i just want everyone on this show to love each other and make friendship bracelets is that too much to ask


Prompt: Hey Cass… So I recently got mugged (the asshole took all I had including some stuff with sentimental value AND had the nerve to assault me) and I was wondering if you could write something about that. I’m sorry if the requests are closed, I really don’t wanna bother, but I just feel like shit and completely powerless. Thank you for reading this anyway and I hope you know how much your writing makes me happy 

Nonnie, I am so incredibly sorry this happened to you.  I hope this makes you feel a little better ♥  I’m also sorry about the lame title - I couldn’t come up with anything better and I wanted to get this posted for you today (((hugs)))

Reader x Bucky

Word Count: 5349

Warnings: Language, depiction of a mugging, assault/injuries, as much fluff as I could possibly cram in

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catch me a catch [3/?]

chapter 1, 2

Even Bech Næsheim walks into school on Friday morning with a kick in his step, he doesn’t avoid or stares down anyone who’s gaze lingers on him a touch too long. Instead, he flashes them a smile, that only grows amused when he gets back startled looks in return. Okay, so maybe he hadn’t been the friendliest looking person since first arriving at Nissen, but to be fair, there hadn’t been anything at the school that made him smile before.

There is one now.



Where are you?



At my locker.



Ok. See you in a few.




Even feels his cheeks ache as he looks down at his phone with a dopey expression but he can’t stop himself now anymore then the last few days since Isak and he started texting. He makes his way down the halls of the school like a man on a mission. Isak and his locker his goal. Spotting him a few feet away exactly where Isak said he’d be, he isn’t surprised to see who’s next to him chatting away. Even shakes his head, a smile tugging on his lips as he makes his way to the two people he likes at Nissen.

“Hey,” he calls out seconds before coming to a stop next to Isak, getting the same greeting in return from his best friend and the younger boy. “What’s going on?”

Isak looks up at him, his green eyes bright and lovely, perfect for Even to get lost in, except for Isak’s next words. “Mikael and I were just discussing which franchise is better, he says Transformers, I say The Fast and the Furious, what do you think?”

Even stares at Isak in what he’s sure is horror unable to answer when he hears a snicker to his side, he turns to Mikael who is biting down on his fist, his face slowly turning colors as he tries to hold in his unmistakable laughter. He meets Even’s gaze, with a shamelessly pleased look.

“Oh my god,” Isak gets out as he too starts to laugh. “I didn’t believe him when he said you’d react this way to that comment, but look at your face! The fear and disappointment, priceless!”

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i’m sorry: shattered - part one

character: mark

plot: Being friends with him is a blessing. You guys have been there for each other for the longest since junior high throughout high school till now. However, you have always wanted more than that. But in the end, you’re nothing but a great friend to him.

genre: au, angst

A/N: I’d like to sincerely apologize to all Mark stans for having to write this when Christmas Eve is meant to be happy. I LOVE YOU ALL AND DON’T KILL ME LOL <3.

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fashion killa


She jiggy like Madonna but she trippy like Nirvana.


Harry thinks competing for an unofficial award of fashion is a bit childish and Y/N loves the competition.

[ inspired by the song Fashion Killa by A$AP Rocky ]


Harry knew how to set a trend.

It was something that usually came natural to him. He sometimes thinks it’s just because he has the money to afford fancy clothes but many people tell him otherwise - that his sense of fashion was one of the best.

And Harry was not one to gloat about his successes because he was a very humble lad.

Given, his mum taught him to never take his opportunities for granted.

But his humbleness might be tested when a certain scarlet takes ahold of his title as the most fashionable trend setter. An almost game they played; either one of them would wear something bold that turned heads all over the fashion world and vise versa.

It was a game. It was an unofficial challenge.

And Y/N loved that challenge.

“Harry, what’re your feelings towards Y/F/N?” the interviewer speaks with a smirk decorating his face, because of course, everyone knew their attitude when around each other was more competitive than friendly.

“Oh Y/N, she’s something alright.” Harry grins with full on dimples, a condescending smile non-the-less. He loves the attention the media gives to his game with Y/N. Always playful with each other but you couldn’t exactly call them friends per say because Y/N “didn’t associate herself with people in boy bands”, apparently.

