#why is andrew the normal one

[feverdreamsandlucidnightmares]

I love that neil is pure of heart, dumb of ass, and also deeply fucked up

He’s just a little guy! All his friends love him and want him to take care of himself! He’ll totally kill that guy for you though. He protects his friends by mouthing off to horrifically dangerous people. He can’t tell that he’s being flirted with. He always respects his boyfriend’s boundaries and is hyper-vigilant about consent. He also got too distracted listening to his worstie scream in pain after his bf broke the guy’s arm to pay attention to his team checking on him despite the fact that the aforementioned bitch nearly killed him on national TV. He got his bf to agree to stop protecting him so that andrew wouldn’t feel responsible when he was inevitably killed. He comforted himself while being held by the FBI by replaying his father’s execution in his mind over and over. His only regret was that his mom didn’t live long to see his dad dead. But! He’s also so sorry that he upset his boyfriend by getting kidnapped. He put a hit out on a rapist over lunch. He insults the FBI. He challenged the yakuza and won and watched his enemy get executed and then was so giddy over it that his team wanted to know what was up and he lied to them. He’s a fucked up little guy. A Creature even. Morbid as hell. Deeply unserious. Protective as fuck with a mean, vindictive streak a mile wide. Would do anything up to and including killing someone for his found family. What a guy. Damn.

[cadence-is-silly]

HOZIER SANG ANGEL OF SMALL DEATH AND THE CODEINE SCENE IM CRYING WHAT

WHY COULDNT HE SING THAT AT THE CONCERT I WENT TO

[thebluebygracieabrams]

can someone PLEASE write fox jean and kevjean falling in love all over again and foxes are just sitting there shocked because WHO IS THIS GUY THIS IS NOT OUR KEVIN

[bestie-enthusiast]

Why do I keep falling in love TV shows that have like no fandom

[dayurno]

i just saw what you reposted about kevin being the problem child of doomed homoerotic relationships and nora saying that’s something kevin would do we already have solid proof of jean and basically all of aftg to prove he’s a siren to troubled men do u have any hc about how that happened? especially with kandrew i love them sm they’re truly one of my favorite aftg pairs but like in the question i always assumed it was andrew but now ik it’s kevin it almost makes it better idk?!? like a desperately devoted andrew plus being hopelessly in love with kevin and he obviously was doing it to andrew and neil but imagine if on a smaller scale it was also the rest of the foxes?? but also i can’t tell if he truly was the problem child or just extremely sheltered from and didn’t know how to interact with people so when he’s direct and earnest they fall in love on the spot  

I REALLY DONT KNOW AT ALL................... i think part of it is kevin being earnest and open about it in a way someone who hasnt been raised in a cult Wouldn't be but it's just really also. the kind of people he's doing it to.... i mean jean at the point he met kevin he'd been homeschooled with violent parents his only friend was his sister and then again jean was literally raising her on his 13 year old shoulders. and then kevin looks at him, and smiles at him, and asks to learn french, and says "i don't want to lose you". has anyone told jean that before???????? has there been anyone, ever, to say you are something worth keeping? you are something i can't lose? YOU HAVE TO UNDERSTAND. it's not just that kevin is a problem child it's that he chooses to say these things when you have literally no way to defend yourself

and the same for andrew are you crazy........ you're worth it. DO YOU UNDERSTAND...... has anyone ever told andrew that before? you're worth the trouble? i won't give up? i'll stay right here even if you fumble and kick and scream and refuse to play with me? I MEAN IT'S SERIOUSLY SICK. it's sick. it's horrible. he's so earnest. why is he like this. no wonder andrew was fighting wars and pulling knives this is the first time someone looked him in the eye and said no matter what you do i'm Not going to give up on you. and then he didn't even when andrew was a real fucking cunt about it. should we all just explode.

[goldengodcannibal]

my concept and general existence of gender doesn't exist but i'll watch or see something that just roots me firmly in loving being a gay man

[tasty-littl-snack]

"He loves a big guy" *points to himself and smiles* really one of the most "how to say I love you without saying I love you" they were so crazy for that.

[dykekarkat]

andreil rlly shines when ppl realize that andrew is the normal one in the relationship. this is also why aaron was being psychologically tortured by neil (unknowingly) during all 3 books

[iam-anordinary-human-orami]

I really want a scene like this in tsc2 where Neil seems to call Jean more often to check up on him and the floozies are perplexed "Why is Josten calling you?" "You guys close or sth?" "You still haven't told us what happened when he whisked you away" "we are worried sick Jean, how can you keep us in the dark?" And then Cat will say sth like "are you not sharing what you're talking to Josten about cause you're embarrassed?" Jeremy being a worried mother hen "is he bothering you?" And Jean keeps shutting everything down telling them not to worry, and then Laila as a joke says "is he flirting with you?"

And Jean responds with "I hope not. I don't think his boyfriend would take it well"

Everyone immediately stops what they are doing. "Im sorry, his WHAT?"

All hell breaks lose. Cat is shaking Laila "Josten is FRUITY?!", Jeremy is like "He has a boyfriend?" Laila being like "in the year that he joined the foxes and almost died in the hands of his serial killer dad, he got a boyfriend??? How???" And then Cat and Laila start asking questions, Jeremy trying to calm them down but also being curious, Jean is like "Well he's not told me explicitly, but it's obvious."

Jeremy having an epiphany "oh my god. Is it Kevin?" Cat in the background "oh please let it be Kevin" Jean says no, "Kevin is too much of a coward", the floozies are looking at each other like "oh we are definitely unpacking THAT at some point". And then they're like okay, well maybe the boyfriend is not on the team. But Jean confirms, it's a fox, i can tell u who it is-' "NO! We need to figure this one out!" "Let our gaydar do the work Jean we got things to prove!" Jean tiredly: "to who?"

So they start guessing, oh Hemmick is undeniably fruity, Jean is like "I don't even know who that is. Oh, backliner? No, not him". "Maybe it's Boyd?!" Cat being like "Escandalo! Cause he's with the captain right? Wilds?" Laila commenting "He'd be out of his mind to pass on that, and this is the educated opinion of a lesbian", Jean is like "how come u guys know all their names?" Jeremy says "they are a small team and it's hard not to keep tabs on them when they are in the news cycle every week or so"

"Guys we're losing track, keep your heads locked in! Who could be Josten's boyfriend, that tonight's pressing question!" "But there's no one else... wait, is he with the other backliner? Short blonde?" "I'm gonna be honest, I don't get queer vibes from him" "Lol can u imagine it's actually the goalkeeper twin" "what the one that went to juvie and looks like hes one step away from biting our heads off on the court? Nahh". Jean looks at an invisible camera like he's in the office.

And then something happens and they forget about it, until like the winter banquet or some shit and Cat is intently looking at Neil trying to decipher who his boyfriend could be, maybe he is in a throuple with Wilds and Boyd? Jean is like "Why are you looking at the foxes' table so intently?" "It's investigative work, don't worry about it" and then Neil comes over and takes Jean away at the open bar to talk about sth, the floozies are pretending to not be looking at them. Neil notices and he's like "I see they taken claim already." Jean responds with "It's not what u think" and they talk, Andrew probably gets bored at some point and goes to Neil, puts a single hand on his lower back and Jean being able to hear commotion in the Trojans table turns to see them acting like "normal", except their poses look rehearsed, there's drinks that have been spilled on the table and Cat is drinking from an empty glass looking at the sky.

[threewaywithdelusion]

I wish more people liked Canon Nicky. Like yeah, he sucks a little bit, but that’s the point.

