#he always feels so daunting to draw but then i do it and im like oh. it wasn’t that bad

[ahbogman]

have some alphonses

[sadesluvr]

HELP UR SO AWESOME ILY. AND SOMEONE WRITES FOR HENRY? I LOVE YOU MORE. I WANNA LIKE DO WHAT YOU DO AS GOOD AS YOU DO BUT IM NOT THAT CREATIVE LMAO

Now back to Henry🩷 he’s so fine I love him sm like he’s so dad and I need him.! I always picture him looking like @Fazzruh (Instagram and Twitter) portrayal of him 🫶 but I love how you write him, AND CHARLIE!!! SHES SO CUTE WHAT

ANON! You have no idea how much this comment made my day! I was feeling shitty but this gave me a smile so thank you :’)

TYSM for the comment!! Honestly, Henry ( at least the version in my mind💀) is replacing William as my favourite character, he’s just such an interesting guy and there’s so much behind him…I think he’s the DILF we ALL need😌

BUT FR THOUGH those drawings are *chef kiss*, and I’ve actually never seen the artist before! I see him like that too, but he’s got more of a dad bod/burly build (like how the actor is for ‘Hank’)…Which is even sexier imo😍

CHARLIE IS A LEGEND TOO AND I LOVE THEM SO MUCH😭 I honestly can’t wait to write more because they’re father/daughter goals :3

On a real note, you should totally start writing! Fics can definitely be long and daunting, so start with drabbles or headcanons! There’s soo many prompts to get started from. Also, a lot of my approach to writing characters is just taking things from TV shows and their characters, specifically character traits!! Sometimes I’ve taken exact lines and put it in the story lmao

🤍🤍🤍

[breathplayed]

4, 6 & 8 💜

below cut to save dashboards!!

(4) what is the plot bunny you've been carrying the longest? ooouuuuhhh..... so many............ So many............ i have full fic outlines from 2017 LOL but the most viable one is a jikook au where they're both vampire hunters + jimin is Turned + jungkook swears to hunt him and be the one to kill him bc it's "what he would have wanted" some good ole lovers to enemies bullshit Once Again. every year since 2018 i've thought it'd be a fun three-part fic i could post for halloween and have never gotten around to it. lately i keep thinking it'd be good for an original novel (hello lesbians <3) but then i would have to actually worldbuild and write well which is daunting......... so back to the drawing board every time...... Maybe Some Day

(6) do you have any kind of consistent writing schedule or just hoping for the best? 💀 i always tell myself i will try to write a little bit every day, and there's been periods where that worked well enough for me, but tbh i write the best and most when i am daydreaming about a fic idea and get batshit possessed and fuel a Fixation. in those moments i am seized by insanity and sit down to write for about 4-6 hours straight in the dead of the night and manage several thousand words in one sitting. the record is 10k for DSD pt1 in like a day, and when i wrote the 90k fic that is WBIO in like 3 weeks off the high of not having any responsibilities in early lockdown (incl almost 20k in one sitting)

So kind of a mix.... When I have more free periods of the year i tell myself *trying* to stick to a schedule is good, like "ok i should go TRY to write at least a little every day, and if it doesn't work and im not feeling it today that's fine" but I can't lie, most of what I put out is the product of a feverish manic haze. Where i daydreamed too hard about a fic idea and accidentally came up with the whole plot and exact dialogue lines and need to bullet point it immediately before I forget it all. I am tormented by visions

(8) what’s your relationship with constructive criticism and feedback like? do you seek it out? how well do you take it? Constructive criticism: not exactly a fan unless I ask for it lol, just bc I think it's kinda rude to offer constructive criticism unless it's asked for? So I already automatically feel a lil cornered. I spent a year as an art major bringing paintings in for concrit sessions, I can take it, but that feels like a facilitated environment where I knew I was opening myself up to hear things so I could improve..... however, I'm not super interested in 'improving' writing beyond naturally improving by doing it.... bc it's just a hobby if that makes sense? I'm also usually super aware of how/where one of my fics is weak (example: i Know my worldbuilding and side characters and settings are not the most fleshed out, that I usually only focus on the main pairing/conflict and let everything else be a cardboard cutout, RIP) and just didn't put the work in to improve it bc I want to have Fun doing this hobby and struggling with fixing weaknesses is not super fun. Yes i am very lazy but it's ok it's fanfiction posted for free not something I'm trying to publish ukno. I'm a perfectionist in other ways! It balances out

Important to note I define constructive criticism as like "it would have been better if you did x instead" and a lot of times in fanfiction that's just people's personal tastes. I do consider everything readers say to me! Like someone said they didn't think the side characters served any point in "folie à trois" and it's just me inserting my faves, I Considered that opinion. There's been times I consider feedback and changed how I continued in a story, like in TLG people said they wanted more Jimin pov/motives and I said hmmm yeah that's valid I'll do more of that. In the aforementioned case for Folie, I considered it and decided (1) no, they're there for jk to see that Everyone is a lil fucked up and (2) it's my fic i can put my kpop girlies in it if i want lol. So sometimes 'concrit' is really just someone saying 'what you wrote wasn't to my personal taste' and not actually anything to do with the quality of the story/plot/style whatever itself.

Feedback overall tho, I do always want to hear from readers!!??! How a story made them feel especially. Tbh , TLDR, I think it really depends on the tone.... My relationship to it is on a case by case basis..... like I'm fine hearing that a character/plot frustrated someone, that they disagree with a character's actions, etc.... because that's Conflict in the story and I think good writing makes the reader Feel something..... it really just depends on what is being offered? if something is obviously mean spirited (which I have gotten) or offering concrit without asking like telling me "btw this would have read better if you didn't write like a possessed failed poet" i'm like ok well i have no plans on improving that. I am down to clarify any points of confusion on a scene/character/etc but I will not be improving. Lol

I hope that makes sense sorry I rambled as always. I took one of my adhd meds for the first time in weeks and now I am tachycardic and overexplaining myself worse than usual. Thank u for the ask <3

[turtle-steverogers]

i was thinking but do you know the unsent project? it is this website where you can write a message to your first love that you never sent to them. now imagine steve writing one (or multiple) to bucky after he came out of the ice after nat told him about it... yeah

hello hi anon this broke me and it was too perfect not to turn into a ficlet klafjldskjfalskf thank you

-

Unsent Letters

To:

Steve’s fingers freeze over the keyboard, the cursor blinking at him. It feels like it’s taunting him-- teasing him with the burden of choking out a name. What should he even say? The sender is anonymous, but how many people are named Bucky out there? Would anyone even care?

To: Bu

Steve huffs and backspaces, his hands trembling as he curls them into fists. He isn’t sure what provoked Natasha to tell him about this website. It’s a cruel tease to everything he wishes he could say-- wished he could say before Bucky slipped through his fingers. And now his only option is yelling into an abyss. The text box is black and daunting. He turns it yellow. No, too happy. Green. Yes, that’s fine. Bucky’s favorite color was always green.

His gaze wanders away from the screen of his hefty Dell laptop and out the window of his apartment. DC’s low rising buildings span out in front of him. His gut aches; he misses New York already. But he knows being there would only mangle his soul further, seeing his already alien home torn to shreds by literal space whales. He huffs, thinking of Bucky’s comics. His stories came to life after all. Bucky would have probably vibrated out of his skin if he knew there was other life out there.

To: My astronaut

How’s space treating you? It’s treating me pretty badly, if I’m being honest. If only you could see what it’s done to Brooklyn. I think you’d be pretty mad at it if you knew…

Steve hesitates, reading back over what he’s typed. It’s stupid as hell, and he cringes, but he doesn’t backspace. His fingers find the keys again.

I miss you something awful. I don’t think that even encompasses how much I’m hurting without you. I feel so lost right now-- space is much bigger and scarier than you’d think. I know you’d love it. I wish you could see bits of it, but god, I just want to go home. I want you to come home.

Steve freezes again and finds the screen blurry where tears have welled in his eyes. His jaw clenches as he pictures the way Bucky would laugh at him-- teasing him for his dramatics and ruffling his hair. He wishes he could be there now, rolling his eyes and nudging Steve’s shoulder.

“What’re you upsetting yourself for?” He’d say, gently closing the laptop and coaxing Steve into his arms. “I’m right here, pal.”

And if Steve closes his eyes, he can almost feel Bucky’s warmth enveloping him. But he’s not there. He’s dead, and Steve’s a goddamn ghost, drifting through a future that doesn’t know him.

He opens his eyes and stares at the text box, then clicks submit.

The screen loads, and his message is gone, his pain forever documented in the abyss.

-

For someone who fought aliens two weeks after waking up from his impromptu seventy year sleep, Steve’s life is pretty monotonous. He contemplates this unfortunate fact as he stands in front of his toaster, hair sticking up on the back of his head as he nurses a mug of coffee and waits for his toast to pop.

It’s 5:45 in the morning and he tries to remember a time when he didn’t rise this early. Before the war, perhaps. Though, he’s always been a bit of an early bird. His home life was sporadic to put it lightly and he’d learned from an early age that the sooner he was awake, the better it was for everyone. Vigilance is not a new concept for Steve.

He hasn’t always stayed up late, though. That’s certainly new, and he feels this fact viscerally as he catches sight of his reflection in the microwave. There are bags under his eyes that will be gone by mid-morning thanks to the serum. Dermatologists hate him, Natasha says. Steve thinks he’s pretty lucky that the serum more or less equipped him with a built-in anti-aging agent. His father had started balding by thirty.

His toast pops and he starts a little, blinking blearily at the slightly burnt bread as he pulls it out of the toaster with his thumb and forefinger. He spreads on the same raspberry jam and butter that he uses every morning and tries not to think of how bland it tastes in his mouth as he eats it standing at the counter. Another routine.

He tries not to look at last night’s dishes in the sink as he stacks his plate and silverware on top and doesn’t bother sorting out his hair before pulling on his sneakers and slipping out of his apartment. The sun hasn’t quite risen yet, only the beginning tendrils of light sneaking over the low tops of the DC buildings, and Steve vaguely regrets not grabbing a sweatshirt before he left. It’s not quite Summer yet and the mornings could still get pretty cool.

He’s about to take off down the street when he freezes. Natasha is sitting on the steps of his complex, wearing a pair of pink tinted sunglasses and tossing up and down the keys to her car. Steve blinks, rubs his eyes, then blinks again. Nope. She’s still there.

“Nat?”

Natasha looks up at him and smiles. “Hello.”

Steve shifts, uncomfortable. “Hi. You need something? Is there a mission?”

“No,” Natasha says lightly, standing. “You’re not running this morning, though. Come on, I’m taking you to Starbucks.”

“What?”

“Starbucks. You’re going to try it.”

“I don’t want--”

“Steve, you do the same thing every day. Step out of your comfort zone a little.”

Steve frowns, but Natasha’s right-- he really doesn’t ever stray from his routine.

“Fine,” he says, and twenty minutes later, they’re strolling into the nearest Starbucks.

He’s only been in one before, and that was to use the restroom while on a run. He’d bought a water bottle in an attempt to not be rude and use their facilities without giving them any business, but he hadn’t even considered the expansive menu. All the fancy names were too daunting.

They’re just as daunting now as he stares up at the board, heart hammering out of his chest as he’s faced with indecision. Natasha takes one look at his face, and reaches out to squeeze his arm.

“I’ll order something for you,” she says. “What kind of coffee do you like?”

Steve gives her a pained look. “Um… just coffee?”

Natasha quirks a smile and orders him something called a caramel macchiato. He’ll take it, he guesses.

The drink is too damn sweet and sugary and he almost gags. Still, he was always told to finish what he was given, so he drinks the whole thing.

-

To: Mr. Sweet Tooth

You’d fucking love it here. Everything is packed with sugar and sweetness-- enough to make even my teeth rot. I had something called a caramel macchiato today and it tasted like someone took your ma’s caramels and condensed them into a cup. I couldn’t stand it, but I know if you were here, you’d want at least twelve. I hope you’re enjoying all the sweets you can up in space.

Love, Mr. Boring

-

Steve’s fingers are stiff and frozen as he works at the straps of his stealth suit. The tangy taste of saltwater still sits heavy on his tongue, and he clenches his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering too harshly as he finally peels off his suit. It’s not much better, being naked, but at least the wet fabric isn’t clinging to him anymore.

The mission had been pretty straightforward until some alien tech managed to blast the quinjet to kingdom come, and they all free-fell straight into the freezing Atlantic.

Steve had managed to keep it together as they took down the goddamn mad scientist that fucked them over, but now that he’s home and alone, he can feel the adrenaline crashing.

He’s shaking from more than just the cold as he draws himself a warm bath, and he pulls his knees up to his chest, trying to breathe through the panic that wants to engulf his entire being.

He loses time for a bit, and comes back to himself lying in his bed, burrowed under several thick layers. He feels so cold, down to his very soul-- a chill that he can never seem to truly shake, even when he’s warm.

Not for the first time, he wishes Bucky were there to hold him. He slips off to sleep thinking old, comforting thoughts of Bucky rubbing his hands between his own, coaxing his head under his chin to engulf him in that natural warmth of his. He always was a fucking furnace.