And Harry believes that to be boldface lie. She was probably a fangirl of N'Sync or some shit - the truth being she just doesn’t want to associate herself with the one other person in the whole damn world that could ever compare to her trend setting.

And especially at something as important as The Grammy’s. Because Harry got nominated along with the other lad’s of One Direction with their single after coming back from hiatus 2 years later. He remembers Niall telling him rumors about Y/N and Rihanna (which might sound surprising but Y/N was also friends with Drake so it makes a lot of sense) possibly in a relationship (which is why she would be here) but neither of the girls have ever said anything about being lesbian or even bisexual for that matter. Quite possibly it was simply a rumor - as it almost always is - and the two were just great friends. But Harry would be hesitant to admit that he thinks the two might look rather ravishing sprawled amongst the silk sheets in his bed. But, ya know, that’s a completely different story.

Because Rihanna is a gorgeous woman but Harry thinks that Y/N is much more mesmerizing and electric; something about her being only 20 and already so known and he adores how she’s so confident in the eye of Hollywood when he knows how ruthless this line of business can be.

But Harry’s brought back to reality when he sees the one and only walking down the carpet with no one but herself (because Y/N never came to events with arm candy, her Tiffany diamond bracelets were far better and much prettier) and he notices her waving briefly at - oh damn is that really Justin Bieber she’s waving at? Y/N knows a lot of people, Harry would say.

“Someone’s looking ravishing tonight. My my, what designer?” The interviewer goads at Y/N and Harry is a little pissed that the attention isn’t on him anymore. Even if that was a bit childish in retrospect because she’s four years younger than him.

Harry and Y/N’s eyes connect and she smirks at him as he rolls his eyes before he can stop himself (he knows the camera picked that up and he can already see the headlines) before Y/N directs her attention back on the interviewer.

“Thank you! It’s a Dolce and Gabbana one of a kind,” she peers at Harry and looks down at what he’s wearing (a Gucci suit that has Y/N smirking in approval), “but I wouldn’t want to take away from your interview, Harry, so I’ll be on my way-”

“Leaving so soon?” Harry asks with a coy smile that brings a smile to the interviewer’s face because he knows this interview will be a hit.

Harry reckons she’s loving this too, they always playfully flirt with each other at events like this. This is the most they ever talk, however. Harry finds this to be a tad upsetting because he wants to be Y/N’s friend, in the most casual phrase of the instance.

“Yes, stay stay!”

And Harry couldn’t be bothered to look at the interviewer when Y/N looks like this.

The majority of the joint interview were questions on the two of them - and a couple were about the rumor Harry was thinking about earlier, the one with Rihanna but Y/N quickly shoots that down as Harry’s smile during the ordeal is enough to break the internet probably - questions about their friendship or if they were even friends because they had many mutuals but Harry’s favorite question is if they knew about the dating rumors on them two and Y/N’s favorite question is if they’ve ever fucked (because Y/N wouldn’t really mind if that rumor came true, if she’s being honest.)

And with the words of “Imagine if you two dated! Best dressed couple, every single time.” Harry and Y/N make their way away from each other but not before Harry pulls her away and whispers in her ear a thing that’s sure to kill Y/N (and the world, if they knew Harry’s words of advice.)

“The dress is rather gorgeous, Y/N, must say. But, love, always remember to never let sticky tape show. Big no no.”

And he walks away with a haughty smirk dancing across his lips as Y/N’s cheeks turn a deep shade of crimson as her eyes dart down to her chest because, God sticky tape showing is a big no no, Harry was dead right.

But she soon comes to realize that there in fact was nothing showing and her jaw drops in astonishment at Harry’s audacity and Harry just really likes fucking with people, especially Y/N.

He winks back at her with that coy grin he’s famous for, yelling out a curt, “Made ya look!”


yikes don’t know how i feel about this one ????

imagine being in a fashion rivalry with harry tho lmfao

this is soooo ugly idek why I’m posting it lmfao

my masterlist

- amanda !!

