how the hell has it been two years since the finale

iwasapruneratfaverolles  asked:

PLEASE TELL THE CHILDREN THE STORY OF MS. STUBELS

Grace fuck, why would you invoke her name like that???

Okay, fine, gather round children, buckle up because we’re going on a bumpy ride back to everyone’s collective least favorite place: 7th grade.

Some background: I went to a very small Catholic school. One class per grade (we were the largest with 19 kids), everyone knew each other whether they wanted to or not. Despite basically every teacher and faculty members insistence that we were The Best And Most Special Class In The School and that everyone loved having us, the longstanding 7th grade teacher Mrs. O’Hara decided to retire in the summer of 2008, meaning the school had to find us a new teacher for the upcoming year. This would be like, the first new teacher in the school in a while, and as she was getting the ‘best class’, it was viewed as a Big Deal. Somewhere in like July or August we got a letter announcing Mrs. Stubel, and it came with a list of books to pick for the summer reading, and that was basically all the information we had.

So…the first day of class. She seems nice enough. Very…ditsy, I guess? It was very easy for her to get herself off topic while talking. She constantly paced around the room, never staying in one spot for longer than a second, complaining she has restless leg syndrome. Which like, I’m sure she did, but she was in the middle of introducing herself and then went on a 20 minute tangent about restless leg syndrome without anyone prompting her. It was almost like you could see her scattered thoughts flying around her head.

So anyone, she eventually gives somewhat of an introduction- she had only taught in public schools before, and kept worrying she ‘didn’t know’ how to teach in a Catholic school despite the entire class insisting literally nothing was different, you just teach the curriculum, twice a week we have religion class with Sister Mary King, that’s literally it (she still talked over us in worry), she told us about her kids, she told us about her obsession with Emily Dickinson, stuff like that.

And then she hands us this worksheet.

She’s like, “Oh, these are just some basic questions for you to answer! Just so I can get to know you guys better!” like in lieu of an icebreaker game, which is fine, but…the questions. The questions were all “What is your most haunting fear?”, “What is your deepest regret?”, “Have you ever experienced the pain of loss?”, “What was your worst injury?”, “What was your worst nightmare?”, all questions like that, and then on the back she wanted us to draw a gravestone and write out what we wanted our epitaph to be.

We were twelve year olds, mind you.

Oh my God and one girl missed the first day because of her grandmother’s funeral, so when she came the next day and saw what the teacher was insisting she do for homework, she almost had a panic attack? And the lady still made her do it? Literally who wants to think about death anymore at a time like that omfg.

Okay, so then we get to the summer reading book reports, right? Now, she had given a list of maybe, 20 books that you could pick from, read it, and then present an oral report on it. You had to have notecards and you had to be able to answer questions from the class at the end. All in all, I’ve had worse projects.

So, on this list, she apparently put Madeleine L’Engle’s entire book series on the list…only she did not make it known that this was a series and not multiple stand alone books, so when reports started up it caused mass-panic of kids trying to put together plot points and make connections on what the hell they had read.

I was the only kid in the class who had chosen to read “A Wrinkle In Time”, and that has since lead to a series of events that…really actually scares me, I’m still incredibly freaked out, I’m not going to get into it right now because it’ll take away from the current story, but just know that I’m not above wondering if it only happened because I read the book for Stubel.

Anyway, so like, I got through the report okay. The class asking questions about it was fine, but the teacher kept asking questions that didn’t make sense, like, at all. My friend Angie has always had super neat handwriting and Mrs. Stubel got like, obsessed with her notecards and asked if she could borrow them for something. When we got our grades back a few weeks later, Angie had points taken off for not having notecards.

And then her teaching just…didn’t happen. She’d never stay on a topic, she’d always get herself distracted! We were not learning anything. And like, this wasn’t a class of advanced smart kids that loved to learn. By all accounts we should’ve been thrilled. But it got out of hand. It got to points where we had to start teaching lessons to ourselves, asking teacher from other grades for help, always coming home in tears, complaining constantly to our parents and the principal because this woman wasn’t teaching us anything. There were two kids who asked her multiple times for extra help, and she told them each time to ‘talk to me after school’, but then she’d leave immediately after school so they wouldn’t be able to talk to her. They finally brought up the issue in the middle of class and she had a breakdown, yelling about how nobody ever thinks that maybe the teacher has a lot of work to do, and maybe she’s entitled to taking off early, but when we tried to argue she shouldn’t schedule meetings and then break them off in the name of relaxation, she stormed out of the room and tried to get the principal to give us detention. (Which, like, our school didn’t even do, and she was the only one in the wrong during this situation) We are still in September at this point, and already at least ten kids have parents considering transferring them to another school. (And remember, there was only 19 of us, and most of the class had been together since preschool, so that was a big deal).

Then, she starts coming in with all the weird bruises. All the Moms™ immediately started gossiping that her husband had to be beating her, and that’s why she was so screwy in the head. But the way she talked about her husband made it seem like he *might* be dead, and we actually did witness her fall and smack her head into a doorknob once, so no one really knew what to believe. (Also, I’m not trying to imply that abuse would make someone crazy or ‘damaged’ or anything, this is just what was being said. I think they were trying to turn her into a more sympathetic character, because if you feel sorry for her you don’t have to hate her for frustrating your kids so much, and Hate Is A Bad Emotion.)

Also…this woman and Emily Dickinson.

She talked about Emily Dickinson every chance she could get. None of us knew who Emily Dickinson really was before she got there and you could see in her mind it was a capitol offense. She found out the curriculum didn’t have room to cover her (because like, we had a text book), and was way too upset about it. She started reading her poems whenever she found the time (usually somewhere in history class), and always gave us very detailed accounts about her dressing up as Emily and reading her poetry at the library.

Now, two things to note here:

  1. The library did not hire her to do this. She would literally just get in the mood, put on an Emily Dickinson costume that she made by herself, drive to different libraries, and just read poetry out loud to everyone there until someone eventually asked her to leave.
  2. The way she described these events…her tone, the look on her face, her posture…you could just tell that she was getting some sort of sexual gratification out of this? Like dressing up as Emily Dickinson in public and reading her sad poems is really what got this lady’s jollies rocking? Got her all hot and bothered? Which is…a lot, but why would you tell a bunch of seventh graders about it holy shit. What about that sounds like a good idea! What about that turns you back on!

So anyway, we learned a lot about Emily Dickinson against our will.

One of the Davids™ was reading a book for pleasure- which shouldn’t have been a shocker, a lot of kids always had books on them, but Stubel got really interested and asked if she could borrow it from him. He was like ‘sure, after I finish it?’ but she took it that day. He asked her for it back for like five weeks straight.

And…the strudels.

Okay, so the school was trying some dorky thing to promote ~togetherness~ or some virtue or something, I don’t remember the specifics of why, but each class had to make a huge themed poster and hang it on the wall outside the classroom. Which was like, whatever, not the most thrilling project but at least it allowed us to be productive vs just sitting there as the teacher runs about the room rambling about her family vacation from four years ago. Mrs. Stubel decided we needed a quirky nickname and after like three days of deliberation we were christened “Stubel’s Special Strudels”!

(points for alliteration or whatever, but no one actually voted for that and what exactly do strudels have to do with Catholicism? It became a big running joke amongst the kids)

Also, in case you were wondering, she didn’t explain the assignment correctly to us- so every other class had like these beautiful, artistic, well-themed and put together posters, while ours was just…literally a bunch of shit thrown together on paper. Nothing fit with each other, it was literally embarrassing to look at.

But then…she wouldn’t drop the strudel thing. Like she kept bringing it up. She got really into strudels and would just tell us random shit about them. Finally, someone jokes that we should get strudels one day for a party (like instead of a pizza party), and she’s Freaking Out and On Board. She really wants to buy us strudels and have a breakfast party now. She talked about it for like two days straight.

So like… you know in school when you would have a pizza party, usually the teacher would buy it? That’s how they always happened in my experience (not counting the last day of 10th grade when some kid had pizza delivered to the school for lunch but it didn’t get there until math class lol). But especially in grade school? Like if it wasn’t a PTA made party that’s super organized, the school would buy the food, right? Right?

Yeah, so she was like, if this is happening you guys need to give me the money. Just give me the money and then I’ll pick them up on my way to work!! And after some arguing some kids are on board. Strudels should only cost a couple dollars right?

And she’s like, oh no, I’m gonna get them from this high end bakery near my house so it’ll be special, but they’re not cheap and it’ll be a big order! I’m gonna need like fifteen dollars from each of you!

And at this point I’m just like…lady. Come on. 

But she keeps insisting. She’s not gonna go until every student in class pays up.

And I’m like…I’m poor. I don’t even like strudel.  And some of the less-naïve kids are siding with me.

And then she pulls that “you guys are just spoiling all the fun for your classmates” shit, like the naïve kids who already paid up, so it gets to the point where we just gotta cave and give her the money.

(I ended up stealing it out of my Crazy Bitch Aunt’s wallet so it’s whatever, I guess.)

And then of course, shockingly enough, every morning she was met with “where are the strudels?” and every morning she went wide eyed, slapped her forehead and yelled in embarrassed horror “I totally forgot! Tomorrow, guys, I promise!”

Honestly, with how scatterbrained and confused she always was…like to this day I can’t tell you with 100% certainty whether she hustled us or was just actually forgetting about the damn pastries, I choose to lean towards the hustled us side because that’s just the type of people I’m used to, but if I found out it was innocent forgetfulness I wouldn’t exactly be surprised.

She couldn’t handle more than one person talking at a time. Like, we’d have break periods, or group work, or something and all the talking made her go wide-eyed and batty. She’d look overworked and anxious and would be darting around the room trying to do work or something but she couldn’t focus and she’d yell at anyone who tried to talk to her directly. I remember one time she was using this boys desk for something so he asked “where am I supposed to sit?” and she snapped “Sit on the ceiling for all I care!”. And this kid was the Class Clown™ , so he immediately grabbed a chair in one hand and started climbing the bookcase to try and reach the ceiling. She’s standing right next to this and doesn’t even notice. He got all four chair legs planted on the ceiling and was trying to somehow maneuver his way into the chair (I really don’t know what the plan was exactly- he was really tall and it was a small building, so I think he probably had the idea that if he can get his body upside down and in the chair, and stretch out his arms like a hand-stand to hold onto bookcase, he could arguably sit on the ceiling.) but he slipped. Crashed into my desk and the two desks next to me, knocked over the book case, broke the chair in half and hit the desks with enough force to knock them down lower. It was hilarious. Everyone was loosing their shit cracking up (he was fine) and it still took Stubel like five minutes to notice his lying out across the desks right in front of her eyes. She was pissed but how did she miss any of it in the first place? She was barely being helpful in whatever it was she was trying to do.

This was the year the Phillies were going to the World Series, and all the grades were having a Phillies Rally in the cafeteria so a news crew was coming to the school and each class was supposed to come up with fun little cheers for them to broadcast. Multiple cheer ideas were presented to her and she vetoed all of them, someone even suggested just singing the damn eagles theme song with replaced words and calling it a day but she vetoed that too, she was very adamant that she could come up with a cheer all by herself and it’ll be the best one (whoever had the best cheer was winning like an ice cream day or something idk). And then like…literally five minutes before the rally she just hands us signs with the letters and was like ‘we’re just gonna spell out Phillies it will be cute won’t it my strudels???’. We were the weakest class there, predictably. I think we lost to the kindergarteners. There might still be a video online of me yelling “ i “ passionately at the top of my lungs. It was online bc our cheer was so bland the news crew cut it out of the broadcast.

I literally can’t say enough about how she never taught us anything. She’d be going on some tangent about how she doesn’t understand the science behind skiing, and I’d be like “Okay yes but please can you just tell me where Romania is on a map???” And she’d start fights whenever someone actually wanted to learn. It was so easy to get her angry but so hard for her to stay on topic. Kids started teaching the class themselves! Like seriously, she’d be rambling and one of us would just go up to the podium, open the teacher’s guide textbook and just start reading out loud and talking over her. By the time she noticed we’d be halfway through a lesson. And we understood it better than when she tried! You know something’s wrong when pre-teens are more qualified for a job than an adult who supposedly went to school for this.