All the Foxes suck a little bit. They’re not perfect victims, they use slurs, they do bad things to each other. Seth’s a selfish homophobic asshole, but he saves Allison. Kevin’s a one-track-minded alcoholic who hears his teammate died and wonders how the team will keep playing, but he also gives Andrew a chance before anyone else does. Wymack’s lucky they didn’t have cancel culture in 2006, because some of the things he says are horrifically not PC. But he’s not some perfect savior of a coach. He’s a guy with a terrible past who decided to make it his life’s mission to help troubled kids. And if he gets it wrong sometime, it’s because absolutely no one in these books is 100% mentally well and they’re definitely not coming across mental health tips on TikTok or reading books about how to do better.

Nicky is terrible at boundaries and consent. It’s probably a trauma response to his upbringing and conversion therapy, but that doesn’t make it okay. He makes creepy comments all the time and he assaults Neil in Columbia.

I’m not excusing any of that. But Nicky isn’t only that, and that’s why he’s interesting.

He’s the one who texts Neil a million times a day, until Neil stops looking frightened every time his phone beeps. He gave up Erik and Germany to raise two angry teenagers who never reciprocated his affection. He had a relatively normal upbringing (religious trauma aside) and then got thrown into dealing with the twins and having to navigate 1) Andrew locking Aaron in the bathroom to get clean (is he being a good or bad guardian by letting that happen?) 2) working two jobs to pay for the house 3) Andrew being arrested 4) Andrew being put on meds that made him manic and unreliable 5) Aaron’s homophobia 6) Andrew’s violent threats and so much more.

When exactly did he find out Andrew had killed Tilda? Which of the twins told him? And did he ever wonder if Andrew would kill his newest guardian if Nicky messed up?

Nicky is incredibly selfless, brave, and patient. And he’s also pushy, kinda creepy, and incapable of understanding boundaries. He’s both. And I wish the fandom wouldn’t sanitise him, because I think that’s part of the point.

[polaris-daydreams]

(my) baby likes it messy

pairing : andrew “pope” cody x reader 

warnings : HEAVY SMUT ❗❗masochism, tiddy fucking, blowjob, rough facefucking, tip kissing, dacryphilia, choking, spit in mouth, swallowing spit, shared cum eating, pussy spanking, condescending degradation, begging, pussy eating, mutual masturbation, multiple orgasms, pressing on wounds, fighting, slapping, punching, manhandling, blood, injuries, sadism, breeding kink, cumming inside, switch!dynamics, angst, hurt/comfort, implication of that 1 line from baz to pope :(. pet names used : kiddo, kid, baby, sweet baby, pretty baby, sweet thing, daddy, mommy. DO NOT READ IF UNDER 18 ❗❗

summary : part 2 to this. Where you and pope use play fighting (and fucking) to talk about your feelings instead. read part 3 & part 4

w/c : 4.2k (WHEW this was a beast to write !!)

a/n : 2nd time writing smut but i was still rly struggling bcs i had so many diff scenarios typed out separately that it was difficult to piece them all tgr and make them work. i'm super nervous about this :") a lot of ppl were looking forward to pt 2 so im realllly hoping i did pope justice and that its satisfactory for yall <3. gif credits: @ozarkthedog. divider credits: @cafekitsune. writing prompt credits: @loveisanimaginarydagger3000 @urfriendlywriter. pretty please leave comments or rambles in reblogs <33 so i know how well i did :))

“You really wanna do this now kiddo?” Pope breathes out in disbelief.

“Why not? We always agreed the play fighting was okay. Let out stress n’ whatnot.” You play with the ring on your hand, as if what you were asking of Pope was completely normal.

Pope shakes the towel in his hair, the water droplets flying in every which way. His ribs a splotchy canvas with bruised purple.

“You want me, right now,” he makes his way over, leaning against the bathroom doorframe. “To fight and fuck you while I’m completely naked and you’re only wearing panties and my shirt?”

“Hey, you said it yourself. Told me you’d fuck me face down in your bed. Wouldn't stop giving it to me even if I begged … what was it again? Oh, right. Even if I begged sweetly.”

Pope stares at you with a tired expression. The kind where you’ve had to put up with your spouse’s antics for the 15th year in a row. Except that wasn’t a luxury you guys had together, with the two of you coming to terms with your feelings only when he got back from prison. So his eyes soften at the edges even when you talk back to him.

“Come onnn Pope, you know the whole family’s gone tonight. No ones gonna care that you're chasing and fighting me while butt ass naked.” You stand up and walk towards him.

“Kid, I really think you don't know what you're getting yourself into.” Pope meets you halfway, hands naturally finding your waist.

He thinks he should steal a kiss from you. What else can he think about when you look up at him like that and pout your lips?

His thoughts drift away when you do, his hands falling as you turn, walking away with your back towards him.

He frowns.

“Well, I guess I better find J then. M’sure he’s not too busy for me.”

The frown turns into a scowl.

“Dont fuckin’ say shit like that, kid.”

You spin around easily, your (his) big shirt flowing with the movement. Clasping your hands behind you and rocking on your heels,

“Why? Since you only talk a big game, I’ll just find someone else who can really fuck me good. Cum in me reallll deep a-”

You turn quickly, anticipating Pope surging towards you, you dash across the room and just barely manage to grip the edge of the glass door when Pope’s body slams into the back of you. The impact of his body and his hand landing on the glass, rocks you towards it. You're unable to stop your temple from thudding against it. Pope’s hand is keeping a tight grip on the edge, his warm body caging you in. You can feel his cock just barely touching your ass, his chest contracting and expanding from jealousy. 

But none of those are what scares you.

What scares you is when he gently tips your chin upwards, angling your face to him. Keeps his thumb caressing your cheekbone, as he plants the softest kiss on your temple. The same place you got hit.

He takes away his touch, just enough to put his forehead to yours.

“That’s the only time I’m being soft with you tonight, baby.” He mutters against your lips.

Then, all traces of that softness is gone as Pope bends down and hauls you over his shoulder, holding you by the waist. You slap and scratch at his back, scraping your sharp manicured nails along his injuries. You feel a shudder shake his body, but you’re certain it was more from pleasure than pain.

He puts you down on the floor in front of the bedpost, making sure to land you ass first to cushion your fall as he crawls his way over your body.

You kick at his frame, landing hits on his bruised ribs. You’d almost feel bad but his hard cock tells you he’s enjoying all of this. 

Pope catches your ankle when you're kicking at him, dragging your whole body down easily with one strong arm. He sits on your legs to keep them down, you pull yourself up just for him to quickly crawl up the length of your body, bunching up your (his) black shirt to expose your tits. Pope lets you slap him around, even lets you land one on his face. Groaning deep in his chest, he finally makes his way up, straddling just below your chest. His knees are on either side of your boobs as he squeezes them together with his hands.

Leaning his face closer, giving you easier access to slap and punch as he draws back his hips, then shoves his hard cock back in between the valley of your tits squished together.

“This is fucking humiliating Pope, I hate you.” You whine out, embarrassed.

“Oh sweet baby, you don't even know what's waiting’ for you if ya think this is even close to humiliation.”

Pope looks down at you with an evil smirk, fresh blood appearing on his face from your fighting.

He distances his face from you, so that your blows hit his stomach and chest instead.

You see his abs ripple as you rake your claws down, red lines following your trail.

“Shit, kid c'mon, play a little nicer yeah? Why don’t you stick out that pretty tongue of yours. Give my tip some attention, yeah?”

Pope tilts his head when you remain defiant. Biting down on your lips to drive the point home.

“It’s like that huh kid? Alright, I only wanted you to nurse the tip. But since you wanna be that way, I’ll just make you take me whole.”

Pope barely finishes the last word before parting your lips forcefully with his hand, the force of it making your teeth catch on your lips, tearing apart the delicate skin. 

His gaze falls to the blood escaping your lips. He holds his cock in one hand, tapping it against your soft lips before swiping his tip over the leaking blood. There's a dark twinkle in his eyes, then he lets go of his cock, opting to place both his hands in your hair before sheathing himself into you.