But when Steve wakes an hour later, shaking hard enough to move the bed with the force of the nightmare he’d dropped into, Bucky is not there to soothe away the ice.

-

To: JB

im so cold and i cant breathe ever and nothing feels right. I dont know what to do, u were always the problem solver between us and i cant think straight right now and i just want you here please. I cant do this anymore, im so tired please come back. I need you please

-

The Winter Soldier file sits in front of Steve-- a horrifying nightmare wrapped up in a neat brown folder. Residual nausea swirls around in his gut as he comes down from the horrible high of reading through the contents. His hands shake where they grasp the thick paper. His heart clenches hard in his chest.

Bucky is alive. Bucky is alive, and he’s been unmade.

Steve doesn’t know where he is-- if he’s escaped, or if Hydra found him again. It’s been three weeks now since the helicarriers, and he’s only just gotten the courage to sit down and wade through the shit that is Bucky’s reality.

He just hopes he’s safe. God, he hopes.

Sam says he’ll help him look, and Steve needs to know he’s at least out of danger, but he barely knows where to start.

And he’s sorry. He’s so fucking sorry.

Blinking out of his reverie, Steve looks at his laptop. He feels strange and detached as he reaches for it and logs in.

To: Bucky

And yes, that feels right. He should use his name, since he suspects no one has for a long, long time.

I’m so sorry for what happened to you. I’m sorry that you’ve been hurting so quietly for so long. I understand if you’re not ready to come home-- I understand if you never are. I just hope that you know that there will always be a place with me that is safe. I love you so much and I’m here, forever and always.

Love, Steve.

He’s not naive. He knows it would be dangerous to submit that particular message, so he doesn’t. But that’s okay. That one’s just for him-- for them.

-

“Steve? What is the… Unsent Project?”

Steve frowns and pokes his head out of the kitchen. Bucky is sitting on the couch in the living room, using his laptop, because his own is having storage issues.

Bucky looks at him. “It’s one of your saved tabs. What is it?”

And oh, fuck. Steve had forgotten to remove that from his homepage-- it really wasn’t needed anymore. He blushes all the way to his ears.

“Oh, it’s-- nothing. Not anything important--”

But Bucky has already clicked on the tab.

“The Unsent Project,” he reads aloud. “A collection of unsent text messages to… first… loves…”

He trails off as he processes what he’s looking at, and Steve can’t quite read his expression when he looks at him again. His eyebrows are furrowed, and he’s looking at Steve like he’s some sort of kicked puppy. Steve shifts, uncomfortable.

“Were you sending me… messages? While I was dead?”

Steve swallows. “Um…” and now that Bucky says it out loud, it really does sound quite sad. He shrugs. “It’s Natasha’s fault?”

Bucky shakes his head, clicking on the search bar. He starts to type his name, but Steve shakes his head.

“I didn’t use your name.”

“Oh,” Bucky says, then frowns at him again. “What did you use?”

Steve blushes harder, sitting next to Bucky and taking the laptop from him.

“Um…” he hesitates, then types what he was sure he used as his first alias.

My astronaut

The screen buffers and loads, then fifty or so messages pop up. Steve scrolls down-- it doesn’t take long to find his.

They’re both quiet as they read, and Steve cringes. Jeez, he really had been pretty dramatic. Next to him, Bucky makes a hurt noise.

“Oh, honey,” he murmurs, taking the laptop back from Steve. He reads the message again, then once more, and reaches out for Steve. “Aw, I’m here now.”

Steve huffs, embarrassed. “I know,” he says. “That was way back, like, three weeks after I woke up.”

Bucky stills. “You fought aliens three weeks after you woke up?”

“... More like two.”

Bucky hums. “Are there others?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, reaching out to type on Bucky’s lap, because Bucky is holding him now and he’s quite reluctant to move. He thinks for a moment, then types in the next one he remembers.

Mr. Sweet Tooth

Bucky laughs, and Steve finds himself smiling.

“I find this funny,” Bucky says. “Because caramel macchiatos are definitely one of my favorites now.”

Steve laughs, too, and butts his head against Bucky’s shoulder.

“If only I could tell that to myself back then-- he’d be thrilled.”

“I’m sure,” Bucky says. “Any more?”

Steve hesitates, thinking of the one he’d sent after that nightmare-- when he was low and hurting. Incoherent. He isn’t sure he wants Bucky to see that particular side of his soul, but Bucky has been more than generous in letting him in on his pains nowaday, and it’s not like Bucky hasn’t witnessed Steve’s own current nightmares.

He bites his lip and types in JB. That seems to yield a lot more results, and it takes a while for Steve to find the message.

He hides his face in Bucky’s neck as he reads. Bucky’s arms gradually tighten around him, and a moment later, he feels him kiss the top of his head.

“Honey, I hate that you were hurting so bad,” Bucky mutters against his hair.

Steve shrugs. “We both were,” he says, and it’s true. There’s something to be said about the guilt they both feel for not being able to save the other person at their lowest, but life hasn’t been kind to them. The vitriol, Steve thinks, should be directed at the goddamn universe for keeping them apart, not themselves for fucking dying. They’re working on it.

Bucky’s quiet for a long time. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he says. “Is that it?”

Steve shakes his head. “But I never sent the last one.”

“Why not?”

“I wrote it after DC.”

He feels Bucky squeeze him again, and he squeezes back.

“Oh.”

“I just-- I wanted you to know that you didn’t have to come home. That I just wanted you to be safe; needed to know you were safe, but it was up to you. I just needed you to know I was here, if you needed me.”

Bucky pulls back then and cups his face, kissing him soundly. Steve’s surprised for only a moment before he’s kissing back.

“I did know that,” Bucky says against his lips. “I needed time-- I was lost-- but the first thing I knew when I remembered who you were was that you were a safe person, because you’d never force me anywhere.”

Steve kisses him again, then pulls him into a hug. “I’m glad you knew that.” It’s warm, where their chests meet, and Bucky is solid beneath him. Real. He isn’t speaking into an abyss anymore.

-

There’s a sticky note on Bucky’s pillow next to his head when he wakes up the next morning. Steve’s side of the bed is already vacant, and he can’t hear him downstairs. He must have already left for a run.

Propping himself on an elbow, Bucky plucks up the sticky note.

To: My Bucky

Thank you for choosing me to be your home, and thank you forever, for being mine.

I love you with everything I have.

Love, your Steve

Bucky smiles, heart light as he folds the notes. He’ll keep that one with him, he thinks. A little bit of home to bring wherever he goes.

-

anyway yeah fslkjflaskjfls i-- ouch. anything to do with letters w these two hurts me immensely

[blu-joons]

Stay The Night ~ Im Changkyun

“I should get going,” you announced as you watched the credits roll on the film the two of you had spent the past two hours curled up on the couch watching. As you went to sit up, Changkyun’s strong arms kept you down, holding you tightly into his chest.

“Don’t go,” he whispered into your ear, pressing several soft kisses underneath your lobe.

Your head shook, it was getting late, and you had the early shift tomorrow to top off your day. Before it got any darker, you were keen to get home and get as much rest as you could.

“I have to,” you frowned, but still Changkyun held on, tightening his grip each time you tried to wriggle away. “If I stay any longer then I’m not going to be able to get much sleep for work tomorrow.”

“But wouldn’t you rather spend it with me?” He questioned.

Your head turned to look down at him still laid out on the sofa, noticing the mischievous grin on his face. A light sigh came from you of confliction, his eyes were drawing you in, no matter how hard your head was trying to tell you to go.

“Stay the night,” he whispered, smiling weakly, “we can get to bed now, I’ll even drive you to work in the morning, what do you say?”

His proposition was tempting, but a night with Changkyun was something that you’d never done before. You always ended up staying until the early hours and making your way home anxiously, but that was always more hassle than it needed to be.

“Well, I wouldn’t say no to spending the night,” you blushed, watching as Changkyun’s smile instantly grew louder, pulling you back down against his chest as you finally caved against his strength.

His lips pressed to the top of your head, “we can head straight to my room if you want and get some rest. I’m sure there’s a spare shirt lying around of mine that you can sleep in.”

“Are you sure that’s alright?” You asked timidly.

His head nodded, chuckling at how shy you had become, “of course, it is. There’s no need to be so worried, you’ve been here several times before.”

Whilst you knew the dorm like the back of your hand, treating the place like it was your own for the night was a daunting prospect for you, which Changkyun quickly realised.

“If you��d rather go home still, I’d understand,” he spoke up when he noticed your eyes nervously staring in the direction of his room.

Your head shook, smiling weakly, “no, I’m happy being here, I don’t know why it feels a little strange to be honest.”

“Your first night staying here is a big deal,” he noted, sitting the two of you up on the sofa, “but we’ll just treat it like any normal night, except for the fact when you fall asleep, I don’t have to wake you up and deal with you shouting at me, I can just carry on letting you sleep.”

“I do not shout!” You quickly protested, only to quickly back down when Changkyun sternly looked back at you. “Alright, maybe I do a bit.”

“At least that’s one thing I won’t have to deal with anymore now you’re staying.”

---

Masterlist

[cursestothemoon]

hi bby can you make an hc where fred is dating an adrenaline junkie?

oOoOoOoOoO

this is exciting 

alright so he’d probably see you doing the stupidest

craziest

things around hogwarts and would immediately be intrigued

and lets say youre muggleborn or half blood so you have the best of both worlds

if you played quidditch i can see you doing the most intense things to make sure your team wins

you were just a ball of energy and you liked the feeling of just constantly being pumped

he was both insanely attracted to you and slightly afraid because really

no one has ever out shined him and george in the intensity category

but you guys would become friends

y'all were a mess together oh my god

McGonagall had probably narrowly avoided at least a dozen heart attacks because of you two

when you guys start dating it gets worse

introducing him to bungee jumping

george would politely decline the invite

but fred was all for it 

how cute 

fOR ONE OF YOUR BIRTHDAYS YOU WOULD INSIST ON GOING SKY DIVING

it becomes a bit of a regular thing for you guys to do 

would propose like that

in the sky

in free fall

alright 

so you’d literally be up for anything

also open to learning anything 

dUDE IF YOU WERE A SKATER

LIKE MAJOR SKATER

IM TALKING LITERAL X GAMES COMPETITOR 

YOU ON THE VERT RAMP AND HE’S JUST AMAZED BECAUSE THE ONE THING THAT REALLY GETS HIM NERVOUS IS DOING TRICKS ON A VERT RAMP

don't get me wrong he’s fairly good at skating and can do a few tricks on flat ground

but the ramp

it just always seemed so daunting to him

iF YOU WERE A SNOWBOARDER

oh my god you're on x games mode

he would find that so hot

would also find waiting at the bottom of a mountain for you to come down extremely nerve wracking

ok lets say you are 

~american~

and you surf

again

he finds it incredibly hot

tries to learn

his pasty thighs might get burned but its fine

yeah he’d honestly be up for anything that you do and he loves doing it with you because you always have this giant smile on your face and he loves seeing you so happy

you ROCK CLIMB

that’s where he draws the line

hes a bit iffy on climbing with gear as it is but when you suggest free climbing

yeah its a no from him

but he’ll stand at the bottom of a rock slab and watch you

will have his wand with him just incase

iM CRYING NOT YOU FREE CLIMBING THE HOGWARTS OUTSIDE WALLS TO GET TO CLASS ON TIME

MCGONAGALLS FACE WHEN YOU KNOCK ON HER WINDOW SO SHE CAN LET YOU IN

FRED WOULDN’T BE ABLE TO STOP LAUGHING FOR THE NEXT WEEKS

he’d also be very worried because wHY WOULD YOU DO THAT

just be late

its fine

you guys would constantly try to out do each other 

but you’d usually end up out doing him because you just really love the thrill 

aH how cute :)))

[sonybees]

me rewatching dead poets society instead of doing my assignments

i’m not sure if anyone would even care about this but i am really bored soo here we go

neil looks so down when he’s with his father stopdjejdkfjnr

poor todd got forced to stand up i would get pissed eujehd

the best preparatory school? lmfao ok.

KEATING YAY

THE PRESSURE THAT TODD HAS TO GO THROUGH I CAN SEE IT IN HIS EYES HE DOES NOT WANT THIS WTF

poor kids being forced to go there

LMFAO SPAZ

i still don’t know what a stiff means is that even what he said?

OOPS LMFAO

attractive pieces of sht leaning on a door frame help

“keen.” HA

YESSIR USJSJSJ

why does meeks kind of sound like me when i meet someone new

“he flatters me.” LOLSJNDKSHSJJSKSJDC

“i thought you’d gOne.”

freaking hell stfu tom

i’ve always thought this who calls their father “sir” ???

THE LOOK CHARLIE AND KNOX SHARE HDNEJDJF

“BRAIN DAMAGE” HSMEJD

they all look so confused like same

BRO SPAZ LMFAO

their smiles are so cute awwjdnejsnjd

POOR PITTS SHJWJS

MEEKS SMILE WHEN HE SAID AN UNFORTUNATE NAME

DING

“turn cold and die.” damn that took a turn fast

caaaaaarpeeeee dieeeeeem @siezethedaypoets (sorry! sjjejs)

“that means you daLtoN” the way he says it lfmaosjjd

i thought he was gonna do history he pulled out his chem book dhjshdbd

take a breath knox damn

them just not at all understanding math is a mood

too bad :/

AWW THE WXCITEMENT IN PITTS AND MEEKS EYES

“very funny, dalton.” hehehhehehejjdjdjfjrkdn ccmv mf

AWW MEEKS

CHARLIE WTF YOU DRAWING

RIP SHRED TEAR

RIP RIP RIP

oh shit

ahh one of my fav scenes, charlie basically eating that ball of paper

i hate looking at this it’s so awkward like hello mr. mccallister

what will your verse be?