We were in the church having run-throughs for our upcoming Confirmation and she almost set the church on fire…fifteen different times. In less than half an hour. How hard is it to hold a candle?

Okay, and here’s when stuff starts kicking up. It was October 28th, a Tuesday, and it was our last day of school that week because they were having parent-teacher conferences the rest of the week. So we were just hanging out, watching movies in class and reading (lord knows we weren’t learning), and Stubel calls me over to her desk.

So like, she had given everyone little bags with candy for Halloween, but I get up there and she hands me an extra one. And she’s like “Molly I know your birthday is tomorrow and I bought you a present but I left it on my coffee table this morning by accident! So just have the candy for now!”

And I’m like….”Ma’am I’m like, the sixth birthday this year. You didn’t give anyone else presents?”

And she goes “Oh, I know but this is a special secret surprise. I just know you’re gonna love it! Do you wanna stop by my house later this week to pick it up or should I just give it to you Monday after school?”

And like…In writing this sounds like a non-threatening exchange, and like, it was, but I felt so uncomfortable holy shit. I’m looking over my shoulder and shooting my friends SOS signals. Something about this felt so weird in my gut omfg. I told her thanks and I’d just see her Monday.

So we flash forward to Wednesday- my 13th birthday, the day the Phillies won the world series, and also the day my mother innocently strolled into the school for her meeting only to be met with screaming, the sound of heavy destruction, and the school secretary Mrs. Daily running at her in a panic, waving her arms and yelling “YOUR MEETING IS CANCELLED YOUR MEETING IS CANCELLED GET IN MY OFFICE NOW!”

So my poor mother, who thought she could handle this whole meeting in a few minutes and barely be an hour late for work, is now barricaded in the front office with the school secretary, as the noises from down the hall get louder and louder. The woman explains that they had gotten so many complaints about Mrs. Stubel that this morning, when she got to the school, the principal Sister Patricia called her in and said “Listen, we need you to be professional and still have the parent conferences, but we have to let you go. We just don’t think you fit in well here, and the kids need to come first and feel comfortable in their school.” and like, I’m paraphrasing because I wasn’t there, but we all know she was very polite and professional about it.

Mrs. Stubel, however…was not.

She flipped her chair and stormed out of the office, and locks herself in the seventh grade classroom. She started wrecking the shit out of that place, screaming obscenities and the top of her lungs, they had to call the cops on her! She was locked in there for almost an hour! And let me just give you a nice little list of everything she did in that classroom:

  • Smashed three windows.
  • Threw everything off her desk and carved swear words all over it.
  • Got cleaning fluid that she knew would damage the chalk boards, smeared it all over.
  • Cracked the chalk boards by repeatedly smashing chairs against them.
  • Wrote swear words all over the walls and on desks
  • Went into students desks, ripped up their books.
  • Stole my glasses. (which were in my desk bc I only used them in class at the time)
  • Threw some desks around.
  • Carved swear words into the boards. (there was so much carving I’m assuming she just had a knife on her person, which has to lead to the question, did she have a knife on her while she was in class with us?)
  • Physically ripped the hooks to hang backpacks on out of the wall.
  • Knocked the closet door off it’s hinges.
  • Ripped up all the books in the bookcases and threw their pages all around the room.
  • Wrote lewd phrases inside student’s desks.
  • Broke multiple chairs.
  • Used her podium as a battering ram against the wall that’s in front of where the backpacks go. (the wall won but Damage Was Inflicted)
  • Set a fire in the trash can.
  • When the principal and other teachers started trying to get in, she tossed her rolling chair at the door to scare them off.
  • She was screaming curse words at the top of her lungs the entire time, and cursing the school and the kids and the principal and the church in general, and the school building was small, so all the parents and the smaller children that had to come to the meetings (who were locked in their respective classrooms in fear) heard everything.
  • So much more? But it’s 4:30 in this morning and this list is already long.

So my mom is in the front office and deadass the

entire police force

shows up, running down the hallway to the classroom yelling at her to stop, and it takes a while for them to get her out holy shit. They knocked down the door and she tried to escape out of one of the broken windows! But they got her and dragged her out.

So of course, in such a small school with very involved parents this shit spread like wildfire. The entire town knew within the day. The poor principal called the newly retired old-seventh grade teacher and was like “So we…need some help” and the lady was like “I already heard I’ll be there Monday” omfg. I remember I got a text from one of my classmates saying “if your birthday wish was for us to be set free from the beast I love you” omfg.

So, we eventually go back to school on Monday and everyone’s buzzing. The principal has us go to the cafeteria and she ‘delicately’ explains the situation, and that the old teacher is coming out of retirement for us, the school has a restraining order against Mrs. Stubel now and that she’s sorry we had to deal with this mess. Our classroom had to go under some heavy reconstruction before we could be let back in there, so for like two weeks we alternated between the cafeteria and the preschooler’s classroom, we had no books or anything, just provided loose-leaf paper and pens. It was like, surreal, but everyone was just so happy to be rid of her and to be in the presence of a competent teacher omfg. We eventually were able to get back into our usual classroom.

  1. It took a while for things to go completely back to normal, though. After the big spectacle she made, for weeks after she was fired we were all very scared of the possibility of Mrs. Stubel returning to the school with a gun in hand. It was always a topic we whispered about at lunch with wide eyes and shivers. Like…genuine nightmare scenario.
  2. About two weeks after she was fired, a boy in the back of the classroom gasped loudly during SSR, and when we all looked at him, he whispered in anger “She never gave us our freakin’ strudels!”
  3. About three months after she was fired, we were lined up at the door to go to Library when a few of us looked through the windows and saw something darting through the trees. It was fast and we couldn’t make anything out, so we let it drop. When the class and teacher returned half and hour later, the book she had borrowed months before from one of the boys was sitting on his desk. It was just laying there, the room was silent, nothing had been disturbed…but I have never seen a book look so threatening. People were freaking out. Someone kept insisting that she turned the book into a bomb. No one figure out how she got in the school, and no one could figure out how she got it on the right desk, as we had switched the seating arrangement since she had last been there.  
  4. A full six months after she had left, it was nearing the end of the school year and our class was dicking around during our last computer class. Someone found a website (that we weren’t allowed to be on) that pulls up any police records attached to whoever’s name you enter, so someone decided to search Mrs. Stubel as a joke. We ended up finding out she had like six DUI’s.

Aaaaand that’s the story of the horrendous teacher I had for two months in 7th grade. One of my favorite party stories but tbh she still haunts me™ .

5 Reason’s Why Supernatural is the Gayest Show on Television (That’s Still Stuck in the Closet)

To start with, I’m not delusional.  I’m fully aware that the studio and execs have settled into a comfortable pattern with Supernatural, and especially considering it’s heavily mixed demographic (interestingly, it was ranked a favorite among republicans and democrats in 2016) they’re unlikely to rock the ship with a canonically queer relationship between two of it’s main characters.  

However, it’s important to understand exactly how much queerness is bubbling beneath the thick surface layer of “no homo:”  from the orgies of male-on-male eyesex to the inspiration for most of its main characters, Supernatural is queer to its very core. 

Here are five (blaring but stubbornly unacknowledged) reasons why:


1.  Dean’s gratuitously bisexual inspiration. 

Whenever someone claims a queer interpretation of Dean is baseless, I’m always happy to direct them straight to his flamingly bisexual source:  Dean Moriarty, his namesake and direct inspiration, a la the novel On the Road.  

Admittedly, I read On the Road and didn’t particularly enjoy it, as I found it to be a somewhat masturbatory reassertion of masculinity for its narrator, Sal Paradise.  Sal idolizes and fixates the charismatic Dean and his promiscuous lifestyle, openly having sex with and impregnating multiple women, and is all around a heterosexual power figure…right up until the point at which Dean propositions a male prostitute.  

Though he’s never shown doing anything gratuitous with male characters (since the book was published in the 1960s, it wouldn’t have been legal to) it’s clear that Dean is very much bisexual, not ashamed of it, and in terms of personality, very similar to Dean.  There are a few key differences (Dean Moriarty, for example, legitimately gives zero fucks about anything, whereas Dean Winchester is secretly a little ball of anxiety with the weight of the world on his shoulders) but it’s clear where Eric Kripke got his inspiration from.

Moreover, Dean Moriarty was in turn based off of the real life bisexual counterculturist Neal Cassady, who among other things had a twenty-year sexual relationship with a male poet.  Here, he is pictured in a Denver mugshot: 

So next time someone tells you the homoerotic subtext of Supernatural exists only in the imagination of rabid fangirls, remember that Dean is the direct descendant of two ragingly bisexual icons.

2.  Castiel (or at least his wardrobe) was also based off of a bisexual character.

For a show so aggressively devoted to a “no homo” interpretation, it has a real propensity to drawing inspiration from queer characters:  everyone’s favorite baby in a trench coat, for example, was modeled after the demon-busting John Constantine from the Hellblazer comics.  Yup, another bisexual.   

Though in true assbutt fashion, his love of men is censored in movie and TV adaptions, Constantine unabashedly swings both ways in paper form – a.k.a. where Kripke found inspiration for Castiel’s look.  Here, we see him platonically receiving a man-hug from one of his bros:

So I’m not saying the fact that two out of three main characters are modeled after canonically queer figures could have anything to do with Supernatural’s gratuitous queer subtext, but y’know.  It might.

3.  Cas himself is sexually complex (and literally cannot be straight.) 

Dean has made reference to the fact that he “doesn’t swing that way” (ironically, both of which times he was literally in the midst of blatantly flirting with men.)  

Cas, however, has no such reservations:  he’s never indicated, vocally or otherwise, a preference towards either gender, so much as outright declaring that he doesn’t give a damn.  

He reacts to male and female flirtation much the same way:  just try and tell me his suspicious glower and Mick wasn’t similar to Mandy the waitress (and try and tell me they both weren’t acting like they’d like to eat him for dinner.)

Moreover, the only time we’ve seen him ever achieve some kind of intimacy with female characters is when they’re literally throwing themselves at him.  Hey, he’s an aesthetically pleasing fellow – or rather, an aesthetically pleasing something.  

Which brings me to my next point that he isn’t really a fellow at all:  Cas not only gives zero fucks about sexual orientation, he also gives zero fucks about gender.  Sure, he’ll spend seven years in the same ill-fitting trench coat, but he’ll also rock a petticoat like nobody’s business.

I’ve discovered that the writer for “Lily Sunder Has Some Regrets,” Steve Yockey, is a gay man, which honestly makes it all the more perfect:  not only does it establish the Orlando-esque flexibility (or nonexistence) of Cas’s gender, but it eliminates the possibility of his straightness.  

And I want Destiel to be canon as much as anybody, but am I opposed to Cas being a genderfluid lesbian?  No.  No, I am not.    

4.  Dean can textually be interpreted as bisexual (and probably should be.)

For anyone who questions whether Dean not being straight as an arrow, I’m happy to point out some very canon things that happened on the show:

(Examples courtesy of @some-people-call-it-tragic!)

And yes, when feeling threatened, he’s professed not to swing that way.  But you know how many queer people I know who have at one point felt compelled to lie about our sexual orientation?  Every single one.  And I live in the bluest of blue states – Dean was raised in Bible Belt America and spends most of his time in the Southwest.  Not to mention the fact that he was raised during the heat of the AIDS academic.

In other words, he has every logical reason to be wary at the prospect of coming out of the closet, or even acknowledging same sex attraction at all.