You choke on it as his cock buries deep in your throat. Pope hisses as the warmth of your throat envelopes him. He draws back his hips until just the head is still inside, then bucks his hips forward again.

He maintains this pattern, speeding up when he sees tears escape and fall down your gorgeous face.

“Awh pretty baby. Is my baby crying, yeah? Crying cause I’m so fuckin’ deep in her?. Can my baby not take it, me using, oh fuck, using her like a cocksleeve?”

“You look so pretty like that kiddo. Look soo fuckin' good swallowing my cock and crying. Fuck, you crying all over my cock makes me so much more harder.”

With your eyes glossed over, you squeeze down aimlessly on his chest.

“Oh, sh-shit, yeah do that again c’mon kid press down on my ribs.”

You oblige, Pope making himself fit in the warmth of your throat one last time as his body bends forward from the high. His abs constrict, forehead banging against the bedpost as he milks himself into your mouth.

“Fuckkking hell kid, you're so good to me.”

He pants over you, pushing against the bedpost with his hand to reel back on his heels.

Fuck, you look so gorgeous like this.

The tip of his cock resting on your lips.

Your mouth filled to the brim with his cum.

Tears staining the path down your face.

Glossy eyes looking up at him.

Pope grabs his still hard cock, swiping it across your bottom lip, smearing cum all over you like it's lipstick.

“Give it one last suck kiddo. Wouldn't want to waste a drop would we?”

You listen this time.

Putting your soft lips over his head, you suck on it like a lollipop, swirling your tongue around it once before it leaves your mouth with “pop!”. You place a gentle kiss on the tip, making Pope’s eyes soften.

He guesses he’ll indulge you this one time (it's a lie, he’ll keep being soft with you no matter how jealous you make him, how hard you hit him.)

Pope smooshes your cheeks by grabbing your jaw, and you already know what he’s doing to you, giving to you.

So you stick out your cum-filled tongue, letting him spit in your mouth.

He shuffles down your body, his hips meeting yours as he brings his face down to yours. Cradling the side of your face, he kisses you slow. Presses his tongue inside, tasting his own cum as he makes out with you. Its sloppy and messy. 

“Swallow.” Pope whispers against your lips, still kissing and licking.

The both of you swallow at the same time, sharing the cum.

His forehead is pressed against yours when he asks softly,

“Still up for playing?”

Dark eyes shining at your cock-drunk nod and smile.

Pope waits for you to start the round, lessens his body weight on you.

You take the chance to shove him with all your might, getting him to topple to the side. You rise quickly, trying to steady your wobbly legs. Your footsteps stomp on the floor until you feel him gripping the back of your hair, but your arm is already reeling backwards. The sound of your fist connecting to Pope’s nose makes a sickening crunch. Blood splatters onto the bedsheets as his body bends that way. 

Not stopping, you drag him by the collar, hooking your leg behind his knee and throwing him to the bed using your whole body. Clambering on top of him once he hits the soft mattress.

You reel your right hand back to land another punch.

But Pope smiles.

Blood dripping out of his nose down to his lips.

Caused by a punch from you.

Yet he still looks at you like you hung the moon.

You falter, your hand still mid air.

That's enough for Pope.

He’s bigger, faster so he reverses your positions easily.

His left hand pushing down on the back of your head, smooshing your cheeks to the mattress. He kneels on the back of your legs, the whole of his body weight pinning you down. Your hands reach out behind you, clawing and slapping his arms. He groans as you draw blood. His knees slipping off of you for just a second, still caging you in between his legs, but his body weight isn't on you anymore. You take the chance to raise your hips, his hand still holding your head down.

But you’ve walked right into his plan.

Pope sneaks his right hand between your legs, stopping it right in front of your panties, as he grinds his cock down into your ass.

“Oh, f-fuck”

You stutter as the force pushes you deeper against his fingers. Legs clamping closed to stop his fingers from circling your pussy through the panties.

Pope lets out a dark chuckle.

“C’mon kiddo, don’t you wanna play with me?”

He brings his face closer, peppering open-mouthed kisses along your spine. Leaves a trail of blood up to your neck. His voice is husky when he speaks in your neck.

“I know you wanna, c’mon spread those legs f’me. Let me make you feel good, let me play with your pretty pussy yeah?”

You try to shake your head, muttering out weak “no”s.

Pope just tuts disapprovingly, using his knees to spread your legs apart himself. Your chest falls forward, so you’re ass up face down. 

“Mm no baby? Baby doesn’t want her pretty pussy played with, s’that right?”

He tears your panties in one swift motion, shoves two fingers deep easily from how wet you are.

A soundless scream escapes you from how sudden the intrusion is.

“Then why's the greedy little thing justtt sucking my fingers in huh? Y’hear that kiddo, fuck you’re absolutely  gushing ‘round me.”

He starts grinding his hard cock against your propped up ass again, the force making his finger go deeper and deeper.

Your soft “uh, uh, uh”s fill the room along with the obscene slick sounds.

“Damn kid, could probably just slip inside that pretty pussy with how wet you are. Maybe I should add another yeah?”

He does just that, and uses his thumb to draw circles around your clit at the same time.

You cry out, trashing against his hold. It's all too much. Him grinding against your ass. Three fingers reaching that spot he knows makes you crazy. The deep, slow circles putting pressure on your clit, just the way he knows you like it.

“S’too m-much, too much ple-pleasee I can’t.”

“Oh? S’too much?” Condescension drips like honey from his lips as he mocks your high pitched pleas.

“Or maybe I heard wrong. Maybe y’said you wanted more please? Well when you beg for more so nicely, 'course you can have more, kiddo.” 

He takes out his fingers, and you think he finally takes pity on you.

Until Pope slams the entirety of his thick cock into you, with one motion he’s buried to the hilt. You wail, tears blurring your vision and making a mess of your face.

“Fuckkkkk, Goddamn kid your pussy’s made for me. Greedy little thing just sucked me in, fuck me.”

You choke on your crying, drool escaping the side of your mouth. 

You feel Pope repeating a brutal rhythm, pulling out till the last inch of his cock, then diving back in.

“Sweet thing, what happened to all that back talking hm?

Garbled moans and high pitched whines are the only thing escaping your lips. 

Pope sighs with mock disappointment, before reaching the hand that's not pinning your head, down between your thighs.

Spank! 

Your body jolts, electricity shocks travelling everywhere.

“Asked you a question, kiddo.”

Pope’s voice doesn’t falter a bit, even when you're a drooly, dazed mess.

“M’sorry,” you sniffle between your words, “M’sorry Andrew, won’t … won’t do it again. Can’t take it, please.”

“Yeah? S’that true? You’re sorry Andrew? N’ what’re you sorry for sweet thing? C’mon use your big girl words, kiddo. Know you can spit it out.”

“Won’t, fuck, won’t talk about others fucking m-me better. Jus’ missed you m’sorry, I can’t, plea .. please Andrew, can’t take anymore.”

“Can’t take it?”

Pope leans over you, his chest to your back.

Places bloody kisses to your jawline.

“You can.”

Bites the shell of your ear.

“You will.”

 

He’s quiet. You notice his energy is different tonight. A different quiet. His jaw tense, shoulders hunched over. His hands gripping the nightstand edge. It's one of those nights, you realise. Ones where you’re breaking him and piecing back the pieces together again.

You stand up from the bed, carefully making your way to him. Gently cupping his jaw with your hands, tilting his head back up to look at you.

“Wanna play with me?” You whisper to the dead of night. Tracing the cuts on his cheekbones with your thumbs.

