what to go over because he doesn't understand sign language that well (i really hope that made sense)

i turned this into more of a sign language lesson but i think its cute so i hope you like it c:

𖹭ೋ MUTE READER X NERD MATT

“So how do i say- um, my name?”

Dotty tucked her thumb under her fist, signing the first letter of his name. Matt tried to mimic it, not paying attention to the details meaning she had to physically correct them, giggling as she did. She positioned her thumb to the side of her fist for the next letter. 

“So- oh. What i had before. When i was wrong.”

Dotty nodded and their laughs overlapped with each other before continuing to work through the rest of the letters. He rehearsed it through a couple times before managing to learn a complete phrase. 

‘Hi i’m matt.’

She nodded and grinned widely in excitement, glad to have been able to teach the boy that knows everything something new. 

“Oh thats great! Now i can tell you what you already know!” 

Dotty giggled into her palms, realising the uselessness of learning the phrase despite the fun they both had learning it.

“What about your name?”

She exaggerated the motion of poking her finger out, almost as if she was gesturing towards matt. 

“Just that?” he let out an uncontrolled quick laugh, watching an embarrassed smile grow on her face. “Yours is so easy.” he copied the motion back at her but somehow incorrectly. She shook her head at him in response.

“I got it wrong?” 

Dotty couldnt control her laughter, reaching to control his hand into doing the gesture more exaggerated so it wasnt merely careless pointing. Eventually he took the hint and understood what she meant. 

“Ohh, right i got it.” 

He did it a few times to be sure, smile widening to mirror dotty’s. 

a/n cornyyyy but do we like :<