#Not sure where this came from

[brokenpieces-72]

Task Force 141 gangster! X f!reader

Started with a Tagger

You can do this…you can do this… you’ve done this before… in a classroom…

You stood there in front of a bare brick wall holding a spray paint can and debating what to do. This was undercover, you wouldn’t get caught by cops, only the thugs in the area. You had the go ahead from the chief and inspector Graves was getting into just as much, if not more trouble than you would be. It was part of the plan. Go undercover, get close with the gang members, find their main boss and evidence of their crimes, and you might actually be taken seriously at the precinct! Simple, easy, nothing to worry about… except your cowardice goody two shoes attitude! It was just paint. You’d done this before. You just had to paint on their turf and they would come looking for you. Then everything was a piece of cake. Right?

You pulled up your scarf and raised the paint can again, ready to spray. Wait, had to shake it first. There was something you already had in mind to paint, ready to get started. You lower the paint can again. Maybe you should try a different spot? An alley would keep you hidden from your fellow officers, but it also meant you were in danger of any of the street gangs coming up and chasing you away. If you were fast enough to get away.

You set down the spray can and reached into your back pack, pulling out chalk and a notebook where you scribbled some ideas of what you would paint. Plot it out first, make symbols to better map where each colour and line will go. Chalk can wash off, build yourself up to it. You zipped up your brown leather coat and pulled down on your dark red beanie. One step at a time. A few symbols at a time, using your notebook as reference. Don’t worry about the gang. Just engaging in a hobby. One step at a time…. That’s what your father told you.

“You tryna summon somethin lass?” You heard someone ask behind you making you whip around. Casually, leaning against the wall wearing a leather jacket, old jeans and fingerless gloves was a man with a mohawk trying to light a cigarette. He looks up at you with his eyes, while still flicking the lighter.

“Uh…n-no…” you said. You knew who he was based on the description and police sketches they had on file. John MacTavish, or Soap. He’s a big name on the streets, second only to Simon Riley, the supposed leader of the gang. Now here you were faced to face with him. He’s known for roughing up officers, and giving them a hard time during general procedures. They didn’t have any evidence to convict him of anything, or at least not enough. Now here he was struggling with a lighter, and cursing under his breath.

“H-hang on.” You set down your things before digging into your bag and taking out your father’s old lighter. You stood in front of Soap and lit his smoke for him. He took a drag and blew it away from your face.

“Thank ya. So wha are ya doin?” He asks.

“Plotting.” You said, closing the light and shoving your hands in your pockets. Stay loose and relaxed, don’t act afraid, don’t give away the fact you’re trying to get him arrested.

“Plotting? Oh I see.” He gives you a sarcastic smile, waiting for you to go on.

“Yeah, I use the symbols and match them up to the sketch,” you say getting your notebook to show him. “That way I can make the painting without making too many mistakes, and don’t get the sizing wrong.”

John took the notebook and looks at it. He had to admit you were good.

“And ya decided ta do it on my turf?” He asked with a raised brow. You shifted where you were standing a bit.

“Y-yeah…so what? Free wall, free space.” You said shrugging with your hands in your pockets again. You made slight glances to either side of the alley, making sure no one else was around. John smirked at your attitude.

“Free wall… on my turf.” He pointed out again, before taking another drag. This time he blew it towards your face. You wince but try to hide it.

“You gonna do something about it?” You asked. Yeah great idea, offer yourself up to get beaten up and get him arrested for that… with how many broken bones? He chuckles at your taunt.

“Yer adorable ya know that?” He says. Before you could sputter a response he pushes off the wall, and steps closer to you. “Ya hungry?” He asks.

“What? Uhm… a little.” You said shrugging.

“Come on then.” He walks off further into the alley. At first you stand there watching him. Then he calls back, “Quit enjoying the view, come on.”

You grab your stuff and shove it into your backpack, and run after him, falling in stride next to him while you struggle with your backpack.

“You live round ere?” He asks. You nod. “John MacTavish by the way.” He says offering a hand to shake.

You shake it. “Y/N L/N.”

“L/N?” He repeats. Maybe you shouldn’t have given your full name. Or at least given a fake one. You nod. And he looks forward again, as if forgetting the whole word. “There’s a nice diner close by. Get you something to eat.”

“Th-thanks.” You said. Wasn’t expecting him to be this friendly. He takes you to the diner and sits you down, talking as if you were new friends. You hadn’t expected it to go this way. Though you weren’t sure you were in the woods yet.