His gaze bores into you. Hurt swimming around in his irises. Leaning into your touch, letting his walls fall down just for you. Eyes flutter close. It's serene for a moment. He takes in a deep inhale, slowly reveals his pretty eyes to you again as the air leaves his lungs.

“Yeah, I wanna play.”

You let a small smile quirk up at the corner of your lips. Not to tease, no. For letting you do this to him. For him.

Dropping your forehead to his, bumping the tip of your nose with his bloody one.

The two of you inhale at the same time, sharing the air in that intimate moment.

Then, you take your time reeling back from him.

Hands falling from his jaw.

Just so you can land a slap to Pope’s left cheek.

The sound of contact reverberates throughout the room, his head whipping to the right.

His chest is heaving when he brings his face back to you.

Puppy dog eyes staring into your soul.

“Harder, please.”

You smack his left cheek again, more force behind it as Pope’s body moves with the turn of his head.

He doesn't get a word in when he turns back, your hand already reeling back to land the hardest slap up until that point. 

Pope groans, a dribble of blood escaping past his lips.

You grip his jaw, ignoring the whine when your fingers dig into the sore spot of his cheek. Then, you surge your lips forward, shoving your tongue in his mouth, tasting his blood.

The close proximity makes Pope grind his hips into you, hands wandering to your hips.

You pull away when you feel his bulge.

“Are you getting off from the pain? You fucking whore.”

Pope frantically shakes his head, hands gripping your hips harder.

“No, no ‘m not. Just wanted t’feel you please.”

You pull him by the neck, walking backwards till you feel the bed behind you. Then, you put your leg between his, kicking the back his knee to make him kneel, the other knee following suit.

Allowing his hands to wander, trailing up and down the back of your exposed thighs.

You undress yourself, throwing the fabrics to the side until it's just your panties and thigh highs.

You tilt your head, 

“Help me take them off?” You sweetly ask Pope, as if you were asking him to pass the salt.

Pope listens quickly, tugs down your underwear. You’re left in his favourite thigh highs to see on you. They're frilly, white with a pink trim and a pink bow. There's a metal heart charm that dangles in the middle of the bow. Spelt out “Pope” if anyone got close enough to see. (nobody has, and nobody ever will.)

You take a seat on the edge of the bed, leaning back a tiny bit, your hands spread behind you for support.

Spreading your legs just enough to show Pope how wet you are for him. You see his throat bob as he swallows, hands fidgeting on his lap, like he’s barely restraining himself from just taking what he wants from you.

“Want you …” you trail off as you slowly rub your clothed foot uppp and downnn Pope’s thigh.

“Wan’ you to jerk off using my panties. Want you to make me feel good while you're doing it.” You emphasise your point by digging into the sore skin of his cheeks, skin splitting open with blood.

“Go on.”

Pope pulls you towards him, places your thighs atop his broad shoulders, and dives in.

Fuck, he’s eager.

His tongue licks broad stripes, from the bottom to the top. Shoving his tongue deep into you, sucking at your clit like he’s sucking a honeycomb. Shit, Pope thinks he might be from how fucking saccharine you taste. 

He keeps his eyes locked on you the whole time. Grips the meat of your thighs as you writhe in pleasure. He hungrily flicks his tongue, angling his head to get deeper, lick harder. He’s hyper fixated on you. Your reactions. The pattern in which your chest heaves, the way you bite your lip, the furrow in your brow. 

But Pope thinks the best part is how you sound. Like a fuckin’ angel leading him to salvation. All the while pushing and slapping him around. That’s alright, Pope thinks to himself. He’d let you shoot him if it meant bringing you pleasure.

Pope lets go of your left thigh, a red mark starting to blossom from how hard he was gripping. He brings the hand down, taking your cute panties and wrapping them around his cock.

You slowly part your legs, exposing the dripping, obscene sight to Pope.

Sighing as you start fingering yourself, slow and deep with two fingers. 

“You're … you're so mean Pope. Making me treat you like a dog when all I wanted was you to split me open on your big fat cock.” You pout your lips mockingly, fingers picking up the pace.

“S’not enough you know. You know it's never enough. My fingers can’t fill me up the way your big cock does. Can't reach those spots that make me see stars.” You grind your hips, taking your fingers deeper.

“Just want you in me. Want you to cum deep inside. Wan’ you to put a baby in me.”

Pope stills his movement.

He’s so still that it makes you pause too, thinking he wants to stop the round.

Wincing slightly as you take out your fingers.

“Pope you oka-”

“You mean that?”

You blink. 

Pope’s voice is so incredibly small. His eyes, so pained when he looks up at you. Like you're giving him false hope.

“Hey.”

You quickly scoot down to him, planting yourself on his lap. Slowly, you move away the fabric in his hand, careful not to add any friction. Interlocking your messy fingers with his. You bring a clean hand to his cheek, Pope nuzzling into it.

Wrapping his other arm around your waist, bringing you closer to him. He makes himself smaller so he can rest his face in your neck. Using you like a shield.

“Baz said no one would want that.”

You run the hand that he was nuzzling into, through his messy curls while he explains.

“Wouldn’t want that with me.”

Oh, how your heart breaks.

“I want that, with you.”

You lead your interlocked hands to your stomach.

“Want you to give me a baby, right here.”

Pope emerges from his hiding spot in your neck.

Fuck, he looks like he’s about to break apart at the seams.

Puts his forehead to yours, breaths mingling.

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I do. I know that I wanna start a family with you. One where we’ll learn not to be like the others before us. A happy family, with pure unconditional love. And I know you're the only person I want to share that with.”

Pope exhales shakily, before meeting your lips.

Not rushed.

Not intense.

Just a firm reminder that you’re here, you’re real.

He slowly takes his cock again, lines it up with your entrance as you delicately lower yourself on it. The two of you still sharing sweet kisses. He wraps your legs around him and carries you up onto the bed. Placing you down carefully, then sitting on his knees in between your thighs.

Just stares at you for a few seconds, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he takes his eyes off of you.

His eyes travel down to your thigh highs, they’ve shifted down to just slightly above your knees now from all the movement.

Pope’s fingers wrap around the small metal charm with his name on it, traces the tiny letters. 

Smoothing his hands over to the top of your things, to the underside of your knees. He lifts them, pecking the charms before pushing down, down, making the top of your thighs meet the soft bed as Pope bends down to chase your lips again. Your legs are spread wide in the full nelson position.

“Gonna move now okay? Gonna put a baby in you.”

It's romantic.

It's a promise.

Pope grinds slow and deep, curving his hips to hit that angle. He’s so thick and big, that it knocks the air out your lungs every time he pushes back in to just barely graze a kiss on your cervix. You don’t need air, you think. Not when Pope is giving you oxygen as he whispers in between kissing you.

“You feel that? Yeah that's me in there, kid.”

He lets go of your thigh briefly to guide your hand, down to the bulge in your stomach where his cock is.

“Gonna give you our kid. Gonna give my kid a little kiddo, yeah?”

“You'd like that right? Giving my pretty baby a baby of her own. Of our own. Our happy little family.”

“Wanna make you a mommy. You want that? You want that with me? Wanna make me a daddy, yeah?”

Your thighs shake, your back arching and pushing you closer to Pope’s chest. Your insides clamp down on his cock like a vice when you cum. It all makes Pope dizzy with desire. 

“C’mon then, c’mon let me do it. Let me take care of you. Let daddy make you a mommy. Fuck, please. Please make me a daddy. I’ll be so good, I promise. Oh, I need it, need you. Please, please please ‘m so close oh fuck.”

Pope’s entire body tenses up, a wave washes over him as his eyes roll to the back of his skull. His forehead lands on yours.

He cries, chanting “I love you”s against your lips. The devotion slips past your mouth, making its way down to your pounding heart.

Pope gently lets you thighs drop back down, but the two of you stay intertwined for a while longer. 