THE MASHED POTATOS

“no, keating.” LMFAO YES GO KEATING

is that stick? on the end of the table?

“don’t come please.”

“no shIt, sherlock.” HA I LOVE THIS GUY

“pittsie, cmon!” “his grades are hurting, charlie.” i literally just love this conversation

“i’ll try anything once.” “except sex!” “ha ha ha.” HSJWJJSND ANOTHER ONE OF MY FAV CONVOS

“WOMEN SWOON HA HA HA” THE EVIL LAUGH WTF SHEJJS

“CHARLIE @tellmewhytheyswoon” SORRY I HAD TO LMFAO

LMFAO SHUT UP WILL YOU

this is so chaotic and messy damn

the treatshsjdj

they’re loud asf

i wonder who’s who while they were running with the hoods

OH CRAP THE SUN IS OUT WHAT that isn’t in the movie sorry

I LOVE MEEKS AND CHARLIE’S RELATIONSHIP SM

i could never take note of the minutes when something happens how will he do that

YESSIR PART TWO

HOW DID PITTS TAKE THE OTHER HALF SO FAST

EVEN TODD KNOWS CAMERONS STORY LMFAO

LMFOA KNOX IS STARING AT THE PICTURE

MEEKS HOOO THEN I SAW THE CONGO CREEPING THROUGH THE BLACK

THE LITTLE BOING NOISE LMFAO WHAT IS THAT

“are you a man or an amoeba?” i’m sorry lol what the hell do you mean sjdjiend

TO WOO WOMEN

“why do i stand up here? anybody?” “@tofeeltaller” HA I LOVE DOING THIS IM SORRY

i would cry if i found out that i had to make a poem AND read it aloud in front of everyone

poor todd thougsjwhidfj

i wanna marry todd. lmfao where did that come from

RADIO FREE AMERICA

AWW THEM DANCING STFU THIS IS SO CUTE

i can’t hear the audio hellloooooojdjwksbdken

AWW we got some anderperry content here

lol i wanna wear their sweaters

:/// TODD

“no.” “no? what do you mean no?” “no.” *smirks* HAJDJDJWKNS

DONT BE IMMATURE

IDK WHERE TF THE INSTRUMENTS CAME FROM BUT I LOVE IT

the birds are so pretty

nice outfit knox

STOP STARING DUDE YOU’RE MAKING IT TOO OBVIOUS CMON

“sounds to me like you’re daunted.” JSJS

TO INDEED BE A GOD

MEEKS AND PITTS WOTH THEIR HEADPHONES ON AWW

“PUCK YOU” LMFAOAJSJJDJ

i bet todd’s poem is actually great

“the cat sat on the mat.” DNDIDHJDJDJDHS i love how keating still said it wasn’t all bad though

BRO DAMN DONT CALL TODD AND I OUT LIKE THAT

lmfao todd’s just hating every second of this

“sweaty toothed madman” i can see that too whatsbjdjdjsn

THIS IS BETTER THAN ANY POEM I EVER TRIED TO WRITE GREAT JOB TODD

NEIL IS AMAZED

when keating pushed their foreheads together wtf aww father son love typa thing that’s so cutejjedujsidj

LMFOA NO KNOX TRIPPED

YAYY GOAL

wtf this seems so fun

“your parents collect pipes? oh that’s really interesting.” LFMAOOAJSJD I LOVE PITTS

poetrusic by charlie dalton

laughing crying mumbling tumbling

DAMN HES GOOD

the little kind of aggressive hair ruffle awwjendn

OOO VOCABULARY

LMFAO THE LITTLE CHUCKLE KNOX DOES

AWW THEYRE ALL SO HAPPY FOR KNOX

THE SCARFSJJD

“exercising my right not to walk.” smartass

it’s todd’s birthday and no one greeted him excpet neil stfukqbxqbcdbkrw

the first unmanned flying desk set yes yes

THEY ALL JUST STOOD UP LMFAO

merlin knox you are DRUNK

PLEASE DONT ISTG KNOX

THATS NOT WHAT HE MEANT BY CARPE DIEM

well you’re in deep trouble now

“it’s God. he says we should have girls at welton.” as much as i love this scene what the hell were you thinking my man

i don’t get how this was legal back then. wtf is it gonna do? you’re just hurting the kids bro

the pain in his eyes stop

“@dangitneil the name’s nuwanda.” pain brokqdb jdjf

CRAP CRAP CRAP MR PERRY GET OUT

the pic of keating’s wife/gf aww

neil you’re gonna make me cry stop

that is so odd why are their lockers like connected from the left side isn’t it usually from the right?

JSKSIJDEIUWKDRUEJSJX CHRIS IS SO DONE NODKDMD

that piece of bread

THIS GUY JUST SHOVED A KID CMON KNOX

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN NOTHING?”

AWW WHEN TODD MESSED UO CAMERONS HAIR

CHARLIE LMFAO I MENA NUWANDA

KNOX IS DONE W THEM TOO

chris is gorgeous omg

the snow in her hair stop marry me

“you are SO infuriating”

i hate how i’m just completely forgetting what’s gonna happen in like 10 minutes

PUCK

LMFAOTHEM HOLDING DOWN CHARLIE

“he’s really good.” AW YES HE IS FUCSHWMDMD

wait the holding hands is kinda cute thoughsjdnd

bro mr perry is making me want to kill someone maybe him

NEIL’S SMILE IMMEDIATELY WENT AWAY IHATE YOU TOM

damnit you idiot i hate you sm let your son live you bastard

sigh sigh sigh sigh sigh sobs sobs sobs

merlin neil

IM JUST NOT GONNA THINK ABOUT THIS YK

HA HA HA NOT CRYING

SIGHS AGAIN

DEAR LORD

NO TODD IS GONNA MAKE ME CRY TOO STOP

THEY ALL SEEM LIKE THEYRE IN SHOCK NO

damn everything

SIGH WHY DIDNT I STOP WATCHING? IDFK

“it’s beautiful.” NOFNEJWGHSGEMWGE NEED WH

KEATING NO

lol lol lol lol lol lol lol lol lol lol lol lol lol

charlie just sitting down not singing i hate this

i probably should’ve just stopped watching yk but i didn’t but that’s okay i think

i got so pissed the first time they said that they were gonna ask questions like??? did mr perry did no at all realize that it was his fault?

sigh cameron you aren’t always that bad but in this scene i loathe you

NO RICHARD

DAMNIT YOU MADE TODD SNAP

AND CHARLIE SNAPPED TOO YOU JUST MESSED UP TOO MUCH MAN

i hate how it went from a happy dark academia movie to this cmon

todd’s dad is so mean shut up he was just asking a question

it feels so sad in the room i hate it

the empty chairs pls no

keating’s little chuckle man i miss their smiles

BRO SROP THEY LOOK SO SAD TODD ISTG

*GASP OF HAPPINESS IN THE MIDDLE OF CRYING* HUHUHUH

TODD MEEKS STICK SPAZ PITTS KNOX GEORGE? HA I LOVE YALL

and we’re done. damn okay

thanks for reading ig fjdbshsbjwhdjsj

anyways i’m tired goodnight or morning or wtvr thanks! and sorry <3

[mozukumi]

sorry for the two asks but i saw that guy was the youngest then i remembered his backstory... and omg, how is he related to citron this time?? is his arc gonna be like act 5 masumi? :0 AND TAICHI THE GODZA ACTOR??? AM I THINKING CORRECTLY?? IS HE THE GODZA TOP IN THIS AU???

also... kumon finding his brother at mankai when they thought he was dead... WGGFNFJDBSJF AND JUZA LOOKING AFTER SAKYO TO MAKE SURE HE DOESN'T GO DOWN THE SAME PATH AS HE DID also does sakyo still meet azami or not :0? because i find it pretty funny to think that azami is the dad this time instead of sakyo

- 🌸

ANON AS ALWAYS... i give your asks a big ol chefs kiss! no need to apologize, it means a lot to me that you care so much!

As always, I cannot stop talking abt this AU, so it's under the cut. For those who don't know what mAnkAi swAp is (link to tag), it's an age and role swap AU for A3!

IM ALSO VERY GLAD THAT YOU NOTICED GUY WAS THE YOUNGEST BC IT MAKES ME. Man. I get emo.

Guy - So his basic attitude and demeanor is relatively similar to canon, actually! He still believes himself to be an android, and thinks his only purpose in life is to serve Citron.

The differences really shine when it comes to his interactions with Citron, though. Whereas in canon Guy is implied to be like, around the same age as Azuma - so definitely an older figure in his life. But here? Citron and Guy have the same age difference and him and Tangerine. He is distinctly and noticeably young in ways that Citron will never be able to avoid thinking about.

Of course, Citron still teases Guy. That is a classic sibling dynamic, after all. But his approach is much MUCH softer then in canon. [sidenote: I always forget if um, it's canon that the reason Citron always tried to rile Guy up was to try and get him to feel his emotions again, or if that was just something I made up. Either way, that's how I view Citrons POV in canon, and it's a lens that colors my approach to this AU.]

After Act 8 completes, Guy realizes that he has this brand new world (mankai stage voice: BRAND NEW WOOORLD) to explore, this whole new life... it's definitely a daunting task for him. But thankfully, he has all of Mankai to help him navigate it.

I hadn't actually considered drawing parallels to act 5 Masumi before, but I think that makes a ton of sense anon!!

As for Godza, this ask made me realize um. An assumption I had made regarding Godza that has some big implications in this AU: my vague memory of it was that Godza was only formed after Mankai had disbanded. This ask made me realize that I'm not sure if that's the case? I plan to do a reread soon to try and clarify this, but I'm glad you asked bc it got me thinking abt it!

And Taichi isn't currently involved in Godza in this AU - actually, the vague idea I've been floating is that Omi is the Godza traitor. We know he just found out about Nachi's dream of becoming an actor when he was 20, and he's 21 in this AU. So he joined Godza when it was first formed, just after he learned of Nachi's dream, but he never got any big roles. Reni offered him the chance to be the spy, and he told himself that he had already spent a year of his life doing this, and that he shouldn't half-ass fulfilling Nachi's dream. He wanted to be a star actor. So Omi had to see this through.

Taichi, whose plot thread for this AU that I've been pitching is 'he was involved in the scandal that defamed Tenma' (SIDENOTE: the reason famed actor Tenma Sumeragi joins the inky dinky Mankai Company in this AU is that he was involved in a major scandal that ruined his reputation in the TV community. what exactly this scandal was hasn't been decided, but Tenma didn't actually do anything wrong. He just got caught up in the wrong place at the wrong time, or perhaps he took the fall to cover for somebody else.) And so when he realizes what Omi is doing, he can't bring himself to speak up, because he can relate.

AND MAN YEAH... Kumon doesn't actually think Juza is dead, though - they've been getting money transfers from him every month, so they know he's alive, he just. Refuses to show himself. (How exactly Muku comes into this equation I'm not sure. Much to think about.)

And I mentioned this in the previous ask, but Azami does become a father figure for Sakyo, yes! Even though he won't let Sakyo join the yakuza, Sakyo is a persistent bugger, so he keeps trying to ask. And so eventually Azami is like "I'm not letting you join my yakuza you brat. Do you want to come in for some tea tho."

as always, anon.... ty for caring so much.

[hero-boy]

the duality of a storm.

so! this is not the first work im posting here but it has been a long while since i posted original work here! i'd suggest listening to Sweater Weather by The Neighbourhood, because the song was the main source of inspiration and the suppressed emotions that Deserves its Spot At The Basement.

i was meaning to write from Adler's perspective and i'm not quite sure if i matched his character right but here goes nothing :>

reader is female; this was originally supposed to be an interaction between my oc and Adler.

word count: 850~

warnings: light angst, mentions of past manipulation

 ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎

‎‎‎‎the duality of a storm ;

It was her little smirk which greeted him first, followed by the usual drawl. "I thought you hated beaches."

‎‎‎‎‎

‎

‎‎

"I do." Adler scoffed softly, watching the flicker of flames from his worn out zippo, before the familiar burnt taste and smell filled his senses, eyes hazed momentarily by the thick cloud of cigarette smoke which expelled from his lips.

‎

The smirk persisted upon hearing his answer, though really it resembled more of a quirk, a smile than a smug curl of lips.

‎

"Then? What has brought you here, soldat?"

"You know the answer."

‎

He pried the thin roll from his chapped, scarred lips. Eyes warily surveying his companion for any change in expression but drawing a blank conclusion. Unreadable; amiable, yet there was just something he could not lay a finger on. She merely chuckled, piercing green eyes fixated on his. As if reading him back.

‎

"Da, soldat. That I do."

‎

Silence.