“So what’s a nice kid like you doing out ere tagging walls?” He asked, slouching in the booth seat across from you. You lowered your head faking shame, while also trying to think of a reason.

“Got rejected… keep getting rejected.” You said, rubbing your neck. “Galleries, shows, schools… work. Everyone sees me as just some, y’know, naive tagger. Just want to be taken seriously.”

“It takes time.” John said. You’ve heard that one before, too many times. You sat back and looked at him.

“It takes too long! I know what I’m doing! I know what I’m capable of! No one gives me a chance! I can prove myself, but how am I gonna do that if no one lets me!” You said. There was some repressed emotion behind that. You sigh and look down playing with your hands. Emotions weren’t very professional in the force. “Sorry… didn’t mean for that you come out.”

“I ge it.” John said sitting up. “You ave to keep searchin for those chances.”

“That’s what I’m doing.” You said.

“Good. If ya don finish yer work someone’ll think yer summonin somethin.” John teased. You smiled back. Soap told you to go to home and finish the spray paint tomorrow. In return you offered to buy him dinner tomorrow. Fair deal. Soap watched as you walked away, heading back to your apartment, before texting his boss.

Soap finds his boss, who’s sitting in an old beat up apartment crouching near the corner when Soap walks in. Soap stays quiet, not wanting to bother him.

“Quit yer skulking MacTavish.” said a low British voice. His boss turned his head slightly to ensure it was him.

“Wanted to giv ya some privacy sir.” John said stepping further into the room. Ghost stood up and turned to his right hand man. Soap leaned over to see a small cat licking at a small saucer.

“Your message was vague. What did ya find?” Ghost asked, stretching a little and wandering to the kitchen while removing his hoodie. Soap stepped over to the bar counter, sitting on of the stool while Ghost got them both a drink.

“Need to see Price.” John said, setting his phone on the table.

“Yeah I know that, what for? And since when do you tell me first? Not your dad.” Ghost comments, adjusting his balaclava to take a sip of his drink.

“Price woulda told ya anyways. Easier to tell ya first.” He sips his drink.

“Out with it.” Ghost orders.

“L/N.” Soap looks into his bosses dark eyes.

“They’re dead Soap.”

“Not all of em.” Soap says with a cheeky smirk. Ghost tilts his head intrigued. Soap opens his phone and shows him a photo of you he took while you were setting up in the alley. Ghost takes the phone, examining the photo.

“They’re a tagger Soap, wha of it.” Ghost says shrugging it off, and returning the phone.

“I wone tell Price than.” Soap responded, shrugging nonchalant. There’s quiet between them while Ghost considers the information. You could be useful. Laswell should already know, but Price hasn’t said anything about you. Your presence may be unknown to even Laswell which was certainly impressive.

“Tell Price.” Ghost says. Soap nods and holds up his drink. Ghost toasts him. Things were about to get interesting.

[alice-after-dark]

Vox Losing His Shit (RadioStatic? I Think?)

TW for implications of abusive StaticMoth.

"...and on top of that, you insist on debasing yourself to fraternize with that insect. He's only using you. He has no respect for you and he'll just keep using you if you don't-"

"YOU THINK I DON'T FUCKING KNOW THAT?!" Vox screeched, screen glitching hard. "You think I don't know he's a colossal piece of shit?! Newsflash, asshole! We all are! In case you forgot, we're in fucking Hell! Fuck, if I didn't know you better, I'd start to think you're buying into this whole redemption bullshit! It doesn't get better down here, Alastor! It only gets fucking worse! Maybe Mr. High-and-Mighty-Needs-No-One doesn't have shit he wants to protect, but I do and if that means putting up with Valentino's bullshit then that's what I'll fucking do!"

Alastor sneered. "I just think-"

"I DON'T GIVE A FLYING FUCK WHAT YOU THINK! You lost any right to tell me what to do with my afterlife 7 fucking years ago and you do not just get to waltz your way back in and expect me to roll over and beg for fucking treats! I didn't tell you to leave! You made the choice to fuck off out of my life and you made it very fucking clear you didn't want shit to do with me, so fucking deal with it!" Vox wrapped his arms around himself, electricity crackling through the air. "And Val might be fucking shit stain, but at least he stuck the fuck around!"

"Vox..."

A red-clawed hand reached for him, but the media demon jerked away from it.