He tiredly shifts the two of you on your side, your back to his chest. His nose resting in your hair. His arms protectively wrap around your stomach. 

You place your hands over his, fidgeting with his fingers.

“I hope it’s a girl.”

Pope breaks through the veil of silence after what seems like forever.

You quirk your lips into a smile, eyes fluttering open.

“Yeah, then she’ll grow up right before your eyes. Asking why your name’s so weird, then in no time she’ll be telling you her boy problems at school.”

Pope laughs. He laughs.

Not the empty one. Not the crazed, I’m-about-to-snap laugh.

Pope lets the genuine melody fall from his lips, blessing your ears with the warmth emitting from it.

All from the thought of starting his own family. With you.

a/n : this is my longest fic to date but i had to take out a good chunk, lemme know if yall wanna see it expanded upon (its pope having reader in a headlock based on this gifset, same one i used as inspo for the positions). prettyyy please leave comments or rambles in your reblogs, even if its just in tags. i'm so nervous abt this fic so i srsly hope to see ppl enjoying it :").

no pressure tags for beloved mooties/fellow pope enjoyers from pt1 : @erwinsvow @callsign-fangirl @mangonom @nyheartbreak @xngxlstuff @paintlavillered @awkwardpersonsthings

[theealbatross]

fight the alchemy (s.s)

Plot | After a tumultuous year, Sebastian’s life was finally okay – passable, up-to-scratch, satisfactory. And he had just almost reached peace – when his brilliant, painfully observant, carelessly crude genius of a friend, Garreth Weasley, started pointing out unnecessary facts that could rip all that harmony to shreds.

or, Garreth asks why Sebastian isn’t dating you. Sebastian spirals.

Tags | fluff, sebastian is a thought daughter, low self esteem, seb is a playboy BUT NOT REALLY, horny thots but we keep it pg, insecurity so deep you try to fight cupid, cupid fights back

An Ashwinder’s wand to his neck and Sebastian could honestly and truly say that he was … alright.

Life wasn’t perfect, by any means. His uncle was murdered dead, an estranged twin sister in Paris who refuses to answer his letters, a mistrustful Ominis that breathes on his neck, and a tattered companionship that was barely hanging on by a thread.

But he was okay.

Thankfully, Solomon was still dead, Anne was still alive, and still cranky Ominis is now open to reconciliation. Plus, if all else had fallen, he at least managed to save your cherished friendship thanks to your forgiving nature.

Thus, as thanks to the people who had not yet given up on him, he had sworn to live the rest of his academic life as a meek, unassuming, law-abiding student of Hogwarts.

And he did such a good job at it.

The professors are now impressed at his steadily increasing grades (so much so that the Ravenclaws are now finally seeing him as a threat again) and he even managed to make Imelda’s team as her beater to keep him occupied.

The latter, however, had a grating consequence – he had become popular.

It was thrilling, at first, he went on dates to make up for the years he had lost, kissed the pretty girls because it felt like he should (as one of the few bastards lucky enough to live every raging teenager’s dream), and accepted the slaps on the face politely when they inevitably broke up.

But now he’s just gotten tired and bored of it all.

Ominis says it’s a genius’ folly, to always find a fault in something and then drop it when it doesn’t quite meet his standard of perfect. Leander says he’s just a bastard.

He cups his face with his hand, wincing. Her fucking ring caught on his skin and he can’t be arsed to suffer through the bitterness of a Wiggenweld Potion for a mere scratch.

Garreth doesn’t bother to swallow his bread before saying, “Really, mate? I thought you liked this one?”

“Liked her rack, more likely,” Andrew quipped from his seat on the stone steps of the boathouse.

Sebastian threw his scarf on his face, satisfied at his squawk.

“No talking about my ex-girlfriends,” he warned. It was one of his few rules when it came to his male friends. He may be a bastard but as someone with a sister and a couple of good female friendships, he makes it a point to never become one of those losers who talk badly about women they have a history with. Just so he can have a moral high ground when he beats up anyone who might do it to his friends.

“All right, all right,” Andrew raised his hands in playful surrender, throwing Sebastian’s scarf back to him. “But as your friend, I think it’s about time you stop swapping out girls every time you get bored of them.”

“I don’t swap them out,” he rolls his eyes. “Breakups are normal.”

“Breakups are normal,” Garreth points out. “Six breakups in 2 years is an issue.”

“Maybe I’m just meant for the bachelor life,” he mumbles, ignoring the pointed accusation from Garreth. Fucking perceptive prick. “Not everyone gets to meet their soulmate in Hogwarts, asshole.”

Garreth grins, “Natty’s great, isn’t she?”

Sebastian and Andrew both throw their scarves at him, the three of them bursting out in laughter and boos.

“To the Three Broomsticks, then?” Andrew stood up, patting his pants.

As 7th years it was nearly impossible to take a breather with the looming threat of exams that will dictate the rest of your life and the inescapable trap of adulthood that awaits them in a couple of months. So, his friends had made it a point to at least go out once every week whenever they could, really take advantage of their last year as students where they had no other responsibility but to survive the week.

In a year’s time, seeing each other as often as they do will be nothing short of a miracle.

“Leander and Everett are already there, saved up a table since it’s a Friday, it’s gonna be packed full,” Andrew explains.

Sebastian looks around, eyes scanning the castle in the setting sun. “You go on ahead I’m waiting for –”

“Sebastian!”

A flash of movement appeared rushing down the stairs towards the boathouse, your face beaming as you waved to the three of them. When you were a foot away from him you jumped into his arms, shrieking energetically when he grabbed your waist and lifted you above his head.

“Sorry, I’m late,” you pant, smiling at your friends once you’re back on the ground. “Professor Hecate asked me to stay back for a minute, something about revisions on my research.”

“I can’t believe you got permission to research in The Restricted Section after the crazy nonsense you pulled in 5th year,” Garreth shook his head. Sebastian wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to his side, beaming in pride. Nobody knows but the two of you that the very thing you were researching were the technicalities of how you broke Anne’s curse so it could be taught to the nurses in St. Mungos and hopefully spread to the rest of wizardkind.

“It’s exactly because I had the nerve to break the rules that I was given the honorable opportunity,” you dramatically curtsied. “And they said Gryffindors were the brave ones.”

That made Sebastian laugh. Garreth blinks, eyes squinting at him for a second but he doesn’t look offended, more … focused on Sebastian.

“Alright, no more of that House Rivalry. Quidditch Season is over,” Andrew quips.

“Wiped your asses there too, Larson,” he quipped, Andrew’s jaw drops, looking at Garreth for help and receiving none. He was still staring at Sebastian, eyes shifting between him and you.

Andrew groans. “Slytherins are assholes.”

Slytherins are, apparently, also light-weights.

Well, at least one of them is.

He adjusts his hold on your body as the other hand wraps his coat around your body properly. After your last ‘improved’ butterbeer you had slumped into his lap, rudely snoozing off on the crook of his neck and refusing to wake up even when it was time for your group to leave – not that he would’ve allowed that to happen, with your demanding research it was a miracle to get you to sleep let alone let loose.

The rest of the group had gone in first to scope the scenery and bribe the patrolling Head students with leftover chips while he and Garreth were stuck carrying you and an unconscious Amit that they had managed to catch last-minute in Hogsmeade. Poor bastard.

“I was thinking –”

“Please don’t,” he groans.

“Why have you two never dated?”

Sebastian stops his fussing, barely able to use his head to ensure he keeps walking, and continue to Act Normal, now using both of his hands to hold you tighter.

“You’re drunk,” he deflects. The puffs of your breath warm his entire body.

“Because! When I think about it …”

Please, for the love of the great Merlin stop thinking.