Moreover it’s been canonically established that Dean has a habit of lying about himself to protect his image of masculinity:  according to Dean, he doesn’t do shorts, chick flicks, cucumber water, skinny jeans and sunglasses, and Taylor Swift music.  You know how many of those things he loves?  All of them

Finally, not every member of the cast or crew might agree (though I know for a fact that some of them do) but their interpretations do not effect textuality.  And Dean can textually be interpreted as bisexual.  

5.  Dean and Cas make a better couple than any of their love interests.

I’m going to state something I feel is obvious:  Cas and Dean have more buildup, tension, chemistry, emotional connection, and romantic history than literally any of their other interests.  

Take Lisa, for example:  she’s Dean’s longest lasting introduced as female partner, and she’s introduced as the “bendiest weekend of his life.”  

Furthermore, I’d argue that sexual attraction notwithstanding, Dean was never romantically in love with Lisa.  To him, she epitomizes his desire for a mother figure, a home, and his lost childhood, as is best demonstrated in his fantasy from “Dream a Little Dream of Me:”  Lisa isn’t a seductive or romantic figure here – she’s a maternal one. 

Though since Dean has never had a long lasting relationship (or, to my belief, been completely in love with a girl) it’s easy to see how he’d misinterpret these feelings as romantic love. 

Then we have Cas, who’s introduced by pulling Dean from the depths of hell, who makes most one-on-one scenes with Dean look like a soft core porno, and who recently (canonically!) declared his love for Dean.  

I don’t dislike Lisa, but it’s easy to see which of the two relationships is more three-dimensional, more original, and more worthy of screentime.

Destiel moments in SPN 12X12

Time for my weekly, gif-filled, Destiel recap. I’m going to try and put away all my squeeing and try to be as professional as I possibly can. 

Extremely Gif heavy post ahead. 

(gif credits to @peculiar-angel, @ahoyspn, @weallneedcastiel,  @codestielckles, @mishacolins, @mishastiel, @novaks, @angvlicmish, @flydestiel and @hazeldomain

Okay I already wrote volumes about Dean’s weird posturing in the diner here, but I also wanted to add this bit here. 

Dean knows Cas is not interested in the waitress. Cas does sniff her (?) just to check up on Dean’s stupid theory of waitresses smell like food, but he’s not interested. So what does Dean do? Mary has just told them all off, but he still postures for Wally’s benefit, pretending to be wingman to Cas, when he KNOWS Cas is disinterested. He can’t help but give himself away though-

Seriously, Dean? My devastatingly handsome friend? That’s not being a wingman, that screams I have a secret crush on my ‘friend’.

And Cas is clueless, even after Mandy is clearly interested -

And Dean? Dean’s just thrilled. So thrilled he looks like he wants to die inside. 

On a more serious note, after the boys reach the barn, look at how fast Dean abandons the conversation and rushes to Cas’s side. And he knows it’s bad, so bad. Dean’s method of dealing with people he loves dying? 

Step 1: Try to gauge the situation by using humor-

 Cas is luckily alert enough to snark right back.

Dean asks to see how bad the wounds are, and two seconds after Cas starts showing him, covers it up. He can’t bear to see it.

Dean Winchester, seasoned hunter who’s seen more than his fair share of gore since he was fucking four years old, makes him cover it up because he just cannot bear to actually see Cas in agony. And he’s so gentle about it.

Step 2: Pure denial.

Cas looks BAD. And he’s never been one to exaggerate.

Did you see those micro-expressions? That little lip wobble? The tiny gasp of shock and disbelief? The swallow? Jensen is the the fucking master of these. This is the brief instant where the enormity hits Dean, but he shuts it down. 

Immediately.

Seriously Dean? Time for WHAT? He is DYING and you know it. And this is when he calls for Sam, calls for Sam to abandon everything and come right away because Cas is dying. And this brings us to the next step for Dean -

Step 3: Anger

Dean’s furious. At Crowley, at himself, at every damn thing in the world that stands in his way to saving Cas. And he’s being beyond unreasonable here, it’s not Crowley’s fault and Crowley has no obligation whatsoever to help them out. But Cas, Cas is dying. And Dean’s *this* close to cracking. 

Now, for Cas’s speech. Cas knows this is it. But he has his family surrounding him, he has Dean with him. And he needs to make sure they live. This is the last chance he has for telling them (and Dean) what he feels for them and boy does he!

Mary looks at Dean when Cas makes this statement, cementing who it is that Cas is addressing. 

And Dean, Dean’s unhappy. He knows that the things they shared together did change Cas, did put him into this mess where he has to die slowly and painfully. 

Look at that. Sam’s upset, but Dean can’t even meet Cas’s eyes anymore. He’s feeling responsible for Cas’s impending death.

And finally, FINALLY, after years of Dean telling him over and over again, Cas says they are his family. More specifically, Dean. Cas is thinking of that day, so long ago, when he said-

“You’re not my family, Dean – I have no family.”

But he’s not just family now.

The camera immediately panned to Dean there. Cas was addressing Dean, and Dean only till now. It’s only when he says “I love all of you” that Sam’s reaction is showed at all.

(as a side not, look at how touched Sam is. How many people have told him this?)

And true to form, the Winchesters refuse to leave. And they fight. Mary STILL doesn’t give the game away, I admit I was a bit :O at that, but that’s for another post entirely… Sam kills the Price of Hell, but there’s still no saving Cas. Sam is one who rushes to Cas first, because he’s still able to function. Sam is the one who reassures Cas, tells him that they’re there, that he won’t die alone… :(

But Dean, Dean’s pain is beyond words.

Tell me that is not the face of someone who is watching the love of his life dying in front of him. Tell me Dean doesn’t care. Just try. He’s praying. I just know he is.

But yay, Crowley saves the day! And Dean’s reaction is the only one showed.

Look at the utter disbelief in his eyes. Look at this entire montage afterwards -

The look they shared in the first one, Dean’s expression in the last gif, the pure amazement and relief in his eyes.. It was almost painful to watch. By the way, Sam’s already let go. It’s Dean who’s still unable to believe his eyes, unable to take his hands off…

And this, this was the most perfect ending anyone could hope for -

*sighs*

Cas said he loved Dean. It’s fucking canon.  

Pepero Day (M)

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Yoongi x reader

Genre: Smut, Bestfriend!Yoongi, Valentine’s Day themed

Word count: 5.7k

warnings: Rated M, language, graphic sexual descriptions

A/N: This was meant to be a valentine’s day fic, but it’s a day late, rip. I hope you enjoy it regardless!

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doemerchant  asked:

Hey I was wondering could you list YOI completed fics which are long and good ? "-"

What a great ask! Shoutout to all the amazing fic writers who write full freaking novels for free because they love the show that much. You all do such great work for the fandom and I thank you all so much. Here are some of my favourite  long, completed fics!

Originally posted by things-all-love


Completed Victuuri Fics (Over 40k Words)


all the world’s a stage by braveten, Explicit, 112k
AU where Victor is the the most famous actor in Hollywood and Yuuri is a silver medalist at this year’s GPF… and also has a huge crush on Victor. Yuuri auditions to become his skating coach for a movie with the help of Pitchit and cuteness ensues. Fun, great writing, good plot. Lots of fluff, some angst, and a little bit of smut. Amazing fic!

Home by Kurenaito, Teen, 46k
Three years after the series, Yuuri has retired, and he and Viktor live in America. It’s no secret that Viktor likes to make impulsive decisions. Cute adoption fic! Bonus angsty Yurio..

Melodies Unheard, but Felt All the Same by Watermelonsmellinfellon, Mature, 69k
Yuuri wanted to make history as the first deaf man to win the Grand Prix Final. Of course he’s a little skeptical of Victor Nikiforov’s presence, but Victor proves to be different, and Yuuri appreciates that. Amazing fic that truly shows that love wins, no matter what obstacles face them.

Maelstrom by feelslikefire, Explicit, 43k
Victor Nikiforov is poised to win gold in his fifth consecutive Grand Prix Final. He has the world at his feet, is unparalleled in the sport–right up until a snowstorm blows into Sochi, and he finds himself repeating the same day over and over and over. He stumbles over Yuuri Katsuki, and everything changes. THE GROUNDHOG DAY AU!!

On Our Love by LiaoftheDawn, Mature, 46k
The fic where Victor thinks he’s doing the right thing, manages to disappoint all the Yuris in his life, and still everything works out at the end. LOVE this fic… I’m sobbing…

like your french girls by ebenroot, Teen, 102k
in which Victor is an artist, Yuuri is his figure skating muse, and Yuri is so done hearing about their stupid love story through Instagram. Great artist AU fic with lots pining Victor and fluffy scenes!

Between us by Vitavili, Mature, 169k
Love hurts. Love heals. Sometimes it’s really easy to love. Sometimes it feels like hell. You can forget to love yourself because you are too busy with loving someone else. Stunning fic with heavy angst but a happy ending.

Yuuri!!! on Floor by thehandsingsweapon, Not Rated, 67k
The gymnastics edition, in which Viktor is still a skater. A story about how sometimes love comes slow and soft, and how hearts get bigger when they break. Great gymnastics AU!

Until My Feet Bleed and My Heart Aches by Reiya, Explicit, 197k
Rivals AU where Yuuri’s main goal, ever since he was a child, is to beat Victor and win the GPF. SO MUCH ANGST (like, so much) and deliciously hot, hot, hot! You might die from reading this… it’s that good. Thumbs up!

Standard Deviations by JustBeHappy, Teen, 82k
Victor knew something was wrong when he woke up. Firstly, Yuuri wasn’t by his side in bed. Secondly, the wallpapers weren’t supposed to be blue. Great time travel AU!

Beside the Dancing Sea by lily_winterwood, MapleTreeway, Explicit, 186k
New York Times-bestselling author Viktor Nikiforov arrives in the sleepy seaside town of Torvill Cove to cure his writer’s block. After encountering local wallflower Yuuri Katsuki at a party, he discovers that this mysterious dark-haired man has a couple secrets up his sleeve. And Viktor will be damned if he doesn’t find out just what those secrets are. LOVE this fic!

Love So Life by shamarmon, Teen, 114k
Yuuri Katsuki was simply living his college life, teaching ice skating lessons to little kids, when suddenly his idol and champion figure skater Victor Nikiforov bursts in and requests that he start babysitting his three year old nephew, Yuri Plisetsky. Yuuri finds himself growing to be a part of their family and helping them work through their complicated family issues. Super cute!

lie to make me like you by cityboys, Mature, 80k
Victor is a retired actor looking for love, and Yuuri happens to be the (un)fortunate soul to unwittingly ask him out at the beginning of the month. Except relationships don’t come with a script, and it’s much harder understanding love than roles. Awesome actor AU!

Until You Return to Me by BatMads, Teen, 113k
Yuuri and Victor are in St. Petersburg together at last, but when Yuuri has difficulty adjusting to the transition and tragedy strikes, it seems as though they may be separated forever. Now they struggle to find their way back to each other when the universe seems to conspire against a happy ending. THE SLOWEST BURN FIC YOU WILL EVER READ OMFGDHFSDK

Please Have Mercy On Me by all_those_big_ass_trees, Explicit, 85k
Viktor’s been living with Yuuri for a month now, but Yuuri is still not used to him. But Viktor is a good teacher, and Yuuri is a good student. Love!

centripetal force by braveten, Explicit, 85k
Victor speaks seven languages. (Physics isn’t one of them.) Luckily, though, he ends up rooming with his antithesis: a shy, black-haired boy who just so happens to be a physics major. I LOVE THIS FIC SO MUCH

No Less Unthinkable by rageprufrock, Explicit, 79k
In which Katsuki Yuuri fights a losing battle with chronic anxiety, the quadruple Salchow, and his own judgment four drinks in — but wins the war. Stunning fic!

pick lilacs for the passing time by astralelegies, Teen, 68k
In which the outlandish prodigy Victor Nikiforov hits Yuuri’s life like a whirlwind after he transfers to a prestigious ballet conservatory in Moscow, two grumpy teenagers learn to be friends, and Mila’s Straight Girl CrushTM might not be so straight after all. 