"Don't. Don't fucking touch me. Just go, Alastor. Leave me the fuck alone."

[devildompotato]

Barbatos with MC who has PTSD. Their relationship is happy, but MC has periods of being plagued by their trauma. One night, after waking up to his beloved suffering from a terrible nightmare, he admits,

"I could have changed your past. My apologies, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. You see...

this is the only timeline where you chose me."

[grievetherat]

I feel like rambling a bit about the Beatles; they have been my special interest for a while now but recently I've become especially hyperfixated.

I'm in college right now but my experience goes back to the 2010s when my father brought me trinkets from his trip to Liverpool some of which were Beatles-related. Living in a Eastern European country was a bit of a bleek experience as a child if you grew up being influenced by Western media. Being glued to the family computer or the TV, all I could do was admire the ways decade's leading up the the 21st century was shown in media, times which I was told were the darkest for my family (no electricity, no running water, the looming Soviet Union).

As such I was a yearning middle schooler, jealous of the Western world and their ability to create media that I admired. Don't get me wrong, I have gone back since then to realize even my home country had its charms and memorable breakthroughs in our culture of music or style but for me, as a kid being infatuated with the West, I was jealous of people who had their parents pass down cool records to them because they lived through the times when such music was popular, have access to merchandise or memorabilia, or the ability to visit certain historical places because I was worlds away from them.

As such I became fixated much of my teenagehood on the prospect of "what it could have been" for me, If I had the chance, I was basically a westernboo, I was chronically online most of the 2010s, exploring the emerging internet culture, the online sphere, youtube (because who else would have been the perfect subject to develop a parasocial relationship with British vloggers ahem dan&phil), but I also began to develop taste in music. As such it coincided with my father's visit to Liverpool, which fascinated me, the trinkets he had brought back along with the LOVE album CD, were mesmerizing. I mean I enjoyed my fair share of 2010s pop music, but by the end of that CD listen, needless to say, I became a pretentious prick.

To say I was interested in them is an understatement, I was obsessed; but I couldn't really explore my Beatles obsession with anyone my age so I paraded my hyperfixation to my father (a beatles fan, who took pride in me developing this interest) and the adults in my family, as simply an infatuation with the decades (the 60s-70s) to seem smart and sophisticated. They would praise me for being a history nerd and ask me to tell them fun facts about the Beatles which i pretended to simply comply with, but in reality, I just wanted an excuse to bring up the Beatles. Of course, those fun facts needed reading-up so i consumed as much reading material online (or from the few english history books my school library housed) as I could. I read of their contributions to music, their history, rock n roll, the pre-Beatles, post-breakup, their solo careers, the hippie counterculture everything ( i guess as much as a i could comprehend at them time lol) but most importantly, i read of John's tragic passing as well as the many articles, hypothesizing on 'what it could have been' for the Beatles.

My undiagnosed brain had melted at that one singular possibility.

Truly, in modern internet slang, the alleged/hypothesized Beatles reunion has been my Roman empire since the day I graduated middle school to today simply because I think of it every day at least twice. Eventually middle school obsession had matured into a primary interest, a personality trait, more of a "hello, I'm Nym, and I'm a big fan of the Beatles" and it would automatically tell the type of person I was. Only a few things after the Beatles had the same lasting effect on me (Gravity Falls as an example lol).

It also didn't help that I listen to them and their solo releases on the daily and that they're actually everywhere, being the greatest band in the world, but I think it's only in my tism brain that can't scratch that itch that makes my enjoyment of the Beatles such a surreal experience. Perhaps I could finally put it into words to give middle school me some sort of closure:

There has always been something so devastating to me about John's and George's passings. humans come and they go but for them it was abrupt, cruel; living in the 2020s now, there's something so poignant to me that begs the world why they never got to experience the next century to its full potential.

We knew the Beatles were over in 1980, the tale isn't as obscure as the Roman Empire because it feels like it has only just happened, it's part of modern popculture right? And yet we live in the 3rd decade of the 21st century, completely shifting the perspective to a type of lingering wound from such a long time ago that it never really heals anymore.

At the time, I had told this to my mother, how it bothered me so much. She had assumed I had realized the concept of sudden death and become afraid of it, and to her credit, she had tried her best to help me 'overcome it' as well, but it was never death that bothered me, it was the unfairness, the lack of closure and I guess the bittersweetness that lingers with me every time I turn on a Beatles song.