‎

"How's the arm?"

‎

"Getting better."

‎

"Mhm."

‎

She smiled, he noticed through the peripherals of the dark filter of his shades; the sad type that always lingered whenever he saw it. The unmistakable, piercing stab of guilt whenever his eyes fleeted to her eyes during those smiles was nearly suffocating. Again, it was not a terrible emotion to feel in their relationship, neither was it ever her fault for the scars that she so tried to mask and conceal away. But the scars were crystal clear evidences of his handiwork; his name marked on every inch of the tainted soul she called her own. Like an intrusion, trespassing, violation of a soul to another's.

‎

He felt that lump in his throat. Adam's apple quivering as he swallowed spit in attempt to coax the knotted lump down. The dryness of the smoke served to constrict his throat further.

‎

There was the urge. The impending tide of self-disgust, mingled with the burning curiosity, to find out why on Earth she continued smiling at him. Why she chuckled at his words. Why she stood there without a flinch as he stood closer to her by a fraction of an inch each day, despite his unsubtle attempts (to speak, to chat), which all backfired by the last-minute hesitation that braked his whole being before a twelve car pile-up occurred.

‎

He knew he didn't deserve where he stood now.

‎

Yet it was the selfishness in man to yearn.

‎

Greed.

‎

The greed of a man.

‎

Her chuckle (gods, that light, giddying sound) blurred the lines between thoughts and reality. "I didn't think you'd sulk just because you're at a beach..."

‎

And the more he stared back at those piercing icy green eyes, as much as he hated to admit it, it calmed. The rise of emotions falling like how an ocean would calm upon the end of a superficial storm. The roaring of blood in his ears akin raging winds nestling down and taming to a steady (yet still, rather fast paced) beat of his heart.

‎

Calm. Tamed.

‎

Tamed. A funny word to describe their queer little relationship. Was he not once considered her handler? The man who had held the reins, and her who came in like a wild animal, thrashing and resisting power. He who was called successful for the little science project he so, so inhumanely started without much thought, the project that chipped away at the rock bottom of his own conscientious.

‎

And now here she was. Standing before him as he found himself permitting to fall, into the whirlwind that grounded his mind in that very moment, knowing fully well she was the cause of it all. His dearest ruiner, as he was hers. Yet insanity, mania, delusions of his maddening, stifling conscientious only fell silent, tamed under her soft yet resonant presence.

‎

He had his suspicions. But it was only then when the realisation dawned upon his mind. Grimly, like a daunting truth. Daunting. The type of daunting that sprung from the depths of anxiety; from the uncertainty of not knowing what was to come in the future. The jittery type, where hands felt weak from each and every encounter, not quite knowing where to place them. Adler didn't quite like not knowing. He didn't like uncertainty. Uncertainty, to a man like him, meant the risks and dangers that were hiding right under his nose with only their sly, dirty presence thrumming alongside each undertone. Yet...

‎

"...At least the wind's nice."

‎

Her joking, teasing tone as her words came to a halt.

‎

He watched her, and the little unwavering smirk of hers. Hand falling limp beside him, dropping the cigarette, stubbing it out. It felt intrusive, in this very situation. It wasn't quite right. Head tilted at an angle, watching the gentle roll of waves against the dull beige sand and greying skies. A slight pause, before his answer came:

‎

"The wind's nice."

‎

He had never realised how beautiful the sight was.

‎

‎

a/n: hope you enjoyed it ! a more touchy-feely than actual action type of story 😶

[re1d]

magic tricks and mini profilers | spencer reid

→ summary: spencer loves kids. kids love spencer. (and maybe you love spencer, too.) → warnings: mentions of weapons, but other than that, just cute kids and fluff → word count: 2.2k → a/n: based on no.38 ; “you’re cute when you try not to blush.” // SIKE it’s not different lifetime pt.2 ,, merely the calm before the storm ,, IM JK // i rly enjoyed writing this!! sorry it took me so long to complete your request!!

Wiping his sweaty hands on his slacks, Spencer bounces up and down on the balls of his feet outside of your classroom. JJ stands beside him, glancing over at her colleague with quizzical eyes. The closed door in front of him is more daunting than he would like to admit. “I’m nervous,” he confesses to no one in particular, “what if the kids don’t like me?”

“Spence, kids always love you. Just think of it as talking to a roomful of Henry and Michaels.” JJ’s assurance makes him feel just a bit better. Confidence surges through his veins only to be ripped away once his gaze shifts to yours on the other side of the piece of wood. You. You are the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Purple fabric cascades down your body, the looseness of the romper complementing your figure perfectly. However, Spencer doesn’t focus on your body, because his eyes are trained on your smile. It suits you, and almost instantaneously, he finds himself grinning as well.

Reaching towards JJ first, you laugh as she makes a quip that Spencer doesn’t process. Truthfully, he’s too enamored with the light that shines in your eyes to notice anything but. When you pivot towards him, your outstreched hand is like a beacon that beckons him forwards, and before JJ can mention that he doesn’t shake, your palms have already met. If spark could fly, they would be soaring. A rush of heat courses through Spencer, and after introducing himself, his gaze flicks down to the floor.

“It’s nice to meet you both. I guess normally I’m called Miss [Y/L/N], but you can call me [Y/N].” Your giggle is music to Spencer’s ears, “I’m glad that someone isn’t afraid to educate kids on the dangers of the world. It seems like all the ‘stranger danger’ talks that used to come to my schools have slowly disappeared. But, with that being said—these guys are stoked to meet some real FBI agents, so thank you for taking time out of your day to come visit!”

JJ offers you a motherly smile, evidently sensing the nerves threatening to jump out of your throat. “Really, [Y/N], it’s our pleasure. I’d take meeting with kids over looking at crimes scenes any day, trust me.” Alongside her, Spencer nods, his eyes glistening with puppy-like enthusiam. Glancing around your form, he spots the kids restlessly seated on the rainbow block carpet. Some of them are calm and collected, others are pulling at hair and teasing their classmates. It causes yet another grin to erupt on his face.

“Do you like kids, Dr. Reid?” Your inquiry startles him from his base level analysis, and he begins to stumble over his words.

“I-I, uh, well ... you-you could say that, I guess.”

“Good,” you tease, a playful smirk edging itself onto your lips, “because you know they sense fear. If you think about it, sometimes kids are better profilers than adults. I like to believe it’s because children aren’t as scared to admit their mistakes, but then again, there’s always except—.” A shrill screech interrupts your rambling, causing you to whip your head around to face your class. “Jacob, no! We do not pull people’s ponytails! Please look at Frankie and apologize, Mr. Redmond.”

Spencer and JJ follow you into the classroom, watching as you become the mediator between the two children. They glance down at the two chairs meant for them, but they both opt to sit on the floor in front of the class. The previous chatter comes to a shrieking halt, and all twenty-two pairs of eyes are trained on the strange people that have showed up in their space. Some present as protectors, other are more hesitant, but the pure curiosity in undeniable.

Jacob raises his hand before Spencer and JJ can even begin their gun safety presentation. In contrast to his earlier recklessness, he waits patiently for JJ to call on him. “Hey, Mister,” his piercing gaze shifts immediately to Spencer, “are you Miss [Y/L/N]’s boyfriend?” 

Spencer explodes into a flustered wreck, red seeping into his face and neck. Meanwhile, you’re laughing your ass off, sitting behind your kids at the end of the carpet. “Jacob,” you sputter, trying to regain your composure, “th-that’s ... not the reason they’ve come to visit us today, you know? They’re here to talk to you about more important things.”

“But, Miss [Y/L/N],” a sweetheart called Noemi interjects, “you’re an important thing.”

“Miss [Y/L/N], you didn’t say no,” Jacob giggles.

“Jacob Redmond,” the mock seriousness in your voice is noticed by JJ and Spencer, but the class clown sobers up when he hears your tone, “do you want to lose recess time today?” He shakes his head at a speed faster than light, “Then, I suggest you turn your attention to Agent Jareau and Dr. Reid and listen to what they have to say. It might help you in the future, okay?” Your face brightens once you finish talking to him, and you glance up at the two with a toothy grin.

The atmosphere becomes thick as a simple quietude takes over the room. Spencer is working really hard to shift his gaze around to make it look like he’s not staring at you, no matter how much he really, really wants to. You may not be a profiler, but you do take notice of how bad Dr. Reid is at lying. They introduce themselves once more, and as JJ moves to set up a powerpoint, Spencer twiddles his thumbs, his neck craned so that his eyes are fixed on the ugly tile floor.

“Hey, guys?” Your exited outburst shatters the silence, “While Agent Jareau is setting up the powerpoint, do you have any questions for Dr. Reid? He’s pretty cool!” Skeptical stares are aimed at you through the mediums of small lie detectors. Each one of your students tries to read you; they search for a lie in your tone, but they realize there isn’t one.

A shy hand rises into the air, and your surprise is just barely containable. It’s Evelyn. Evelyn is the quietest kid that you’ve ever had in your four years of teaching second grade. Sure, there’s always a timid child, but Evelyn rarely spoke in class. You didn’t mind, but you couldn’t stop your mind from wandering; you always hoped that she wasn’t afraid to speak and ask questions. But evidently, you weren’t the person she really wanted to talk to. A cheerful smile spreads onto your lips. Spencer steals a glance at you, and he feels like his heart is doing double dutch the way it’s pounding.

“How can you be a doctor? You look the same age as Miss [Y/N] ... I wanna be Doctor Evelyn. Do you think I could be a doctor, too?” As words continue to fall from her mouth, your pride in her continues to grow. Of course she could be a doctor. At this point, you were so charmed by her that she could be anything she wanted in your book. 

Spencer drums his fingers on his chin, “Hm, well, I think your first statements are true. I’m definitely around Miss [Y/L/N]’s age, and I most certainly am a doctor. But, if you check behind your ear, you might find the answer to your question.” Hesitantly, Evelyn brushes her fingers through her hair and is taken aback when a piece of paper falls from it—even you’re dazzled. A yes is scrawled in barely legible chicken scratch. Various oohs and ahhs echo from your kids as they stare, awestruck, at the magic man in front of them.

“Whoa! Mr. Reid! You didn’t tell us you were a magician!” Jacob’s exclamation draws the attention of Frankie, her fingers prodding into his side. He furrows his brow and lets out a pained yelp. “Hey!”

“Jacob,” Frankie chastises, “it’s doctor.”

You’re completely and utterly captivated by Spencer’s giggle. Camera flares appear at the edges of your vision as you attempt to capture the moment in your memory and save it for later. The world is spinning faster than your brain can keep up with, and you can feel yourself about to trip and fall into the ocean that is Dr. Reid. A muffled voice tries to talk to you, but nothing can pull you from your dopey trance induced by the equally dopey doctor. Eventually, the speaking comes to a halt and your projector turns on with a flash.

At once, all of your second graders are enraptured by the presentation happening before their eyes. Both agents speak slow enough for the kids to understand that guns are extremely dangerous, and that if they were to ever see one, they were not to touch it and to get an adult to handle the situation. JJ shoots all of the children a sly smile before unholstering her weapon. Obviously, she came prepared and unloaded it before Spencer had picked her up this morning. Nevertheless, utter fascination ripples through the room. Spencer launches into an explanation of every part of the gun and how it works, apparently not registering that your eight year olds could barely understand any of the words that tumbled from his lips. However, they listen politely, waiting for him to finish before their hands fly up in a seemingly endless flow of questions.

One by one, inquiry after inquiry is answered. Mostly, it’s JJ indulging countless fantasies that could only come from the minds of children. Some asked if they were super, secret heroes out there saving the world and others suspected them of being spies. But, despite the countless stories told through their interrogations, your kids seemed to thoroughly enjoy the presentation.

“Miss [Y/L/N]! Miss [Y/L/N]! I have a question!” Frankie exclaims, practically jumping up from her spot on one of the green carpet squares. Waving both of her hands in the air, she waits for your amused grin to dissipate. Eventually, you give into her rapid movements with a cocked brow. “Miss [Y/L/N], do you like Doctor Reid?” Your classroom explodes into loud screeches and high pitched giggles being passed between students. 

Flushing a dusty shade of pink, your cocked brow is returned to you by none other than Spencer Reid. It may not be a challenge, but it’s certainly an invitation. His eyes beg you to say something, and while trying to reconstruct your brain from it being pounded to smithereens, you sputter helplessly. “Frankie!” You attempt to reprimand your other class clown, but your voice is exceptionally weak. Once again sitting in front of your students, Spencer snorts a laugh through his nose while JJ is packing up her computer.

“She totally does,” Noemi agrees with a saccharine smile.

“Alright, kids! Everybody needs to say thank you to Agent Jareau and Dr. Reid because it’s time for them to leave!” A chorus of cacophonous expressions of gratitude sound after you words, and you move to walk your guests to the door. Behind you all, an assortment of hoots and hollers come from your children. Ushering the two agents into the hallway, you close the door with a powerfull exhale. “I’m so sorry about that, you guys. They can be a little overbearing at times.”

JJ and Spencer let out hearty chuckles and the former places a nurturing hand on your shoulder. “Hey, you said it yourself,” a grin forms on her lips, “kids are some of the best profilers this world has. And, I’d like to think that this time—they might even be right.” With those words, she leaves you and Spencer alone, the two of you staring down at the ugly tile floor once again.