An Intangible Force of Motion by doeinstinct, Teen, 76k
The new season is in full-swing, and Viktor is realizing just how much work it is to coach and compete, but the exhilaration is worth it. The pain in his leg is probably just from overworking. Probably. So sad but so good.

Call Everything on the Ice… by shysweetthing, 50k
Victor learns Japanese while in Hasetsu. He doesn’t tell Yuuri, and things get dicey when he overhears Yuuri and Mari talking about him in Japanese. Repeatedly. ONE OF MY FAVOURITE FICS EVER

starstruck by shizuoh, Teen, 58k
In which yuuri is a simple barista, viktor is a famous movie star, and yuri is an 8 year old kid stuck in the middle of it. I adore this fic!

matched by bigspoonnoya, Explicit, 52k
Viktor Nikiforov considers himself an excellent matchmaker, but there’s one love life he can’t seem to get right: his own.

No, Wait, You Got it All Wrong

You know what there’s not enough of? Canon compliant future fic where Stiles is a cop and he runs into Derek again. What’s that you say? There’s a ton of that?? Yes, true, but NOT ENOUGH.

“…. so then he says, ‘No, Officer, I swear to God this is the first time I’ve ever smoked up! I’ve never been in trouble with the law in my life! And I say, Billy, my man, you’ve been in trouble with me personally twice this month.” Stiles snorts at the memory. “Kid was so fucking high.”

Amanda must be halfway past tipsy, because she laughs uproariously into her beer at the mediocre punchline.

Stiles smiles. He’s satisfied with her reaction, with the warm murmur of the bar, with the buzz he’s got going… with just about everything, actually. After tonight, he’s looking at two full days off before he’s back on the beat, and the night’s still young. He leans back in his chair and takes a pull of his beer, savoring it.

Amanda glances towards the bar, probably considering a fourth round, and then visibly perks up as something near the front catches her eye.

“Oooh, Stiles,” she croons. “Look over at the door, like, just glance over.” She’s adjusted her gaze down at the table now, faking casual disinterest. Badly.

Stiles raises his eyebrows at her.

“This dude just walked in, he’s so your type,” she hisses. “C’mon, look! I’m telling you, six feet two inches of ‘yes, please, give it to me’ muscles, with some salt-and-pepper scruff icing. Unff.”

“Eh,” Stiles says, tipping his weight forward to hunch over the table. It’s not that he isn’t interested, exactly, but this is a cop bar and he doesn’t want to shit where he eats. Metaphorically.

“No, really,” Amanda insists. “He's… oh my God, he’s looking over here. He’s looking at you. Oh my God, Stiles, he’s coming over here!”

“No, he isn’t,” Stiles scoffs. He’s filled out a bit from high school and he’s finally competent at styling his hair, but he’s not that hot. Only Amanda’s sitting straight like a rod, eyes fixed on a point behind him that’s about where a six foot two man’s eyes would be.

“Stiles?”

He turns then, shooting to his feet before his brain’s quite caught up, because that voice is familiar like the back of his own hand.

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Harry Potter can’t sleep (and neither can Draco Malfoy)

prompt: pillow covers (thanks @miniemcgee)
<5k

Fuck this, Harry thinks, listening to the rustle of Malfoy’s sheets as the insufferable git rolls over for what has to be the fifth time in as many minutes. And fuck McGonagall for assigning Draco Malfoy, of all people, to be his roommate. No wait, Harry immediately takes this back. Even in his internal monologue he isn’t comfortable disrespecting McGonagall.

Still Malfoy is a nightmare to dorm with. Merlin, Harry would much rather be having a nightmare – at least then he’d actually be sleeping! Malfoy tosses and turns all night. He gets up and visits the bathroom two-three times every night. What, does he have a bladder the size of a peanut? It’s ridiculous.

All Harry wants is to sleep. All Malfoy seems to do every night is make as much noise as possible. Harry mentions it to Ron once at breakfast. Even though all the eight years have been given new shared “houseless” dorms, thankfully they’re still allowed to sit at their house tables. Harry is incredibly grateful for this. It’s bad enough staying awake all night listening to Malfoy, he’d hate to have to put up with him in the daylight as well.

“What the bloody hell are you talking about?” Ron asks.

“He makes noises, Ron, in his bed. All night!” Harry explains, desperate for someone to understand his frustration. It’s constant, night after night. Rustle rustle rustle.

Ron looks at Harry like he’s lost his mind, a faint blush on his cheeks. Harry doesn’t bring it up again.


Draco is tired. So very tired. He can’t remember ever not feeling tired. It’s been so long since he’s been able to really sleep. At least two years, maybe more. Probably more. He thought things would change after the Battle of Hogwarts. That Voldemort’s death would give him peace. But it hasn’t. Nothing seems to. He doubts anything ever will.

Every night it’s the same. He lies in bed desperately willing himself to sleep, for his body to give in and relax. But the relaxation never comes. Sure he gets bits of rest here and there but it’s always fleeting, never enough. The morning takes a lifetime to arrive and yet, somehow, it’s always too soon.

Tonight he studies late in the library. He pushes himself to remain for as long as possible. What’s the point in going to bed anyway? Finally the exhaustion becomes too much for him and he heads back to the dorm, all the while knowing the exhaustion isn’t enough to grant him sleep. It never is.

His dorm is dark. Potter must already be in bed. He is surprised by how early all the eighth years go to bed. In Slytherin lights out was always well after midnight. Unfortunately, not many others from Slytherin have returned to Hogwarts to back him up on this. So everyone seems to retire by 10pm every night.

He stumbles around the dark room, trying to be quiet, his arm reaching out in front of him searching for his bed pole to grasp, while his eyes adjust. There. Using the bed post as a guide, he lets himself fall into bed.

Ah. His body crumples inwards, pleased. It takes all Draco’s determination to keep his body upright throughout the day when all he wants to do is collapse. His body craves for sleep all day and then when he finally gets to bed, nothing. Yet another restless night.

Except today something feels different. His pillow is softer somehow, his blanket warmer. There’s something else too.  A strong, commanding scent he’s never noticed before. He breathes in deeply and lets it wash over him. Grapefruit. Honey. Ginger. It’s comforting. And familiar. He takes another breath. And another. His eyes close.

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in which jack and shitty accidentally date

based on a dream I had, I present: a short semi-fic about Jack and Shitty and their day-long, beautiful relationship.

Basically, this is what happens:

At a kegster during their freshmen year, in which Shitty is running around being the life of the party even though he’s a freshman, Jack is also in attendance– talking to Berger and Marsh in the kitchen. Jack is there, partly to keep an eye on Shitty, partly because he is surprised by how much he does like some of the guys on his team, mostly because they had won today and Jack is in quite a good mood. Not a good enough mood that he is going to risk going into the living room where music is blasting, but in a good enough mood that he is holding a solo cup of beer and chilling in the kitchen, chatting with Berger and Marsh. He is at ease as Jack ever is– laughing good naturedly as they tease both him and each other and of course, this is when the trouble starts.

The trouble is this: Marsh is drunk and excited that Jack has actually shown up to a Haus kegster and since Jack seems to be in a good mood, Marsh decides to take a risk and ask Jack a Question. More specifically, Marsh rams an friendly elbow into Jack’s ribs and goes:

“Yo, Zimmermann, you like anyone on campus yet?”

A few months prior, that question would have made Jack freeze up. But now, Jack smiles easily (because honestly, it is a rather respectful question– “like” instead of “fuck”; “anyone” instead of assuming “girl”) and he certainly doesn’t want to get into his romantic history or lack of crushes so he smiles, shrugs, and says

“Nah, love’s shitty,” It’s still friendly and he smiles and asks Berg about his crush that the whole team knows about and that should be that.

The problem, however, is that what Alex Berger and Carter Marsh heard was not “Nah, love’s shitty,” but “I’m in love with Shitty.”

Which, of course, is a much bigger deal. 

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Six Years and Seven Days

This is pretending that Bellamy could hear Clarke talking all those years, she just can’t hear him responding, and that the ship at the end is them coming back to Earth. 

So…pain. 


Day Three

“Bellamy…are you up there? Are you alive? Is anyone alive?”

Static.

“I only woke up yesterday. At least, I think it was yesterday. I barely made it into the bunker in time, but I made it. And the computer says it’s been three days since the radiation hit, and I was so hungry I thought I might die. Please tell me you didn’t die.”

Silence.

“Bellamy, my mom was right. In a way. My face is disgusting, covered in boils. You’d be laughing at me…probably. Because she was right but so were you. I’m not dead Bellamy. I hope you aren’t either.”

His fingers slammed on the respond button, pushing it down to the point of it feeling like it would crack from the pressure.

“I’m not dead, Clarke. I’m not dead.”

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Between Us And Infinity

Originally posted by theseoks

Genre: Angst/fluff || soulmate!au / street performer!tae

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

Length: 35.7k

Summary: Place two strangers together and give them seven days to fall in love, and they will be soulmates for the rest of eternity, otherwise, neither of the two will come to love anyone ever again; The Seven Days Countdown has always been an old wives tale to you and nothing more, but all of that changes once you meet Kim Taehyung in the midst of a crowd of thousands. From then on, your life is thrown into a race against time, not only on a mission to beat the clock in falling in love with the renowned heartthrob, but also on a quest to make him fall in love with you.

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Sometime in the future...

…when Dex realizes he’s not poor anymore.

“can we get a headboard, too?”

Dex hated that voice. It was a voice he hadn’t heard come out of his mouth in a long time, since before him and Nursey got married, before they graduated, before he started seeing a therapist. It was a voice that said, ’a no would break me’ underneath the real words of his question.

It was how he used to ask for hugs, and how he asked, three months into their fuck-buddy relationship, for Nusey to please stay the night, just once, nobody ever stays.

Nursey gave him a long, appraising look, but Dex knew he wouldn’t ask why, all of a sudden, Dex sounded so unsure of himself. Just like Dex knew, eventually, he’d tell Nursey why something so silly as a headboard was so important to him.

He gave a small smile instead, kissed Dex’s cheek, and said, “That’s chill.”

They got out of their truck, a purchase that Nursey made without Dex because he knew his husband could never justify the price to himself, even though they could afford it a hundred times over. Between Dex’s NHL salary and Nursey and Lardo’s line of children’s books, there wasn’t really anything they couldn’t afford.

Which is why Dex hated how small and broken his voice sounded when he asked if they could buy a headboard.

With the new contract Dex signed, finally featuring a no trade clause, they decided to buy a house. Nursey went all out; he spent weeks touring places, picking out furniture, and giving Dex the silent treatment (apparently ‘whatever you want’ isn’t the right answer). The only thing left was a new mattress.

They saved it specifically for a week when Dex didn’t have any scheduling conflicts. He tried to tell Nursey that it was fine, he could go ahead and buy one without Dex there, but he refused, insisting that a mattress was an individual experience, both of them had to agree.

They both knew that, in the end, Dex wouldn’t have an opinion. A bed was a bed to him, and any bed was better than no bed. It felt nice to have a full day with his husband, though.

They stood in front of a huge mattress store, and for some reason, Dex felt uncertain. There was something about this, buying a bed, that made everything real to him. He was an adult. He was well off financially. And he was about to walk into a store hand in hand with his husband. And he was happy.

He wasn’t the angry kid from Maine, anymore.

A saleswoman nearly a foot shorter than the couple (call me Cici!) dragged them all over the store, practically pushing them down on mattresses and asking about their firmness. She asked about hteir opinon on memory foam versus tempurpedic, about fabrics and springs and coils and all sorts of questions Nursey has answers for that Dex can’t make heads or tails of.

He zones out a bit, but jumps back into the conversation when the topic of temperature comes up (so, are you two warm blooded or do you use a lot of blankets at night?). He had no idea that they made some mattresses cooler than others, but yes they wanted to try those out, because his husband is a furnace and the three stupid cats Nursey snuck home were like little fuzzy ovens.