Being a Beatles fan has been a surreal experience really; I believed this weird, almost para-sociality with the closure that never came that I yearned for so long as a middle schooler would dissipate over time and I could enjoy the Beatles legacy as every other adult had around me, enjoy a fun fact now and then, get a trinket from a trip. I never really achieved that, I'm in college and they still essentially function for me as the fall of the Roman Empire. Especially with the release of Get Back a year or two ago and Now and Then, it's essentially gotten worse. Sometimes I can't bear to think about it anymore and sometimes I can't help but reminisce on what it could have been.

Anyways, I still treasure them in such a weird way, I think it takes a lot for a human tale with all its flaws to be this compellingly tragic and bittersweet to keep up a gen z college student at night over half a century later. Idk

[macrolit]

[citrus-simp]

Bakugou! Who is the muscle part of the scientist team goes to an inhabited island basically as a body guard where they find reader there. Basically Tarzan and grew up surviving the wild. Not familiar with other humans and knowing very few words. They study her from afar but she seems to have taken a liking to Bakugou specifically.

Using Bakugou They study her up close, reactions, socializing and how she acts with Bakugou. They of course want to take her back to civilization and reintroduce her to society. Bakugou feeling as though it was wrong in a sense but he knew being in the wild wouldn’t be good for her either. He somehow convinced her to go with them and essentially becomes her caregiver. Almost like teaching a baby to walk.

He’s basically spending day and night with reader helping her through studies, how to speak properly, manners, objects, what certain things do and all that. Showed her basic education skills like very simple math, some reading and letters etc. he even shows her music ans lets her move however she wanted to the music. Thinking it was adorable the way she moved never hearing music before now

[kindoffruity]

Chapter One - Praise

“Sorry sir,” Neteyam found himself apologizing for another mistake he had made, his head hung low, braids covering his face as if to cover the shame of disappointing his father once again. This time it wasn’t even his fault, Lo’ak had ventured beyond the reef with Tuk and they had barely made it back in one piece after an Akula had taken special interest in them. Thankfully, Payakan had been there. Unlike Neteyam, who had messed up again by not being there with them.

“You’re supposed to watch out for them, I’m disappointed in you.” His father shook his head, letting out a huff of frustration. ‘He’s right..’ Neteyam thought to himself as he was dismissed, Neteyam tried not to look so defeated as he excused himself outside, at this point the sun was long gone. The waves rocking back and forth creating some calming white noise. Neteyam found himself at a little spot furthest away from the village so he could finally let his feelings out.

His shoulders could finally sink, he didn’t have to be this strong warrior like his father, he could just be himself, it was okay to be vulnerable. He never talked about how hard it was being the oldest, every mistake that was made was usually his fault for not being there to be the voice of reason. Sure, countless times he was there, it was the few times he hadn’t been there that always got him. His parents only ever saw the times he wasn’t there.

“It’ll never be enough..” Neteyam spoke quietly to himself as he watched the waves clash, his eyes fell shut as he tried to prevent a possible tear from shedding.

“What’ll never be enough, Jungle boy?”

Neteyam instantly shot up, as if he had been doing something wrong. In reality, he didn’t need the Chief’s Son to see how much of a wuss he looked like. “What are you even doing here?” Neteyam asked, he truthfully thought he would be the only one outside now. “Avoiding the question huh? I’m just out for a stroll, is that not allowed?” Aonung smirked at Netayam as he moved to sit down where Neteyam had just sat.

There was a silence between the two, it wasn’t awkward, Neteyam just didn’t know how to respond. The two of them weren’t necessarily friends, but they got along. “I apologize, I’ll be leaving, have a good-” before Netayam could even finish his good-bye, he felt a strong tug on his hand.

“Sit,” Aonung spoke and it almost felt like a command, Neteyam almost instantly moved to sit down next to the Na’vi. He didn’t speak as he sat down, just staring at the crashing waves. Aonung didn’t speak for a while either. But there was no tension, it almost felt peaceful, like Neteyam didn’t need to speak, Aonung just understood- or he was just a lot less chaotic than his family.

It was a while before they actually spoke, “Are you ready to answer my question?” Aonung asked. Neteyam looked up, a bit shocked that Aonung hadn’t just been teasing about the question. “It’s nothing, I was just clearing my head..” Neteyam trailed off, he tried to avoid the subject but Aonung wasn’t budging at all.