After a few moments, you’re the one to break the silence with a bold statement. “You know, Spencer?” His eyes snap up to to meet yours, “You’re cute when you try not to blush.” A deep, gutteral chortle worms its way out of you as his ears virtually burst into flames. Even in the midst of your teasing, the atmosphere remains light and sweet. Spencer searches for something to say in return, but he can barely make string words together as it is.

Eventually, he manages to blunder through asking you to dinner. Every other word has to be repeated, but you take his nerves in stride. Interpreting garbled speech is one of your strong suits, and ever since you became a teacher, the skill is one you hold in high regards. And although you’re trying to soothe his anxiety, it’s also quite satisfying that you were able to make him into a stuttering mess.

“You most certainly can take me to dinner,” you reply with a beam, “call me and we’ll set a date, yeah?”

“Wait, but, how—?”

“Check behind your ear, Dr. Reid!” And with that, the polished wooden door is shut in his face. For a few moments, Spencer Reid is completely dumbfounded. His body refuses to function as he stares at you attempting to corral your wild class through the rectangular window. A smile creeps onto his lips when he swipes his fingers through his hair and come in contact with a small piece of paper. Looking at it, he realizes that the string of numbers is your phone number and a warmth blossoms inside of him.

A rhythmic knock resonates in your ears, and you’re able to see Spencer through the small patch of glass. His toothy grin sends electricity racing through your veins. For a few moments, you are completely dumbfounded. He waves, and you wave back—but, it isn’t a goodbye.

It’s a see you soon.

[squishyapologist]

// im going to start this off by saying that this post will be talking about police brutality, racism, and the death of daunte wright. now, im unfortunately a couple days late to this due to my own mental health issue at the moment and staying off most social media. apologies for that, but i have been educating myself on the current situation and feel educated enough to talk. i like to make sure im not spreading misinformation before i post things like this, because i know that can be almost as damaging as not saying anything at all. 

with all of that said, yet another black man has been murdered by police, and there are once again protests which are being met with police violence.

daunte wright was a 20 year old black man who was pulled over by police on april 11th, and was killed when officer kim potter (who has since resigned along with police chief tim gannon) drew her firearm and shot him once in the chest. 

the officer claimed she mistook her firearm for her taser, and that she hadn’t meant to shoot him, let alone fatally. 

lets talk about why this is a ridiculous defense, and also very likely a flat out lie. 

first of all, the officer in question has over 20 years of police experience, and was responsible for training other officers, and yet she managed to ‘mistake’ her firearm for her taser? if she managed to be an active officer for 26 years and still didn’t pick up on the differences between the weapons she carried, she shouldn’t have been allowed to carry them anyways. that is already negligence and incompetence on the part of the officer.

even if we look past the fact that a glock and a taser weigh and feel differently, there are still multiple differences that should have alerted the officer of her mistake.

her taser was kept on the opposite side of her gun, was bright neon yellow, and her glock has a safety which must be switched off before the discharging of the weapon. not to mention the differences in which a firearm and taser (which again, sat on the opposite side of her belt) are fired, pressure wise.

are we really expected to believe that a 26-year police veteran managed to draw her glock from the opposite side as her taser, switch off the safety, aim, and fire all while still thinking she was holding her taser? disrespectfully, that’s fucking ridiculous. again, if you can’t tell the differences between the weapons you are carrying, you should not be permitted to carry them at all. 

she also broke protocol multiple times during this incident. firing a taser at someone operating a vehicle is not allowed, nor is aiming your taser for someones chest when other, less lethal targets are visible.  

even IF we look past all of that and say that okay, maybe she did make that mistake, that is still manslaughter, and the officer should not only have been fired immediately, but also arrested. instead, she was placed on administrative leave. the fact that she was allowed to resign (the two sentence email in which she did so containing no remorse for the man she had murdered, and only detailing her enjoyment of her job.) peacefully is ridiculous, and once again shows that murder is fine as long as you’re carrying a badge. apparently she is due to be charged, but the fact that it will most likely be a manslaughter charge that she might not even be jailed for is ridiculous, and frankly sickening. 

now, the protests. 

once again, protests have been met with police violence, as well as the national guard being dispatched only a few days in. tear gas and pepper spray were used again protesters despite a restriction against the use of tear gas and chemical irritants being passed by the city council. a rule that was broken by police almost immediately, which honestly, does not surprise me at all. the police are using banned measures to disperse protests, arresting protestors, and a curfew has been put in place which you can now be arrested for violating. these are measures we have seen before in effort to stop protests from happening and suppress the voices of black people who are tired of seeing their community torn apart by cops who think they’re above the law. i will say it again. the police are continuing to use banned measures against protestors. they don’t care about what they’re not allowed to do, they just want to silence you. for those at these protests, be safe. make your voices heard and if you’re white, protect your bipoc friends and fellow protestors. you have privilege, use it. 

what hurts even more is how close this all occurred to the place where the pig who killed george floyd is standing trial. the amount of police violence against black people is genuinely sickening and i can’t imagine how scary and depressing the current state of america must be. if you’re a bipoc, please do take care of yourself during these times. i can’t imagine how damaging this must be to see constantly, and i only wish there was more i could do to help those effected by this violence. 

another thing i feel needs to be addressed is the fact that daunte wright was resisting arrest, and attempting to flee. this has been used by pro-cop people and the right to justify his death. i feel the need to remind people that fleeing, resisting, or otherwise panicking during a high stress situation should not be a death sentence. it is a natural human instinct to attempt to flee or fight when faced with any potentially dangerous situation, and expecting scared, unarmed citizens to remain calm while you allow trained professionals to use the ‘i panicked’ excuse again and again, murder after murder is pure hypocrisy. 

daunte had a warrant out for his arrest (not something the officers were aware of when they pulled him over) but that still does not justify the fact that he was murdered. cops are not judge, jury and executioner. resisting or trying to flee is not an excuse to kill someone. 

i don’t care what excuse the cop, or her boss wants to use. i refuse to believe that she wasn’t aware of which weapon she was holding, and i refuse to believe she holds any remorse for daunte or his family. i think she did what white cops love to do. she murdered a man. a black man who was just scared. the police system is, and always will be a racist system made to oppress people of colour. how many times does this have to happen before people realize that you can’t reform a system that’s rotten to its core. the police are not your friends, and the fact that they continue to break the law that they claim to uphold and get away with it should prove that. they are not on your side, and there is no such thing as a good cop. 

i will be reblogging any resources i can find, and if you would like to contribute please do. feel free to add to this, especially with advice for the protestors or anything i may have missed. however, i will not be engaging in debate or argument with anybody under this post, or on any other post. if you are pro-cop, part of the right, or think that the deaths of black people at the hands of police are acceptable in any way, don’t bother coming anywhere near this post, you will not get the attention or argument you want, you will simply be blocked. 

please direct me towards any petitions, resources, or places to donate so that i can spread them. i can sign petitions however i am unfortunately not in the financial place to donate. i will be spreading places to donate and i will be encouraging those who can do donate, but i do wish i could do more. 

stay safe, and remember, the police aren’t your friends, and there is no excuse for continued police brutality like this. 

take care of yourselves and make your voices heard.

[girlucifer]

“where have i seen you before?”

in a dream / a thousand years ago - orestes, euripides

below the cut are some various indulgences into past romances of the angels, demons, and otherwise- i am mentally unwell so just keep that in mind. i am literally going insane.

simeon & lucifer, simeon’s POV: it hurts me not that he wishes to engage in suicide [no, in his eyes, its martyrdom, its free and independent, its of his own wishes, not of anyone else’s accord, but his own]. it’s not that he wanted to overthrow god itself, or that he dared to dream bigger than the halo he was confined to. it doesn’t sting one bit that he decided to throw away his wings- none of that hurts me. but what cuts deeply, regrettably, into the deepest depths of my own being that he didn’t think, for a single moment, to tell me. i would’ve done anything to stay by his side- i would’ve chosen the revolution, martyrdom, suicide- i would’ve died by his side. it was if i slept through the entire war- dreaming of how he kissed me last night, his warmth still upon my cheek, only to wake up to the cold reality, that he had fallen from grace, like a rope tied by his own pride to his neck. he left me, all alone. i’m bleeding, and he is too- but he has stripped away any hopes of saving each other.

diavolo, unnamed person, unnamed person’s POV: that man... his gaze drew me in immediately as soon as i stepped into the small bar, a place i’ve always come to when life has me beaten and down. the way he exuded this... this sort of confidence, as if he knew i was the one that’ll take him home. and by god, he was heavenly in bed, the way his body moved in perfect harmony with mine- like a religion, i kneeled for him, like a halo, the moonlight danced above his head, like a god, he revitalized me, inside and out. and then he was gone, without a trace the next morning. i’ve heard of one-night stands, i know the routine. but, the way he gripped me, how he kissed me: it felt like thousands of years of longing, of love buried deep within his soul rushing out, it felt like he was bursting at the seams with it when touching me, his lips drawing out letters of affection. i thought... i thought he had loved me in that night we spent together, as if making up for an eternity without a lover. 

lucifer, diavolo, diavolo’s POV: i love how he looks at me with red eyes, red with tears, red with fury, red with absolutely nothing behind them. it has been nearly a week with him at my disposal, and it has been absolutely riveting. he hates me so much, with every fiber of his being- it’s something i’ve never felt before. all my life, i’ve been told that i’ll find the one who makes me feel like no other- the one who takes my breath away. they didn’t tell me it would come in form of a broken angel, who hates me so coarsely, who refuses to look at me, who gives me the chills, who wishes to slit my throat as i lay in bed- he hates me so viscerally, carnally, but by the devil, i love him. nothing he can do can change that.

solomon, asmodeus, solomon’s POV: i’ve always hated the idea of having some unnamed soul deemed your other half- your soulmate. just by simply being born, you are put onto this world to seek that other person, whether they be man, woman, neither or both, whether good, evil- living in vain until you somehow stumble upon them. by god, that idea is simply insulting- to be reduced to just half of a soul. but, his face- i’ve only seen it once, in a dream. i have tried everything- traveling to the ancient ruins bathed in mystical powers, speaking to incredibly powerful monks and witch doctors, practicing my skill day and night, to the point i can’t even stand, can’t even eat from the soreness- all to just see that face once more... hauntingly beautiful, driving me to madness. so beautiful that it’s demonic, evil, dark and cursed. like a black rose, a veiled woman of the night. i wonder, what could his name be?

mc, unnamed person, MC’s POV: i always knew i was destined for far greater things than them, them with their sweet lies and sharp tongue, their lips enveloping another’s while i lay at night wondering, wondering... i was just so afraid to take the first step away from them- a daunting first step, something i thought i’d never overcome the fear to take. but, now im running, running free at last, the pavement hitting the soles of my shoes hard, the blood pumping through my vessels with each step- its a marathon, a race, a defiant march. i’m running, running not away from them, but towards something bigger, greater than this life i knew i would outgrow. that mysterious letter with the strange writing- by god, it will be my salvation. 

[sailorshadzter]

im back to drop more jonsa on your timelines  👀 👀

yes i know ive written this scene ten thousand times before, dont @ me lmao 

Winterfell looms ahead, daunting with it's sharp stone peaks, the storm clad skies giving it an eerie sort of backdrop. And yet, he presses on, spurring his horse forward, well aware of the quick pace in which his heart is racing. He knows what lays ahead of him might be the worst he's faced, and yet, there's even the smallest of chances it will be the best he's faced. Though he longs for the latter, he's prepared for the first.

When he reaches the gate, darkness has begun to fall and the soldiers peer down at him from the watchtower above. "Who goes there?" One shouts, though he and the man standing beside him have already exchanged a strange, but knowing look. There wasn't a man alive in Winterfell that would not recognize him, even now.

"Jon Snow." He calls back and it takes only a moment more for the gate to creak open.

"Lord Snow," another soldier says, not kindly, but Jon can't help but to smile at the sight of his Stark livery. "I can't imagine our queen would like to see you." The man goes on, crossing his arms across his chest as Jon slides down from his horse. Another smile twitches on his lips; her men are loyal, quite certainly, and for that he is thankful. "Something funny, Snow?"

"That's enough, Quinn."

The soldier turns, seeing not just Lord Royce approaching, but Davos Seaworth, who looks far less stony faced than the ever loyal Yohn Royce. "I'll take it from here," Royce continues, gesturing for the soldier to move along, who does only after he shoots Jon a final scowl. "Jon Snow." He says evenly, though he pins sharp, angry eyes upon him. At his side, Davos shifts, clearly torn between greeting the young man with fondness and adding fuel to the fire that so surely has already begun to brew. In the end, fondness wins and before he can react, he's wrapped in the older man's warm embrace; it's something he's not felt in so long, for a moment, he can't even breathe. But soon Davos steps back and gives him a single, silent nod, but meeting his eyes, Jon understands exactly what he wished to convey. "I'm surprised to find you here at our gate."

Jon is, too, in truth.

"I was summoned." He replies, shrugging slightly.

"Summoned?" Lord Royce stammers, shaking his head, clearly surprised to hear of this. "By whom?"