So, they go to the other side of the store and try out hybrids (of what, Dex really couldn’t say). Without even trying it out, Nursey pointed at one of the set-ups and declared, “it’s going to be this one.” Dex had to admit that it was pretty comfortable. He didn’t feel like he was sinking into the mattress, which was nice.

Nursey clamored on top, cuddling into Dex’s side with a smug grin. “Told you it was this one.”

Still grinning, Nursey asked Cici, “Can you show us some headboard options?”

There was an entire room of them. Bed frames and headboards and footboards. Big quilted ones that Dex thought would go great in his baby sister’s princess room, studded leather ones, wrought iron frames that looked a little too bondage for Dex’s comfort.

Dex wasn’t sure what his face was doing, but  Cici told them quietly that she would give them a few minutes to look around, even though she had been attached at to their side for the hour they had been in the store.

They wandered around, looking at all the choices. Dex knew he held Nursey’s hand a little too hard, but Nursey didn’t say anything. He let Dex take the lead, inputting his opinion but never tryng to influence Dex, never pushing him to talk about it.

They made two circuits of the room before stopping (for the second time) in front of a simple padded headboard. It wasn’t anything fancy, just smooth, cream colored fabric. Dex ran a finger over the display. It was softer than it looked.

“I don’t understand headboards. Or footboards. They’re totally pointless.”

In the past, that may have been an invitation for Nursey to chirp Dex, to ask what the hell they were doing buying one if Dex thought it was pointless. But after so many years together, Nursey knew Dex needed to talk it out, not have a conversation.

“Did you know that before I went to Samwell, I never slept in a real bed?”

“I didn’t, babe.”

Dex never took his eyes off the headboard. “For a while I had a matress thrown on the floor in me and Adam’s room, but then I gave it to Hannah and I started sleeping on some sleeping bags on the floor. I told myself it was like camping. Even when I imagined my house, I never imagined a having a real bed. What’s the piont of buying something that’s totally pointless? It’s just a waste of money.”

Nursey ran a warm hand up and down Dex’s back. Dex rarely talked about his childhood. It was one of the only things they still faught about sometimes: Nursey taking their money for granted and Dex not being able to accept that he can spend money when he wants to.

“But we can buy this. We can buy something that’s totally pointless, just because I want it.”

It wouldn’t match the room, even a little bit. The whole house was stark greys and bright whites, accents of bright colors. The cream fabric would stick out like a sore thumb. It was meant for a softer house. There was something about it that Dex like, though. He couldn’t put his finger on what, exactly, but he loved it.

“What do you think?”

Nursey didn’t bother to look away from Dex when he answered. “I think it’s great, babe. It’ll look good in the bedroom.”

Dex gave him a hard look. “really.”

“Okay, no. but if you like it, then I couldn’t care less.”

And just like that,they bought it. And later that night, in their brand new bed, in their house (their house, not a house they were renting), Dex slept better than he could ever remember sleeping.

Malec Fanfic Rec!

Malec writing goodies from amazing writers.These are some golden works

4 times Alec almost said I love you, and the one time that he actually did by sufferingbisexual

Alec realized he was in love with Magnus. However when will he be able to actually tell him.

Across the Hall by clato27

“'She looks just like your wife,’ Magnus said, offhandedly. His gaze tore back to Alec when he heard the other man choke on the coffee he was drinking. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, are you two not married.’ 'Uh, no,’ Alec said after recovering from his coughing fit. 'Izzy is my sister.'”

Aka, the “I fell in love with the pregnant girl across the hall’s brother” AU.

Addicted To You by @imawriteriwrite

Magnus Bane’s the head of his own company. Alec Lightwood is in his last year of law school. They’ve never met but have one thing in common: neither does relationships. Just one night stands. That is until they find themselves matched on a hookup app and suddenly one night is not enough.

Also known as the one where Magnus and Alec meet and think they can have no strings attached sex and not develop feelings.

Alecs Husband by NotEvenThat

Max misses Alec and finally demands that he go with Alec and his friend.. Even if Mom says no.

Amor Aeternus by @lolguess

In a world where the Clave encourages soulbonding you would think Magnus and Alec have it easy.

And Then I Met You by @everydayfandom

Sometimes someone comes along and throws you of your life path. And sometimes that’s not such a bad thing.

Bibliophile by @dorkberto

Despite what his sister thinks about his non-existent love life, Alec is not in danger of an oncoming descent into recluse crazy cat owner. For one; Church would eat his competitors for Alec’s undivided attention and two; Alec’s a little hung up over Magnus Bane.

Blue storm by @dorkberto

Ragnor was gone.

Ragnor was gone

Bright Lights, Small Town by @lecrit

When Magnus gets to Nashville, Indiana to handle his late mother’s will, he doesn’t expect to be forced to stay there for six months. Six months away from New York and lost in the wildness of the countryside.

It quickly appears that he is going to go through six months of living hell.

The fact that he hates the local veterinarian on sight isn’t helping.

Broken Arrows by @gibberish10

Over his parabatai’s missing, Alec lashes out at everyone, including Magnus Bane, his warlock lover.

Come Undone by @gibberish10

No one has asked him how he felt, but Alec did.

Complete Me by Maleciseverything

“What one loves in childhood stays in the heart forever.” -Mary Jo Putney

Drop It Like It’s Hot by @janoda

Alec tries to deal with people behaving differently since the wedding. He hadn’t counted on Dylan from Accounting.

Fusion by prfctdaze

Magnus gets the surprise of his life when he walks in to Jade Wolf.

Happy Birthday, Beautiful by @themagnusbane

The thing about having lived for centuries is that birthdays are no longer such a big deal. A pity no one told that to Magnus Bane’s party extraordinaire boyfriend: Alec Lightwood.

Hold me tightly by Tchell1

“I thought you had died, Alexander” Magnus finally said as a way of explaining himself “I saw you die”

Hypnotise by highlytrainedfangirl

Alec had a problem. One that was wrapped up in exquisite clothing and dusted in glitter. Alec was quickly realising that being around Magnus was terrible for his composure. Ignoring the fact that he could barely string a sentence together without tripping over his words, he’d discovered a new distraction: magic.

I found God but it wasn’t supposed to be by @intangibel

After closing a particularly spectacular legal case Magnus sends Ragnor a celebratory text only to find himself the victim of autocorrect and having to explain to a very handsome angel (Alec) that he isn’t God, no matter how much he wishes he was right now.

In The Cards by Obssesivecompulsivereadr

Magnus wore cardigans and baggy slacks. He owned two cats, and he lived in a home more suitable for an elderly mundane woman for a reason. He was to remain boring and unsuitable for most associations with people. He did not like attention, no matter how positive it might be. He was to seem eccentric and weird. Living a life focused on magic that was supposed to not exist.

Into You by @darrenchristsupastar

Alec has more layers than we may have previously thought

It’s Time To Lose Your Virginity, Brother Dearest by @themagnusbane

Magnus Bane is a famous stripper, used to pretty boys falling in love with him after one dance. The feeling is hardly ever mutual. But when he meets the freshly turned twenty-one year old Alec lightwood, he can’t take his eyes off him, and they find themselves in love quicker than they expected.

Looking at him by @jainsel-and-the-ships

Alec Lightwood is in love with his best friend and colleague Jace.
Jace is straight and at the moment he’s dating this Clary girl. Alec is certain it won’t last, as all his friend’s previous relationships.
Then there’s Magnus Bane, another co-worker and a man who sure knows how to make Alec feel embarrassed.
Something’s going on between Alec and Magnus.
Something’s going on between Jace and Clary too…

Magic and Rum by NotEvenThat

Shortly after the party, Magnus finds Max in the kitchen.

Make a home out of you by @thealmostrhetoricalquestion

“There is a delicate system in place and you are destroying it, Alexander Lightwood. Unhand my pants.”

“Now there’s a sentence I never thought I’d hear you say. You’re usually encouraging me to put my hands on your pants.”

Morning hair by @lollylokoala

While Magnus was completely aware of the effect Alec had on him, he didn’t know that a tiny little detail in Alec’s morning look could make his heart skipped a beat.

My Heart Smiles by pseudofoucault333 

Magnus is an interior designer who is dreading going to his yearly Christmas party and Alec a waiter who has dealt with more than enough Christmas cheer to last a lifetime. But when the two set eyes on the other across a crowded restaurant are they going to be destined for more when the festive season is over?

My True Love Gave To Me by @imawriteriwrite

Magnus Bane had a plan, a perfect Christmas Eve just like always. Hang out with his friends, bask in the Christmas Spirit. Then everything went wrong.

Now he’s stuck reliving the same day again and again and again. The bright side? Maybe Alec Lightwood isn’t as terrible as Magnus always thought.

Never Stand Between Two Mirrors by @oncethrown

Alec has enough on his plate right now. His parents are furious at him, Magnus Bane is making him feel things he’s trying so hard not to feel, his wedding is coming up, and his world is breaking apart.What he doesn’t need is a fussy mundane version on himself showing up in the Institute basement. What he doesn’t need is Magnus telling him that they’ll just have to wait for Seelie Magic to suck that version of himself back to his own dimension.But since when does Alec get what he needs?

Alternate Dimension Alec gets trapped in the Shadowhunter reality at some point after the “I know you feel what I feel” scene. The gang desperately tries to stop chaos from ensuing. 

Nothing But A Distraction by @actuallyredorchid

Clary doesn’t sneak away when Alec’s on the phone, so Alec accepts Magnus’ invitation to “go out for a drink”.

Off to a bad start by @fangtasticsaphael

“How did you manage to never run into him? He’s always helping with stuff and he’s even been at the institute about three weeks ago to strengthen the wards against further attacks from Valentine,” she replied and looked at her brother incredulously. Alexander scrunched up his nose and shrugged.

“Well, maybe I have better things to do than waiting around to watch some overrated warlock do magic tricks,” he commented a little defensively but it was the truth. He always had something to do and even when they were not out demon hunting, he had either paperwork to do or train.

“Pardon me, but I’m not just some overrated warlock. I’m the High Warlock of Brooklyn and that title is well deserved, if I may say so. And I’m appalled that you refer to my magic as petty tricks. You Nephilim always act to high and mighty, yet you’re constantly in need of some tricks from overrated warlocks to help you out of some unnecessary dilemma,” a foreign voice interjected and Alec whirled around, fingers instinctively curling around his bow to be ready to attack if need be. The owner of the voice was not what Alexander had expected, to be honest.

Oh lover, hold on by @fireblazie

The mask and goggles clatter to the ground. Isabelle makes a choked noise, and Jace whispers, paper-thin, “Alec?”

Magnus stops breathing as Alec’s gaze—cold, dead, and empty—comes to rest impassively on them.

“Who the hell is Alec?”

(Loosely based on Captain America: The Winter Soldier.)

One Show Only by KouriArashi

It’s hard to stay in the closet when the guy you had a one-night stand with two nights ago turns out to be your new partner … but Alec will be damned if he isn’t going to give it a try.

People say crazy things by @ohlafraise

“But what I don’t get is why Magnus cares so much about a random shadowhunter,” Jocelyn said.

Simon winced. “Oh, boy.”

Pick up lines by Gracefanfics

Admittly maybe using pick up lines in the middle of your brother’s rune party was a bad idea.

Or 
A short fic about Alec not having great timing in using pick up lines on Magnus.

Shooting Pool by @malec-is-pretty

Magnus and Alec go on their date and a simple game of pool gets them a little wound up.

Somewhere safe to finally break by onefootintheboilinghotlava

With the war finally over, Magnus had time to be alone and his mind decided to bring up all the things and people he had lost in the war at once. At his own loft, with his two beloved cats sleeping soundly, Magnus broke down……

Tampons and Concealer? By onefootintheboilinghotlava

So Izzy sent Alec to get tampons and concealer…Alec was standing in the drugstore, not even sure where to begin, when a handsome stranger offered to help.