“I guess I look like someone who enjoys repeating themselves to you.” Aonung countered, meeting Neteyam’s eyes for a brief moment. Neteyam couldn’t read those eyes, was Aonung upset? Or was he actually a caring guy? Neteyam couldn’t figure it out but he didn’t want to actually upset the other male. He sighed in defeat, Aonung would win this battle tonight.

“As the oldest, don’t you always feel like you have to keep your parents and siblings happy? Doesn’t it drain you? Constantly being there for everyone? I mean like..” There was a pause in Neteyam’s words as if he was trying to look for the right words and then everything just came out, “I’m always there for everyone else.. But who is there when I need them? Being the oldest is tough like that I guess.. But I try my best and-” Neteyam was cut off by Aonung who held up a finned hand.

“I get it..”

Neteyam looked up, his eyes widened, he didn’t think such a small sentence would make him feel heard, like he wasn’t the only person in the world who felt this way. It was refreshing almost to know he wasn’t alone. He fell silent again, but looked less tense and almost relieved to be heard.

“You just want someone to tell you that you did a good job. Right, Forrest boy?” Aonung asked, cocking his head to the side and staring directly into Neteyam’s eyes, he couldn’t help but feel a bit nervous. “Sometimes..” He whispered, almost scared to say the truth.

“You put up with a lot, they put a lot of pressure on you to be perfect. You have been through a lot, your family is fortunate to have you.” Aonung’s words hit Neteyam instantly, his eyes softening and trying not to get flustered he cleared his throat and tried to look away at the waves. “I.. Thanks..” Neteyam wasn’t sure if Aonung meant those words or was just trying to make him feel better. Regardless, he felt some sort of satisfaction brewing in him and it felt nice.

Aonung watched Neteyam with calculated eyes, making sure to remember the series of emotions that ran through the smaller Na’vi’s face from such a simple sentence. He couldn’t hold back an amused smile as he watched the other become flustered but very clearly satisfied by his words.

“Anytime… Let us get back before it gets later, I am sure they’ll send out a search party soon.” Aonung stood and held out a hand to the darker blue Na’vi, helping him up.

The two settled in a slow pace back towards the village, no more words were exchanged but the silence was comfortable, occasionally glancing at one another as they made their way back.

Neteyam found himself going to sleep much more relaxed, he hated to admit it but Aonung had managed to unravel him that simply.

.

.

.

[acewithobsessions]

I have a thing for Lethifolds from harry potter like they're just

They're like

They're ghosts that never were. They're echoes, but there was never a sound. Dementors are great - full of hate and malevolence. But lethifolds aren't like that at all. They are an absence, not an opposite. They are not cold, they are not warm. They are not good, they are not evil. They only know how to consume because that is all they were made for. They are vacuums, rips in space that should not exist. Unaffected by anything around them. Dementors are an action. Lethifolds are a result.

They are ghosts that never lived. They are echoes without a sound.

[animerunner]

That moment when you have an idea and run with it

[cookie-nom-nom]

What if all the kids in Clark Kent’s class clocked that something was Up about him so they just decided to teach him the most insane made up things about ‘human culture’ that he then mimicked. Fake holidays and inventing nonsense words that the entire school pretended were real. Clark just goes along with all of it unthinkingly and carries the habits to adulthood until occasionally Lois will be like ???? What do you mean this coffee tastes quolipcious?? or Clark did you just sharpen your pencil by chewing it!?

You’d think it was some lingering alien culture but no. A bunch of fourth graders decided to make him the silliest guy ever.

[fistfuloflightning]

Curufin doesn’t think much, there at the end. She can feel the floor, unpleasantly warm and sticky against her cheek. There’s the sideways shuffle of feet and fighting, all greyed-out smudges as her vision fades.

There is someone calling her name, she thinks, but she’s too tired to raise her head. The Oath has weighed heavily on her and it has drained her until she is little more than a wraith herself. Footsteps close by and more voices. A golden head falls to the floor next to her and her stuttering heart falters within her. But no, it is more silver than gold. He’s long dead anyway.

Does regret mean anything when one is at Mandos’ doorstep? Curufin finds she doesn’t care. She’s lived with it long enough. And if the Valar wish curses upon her for her loyalty and dedication to her father’s pledge, she will take it as a proud daughter of Fëanor.

She dies there, on Menegroth’s blood-caked floor.

 Yet her dreams are still those of one with regrets. They follow her in the shadowed Halls, lurking at the edges of her sight. And slowly she feels herself yielding. The armor cracks, the festering wounds split open and painfully knit back together.