"The queen herself."

After a little more back and forth, Jon is taken from the gate and swept inside, sent to the kitchens to warm himself by the ovens and eat some leftovers from that evening's meal. He's eaten no more than three spoonfuls of soup before the door to the kitchen opens and it's Davos standing there. "You might have come when she first sent for you," he says as he comes inside, the door falling closed behind him.

Jon looks away, knowing that to be true, but he hadn't been ready back then. How could he face her, how could he stood at her side, knowing what he'd done? It was true, he had done it for her, for their family, for the realm... But still yet... All he had done to get to that moment where he'd stood before Daenerys in the throne room of the Red Keep... No, he was not a man worthy of standing beside someone like her.

But perhaps now, perhaps now if she forgave him... Perhaps he will be the man to stand at her side.

"Aye..." He finally says, turning back to look up at Davos, who offers a smile. "Is she terribly angry with me?" He decides to ask, not certain he's ready to know the answer.

Davos can't help but to laugh in spite of the young man before him. "She was." He admits, sobering then, thinking back to those early days. Back to the days of a stone faced queen with eyes sharper than steel, colder than ice. Days of a queen who took to her rooms, rather than live in the lively court that most expected of Sansa Stark. But then... After so long, she began to smile again. Arya returned from her travels and it lightened her heart, softened her icy exterior. "But she was sad, too." Jon bows his head again, spoon left abandoned as his hand curls into a fist atop the table. "Your queen is a forgiving one, though, tough, but forgiving. She is soft inside yet." Jon can't help but to smile, thinking of her as she was when they reunited in King's Landing. With war braids tied into her vibrant red hair, she had rode south with an army at her back to lay claim to what was hers. "She even forgave Lord Glover, now he is one of her most loyal of men." Jon raises his eyes at this news, for he thought that would be a relationship never to be mended.

Before he can speak, the door opens again, and this time it is Lord Royce. "The queen says she will see you now," he doesn't look eager to do so, but he gestures for Jon to follow after him. Scrambling to his feet, Jon pauses only a moment to put a hand to Davos' shoulder, giving the man a nod, who smiles in response before he turns to watch Jon disappear out the door after Royce. "It's about time," he grumbles to himself before settling down in the chair Jon had vacated, helping himself to a mug of ale, hoping the young queen he's come to love will finally find true happiness.

Upstairs, Sansa is pacing.

"My lady, please," it's Shae, desperate to get her queen to cease her walking just so she might straighten her skirts and brush her hair. Here, in the privacy of Sansa's own rooms, she dares speak to her as she once did in King's Landing, though Sansa has always insisted she call her whatever she pleases. "You needn't worry," she says, catching her young queen by the hand then, forcing her to finally come to a rest at the center of the room. "He loves you still, I am certain, he will return to you without fail."

Sansa dares not believe her beloved handmaiden, but she nods like an obedient child anyways.

It's been a long two years since the day she and Jon parted ways on the docks of King's Landing, so very long that sometimes it only feels like a dream. No, not a dream, but a nightmare. Once she dreamed of violence and shadow, now she dreams of golden sunlight and a different kind of pain. "My gown, I should change my gown." She suddenly sputters, thinking that there's absolutely no way she can meet with Jon wearing the one she wears. But before she can say another word, there comes a knock to her door and she swears she might faint there on the spot.

Shae smiles, patting her cheek tenderly before she slips by, crossing the room to open the door. Sansa can see it is Lord Royce there and her heart has begun to race, faster than ever before. Shae dips a quick bow and then is stepping aside, allowing Lord Royce to step inside and at once, he's there, standing in her rooms.

Her world suddenly ceases to spin.

"Leave us." She hears herself say aloud and both her loyal Hand and handmaiden slip from the room, leaving them alone. He is as she remembers him to be, though with more beard and more curls tucked into the bun at the back of his head. Despite it all, her fingers twitch, for she longs to run her hands through his wild hair. "... Jon..." His name is a whisper upon her lips, something like a plea, something that is enough to send chills racing the length of his spine. "I can't believe you came." After all the summons, after all the months, the years, she cannot believe he's standing there in front of her.

Jon cannot take his eyes off of her; she's beautiful there in what looks to be a well worn blue wool gown, with draping sleeves and a slim fit bodice, a gown made for a queen. Her red hair is loosened from its braids and rather tumbles down her back in soft waves, enticing him all the more. "My queen." He finally speaks, saying words that for the very first time don't feel hollow, that don't feel empty. Without another word, Jon comes forward, dropping to his knees before her. She opens her mouth as if she means to interrupt, but he gives the smallest shakes of his head, silencing her before anything else is said. "I don't deserve to stand before you, I don't deserve to ask forgiveness of you, but I..." He trails off, gazing up into her steady blue gaze, emotion choking him as he fights to find the words to say. The words that might make her understand. "I want to stand at your side, if you'll have me." He wasn't ready back then, he wasn't the man she needed him to be back then when he'd left for the Night's Watch, but now... Now.... He thinks himself ready to be the man she's always needed him to be.

As she stares down at him, all the anger that she ever held within flees. It dissipates as she sinks to the floor, ignoring his protest as she levels herself with him. Everything she's ever thought, ever felt, fades away as she takes his face between her palms, tears misting in her eyes as a smile curves on her lips. "What took you so long?" Is all she asks instead, her words eliciting something like a chuckle from him. There in the moment, all that remains is the love she's always kept in her heart for him, all that still yet remains in her heart is the warmth of him, the strength of him. Everything about him that makes her happy, that makes her whole.

Before she can say another word, before he thinks to speak again, he draws her into his arms. Two long, cold, lonely years he's spent without her, without knowing the warmth of her skin against his. This moment he's imagined hundreds, if not thousands of times, but no dream could ever compare to what he felt right then with her so truly in his arms. "I was lost," he breathes against her head, the familiar scent of rosewater still clings to her hair. The realization brings a soft smile to his face. "But you guided me home." She's drawing back, blue eyes finding gray, her rosy lips curving with the most beautiful of smiles. In the golden firelight, she is radiant.

It takes only a moment more for his lips to find hers and in that moment, her world begins to spin again.

[ssigmas]

quantum entanglement

some sigma/reader smut bc im Thirsty

i headcanon him to be a total service top;;; listen he just wants 2 take care of you

tags: sigma/afab reader, mirror sex, sigma generally being Very Loving and Affectionate

Out of all the requests Siebren could have made of you, this wasn't exactly what you were expecting.His initial embarrassment upon asking, as well as his insistence on discussing it in his quarters, should have been enough clue for you to realize it would be out of the ordinary.

Still, even though it had been a relatively tame request by normal standards, it was definitely encroaching in an area neither of you had breached together before.

You sit astride Siebren's lap, stripped down to nothing, legs hooked over his own spread thighs. The mirror in front of you exposes everything, especially your flushed face, and it makes you feel vulnerable.

Siebren, damn him, remains fully clothed in his casual wear.

You hide your rapidly reddening face behind your hands, squirming in his hold. He had requested specifically that you watch yourself in the mirror, but that...it seems impossible now, a daunting task that you can’t hope to follow through with. “Siebren,” you half-whisper, half-whine, voice quivering on the syllables. You feel his much larger hands engulf yours, lips brushing over the shell of your ear.

“Shh, now now. Don’t hide away, not from me.” He coaxes your hands away from your face, lacing your fingers together. You keep your eyes shut against your inevitable reflection and instead turn to hide your face in his shoulder. 

“I can’t,” you breathe out, and you hate how whiny you sound, but you can’t help it. Embarrassment sits heavy on your bones and causes heat to spread from your chest up to the tips of your ears. “Can’t, Siebren, please…”

He shushes you again. “Of course you can,” he assures you. A hand comes and cups your face, turns it upward so you can meet his lips. The other remains entwined with yours, and slowly he calms your racing thoughts, steadies your heart with languid and loving kisses.

The hand on your cheek drops and instead rests lightly on your neck, thumb against your pulsepoint. Surely, you think, he can feel the way it hammers against your skin, how...affected he makes you.

The hand slides lower, across your clavicles, down your breastbone, and stops at your chest. He pinches a nipple between his fingers and you arch into his touch, breath hitching in your throat. His hand slides from your grasp, joins his other on your chest, and you grab desperately at his muscled bicep.

“Sieb...Sss…ahh…” He teases both of your nipples, rolls them beneath his thumbs. You writhe in his grasp, unable to hold back the soft, choked sounds of pleasure he pulls out of you. 

He sucks your lower lip between his teeth before finally pulling away, though his face remains just inches from your own. “Look at yourself,” he pleads quietly, brushing a kiss to your temple.

Reluctantly, you turn your head forward and open your eyes. For a split second, you can hardly recognize yourself. The you in the mirror looks ruined with your kiss-swollen lips and rosy red cheeks, eyes half-lidded in pleasure. If this was how you looked just kissing him... You turn your head away again, breathing out a whine. “I’m...I’m so -”

“Stunning,” Siebren supplies, placing hot, open-mouthed kisses to your neck. You squirm and huff out a laugh.

“Not the word I would have used.”

“No?” He latches onto a patch of skin just below your ear, teeth grazing the skin with promises to come. “Oh, but liefje, you make the most adorable expressions.”

You don’t know how to tell him that that’s the problem, that you can’t take yourself looking so wanton and full of lust, not when Siebren seems to genuinely want you to see yourself as he does.

You feel him gently grip your chin, turning your face back toward the front. “Please,” he murmurs. “I want you to watch as I unravel you in my hands. You look so beautiful when I wreck you.”

God, oh fuck. His voice drips with self-assuredness and desire, dropped down an octave lower than usual, and you feel heat pool in your gut even as a new flush rises to your cheeks. Where had his earlier embarrassment gone? Why can’t you be so collected about this whole thing?

You open your eyes and catch Siebren staring at your reflection. His hands come to rest on either side of your ribcage, and slowly, they ghost lower, down to your hips, thumbs caressing your soft skin. 

“Siebren,” you mumble, struggling to keep your gaze on the mirror. “Siebren, please, I…”

He kisses the side of your head, your cheek, down to your jaw. “Yes?” he questions. He seems almost eager to please you, his hands running up and down your hipbones. “Ask, my dear, and it’s yours.”

Verbalizing what you want is somehow more embarrassing than watching yourself come undone. You roll  your hips into his touch, hoping he’ll catch on, but Siebren does nothing more than continue to stare at you, waiting. Watching.

“Please, I want - I…” You stop, purse your lips. All the phrases that come to mind (finger me, I want you inside me, please make me come) are too dirty for you to say without stuttering through it. “Touch me?” you settle on lamely, it coming out more of a question than a request.

Siebren merely chuckles, though not unkindly. “Oh, mijn sterretje, are we not already touching?” You fight down another bout of embarrassment. You’re touching quite a good deal, in fact. There’s not a part of your body that isn’t entangled with Sigma’s, save for the one spot that’s begging for attention. He seems to take pity on you, however, and a hand descends to your soft mound. He drags his middle finger lightly across your folds, and in the mirror you can see how your slick gathers on his digit and strings between you.

“So wet.” He continues to slowly glide his finger against you, back and forth, teasing. “I’ve barely touched you, and you’re dripping for me.” 

This time, you do close your eyes, giving into the urge to shy away again. “Of course,” you mumble, trying to hide your face against him. “It’s you. Of course I’m so…” You can’t find the words, but evidently you don’t have to, as you feel his hand still against you for a moment. Siebren’s other hand finds your chin again, pulls you a little higher so he can press a soft kiss to your lips. You feel, rather than see, the warmth of his smile.

“How flattering,” he murmurs, “to have such a young thing so affected by me.” His hand resumes its earlier actions, though now it focuses on your clit, drawing tight circles around it. Your hips buck into his touch, a silent gasp leaving your lips. One hand stretches behind you to hook onto Siebren’s neck, and the other desperately searches for something else to hang on to. He beats you to it, interlocking your fingers together as he pulls your arm across your chest. Here, in this position, your back arches high into the stretch, upper half pulled against his shoulders, legs held in place by his own. 

You tuck your head into his neck, inhale the smell of his cologne. There are so many points of contact between you now that you feel utterly surrounded and protected. You feel him breathe a laugh against your cheek. 

“Look at yourself,” he urges softly, and you do. Your eyes are drawn to your pussy, where his fingers are slick with your juices. When he sees you watching, he spreads you open with his fingers, an action so obscene that it causes you to whimper and fruitlessly try to close your legs.

“S-Siebren!”

He either doesn’t hear or doesn’t care about the admonishment, his eyes trained on your pussy, on the way your clit is framed by his first two fingers.

“Lovely,” he breathes, and his voice carries the same tone of awe as if he was staring out into the vast reaches of space. “You’re so lovely, look at yourself, look at how wet you are.” He effortlessly slides a finger into you, and then a second. His fingers are big, bigger than yours, and yet this feels like no intrusion at all. You rut uselessly into his hand, begging with your body for a question you don’t know how to ask.

Siebren knows the answer though. It seems like he always does when it comes to you. Slowly, he begins to thrust his fingers, angling his wrist so that he grazes your clit with every stroke. You writhe in his grasp, shuddering through a moan as pleasure courses through your body. His fingers disappear so easily into you, and for once you find it hard to tear your gaze away. You’re amazed that they even fit inside you, though with the wet shlick shlick of your fluids you can hardly be surprised. 