“You’ve been inseparable from the start! I can’t believe it’s escaped my notice you’ve never dated. You say your past relationships got boring and got annoying but you’ve never been bored and annoyed with her and you’ve been friends for years!”

Bored with you? He’s had more near-fatal heart attacks because of you than breakups. Sebastian barely had the time to be bored. And sometimes you do get at each other’s throats but it was always fixed after a proper conversation. If his killing his uncle couldn’t turn you away then he doubts anything you do could ever turn him away.

“Plus, with all the respect and love to my beautiful darling Natty, she’s a fucking catch, mate!”

If Garreth wasn’t carrying a sinless half-dead Amit, Sebastian would’ve punched him in his mouth just to stop him from talking.

“I’m just saying,” Garreth walks ahead of him, clearly aware of the fuse he had just lit. Sebastian was tempted to kick the back of his knees just for the satisfaction of seeing him fall.  “Maybe you can join the club and find your soulmate in Hogwarts.”

Garreth winks.

“We’re still accepting members.”

He’s decided.

He needs to kill Garreth.

He has not been able to sleep properly for the past week and it’s all because of that ginger prick and his needless remarks.

“Why have you two never dated?”

Sebastian’s pencil cracks in his hand.

“Is he alright?” he hears an underclassman whisper on the other table. He glances at them and they flinch. Quickly, he softens his expression ("You really need to stop scowling at people, Sebastian."), unaware he had glared at them and sent a wary smile in apology. It would just be unfair to aim his ire at innocent people when he could just use it to rip out every strand of Weasley’s hair.

“He’s been staring at that page for an hour. Maybe we should call –”

He stands up, escaping.

Sebastian never realized just how much he spent his time with you until people were looking at him funny when he was walking or sitting alone in public places. At first, he thought there had been crumbs on his face or one of his asshole friends stuck a note on his back like a kid. Plus, he hadn’t been feeling his best since that night but he thought it had been the lack of sleep.

It wasn’t until he had met Imelda on the grounds that he found his answer:

“Where’s the rest of you?”

He blinked at his captain, “I’m sorry?”

She shook her head. “Man, it feels weird seeing you alone. Did you guys have a fight? You’re usually shadowing her like a puppy after class.”

Then everything clicks, the strange looks, the feeling of missing something (like a forgotten important homework after he had reached the top of the Astronomy Tower) – it’s been a side effect of avoiding you.

Okay, it’s not that he’s avoiding you per se. He just needs space. He needs to think and he finds that can’t do that once he feels your eyes on him. With his luck, you’re going to see right through him and that would just be unideal if not a fucking catastrophe.

That’s why he’s taken it upon himself to stay off your way until he puts his thoughts in a row and finally screws his head on straight again. Or he could just kill Garreth, get sent straight to Azakaban, and avoid confronting these complicated thoughts altogether.

“I can’t believe it’s escaped my notice you’ve never dated!”

He sits on a bench, hands on his head as he let out a prolonged groan, “The fucking bastard.”

Why did he have to point it out? Why did Garreth have to bring what he, upon reflection, had buried on the back of his head, just waiting for that one little flick of acknowledgment before it blew his brains out.

Because Sebastian is a lot of things but he’s not a fucking moron.

It’s not that the thought of being together is unpleasant. If he lets himself consider it his chest feels like it would escape his ribcage both in excitement and utter terror.

But Garreth was right: he’d never thought about it before – hadn’t thought the idea was conceivable in this reality.

He has a feeling it was his way of preserving whatever pure relationship he had left. He’s not exactly rich with true companionship and he’s not idiotic enough to risk it all over a bloody crush. 

And not just any crush – his best friend, the person who saved his life and then helped him rebuild it when he was finished smashing it to pieces. The one who never turned her back even when his blood had given up. The girl who has a line of eligible bachelors following her on their knees for a single chance, ones who could offer her more than he ever could – ones who could offer her the world.

So, yeah – forgive him, but he’s never really allowed himself to entertain the idea of them dating. Sebastian has tested his luck enough.

Unless the roles switch and he gets to save the wizarding world this time then maybe … yeah, maybe -- maybe in another fucking life.

The thought makes him stand up, walking straight out of the campus to hopefully drown the sorrows of the depressing state of his love life with the best fire whiskey Hogshead could offer. How does he even move on from this? How does he make peace with the fact that he has sealed his fate of living the rest of his life alone? 

It’s impossible, he’s decided. Even if he graduates at the top of the classes he is taking and gets accepted into the Auror Programme that Sharp had recommended him for, their social standing is still heavens apart. He’s an orphan, with a husk of an extended family and no money to his name.

It wouldn’t matter to you, never really cared for pure bloodlines or lineages and he knows anyone who brings that up when they’re courting you will receive the most disgusted look on your face. 

But he cares – you are the most special person in his life. He wants the best for you. And the best is not something he can provide.

His depressing thoughts halt as his steps falter, a familiar scent tickling his nose. A familiar scent that leads straight into the Forbidden Forest. When he looks up to the sky, he realizes the sun has almost finished setting.

She can’t be that reckless, right?

He was barely surprised when he chanted the incantation that triggered the charm they had both put in their necklaces, the sparkling thread leads straight into the forest. And if he knows you half as well as he thinks he does then he knows exactly where it’s gonna lead to.

There goes his late-night plan.

It isn’t exactly his first jaunt in the forbidden space but it still gives him the creeps especially so close to the night. Why you’re so fond of the place is something he’ll never understand.

But that’s just the way you were, just another part of your quirks that makes you so endearing.

How you throw your head back when you laugh, that you get so cranky when you’re studying that no one dares to approach you but him, even the way you messily eat your favorite chocolate pastry of the week yet never fail to share a piece with him.

With this new revelation, he bitterly accepts the reason for his philandering ways. That he simply is another prick who is coping with not being able to attain the love of his life at the expense of those poor girls.

His self-condemnation however was cut short when he heard the waterfall, not being able to help the smirk on his face when he turned the corner and found you just as he had expected: in the middle of the clear, dark, water, floating carelessly on your back.

Gods, you are a beauty. He’s always thought so, the entire male population in Hogwarts thought so too. If they somehow get to break through your walls and manage to get to know you, he might just have to beat them away with an actual stick.

“Sebastian,” you smile, his heart stops. “I knew you’d find me.”

You swim to him gracefully, barely disturbing the water with only your eyes above the water but there was no hiding the grin in your face. Like a pitiful sailor seduced by a siren, his feet dragged him to the edge, a short ledge above from where you were looking up at him.

“You left your scent on purpose,” he states, kneeling to get a closer look at you. What a beauty – mischievous, cunning, irresistible. He’s never loved anyone more. “Naughty, naughty, darling.”

She pulls herself up the ledge, their faces inches away from each other. He nails his eyes to yours so they wouldn’t be tempted to look down at your soaking figure cloaked only by a thin chemise “I had to get you somehow, knew you couldn’t resist a damsel in distress.”

“Funny,” he softly glares, chuckling when she preens, clearly satisfied that her plan worked perfectly. “With all the water in the Black Lake, you had to pick the Forbidden Forest to swim in.”

You dip yourself back down in the water, swimming away but still facing him. “Come, Sebastian. I’ve been bored all week since you’ve been avoiding me.”

Guilt runs through his spine at the sudden coldness in your offhanded comment. Clearly, his absence hasn’t escaped your notice as he had hoped.

Like a scolded pup, he follows your command to a T. Eyes never leaving your floating figure as he removed his coat, folding it neatly along with the rest of his clothes until he was left in his underclothes.

He winces at the touch of the freezing water. A heating charm would do wonders but the way your unsympathetic eyes never left his figure gave him a feeling that this was a punishment he was meant to endure.

He steels himself, diving into the water and only resurfacing when he is right in front of you. “You called?”