That’s your cue by @theleftboobgrabber

“Keep your hands to yourself,” Alec tells Magnus apropos of nothing.

Magnus frowns. “I’m on the other side of the table!” he protests… not that he wasn’t thinking about some light groping per say, but they’re in public, Alec might not be into it and, while he’s good at concealing it, Magnus does have manners. Sometimes.

My take on Magnus and Alec’s date.

The Choices of the Chosen by KouriArashi

The day after his 21st birthday, Alec is sent to the demonic court as a gladiator, where he makes both friends and enemies … along with meeting Magnus Bane, who doesn’t seem to fit in either category.

The Only Magic I Believe In (Is The Magic I Receive From Loving You) by @delilahbelle

Or, four gifts Alec gives Magnus.

“No one’s ever done anything like that for me before.”

Alec’s face softens. “Well, I’m going to do it for as long as I’m alive. So get used to it.”

The Second Kiss by @simonseroticfriendfiction

“So here we are.” Magnus said, taking a step closer to Alec.

Alec gulped and took a deep breath in through his nose. “Yeah, here we are.” He squeezed his fingers nervously in his fists as he caught Magnus glancing towards his lips. “I-I suppose you want me to kiss you?” He stuttered, voice faltering.

This Christmas (You’re Someone Special) by vulturemonem 

Last Christmas, Magnus Bane had his heart broken.

Again, and again, and again.

And he didn’t think it would be mended anytime soon. He certainly didn’t think he’d be ready to let anybody in. Until a beautiful boy walks into his shop, and steals his breath with shy glances, kind words, and a fantastic coffee machine.

Maybe this Christmas will be better.

Or: In which Camille is awful, Ragnor and Raphael are an old married couple, and Magnus can’t help but be enamoured by Alec Lightwood.

This Night Is Not Forever by @isabellebiwoods

Alec Lightwood is a happily settled down man in a loving, caring relationship. But things weren’t always that way… and once upon a time, Alec used his Valentine’s Day to celebrate the spirit of the night as much as possible.

aka. world inverted legendary lothario alec lightwood

Too Much is Never Enough by Obsessivecompulsivereadr

They are on opposite edges of the same ideal. Alec so young, and Magnus so much older. Alec a blessed acolyte of the Angel, Raziel. Magnus the abandoned son of the Greater Demon, Asmodeus. Magnus with so much more unimportant and irrelevant experience, and Alec with none. They could not be more different if they tried, and yet, they are also the same. A matched set of uncertainty and inability to accept that someone might want them for exactly who they are.

Top Three by @nebulein

So.” Alec flops back onto the bed, sprawled in a lazy heap on his back, sated and boneless. Magnus is already lying on his belly, basking in the afterglow, and he surreptitiously steals closer, burrowing against Alec’s side. “Best sex of my life.”

Magnus hums, resting his head on his arms, revelling in the thrill those words send through him.

“Or, well,” Alec hazardously waves an arm around, “easily in the top three.”

Magnus giggles. He has no idea where that came from. It’s uncharacteristic for him. Magnus Bane, High Warlock of Brooklyn is usually much too dignified to giggle. But then Alec turns his head and grins at Magnus, lopsided and loopy but brilliant, oh so brilliant, warming Magnus from the inside out and maybe this is exactly the kind of situation which calls for a giggle, so Magnus will allow it. Just this once.

“How about you?”

Twenty-One-Year-Old Alec Lightwood by Obsessivecompulsivereadr

Alec tries not to want Magnus, but it goes about as well as all those other things Alec’s tried not to want throughout the years. Which is… badly

Warm In Your Light by @actuallyredorchid

It’s far too easy, letting himself be swept away.

(S02E07 missing scene)

We must choose to reach out and touch by Ambros

Magnus holds out his hand, a silver chain running around his middle finger and wrist, and Alec doesn’t have the time to process it – to think, doesn’t have the time to realise what’s going to happen because he has to take it and he does, electricity dancing through their fingers and down his back and he tries not to think about it, holds out his own hand for Jace and feels unbalanced; he knows Jace’s touch, remembers it from roughing each other up when they were kids even though he tried to forget it, to turn it into a ghost when he understood, but Magnus’ is new and smooth and unassuming and he feels uncomfortable, doesn’t know what to do with it.

Who Ya Gonna Call? By @menckenschrestomethy

“You have to—“

“Help you?” Magnus filled in dryly.

Or: The Six Times Magnus helped someone, and the one time they try to help him

Will you be my best friend? Will you be my last? by @lightwoodlesbians

or the 'you pretended to be my partner bc my ex wouldn’t stop talking to me’ au

You Are Certainly My Poison of Choice by iktwabrokenbone

So there he was. Midnight, at a party. Preparing himself to do something with a guy. To spend one night getting all of this- this unspeakable desire out of his system. He needed to forget it before he made a mistake and ruined his career, his chances of becoming Head of the New York Institute.
 

(Alec’s panic attacks were getting worse and worse and maybe if he spent one night with a guy he could get it out of his system, and he could forget being gay and loving Jace. But nothing went that smoothly, so of course Alec’s one night stand had to be Magnus Bane, and they had to keep bumping into each other. It wasn’t like Alec wanted to understand his emotions, anyway.)

For more Malec Fanfics

Tantalizing

Originally posted by jikookfantasy

Tantalizing: 01 02 03 04 05 06 07
Ship: Jungkook | Reader
Description: Back in high school, you were nothing more than a nerd Jungkook wanted to deflower, to get a good fuck from. When he sees you at the club, though, things have changed drastically, and his dominance starts to teeter on the edge.
Warning: Cumplay, Degrading Names, Angst, Intercourse, Oral, Orgasm Denial, Thigh Riding
Word Count: 5,965

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anonymous asked:

Maybe Dark!Annabeth fighting a child of the big three and she knows that defeating them with physical, raw power isn't possible, so she attacks mentally. She defeats them with words, something Annabeth constantly does throughout the books to her enemies. Making them so angry, distracted, and/or sad that they lose focus and she easily takes the victory.

Annabeth feels him coming before she sees him.

There’s a charge in the air. A gathering static that threatens to strike with every movement she makes, but never quite gets the guts to do so.

That’s Jason Grace for you. Son of Jupiter, chosen of Juno, and just a touch too soft to do what needs to be done. Oh sure, he’ll kill monsters if he needs to, but when the monsters are gods, his solution is to become a priest.

It’s about finding a compromise, he’d said. And making sure that we’re heard.

Annabeth’s finding there are better ways of making noise.

“You got here faster than I expected,” she remarks as he touches down in front of her. She’s perched on the crumbling remnants of a wall that’s thousands of years old. Some small, distant part of her regrets what is about to happen here, but not enough to change course.

“Your pattern’s getting old,” he says. His gladius is out and he holds it warily between them. Annabeth keeps her drakonbone sword at her side. “The others can hold Percy off long enough for me to stop what you’re doing.”

She raises her eyebrows. “You’re the only one coming?”

He tries to hide his grimace, but that’s the danger with fighting your friends. They can read you too well, and a smile curls over Annabeth’s mouth at the confirmation. She hops off the wall, landing lightly on the dirt.

“What made you think I’d be at Pompeii?”

Lightning crackles in the sky overhead, raising the small hairs at the back of her neck. He nods at the scaffolding in the distance, empty of workers this early in the morning. It’s a grim dawn, about to get darker.

“No tourists today. You might’ve turned against the gods, Annabeth, but you’re not a murderer.”

Isn’t she? Annabeth has lost count of the number of monsters she’s put in the ground (under the ground). How many demigods died in the war with Kronos? They bleed red the same as mortals, and her hands are as stained as anyone’s.

So are Jason’s, and irritation pricks at her face. She smooths it away with a cool smile, carefully tracking him as he starts to circle her. She has a certain amount of faith in Jason’s willingness to ‘save’ his friends, but she’s not an idiot.

“So I should start picking locations with people if I don’t want you to interfere, is that what you’re saying?”

“That’s obviously not what I’m saying.” His gaze flickers over the ruins stretching behind her. “So this is all rigged to blow, huh?”

“Leo does good work.”

He winces. He can play on whatever friendship the two of them might have had all he likes, but that betrayal is the real knife in the guts and they both know it. Annabeth coerces her expression into concern, the cogs of her brain turning the right muscles to give it the realism it needs. She takes a half step forward, and Jason doesn’t step away.

“He misses you, you know.” Her voice is a soft thing. Caring. “Misses both of you.”

“If he misses us so bad, he should come and see us.”

“You really think we’re going to be welcome at Camp after all this?

“You haven’t killed anyone.”

The yet sits between us, and it doesn’t matter anyway. The gods would be more likely to forgive her if she had killed someone. They could have murdered thousands of mortals and not been struck down, if they’d just done it far away from the last vestiges of godly power in this world.

Gaea had plotted to bring down Mt Olympus, and that’s definitely on Annabeth’s list. But she’s always been a methodical sort of girl, and divine power runs deep. Best to stamp out all traces of it, one relic at a time.

She sighs. “We don’t plan to. You know that.”

“You’re trying to kill the gods!” Lightning cracks again, closer now. It takes more strength than Annabeth wants to admit to to avoid reaching for her weapon.

“And how many times have they tried to kill us? At best they don’t give a shit, Jason, you know that.”

But he’s shaking his head. They’ve had this fight before, all of them, enough times that she could probably just record it for him to save energy. He’s long since stopped listening to sense, and she doesn’t bother with more than a cursory attempt to convince him.

“You’re too late for this one,” she says. “I’m proud of you for getting here before it blows, but you were right. It’s ready to go.”

His grip shifts on his sword. And - there’s something in his expression that prompts her to brace for an attack, because it’s not defeat. This time, she thinks. This time might be the one where I push too far.

It’s sad, sort of, but relief swamps that soon enough. It’s not that she wants to fight old friends, but it would make everything a lot simpler. To just be able to fight, without caring what happens to them anymore. To draw battlelines instead of blurring them

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he growls. “But even if the rest of your team is ready to destroy this place, they’ll stop once you’re a hostage.”

Annabeth laughs. It’s a miscalculation, but she can’t help herself. “The others might. But hell itself couldn’t keep Percy Jackson from me, Jason, and you’re no Tartarus.”

“I can deal with Percy.”

He can’t. She wonders idly if he knows that. Everyone’s aware of Percy’s power these days, but that’s what he’s like with her at his side. Jason, she suspects, still has a little too much optimism left about what Percy’s self control would be like without her. What it would be like if he even thought she was in danger.

“Right, well, that’ll be your mistake to live with.” She squints up at the sky, trying to judge her next play. Being a hostage would accelerate certain things that she’s not ready to set into motion just yet. Most of all, she doesn’t think that Percy is quite as ready to fight the others as she is.

Not yet.

“You made a miscalculation,” she said finally. “You always want to go for the biggest player, Jason. It’s one of your biggest weaknesses.”

“You can’t talk your way out of this, Annabeth.” His body moves, and she can almost trace the lines in the air, the familiar forms he’s about to slide into. “You’re coming back to Camp wth me.”

He lifts his blade, wreathed in lightning. She smells ozone on the air, the threat of violence wafting in behind it. She clasps her hands behind her back, and lays down her hand.

“Where’s Piper, Jason?”

Everything stops. Nature itself holds its breath as those too-blue eyes widen in sheer panic, before narrowing at her.

“Piper’s your friend. You wouldn’t hurt her.”

Annabeth waits. She doesn’t need to say anything. The silence between them does it for her. The even sound of her breathing. The shroud of absolute confidence holding her shoulders straight.

You are not going to take me, her body says, like it’s all a foregone conclusion.

“She can handle herself,” he tries again, and there’s the edge of desperation that she’s been waiting for. Enough to cloud his thinking. He might not think she’s a murderer, but there are other atrocities. Things she hasn’t held back from in the opening numbers of this new war.

“Against Percy?”