“You take me so well,” Siebren murmurs. A third finger joins his others, stretching you slowly, until he can move his fingers in unison. “All right?” he asks. His other hand squeezes yours comfortingly, and you squeeze back.

You feel so full, so impossibly warm. “Yes,” you hiss, rolling your hips to encourage him to move. He starts up a gentle rhythm, and through the mirror you can tell his gaze is trained on the place where his fingers vanish into you. “Full,” you mumble, lips closing off a whimper. “I’m  - ahh...Siebren, I need - “

He kisses the side of your face sloppily. “You’re doing so good,” he praises. “So full of me, so perfect…” He works his fingers faster, curls their tips just slightly, and your breath hitches on a gasp that falls to a needy moan. “That’s it,” he says, sounding out of breath. “Yes, lose yourself, focus on me, on me.”

Your orgasm builds with each fervent breath, with each stroke of his hand, and you’re reduced to a panting mess, hips rolling desperately. Unbidden, your eyes close as you focus on your growing pleasure. Your world shrinks down to a pinpoint of pleasure, to nothing but Siebren, and you can no longer contain your constant half-cries and whimpers. You feel him draw you closer, closer, wrapped so tightly against him you think you might drown in his affections.

“Please, mijn schatje,” he whispers, breath gliding hot across your neck. “Sing for me.”

And you do.

Warmth spreads from your centre down through your toes. You clench around his fingers as your body goes taut, and you can’t hold back the needy, uncontrolled whine that rips itself from your throat as Siebren works you through your orgasm, murmuring unintelligible phrases against your sweaty skin.

Slowly, slowly, you come down from your climax, and yet he continues to thrust his fingers inside you lazily.  “You’re gorgeous,” he cooes, and when you open your eyes you can see the love written plainly on his face as he stares at your reflection. “Gorgeous, my darling, mijn liefje, mine, all mine.” He dissolves into hushed tones, Dutch rolling off his tongue sickly-sweet. He could be mistaken for saying lewd things if not for his tone, so reverent and loving, and even with the language barrier you know he’s singing your praises. 

You lay boneless in his lap, no energy to even bring heat to your face at how debauched you look. Hair wild, love bites discoloring your skin, lips and thighs glistening with liquid. Part of you wants to respond to Siebren’s continued touches, but he’s fast approaching overstimulation. You make a noise low in your throat, hand falling from behind his neck to paw at his forearm.

“Sorry, sorry,” he apologizes. He draws his fingers from you, slick pooling between them. He waits until you catch his eye in the mirror before he brings his soaked hand to his mouth, where his tongue begins to lave over his digits. You squirm under the intensity of his gaze as he licks his fingers clean, feeling heat rush to your face all over again.

“Delicious.”

[peterpumpkinparker]

Liar- Peter Parker x Reader Imagine

Idk, I should be studying but eh-thought Id do this with my time lol

Summary: You and Peter are studying until Peter confesses a little too much to you

Warning: Nope just The Puriest Fluff There Is ☺️

Word Count: 891

Constructive Criticism is totally appreciated!!!

(GIF by @tomhollanderr)

Studying sucks.

One of your best friends (and your crush) Peter Parker, was helping you study for a Pre Calc quiz on Monday. Which was tomorrow. And you didn't understand a thing.

“Peter- I’m sorry, I seriously don't get this,” you chuckled in defeat as you rubbed your tired eyes, staring at your study guide and cursing your brain for not being as brilliant as Peter’s.

Peter was the smartest person you had ever meet- he got difficult concept as if it were kindergarten work, and never flounced it around. It was one of the things you loved about Peter. Peter smiled encouragingly saying, “No your okay! We’ll work on it and we’ll get you to understand this- promise.”

“‘We?!?’” you laughed, looking at Peter. “Peter, you keep saying this study session is helping you and me, but Im literally the only one that needs actual studying.”

“But it is!” he objected while smiling.

“You’re a terrible liar Parker,” you sipped out of coffee cup, giving a side eye glance at Peter’s face.

“I swear I'm not lying,” he tried to say seriously, but with him still smiling it kinda backfired.

“Mm-hmm,” you replied unconvinced, pulling your hair out of your messy bun.

“I promise- see?” you looked up, seeing Peter’s head tilted with that soft smile that makes your heart jumped 20 feet in your chest and his pinkie pointed out of his fist.

You chuckled, shaking your head.

“You’re such a child Parker.”

“You act like a child too, ya know.”

“Ahh come on,” you said looking at him with a little smile, “but you know that’s why you love me.” you smiled as you wrapped your pinkie around his.

It was like butterflies were attacking Peter’s stomach by your slight touch and fear erupted in his heart- did you know he likes you? Peter had liked you for months now- but he didn’t know if you reciprocate his feelings. He thought you were amazing, and your sarcastic remarks made him laugh, you weren’t afraid to be yourself, and on top of all that, he thought you were gorgeous. He knew you were only joking about the “love” thing, but for some reason it filled his heart with gleeful hope.

“Yeah I guess it does,” he nervously chuckled, but then he realized how weird his sentence sounded, and tried to fix what he said.

“I mean, I love you in a friendly companion sort of why. Not meaning I wouldn’t want to be with you or anything or date you- I mean I sorta like you, I guess? Like I think you're super pretty and funny and stuff and I wouldn't mind taking you out-but your my friend not a lover or anything- wait that sounded weird-”

“Peter- are you okay?” you laughed, feeling heat rise to your face. Your heart was confused and - Peter fumbling over his words was a sign he was nervous, which you wouldn’t know why, you only insinuated that he liked you, maybe more as a friend. But that wouldn’t mean he liked you like that, right?

“Maybe…” he chuckled, kicking himself for always doing something cringey around you- it's like being around you made him drop 50 IQ points. He couldn't form words, or think straight, or whenever you get really close the only thing he can think about is trying to memorize the smell of your perfume so maybe he can go and try and find it the next time he goes to the mall and go to Bath and Body Works because God it smells amazing-

“Peter?” you asked, breaking his thoughts, “Earth to Peter!”

Peter shook his head, realizing he had been staring off into space.

“Oops- sorry,” he apologized, feeling stupid yet again.

You gave him a perplexed look.

“You feeling okay?”

“Yeah, yeah Im fine!” he assured you, giving you a smile that made your heart melt.

You were sick of studying- at this point you didnt care if you passed or not- you just wanted to hang out with Peter. You’d figure out how to do this stuff later. Peter’s confession (which you kept telling yourself wasn’t a confession and was just Peter being Peter in an attempt to give your hopes down) gave a sudden post of confidence, because being by yourself with Peter got more daunting each time you were alone with him.

“Wanna do a coffee run?” you asked him, pulling your knees to your chest.

“Sure yeah- but wait, I thought we were supposed to be studying for Pre Calc,” he asked, concerned because he wanted you to pass your test.

“ Aw come on, Parker, dont be a party pooper,” you smiled at him, giving him a taunting look, “and besides, you said it yourself- you wouldn’t mind taking me out.”

Your and Peter’s heart raced. You couldn't believe you just blurted that out and Peter didn't know what to do because you just used your words against him.

“Well….” Peter drawed out,jokingly acting as if he really didn’t want to as you grabbed your phone and wallet.

“Hey remember- you’re a terrible liar, and I know you too well- I know when your lying!” you yelled accusingly, laughing at how cute Peter looked.

“Alright!” Peter dropped the feeble act, his skin still tinted pink, “your right- I am a bad liar.”

Have te an amazing day lovelies!!! Inbox open~ ❤️🕸

[botanistlester]

Sweet Pea (19/34)

Summary: A nickname that goes bitter in your mouth. Cries for help that no one listens to. Gentle hands that make you quake on the ground you’re standing on. When Phil first met Nico, he thought he was a gift from the heavens. But behind the mask lies something daunting, something unnerving, that Phil never foresaw. Through his journey, he finds solace in Dan, the regular at his workplace, who seems to be the only one who sees through Nico’s mask to the darkness underneath. Warnings: Abusive relationship, violence A/N: This chapter includes warnings for a bad panic attack and hints of PTSD. i work all day tomorrow so im uploading this slightly early. pls remember that this fic is based off of real experiences, so this fic is not true for everyone who has been in an abusive relationship, but it does hold many truths to it and many real feelings! thanks to @snowbunnylester for editing this for me! The lyrics at the beginning of this fic are from the song Pine by Basement! 

I have started a patreon account for those of you who would like to support me and my writing endeavors! You can find my patreon account here, and also find more information about perks of this here!

Previous | Masterlist

Read it on AO3 Read it on Wattpad

-

Chapter Nineteen

I don't love you, I just need to be loved. Want me; I need you to want me. I hate myself, but that's okay because I never have enough.

-

Nico Caragen - 2:12am

Im sorry i hurt u. I miss u so much. What can i do to fix this?

Message Deleted.

-

Two weeks and four days after the idea was proposed to him, Phil got the restraining order.

It took a lot out of him, a lot of resistance on his part. He cried as he filled out the paperwork, but he felt strangely numb despite it all. There was a little section on the form that told him to explain why he was getting the restraining order, and he stared at it for moments on end because he didn’t know what to put exactly. It was such a little box, but there was so much that had happened that there was no way he could possible put it all in there.

He glanced up at the receptionist lady and gnawed his lip before speaking up, comforted slightly by the presence of Dan beside him. “Is this all the space I have to write in?” he asked quietly, somewhat confused. How would they be able to tell if he needed the restraining order if he could barely write what had happened in that tiny box?

The woman barely glanced up, but she did flash him a quick smile before going back to typing. “If you need to write more, you can just write the rest on the back of the page,” she said distractedly, pushing her glasses higher up her nose with one finger.

Phil nodded and glanced down at the piece of paper, his pen hovering over the space with such hesitance that it would made a turtle start to cry. He put the pen to the paper, drawing a line, a single ‘I’ that looked out of place on the paper.

He didn’t know what to write, because in his mind, Nico hadn’t done anything that bad.

“I have no idea what to write,” he whispered to Dan, who put his arm around Phil’s shoulders and began to rub softly.

“Write about the bad experiences,” he replied calmly. “Ignore the good things. Just focus on the bad and write those down.”

Phil swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to think back on his experiences. They’d been together for so long, how was he supposed to remember every little thing? There were moments that stood out to him, but he couldn’t remember everything, and that bothered him. Since when had he stopped hanging onto every word Nico had said, instead casting it away to the back of his memory? At the time, each moment had felt like the most important time of Phil’s life. But now?

It meant nothing.

He wrote the sentence before he could think about it, his hand forming the loops and dashes to make words. When he reread the sentence, he wanted to stop, he wanted to quit, because he didn’t even know if they were true.

And yet there they were, written by him in green ink, staring him in the face until he was quivering in Dan’s grip.

‘I was in an emotionally abusive relationship with Nico Caragen for a year.’

He flinched, gagged on his spit, and Dan rubbed his back.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “I’m so proud of you. You’re doing so well.”

That’s the only reason why Phil picked the pen up again and began to write. He wrote about everything he could possibly think of; the slut shaming, the ripping off clothes, the withdrawal of affection - and then, the deeper stuff; the knives, the suffocation, the breaking items, the slap.

Phil didn’t feel anything as he wrote. He could only focus on the memories that were haunting his mind until he could no longer see the green pen in front of him. Instead, the pen was replaced with green eyes, filled with so much fury that Phil gasped aloud.

He flung the pen against the counter, scrabbling away as quickly as he possibly could. He wrenched himself out of Dan’s grasp and crowded against the wall, ignoring the concerned questions of the receptionist.

Green eyes filled with fury, a nose that crinkled up when he was mad. Nico was going to be pissed at him, was going to hurt him. What was Phil even thinking, trying to get a restraining order when it would do nothing but upset Nico? He had no reason to get a restraining order, had only done so because he was drowning in too much self pity for himself.

God, he was so selfish. He never should have done this. He could hear Nico now, his haunting tone, could feel his fingers wrapping around Phil’s wrist. “Why the fuck would you get a restraining order?” He would say, his voice taunting. “Am I not enough for you? Do you really think I’m like my father? Is that what you’re saying?”

Phil let out a choked sob and shook his head. No, he screamed back. Nico was nothing like his father! He didn’t abuse anybody, didn’t harm them, didn’t molest people! He wasn’t like his father, and Phil had no right to claim that he was.

What was he doing here again?

“Phil.”

A voice spoke, and for a moment it sounded like a warped version of Nico’s but softer, much more calming. It didn’t hold a hint of venom or malice, and it was rather comforting. Phil shook his head. He didn’t want to speak with Nico right now.

“Phil, take some deep breaths. It’s Dan. It’s just me.”

Dan. Dan. Dan.

Phil reached towards the voice with a muddy hand, grimy from swimming through the depths of his mind. He opened his eyes, found that he was laying on the floor with Dan kneeling beside him, holding him so he was on his side and not on his back. Phil blinked, rubbed his eyes. He didn’t know how he had gotten to the floor, but by the looks of the receptionist making panicky phone calls, he must have passed out for a moment.