Blackwood Academy

A/N: Okay this chapter’s pretty long, but I needed to cram all of this information in while I could… it’s important. o__o Anyway, I hope you enjoy seeing things from Phil’s point of view. I thought it was time to write this in his eyes and include his thoughts, as there wasn’t really enough of that from Dan’s. And this was really interesting to write. I think I might do this more often ^__^ whose do you prefer? Dan’s POV, or Phil’s? 

Anyway on with the story. I hope you like it!


Summary: Dan has been thrown into a completely new environment as he joins a popular boarding school, Blackwood Academy, as a new student. After meeting Phil, a ringleader of the most infamous group of students in the school, Dan realises there’s a lot more to him than the man-made definition formed by other people’s opinions.

Chapter Eleven

“We’re late,” Charlie mumbles, rolling over in Phil’s bed and waking him up with a soft nudge.

“Ugh…” Phil buries his face into his pillow with reluctance to wake up properly. As he reluctantly hauls himself up, his head throbs with a blunt ache.

“I feel like shit,” Phil mumbles, shaking out his hair as best as he could and staring down at the array of empty glass bottles, and his and Charlie’s clothes strewn over the floor. “How are we going to get rid of these, then?”

Charlie, lying next to him, also glances up once, before sighing.

“I’ll get rid of them later. I’m sure one skipped English class won’t kill me,” his voice is gravelly and tired.

“Good,” Phil flashes him a smile, staring into his smoulderingly dark eyes. He gently pulls him down, his hands on the back of Phil’s neck as they kiss.

But something doesn’t feel right. Phil doesn’t know what it is – probably the hangover, but the kiss doesn’t work like it usually does. Charlie’s lips don’t feel the same. Regardless, he kisses him back with equal passion, their lips pressed together, before facing the mess of their room – the aftermath of secretly drinking away all of their problems.

“Fuck,” Phil sighs, hauling himself out of bed and pulling on his crumpled school shirt. They’re late enough to have missed the majority of breakfast, but the reason Phil wants to steal a few minutes in the dining hall isn’t exactly food-related anyway. He feels so shit he’s starting to think he’ll never eat again.

“Are we going to breakfast?” Charlie asks as if on cue, buttoning up his shirt over his smooth, pale chest.

Phil shrugs nonchalantly. “Might as well. I need coffee, anyway.”

“Same.” Charlie shut his eyes, rubbing his forehead theatrically. “I can’t believe they’re making us do school on New Year’s Day – I mean-… if anything, I vote we should all be left in bed to recover.”

“Recover from what?” Phil frowns. “It’s not as if any other students are as horribly hungover as we are, is it?”

“Well whose idea even was it to drink in the first place?” Charlie challenges, raising an eyebrow at Phil.

“Mine. And a bloody good idea it was, too,” Phil adds. “But who made the decision to join me?”

Charlie huffs out a laugh, rolling his eyes. “You know, Phil, I remember the first time I met you. You dumped all your stuff in this room, sprawled out on the bed and whipped out a bottle of whiskey. You started drinking before you even said hello.”

Phil half-smiles at the memory. He remembers the way he’d crammed a bunch of his stepdad’s alcohol into his suitcase and hid it in the car boot before he, or anyone else could notice. He wondered what he did when he found out – surely Phil would’ve been an obvious suspect, but so far he hadn’t come storming round to the school to chase after him. After all, it was 3 years ago.

“Got to keep equipped, haven’t I?” Phil shrugs, although after last night, he knows they’re definitely running low on their drink. Looks like Charlie will have to make another secret purchase outside of school with his fake I.D. his cousin had made for him.

“You were a bad thirteen-year old,” Charlie shakes his head.

“Like you’re any better now?” Phil retaliates, suddenly pouncing on him and tackling him to the ground. Despite his small build, he’d forgotten how strong Charlie could be. Within seconds, he had Phil flipped over and pinned down onto our untidy floor. Phil tries to fight back, but Charlie has him by his wrists.

He pauses suddenly, feeling his left wrist carefully underneath his grip.

“What’s this?” he pulls Phil’s sleeve down, revealing the black quartz bracelet Dan had given him a few days ago.

“Nothing,” Phil says quickly, snatching his wrist away and tugging down on the sleeve. His pale skin flushes deep red.