That’s a risk. Because they both know that Percy isn’t steady, isn’t stable, that his relationship with Piper had been tenuous at best and that without Annabeth there, his temper might just get away with him. Piper has her Charmspeak, but there are ways around everything if you have enough power.

It’s a risk, because Jason’s anger could always outweigh his fear. He could always take it out on her rather than fly off for Piper. Annabeth is confident in her ability to take him with a sword, but Jason comes with all those bonus add-ons that children of Athena just aren’t privy to.

So she gives him one last push. Just to make sure.

“Tartarus has so many doors,” she says softly. That same quiet concern from before, turned deadly now. “You know we found all of them, right Jason?”

He spits a curse, something in Latin about the gods and what he hopes they’ll do to her. She watches him leap into the sky, shading her eyes against the rising sun until he’s no more than a dot in the distance.

“You say that like they haven’t already done their worst,” she murmurs, before turning back to the ruins.

There’s work to be done.

If you had told Dex even a week ago that he would willingly be sharing a blanket with Derek Nurse on the floor of the Haus living room all afternoon, pressed together so close they’re practically in each other’s laps, he would’ve laughed in your face.

Now, he just bangs a fist against the side of the old space heater in front of them and subtly pulls Nursey a little closer into his side. Not that there’s all that much closer to pull him.

“I told them,” he mutters. “Draft fucking central.”

He not so much sees as senses Nursey roll his eyes. “Rans and Holtzy not letting you replace all the windowpanes last year is not why the heating went out, yo.”

Intellectually, Dex know this. But it’s easier to blame their former captains for their current predicament than it is to blame the fact that he’s let routine Haus maintenance slide so much this semester that they’ve ended up here. Because if Dex doesn’t keep a close eye on things like the barely functioning water heater, or the garbage disposal that’s missing two blades and is about to fall out of the sink entirely, who will?

Except, well, he’s been distracted this year. From the moment he got back from summer break and moved into the attic with Nursey, he’s been… distracted.

Nursey is distracting.

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love letters ❥ peter parker

summary : peter, hopeless romantic that he is, has a cache of love letters, all addressed to you, hidden under his bed and expertly crafted. he never anticipated them being read, or the feelings he has for you being returned.

word count : 3.1k (holy fucking hell i’m sorry)

   Peter couldn’t help it, the way that he was. He was a romantic at a heart, though the awkwardness of him had a tendency to prevail rather than the confident, smooth talking, small part of him that had a desperate desire to reveal itself. Spider-man was as suave as a fifteen year old boy could be; Peter Parker was awkward, inept at participating in normal, human conversation and often incapable of forming coherent sentences more often than not. He wasn’t the best at talking to people besides Ned and Aunt May and- on occasion- Tony Stark. Especially not you. If there was one person that he turned into an absolute bumbling, ridiculous mess around, it was you. He loathed himself for it, sure that you thought that he was weird, annoying, the same way that anyone who didn’t know him assumed he was. 

   Ned, however, continuously insisted that you found Peter to be a sweetheart, like anyone who got to know him well enough did, and that you liked him very much- perhaps more than a friend, though Peter had immediately scoffed at the notion. It was out of the question, downright ludicrous. But, of course, Ned had implanted the idea in Peter’s head, and now the boy’s ever creative mind refused to stop constructing various scenarios in which you were Peter’s girlfriend and he was as happy as he had ever been. 

    While he had been a perfectly charming boyfriend in each and every one of those little dream sequences of his, he was hopelessly lost for words whenever you approached him, unable to even ask what class you had next, let alone reveal the pure adoration he had been holding on to ever since you had been placed beside him in Bio in your freshman year. You had always been the one to stick up for him and smile at him and treat him like a decent human being, and so of course he fell for you, and now he could barely look you in the eye without his cheeks turning a lovely shade of pink. So, he bottled his feelings and let them out in a way he had never known could help him.

    He wrote. 

    He wrote to you every single day and poured his heart out in every single letter and expressed every thought he knew, in his heart, he would never be able to say out loud. Writing what he felt was so much simpler than saying the words out loud. That was what he assumed, anyhow. He took his pen and placed it down on the paper, starting it the same way he always did. 

   Dear Y/N… As always, the words spilled over from his mind to the paper as if he wasn’t thinking, just writing and writing and writing until he had filled two pages without lifting his curly head from the paper once. When he finally finished, a yawn stretching across his mouth, he noticed Aunt May standing outside his door. He turned his chair around, raising his eyebrows at her. 

   “Writing to that pretty girl again?” She asked, hand on her hip but wearing a knowing, soft grin. Peter, not bothering to feign shock, nodded solemnly and placed his pen down the paper. “You should think about maybe, oh I don’t know, actually giving her one of the letters you’ve written?” 

    Adamantly, Peter shook his head. “May, I could never. You don’t get it.” He swiveled around in the chair, spinning it until he was dizzy. “These letters are embarrassing. They’re practically my whole heart and soul on a piece of paper. She’d scream and run away if she read how I felt about her.” He sighed, placing his elbow on the edge of the desk and resting his cheek in his hand. He stared up at his aunt, still craving her sage advice. May stared back at him thoughtfully. 

   “Well, in my personal experience,” she came over and gave Peter’s shoulder a squeeze, eyeing the letter that was signed with Peter’s name, “girls are suckers for love letters. And you Parker men write the best ones out there. Trust me.” 

   Peter bit his lip. “Yeah, sure, I’m not an awful writer. But, I still can’t give them to her. I just can’t.” Before she could say anything else, he was folding it up and placing it on top of the shelf on his desk next to his books for English. “Uncle Ben was different. He was charming. You know that.” 

    May smiled wistfully. “I do.” 

    “And that’s one thing that I didn’t get from him,” Peter finished, shrugging his shoulders as he stood up from his swivel chair. “It’s fine.” He waved it off. “I’m happy suffering in silence. I’m gonna go to bed. Big English project starts tomorrow. Love you,” he kissed May on the cheek as she left his bedroom, switching the light off in her departure. He stared at the wall once he was situated in bed, mulling the conversation over in his head. Maybe May’s right. Maybe telling Y/N wouldn’t be as bad as I’m thinking. Maybe I’m overreacting. Actually, never mind. She probably hates me. Ugh. Life sucks. 


    That morning, when he arrived in his English class, you were sitting in the seat that had been previously occupied by Ned pretty much every class since the beginning of the school year. Sucking in a breath, Peter took his first step into the classroom. He knew he was a little late to today’s lesson, but he hadn’t realized he was a full fifteen minutes behind schedule. Ned was in the back with Michelle, giving Peter an encouraging thumbs up when he noticed his best friend finally arrive on the scene. Peter gave him the finger. 

   “Mr. Parker, lovely for you to join us!” Ms. Matthews declared when he decided to shove himself through the door, his heart jackhammering away in his chest and making its way up to his throat. He kind of wanted to throw up. 

   “Um, yeah, well, you know, sleep and whatnot- overslept, haha,” he coughed out a laugh, scratching the back of his neck. The teacher nodded with faux sympathy, though he could tell she didn’t care that much for his explanation. “I’ll just, um, sit. Down.” 

    “Next to Y/N, please,” She instructed, waving her hand in your direction. “Since you were late and unable to choose your own partner, surprising since usually Ned is so eager to work with you, Y/N offered to be your partner.” The teacher gave you a fond smile, as every teacher did. “She can explain the details of the assignment.” 

    Peter gave her a stiff nod before sliding into his chair, and you noticed how rigid he was as he turned toward you with a slight frown. He seemed extremely upset to be working with you, but you wouldn’t let that get in the way. You liked Peter. Really, truly liked him. He was a sweetie whenever he actually talked to and different than the rest of the guys at Midtown. He was genuine.  

    Giving him your full attention, you beamed at him. “Hey, Peter,” you said cheerfully. He gave you a small smile in return, wringing his hands under the desk. He couldn’t stop fidgeting. Your own smile dropped, which he noticed immediately and felt awful about. “Sorry you didn’t get paired up with Ned,” you continued, taking your books out of your shoulder bag. “I know you would’ve preferred it that way-” 

    “No!” He interrupted quickly, practically slamming his hands down on the desk so hard you jumped in your seat, eyes wide. “Sorry, sorry, I just, um,” he laughed a little, his cheeks burning, “I’m, um, happy to have you as a partner. Really, I am,” he added as an afterthought, just to make sure you knew. 

   Your shoulders relaxed as you looked at him. “You’re not just saying that, right? You seem awfully stiff,” you teased, poking his uncomfortably positioned arm as you quirked a brow. 

    “Do I?” He was practically sweating. 

     “I was just joking, Pete. It’s cute, anyway.” Peter’s eyes, a shade of brown that you had come to think of as warm as honey, went wide and he gaped at you, but you pretended not to notice. “So, for the assignment we have to write a short story based on one of the assigned reading books this year.” 

   She called me cute

   “Shit… I think I forgot all of mine,” you were mumbling, your head practically stuck in your bag. “Did your bring yours, Peter?” 

   Oh my god, she thinks I’m cute. She thinks I’m cute. I’m going to faint

   You snapped your fingers in front of his cherry red face, trying not to appear as amused as you felt. He blinked owlishly, an apologetic half smile, half grimace on his face. He was cute most of the time, but especially when he smiled, even if it was only a forced, awkward one. “Do you have your books, Peter?” You repeated kindly. 

    “Um, sorry, I’ll check,” he answered, embarrassed about his utterly obvious staring that had just occurred. He rummaged around in his backpack before realizing he had forgotten them, as well. He popped back up, curls in disarray as his head brushed against the fabric of his bag. “I forgot them, sorry,” he ran a hand through his hair, messing it up even more. It was kind of adorable.

   “You need to stop apologizing for everything, Pete,” you laughed. “It’s fine. We can get started after school. My place or yours?” You were already packing your things, and before he could think about what he was about to do, he said, “Mine.”   

    “Cool,” you grinned again, a grin that made him want to smile for the rest of his life. “Which one of is doing the writing? Or do you want to split it?” 

    “You’re a, um, fantastic writer,” he told you, having read your submissions to the school newspaper more times than he could count. “If you wanna take over, you can. I can edit and stuff.” 

    “Aw, I’m not that good,” you shook your head abashedly, looking down at your lap. “But thank you, Peter. I’m sure you’re great, too, though. Are you sure you don’t wanna write some of it?”

    “I’m not much of a writer.”


    So, you were in Peter Parker’s room. He was having his third heart attack of the day, and was incredibly grateful that he had managed to keep his wits about him for majority of the day. He had only tripped over his words five times, tripped literally twice, and dropped his Metro card once, but it was fine. You helped him back each time he fell with your usual grace, barely acknowledging his multiple social faux pas and only laughing once because he fell over a small dog- which even he would admit was pretty funny. 

   Still, his palms were sweaty around you and he didn’t know how he was going to survive working so close to you for the next week while the English assignment was occurring. He lead you into his apartment and you noticed that his hands were shaking slightly as he twisted the keys in the lock. You walked into the apartment, the first thing crossing your mind was how cozy and homelike it was. You liked it very much. 

   “It’s really cute in here,” you said, smiling around the room as Peter busied himself with a glass of water. He downed it quickly. “Where’s your aunt?” 

   “Work,” he replied, catching his breath after the gulping down of his water. “Here, let’s go to my room.” He placed his glass of water on the counter and motioned for you to follow him, opening the door to his room and wincing at the mess in there. “It’s a mess, sorry about that.”  

   You rolled your eyes at him playfully. “Didn’t I say stop apologizing?” You entered his room as if you had been there many times before, taking your shoes off and setting them by the door. You threw your bag on his bed and took a seat in his swivel chair, and he liked how natural it seemed for you to be in his room. He liked how comfortable you were, sitting there. Something about it made him happy. 

   “Yeah, my bad,” he shrugged. You tilted your head, pointing your finger at him while he raised his hands defensively. “It wasn’t technically an apology!” He took a step out of the room. He was finally being normal around you, he realized delightedly. He would still need more water, though. He could feel his mouth getting dry. “I’m gonna get more water. Want anything?” You shook your head, spinning around in the chair as he left. 