 And when she wakes, she wakes in water.

She’s floating on her back, hair rippling about her head and naked as the day of her birth. There is something tapping against her side, her arms. Lily pads, Curufin thinks with all the disinterest of one who has spent the majority of her life in the semi-darkness of a forge. Lilies or perhaps even lotissë. But she’s too weary to open her eyes to check. The flowers’ perfume is everywhere, accompanied by the bright fresh smell of green growing things. The sun is warm on her skin, broken occasionally by the shadows of leaves.

She has no desire to think.

Memories lurk about the edges of her mind but they are as fleeting as fish beneath a lake’s surface. A flicker of hands guiding hers over shaped steel, golden hair warm on her skin, a small dark head cradled against her breast. They wash through her and Curufin no longer knows what are dreams and what are not.

Gentle hands draw her up out of the water and down into a boat and Curufin at last opens her eyes. The eyes looking down into hers are bird-like, bright and unlike any of the Eldar. A maia, then. “Curufinwë Atarinkë, daughter of Fëanor.” Scaled hands curl around hers, so much larger yet infinitely gentle.

Her lips part, but no sound comes out. She knows her own name. The meaning behind it eludes her. Unable to answer, she looks away. Willow trees are draped around them, leafy curtains trailing gracefully in the water, shadowing the blanket of white-petaled lotissë.

The maia guides the boat to a stone dock and helps her off. “Wait here,” the maia says in its soft chirping voice after it clothes her in a simple robe and sits her in a pavilion overlooking the Gardens.

Wait for what? She sits in silence, memories slowly knitting back together. And when another elf approaches, the rich gold of his hair sparks a mess of grief and yearning. When he sits beside her, Curufin meets his eyes. But they are proper Noldorin grey, not the warm sea blue she knows. “… Lókë?”

“Ammë.”

And that’s… that’s all wrong.

But she knows. Knows this stranger with her eyes.

“Gwinig nin,” she murmurs, fingers touching his chin. She hasn’t seen him since he was no more than a babe in arms, scarce three winters old when she had been exiled from Nargothrond.

“Celebrimbor took you,” Curufin says suddenly. And now she remembers with painstaking clarity the way her eldest son had turned his back to her, shielding his younger brother’s eyes from the hatred and disgust thrown their way. Kinslayer. And worse.

“He did. He watched over me,” Gildor explains patiently.

Her lips twist bitterly. “He did a much better job of it than I did.”

His hands curl around hers. He has Nerdanel’s hands, strong but gentle. “You never had the opportunity.” Gildor’s words are sad.

What is past is past. Curufin breathes deeply and lets her eyes fall shut. “I never did. But that was my mistake.”

She hears light footsteps behind her but she does not release her grip on her youngest son. They stop behind her and the warmth she feels almost makes her weep. She had grown cold, her petals frozen in the winter of the Oath.

But there is a sigh bearing three Ages of the world and a hand against her cheek, warm as sunlight and just as gentle. And this time, she knows exactly who it is. Eyes still closed, she leans into the hand. “Lókë,” she murmurs.

And Finrod’s voice is as shattered as she feels. “Lotissë.”

[ashenmind]

“hey, sit still will you? come here.”

…

“it’s not that tight! see? two fingers width. now look at me.”

…

“hey, it’ll just take a second and you’ll feel a lot more comfortable. just look; you said my eyes were pretty, didn’t you?”

[filet-o-feelings]

Rainy Days

Breathe in.

Relax.

Just focus on the sound of the rain.

Breathe out.

You’re doing so good, honey. No, keep your eyes closed.

I’ve got you.

Okay, now focus on my hand.

That’s great, you’re responding so well Patrick.

When David’s hands find their way under the waistband of Patrick’s sweatpants, the sound of the rain fades into the distance.

Was it ever raining?

Was there ever anything but this?

David is touching him, touching him. 

And there is nothing else, just this moment and David.

David.

David’s hands.

David’s mouth.

Oh, fuck. David!

Rainy days are Patrick’s favorite days.

@schittscreekdrabbleblog

[somestorythoughts]

The Corinthian: “I want to taste what it’s like to be human”

Me:

[itsjustpolyester312]

a world full of laughter and light

a woodland bustling with life

oh how everything seems so bright

before the coming of strife

[the-ghost-of-a-spirit]

Skulduggery is good with small children