“No, really. What is it? Is that a bracel-“

“Did I stutter?” PhiI snaps, his teeth gritted as his glare pierces Charlie’s eyes. “I said it’s nothing,” he protects the bracelet with his other hand, feeling the smoothness of the stones underneath his sleeve. Charlie stared after him, his expression a clumsy mixture of confusion and offence.

“Sorry,” Charlie mutters, staring down at the ground after a few seconds of silence. Wordlessly, Phil dodges past him and over to the door, ready to go downstairs. He pauses at the doorway, beckoning for Charlie to come and join him.

As they slope down the stairs, Phil can’t help but repeatedly touch the bracelet underneath his sleeve, feeling every edge and crevice, the coolness of the beautiful stones radiating off onto his skin. It’s comforting. Phil hadn’t actually spoken to Dan in about five days, and in all honesty after unexpectedly opening up to him in the way he did, he’s not sure he wants to face him again.

But then he thinks about the hug- the way Dan’s arms wrapped tightly around him, the gentleness of his voice accompanied by his soft, vanilla scent – so gentle, so unlike Charlie. Phil feels a small pang in his heart, but he isn’t sure why.

Dan had always intrigued him in some way, ever since he first joined the school as the weird new kid with messy hair. Phil doesn’t know exactly what it is about him – maybe it’s because he isn’t at all like the twats he hands around with; he doesn’t  join in with Zoe and Louise’s stupid twittery gossip, he doesn’t behave arrogantly like Alex, and he isn’t a nerd like Liam. In fact, most of the time he doesn’t really join in with anything at all. He talks, obviously, he’s hardly quiet, but most of the time he’d just look as if he’s completely zoned out, absorbed in his own little world, jumping every time someone talked to him, like he was on another planet entirely.

Then again, there’s no way he’d remotely fit in with Phil’s group, either. Dan’s pretty much hated amongst Phil’s group as much as Phil’s hated amongst Dan’s, ever since that day he’d stood up to Phil in the dining hall.

Phil often wondered why he actually did that. Was it to prove a point? To protect Zoe? To show off? He still doesn’t know. He wouldn’t ask him, either. Neither of them had even brought it up since the very first time he’d visited Phil’s dorm, months ago. When both of them still pretty much hated each other, based off their own first impressions. Phil wonders what Dan thought of him back then. Probably what everyone else did, and still does – an attention-seeking little bastard who hates everyone and is loved more by his friends than his own family. It’s what he’s used to.

But he wonders what he thinks of him now. Surely they’re friends, right? Like, good-enough-to-exchange-presents friends? The chances of him giving an attention-seeking little bastard who hates everyone a Christmas present as lovely as his is were pretty slim, so he settles for living under the assumption that he no longer hated him, and maybe kind-of likes him.

Part of Phil still hates Dan, though. Not in a malicious, or cold-hearted way, of course. He doesn’t even know what specific ‘way’ it was. But he hates him.

He hates Dan because he’s doing something to him – he doesn’t know what it is, but he knows it’s something enough to scare him. He wants to be mad at him. He wants to never have anything to do with him again. He want to feel dominant, and in control in the same way he does with every friendship he’s involved in. He hates him, because Dan doesn’t allow him to feel this dominance,

But then he thinks back to the hug again, which frustrates him even further because no matter how hard he tries, he can’t stay mad at him. For anything. Thinking of the way his skin brushed against Dan gives him a sudden feeling so unfamiliar it makes him want to throw up. He hates it; he hates him.

No he doesn’t.

Yes he does.

Oh fuck, he doesn’t know. He clutches bracelet so tightly the quartz digs into his skin.

“Phil, what the fuck? You look as if you’ve just been shot,” Emma cackles at the sight of him as they approach their table.

“After the night we had, I wish I had been,” he rolls his eyes, flopping down on the seat opposite Charlie. “I feel like shit.”

“Oooh, I see. You boys up to something last night, were you?”

“You were more than ‘up to something’. I could hear you from my dorm!” Cherry complains.

Charlie blushes slightly, and Phil shrugs carelessly.