“You’re so fucking full of yourself,” you splash the cold water at him, shrieking when he reaches out for your arms and barely managing to slip away.

He dives again, grinning at your confused flounder, until you realize your mistake, looking down just as he catches your waist, your surprised shriek, and his unrestrained laughter breaks through the quiet of the forest.

“You done running now, pet?” he locks his hands on your back, pushing you close until he is carrying both your weight in the water, chin resting on your chest as your hands run through his soaking hair.

Your darkened hair frames your face, like a sheer curtain it drops, teasing his cheeks, and hiding your conversation from the rest of the forest – in the dimness, your eyes have never been more radiant, even if it was clearly pissed at him.

Skinship wasn’t foreign between the two of you. When you’ve saved each other’s lives from certain death more times than you care to count, cuddling is the least of your worries.

But there is something about the forest's silence, the sparse moonlight that peaks through the dense trees, the sound of the droplets falling from your hair to the water, and the distant echoes of the animals that make everything intimate. -- more intimate than usual.

“Are you?” you throw his question back at him mercilessly, your hands on the back of his neck, locking his face to look up at you – finally at you. The weeklong separation had been torture and now that the distance had cut his regular contact with his favorite witch, he finally realized how fast his heart was beating when he was around her.

He smiles.

He was satisfied, he swore he was.

Sebastian’s life was finally okay – passable, up-to-scratch, satisfactory. He shouldn’t strive for more, couldn’t allow himself that luxury – the luxury of love, the luxury of you.

But as he stares at your eyes, as he feels the ice in your skin, as he imagines a future where it wasn't him that gets to bite the plump of your lips – that dirty, greedy part of him crawls out of the hole he had shoved it in.

He feels it win.

“Are you done running now?” you whisper, a droplet falls from the tip of your nose to the space just below his eyes, his breath hitches, like your magnetic presence had sucked out all the air of the forest.

“I wasn’t running,” she raises a brow, and Sebastian presses his lips to your ears. “I was thinking.”

“And?”

Leander was right: he really is a bastard.

But he’s a bastard who will no longer wait for another life to love you. He's a bastard who will get what he wants.

“I think,” he whispers, at peace. “I think I’m gonna marry you someday.”

[writingpuddle]

"it's fine if you hate me"

this has been said many times before by many (very hot and smart) people but it bears saying in perhaps a different way:

if andrew had somehow, by some absolute miracle, managed to actually ask neil out--if neil had said "you like me" and andrew managed to say "yes actually i like you as a person and want to be around you"--

neil would not have fucking kissed him.

thats what it means when neil says andrew hating him is fine. its not just fine, thats--in neils own words!--an understatement. its a necessary condition for neil to move forward with a physical relationship. because neil knows hes going to die. hes not going to do that to somebody; if dan or matt or someone quote unquote normal had asked him out, he would have shut it down immediately even if the feeling was reciprocated. hes going to hurt the foxes enough by being their friend and dying; hes not going to lead someone on into thinking they could have a long term relationship. he can only pursue this thing with andrew because he believes that andrew does not care about him as a person.

theres two main cases for why neil believes this:

he completely misread the situation with andrew

he is deliberately lying to himself about it to give himself an excuse to do the thing he wants to do anyway (kiss andrew stupid)

we can argue ourselves blue in the face about which one is most plausible; i generally take the boring centrist route of "bit of both, probably." andrew is, after all, a bit of a hard person to read, and neil is, after all, a lying liar who lies.

but what "its fine if you hate me" isnt is just some weird courtship thing. its the only way a guy on death row feels comfortable kissing the boy hes falling in love with. its selfish, because hes finding a reason to do it anyway, and its selfless, because he would rather deprive himself than hurt someone. and that tension is, quite frankly, one of the most delicious things about the whole book

[rekillua]

just thinking how the povs in aftg are the perfect choice for each character

first there is neil

neil is not unreliable on purpose, he just thought everything was, in fact, about exy and andrew minyard.

he is biased.

he is oblivion of everything, except what matters and it’s said to him.

his opinions and how he sees the world was what he showed, only what he thought was important and how he showed to us that he really thought he was the most normal around the foxes.

he is not stupid like some people may say, he just doesn’t want to share things that are not essential in the story he is telling.

he is just showing us what he wants neil josten to represent, his entire life was this way.

second there is jean

his thoughts are throw right at us.

he observes everything, he thinks why people have certain reactions and why they are what they are.

we can see how his traumas are right there, his present connecting to the past from one moment to another.

the moment he realizes his thoughts are “coming” for him, he just buries them deep down and it’s just amazing how it’s shown him doing that.

also how everything seams clear after, because jean didn’t just hide that from us, but also from himself, not wanting to think about the terrible things that happened to him, deep down he knows he didn’t deserve it, since he doesn’t even have the stomach to think about them too much.

he shows the things that are happening/happened as they are (even if they are terrible), everything is very personal and you can feel it while reading.

everything jean thought, he showed to us, but only to the point he doesn’t hurt.

last there is jeremy

this boy who we thought we knew who he was, but on his pov we can see everything that is happening very clearly, everything, but nothing really, since we don’t know anything about his thoughts or what is really going through his head, except the scenes that are happening in the moment.

it’s crazy and intricate reading his pov, because we keep thinking there is gonna be some information or some crazy lore about his past or his thoughts on anyone, but then— nothing.

but there is also this part of him that we can see is really innocent, and it’s almost sad to us, knowing everything that really happened to jean, but jeremy doesn’t have a clue. his povs are also really humanized and the lack of angst & pain like the others is crazy.

he, unlike neil, i think it’s unreliable on purpose since he don’t want to show us his deep thoughts and what is going on with HIM.

[horsedylan]

Since we’re on the subject of things being fake. This post?

Yeah. Fanfiction that has been derived from the truth. Its been going around since 2015 so idk who made it..But do not worry. It is I, the humble horsedylan here to offer you Horseumbine information and lead you on the right path so you can meet god!

Whenever one of my lovely and good natured mutuals reblogs this I get itchy. It’s a conflation of two events with some creative liberties. And it certainly didn’t happen a few months before the massacre. If anything we can place the tampon incident in junior year according to Brooks Brown (source: www.westword.com/news/the-missing-motive-5063685)

Incident Statement One.

We can simmer this event down to four sources; Here is one from Sue and Tom's police interview.

"Mr. Klebold said that Dylan was sheltered at his classes at Governor’s Ranch. The Klebold’s perspective in that Dylan seemed well adjusted. Mrs. Klebold then stated the only time she ever saw Dylan cry was once when he came home from school and went to his bedroom. Dylan then took a box of stuffed toys from the closet and buried himself and fell asleep underneath the stuffed toys. Mrs. Klebold said that she checked on what the problem was, however, Dylan would never tell her what had caused him to cry. The Klebolds indicated that they monitored everything about Dylan and Mr. Klebold said that based on his own experience, Dylan seemed normal. Mr. Klebold went on to state that he asked Dylan in the past if people were picking on him and Dylan would tell him no, and would point out that he was 6’4" so people wouldn’t pick on him, however, Dylan did indicate that people picked on Eric" this wasn't in high school!!! and she didn't ignore him!!!

Source: https://zanazl.tripod.com/Columbine/Suspects/DylanKlebold/Interview.html

Incident Statement Two.

This was taken from Andrew Solomon's book Far From the Tree;

"Unbeknownst to the Klebolds, Dylan had experienced significant humiliation at school, though he was six feet four and not easy to push around. He had come home one day with ketchup spots all over his shirt, and when his mother asked what had happened, he said he’d had the worst day of his life and didn’t want to talk about it. Months after his death, she learned of an incident in which Dylan and Eric had apparently been shoved and squirted with ketchup by kids calling them f*gs. “It hurt so much that I’d seen the remnants of that day and hadn’t helped him,” Sue Klebold said." (Page 590)

Dylan explicitly lied or shrugged things off each and every time she tried to help. I'm sorry but simply put, people can't help you if you buck it and obstruct them each and every time they ask you what's up.