“How did I get on the floor?” Phil rasped out, struggling to try and stand up.

Dan pushed him back down with a gentle hand and a reassuring smile. “Stay down for a moment so you don’t pass out again,” he advised before saying, “You freaked out and started hyperventilating. I think you hyperventilated so much that you ended up fainting. I caught you before you hit the ground though, so you didn’t hit your head.”

Phil laid his head back against Dan’s shoulder. Now that he was getting his mind back, the echoes of Nico’s voice fading, he could comprehend that Dan was holding him, Phils back against his chest, his head laying on Dan’s shoulder.

He couldn’t seem to wrap his head around what had happened, but maybe because that was because his head was still spinning and felt muggy. His head was a swamp filled with algae that he was trying to crawl out of, but couldn’t seem to find his way to land.

“Is he okay?” the receptionist asked in a louder tone so they could hear her, as though the room wasn’t quiet already. She was leaning over the desk, staring at them with a concerned face, and Phil found himself nodding, shrugging Dan off, and standing to his feet.

He only wobbled a little, and Dan was there to grab his elbow, steadying him easily without telling him that he shouldn’t stand. “‘M fine,” Phil muttered, making his way back over to the desk. He grabbed a blue pen this time, made sure that the green pen was out of his sight, and finished writing as quickly as possible, his fingers as numb as his mind.

When he was done, he slumped against Dan’s side, feeling exhausted. The receptionist took the offending sheet of paper and pen away from him, told them that she would take this to the judge right away, and to sit in the waiting room. She said that it shouldn’t take more than a few hours to make a decision, and Phil’s stomach sank because he didn’t want to wait that long. He wanted to get out. Now.

They sat on a bench in the waiting room, and Dan slung his arm around Phil’s shoulders so that Phil could settle into his side. He set his head on Dan’s shoulder and closed his eyes, listening to the calming sound of Dan’s breathing. He was exhausted, and he couldn’t help but wonder if this had been a good idea after all.

“Let’s celebrate after this,” Dan murmured, and his hand was massaging through Phil’s scalp just how he liked. It reminded Phil a little bit of the way Nico used to do it, made him shake, but Dan kept talking, so Phil was able to calm himself down enough to convince himself that it wasn’t Nico who was touching him.

“Celebrate how?” Phil mumbled back. He didn’t really want to celebrate, didn’t think this was worth celebrating, but he knew Dan was just trying to help him.

“What d’ya say we get together some of our friends and go to that nice bakery down the street you’ve always wanted to go to?” Phil paused. He had wanted to go to this bakery for a very long time. He could always smell the fresh baking bread every time he passed, sweet and mouth-watering, and he always had to pry himself away from the shop window. “We could call up Charlie and Jane and Jace, if you’d like. Maybe Ledjon as well? I know you’ve been texting him a little bit and it’d be a nice way to get to know him.”

Phil gnawed on his lip. That was a lot of people. He wasn’t really in the mood to socialise. It was just so exhausting, so time consuming, and Phil wanted to cry back at home about how he would never be able to talk to Nico again. But he knew that Dan would not let him do that, so he just nodded quietly and let Dan text his friends with the plan. Phil told him to emit the part where Phil had gotten a restraining order, and Dan just nodded and didn’t question why.

It seemed like hours later when the receptionist finally came back, and she had a thin smile on her lips that made Phil perk up. It’d only been about twenty minutes. There was no way that the judges had made a decision that quickly. “The judge has decided to accept your request. We will inform Nico Caragen tomorrow morning.” She went on to say that Nico was no longer allowed to be within twenty feet of Phil, and that the restraining order was effective for two years. But Phil couldn’t really hear her through the roaring in his ears.

What was supposed to take hours to come to a decision had only taken twenty minutes. They’d read Phil’s request and hadn’t even needed him to testify, hadn’t even needed him to speak. They took his word, his written word, and had decided that Phil’s situation was bad enough that Nico will not be allowed to be near him or talk to him for two years.

For the first time since Phil had broken up with Nico, Phil realized that his situation had been bad.

He moved like a zombie after that. Dan thanked the receptionist and grabbed Phil’s hand to pull him out of the building. He chattered to Phil about how proud he was, that Phil was such a strong person for doing that. Phil didn’t think he was strong. If anything, he was weak.

He couldn’t even look at a fucking green pen without freaking out. How did that make him strong? Why would that make Dan proud?

Phil had been destroyed. That was nothing to be proud of. All this time, Phil had allowed himself to be abused, badly enough that it had taken the court twenty minutes to decide that Phil needed to be saved from Nico, and he’d almost let it go on. He’d been weak enough to allow someone to destroy him.

That wasn’t strength. That was weakness.

They met up with their friends at the bakery, but Phil was still in a weird mood. He was exhausted, felt as though he were floating on a cloud. There was cotton wool in his ears that made it hard to hear, as though everyone were speaking underwater. His friends hugged him, told him that they’d missed him, but Phil barely felt a touch.

Jace kissed him on the lips, and Phil shrank away from him, his lips burning. Jace tried to hold his hand, but Phil’s skin began to crawl with the affection, so he withdrew it, stuffing his hand in his pockets instead. He saw Jace frown, and Phil didn’t look into his eyes, didn’t want to see the concern and betrayal there. Phil didn’t know why he didn’t want to hold hands or display affection, but he felt awkward in front of his friends. Dan was watching, and it seemed as though he were staring through them for a moment. Charlie and Ledjon were chattering off to the side, and Jane was introducing herself to Ledjon.

No one was paying attention to Phil or Jace, and yet Phil felt as if everyone were watching them. He felt as though his skin was crawling and like everything was wrong, wrong, wrong. Maybe coming out after the restraining order had been a bad idea, but Phil was weak, and he didn’t know how to say no, so he’d let Dan drag him to a social outing when Phil was not in the correct mindset to care about anything.

“Why don’t you want to hold my hand?” Jace’s question shocked Phil out of his sorry thoughts, and Phil blinked. His eyes were dry, too dry, almost sticky, like a chameleon trying to blink.

The words were out before Phil could stop them, and a cold chill went down his spine at the familiarity of the words. “I have anxiety.”

He was disgusting, a monster, and he knew it. He didn’t know why he said it, because it wasn’t really true. He just didn’t want to hold hands, didn’t want to kiss Jace. He didn’t want to make out in front of their friends. He didn’t want to kiss anybody. He didn’t know why he’d gotten himself into such a mess.

Jace’s eyes softened though, and he nodded, making Phil feel like the biggest piece of shit there ever was. Jace didn’t deserve this. Phil knew he didn’t, and yet, he couldn’t seem to just tell Jace that he deserved better, that Jace should just break up with Phil and find someone who could actually love him.

“That’s alright,” Jace said quietly. “I understand.”

Phil wanted to tell him that he didn’t understand, that nobody did, but he kept it in, biting his lip to stop himself from speaking. Instead, he just gave Jace a tight lipped smile and forced himself to give Jace’s shoulder a friendly squeeze. He would make it up to Jace later in the form of heated kisses in the dark of Phil’s room, the dull glow of the stars on Phil’s ceiling judging Phil with every move he made.

They all made their way into the bakery, and Phil’s friends chattered away with bright smiles and cheery attitudes. Phil tried to join in on the conversation, but he couldn’t help but feel tired. Exhausted, even. Whatever it was that had happened earlier had made him feel as though his feet were cinderblocks and his mind was weighed down by a million thoughts that refused to dissipate.

They all ordered pastries, and Phil ordered some sort of scone that was lemon flavoured, which seemed interesting, as well as a coffee. He ordered it black, because he liked it the way, the darkness of the drink contrasting with the porcelain of the mug. As emo as it sounded, it reminded him of his soul. When they sat down, Ledjon sat on one side of Phi,l and Jace sat on the other. Dan frowned at that, but he shook his head at Phil’s questioning look. Apparently the reason for his frown wasn’t that important, but Phil didn’t really believe him.

As the rest of his friends chattered amongst themselves, Ledjon turned to Phil. They’d been texting a bit over the last few days and Phil had quickly realised that Ledjon didn’t have any horrible intentions. He was genuinely concerned about Phil and his wellbeing, and he reminded Phil a bit of Dan in that way. He had a gentle smile on his face, and his voice was quiet so that the others couldn’t hear him when he spoke. “How are you feeling today?”

Phil shrugged, thinking about what’d happened in the courtroom earlier. “Not great,” he admitted. “Got a restraining order and then ended up passing out. It was really strange. Don’t know what happened exactly.”

Ledjon hummed and took a bite of his pastry. It seemed to be some sort of chocolate croissant, and Phil watched as his tongue darted out to lick off a bit of the chocolate that spilled onto his lip. “D’ya think it was an anxiety attack? Panic attack? Whatever it is that the kids call it these days?”

An anxiety attack. Phil has heard of those before. They were categorized by a feeling of extreme anxiety that was triggered by a specific stimulus. Except the last Phil heard, anxiety attacks didn’t exactly include fainting.

He voiced this much to Ledjon, who shrugged his shoulders and took another thoughtful bite of his croissant. “I dunno, man. Anxiety attacks are different for everyone. Just because not many people pass out when they experience one doesn’t mean you don’t either. I’m just saying; it’s a possibility.”

Phil liked Ledjon. He thought he was kind. He also thought he stuck his nose into Phil’s business when he shouldn’t. “I’m sure it was nothing,” Phil responded quietly. He picked at his scone, but he wasn’t really hungry anymore. “If it keeps happening, maybe I’ll go see a doctor.”

“I think that’s a good idea.”

Phil’s phone buzzed and he furrowed his eyebrows, glancing down at it. His only friends were at the table with him, so who could be texting him?

As it turned out, it was Dan. Even though he was sitting across the table from Phil, he had still sent a text. It made Phil’s lips turn up in a fond smile. The idiot.

Dan Howell - 4:56pm

you ok? you look like youre gonna murder someone.

Phil glanced up and made eye contact with Dan, whose eyebrows were raised pointedly. It made Phil’s smile grow wider.

Phil Lester - 4:57pm

just peachy. kinda wanna go home tho. movie marathon tonight?

Dan Howell - 4:57pm

im thinkin Baby Driver. you in?

Phil Lester - 4:58pm

you know id kill a man to watch Baby Driver. im in :)

With the promise of watching one of his favourite movies later with one of his favourite people, getting through the social outing was just a tad easier. He talked when he needed to talk, laughed when someone told a joke, and kissed Jace before he left, promising to hang out the next day as he was too tired to do so tonight.

He appreciated all of his friends and what they’d done for him, how they were still there for him, but even so, socialising for that long had been extremely tiring.

So tiring, in fact, that he fell asleep on Dan’s shoulder approximately twenty minutes into the movie.

-

Just as Phil had promised, he and Jace hung out the very next day.

They'd been together for a few weeks now, but Phil was ashamed to admit that while Jace was a nice guy, Phil didn't really like him all too much. Sure, he liked him, but Phil didn’t get butterflies like he had when he’d met Nico. He didn’t get that fuzzy feeling in his chest like flowers were going to bloom inside of his lungs, didn’t blush when Jace kissed his cheek, and his kisses just left Phil feeling cold and empty.

It was as if there were something niggling at his mind, something telling him that this was wrong. He had an inkling about why he may feel that way, but he hated the thought of it more than anything.

Phil didn't feel the same desire as he did with Nico. He didn't belong to Jace. He belonged to Nico and nobody else.

So when Jace told him he loved him for the first time that day, Phil didn't feel the overwhelming sense of excitement like he had with Nico. Instead, his stomach dropped, his whole body turned tense, and his smile became fake. Where a warm and inviting person used to be, Phil had suddenly been replaced with a plastic mannequin, one that smiled and looked happy, but was fake through and through.

"I love you too," he said, turning his face down towards his feet so he couldn't see Jace's response. He felt bile rising in his throat, threatening to come out, and he didn't want Jace to know. He didn't want anybody to know.

He just wanted to be normal for once. A person who could gladly tell their boyfriend they loved them without feeling like they were going to puke on their shoes.

He didn’t want his boyfriend to know that he was a liar and a fake, that he would tell a boy he loved him without meaning it because he was afraid to be alone. He just wanted to be needed, to be wanted.

Jace provided that for him. He gave Phil kisses and told him how amazing he was. He bought him candy on the days when he could see Phil, and his entire expression lit up when he caught sight of Phil.

Phil definitely didn’t deserve that, but he didn't know how to tell Jace that he didn’t love him, that he was only with him because he wanted to prove to Nico that somebody else did want him. That somebody else would love him. He didn’t know how to tell Jace that without hurting him deeply, though, so he kept his mouth shut and told him he loved him, the lies under his tongue choking him like poison.

He didn’t know when this had happened or how this had happened, he didn’t know when he’d started to use people for his own personal gain, but now that he’d started, he couldn’t stop. He wanted to patch up all of the pain that Nico had caused him bit by bit, piece by piece.

He would patch himself up with loving words and kisses, with a man who was far too good for him, with a soul that didn’t deserve to be destroyed. Phil would use fake declarations of love to make himself feel whole again, and he didn’t give a damn who he hurt in the process

Sadly, Jace was just the one who had to be dragged into it, but that wasn’t Phil’s problem.

Chapter Twenty