“Well, at least we know how to have fun. Isn’t that right?” Phil winks, nudging Charlie under the table with his foot. Charlie nods suggestively, playing with the ends of his hat and winking back at him.

“Oh my god, you guys,” Emma rolls her brown eyes. “Just sign up for Homoemo already.”

“Where are the application forms?” Phil teases, raising an eyebrow suggestively and earning an outbreak of powerful laughter from their end of the table.

Loud enough for the other table to hear, evidently.

From the corner of his eye, Phil sees Dan’s eyes flash up in his direction, sending an unexpected rush of adrenaline running through him. Dan gives a half-second stare, his deep almond eyes staring into his own, before diverting his eyes back to the plate of untouched food in front of him. He doesn’t really look that interested in any potential conversation that his other friends were engrossed in, and instead decided being absorbed in his own mind was a much better place to be than discussing English homework with Louise. Which, to be honest, Phil wouldn’t blame him for – conversations with Louise aren’t exactly the most riveting.

After a pretty bland conversation about Pierce the Veil’s new tour, accompanied by endless cups of black coffee to keep him functioning, they headed on over to our normal lessons. Which, as Charlie disappears for the glass bottle disposal, means that Phil will have to slope off to English alone.

He likes English. It’s one of the very few lessons he can actually bear considering his teacher, Mr. Jackson, isn’t a complete asshole like the rest of them were. Alongside the fact he was pretty damn good at it, but that could be said for even the loathed subjects of his – he’s a straight A student, despite his reluctance to work and lack of enthusiasm. But English is different – he wants to work

Once he’d walked into the classroom and dumped his bag over by his seat, he slumps down in the chair, whipping his phone straight out in order to avoid the chance of interaction with anyone – admittedly, he has no friends in this class anyway; they’re all in the lower sets.

It adds to his discomfort, of course, that Dan and his friends are sitting directly behind him. He listens into their conversation, although Dan’s voice is all he wants to listen to. It’s a pretty boring conversation – it isn’t exactly as if they ever talk about anything interesting or slightly non-school-related

“Have you done the homework for…”

“What day do we hand in our…”

“I haven’t revised…”

Usually, Phil would spend his pre-class time making louder, more interesting conversation with Charlie or contributing to their co-drawn graphic doodles scribbled over sheets from their rough notebooks, but it was only now he realizes how little he can do without him. He sighs, scrolling through another page of Twitter.

“Morning,” Mr. Jackson bursts into the classroom, speaking through a yawn. Perhaps the teachers had been at it last night, too. “God, there aren’t many of you here, are there?” he peers around the classroom at the empty seats.

“They’re all on a trip, sir,” one kid pipes up.

“To see Shakespeare, sir,” another added.

“Shakespeare? Is he the dude what wrote the Titanic thing?” Lydia, the class bimbo asks, twirling her bleached hair around her falsely nailed fingers. The rest of the class groan and roll their eyes at her stupidity, in awe of how she was even in the same ability lesson as most normally-functioning humans. Phil reckons she’s secretly really smart.

“No, he wrote the thing where the two kids die because they can’t be together, innit? The one with the balcony and all that shit.” Her best friend, Janine said through her loud chewing gum, half her attention absorbed by what was happening on BBM.

“In the original text of Romeo and Juliet, there isn’t actually any evidence of there being a balcony, actually,” Mr Jackson adds without looking up from his computer, busily logging the computer and switching the projector on. “Good job we aren’t doing Romeo and Juliet for the exam, isn’t it?” the class snigger. “Right, seeing as there aren’t many of you here, there’s no point in doing anything to do with coursework. We’ll do an activity instead.” he peers through his thick-rimmed glasses at the remaining pupils, counting them up. “Even number. Good. Right, we’ll watch a film a-“ he’s interrupted by a whoop of enthusiastic cheers. “Ah, don’t get too thrilled! I can’t let you just do that. I’ll put you into partners, and you can take notes,” the cheers are suddenly replaced by groans.

“Aw, Sir!”

“Can’t we choose our own pairs?”

“I don’t want to…”

“Now, be thankful I’m letting you do even that! We can work out of textbooks, if you’d prefer?” he warns with raised eyebrows.