Incident Statement Three.

This is also taken from the aforementioned Andrew Solomon book;

"Every year on Dylan’s birthday, Tom goes up to the place where the two used to hike and takes a Dr Pepper, because Dylan loved Dr. Pepper, and the stuffed koala that was Dylan’s childhood favorite" (Page 594)

Incident Four.

When he was in middle school, he had gone up to his room after a bad day. She went in to bring him some chocolate milk and he had been crying. She asked again, what happened. All he was willing to tell her was that some kids were mean to him.

Like people will complain about how some people take this shit too seriously ( and to an extent I get where you're coming from for sure.) and complain about the seriousness of infoposters but then go on to simultaneously complaining about Dave Cullen and the smear job he did on E. Like you acknowledge that if you aren’t careful you spread misinformation so..idk. Okay yeah its a tumblr post and not a book fair point but then why bother having info posts at all lol. Its one thing to make a mistake thats fine, I make mistakes with my infoposts ALLLL the time. and thats okay but spreading fanfiction and calling it fact is another matter.

I think one of the reasons why this annoyed me so much is that people have such a ridiculous hate boner for Sue that they just lie about her ignoring her son to make her look bad. Its cringe. She didn’t, she asked him so many times and Dylan lied to her constantly. Like I legitimately saw some of you fuckers going off about how you can’t wait for this VICTIM (and yes. She is a victim) to die explicitly because of this post. I’m gonna be doing a post about her in the coming weeks probably (I mean half of it is already written up) because holy moly.

I'm also gonna save this in a google doc or on obsidian just in case lol.

Edit: updated with page numbers.

[bullet-prooflove]

Ethical Thieving: Andrew 'Pope' Cody x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @fadeinsol @akotafi @yousigned-upforthis @cowardlycandy

Companion piece to:

The Professional - Pope meets the love of his life when Smurf hires her to crack a safe.

Crazy (NSFW) - Pope's always been crazy but now he's also a man in love.

Tomorrow - Pope's family always fuck up the good in his life.

Do Over Day (NSFW) - Pope tries to make up for the day before.

Pope learns about ‘ethical thieving’ during one of your safe cracking lessons. He’s halfway through the tumblers on an Aspen 305 when you ask the question. “Have you ever stolen anything from a gallery?”

“No.” He tells you as he listens to the fourth one drop. “We’ve never had a fence that can move that type of shit.”

Art theft comes with its own unique set of problems. You usually need to have a buyer in place because the items are too hot to put out on the open market. Those types of people don’t exist in his world, they’re always too high maintenance or pretentious.

“No fence required in this one, no pay day either.”

He glances at you over his shoulder.

“No payday?” He exclaims, shaking his head. “Then why do it?”

“Sometimes it’s not about the money, it’s about righting a wrong.” You explain as he turns his attention back to the safe. He hears the locking mechanism click as he slides home, spinning the handle at the same time. The heavy door opens to reveal his prize, a Snickers bar resting on the middle shelf.

You’ve discovered he works best with an incentive so you’ve been sneaking candy into the safes to give him that drive. You never tell him what it is, which only adds to the intrigue.

“And what wrong would we be righting?” He asks, removing the Snickers and tearing it open with his teeth. He breaks it in half before handing you a piece which you take happily.

“We’d be liberating a portrait that was looted by a war criminal from his private collection.” You tell him with that mischievous look in your eye and that fire in him ignites because you, you might just be his salvation.

He’s never thought about utilizing his skillset for something like this before. All the jobs Smurf has given him have been for profit or to suit her needs, not anyone else’s. This is a chance to do some good, to put something positive back into the world.

“I’m game.” He tells you, focusing on unwrapping more of the candy bar. “It’ll be our first solo job together, maybe kinda like a date.”

“I’m not sure how all our other dates will live up to this one.” You tell him as you hop off the wooden work bench and duck underneath it to remove the schematics for the gallery. “Stealing Nazi artwork is kinda hard to top.”

“I’m sure we’ll find away.” He murmurs as he steps up alongside you, tilting his head to review the plans. “I didn’t miss the implication there would be more than one date by the way.”

“Good.” You tell him, your hip bumping against his. “I was hoping you didn’t.”

**

You really do plan the best first dates.

That private gallery job, it’s everything he could have hoped for.

Challenging, fun and the best part is he gets to burn down the whole fucking place to the ground.

A cleansing, you call it after you discover ‘Girl in A Yellow Sundress’ sitting amidst a plethora of Nazi memorabilia. It’s not the normal type of stuff you see in museums, it’s deranged fucked up shit like teeth from Auschwitz and baby shoes. The essence of human misery emanates from that room like a fucking beacon before it disappears in a puff of smoke, all of those trapped spirits returning to the ether.

The biggest high of the night is when you stop off outside the little house on Oakview. He watches from the driver’s seat as you climb the steps with the black telescopic tube slung over your shoulder. You’re greeted at the door by an old woman, one that grasps you so tightly he’s terrified she’s going to break something with the forcefulness of the notion. It’s that gratitude that lights up something deep within his soul, that knowledge that he helped with that, that he did something right for once in his life.

“Who was she?” He asks you when you’re back at your place, sipping beers on the back porch in the darkness. There’s a couple of candles burning on the wicker table in front of the outdoor couch, illuminating the two of you as you listen to the waves crashing against the shore.

“She was my foster mother once upon a time.” You tell him, pulling the hair clip from your hair. It falls across your features in waves and he wants nothing more than to run his hands through it. “After I killed my father, she took me in, raised me, taught me how to crack a safe. She gave me a trade that didn’t involve selling my body.”

“Is that why we took the painting?” He asks you, his arm coming to rest along the back of the sofa. His fingertips trailing over your bare shoulder, tracing the pattern of that Medusa tattoo on your bicep.

“She barely survived Auschwitz as a girl.” You say softly. “Her parents didn’t. The portrait is of her mother, one she barely remembers because of the Alzheimer’s. I hoped her having it would help with the good parts of her memory, that it would bring her some comfort.”

“You have a good soul.” He tells you, his palm coming to cradle your face, his thumb ghosting over the apple of your cheek. “If you wanna do more of these jobs, help more people, then I’m up for it. Hell, I could probably do with the good karma.”

Your lips brush over the base of his wrist, your eyes on his and he inhales sharply at the intimacy of the sensation.

“Too much?” You ask and he shakes his head, his breathing ragged.

“Not enough.” He murmurs. “I want…”

The words die on his lips because Pope, he’s never really considered his own needs before, he’s been too busy taking care of everyone else’s.

You shift positions, climbing into his lap. The two of you fit together like the missing pieces of a jigsaw, it’s both wonderful and overwhelming all at the same time. His hands come to rest on your waist squeezing lightly as he tilts his head up to meet your gaze.

“Can I kiss you?” You ask him and he nods unsteadily.

“You can do whatever the fuck you want to me.”

Your hands thread through his curls, tugging just a little and he moans outloud as your mouth meets his. You have the softest damn lips, he can’t help but wonder what they’d feel like chasing over his neck, his chest, his dick. A burst of citrus blossoms on his tongue, the taste of your lip balm and his hips arch causing you to make that sound, the sweet one he hears only in his dreams.

His hands rove over your clothes, stroking, caressing, kneading until your grinding against him so hard, he thinks he’s about to lose it.

“Gonna come.” He warns you, his voice a rasp.

“So am I.” You whisper back, your teeth grazing his lower lip. “You want me to stop?”

“Fuck no.” He whispers as that ecstasy surges up inside him. “I wanna keep going for as long as it takes us.”

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