   Your eyes scanned over his desk, taking in every inch of Peter Parker’s life. He had bad books stacked everywhere, his desk was a mess, there were clothes thrown about the room. Star Wars posters, Avengers posters, notes scattered across the desk. You admired the artful messiness of it all. You leaned up to where his English books were, spotting the one you were most interested in and yanking it off the shelf. As you did, a folded piece of paper fluttered down off the shelf, just when Peter was walking back into the room. 

   “I thought you said you weren’t a writer, Pete,” you raised your eyebrows at him, holding the letter in your hand and waving it at him. 

   He almost threw up right there. “Um, I’m not, please give that back,” he reached for it, but you jumped out of the chair, raising the letter high in the air. “Y/N!” He whined, grabbing for it again. “C’mon, please,” he pleaded desperately, pouting at you with such intensity it almost made you want to give it to him. 

    “Can’t I just read a sentence, Peter?” You pushed out your bottom lip, batting your eyelashes at him. 

     He almost gave in. “No, Y/N. Seriously, give it back.” He sounded scared now, upset as well. You pursed your lips, handing it back to him. He was so anxious about you reading it that it dropped on the floor, opening far enough so that you could see your name scrawled across the top in Peter’s defining chicken scratch handwriting. 

    “That says my name, so now I have to read it.” You stood directly in front of Peter, hands pressed together in a pleading motion, the expression on your face so genuinely interested that he had to give it to you. He picked it back up with a lump in his throat and handed it over, scared as ever. But this was what May had advised. Maybe she’d be right. 

    “Dear Y/N,” you read aloud in a loud, terrible accent, glancing back up at Peter as you read the line after that. He was staring down at the floor, preparing himself for what you were going to say when you read the letter, read his heart. You sat in his chair, realizing it’d be better if you didn’t read it so publicly. He sat down on his bed, waiting. 

   Dear Y/N. This is maybe the tenth letter I’ve written to you, and each time I say the same thing, so if one day you are reading this in proper succession, I’m sorry for being so utterly repetitive. You’ll probably never read this, though. And that’s why it’s so easy for me to write. I think you’re the only person to ever truly be interested in me when I’m talking about science. Not even Ned has an attention span that long. But you do. And you don’t know how much I want to thank you for that. You make it really difficult to not like you, to not be in love with you. I think that’s what it is… love. And if I’m not in love with you yet, then I’m certainly falling for you. Who wouldn’t? You’re a wonderful person without trying, you’re a beautiful hurricane, a sunset on the horizon of my bleakest hours, and you make me feel as if I’ve been standing in the sunshine for my entire life. 

   You put the letter down, smoothing it over your lap. You didn’t need to read the rest. That was enough. Peter gazed at you now, the way you’ve yearned to be looked at before, and you shamed yourself for being so blind these past two years. He wasn’t simply just staring. He was looking. Admiring. You slid next to Peter, placing the letter behind you. He moved his hand, curling his fingers around yours tentative as ever. Your free hand grazed up the side of his face, toying with the hair on the back of his neck before resting on his cheek. He shut his eyes. When he opened them again, you were so close that he was able to count each individual eyelash that you had, every single fleck of pure beauty in your deep eyes. 

   “I like you very much, Peter Parker,” you murmured. He felt his heart soar, and then, he felt himself kiss you. It was an out of body experience. He was there, he was the one kissing you, the one who had initiated it, but it felt like he wasn’t. He was up in the clouds, too far lost in the way it felt to run his hands through your hair as he had always dreamed of to notice Aunt May sneaking past the door, overjoyed to see Peter finally with the girl he had been loving in silence for far too long. You pulled away from each other, eyes opening slowly and hesitantly and your lips practically still connected. 

   He wanted to tell her that he adored her, but Aunt May’s voice flowed from the kitchen too loud to overpower his thoughts. “You read her the letter, didn’t you? I told you it’d work! Worked for your Uncle Ben and I was right as I always am!”

   He jumped up from the bed, sticking his head out of the doorway and pressing his finger to his lips. “Maaaayyyy, you’re embarrassing me,” he whispered-yelled, practically whined. “You were right, okay? Thank you, let me go get a girlfriend now. The girlfriend.” She beamed at him, but no one’s smile could shine brighter than Peter’s. 

    He retreated back into the room, and you were clutching the letter in your hands. You looked up at him hopefully. “I was thinking that maybe you could read me the other nine letters. If you’re up for it.” 

    Peter couldn’t possibly say no, taking a page out of his Uncle Ben’s book the way he should have done in the first place as he found the hiding spot for the stack of letters he had been writing for the past few months, sliding them over to you and feeling confident for the first time in a long time.

This City Never Sleeps

Word Count: 3421

Pairing: Eventual Peter Parker x Female!Reader

Requested: Nope

Warnings: Light cursing.

Summary: You learn Peter’s secret, and it doesn’t take long for him to learn yours.

Note: This is really reader-heavy. but I really felt that in order to move on in this verse I had to develop that character and her relationships with the other characters. So, sorry if you wanted more Peter, but I promise there will be more of him in future installments. Also this is the most self-indulgent thing I’ve ever written in my life.


“(Y/N)! Has Peter told you about his new internship yet?” Ned asked excitedly, sitting down at your usual lunch table. Peter wasn’t there yet, but that wasn’t abnormal. He had chemistry before lunch and had recently taken to spending some extra time in the lab before coming to eat.

“No,” you said. “I haven’t really seen him yet today.”

“Oh, man, I don’t want to spoil it for you but it is crazy!” Ned said.

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Theory time.........

There was something about this whole narrative, that wasn’t adding up for me. I was having a hard time putting my finger on it, then Camila released that description about her album, and it started making more sense.

They want us to believe, this whole narrative took place in 2016, but when you remember back and realize, the 2016 narrative was just a revamped version of the 2015 narrative, it all begins to fall into place.

Everyone latched on to that July 4 2016 Brazil snap, of her alone, writing in a hotel bathroom, while the girls were out celebrating together, as the time she began writing “I have questions”. That’s exactly what Management hoped you’d do. If one paid attention though, you would see that the more important snap happened back in October 2016. She snapped a photo of her writing in a bathroom, with the caption ”destroyed”. First, July - October does not equal 6 months, no matter how crappy your math is. Second, the 7/27 tour was coming to an end, and with that caption, I actually think, that is when she finished writing “I have questions”.

The only tour date they had in early 2016, was Dubai. So, unless she started writing it in a Dubai potty, the rest of early 2016 was spent promoting WFH. She stated she started writing that song, “a little over a year ago” while on tour. I think her “a little over a year ago” means the last few months of 2015, September-November. That she eventually had to face her problems, and she finally went back to the lyrics she started from the year before, and finished the song, then wrote a sad song every day until she got sick of writing sad shit. That song seems to be a catalyst for her, and I’m thinking it probably  “destroyed” her to finally finish it.

Camila was asked recently, in an interview, when her anxiety showed itself and started becoming a real problem for her. Her answer was, 2015. Everything started in 2015. Her anxiety, the fucking narrative, the division, EVERYTHING!!

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My take on the “Neil dies in Baltimore” au:

Here’s a list of reasons why Andrew is considering death-by-FBI-agent-who-won’t-shut-up:

  1. Neil is dead.
  2. Neil obviously knew he was going to die, since he made sure to break his contract with Andrew.
  3. He didn’t catch the strain in Neil’s voice when he said “You were amazing” until later, when it was too late.
  4. Now that it’s too late, he can’t stop hearing it. That little waver, like it meant more than it was saying, which now he knows it was but he was too fucking dense to realize it.
  5. Even after the disappearance, even after hours of nothing and then the FBI call and Kevin’s stupid confession and stupid throat (which he fully intends to come back to crushing later), Neil was alive.
  6. But not long enough for them to reach the hospital.

And now here they are, in the hospital lobby, being talked down to by an idiot in a suit trying to make excuses for why the FBI needs his body.

“He is ours,” Dan growls. Actually growls. “You said his father is dead now, and his mother’s been dead for years, so that means we’re his closest family.”

But all Agent Dick dous is raise an eyebrow. “How do you know that Mary Wesninski is dead?” It has the clearly desired effect of shutting Dan up. There are a thousand innocent answers to that question, but they’re Foxes. Nobody ever gives them the benefit of the doubt.

“We need to conduct a full autopsy, get a clearer picture of what was done to him. We’ll hand him over to you post-cremation.”

Matt shakes his head. “Not good enough.”

“You all need to get this into your heads: Neil Josten isn’t real and never was. He was a halfway decent cover that, honestly, probably would’ve been passable if he hadn’t thrown caution to the wind time and again over the past year. He was playing a part, and now he’s dead, and those are the facts.”

Andrew is aware that they’re talking about a corpse, but that complete disregard for who Neil was makes him want to rip out the man’s throat. Anger colors his vision red, but it’s better this way. Because as soon as the red leaves, the gray will settle in, and it will never, ever go away.

“Here’s another fact,” Agent Dick continues. “People don’t spend months in close company of others without letting something slip. So I’m going to need all of you to come in and te—”

“That’s enough, Agent Browning,” a new voice calls to them. A second later, a woman appears next to the agent, towering over him by a good half a foot. “Say another word to them and I’ll personally make sure that anything they say becomes inadmissible in court.” She turns to the Foxes. “Hi, sorry, I’m Ms. Waters. I was — still is, technically — Nathaniel’s lawyer.”

Kevin’s face goes ashy, likely imagining the worst. “He was here for six hours before dying. Why the hell would he need a lawyer?”

Ms. Waters pulls out several small white envelopes by way of response. “Because he didn’t trust Agent Chucklehead over hear to not open these before you recieved them.” She hands each Fox their own envelope, with their name written on the front in Neil’s familiar scrawl. Wymack doesn’t get an envelope.

It makes Andrew’s chest ache and his heart boil, and he doesn’t trust himself to speak. He knows what’s inside that letter: a sequel and an epilogue. All of Neil’s bullshit sap wrapped in a promise that he’ll never have it again. He doesn’t even know wether he wants to read it or tear it into a million pieces. Probably both.

“—two requests,” it takes Andrew a second to register that Ms. Waters is talking again. “That you read your letters in private, and that you destroy them after reading. Preferably with fire.” She smiles at their confused stares and nods at Agent Dick. “Browning here is a man of many words, but he spends very few eandearing himself to others. Nathaniel was likely afraid that he would try to read them.

“In any case, I’ll be in touch soon. Nathaniel left a great deal behind, and while the FBI can scramble over his past, it’s my job to sort out his present, and that means you.” She gives Wymack a teal business card. “In case you need me urgently, in the case I don’t contact you first. Now run along, you were all injured and in need of rest.”


The bus ride back to Palmetto is silent, but nobody is asleep. Like Andrew, they all sit on their individual benches, staring at their letters, trying to decide wether they wan’t to know or not. Is it an explanation? Apology? Questions too big for the heart to ask or recieve an answer to.

In the end, it’s Nicky who breaks the silence. “I know he said to read them alone, but… anybody want to open their’s with me? I just. I can’t. Not alone. Not on this.”

There’s silence again, but then Renee comes to sit next to Nicky, and then Allison, and the next thing he knows he, Kevin, and Aaron are the only ones not crowded together in a massive group hug. There’s sniffling, then a countdown from three, and the sound of several envelopes tearing and pages unfolding. And then silence again.

And then.

And then.

Dan’s been captain of the Foxes for years, but Andrew doesn’t think he’s ever heard her yell that loudly as her ARE YOU SHITTING ME vibrates throughout the bus. The rest of the Foxes are quick to follow with their own sounds of anger and disbelief.

It’s when Nicky starts laughing hysterically that Andrew finally succumbs to his curiousity and opens the letter, skimming over the words.

Andrew is going to fucking kill that boy when he gets his hands on him.