There’s a silence.

“I thought not,” he smirks, mentally arranging pairs as Phil holds his breath.

Not Lydia not Janine not fucking Lydia not Janine not Lydia not Janine oh my god, Phil repeats inside of his head, his eyes shut.

“Right, okay… so we’ll have Tom and Caspar, Alex and Stephanie-…”

Phil continued to shut his eyes through random names being called out.

“…Claire and Amber, Dean and Heidi, Phil and Dan-…”

Phil’s eyes fly open. Phil and Dan.

Shit. Shit shit shit. Fuck, he mentally curses, hearing the whoop of “OOOHHH!”’s coming from behind me.

Dan freezes, his friends continuing to jostle as he gets up from his seat, refusing to look Phil in the eye as he sits himself down.

“Good luck with him, Phil,” a voice calls out from the other side of the room.

“I’ll need it,” Phil calls back unkindly without really thinking.

“That’s enough,” Mr. Jackson mutters sharply, and Phil suddenly shuts up. Mr. Jackson’s never sharp with him – he’s pretty much the only one who can tolerate Phil, as far as teachers go.

He gulps, studying Dan who angles his chair away from Phil, still refusing to look at him.

Phil begins to feel bad for his thoughtless remark – he knows they both have to pretend they don’t really know each-other around anyone else, but there’s no need to act as if he hates Dan, especially whilst actually in his presence. Well, he does hate him, in his own strange fucked-up way, but that isn’t the point. He doesn’t want to hurt him.

Once the film had started and the classroom lights had turned off, Phil shuffles around awkwardly at Dan’s lack of participation, being surrounded by other fully-functioning classmates scribbling down notes busily.

He decides to write a note, although it isn’t entirely class related.

Sorry. He scrawled discreetly, folding it up tightly and nudging it into his hand. He jumps, his eyes darting down to the paper, then up to Phil’s eyes. He locks the gaze for a few seconds, before shaking his head, and pushing the note away. Phil swallows nervously, but as soon as Mr. Jackson’s back is turned, Dan opens the note. Phil automatically begins fiddling with the bracelet – a nervous reflex, and when Dan’s eyes flicker down to it, he tries to hide a smile. Relief briefly washes through Phil as he realises the note rejection wasn’t because Dan was actually mad at him. Maybe he understood. Maybe he-

He scribbles down a few words.

Keep your apology. I need to talk to you. Meet at 7. Don’t be late. He hands it back, a deadpan expression on his face as he watches Phil read the note. His heart drops

So Dan is mad at him. Fuck, what’s Dan going to do to?

Did he really actually upset him? Was it the bracelet? Oh god, he made a complete tit of himself when he gave it to him, didn’t he? Shit, why’s he so stupid? Dan’s probably told all his friends about how Phil Lester, Phil Lester, had nearly cried at a bit of jewellery.

These thoughts continue to attack his subconscious mind throughout the day, and the way Dan would hold his gaze from across the room didn’t help at all. He hates him. He really, really hates him. He makes Phil feel weak. Phil, Phil Lester, doesn’t feel weak. It isn’t in his capacity to feel such a thing. Phil Lester is strong, and powerful. He’s the ringleader, right? He doesn’t have time for weakness. Let alone vulnerability.

It’s all Dan’s fault. Phil hates him.

Is this emotion hate, though? It’s a pretty strong emotion, and it feels a lot like hate. Phil can’t get the brown-eyed bastard out of his head all day. The way his dark eyes shone, the way his brown hair fell past his forehead. The clothes he wore. His voice. His scent. It makes Phil feel a weird, sick feeling in his stomach. That’s hate, isn’t it?

Is it?

Phil clenches his fists, trying to get the stupid twat out of his head. He tries to distract himself with whatever ‘Phil Lester’ would normally do – he throws paper aeroplanes at Year Sevens, pushes someone into their locker, disrupts his Maths class, and smokes behind the sports hall. It feels stilted somehow, though. He needs to get this hate out of his mind; it’s beginning to dangerously ruin his ‘Phil’ act.

And when the clock strikes seven, he can’t run to the hut quickly enough.